#i had to repost this but it's under a read more for length

[lifesliced]

for as much as i very much acknowledge and discuss yagami’s negatives, i’d like to briefly touch on characteristics that are more positive. being human, he is full of character flaws, but also with character strengths, which i highlight the latter below: [ repost from my archived blog ]

tenacious. this should be obvious by how dedicated he is to his goals and his ability to achieve almost anything he sets his mind to ( within human reason ) . in that vein he’s also very devoted, very passionate, and very focused.

confident. this goes hand in hand with narcissism, but on a whole yagami is very confident. he knows who he is to a certain extent, and feels good putting himself out there without little fear of being embarrassed. he is in control of himself and his actions and tends to not get himself into hot water.

a sense of humor. it might be a little dry, but it’s based on more perceptive humor than anything. he’s a little flat when telling a joke, but he can still be humorous or playful. he also will acknowledge humor in others. we see this with sayu at the end of the intermission, as well as in the yotsuba arc specifically.

intelligent. this goes without saying. he checks out in a 9/10 for intelligence; his intelligence isn’t what got him killed, it was every other inherently human attribute. on intelligence alone, yagami is a winner.

honorable. this might sound strange, but hear me out. yagami is still an honorable citizen, has a high moral code, and will assert himself fully for his beliefs. he stands firm in what he deems right and wrong.

masculine. there is nothing wrong with admitting that yagami is inherently masculine. he doesn’t appear anything other than a normal boy. he enjoys his masculinity and feels very comfortable in it.

pursuit of justice. yagami is born into a family of justice and into a very black and white world socially. from micro to macro, his community has a clear line of what is considered right and wrong, plus culminated with his age, his entire outlook really makes sense when applied to the character developed up to that point. yagami is inherently only interested in what is right or wrong, but ego comes to play and tends to disintegrate the inherent good associated with this desire. he wants to do the right thing, and that right thing becomes threatened by ideological input that gets him off track, into thinking it’s a game. at the end of the day, yagami is a man of personal honor, whatever that means to him.

social. yagami is social, and he has no problem fitting in. he able to make friends, and seems to be able to keep them. he can revive old friendships and romances without making it too awkward and comes off as rather genial when he’s in neutral mode. he sees the world as rotten, but it’s a world he has to live in if he wants to change it. despite this, he does self-isolate, but still pursues an actively social life.

helpful. no matter what, yagami wants to do what he considers the right thing. even if it is inconvenient, or he just doesn’t want to, he will always be available for those that need him. he never gets tired of helping the elderly woman cross the road, or helping a man with his groceries. it feels good to be useful, even in a world he finds himself unable to truly belong to.

forgiveness. weird, right? not really. yagami as kira / og kira lays down clear guidelines that people can change if they want to, and he’s going after the worst. there is arguably his side that directly states he will remove all burdens to the world, but taken on a smaller scale, yagami forgives personal trespasses against himself ( sans L ) as nothing more than fleeting things he can overlook. they really aren’t that important to hold onto.

family-oriented. for all the yagami drama in that family, he still is sayu’s older brother, and he is the son of a father and mother that love him. in his own way, he cares about them. he will go to the lengths to not have them die, but accepts it could happen. his own soul is a small price to pay … but he still tutors sayu, pushes her to be better, protects her as the older sibling, and overall has a relationship with her that continues into pt 2. he meets every goal his parents have set for him. he is the perfect son; the prodigal son.

on this note, i’m not an idealistic person, nor do i aim to portray yagami as this true savior. but he is human, and all humans have facets to them beyond ‘good’ and ‘bad’. all of these attributes have their negatives as yagami very much is a multifaceted character.

for every positive, the negative is right there in line; so much so that it can be hard to separate the two and thus only see the negative. in saying he is masculine positively, he also bleeds toxic masculinity. he cannot have one good thing without the direct consequence of the bad that comes with it. that’s what makes him so much of a person constantly balancing two personalities without any real collection of a true self.

the closest we arguably see is his yotsuba arc, but even i would argue that’s bordering into fanservice, a reason to slow the plot down to keep L alive, and to give us a what-if for the idea that L and yagami are very compatible in the sense that they align a lot, and where they differ seems to give them the ability to lash out on someone entirely on their level. we only see yagami become physically violent with L, though he is aggressive with misa later. his physical expression is quite complicated.  

[princesschimchim1325]

Sing for us, darling~

Dan Feng and Yingxing want to hear the noises their wife makes as they pleasure her, to let it be known to the whole Xianzhou Luofu that she belongs to them.

(Or you get sandwiched between your horny husbands)

Warnings: 3rd POV, fem & afab reader, reader is an adult, reader got bomb pussy game, overstimulation, groping, double penetration in the same hole, creampie, vaginal fingering, Dan Feng has two cocks and a voyeur kink, Yingxing is 41 (reader wants to fuck those old men so bad), Dan Feng is a menace, Yingxing is a charming old man, they are both possessive and horny as hell, a surprise at the end. (Fūrén - wife, bǎobèi - treasure)

Word count : 1,904 words

This can be read in the same universe as my dragoness reader idea but can be read as a standalone.

This could also be read in the same universe as my mutual's @philistiniphagottini's "god-ish" smut fic.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcome!

DO NOT REPOST, OR FEED TO AI 🚫🚫🚫

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Under the pale moon, the wind made the trees rustle and flowers sway. The cold breeze would make any passerby shiver, enough to make their teeth chatter.  Everyone had worn thicker coats and lit up their fireplaces to stay warm.

Everyone except for the lovers in the High Elder's residence. Said High Elder was lounging on an armchair, his face propped up by his fist and an ankle atop his knee, an air of haughtiness befitting of man his caliber and position. Dan Feng was facing the master’s bed, calculating ocean green eyes swept over the attractive forms of his spouses.

His husband, Yingxing, was sitting on the edge of the large bed, completely bare. His long silver hair lay loose and flowing behind his muscled back. Sitting on his lap, was a jewel far more precious than any stone found in the Luofu, their beloved wife. 

And what a sight she was.

Her back was pressed against Yingxing’s broad chest, her front facing Dan Feng. Her lovely face was scrunched in frustration, sighing as Yingxing kissed and lavished her shoulders with love bites and hickeys, his large and calloused hands groped her breasts. And what was one of the most erotic sights he has ever seen in his centuries of living, her greedy pussy swallowing Yingxing’s length and if he looked hard enough, he could see a bulge on her stomach as Yingxing stuffed her full. 

Their shared bedchamber was filled with the loud wet sounds of Yingxing open mouthed kisses and their wife’s lovely moans, or as he and Yingxing liked to call them, song. His own hard cocks were pressing painfully against his trousers but he paid it no mind. The erotic sight in front of him was far more important. 

“Enjoying the show, A-Feng?” His Yingxing inquired, a smirk on his handsome face. His large hands slid from her breasts, trailing down until they slipped under her thighs, only to suddenly spread them wider, jostling the woman on his lap and causing her to throw her head back and sobbed. 

“Indeed. Dare I say, your little ‘show’ is the most enjoyable production I ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” 

He rose from his seat as he answered, taking off his white blazer as he did. Perhaps their little game went on long enough, they started at nightfall and now the moon was already high in the sky. Their poor wife must be so pent up, being cockwarmed and teased by Yingxing, but being told she wasn’t allowed to cum.

As he neared his two beloveds, their wife gazed at him with glassy eyes, cheeks wet from tears of frustration. She shakily reached out to him with her left hand and he caught her midway, holding her smaller hand and leaning down to place a kiss on her palm. 

“A-Feng…A-Xing has been so mean to me..” she whined as Dan Feng kissed her neck, trailing up to her ear, just below her earlobe. 

“Hmm, is that so?” He hummed, smirking as she yelped when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of skin and licked it as a form of apology.

“Oh, fūrén, this was our dearest High Elder’s idea. I am merely doing my part in his script~” Yingxing laughed, placing an unapologetic kiss on her hair. 

The High Elder pulled away to take his long gloves and the rest of his imperial garbs off, piece by piece revealing a lean yet powerful build, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips. 

“...You scoundrels. How could you be so mean to your wife?” she complained, writhing on top of the Furnace master’s lap, unconsciously tightening in the process and causing the man to groan. 

“Desperate now, are we?” Yingxing hissed, hands gripping her thighs in a bruising hold to stop her from squirming. 

Dan Feng, finally bare, had taken his place between his wife’s spread legs and replaced Yingxing’s hands gripping her thighs with his own. His cocks standing proudly against his toned stomach. 

Yingxing’s left hand returned to groping her breast and tweaking her hardened nipple with his fingers, while his right hand trailed up to her smooth neck, caressing it before gently gripping her throat. 

Dan Feng rubbed both of his cocks against her puffy clit, using her and Yingxing’s combined wetness as lube before taking one of his hardness and lining it up her hole that was still stretched around Yingxing’s cock. 

Slowly, he filled her up, one cock rubbing against Yingxing’s and her spongy walls, his other cock was sliding between her puffy folds and clit. Dan Feng pulled his husband into a searing kiss over their wife’s shoulder, making a show of their tongues dancing. He could feel her tighten up at the sight of their display. 

Inch by inch, he slid into her wet heat, until he pressed up against her cervix alongside Yingxing. He pulled away from his husband only to kiss his wife next, equally as passionate. 

Their beloved wife was panting when he pulled away, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips before it snapped. 

A few moments of silence before sounds of debauchery filled their shared bedroom. Each sensual roll of their hips had their darling wife keening, throwing her head back and bumping against Yingxing’s collarbone, tears of pleasure streaming down her lovely face. 

“Mmmph! A-Xing, ah! A-Feng! Too deep! Please, too deep!” She sobbed. How cute, yet she clung to them like they’re her lifelines. 

Their hips moved in sync, when one thrusts in, one pulls out and vice versa, making sure their wife is in the precipice of pleasure and overstimulation. Their cocks were alternating in slamming against her cervix, causing her to moan even louder. 

In her desperation to keep herself grounded, her hands found themselves digging into different parts of her husbands. One hand reached behind her to grasp and pull at Yingxing’s long silver locks, making him groan. The other reached behind Dan Feng to rake her sharp nails down his back, leaving thin scratches that are deep enough to bleed. Dan Feng threw his head back, moaning at the pleasure before hissing from the stinging pain.

Yingxing, never one to let his spouses one up him, let the hand groping her breast trail down her soft stomach before suddenly pressing down on the bulge caused by their cocks. 

“Ah! Yingxing, please!” How adorable, she was starting to slur her words a bit. 

Yingxing couldn’t help but chuckle, “Close, love?” 

Their poor darling, already so close while being lovingly fucked, their cocks overcrowding her poor cunt while their hands groped her breasts, the pudge of her hips, or pressing down on the bulge of her stomach in a dazed fascination of how well she’s taking both of their cocks. 

Their normally stoic and quiet wife reduced to an incoherent mess, moaning only their names. 

Both husbands groaned at the same time when they felt her tighten, impossibly tight. Dan Feng reached down to draw circles on her engorged clit, making her cry out even louder to the point he might get complaints in the morning even though his estate is built farther away from other citizens. 

“Mmph! Ah! A-Feng, A-Xing! Please, I’m going to–ah!” Before their darling wife could even finish her sentence, she came, or rather, she squirted right at Dan Feng’s abdomen. 

Her sudden orgasm triggered Yingxing’s own orgasm and she could feel herself being filled to the brim with the copious amount of his warm and thick cum. Dan Feng followed not too long after him. 

She hiccuped in pleasure as she’s filled again, this time by Dan Feng’s cum, warm and thick, and just as abundant as Yingxing’s. 

Once the cloud of pleasure had dissipated, she watched in mortification how her cum that splashed her husband, dripped down the planes of muscles his blessed body has. 

He didn’t even look mad, if anything, he looked downright pleased by the turn of events with his telling smile and the mirth present in his eyes. Behind her, she could feel the rumble of Yingxing’s barking laugh. 

“Oh, you did so well, darling. Look, you even made his other cock cum.” Yingxing cooed, nuzzling into her hair. 

She looked down and saw that Yingxing was right, Dan Feng’s neglected cock had cum as well, his spent dripping from her chest to her stomach. 

“Hmm, you took both of us well. How are you feeling, băobèi? Are you hurt?” Dan Feng kissed her forehead while checking her for any signs of harm. She could only shake her head in fondness. 

Dan Feng was the first to pull out, Yingxing following soon after him. She whimpered at the feeling of their cocks rubbing against her sensitive walls. 

Dan Feng watched in fascination how his and Yingxing’s combined cum dripped from their wife’s slightly gaping pussy, staining the bed and dripping onto the floor. 

Before anymore could drip out from her lewd hole, Dan Feng scooped the excess cum and fingered it back inside her, causing her to jolt and gasp

“Let’s not waste, shall we? It would be such a shame, no, fūrén?” He looked at her with such an infuriating look on his handsome face while his fingers played with his and Yingxing’s mixed cum inside her sore cunt. 

Yingxing’s large hands found their way to her breasts again, playing and groping her soft tits. All he gave her was a not-so apologetic kiss on the top of her hair.

“Ah! You-you scoundrels! Give this body of mine a break, won’t you?” their wife scowled but it broke into a pleasured moan when Dan Feng once again bit the sensitive part of her neck.

“Well, we did say we want you to sing, didn’t we, bǎobèi?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dan Heng shot out of his mattress, panting. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he tried to regulate his breathing, his heart beating so hard, it almost felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. 

He pressed his hand against his chest, his heart finally calming down. As he calmed down, he realized he had another problem, the hard on between his legs. Dan Heng groaned.

‘What the hell was that dream? No, that was too vivid to be something my mind conjured up. Was it a memory? If so, why the hell did I have a wet dream of Dan Feng and his spouses?’

He looked beside him, the woman sleeping next to him thankfully lay unaware of his dilemma. Her appearance had a striking resemblance to the woman in his dreams. He shook his head

He reached down to brush away the hair against her face, fingers slightly caressing her feathers. 

Well, whatever it was, he’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

••••••••••

Ren’s eyes opened, trying to adjust in the darkness of his room. He sat up before placing a hand on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the sounds of his hysterical laughter filled the room. 

“Of all the times, the memories of Yingxing decide to resurface now?” 

Ren laid in his bed again, facing the ceiling while his large and scarred hand dragged against his face, a smirk on his face. 

“Hah, I guess there is no escape for either of you. My bǎobèi, it won't be long until we're reunited...... And there is no place for you to hide, Yǐnyuè-jūn.”

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[onlymingyus]

Eyes Roll (Patreon Exclusive Bonus)

pairing; wen junhui x f reader x xu minghao

genre; smut (minor dni), filth

summary; Minghao thinks he might be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to find himself back in your bed and between your legs. Jun knows he's the luckiest one as he watches, a smirk on his face while his best friend groans between his wife's thighs.

dark content/content warnings; as this is an bonus drabble of Shut Up keep in mind this is mob boss!junhui, second in command!minghao, assistant!reader, some toxic themes possible -- wife!reader/husband!junhui, they are obsessed with one another but if you read Shut Up... once again you will know.

smut warnings; threesome, mlm undertones/poly (because I am me)/ unprotected sex, double penetration, pet names, degrading, praise, so much dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), aftercare, dom!junhui, switch!minghao, sub!reader

w/c; 2.1k and some change (341 this teaser)

eyes roll - (g)i-dle

a/n; written for/out of spite for @junkissed -- thank you for also giving it a good once over june! i really hope you like it and i hope all my peaches like it just as much. sometimes you just gotta write some filth.

this fic is a Patreon exclusive bonus drabble -- to read this drabble subscribe to my Patreon and click here

“You’re so pretty when your eyes roll back like that, doll.” 

Minghao smirks against your thigh as you lick your already bitten lips. He had been between your thighs for what seemed like hours, but he had no intention of leaving or slowing down. This was one of those rare moments when he had been invited back into your and Jun’s bed and he wasn’t going to waste it. 

Biting at his bottom lip as he sits patiently at the end of the bed in a chair, Jun tilts his head, watching your head fall back with a moan. Minghao was the only person he’d allow in his bed and between your legs. He could admit that he liked the way he looked as he ravished you. The way you both looked as you came apart. 

Normally, he would be in bed with you both. He’d be leading the room, much like he did in everyday scenarios, but tonight he was spending the first part of it enjoying the sounds coming out of your and Minghao’s mouths. You were breathless, panting like a cat in heat, and Minghao sounded like he was feral as he lapped at your cunt. 

“You’ve got him humping the mattress, kitten. That’s how fuckin’ good you taste.” Jun’s voice sends you over the edge once more as Minghao’s long fingers fuck you deep. You sob incoherently, feeling his skilled tongue circle your clit, the vibrations of his deep groans causing your thighs to tremble around his head before you fall back into your pillows exhausted. 

Smirking against your swollen folds, Minghao glances up at the length of your body as you lay pliant under his touch. With one more long lick of his tongue from your dripping hole to your clit, he relishes in the sound of your choked moans and the quiver of your thighs pressed against his ears before you whisper pleas for mercy. 

“You can’t handle it? Come on, baby... You can take more. Haven’t even had my cock. What about Jun’s cock?”

READ THE ENTIRE DRABBLE

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

[wandaromanova]

obvious

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Wednesday-level threats, that’s about it

A/N: hello! this is bad but it was fun to write. as always, not proofread cause i’m lazy. happy reading <3

anon requested: Reader and Wednesday are dating and reader is super affectionate; always kissing Wednesday’s cheeks, holding her hands, and just generally being physical like that. Reader doesn’t really think much about it until Enid mentions one day how surprised she is Wednesday let’s reader perform so much pda. Which makes reader suddenly stop. (Wednesday notices this ofc and is like “wtf???? Why did you stop?”)

Summary: Things aren’t as obvious as they seem, for both you and your girlfriend, Wednesday Addams.

Word Count: 2.1K words | wednesday masterlist

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

The entire student body was shocked when word of your relationship with Wednesday Addams spread across Nevermore.

You were outgoing and friendly while the Addams was intimidating and unapproachable. The two of you were an unlikely duo, the epitome of opposites attract.

It was remarkable to those around you, how the goth girl who hated being touched would let you hug her and live to see the next day.

The sight of Wednesday visibly relaxing in your hold was a stark contrast to the tenseness that permeated throughout her body whenever someone brushed their shoulder against hers in passing. 

Although the affectionate gestures were offputting to others, it was second nature for you.

Not once had you considered the fact that Wednesday loved to keep people at arms-length and then some.

In your mind, she was just your other half, and with touch being your love language, it only made sense. 

That was until Enid brought it to your attention. 

───────── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

It was an average day in the quad, your boisterous classmates scattered throughout the open area when you walked up to the table that you always sat at.

Wednesday’s back was toward you, so you took the opportunity to sneak up on her.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you kissed her cheek quickly before settling in the seat beside her, as your backpack hit the floor. 

The Addams turned her head toward you, staring at you impassively. You failed to notice the tiniest hint of a blush that graced her cheeks. Wednesday was grateful for your obliviousness. 

“Do you have a death wish?” She questioned monotonously as you gave her a wide smile.

“Yeah, only by your hands though,” you responded easily, sending her a wink before turning your attention to the bubbly blonde sitting across from you. 

“Hey Y/N, how’s your day been so far?” Enid smiled at you widely as she awaited your response, taking a bite of her sandwich which she chewed lazily.

“It’s been alright, but it's even better now that I’m here with my favorite girl… and Wednesday,” you laughed with Enid at your own joke before cringing as the girl beside you jabbed her elbow into your side.

The werewolf found the action even more amusing, her giggles increasing tenfold.

Your eyes met Wednesday’s as she glared at you, silently warning you to retract your statement. 

“Aw Wens, you know I’m kidding. You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” you interlocked your fingers with hers under the table, bringing your conjoined hands up to your lips, placing gentle kisses on each of her pale knuckles. 

Her eyes raked over your features in thought, before abruptly standing up.

“Where are you going? Did I upset you?” You worriedly looked up at her as she let go of your hand, scared that you offended her. 

“It’s foolish of you to think inane words would disrupt my psyche. I have a Hummer meeting to attend,” Wednesday said, shrugging her backpack on.

“Come to my dorm tonight,” the raven-haired girl stared down at you, adjusting her blazer that crinkled slightly from her movements.

“Okay, but why?” You asked curiously, head tilting to the side. The action made Wednesday’s heart flutter, but she would never say that out loud.

“Enid needs help with her psychology homework,” she nonchalantly replied, so caught up in observing you that she forgot the werewolf was even present. 

Wednesday was quickly reminded when you turned your attention to the blonde. 

“You do? I thought you said the class was easy,” your eyebrows furrowed together, further evidence of your cluelessness.

You missed the threatening glare your partner sent Enid’s way.

“Uh… yeah I lied. I’m actually really struggling and need your help, pretty please,” Enid’s eyes fluttered back and forth between you and Wednesday, a nervous smile on her lips. 

Luckily, you didn’t question it and agreed to assist her.

And with that, Wednesday left without another word, your eyes glued to her retreating form with a small smile on your face.

God, you loved her.

“You two are so cute it’s actually disgusting,” Enid dramatically grimaced at the lovestruck look on your face. You smirked at her, a teasing glint in your eyes. 

“Please, like you and Ajax don’t act all lovey-dovey when you’re together,” you wiggled your eyebrows at the wolf, taking the tray of food Wednesday had left on the table and eating it yourself.

“Yeah, but with Ajax and I, it’s not unusual for us to show some PDA. You and my roomie on the other hand, it’s shocking but in a good way,” she clarified before taking another bite of her sandwich as you processed what she said.

“Why is our PDA shocking?” Confusion was plastered across your features, Enid staring at you like you’d asked the stupidest question to ever be spoken.

“Wednesday hates being touched. It took me forever to get a hug from her, and I live with her! It’s a miracle she lets you touch her at all, let alone in public.”

Silence took over as you sat in thought, mindlessly picking at the food you no longer had an interest in eating. Enid was right.

Wednesday always made it clear that affection was something she despised. Perhaps you got excited by the euphoria of being with the girl you love, letting it cloud your judgment. 

Surely your girlfriend would have mentioned if your advances made her uncomfortable, right?

Your mind was swimming as the bell rang, indicating the end of the lunch period.

In a trance, you stood up, said goodbye to Enid, and walked to class. Before you even made it through the door to botany, you’d come to your conclusion.

You’ll give Wednesday the space she didn’t ask for.

───────── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

Wednesday was completely and utterly flabbergasted. For the past week, you’ve been different. Your personality around her was intact, but there was something severely lacking; physical contact.

For the first time in her life, Wednesday was at a loss. 

The goth girl recalled every interaction she had with you prior to the sudden change, but her efforts to rationalize your behavior were fruitless. 

Wednesday detested how the circumstance got under her skin like parasites.

Her thoughts were plagued with you, even more so than usual. Writing became an insurmountable feat that she failed to overcome.

She felt pathetic, not finishing the chapter of her novel that she was so close to completing. 

The raven-haired girl cursed her father in these fleeting moments. She simply must have inherited this pitiful need for her lover from the man. It was his fault that now, she resembled a lovesick buffoon. 

It was agonizing to be so close to you, but feel so far. 

Wednesday normally found your obliviousness endearing, but now she wants to commit every single degree of murder because of it.

Each lunch period, she would sit beside you, hoping for some semblance of comfort she so desperately craved, but to no avail. Even when she put her pride aside, she was literally left empty-handed.

How did you not notice her hand resting on her thigh, wide open for the taking? How did you not notice the astronomical distance between your bodies?

How could you ignore her ice-cold cheeks, desperate for the warmth of your lips to paint them with color?

The old Wednesday would ridicule this newfound version of herself. However, you changed her.

Whether it was for better or for worse, well that was a debate the goth girl had during times like this.

She shamefully reduced herself to obvious pining for the sake of having you close.

So… why weren’t you taking any of her hints?

───────── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

It was obvious Wednesday didn’t want you near her. 

Ever since you decided to give your girlfriend space, all she has done is look at you. She made no moves to initiate contact, just staring at you with emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. 

Admittedly, your mission was not an easy one. It took every fiber of your being to keep from holding your girlfriend’s hand or brushing away strands of hair that managed to escape her tight braids.

You felt as though you were punishing yourself, positive that you were the only one suffering.

However, your outlook changed the day Wednesday came knocking at your door.

───────── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

You were sat at your desk, back hunched over as you scribbled some notes down. You’d been in your dorm all day, declining the offers of your friends to head into Jericho. 

It was a Saturday and while everyone was hoping the day would never end, you wanted it to end faster.

Your study session came to a halt when three resounding knocks came from your door.

You smiled to yourself, knowing who was on the other side waiting for you. You stood up from your chair, groaning as you stretched your arms out.

When you swung the door open, you were met with Wednesday glaring daggers at you.

The Addams pushed her way into your room, not giving you the chance to greet her. 

Bewildered, you shut the door and turned to face your storm-cloud of a girlfriend.

She was standing in the middle of your room, dawning her checkered sweater that was slightly oversized and some black sweatpants.

She was so adorable even though she looked like she was gonna kill you right now.

“Well, hello to you too Wens,” you said sarcastically, accompanied by a playful roll of your eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” Wednesday probed, blunt and to the point as always.

If looks could kill, you would be decomposed.

“The real question is; what isn’t wrong with me? Yanno what I mean?” you rubbed the back of your neck, giggling out of fear for your well-being.

“Did I do something to offend you?” The raven-haired girl’s tone was firm, a trace of concern mixed in.

“Of course, not. You did nothing wrong. Why would you think that?” You took a few steps closer to the girl but made sure to leave room between the two of you.

Wednesday’s eyes focused on everything but you as she let out a deep sigh. Despite being a writer, she struggled to put her thoughts into words.

Oh, the irony.

“You have not been close to me all week. I demand to know why,” the Addams tried to keep her composure, but the little shake in her voice was a dead giveaway to her nervousness.

You were taken aback by her words, shock evident on your face before it was quickly replaced by a look of utter confusion. 

Honestly, when were you not confused? 

“I know you don’t like to be touched, so I thought space was what you wanted,” you said, sincerity dripping from your tone like honey.

Wednesday blankly stared as you shuffled in place, an indication of your anxiousness.

“You’re correct. I hate being touched by other people, but you’re not other people, mon cher,” her gaze softened, taking two steps closer to you.

Her hand cupped your cheek and your eyes fluttered shut, the coolness of her skin sending electricity throughout your body.

”You’re the exception,” Wednesday whispered quietly, like she didn’t want anyone but you to hear. She was so close you could feel her breath on your lips.

There was no time for you to respond before the girl pressed her lips to your own. 

You reveled in the feeling of her soft lips, your breath taken away at the tenderness of it all. Your arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her as close as you possibly could.

When air became an issue, you reluctantly pulled away.

Your forehead connected to hers, basking in the silence and Wednesday’s presence. A beat passed before you opened your eyes, reluctantly pulling back to stare at the girl.

“I’m sorry, Wens. I won’t distance myself ever again,” you mumbled, head still in the clouds from the most passionate kiss you and the Addams ever shared.

“It was idiotic of you to do so in the first place,” she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Yeah… well, Enid reminded me you aren’t the affectionate type. So, I-,” your sentence was cut short as your girlfriend interrupted you.

“She will die a slow and painful death,” Wednesday spoke apathetically, pecking your cheek before moving out of your grasp, much to your dismay.

“Where are you going?” You whined, already missing your girlfriend’s touch.

“To kill Enid,” she responded casually, twisting the doorknob and walking out.

You laughed to yourself, knowing her threat was an empty one.

The werewolf was one of the few people your girlfriend tolerated. Wednesday would never hurt Enid…right?

Your eyes widened, bolting out of your dorm to save your best friend from your murderous other half.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

[garoujo]

what do u think sei would do if hr made u cry in an argument??

warnings: minor angst -> fluff, arguments, i couldn’t form an answer i just had to like dump out the scene that was in my head after reading this but idk if i like this :< sob!

nagi could be mean. he didn’t mean to be, he thought any sort of confrontation was a pain but he’s had a particularly long day and he can faintly hear the way you’ve been talking—nagging at him since he got home about how you need help.

don’t get him wrong, he hears what you’re saying and he wants nothing more than to help you — he knows he’s been lazy, letting you clean up after him like he’s some overgrown kid, you deserve more than that. but tonight, his long limbs feel heavier than usual and the mocking little game over screen on the same fucking level he’s been playing all day is on a loop on his phone.

why couldn’t we just cuddle nagi thinks before he sighs and rests his head back against the couch, it’s cold and unbothered and he can see the way it makes your body stiffen when his next irritated eye movement brings his gaze to you.

“i’m bored of this conversation, ‘ts such a pain. i wanna sleep.” that’s not what he wanted to say, he knows that but shit— he’s fucking exhausted and all he wants to do is wrap himself in you. but now you’re giving him a look from where you’re stood across from him and he feels something burn in his throat when he watches your first tear of the night streak down your cheeks.

“nagi, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spit and nagi’s never moved with such an urgency than he does when he watches you turn on your heels. it’s quick, like an instinct of sorts when he pushes himself forward on the couch, gentle hands wrapping around your wrist to stop you from leaving as he mutters out a quiet little “don’t go.” easing you back until you’re letting yourself fall onto the seat next to him.

“you’re such a dick.” you mutter through swollen lips, sniffling with your sentence as he inches himself closer. but you still let push your hands from your face, the oversized sleeves of his sweater pulled over his hands as he dabs clumsily at your cheeks.

“even when you’re crying you’re still my pretty thing.” nagi drawls under his breath and fuck— it’s so true, mumbling out little apologies as his hands chase the tears that trail down your features. he really is a dick.

“‘m sorry, didn’t mean it. cmeer.” but you still let him move you so easily when he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he lets you rest your face in the crook of his neck — smearing your tears along his skin before he’s turning his head to meet you.

“you wanna talk, angel? ‘m listening, ‘ts not a pain. promise.” it’s smooth, soft the tone his voice takes before he’s kissing you once on the temple as an i’m sorry, arms squeezing around your figure before one of his hands trace along the length of your spine. then he presses you closer before he’s kissing you again, twice as an i love you.

“or we can jus’ cuddle. you comfy?”

© 2023 GAROUJO. do not copy any of my layouts / writing + translate / repost onto any other sites.

[separatist-apologist]

The Acolyte

Summary: When a mission on the planet Umbara goes wrong, Jedi Padawan Feyre Archeron will come face to face with the one creature the High Republic has believed long extinct: a Sith Lord.

Read on AO3

Note: This is a collaboration between the beautiful, smart, perfect, all-around talented @velidewrites who, upon watching the previous episode of The Acolyte, said, "Qimir is so Rhys coded." This has been our brain rot ever since.

DO NOT REPOST SITH RHYS

-

Drumming her fingers along the arm of the chair, Feyre waited with little patience. She ought to have it—it was unbecoming for a Jedi Padawan to be so antsy, so fidgety, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like years since she’d gone anywhere outside the temple besides hunting down street food. Master Tamlin wasn’t over their last mission.

Reckless, he’d called her.

Efficient, was how Feyre would have described herself. What was the point of tradition if it resulted in the deaths of so many innocents? Rules, protocol—it was all meaningless to Feyre in the moment. What mattered was the lives of innocents, not making sure Master Tamlin was satisfied she did everything by the book.

Tamlin loved the code, loved rules, loved everything except doing things the way Ferye wanted to. It was tempting to wonder why, of all the possible Padawans he could have had, he’d chosen her. They were a strange match even by the Jedi’s standards. Tamlin said the force had called out to him, urging him to take her under his wing.

Feyre sometimes thought he merely saw chaos where order ought to reign supreme, and made it his personal mission to bring her to heel. He was holding her back—Feyre wanted to be a Knight and free herself from Tamlin’s hold and he refused, telling the council she wasn’t ready.

She was, though. Feyre was stronger, faster, better than her pupils, a good number of whom had already graduated and were working under the watchful gaze of all Masters rather than just one. 

Let him take me on this mission, Feyre thought, sending it out into the world. One last mission—I can prove I’m ready.

Tamlin appeared from behind arched, hissing doors, his white robes swishing around beige boots. He’d tied his shoulder length blonde hair half off his face which made him look more severe, somehow. Green eyes pinned her in place, keeping her from standing even when she wanted to. Something about the hard set of his mouth made her think twice.

“The council wants you to join me,” Tamlin said, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Who are we to argue with the will of the Council?” Feyre asked breathlessly, finally standing. It was good luck, the first of many, she decided. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“This is too dangerous and you’re too reckless,” Tamlin said, turning for the long stretch of hall between them. Feyre’s long braid swung from her shoulder, tracing a path along her spine as she worked to keep up with his fast strides. 

“I’ll do as you say, Master,” she swore, truly believing she would. Tamlin only shook his head because he knew better. Feyre could be impulsive—it was one of her worst qualities.  

“You never do,” Tamlin replied with a heavy sigh. “It’s a mistake to bring you to Umbara.”

Umbara? Feyre practically vibrated with excitement, swallowing to keep her feelings in check. She’d heard of the Shadow World, seen it in the archives when she studied. She’d never been there, though. It felt like a waking dream, too good to be true.

“What’s happening on Umbara, Master?”

“Deaths,” Tamlin said, eyes cutting toward her as he carved a path through a gathered crowd of awed younglings. “Jedi deaths. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Perhaps they were caught by surprise,” she said, though Feyre, too, found it troubling. What was the point of training if a regular blaster bolt could end them, same as anyone else? She’d always imagined her death would be more spectacular. A fiery inferno, likely as she jumped in and out of hyperspace while Tamlin shouted at her. 

Oh, but what a way to go.

“We’re only investigating,” Tamlin said, turning so abruptly that Feyre tripped over her own white and gold robes in her haste. “Remove all ideas of grandeur from your mind.”

“I will,” she promised, but it was too late. This would be her test, she decided—one last mission to prove not just to Tamlin, who would likely never believe her ready, but to the Council themselves that she should be elevated to Knight. Tamlin had held her back for the last time.

They parted ways, Tamlin mumbling under his breath as Feyre practically skipped her way out of the temple. She wanted to tell her sisters what she was doing and knew if Tamlin realized she still had this connection, he’d march them right back into the Temple and demand she be put back in the Archives.

Feyre swore she’d tell them she couldn’t read if he did.

She, like all children, had been taken to the temple before she had a chance to truly know her family. And either by luck or the force or some other cosmic entity, she’d stumbled into Elain first—and then Nesta. How many women in the galaxy had the last name Archeron, after all? Elain was a rising politician, unhindered by an overbearing Master and Nesta the head of a Bounty Hunters Guild.  There was no denying the relation—they all had the same heart shaped faces, the same cheekbones, and the same whip-fast wit. 

Nesta ought to be back by then, though if not, Elain would be in her little office working hard to make a name for herself. Nesta had explained their family had once been wealthy before a few bad investments ruined it all. Sending Feyre away had been a mercy, and when their mother died, well…that was one less mouth to feed. 

Nesta learned to fight with vibro weapons, Elain with words. If their father was still alive, they’d never said and Feyre hadn’t dared to ask. Deep in her heart, she felt a small amount of resentment for the man who’d sent her away, depriving her of the connection with her family. Even if it had been selfless—even if he’d wanted to give her a better life. 

On climate controlled Coruscant, Feyre found herself standing amid a sunny, breezy day. Tilting her face skyward, she swore she felt a phantom breeze caress her skin. Turning, she decided she’d get something to eat, first, and to see him. It was wrong, the strange attachment she had to the man who ran the turbo dog cart closest to the Jedi temple and yet he remembered her name. Remembered the things she told him.

He was her friend. 

Feyre’s feet began moving of their own accord, body slipping into the throngs of people that lived on the planet. The cacophony of smells and noise—the chaos of it all—made her blood thrum with excitement. Feyre never felt more alive than she did just outside the Temple. Here, Feyre could pretend she was just like anyone else…ignoring the slice of hair woven into the traditional padawan braid, separate from her own thick, long hair she’d refused to cut, and the purple saber clipped to her belt. Still, she was practically bouncing as she made her way down the steps toward rows upon rows of shops advertising anything a person could ever want. Somewhere among the madness was Nesta’s little cantina, run by her friend Emerie most of the time. Feyre might stop in for a drink if she was feeling bold, though Tamlin wouldn’t approve.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, she reasoned. She’d just have to be careful to drink slow as alcohol went straight to her head.

Most things did, in truth. After a lifetime of denial, anything heady was practically a drug. 

Feyre fell into line, catching sight of the man handing out turbo dogs. Rhysand.

He’d appeared one day—or perhaps she’d merely never noticed him, though it seemed impossible that she could have walked by and not noticed him. His hair was so dark it gobbled up all the light around him, gilded blue in the late afternoon sun. Piercing blue eyes seemed practically violet when the shadows fell over his face just right, with brown skin that looked warm to the touch and just the shadow of a beard gracing the cut of his jaw. 

Not that she’d dare. She was definitely forbidden from that, though all the teaching in the world couldn’t truly stop her wanting. He looked up right on cue, smiling when he saw her just like he always did. There were people in front of her, so Feyre waited, schooling her face into careful neutrality when all she really wanted was to bound up to him and tell him everything.

What did it matter? Who was he going to tell? Feyre imagined, when she needed to temper some of her interest in this stranger, that he told stories of the Jedi Padawan to his friends in whatever local watering hole he frequented. Perhaps they all laughed.

But maybe he didn’t. 

“There you are,” Rhys said when it was finally her turn, large hands deftly putting her dog together. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And Feyre considered herself rather well-traveled. She’d seen a lot of faces. Rhys’ was all sharp angles and graceful lines, drawn together just so—on anyone else it might have made them seem too severe or perhaps lopsided. Not Rhys, who seemed blessed by some otherworldly entity despite his rather humble profession. 

There, in a black tunic, she caught sight of the familiar black tattoo crawling up his neck, half hidden beneath the white shirt just beneath. What did they mean, she wondered? She’d never dared to ask.

“I was looking for you,” Rhys added when Ferye didn’t speak. Heat stole over her cheeks, causing her to duck her head. 

“I’m where I always am,” she replied, grateful there was no one behind her to hurry things along. 

“Still trapped in the Archives?” Rhys asked sympathetically. 

“Not for long,” she said, unable to contain her excitement. “I’ve been assigned to Umbara.”

His dark brows rose. “What business do the Jedi have on Umbara?”

Feyre shrugged, wishing she could tell him the truth. It was a betrayal, even if he was harmless enough. She’d tell him everything when she returned, besides. Likely with some embellishments to make herself seem more heroic and more skilled than she was. As if he knew the difference. 

“I thought Umbara was supposed to be dangerous,” he continued, quickly turning the sign on his stand to read closed. Another elicit thrill raced up her spine. He wanted to walk with her while she ate, dragging out their conversation just a little longer.

Feyre wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth quickly, hoping he didn’t notice how the red stained her sleeve. “It is,” she said through a mouthful, hoping Rhys found her charming and brave rather than young and a little pathetic. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that. Is your Master still angry with you?”

She nodded, swallowing her bite quickly. “He thinks I’m reckless, but…” Biting her inner cheek, Feyre thought of the children who would have been swallowed by flames had she not intervened. Tamlin, and many other Jedi, would remind her it wasn’t possible to save everyone. She couldn’t let herself become so attached to simple strangers.

Feyre could feel them all in the force, just like every other Jedi. Their fear overwhelmed her, and try as she might, she simply could not block it out. Feyre let it all in, let their emotions rush over her like water until they clouded her judgment. And then she acted, honed by instinct and twenty one years of training. 

“But?” Rhys prompted, slowing his steps so Feyre didn’t have to work so hard to eat and breathe. They walked further from the temple, descending into one of the lower levels where the Jedi were unlikely to venture. He lived down there, somewhere. Did he see sunlight from his windows, she wondered? Or was he, like so many others, trapped in darkness? 

“It was wrong not to help,” she said fiercely, flooded with righteous emotion. Rhys smiled.

“I agree,” he said, running a hand casually through his hair. Feyre tried not to notice how a lock flopped into his eyes just as she tried not to imagine what it would be like to brush it away with her own fingers. 

“If I do this by the book, though, I think I can go around Tamlin to the Council and ask to take my trials,” she said, confessing to Rhys something she hadn’t even told her sisters. Again—it was harmless to tell him. He was just a man on Coruscant, her friend, truly. He had a passing interest in the Jedi and a passion for turbo dog meat. 

“What will you do then, once your Jedi Knight Feyre Archeron?” he questioned, eyes sliding to the padawan braid draped over her shoulder. 

“I don’t dare to think about it, just in case,” she said, finishing the rest of her meal and tossing the trash into a nearby bin. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Smart,” Rhys praised. “Who knows what’s waiting on a planet like Umbara.”

“Something dangerous, I hope,” she said with more bravado than she felt. If he guessed, he didn’t say.

“You should be careful,” he warned, just like he always did. It didn’t annoy her as much as when Tamlin said it, perhaps because Rhys wasn’t asking her to remain behind on Coruscant for safety reasons. Sometimes Feyre thought Tamlin wanted her to remain a Padawan until she died despite the early conversation they’d had all those years ago about her hopes and dreams. He’d been so supportive when she was younger.

Now he felt like a tyrant. 

Feyre left Rhys not long after when he said he needed to pick up a crate of meat, disappointed they never managed more than about ten minutes of time together. What she would say if she ever got more eluded her, though sometimes she conducted long conversations with him in her mind. At least there she was always witty, always charming, and he was always impressed with her. 

Feyre went to see Nesta and Elain, told them of her mission hastily, and promised she wouldn’t be gone too terribly long. How much time could it reasonably take to investigate the murders of a couple Jedi? They weren’t Masters, after all—it had been a trio of Knights she knew in passing, their bodies still missing. All that had been found were parts.

A hand here.

A torso there. 

Weapons missing. 

Feyre had a nightmare that evening, her mind grappling with what could have gone wrong to take out three Jedi in such a manner. Perhaps a bomb? A sniper hidden on a roof, cloaked somehow? 

Or, more thrilling and terrifying all at once, a long-extinct Sith somehow rose from the grave. Feyre had only ever heard stories of the legends—unlike Jedi, who were numerous, their Sith counterparts moved only in groups of two. A Master and Apprentice. Having spent so much time in the archives, Feyre read that once an apprentice finished their training, they’d kill their own Master and take an Apprentice of their own, thus repeating the vicious, cannibalistic cycle in perpetuity. 

The Sith were extinct, hunted to nothing centuries before Feyre had been born. If one managed to pop up, they’d be cut to pieces before they could manage to find and corrupt an apprentice, nevermind how they’d manage to truly immerse themselves in whatever perverse culture the Sith claimed. Still, it was an interesting fantasy and even after Feyre woke in a cold sweat, mind still racing from the shadows that seemed to press against her temple, she let herself imagine what it would be like to encounter one.

To cut one down.

Feyre bet they’d let her skip her trials if she did. Not that she wanted a Sith running around, of course. It was merely the wistful imaginings of all padawans hoping for glory. Feyre wanted to make a name for herself.

Old resentment bloomed in the morning as she packed her things into a sack, careful not to fill it to the brim. It would irk Tamlin, resulting in a lecture about how materialistic she was. Was it materialistic to not want to wash her robes every single night? In the sink, no less, while they were conserving water for drinking and washing? Tamlin would tell her to wear her tunic and robes more often between washings but Feyre got sweaty sitting in the cramped quarters of the ship. They started to smell like onions and while Tamlin might not mind, she certainly did.

Rolling them tight, Feyre packed three sets, closed up her knapsack, and made her way toward the shipyard just as dusk broke over the horizon. The light bounced off the metal buildings, half blinding her as she walked. 

What she wouldn’t have given for some shadows right then. 

Tamlin was waiting, handing over credits to the dock worker along with his clearance papers while they worked out which lane they’d take and what time they’d leave. It was all terribly boring, though she supposed it was important that they didn’t make the leap to hyperspace while another ship came out, obliterating them both in a fiery inferno.

Why did the thought amuse her? Feyre suppressed the smile forming as she clenched her fingers into fists, nails biting against her palm. Tamlin turned, eyes drifting toward her back at the pack slung over one shoulder. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. Feyre could feel his disapproval coming off him in waves.

Silence was its own blessing, she supposed. Better than having to defend herself and submitting to the eventual lecture that would go on for what felt like ever. Still, she could feel his disappointment as they took their seat in the small, sleek craft they’d be in for only the force knew how long. Tamlin did the preliminary checks while Feyre settled everything in, finally sitting in the co-pilot's chair. 

Not a word was spoken until they jumped to hyperspace. Feeling his eyes burning holes against her skin, Ferye finally sighed with exasperation. “Just say it.”

“I think it was a mistake to involve you in this,” he said in that measured way of his, unaware of how deep his words cut. “You’re not ready for this kind of mission.”

“You don’t trust me.”

It wasn’t a question but merely a statement of fact. What other conclusion was she supposed to draw? Tamlin balked at every outing, especially as of late. Feyre had heard it a million times before and though she considered herself relatively tough, she thought she might cry if she had to listen to him list her faults again.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Feyre snapped, swiveling in her chair to face him. Multicolored lights lit up the otherwise dark cockpit, while the console separated them. Feyre could see the saber resting lightly against Tamlin’s thigh and knew if he ignited it, she’d find the familiar green blade humming before her. It had once been a comforting sight.

She didn’t know what it was now. 

“I think I do need to say it in order for it to be true,” Tamlin replied, infuriating as ever. She wanted to wring his neck, an inappropriate thought she couldn’t shake.

“No, you don’t, because you say it a million different ways. I’m too reckless, I don’t think, I’m impulsive and every other little thing. And when you’re not constantly saying that, you’re arguing passionately to the Council that I don’t belong on missions and you refuse to help me prepare for the trials—”

“Have you considered that I am not ready to let you go?” Tamlin asked in a low voice.

Feyre paused. Oh, that was a dangerous thing to admit and they both knew it. Feyre’s eyes slid to the windshield before them, suddenly nervous. “You have to.”

“I know. I know,” he said, unaware that the low, urgent way he spoke those words angered her. He’d hold her back because he liked her? Even if it wasn’t forbidden—and Feyre had to believe that any kind of relationship between a Master and a Padawan was—it was downright cruel. She could be his peer, at least, and in a position to have this conversation with him without worrying he’d drop her in the archive again while avoiding her so she had no one to practice with. 

“I want to be a Knight, Tamlin,” she told him, fingers twisting in her lap. 

“There’s time—”

“You’re wasting it!” she burst out, rising from her chair so quickly she slammed her head against the low ceiling. “For the sake of feelings you know we can’t act on!”

“It’s only attachment that’s forbidden,” he argued, as if he hadn’t just admitted he was holding her back to satisfy his own desires. Feyre wanted to scream—wanted to wrap her hands around his large neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged and a raspy apology split from his lips. 

She’d take it too far if she didn’t get away from him. There was practically nowhere to go—down a ladder and into the hold, Tamlin right behind her. 

“Feyre–”

“No.”

Her heart thudded rapidly, lodging itself in her throat as she spun around. Tamlin’s tan skin paled at whatever he saw looking back at him, palms raised in defense. 

Take a breath. You are one with the force. Take a breath. 

“Feyre, can we talk about this?” he pleaded. There would be no avoiding it, and Feyre, never known for her tact, would have to figure out a way to navigate the conversation without throwing a wrench in her entire future. 

“Not now,” she said, exhaling through her nose. “I need—I need to think.”

Hope sprung like weeds in his eyes as Feyre tamped down her fury. Feyre knew, looking up at the man she’d once loved like a brother—respected like a father—and knew he would hold her hostage until she agreed to his terms. Lying felt wrong, deceiving him worse. If she went to the council, would they listen? Would they believe her over a Master? 

Tamlin nodded, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to find the words he wanted. “I just…I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Feyre could think of a dozen Masters and Padawans who continued to work alongside each other. Was he not ready to say goodbye to her, or to the power he had over her? The thought chilled her, filling her with fear. 

“You don’t have to,” she replied in a careful, measured tone though every inch of her vibrated with panic. “Very little has to change.”

Tamlin offered a humorless laugh. “Even you don’t believe that, Feyre. You’ll race off on a dangerous mission by yourself the first moment you get.”

“I won’t,” Feyre protested. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she hated being alone. A mission by herself seemed like a particular brand of hell. Every moment Feyre got she was looking for company—seeking out the other padawans, her sisters, hell, even the turbo dog guy when she could catch him.

But rarely Tamlin. Not since he’d begun to sideline her and her resentment had grown like one of Elain’s gardens. When had that begun, anyway? Racking her brain, she realized it had been around the start of her nineteenth birthday. Two years—how foolish not to realize the underlying problem. There was so much wasted time and too much ground lost. 

Tamlin only shook his head. “Let's table this for now. You rest—I’ll keep watch.” She nodded, swallowing all the words she wanted to say as a plan began forming in her mind. She’d petition the council, she decided as she watched Tamlin climb back up the stairs. Either they’d believe her or they didn’t, but she was entitled to another Master if she wanted one.

The thought didn’t give her peace, though. As Feyre slid into the small bed hidden within the wall, her anger burned hot in her chest. This was not the Jedi way—she needed to find a way to forgive him for what he’d done to her.

But she couldn’t. Even in sleep, Feyre did not find peace. Her dreams were tinged red and shadowed, as though her anger had been made manifest. She woke to the sound of light beeping and Tamlin pulling open the small door so light flooded in.

“Can we trade?”

She only nodded, rubbing at her eyes as she scooted out of the narrow space. His fingers grazed her collarbone as she hopped to the ground, narrowly avoiding his hands reaching for her waist. Feyre had to resist the urge to slap him away, to not bark out, don't touch me. Tamlin merely watched, his disappointment obvious. What he thought was going to happen, she wondered? That he’d admit she’d been purposefully holding her back and hobbling her self-esteem simply to meet his own needs and she’d swoon? Fall into his arms? Abandon all the tenants of her teachings for him?

Feyre let him sleep longer than he had—Tamlin had only given her four hours, but Feyre gave him the remaining eight. She flung the door open just before they were about to burst out of hyperspace, and only because she was required to. He was still the Master, she his student and her whole future was in his hands.

“You’re angry.”

Feyre flipped the switches that would pull them just outside the atmosphere of Umbara, the neon blue of the stars fading as they slowed their descent.

“I’m frustrated,” she admitted, not wanting to give him any honesty at all. He was manipulating her, using the teachings of the Jedi against her and Feyre didn’t know how to fight back. She wasn’t equipped for these sorts of games, didn’t know the rules to even play. 

“I’m sorry,” Tamlin murmured, as if that was enough to erase two years of wasting her time. “Do you want to discuss it?”

“Is there any discussion we could have? Am I allowed to say no?”

“Stars, Feyre, I’m not—of course—” Tamlin set his jaw, grinding his teeth together loudly. “Of course you can.”

But everything in his body told her that he’d be angry if she did. It was written all over his face.

“Can we just wait until we’re back on Coruscant?” she asked, forcing herself to speak softer, lighter, to avoid whatever was brewing in his gut. “You don’t feel it?” Tamlin demanded.

“Tam,” Feyre breathed, invoking an old, familiar nickname. It was enough to settle him, the tension between them evaporating. “We’re in the atmosphere. Let's do our mission, go home, rest, and then we can discuss…us.”

She didn’t dare look at him. Could he taste the lie? Did he suspect she intended to speak with the council the minute her feet were back on Coruscant? Could he stop her? Feyre had too many questions as they were plunged into shadowy darkness. Umbara demanded her attention, pushing everything else to the side as Feyre stared. The local star was simply too far for its ray to penetrate, its reach beyond even the Republic. 

“What were they doing out here?” Feyre wondered aloud, breath curling around her face like shadow. 

“I don’t know,” Tamlin replied, deftly landing on the landing pad in the local ship port. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

“Where do we start?”

Tamlin knew, of course. They’d been too busy arguing over the state of their tattered relationship to discuss the mission, and now Tamlin had all the clues and all the control, just like he always did. Feyre would be given information piece-meal, rewarded when she pleased him and iced out when she irritated him. It had been that way between them for a while. At least she understood that part of the dynamic, bothered as she was by it. 

“This way,” he said, disembarking with barely a glance back. Fingers balled to fists, Feyre followed after him, eyes searching the dark hungrily. Umbara was hardly some backwater planet that barely had running water, let alone civilization. Umbara was advanced in a way that would have made the cosmopolitan Coruscanti residents weep. Towering buildings tried to banish the shadows, bathing the surface in artificial lights. If she strained her eyes beyond the urban sprawl, Feyre thought she could see rolling hills rising like mist in the distance. 

Maybe that was her imagination filling in the gaps. 

What was beyond the gloom, where not even technology and light could touch? What secrets did the shadows hold? Perhaps it hadn’t been anything sinister at all, but merely the wildlife that had gotten the Jedi. Feyre shivered in spite of herself, wishing she could step closer to Tamlin without it being uncomfortable. In one fell swoop, he’d wrecked the delicate bond between master and padawan.

Her resentment reignited, hot as any flame. Her emotions were all over the place, though carefully guarded to keep Tamlin from sensing them. She’d learned to do this as a youngling, annoyed that she broadcast her every feeling to anyone who happened to be near, but perfected it when she found her sisters. Feyre didn’t trust the Jedi not to make them leave, even if it was a little unfair. Maybe they wouldn’t have.

But maybe they would have. And Feyre simply couldn’t take the risk. 

On the busy streets, Feyre kept her eyes straight ahead even as she examined the people from the corners. Umbarians were near human—their skin pale and bluish from the lack of sunlight, their hair white or silver, though sometimes so impossibly black that Feyre wasn’t sure if it was hair at all. Pale blue eyes peered through the gloom and she’d heard they could see colors regular humans couldn’t, though who knew how true that really was. Feyre wished they could linger and she could spend some time immersed in the local culture, but Tamlin walked quickly, determined to get them both in and out. Whether that was merely to conclude his investigation or bring their conversation to the fore, Feyre couldn’t tell. He was inscrutable that way. 

Along one of the neatly laid streets stood a rather shady looking cantina, even by Coruscant's standards. Feyre felt a thrill of excitement as Tamlin walked through the hissing steam of the door into the smell of liquor and sweat. 

Feyre’s eyes snagged on the chrome bar and the two impossibly large men seated on too-small stools. They likely would have fit a regular man perfectly fine—Tamlin could have sat with no issues at all. These men were built like warriors, with warm brown skin so at odds with the milky paleness of the locals and strange, scrawling tattoos inked in black. They both turned, their hazel eyes nearly gold as they landed first on Tamlin, and then Feyre. 

The larger of the two had his wavy, dark hair pulled half off a face marked with scars, confirming her theory he was a warrior. The other, more classically handsome, with shorter hair and sharper features, seemed entirely unblemished. That didn’t mean he looked less lethal. Feyre reached out with the force, trying to get a sense of these men but nothing but oily cold greeted her. Likely mercenaries, she decided as they turned back to their cups and the beautiful blonde woman wiping down the counter with a stained rag.

She had familiar eyes, though Feyre couldn’t quite place them. Was it the dark brown, or the shape? Blonde hair cascaded over fair skin, neatly curled either by her own hand or good genetics. Tamlin’s eyes lingered for a moment, too, before his lips pressed in a severe line. He didn’t speak as he approached—he merely swept his robe to the side to reveal his saber hanging from his belt.

The two warriors sitting at the bar grinned. Feyre didn’t think Tamlin noticed. Around them, people of varying species sat at tables, the hum of chatter enough to drown out their own conversation. 

“I wondered when your lot was going to turn up,” the blonde said, offering Feyre a smile that felt less menacing and warmer than what she’d given Tamlin. “Might as well sit down.”

Feyre did before Tamlin could stop her, hand on her shoulder as she slid next to the massive, long haired man. 

“We’re not here to drink. Three Jedi were slaughtered nearby, and the last place they were seen was here. In your cantina.”

“I’m Morrigan, though my friends call me Mor. You, I think, can call me Morrigan—you don’t seem like you have a lot of friends and I don’t see that changing anytime soon,” the woman told him, filling up a tankard of ale as if Tamlin hadn’t said anything. She slid it right past him to Feyre and somehow it felt like a test.

Antagonizing the locals wasn’t going to help them, Feyre reasoned. They needed information and they sounded like police. Relax, she wished she could say to Tamlin. But he was too rigid, too set in his ways and too proud to ever admit there might be a better way to get things done. His disapproval frustrated her even as she raised the spicy brew to her lips.

It earned Mor’s approval. 

“Look,” she said, cutting Tamlin off just as he was about to speak. Her eyes were still trained on Feyre as she pulled out a holo disc. “Your friends were here—I never disputed that fact and I’m not now. They came in for a few drinks, as you can see here…and then they left. Alive.”

Feyre did see that. The holo, sped up, showed all three knights order a drink, sit at a nearby table, and eventually leave with all their limbs in tact.

“It’s a rough planet,” the man next to her said, obviously eavesdropping. “Plant probably got them.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. It was possible, of course, though it seemed unlikely.

“Did they say what they were doing out here?” Tamlin demanded, his irritation plain. 

“Bet they were following the rumors,” the other man said, his voice icy and dark. Feyre nearly choked on her ale at the sound, eyes sliding of their own accord back to his beautiful face. He wore fingerless gloves, revealing horrific scars over the little skin he had revealed. What had happened to him? 

“What rumors?” Tamlin’s temper was rising, his force signature warming Feyre’s cool skin. 

“Is this a local ghost story?” Feyre asked them, offering up her most charming smile. 

“Something like that,” the man beside her chuckled. “They say he’s some kind of force user. Powerful.”

“Impossible,” Tamlin dismissed. 

“Cassian. Azriel,” Mor murmured, though there was no displeasure on her face. It was merely an order to mind their own business. Despite her more diminutive stature, both men returned to their drinks looking a little shamed. 

“Do you think they’re true?” Feyre asked, ignoring the waves of frustration rolling off Tamlin.

“I know three Jedi walked out of this bar alive, and met something in the dark,” Mor said, leaning forward so her hair spilled across the bar. “The wildlife and fauna here are dangerous if you’re stupid or careless. I didn’t think Jedi were either.”

“They’re not,” Tamlin all but hissed.

“Then maybe you ought to start there,” Mor said, eyes still only on Feyre. 

“They say he’s just outside the city,” Cassian added, nosing his way back into the conversation. “Lives on the edge of a mountain.”

“Or was it in the mountain?” Azriel asked with a sharp grin. Feyre knew they were trying to scare her and Tamlin, but she was genuinely intrigued. A dark force user seemed unlikely, but perhaps some kind of equivalent ability, like the Nightsisters were said to have. She wanted to know more than she wanted to unravel the mystery of the dead Jedi. 

“This was helpful,” Tamlin said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite as he tossed a couple credits onto the bar. Thanks for nothing, she swore she heard him say, though his lips never moved. Feyre gulped down the rest of her drink while Cassian and Azriel went back to studiously looking anywhere but at the rest of them. 

“Take care,” Mor said only to Feyre, offering a pretty smile. “I’ll see you around.”

Cassian and Azriel both turned to look at her with those unnerving eyes, their smiles suggesting the same thing. No one looked at Tamlin at all, who half jerked her off the stool and toward the door. Feyre stumbled, looking over her shoulder to find their smiles gone, replaced by some other emotion that almost looked like fury. 

“There was something strange about them,” Feyre said the moment they were back in the dark. “Didn’t you think—”

“Why didn’t you let me handle it?” Tamlin demanded, rounding on her so quickly that she did fall back then, her ass hitting the ground hard enough to rumble up her spine. She scrambled to her feet, eyes smarting with embarrassment. “They were making fun of you!”

“They—they weren’t,” she insisted, swallowing the urge to cry. She thought of how Mor had looked at her with respect, pulling out that puck so Feyre could see the Jedi had left unharmed.

If she’d been crueler, she would have told Tamlin the truth. They spoke with derision because they didn’t like him. 

“Let's go,” he said, his eyes like ice. “We can circle back in the morning.”

“Fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Feyre stewed as they walked toward the inn they’d be sleeping in, grateful for the two beds that were provided rather than one. If she had to sleep next to Tamlin, she thought she might have flung herself out a window. They still shared the small space, dodging the other as best they could, tempers still high. He kept sighing, waiting for her to ask him what he was thinking like she often did in the past. She didn’t, though. 

Feyre fell asleep thinking not about Tamlin, but what Mor had told her. Of the man who supposedly lived in or around the mountain and the power he commanded. It seemed more like a children’s story meant to keep them from wandering and yet…had those Jedi gone looking? It would be tempting, certainly, especially if that man had been framed as a force user. She wanted to go looking, too, even if Tamlin didn’t, though she didn’t know how to convince him of it. 

Feyre woke to darkness and Tamlin already dressed. He was standing by the door, hair left around his face.

“You’re awake. Good. I’ve been thinking about last evening,” he began, hand reaching for the control panel on the wall. Feyre sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“What about it?” she asked.

“I think it’s best if I conclude this investigation on my own. You’re…you’re safer here, I think.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open of its own accord, snapped shut as she processed his words. “Safer?”

“I want you to remain in this room until I return—”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. But things will move much faster, and go smoother, if you just let me handle this.”

“Tamlin!”

She scrambled out of bed, but he was quicker, reflexes sharper. He offered one last glance back, eyes hardly apologetic at all.

“Tamlin!” she yelled, but the door hissed shut just in time for her palm to smack against the cool metal. She screamed his name twice to no avail. He’d locked her in the room. Feyre turned toward the window, too small for her to crawl out of even if she shattered it. 

Think, she ordered herself, but the walls of the tiny room seemed to close in on her, the darkness heavy and oppressive. Tamlin was a lot of things, but at their foundation, he was her mentor. Her teacher.

Her friend.

Did she mean anything to him at all? Or was she merely an object for him to protect with no consideration of her own wants, needs, or desires? Feyre’s hurt shifted into anger, her mind replaying the argument in the ship. The realization he had been holding her back because he wanted to keep her around longer, that he would derail her entire life to satisfy himself. He was supposed to put his padawan above himself and yet…

Feyre went back to the door, reaching back into the force. It was wrong—so, so wrong—to use it the way she was. The once warm air chilled as she embraced, just for a moment, the hatred she felt. Metal crunched and snapped, the bolts whining before they broke entirely. When Tamlin returned, he’d know what she’d done and how she’d done it.

Let him, she thought as she gripped tight to that anger. It was a lifeline right then, antithetical to her teachings as it was. Hatred, anger, fear—all led to the dark side of the force. She needed to let it go.

All Jedi touch the dark side. 

She’d read that in one of the books in the archive. Well, here she was, touching it too. Feyre stepped from the ruined wreckage feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life. She’d atone when she returned to Coruscant, would tell the Council everything and hoped they understood her reasons, her feelings.

But right then, Feyre didn’t care about any lesson Tamlin had ever taught her. He’d betrayed her many times over, so thoroughly that it couldn’t be repaired with centuries worth of time. It was tempting to hunt him down and confront him, but Tamlin was a Master who’d been trained by someone who valued his education. He’d beat her easily—smugly.

No.

Once outside, Feyre’s gaze turned toward the darkness and the mountains she assumed lingered just beyond. For only a moment, Feyre took stock of herself. Was she afraid of what she’d find? 

Was she afraid to die?

No.

Feyre stepped with confidence, unafraid of the darkness around her. Maybe it was unchecked hubris that guided her, or some sense that the force would protect her. Feyre didn’t bother thinking too much about it, vanishing out of the city toward the mountains that loomed overhead like great, craggy fingers. All at once, Feyre understood why people would imagine a monster lived here—who else might survive it? It occurred to her, as she got further and further from the city, that this was foolish—she ought to go back to the ship and send a message to the Council before Tamlin knew what she had done. 

Feyre nearly turned back—she should have. If it hadn’t been for an overwhelming tug in her gut, she might have abandoned her plan entirely. Feyre kept moving, her body knowing the way even as her mind raced. She could feel the presence of something—someone—watching, waiting. The wind picked up, ruffling her hair around her face and too late, Ferye realized she hadn’t bothered to braid her long hair, nor had she changed from her training pants and tank-top. She’d merely run out, caring only that her feet were laced up in her white boots and her saber was clipped to her belt. It should have felt cold but Feyre was warm as her speed picked up, eyes trying desperately to cut through the dark. 

It never occurred to Feyre she might be running straight into a trap until a strong, bare arm wrapped itself like a noose around her neck. Clotheslined back, Feyre gagged as her fingers attempted to pry the grip off to no avail. She twisted, catching sight of a strange, angular mask in the gloom and familiar black tattoo’s scrawled up her assailant's strong bicep and Feyre swore smoke trailed off him, creating massive wings just behind him.

The man was strong, but Feyre was quick, kicking behind her to catch him in the knee. He grunted through the mask as she spun, heart racing, and ignited her purple blade. Whatever he was, Feyre was certain he was no match for an armed Jedi. Feyre didn’t wait for him to regain the upper hand, swinging furiously with all the skill she’d earned over the years.

Her breath caught as his own blade ignited, a brilliant, bleeding red, to block her strike. For a moment they were deadlocked, her staring up into that eyeless mask while their sabers hummed with anticipation. 

“You’re—”

He pushed back though he didn’t come forward to strike her again. Instead, he cocked his helmeted head as though curious to see what she’d do next. Feyre couldn’t breathe fully, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“That’s a Jedi’s weapon.”

The dark, mechanical laugh that sounded in response made her heart stumble. 

“Where did you get it?”

She didn’t expect an answer, though Feyre could force one from him. He wasn’t a Jedi—she’d never seen a blade that color before. Lunging, Feyre struck again, expecting to reveal his inability to truly wield it. A lightsaber belonged to a Jedi the way a person’s arm did—it was instinctual, innate. Not just anyone could pick it up and wield it. You needed a connection to the force and this person…

This person had it. He blocked her with skill, moving quicker than he should have been able to. Feyre was all offensive strikes, hair whipping around her face until she could smell the singed edges on the wind mingled with the sweat dripping from his skin. 

“Who are you?” she panted when he forced her back, just hard enough to put six feet of space between them. 

He didn’t answer, head snapping up to look behind her as something rough gripped Feyre around the navel and wrenched her back so forcefully it stole the remaining breath from her lungs. Tamlin has used the force to remove her from the fight, stepping around her with his green blade ignited. Feyre wanted to scream, though if it was to warn the assailant or Tamlin, she didn’t know. She couldn’t move, dazed and pinned by Tamlin’s superior use of the force. All she could do was lay there, desperately gasping for air, as Tamlin spoke words she barely heard. 

The warrior with the red blade made the first strike, moving in a blur of color that made her stomach roil. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have been toying with her and yet watching him match Tamlin blow for blow, Feyre knew with sickening clarity what was coming. 

“Let me go,” she whispered. His pride would be his downfall, would get them both killed. “Let me help you.”

If he heard her whispered plea, Tamlin didn’t respond. He moved just as quickly, dodging rocks half hidden beneath the soft grass. The pair vanished over a hillside for a moment before they were back, dodging and striking like two masters determined to see the other one fall. For a moment, Feyre thought Tamlin had the upper hand when he kicked the warrior in the chest, his blade slipping from his grip. Tamlin attacked three in a row, bashing the assailant over his mask until it was cracked-useless.

Tamlin raised his own saber to make the killing blow but she knew, somehow, what was coming. The assailant reached out, his own blade flying back into his hand. He pulled, turning one red blade into two. 

Tamlin couldn’t react fast enough. With one hand, his green saber was blocked while the other humming red blade drove neatly through Tamlin’s throat. His grip on her relinquished and Feyre scrambled to her feet, noting that Tamlin had managed to cut open the warrior's helmet. 

Tamlin fell to his knees, turning his head to look at her before he died. If he truly saw her or not, she didn’t know.

He was dead before his shoulders touched the ground.

Feyre made her way over, holding her own blade with something akin to fear. Blinking, it didn’t register who was standing in front of her until she heard a familiar voice.

“Surprise.”

Exhaling a shaking breath, she drank in the sweat soaked onyx hair now falling into violet-blue eyes. Rhys cocked his head again to look at her, a half smile playing on his lips.

“You killed Tamlin,” she whispered.

“Was that its name?” he replied without remorse. “You brought him here.”

“I—” Feyre didn’t know what to say. Rhys continued to look at her with that cold amusement. “You didn’t kill me.”

“I didn’t come to kill you, Feyre.”

Her grip on her blade tightened. “Then why are you here? You…you pulled me here.”

His smile widened as he stepped over Tamlin’s still warm body like it was little more than trash. Perhaps to him it was. 

“Just as you pulled me to Coruscant,” he said, peering down at her with curiosity. 

Feyre yielded a step, keeping distance between them. Her mind was screaming static, unable to string together anything coherent. Feyre couldn’t figure out what was happening. She wasn’t adrift, but she didn’t feel awake anymore. This was a dream, somehow, and Feyre would wake up still angry with Tamlin, who would be alive.

She hadn’t wanted him to die. She’d just…she’d just wanted to be free.

“What do you mean?” she heard herself ask, her own voice taking on a dream-like quality. 

Something soft pulled against her—not the force, or, not exactly. It wasn’t like when Tamlin had pinned her to the soft grass, the force a boulder against her chest. This was more muscle memory, something that lived within her. 

“You’ve been calling me for a long time. When I was a boy, I used to dream about skies the color of your eyes,” he murmured, tilting his head again to study her. 

“You’ve been watching me.”

His grin widened. “Yes.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

He shook his head, hair sliding along his forehead. “You know that’s not true. I feel it, you know. Your pain, your anger…your hatred. I feel it all, Feyre. I could take it all away from you.”

She stumbled back another step. “No,” she whispered, unsure if she was telling him, or herself. He only smiled, his face still illuminated beneath the hum of his vibrant blade. 

“The Jedi are holding you back, Feyre,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. Feyre swore she could feel the words caress her cheek like a phantom kiss, cool against her overheated skin. “They refuse to see how magnificent you are and are afraid of the power you hold. They will never give you what you want.”

A strange, half-sob, half breath escaped Feyre. All she could do was shake her head back and forth, still stumbling back. She shouldn’t have come, she should have stayed in the room. Tamlin—Tamlin had been right. “This is my fault,” she managed, panting as she continued to move away from Rhys.

“Feyre,” he warned, stalking forward for her. Feyre broke into a sprint he interrupted with the force, lifting her off her feet and dragging her back to him. Feyre’s toes skimmed against the grass and though she could not move, Rhys wasn’t hurting her, either. He merely held her gaze, searching for something she prayed wasn’t there. 

“What do you want from me?” she whispered. “What are you?”

He stretched his neck left, and then right, his tattoos catching in the light. Too late, Feyre realized she’d seen them in the cantina the day before—Cassian and Azriel had sported the same ones. They’d told her about the force user, they’d lured her here. But worse, even, was the knowledge that they’d only been able to do that because Feyre had told Rhys before she’d left. She’d told him she was going to Umbara. She’d laid her own trap for him.

“There is no name for what I am, though I think the Jedi call me Sith,” Rhys said, his voice low and cold. “I want you, Feyre. Join me. Let me train you, teach you—not as an apprentice or acolyte. An equal.”

Sith. 

Fear won, in the end. Feyre pushed against his hold, shoving him so far back that he spun several times through the air before landing far from her in the distance, his saber finally sheathed. Feyre didn’t wait—she took off running as quickly as she could. There was no escaping him on Umbara, but if she could warn the Council, she could—stars, she didn’t know. 

Feyre made it to her ship, closing it up and turning it on before she managed to catch her breath. It was a betrayal to leave Tamlin’s body on Umbara, to not give him a proper burial befitting a Jedi Master and Feyre was afraid. 

She should have been. The moment Feyre made the jump to hyperspace, she heard him.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys murmured, appearing seemingly from nowhere. He had her cornered in the cockpit, his larger body blocking the only way out of the ship. Anger replaced fear as she screamed, launching herself from the chair with such force she didn’t feel pain when her thigh clipped the edge of the dash. She and Rhys went plummeting into the hold, tumbling to the hard, cold steel in a tangle of elbows and limbs. He groaned when her knee connected between his legs, causing her to slam it against him again, just because she hated him.

Straddling his waist, Feyre hit him so hard a small amount of his blood splattered against her cheek. Raising her fist to hit him again, Feyre realized he was grinning with red stained teeth, eyes watching her not with anger or horror, but delight.

“Do it,” he said, pushing his hips into her as his hands held her firm against him. “Hit me. Hurt me.”

“I thought you were my friend,” she accused, trying to writhe free of his grasp. There were a pair of stun cuffs hanging just beyond the door to the sleeping chamber and if she could grab them, she could restrain him. Could at least force him to face justice for what he’d done.

“I am your friend, Feyre. You just haven’t realized it because you’re so indoctrinated,” Rhys replied, still holding her tight.

“Let me go,” she ordered and to her surprise, he did. Feyre scrambled to her feet, careful not to look at the stun cuffs even as she inched close enough she could have snatched them. Rhys, too, stood, wincing slightly. Good. She hoped he hurt, that he had bruises in places he couldn’t even mention. That they reminded him of her when he was alone in a cell buried on Coruscant. 

“I’m not going to join you,” she threatened. 

Rhys only shook his head. “You will.”

Feyre backed away slowly as he approached, letting him play predator for just a moment. She wasn’t sure she liked the look in his eye—the same she’d seen on Tamlin’s face when he admitted why he wouldn’t let her take the trials. Rhys reached for her face, fingers curled to brush her cheek and Feyre struck. Quicker than he expected, she slid the cuff around his wrist, chaining the other to a nearby beam.

Rhys only laughed. Even when she pulled his sabers off his belt he still laughed, watching her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. “Feyre,” he all but crooned, still looking exactly like a predator. His eyes seemed to shift right then, the violet shifting to red and back just long enough for her to see what the darkside had done to him. “Feyre, darling. You’re acting as if I am not exactly where I want to be.”

“In a prison cell on Coruscant?” she hissed in response.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll make it that far, do you?”

“Yes. I think I’ll testify at your trial and watch them behead you.”

Rhys only grinned. “We’ll see.”

Feyre left him there to gather her thoughts, strangely calm in the wake of the restrained Sith Lord in her hold. No one had prepared her for this—she’d never been trained for this situation. She shouldn’t be angry with Tamlin, who couldn’t defend himself, but if he’d just taught her like a Master should have, she might know. Everything Feyre knew, she’d taught herself and it showed. 

Her fingers hovered over the console, hesitating when she went to dial the code to reach the Council. She didn’t need Tamlin’s advice to teach her that, at least. They could advise her. 

Tell them. 

Feyre’s indecision cost her. She was exhausted, her adrenaline ebbing as she sat in the cockpit, warring with herself on what to do, how best to act. What even to say. How to explain that this was her fault, that she’d kept secrets even when having friends outside the temple wasn’t forbidden. She should have known, though. Should have sensed him.

Why hadn’t she?

Feyre’s fingers pulled back against her chest, her decision made when she felt him behind her. She barely had time to turn before Rhys raised his hands.

“Forgive me for this,” he murmured before he ripped the force over her head like a blanket. The world went dark, and Feyre was lost to slumber.

To peace.

Feyre woke with a start. The air was warm and she was in a rather large bed, still clothed in her tank top and trousers, though her boots were missing and her feet were bare. Reaching beneath the heavy silver blanket, she found her saber, too, was gone. Feyre kicked off the blankets and made her way across cool marble for a door that was, predictably, locked.

A note on a table just beside, in elegant cursive, read, 

Feyre,

You are not my prisoner, though the door may suggest otherwise. Please relax until I return.

I will explain,

Rhys

Would he explain why he’d disarmed her, too? Feyre crumpled it in her fist before stalking for a set of large windows overlooking an amethyst river winding down the mountain peaks. Certain he was about to give her some lecture about how she was his guest who simply wasn’t allowed to leave, Feyre took herself first to the ‘fresher to wash the blood, sweat, and anxiety from her skin before putting on the only clothing available to her.

He was a bastard, offering up those satin cuffed pants in a pale blue color, alongside a matching top that tapered to a point just above her navel. No shoes, no socks—nothing but bare feet and an exposed collarbone that offered far too much real estate for him to damage should they come to blows again. 

There was nothing to do once she was dressed but pace and ruminate. Feyre tried to hold her anger over what had happened on Umbara, and in her own way, she supposed she did. Only, instead of seeing Rhys cutting down Tamlin with ruthless efficiency, she saw Tamlin’s face as he admitted he didn’t want her to take the trials because she’d leave him. She saw his dismissal when he told her she couldn’t complete the mission with him.

Saw how he’d died because he refused to let her fight alongside him. 

And in her heart, Feyre knew that if she’d been allowed to join the fight, Rhys would have backed down. Wouldn’t have fought them both as hard because she was important to him for some twisted reason. They could have destroyed Rhys. They could have walked back to the Jedi as heroes who’d seen the faces of other Sith and could better hunt them back into extinction.

He didn’t trust her. Hadn’t viewed her as someone who could help. 

Now he was dead and she was somewhere she shouldn’t be. Feyre turned as the door hissed open, her thoughts settling as Rhys strolled in.

He, too, had showered, his dark hair pushed off his face and his beard a mere shadow clinging to his jaw. The faint red of his eyes shifted in the light, slipping into violet as he came fully into view. 

“Is there some sort of dress code here?” she asked, noting his sleeveless black attire once again. 

“Blue looks wonderful on you,” was his reply. “You look well rested.” “No thanks to you,” she snapped.

Rhys shrugged his broad shoulders. “Someone ought to attempt to take care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me! I need you to let me go.”

“Where will you go?” he asked casually, glancing at the door still open behind him. “Back to Coruscant.”

Feyre opened her mouth to tell him yes, but the word didn’t come out. She’d hesitated on the ship and she was hesitating now. 

A smile spread over sensual lips. “Ah. See? You don’t want to return.”

“That’s not true.”

Rhys reached for his belt where her saber was clipped and tossed her to her with ease, eyes tracking the movement. “No, you don’t. You could have cut me down—”

“I can’t,” she said with an air of breathless desperation. “I’m only a padawan.”

His brows crinkled. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m just a student. I…” Feyre didn’t know how to explain it to him. “You didn’t have a Master?”

His grin widened. “Once. For a time, I suppose.”

“Did you kill him?”

Rhys only continued to smile, his silence answer enough. 

“I couldn’t have killed you,” she repeated, trying to get her point across. “You spared me.”

“I had no intention of taking your life, but I wouldn’t have stopped you from taking mine. To die at your hands…that would have been an honor. To see you take up my helm, lead my warriors…” His smile was almost dreamy.

“I thought Sith only moved in pairs.”

“I am no Sith, Feyre,” he said, cocking his head so a lock of dark hair fell against his eyes. “Those are Jedi terms, not mine. I never said I was Sith, nor do we put labels on what we are.”

“But you are evil,” she shot back.

Rhys arched one dark brow. “Am I? From where I’m standing, it seems I did you a favor. I freed you from the shackles of a man who warped his teachings and traditions to keep you under his thumb for his own selfish desires—”

“And what do you call all this?!” she demanded with a shriek.

“Liberation,” he replied easily, as though he’d practiced this very speech and it was going exactly as he hoped. “You can be free of Jedi doctrine and dogma, can do whatever you like. Feyre, your power, I—”

He ran a hand through his dark hair as he stepped toward her, more cautious than he’d been on Umbara. “I could show you.”

“Sith don’t do equals,” she said, well aware she was really asking with curiosity rather than slinging accusations. “Only Masters and Apprentices.”

“I am Sith only by your standards,” Rhys replied with more earnestness than he had any right to express. “Dark, light…it’s all just the force.”

This was dangerous and she knew it. Rhys’s eyes flashed red for just a moment, reminding her that the Sith were liars by nature. Master manipulators. It was working, though and he must have known it. When had he gotten so close? Rhys reached for a lock of her hair, curling it around his fingers.

“I feel your pain, Feyre. I’ve felt it for a long time. You’ve spent a lifetime trying to meditate it away but what if you embraced it?”

“I’d be a traitor to everything I believed. Just like you are,” she repeated, stepping away from him before she could get too lost in his words. They tempted her, pulling her down as though he were some great, all-encompassing current. 

Back turned, Feyre only heard the hiss of his ignited saber. “Fight me, Jedi,” Rhys snarled, his voice laced with condemnation. “Fight me so I can show you what you really are.”

Feyre whirled around too fast, forgetting to think about what was happening. With a pushing leap in the air, Feyre’s blade was lit and crashing against Rhys’s before her feet touched the ground again. He grinned savagely, blocking the blow like it was nothing to him. Who cared how she killed him, Feyre reasoned as she lifted her blade again. So long as he was dead.

Rhys dodged her in a flurry of swings, but didn’t move to attack her back until Feyre got a little too close to his throat. Her blade singed over his cheekbone, sparing his facial hair, drawing a neat line of blood over his otherwise immaculate skin.

He was brutal, then, eyes a burning red as he spun on her, forcing Ferye to take on the defensive position rather than the offensive. Her wrist ached from the effort to keep that saber in her hand, though Feyre did not back down, either. Feyre, perhaps, should have realized what he was trying to do when the backs of her knees hit the side of the bed, but Feyre hadn’t put Rhys’s plan together until he’d wrenched her blade from her hand, tossed it across the room, and pinned her beneath his body and the mattress.

“You hate me,” he panted, sweat sliding down his forehead. His dark hair was soaked again, falling into those unnatural eyes like branches of a willow. He was beautiful right then, unfairly so, with his cheeks flushed and his wild eyes. “Say it.”

“I hate you,” she replied, gaze drifting toward his mouth. She shouldn’t want someone like him. 

“I almost believe you,” Rhys replied, chest heaving from the exertion of their fight. She hadn’t realized she was panting, too, until he leaned close enough she could practically taste his breath. Feyre hitched her leg up over his hip in an attempt to roll away, but Rhys grabbed her thigh, holding her so she could feel how uninterested in fighting her he was. 

“I’ve waited,” he murmured, lips caressing the side of her jaw as his other hand came to her throat. Rhys pinned her by her neck, fingers squeezing just enough to make her dizzy. “You’re the only woman in the galaxy I’d pretend to serve turbodogs for.”

“You think turbodogs are beneath you?” she asked. Feyre would have laughed at the realization that this brutal Sith Lord spent years on Coruscant pretending to be little more than a vendor if she hadn’t been so turned on right then. 

“I think pretending to be something I’m not was beneath me,” Rhys said, mouth touching hers. It was brief, a whispered breath before he pulled away to look, but Feyre felt it. His touch was electric, waking up a slumbering piece of her soul she hadn’t known existed at all. Rhys saw it, his smile triumphant.

“You’re mine, Jedi,” he murmured, cocking his head to the side as he arched a brow. Tell me I’m wrong, that arrogant look seemed to say. 

She couldn’t and he knew it. Rhys had known it the moment he turned up on Umbara because Feyre had been telling him so since they’d become friends. She’d told him her frustrations, her hopes, her irritations…Rhys knew it all. Could sense her even when she’d been too clouded to sense him. Maybe this dormant part of her had always recognized him.

Or maybe she merely liked the man hovering over top her, his eyes giving away his plan. Feyre met his gaze. Rhys stopped playing his games, mouth slanting over hers with a heady, desperate groan. Feyre kissed him back, tasting the sweat and heat on his tongue mingled with the left over copper from their fight. Feyre learned quite quickly that kissing him was a lot like fighting him.

He wanted to break her down until she gave in, and this was a far more effective battle in which Feyre yielded too much too soon.

After all, it was her leg he had hitched around his waist. She could have pretended he was driving the whole thing but Feyre was rubbing against him like a cat. It felt good, his hand around her throat, his cock between her legs, his tongue in her mouth. Worse, even, were her hands slipping from where he’d pinned them over her head, stuck thanks to the heaviness of his body laid across her own. Distracted by the kissing, Rhys didn’t notice until Feyre had them against his chest, not to shove, but to run them down the smooth material of his tunic. Rhys sighed, his thumb pressing against the hollow of her throat for only a moment.

Feyre gasped, arching her neck for a deeper breath. Rhys pounced, kissing her deeper, more fervently. She’d done exactly what he’d wanted, opening entirely so he could 

“You really didn’t know it was me?” he breathed, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Not even deep down?”

Feyre fisted her fingers at the nape of his neck, wanting him to just shut up, even for one second. No, she thought to herself as their teeth collided in a frenzy of need, the darkside clouds everything. 

But she’d been clouded by her own anger, her frustrations with Tamlin and the lack of movement in her career. Feyre wouldn’t have noticed Rhys was sith if he’d worn a badge printed to the front of his chest declaring him such. Surely he knew it.

“I need you. Right now,” Rhys breathed, his mouth sliding from her lips to kiss a path down her jaw. His teeth caught on her earlobe, tugging just a little rougher than she thought he meant to, though Feyre enjoyed it. The hand on her thigh moved toward her bare stomach, teasing the thin material as he pushed it higher and higher.

“I don’t—I’ve never—”

“I’ll talk you through it,” he promised, taking his other hand off her throat as he slid himself down the length of her body to settle on the floor between her legs. “I’m going to lick your pussy now.”

Feyre blinked, her mind frustratingly blank. Rhys took advantage, removing the pants he’d provided for her with ease to toss them over his broad shoulders like they were nothing.

“Peace is a lie, Feyre,” he murmured, once she was bared before him. Callused fingers slid up her thighs, parting them wider and wider until she was spread obscenely. 

“No peace,” Rhys repeated, his gaze burning as it raked over her half naked form. “Only passion.”

Rhys did exactly as he promised, licking up the center of her body while holding her gaze. It felt like there was some kind of magic there, something hypnotic that kept Feyre from looking away. Maybe it was simply her need for control that kept her eyes pinned on him. Whatever it was, Feyre panted as she watched, her arousal burning through the last remaining defenses she had.

No peace—only passion. 

Peace had always been hard, even with hours of mediation. Feyre understood passion well, though—she’d been battling it her entire life. Swallow her anger, swallow her frustration—swallow everything in an effort to find some higher purpose. She’d failed over and over.

Maybe a better teacher could have shown her a clearer path.

Maybe she’d always been destined to fall. 

Feyre arched her hips as Rhys drew her closer, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to tease his tongue over her clit. Over and over, in rhythmic circles, until she felt like she might die. Feyre was too hot, the desire burning through her from the inside out.

Rhys moaned against her skin, fingers spreading her wider before teasing her sensitive opening. Inch by agonizing inch he went, pushing that finger further and further until Feyre was whimpering, hips rolling against his hand and mouth looking for relief. Rhys only chuckled. 

“Needy,” he taunted, his voice strained. “What will you look like impaled on my cock?”

“Please,” Feyre replied, though she wasn’t sure if she was asking him to return to licking or shutting up. “Rhys, please.”

He lowered his face again, eyes rolling back into his skull before he resumed his attention on her swollen clit. Feyre barely noticed the way he worked that second finger into her body until he pulled away again, swearing softly about the tightness of her body. She was so close to finishing and desperate for it. 

He knew it. Rhys began pumping his fingers in and out of her body rougher, his mouth sped up until Feyre’s head hit the mattress, staring upward at the dark ceiling. “Rhys,” she pleaded. Her body was on fire, electric and aching. Her arousal wound its way up her spine, settling at the back of her throat and in her lower belly. He sucked, fingers curling so they found some secret spot only she’d ever known about and Feyre was undone. She screamed without meaning to, half plea, half prayer—the only word that escaped his name. Rhys didn’t stop until Feyre whimpered, boneless and exhausted on the bed.

“You’re not done yet,” Rhys said, rising up to his full height. Feyre could only watch as he peeled off his clothes, head cocked like a predator once more. “I won’t rest until I’ve had all of you.”

“And then what?”

“Then you’re mine,” he breathed, fingers unclasping the button on his pants. He’d already removed his top, revealing a toned body worthy of the arms she’d seen during their fight and more muscles than she’d known one person could reasonably have. The tattoos were on full display, unbroken by clothing though still just as indecipherable. She started to ask him what they meant, but Rhys’s pants fell to the floor, revealing the thick, hard length of him and Feyre forgot about everything else.

“You can’t put that in my body,” she whispered as he crawled toward her, the muscles of his back shifting with each graceful movement.

“I can,” he murmured, lowering himself over her flushed body for a kiss, “and I will.”

Feyre let him, forgetting for a moment what was going to happen. He tasted sweet after having his tongue in her body and his hands managed to take her top off before Feyre registered how he did it.

“You’re remarkably unobservant,” Rhys breathed, shifting his hips so the tip of his cock brushed against her wetness. “We’ll work on that.” Rhys slid himself inside her just an inch, though it was enough to draw a gasp from Feyre, fingers digging into his biceps.

“Breathe,” he ordered, eyes searching her face. “You’re doing so well, Feyre, darling.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted, pushing deeper. “You will.”

Even if she’d wanted to escape him, it was too late. Rhys made good on his threat from earlier, slipping deeper and deeper into her body until Feyre was certain she couldn’t take it. But he’d been right—by the time he bottomed out, she’d begun to adjust to the stretch it required to accommodate him, her discomfort turning to pleasure. 

“Look at you,” Rhys breathed, the tendons in his neck strained from keeping himself still inside her. “You take my cock so well.”

Rhys pulled out and thrust back in with the same brutality she’d come to associate with him. Feyre gasped, not out of pain, but desire. It felt good to be treated like she could handle something rough. Like she wasn’t fragile—like she was strong. 

Rhys kissed her again and she realized she was practically screaming her thoughts at him through the force. “You’re mine, and I’m yours,” Rhys breathed, nose nuzzling her own. “Those are our own tenants, the only code we live by now.”

Feyre met him thrust for thrust, kissing him rather than answering. She could feel the cold of the dark sliding through her, washing out the light that had once existed. With each new slide of Rhys’s cock, Feyre fell further and further into shadow. 

Where she belonged. 

“Take it,” Rhys moaned into her neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin. “Take all of it.”

As if she had a choice. Rhys gripped her hips, pulling her into him harder and faster, until all Feyre knew was the taste of the salt on his skin and the sound of his breathing in her ear. His hand found her throat again, pinning her beneath him as Rhys thrust over and over. His fingers squeezed just enough to leave her breathless without hurting her.

Feyre came again, surprised by the intensity of her orgasm. Her teeth sank into his shoulder to suppress the urge to scream again as Rhys moaned her name, whining ever so softly before slamming himself entirely into her body so he, too, could release himself.

He collapsed a moment later, face nuzzled into her neck. Sweat slicked down his back and over his forehead, making his golden skin glistening beneath the lights.

Rhys rolled over a few moments later, one powerful arm thrown over his eyes.

Feyre sat up, ignoring that she could feel the proof of his desire sliding out of her body. “What do these mean?”

Rhys glanced down at his tattoos inked over the top of his chest, arms, and shoulders. “Luck in battle,” he murmured, tracing one of the swirling lines with his finger. “According to the customs of my people.”

There was no point in asking if they worked. So instead, Feyre held his gaze as she said, “He locked me inside.”

Rhys leaned up on his elbows, hair half falling in his eyes. “I know. I know. Never again, Feyre. Never. Again.”

There was rage in his words—a promise that they would make themselves strong no matter the cost. Feyre wanted that. She wanted to be untouchable. Not a pet, not the delicate woman some man loved, but fierce. Strong.

Feared.

“Never again,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his as he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

“Sleep, first,” Rhys murmured, opening his arm in invitation. “Then we train.”

“And then?”

Rhys offered her a sleepy smile as Feyre pressed her head to his chest. “Revenge.”

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 ⎹ 𝓜., 𝓖.𝓢., 𝓒., 𝓗.𝓢.

❝ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ⤻ jujutsu kaisen / kinktober 2022 / @dollsanime-library

❝ ��ᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ⤻ mahito, geto, haruta, choso [ but mostly geto & mahito ] x captive!human!reader ( f! )

❝ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⤻ nsfw! none of my writings are meant for anyone under the age of 18, and any minors interacting will be blocked on site.

❝ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ⤻ this is a dark fic, please don’t read if any of the warnings are potentially triggering for you! kidnapping, recollections of violence and current violence against reader, noncon, group sex, cum marking, impact kink, free use kink, facefucking, degradation and threats, forced breeding mention, overstimulation, double PinV, all that good stuff.

❝ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⤻ 4.2k / one shot

❝ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ⤻ i do not consent to having my work reposted / translated / stolen in any capacity for any reason. please reblog and leave a comment to support content creators! my work is very rarely proof read so mistakes may be present. all characters / pairings i write for are 18+ with no exceptions.

you’d severely underestimated Mahito’s cruelty.

no, you knew just how wicked he was. but you’d thought that you were special. he could never hurt you, that’s what you told yourself every time you would lay awake in his arms after you’d been an audience to his cruelty. you were his little plaything, he’d said so himself. that meant he considered you fun enough to keep around and play with, which — at first— was enough for you.

until you realized just how deep you were, and suddenly you were drowning in his wickedness, sucked to the bottom of a dark, cold abyss. all you wanted was to be able to breathe, to find the surface again, so you sought out the only ones you thought were capable of protecting you.

those Jujutsu Sorcerers he and Geto talked about; they almost seemed wary of them. especially one. Gojo Satoru. you’d managed to run away, and track him down, beg for protection, which he and another, Nanami if you remembered correctly, had promised you.

but you were so stupid to ever believe that there would be a place in this dimension or any other that Mahito couldn’t find you, and once he’d dragged you back to these stinking sewers, kicking and screaming by your hair, he’d told you so.

now, his words echoed in your otherwise blank mind, bouncing off each corner. it was easier to focus on remembering his voice, than to listen to the sound of your body being violated over and over, relentlessly, by those recruited by the curse. your sex squelching as you’re forced to take Choso’s size, again. you knew it was him, because he liked to grip your hips and dig his thumbs into your lower belly until you feel like they’re going to push right through you. pressing you inward so he can feel himself bulging against you on the other side. you could feel just how snug the fit was, you can only imagine the view— the shape of his cock poking out from your belly; you were thankful for the cum and tear soaked blindfold that kept you from being forced to watch the sordid display. and Choso liked to rut deep, battering your cervix until you were crying. this time, however, you could only gurgle and whimper, mouth full of cock, too. Haruta’s, to be exact.

it wasn’t just his breathless moaning that gave it away, whining like he’s never been touched in his life, but also the way he would pull his length free, allow you a moment to breathe and drizzle more cum and spit on to your cheeks, and slap them and your lips with his member, giggling when you purse your lips and try to turn your head. but your head was hanging over the edge of the concrete, so there was nowhere for you to escape to, especially when Haruta was planted in the water that you could hear running just below your dangling head. “Wanna see the shape of my cock imprinted on your messy, pretty face.” Haruta croons, grasping a handful of your damp hair at the root and holding you tight in place. “I’ll leave bruises of it if I want to.” he says, and you could practically hear the grin he must’ve worn. “I can do whatever I want to you, you know? Carve you up, break your bones, leave my name in burn marks over your skin. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You’re completely helpless, aren’t you?” he punctuates the question with a harsh slap to your face, this time with his palm. “Go on, say it!” he urges with boyish delight, “Tell me that you’re a helpless, dirty whore and I can rape you how I want.”

you didn’t want to— the very words threatening to elicit a gag, but you knew he’d hurt you again if you didn’t. “I—I’m a helpless,” you choked on the words, broken each time Choso bottoms out inside you, “helpless dirty whore… and y—you can rape me however y—you want to—“ whilst you struggle to form the words, Haruta places his length over your lips and rubs it between them, slurring the words, and he moans again.

“Mm… Nowhere to run to… no one to help you… you just have to lay here and take whatever we want to give. Fuck, it gets me even harder knowing you hate this.” maybe he could see you clenching your teeth, or the way your brows were knit together, “I want to hurt you even more now!”

but Choso was deep in your guts, squeezing your belly, and grunting under his breath. the stretch was unbelievable the first couple of times he took you, but now your body yields to his size, back arching, and arms and legs trying to flail. if only they weren’t both bound with thick, tight bandage. calves to thighs, and forearms to biceps, leaving your hands and feet helplessly exposed to twitch.

“Not— not inside again—“ you croak, clenching the throbbing tool nestled in your body. he was close, but you were already so full of cum that when he pulled out there was sure to be plenty to ooze on to the concrete under you. you didn’t know if you could handle another load. “P—please—“

Haruta laughs again, pulling your hair to angle your head up towards the man fucking you, though you were thankful you couldn’t see him. your mouth was slack, sore, and hopeless moans slipped from it each time he pounded himself home. “Aw, Choso, she doesn’t want you to cum inside her again! Poor little whore must be so full! Let’s see!” his free hand rubs your lower belly, pushing down until you’re squirming— the remnants of your past assaults gushing from between your thighs and soaking Choso’s groin. your face is on fire with humiliation. “Why don’t you beg him real cute-like, and maybe he’ll be nice enough to paint your tits, instead?”

you knew Haruta was going to get off on your begging, but you clench your fists, and bite your lip in hopes to stifle your humiliating sounds. “P—please, Choso! Please c—cum on my tits, instead! I don’t… I don’t think I can take anym—“

but one hand abandons the grip on your hip to clamp over your mouth, his voice more akin to an animal’s snarl. “Stop talking.” he’s grinding his teeth, you can hear it in his voice, and Haruta has settled for sliding his cock, still slippery with your spit, into your fist. muffled, you try again to beg, but he’s already burying himself as deep as he can go. “Do you think I’ll show you mercy? That all you need is a couple of pretty words and I won’t take you how I want?” you shake your head, eyelids fluttering behind the sticky blindfold. you groan in defeat when you feel him release inside, the warmth spreading. and he leans closer, until his breath is against your cheek. you flinch, but can go nowhere while Haruta grips your roots. “I’ll breed you over and over, however many times I please. And if you ever,” the word is punctuated by a deep pump, coaxing a squeak of submission into his palm, “speak out of turn again, I will make sure that Mahito stands aside and watches you birth a litter of my curses.” weakened, you nod submissively, and after a moment he withdraws his hand. when he pulls his manhood from your tremor-wracked body, you suck in a breath through your teeth; you can hear the cum that won’t physically fit inside you anymore splatter on the ground underneath you.

“He’s wicked, isn’t he?” Haruta hums, fucking your clenched fist at a fervent pace, “but don’t you worry— I’m not. You asked for cum on your tits, didn’t you?” you want to protest, but you don’t have the strength left to, and when Haruta releases your hair, your head hangs over the edge again, your body limp and shaking. his hand glides down to grasp a handful of your breast, squeezing tight, “I’m gonna paint them so pretty for you.” his thumb and forefinger pinch and pull your nipple until you’re crying out, back forced off the ground, pain bringing tears to your eyes, and he moans, finding more pleasure in seeing you distressed than from your hand. “Come on, cry some more,” he coaxes, alternating between tugging and slapping, leaving your skin stinging, “I’m almost there…”

twin footprints approach, and you recognize Mahito’s voice. “How’s my brave girl doing?”

you whine, trying to reach for the sound, temporarily and willingly forgetting that he’s the one that put you in this position in the first place— convinced that he would stop the torture now that you’d learned your lesson. “Mahito!” your free hand clenches and unclenches desperately, “H—help!”

“Help?” he asks, mocking sympathy as his footsteps echo around you, coming closer, before he squats down beside you, and you feel the gentle dance of his lithe fingertips over your thigh. he grips one in his massive fist and drags you closer, grinding your back into the stone floor and elevating your head on to it again. at least there was that— you wouldn’t be lightheaded from being upside down anymore. “Oh, you precious little thing. Why would I put a stop to this when it’s so much fun to watch?” he coos at your puzzled whimper, running the digit pad over droplets of sweat, smearing them into the grime of the ground that clung to your skin. you were sore everywhere, plenty of swollen bruises and cuts donning your flesh, and he didn’t even try to avoid them. “Didn’t I ever tell you? I hate traitors.” he sighs, allowing you to squirm. he doesn’t even seem to mind Haruta’s high pitched whimpering as he smears the tip of his cock over your abused breasts, glazing them with his release. “But, of course, I didn’t want to kill you for betraying me; I’m much too fond of you for that. I want to believe that you will see the error of your selfish ways through just a little bit of punishment—“

“Please!” you break in, crying for him, “I—I am so sorry, Mahito! I won’t do it again— I swear I’ll be good— I’ll never try to run away again!” you were writhing, trying to push yourself off the ground towards him, “No more, please… I can’t… no more…”

Mahito giggles, his hand careening between your legs and you yelp, frantically shaking your head and babbling the same, protesting pleas. your whole lower half was sore and throbbing, used to your limit and then some, but his large, svelte fingers trace the shape of your swollen clit, “Look at this poor, little cunt, Geto.” he purrs, trailing downward, teasing your folds. the entrance pulsates in opposition of yet another entry. “She’s so sensitive, look at her shake, I’ve hardly even touched her.”

Geto whistles in admiration, and even though you’re blindfolded, you imagine him standing over you, head tilted and sharp eyes focused between your legs. waves of heated humiliation wash over you relentlessly. “She’s had to take so much cock since she came back to us,” Geto murmurs, and you can tell by the way his voice traveled closer that he was squatting down, too. “I wonder if she even knows the difference anymore? Or if she’s been fucked so braindead that she no longer cares who it is, as long as someone’s plugging her up.” a palm, Geto’s you assume, pets your head, pushing your damp hair back, only to curl into a tight fist and lock the tendrils in a harsh vice.

“Is that true?” Mahito taunts, pushing his fingers inside you. the sensation is electric, and your head rolls against the concrete, whining. your thighs twitch, desperate to close and and push him out, but they can’t and he’s already knuckle deep with two fingers spreading you open. “Would you even remember what my cock feels like? Or did we let the others fuck the sense out of that pretty head of yours?”

“M—Mahito, please…” you mewl, lower lip quivering. the feeling was already overwhelming, and you were going to cry again. but he didn’t care, his digits probe deep, a third joining the first two to force your stretch even further, “Please… I see… the error of my ways…! Please, please, please… stop… it’s too much… I’m so—sorry—“

Geto hums, thoughtful, his fingers gripping the blindfold to snatch it from your face. “You don’t yet. But you will.” you squint, even in the dimness of the sewer, it was unbearably bright and blinding, and it takes you several seconds to blink the dizziness away, before you see Geto leaning over you, staring down at your writhing form. he’s smirking, but it’s partially a grimace, as if he’s disgusted and aroused at the same time. feeling unworthy to meet his eyes, you avert your own, to catch a glimpse of Choso and Haruta in the corner. both are stroking themselves. Choso strokes slow, eyeing your every move with a furrowed brow and a tight-lipped frown, but Haruta is pumping himself quick, moaning again, licking his lips. they were forcing themselves hard again. to fuck you again. your stomach turns. you suddenly wish he’d let you keep the blindfold on.

your eyelids flutter, looking down your torso to Mahito, who was thrusting those fingers into you at an inhuman pace, and you couldn’t help but squeal his name, mouth hanging open. he catches your eyes and grins, wickedly, yanking his fingers free and smearing the cocktail of essences left there over your belly. “I wonder how much more it would take to open you up.” he croons, mostly to himself, and you shake your head, but he’s not paying attention, discarding his own clothes while you quiver on the floor, splayed and vulnerable.

“N—no more…”

Mahito grins, wrapping a fist around himself. he was already solid, so you knew he’d been watching for a while, possibly even stroking his cock to the sound of your begging for mercy, and the thought made you want to throw up. had this always been in the back of his mind? ever since that first night he took you in, had Mahito thought about forcing you to take him and all of his comrades? and had your betrayal simply given him a reason to do so? “No more? You sure?” Mahito asks, and you nod, desperate for a break, before he cocks his head to one side, and in one, smooth motion, he rips your arms free from the bandaging. you hadn’t noticed his fingertip was blade shaped until you feel it nick the flesh of your bicep, and a trickle of blood races towards your armpit. he does the same with your legs, and you slump, free but too weak to move, on the gritty concrete. “You’d better try to get away, then.”

what?

you wince, peering up at him perplexed, but he’s wearing that damned, wicked smile. “Go on.” you bite down on your lower lip, heart racing. you didn’t know whether or not to do what he says, so you decide you’re better off trying. forcing your body to flounder, you manage to roll on to your stomach, and take a moment to try and plant your palms on the floor, pushing yourself up on to all fours. “Go on!” he repeats, too joyful for your liking, and uses the sole of his bare foot with a forceful kick to your bum to push you forward. with a pathetic yip, your arms give out, and your chin hits the concrete hard when you fall forward. the muscles in your arms refuse to cooperate. “Scream for your Jujutsu Sorcerers to come and save you! Come on!” another kick, and you whine, using your forearms braced against the ground instead to try and pull yourself away, towards what you knew to be the way out. it was a slow crawl, one that had him and Geto and Haruta all laughing at, but you were trying.

“H… Help…” you mumble, inching closer.

“If we can’t hear you, I promise you they can’t, either.” Geto said, now standing a few feet in front of you. “Scream.”

“Help!” you croak, pulling yourself closer. your legs weren’t even bending at this point, and you could feel the mess leaking out of you as you drag yourself along the floor; you were utterly humiliated and exhausted. “Please! Help me!”

Mahito’s laugh echoes just behind your hopeless plea, and then you felt his hands on you, reaching for you. you careen when he grabs your hair at the scalp to lessen the pain, leaning towards him, and he hauls you to your feet, though your knees are buckling before you’re even partially planted, and you’re collapsing forward into his chest, both your hands trying to grasp at his hair and his arms to keep you up. “They’re not coming for you, are they?” he asks, dual tone eyes heavily shadowed by thick lashes. you shake your head, defeated, and one of his hands slip under your thigh, pulling it up, and then the other, lifting you off your feet and spreading you open to him. “No one is coming to help you, baby. You just don’t matter enough.”

“P— please…” you whine again, but he wasn’t listening. “I’ll be good… I promise I will… just let me rest—“ you cry out when Mahito perches you atop his cock. just the prodding alone is enough to send your overstimulated nerves into a frenzy, but he was none too gentle in pushing you down, impaling you all at once. your walls clench, a feeble attempt to push him out, and then spasm when he stretches them open further.

he tightens his grip on your shaking thighs to keep you from kicking, if you could muster the strength, and releases a breath he must’ve been holding, and it morphs into a moan. “Mm, so this pussy does remember me after all,” he croons, and he’s already bouncing you up and down. your stomach churns, your nails dig into his shoulders, fierce enough to collect crimson under them as you bring blood to the surface, but he doesn’t care. if anything, it adds to the eroticism for him, and his fingers dig into the bruised, supple flesh of your sticky thighs. the feeling of being full again, his rigid girth barreling through you, is all but overwhelming. he doesn’t fuck you like he used to— it’s not fun and exciting, it’s cruel and rough. he’s making a point to hurt you on purpose for betraying him, and using his cock to drive his punishment home into your belly over and over again. he’s deeper than you thought was possible, and his ferocity and speed is inhuman. the head of his cock pokes against your belly from inside, battering those already abused nerves.

you can’t even begin to try and hold your pleas back, babbling for him to just please stop before he kills you.

“Such a dramatic, little cunt you are.” Geto comments, and you can hear the swish of his garments behind you. was he undressing, too? you try to look over your shoulder, but his palm smacks into the back of your head and forces it forward, burying it in Mahito’s heaving chest. “And bold.” you’re smothered against firm, muscle pads, and you pant, open mouthed, and taste Mahito’s sweat on your lips, begging for his forgiveness in a string of breathless apologies. “I never once gave you permission to look at me.”

Mahito snickers, spreading your legs wider, pushing your knees up towards your ribs until they won’t bend further and you mewl— too much more pressure and he’d snap a bone. “The rougher I am, the tighter she gets!” he exclaims, “She’s like a little, fucking vice.”

“That’s no good, then,” Geto hums, and you feel his rippled torso against your back— you hold your breath, expecting him to take your ass. “It sounds like we’ll just have to stretch her out a bit more.” smearing then swollen head of his cock over your ass, he teases the hole for a moment, before careening lower to stuff himself into your core, urging for Mahito to share.

you squeak in protest, both arms flailing behind you to push him back. “That’s— too—!!”

“That’s too what?” Mahito grins, baring his teeth as he plows ahead, “Don’t tell me that’s too much cock for you, baby. You must feel like you’re going to tear in half!” he sounds all too elated at the thought alone.

but he seizes both by your wrists and draws them back, squeezing tight, “These bones of yours are mighty frail,” he hisses in your ear, bucking his hips to nest deep inside, “and if you try to push me out again I’ll crush them.” squeezing his fists, you can feel your wrists yielding, the bones on the edge of fracture. you can't even clench your fists, but instead let your hands go limp, whining in submission. “That’s better.” keeping your arms pulled back, Geto rocks into a rhythm almost as cruel as Mahito. locked between the two, you can do nothing but slump forward against Mahito’s chest and try to take it.

before long, whatever strength you had left was quite literally fucked out, and you were nothing but a rag doll for them to play with.

the sensation of both of them filling you at the same time, fucking at different paces, and their cocks rubbing against each other inside you was too much for your already exhausted psyche to handle, so even when Haruta and Choso blocked in both sides, taking advantage of how low Geto was holding your arms, you couldn’t even look up. your cheek smushed against Mahito’s chest, your eyes glazed over.

“Look at her!” Haruta chimes, wrapping your fingers around his manhood and pumping quick, “She snapped so easily!”

Geto was stifling a moan by grinding his teeth, but you could feel him throbbing against your sensitive walls, each and every vein that ground into them had your head spinning. he liked it.

Choso was fucking your other hand, but his free one grabbed your face and pulled it towards him, and you’re too limp to fight it, eyelids fluttering as he glares down at your dazed countenance. you couldn’t focus on his face, your hazy eyes kept threatening to roll back, and a string of incoherent whimpering falls from your swollen lips. “It didn’t take long to turn this one into a mindless cocksleeve. It’s almost impressive.”

Mahito chortles, though it’s strained as he works his jaw, fucking so recklessly that his own climax must’ve been working him over. “All the potential has been there since, ah, the very beginning.” he boasted, before looking at you, “Little whore was always more than eager to spread her legs when I snapped my fingers. Isn’t that right?” if he expected a response, you couldn’t give him one that wasn’t a helpless moan as you’re juggled between the four, cruel men. “Now, she’ll do the same for all of you, too.”

Geto smirks at this, and releases one of your wrists to wrap his fist around your neck instead, marveling at the way you immediately beg him not to, and leans in close to your ear, “Hear that, rapetoy?” his breath is heavy and hot against the shell of your ear, but you don’t have the strength to shy away from him, nor could you with Choso’s thumb and forefinger hollowing your cheeks. “You’re nothing more than a set of holes for us to fuck when we want. One at a time or all at once, you’re going to do whatever we want you to and you’re going to thank us for the opportunity to serve us, so long as you want to keep breathing.” nuzzling into your hair, he presses a kiss to your lobe that you swore oozed acid, “Let’s see just how long it takes to destroy you completely.”

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

lesson (still not) learned

part one: lesson (not) learned *** read note below wc: 2k reader: afab (i don't think i used any pronouns so i don't think its femme? just warning you just in case!!) warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT MINORS DNI!!! (detailed warnings below cut) summary: hao convinces poly!reader to help him tie up dom!hanbin when he least expects it SO. this is PART TWO to lesson (not) learned. *** it got c*mm*n*ty l*b*led (lmao i don't want them to find this one) so PLEASE if you wanna go read that one just turn off/enable your l*b*ls on your account to read it. you can always change them back lol. i might repost a version with warnings under the cut since i was stupid and forgot to. oh well. also does this need a part 3 where hao and hanbin get their revenge?? lemme know. anyway i love this one ENJOY!!

SMUT UNDER CUT MINORS DNI!! you have been warned 🚨

warnings: established poly relationship, oral m!receiving, brief mxm (oral), handjob, pussyjob, p in v intercourse— riding, orgasm denial, hanbin and hao’s wrists are tied to the bed, brattysubbyswitch!hao that attempts to dom, switch!reader that doms towards the end, dom-leaningswitch!hanbin that “subs” for most, pet names (baby, angel, honey), they talk in the third person a lot bc they’re all horny messes, obviously swearing, this is not dubcon-- hanbin loves it he just has to keep up his dom persona… also unprotected sex (be smart, stay safe or whatever). i think that should cover it?

~

“i’d double-knot that if i were you, angel,” hanbin suggests; a broad, cocky smile now gracing his lips. you reluctantly obey— knowing he’s right. how hao had talked you into tricking hanbin, you had no idea.

sure, the idea of tying up hanbin and using him however you liked was incredibly intriguing, but you knew the punishment for it would be more intense than you’d yet to experienced it was both terrifying and thrilling. 

plus hao promised to do your laundry for a month if you helped him. so now, here you are— the element of surprise the only way you managed to secure both of hanbin’s wrists to slats in the headboard of the bed with two silk ties. you tuck the extra one you’d brought in case of an emergency under hanbin’s pillow, safely out of his reach.

“no talking,” hao barks, starting to unbutton hanbin’s jeans and pull down the zipper. you can tell that hao is doing his best to imitate how hanbin usually talks to the both if you. it’s cuter than he intended and, from the chuckle that escapes hanbin, you can tell he thinks the same.

“and no laughing,” you add, crawling over to help hao tug hanbin’s jeans down past his hips. “if binnie makes a sound, he’ll have to be punished.”

“yeah? and what will be binnie’s punishment?” hanbin asks curiously; smiling softly at you. 

“he’ll find out soon,” hao answers, shimmying hanbin’s jeans and underwear down his legs and discarding them carelessly on the floor, “since he just earned one.”

“ooooh,” hanbin mocks, eyebrows raised in a challenge. though he’s pretending to be annoyed by this stunt, his cock is already hard. “i’m very scared, hyungie.”

“and another,” hao replies before spitting in his hands and wrapping them around the base of hanbin’s length— starting to gently wring them as he takes the tip into his mouth.

hanbin doesn’t react at first, but the farther hao shoves his cock down his throat, the harder it is for him to continue maintaining his composure. once hao starts sucking, the older boy taps hanbin’s hips quickly to signal you to come help him hold them down. 

“don’t play with him though,” hao warns as he comes up for air. “binnie’s mine right now.”

you roll your eyes as you crawl back over, placing a hand over hanbin’s lower abdomen to keep him still for hao. the younger boy’s face is screwed up in pleasure— a rogue moan escaping him every now and then despite his best efforts to keep quiet. 

it’s not long before the sight has you rubbing your thighs together— the need for friction getting the better of you. hanbin eyes you tentatively, gazing at your core as you feel yourself starting to grind into the sheets.

it’s only another minute before hanbin is cursing— warning hao that he’s about to cum. “g’nna cum, don’t stop! g’nna— NO, NO FUCK!”

hanbin lets out a frustrated cry as hao removes his length from his mouth. hao kisses each of hanbin’s thighs, laughing meanly, “should’ve kept your mouth shut, huh, binnie?”

a particular grind of your pussy against the mattress causes you to moan and hao’s eyes dart to you. his attention falls to your core— practically sticking to the mattress from all of the juice pouring out of it. 

“did you like that, baby?” hao asks, lips parting as he continues to stare at your heat. “grinding your little pussy watching us?”

you bite your lip, nodding shyly as hanbin continues to seethe.

“well are you gonna keep it all to yourself or are you gonna share with the rest of us?” hao asks, prompting you to take your index and middle finger and swipe at your slick— starting to hold it out to hanbin.

“ah-ah,” hao shakes his head. “i taste first today, remember?”

you blink back at him, bringing your fingers up to hao’s lips. he takes them in his mouth; sucking them as he lets out a throaty moan. when he releases them, he licks his lips— praising, “taste so good, baby. now give hanbinnie a bite.”

you bring your fingers back to your core, coating them again and extending them to a slightly calmer hanbin. he doesn’t take them in his mouth, but he does lick them clean. “thank you, angel,” he says softly, clearly trying to get on your good side.

“my turn now?” you ask, turning to hao.

“i guess,” the older boy huffs reluctantly as you switch positions; throwing a leg around hanbin’s lap to straddle him. “gonna ride binnie?”

“i don’t think my angel is ready to take m—,” hanbin starts to tease when you hold his cock to your entrance, but as you sink down onto him, his sentence is cut short. “oh, fuuuck.”

letting yourself adjust to his size, you slowly start to bounce up and down— finding a good rhythm as hanbin’s eyes roll back at the feeling of your tight walls around him. hao strokes his cock as he watches the scene— tough guy act thrown out the window within minutes as you continue to ride hanbin.

“perfect,” hanbin pants, a light glisten of sweat starting to form on his skin. he’s getting close again as he’s already riled up from his first orgasm denial and you moan at his praise. “pussy s'perfect.”

“fuck, i wanna see binnie cum,” hao whines from beside you; his pumping of his cock getting sloppier. you shake your head at his infuriating need for constant attention. “baby, please— wanna watch binnie cum inside you.”

“are you kidding me!? this was all your idea,” you yell back at him. hanbin laughs under you and you squeeze your walls tightly to shut him up. he throws his head back in a strangled moan— tugging a little harder on his wrist constraints as his desire to get his hands on you grows even stronger.

“i know, but,” hao replies and a quick glance at him tells you he’s just as desperate as hanbin is for release. you should’ve figured hao would cave under the pressure. “binnie wants to cum so bad.”

you turn back to hanbin. he’s whimpering now; biting his lip hard to keep from coming undone. as his hips lazily trying to fuck up into you, you realize that hanbin must be enjoying this much more than he’s been letting on. 

“is it good, binnie?” you ask, running your hands up his chest. hanbin nods wildly; tugging against his restraints again. “does binnie wanna cum?”

hanbin nods again— pressing his lips together to keep from answering. you remember now that hao’s rule for hanbin had been not to talk. but now that you had obviously been handed the reins by your irritatingly needy partner in crime, you were suddenly excited to switch things up and play the game your own way.

you lean forward, pressing a messy kiss to hanbin’s lips. he accepts greedily; thrusting his hips harder as your tongues fight hungrily for dominance. before anyone can win, you pull back slightly. “you can trust me, binnie. i’ll let binnie cum if he tells me he wants to cum.”

hanbin searches your eyes; so overcome with desperation that he doesn’t care whether you’re telling the truth or not. “oh my god, yes— wanna cum inside you, angel.”

his cock twitches inside you and you whimper in response. reaching your left hand out now to cup hao’s jaw beside you, you run your thumb across his cheek soothingly. “does hao wanna cum, too?”

with wide eyes, hao nods— nuzzling his cheek into your touch. “please, baby!”

“come here, then,” you instruct as hao eagerly crawls towards you— positioning himself on his knees to bring his cock more level with your mouth. you wrap your hand around the shaft and bring the tip to your lips; lapping at the head as hao’s right hand caresses your cheek carefully. taking his full length in your mouth, hao gasps when he hits the back of your throat.

the sound makes you clench around hanbin, which causes the younger boy to inadvertently buck his hips up into you. you gag a bit as hanbin cries out pitifully— his abdomen shaking a bit from the pleasurable sensation. removing hao’s cock from your mouth, you continue to pump him.

“look at binnie, honey,” you say, watching as hao directs his attention to hanbin. “this is what you wanted, hmm? to see binnie all squirming and helpless like this?”

as hao reaches his hand towards hanbin’s face, hanbin quickly understands what the older boy is asking for— taking his middle and ring fingers into his mouth. a fresh flood of desire warms your core as hanbin swirls his tongue around hao’s fingers— sucking on them until hao’s jaw drops at the sight.

“mm, binnie’s so pretty sucking my fingers while you fuck him,” hao whimpers as you pick up the pace of your hand; continuing to fuck yourself on hanbin’s cock. the two boys in front of you are starting to get messy in their need to cum. “baby’s so nice to let binnie cum. w-wanna cum, too!”

“lie down, honey,” you suggest as you watch hao’s thighs start to shake— unable to stay propped on his knees as he gets closer to his high. with a mischievous look in your eyes, you continue, “hao can cum, too.”

“hyungie, i wouldn’t do that if i were— oh fuuuuck,” hanbin starts to warn, but you cut him off by milking his dick with your walls again; an absolutely pathetic moan escaping his throat. “do whatever you want, hyung— oh my god.”

hao must not hear any of what hanbin says over the throbbing of his cock, because he collapses on his back next to the younger boy almost immediately— nearly out of his mind as he looks up at you through dark, lust-filled eyes. 

“our hao doesn’t know what’s good for him, huh, angel?” hanbin whispers, smirking at you as if he thinks he’s on your team now. 

he’s not.

a hard smack to the side of his ass sends him reeling; crying out at the pain that’s followed quickly by pleasure. hanbin looks up at you; bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he mewls. smiling at him innocently, you reply, “neither does binnie.”

“touch hao’s cock!!” the older boy huffs; starting to throw a tantrum at the lack of attention on him. “been so good, just wanna cum.”

hanbin starts to laugh again, but his laugh turns to a yelp at the loss of contact as you lift up off of his length. “no, no, no, nooooo,” he whines, thrusting his hips up to try to find your entrance again but you’re already climbing off him and hooking a leg around the older boy to straddle him. 

“didn’t binnie hear? hao wants to cum,” you say to hanbin, nearly giggling at how angry and wet you’ve left his cock. you’re surprised when you see hanbin’s eyes water in frustration. he had apparently been holding it together on the outside this whole time far better than he was on the inside. “and hao’s been so good.”

hao hums; biting his lip in a sweet smile as you lower yourself down towards his crotch. grinding your warm, slick folds on hao’s shaft— both hanbin and hao moan at the contact. “s'amazing, baby. love it s’much, thank you."

taking each of hao’s hands in one of yours, you gently pin them above his head— holding both of his wrists in your left hand as you stealthily reach for the extra silk tie under the pillow that hanbin is resting on. 

“could you cum like this, honey?” you ask hao, trying your best to keep your poker face as the veins running up his shaft tease your clit while you grind against him. 

hao nods; his eyes closing from the pleasure. “please keep going, baby,” he begs as you wrap the tie around his wrists— taking advantage of his state of blissed-out state of distraction. “g’nna cum if you keep going.”

securing hao’s wrists to a slat in the headboard; you tie the second knot on the far side so its out of reach of his fingers. sitting back up straight, you continue to grind on hao’s cock; reaching over and taking hanbin’s in your hand as well.

hanbin sighs in relief, meeting your gaze. “my angel’s so smart, huh?”

you nod as your hand works the same rhythm as your core. hao hasn’t noticed the constraint on his wrists as his moaning grows even more uncontrollable. the twitching of hanbin’s cock against your palm alerts you that he, too, is dangerously close.

“fuck, g’nna cum, baby,” hao cries, only now attempting to move his arms. his brow furrows confusedly amidst the pleasure as he tugs at the silk tie holding his hands to the headboard. “what the—... mm, when did—… NO, PLEASE! BABY, PLEASE!”

just as hao is about to cum, you pull off of him and crawl back over to hanbin. he immediately begins to cry; babbling absolute nonsense in a hopeless plea to make you come back and finish him off. hanbin is concerningly silent, lips pressed together and brows knitted-- seemingly praying that he’s been nice enough to you tonight to avoid meeting the same fate as hao.

you continue to pump hanbin’s cock; speeding up the pace as he stifles his moaning.

“THIS ISN’T FUCKING FAIR!” hao wails next to hanbin—hiccupping through his tears. “this was my idea!”

“shouldn’t have pussied out so early then,” you reply with a glare, sticking your tongue out at him childishly. brushing hanbin’s bangs out of his face, you tell him sweetly, “don’t worry. binnie gets to cum.”

the younger boy’s face lights up at your words as he melts into your touch like the prettiest puppy— hao still throwing a fit to your left.

“but not yet,” you say with a wicked smile; removing your hand from around hanbin’s cock and quickly hopping off of the bed.

hanbin yelps angrily; thrashing at his wrist restraints— definitely wishing now that he hadn’t reminded you to tie a double-knot. menacingly, he growls, “get your ass back here right now.”

from the doorway, you giggle. “it’s okay— i’ll be back in a little bit! and then whoever can last the longest inside of me can go free.”

running out of the room before the boys can protest further, hanbin and hao are left lying next to each other on the bed— wrists tied up behind them to the headboard.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” hanbin huffs, kicking hao’s shin with his foot.

the older boy pouts, mumbling as the tip of his cock leaks sorrily onto his stomach: 

“takes one to know one.”

[bbyquokka]

12:04 am (hhj)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | timestamp, smut – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | vampire hyunjin, human reader, established relationship, consumption of blood (hyunjin feeds), vampire bites, cock warming. ( if i missed any, lmk! )

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 1k ~ ( 1,041 )

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 | i've been playing a lot of baldur's gate 3 (can you guess who i'm obsessed with trying to romance 👀) and ig it inspired this lil thing? idk, i wanted to write vampire stuff soooooo

♡ m.list — ♡ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

his unusually soft hands holding your hips. his sharp nails digging into the skin, threatening to break the skin and make you bleed. his pale white skin looking ethereal in the shimmering moonlight. his white, shoulder length hair that's half up, half down flowing with the gentle and cool breeze.

to a passing stranger, it simply looks like two normal humans making love under the moonlight after a date but oh no–this is much different.

his eyes shut tightly, plump lips parted as he moans your name in between the short, laboured breaths. his teeth all seem normal, human almost, aside from the two sharp fangs that threaten to pierce the skin of your neck at any moment. 

he loves you and you love him but neither of you should succumb to such feelings. humans and unnatural creatures intertwining with one is almost like a curse. but you taste so sweet and sound so sinful to him. your skin heats his cold, pale skin. your blood is so sweet, it's like drinking honey straight from a beehive. 

he rescued you. he found you in the woods one night whilst on a hunt. he smelt your blood from a mile off and rushed to the scene, hoping to feast. he didn't expect to stumble across your passed out body, bruises and cuts decorating your skin. 

you were running from something; but what exactly? a bear? a hungry wolf perhaps, either way hyunjin saved the questions for later–he had more pressing matters to worry about.

he smelt your blood but so did the other vampires in the vicinity. he doesn't know why but he scooped you up and carried you to his lair. he cared for you, nursed you back to health. when you awoke, understandably you were terrified to be face to face with a vampire.

but hyunjin felt different. he showed compassion which most vampires don't. majority of them look at humans and think ‘food!’ but hyunjin. he held no matter how tough it got for him. he let you stay with him until you had enough strength to fend for yourself but you both grew very close to one another and the thoughts hyunjin was having of feasting on you, shackled him with guilt.

he feasted on deer's, wolves and bears but his insatiable hunger burnt. it clawed its way at him, desperate to be fed what he wants the most and that's you. he's smelt your blood, he cared for you and knows what it looks like and, to him, it looks so delicious.

one day, you offered him your wrist. he's been feasting on nothing but animals for weeks, he's not getting what he needs. the hunger, the thirst; it burns. you found him on his knees in his bedroom in a cold sweat, panting. you didn't recognise him and it scared you.

his fangs on full display. hair sticking to his skin and his red eyes blown out, captivating you and shackling your feet to the floor with fear. he came crashing onto you as soon as you gave him the ok to feast on your wrist. the first time hurt and you were left weak and dizzy for days but the more you allowed him to feast on you, the more you got used to it.

“look at me.” you whisper as you cup his cheeks. his eyes slowly flutter open revealing those blood red pupils you love. “so beautiful.”

“says you. you look gorgeous underneath the moonlight. your skin is so pretty. i'm two thousand years old and i've never felt more alive.”

“s-sh.” you mumble before moaning as he thrusts into you from below. he sits up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you close to his pale chest. his body is decorated in deep scars and old battle wounds. two distinct circle scars on his own neck indicating that he once was human.

“yn, i'm hungry.” he whispers as he eyes the flesh of your neck. he can feel and hear the blood pumping through your veins. he wants it. he wants a taste.

“do you want my wrist, hyun?” 

“no. i want more.” you swallow and look at him. puppy dog eyes, those eyes you can't resist. he sticks his bottom lip out in a pout and whines softly. “please?”

“you know i can't say no when you look at me like that.” you mumble. hyunjin grins, his fangs showing. he stills his hips, allowing your warmth to pleasure him. 

you tilt your head to the side, extending your neck as hyunjin holds onto the other with his hand. his cold yet oddly hot palm setting your own skin on fire. he brushes his lips against your flesh as he inhales your sickly sweet scent that he's been addicted to since day one.

he grazes his teeth along the skin. you hold your breath as his fangs scratch the surface. he gives your neck a soft and gentle kiss before his fangs penetrate the skin.

you whimper in pain. the stinging sensation tingling up your spine and to your fingertips. the air being knocked out off your lungs as you gasp. you grip onto hyunjin as you squeeze your eyes shut. hyunjin's penis twitches inside of you as he drinks your sweet nectar. every pool of blood coats his tongue in a sweet and savoury taste making him want more.

he's addicted and it's dangerous. he could easily drink you dry. with each passing second, you feel your blood leaving your veins. your head dizzy and lightheaded, eyes fluttering shut slowly as all your strength depletes from you.

hyunjin drinks and he drinks some more. his penis twitching and orgasm threatening to hit him. he groans, his grip on you tightening. more is all he thinks about. more more more more!!!

“h-hyun jin…” you choke out. he snaps out of it, pulling from your neck quickly. he cups your cheeks gently, blood coating his lips and the tips of his fangs.

“yn?! oh fuck! yn, are you ok?!”

“fine. i'm fine.” you say with a weak chuckle. hyunjin chews his lips, watching as you reach up and wipe away the blood from his lips.

“vampires are so messy.”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 (𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍) | @bintificreads ; @oshimee ; @septicrebel ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @hyunluvxo ; @aestheticsluut ; @xcookiemonsteer ; @lilquokka04

[theharrowing]

White Lies

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: work in progress (currently 10.5k words) + images of social media posts & text conversations

🤍 college au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: 🕊 dead dove 🕊. toxic relationships (dishonesty, jealousy, yandere behavior); ACAB includes our MC, sorry you found out this way; corrupt policing. more specific warnings coming soon, pending the release of each chapter.

🤍 part 2 of the Rose-Tinted Obsessions series

🤍 this is a sequel to Boy Blue! i highly recommend that you start at the beginning to fully understand the the dynamic & history between Yoongi & Taehyung. there will be a lot of references to Boy Blue; this fic will spoil the shit out of it. this includes some major character deaths!!! this MC/reader character is not the same MC/reader character from Boy Blue.

🤍 note: all detective work and cop jargon in this fic is either made up on the spot or comes from years of watching/listening to true crime media. i have no credentials in this field and i do not claim to know what i am talking about. for the sake of simplicity & also my sanity, all dialogue that is written and spoken is going to be in English. characters are from Korea and living/working in the US, and we can fill in the gaps between what language they are speaking in which context. also, although i try to keep the mc's physical description vague, i will refer to her as having curves and having hair that can be gripped onto. length and texture will be left vague. places mentioned are completely made up. i may be using actual city and neighborhood names to make it feel real, but every school, bar, etc. is fake and any similarities they have to real places is coincidence.

🤍 also note: this fic is going to be extremely contrived and dramatic, just like its predecessor was. we are not here for award winning story telling; think of it like a trashy daytime soap opera and a gore porn horror film had a baby. obviously, i do not condone the behaviors in this story; it is a work of fiction.

🤍 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 check out the playlist!

🤍 posted nov. 2023 - present | read on ao3

INDEX

0: Introductions | 0 words + screencaps

1: Do not, under any circumstances, become emotionally attached to either of these men | 2.9k words + screencaps

— TaeGi POV 1: What the fuck is this??? | 0 words + screencaps

2: Sleep sweet, pretty | 7.4k words + screencaps

UPDATES ARE CURRENTLY PAUSED!!!

i have been struggling with mental health stuff, grief stuff, and writer's block, and so i am going to lessen how many fics i juggle at once. hopefully it won't be on hiatus for too long. 💜

tag list: @aidam9911 @andrea613 @bangtan-tee-86 @ffion451 @fluffybuns69 @here4kpopfics @icedtaericano @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kiki-zb @lovemeforeternity @mgthecat @moonleeai @mother2monsters @neoneunnajimin @oceansmerchild @unsureofwhathappens 🤍 by asking to join this tag list, you are agreeing that you are at least 18 or older and that you are comfortable engaging in dead dove content. please tell me at any time if you would like to be removed and i will be happy to pull you off.

White Lies copyright 2021-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. No translations or reposts are allowed!

[and-knowing-is-half-the-battle]

Stay

Brahms Heelshire x fem!reader

Length: 1.6k

18+ only, mature content. Do not copy/repost

Warnings: dub con/non con, chasing, groping, overstimulation, biting, begging, kissing, restraining, squirting, cum eating, “loss” of virginity, p in v sex, creampie. Some possessiveness. No use of y/n.

Don’t ask how I got sucked into this fandom. I’m just a horny person, ya’ll. 

https://64.media.tumblr.com/faac1d2f5c6624be26e901cef4a2bf17/ca6020ad9b558133-36/s540x810/5fe05f4cc71b2536455f8857bdf4634701d25e31.gifv

Gif courtesy of: hereticstations (if it will load, dammit)

@hereticstations

"Get back here!"

His growl reverberated off the walls of the narrow passage as you scrambled to the small hatch that stood between you and safety. The seconds dragged as you pawed at the latch and dug your shoulder into the warped wood, knowing he was approaching.

You sobbed in relief when it finally popped open, the cool air swirling around your face and filling your lungs in contrast to the dusty, close air you crawled out of.

You were halfway out when his large hand closed around your ankle.

He pulled you back inside, your resistance no match for his seemingly superhuman strength. He tugged you securely under him, his form hovering over yours as you trembled. You watched the expressionless porcelain over his face, trying to read the shadows of his eyes. You saw him drink you in, his gaze registering your disheveled state. Your skirt had ridden up, a peek of underwear visible at your hip. The strap of your dress hung off your shoulder as your chest heaved from the scuffle. And your sweater had tangled up behind you, restricting your arms.

You were begging him before he opened his mouth.

"If I make you feel good, you will stay." He breathed, ignoring your pleas. He lowered himself onto you, using one hand to steady himself and leaving the other free to roam your body. You tried to wriggle away, but his heavy form pinned you just enough to prevent escape. His warm hand traveled gently up your bare thigh, slipping beneath your dress to slowly slide up your side and pause just below your breast. His eyes never left your face. You could feel them boring into you even as you turned away, your own screwed shut. As the tips of his fingers grazed over your bra, you became aware of his hardness against your leg, your struggling only resulting in stimulating him further. You clearly heard his breathing hitch, the sound amplified against the inside of his mask. 

The feeling of your soft skin against his at last made him drunk. He was torn between the need to savor every inch of you and the desire to tear into you. To take you apart the way you had done to him without a single touch. 

A moment of ferocity took hold of him as he turned you over effortlessly, tearing your clothes off you layer by layer. He found your soft cries of refusal strangely exhilarating. There was so much he had been denied over the years, and it was time for him to experience something fully. No more meager substitutions, no more partial glimpses between wooden slats, no more walls between him and what he wanted. 

You were but a doll in his grip as he manhandled you back over and rose up to his knees to get his first full look at you. He loomed, his broad chest expanding further with each heavy breath. You waited, breathless and frozen as he deliberately discarded his cardigan and shrugged his suspenders from his shoulders before bearing down on you again. Your brain jolted into action and you pushed against his chest, your efforts not slowing him in the slightest. 

His hands found your breasts first, a gentle grip as his thumbs brushed against your nipples, which peaked in response. He leaned forward, his gaze glued to your lips as you whimpered. 

“No, please, Brahms,” Your skin soon became sensitive to his touch and your hips jerked reflexively. He gripped your arms and pulled you up into his embrace, guiding your legs to straddle him. One of his large hands splayed against your back, effectively holding you in place as he continued to explore you. The nose of his mask trailed down the column of your neck as his other hand clutched your ass and he groaned deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest. He hesitated briefly before lifting his mask just enough to free his mouth. Between the dim lighting and his proximity, you only caught a glimpse of his lips before he dove in to lick and nip at your skin. You tried again to push away from him, your arms trapped between you, but his arms were iron as he bit into your shoulder and you cried out helplessly. 

His lips soon slotted over yours, his tongue invading your mouth. He tasted of mint with a hint of metallic blood, his tongue eagerly swirling over yours. He backed you into the wall before he grabbed your hips, guiding them to roll over him, your core catching against the crotch of his pants. You whined into his mouth despite yourself, feeling your wetness starting to gather. 

He felt foggy, his senses sharp but his mind falling further beneath the waves of you. Drowning and diving deeper without hesitation. He was instantly enamored with each sound, movement, taste. He found himself frustrated at the hindrance of his mask and without thought ripped it from his face, quickly returning to your pliant mouth. It was then that the smell of you came to his nose, and he breathed deeply, intoxicated. He looked down, both curious and electrified at the wet patch over his groin. You squirmed when he dipped his hand down to gather it so he could examine it closer. It stretched between his fingers, slippery to the touch, tangy to his nostrils … and it was in his mouth before he thought about what he was doing. 

His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he hummed appreciatively. When he dipped down again, his eyes not leaving your face, he pressed his fingers to your clit and a wave of heat rushed through him at the way your mouth dropped open with a moan. He moved his fingers instinctively, gauging your reaction and chasing your pretty noises. 

You weren’t sure of when you had given in, but your hands were tangled in his hair as you ground down on him. You had only taken a moment to adjust to his true face, much of it untouched by the scars. He pulled you from your thoughts with another passionate kiss, his other hand wrapped around your throat. A tightness was building deep in your stomach, your wailing becoming higher and more frenzied. You needed more, your hands scrambling down his back to push under the hem of his shirt. To feel his skin against you. The hand around your neck slid down, once again cradling your breast and swiping over your nipple in time with the fingers on your clit, now circling it with fervor and sending you over the edge with a breathless scream. 

You were gorgeous like this, clinging to him while he pulled you through your orgasm, gushing in his lap. Even when you melted against him, he couldn’t stop himself, his fingers playing you like he had a lifetime of practice at your keys. Your hips jerked against him and your sounds changed to whimpers, your legs pressing on either side of him, attempting to close. Your small hands found their way to the fly of his pants, tugging at the material impatiently. He reluctantly pulled his fingers from you, again cleaning them against his tongue before removing what was left of his clothing. You watched him with heavily lidded eyes, and he was the only man in the world. 

You felt painfully empty, your body screaming with need as he stripped, revealing his taut muscles, hairy torso, and his angrily leaking cock. You pushed against his shoulder and he obeyed, laying so you could climb atop him. You wrapped your hand around his shaft, a moan falling from his parted lips even before you guided him to your entrance. When you sunk slowly onto his girth, you groaned in unison at the tight fit. You leaned over him, trailing small kisses up his thick neck as you began to bounce on him, sounds practically exploding from his mouth. You took your time, letting you both adjust to the sensation of him entering you over and over again. He was a whining mess by the time you pulled back, circling your hips over him while his hands slid over your body, seemingly mesmerized. He caught one of your nipples in his mouth, both of you keening as your walls clenched down on him in response. When you sat upright and began bouncing again, the change in angle made you both breathless, and his hands flew to your hips in a bruising grip. He was coming undone: his eyes shut tight and his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving as he flung his head back, and you could watch it forever. 

He surprised you by planting his feet and fucking up into you, somehow hitting your g-spot with precision. You sobbed, starting to wilt, but his hand returned to your throat, holding you aloft as he wound the coil inside you with each stroke. It didn’t take long for you to fall apart on his cock, your pussy spasming around him as you screamed. He stared at you as you looked at him through tears, his grunts increasing in ferocity. His thrusts became sloppy and he choked on his moans as he spilled inside you, the warmth blooming as you started to come down from your high. He stilled and released his grip, and you flopped onto his chest as you both caught your breath. 

“You will stay now?” He broke the silence, sounding unsure as the haze cleared from your minds. 

“I will stay now,” You reassured, your fingers threading through his. He sighed in relief. 

“Yes. You are mine.” 

[decadentworld]

Hi!! Can I request Steve having his first time bottoming with reader? Im sure he would tbe the one you would have to take more time with, specialy since hes always been the top and only been with woman. I really love reading your longer fics where it all builds up. thankyou!!!

Anon, tell me why I keep making my request fills longer and longer? I hope I’m not being too exaggerated with the length of this one.

Notions.

A story divided into moments.

Steve thinks back to all the moments that lead to him being in this position. Literally.

※ Bottom Steve Harrington/Top Male Reader.

※ 23,391 words.

※ Requested by Anonymous.

※ +18. Minors do not interact.

※ Content and warnings: First time bottoming. Gentle manhandling. Praise kink. Slightest D/s dynamics (Submissive Steve Harrington/Dominant Male Reader). Brief allusion to subspace. Laughter during sex. Discussions about gender roles and stereotypes. Porn with a bit of plot. Allusions to dyslexia.

※ Both characters are canonically 18 or older.

※ Work available only on Tumblr and under ArchiveOfOurOwn pseud of the same name (DecadentWorld). Do not repost, edit, or redistribute. Do not use for TikTok videos.

I.

It’s already scary enough for Steve to be in a relationship with a man. Steve from two years ago, no, one year ago… perhaps even less: Steve from six months ago would have never imagined he’d ever have a significant other he would call a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. How curious are life’s many twists and turns. It just so happens that this latest relationship of his has been the steadiest in a good while. Just shy of three months, but Steve feels it so much different from any relationship he’s ever had.

Especially from Nancy.

How to describe the contrast between you and her? He could start by the obvious: she’s a girl, you’re a guy. That’s easy. It wasn’t that easy at first, though. Steve’s only known he’s bisexual for just a bit longer than you’ve been together. It wasn’t a smooth transition, being able to put in words that he was also interested in men. It has been like that for a long time for Steve, always noticing that maybe Harrison Ford seemed a bit more handsome to him than to other guys at school. Not that he ever said it out loud. What’s always been easy for him to understand is that he could not be saying these things out loud, lest he accidentally out himself. Even at the time he wasn’t aware of his own bisexuality.

It’s different, thinking about girls and thinking about guys —a single guy, for the moment. The girls he’s been with were usually dainty, pretty, curvaceous. Soft. All things that truly appeal to Steve.

But you? A man?

Oh, boy.

You’re nothing like them. Whereas they were small, you’re big. And while they normally let themselves be led —like they expected Steve to take the reins, because both they and Steve believed it was their and Steve’s God-given place—, you’re independent. You don’t wait for any of Steve’s cues for anything at all, because this has been discussed between the two of you, which at the time gave him the biggest realization of his life: that there’s no need for there to be roles if it doesn’t feel right for both parties.

Even as this has been said, understood, and internalized… Steve started wondering early into the relationship how it would feel like if these roles (again, non-existent if not desired) were… reversed.

And you noticed. And you started to respond in kind.

It’s something new and fun to explore.

There’s more. Steve’s a pretty tall guy, and, sure, it’s rare to find taller girls. He’s always been the one to be looked up to. That would absolutely not be a problem for him at all. He liked, when he was with girls, to lean on them, to playfully put his chin atop their head, to surprise them by hoisting them —Nancy— up when they —she— least expected it.

And now?

There was one time when you did exactly the same to him. He’ll never forget the fuzzy feeling he experienced at that moment. He gave you a screaming giggle, hoping you wouldn’t notice the strong blush on his face. (You did). And when you released him and he stumbled while looking for his footing once again, he turned around, looked up at you, and…

And made this face, see, like he was having an epiphany.

It was as if he only then realized how much taller and bigger and stronger than him you were.

It was something endearing to see, that time. Steve looked as if he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was trying to form the words, but he seemed like he was also embarrassed by his inability to speak, because he looked like he was holding in a nervous laugh at the same time. And when he realized that he was truly speechless, he could only emit a little titter, tip his eyes down with an even darker flush, and bring a hand up his head to put a lock of his hair behind his ear.

The hair behind the ear is what pretty much sealed the deal. It was at that moment that Steve thought for the first time: Is this how girls would usually feel?

“Everything okay, sweetheart?”, you asked then, if only to tease him further, because you somehow knew what he was going through.

And he could only mumble incoherently.

II.

Let’s go back to this change of dynamics for a second. Steve will never not be left reeling after he experiences any of the small pushes you give against his idea of ‘set role’. Any time he feels like his preconceptions are challenged, like when you experiment with his notion of a previously self-thought assertive person, he so gracefully takes it in stride. Enjoys it, even, which is great, and Steve senses you two are reaching an unspoken agreement of sorts:

He’s going to gradually let you take the reins of the relationship.

This is so new to him. Sometimes, it downright terrifies him how alright he is with it. He feels like he should be more combative about it, but…

Steve is curious, alright? He can’t stop recalling the time before you were together when you playfully asked him to compare hand sizes, one of the most overt romantic advances in history that he fortunately responded positively to. If not enthusiastically. And, oh, how very bothered he ended up when you actually pressed your right hand to his left one, palm to fingertips, because he only then became aware of how much bigger your hand was, compared to his. His reaction at that moment was unforgettable. It was similar to the one he had when you first surprise-hoisted him up. All blushy, unable to hide it.

One of the first few times in his life he was truly abashed.

He keeps remembering with each day that passes, with each newfound sensation he gets when he’s with you. There are a series of similar happenings he can’t get enough of. These involve the times when you’re teaching him how to cook.

Listen. Steve Harrington knows he sucks at cooking, alright? But that’s because no mother of his has ever taken the time to teach him basic stuff, such as the amount of time an egg needs to be boiled, and no father of his has ever handed him tongs or a spatula and told him how he’s exactly supposed to flip burgers at a barbecue. He knows he has some of the fault in this. His past as a spoiled brat has left him reliant on the housekeeper who always leaves the fridge stocked, with meals ready to be microwaved at a moment’s notice. And after, it’s not like he had any interest or time in reading any sort of cookbooks when he was constantly stressing over the end of the world.

The fact that every time he tries his hand at cooking he keeps burning that same meal leaves him crestfallen and uninterested in anything else.

So, when you one day visited him and saw how stressed out he was, fluttering around the kitchen, you knew you had to intervene.

“Are you okay, Steve?”, you asked worriedly, watching him turning his back to you, almost frenzied, stirring on a pot and attempting to do something else you couldn’t see from your position while also making quick glances at a book on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah. Uh, I mean…” Steve twisted his head at you and quickly back at the stove. “I mean…” He seemed to trail off, too busy and perhaps even frantic, fully focused on what he was doing.

“You sure?”, you pushed.

“Uh…” A quick turn of his head towards the book and you could suddenly feel his exasperation. “Shit! It was supposed to be half a spoonful? Not a— fucking spoonful and a half.” It was obvious that he was thinking out loud.

You approached him, then, from his left side so he could see what you were doing. A nervous and disheartened glance at your arrival told you everything you needed to know. You put your right hand on the low of his back. “Doesn’t look like ‘okay’ to me, sweetheart.”

Steve gave you a long, sad look, and turned off the dials on the stove. He heaved a brooding sigh. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I thought this’d be easier and quicker to make.”

You smiled at him. He was too sweet. “Honey. You were making me food?”

Steve looked to the side. “Yeah… but, apparently, I’m too stupid for that, too.” He didn’t want to cry over this. He thought he would look even more stupid if he did.

You knew he was spiraling, and you wouldn’t let him. You were familiar with how hard he was on himself on a good day, but you also knew how bad that would get when he was trying to give you his displays of affection. So you brought the hand you had on his lower back up to his chin, softly stroking it with your thumb, catching the gorgeous shy look he was giving you. “You’re not. I forbid you from calling yourself that.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Seriously, Steve. You’re not stupid. Whoever told you that, they’re all levels of wrong.”

His eyes strayed anywhere else, and he muttered: “I call myself that.”

“Well. You’re wrong, then.”

Steve quickly glanced up at you again. There was so much conviction in what you said that he just had to bite his lower lip to hold back a smile.

You smiled, too. You lead his head closer to yours, noticing how breathless he got, and gave him a slow and sweet kiss on his lips. When you withdrew, he was looking up at you with stars in his eyes. “You’re a sweet boy. You were cooking for me. That’s so lovely.”

Maybe you understood that he liked a little bit of praise, too, that day, if the way he looked down and to the side with the lightest dusting of pink on his face was indication enough.

But that expression was rapidly being overshadowed by dejection.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I can’t seem to follow basic instructions. It’s like the words get mixed up, or something.” He looked back at the cookbook and your hand fell from his chin.

“Hm.” You skimmed over the contents of the book, and glanced back at the previous preparations he had on the stove. “I got this one. Mind if I help you?”

Steve bit his lip. “How?”

And you—

You got behind him. Pressed your chest to his back. And took each of his hands in yours.

Steve gasped.

“Like this?”, you asked. “You might be able to learn a thing or two better if you have the muscle memory.”

Sure. Muscle memory, Steve thinks, among the haze that his mind has become. The warmth of your bigger body against his makes it hard to think of anything else. But he claws himself out of it long enough to answer: “Uh— Y-Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!”, he reiterates, with a giddy smile you can’t see and a nervous titter present in his voice.

You chuckle as well.

That day was the first time Steve sincerely felt like he was being… eased into a lighter headspace. The way you guided his hands while chopping ingredients on the cutting board, while sliding them into a pot, even while in the act of properly washing his hands under the faucet and drying them as well… It all had him almost breathless. It was the first occasion in which he didn’t mind relinquishing that previously-thought position he had believed he had to occupy, once upon a time.

And how to describe the feeling?

It felt like a weight off his shoulders. It felt like something he thought should’ve always been present in his life.

It felt natural. Not forced.

That feeling of being enveloped, not only by your bigger and warmer frame, but by this sense of a guiding hand you were giving him, was slowly turning him into mush on the inside, and setting off a fuzzy sensation inside him, like a tickling feeling. It was causing chaos inside his mind, and he didn’t want it any other way.

Which made following your instructions a lot harder, but, hey, that’s why you were being his puppeteer, right?

“Pay attention, baby.” Your murmuring next to his ear had the exact opposite effect.

“I am,” he choked out.

God. His cheeks were so red by that point. Steve found himself abashed knowing that you could see him, because your head was lying on his shoulder, right against his. And the way his heart was pounding, reverberating through his body and through yours against his, was so obvious he knew you would’ve been able to sense it even if you’d been on the other side of the room.

But he found some solace in the fact that yours was pounding, too.

That is the flashback —or rather, string of flashbacks, since you had to keep teaching him how to make different meals— that keeps him going whenever he gets too much into the particular idea that he’s doing something wrong. Because he’s not. Steve feels right when you make him feel like this, and no amount of bigoted ideas drilled into his mind since he had use of reason will stop him from coming back to those moments.

III.

And what moments. Steve has a little problem every time he remembers the first few times he was intimate with you. A man.

Hoo, boy. It’s so different with a guy. The change —or rather, lack— of dynamics would make for interesting situations in bed. And on the couch. And by the entrance door. And…

Well. You can’t blame Steve. It’s as if this new relationship, this new revelation, re-awakened his high libido he thought broken after the whole supernatural shebang. At first, it was he who would eagerly turn you around against the wall after you initially did, turning the previous make-out session into something hot and heavy that would leave him bothered. You would let him, because you understood how new and inexperienced he was with a male, and wanted him to be fully comfortable. He would fall into place and push his own hips against yours, feeling thoroughly thrown off in the best way at feeling something similar growing and pressing against himself. Then he would do it faster, harsher, getting light-headed when he’d feel your big hands on his lower back, urging him until he would muffle a shout in your chest and cum in his pants like it was the first time he’d ever had an orgasm.

But then, as more times followed, and more items of clothing would gradually disappear, Steve would find himself as the recipient of these same actions. The first time was the exact same situation: against the wall. Only, he was the one trapped against it and your body, and he was the one to be rutted against.

And this peculiar feeling of confinement wasn’t unpleasant.

The second time was on your couch. There was excitement in the fact that you two were slowly turning more horizontal. He tentatively let you arrange him to be sitting against one of the arm rests with his legs extended while you kneeled in the space between them. There was also comfort in the fact that you would check on him every five or so minutes, so that Steve would understand that that position was a choice fully of his own, and that he could tap out at any moment if he needed to. And so, the fun would heighten, and he would totally feel out of his depth when he understood that he didn’t have that much space or momentum to rut against you, and that he would have to receive more than he had to give.

He would have to take it.

And this knowledge made his heart beat so fast it’d feel like it was coming out of his chest, and it turned his face into the most appealing shade of pink, and it would pull the prettiest moans and the prettiest expressions out of him, and it made his legs shake like they had never before with a girl, and it had him coming in his pants and covering his mouth in shame at the loud moan that threatened to escape him.

And the third time was the first time he had the courage to ask to undress you, and you responded in kind and asked if you could undress him in turn, and suddenly you’d both be on your bed, only one layer of clothing left.

Steve would take off the last item of clothing of his by himself, the first time he’d ever be sheepish in a sexual encounter. You would compliment his size, because it was a very nice-looking cock indeed. There was no doubt over why he’d been called King Steve in the past.

But when your own underwear was off, he gasped and sat up in shock. In alarm, perhaps. Because, sure, he was King Steve, who was the subject of mainly nice rumors…

But you?

It was ridiculous. There had to be a limit.

So, understanding how apprehensive he was, you would comfort him, tell him you didn’t have to do anything if he changed his mind.

But Steve surprised you, and he smiled timidly, seeming to cover his mouth with one hand while he simply looked at it.

He would exhale, almost as if he was chuckling. Nervously, of course. “It’s…”

“Yeah. I know.” Your apologetic smile put him just a teeny bit more at ease.

Steve looked at your cock, then at you, then at it again, one jittery hand hovering in the air close to your body. “Um…”

“D’you wanna touch it?”, you encouraged him. You grabbed his right hand with all the softness in the world. You leant up on your right elbow and laid your head on your hand, trying to transmit as much ease as you could to him.

“Yeah. Okay,” he answered shyly, and he shortened the distance until his hand was gently palming your half-hard cock.

Steve heaved in a breath. It felt…

It felt so similar, yet so different. New. Exciting. He stroked with an open palm up and down once, releasing a small titter at your pleased hum.

You would not leave him unattended, of course. Your own left hand slowly approached him, first resting on his folded left leg. Your big hand stroked up and down his thigh twice, hearing his excited shaky breath, and came to rest on the juncture of his leg and hip.

You looked at him, noticing he was biting his lower lip in anticipation. So you didn’t tease him anymore, and finally wrapped your hand around his erect cock.

Steve released a silent moan and his eyes closed on their own for one moment, until he felt your initial first strokes and just had to watch you. He released a disappointed little noise that made you smile when you let his cock go, only to go red as a cherry afterward when he realized his little slip-up.

You chuckled. It was clear that this situation was so new to him, so much so that he didn’t know how to handle his own reactions. “Cute.”

Steve tried to hide. Impossible. His pink flush covered every part of his head, down to his neck and hairy chest. “‘M not cute.”

You straightened until you were sitting up, used one hand on the bed and another one on his thigh as leverage, and closed up on him, until you were leaning into him. Steve looked at you from under his lashes when you did this, biting his lip in anticipation, because the point of contact on his thigh, so very close to his hard cock, was making it hard to think about anything else. “You are.” The other hand that wasn’t on his thigh then slid to the back of his head, and you ran your fingers through his hair. He exhaled heavily. “There’s no fighting me on this.”

That’s how you slowly guided him into a steamy kiss, at the same time that you took hold of his cock once more, feeling more than hearing his muffled moan against your mouth. You stroked him, softly, just so enough that he would push his hips towards your hand, aching for more.

You were feeling particularly mean that day. Your hand kept its slow pace and you felt just how much that agitated Steve. He withdrew from the kiss and gave you this expression, like he was all but holding in the biggest pout ever. You only raised your eyebrow at him, secretly thrilled at his neediness. “Want anything?”, you teased him.

“Yeah. You know.” Steve’s face was so pink. You knew how much of a novel it was for him to have to actively ask for something, rather than simply do it himself, if only because he was still getting used to this fun change of dynamics.

“Oh, but I don’t. Do enlighten me.” You got all close and personal with Steve by this point, noticing his averting eyes. “Use your words, baby.”

At that, Steve could only bite his lip. He mumbled something, too low for you to hear.

“Sorry. What was that?” You smirked at him, because it was obvious that he was enjoying being teased so much.

“Do it faster,” Steve reiterated, unable to look at you by then.

“Do what faster, exactly?”

Steve made this embarrassed noise, something between a grumble and a whine. He hid his red face in the pillow under him while you chuckled. “Stroke me. Faster.”

You bit your lip while he couldn’t see you. You thought it was too early to test the waters for it, even though you were extremely sure he was starving for praise, so you settled with telling him: “Good.”

Steve’s eye peeked from the pillow’s soft cotton when you said this, and you knew you had hit the nail right on the head, if the way his face softened when you said it was indicative enough.

Then you complied with his request. Steve went from an embarrassed mess to a shameless one after only a few seconds of intense stroking. He shifted on the bed until his face was fully visible again, and you were able to see the way it transformed from his pleasure before your eyes. With no clothes to act as a hindrance, he could feel everything.

And even then, he took you by surprise. Without warning, he started stroking you with the same speed you did to him. You met his eyes. He had a particular glint in his that led you to understand he was feeling competitive.

You raised an eyebrow.

He bit his lip, like he was holding back a smile, even as his moans were momentarily muffled. Then, he gave you that same verbal confirmation for your thoughts, even though it was quite far off from what you had been expecting:

“You want me to go faster? Use your words.”

But he said it with such a waver in his voice and with such a deep shade of pink on his face that you couldn’t help but cackle at him. Steve’s face turned pouty as you did, but he knew you weren’t being mean on purpose. It was just so fun to think that he wanted to return to his former place on top, like he was trying to flip your own game on you.

How wrong he was to think that you would go down without a fight.

You chuckled a bit more. “Cute.”

“What?”, he asked with a shaky voice, subtly pushing his hips into the tunnel of your left hand.

“It’s cute that you think you can win this game.”

Steve’s face got impossibly redder. He closed his eyes for a second while his mouth opened in a silent moan, but tried to compose himself afterward. You leered at him, each time more convinced that he did have a little bit of a praise kink. He steeled his face as much as he could afterward, intently looking at you. “It’s not— It’s not a game if you’re not even trying to beat me.”

You smirked. “Oh, so you want me to put up a bit of a fight?”

“I mean,” Steve started, trying to look nonchalant. “…if you’re not a coward.”

You chuckled lowly at him. Then, you got close to him, trying to blanket his body with yours, but he was ready for it and met you in the middle. He kissed you hard, attempting to overpower you. That made you chuckle within the kiss, something that made him grunt in something similar to annoyance in response. Your hand moved faster and harder on his cock, a heavenly feel to him as the amount of pre-cum he was leaking made things easier, resulting in an intense handjob, made all the more vivid from your rough and calloused hands.

Even as he moaned freely in the kiss, he was still trying to get you to lie under him. His hand imitated your own’s movements, though you could feel the slight tremor his was showing. He tried to overcompensate by opening your mouth and pushing his tongue onto yours.

You raised your eyebrows at this, but kept this little game he didn’t know he had lost before he had even started. On one twist of your hand, his hips pushed up higher up and his cock accidentally brushed against yours, making him yelp and making you grunt. You withdrew to look at him and noticed the redness of his face overtaking his neck and chest now. Clearly, he was trying to keep up, but the haze of pleasure was making it difficult.

Still, he pushed on and attempted to lay the expanse of his body on yours, still stroking you fast. It seemed like he forgot how much stronger than him you were, because you didn’t even budge an inch.

As this dawned upon him, you did the same to him while in his stupor, gently pushing forward to lay him down until he was completely horizontal on the bed. He put his free hand on your chest, and you stopped in your tracks, wondering if he wanted to stop.

But when he started trying to push you back and to the side, you understood it was all still part of the game. Steve’s face took on an annoyed expression, like he was truly bothered about not being strong enough to overpower you.

He decided to up the ante and released your cock, using now both hands to attempt to subdue you, opting to clutch your hips with his legs to gain enough momentum to toss you aside.

You didn’t move at all. Instead, all that did was rub your cocks together.

Steve moaned, starting to understand that it was a lost battle.

And you chuckled again, releasing his cock to hold yourself up over him. “See, I think it’d be easier if you just admitted defeat.”

Steve groaned, but it was clear that he was trying to hold back a smile. “Not a chance.” He thrashed on the bed, putting all his strength in his limbs for a strong shove.

He managed to push you aside for a second thanks to the momentum, but as soon as he wanted to imitate your previous position, you were on him again. You wrestled on the bed for some seconds. You were delighted with the small giggles he was releasing, knowing how fun this change felt to him.

You laughed back at him once you were just like before: holding yourself up over him. This time, your hands held his shoulders softly, but firmly, pressing him down into the mattress.

Steve’s hands shot up at you, but you quickly grabbed his wrists and put them to the sides of his head. When you did this, he quieted down, and his face took on an even darker shade.

You softened the grip on his wrists just to make sure he was alright with it, but he didn’t move them an inch. Instead, his body went lax under you.

It was such a heady sight. “I win.”

Steve blinked out of his stupor for a second. “Y-Yeah. I guess.” He tried to look annoyed, but he just looked like he was holding back a nervous smile.

“Do you surrender?”, you drawled out, getting close to him, close enough to breathe the same air as him.

His heart was beating so fast. “I guess,” he mumbled, trying to look like this was a hassle for him, but the pink on his face wasn’t receding.

“You guess?”

Steve gave you a look, like he was annoyed. Then, he thrashed once again, attempting to use the element of surprise to overthrow you once more, but you were prepared.

With the grip on his wrists, you held his writhing body down and turned him around on the bed, softly, an intoxicating contrast to what he was expecting.

Steve gasped, genuinely feeling small at the feel.

You managed to lay him down until you were enveloping his body with yours, your chest pressing against his back.

When Steve felt this, he gave you a moan he’d never heard himself make. His face was almost squished against the pillow, and the feeling of being utterly overpowered was making his thoughts go haywire.

You released his left hand while you gently twisted his right one until it was held against the low of his back. At the same time, your hard cock brushed against his right cheek on accident.

Steve gasped.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything weird right now.”

He was secretly relieved. You released his hand, which remained against his back even then, holding yourself up and your hips pushed off the bed just in case, so that your cock wouldn’t come in contact with him anymore. Steve noticed this but didn’t say anything at first, and he couldn’t after, when you took hold of his cock that was pressed in-between his belly and the mattress and started stroking it fast at once. He moaned loudly and freely.

“That’s it, baby. That’s so good.”

Steve moaned even louder at that. He didn’t know why that simple word made him feel all fuzzy inside. But you did.

He reached back with his left hand until he could touch your hips. “It’s— fine. You can…” He attempted to press you against him.

“You sure?”, you asked him; despite this, you complied immediately and pushed your hips against his ass, though you lowered your body a bit so that your cock wouldn’t be in direct contact with his ass.

“Yeah, but it’s— you can—” Steve pressed his face against the pillow from the embarrassment when he tried to push you higher up with his left hand behind him. “It’s okay if… but we don’t… Jesus, don’t make me say it.”

You chuckled. You pressed your body against him, angling your hips so that the length of your hard cock would be pressing between his cheeks, pointing downwards.

Steve almost shouted at the feel.

That was how you managed to make Steve feel even more helpless: your entire body pressed against the back of his against the bed led him to rut against your right hand in desperation.

You kissed his nape to give him some comfort. “Just this. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

The back of his neck burned with abashment. “Yeah. You’re right. I mean, I think. I mean—”

You chuckled and gave his neck more little kisses. He released a small titter because of his nervousness. “Trust me. You aren’t.”

Steve bit his lip where you couldn’t see him. You just kept stroking him, the feeling of being enveloped by you adding on to his mental haze. He tentatively shifted his hips to chase more of the feel of your hand, but in doing so he also incidentally rubbed his ass on your cock.

Steve didn’t know why that pushed him so close to the edge.

You’d never heard Steve make such a sound— he was all but whimpering deliriously. Steve realized this and covered his mouth with his left hand, grabbing onto the sheets next to his head with his right one.

He was so adorable. You knew he was embarrassed from his own reactions to this change. “Does that feel good?”, you grunted next to his ear as you shifted your hips to rub against his rear again.

Steve blubbered something unintelligible, legs folding on their own, as if he was close.

You cackled at him. “Babe. I asked you a question.”

“What— Ah, fuck— Y-Yeah. Yeah.” Steve’s was all but writhing on the bed by that point. “Wh-Why does it feel so good?”

“We can talk about it later. For now…” Your hand was a blur between his belly and the mattress while you rubbed your cock on his ass. “… I want you to cum just like this. Come on, sweetness. Make a mess.”

You knew just how nonsensical he got when he came on a good day. But you didn’t know this would be a strong orgasm, so you weren’t prepared for the way he moaned, almost like it hurt, when he had the most intense orgasm he’d had to date, spurting lines upon lines of cum, as if you’d edged him for hours. God. His face was probably the best part, but you couldn’t see him from your position. Such a shame. His little whines would probably embarrass him if he had more coherence that moment.

After coming like a literal freight train for what seemed like minutes, you knew he was done when he relaxed on the bed. His breaths were quick and deep, like he couldn’t draw in enough air.

Your hard cock was twitching from its snug position between his cheeks, but you ignored it for the while. Your mouth started making its way to his, starting from his nape, where you left slow kisses, until you reached his red cheek. Steve was too out of it to respond.

You lifted yourself off his body, and he still didn’t acknowledge you. You gently manhandled his body and rolled it around, until he was lying on his back on the bed, next to the frankly impressive cumstain on the sheets. Steve’s eyes were closed and his breathing only then started to return to normal. You kneeled between his parted legs.

Steve finally opened his eyes, seeming to just then realize that his position had been changed without his knowledge.

“Back on the land of the living?”

He breathed in and out a couple of times before he chuckled, shyly, rolling his eyes at you. “Jesus, dude.” Steve took in the hard cock that was looming over his own spent one, the heat from yours so strong that he could feel it in the proximity. He bit his lip, extending a shaky hand forward and taking your cock in it. “You’re still…”

“Yeah,” you answered nonchalantly.

“I… let me…?” Steve looked up at you in question.

As if he ever needed confirmation from you. “Whatever you want, baby.”

He steeled himself and started stroking you, slowly at first, but quickly building up the pace until his hand was a blur on you.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip. “Won’t be too long, now.” Your hips freely pushed to and fro within the tunnel of his hand.

Steve was taken aback by this at first, but the visual rapidly turned the feelings inside him into something fuzzy and hot and.

And. Big.

And when you moaned in that low voice of yours, it was like one of the few remaining notions in his mind were broken once again: the contrast between a feeble and feminine voice against this gruff and masculine one was unmistakable. He welcomed this change too much. He’d thought he couldn’t get any more flustered, but he’d been wrong.

As you leant down and held yourself over Steve on your hands and knees, Steve thought he’d never felt smaller than at that moment. His heart was pounding so hard from the feeling of being caged in, but he —even with his terrible experiences with being trapped, confined, restricted in any way— felt safe, not cornered.

You opened your eyes just in time to see another one of those epiphanies he continuously had those days. You smirked at him, and Steve glanced at you before his eyes strayed downwards again, mesmerized with the sight of your cock thrusting into his fist.

Which. Well. Might have been just the tiniest beginning of a second epiphany that day.

“‘Find out something new?”, you grunted out, already close.

Steve looked up at you once more, mouth opening but then closing, biting his lip in that shy way you were so familiar with. “Maybe…”, he mumbled.

You gave him a low laugh before you bit your lip and closed your eyes, face twisted in bliss. “Getting close.”

Steve seemed to breathe faster at that. He only nodded, almost enthusiastically, and his hand stroked you even faster. He gave you a quick sultry look, and you were left wondering what it meant before his left hand went under the one he had on your member, and rolled your testes with it.

You growled at him, hearing his intake of breath at it, before you lent forward, closer to him, hovering only shy of a foot over him. You opened your eyes to see him looking almost frantic, unable to choose between looking at your face or at your cock, before you closed the distance and gave him a short, steamy kiss.

Steve whined a little when you withdrew, because you were suddenly coming on his stomach, grunting from the release. He kept stroking you through it, drawing in breaths from his open mouth as you added to the mess on his stomach.

His cock valiantly tried to fill for a second.

Once you were done, you smiled at him, noticing his sheepish expression. You rolled to the part of the bed that wasn’t stained with his cum and lay down on your side.

Steve’s eyes were shyly straying away from yours, but he wasn’t able to look away for too long, always coming back to your own or to the mess you made on his belly.

You used the hand that wasn’t stained with his cum to stroke a finger across his cheekbone. “So? What did you think?”, you asked him, as you reached behind you without looking to grab some tissues.

“W-Well…” He looked adorable. He lowered his face down to your chest, so hopelessly trying to hide the blush on his face, but it was useless. He giggled against your skin. “It was… something.”

You chuckled in sympathy. “Baby.”

“Hm.”

“Was there any point where you didn’t like any of it?”, you asked, specifically thinking of the part where you were rubbing yourself against his ass.

Steve’s eye peeked from your chest. He bit his lip to hide a smile, even though you couldn’t see it from your position, and shook his head.

“No? None at all?”

Steve knew what you were referring to. His face only got redder. “No. Actually…” He looked like he was about to say something, but quickly lost his courage and hid his face again. “N-Nevermind.”

“It’s okay to be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

He grumbled, embarrassed. “‘M not embarrassed.”

You could only chuckle at that. You kissed his forehead, and Steve laid his head in such a way that you could see him. “Whatever you say. I’m just saying there’s a first time for everything, and I recall you seemed to like a certain part a lot.”

Steve kicked his feet against the bed and he— he whined. Like it physically hurt him to hear you say this. He mumbled: “And what about it.”

You openly laughed at him. He was just so fun to tease. “Nothing. Just saying. There’s a whole world of possibilities you might have not thought about yet.”

God. Steve’s face was steaming hot by this point. He knew what you meant, but he couldn’t verbalize it, the sole idea setting off many different reactions in him, most of which were welcome, but made his heart pound fast at the same time, gave him the shivers.

But you knew he was probably drained, so you took his silence as a gentle dismissal for the day.

IV.

That last memory could be named ‘The Beginning Of It All’, because Steve feels like something fundamentally changed in him after you both were done that day, him staying up for a while after you started dozing off, lost in his thoughts.

These same thoughts invade his mind at every point of the day the next days that pass. At work, at home —alone, like always—, while going to run some errands. He can’t get that particular moment out of his mind, and it makes his face turn so red to just catch himself starting to think about it.

Because, first of all, he’s still wrapping his head around it. It being the fact that you were right: there is truly a world of possibilities he hasn’t completely thought about up to that moment. It being the fact that he’s starting to wonder how… some things might feel, and Steve finds himself almost steaming from bashfulness when he can finally find the courage to put it into words:

Fucked. He wants to know how it would feel like to be fucked.

He runs his hands through his hair, across his face, over his mouth, anything to try to somehow erase the red tint his face gets when he thinks about it.

It never works, of course. At work, Robin gives him that squinty look whenever she catches the most minuscule shift from his normal skin tone to anything other. Like a shark to blood.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Stevie?”

“I know, Robbie. But maybe not this one?”

And his face goes the deepest shade imaginable after saying it and he tries to cover it, and Robin stews in her concern, but leaves it at that. She helps by offering to pull out the old reliable You’re Cool vs. You Suck board, to which Steve gently but exasperatedly refuses. Because he is cool, for once. He believes.

V.

Some few days after The Beginning Of It All, Steve caves in. He’s just so desperate to know more about this particular fixation of his that has his mind going haywire, but he knows it has to be different.

He’s had anal with a few of the girls he’s had sex with, so he knows the difference between vaginal and anal penetration. Obviously. He won’t be able to involuntarily self-lubricate or dilate before being penetrated. He knows that.

He just doesn’t know what it entails. Before sealing the deal.

So Steve, in his eagerness to learn more, spends one of his weekend days travelling all the way down to Columbus, where he knows no one will recognize him, an almost two-hour-long trip just to have a semblance of anonymity.

How freeing it is, to be able to walk into a —though secluded— queer-friendly sex shop, just to buy a magazine where he’ll be able to read ‘Everything You Need to Know About Anal!”, and come out of it, full-incognito. He just hopes times will change in the future and he won’t have to hide so much for something so simple.

So, two hours later, when he’s back home and with a fresh new magazine in his hands that he treasures like a family heirloom, he gets comfortable on his bed after closing the door to his bedroom —as if his ever-absent parents would barge in at any moment.

And he reads.

Admittedly, the more he reads, the more he can feel his face start to heat up, albeit for a different reason now. Because he now knows what he needs to do. Before.

He giggles. He reads on. Discovers new things apart from the specific act of anal penetration, since the magazine focuses on gay sexual health in general. Is taken aback by a few things, mentally slaps himself on the face for not paying enough attention back in high school. Particularly reprimands himself for thinking that condoms are only useful for stopping pregnancies, hasn’t really thought about the possibility that there are sexual diseases and a whole epidemic going on, something that could have gotten to him even during the times that he would have sex with girls.

Finds out something that interests him way too much, another one of the things he glossed over at school, but is sure a lot more of his classmates would have as well:

‘The prostate. Just a quick stroke on this bad boy will have you seeing stars. Ask your partner to try it on you.’

Curious. Where is it, again?

Oh, right. Just about two inches into.

“Into…”, Steve mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn. He covers his face with the magazine and giggles, just like a girl with a crush. He lowers the mag until his eyes can peek from above it. His eyes stray anywhere and everywhere as he’s in deep thought.

Into. Steve hasn’t had any sort of stimulation on his behind other than some days ago, when you got him off while rubbing yourself against him, but he can clearly recall his own reaction to it. Such a strong response has to mean something. He just hopes it ends being all it was said to be.

His cock is starting to get hard from the thought. Just recalling that encounter has him feeling heady, growing inside his pants. Steve bits his lip. He lays the magazine on his chest and rubs the juncture between his thighs and groin with his hands while he thinks. The idea of fingering himself is growing more and more in his mind. He just has to give it a try.

A wild thought strays into his mind: the image of you thrusting two fingers in and out of him.

Steve releases a heavy breath. That vision has his cock throbbing.

He grabs the magazine and drops it beside him, on the mattress. Then, he quickly gets up and makes his way to the shower.

Previous preparations are done. Now comes the fun part. Hopefully.

Steve throws himself on the bed, still naked after the shower. His cock has remained on the beginnings of an erection all throughout, and it’s driving Steve crazy.

He settles until he’s half sitting up, half lying down on the center of the bed. He reaches to the side and opens his drawer, taking out the bottle of lube he has stored. Quickly, he opens it and pours a generous amount of the liquid on the fingers of his right hand, recalling what the magazine said about there never being enough lube for anal. He giggles a bit in the face of what he’s about to do.

With a heavy breath, Steve lowers his right hand down to his behind. He plants his feet on the bed to have a better approach. Then, he tentatively brushes his middle finger against the furl of his hole.

Steve bits his lip. It feels intense, and he hasn’t even started doing anything yet. He tries to relax, just in the way he’s read. Breathing in and out, he rubs the tip of his finger in circles, around his hole and occasionally venturing towards the center of it. Then, he steels himself, and starts pushing in.

He finds that the first finger enters without much trouble, perhaps a bit too easily, because he suddenly finds himself pushing it to the last knuckle on accident.

Steve gasps. It feels… equal parts good and weird. He covers his mouth with his free hand and giggles. He can’t believe he’s really doing this.

He waits for some seconds until he gets used to the feeling of his finger inside himself, and then starts pulling it out.

Okay. That feels downright weird.

Steve continues in spite of this, talking himself into enjoying this, trying to recall the feel of your hard cock rubbing between his cheeks. But it’s one thing to have another person do it to him while in a context where he was already hard, and another entirely different one to experiment with himself while he’s only now starting to feel pleasure.

He lowers his left hand to the discarded tube of lubricant on the bed. Steve does some gymnastics with his fingers, trying to open the lid with only one hand and to pour lube on that same hand, something that makes him spill some lube on the bed on accident. Oh, well. At least he gets some of it on his hand. When he’s done, he closes the lid with one wet hand and moves that same hand towards his cock. He encloses his member with his lubed hand, and that instantly brings him some pleasure.

But it’s not enough. It’s sort of difficult to stroke himself with his left hand, given that he’s right-handed.

Steve shakes his head. He thrusts his finger in and out of himself and tries to look for… anything that might give him some pleasure, but he simply can’t.

He thinks it’s because he only has one finger in him, so he puts his ring finger next to his middle one, squeezing together until he feels his rim give a little. It feels like a tight fit, but Steve pushes on, before he manages to fit the tip of his second finger inside him.

The stretch gives him pause. It certainly feels like a strain and it burns to a degree.

He doesn’t let that stop him and pushes forward, and he suddenly finds himself with two fingers inside him.

Steve breathes heavily. The stretch does something for him, but he doesn’t know if it’s something good or not. The only thing he knows is that his cock gives a little kick at the strain, but it’s too early to say if he really likes it, or if his body is just reacting naturally at this point.

So he waits and strokes himself slowly. His cock is only about half hard. Still, he holds on until he feels like he can move his right hand. He starts pulling his two fingers out and then back in at a leisured pace. There is undoubtedly something intense about the feeling. He keeps on thrusting slowly, in and out, still rubbing his cock at the same speed, and then starts a faster pace with his fingers.

Still. Nothing much.

He suddenly recalls what he read in the magazine. Right. The prostate. Two inches into.

Only, Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel for. He presses forward, upward, but nothing really stands out.

Steve purses his lips, almost pouting. He was expecting something mind-blowing after the other day. He prods and thrusts some more, but it’s fruitless.

He reaches a sad conclusion: What if he doesn’t enjoy anal sex at all? Has that time just been a one-off?

Sighing, he pulls his fingers out, resigning himself to finishing himself with a mediocre handjob.

VI.

Steve’s dejected mood translates into most of his actions the next days. You’re the one who notices the most, when you visit him at Family Video today.

He’s alone in the store, Robin probably in the back room for her break, no clients in sight. He has his back to you, for once seeming to do his job and arranging VHS’s in a neat pile. That tells you all you need to know.

He senses someone behind him, but doesn’t turn around as he says: “Welcome. How may I help you?”

“I’d like the longest and horniest movie you have, please.”

Steve jumps at your voice. He quickly turns around, and whatever light scowl that might have been present in his face is instantly swapped for a nervous smile.

But you can see some slight tension on his face, so you say: “Don’t worry. There’s no other people here.”

“Yeah,” Steve starts, his voice almost tight, “…I know.”

You think his attitude is a bit strange. On any other normal day he would’ve been vibrating with energy just by having you in his proximity, but today it seems like he’s just subdued. Unhappy for some reason.

So you lean on the counter and notice his intake of breath, as well as the subtle reddening of his cheeks, something that will never change regardless of his mood.

“What’s got my pretty boy so down?”

Steve valiantly tries to grin at you, but it sort of comes out as a grimace. He hums. “I can’t really talk about it at work.”

You hum, too. “Wanna tell me about it after work?”

Steve bites his lip, like it’s a hard decision for him. Now you’re convinced that there’s something truly wrong going on. Finally, he decides. “Yeah. Same time as always?”

“Yep.” You subtly brush your fingers against his hand on the counter, the most overt thing you’ll try in public, knowing how nervous he gets about it. Steve sighs happily when you do. Then, you lower your voice, almost to a murmur. “I’ll give you an extra good time, just to see you smile. And, well. Make other sorts of faces, too.”

Your angel turns red. He giggles against his own shoulder, giving you the first display of genuine happiness.

You chuckle as well, as you turn to leave.

Later in the evening, Steve shows up in your doorstep, and you can’t help the way you practically drag him inside your house. He laughs when you do.

As soon as you close the door, you’re on him. Steve’s gasp is muffled by your lips, but he composes himself to respond in kind. You feel him opening his mouth to push his tongue onto yours, which surprises you, since he’s not usually the one to start such contact. Not that you’re complaining. You brush your tongue against his and feel his moan vibrate throughout your body. As if on instinct, his body presses against yours, but as soon as you feel the beginnings of a hard-on —which, surprisingly, isn’t yours—, he withdraws at once.

Steve gives you a nervous half-smile. “Hi,” he says, so shyly it gives you whiplash.

You chuckle. “Hey, there.” You lean down to give him one last peck on his lips. When you separate, you take his hand to start leading him further into your house. “Wanna sit on the couch? Watch a movie? Or…”

He stays in silence for some seconds, starting to look all too awkward for some reason.

You rub the hand you have in yours with your thumb, the question obvious in your face.

“Um…” Steve looks down, abashed. “Wh-Whatever you want.”

You purse your lips. “Hm. No offense, sweetheart, but that was the least convincing thing you’ve ever said.”

Steve chuckles. “You’re not wrong.” He looks up at you from under his lashes. That’s enough to get you going. “Well… we could…”

“Yeah?”

His face does a funny thing and he releases a titter. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

You want to tease him more, truly, but you feel as though whatever had him so crestfallen today might have drained him for the day, so you settle with: “Not this time, sweet thing. Let’s just go to my room so we can talk.”

“Yeah…” Steve’s face takes on a deep shade of red.

“Really,” you try to sound reassuring as you start walking to your bedroom with him in tow. “Whatever you want. We can talk… or we can talk.”

He laughs openly. “Right.”

You arrive at the door of your room. Steve looks at you, so bashful it’s almost painful to watch him.

You both cross the threshold. “Want me to close the door?”, you ask, knowing about his usual want of privacy, even though you lived alone.

He nods, meekly. So you close the door and stand in front of him, taking his hands in yours, expectant of whatever he’s going to say, because you know that he has it on the tip of his tongue. “Wanna lie down? Or sit down for a bit?”

Steve understands. He bites his lip. “Um…” He stays in silence for a while after that, so you take it as a refusal. You’re truly worried at this point.

You give him some encouragement. “Is anything wrong, sweetheart? Or was it that way at work?”

“Uh…” Steve looks skittish. You’ve never seen him quite like this. “I guess you could say so. But it’s…” He heaves out a breath and looks down. “God. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Anything you wanna tell me, baby, know that I’ll never judge you for it.” You rub circles on the insides of his wrists.

“Okay…”

God. He’s so quiet it’s almost creeping you out. You want him to say what’s on his mind so bad, but you don’t want to rush him, so you just stand there, awaiting his next words.

“So, um…” Steve purses his lips, feeling the tips of his ears burning. He still doesn’t look up. “You know the other day, when we, um…”

Your heart sinks. You’re so sure he’s going to say something along the lines of ‘I hated this and that and I didn’t want to say it at the time’. You just stand there, trying to not let the panic show on your face. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t notice, since his eyes are glued to the floor. “Wh-When we were…” He exhales, and it comes out a bit whiny. “It’s so hard to say this.”

You decide to put him out of his misery. “Something you didn’t like?”

At that, Steve looks up at you quickly in confusion. “Um. No? Actually…” He bites his lip, unable to even give you a nervous smile. “I, um… might have liked it too much.”

You try to not let the relief you feel be too obvious. “Oh.”

“Y-Yeah. So, I, um… I might have… done more research? And…” He whines from the embarrassment.

“Yeah?”, you encourage him, because this ‘research’ he’s talking about feels just too good to be true. “That’s amazing. What did you find?”

“Well…” Steve looks you in the eye for one second before he decides it’s too much for him, whines again, and hides his face in your chest.

You chuckle in compassion. You kiss the top of his head. “Go on?”

Steve takes a deep breath. He tilts his head so you can see some of his face. “Well, I kind of… tried some stuff.”

“Some stuff?”, you press on, almost desperate to know more. “That’s great, babe. What’s wrong with it?”

At the reminder that there is something wrong, Steve seems to deflate. “I’m getting there.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

He chuckles softly. Next, he encircles your torso with his arms, noticing how you’ve done the same to him. “I kind of… I don’t know… liked it but also didn’t, so it was kind of disappointing. And I got really bitchy afterwards because I thought I had it down.” Steve looks up at you with the saddest, most adorable eyes from his position on your chest as he kept speaking freely. “And I’m also kind of mad at myself because I think I did it right, but it wasn’t what I expected. And…” He seems to get shy again. “And I wanted to… do more… with you… but I don’t know if I’m doing it wrong, or if it’s something I really don’t like.”

You card your fingers through his hair, knowing how hard it is for him to talk about something like this. You lift his head, with your right hand under his chin, and let his pretty face look at you. “You’re so brave for telling me this, honey.” You give him a slow, sweet kiss on the lips that seems to soothe his nerves. Now, you let him know just how supportive you are. “Just to make sure, is this something you want to like? Or is it something you feel like you have to like to make me happy?” You raise your eyebrow at him, jokingly scolding him, and he knows what you’re about to say, because he looks equally exasperated and amused. “What did we say about expectations and roles?”

“I know,” he says, a small genuine smile on his face. He bites his lip. “I want to like it. For myself.”

“Good.”

Steve unconsciously catches his breath at that and carries on. “I’m just not sure if I’m doing it right.”

“Okay,” you conclude. “So let’s get this straight: you’re talking about…” Your hands lower down his back, until your fingertips are touching the rim of his pants. “Playing with this?” They stray lower, until you can feel up his cheeks on your hands, over the denim. “As in, anal?”

Steve’s face gets so red once the word is out. He nods.

“Okay. Did you use a toy? Or fingers? Something else?”

He hides his face in your chest again. “F-Fingers.”

“Cool. What did it feel like?”

Steve’s eyes stray downwards, and he chews on his lower lip, trying to find the words. “It was… sort of intense? It was kind of good but also weird. And I was expecting it to feel a lot better since, you know…” Steve looks like he’s about to break into nervous laughter. “But… I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly.”

You purse your lips in thought. “Did you reach your prostate?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. I know about it since I read— I mean… during my research…” His lips tremble in a shy smile.

You chuckle. He was just so adorable. “What would this research be, if I may know?”

“Well. Kind of… a magazine?”

“Ooh. And did it tell you where it was?”

“It did. But I just couldn’t find it for some reason.”

You hum while carding your fingers through his hair. You’re almost sure this entire talk might be doing something to Steve, but you don’t want to push just yet. “That might be a very good reason why you didn’t like it that much. The prostate is extremely important for this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. If you’ve never felt naturally inclined to do any sort of anal play, it’s most probable that you might not feel pleasure just from anal itself. You’d need something more.”

Steve puts the tiniest bit of space between you two to look at you better. In doing so, you notice his state of arousal, which proves that he is a bit pent up over this.

When he realizes this, he shifts in place, subtly trying to cover himself, looking at you sheepishly.

You chuckle, grabbing his chin and laying a hot kiss on his lips. “Baby. ‘This talk doing something for you?”

Steve bites his lip and shyly nods.

Your hands tentatively slide under his shirt, resting on the sides of his hips within it. “Tell you what. Someday… if you want, that is… I could help you with this. We could play a little to see if we find a fix.”

At this, Steve sucks his lips into his teeth, like he’s trying not to laugh, and his face takes on a deep shade of pink. “Um… well…”

“Yeah?” You’re eager now, knowing he’s onto something.

“You could… right now, if you want?”

“Oh, babe.” Your hands slide underneath his polo shirt until they reach the middle part of his back. “You mean…?”

“I… kind of… today, I… before I came here…” Steve fidgets with the rim on the back of your shirt. “Again. W-With fingers— Like— I tried to see if…”

You give him a steamy kiss to put him out of his misery. He whines lowly within it, and moans when you open his mouth to rub your tongue against his. You separate too soon for his liking. “Yeah? Played with yourself?”

Steve is so abashed he can only nod.

“That’s so hot. I bet you’re so pent up right now.” Your hands return to the rim of his polo, and start pulling it up to his midriff, looking at him in question, to which he eagerly nods. You take off his shirt and leave it on the bed.

He’s on you the moment you return to him. His sudden kiss leaves you breathless, but it only makes you chuckle. His jittery hands pull at the rim of your shirt and you comply, quickly taking it off.

After some moments of haste, you’re both completely bare to each other, returning to that prolonged kiss you can’t get enough of. Your hands stray lower and lower down his back.

You withdraw long enough to breathe out: “Cool if I do this?”, before lowering your hands to the top of his cheeks.

Steve gasps. He nods, almost vibrating against you.

You chuckle, and take each of his glutes in a firm handful each.

He whines as you play with him, looking at you from under his lashes. You lean forward, and lay heavy kisses down his neck.

“Oh, fuck.” A little bite has his legs twitching on the floor. “Fuck!” A long lick from the hollow of his clavicles to the side of his jaw while you massage each handful has him moaning intelligibly.

Two fingers of your right hand suddenly rubbing against his hole have him jumping almost a foot in the air. “Okay?”

Steve’s moans are airy. “That’s…” He breathes in and out as you rub up and down the sensitive skin. “G-Good.”

You finish this with a steamy kiss on his lips, before laying your hands on his hips. “Let’s go to the bed?”

“Yeah.”

After you’re done leading him to the side of the bed that has the night table next to it, you both sit down and continue kissing and caressing each other for some seconds.

You know Steve’s impatient. You have to make this good for him, have to prove to him that he could totally like this, so, after you withdraw from his lips, without taking your eyes off him, you reach out and open the drawer, taking out a tube of lube and a condom.

Steve’s eyes land on the square packet, almost nervously.

“Don’t worry, babe. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

He bites his lip. “Um… what is it, then?”, he asks, apprehensively.

“Let me tell you.” You leave the objects in the space between you and Steve on the mattress. With your right hand, you shift Steve’s legs to part them. He lets you, albeit hesitantly, unsure of what you’re planning. You grab the condom and show it to him. “Sometimes, people who have any sort of anal play with others might use condoms for whatever they’re gonna be inserting into the other, even if it’s not a dick.”

“Really?”, he sighs out, almost relieved.

“Yeah. They might use it for toys or even fingers. So I’m asking you now: do you want me to wear this when I’m fingering you?”

Steve’s face burns at your bluntness, but he takes the time to think it over. “Hm. Is it necessary?”

“Not as much as it is for anal sex per se. Depends on how worried you are about contracting STI’s, which is pretty much a null possibility. Our results looked pretty good, if you ask me.”

Indeed. The doctors cleared you both something like a week ago.

“It’s whatever you want, babe. I’m okay with either.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe you could not wear it? I kind of… need to feel it properly if I’m gonna be doing it later on my own.” Steve turns giggly as his face darkens.

You chuckle as well. “Now, that’s a pretty picture.” You start leaning forward into Steve, hearing his giddy intake of breath when he feels you rearranging him on the bed, until he’s half lying down in the center of it. You muse for a second. “In fact… I’d be totally okay if you tried that right now.” Steve’s mouth quirks in a demure smile. “You know, to see what you’re doing wrong.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Just for that.” He bites his lip, pink on the face, because he will do it, just because your encouragement makes him all warm inside. He grabs your lube, pouring some on the fingers of his right hand, and then leaves it aside. “Fair warning, though. It might be kind of unsexy. I’m gonna be flagging.”

“That’s normal. It’s not easy to remain hard just from anal.”

He smiles. “Yeah, well…”, he trails off.

And he starts. He lowers both hands to the area near his groin, his left one going for his cock, stroking himself in order to relax, before rubbing the lubed fingers of his right hand on his hole. He exhales.

You wonder at the sight. Steve lightly squirms from your pointed gaze, but he continues on nonetheless. His middle finger enters him without much trouble, due to having played with himself previously. He doesn’t make much noise, apart from the occasional exhalation.

“How’s that feel?”, you ask him.

“Underwhelming.” Steve’s expression resembles a grimace, but he valiantly tries to give you a little grin. He quickly makes way for a second finger, which takes a bit longer to enter, but when he does, you can see the subtle shift in his features. He looks like it’s a bit of a strain for him. “It feels only sort of better right now.”

“Because of the stretch?”

“Yeah.”

You hum. The visual is breathtaking. If only Steve could see himself right now, he’d know that you don’t need much more than this to go. Still, you feel kind of bad for thinking this when he’s clearly not enjoying it thoroughly. “Try to search for your prostate. It should feel like a spongy patch.”

“I’m trying, now.” Steve shifts his hand, probably moving his fingers inside him.

After some seconds, you see his shoulders slump.

“I can’t.” He sounds petulant about it.

You click your tongue. “Poor baby. Maybe I could do it for you?” And his face takes on the red hue it’d lost during his act. He bites his lip. “If you want, of course.”

Steve licks his lips. That certainly sounds nice. He nods, biting his lip as he takes his fingers out, wincing at the empty feel. Once they’re out, he looks around, hand hovering in the air for some seconds, before he lays that hand on his thigh, not quite knowing what to do.

You pull some tissues from the box atop the night table and give them to him, to which he looks grateful and cleans his hand.

“Just leave it there,” you tell him, and he drops the tissue next to him on the bed.

Now, you lean forward. Just as you were expecting, he gives you that demure expression before you take his lips in a slow kiss, opening his mouth just in time for him to lay his tongue on yours. You kiss him for some moments, rubbing your hands up and down his torso, playing with the hair on his chest and his nipples until you’ve got him panting against your mouth.

Before you withdraw completely, you bite his lower lip, to which he gasps. “Now I’ve got you all hot and bothered.” Steve smiles, head tilted down to his chest. “Were you all hot and bothered when you tried to finger yourself, too?”

“Sort of. Not as much as right now.” Steve parts his legs wider, something that has you ready to go.

“I’m flattered.” Still leaning into his space, sharing the same air, your right hand sneakily goes down his belly until you can grasp his hard cock. He breathes out, minutely thrusting up and down into your fist. Your fondling doesn’t last for too long. Your right hand releases his cock and slides over his testes, lower and lower, until you’ve got four main fingers resting on the juncture of his thigh and hip and your thumb against his perineum. “I want you to feel something.”

Steve gives you a heady look, heart almost beating out of his chest at the soft contact. “What?”, he whispers.

Your thumb presses against his perineum.

Steve’s body seizes. He gives you the prettiest, loudest moan, and his body curls into your hand for a moment before dropping on the bed, at the same time that you release the pressure.

“Fuck… What the fuck is that?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking at you in wonder.

“That is your prostate.” You smile at him.

“Oh my God.” Steve laughs softly.

“Yeah. Now imagine that, but…” You muse for a second. “Ten times more intense.”

Steve gives you an almost panicked look, but you know it’s in the best way, because he finds himself muttering: “Holy fuck…”

“Now you know why so many gay men like to bottom.” Your thumb rubs the skin of his perineum without pressing forward, something that makes Steve antsy with pleasure. Then, your hand slides downward, until your thumb can rub against the tight furl of his hole.

Steve bites his lip to hold back his desperate moan.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll see. I bet I could make you come just from your prostate.”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out. “Is that even possible?”

“Yeah. After this, you’ll be able to do it to yourself. Trust me. Once you start, you can never stop. It just feels so good.” Your thumb presses in without much intent; you only do it to hear Steve’s frantic breathing increasing. “With time, your body might learn how to get pleasure just from penetration alone.”

“Ah, fuck. I can— I can totally see it.”

“Yeah.” You lay a heavy kiss on his lips. “I could get you all needy when you do.” Your hand now rests in front of his ass, middle and ring finger rubbing up and down his hole. His legs twitch. “Make you want a real cock in place of fingers. If you want,” you clarify when you spot Steve’s big eyes glancing at you with something that looks like nervousness, which, in reality, is pure unadulterated want.

He nods fervently. He subtly pushes his hips towards you, letting you know how ready he is for you to start.

So you do. You quickly grab the tube and pour lubricant on the fingers of your right hand. As soon as you press the tips of two fingers against his hole, his hips twitch, and he makes the smallest sound that has your cock throbbing.

“Good. Let’s just start with one since my fingers are thicker.”

God. Steve seems to only now recall this fact. It only serves to turn him even more flustered. He nods.

The tip of your middle finger starts pressing forward. To be fair, it’s not too difficult to breach him, since he played with himself using two fingers before he arrived, but doing it himself is so different from feeling someone else do it for him.

When the tip of your finger enters him, his lungs seem to run out of air. He clenches harshly around you.

“I’m gonna need you to relax, baby.”

Steve pants. “I’m trying. It’s just… so intense.”

You understand him, of course. Your left hand goes to his cock and you start stroking him at a leisured pace.

He gives you the smallest moan. Once you feel like he won’t clamp down on you, you continue entering him with your finger, until it’s down to the last knuckle.

Steve keeps on breathing heavy, but there’s a small smile on his face. “Oh my God. That’s so…”

“How is it?”

“Better than on my own.”

You nod. “I wanna put two in before I start feeling for your prostate. I promise it’s gonna feel real good like that.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods with a blush high on his face.

You pull your middle finger out until only the tip is in. Your ring finger rubs softly against his rim, next to your middle one, before you start pushing both fingers forward.

Steve clenches down, gritting his teeth from the small strain.

“Hm. Can’t have you clamping down on me like this, sweetheart. How about you try to push out a bit?”

“‘Push out’? Oh my God,” Steve laughs, embarrassed. Covers his mouth but does as he’s told.

Your two fingers push in to the last knuckle way too easily after this, so much so that Steve’s left panting, his arms buckling and ending up having to lean on his right elbow.

“Oh my God,” Steve repeats. His cock is only half-hard by now; in spite of this, he feels it kicking at the stretch.

You still your two fingers inside him, waiting for him to get used. When you hear Steve’s heavy breathing calm down, you decide to start thrusting them in and out.

He clenches down and makes small whines.

“Too much?”, you ask softly, as you stop your motions.

Steve gives you a half-smile, half-grimace. “Hm… I don’t know, honestly.”

You think you see some of his previous frustration seep into his expression, so you decide to not tease him anymore.

Your fingertips press against the upper part of his walls. Steve bites his lower lip, knowing what you’re trying to do.

It takes some long seconds of exploration, but when it happens, it’s a sight to behold.

Steve shouts. His face is the best part: pinched tight in a perfect mix between shock and pleasure. His entire body twitches against your hand. His legs kick for a second, and his cock hardens in front of you, before he slumps against the bed.

“Holy fuck,” is all he can pant out, left hand against his beating heart.

“There it is.” You smirk at Steve, and he only has a brief second to catch his breath and look at you in euphoric torment before you’re suddenly thrusting right against that spot, focusing on bringing the most prolonged and intense reactions out of him.

And you certainly fulfill this task to the maximum, if the long, whiny moans coming out of your boyfriend are indicative enough. Steve grabs at his own knees to try to keep himself as open as possible, because the forceful twitches of his body have him closing them without meaning to, too uncoordinated to do anything other than suffer from pleasure. When he can’t even coordinate his hands anymore just for that, he has no option but to thrash on the bed.

This is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Steve’s expressions are some of the prettiest, most arousing you’ve had the honor of witnessing. The way his eyebrows pinch and his eyes shut tight, mouth open to let out airy moans, is something that won’t leave your mind alone for the foreseeable future.

Steve opens those beautiful eyes just in time to beg you with them to not stop, and you don’t need any verbal ratification to understand.

Your fingers move in circles against the bundle of nerves, and his legs shake so bad you’re afraid he might start cramping at any given moment. Steve is laid out on the bed, almost unable to comprehend the amount of pleasure you’re giving him, unable to even open his eyes to witness this.

“Oh my God,” is all he can moan. It’s so endearing, the way he keeps his left hand over his chest, like he’s trying to will his heart into not beating so fast.

“Ever thought it could feel like this?”

“N-No. Not at all— fuck!” His left hand leaves his chest and goes up to his mouth, covering it, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I-It feels… Fuck, it feels kinda weird too, like I’m gonna…” Steve takes his hard cock in his right hand, gritting his teeth when he feels like there’s going to be a rush of something other than cum in any second.

You chuckle. “That’s normal.” You softly take his right hand in your free one, leaving it aside without much resistance. “Look at that. You’re all hard just from this. That’s so good.” Steve breathes out a series of short moans behind his hand after you say this, looking at you with a bit of newfound shyness, even now that he’s laid out, taking your fingers in him.

“Y-You think it’s good?” He squirms when you give slow, deep thrusts against his prostate.

“Oh, baby. It is. It’s so good. You’re doing so good for me.”

Sweet boy. Does he really think covering his face with one hand will hide him from you noticing his deep blush?

You give him the quietest chuckle. “Look at this for one second, babe?”

Steve lowers his hand until only his mouth is being concealed, looking at you while debating himself on doing it or not, but he ends up bringing it down to hold himself up on quivering arms while you give him short, less intense thrusts with your fingers.

He leans up until he’s half sitting up, looking at your wrist.

“Would you look at that,” you drawl out, pointing at your moving hand with a nod.

Steve looks. His cock releases a steady stream of pre-cum at the sight.

Because right now, he’s looking at you doing to him the same thing he used to do to so many girls: you’re finger-fucking him with the two fingers in the middle, index and pinky ones pressed flat against the sides of them.

Just like a girl.

Steve feels faint at the sight. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, yeah?” You resume a fast, intense pace, your fingers making squelching noises when your palm meets his skin.

Steve his moaning through his teeth, unable to hold himself up anymore and leaning back on his trembling arms, on his elbows. His legs twitch restlessly, and he’s helpless to stop himself.

He grits his teeth not only at the pleasure, but at the intense feeling growing on him with each passing second. His right hand rests on his heavy cock. “I— I c-can’t— I really feel like I’m gonna…”

You know what he’s referring to. “It’s okay. Just let it happen. I promise it’s nothing bad.”

Steve trembles, writhes, sways from one side to the other one as he tries to fight the feeling. “I— can’t.”

The truth is, Steve can. He’s just too scared about the novelty of this one orgasm, because he knows it’s not going to be gentle on him, and it’s something so new it frightens him. The thought of its magnitude makes his heart beat even faster and has him terrified at the same time.

“Okay, baby.” Your left hand goes on his cock, and you start rubbing him up and down quickly.

“Ah, fuck— I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You chuckle. “You did so good, baby.”

Steve’s body starts curling in itself. “Ah—! Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

Before Steve’s overwhelmed eyes, you slide down the bed until your face is at the same level as his cock.

“You were so good for me. You deserve a reward.”

And you just manage to give him a little suck while you stroke him and finger him, right on his glans, before his eyes roll back and he’s cumming harder than he’s ever had.

The noises he makes are so— animalistic. His face crumples in the most euphoric agony, and his body curls against your head, like he can’t take such amount of pleasure, like he’s trying to push you off.

But he isn’t.

He comes, and comes, and comes into your mouth, his orgasm seeming to never end, and his own body not giving him a second of respite. You just swallow as much cum as he’ll give you, because you just can’t stop giving him pleasure, either, still bobbing your head up and down in short strokes to prolong this. Your fingers haven’t stopped, either. You’re pretty sure you might be overdoing it by this point, but the way he can’t stop moaning and whimpering as you keep on rubbing circles against his gland tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

At last, his body stops twitching so much. He drops on the bed. You take this as your cue to lift off him, licking the last traces of his cum off your lips before you give his slumped face a smile, removing your fingers from inside him.

God. Steve’s eyes are so glazed over behind barely-opened eyelids that you wouldn’t be surprised if he can’t focus his sight for minutes after this. His chest heaves quickly on the mattress, left hand loosely on the left side of it, no doubt trying to calm down his thumping heart.

You can’t help yourself. You slide up all the way until you’re kneeling before him, and your right hand lowers to your painfully-hard cock.

He looks like he just got fucked.

Steve comes to only seconds after you’ve started a quick pace with your hand.

You chuckle at his barely-there expression. “That was a strong one, wasn’t it?”, you grunt out, already feeling close.

Steve’s breathing doesn’t get any slower than as it is right now. He reaches forward with a trembling right hand, hovering under your cock.

“Just rest, babe. You can barely move.”

“No, I… I need to. Didn’t even touch you yet.” He looks sheepish. “Sorry. I get so stupid when I’m horny, I forget to do anything else.”

You give him a wolfish grin. “That’s not a problem at all.” You feel a pull at your gut. “In fact, I’d say it’s hot as fuck. But if you really want to…” You take his lax right hand in yours and manipulate it until it’s circling your cock.

You then start fucking his fist.

Steve’s mouth opens in a silent gasp as he feels the friction of your cock thrusting in and out of the tunnel of his fingers. His spent cock makes a brave attempt of filling again.

Only a few more thrusts are enough to have you grunting, increasing in volume as the only warning you can give him before you’re coming long lines on his torso.

Steve gasps at this. The heat that hits his chest, along with the visual of your cock virtually fucking him, is enough to have him almost dipping into a gentler state of mind, something that makes him panic for the briefest second before he’s pulled out of that place when he hears you grunt out for the last time.

You didn’t notice his predicament, so when you come to and take note of Steve’s spooked eyes, you take his drenched hand in yours. “Babe, you okay?”, you ask him, concerned.

Steve nods, reassuring. “Yeah. That was just… kind of intense.” He chuckles. A blush sits high on his cheeks as he looks at you, at the same time that he brings his soaked hand close to his lips. “Now it’s my turn,” he says, albeit a bit uncertainly, referring to when you swallowed him.

“You don’t have to.” But fuck if the visual doesn’t make your spent cock throb again.

He doesn’t answer. Only looks at you with the most smoldering expression on his face while he opens his mouth, brings his cum-stained fingers into it, sucks, swallows, and…

Tries to hide a grossed-looking grimace. “Um.”

You openly laugh at him, dropping next to him on the bed while he still has you in stitches.

Steve hits you on the chest with that same hand while he pouts. “Don’t— fucking laugh, man. I was trying to have a moment.” But he’s trying to hold back a laugh as well. “How the hell did you swallow… that so easily?”

You try to calm down enough to answer. “You just get used to the taste.”

His mouth purses, and his grimace just makes you start laughing again. “Is that what I taste like, too? Jesus. I mean—! No offense.”

Steve can only hide his own smile with a pout when that just makes you laugh harder.

VII.

Steve’s newfound good mood is contagious. Robin is almost afraid at this point. She thinks his mood swings are so over the place as of lately that he needs some sort of emotional support. Continuously, she asks him if he’s really feeling fine, to which he answers with nonchalance.

He obviously can’t tell her exactly what’s got him so happy.

It’s not just a single thing. It’s not just the fact that you helped him overcome his frustration after being so pent up.

It’s also the fact that, yes, he recently found out that he could do it himself…

And yes. He can get aroused just from penetration alone.

In fact, Steve’s almost embarrassed by how much his libido has gone up these past few days, namely because he now actually craves penetration at times.

He bites his lip on his way home from work, pupils dilated as he fights to keep his hard-on down within the privacy of his car, because he wants it right now. He wants to use his fingers on himself, wants to keep adding to feel the stretch.

Wants to get ready for you.

So he doesn’t bother to get comfortable before he climbs out his car in a haste, almost forgetting to close his entrance door with key before going up the stairs, heading straight for the shower.

Steve is splayed on the bed and has two fingers inside himself, this time from his left hand, so that he can stroke himself easily with his right one. He’s done this exact thing every single day this week, attempting to imitate your movements from a week ago, hoping to replicate that glorious moment.

It’s never the same as if you were the one doing it to him, but it still makes him come harder than all the previous years before this.

Currently, he’s scissoring himself open, gasping out at the small stretch. He has his eyes to the ceiling, picturing you instead of him. Your two thick fingers felt so amazing in him, stretching him out so much more than he could with his own.

Steve recalls the feel of your cock in his hand, so big he almost can’t close his fingers around it completely.

Oh, fuck. He always forgets how big you are. The size of it scares him a little, but when he’s so horny like this he feels like he could take you, at all costs.

Still. He needs to prepare for it if he’s really going to ask you for it later.

So he pulls his two fingers out, until only the tip of them are in, and tightly presses his index against them, gently thrusting in to get all three of them inside him at the same time. It’s a snug fit, and he finds it’s more difficult to add something as scant as a single finger inside, but he presses on.

It burns, but Steve manages to push three fingers in to the last knuckle.

And then, he wants more. Because the stretch, which has become more intense now, sets off different reactions in him that he could have never imagined.

And so he doesn’t wait long enough to get used to the current stretch, and he tries to push in the last finger, his pinky one into himself. But he finds that it’s sort of too much, the strain he puts on himself causing mixed, overwhelming sensations, but even that doesn’t stop him.

With a great amount of mental effort, he slips the last finger into himself, and—!

And it’s such a big stretch that it has him hissing behind gritted teeth, and it still doesn’t stop him as he starts thrusting in and out of himself, not waiting to get used to the pressure as he strokes his cock faster and faster—

Steve cums without even reaching his prostate. He feels his hole clench repeatedly, tight around his own fingers, at the same time he releases onto his chest, heaving in gasps from an open smiling mouth because it feels so good.

When he’s done, he slumps against the bed, fingers pulling out but pushing in one last time as he feels an overwhelming current of painful pleasure from it, and isn’t that an idea for another time?

At last, he pulls out completely, a resolute thought resounding in his mind:

Steve needs you to fuck him.

He doesn’t even attempt to wait in order to not look so pent up. He calls you only one hour later.

He breathes out: “Hi,” before you can even exchange greetings and ask who it is.

“Hey, baby,” you chuckle. “You sound eager.”

“Well… maybe.”

You hum in agreement, now eager as well, sensing he’s going to say something you’re going to like a lot. “Why would that be?”

“Um… well, you see…” The way he’s speaking tells you he’s probably blushing; you just know him like that. There’s a brief silence after this, before he continues. “Can I… If you’re free, I mean…”

“Yes?”, you say teasingly.

“I was… I was wondering if I could…”

“Yeees?”

You hear something that sounds like a mix between a whine and a groan. “You’re going to make me say it.”

“Yep.” Your voice now takes on a lower, more smoldering quality. “If you want something, you have to ask for it, baby.”

There’s an intake of breath on the other side of the line. Then, the smallest of whimpers. “Okay,” he croaks out. “Do you think I could come over?”

“Sure. Movie, snacks, and cuddles it is.”

He’s so fun to tease. You obviously know what he wants, but it’s just so fulfilling to hear the petulant groan he gives you. “Not what I meant…”, is his almost inaudible response.

“Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Can you repeat it for me?” Your face hurts from the way you’re smiling so widely.

On the line, he groans, and you hear a series of… taps?

Oh, he’s probably kicking his feet against the floor, just in the way he does when he’s so abashed it physically hurts him.

You openly laugh at him. “Alright. No more teasing. Come over already.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“Just don’t stretch yourself too much. I wanna have my fun, too.”

“Holy fuck—” is the last thing you hear before he hangs up on you.

You’re left laughing loudly.

At last, Steve steps foot on the threshold of your house, finally about to get what he’s been aching for.

He raises his hand to knock, but he’s taken aback when the door opens in his face before he can do so.

It seems he’s not the only eager one.

“Hey, there.”

“Hi,” he answers, bashfully. It hits him only now, that he’s about to do this. He tries to cover it with a smug expression. “Were you waiting for me behind the door?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Nooo. Why would you think that?” You put your right hand on the low of his back to guide him in before he can answer. “Just come inside already.”

Steve snorts, and his face takes on a deep shade of red as he mumbles: “Pretty sure that’s my line— I mean.”

You give him a wolfish smile. You close the door, and immediately you push him against it, leaning into his space without kissing him, only giving him a pointed look that he squirms under. “You know, you’re being a lot more overt than usual, did you know?” You lean down, your lips almost brushing his. “Why’s that? Hm? Something on your mind?”

Steve makes that shy, quivering smile and tops it off with the straying eyes. It might be seen as part of this little game, but you know Steve well enough to know that he’s feeling truly bashful right now. “You know what it is,” he whines out.

“Hm, but I don’t. I think you should spell it out for me.” Your right hand goes under his chin. You tilt his head to be facing yours in a better way, using your thumb to rub against his skin. By this point, you’re positive that you can try out something related to his glaring praise kink. “Eyes on me, sweet thing.”

He moans airily. Steve looks at you, seeming to want to obey you at all costs, even if that makes his face burn and his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Tell me, baby.” You speak with your mouth directly onto his, in a sensual caress of sorts.

Steve heaves out. “I— want you to fuck me.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, you push your lips onto his in a steamy kiss that has him closing his eyes from the intensity. His arms wrap around your neck, hands going down your back to grab at whatever part of your shirt he can. Your hands, conversely, hold onto the sides of his hips, quickly sliding under his polo to stroke up his ribs.

He moans within the kiss, which finishes too soon for his liking.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re such a good boy for me.”

Steve almost yells from how loud he moans. Rushes to lean his face on the side of your neck, almost mortified by his own reaction. The tip of his right shoe kicks softly against the floor.

You chuckle next to his ear. “You like me calling you ‘good’?”

He doesn’t remove his face from your shoulder; he only nods against it, blushing so hard you can see it spread down his nape.

You chuckle against his ear. “That’s good to hear. Now, be good and follow me to my room.”

Steve’s eye peeks from against your shoulder. He’s feeling so sheepish he almost can’t speak. “Okay,” he croaks out lowly.

You lean back some until he can no longer hide into your neck, enough that you can see the deep shade of pink his face has taken. Your right arm goes around his waist now; you use this leverage to lead him towards your bedroom. “Feeling fine?”, you have to ask while you walk, because you know that this is a very big step, and that he probably needs the highest level of reassurance.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I just… You’re kinda making me feel the way I probably made girls feel.” He laughs nervously.

You chuckle as well. Once you’re behind the threshold of your bedroom door, you close it, noticing his low intake of breath at the action. “What’s that mean?”

“Just…” Steve’s hands find yours and he plays with them to anchor himself. He shakes his head shyly, his foot twisting, like he doesn’t want to answer.

“Small?”, you venture, and his little nod and bite of the lip confirm it. That makes you smile. “That’s fine.” You rub his hands with your thumbs. Then, you pull him closer to the bed. “I’m here to make you feel nice and safe.”

Steve looks up at you with a small shaky smile. He closes the distance, giving you a soft kiss on the lips. “Thanks.”

He blushes when you chuckle at him. “Don’t thank me over that. It’s just my duty.” And he’s left breathless when you slide your hands under his polo shirt, high enough to start lifting it up to his middle. “Now… how about I take off your clothes so I can make you feel real good? Hm?”

At his shy nod, you slide his shirt up and off him, immediately going for his lips after it, gliding your rough hands over his torso, playing with the hair on his chest. Steve moans inside the kiss when he feels you thumbing at his nipples. When you withdraw, your mouth finds its way to the right side of his neck, leaving hot trails with lips and teeth. He moans softly, grabbing at the rim of your shirt and pulling it up with eagerness. You chuckle at him. You allow him to pull it off you, and the moment it’s on the floor, the pounces on you just like you’ve done to him. Steve attacks your mouth with an impatience you haven’t seen before, but that’s fine. That just makes you smile within the kiss, because you’re so glad Steve’s found something he likes that you can both passionately agree on.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, flushed, but raising an eyebrow at your obvious smile. You decide to distract him, feeling for his button and zipper, and you fulfill this mission, since you can see and hear his enthusiastic response to this. Quickly, you undo the front of his pants, and before you pull them down, you take Steve by the shoulders and gently push him down the bed, until he’s sitting down by the end of it. His hands support his weight behind him, and for this brief second, he looks up and up at you, because you standing before him forces him to lift his head to look at you, and he feels so hazy he has to subtly cross his legs at this, mindful of his now fully-hard cock tenting the front of his jeans.

But you don’t let him. Your hands push his knees outwards at the same time you lower yourself to kneel before him, and this vision has him gasping out and leaking just from that.

You wink at him from your position on the floor. Swiftly undoing his shoes and taking them off, your hands reach forward for the rim of his pants, and as he looks at you in a daze, your fingers hook right under the edge of his underwear, and you start pulling his lower garments down at once, giving him a gruff little laugh when his very hard cock is released from its confines with a small rebound.

When it’s off him and he’s bare before you, you lift yourself up using his thighs as leverage and start leaning towards him, in a low prowl, until you’re hovering over him with your hands on the sides of his head.

Steve’s nervous hands jitter down your torso, all the way to the rim of your own pants, and he makes quick work of the button and zipper. He pointedly looks at his hands, so as to not lose his nerve at your searing gaze. When he’s done, he ventures a quick glance at your eyes, but quickly looks down again as he starts slipping your lower garments off you.

You haven’t stopped looking at him throughout this. Your eyes just can’t leave his rosy face and nervous bites of his lips as you shift above him to help him undress you.

Once you’re both nude, it seems to hit him that you’re both going to do this. Steve’s demeanor changes into one of agitation. He finally looks at you, a nervous, quivery smile on his mouth, though you understand that he’s looking for reassurance now, which you’ll easily give to him.

You lower your head to his and kiss his worries away. “Let’s start slowly, yeah?”, you say, almost in a whisper, all but reading his thoughts, since his torso seems to deflate at that.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

There’s a little grin on your face now. You lean back to let Steve rearrange himself on the mattress, until he’s lying in the middle of it with you on top of him.

Your hands rest on top of his knees, sliding all the way down to his groin, but before they get there, Steve lays his own on top of yours. “Wait. Before we start…”

“Yeah?”, you ask, about to be concerned.

“Um… W-Well, you said on the phone… But I’d already— Uh…”

You exhale a laugh at his little stammering. “What, sweetheart?”

“Uhhh…” Steve smiles shakily. “Y-You said…”

“I said…?”

“You s-said… you wanted to have your fun, too, but I’d already— By that point, I’d…” Steve covers his nervous giggle with his right hand and looks elsewhere.

A heavy current of pleasure drops down your belly. “Oh, baby.” Your hands lower to the juncture between his legs and groin, fondling the surrounding place without giving him what he wants, to which he whimpers. “Did you stretch yourself?”

“Ah— I mean… I called you like an hour after that?” His voice is nothing more than a whisper now.

He tries to hide from the weight of your gaze behind his hands but—

Your hands hold onto his wrists. You gently push them against the sides of his head.

Steve’s eyes glaze over.

“How many?”, comes your rumbling voice.

And he has to inhale heavily, in vain, because his response comes as a whisper. “Four.”

You use the grip on his wrists as leverage to push yourself onto him, and he allows you and welcomes you into his open mouth. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, and he has the frenzied realization that you’re virtually fucking his mouth with it.

Steve cries out. His eyes roll back as he feels himself leaking.

He tries to prolong the feel, but you pull back too soon, and he finds himself whining at the loss.

“Got yourself all nice and open for me? That’s so good, baby.” Your heavy, grumbling voice against his lips has him trying to cross his legs uselessly, since you’re in the way.

Steve bites his lip. “Sorry,” he says, moving his legs around to caress yours, urging you to do more.

“Why are you sorry?” You laugh while you take your hands off his wrists and lay them to the sides of his head. You think you imagine the disappointment in his eyes when you do this.

“You said you wanted to…”

“That was all talk, sweetness. I absolutely do not mind that we can skip that part and go straight to the main course.”

At that, Steve can only shut his eyes tightly and bite back a moan. He opens them just as quick, embarrassed at his own reaction.

You just give him a tight-lipped smile. “Not sure if this is gonna reassure you or do the opposite, but I’m pretty sure you still need more prep before we do anything else.”

Steve’s right hand rubs at his mouth nervously. “Oh my God…”, he mumbles, even though he has a small nervous smile on his face as his eyes lower to your big erection. “Right.”

“Right,” you echo with a contrite smile. “Did you forget about it?”

“N-No. Not at all.” Steve looks up and elsewhere as he mutters the following: “You have my word.”

“Do I?”, you tease, stretching towards your night table and opening the drawer.

Steve bites his nails as he watches you do this. “Mm-hm.”

When you have the objects you were looking for in your hands, you show them to him, and he centers on the one on your right hand with an hyperfocus you’ve seldom seen on him.

Steve’s eyes rest on the condom packet with apprehension and excitement at the same time.

You lay it and the tube of lubricant on the bed, between his open legs, next to you. Leaning down to rest a quick kiss on his bitten lips, you run the fingers of your right hand through his hair. “Whenever you want to stop, just say so.”

“‘Kay,” he whispers bashfully.

You lean back, staying in a kneeling position between his parted legs, and smirk at him. “Now, I would totally like to know more about this little bit of playing you did before you came here,” you say as you open the lid of the tube.

Steve covers his mouth with his right hand as he giggles. “What’s there to know?”, he asks shyly.

You pour some lube on your right hand and rub your hands together to warm it up. “Just fun stuff. Did you find your prostate?”

Steve looks elsewhere with a shy smile. “No. I mean— Not today.” His right hand lowers to his chest, resting atop his thundering heart.

“Hm? Then how…?”

“Just…” Steve clenches his eyes shut as he giggles nervously. “Just from my fingers.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your right hand lowers to his entrance while your left hand goes to his hard cock. You don’t even need to stroke him; he’s already turned on enough from your previous teasing. “Just from the penetration alone?”

Steve nods meekly. Then, as he feels your fingers spread the lube on his already tender entrance, he lays his left hand on your wrist. “I… Let me touch you, too. Don’t wanna leave you hanging like the last time.”

You chuckle. He’s just so sweet for you. You can feel his hand shaking. Lifting your left hand from his erection, you rub the unlubed knuckles from that hand onto his own. “Let me be selfish, yeah? I wanna make this about you today.”

It’s really telling for you that he doesn’t insist. “Okay… You sure?”

Your middle and ring finger prod at his hole, leading him to gasp in short breaths. “Yes. Just leave it to me, sweetheart.”

He nods resolutely, then.

Now, at the same time that you start pushing in the two fingers in the middle, your hand returns to his hard cock, which hasn’t gone down at all— You think it might actually be harder now. Steve’s jaw drops open when he feels your two fingers start pushing in, almost easily from how much he’s stretched himself before he arrived here. Even that initial stretch feels heavenly to him: your thick fingers fill him out so good, and they feel so different from his. Whereas he’s used to his own smooth, almost delicate ones, yours are hard and rough. Thicker, too. Steve bites his lower lip as you breach him to the second knuckle, choosing to still yourself to let him get used to this small stretch.

His legs twitch to the sides of you, rubbing onto yours in a sensual caress. “Come on…”, he mumbles.

“‘Want more?”, you ask, not waiting for an answer before you push the two fingers to the last knuckle.

Steve’s back arches in a beautiful curve as he gives you the most breathless and erotic moan. He quickly lets himself fall from it just to hold himself up on his hands behind himself, half-sitting up, all to see the place where you’re joined.

You give him a small chuckle. “Oh, you wanna take a look.”

He looks up at you from under his lashes, because he does. He wants to see, and he wants to feel the same way you made him feel so many days ago. Steve’s breaths are so noisy now; he can’t stop himself when he sees and feels the way you are thrusting in and out of him, two fingers at the sides of the ones inside him just like he’s fantasized about. His feet are restless, stirring next to you on the bed, increasingly rustling the bedsheets the faster you go.

Your fingers go softly now, barely coming out of him, just to rub circles along the walls inside him in a sensual massage that has him gasping out. Your other hand is barely a caress on his cock, knowing he now doesn’t need much more than your fingers.

The tips of your fingers suddenly press up against that spot. Steve’s body curls in itself.

“Fuck…”, he finds himself choking out.

His eyes are drawn to the place that connects you two, but he finds that he can’t keep looking for much longer, because you’re pulling him into a short kiss that leaves him even more breathless. When you separate, he looks at you impatiently, and his voice is nothing more than a whisper.

“Come on. Come on.”

You chuckle through your nose. “Eager.” But you pull your fingers out and press your index one against them, beginning to push in.

There’s a brief resistance, but as Steve breathes out heavily and wills himself to relax, you manage to thrust inside, this time with more pauses in-between.

Steve’s mouth opens to draw in as much breath as he can. Putting one hand on his pounding heart, he looks at you with something that can only be described as adoration.

You give him a little smile. Taking your left hand off his member, you lay it atop his own, on his chest, gently pushing him back on the bed.

“Relax.” Your low, rumbling voice is soothing for his nerves, so he obeys. He lies on the bed, growing more restless with each second that passes.

In a weak voice, he requests: “The last one— Add the last one.”

“You sure?”, you ask, knowing that he should get used to the current stretch, but you still thrust out until you’re at his rim, adding the fourth and final finger next to the other three.

Steve nods so eagerly you have to laugh.

With a lot of patience, taking his cock in hand to soothe him further, you begin to thrust four thick fingers inside him, meeting resistance right away.

Your left hand strokes him slowly, focusing on the head to bring out the greatest amount of pleasure possible. “You have to unclench for this, baby,” you mumble out.

Right after, your right thumb presses against his perineum, drawing a startled moan out of him. You feel him clamping down on you even further for a second, and then you do it again.

Steve hides his eyes under the back of his hand, already winded from this. He can feel himself surrendering to your touches, opening up to let the tips of your fingers thrust in, just far enough to breach him. “Fuck…” His moan is prolonged as he uncovers himself, looking at the general direction of your hands.

“That’s it…”, you encourage him.

Softly, you inch in, until you have four fingers seated deep inside him.

Steve heaves in a loud breath.

“There we go. So good for me, Stevie.” His moan at this is choked off when he feels your rough fingertips moving around in him. “Feels good?”

He moans again, but cuts himself off with a short cackle. “What do you think?”

That only makes you chuckle as well. “Yeah, I bet it feels real good.” You start pulling out, loving the way his legs just can’t stay still. “Just look at how much you’re leaking, baby.” Your left hand focuses on the tip of his cock at the same time you thrust back in, drawing a small shrill sound from him.

Steve tries to look at the place you’re showing him. He does. He just can’t with the way you’re suddenly pushing up, pressing against that bundle of nerves.

He shouts.

His body trembles, his hands hold onto your wrist, his legs kick against your hips, and his own hips grind onto your hand, desperate for more of that contact.

You gladly give it to him. The more you rub circles and press harshly against his prostate, the more Steve’s resolve thins out. Sparks fly behind his eyelids as he tries to process the amount of pleasure you’re giving him, feeling himself slowly drenching your hand in pre-cum.

He can’t take much longer than this. He grabs your left wrist, stopping the movements of your hand on his cock. “N-Not gonna last if you keep…”

Your left hand leaves his cock. “Yeah. You probably can come just from my fingers, can’t you?”

And you press up inside him, at the same time you press with your thumb from the outside, and he wails.

He brings himself out of it with a giddy laugh as you begin pulling your fingers out. He rests his hand on his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

Your smile is wolfish as you wipe your hands on the sheets, lean forward, and get closer to him. “Maybe.”

And then he’s uncovering his eyes, looking up at you as you take hold of the pillow under his head. Steve shifts to help you, and when he sees you bring that same pillow at the height of his hips, he starts biting his lip with impatience. He understands what you’re trying to do. With the help of his feet, he pushes his hips up, enough for you to slide the pillow under them, leaving him in a very vulnerable position.

You lean into him once more, and when your groins just slot together, he shivers, overwhelmed all of a sudden. You understand this, and push downward, taking his lips in a soft, soothing kiss he yields to.

Steve withdraws first because he needs to take a deep breath to not lose it. His hands grab at your shoulders, unsure of how to anchor himself.

“Need a break?”, you ask him, concerned.

He just shakes his head with vigor. Biting his lip, he wraps his legs around your hips, pushing you against him. You both moan at the contact.

You laugh. “Alright, then. Let me just…” You lean back, Steve’s hands falling from your shoulders and laying on his own chest now. You grab the packet, open it, and start rolling the ring of the condom on your cock, before Steve’s hands come to rest on yours. “Wanna help me?”, you ask.

Steve nods, unable to get the nervous smile off his face, and, with his hands under yours, he starts sliding the condom on.

Once his hand gets to your base and you’re done groaning about it, you grab the tube of lubricant and pour a generous amount on your member. You stroke yourself a couple of times before you inch closer to Steve.

And Steve looks at you with excitement and the slightest tinge of agitation before he brings his own folded legs closer to his own chest.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold yourself open for me,” you mumble, grabbing his right knee with your left hand and laying a kiss on it.

With your right hand, you take hold of your cock, and slowly, very slowly, start pushing inside.

Steve clamps down around you almost immediately. His throat chokes around a moan, and his legs twitch in your hold. “Sorry.”

You lay wet kisses on the inside of his right leg, your mouth twisted in a small smile. “Why?”

He chews on his nails while he looks elsewhere. “I dunno,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

That makes you smile. Your right hand leaves your cock, which is already fixed in place, ready to thrust in, and it goes around his cock. You stroke him softly for some seconds, loving the small changes in his expression, how gorgeous he looks with every single face you can pull off him. His small noises prompt you to keep stroking him, subtly pushing forward to start inching into him.

He clenches with each small inch you push inside, and as you manage to push the end of your head inside, he hisses between gritted teeth, and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Just… a second.”

“Of course,” you answer, stilling in place to let him get used to the stretch, which is quite a lot more than four of your fingers.

Steve’s eyes are also clenched shut, but after some seconds he opens them, looking at you from under his lashes, breathing heavily and quickly. He nods at you, resolutely.

You lean down to surround him completely, and his arms easily go around your shoulders, anchoring himself with you. Your mouth seeks his, and he meets you in the middle with enthusiasm, or perhaps anxiety. Steve pushes forward with his lips, trying to get the most of the kiss, and you open his mouth in turn, pushing your tongue onto his.

As you do this, your hips push forward minimally, starting to thrust yourself inside him while you distract him, but it seems to not work that well.

Steve pulls off you. “W-Wait,” he grits out. He looks at you with a grimace that he’s trying to conceal with a quivery smile, but you know him too well for that.

“Of course,” you say once again, because you’ll take as much time as he needs to. “Hurts?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but seems to lose his nerve and shyly looks to the side.

“Tell me the truth, baby.”

“Kinda…”, he mumbles.

You give him a small peck on the lips for reassurance. “That’s okay. Just tell me when you’re ready to go.”

Steve gives you the tiniest nod, too embarrassed by himself. Some seconds pass, before his restless legs rub imperceptibly around your waist, him looking at you and nodding. “Okay.”

You take your cue and start pressing forward once more, but once again, his arms cling tight around your neck and he yelps: “Wait!”

You’re halfway into him, and the way he’s clenching around you is almost sexually tortuous, but you obviously heed his word again. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Steve’s pinched expression eases up after a second, and this time, he gives you a genuine smile, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck to cover it in kisses. “You treat me so nicely,” he mumbles out, like it makes him bashful to say it.

You feel your chest soar at this. There’s a small, breathless chuckle coming straight from your chest right now. “Do I?”, you ask, even though it’s pointless, because you’re only showing him basic decency.

But your Steve still looks you in the eye and nods.

Another small chuckle, and now you’re leaning back. “Okay.”

Steve seems almost confused as your hands grab at the back of his knees, but then realizes what you’re going to do as you manipulate his legs until they’re crossed, and then place them in a right angle to his body, his ankles coming to rest above the left side of your neck. “What are we doing now?”, he asks, almost forgetting he still has half of your cock inside him.

“I’m putting your legs in a specific position that’ll help you relax better,” you explain, noticing his still-puzzled expression. “Your anus. This position helps you relax your anus.”

Steve bursts out laughing, covering his mouth with his hands because it’s just rolling off him now. You laugh with him.

“I thought it was the other way round,” Steve says. “Like, with my legs open?”

“That’s for the pussy,” you answer, and you rest your hands on his crossed knees, laying hot kisses on the expanse of his shins. Steve shivers at this. “You ready?”

Biting his lip, he nods slowly, bracing himself once again.

“Alright, sweetheart. Remember to push out, too.”

Steve laughs, almost in a sob, because you’re starting to inch forward, and this position does help him a lot, and as he does as he’s told, he finds that what felt like something impossible is now too easily possible.

Your hips meet his ass almost too quickly, sending him scrambling for a grip on the bedsheets. He breathes in and out like he’s hyperventilating. His left hand is now on his chest, trying to calm his heart down. You lower your right hand to that hand and lay it on top of it, wanting to reassure him.

His expressions. God. His expressions are something out of this world. His eyes are closed, eyebrows pinched and mouth open to let out quiet moan after moan.

As soon as Steve opens his eyes, they stray towards the place where you’re joined.

“Oh my God,” he says, almost in a whisper.

“Too much?”, you ask.

Steve shakes his head. “Just… a lot.” He bites his lip to hold back his little noises whenever he feels your cock so much as twitch inside him. His free hand covers his mouth. “So big…”, he says, almost to himself.

“Yeah?” You teasingly move your hips a minimum fraction, and that is enough to have Steve gasping out and shifting his legs onto your shoulder.

When he sees your amused expression, he almost pouts, though it’s obvious that he’s trying to look teasing, too. “You’re mean. I thought you were gonna be gentle with me…”

His words make something hot and heavy settle deep in your belly. Your grip on his legs gets tighter, and he makes the quietest little squeak at it. “Yeah. I did say that.” Your right hand rubs up and down his left thigh, going down to his cheek and fondling it to open him up more. Steve makes a breathless moan at this. “I’m gonna be so nice to you, baby. In fact, I’m gonna go real nice and slow, just so you can see how gentle I’m being with you.”

He moans openly now. Steve finds that while he likes that idea, he also craves something different in the near future.

For now, he just nods.

So you start. Using your grip on his gorgeous long legs, caressing his left one down to his ass and back up, you start pulling out of him, hearing his long intake of breath. You do this until you’re halfway into him, and then push forward until you meet his hips again. Steve breathes heavily and quickly, his jaw slack as he tries not to succumb and close his eyes to the sensations. Then, you do this again a couple of times, thrusting out and in minimally, just so that he can get used to the stretch. His legs twitch every time your hips meet his rear. His left hand has returned to his chest, and you find this so endearing; you know how nervous but excited Steve is by this, so much so that he tries to halt his pounding heart however he can.

Now your hips are pulling back further, until only the head of your cock is inside him. You push all the way into him with the same slow pace. Steve’s expressions are something wonderful. You know he can’t help himself when he clenches his eyes shut at the pleasure, but still tries to open them as soon as he can every single time.

On the next thrust, you pull back, and this time, the head of your cock starts sliding out of him.

Steve hisses and clamps down when he feels the widest part of it breaching him on its way out.

You shush him and kiss his shins. “Relax,” comes your soothing mumble.

His breaths turn quicker, and his eyes close for a brief second before he opens them again, looking at you with dazed eyes and nodding.

You feel him gradually unclench as you’re pulling out completely, the tip barely inside him. Then, you push forward once again.

Steve has less trouble to take you in this time, if the way you’re easily fitting inside with a smooth thrust is indicative enough.

And once again, he gives you a breathless moan when you’re all the way in.

“Alright there?”, you have to ask, because you know of his tendency to hide his own discomfort at times. Luckily, he gives you a genuine smile and —this makes you laugh— a thumbs-up. “Alright, you dork.”

“Yeah,” he adds on. His flushed face now takes on a darker hue. “Actually… can you go a bit faster now?” He mumbles the last part, like it embarrasses him to say so.

You laugh softly at him. “Obviously.”

Now, you’re pulling out of him all the way, and pushing back in with a bit more force than before. This leaves Steve breathless, jittery, and blissed out all the same. So you do it again and again. With each thrust, your pace increases, and the friction makes his mostly-quiet moans rise in volume. What were previously soft noises of skin slapping begin turning loud too.

You’re purposefully avoiding his prostate. You think it might be a good idea to build up to it first, so as to get him used to the stretch before you do anything, but you know it won’t be a long time now.

Steve slowly parting his legs to bring them to the sides of you tells you enough.

“Tired of that position?”

He shakes his head. “Just…” He rises his arms to encircle your shoulders, face burning at this point while you’re still thrusting in and out of him. “…wanna hold you.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” You give him what he wants.

Steve’s legs wrap around your waist as you push in and out of him. The newfound friction of your belly on his cock has his legs growing restless, his moans pouring from his lips freely now. His eyes can’t stay open for too long.

He makes the effort just to look at you, long enough to let you know he wants you to kiss him. So you do. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss as you start going faster, small moans slipping from the spaces in-between.

Steve withdraws, already feeling breathless.

After some long moments like this, just thrusting at a moderate pace and looking at each other with — something strong, something that could shakily be called love, his face begins to show some signs of discomfort, too subtle to seem that way to any other person, but you know your boy well enough.

“Hurts?”

“Just my hips,” he talks in between moans.

You gradually slow down until your movements are minimal, something that seems to turn Steve antsy. You ignore this for a second, though there’s a smile on your face at his impatience. “Must be the position.”

You stop completely. Steve tries to not make such a loud whine at this, but it’s obvious that it doesn’t work. He blushes right after.

As you pull out completely, he makes the quickest yelp at the emptiness.

“How about this?”, you ask. Your hands softly grab at his sides, starting to manipulate his body in a way that lets him know you want him to turn around.

Steve blushes even further and starts giggling when he understands. He rolls over until his chest is to the bed.

“Just like that,” you grumble. “On your hands and knees, yeah?”

It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, because Steve just about melts from pleasure at your words, and it embarrasses him so bad that he makes the smallest whine. He does as he’s told, though. This position leaves him feeling vulnerable and open, until you lie across his back and envelop him, making him feel safe now.

“Good boy,” comes your low mumble, and Steve’s jaw drops to let the quietest moan out.

Your right hand grabs your cock, and at the first contact of your tip against him, he clamps down once again. Steve bites his lip as he tries to relax, breathing heavily.

Slowly, you begin to breach him once more, feeling the small contractions around your cock. “Close your legs, baby.” He obeys, knees rustling the bedsheets, and suddenly you’re thrusting all the way into him again.

Steve lets out a loud moan, loud enough to be considered a shout. This position is… something else. It leaves him reeling from how much deeper it somehow feels, almost hurting from it. Most of all, Steve can feel himself surrendering to you, feeling so safe and loved.

His arms quiver, struggling to hold his weight already. At the same time that he notices this, you start pulling out only to push in with a strong thrust that makes him buckle and fall down to his elbows. Steve’s moan at this is something so erotic it has you throbbing inside him.

“Good to keep going?”, you ask him, and he nods enthusiastically from under you.

Now you resume that moderate pace you had before, only this time, somehow, it feels more intense. You hips slap against the back of his legs every time they meet, filling the room with the erotic sounds of skin against skin and his loud, airy moans. Steve can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He just yields to the intensity of your thrusts, feeling full to the brim with your big cock going in and out of him. His moans increase in volume the more you press down against him, because he understands what you’re trying to do.

Your hands rest on the high of his back, pressing down with gentleness. “Lie down.” You find just the tiniest bit of resistance, probably because Steve almost can’t stand the idea of getting even more pleasure than this. “Trust me. It’ll feel so good.”

So Steve shakily obeys. His arms go lax to his sides as he lays his chest on the mattress, his spine almost straining from the curve you’ve enforced onto him.

Your cock presses on his prostate.

Steve screams.

“Ah— Fuck!” His legs fold on themselves, and his feet kick against the bed as you continue stimulating him. “Fuck— Oh my God. Th-That’s…”

“Feels good, right?” You lay off his prostate for the moment, knowing it probably wouldn’t take much to overwhelm him if you kept on.

“Y-Yeah…” Now you can feel his quivering legs working to— to meet your thrust. “Again. Please.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your hips bear down with force on his own, and you know you’re hitting his prostate dead-on because his wails are so sudden and loud they almost scare you.

“Yes!” His jaw is left open in an endless moan, eyes clenched shut at the intensity.

The more you keep pressing down, the more you feel his body lowering, wondering why this could be, until you lean up a fraction and notice his legs sliding open on the bed. Your cock throbs at the sight. To know that he’s so turned on that he can’t keep up with you…

“Fuck— S-Sorry— Can’t h-hold myself up.” Steve confirms this same thought as he keeps moaning.

You laugh in his ear— It’s something almost mean that has Steve’s eyes wide open in a second. “Don’t worry about it,” you say as you keep thrusting, following him to the mattress.

Suddenly, your right leg is pushing his own closer to his center. Your left one does the same with the other one. As soon as you have him in the position you want, your legs press against the sides of his, holding them together tightly, not allowing him to open them to lie in a puddle on the mattress.

Steve screams at this.

“Holy— fuck!” He screams, he moans, he wails, because this specific position has your cock rubbing against his prostate on every single thrust, and it has you going deeper still, and he starts to feel himself lose it when it almost hurts when you reach the end of his walls on every thrust, feeling so small and almost bursting at the seams with it.

You know that it won’t take longer for him, so you keep bearing down on him, focusing on that bundle of nerves, feeling it increase in size the slightest bit. Your hips go faster.

Steve begins to feel the same way he did the other day. There is this very specific intense feel that comes from his prostate and has him feeling desperate, because it’s so different from anything he’s ever felt.

He knows he’s going to come just from this, and this time, though terrified, he’s ready for it.

“C-Close— Ah— I’m close.” He says this, and you kiss the back of his nape, your left hand going under his body to press against his pounding heart. Steve’s left hand presses against yours, intertwining your fingers. “J-Just from this!”

“Yeah? You want it?”

He nods so quickly it almost makes you laugh. “It’s weird. F-Feels so weird. I really— fuck!— Really feel l-like…!”

“Okay, baby. Let it happen. I’m right here. It’s alright.”

Steve nods, his face in such agonic pleasure he’s almost glad you can’t see it, because you’d probably feel concerned over him. “Okay. O-Okay—!,” he concedes, his heart beating faster at the mounting feeling.

The more you thrust against him, the more he can feel himself losing it, until the feeling turns so intense he almost can’t breathe.

“C-Coming— I’m coming! I’m coming! Oh my God!” Steve’s voice turns desperate.

And he screams.

His body seizes. A sensation he’s never felt before ravages his entire body. His eyes sting with a hint of tears at it. He feels a forceful tremble throughout his limbs, and he’s left unable to control them as he feels himself coming and coming and coming, so intensely it almost hurts, and in such a different way he’s almost ashamed, because he really thought…

But there’s no room for thoughts in his mind because he’s still coming, and he’s still moaning without noticing, shutting his eyes at the acuteness of the feeling.

“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re squeezing me so hard— fuck!”

As Steve begins coming down from the longest and most intense orgasm of his life, he moans weakly when he feels your hips shuttering behind him, yelping at the warmth of your cum filling the condom.

After some long seconds of you groaning in his ear, which makes his hurting cock valiantly attempt to twitch, you pull out of him, softly, though it still makes him yelp, almost in a whisper, until you’re off.

Without the support of your legs against his, he drops to the bed in a helpless pile.

Steve’s chest rises and lowers quickly, still trying to draw in as much breath as possible and to calm his still-pounding heart. You lie to the side of him, your right hand caressing the expanse of his back to let him know you’re still there.

You know he’s not even processing this, too gone to even notice you’re not holding him up anymore.

But after some long minutes, Steve calms down enough and regains enough lucidity to shift on the mattress, feeling your hand on his back and sighing at the sensation.

With what you think is the biggest display of effort in history, his arms strain enough for his head to rise and turn to the side you’re on.

Steve looks at you without saying anything. You don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say, or because he can’t, so you do, first.

Sliding down the bed to be at the same height as his head, you circle your arm around his back, and say: “Hey. That was a full-body one, wasn’t it?” You kiss his left shoulder.

He still won’t answer. You start getting concerned, before he smiles, bigger and bigger, until he’s giggling against the bedsheets. He mushes his face into the mattress as he does this.

You laugh with him, still not understanding if he’s too out of it and high on endorphins.

After some seconds, Steve stills, and his concealed face turns just the slightest fraction, just enough for his eye to peek, showing you that he’s sporting the darkest blush ever.

“Um…”, he starts. “Hi?”

And that makes you laugh even harder. “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”

Steve turns his head further towards you, biting his lip. “Good.”

“Good,” you repeat. “How did all of that feel?”

His expression is so cute to see now. It’s like he’s getting shy all over again after everything you’ve just done. His lips twitch, not knowing whether to smile or to bite his own lower lip. “Good,” he mumbles again.

You hum, almost teasingly. “Just ‘good’?”

Steve laughs, embarrassed, shoving your face with a weak hand while you laugh. “What do you think? Jesus. I can’t even move.”

You give him a wolfish smile, but contradict it when you wrap your arms around his body. Steve lets himself be surrounded by you, feeling small and safe in a way he’s never had before.

[sugarushwriting]

being besties with lee minho (lee know) and park sunghoon.

nsfw under the cut

reblog, like and share!

do not repost or translate please.

quick not proof read drabble because these two men give me the same vibes:

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

lee know was your hometown best friend. you grew up together, had your firsts together, and when you both went separate routes for college, you both never forgotten one another.

in college you met park sunghoon. popular, quiet guy on campus. friends with jake sim who you had a few classes with and became close friends with.

soon you became close friends with sunghoon too.

close enough friends that you’ve seen each other naked.

sunghoon loved to put his vampire fangs to use. more times than none, you’ve had to buy extra concealer to hide the hickies he would leave on your skin. your neck, chest, thighs, anywhere he could get his mouth on.

he also loved to bite your pussy and clit while he ate you out.

always giving a satisfied hum when you squealed in surprise because you never knew when it would happen.

sunghoon also constantly left you worn out with his stamina. you could go for 2 or 3 rounds, as he could double that, go for hours, all while edging you and himself.

“sunghoon i’m visiting family tomorrow.” you moaned out as he sucked your skin.

“hiding me from anyone?” he teased.

you knew lee know would be upset to see you marked up from another guy. “no, but i don’t want my mom—hey!”

he distracted you by giving no warning when his thick cock entered you.

“then i need to let your family know how good i take care of their daughter.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

you’ve been home for 10 minutes, and lee know is aware something isn’t right. you were wearing caked up concealer on your neck, and although it was feeling a bit warm out, you had on jean pants and a t-shirt.

he knew you lived in short skirts and cropped tops.

unless you were hiding something or having a comfy day at home.

like hickies or being on your period.

he knew it wasn’t your period because you weren’t doubling over in pain from cramping.

it had to be hickies because he loved to leave them on you and have you fuss at him later about it.

later that night, freshly showered you squealed seeing lee know sat comfortably on your bed.

your towel hid your body, the marks on them, but not the marks on your neck.

“wait, lee know—,”

you couldn’t even finish the sentence as he stalked towards you like he was hunting his prey and threw you on your bed, quickly unwrapping the towel, and slid down his pants and boxers.

his eyes never leaving yours. and his eyes screamed danger. something your pussy fluttered at.

he spat once on your pussy, and in no time, no warning, his length entered you his hand to your mouth to quiet you.

fuck he was angry.

you two weren’t exclusive, and neither were you or sunghoon. but both men were possessive.

possessive over you.

he looked disgusted at the marks left by another guy. “tsk kitten, looks like i need to remind you who you belong to.”

lee know gave no mercy with his thrusts, his poundings, your pussy getting wet every second, with every thrust. your wetness was dripping onto the towel beneath you and sure getting on lee know’s thighs.

“so wet for me.” lee know’s finger went to circle your clit and your orgasm came in no time.

with a loud moan suppressed by lee know’s tongue down your throat, you almost started crying because of how good he felt.

he didn’t come yet. you knew this was no where near over. you knew you would come intensely more than 3 times minimum, with some squirting here and there.

“kitten when im done with you, you’ll regret coming home to me being marked up by some other guy. you’ll be reminded who’s cock you go dumb for.”

shit, it was gonna be a long night. lee know had stamina as well, even just a tad more than sunghoon. and lee know was alot more willing to punish you and deprive you of orgasms.

“i’m sorry,” you sighed softly

“you’re not sorry yet. but you will be, kitten.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

[tevanbegins]

Reposting this fic I had posted on Ao3 back during Pride month here on tumblr because I am missing all the cute hype over 118 x 217 from the BTS last week, and I suddenly remembered I had the two crews working together in this one 🥰...

_____

WINGS OF PRIDE

Read on Ao3

The adrenaline rush he felt pumping through his blood after a successful call was nothing new to Buck, after seven years of being an active firefighter. But knowing that today, Tommy and the 217 had been so near all the time, fighting these wildfires in the forest right alongside him and the 118, made his heart flutter with intense excitement.

This was a first for them, since they had started dating. Of course Buck and Tommy had worked together during the cruise ship mission, on the night they had first met. However, that whole adventure had been an unauthorized one, and this was the first time the two had worked together in an official capacity on the same scene, even though it was as a part of separate crews.

Being focused during the call wasn’t that big of a deal for Buck. He and Tommy were both thorough professionals and extremely good at their jobs. One of the ground rules they’d set when they started dating was that if they ever worked on a call together, they wouldn’t allow themselves to be distracted by each other and concentrate fully on the job at hand. And during this particular call, despite all the stolen glances and flirtatious smiles they kept occasionally exchanging from a distance, they mostly managed to keep their mutual promise.

But, there was also the hostile presence of Vincent Gerrard on the scene - the current captain of the 118, the obnoxious bigot with regressive views whom everyone despised. Under his captaincy, Buck had been kind of living through Tommy’s past in his own present, and boy, how he hated that vile old Gerrard. For how he was mistreating him because he was queer, for Hen and Chimney who were reliving their old traumas, for Eddie and Ravi who were being newly exposed to this bigotry like himself, and for being finally able to understand Tommy’s struggles from all those years ago.

But as difficult as it was to not fight back against this tyranny, Buck put up with it for the time being, as did the others. If they wanted Bobby to be reinstated at the 118, they had to be cautious with their moves. Any drastic steps against Gerrard and they might end all chances of getting their beloved Captain Nash back at the helm again. Bobby, and even Tommy, had advised them to be extremely careful, both being aware of the lengths Gerrard could go to if he was provoked, for messing with him was like poking the bear. And so, the 118 laid low around him for now.

Back to the present moment. Right now, their work here in the field was done. The wildfires were put out, casualties were nil, the few trekkers who sustained minor injuries were being administered first-aid by the paramedics, and the few others who could be tended more properly at a hospital were airlifted via air-ambulances. Their response to the call had been prompt, and the overall outcome had been good. So even Gerrard’s crap couldn’t take away Buck’s thrill of happiness over a job well done.

It was time for both the 118 and 217 crews to head back to their respective stations. It felt unfair to Buck that he had to wait until both he and Tommy got back home to celebrate today's win, when both of them were here this minute, in the same place at the same time. He desperately wanted to kiss Tommy right here, right now. In front of the whole world, and he didn’t give a damn if that meant it had to happen in front of Gerrard too.

So when he saw Tommy standing next to his chopper in the clearing, weary but waving and smiling his beautiful smile at him from afar, Buck’s feet seemed to act on their own as he briskly moved towards Tommy, no thoughts in his head except that he wanted to get close to him. He didn’t care about anything else. He just wanted to kiss his sexy, gorgeous beast of a firefighter-pilot boyfriend, who made him feel so happy and safe even when life at work was the worst kind of hellfire these days. When Buck was only a few feet away, Tommy also walked in his direction to quickly close the remaining distance between them. Soon, they were standing face to face, the smiles on both their faces to see each other up close, more precious and brighter than all the gems in the world combined.

“You know, I realized something today. My boyfriend Evan is obviously a very, very hot guy. But Firefighter Buckley in his element is another level of smoking hot. Being professional at work has never felt so tough before, I must admit,” Tommy commented in his deep baritone, playing around with the collar of Buck’s turnouts with his fingers.

“Says the man who is always a sight for sore eyes himself, in and out of uniform. Sooty or cleaned up. Or for that matter, with or without any clothes on,” Buck bit his lip and laughed, moving his right hand upwards to caress Tommy’s cheek.

“The fire’s out but we’re still at work, baby. There’s lots of people around; there’s that– that awful Gerrard,” Tommy said with seriousness, looking into Buck’s eyes.

“I don’t care. I’ve been tolerating all of his bullshit so far based on your and Bobby’s advice. But right now, all I want to do is kiss you. And I am not scared of anything or anyone to hold myself back from just one kiss to greet my boyfriend,” Buck replied, grazing his thumb on Tommy’s bottom lip. “Or if you like me so much in my gear, maybe I’ll steal these turnouts for the night, just to piss Gerrard off,” he giggled.

“Okay, take it easy, you rebellious kid. One kiss shouldn’t be a huge scandal, I guess. Please don’t steal the turnouts,” Tommy smiled affectionately at Buck again. He leaned in closer, their foreheads now touching, noses brushing, their breaths hot on each other’s faces. Unable to hold it in for even a second more, Buck tugged Tommy by his collar and kissed him fervently on the mouth. It was an eager, hungry kiss that he had been longing to give him for the past several hours. Tommy grabbed Buck by the waist and held him closer, kissing him back with equal passion as he realized that he’d been craving this just as much as Buck, momentarily forgetting that they were in full public view.

Tommy’s colleagues from the 217 hooted cheerfully and clapped as they saw this scene unfold. Meanwhile, the 118 were watching this from the other side of the clearing. Chimney, Hen, Eddie, and Ravi started cheering too, happy to see that two of their friends were so mad for each other. Captain Gerrard was the only one from the entire crowd of onlookers who lost it, when he saw Buck and Tommy making out unabashedly like that.

“Buckley!” he barked, angrily walking towards Buck and Tommy, causing them to break their kiss abruptly. “It’s time to go back to the station, not fuck around like a wh*re. Get back, right now! You bloody f—ts can’t just keep it in, can you?” he yelled, glaring scornfully at the couple.

Tommy tightened his fist in rage and was almost about to step forward and punch Gerrard in the face for speaking like that to Buck and using the f-word, nearly going against his own advice to Buck. But Buck firmly held on to his arm and stopped him. Instead, he turned around to face Gerrard and smiled innocently, but sarcasm was written all over that smile.

“Really sorry to offend you, Cap. But can you blame me? Tommy and I are people with wings, after all. It’s kinda hard not to spread them and fly when you have them,” Buck retorted and made a flying gesture with his hands, mimicking Gerrard’s own insulting move towards Tommy during the medal ceremony a few weeks ago. “But, I get it. Not everyone’s lucky enough to know or appreciate the beauty of what it’s like to have wings. So, we’ll try our best to keep it in before you, Captain Gerrard. I promise,” he added as a mock apology.

“Bye babe. We’ll take this further at home later tonight. No one’s gonna stop us there!” Buck whispered into Tommy’s ear, but audibly enough for Gerrard to hear and contort his face in repulsion. Tommy couldn’t help but laugh at Buck’s audacity and admire the spunk his newly out boyfriend had. He couldn’t have been prouder of his Evan, for giving it back to Gerrard in this sassy way.

“Go get it, guys!” Lucy Donato and a few more of Tommy’s friends from Air Operations howled in support, followed by louder cheers from everyone.

“Yes, baby. Can’t wait,” Tommy replied, gazing fondly at Buck. He gave the stunned Gerrard a death stare as Buck proudly walked back towards the 118’s firetruck, and then rejoined his colleagues and set off on his chopper back to Harbor station.

As enraged as Gerrard was with the incident, he was shocked and lost for words right now, seeing that he could no longer intimidate people or force them to obey him as easily as he could ten years ago, even in his position of power.

“C’mon Cap, let’s go!” Buck deliberately called out to Gerrard to shake him out of his homophobic reverie, and shared a good laugh with his friends about whatever just went down.

“Buck, I’m so proud of your brazen fruity ass right now,” Hen congratulated Buck with a handshake in a display of queer solidarity.

“I’m proud of you too, but right now I’m more proud of myself for being a matchmaker to you and Tommy!” Chimney tooted his own horn.

“That was so awesome! I was kinda hoping Gerrard would get a heart attack and die on the spot,” Ravi remarked with a chuckle.

“You’re such a badass, Buck!” Eddie beamed proudly at his best friend and gave him a high-five. “But I’m worried Gerrard’s going to make the next shift a special hell for you! I mean, look at him!” he pointed towards Gerrard, who was making his way back to the truck with the sourest expression ever on his face, like he’d swallowed a lemon.

“Let him. Whatever hell I go through on the daily, I now have Tommy to bring me right back to heaven,” Buck grinned, looking all moony at the thought of being with his boyfriend at the end of long, tiring days. All of them rolled their eyes at his corniness, but also oohed and aahed and teased Buck for being so hopelessly smitten with Tommy.

The ride back to the firehouse was a happy one for all, except for one person. But in the true spirit of the 118, no one cared. Especially not when that person was Vincent Gerrard, or the likes of him.

___

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 — 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, speedsters being speedsters, overstimulation, reader cries but it’s not dacryphilia, dub con towards the end but it’s not intentional, tap out, noise control, aftercare, all characters featured are 18+ 

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ requested by anonymous. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

Wally should not have been sweating this hard. 

he could run across the country in a matter of minutes and never break into a sweat. he could circle the world multiple times in under a day and only get a drop or two. 

he should not have been sweating like this. 

but he was, because he was forcing himself to hold back. with his hands wrapped around your hips, he pulled your rear back to meet his quick thrusting. you moaned his name each time your ass smushed against his pelvis, and he grit his teeth. 

what he really wanted to was to tell you to hold on to something because he was going to lose himself in an assault of blurry, rapid thrusts into you. 

“Faster…” you whined, gripping the pillows your face was nuzzled into. you always got too loud, and it was much too late at night. those damned neighbors of yours had already had the cops out to talk to you three separate times in the first month of you and Wally dating, so the two of you tried whatever you could to keep yourself quieter. “Wally…” 

“Don’t tell me that,” Wally grunted, giving your ass a playful slap. he marveled at the ripples through it, and the way you mewled and arched in response. damn, he was lucky to have you. “We’re trying to be good, remember?” 

but you were already too dickdrunk to truly comprehend what you were asking for. you’d never experienced Wally’s true, full speed, especially not when he fucked you, but right now, you wanted it. he was just perfectly proportionate to hit all the right spots when he was inside you that had you needy for as much as he could give you. digging your nails into the pillows, you push back to meet his hips with twice the force, as if demanding more. “F—faster!” 

and fuck, did he want to just give it to you already. 

Wally moans in awe, both hands sliding down to grope your ass, spread it apart so he can watch the way his cock disappears into you, instead. “If I start…” he mutters, distracted, and shifts, grinding his hips to change his angle. he likes the way you cry out, and bury your face in the pillow to muffle it. he could feel the sweet, bundle of nerves he was hitting now, “I might not… be able to stop… until I cum…” the speedster knew himself better than that. he knew that you could rev him up like no other, and he would have a much harder time bringing himself back down. he tried to remember that he could overwhelm you if he lost it, there was even a possibility that he could hurt you, and he needed to be careful. 

“Don’t stop!” you cry out, slamming yourself back against him. it seemed to be the only words you’d heard him say, and you feared he’d try to pull out before you were satisfied. your walls clench around him, as if pleading with him not to leave. “D— don’t stop! Wally, fuck— me— faster!” 

“Aw, hell—“ Wally felt himself lose the battle when you tightened around him, and he reaches out to wrap both arms around your midsection, hauling you up on to your knees with your back flush against his torso so he can suck on your neck, “you want fast?” you were nodding, bouncing against his rocking hips as he asked, “I’ll give ya fast, babe.” 

surely, if he was really cautious, he could give you what you wanted without losing control. 

right? 

when his pace picks up, you whimper, graciously. your eyes threatening to roll back as he pounds your hyper-sensitive nerve endings. the veins that bulged and etched the length of his cock rub against your fluttering walls. the newfound speed behind his thrusting elicits a symphony of skin slapping, much louder and frequent than before, and you started to lose track of which thrust was which. it was nearly a barrage of fierce pleasure as he battered your insides. 

“G—gonna cum!” you yelped, jouncing up and down wildly to his superhuman rhythm. “Gonna cum! Gonna cum!” you couldn’t say it enough to clear the building orgasm in your belly, so you just kept screaming it until Wally clamped a hand over your mouth. “Gonna c—“ 

at least he could think to do that, to keep your snooty neighbors from causing a fuss again, but other than that, he was out of it, too. 

you felt too good and he was going too fast to slow down and savor it. he wanted to lose himself in his speed and drain his energy into you. “Ffff—fuck—“ he was shuddering, his free hand groping at your tender breast. “Almost… almost there…” he mumbled it against your neck, but the pistoning of his hips had only gotten faster. rougher. until the movement itself had become a blur. he was no longer just ramming into you at break-neck pace, Wally was rumbling with vibrations, moving much too quick for your blissed out brain to even try to comprehend. 

it was too much. 

you couldn’t handle it, after all. 

and you couldn’t even tell him. 

you scream against his palm, holding on to his forearms as best you could with your violent ricocheting. you couldn’t think to give him a tap and let him know you needed to stop, for what felt like millions of vibrating thrusts were numbing your mind, the shape of him reverberating as it drove, relentlessly, into your spasming canal. 

your orgasm had come, and gone, and then another one had erupted without so much as a single break in his jackhammering, and had he slowed down, he might’ve been able to see how fervently you trembled, or how your eyes have started to well up with tears for being positively overstimulated. 

you tried to cry his name and beg him to ease up, knowing it would be muffled by his hand, but only a string of half syllables and vowels died against his fingers. 

you couldn’t form the words because he’d already broken you. 

“You’re so tight,” he whimpered, kissing and nipping at your ear, “feels good! Can’t… can’t stop…!” a running tear breaks past the barrier and soaks his fingers, but he doesn’t even notice, fucking you senseless and so fast that your mind was blank. it was like he was trying to fuck right through you. “I love it when you cum… I love it!” 

had you cum again? 

you hadn’t even noticed until you heard him say it; his voice sounded far off even though he was right in your ear. every sensation had been bumped up to what felt like a thousand, so every single time you felt his swollen tip jab into you, it felt like you were falling apart. 

“You good?” 

you needed a break, you were so dazed and flustered, that you just reach down with both hands between your legs and hold on to your own, throbbing cunt, pressing against your button to soothe it with one hand, while the other nudges Wally’s cock in a desperate attempt to push him out. 

this time, when you don’t nod to answer him, he does seem to realize something is wrong. “Baby…” he whispers, flushed, as the hand on your mouth outstretches to splay against the headboard instead, trying to steady himself. “You okay?” his breathing is ragged, but it’s nothing compared to your own. when he’s no longer holding you to his chest, you slump forward into the mattress and bury your face in the pillows, wailing. Wally’s eyes widen, and every terrible thought that could possibly run through his brain does in that moment. did he hurt you? why were you crying? “Baby!” gripping the headboard, Wally forces himself to slow down, gradually before he stills inside of you. it was then that he felt just how ferociously your body was shaking; you were practically vibrating, yourself, still impaled on him, and he stares, uncertainly, at your back as you snub. “H—hey…” he coos, running his fingers in delicate strokes along your spine, slowly petting you for comfort. for once, he didn’t know what to do; he’d never seen you like this before. “Did I hurt you?” you shook your head, but he couldn’t tell it you were lying to him or not. your face was still buried in the pillows, but even then, he could hear you sobbing. one palm lays flat against your back and glides upward, until he can stroke the back of your head, biting down on his lip. “You sure?” 

another nod, but this time, you reach up and blindly grab his arm. gripping him at the bicep, you tug on it, childishly as if you were pulling on his shirt tail. but he takes the hint and leans over you, pressing his toned, strong torso to your back so he can nuzzle in the crook of your neck. 

“You scared me, baby.” he whispers, wrapping both arms around you. “What happened?” 

you were still sniffling when you barely turn your head for him to kiss your wet cheek, and you croak, still in shock that it was even possible, “I—I’ve never cum that hard before…” 

[lyneira]

-> "Your sweet boyfriend, Dan heng, who leaves you love notes, also secretly enjoys bending you over and taking you from behind"

SMUT - MINORS DNI

dan heng x fem!reader / cw: penetration

lyneira's (18+) mini event: Your Sweet Boyfriend!

@preciousamethyst 's result:

I feel like Dan heng would leave you notes scattered in your room or a few in the archives, knowing that you'd be there to see him or have been looking for something.

I could imagine the type of notes that he'd write would be like:

- "are you doing okay? You looked under the weather earlier. If you need anything, just call me. I'll be there for you"

- "I know you've been looking all over for this book in the archives, so I've found it and left it here on the table for you."

His notes might not be extravagantly worded or romantic, but they are still imbued with his love for you. He always wants to help you, to make your life easier however he can, and if you're in pain, to take it all away. You're always on his mind.

And you're sure to remember that, especially when he's fucking you from behind.

You'd be wise to know how often you bend over like that when he's around, whether you were leaning over the table to reach something, or wanted to simply read the loving note that he left you in that postion. Because when he sees your behind all ready for him and willing to be fucked, he'll have a hard time trying to control himself and soon enough, won't waste any more time trying to get into it.

He'll come up from behind and will lean over you, whispering into your ear, "I've noticed you often bend over like this when I'm around... Are you trying to seduce me, y/n? ...Are you asking me to fuck you?", and you'd feel the effect you had on him when he presses his clothed erection up against your ass.

When you begin grinding your behind against his crotch, that would be enough to tell him that maybe you were, whether it was intentional or unintentional, and thus, you two would then get into the deed

After removing your panties and freeing his cock from its confines, he'd rub the tip up and down your folds, giving it some stimulation while staining your pussy with his precum. You would clamp your thighs around him, giving him that extra friction that would get him harder.

When he suddenly grabs onto your hips, that's when you know he's about to insert himself into you. With the thrust of his hips, so he does, and begins pumping in and out of you slowly. Without much preparation, his cock would painfully stretch you out so good, but you'd soon be accustomed to his length, especially as he had gotten you more wet with your arousal and his own.

I think he'd continue to whisper in your ear, muttering on about how good you feel around him and the like.

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