#second half in Pre-K

[yeyinde]

victory lap

“Got a proposition for you, Simon,” the man says, and Simon snorts. He reeks of the same brand of cheap cigarettes as always—stale smoke, day-old tobacco; acrid and unpleasant. It makes his skin itch.  “an’ I told you already, Price. I ain't interested in a team—” “Not a team, Simon.” The look he levels him with is nothing short of malicious. Dangerous. His hackles raise on instinct, everything inside of him hissing to back away. “Got something else in mind.” Then through the door was you. Pretty as a picture— And all his for the night. or: John strikes a deal with young Simon Riley. his cooperation on a team they're putting together in exchange for a night with you. naturally, it goes awry.

18+ SMUT. implied noncon, dubcon. under-negotiated kink. bondage. overstimulation. size difference. size kink. messy, sweaty gross sex. rough sex. unsafe sex. mean Simon. smitten Simon. bullydom!Simon. spit kink. degradation and humiliation. young!Simon (pre-mw2019-2022 when he was still a Seargent; 25-28ish). manipulation. attempts at taming a stray dog that goes as well as you'd expect.

It's John who takes his muzzle off.

Dangles the key on his finger when he kicks open the door, letting his Lieutenant glimpse what lay behind it. Giving a gruff, like what you see? when his eyes finally adjust to the low light flooding in.

It takes him half a second. Enough time to commit the scene in front of him to memory.

It's you, of course.

good dogs get rewards, don't they, Simon?

Waiting for him. Pretty as a picture in sleek silk chiffon ribboned in intricate shibari around your chest, stomach, and thighs. Legs spread on the table; ankles tied down to the sides in nude jute rope. Hands clasped together, fingers laced; wrists tied above your head. The blindfold wrapped around your head is a pale pink ribbon, thicker than the silk on your body. Wrapped twice over your eyes, and tied in a pretty bow behind your head, he imagines.

In the split of your thighs, he finds you already slick. Wet. It drips down onto the table, puddling beneath your ass. The spread of your pussy, glistening in the flushed light; the small, pink vibrator taped to your clit makes his cock twitch. 

"All for me?" He rasps, eyes fixed on your cunt. On how pretty it looks. How inviting. A soft, ripe peach offered in the heat of summer, and he wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you. Her. "'ow sweet o'you."

And Price, he thinks, eyes slanting sideways as he glances at the man sliding into his chair. It stands to reason that this whole thing, you on a silver platter for a starving wolf, wouldn't have happened if he hadn't seen the look on Simon's face when you first met him. The hunger.

Simon's not stupid, of course. He knew you were off limits the moment Price put his paw on your nape, squeezing once. Owned, claimed. The intention, the message, clear. Mine.

Don't touch.

And the way you lit up, stammering out something about how good it was to meet him, told him everything he needed to know how your willingness to be shackled to his Captain.

But even so—

He couldn't take his eyes off of you.

(and in his intense cataloguing of everything you did, he couldn't help but notice how you kept touching your neck when Price was dragged away for a conversation leaving you all alone in a room rankled down his spine. almost as if you were reaching up to fix a collar—)

The memory alone makes him shudder.

"All yours, Simon," Price drawls from his perch on the throne. Between two fingers, a cigar sits, unlit. Ghost huffs.

The words are a vicious bite to the want pooling low in his belly. "That so?”

The room seems to shake when he steps inside. Floor creaking ominously under his weight. It makes your mouth drop, heavy breaths spilling out between dull teeth. Chest rising and sinking shallowly with a wild sort of nervousness that flits across the expanse of your cheeks, in the tremble of your lower lip. 

Despite your unease, your legs stay open. Held aloft by the rope, he knows, but also—

A testament to how trained you are. 

He prefers his pets wild. Unpolished. Vicious little things that he gets to bring to heel with a sharp bark and rough hand glued to the back of their skulls, pushing their head into the dirt, to the floor, where it belongs. 

Fine china broken at his feet. 

But you—

Manicured. Groomed to perfection. Save for the harsh breaths and the shake in your joints—both an indication of just how new you are at this. A novice. One slowly being crushed under the leather boot of a man who reeks of smoke and whiskey. 

But knowing his captain and the furious need for control, he imagines you're better than some of the seasoned ones he'd come across in his lifetime. No room for errors.

And certainly no forgiveness for them, either. 

His cock twitches again—a heavy, aching weight against his thigh—and he reaches down to cup the thickness of it, crushing the flesh in his palm to stave off the need burning in his loins. The urgency to sink inside of your pretty little cunt rewiring the part of him that likes to mess his pets up first. Ruin them before he takes them. Fucking them to the point of unconsciousness—and sometimes, beyond it. 

But you—

You've been a phantom taste in the back of his throat for months now. A tease between his teeth. Sinking his jowls into you is the only thing on his mind. 

And when you're offered up so enticingly—

Well. 

Price can't blame him much for how badly he's going to ruin you. 

He reaches out, fingers pressing cruelly into the slim, thumb-sized vibrator Price has locked against your clit. A mindless, incessant torture, he's sure. Pushing you over the edge on a constant, unrelenting loop. 

“Messy girl,” he rasps, the starchy fabric of the mask glueing to his balmy skin. 

The reprimand makes you flinch in shame, but the flutter of your cunt belies the contrition that drapes over your brow in a shallow mimicry of sorrow. He can see why Price latched onto you so quickly, and doesn't bother fighting the stab of envy that brims in his chest. 

“Didn't your old man ever teach you any manners?” He mocks, dry and derisively. Quietly amused by the soft mewl you let out, one that only just eclipses the snort from Price. “Daddy's been slackin’, ‘asn’t he? Let his little girl turn into a messy fuckin’ slag.” 

You try to close your legs to no avail, the rope keeping you spread. In part, he thinks, from shame—blistering, burning, and vibrant when it streaks across your face—but mostly from the slick gush that leaks out of your drenched pussy at his foul words. Trying to hide it from him. To keep him from knowing just how much the brassy roll of his ugly words makes your empty little cunt ache. 

“Look’it you.” He rumbles, enjoying the shiver in your joints. The way your head rolls to the side, nose pressed tight to the skin of your arm. “Messy pussy just achin’ to be fucked.”

He adds more pressure until you choke. The scream lodged in your throat. Your toes curl. He hears the soft pop of your joints when you arch your back like a cat in heat yowling for attending. 

“Want it bad, don't you?” He taunts. “Daddy must’a spoiled you too much—” another scoff from Price. The creak of leather. The clink of ice against glass. “Didn't teach you any manners—”

He wants you to beg. Wants to hear the peal of your voice—rough and ragged and begging him to sink inside you; fuck your little cunt until you can't walk anymore—but that's not what he's here for. Not why Price dragged him up to the room. Gave you to him. 

And with the silk gag in your mouth, he knows he won't get it, anyway. Tied in a pretty bow behind your head. Wet with your spit already. 

Simon's fingers slide down, dragging over the folds of your cunt. You're wet. Soaked. Drenched in a way he's never seen before; folds glistening. Thighs wet. Sticky. He licks his lips. Tastes the brine of his sweat. He wants to eat your pussy. Spread you wide on his tongue and make you beg Price to let Simon make you cum. 

The thought roots in his head. Burrowing deep. He can already hear your sweet voice pleading with his captain—please, please let him make me cum—but he pushes it down when Price makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. 

He knows why he's here. 

And wonders, then, when he steps back and drops his hands to the button on his trousers, how many times you've been punished like this. The thought is a sour smoulder in the back of his head. An ugly, foul thing unfurled over the soot-stained walls of his skull. 

(he'll ask later. get the names of every man Price let see you like this, and pluck the memory of you right from their skull—)

“So needy,” he drawls, dragging his cock out of his slacks as they fall low on his thighs. “Even after this pussy’s been spoiled so much?”

It makes you keen, and the noise is a searing knife to his guts. He groans with it—low and rough, the noise scraping over the flesh of his throat until it hurts. 

“Gonna have to punish you, ain't I? Needy fuckin' thing—” so he says, but his cock is just as sticky as your thighs, weeping a steady stream of pre-cum that pools in the tangle of hair at the base, dusting over his heavy, fat balls. 

He shuffles closer, and reaches out to your knee, slipping his fingers behind your shin. The squeal of naked flesh against the metal tabletop shouldn't make him throb but it does. Cruel man, he thinks, and drinks in the way you wince. 

He presses his cock against your slit, mouth dropping in a harsh pant when he takes in the hideous sight it makes. Your pussy is covered up by his girth. The tip of his cock bobbing over your belly button, dripping pre-cum into the divot. 

Simon pulls his hips back, letting his cock glide over your silken flesh. The wet squelch it makes when he thrusts forward, cockhead tapping on your belly, has him grunting like an animal. It's obscene, this. The way he can't even see your folds over the wide spread of his cock. Pussy tucked neatly under him. 

He can't even begin to imagine how you'll take the full length of him inside of you when his cock nudges past your belly button when he lets his balls rest on your molten slit. Poor thing. 

He doesn't know if Price stretched you before this. Got you ready for him. But the man makes no move to intervene when Simon pulls back until his head slips down your seam, bracketed between your plush, swollen folds, tight against your entrance. All he has to do is—

Push

And the tip of his cock slips in. 

You make another noise at the sting, and he thinks you might be crying but his eyes are riveted to the spot where you open for him. Pussy so small, so tiny, compared to his cock in a way that's sickening. Garish. But your little cunt drools on him. Rim fluttering like a heartbeat on his glands, pulling him deeper. Enticing him to sink inside. All the way. Until he can feel the hitch of your breath on his cock. 

He leans back to get a better view, the motion forcing another inch inside of you. The noise is slick. Giving as your silken flesh parts around him, eagerly taking him in. But as wet as you are, as pliant, the stretch is unbearable. It chokes the air from his lungs when you tighten up around him—

“Fuckin' hell—” he snaps, his upper lip curling up beneath the mask. Your cunt makes him angry. Suddenly, viciously. The fury drips down his spine, pools at the base of his cock. His hand slips out from between your thighs, roughly grabbing your waist. Holding on tight as he jerks his hips harshly against you. 

You feel good. Perfect. Wrapped snugly around him. A hot, wet embrace. And he huffs at the bitterness that clots in his lungs; the surge of pleasure so blisteringly intense, it nearly makes him gag. Makes him sick. 

Price has this every night. 

The thought alone is a poison. It needles in deep, lashing at him with foul, rabid teeth. Cruelly, he pushes deeper, sinking his cock in another inch, another, another—mindless in this pursuit to tear you apart well before you're ready for it. 

He wants it to burn. To ache. Wants to be the worst fuck you've ever had; cock too big for you to take, but he feeds it to you in full. Gives you all of it. Every inch. Until your stomach churns with every press of his cockhead against your cervix, his glands sliding over that spot inside that makes your knee jerk and your eyes roll. 

Wants you to remember him as a beast. To think of his cock and feel nauseous. 

To sink deep inside of you—brutal and savage—until you can still feel him in your pussy for days. Each step causing a sharp pang in your lower belly. 

It's awful, he knows. Terrible. But he forces himself into you anyway, feeling your flesh split around him. A blunt, unyielding pressure until his balls tap against your ass, pussy spasming around the fat length he punishes you with. He's sure he's deeper inside of you than anything—any man, cheap silicon—has ever dreamed of being. Kissing places in you that nothing has ever touched. Feels it in the nervous flit of your muscles pulsing around him—this foreign thing bludgeoning into uncharted territory, stretching you wide. Almost virginal all over again. It makes him groan. 

Your pleasure is a muted ripple down his spine. The vibrator forcing you into enjoying the sharp sting of your rim pulled taut around the plug of his cock, skin blanching from the strain. He wants to stay just like this—grinding his hips into the backs of your spread thighs, cockhead chiselling into the molten seal of your womb with every gyration until the line between pleasure and pain begins to blur. Until you gag from how badly having your walls battered burns, hurts, but the bloom of pleasure deep inside your groin keeps you in place. Makes you arch your back, wanting more. 

Desperate for it. 

But this isn't what Price wants, is it? 

No—

He voices his impatience with a muffled grunt. Get on with it, Simon is pinched out between the silver of space between his teeth, the butt of a burning cigar keeping his jaw unhinged. The heady, sour-sweet stench of smouldering tobacco, nicotine, staining the words. 

You clench at the sound of Price's voice, pretty pussy drawing all tight around him. Perfectly trained. Sweet thing, he thinks, pulling out of you slowly. Just a few inches. Feeling your skin glue his; the glide of your walls over his shaft sickeningly good, nauseatingly so. He holds it for a moment, staring down at you through the eye holes of his mask, breathing heavily. Sweat drenches his skin. Tacky, hot. The starchy fabric clings to his flesh, peeling away each time he moves his head. 

The exertion of fucking his cock into you shows through the muted pulse of his joints, muscles aching from the strain of pushing forward. 

(Holding himself back.)

You blink at him blearily, eyes misted with tears. A smaller puddle sits on the table near your temples. 

Up close, he can see the full detail of the intricate shibari binding you tight. The sleek pink ribbon weaving over your chest, your breast, stomach—hishi karada, Price said. At the base of your neck is more silk in a mockery of a collar. And he wonders if you miss it, then. The solid weight of leather on your skin. If your hands weren't tied up, he imagines they'd be there. Holding firm. 

Just like the night he first met you. 

The silk rope, the loss of your collar—

“Your dad's a cruel man, ain't he?” He mocks, sliding his fingers over the delicate trim of silk bound tight under your heaving breasts, peppering across your nipple, down the slope. Resting at the base of your throat. The thin slip of fabric is not enough to give you what you need. The pressure, the friction. The sense of being owned. “Didn't even give his little girl a collar.” 

More of that tantalising shame rake over your expression. Tears dribble out in hot drops, spilling down the side of your face. 

He hums, slips this fragility into his back pocket. “Want me to give it to you, little girl?” 

He spits the words out like they're wrong. Awful. Takes in your flinch, the downward twist to your lips, and shoves that, too, into his pocket. 

Simon has no intention of waiting for an answer, for permission—he reels back, hand still splayed wide over your sternum, and pulls his cock out more until only the flare of his glands peaks out. He's soaked—glistening with your slick. So wet that it drips out of your plugged hole, gliding down the cleft of your ass. 

He wonders if you always get like this—

Bites that thought clean through with an angry groan, and pries his fingers out from the back of your knee, dragging them to the end of his mask. Rucking it up over his skin, bunched against the bridge of his nose. 

If the mess of his mouth, chin, the crooked, angular slope of his nose horrifies you at all, you don't let it show. Content to quietly sob on the table, eyes flickering between the thick plug of his cock between your thighs and the Price. 

He hates you, he thinks. And then he spits on your pretty pussy, right over your taut rim. Watches the foamy mess bubble, drip down to the skin behind his mushroomed head. When it pools there, he pulls back until the widened flare of his glands slips free. You whine—a noise of bright hot disgust, humiliation—and he lets it burrow under his skin, trickle down his spine. Then he pushes forward, popping the head back inside of you. 

The spit—his spit, too. 

And he does it again. The same thing. Pulling out, spitting. Feeding it to her. Letting it rub against the slick, wet (wetter now) walls of her cunt. 

Price doesn't say anything about this claim. Schoolboy possession—childish and immature when you're used to fine leather gripping tight around the slope of your neck.

Still. 

He pulls on your proverbial braids until it burns. 

The hum of the vibrator takes some of the sting away when he shoves inside of you again, cockhead bullying into your cervix with an unmatched cruelty. Leaking slick, steady, over your seal. Drooling, thick and viscous, against your walls. Staining you. 

Ruining you.

Each breath is punched out when he bottoms out. Forced from your lungs. Winded. He knows it hurts almost as much as the thick bludgeon of his cock pressing deep, but as he scrapes and claws at the rot concealing over his humanity, morality, he finds nothing inside of him left to care. 

He stops looking. Stops searching. 

Simon fucks into you with vigor instead, laughing mockingly at the lewd, sinful squelch of your cunt. “Think that's the sound of all my spit, birdie? Or is your sloppy little cunt always this fuckin’ messy?”

Each piston makes his pelvis slap into the vibrator; he can feel it through the tangle of coarse hair spooled above his cock. Buzzing incessantly against his skin. The spike of sharp pressure has you yowling beneath him, hips twisting, turning, trying to flee from the brutal onslaught. Pleasure and pain balancing on a knife's edge. 

He holds you there. Dangles you above the precipice just because he can—

A lazy flick of his waist. The savage grind of his hips. The softened bulge of his lower belly tapping against the plastic toy—

And it breaks you. This careless, effortless attention he pays to you has you tightening up around him like a knot, a vice; cunt squeezing, squeezing, before you shatter. Wave against a cliff; you spasm on his cock in a series of shallow, tight throbs pulsing along to the rapid fire of your heartbeat. 

His eyes are locked on your face. Pretty, lachrymal. Tears bleed down your temples, soaking into your hairline. Puddling underneath. 

His own little sea of your miserable pleasure. 

Eyes rolled into the back of your head. Toes curling. Hips jerking, twisting. Trying to run from the ugly, awful way he makes you cum. Makes you gorge yourself on pleasure. Force-feeding you pain with each sloppy, brutal thrust into your sopping, messy cunt—swollen, bruised; battered. And his—

—ice clinks against glass. A clicking swallow follows. The hollow thud of glass on wood. Scraping over the veneer as it's pushed back into place. Tobacco is chewed up by flames, popping and sizzling; smoldering with each inhale as the playwright watches the show he weaved together unfold—

—his. 

The silk around your neck comes loose with each thrash of your head rolling from side to side, shaking with quick, successive no, no, no’s that go unheeded, ignored. Every animalistic rut of his hips makes you change your mind, anyway. Turning those devastating no’s to yeses so eager, your teeth clack with every thrust. 

As it slips, sliding down the sweat-slicked column of your arched throat, he finds a stripe of red. A scab. Right at the knot where your collar would sit. A pretty gem in the middle. Your name, or maybe something that would amuse Price more than the perceived idea of your autonomy—bitch in glinting gold. His name and number etched into the back. 

if found, return to John Price. 

A foldhold, perhaps. Tailor-made for his boot. 

He hunts, Simon knows. Walked in reeking of leather and smoke when they first met and casually mentioned how good he was at Big Game hunting. A threat, then—however thinly veiled and erring on the side of mordant humour it was. But he wonders if Price personally made the collar you mourned the night he swung you into Simon's path. 

Your neck was bare, then. Blemishless. 

A collar too small. Tightened too much. Punishment, he supposes, and feels a sick sense of satisfaction roll down from his nape to the bottom of his spine where it pools in his groin—hot, molten oil—as he wonders just how much convincing it took you to agree to this. To spread your pretty legs for the ugly brute Price dangled you in front of. Who watched you all night from the corner of the room, chest heaving and eyes wide, wild, and furious. Reeking of rot. Want. To let him rut you like an animal while Price watches from the corner of the room—

A bead of sweat follows the phantom trail. 

“Fuck, birdie,” he's rasping, voice uttered wrecked. Mangled in his throat. “So fuckin’ tight f’me, ain't you? Must want me to cum inside this pretty cunt—”

You shiver. Knee jerking. There's a real sense of panic in your eyes when they dart over to Price, silently nursing another glass of scotch. He follows your gaze, catches Price glaring at him with his chin dipped low to his chest, peering out through his lashes. Brow furrowed. A flat line. 

Simon doesn't stop thrusting. Keeps a steady pace despite the anger brimming inside of him as the pleasure grows. Festers. 

Then—

Barely discernible: a nod. 

Shadows fall over his cheeks. He brings the glass back to his mouth with a surly mm between the mouthful. An irrevocable fuckin' get on with it. 

And Simon does.

The look he gives you pure predatory hunger. Victory in the potent stench of charred bones. He lifts his chin, stares down at you—all spread out like a gift to a god—and surges forward with a rabid hunger brimming in his guts. Unquenchable. Horrific. 

—wants you to eat you alive. Consume you whole. Leave nothing for Price to pick at, to mourn over,

settles instead for ruining your pussy. For fucking you raw. Cumming deep inside of your quivering cunt even when he knows you don't want that. Are silently begging Price to reconsider. To get this ugly fucking mutt off of you—

It churns his guts. Makes him viciously excited over the image that brims in the back of his head, tears raining down your cheeks as you bring a shaky hand to your aching, swollen cunt, feeling the thick, viscous glob of his cum leaking out.

Or before that, when you have to lay there and take it. Feeling his cock throbbing, pulsing as it spits cum inside of you. When he pulls out, and a milky trail follows, dribbling down between your cheeks. At his mercy the whole time, too, because Price won't get up right away to untie you. You'll have to lay there in his filth, feeling it ooze out of you—

He wants it. Badly. Feels it scorching his hindbrain, burning him up from the inside out. 

Later, he thinks, he'll fuck you with more finesse. Make you cum on his fingers—stuff them inside of your sore, aching cunt to the last knuckle; give you three of them to squeeze around, to cling to, and watch the ink on his bruised, scabbed skin disappear inside of you over and over again, pulling them out all slick, pearlescent with a mix of his cum and yours. On his tongue, too. Keep you in this pretty frogtie, unable to push him off—or pull him closer. Forced to take it. To let him lap at your pussy until he quenches this uneasy hunger festering inside of his stomach, growing bolder, greedier at the sight of you splayed out like this, exhausted already even though he's only just begun. 

Fuck you again, too, just because he can. 

all yours for a night, Price had said, sealing your fate with a sharp, decisive nod. 

He plans on making the most of the twelve hours until sunrise that he has. 

This, then, the appetizer—

It curls over his shoulders, tar-stained fingers digging into the tight coil of his muscles, easing the tension in increments. Soothing out the fear that still clings to him of missing out. Still, very much, that hungry little mutt on the side of the street, peering into the bakery at the family's milling about, smiling happily. Content to ignore the brat in rags glaring at them from an alcove with bruises on his chin, and a black split on his lip. Diving for scraps because the alternative is going to bed with an empty stomach in a house that reeks of flat beer and stale piss. 

There's nothing to miss out on here, it reasons, when he has you all night. All his. 

“Beg me,” he huffs, sniffing through the balmy, damp mask when it slips down his crooked nose. “Beg me not to cum inside you.”

All you can do is make a small, keening oomph behind the loose gag, words muffled by wet silk. His head rolls back, eyes narrowing down at you in mocking delight—catlike, leonine, in the dwindling glimmer of sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains. 

“C’mon,” he taunts, rolls his hips into you just to hear the loud, wet squelch of your pussy taking the full, fat length of his cock. Lets the noise box through his ears in a vicious, heavy punch. “Or I'll cum inside you—”

He's already there. Edging toward the precipice. 

Simon grabs the tops of your thighs, digging his fingers into your skin, and pulls you closer to the edge of the table until your ass lifts. It opens you up wider for him, knees notched wide, nearly level with your ears. The new position lets him push in deeper, fucking you in full now. Balls slapping against your ass with every brutal stroke. 

He leans down, knee lifting to the table as he climbs on before dropping the full heft of his weight onto you. Forearm braced above your head, the other catching the column of your bare, scratched neck in the wide spread of his palm. 

The size difference before was intoxicating. A rush that pooled in the back of his head before rocketing down to his spine, filling his cock, but this—your knees bracketing around his waist, spread so wide they're forced down flat to the table below in a split that lets his cock sink in deeper, head tucked against his collarbone, swallowed whole beneath him, is his undoing. 

Arched over you like a beast, he grunts. Ruts into your sopping cunt and feels the whines that spill from your throat at the rough way he batters into you. 

The softness of his lower belly grazes the vibrator humming on your clit. The pressure makes your eyes widen, and roll into the back of your head. Neck trapped in his hold as you thrash beneath him, sobbing in earnest. In dismay. 

He's sure it hurts. The pleasure careening into overstimulation—the kind that burns, bellows too much, no more. He huffs out a derisive snort, and eats your misery from your parted lips, dipping his head down to catch the seam of your mouth in a mockery of a kiss. The silk wrapped around your head, tucked neatly into the corners of your mouth, keeps it from being anything more than a messy smear of his scarred, torn lips and your muffled gasps. The band prevents him from really tasting you, and he makes do with curling his tongue over your teeth, catching the drool running down your chin. 

It's gross. Messy. He slurps you up, and hums in pleasure when he tastes the brine of your tears. 

“Gonna cum,” he grunts into the silk before catching it between his crooked teeth, nibbling on the wet hem, sucking on your spit soaked into the fabric. 

Your pussy spasms around him. Eager, he thinks—pulsing like a heartbeat and starving for it. It blooms under his skin, burning hot like a fever. His tongue slips under your gag. Eyes glued to yours, listed in quiet, merciless delight when you grimace as he slides it along yours, nearly gagging you on it. 

It's almost sweet. A pastiche of loving making—as close to the real thing as he's ever come. The thought is a bludgeon to his head, making his ears ring—

And he runs from it. Rears back from the sloppy kiss, eyes creasing, brow furrowing, as you stare up at him with wet, glossy eyes, rheumy with tears. Silently pleading for something he can't discern. He feels that trail of anger coiling in his guts again, sitting low in his belly as his hips stutter to a slow, softer roll. 

His finger lifts, settles on the corner of your unhinged jaw, holding your head steady. There are lines, he thinks. Walls, divides. Protective armour—

And some shouldn't be crossed. 

Simon spits on your gag. Squeezes the huff of disgust from your throat when he feels your chest expand with it. Bullies himself closer, smothering you under his weight. Owned, then. Claimed. 

You can't close your mouth around the gag, or fingers digging into the muscle of your jaw. He keeps you like that, degraded. Dehumanised. A vessel for him to use as he likes—

Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sinks into your bruised cunt again, hips slapping meanly into yours in a way he knows must ache. Sets a choppy, deep pace; humps your pussy and grinds the weeping, swollen head of his cock into your battered cervix. Loses himself in the messy, plugging rolls of his hips; the wet, tight slide of your skin—flushed and clenching around the thick of himself he feeds to you, over and over again. Mindless in the pursuit to ruin you further. Stain you with his cum—

The problem is:

You feel like heaven. Pussy wrapped tight around him. Silken walls hugging his aching cock until it feels like he's melting into the hot, wet squeeze of it. So good it hums inside his head like a purr, rattles his thoughts around until the ugly, bitter anger is turned inside out. Flipped. 

He thinks about lines again as his sticky, wet balls glue to the slick skin of your ass, peeling off in a way that has pleasure peppering along his spine, spooling in his lower back. He did that, caused it. Made you so fucking wet that his knees slide in the messy spill of it leaking all over the table. The loud squelch of him slamming into your cunt echoes in the room—shrill and bone-melting. Ego-feeding. Enough to gorge his pride on it until its belly threatens to burst at the seams. Overfull. 

Simon grunts. His face is soaked. The damp fabric of his mask is too drenched to even mop it up, sticking to his skin as sweat rains down from his shorn hairline, misting over his eyes. His upper lip. The dip of his chin. He's more water than man. Liquid. Melting into you. 

The heat is unbearable. “Gonna cum in this pussy,” he snarls, and it sounds like a threat. Is one. He's going to burst inside of you, molten and thick. Been a while, he thinks, and feels his balls draw up. Tightening in a promise as he fucks himself into a syrupy stupor above you. 

The inside of his ears are wet, and he thinks it might be his fucking brain leaking out—

The tight coil of his body snaps before he does, giving out in a heavy groan. He catches himself before he crushes you beneath him, still mindlessly thrusting into your cunt, cock pulsing, throbbing. Growing thicker, thicker, as he heaves into your temple, breathing in the pine scent of your skin. Loam, sea. Sweat. You smell like Price beneath it all—leather and smoke; scotch and wood—and his lips curl into a vicious snarl, teeth bared at the man in the corner, silent observer to this blasphemous confessional where he spills his guts inside of you, and you eat them up like they're made of gold dust. 

It rushes him. A kick to his soft stomach, a boot crushing his ribs. The force of it hurts when it hits, surging up from the base of his spine, too fast for him to brace for. Tensing, coiling. The pressure knocks the air from his lungs, makes his hips stutter. Joints whining, twinging with pain. 

He moans low and brassy, mangled deep in the rot of his chest, and cums deep inside of you. Sloppy, mindlessly rutting into the spread bracket of your thighs as pleasure burns across the back of his neck, his spine. His hips roll, shaking. Melting as he spills, spits thick globs of cum out, cockhead bullied tight against your plug. 

All you can do is heave beneath him, whining at the molten spend he pours into you. Poor fuckin’ thing—

His lips are sticky, slick with sweat. He rubs them against the tacky skin of your temple, your cheekbone, babbling nonsense out on a purr—

Breedin’ this tight little pussy right in front of your old man, birdie. Got ‘im watchin’ his little girl take my thick fuckin’ load inside o’her. Fuckin’ hell—

—things that leak out between the cracks in the armour. The thick veneer. Made worse, his personal hell, when he feels your hips bump into his, taking his cock deeper inside as you squirm under the heavy weight of him. With your thigh flexing, squeezing his hip, it almost feels like you want more. All of him. For him to crawl deep inside of you, cocooned in the bracket of your ribs—

“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he rasps, words slurring. Eliding into mush. Nonsense he'll come to crush between his teeth later when he buries himself back inside of you over and over again, feeding blood to this vicious seedling inside of him. 

Through the pounding in his head, your gasping little hitches in his ear, the undeniable silence from Price weighs on him even as the aftershocks of his release mute the noise in his head. A dense, hazy fog clouding over all thoughts. 

It doesn't feel angry. Jealous. If anything it reeks of victory—

He grasps through the blanket, the murk, with lazy hands until he finds what he's looking for, and—

Oh. 

Right. 

(“Got a proposition for you, Simon,” the man says, and Simon snorts. 

He reeks of the same brand of cheap cigarettes as always—stale smoke, day old tobacco; acrid and unpleasant. It makes his skin itch. 

“an’ I told you already, Price. I ain't interested in a team—”

“Not a team, Simon.” The look he levels him with is nothing short of malicious. Dangerous. “Got something else in mind—”)

Then through the door was you. Pretty as a picture—

He stares down at you now. The base of his cock is soaked with your slick, flesh throbbing, pulsing, as he cums inside of you. 

It's this—you, crying over the feeling of him spilling so deeply inside of you while your old man watches from the sidelines, unable to do anything but sit there as Simon fills his baby girl up—that he wanted. Wants. Needs, he thinks, more than the stale, humid air he breathes. A place of his own. Home. Even if it's made of paper mache, carved inside of someone else, someone who already has a collar. A brand—

But that's the point, isn't it?

A sick feeling curls over his shoulders as he thumbs the slim vibrator off of your clit, staring down at the swollen nub at the apex of your mound. Sore and sensitive and flushed bright. Bruised like an apple. Abused for hours. Poor thing, he thinks, even as he rubs the flat of his finger over it. 

His cum seeps out around the softening plug of his cock. But it's still thicker than anything you'd ever taken before, he's sure. Sick with the deep sense of satisfaction that rolls over him at the thought. 

It's worth it, then, even as the dawning realisation trickles over him like hot oil—

“What d’you like, Simon?”

A pretty bird in pale pink chiffon. Too good for the likes of him. Afraid of him, too. Cowerin’. Cryin’ somethin’ awful when he sinks his ugly, fat prick into them—

Price hummed. Curled his index finger over the top of his cigar, tapped the thick wrap twice with the tip of it, and then brought it to his lips. A flash of teeth beneath his beard—nicotine-stained; crooked in the low light—before they sunk into the butt. 

There was something measured in his stare. Predatory. 

Victorious. 

And—

He gets it. You were a dangling lure in the deep, dark of the abyssal layer. A glimmer of light in thick murk. Iridescent. Dazzling. He was always meant to sink his teeth into you, wasn't he? Always meant to take a bite—

hook. line—

—sinker. 

Or—

It would be if the fish Price caught wasn't a leviathan. 

—in the scorching trail the oil leaves behind, something bestial, primordial, inside of his cocks its head in consideration. he can make a feast from this, it says; and so, he does—

“Need my help, Price?” Simon drawls, arms crossing over his chest as he stares down at him, quietly amused, and John feels the pulse between his temples starting up again the same way it had all those years back when he bumped into the man with you on his arm. 

He grunts. “Sendin’ you to Mexico.”

“Tha’ so? I might be busy.”

He sucks in a deep breath, reaches for his cigar. The itch claws behind his eyes, in his gums. There's a headache, too. One he knows won't be soothed over with the numbing bliss of nicotine or a shot of scotch. Not when he'll have to slink home afterwards, this massive behemoth nipping at his heel, and deal with the aftermath of what happens whenever he sets Simon loose on you:

an icepack pressed tight against your aching cunt, a glare fixed on your face as he dotes on you after you made him clean up the absolute mess Simon left behind with his fingers and tongue—

“never again,” you'll hiss, wincing with each pull of his knuckles on your sore, bruised walls. “I mean it—”

(you always say that but the look in your eye whenever he pulls out the silk—the new assortment that Simon bought for you himself—tells him otherwise—)

He presses the heel of his palm into the crease between his eye and bone, rubbing until he sees phosphenes spark behind his eyelids. 

“She'll be in silk,” he grouses, sucking his teeth in irritation. “And you'll be on fuckin’ plane to Mexico the next morning, Riley. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” he draws lazily with a half-hearted shrug, but Price can see the mutt inside of him panting with glee. He pretends to huff. Then: “I want her in white this time.”

The fuckin' prick.

—Price’s gamble of using you to lure the big, bad dog in works. but maybe a little too well. because now his sergeant expects one every time he's sent on a mission. and they send him out a lot. 

—he now has a key to his captain's house. lets himself in whenever he wants. finds you exactly how he asked for it. usually tied up in silk, crying, and struggling to get away when he stalks inside the room. on your knees, begging him so sweetly not to fuck your throat too hard. you have work tomorrow. or fighting him off as best as you can until he pins you down, works his cock inside of you. 

—in full view of the cameras, of course. non-negotiable. Price gets to see everything his brutish sergeant does to his pretty bird. everything. 

—Simon is the one who keeps you company when Price is sent off to work with the CIA. keeps you stuffed full of his cock in the bed you share with Price, his little girl sobbing into the pillow that reeks of smoke and leather and sex as Simon forces every inch of his stupid fat cock inside you

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐠𝐨𝐝 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light angst/all smut, some possessiveness/jealousy, breeding, mind-break, overstimulation, squirting, pussy slapping, begging, double and hints of triple penetration (satoru's clones, listen i know you need to do things to get the clone but I don't care they are just going to appear because smut and I'm horny), fingering your ass, edging, begging, teasing, daddy/mama/princess/sweetheart etc...., hints at breeding, toji holds you up and fucks you like a cock sleeve, choking, stoner!suguru, shotgunning, some grinding, groping, kissing, semi-outdoor/car sex

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: god I missed your cock with toru!

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Folding you in half, pinning the back of your knees by your sides. Admiring your soaking wet, tight cunt stretching to take his pale pink cockhead. Closing your eyes, biting your bottom lip, muffling your cries.

Gliding his cock out, the soft ridge line of his head tugging on your cunt. Slapping your plush lips and sensitive clit. "Look at me, sweetheart! Who am I?" Rolling your eyes at him.

"My annoying slightly handsome ex?" Your empty cunt clenching when he slaps his long, veiny cock.

"Wrong answer!" He groans at the slick sound of gliding his head between your plush wet lips. "Guess you don't need my cock that badly." Avoiding your clit, nudging half his head past your lips. Swirling his head at your soaking wet, clenching hole.

Pushing your hips down, Satoru pulls away. "No! I mean yes. I mean, I didn't need it before. If you won't, then I'll call Ky-" You can't finish the word before he stuffs two fingers past your lips. Pinching your tongue. A second Satoru looms over you.

Clone Toru lets your tongue go once you whine. He smirks crooning, "Why do you look surprised, my love?” Satoru flips you over by your legs, grabbing your hips and lifting them up. Grabbing the previously forgotten lube nearby.

'my love' the words replay in your mind, soaking your cunt and tugging on your heart. Bitting your lip refusing to let the 'i love you too' slip out. After all the work to try and forget him, crumbling in one night around him.

Satoru generously pours lube on your other hole. Smearing it in small circles, with his thick pointer fingers. Both holes clench from the anticipation. “I'm offended after all the times you begged for me to fill up every little, sloppy wet hole.” Toru grabs your hair, lifting your head up, stroking his head. Smearing his pre-cum with his thumb.

Moaning when Satoru glides his finger in, spreading the lube with each pump. “It’s been almost two years!" He swipes his cock head between your plush lips, squeezing your cheek with his finger in your ass. Satoru rocks his hips forward, Toru stuffs your mouth the second you moan.

Fingering your ass at the same pace he fucks your tight sloppy wet cunt. "So fuckin' warm, sweetheart." He roughly slaps your other cheek. Crying around Toru's cock, he pushes your head down, your cunt clenching as you gag.

Toru groans, "It doesn't matter who you fuck, you had me, sweetheart." Picking his pace up, his balls hitting your chin. Letting go of your hair, grabbing your neck, choking you. Both of your holes clenching from the pleasurable pain of the restriction whilst getting roughly face fucked.

Satoru groans, "I'll always be the best you've ever had. Tell me I'm wrong." Gliding another finger into your ass. It feels too good to have his thick fingers stretching, filling you up. As he pounds your sloppy wet cunt loose.

Your mind is going blank from getting sandwiched between two Satorus. "You're going to take another cock in this pretty little hole till I stuff every hole full of cum." You're losing your reservations towards him.

Whining the second Toru slips his cock out of your mouth, loosening his grasp on your neck. "God I missed your cocks!" Sticking your tongue out wanting him to fuck your mouth for your and his pleasure. Toru slaps his cock on your tongue.

"I know you did, that's why we couldn't stay away." Satoru pulls away, grabbing your neck to pull you back. Another Satoru appears before your eyes next to the first clone. Ru lays down, "You're going to take all three of me like you used to."

You want to pretend Satoru is your’s again. That you never left. Satoru loosens his grasp on your neck. "I'm your’s." Satoru pushes your chin up with his thumb, passionately kissing you with a loud groan. Wrapping his arm around your waist, shifting you to straddle his clone.

Ru's warm, cock into you. "All fuckin' mine, say it again. I need to hear it." Satoru lines his cock up with your asshole. Groaning from the pleasurable stretch into Satoru's mouth.

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

You're blaming the drinks Toji bought you for the hot tingly soaking wetness of your cunt. It's not him, with his large macular body pinning you to the bed. Making you feel so small and powerless beneath him, nothing but a beautiful fuck toy for his cock.

You don't care how you've missed the shade of forest green Toji's eyes are. Old feelings aren't stirring up after he stares deep into your eyes. Switching between memorizing the way your soaking wet cunt stretches for fat, veiny cock and your cock drunk expression.

Reminding him, "This means nothing. We aren't talking after this." You can feel every puffy vein, the softness of his skin rubbing your soft, wet cunt. Clenching him, your eyes rolling back and toes curling from how hard Toji is.

You're going to cum when Toji stops moving. Pinching your clit, jerking your hips back into the blankets, crying. He points out, “Sounds like you're reminding yourself. You know you missed me mama. You didn't have to bring me home with ya." Stroking your clit, easing the pain with pleasure. Sliding his cock out till his fat head is tugging on your tight cunt.

He splays his fingers on your stomach, pinning you down. “Don't see why I did, when you're not letting me cummmm!” Toji grabs the headboard, using his size and strength to roughly glide his cock into your dripping cunt.

The venom in your voice softens into a needy moan. “You’re-nnnnannnn asshole.” Grabbing a fistful of his black hair to tug on it. He looks too beautiful moaning, his eyes fluttering shut his jaw dropping. His pussy drunk expression getting you off.

“I am sweetheart, I’m n' asshole for leaving both of ya. Biggest fuckin’ mistake was letting ya go.” You can't give in to him again. This is just lip service, but why when he's already in you.

It's already too much getting underneath him, taking his fat, veiny cock. You couldn't open your heart to him again. Whining, “Don’t say that." Letting your headboard go, grabbing your neck loosely, leaning down roughly kissing you.

Biting your bottom lip, making it tingle. “Can't help it doll, I'm inside ya but it's not enough I miss ya so badly. Miss see ya in the morning, coming home to ya, hearing your voice. Can't forget how beautiful you look with your belly swelling, your tits dripping milk." Your soaking wet cunt clenching Toji's veiny cock.

You're clamping down on his cock feeling every vein too acutely. You can't think straight, you can only fixate on how hard his cock is. Your toes curling, your tight trembling your cunt dripping down your cheeks. Your resolve crumbles.

Toji's former title slips off so easily, "Please Daddy don't stop! Oh god, daddy please m' so close! Oh god I missed your cock!" You're so close, the pressure in your gut is about to burst. Desperately you want to cum on Toji's cock.

Toji groans, the deep rough sound pushing you over the edge. "Aw my mama so worked up she's cumming after a few strokes. Good girl, make a mess of your daddy's cock" He grabs your neck and hip, pulling you off the bed. Holding you up right, bouncing you on his cock with ease.

Wrapping your arm around his shoulders digging in your nails. Giving up on thinking about anything else but being Toji's fuck toy. He loosens his grasp around your neck. "That's it nnnn! Daaadddy fuck me, use your cunt! Nnn you're so big stretching my pussy out, reachin' so deep. Nnnn." Sliding your hand down his thick arm, squeezing his hard muscular bicep.

Sliding your hand down his thick chest, his tits jiggle with each thrust. Squeezing one and biting down unable to resist. Toji croons, "You like how big daddy is? Huh let me hear it otherwise I won't cum in you." All you have to ground yourself and hold onto is Toji.

"I missed your dirty mouth talking about my big cock. Callin' me daddy makin' me want to make you a mama, oh wait I did." Whining, wrapping your legs around his waist, not wanting him to pull away. The one thing your mind can focus on is his thick cum.

Toji roughly grunts, "You're all fuckin' mine." Squeezing your throat tightly, rocking you faster on his cock. His navel brushing your sensitive, puffy clit. You're too close to cumming, and so quickly. You're so powerless in his hands, getting fucked by Toji like he owns your pussy.

Your body is tingling and going limp when he lets go. Holding you close to him by your neck. The second you can breath steadily you beg, "I'm your beautiful baby mama. Wanna feel you cum in me, please daddy. It's been so long, missed feeling your fat puffy veins pulse right before you fill me up."

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Suguru's large, warm hand hasn't left your thigh, sliding higher. Getting closer to your cunt soaking through your underwear. Pressing your thighs together trapping his hand. Taking your gaze off the full moon and stars above to study Suguru’s beautiful side profile.

He breathes in the last hit off the blunt, squeezing your thigh. Shifting your hips, his pinkie brushing your clothed cunt. Suguru leans in for a kiss, parting your lips, bitter smoke drifts into your mouth.

He pulls away too soon, snuffing out the blunt in the ashtray he bought. "Takin' me out here, smokin' with me under the stars." Straddling his hips. Suguru glides his hand underneath your shirt. "Seems like you're trying something." Rocking your hips, grinding your clothed, soaking wet cunt on his covered, hard cock.

He fondles your cheek, slipping his hand up your shirt. Closing your eyes, savoring the pleasure of Suguru feeling you up. His large warm hands, "I'm trying to see if we can make us work again. I've been getting help, doing better and I'm so fuckin' sorry I hurt you." Your eyes sting with tears you blink away.

"You're the best person I could have ever had the chance of being with. I miss you, want to be anything you'll let me be." Gliding your fingers into his soft dark hair, half up and down, pulling him in for another passionate kiss.

You've been in denial about how much miss the softness and shape of Suguru's lips. He parts his lip for you to slip your tongue past. Moaning into his mouth. There's a deep-seated longing in his needy groans, your moans, and the desperate way he holds onto you.

No one else feels so right to kiss, hump, and grope. Breaking away, his harsh words ring in the back of your head. Could you really start again, without him pushing you away? You couldn't fully take the step so quickly. "We can be friends with benefits, hang out and cuddle fuck a few times." His handsome face catches the full moon's light.

Kissing down Suguru's well-defined jawline. He wonders, "Do those benefits include going on dates?" He tugs on your shirt, pulling your arms up for Suguru to slip your shirt off. Tossing your shirt aside, you help Suguru make quick work of his shirt.

He's bigger since you last saw him. Thicker pecs, sharply defined abs, and brawny, muscular arms. "Sometimes, we can go on a casual date. Nothing fancy or serious." Dragging a finger down between his pecs. Tracing your finger underneath Suguru's left thick pec.

Suguru squeezes your hips, "More dates like these then? Just two friends fuckin' around in the woods." Standing up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You undo the bun in his hair, sliding your fingers through his silky hair. Once by his shoulders now meeting the middle of his back.

"Catching up, getting high, and staring at the stars isn't too bad of a way to pass time." Climbing onto the mattress in the back of his remodeled van. He leans over, laying you down with your head on a pillow. He grabs your skirt, tugging it off with your underwear tossing it to the side.

Spreading your legs groaning when he sees your soaking wet cunt clench. Spreading your lips apart, "Next time we can get a little kinker with it and I can hunt you down. When I win." Suguru glides a thick finger into you, "I'll fuck you till you squirt." Finding your g-spot in seconds. Rubbing your puffy, sensitive clit with his thumb.

You whine, "Don't tease me, please I want you so badly. God I missed your cock and how you touch n' kiss me." Your cries turn to begging, "Daddy let me suck you off if you're going to eat me out. I'll sit on your handsome face, gag myself with your cock n' massage your balls." He glides his finger out, licking it clean.

He climbs out of the van, partly pushing his cozy-looking baggy sweats down. "You missed what now?" Giving you a small glimpse of the bottom of his hard cock. The two thick veins on the top are making your mouth water. You want to suck his cock, and fondle his balls.

Crawling towards him, pushing his sweats down, grabbing his heavy cock. Your eyes widen, and you remember Suguru was big. But damn your memory didn't do him justice. using both your hands. "I remember but forgot big you are, hottest fuckin' cock," cupping his ball sack, fondling him. "I missed how you stretch out my cunt." Kissing his head, he groans, rutting his hips forward, his thick thighs flexing.

"I've missed how good you taste, want you to sit on my face and smother me." Smearing his pre cum around looking at him in his warm brown eyes. Letting him go, enjoying the soft plop of his heavy cock falling onto his balls.

He steps out of his sweats and climbs onto the bed. Fixing his hair so you won't kneel on it. In those few seconds, you can't leave him alone. Gliding your hands over his hard abs, picking up his cock and taking him deep into your mouth.

Suguru's breathy loud groan of your name makes your cunt drip down your thighs. He sounds so beautiful it's almost a pity you have to smother him with your pussy.

strawberry brat all works

[gutsby]

Love Tap

Pairing: Dad!Joel x Reader

Summary: Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

Warnings: 18+. Joel Miller is a MUNCH Oral (f!receiving). Unprotected p-in-v (quickie). Slice of life, domestic-style and Joel calls you ‘Mama’ a whole lot. One playful bite.

Word count: 2.4k

Note: ‘You better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck up’ is a line from 2Pac’s song, ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’

Joel Miller was a wonderful father.

Occasionally, he forgot how to act like one.

He had a tendency to get a little careless. Sloppy.

Letting the dignified, ever-respectful façade slip every now and again and smacking your ass when you walked past. Copping a feel when you had to squeeze by him in the kitchen. Best of all, pinching your cheek through your skirt while you were cradling the baby—his baby—and leaving you no choice but to shoot him a quick back-the-fuck-up-before-you-get-smacked-the-fuck-up look and a covert middle finger to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be slapping your butt in front of the kids.

It was just bad practice to engage in those dumb, flirty antics, particularly when your four-year-old son had made it his mission in life to imitate everything dad did.

But again, Joel would sometimes forget that.

On a morning when he’d woken up a little too early with an erection that was a tad too stubborn to ignore, he got especially forgetful. He found himself plastered to your backside at the edge of the bathroom counter with a grin, knowing damn well you only had twenty-five minutes to get the family dressed, fed, and on the road.

“Joel, you are so—”

“Quick. I’ll be quick.”

His eyes suddenly pleading with yours in the mirror. You just might’ve had the willpower to turn his honeyed gaze away were it not for the lips that followed it. Tracing the shell of your ear and behind it, down your neck, leaving trails of soft kisses down the skin until he reached the collarbone, your sweet spot, and licked it—the bastard.

“Five. Minutes.” Your words were equal parts invitation and warning as you shimmied your PJs over your butt.

“You know I’ll have ya finished in two, sweet pea,” Joel teased—but deep down, you knew he wasn’t kidding.

Both of you had cum and were done in a record-breaking four and a half minutes, swapping pyjamas for normal clothes in less than half the time and stepping back out of the bathroom with your hair only marginally tousled.

By now you had the ‘Pre-K starts in thirty’ types of quickies down pat. You were proud. You glanced over your shoulder to see a similar glint in Joel’s eye, and as you started out the bedroom door, you felt a tap on your ass—or, with the sheer breadth of your husband’s hand, more like a WHACK, followed by the sound of a stifled laugh.

“Can Daddy get some more’a that later?” he quipped.

“More’a what?”

Aw, hell.

Your sweet, forever nosy mini-Joel was standing directly in front of you with two pinched brows and a mostly eaten dino nugget clenched tight in his tiny fist.

You opened your mouth to conjure up some half-assed excuse for the spank your son just saw, but then your husband was scooping the kid up in his arms and toting him straight down the hallway, and you heard, faintly:

“Whatcha gettin’ from Mama later?”

“None of your beeswax, bubs.”

Joel got his second helping around lunchtime.

He’d been in between calls with what felt like an endless stream of subcontractors, suppliers, architects, and project managers when he swung by the house. You were in the midst of baking cardamom buns when he blew through the kitchen like an EF5 tornado and decided he’d be feasting on something else entirely.

“Joel, my buns,” you whined as soon as he’d carried you up the stairs and tossed you onto the bed, eager as ever.

“Fuck your buns.”

“You already fucked ‘em this morning—can you relax?”

Your husband already had your pants tugged halfway down your legs. You let him, then helped him kick the fabric the rest of the way off when it got to your ankles.

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac, Miller, y’know that?”

Something in the way he smirked as he sank his face between your bare thighs told you he already knew that. You would’ve liked to try and scold him again—give him a little more grief for the baked treats that would surely be burnt to a crisp by the time he was done—but then you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your slit, and you refrained.

Even if you’d wanted to, you scarcely would’ve been able to form a single word apart from, ‘Fu-cking hell, Joel’ and ‘Right there, right thereohfuuuuuuckfuckfuck.’

That was just fine by your husband.

In fact, he seemed perfectly content to lap at your slick, glistening folds while you moaned and cursed his name; it made him proud. Appreciative. Maybe even a tad too smug for his own good, if he were being honest, because the way you fisted his hair and rutted your hips against his face made you act a little more like him. A touch more reckless, sloppy, and desperate than your daily obligations as parents would seem to allow. A bit less proper and refined and a lot more slutty—all for him.

Joel teased your clit with a few soft touches from the tip of his tongue, and you almost tore the sheets in two.

“That feel good, Mama?” he hummed.

“F-Fingers, fuck, Joel— fingers,” you begged.

Still using his tongue, Joel drew the shape of a lemniscate extra slow just to spite you. You whined and bucked your hips in protest, but the man was undeterred—he knew exactly what he was doing. The only way he could be tempted to use his fingers now would be to spread your lips apart and lick you more, which he did.

Joel licked and sucked and drove you up the fucking wall with those figure eights until you nearly couldn’t take it. In one hasty, desperate move, you tilted your hips and tried to slip a finger past Joel’s mouth, into your cunt.

He bit that finger. You yelped.

“JOEL!”

It wasn’t that the bite actually hurt—his teeth barely grazed skin—but rather the way he refused to speed up. Gauging your wants and your needs with expert precision, he massaged the hood of your clit with his tongue and took care to plant suckling kisses as he did. You moaned and squeezed the bedspread, relishing the vulgar sounds of his mouth and the need he was building inside you. You turned your head to the side and whined into the pillow, knowing from the depths of your soul you needed release, but Joel just wouldn’t oblige you…yet.

When he grinned against your wet, warm, and slippery folds, his mouth might as well have joined in and said, ‘Keep going—you’ll cum on my tongue when I say so.’

Instead, Joel opted to say ‘Mama’ again, softly.

Mama.

He always called you that when he took you extra slow. Sometimes when he took you quick, too. Like a reminder to you both that you were, in fact, the mother of his children, and if the man had had it his way he’d have given you fifty more by now, daycare bills be damned.

He was generous like that. Always giving, giving, giving.

Just not when it came to doling out orgasms sometimes.

“I have a divorce lawyer on speed dial, just so you know,” you hissed through gritted teeth, head falling back when Joel’s tongue sank forward—inside you, then, “FUCK!”

“Mhmmm,” he hummed before retracting once more. Licking the soft, fleshy rim and nearly eliciting a scream.

Joel traced a circle with his tongue. He savored the taste. While you were whining and grinding your hips against the wet spot underneath you—a puddle that would only grow larger the longer he went on—your husband was devouring you, kissing your thighs every now and then.

“Well, if we split, my tongue goes too,” Joel said. Smug.

“Texas is a community property state,” you murmured, “I taught you how to eat pussy so your mouth is a marital asset.”

Silently, Joel wondered how that argument might hold up in court, grinned, then continued licking your cunt. You squeezed his head with your thighs, dug the balls of your feet in the sheets, and let out a lewd, pornographic scream that could’ve woken half the street. Luckily, your neighbors were probably all at work, your bedroom walls insulated just well enough to mask the noise, and Joel’s resolve crumbling slowly as he kissed between your legs.

One wanton, shameless, ‘I’m gonna cum, Joel, please’ was like music to his ears. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with a wife and mother as sweet as you, so upright and polite in your day-to-day life and then a hot, trembling mess beneath his tongue when he needed you like this the most. Surely he couldn’t treat you so mean.

Joel wedged two thick fingers in your slick, dripping heat and beckoned you to him as kindly as he possibly could. Rubbing the pads of both digits, callused as they were, against the spongy insides of your core and flicking them forward—‘C’mere, Mama, Daddy’s right here, go on’— so of course, you had no other logical choice but to cum.

It was all habit by now. A dazzling, sumptuous routine.

And Joel Miller was certain he’d never tire of seeing it.

Your spine arched off the mattress an inch or two, toes curling at the feeling, and while the sensation spanned over your body, your husband was the first to see it, sense it on his lips and tongue and fingers just as well. He squeezed your hip, told you how fucking pretty you looked when you came for him, then patiently waited out the spasms and cries and fingers lacing through his soft, dark locks like he was your last remaining tether to earth.

Then he kissed the inside of your thighs and smiled.

“All better, honey?” he hummed.

“Yeah,” you breathed back.

“Still want a divorce?”

A smirk and a response of ‘Not until you knock me up at least one more time’ was hovering somewhere over your tongue when you felt the bed shake. Buzzing. Vibrating?

Joel sat up between your legs and yanked something out from under his ass. He peered down at the thing—staring into a screen—and cocked a brow as he looked back up.

“Someone’s been naughty,” he said simply. Grinning.

He lobbed the phone your way, and you just barely managed to catch it between two trembling hands.

Incoming Call: Francisco C. Morales Elementary

You shot Joel a look and answered it instantly.

Disoriented, disheveled, and slightly foggy from climax, you half-expected to find one of your son’s disgruntled teachers on the other end of the line, reminding you that today was a noon dismissal and everyone was supposed to pick their kids up an hour ago. Your husband was the one who would always keep up with school schedules, so your gaze narrowed at him, butt scooting up the bed while he tried to dive right back between your legs.

“He-llo?”

You smacked a hand away from the front of your blouse.

“Is this Mrs. Miller?” a voice trilled through the phone.

Yes, unfortunately, it was.

You almost had to backhand Joel across the face when he tried to bite the button off your brand new top, teeth ruthless in their pursuit of getting you fully naked now.

“This is she,” you squeaked.

Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line—as though they knew you had a broad, hulking husband with a cock as hard as sheet metal trying to tear your clothes off while you talked. You stifled a shriek and a giggle when you felt your relentless man move down.

Joel was busy working your blouse from the bottom with that feral mouth of his when the voice sounded again:

“We’d really appreciate it if you and your husband could come see us this afternoon to have a little chat about—”

Your eyes widened. You clutched your phone even tighter and this time, more seriously, shoved Joel away. When he frowned and started to pout, you raised a finger.

“A-About what? Has my— has he done something bad?” Your voice all of a sudden tight, words wavering just enough to snag your husband’s attention too.

“We can explain more when you get here, he’s just…”

‘What the fuck?’ Joel mouthed silently, leaning in.

“What? What’s he done?” You couldn’t help it.

You heard a long sigh across the line, and you knew that wasn’t good. It sounded a lot like the kind of sighs you made whenever your baby made a colossal mess all over the kitchen floor, or your husband slammed a door too loud and woke the kids from their nap, or your son just—

“—keeps slapping his classmates on the butt.”

“Wait, what?”

You blinked. Joel coughed. Together, half-naked on the bed, you sat up a little straighter and leaned even closer into the phone, hearts starting to thud in your chests.

“Your son was just…spanking other kids and asking if he could ‘get some more’a that later,’ and when his teacher asked him where he’d learned to do a thing like that—”

You turned. Joel paled. Your gaze could’ve seared a hole through the front of his skull if you stared any harder, and just as your son’s principal continued talking, Joel raised his hands in surrender, already trying to apologize.

“Honey—”

“—and he told her he saw your husband do it at home—”

You didn’t need to hear another word. You were already fishing for your pants, yanking them back up your legs and brushing aside your husband’s soft, red-faced attempts at consolation, and when you were dressed, you started straight for the door. Already babbling some half-coherent apology to the woman on the phone, dodging Joel’s impossibly large hands and arms and hugs as he tried to pull you back into his chest and tell you he was sorry. You just might’ve let him, and maybe even believed him to be sincere, if you didn’t see the tiniest smirk on his lips as he fought to wrangle you in.

You’d made it to the door and were just about to pivot to give Joel the finger, tell him this was not funny at all, and he was coming with you right now, when both of you halted at the threshold and were obliged to turn again.

You sniffed the air, and your husband made a face.

Was it—

Before you could think, a plume of smoke drifted out through the kitchen door. Your eyes widened, and right as the fire alarm let out its piercing scream, you wailed,

“My buns!”

[emperorundying]

The Locked Tomb Dashboard Simulator

💎 saintofawe ☑️ Follow

It always astounds me how dreadfully boring pre-resurrection media sounds.

💎 saintofawe ☑️ Follow

"And then he loved him but only in the Spanish dub" why is the dub only kind of span.

#our dear necrolord is reminiscing about his 'Favorite Johnlocks' again #duplicitous sluts please interact #i need a fucking break

( 17,928 notes )

🦷 gleam_of_a_jewel Follow

"Don't transvestigate religious figures" Cyrus the First had a pussy and I will die on this hill.

#gem.txt #before tower dickrider anons infiltrate my asks #my great great aunt was a distant relative of his cavalier #also i'm right

( 2,897 notes )

💉 se7en Follow

for important necromantic research 😇

🧠 scapulascissors Follow

half these people have not been heard from in thousands of years i don't know whether those dicks are really at their peaks anymore

👾 nyecromansea Follow

Where's my "Anyone-But-Two-Pump-Chump-Gaius" option?

🧟 graveyardshift Follow

LET ME PICK JOY'S FLESHMAGIC FOOTLONG YOU ABSOLUTE COWARD.

#they HATE to see a girlboss win #miss second saint to serve the emperor undying please girl just one chance #yes she's missing yes it's because she's in my bed every night #what about it

( 911 notes )

💀 towerofficial ☑️

In response to any concerns about a contagious black goop spreading to The Houses, The Tower would like to emphasize that this is not currently something anyone in The Houses should worry about. It is under control, and remember that tomorrow is Resurrection Day!

👤 necrodykez-deactivated-1678946

K

👤 resurrectionbeastmode-deactivated-1678579

U

👤 edenite-ally-deactivated-1678613

N

👤 mogaius-deactivated-1678948

G

👤 cavgenderrr-deactivated-1675827

P

👤 kinkayquinque-deactivated-1683648

O

👤 r1bc4g3-deactivated-1683645

W

👤 cavcocks420-deactivated-1689265

P

👤 isaac-in-the-bathroom-deactivated-1694730

E

👤 girlboy-of-the-sharpest-edge-deactivated-1672894

N

👤 blasphemiec-deactivated-1691082

I

💀 towerofficial ☑️

S. Time is a flat fucking circle.

( 872,910 notes )

🫀 chussy Follow

anyone else feel like the anti-nine-houses rhetoric on this site has skyrocketed since the princes were crowned? i don't want to say it's lesbophobia but.....

👤 antizombieactivism-deactivated-1947582

Are you fucking serious???? Not everything is about sexuality holy shit can you think critically for two seconds, The N*crolord literally has been fucking over planets for millennia.

🫀 chussy Follow

that legit does not account for the rise.... idk im just saying

#tell me you hate butches without telling me you hate butches #embarrassing!!!

( 72 notes )

☠️ is-the-emperor-undying-dead-yet Follow

still no

( 2,155 notes )

[tteokdoroki]

VOICEMAILS AND DIAL TONES - yuuta okkotsu.

✩ — about. “back then, you didn’t have words to describe the way that he made you feel. maybe, you were a little too young to understand.” there are rules to a friendship that’s lasted as long as yours and yuuta’s has. the first being that you tell each other everything. the second, try not to fall in love. all you know, is that you’ve failed at both, and now your best friend is half way across the world without any idea as to how much you truly love him. is that something you can say over text or voicemail? ( 8.7K )

✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, with a happy ending - video banner! characters are in their 20s. coffee-shop!au, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden romance, long-distance, misunderstandings, miscommunication, situationships, arguments, hospitalisation mentions, death mentions (non-major characters), cucking, somnophilia, praise, fingering (f!receiving), oral sex (f!receiving), phone sex-ish, clothed sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampies, fem!reader.

✩ — things to note. hi everyone!! jumping on the yuuta hype and dropping this fic i wrote as a commission last year!! it's so interesting to see how much my writing has changed, but i remember having fun when writng this. either who!! i hope you all enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

absence makes the heart grow fonder — at least that’s what they tell you so that the feeling of missing someone hurts a tiny little bit less. 

you’ve always wondered if that were true. if willingly putting space between yourself and the person you loved truly helped soothe the soreness as if it were medication for the body’s aches and pains. perhaps the theory could best be applied to your friendship with yuuta okkotsu. 

he’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember — from the moment he moved in next door, his bambi eyes were big and brown, safe and inviting…who were you to keep hiding behind your mothers leg and deny him an invitation to play on the swing set his parents had put up for him in the garden just over the fence? yuuta was the sweetest boy to date, he was always polite with your parents and asked their permission before taking you into the depths of his cardboard fort in the front yard. 

he would walk home with you from pre-k, your chubby little fingers tightly intertwined and the matching charms on your backpacks swinging about the place jingling with every step you took towards home. when you got to middle school and kids were meaner, yuuta stood by your side while you were teased for being quieter than most. he defended you, his shy, patient best friend. 

okkotsu still walked you home, his pinky finger hooked over yours — greeted your mother with that same shy, yet charming tight lipped smile and offered to help her with cooking dinner with that same airy voice of his. your mother would reward you both with a kiss to the forehead and a plate of warm walnut and chocolate chip cookies and your pinkies — still linked underneath the table.

you were always linked. it’s always been yuuta and you. back then, you didn’t have words to describe the way that he made you feel. maybe, you were a little too young to understand the butterflies in your tummy and the blistering temperature to the back of your neck and your ears — maybe too naive to understand a metaphorical doctor’s diagnosis of a case of early on-set puppy-love. knowing back then would’ve explained why you wrote yuuta’s name on a heart alongside your own or why you squirmed every time you touched.

there was only one explanation. you liked yuuta, loved him. 

you wished that you’d known what that feeling was…because it's soon ripped from your grip and your whole world changes when rika orimoto enters your lives. she was pretty, had a beauty mark smeared daintily across her cheek and gentle eyes that made you feel safe. she was pretty and yuuta thought that too — inside and out. that’s why they became fast highschool sweethearts and why you were left in the dust. 

rika easily made a mess of him, tearing yuuta into a million tiny pieces that only she could put back together. she asks him out on white-day, okkotsu a bumbling mess by the lockers in between gym class and economics as he clutches her neatly written love letter — hearts over the I’s and T’s crossed ever so cutely. she had done to yuuta what he’d been doing to you all of your lives and you’d hardly seen her talk to him around school until that day. 

much to your dismay, they date throughout the rest of highschool and it nearly kills you, having someone that you were once so close to fade-away into near nothingness with growing distance. life where yuuta has a girlfriend ( that isn’t you ) drains the happiness that you got from being around your childhood best friend. it’s selfish, you know, to have wanted to keep him all to yourself. to have him want you instead of her. 

they make plans for after school, babies with names that start with the same letters as theirs and a wedding that’ll be small and flowery and whatever rika wants because yuuta okkotsu would give the girl he loves the entire world. you so badly want to be her. that person who is the centre of his universe. it should be you, it should have always been you — making plans with yuuta and imagining the perfect ring, the one that he would give you in the front yard of his childhood home. it should be your life with him, one that you’d dreamt up with him…and the sick thing is, you can’t have him — because you’re best friends and you’d be risking it all in the name of childish love.

rika, dies just days shy of your highschool graduation and it changes your best friend. a tragic car accident violently takes her life and okkotsu along with it. he’s a shell of the person he used to be, void of his dazzling smile and the comforting warmth that was unavoidable if you spent even just a minute with him. yuuta used to be like sun rays on a sunday morning but after the incident, he felt like blizzards on a dark november's eve. he lost his love, and you were starting to lose him even more than before.

his first love is memorialised at the graduation ceremony and while everyone sends her their thoughts and prayers — you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that for a brief second you’d felt relieved that your competition was gone. loving him was forbidden, he’d just lost his person and so despite your guilt you had to stick it out. be there for him. be there for your friend above all else and hold him up so that he didn’t sink in the deep water of his own grief. you’d save him, at all costs, you’d stop him before he drowned. 

things start to look up when the pair of you head to college — you both get into the same school and find the cutest little off-campus apartment to share. it feels like a home away from home to you both, since your nights before semester begins are spent attempting to master your mother’s famous cookies while practising how to introduce yourselves since you’re both nervous as hell for this new beginning. everything feels like it was when you were both children and didn’t have a single thing to worry about — except now there’s crippling student debt and a four year workload ahead of you…but you’re both excited, together again and it seems like the distance between you has shrunk just a little.

then your love life takes a turn for the worst ( yet again ) and yuuta finds himself running around town with a new crew of friends that he met in a club run by one of your elective professors, satoru gojo. they stay out later than you’re used to and your best friend comes home smelling different too, of strong perfumes and cigarette butts even though you know he doesn’t smoke. as it turns out, there’s another girl. 

maki zenin.

you don’t like her, and to be fair, she doesn’t like you either. so you keep your distance once more, keep your head down when maki does her faux walk of shame out of your best friend’s room — her thighs and her neck covered in bite marks and scratches, his shirt slipped over her body to cover the rest of her decency. he made her breakfast with your food and tea in your designated mug. it hurts to hear her mewl the sweet syllables of his name late at night while you’re stuck with the soundtrack to your own sobs.

it should be like this, distant — far apart because you care about okkotsu and you love him, so it’d be better to avoid it all rather than get him hurt.

your phone ringing in the distance gently lulls you from your reminiscent thoughts and you scramble to pick it up before you end up with a missed call. 

yuuta’s contact flashes across your screen, framed by light and making him look like an angel. it rings and rings, and you know that you should let it go to voicemail. let the space between you grow so you can protect what’s left of his soul. 

but you were never strong when it came to him. 

and you pick up before he can listen to another second of dial tones.

voicemail #1  - “hey yuuta, i hope you’re good, you’ll never guess who stopped by the cafe today— professor satoru! i haven’t seen him since your graduation! anyways, are you still coming over for dinner tonight? i miss you!”

this isn’t like him. 

even after all these years, from pre-k to college — yuuta okkotsu has never missed one of your calls. after graduating you'd made a promise to one another, to keep contact no matter where life took you, a promise of his own volition. you’d have dinner with each other at least once a week just like when you were kids and catch up on your not-so crazy adventures into adulthood. 

you kept up your end of the bargain as your way of keeping okkotsu afloat — to ground him. he’d seen and been through enough hurt to last him a lifetime and if he had to use you as a crutch for comfort, despite your raging feelings for him, then so be it. so you never missed a call, always checked in and made him something nostalgic and tied to the memories of afternoons where your mother would fill you up with her wondrous baked goods or heartwarming soups.

but still, this isn’t like yuuta to not pick up when you call. 

to feel…more distant than usual and of his own accord. 

panic sets in while you listen to the third dial tone, trying to contact him again. taking a deep breath, you pace around the fridge-freezer in the back of your bakery — one that you’d set up shortly after graduating from your business degree. there had to be some explanation for your best friend’s absence. perhaps traffic? maybe he was on the subway catching a ride over? or maybe he just needed space. he’d been going through a lot recently. yuuta didn’t get a job straight out of college and he broke things off with maki shortly after — they wanted different things and had different aspirations.

even still, with the free time left on his hands, there was too much room for him to think about his losses and his loves…it made you worry for him, it made you panic and chew on your nails just like this. “c’mon yu,” you whisper to yourself, the shaky syllables of your words bouncing off the metal house for your ingredients, muffled by paper bags of powdered sugar and organic flours. “where are you?” 

you can barely hear the automated message telling you to leave a voicemail for your friend over the bustling of your afternoon service. if yuuta hadn’t been off the grid, he’d be here helping you with the customers that know him all too well, the old ladies that pinch his cheeks and the younger ones that twirl their hair in an attempt to flirt over miniature cherry bakewell tarts. except he’s nowhere to be found, and you’re nauseous, worried sick about where he could be and what he could be up to. 

you try his cell one more time in an attempt to grab at his attention. there's something weird about today...as if he’s avoiding you, hiding. yuuta always picks up and you always pick up for him, it’s an unspoken rule.

when you’re met with the dial tones again, you hang up — slumped and distraught. there’s hungry customers to feed and you’re overly friendly college professor waiting on a fresh box of sweets you’d used as an excuse to escape to the back of your shop. yuuta can wait for another call from you. 

but you’re not sure if your heart can wait for one back from him. 

voicemail #2  - “it’s yuuta, we need to talk.” 

oddly enough, silence is comforting to you. it reminds you of your best friend, the nights you’d spend coupled up in your dorm with your fingers running through his silken midnight hair, his head in your lap and the both of you shrouded in darkness. more often than not, you could tell how one another’s days went just by body language and when shoulders were slumped and eyes were droopy — yourself and yuuta would curl up together  and just…take in the quiet. 

be close to one another.

so, you bask in the tranquillity of your quaint little cafe as you clear up after a day's work. you sweep floors, wipe tables clean and arrange the tables and chairs with perfect precision. the only sound that accompanies you is the clink of silverware and porcelain plates as you wash the dishes. it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop and the slightest noise is enough to make you jump — just like your phone that vibrates deep within your back pocket, startling you as you scramble to dry your hands so you can see if it’s him who’s been trying to get in touch with you.

it’s embarrassing how quick you are to smile when you see a few missed calls and a voice message from yuuta. though you’ve never quite heard the tune of seriousness that plays in his voice before, your heart won’t stop racing at the mere sound of him speaking. your mind wonders…what could be so urgent that he’d need a ‘talk’?’ 

maybe it was a thank you…for always being beside him or maybe he even liked you. perhaps okkotsu had finally come to his senses and realised how much he’d always needed you…how much he loved you.. the racing thoughts in your brain hopefully jump towards a confession from your best friend and you find yourself getting giddy at its prospect. you practically skip, hop and jump to the back of your cafe, switching out your flour stained clothes for one of the spare and cleaner shirts you keep in the back — you touch up your makeup too, brighten the dark circles under your eyes and blot your worry lines with care. 

you even manage to heat up a few of yuuta’s favourite pastries to serve up by candlelight — rehearsing your own words of confession as if they haven’t been looming around in your head for years. 

the bell to your quaint little cafe chimes with his arrival, a rush of cool, late night air tangling with the temperate atmosphere as you lay your finishing touches on the meal you’d prepared for you both. when you look up, yuuta’s eyes have settled on you — warm and inviting as usual, but bright with a light that had been missing from them since you were young. you’ve missed it, the subtle spark that brings life to the coffee brown oasis in his eyes.

he remains as handsome as ever, taller than you by however many heads — limbs long, arms slightly muscular and waist slender, though his build is more like a dancer’s. yuuta okkotsu grew up to be a fine man and you’d be a fool to have not noticed. he crosses the room in short strides, rushing to take you into his arms and hold you close and squeeze you to his chest. yuuta smells like cookies, you note, hardly paying attention while his lips softly brush over your hairline in a sweet kiss.

“hi,” he whispers, voice smooth like melted chocolate dripping through your ears. “i’ve missed you.”

you only hope that he can’t hear your racing heartbeat, it’s speed picking up as you decide that this is your moment. the moment. “i’ve missed you too,” you mumble back, toying with a loose string on the cream cashmere the dark brunette is wearing. “yuuta…i have to tell you something—“

“i-i have something important to tell you,” he breathes out at the same time as you do, almost shy as you both sway in the centre of the room and enjoy one another’s embrace. 

the both of you share a laugh that’s light and airy before you drag him over to a table and set of chairs, forcing him to sit and to eat the baked goods you’d set out for him. “you first, yuu,” it makes you happy to see him tuck in, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you owe me a story after disappearing on me today.” 

okkotsu nods in agreement, his cheeks adorably full of food and pastry flaked across his milky skin. “‘m sorry, i was sortin’ something out la’sht minute.” 

“yeah?” 

“y-yeah! i’m moving,” yuuta drops the bomb like it’s nothing. “abroad. for a job! professor gojo set me up and it’s s-supposed to help build my confidence and stuff—“ 

your world falls apart in an instant, sucking away the oxygen in your lungs until you feel like your lungs are failing. yuuta is leaving you and this time it’s for real. 

confessing to him now wouldn't mean shit, you’d only be holding him back. your face crumples faster than you can control at the thought and after years of knowing you— okkotsu instantly picks up your change in mood. 

“what’s wrong?” he says your name and even that hurts to hear.

“n-nothin’ yuu, i’m happy for you, really.” comes your broken voice over the quiet, you fake it until you make it.

“really? you don’t look like it.” 

running a hand over your tired face, you force a smile. “really. especially if you think this is what’s best for you.” 

“it is!” yuuta nearly snaps, controlling himself— stopping himself from yelling at you and tearing your friendship apart before he’s gone. “i need this, need’a be my own person. after college, after highschool i didn’t have time for any of that! i need this.” 

needs it more than he needs you.

“okay.” you say simply, blankly.

“okay.” he says back. 

the debate doesn’t last that much longer after that — the room fills with silence as you grieve your faltering friendship. whatever confession you had planned, now forgotten. 

voicemail #3 -  “yuuta! i wasn’t sure how long your flight was but please call me when you land! you’re gonna do great at your new job.”

yuuta doesn’t call after he lands, in fact two entire days pass before you actually hear from him. after the argument, you’d try to stay on good terms as though not to lose him for good — helping him pack and sort out his currencies, buying him language books since you knew he would struggle with the new dialect. 

you figure it’s because he’s unpacking and not because he doesn’t want anything to do with you — and while you make some late night tea, you find that it’s better to imagine him alone in a new foreign country, picture his pretty pink lips struggling to form the vowels of the new language too, envision how he’ll tan under the blistering hot heat and how excited he’ll be to try new things.

its humiliating how easily he can preoccupy your thoughts from thousands of miles away and makes your heart race so fast that it might burst through the bones and flesh of your chest. he occupies your every thought like a fungus crawling across your brain that’s only disrupted by the sound of your phone ringing loudly — making you drop your tea and jump up to answer.

“hey,” the way yuuta says your name sends tingles down your spine — filtering out any pain you feel from burning your hand. he looks good too, dark hair flopping over his eyes, voice gravelly with sleep as if he’s just woken up and you’re the first thing on his mind. “i got your message, s-sorry for not calling i’ve been—“ 

you cut him off, eager to speak and draw the call out for as long as possible because you missed him. “busy? a guy like you must be extremely popular on the other side of the world.” you’re chipper in an attempt to cover how flustered you are and to cheer your best friend up when you notice how nervous he looks.

“not exactly… i’m nervous. e-everything seems so big ‘nd scary without you here…”

without you.

you shake your head over the grainy FaceTime call. “you’ve always done fine without me, you’ll do even better without having to cover for my shyness!” he laughs at that, the sound like a sweet song to soothe your aching heart. “you got this yuuta.” 

your best friend gives you a sleepy smile, one that melts you like a knob of butter on a hot stove and has your knees knocking. “you’re the best, you know that? you always know what to say.”

the static crackles between you and your heart leaps into your throat. 

“i’m always here for you, yuuta.” 

“and i’m glad for that,” he yawns. “i love you.” 

you have to remind yourself that what your best friend says is strictly platonic but you almost selfishly repeat the words back to yuuta until you notice he’s fallen back asleep. 

ending the call, you clutch your phone and burned hand to your chest. 

“i love you too.”

voicemail #4 - “hey sorry i missed your call, time zones can be crazy! work has been catching up with me and, well, i made a new friend!”

for the first week, you and yuuta text everyday while he’s away. you do your duty and act as his crutch like you always have— keeping him company while he works, eats and commutes all on his own. you feel bad that you lap up the attention he gives you over the phone through his loneliness. you could be compared to a desperately hungry stray animal at the way you drink up every little interaction you have. giving pieces of yourself away to keep your best friend happy. 

but as time goes on, okkotsu seems less and less worried about his job — easily slipping into the language here and there, no longer relying on you to stand on his own two feet. the frequency of your communication dwindles to the point where you really feel like you’re oceans apart. 

even yuuta notices the change within himself — the confidence that filters through him when he says yes to the pretty girl who works in the cubicle next to him when she asks him to tag along for drinks with the rest of the office one night which soon becomes a regular thing. he knows that he speaks less with you and that your texts are barely there but he’s sure you won’t mind the distance. you’re a busy girl, you run a cafe, a few days of not talking wouldn’t do any harm.

“oooh, she’s pretty. who is that?”

kasumi miwa is the one to pull yuuta out from the fog of his thoughts. the brunette looks up from his phone, your face flashing across it’s lock screen as the background. a photo where you have your arms wrapped around him from behind and your smile is as bright as the sunshine. miwa is a pretty girl, different from you. her voice is smoother and eloquent where yours is charming and sweet — she doesn’t remind him of home, or smell like the warmth of a chocolate chip cookie…but she is pretty. her presence is enough to make him shy.

he’s caught her looking a few times, her touch lingering whenever miwa passed him paperwork and right now; her cheeks are tinged pink probably from the alcohol the office is drinking inside where yuuta had come out for some fresh air.

okkotsu clicks his phone shut and stands up at full height to face his blue-haired coworker. “i… i haven’t spoken to her in a while. i miss her.” he says wistfully as he gives your name

“well, if i were dating a girl that pretty, i would miss them too.”

“o-oh! we’re not together! she’s my best friend!”

the woman beside yuuta cocks her head, a satisfied grin spreading across the slope of her lips. “you should call her — i’ll be waiting inside.” 

he follows her eyes as she walks off, along with the whiff of her chanel perfume, before his gaze lands on his phone — he calls your phone. 

you answer after the second ring, though don’t speak straight away, letting the silence wear the both of you thin. “how’ve you been?” you say quietly, lacking the chipperness to your tone that you usually have whenever the two of you ring each other up. there’s no hello, no warmth, you’re cold. 

but yuuta doesn’t ask — he’d like to think he knows you well enough not to. he thinks that you’re fine, probably tired from work and it’s late over there too. if he cared to catch up with you, he’d have been more considerate of that.

“good!” the brunette chirps in order to keep the mood light, leaning over a nearby railing. i miss you. yuuta wants to add, but the words feel like cotton in his mouth, sticking unpleasantly to every surface and for some reason they don’t feel right to say— feel foreign. “work’s been good. i think i’m getting the hang of things around here. my co-workers are great, i get this amazing view every morning a-and—“

“and?” 

“i met someone! i think! i wanna get to know her more but she’s been great to me so far…you’d like her!”

hearts don’t make a sound when they break, but if they did— you’re sure that yuuta would have been able to hear yours even from halfway across the globe. over his own ramblings he can hardly make out the shatter of your vital organ as it falls to pieces, cracks into tiny shards with jagged edges that could make you bleed if you tried to put it back together…because your best friend having met someone means he’s moving on. leaving you behind. and he’s too tone deaf to notice. 

through the static of a phone call, okkotsu misses the crumple of your face and the way your throat bobs as you swallow back salty tears and two decades worth of unrequited love. you’re devastated and he can’t even tell, barely noticing the way you rush off the phone while he’s halfway through a sentence.

his brows furrow when he realises you’ve hung up. 

“i take it that didn’t go well?” kasumi questions when yuuta re-renters the bar, her face sympathetic but voice elevated with smugness. 

he shakes his head once. “no, but it’s okay. she’s been busy.” 

he excuses you but kasumi doesn’t let up, pushing for more of yuuta — breaking him out from his shell, stealing and keeping the pearl of his heart for her taking. “don’t be too sad yuuta, you have me and your new friends, we’ll keep you company instead.”

there’s a hidden meaning behind her cherry picked words. she’ll keep him company — and for once, yuuta doesn’t feel guilty for trying to break away from you.

voicemail #5 - “what happened between us yuuta? you used to tell me everything and now you’ve got a girlfriend? i didn’t even find out through you!”

there’s an unspoken rule to a friendship that’s lasted as long as yours and yuuta’s – you’re supposed to tell each other everything. there’s not been a secret between you in all the years you’ve known each other except for minor white lies that couldn’t amount to major forms of harm. he might have told you that your hair looked fine on days where you’d barely any time to tend to it and you might have told him that he hadn’t been awkward presenting in front of your entire college class… but those were worthless lies. strings of words tied together that didn’t mean anything, that didn’t have any intent to harm.

there were no secrets, no major ones.

until now.

“he’s got a girlfriend, yanno…”

the news is shared with you casually from over the counter one day by your irritating white-haired ex-professor who makes a habit of annoying his old students. he comes in for sweets often and the daifuku you make is his favourite – you offer him extra in exchange for updates on the classmates you used to share since he’s nosey like that.

with every visit to your little cafe, gojo filled you in on everything yuuta had been up to in the blurred weeks and months since you’d last spoken – including his relationship status. “she’s pretty too, long hair. s’blue which is an odd colour, but she’s been good to him, ‘pparently. boosted his confidence.”’ the man cocks his head, watching in real-time as your movements in packing up his order slow down.

your throat bobs whilst you swallow your fading pride in front of your teacher, forcing down a wave of tears. it doesn’t matter how many times yuuta gets over you, moves on from you, finds someone to love other than you… it still hurts. it’ll always hurt knowing that he can fill the other half of his heart with someone that isn't you, while your own stays void and empty.

as always, satoru gojo sees right through your resolve as you total up his order – again forgoing charging him extra for the little tid bit of gossip he’d given you. there’s a shell of someone he doesn’t recognise in place of the girl he used to teach – the one who was once full of life and eager to learn, get out into the world and achieve your dreams. yuuta okkotsu had chipped away at you, the years you’d spent protecting his feelings had caused you to drown in your own.

and gojo could see that, he knew that. he’d been through it before.

he only wishes he had better words of comfort for you.

“you love him, don’t you?” he asks you quietly as you ring him up but you answer with his total in yen instead – sniffling as you do. professor gojo takes his brown paper bag, full of enough sugar to make the heart stop – to kill a person, but even that’s a better death than the heartache you’re going through now. you sniff and he offers you a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach the sapphire eyes behind his shades. “better yet, don’t answer that. i don’t need anymore tears in my daifuku.”

voicemail #6 - “oh fuck yuuji, right there…” “here baby? oh you’re so cute, fuck ‘m gonna—!” “oh… yuuji!” 

( incoming voicemail from - yuuta: “hey, call me back? who’s yuuji? are you okay?” )

yuuta knows that he shouldn’t have kept listening – he should have deleted the voicemail as soon as he caught onto what was happening. it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on, the sounds of skin slapping on skin, your voice wavering with the tune of lust even over the static crackle of the voicemail you’d left. 

he wishes that he’d never heard you moan out like that for someone else, that he wasn’t picturing the faces you’d make underneath the body of another man…but he couldn’t help it. the more he listened, the angrier he felt, the more betrayal flooded his veins and clouded his usually clear judgement. the brunette had no right to be this mad at you, he was supposed to be happy with miwa, supposed to be letting you move on just like he had done from you.

and yet, like a necrotizing parasite – jealousy feasts at the back of okkotsu’s mind. it disrupts his work, distracts him from his girlfriend and fills his mind with flashing images of you being fucked five ways by another man. one that isn’t him. yuuji. who even is yuuji? how did you meet him? were you dating him? you hadn’t talked in so long so the guy had barely come up in conversation. you were best friends that used to tell each other everything and now he felt like you were fucking someone new behind his back. yuuta knew nothing of what that stranger meant to you, he had no idea that yuuji itadori was just some college boy you’d brought home one drunken night – to act as a salve for the burns your childhood best friend had left on you.

it's a temporary fix, yuuji’s tongue laps at your wounds – pleasures you with teeth and tongue until your head is light and you’re almost too dizzy to think properly. in the moment, he felt good, he took care of you…but he wasn’t who you wanted. he wasn’t yuuta.

was it bad that you basked in the jealous rage and attention the brunette had bathed you in? drowning you in a barrage of text messages  the morning after you’d slept with itadori, when yuuta finally had the chance to listen to the voicemail you’d left by accident. it was the most you’d gotten out of him in the months you’d been separated.

yuuta - 7:16AM: hey…did you mean to send that? call me when you’re up.

yuuta - 7:45AM: i don’t think i was supposed to hear that…

yuuta - 8:34AM: who’s yuuji?

yuuta - 8:36AM: are you seeing someone? call me please.

yuuta - 8:57AM: pick up the phone.

yuuta - 9:21AM: it’s not funny anymore. i’m worried. pick up.

you answer your phone around noon, having given yourself the space to think over cooking a hang-over breakfast for yuuji. the sounds of spitting oil underneath frying eggs had provided the soundtrack to your thoughts – helped you pick and choose the words you would say to yuuta before your companion slips out of your apartment and you tell him to grab a pastry from your cafe downstairs on his way out. a little thank you for the night you’d shared.

“what the hell was that?” is the first thing yuuta snarls down the line once your call connects.

you shift your phone in your grasp, as if his seething tone has scorched the palm of your hand. “are we past greetings or somethin’, yuu?” you fail to admit that it hurts you, starting the call without his tender and caring ‘hello’, you feel like an enemy on the battlefield to okkotsu, rather than his friend.

“i think we are well past that, especially with the kind of voice messages you’ve been leaving me.” he says it like he’s disgusted with you, when he really just misses you. craves you. he’s angry at himself and for letting you slip between his fingers into the grasp of another man. not at you. never at you. but even cell phone lines connecting calls from across the globe can’t properly convey the way yuuta feels. “what’s going on with you? why are you acting like this? we haven’t spoken in weeks and you–?”

“why is what i do any of your business anymore, yuuta?” you snap through his flurry of questions, growing heated yourself. “i accidentally left you a voicemail of me fucking someone, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.”

“you’re just… not like this. we don’t speak and all of a sudden…y-you’re different!”

you clutch the phone tighter, swallowing thickly. “and who’s fault is that? let me answer that for you. it’s yours. you’re the one who got a girlfriend and left me in the dust. not the other way around!” you argue, trying to sound stern and steady though yuuta can hear the wobble to your words loud and clear. “you shouldn’t have listened, you should have called. you let the distance become a problem between us.”

he scoffs, an action so unlike your best friend. “we’re not children anymore! you should have talked to me about the distance!” 

“i couldn't!” you defend yourself, desperate for the pain in your heart to be heard for once. “you were finally happy again yuuta! that mattered to me—“ 

“you think i'm happy about hearing my best friend get…defiled over the phone?” 

“well you should be! it means I’m not hung up on you anymore, that i’m moving on from being in love with you! leaving you so that you can be happy in your new life!” 

the silence from yuuta’s end of the phone is both too loud and too deafening. 

“you…loved me?” he whispers, switching back to that same sweet tone he always used when it came to you. “why didn’t you say?”

your stupid little confession, the one you’d been holding back for more than half your life, sips out before you can catch it with the tip of your tongue and you instantly feel terrible for weaponizing your crush on okkotsu against him. at least that’s what it feels like you’ve done. “i never told you…because i’m not selfish, yuuta,” you stutter out, your face hot with oncoming and flustered tears. “i-i'm not a selfish person. i wouldn’t sacrifice our friendship or your happiness, not just because i loved you.”

yuuta says your name, but blood rushes through your ears in embarrassment – way too fast for you to catch it, and you hang up before you can humiliate yourself any further.

before you can hear him say that he loves you too.

voicemail #7 - “open up, i'm coming home. please be here when I’m home.” 

the number you have dialled is unavailable, please try again later.

after the slip of your tongue and confession to yuuta— he was met with radio silence. you’d blocked him on every form of social media possible and he couldn’t even blame you. you wanted to be free from him, from that silly and imaginary red string that had kept you tied to his soul for all of these years. it hurt to think when everything reminded you of him, so you buried yourself in your cafe and worked yourself to death because even the sweet relief from life would be better than living without your best friend. 

gojo had stopped by and taken you to the hospital twice since you’d worked yourself into exhaustion — tonight was no different, sentenced to bed rest by your ex-professor and the best doctor he could find. he always did look out for his students.

sleeping your sadness away had caused you to miss a barrage of yuuta’s calls — if you’d picked up you’d have known that he was coming home. coming home for you. in the wake of your love confession, okkotsu had realised how much he needed you and how much he loved you. you had never left his side, no matter what yuuta had been through, and now, nothing feels right without you. 

so he broke up with his girlfriend, took leave from his job and flew halfway across the world for you — to give his message in person. 

it’s near midnight by the time yuuta gets back to japan, the warm yellow of the streetlights illuminating the path right up to your apartment after getting out of the uber. there’s a spare house key, glinting gold, hidden under your cupcake shaped doormat just as yuuta remembers and he uses it to slip inside — dumping his bag and kicking his shoes off at the entryway. his socked feet locate the bedroom with ease, perhaps drawn by your aura and the anticipation of seeing you again.

and there you are, so close yet so far away — your face peaceful and painted with an adorable expression of slumber. okkotsu notes the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the crease between your brow as if you’re having a bad dream. he could fix it… whatever’s plaguing your sleeping mind, he knows that he can, because whenever you touch each other, it’s like your bodies know to relax and that they’re safe.

tiptoeing deeper into the room, the brunette slinks up to the side of your bed and the mattress dips underneath the weight of his knee as he seats himself beside you. you’re so beautiful, so calm. he doesn’t know how he went his whole life without choosing you, choosing other people over you time and time again. “i love you,” yuuta whispers into the dead of the night, brushing a thumb and forefinger over the apple of your cheek — hesitating when you roll into his body heat. “i love you. i’m so sorry.” he says again, while pressing a feather light kiss to that same spot. 

his breath hitches when you reach for him this time, grabbing at the man in your sleep.

yuuta kisses you again, but on your forehead. then your other cheek, your chin, your inner wrists and finally — your lips. each brush of his own against you is increasingly feverish, pouring unspoken emotions into them as he quietly utters the words ‘i love you.’ over and over again. he feels like he has something to prove, as if the brunette has to show you how much he cares for you — leaving a trail of sweet smooches between the valley of your breasts from over your night-shirt to between your thighs that spill out of the loose material.

he only hopes that this is enough for you to forgive him, for you to love him back like he does you.

your best friend… or ex best friend really should feel bad about this, teething on the swell of your thighs— his fingertips sinking into their apex to pry you apart for him. you could end up hating him more for this, yuuta’s slick and drool stained tongue rolling over the seam at the crotch of your panties hungrily, softly as if to test the waters. he takes it as a good sign when your face contorts with pleasure even in your sleep and slots his entire mouth against the sweet treasure between your legs— sucking the juices from the fabric of your underwear.

you taste so good and he’s not even got you properly wet yet. yuuta’s next move is to hook two fingers over the garment to pull it aside — revealing your twitching hot cunt to the cool night air in your bedroom. even your scent is divine, enticing just as you’ve always been and the brunette can’t believe he was too blind to see it before. he presses a chase kiss to your clit, feeling it pulse to life against his lips before said kisses become open mouthed and sloppy— tongue diving into the tightness of your little hole, circling it to flick your flavour back into his mouth. 

his movements start slow, tenderly testing which spots inside your pretty little cunt make you sigh out contently while you slumber but the wetter you get, the sloppier yuuta becomes — lapping at your sex and your clit in eager movements like a kitten at a bowl of milk. you only stir awake when his fingers travel up to grip onto your ass and tug your pussy onto his face, guiding you up and down on his writhing tongue like he’s fucking you for real.

“y-yuu?” you grumble, still finding your footing in the reality of consciousness. “whas’ h-happenin’… oh my god—!”  the questions you have for the mop of hair between your legs, groaning like a starved man into there too, taper into an angelic moan. pretty and airy, like music to yuuta’s ears. once you come to and fully realise what’s going on, your fingers slip into the roots of his hair and your hips buck into his mouth instinctively — even though you should be pissed. even though you should be screaming at him and kicking him off. you can’t help it that this is what you’ve always wanted. that you’ve always wanted him.

“w-what are you doing here?” you manage to ask through a whine, brain fogging up at the way yuuta’s tongue runs laps over your swelling clit. 

he pulls off of you with a lewd pop that makes both of you shudder, two of his slender digits easily sliding into you where his tongue once was — guided by spit and slick. “i came home for you. i love you,” your best friend doesn’t have time to formulate proper reasoning, drunk on your saccharine flavour  like you’re the finest wine he’s ever had the honour of tasting. “f-fuck, i-i missed you.”

yuuta gives you those big puppy dog eyes as he curls his digits inside of you and hits spots you can't quite reach on your own. you should be talking about your feelings not fucking through them but you’ve missed him so much and need him so bad. both of you groan in unison when he brushes over your g-spot, your hips jumping up and his grinding down into your silky sheets. 

“missed you too,” you breathe and yank him up by the hair to meet your lips — making out with him feverishly, swapping the words your mind can’t seem to force you to say, pouring the mixed emotions into him as he finger fucks your tight little hole like his life depends on it.

every movement you make with one another is sloppy and uncoordinated, tongues doused in one another’s saliva— saliva that tastes like you. your moans mingle in the hot and heavy air and you clench down on yuuta’s fingers as they pump in and out of you, his palm slapping against your folds while you leak into the seat of his palm. 

“are you close?” yuuta slurs into your mouth so quietly you almost miss it underneath the lewd sound of your pussy. “i want to make you cum, show you how much i love you.”

blood rushes through your ears, heat pin pricking like needles under your skin. “y-yes. p-please yuu…” 

his thumb dragging smooth circles over the pulsating bud between your blooming pussy lips is all you need to trip over the edge into your high— the knots in your lower tummy unwinding faster than you can register, waves of your nectar flowing from your cunt onto the sheets below and soiling yuuta’s hand right up to his wrist. 

your head tips back into a high pitched squeal, eyes locked away and rolling back while you damn near black out from your orgasm. but your best friend is right there like he should be, sucking love-bites into your neck to ground you. dark tresses of yuuta’s chocolate-like hair tickle at your tingling flesh while he manoeuvres himself between your legs and shifts his pants down enough to let his rock hard cock spring free. 

“c-can you take me now?” he pleads more than he asks, brown and warm eyes trembling with need, anticipation. “i don’t think i’ll last long and i need you.” 

you feel him press at your entrance, his angry red tip glistening with opaque beads of precum— yuuta softly ruts his hips against you, smearing…claiming you with his own essence while he waits for your consent. “i’ve always needed you, yuuta.” you say breathlessly, giving him a small grin and nod when he looks up from drooling against your neck. 

that’s all the go ahead he needs before his thick girth pushes all the way into you at once — weighty and temperate against your ribbed and creamy walls. “‘ohmyfuckinggod,” he whimpers wetly against you. “y-you’re so tight wrapped around me. so perfect i—“ 

“move, yuuta. fuck me, please,” you remind him, tugging on his air and crossing your ankles at the base of his spine. 

“y-yeah okay…g-god you’re so good. so sweet ‘n tight.” with that, he draws his hips back — hesitant at first. brown eyes watch your face for any signs of discomfort and yuuta’s lust driven instincts take the lead when he only notices how blissed out you look. your pretty lips are agasp, forming a pleasure-filled ‘o’ as you mewl and claw at his half-clothed shoulders. “i love you, o-oh god!”

all you can do is whimper in response, fingers drifting up to the nape of yuuta’s neck to tangle in his dark locks— tugging him into you as if it’ll make him hit deeper, churn up your guts and make you see stars. “y-you’re stupid…” you manage to get out, the warmth of your breath glossing his lips as if to taunt your best friend with a kiss. 

“i know…” calloused fingers grab at the backs of your thighs with a bruising grip before yuuta pushes your legs towards your shoulders, both of you grunting and whining in unison when you tighten around him at the new angle. gushing sweet juices that paint his stomach and pelvis.

“y-you shouldn’t have left me,” tears start to brim, collecting in your lash line like diamonds before they hit your cheeks.

you’re so beautiful like this, even when you’re crying— when you’re crying because you’re fucked up on his cock, claiming it with your cream as ur clings to his balls and the veins that spital down his length. 

yuuta’s red hot tip nudges against the soft and squishy spots along your sensitive walls, keeping his thrusts at a rhythmic and passionate pace to make sure the only thing you feel is heaven on earth. your pussy is hot and warm and heaven-like around him, sucking him in so selfishly and tightening every time yuuta’s strong abs grind against your puffy clit. 

“i know,” he sighs dreamily and with an airy voice, licking a stripe from your chin to your cheek as a tear streaks it’s way down it. “won't ever leave you again,” his fingers touch at your face, sinking into the softness of your cheeks as he drags you up to face him. “i’ll never leave you again.” 

“never?” you ask, hiccuping.

“never.” he moans.

you see it there, the love glittering amongst the almond flecks in your childhood best friend’s eyes — he means it, he promises it and you can feel it with every roll of yuuta’s hips into you while he pins you to the bed. he makes love to you and says what he needs to through his actions this time. through your tangled mess of sweaty limbs and fluttering lashes you find okkotsu’s hand, linking them together. 

the sight of your hands meeting one another brings emotions bubbling to the surface of your skin, hot to yuuta’s touch — it's a symbol that you’ve finally come together after being worlds apart for so long. “you’re finally mine, ‘m never letting you go,” his warm breath coasts across the seam of your lips before he dips into kiss you— tongue gliding over yours as it pushes into the depths of your mouth just as his cock does, brushing up against your g-spot and just  kissing your cervix. “you’re always going to be mine.” 

“i-i’m yours,” your eyes roll back and yuuta loses his pace, his entire body twitching the closer you both get. sex taints the air, both in sound and scent, your cunt squelching around him with how wet you are and how much he leaks into you. “g-gonna cum, yuu! make me cum, make me fucking cum.”  you slur out, anchoring the man down to you with your arms around his neck until yuuta’s forehead is pressed against yours. sweaty locks of his hair and all.

yuuta’s body collapses against you and his thrusts switch to sensual grinds that never let up on your spongey g-spot. “f-fuck me, b-baby. ‘m cummin’,” he croons, panting against your lips and with one, two, three more pumps you’re squirting all over him— the pressure unwinds in your lower belly and you’re hit with blinding white lights and your nails dig into yuuta’s shoulder to the point where you leave bright red crescent moons. “that’s it baby, cum for me, make a mess for me. show me you love me— fuck!” 

you’re still trembling with the aftershocks with your orgasm when the brunette follows suit — the warmth of his seed floods your quivering cunt, painting your folds an opaque white before yuuta pulls out. the last droplets of his cum hit your soft tummy accompanied by his high pitched whine  and then he crumples against you, exhausted from the height of it all. 

“i love you so much,” yuuta hums against your skin, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “it’s always been you.” 

“i love you,” you affirm, knowing that no matter what distance is put between you and your best friend (now lover) — you’ll always find your way back to each other. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[dnd-writes]

Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Pt. 1

AO3

Tags: Non-con, this whole fic is just one whole degenerate lump of non-con, so warning all of you already at the beginning. BFH, very degenerate, unedited, Third-person PoV (cause easier that way), sex slave!Julie, sex slave!Natty, sex slave!Belle, sex slave!Haneul, sex slave!Kiss of Life, sexual slavery, sexual exploitation, contract manipulation, clothing control, slapping, punching, kicking, spitting, deflowering, anal deflowering, painal, dry vaginal sex, facefucking, cum on food, frozen dildos, I think that's all or most of it but you get the point

A/N: 1. First of all, thank you to @fillinforlater for the fic idea. Idk what the fuck happened, at first I was following the plot he laid out, then I changed this part, then I added this part, then this, then that, and I blink and all of a sudden I have this monstrosity of a fic 2. Fic has nothing to do with the song, just thought it would fit as a title 3. If anyone asks, for this fic I "changed the timeline" of KIOF's pre-debut stuff to essentially fit in June 2023, cause y'know, Haneul. 4. Part 1 cause Smite's prompt had a second part that I also want to write but it's gotten so long I decided to split the fic into two? parts.

It’s finally happened, she’s finally done it! After years of hardships and struggles Natty has finally achieved her goal of being in a K-pop girl group, the dream she once thought to be impossible now becoming a reality as she takes the pen and puts her signature down on the contract with tears filling her eyes. Some might call her crazy or an overreactor for bawling out but for someone who has gotten eliminated in the finals of not one but two survival shows, tears of joy sound like a reasonable reaction. 

Although Natty has already spent nearly a decade training, she is still looking forward to training more with her new groupmates. Even if it might take a decade more, as long as her dream comes alive, to her it’s all worth it. 

Natty expected to be surprised on her first day but she wasn’t ready to face what was in store for her. Having been a trainee for almost half her life, there’s no doubt that Natty has heard rumors about the industry, the drastic measures required to stay in form, the horrible things that happen away from prying eyes, the exploitation, the harassment. Though to her, they were all just rumors, just silly little things that people made up, little did she know that the rumors were just a teaser of what’s to come.

Natty goes through the front doors but instead of the vibrant and cheerful place she visited not long ago, the company now has a faint and eerie atmosphere. Lights are off, not a sign of any person in the immediate vicinity, it’s like the place never was alive to begin with. “Maybe I just came in at a wrong time,” she thinks as she navigates her way to her destination. Natty ascends to the fifth floor and as she makes it there, she hears subtle heavy breathing echoing along the halls. She decides not to get too curious and instead looks for the meeting place.

Natty stands just outside the door with a large smile prepared on her face, “This is it,” she tells herself as she gets ready to meet her new sisters. Her jolly expression quickly fades as she breaches the door, sitting inside are two of her three new groupmates. While very excited to finally meet them for the first time, what catches her attention the most are their outfits—both of them revealing way too much skin, a stark contrast to the jacket and jeans she has on. One of them is wearing booty shorts and a crop top cut short enough to barely cover her nipples and Natty notices that she doesn’t seem to have a bra underneath it. And all she can see on the other is a large red shirt barely making its way past her hips. 

Natty forces back a smile, trying to regain the excitement she previously had. There’s just four seats in the middle of the room all facing each other and Natty takes one of the two empty ones. It was awkward at first but the tension slowly dissipated as the three began talking, though a sense of eeriness still lingers behind. They start off introducing themselves to each other and Natty quickly learns that it’s Haneul who is wearing the crop top and Belle is the one wearing the red shirt. Once they got the awkward introductions out of the way, they proceeded to talk about random things. They start to talk about their lives now, their lives as trainees in previous companies, how the two knew of Natty in her time in survival shows. Although, every time Natty would try to talk about their outfits, they would pause and take a deep breath but then they would either play it off as if it was a normal thing or just change the subject entirely.

With no obstructions between them, Natty can’t help but notice some details with their apparent choices of clothing. Natty doesn’t know if she’s just imagining it but when she looks at Haneul’s crop top, she swears she can see a hint of darkness which she can only guess to be are areolas. Then there’s Belle who is sitting in the chair across from her, her short red shirt hikes even higher up her body while she sits down and Natty can see, clear as day, Belle’s pussy just hanging in the breeze. Natty tries to ask her about it but Belle just looks at her as if she was a crazy person.

Eventually the last member arrives, Natty somewhat expected her to also be similarly dressed which she is but the state she came into the room in was what shocked her the most. The last member arrives wearing a yellow sundress though from the looks of it, it might be a size or two too small. As she stands there trying to introduce herself to Natty, she keeps on adjusting her dress, struggling between pulling it over her chest or pulling it below her hips. But her attire is the least alarming part, her hair is all frizzled, her lipstick is smeared, and there’s drops of liquid dripping from between her legs. Natty forces another smile as all four of them start to talk together. The mystery girl introduces herself as Julie, their new leader. Julie takes the remaining seat and, similar to Belle, her dress hikes up, even higher compared to Belle’s shirt, and Julie’s pussy is visible to everyone. No one comments on it but Natty quickly sees that a pool of white is forming between Julie’s legs and it seems to come from her pussy and her butt.

Natty was right in that her first day would be full of surprises, though she did not expect to be such horrible and gut wrenching surprises. On her way home, she starts to recall the rumors she has heard over the years and after thinking back to what she saw earlier, they’re starting to become less like rumors and more like the harsh reality of the industry. But Natty brushes the thoughts aside, thinking to herself that her dream of being part of a K-pop group is being fulfilled and if it means even worse and troubling obstacles, then she will just overcome them too. She has had years of training, what’s a questionable dress code compared to that?

The next day arrives and Natty tries to remain optimistic, wearing another bright smile as she enters the practice room, though just like the day before it quickly drops. There’s a fifth person joining them that day and Natty can only assume he’s their choreographer only except he’s wearing nothing but shorts. While his toned body is in no doubt hot and amazing, given the situation and the very very prominent tent he’s sporting, Natty is deeply disturbed.

She says hi to him and then at her group mates who she has just noticed are still wearing the same outfits as the day before albeit with some slight changes—Haneul’s isn’t even covering her chest anymore, just dangling like a necklace above her shoulders; Belle’s red shirt has streaks of white all over the front; and Julie’s dress has a rip at the top as if her breasts were breaking free. Natty couldn’t even find the time to feel sorry for them as the man starts to talk to her as she comes in. “Hey, you’re the new girl right? What are you wearing?”

Natty stands frozen in place. She hasn’t gotten any sort of instructions or clothing to wear. Has she missed something? 

The man carries some papers over to her. “Did you not read this?” Natty recognizes the papers he’s holding, it’s the contract she signed. He flips through the pages and gives it to her, “See? Right here.” He points at the clause labeled “Attire” and Natty reads through the fine print. “In the company, the members should wear what is given to them or any clothing that they have. Provided that their tops have sleeves not longer than 10 cm and bottoms not longer than 20 cm.” With just her luck, she’s wearing a sweater and jeans that day. Natty couldn’t believe this, she remembers reading every detail of the contract but not once has she seen this. Natty continues to read the page and the next clause is labeled “Sex.” It reads, “The members cannot object to their bodies being touched or used by the employees of S2 Entertainment. The members must follow every order given to them, whether they are willing to do so or not. If the task is impossible to do, the members must accomplish it to the best of their ability. None of this can be mentioned to anyone outside of S2 Entertainment.” Natty could not believe her eyes, such inhuman clauses on her own contract. She hastily checks the last page and there sits her signature, bright as day. She looks at the others in disbelief but they can only stare right back at her with empty expressions.

The man grabs the papers back. “Well? The clothes we have are still in the laundry, so unless you have spare clothes with you or something, the only solution is to undress.” Natty looks at the others again for help but they just shake their heads and Julie mouths “Sorry” to her. “Are you going to do something about it or do you want me to take care of it?” Driven by fear of getting manhandled, Natty turns around and rushes to take her clothes off. Even with her back to everyone, she can feel the stares stabbing into her back. She feels so sick and dirty as she takes her sweater off and as she shimmies her pants off of her hips, she doesn’t realize she was involuntarily shaking her ass for everyone not until the man squeezes her butt.

Natty shivers in the cold room but it pales in comparison to being just in her underwear. Though it’s just the choreographer she has to be worried about, the lustful stare he gives her is enough to make her cry. Julie tries to console Natty but not a second later Natty hears a slap echo in the room, she looks up to see the choreographer in front of Julie who’s holding the side of her face.

The rest of the day goes pretty ok given the circumstances, mostly just going over the song and the choreography that went along with it, though their instructor occasionally helped himself to cop a feel while teaching and he seemed to be most interested in Natty, always focusing on her mistakes, groping and feeling every inch of her body as he “teaches” the dance.

The next day, Natty moves into the group’s dorm. “This time, it will be better,” she tells herself, maintaining that bright and optimistic perspective on life. She hopes that in the dorm it will be much funner and freeing, just her and her group mates living together and hanging out all the time. 

She opens the door and peers inside, to her surprise it’s really clean and quiet. Although she’s been very optimistic about things, deep down she was expecting similar horrors to what she has seen the previous days and seeing such a pristine and spacious living space is enough of a relief for her. After bringing her things through the door, Natty explores the place. In the living room there’s a huge flatscreen TV and a couch big enough to fit more than four people, and in the kitchen there’s lots of space available and a big fridge. Natty checks the fridge and salivates seeing lots of veggies and drinks inside, then she checks the freezer and almost falls to her knees from hunger seeing all the meat. Natty was about to slam the door shut when she notices a red dildo slightly hidden in one of the layers, she gives it a touch and confirms that it is ice cold. She blushes slightly, thinking that one of her group mates is kinky like that.

Natty hops over to the rooms, excited to see what those are like after seeing how extravagant the common areas are. She first checks on the room to the right, as she goes in she’s met with a very odd-looking room, half is very bland and empty while the other half is very decorated. “This must be my side,” she whispers while looking at the empty space. Over in the decorated half she sees Haneul fast asleep in her bed, seeing her wearing pajamas and not some skimpy outfit brings a smile to her face.

Natty closes the door gently as she makes her way to the next room. She barges through the door and immediately regrets it, the dorm which she expected to be their “safe space” away from the shit they have to go through at the company, turns out to just be an elegant looking prison. Natty was so happy about the place but unfortunately, it was too good to be true.

Natty sees three people all in one bed. Nearest to her is Belle, lying on her back and sobbing into her hands while a red dildo is shoved in her ass. Next to her is Julie and some man relentlessly pounding into her from behind. Only the man reacts to Natty’s arrival, looking over his shoulder to smile at Natty, it’s a different man, one Natty hasn’t met before. “Hi, Natty… I’m your… manager… Will you be a good girl and… pull that out of Belle?”

Natty should feel offended by such a crude question but after a week of “training,” she’s gotten to know better. Disgusted and disturbed yet Natty still drags her feet across the floor towards the three of them. “Just pull it out but do it slowly, don’t want to hurt her… even more,” he quickly adds the last part, chuckling as he does so, clearly enjoying himself at the expense of Julie’s and Belle’s pain. 

Natty glances at Belle, her face hidden in her hands, her body red and blue all over, her ass adorned with a bright red toy. She touches the base and immediately recalls her hand, it’s cold, ice cold. Natty considers herself a fool for even thinking for a moment that the freezer dildo was a kink thing, perhaps it might, but not for the person she thought it to be.

Belle’s quiet sobs turn to whines as Natty starts pulling the dildo out, the sound alone is enough to bring tears to Natty’s eyes, knowing that even though she’s helping, she’s still causing some pain. Natty continues to pull but at her slow pace it feels like it would take forever, she doesn’t even know how long the dildo is and as more inches get pulled out, the more worried she gets knowing how far it was in Belle and how much it could have hurt. 

Finally she pulls the thing out which calms Belle, her asshole closes back up, her body relaxes, and her cries die down. Natty looks at the dildo in her hand, the thing is almost as long as her forearm, she quickly throws it away and out of her sight.

Their manager turns to see that Natty has done what he requested, he gives Belle a slap on the ass and then Natty a pat on the head. “Oh nice… you’re a good girl... Natty… So here’s… your reward…” Before Natty could process anything he said or did, she feels her hair being yanked and her face quickly diving towards the bed. He makes her face to the side and starts to paint Natty in his cum. She hasn’t felt cum yet, let alone seen a dick in person, but the warmth and stench it leaves is enough for her to hate it.

“Wake Haneul up and have her clean you up, or you could just drink it all yourself, I wouldn’t mind. Just make sure to record, ok? When you’re done, Natty, meet me in my room, it’s at the end of the hall.”

And just like that he leaves, satisfied and so full of himself, while the three girls lay exhausted and broken.

Julie is the first one to recover among the three of them. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll go get Haneul, he hates waiting too long.” Before Julie can step away, Natty grabs her wrist. “N-No! I’ll do it. I’ll… try to do it.”

“You sure? Alright then. My advice is just do it quickly. Hwaiting.” Julie flashes a weak smile and raises her fist for encouragement and Natty reciprocates the action. 

Julie takes her phone and starts recording. Natty sits at the edge of the bed with Belle just slightly out of the shot. Natty scoops up all the cum on the side of her face, just doing so disgusts her immensely. With most of the white liquid in her palm, she puts everything in her mouth and gulps it all down. For a second all is well but the aftertaste hits her like a truck and she starts coughing again and again. She expected to hate it but it was beyond awful. Only when Natty calms down does Julie stop recording.

“Go to his room, it’s on the left. I’ll just put this back in the freezer,” says Julie as she picks up the dildo from the floor.

“He hates waiting.” Natty repeats, with no time to rest, she gets to her feet and moves to the manager’s room. Natty’s hand reaches for the doorknob but she stops herself before she can even touch it. This time around she opts to knock instead of just barging in. “Come in,” says the voice from the other side. Natty enters the room, it looks much bigger and more grand than the other rooms, a bigger bed, a TV, a mini-fridge, it was practically its own apartment. “So nice of you to knock, you’re still dressed but that’s an easy fix.” 

She notices him ruffling through some stuff in his drawer, she tries to take a peek but he closes it before she can see what was inside. In his hands are a remote and a collar with her name on it. “We just met a few minutes ago but I think you’re my favorite already.” He puts the collar on her, tightening it so it fits exactly around her neck. “Whenever you’re here at the dorm, you have to wear this, ok? And everytime I press this button.” He raises the remote and clicks it, sending a small stinging sensation to Natty’s neck. “You have to come to me. It’s only at one right now but if you’re not here within five minutes of me clicking it, it goes up by one, permanently.” Natty gulps but with the collar snug around her neck, it made it a little uncomfortable. 

“Ok so where’s the video?”

“Ah, Ju-”

As her name is mentioned, Julie barges into the room, phone outstretched with the video ready to play.

“Ah, there it is. Thank you, Julie.” Julie hands her phone over and stands in place, like a robot waiting for her next command. “Aww, look at Belle sleeping so peacefully. Oh wonderful, drinking it all by yourself. See, I knew you would be my favorite.” He hands the phone back to Julie and she starts to leave but before she makes it out he issues one final order for her. “Julie, be a dear and get Haneul. She’s been sleeping all day, I haven’t had my fun with her yet. Actually, you know what? Now that Natty’s here, just get everyone.”

With just the two of them left in the room, he walks over to Natty. Seeing his erect dick twitching so much causes her to involuntarily step backwards and his brows suddenly furrow. “Now, now, Natty.” The sudden change in his tone and expression is enough to strike fear in her heart, afraid of a punishment she puts her foot back to its original spot causing his smile to return. 

“Sweaters. Always so annoying, I heard you’re huge but I can’t really tell with that stupid thing hiding your tits. From now on in the dorm, Natty, only wear tight tops. Oh, better yet, no tops at all. The only thing I want to see you wearing above your hips is that collar.” 

Instantly Natty’s hands start to move, getting rid of any clothing on her torso as soon as the new rule is implemented. She can see it in his eyes, hunger ever growing with each article of clothing she removes. As soon as her shirt comes off, he starts salivating. “My, oh my, you’re huge. Looks like Julie’s got competition.” Natty reaches behind herself to unhook her bra but pauses for a moment, she realizes this is the first time she would show her breasts to anyone, many have touched and played with them at the company but not one has unveiled her boobs. As her bra falls, his dick twitches in excitement. 

The rest of the group arrives. Belle is the first to enter, her legs very tired and her ass still very sore. Next comes Haneul, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Last is Julie, her head held high and her face serious, looking like a guard rounding up the inmates although she isn’t any less of a prisoner compared to the other girls in the room. The four just stand in silence like mannequins and their manager walks around and gropes whatever he pleases as if doing some inspection. 

“Haneul… what did we say?” says the manager very disappointedly. His tone shocks her awake, “I-I’m sorry,” she bows then starts getting out of her clothes. He scoots over to her and slaps her in the face. “I’ll let you off easy this time since Natty’s finally here but I’m doubling the next punishment.”

After Haneul, he moves over to Belle, whose legs are barely keeping her standing. “You cross me again, I’ll make sure you won’t even be able to walk for the rest of the day.” He punches Belle and she easily drops to the ground sobbing, he kicks her while she’s down to add insult to injury. Natty can only shiver upon hearing everything happen behind her, does she even want to know what Belle did to make him so mad?

He moves over to Julie and the first thing he does is spit on her face then he uses his fingers to smear it all over. Julie keeps her composure, just closing her eyes as he plays with her face, not flinching or whining at all. “You should thank Natty for being here, ‘cause you’ll finally have some time to rest.” His hands cup her breasts, giving them a proper feel before he moves on to a bigger and better pair. 

Finally he comes back around to Natty, the only person in the room with any piece of clothing still on. “Tell me, Natty… Have you fucked before?” Natty gulps again knowing the implications, though it was bound to happen eventually. She shakes her head and he smiles. “Oh, a virgin? So many people in that building and not one has fucked you? Well their loss, we’re gonna have so much fun together.”

“Change of plans girls, looks like I need some ‘catching up’ to do with Natty. Go do whatever you want for now, we’ll be here for a full day or two.” 

But just before he dismisses them, he goes back to Belle, still on the ground holding her side. He spits on her face too but this time he uses his foot to smear her face. “Don’t think I’m done with you just yet. Be ready for your final ‘lesson’ when I’m done with Natty. Now go, all three of you, leave.”

It’s wicked really, how sick and twisted all of this is, all the expectations Natty had, completely flipped around. Shining eyes looking up to her turns out to be lustful stares looking down, helping hands turn out to be forceful gropes, and managers turn out to be owners. Natty looks over her shoulder with tears starting to form in her eyes, though her hands remain still, her stare acts like a hand reaching out to save her from the depths of hell but alas, all Haneul and Julie could do is return similar sad gestures as they carry Belle away.

The manager locks the door as the three leave and immediately gets back to Natty, even with all the time in the world at his disposal, he wouldn’t want to waste a single second. With the rest of the group gone, Natty feels even more miniscule and useless, even more of a toy as his gaze is solely on her. He comes up behind her and fills his hands with her tits, with Julie’s he can still grasp the whole thing in his hands but Natty’s can barely be fully contained. He starts to fondle and play with her nipples while slowly moving his mouth closer to her neck.

Natty easily starts to moan loudly, she wants to keep quiet to avoid giving him that pleasure but her complete lack of experience and the resulting lack of tolerance betrays her. He sniffs along her neck, “You smell so good and your tits… so fucking soft.” He finds a patch of skin along the front of her neck and starts to kiss and suckle on it, Natty explodes into a moaning mess, shouting in pleasure as if she’s having the time of her life.

The pleasure gets cut short as his hands move down to her waist. “Sweatpants… another cock blocker. From now on, just don’t wear anything, Natty. Your body is so hot and irresistible, wouldn’t want any clothes hiding your beauty. Don’t worry about getting cold, just come to me and you’ll be warmed up in no time.” His fingers slip into the waistbands and he slides both her underwear and her sweatpants down to the ground. He’s the first one to see her tits and now he’s also the first one to see her bare ass and pussy. As much as she doesn't want to think about it, he probably will be the first dick she takes in every hole.

The manager circles Natty slack-jawed and wide-eyed as if admiring a sculpture he has just made. “Fat ass, soft and heavy tits, pretty face. You’re just the perfect little toy, aren’t you? And a virgin too, just the absolute best, if I could I would just own you forever but sadly I’ve got a job to do. Although… maybe I can have you be my roommate instead of Haneul’s, that’s probably the closest I’ll get.” He leans down and frowns at what he sees. “Unshaved, unfortunate, guess you can’t have absolutely everything but it’ll do. First thing I want you to do when you’re out of this room is get that shaved, got it?” Natty’s been unmoving and frozen in place for so long that it takes her a second before nodding her head.

The manager pushes Natty onto the bed then flips her to face him. Her full body is on display for him, each delicacy just sitting idle like food in a buffet, up for grabs at any time. He licks his lips as he considers his options. 

“Two virgin holes, which to try first? The other three bitches came here already used, so this will be a first for you and me.” He slaps his dick against her pussy, grinding on it and feeling the slight hint of wetness it’s giving off. Next he considers her asshole, very puckered and looking very small compared to the head of his cock as he pokes her with it. He licks a finger and prods inside, the way his finger barely pushes through excites him and the way Natty winces seals the deal for him. 

He lifts Natty’s legs up and hooks them over his shoulders, giving him a perfect angle to ravage her ass. He lines himself up and slowly pushes his way in, not even bothering to spread her cheeks to mitigate the tightness. Natty is already breathing heavily as she feels her asshole stretching to accommodate him. “Please,” she begs. “It… It won’t fit.”

He just smiles and caresses her cheek. “That’s the fun part, a tiny virgin asshole broken open by my cock. I’m gonna remember this forever.”

As soon as Natty’s sphincter spreads wide enough for his girth, he shoves the whole thing inside. “AHHHH!!! TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT!” Natty fires a blood-curdling scream as his cock swiftly overwhelms her. It hurt for him too given how dry her butt is but only barely, plus her cries only work to alleviate him. 

He locks her legs in his arms and her hips in his hands to keep her from moving. Her hands might be free but Natty doesn’t have the strength or the courage to lift them up. Her ass feels like it’s on fire from the dry friction between the two of them. To her, it’s like hell. To him, the fire feels like an invigorating force. 

Her anal walls hug him so tightly, it’s like Natty’s ass is begging him to fill her up and who is he to turn down such a request. Her ass is so tight, it’s practically milking him dry, any tighter and he might not be able to pull out. In just a few minutes he starts to orgasm, the hardest and fastest one he’s had with any of the four girls. He pulls out and scrambles to find his phone, wanting to cherish this moment forever. “Second load of cum and many more to go. You’re gonna be such a wonderful cum bucket, Natty, milking me everyday. You’re going to love my cum and my dick in no time.”

Natty tries to stand, to do something, anything, but her body is just worn out already, completely exhausted, completely given up. The manager, on the other hand, is the exact opposite, even after tearing Natty’s asshole apart, he’s still hard and ready for another round. This time he has his eyes set on her cherished virginity. 

He hooks her legs back onto his shoulders but this time he carries her then pins her to the wall with her wrists bound by his hand above her head. While flexibility isn’t a problem for Natty, she is now face to face with her assaulter. She closes her eyes and looks away but that doesn’t stop her from feeling his hot breath on her face. His tongue pokes out and licks along her cheek, tasting her tears and her sweat, he leaves a trail of his saliva as he travels from her jaw to her ear. “So salty, so delicious. Everything about you is so delicious, you know that? Now I’m gonna enjoy fucking your pussy, I’m gonna see just how tight you fucking are.”

Tears fall nonstop from her eyes. Natty’s sobbing grows strong as she feels his heat pressing against hers. She so badly wants to beg him to stop, to let her rest, but her voice can’t manage to form words and she knows he wouldn’t listen anyway. 

He lines himself up with her folds and in one swift motion, he pistons his cock inside. “AHHHH!!! FUCK! PLEASE!!!” her voice only manages to come back during moments of intense pain. “Oh, Natty, your cunt. Fuuuuuuck, that’s the best pussy ever.” Her pussy is heavenly, it’s so tight that it’s almost orgasmic when he penetrates her. He just loves the way Natty squeezes around him. He also loves hearing her cry out in pain, to him it’s like a choir of angels. He relishes in the feeling of Natty’s pussy, living in his own twisted version of heaven.

As he pounds into her from below, Natty’s tits bounce freely in front of him and he doesn’t waste a second as his mouth latches onto her chest, after all, a little side dish won’t hurt while he enjoys the main meal. He bites her nipples, pulling and squeezing them with his teeth, only adding more pain to what Natty is already experiencing.

The two of them fucked endlessly in that locked room while the other three finally got some rest, though they couldn’t quite live in blissful harmony as Natty’s screaming kept them aware of their situation, the walls were thin enough to let Natty’s wails of terror flood the whole dorm. While the other three girls were able to sleep through it, in the morning they still heard Natty screaming and begging, though her voice much weaker and hoarser. 

There’s just so much to do with Natty, just pure lust and adrenaline fueling the manager all throughout the night. All the positions he could take her in, all the things he can do, all the possibilities, everything that Natty’s body can offer, he takes. He fucked her all over the room, didn’t even matter how or where, he just slams her down somewhere and fucks her in whatever hole he felt fit. He fucked her face against the wall, then fucked her ass while he pressed her face onto the floor, then fucked her pussy while missionary on the floor, then fucked her ass doggystyle on the bed, then fucked her face while her head hung off the bed, then fucked her ass in the shower. Just so much cum in and on her body in the span of a couple of hours and yet he is still going strong.

The next day comes around and there doesn’t seem to be any lapse in their action. Stretching from before the rise of the sun all the way to after it set, just endless screaming of pure pain and agony coming from Natty. The only time the manager interacted with the rest of the girls was when he asked Julie to cook up a meal for them. The door finally opened again for the first time in two days as Julie brought her cooking.

“Ah, pork belly, I’m starving. Thank you so much, Julie. I see you’ve gotten comfortable without me pestering you all the time,” he says as he sees Julie wearing some pajamas. “Oh, two plates? We won’t be needing that,” he chuckles as he returns the second set of utensils as well. Just before the door closes, Julie takes a peek over his shoulder and sees Natty practically lifeless on the floor. The manager gives Julie a quick smile, proud of his own work, then locks the door.

The manager walks over to the bed and nudges Natty with his foot before getting himself comfortable. Natty, almost void of all energy, springs to life as she smells the delicious food. Natty sits patiently, silently jealous as she stares at her manager eating all by himself. He points to his dick and Natty can only sigh as she lowers her face in front of it. 

The manager puts his hand on the back of her head and Natty opens her mouth, but instead of pushing down he says, “Let’s play a game, Natty. If you make me cum before I finish the food, you can have the rest of it.”

Natty doesn’t exactly have much knowledge on how to pleasure a dick, her only experience being the one dick that’s been forced in her body the past two days. She’s already come to terms with the fact that she might not eat for two days straight but regardless she tries her best. 

Natty employs the small pieces of advice she’s heard him tell her. Even though she’s basically just moving her head along his length, judging from his moans he seems to be enjoying it so she goes faster. 

“Fuck, Natty. Fuck… I’m gonna cum…” He takes over this time, gripping the back of her head as she immediately chokes. “Don’t… swallow it, fuck.” He struggles to squeeze his words out of his mouth as another orgasm makes its way into Natty’s mouth, only this time around it pools on her tongue. She already hates cum to begin with, cringing inside whenever she would taste it but with a whole load lingering in her mouth, revolting is an understatement. She struggles to hold it all in, not just because of the taste but also because of how much he gave her, her cheeks are full and just a little more it would probably overflow. 

He holds the plate of what’s about a quarter of the total meat still left on it. “Spit,” he commands and without hesitation she opens her mouth and deposits the batch onto the plate. “Go on, everything, spit into it.” She does as ordered, mixing the remnants with saliva and spitting onto the food. He spits onto the plate as well and mixes the meat with the “sauce” then puts it on the other side of the bed from her. “Go eat.”

Natty tries to get up and walk to the other side but the manager has other plans. He grabs her hair again and pulls her across the bed, forcing her to kneel down. “Come on, eat up.” He moves over behind her and lines up with her pussy. “Don’t waste anything, when you’re done I want that plate clean.” Natty stares at the disgusting abomination in front of her and she feels even more disgusted and degraded knowing that even when it comes to food she’s being treated like a dog. Her stomach gurgles, no matter how disgusting the food may be, she still has to eat. Natty tries to look at the brighter side of things, at the very least she’s eating actual food and not some slop that looks inedible. 

On the third day of her imprisonment, Natty is completely exhausted and broken. She just lies on her back, barely even reacting to anything her manager does anymore, there’s cum on almost every inch of her body and yet she doesn’t bother to clean it. 

Julie knocks to bring them breakfast, the manager gets the door but instead of just taking the food he tells Julie to give it to Natty. “She’s not fun anymore so I’ll be going back to you guys. And besides, the company is looking for her, can’t have her here forever.” As soon as the manager leaves, Julie rushes over to Natty and tends to her. 

The manager, clearly unsatisfied with Natty’s unresponsiveness and clearly needing a release, turns to Belle for release.

“AHHH!!! Wait, no, please… I’m sorry.” He barges into her room and she immediately shrieks upon seeing him. In the short span of two days, she’s gotten used to not being around him but here he is to remind her of her place. “I promise I won’t do it again, I—” She tries to get away but she’s stuck in the corner and all she can do is sink herself further into it. He doesn’t stop or even think for a second about what he’s doing, he just walks up and punches her face, adding another bruise to the multiple he’s given her. 

“Haneul? Get in here!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. While waiting, he pulls Belle’s face to the edge of the bed and starts facefucking her, all the while alternating between slapping her tits and punching her pussy. 

“Haneul?!” he calls again after a few minutes. After cumming down Belle’s throat and Haneul still hasn’t arrived, he marches over to her room. Not really to his surprise, he finds Haneul sleeping soundly in her bed. For one second he smiles, admiring her beauty before proceeding to ruin it. 

He punches her which brings her wide awake. He tugs her hair to bring her face close to his. “Always sleeping, you lazy cunt. Maybe you need a lesson too.” Haneul screams and thrashes as she’s dragged across the floor by her hair towards Belle’s room.

The next few days and weeks go by with the members somewhat getting used to and coping with the treatment that they are going through. Lots of practicing and “training” happens at the company, mostly the latter, then their manager has fun with them at the dorm. At the very least their manager is kind, all things considered, just as long as they follow his orders, so they still get to somewhat relax at the dorm. And whenever no one is using their bodies, the girls hang out, talk with each other, and comfort each other, growing a bond and giving each other hope to carry on until they debut.

The month ends and it’s finally time for Kiss of Life to debut. The four are no doubt incredibly excited, they finally get to wear clothes that cover most of their body, finally have some time away from the perverts, and most of all, they finally get to debut and live out their dreams of being K-pop idols, though little do they know what their company still has in store for them, even in public view.

A/N 2: So if you made it here, congratulations, you're as much of a degenerate as I am :). Anyway, while part 1 is mostly focused on Natty, part 2 would likely be four "mini-fics" in one, each focusing on one member. Subject to change but most likely it would be like that

[gingerjolover]

Sleep it off - Julien Baker x Reader

Sypnosis: Julien has had a rough few weeks, resulting in some conflict with her soft!gf :(

G's notes: I am so sorry I am flaky, I hope this long one makes up for it :') Also I'm sure Julien is a great partner, this is in no way meant to be taken as the truth

WC: somewhere around 5.7 k (i'm not sorry)

Warnings: RPF, angst, fluff, some anti-cig comments, smoking, mental health struggles, light arguing, mean/stressed!julien, light touching, kissing, no fundamental physical descriptors besides hair that can be pushed away from your face?

Julien sits outside; the darkening sky and pre-spring chill surround her. The porch stairs are cold under her jeans, goosebumps on her arms as she strums absent-mindedly; her ¾ sleeve shirt provides little comfort from the breeze.

She’s been in better moods before, that’s for sure.

The impending album release and subsequent press tour put pressure on every bone in her body, her chest tight. She’s stoked, obviously, to be able to release another project with her best friends in the world. The project that gave her a voice ignited her will to live, pushing her further out of her comfort zone and simultaneously pulling her into a warm embrace. 

Even in her gratefulness, she’s annoyed. The lack of sleep, an upcoming busy schedule, and the numerous cigarette butts on the ground contribute to her sour mood. She’s happy, happier than she’s ever been. To finally be home, her dogs padding across the floor, and her beautiful partner cooking dinner in the kitchen should be reasons enough to forgo the attitude, but it rises quickly and sticks to her bones like the chill. 

“Babe?” 

Julien can hear you call from somewhere in the house. The front door is wide open, and the mesh of the porch door allows the breeze to filter in and cool down the warming house. Julien can hear the dog's nails tapping against the wood floor. 

She turns her head in your direction, fingers still moving on the guitar. “I’m outside,” she calls, humming a melody. 

“Jules?” you call again, obviously not hearing your girlfriend’s response the first time. 

A loud sigh escapes Julien's mouth before she can stop it, rolling her eyes at the second inquiry of her location. Her hands pause on the guitar, grumbling as she holds it in one hand by the neck and stands up, leaning against the column on the porch, making no effort to go inside. “Yeah, baby, I’m out here,” she responds, her tone dripping in annoyance. 

“Oh, there you are!” you say brightly, trying to ignore your girlfriend’s obvious irritation.

She’s been snappy since she got home a day and a half ago, the stress building up in her body, crawling out like a monster; her first instinct recently is to direct her frustration at the closest uninvolved party. 

Your hair was messy, eyes sleepy, and cheeks flushed, causing Julien to relax her face, a crooked smile appearing softly. She feels at peace staring at you. Her obvious agitations calm momentarily, her guitar heavy in her hand. “What did you need, baby?” she asks softly, the guilt of her previous irritation already creeping in. 

“Pasta or rice with dinner?” you ask, standing in the doorway, the porch too cold even for your fuzzy sock-clad feet. 

“Pasta… I’m in the mood for pasta, babe…thank you,” she says gratefully. Leaning against the porch’s railing, her eyes look up and down your bare legs, the oversized boygenius crewneck falling mid-thigh. Julien is thanking the universe for the misprints of the crewneck, your lack of pants leaving little to her imagination, cheeks heating up staring at you. 

“Okay,” you respond softly, leaning out of the porch door, puckering your lips towards Julien. 

She chuckles lightly, stepping towards you, one hand on your cheek and leaving a sweet kiss on your lips. She presses a few more pecks before pulling away, eyes closed. 

“Hey baby…”

“Hi?” you whisper back, watching Julien’s eyes flutter. She stares into your eyes lovingly. “You’re so cute,” Julien murmurs, her hand running down your leg, caressing your knee softly before kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“I love you… you know that, right?” Julien asks her tone almost a little pleading.

Your eyes soften, seeing the conflict in her face. “I know…I love you too…” you whisper back, kissing her nose. 

“Can we just…lay down? You, me, the dogs… just cuddle in bed, watch shitty tv or read or… whatever. I just…need some grounding,” she asks, practically a plea to rekindle some normalcy. 

“You okay?” you ask, rubbing the lines between her brows, her face in a slight frown. “Dinner first, then I’m all yours, deal?” you suggest, keeping the tone light. 

“Deal! Now let’s go inside; I’m freezing my ass off out here,” she says dramatically, opening the porch door wider. 

“I told you to put on a hoodie!” 

“I don’t need a hoodie, I have your body to keep me warm… my lil space heater,” she teases, pinching your ass as she pushes you inside and shuts the front door. 

"Babe, can I ask you something?" She asks, her voice becoming a little more serious.

“Yeah?” you call from the kitchen, stirring dinner in a Dutch oven.

"You know how you always feel better at home... do you ever think we make each other too comfortable? Like, you know, we get into a relationship slump almost when we're at home together because we feel comfortable enough to be ourselves... does that make any sense?" she pauses, stepping away from the door and making her way into the kitchen, leaning against the wall as she stares at you. She was still nervous about the answer she would receive, but she figured it was at least worth starting a conversation about.

“Hmmm, I mean… maybe? But you’re touring most of the year anyway, so I guess… I don’t know, I kind of relish when we get comfortable… because I know it’s not forever, and I try to enjoy it when I can,” you say softly, the direction of this conversation slightly worrying. 

"You're happy, though? I make you happy?" she asks, a hopeful look in her eyes, the answer being the most important thing in her mind. It was almost an anxiety-inducing question for her, as if she needed you to tell her without a shred of doubt. She needed to be satisfied with where the relationship was, needed to know that you were actually happy and in such a good place mentally and emotionally. It was the most important thing to Julien.

“I— yeah… I’m happy, I’m— I’m really happy…” you say, turning around. “Are you— not happy?” you ask nervously, fearing Julien's bad mood indicates something deeper.

Julien quickly shakes her head, "God no, I'm incredibly happy, babe. I just want to make sure you're happy too..." she quickly closes the space between you two, holding your hips. Julien plants a sweet, quick kiss on each of your cheeks, her hand moving to rest on your head as she speaks.  "You're my girl, I love you so much..."

You nod, smiling nervously as you relish the normal affection from Julien, having missed it the last 36 hours. “I love you too,” you reassure. 

"My baby..." Julien murmurs before she pushes her mouth against yours. She wraps around your torso, pressing her body flush with yours, lips connecting and tongues meeting. Julien felt her hands wander as she continued the kiss, running her left hand under your crewneck and back. It was a passionate kiss of desire and love; she wanted so desperately for you to feel how much she loved you. 

“Hmph,” you pull away, breathing heavily; there’s a stale cigarette taste as you pull away. “How many cigarettes did you smoke out there?” you murmur teasingly.

Julien broke the kiss to answer your question, looking you straight in the eyes as she did. She was caught. Of course, Julien would never admit to it, but she couldn't hide it from you. You are the one person on the planet who could read her like a book, and Julien felt no shame. "Five... not even kidding."

“Babe!” you exclaim softly, typically finding it hot that Julien smokes, but combined with her exhaustion and bad attitude, it's worrying. Julien playfully sticks her tongue, mistaking your worry for banter. "Babe, you try being outside in practically a t-shirt and jeans in 30-degree weather for more than five minutes with the wind whipping around you and tell me you wouldn't have wanted to hit a cigarette to calm your damn nerves!"

“You could’ve come back in!” You sigh, chuckling at her excuse, ignoring that Julien said, ‘Hit a cigarette,’ alluding to just one. 

“Babe, I— never mind,” you say softly, rubbing your temples, pulling away from Julien, and starting to stir the pot on the stove again.

Julien rolled her eyes, "No, no, you can't pull the 'never mind' thing on me; I know you, I know what you're about to say, so please, give it to me straight... I've been smoking too much lately, haven't I?"

“Among other things,” you mumble under your breath. “You’re supposed to tour in just a few months. You’re about to go on a press tour and do all these acoustic sets, and I’m worried about you and your voice,” you say, her voice firm and worried.

Julien quickly interjected, the frustration seeping into her tone. "What other things? What the hell is going on, babe? I feel like I'm missing something, so please just be blunt. I want to work on these things, but I can't if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Please tell me." Julien knew what was wrong, but she didn’t like being called out on it. She subconsciously ignored that her agitation was why you’re off in the first place.

“You’re just snappy, Jules, like you get so annoyed with me so quick, and I’m not even doing anything,” you breathe out, unsure how your worried comment pushed her so far so quickly.

Julien laughs, exasperated at your comment, placing her hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. "Babe, you can't be serious... I have been working my ass off on my album; I'm stressed, I haven't seen you in weeks, and I am quite literally physically exhausted. I'm sorry that my attitude has been shitty, but let's take a second to think about where it's coming from, okay?"

“I’m not attacking you, Julien, you asked what was wrong, and I told you. I know you’re stressed. I never said that you weren’t, but it’s not fair to me,” you say quietly, surprised by her outburst.

"It's not fair to you? You haven't seen my ass in weeks, and I come home stressed and worried about my career and how I will be able to juggle this new album with a tour, and suddenly I'm the bad guy for being snappy? That sounds like an issue with you, not me! If you know I'm stressed and you know why, then you should understand that this is a part of my career, babe. It's just the way it is." Julien says, her voice harsh and defensive. 

“Okay, I—“ You say, taking a shuddering breath, holding your head in your hands, breathing for a moment while trying to formulate your thoughts and figure out how this went so south so fast. 

"No!" Julien snaps, interjecting before you can even start to respond, your shuddering breath setting her off. "Don't try to do that thing where you turn it all on me and make me the bad guy because you start crying because you don’t like what I said. I love you, I love you so goddamn much, but…”

“I didn’t even say anything!” You interrupt, exasperated. “I was literally thinking, I don’t know where all this anger came from; I’m not trying to fight with you,” your voice thick with emotion, not understanding why Julien is acting like this because it’s not her normal behavior.

Julien sighs heavily. Suddenly, she knew her anger was irrational, and she felt terrible letting it get this far in the first place. She could only blame her worries and stress for how she behaved. She wanted to push every ounce of it onto you because you were an easy target at the moment. The only issue was that you did not deserve to be treated that way, and she needed to apologize.

"Baby, I... I..." A pause filled the room for a second before she spoke. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

“Just— go cool off, Jay,” you say, wiping your tears and turning to the stove. 

"Babe, you know I can't just leave mid-fight, not when I'm in the wrong. Yes, I was being an ass; I have been an ass for a couple of weeks now, and I'm realizing that now. So please, just let me apologize properly, okay?" Julien asked, now standing behind you, feeling very guilty about her words and tone.

“Julien, I love you, but I really don’t want to talk to you right now…” you say, voice shaky.

"I understand that, babe, but I need to talk to you. I'm struggling, okay? Not just with my work, but I know I'm pushing you away, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of it, and I just want everything back on track because I've felt like I've been out of control lately, and I feel like I've lost sight of what's really important, and that's you, baby, you're what's important." Julien murmurs, speaking from her heart. She doesn’t know where her harsh words came from; watching your face fall and seeing you turn around breaks her heart.

“Just go,” you dismiss her harshly. 

Julien was quiet for a few seconds, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. The silence that filled the kitchen was deafening as Julien felt like part of her heart had just been crushed. She didn't want to leave like this. She needed to make this right.

"Honey... please..." Julien pleads.

“I just need a minute to myself, okay?”

Julien sighs heavily and takes a step back. She knew she had to respect your wishes in this moment, as much as she desperately needed to be close to you. "Okay. I'm going to go for a walk, okay? Please... I don’t want to go to bed like this," she whispers, her eyes filling with tears as she realizes at that moment what a toll all of her behavior and stress had taken on your relationship. She hated it.

“Take the dogs,” you whisper. 

"Okay..." she responds softly, opening the door quietly and leashing the two dogs out before looking at you briefly. She didn't need a verbal response to know you were mad. She would make this right, but not now, not when you needed space. She had finally noticed her wrongs and would do anything it took to make things right. "See you soon..." she whispers before closing the door behind her in defeat.

When Julien leaves, the dam breaks and your sobs are loud; unsure how everything escalated so fast.

. 

As soon as she was outside, Julien let out the breath she had been holding in, her whole body trembling with emotion. She knew she had pushed a lot and never wanted to get to that point with you. After one or two more deep breaths, Julien began to walk down the road, the cold air hitting her almost immediately. Her mind was reeling from the entire conversation; the conversation that should have been a playful banter just turned harsh before she realized it. 

Julien facetimes Phoebe and Lucy, the dogs tugging at their leashes, expecting Julien to speed up walking through the small suburban neighborhood. She explains the fight, both of them siding with you, not so much about the cigarettes but about how Julien has been quick to anger recently. 

Julien's voice was shaky with emotion as she spoke with her friends. The cold night air was not helping as she sucked in deep breaths between sentences, trying to level her breathing. Both of them ask the same thing. "Have you told her you're sorry?” and “What were you thinking?!” 

“You act like an ass post travel babe,” Lucy says, without remorse. “Have you been sleeping?” 

"Look guys, I— it's just... I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on her, which is totally not okay, and she's in her right to be mad at me; she's been putting up with my bullshit for God knows how long, and I'm just..." Julien trails off. “Sleep has not been coming easy…” she sighs. 

“Look, she loves you so much… we know she’ll forgive you, but maybe hear her out, don’t get angry… you’re usually so well-spoken and eloquent,” Lucy says on the tiny screen, only visible from her nose and above. 

"I— I know I'm just-- I'm a massive fucking idiot. I don't understand why she puts up with me sometimes. I can only imagine what she's thinking about me right now. I need to fix this; I just... I hope she forgives me. She deserves better, so much better, man." Julien's voice wavered with emotion.

“She doesn’t put up with you, JB. You’re in a relationship, and she’s like…so down to have a conversation, and I’m sure it can’t be easy for her to see you struggle, and she probably empathizes– you just got all on her ass about it,” Phoebe says, her tone soft but firm. 

"I know... I know this... you guys are right. I'll go back there and talk to her, apologize, grovel, and do whatever it takes to make this right. She loves me. I know that. I know, and I love her even more, and I've been taking that for granted, so I just— I need to make this right, even if it means I have to kiss her ass for the rest of my life, yeah?” She says, breathing heavily, feeling slightly less terrible at this time.

“Let us know how it goes. Or if you need anything?” Lucy says softly, Phoebe agreeing.

"I will, yeah... I love you guys; thank you so much. I feel a little better. Can you just tell me that I really am a dipshit right now?" she asks, laughing.

“You’re a fucking idiot, JB,” Lucy laughs loudly. “But we love you!” Phoebe concurs. 

“Go get your girl!” Phoebe says. “And kiss her for me,” Lucy teases.

"Oh my God, Luce, shut your filthy mouth… and I will," Julien teases back in response. The laugh that escaped her lips was relieving.

Julien says goodbye to the band and starts the walk home. Wiping the dogs' paws before taking off their leashes, she lets them into the house, following them into the kitchen where you are cleaning the kitchen, seemingly finished cooking dinner.

Julien pads into the kitchen, still feeling very emotional. Your demeanor tells her what she needs to know. You’re definitely upset, maybe angry. She would just have to continue working on things and hope for the best. She wasn't going to push it tonight. "Hey..." she says meekly. 

“Hi,” your voice is as meek and quiet as Julien’s, avoiding eye contact as you praise the dogs, giving them treats. 

"Listen, I'm sorry, I know I was an absolute jackass today. You didn't deserve any of that... None of that was aimed towards you. Everything built up and poured out of me, and it was just a shitty day." she pauses, moving closer to you. You can feel her staring at you with glassy eyes. "Can you please look at me?"

Looking at Julien post-sobbing proves to be more challenging than the fight itself; showing her how badly her words affected you almost brings…shame? And for what you’re not sure. Your nose is wet and your eyes puffy as you have a hard time looking at the love of your life, usually so gentle and articulate. 

Julien feels even more guilt-ridden at seeing you upset. She hadn't seen you this upset in such a long time, your relationship so well-rounded, and your communication skills top-tier regardless of conflict. Julien immediately goes to you, pushing your hair away from your face. Julien pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek softly over and over. 

"I am so, so sorry... For everything, I love you, you know that?"

“Mhm,” you nod, only half leaning into Julien. 

"Do you love me?" she asks, her voice quiet. The last thing she wanted to do was push you further away, but she needed to hear the words out loud. She now needed reassurance, although she knew she didn't deserve it.

“Yeah,” you say softly. 

"Do you love me enough to forgive me for being a jackass?" she asks, tears sliding down her cheeks as she looks at you. Julien did not want to sleep anywhere but in your arms tonight, her skin prickling at the thought this fight to cruise you both into uncharted territory.

“Mhm,” you barely nod, sniffling and looking at the floor. 

"Honey..." Julien's voice was a plea; she genuinely felt like a terrible girlfriend, and the one thing she needed right now was to make you feel better; forgiveness and reassurance would come at some point. She needed to know that you still loved her, even if you were mad. "Please... talk to me, baby, we can make this right if you let me fix it. Please say something."

“I don’t like that you blamed me for being upset that you’ve been snapping at me… that hurt my feelings,” you sniffle. “I don’t like this new thing where you take stuff out on me. I— I don’t deserve that. I know the last few weeks have been hard since we were apart, but you’re not the only one struggling when you’re away, Jay,” she sniffles again. “I wasn’t attacking you, I didn’t want to fight, I did what you asked me to, I told you what I was feeling, and you threw it back at me and said ‘it’s part of the job’ and that’s not fair, and frankly that’s bullshit because we’ve never had this issue in the years we’ve been together,” you say firmly, faux confidence seeping your tone as you lay everything out before your partner. 

"Wow... I feel like an absolute ass hearing you say it like that... I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me today... I'm so used to you giving me some playful smart-ass remark, and I know you're worried, but for some reason, it just ticked me off. I couldn’t stop from getting so angry… and I’m not blaming you right now. This isn’t an excuse; I just– I don’t know– regardless of what happened, you didn’t deserve me snapping at you," she grimaces, looking at you now with a sad and conflicted look in her eyes. " I feel terrible about blaming you for your own feelings about my actions. I'm an absolute jerk. I was stressed and took it out on you, which was incredibly unfair and unnecessary. I need to learn to cope with this better. You deserve a partner who does not let themselves take out stress and anger on you, and I've been letting myself do that with my bad moods." she places her hand on your cheek, now leaning your foreheads together. "I am so sorry… you know this isn’t me, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t wrong."

“I just— I don’t mean to lecture you, but you haven’t toured in over 6 months, and the number of cigs can’t be good for your voice, and I know you smoke a lot when you’re stressed, but it hurts that you don’t even talk to me about it you just immediately turn to cigarettes and then you get mad that I’m not aware of how you’re doing or what you’re going through,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

"I know... God, this sounds terrible when you put it like that. I have not been myself at all, baby. I've been lashing out for no reason, blaming you for things out of your control... I've been so selfish and shitty, and you do not deserve it, and I am so sorry." she continues, looking at her love with a look full of longing and regret. 

“I just need some space, I think,” you conclude sadly, a little unsure. 

Julien looks at you and nods. It was hard for her not just to scoop you up and run away with you, but she would give you the space you needed. She loves you too much to risk pushing you too far and was already walking on thin ice. 

"I love you, okay? If you need me, I'll be in my studio, and you can come get me anytime you're ready." she kisses you on the forehead affectionately. 

“Here,” you say, pushing the tray on the counter towards Julien, her dinner, some Advil, her favorite drink, and her meds on the tray. You were hoping to leave it on the counter for when she got home, but her returning sooner messed up your plans. 

Julien notices now the kitchen is clean, the dinner put away beside her plate. 

"Wait, is this for me?" Julien asks, a sad smile on her lips. The gesture's thoughtfulness was sweet, but it was apparent she had hurt you tonight and didn't deserve such love right now. “Did you eat?” 

“Yeah, it’s for you…I had a few bites, but I’m not hungry,” you breathe out. (Don't be skipping meals, babes x)

“I’m gonna go shower… can the dogs stay with you in your studio until I’m done?” you ask softly, changing the subject. 

"Yeah, yeah... I've got the dogs. Are you going to be in bed soon?" she asks, still wanting nothing more than to have you in bed with her tonight, but she figures it would be better for them if she just slept on the couch. That was the consequence of being a jackass and hurting the most important woman in her life.

“Maybe… just need to shower and stuff,” you say meekly, your usual soft behavior even softer now. 

"Okay babe... please... just come say goodnight to me once you're done..." Julien asks quietly, looking at you with pleading eyes. She wanted nothing more than to hug you and make this right but now wasn’t the time. She had to earn your presence again, and she knew that.

You nod, walking upstairs to their bedroom and jumping in the shower. 

Meanwhile Julien goes to her studio, the dogs lying on the couch in the room. She eats her dinner, picks around it before taking her meds and an Advil, and drinks water to alleviate the deep pain in her chest. 

After about an hour, you pad downstairs to Julien’s studio, her dinner and meds long gone. When you knock softly, Julien is watching a video and working on a song. “Am I interrupting?” your voice whispered, still respecting the studio's rules, in case Julien was working.

Julien pauses the video and turns around in her chair, looking at you with tired eyes. "No... No, not at all. I'd actually really appreciate the company right now, babe…”

“I just wanted to say goodnight… and grab Winnie,” you say meekly, still needing some space, leaving Blue, your bigger dog, with Julien. 

Julien felt a little sad, but she knew that was just one of the consequences of her actions tonight. She nodded and looked at you with hope in her eyes, wishing you would come closer. But she knew she was asking for too much right now. She stays in her chair and lets a small smile form. “Okay... goodnight, babe. I love you,” she whispers, feeling defeated.

“Love you,” you whisper, grabbing a sleeping Winnie, your smaller runt of a dog, and head back to your room. 

Julien listens to you climb the stairs and close the door. A silence she wasn't used to settled in the room. She hated fighting with you, and she hated herself for having no self-control tonight. She would have to give you room to breathe, the two of you never navigating conflict like this.

Blue looks up at Julien, tilting his head as if he could sense that his moms were fighting. 

Julien takes a deep breath and lifts Blue into her arms. The dog's comfort was something she desperately needed right now, even though he was too big to be cuddled like this. She felt her emotions rising as warm tears fell down her cheeks.

Blue happily nuzzles into Julien, licking the tears off her cheeks, wiggling a little, not fitting in Julien’s lap or her chair. 

Julien let out a little laugh as her legs and the edge of her desk were assaulted by Blue's wagging nub of a tail. She hugs him closer to her body and lets out a few more tears. This day was a mess; she just wanted to curl up in bed with you and forget everything. But that was off the table for the night, at least. She sighed and closed her eyes as Blue did his best to comfort her.

A few hours pass, and Julien eventually takes Blue outside, watching him go to the bathroom. The cold hair helps ground her momentarily before they both climb back up the stairs. 

Walking through the kitchen and towards the office, she sees you standing with your hand up near the door as if you were going to knock. She freezes up, not expecting to see you for the rest of the night. She smiles softly, your messy hair and sleepy eyes drooping. “Hi, sweet girl,” she says quietly. Blue runs up to your legs, headbutting you gently. 

“Hi,” you gulp. “I can’t sleep, can you… can you come to bed,” you ask anxiously.

Julien feels her heart swell as you ask her to come to bed. She nods, biting her lower lip in relief. She was so afraid that you were going to reject her now. She takes a step forward, closing the space between you both. "Are you sure, babe?" she asks, her voice soft and nervous like yours.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay… I’ll be fine,” you say sheepishly. 

Julien can’t believe you would say that. Of course, she wants to go to bed with you. "No... I want to... I want to go to bed with you more than anything. I just... I'm worried that I'll hurt you tonight. I'm worried I will lay there and overthink all the shitty things I did tonight, and that will somehow make me say something mean to you again... and I don't want that tonight." she replies honestly. She knew you could sense her genuineness, even regarding her insecurities.

“We don’t have to talk tonight… I just, I already sleep so many nights alone, and I just… I want you next to me,” you respond, the distance already hurting, the thought of sleeping in the same house but not next to Julien cracking your heart despite the harshness from earlier lingering like a bad perfume. 

Julien's mouth spreads into a little smile. She was still anxious, given your conversation earlier, but she wanted nothing more than to hold you in her arms. It was all she needed right now. She steps closer now, kissing your lips before responding. "Then let's go to bed."

You nod, whistling for Blue to follow you as you head upstairs, leaving Julien to close up her studio and clean her plate.

Once she enters the dark bedroom, Julien closes the door behind herself and undresses, leaving only her underwear on. Her eyes were focused on your body lying in the bed. She honestly couldn't get over how beautiful you were. Her heart clenches in both love and sorrow all at once. Looking at you overwhelms her, and knowing she made you cry is worse than a punch in the gut.

 "Can I hold you, pretty girl?"

“Mhm,” you hum, turning over, another oversized misprinted boygenius t-shirt riding up your legs, boyshorts hugging your hips. 

Julien moves closer to you, hooking her leg over yours, now lying in an intimate 'C' shape. 

"Did you... did you know that you hum when you're nervous... or when you're happy?" Julien whispers, pulling your body closer as she kisses your clothed shoulder.

“Do I?” 

"Yeah, you do... You did it in the kitchen tonight, which almost broke my heart." Julien whispers. The love she feels for you bubbling up, overwhelming her chest, spilling out of her mouth.

“I didn’t notice that I did that.”

 "You do it when I hold you in your sleep, too. You hum and mumble in your sleep." Julien explains, voice soft. "It used to keep me awake, but now I look forward to it. I just... I love you so much it hurts."

"You smell so good..." she whispers, burying her nose into the back of your neck, relishing in the closeness.

“It’s that new body wash… something with rose or ginger or something,” you try to recall nonchalantly, your skin heating up at her chest flush your back, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs. 

Julien snickers softly. She doesn’t care what the body wash is, she just loves the way you smell. It was intoxicating, filling her with a sense of security and safety at the end of a long day. 

“Whatever it is, it’s amazing,” she says quietly, burying her face back into your neck. You hum again softly, eyes fluttering shut, finally comfortable and warm in bed.

Your little hums continued to play in Julien's mind as she tried to fall asleep herself, her eyes growing heavy as the day's events finally catch up to her. She knows there is work to be done in the name of forgiveness. The impending distance looming over her head, there’s only so much time until she’s traveling again and leaving you behind. But for now, you’re in her arms, and the best she can do in the middle of the night is sleep it off.

[kremlin]

after many years my old company has finally allowed people back into the office, haha, not to go to work, no no, solely to collect their belongings from their desks. i picked up my stuff and remembered what a psycho i was about my office back then, let me show you..

i set up an old VT-420 on a side of my desk to read my email on (to flex my computer dick) which is unfortunately a bit too yellowed now for me to post exposed but hilariously enough i did take the chance to fix the faulty RS-232 chip in it and i no longer get a bunch of keystrokes interpreted as ŸŸŸŸs randomly. the fix was great too, instead of having to throw the whole thing out like you'd need to today, i literally just had to pull the PTH chip out of its socket, didn't even need to desolder. nor throw the old one out. i blasted it with a blowtorch for about half a second and it's fine now.

(it is amber by the way, which is the best color)

the keyboard is another story, i think a lot of like, entry-level vintage computing people get this concept that every old keyboard is some treasure, and boy let me tell you, some of them make you want throw up, like the vt420's:

you'll have to take my word that the typing experience is pure ass, but if you look at this fucker for more than two seconds your blood pressure will start to raise. and i'm not just talking about the euro return key. where is the super key? and what is going on left of 'a'? did they decide to solve the age-old "caps lock vs ctrl" debate by putting both of them there (??) what the fuck is going on north of the arrow keys?!?! and even further north, 'help' is funny enough on its own, the fact its next to DO, a truly existentially puzzling key, makes it that much better. why is DO so wide?? why are there so many F keys? and apparantly 20 F keys wasn't enough, they had to go on and invent "PF" keys above the numpad. and it doesn't stop there..

the pre-USB world was pretty nuts, but most keyboards still had sane connectors like DE-9's, PS/2, DINs, etc, but not this one

it uses, a, uh, looks like an ethernet cable. weird. but look closer. six pins. AND, big honking square to key it specifically and make it incompatible with the very-similar already-existing 6P6C specification (why?) anyways, that's enough of this crap, moving on

this is the keyboard for my lisp machine, the famous "space cadet keyboard", i get so many fucking emails about this keyboard, christ almighty. people trying to buy it from me, it's a shame, the machines don't boot without them so seperating them to satisfy reddit guy wish fulfillment breaks my heart. it's a lot better. it's from an era where a good computer would set you back half a million and the hardware reflects it. honeywell made it, it's "solid state" insofar as that makes sense for a keyboard, uses the hall effect. there weren't any rats at my office but just in case i seem to have taped something to the underside:

lol. now for accouterments to cover those hideous eggshell white walls:

in order, openbsd, you know it baby, middle is a weird polish promo for the holy mountain, the last thing was a joke whose meaning has been lost to time. chicken and turkey!

i seemed to have been working on some very bizarre electronics projects, personal, during my workday:

god, what the fuck was this?

oh, duh, it's bort's hat. (??)

some reading materials. K&R C is a first edition, somewhat rare. the 9front manuals:

classic, natch. and a huge gear that's clapped

that's it. that's my office apparently.

[lavenderterra]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑

Content; Absolute floof and chaos

Usage of alcohol

Nothing suggestive

Pre established relationships

Xavier

You had been invited out by Tara for a night of drinking and karaoke after the last influx of Wanderers in the no hunt zone, you were three drinks in, and it was your turn to sing, it did not bother you when you had picked Supernova by Aespa. You were there to have fun anyways right? Though the last person you’d expect to run into on a night like tonight was Xavier. You seemed shocked and he seemed surprised, though he was half asleep (sleepy boy) he had taken a moment to look at you.

“Y/N?” He seemed confused as to why you were grabbing a microphone and why he heard the instrumental to a song he heard through your headphones before while you’ve come back from missions and can’t comprehend words to speak what so ever. [thisboywillliterallyusehisevoltoputonalightshowwhileyoursinging]

“I’m like some kind of supernova.”

You don’t realize he’s there until you notice his evol surrounds you in a pretty light show. Despite how drunk you are you still wander up to him to give him a big hug.

He ends up carrying you home. Good thing you’re neighbours right?

Zayne

Mans was not prepared to see how drunk you were especially when you had chosen to sing Super lady by G-Idle but you wanted to let the stress of your last mission go, and this is how you were going to let off the steam you needed to let off wether you could handle your alcohol or not. “Y/N is there any reason that you’re so inebriated?”

You wave him off before you start singing. “ I am a top Super Lady, I never lose yeah. (‘Cause got a super power) I am a god, super lady” Cue the second hand embarrassment from the doctor, part of him is intrigued though.

Secretly being the little shit he is, he’s filming you so you can witness your drunken shenanigans when you’re hungover. He definitely enjoyed watching you let loose. You are a hunter after all, of course in the end you walked up to Zayne regretting everything you’d had to drink. “Please take me home-“

“Sweetheart, you did this to yourself.”

“So mean.”

Rafayel

Girl you are not living this down, he’s going to embarrass the hell out of you the next day. You two had bumped into each other walking into the bar the same time. You were meeting up with Jenna and Tara and the rest of your hunter squad to celebrate your success on your latest discovery in terms of dealing with Wanderers.

“Y/N is this what you do when you’ve decided not to be my bodyguard” You let out a laugh before speaking slightly. “C’mon me having a little break after killing this last mission? Yeah I’m here to let loose.” You let out a soft smile and its a smile you know he can’t resist because he loves seeing you happy.

He puts his hand on your head before telling you to have fun. You nod before running off where the rounds of shots and soju begin. You’re a very giggly drunk so you’re always laughing.

“Hey Y/N I miiight have put your name in to sing next” Tara had drunkenly admitted which caused you to laugh again before getting up to grab a microphone

Sticky by Kiof had started playing.

Everything was a blur and you had started singing. “How long before we fall in love—“

Raf is already live streaming your drunken antics

Sober you is going to k*ll him.

Sylus

Leaning back in his seat seemingly amused its not often you see the leader of onychinus outside of the n109 zone let alone in the very karaoke bar you frequent. You almost act as if you don’t notice him and the twins watching you.

You feel his amber eyes on you while you’re with your friends but also you notice Mephisto watching you at a distance. You scoff slightly before taking another shot. You got up out of your seat, and made your way over to the white haired male.

“Juuuuust what do you want now?” You huff looking at him. “Sweetie, I’m not sure you’re rambling on about now. I’m just enjoying my night like you are.” You raise an eyebrow before hearing your name called up next to sing.

You turn on your heels before heading toward the stage grabbing a microphone. Were you extremely wasted? Yes. Did you give a damn? No.

Purple Kiss’ Pretty Psycho started playing.

“I’m a freaky Purky.” You spoke into the microphone before beginning the song.

Sylus was amused. Luke and Kieran were filming.

You weren’t living this down.

[l3viat8an]

sorry this is a little nasty ：（

asmo jerks off onto ur face as skin care routine

Nsfw content MDNI

Listen!!- listen!!- i don’t mind a little nasty anon! And this was fun so yea!- 🏃🏼‍♀️💨

When Asmo called you into his room to try out a new ‘face cream’ you didn’t think you’d walk in on him, sitting on the edge of his bed nude and jacking off.

Stepping into his room and closing the door behind you, you ask “Bad time?” Asmo let’s out a sound that somewhere between a moan and giggle, “Not at all~ I called you over didn’t I? Now get over here cutie~” with his unoccupied hand he makes a vague-ish motion to the floor in front of him.

Catching on quickly you move and sink to your knees in-front of him, one hand reaching for his cock but he bats your hand away.

“No, no, sweetie. I want you to sit there and keep your pretty face up~” “huh? That’s all?” you’re genuinely confused for a second, usually Asmo would call you in for help and seeing him like that you’d assumed that was why-

“Yup~! That’s all~” Asmo says, teasing his own cock and keeping it angled towards your face.

But it’s so hard to just sit there and watch him!

You can help it when his eyes drift closed for a second and you lean forward licking a bead of pre-cum off of his pretty cock, Asmo moans at the feeling of you tongue, before remembering his plan and tutting “No, darling. That’s not what we’re doing tonight.” you lean back and look up at his with a half hurt look.

“Not because I don’t want too…..I just have other plans and-“ he cuts himself off with a high moan as he gets closer to cumming. Your bit of teasing definitely helped and as you start to open your mouth, half hoping he’ll at least cum in your mouth Asmo shakes his head “K-keep it closed- want too..hahh~ cum all over your cute face~” and with another few strokes and moan of you name he does.

The hot cum hits your cheeks and nose, running down to you lips and you sit there for a moment while Asmo looks at you, his eyes taking in every inch or your face and smirking, “Yess~ oh, how lovely you look~”

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Hello!

Maybe a KOH fic with lots of fluff, when Baldwin and his gf try to comfort each other after a big party (like someone's wedding etc.)? Both of them being very tired, with aching feet, very well-fed (even quite too full), a bit drunk etc. ... But making each other feel comfortable by being together (and maybe also supporting each other to walk to their room, feet rubbing, stomach rubbing, mental support, other kinds of support...) :)

And if you already got an infinished request starting similarly, know that it was because i just probably pressed the "send" button by accident.

♡ Late Night Adoration - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon, this request is so adorable. I love it so much, thankyou for sending it in! I added a bit of my own twist to it, I hope you don't mind, I just really wanted to write drunk/tipsy Baldwin😭. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: I decided to set this pre-film, when Baldwin and y/n are about 18

TW: Leprosy, Alcohol consumption.

It was late at night by the time the young king and queen stumbled back into their chambers.

It was the wedding day of y/n’s fathers close friend and Baldwin had offered for the wedding to be held in Jerusalem. The night had been amazing, everybody consuming more wine than they probably should have, including the king and queen.

They staggered back to their chambers, both feeling quite ill and tired. The combination of too much alcohol and food was not the best thing in the world as they both discovered.

The two walked slowly, stopping every few seconds to check on each other before they finally arrived at their destination. Baldwin helped y/n sit down before walking slowly to his side of the bed.

“This was a bad idea” y/n groaned, removing the shoes from her aching feet. “Agreeddd,” Baldwin replied, laying down on his back, clutching the sides of his head as he felt a terrible headache coming on.

“Are you feeling okay darling?” y/n asked groggily, her voice was tired but still as soothing as ever. “I'll be just f-fine, my lovee, I am just veryyyy tireddd but I'll be better in the morningg,” he slurred in reply.

Y/n smiled tiredly and patted his shoulder. “How are y-you feelingg is the real questionn?” Baldwin asked, opening his eyes just enough to look at her. “Sore and tired but not as bad as you clearly” y/n said, laying down beside him. The young king chuckled slightly in reply.

“Y/n?” he said softly after a few seconds.

“Yes?”

“I am v-very drunk. I don't think i have ever been this drunk in my lifee”

Y/n chuckled at his words that became more and more slurred by the moment.

“You knowww y/n, we are alone in heree” Baldwin sat up slightly, looking at her sugestivly. “Oh no sir, you have had wayy too much to drink for that kind of thing” y/n replied.

“Oh but pleaseee” he whined.

“Youre so needy” the queen replied, her voice soft and seductive, teasing him a little.

“Yeahhh I k-knoww. Pleaseee?” He was practically begging at this point. “No my love. Maybe tomorrow when you are in the right state of mind”. Baldwin sulked for a second, before uttering a slurred “fineee,” through a yawn.

He had consumed more wine than she had. She knew his limits, but she didn't think he did. She was simply sore and tired from a bit too much to drink and too much food, but he was clearly drunk.

Y/n smiled at that thought. She had never seen him like this before. It was oddly endearing.

“You are sooo beautiful you know y/n? I am so l-lucky to have you” he said, raising a hand and touching it to her cheek. “A-are you sure you're okay? I want you to be comfortable he-here because I love you” he added through half lidded eyes.

The young queen's heart fluttered at that. Even in the state that he was in, he was still concerned about her wellbeing above anything else.

“I am fine, my love. Now, we should get some rest. Would you like me to rub your head to help you fall asleep?” she asked. His eyes lit up and a crooked grin spread across his face at the offer.

“Yesss that would be p-perfectt” he slurred, turning over onto his side and crawling into her arms, burying himself into her chest.

Y/n rubbed the back of his head gently, alleviating the migraine that began to form inside his skull.

Baldwin groaned in pleasure at her touch. “I love y-you sooo much y/n. You're my everythingg” he paused to yawn softly into her chest “You're sooo perfect and I c-could not ask for anything more, because… there is nothing better… than you…” he rambled, as his words trailed off. Before long, he was snoring contently against her chest.

Y/n stayed awake for a little longer to make sure he was completely fine. She couldn't help but chuckle at his unusual behavior.

She had never seen him like this before. Usually, he carried himself with the grace of a king. His speech was fluent and confident. He never begged her for intimacy and was usually not so open about it. In fact, he usually got quite bashful at the subject.

This on top of his sweet words before passing out culminated to y/n feeling a mix of amusement and adoration.

She kissed the top of his head, feeling his soft blonde hair beneath her chin. She took a second to admire his beautiful features, softened in sleep. He looked adorable. His eyelids were closed peacefully, his lips parted slightly as well.

She took one last look at him before allowing exhaustion to overcome her, falling into the best sleep she had in a long time.

[morningberriesao3]

Bully!Scoops!Steve Harrington X Dom!Eddie Munson

Summary: Steve and Eddie don't get along. Never have, never will. One night, after their shifts end at the mall, Eddie finally releases some of that pent up aggression that he's been harbouring for years.

Word Count: 13.6 K

Chapters: 1 of 1

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… mildly dubious consent, aggression, fight sex, hate sex, spit kink, internalized homophobia and homophobia language, aggression, face-fucking, under-negotiated kink, choking, gagging, car sex (semi-public), dirty talk, degradation, allusions to anal sex, anal play, cum eating, orgasm denial, exhibitionism, voyeurism, light s&m, light dacryphilia

Tags: enemies to lovers (but they’re actually enemies), Steve Harrington’s Scoops Ahoy uniform, Robin Buckley/Eddie Munson friendship, pre-season three, Eddie hates Steve

All characters are—and always will be—18 or older, whether explicitly stated or not

Hate the Way It Feels So Good

Eddie and Steve don’t get along.  

It started as far back as middle school, when cliques started forming and kids started dividing themselves into two very distinct categories: cool, and not cool. They were basically on opposite sides of the spectrum. Natural born enemies.

Steve did things like toss balls into hoops and get sweaty in the gym with a bunch of other dudes, and then corner Eddie at lunch hour and call him the queer. As if he was the one chest to chest with Billy fucking Hargrove an hour earlier, sliding all over him in a tangle of pent-up testosterone.

But no, Eddie was the queer, because he spent his time playing Dungeons and Dragons with his fellow nerds.

At first, it was just another word that got tossed at him. Freak, loser, dork. Queer. At first, Eddie didn’t let it get to him.

Until he was fifteen years old, and he suddenly noticed Trevor Brown’s shoulder muscles underneath his t-shirt. The way they stretched the fabric and made it cling to them like plastic wrap. How the hem of that same shirt rode up above the band of his jeans when he lifted his arms above his head to expose a strip of skin. And how Eddie wanted to run his fingers on it.

The word queer from that day on felt like a bullet flying from a loaded gun.

For three years, Eddie tried to suppress those feelings. He dated Liv from his D&D club for half of that time—thought maybe he could learn to love a girl. To look at her skin the same way he’d looked at Trevor’s all those years ago.

Four months into dating, Eddie and Liv had sex. The whole time, it felt like there was a stone the size of a cherry pit stuck in Eddie’s throat. One that he couldn’t for the life of him swallow down. He didn’t want to look at her. Felt his fingers shaking with something that wasn’t lust as he dug them into her hips. Had to consciously remind himself to keep his eyes on her and not the ceiling, the walls, the pillows. Not to keep them squeezed shut.

He dated her for ten more months after that. They had sex a dozen more times. It never got easier.

Eddie’s friends would talk about their hookups, how good they felt. How they hoped they could do it again. And Eddie just felt nauseous at the thought. He’d make up excuses that he wouldn’t be home, that Wayne would be home, that he was sick, that he had homework, guitar lessons, a family obligation, a job interview. Anything to keep Liv out of his bedroom for as long as possible.

In April of 1984—Eddie’s first time in grade twelve—he decided to break things off. He had to focus on his grades next year, he said, and she was finished with high school, so he really didn’t have the time. All excuses, but she seemed to accept them without pause.

It was about a month after that, that Eddie went to Indianapolis and kissed another man for the first time. Three seconds into it before he realized exactly what his friends had been talking about—his body reacting in a way it never had before. Carnal desire. An urge to go further, to not stop. No cherry pit lodged in his tonsils.

The next months came with a lot of internal loathing. And then experimentation. And then… not quite acceptance. But something close.

It helped that he met band geek Robin Buckley near the end of the school year when they both happened to wander into the practice room one lunch hour. They bonded pretty quickly over music, even though their tastes didn’t intersect that often. But they were both unpopular and quirky and had very little filters, so it was easy enough to form a friendship.

Eddie was able to tell her one summer night as they got high by Lover’s Lake, that he thought he was gay. It only came out when she started blubbering about her crush on Tammy Thompson and then started blubbering harder to try to cover it up.

Needless to say, Eddie and Robin became very close, very fast. She was the only person who knew all of Eddie. And he was the only person who knew all of her.

Eddie was thrilled on Robin’s first day at Scoops Ahoy a year later. The ice cream shop sat directly parallel to Camelot Music where he worked a few hours most days after school, and even longer shifts on the weekends. He knew he’d be able to sit at his register and steal glances of his friend struggling to get through training, and then later, on the slower days, they’d be able to sneak into the hall and cause trouble.

His giddiness was squashed when he saw who the second hire was.

Steve Harrington, standing with his too-big hands on his swimmer’s hips, his eyebrows pinched together above the bridge of his nose, staring down at the buckets of Vanilla-Bean-Caramel and Pineapple-Raspberry ice cream as their boss showed them how to form a proper scoop. Robin stood next to him, looking far less perplexed—and annoyingly calm about having to work next to Eddie’s arch nemesis. Not that she really knew the extent of his hate, beyond the few times he muttered prick under his breath when Steve’s name was mentioned.

“He’s not that bad,” Robin had said when Eddie cornered her after her first shift.

“What do you mean he’s not that bad? He’s a total fuckwad.”

Robin simply shrugged one of her shoulders and said, “I never said he wasn’t.”

Eddie had let it drop that night. But it got harder and harder as time went on.

It was the last day of Steve Harrington’s high school career, 1985, when Eddie took his first swing at that perfect Roman nose of his.

Eddie had been minding his own fucking business in the cafeteria. He can’t remember exactly what had riled him up, but maybe he was being a little flamboyant in a public place. Sometimes he just can’t help himself. But he wasn’t hurting anybody as he scurried around his table and tried to make his friends laugh.

Jason Carver—prick supreme—had something to say about it (as always), flanked by none other than Steve Harrington, who seemed distracted as he zoned off into the distance. “Keep your voice down, freak.”

Sometimes, Eddie had enough control to keep his retorts to himself. But not this day. “You seem to seek me out these days, Carver. I would argue that you like my voice.”

Jason’s nose wrinkled. “You wish, queer.”

Steve seemed to zone back into reality, his eyes narrowing in on Jason and then on Eddie, who twisted his features up into a mockery of a flirtatious smile and said, all too sweetly, “Oh, I do wish. Why don’t you come on over tonight, Jason, and I’ll show you just how much.”

Steve choked on his own saliva then, as if he couldn’t hold back the gag from the thought of someone being gay. Or maybe more specifically, Eddie being gay. Either way, it pissed Eddie off to no end.

“You have an issue, Harrington?”

Steve’s eyes widened, but then he schooled his face back into a mask of nonchalance. “Nope.”

“Really? ‘Cause it seems like you have an issue.” Eddie stepped into Steve’s personal space. Their shoulders brushed against each other. “Maybe you want to come over instead. This queer can show you a great time.”

The look of pure horror on Steve’s face might have been hilarious if Eddie hadn’t been feeling so fired up. “Absolutely not, man. No way.”

“Bit of a bigot, are we, Stevie?” Eddie puffed himself up as big as he could get. His chest bumped into Steve, who took half a step back in shock.

“I didn’t say that,” Steve had said, almost defensively. For a second, Eddie almost thought he would turn around and leave him alone. Until Steve’s eyes found Jason’s, and he tacked on for good measure, “I’m just not like you.”

Eddie saw red. “Like me?”

“Yeah. You know. A fairy—”

Eddie’s fist nearly whistled through the air as he tried to connect it with Steve’s face. Only, Steve’s reflexes were pretty great after all his years training in whichever sports Eddie knew nothing about, so he managed to sidestep the swing. Jason grabbed Eddie’s wrist and laid his own punch against his cheekbone. Eddie landed flat on his ass in front of a growing crowd of school kids who were thrilled about a brawl breaking out.

Five minutes later, Eddie had found himself in the principal’s office, getting reprimanded about how next year would be his last chance to graduate, and how he was ruining his future by getting into fights, and maybe he just needed to go to church over the summer to help find his path in life.

Jason was asked if he was alright and was sent home with a pat on his back.

It has been two weeks since that incident. The cut on Eddie’s cheek from Jason’s knuckles has nearly healed.

He’s currently running his finger over what’s left of the scab, staring through slitted eyes at Harrington desperately trying to flirt with girls, even as he’s dressed in his stupid sailor’s outfit.

Eddie snickers to himself, watching the girls side-eye each other. They giggle condescendingly as they walk away from the ice cream counter. Another fallout.

He notices Robin take out a dry-erase marker to add another tally under the “You Suck” category of the T-chart she made for Steve. At least she’s humbling him, even if she doesn’t agree that he’s the worst person to ever walk the planet.

It’s a Saturday, nearing four o’clock. It’s time for Eddie’s break, and he always stops by Scoops to see if Robin can join him. This has led to way more interactions with Steve than he would ever like to admit, but they��re usually short-lived. Eddie glares at Steve, and Steve stares back at him like he might catch the Freak Disease if he gets too close. It’s a routine.

He hands the keys to his coworker and slowly makes his way across the tiles of the wide mall hallway. Steve sees his approach, and Eddie can see the panic set in. Steve’s puppy eyes go large, and he turns quickly on his heels. He tears the dumb sailor’s hat from his perfectly coiffed hair, saying something unintelligible to Robin.

Her eyes lock on Eddie just as he approaches the register. “Ahoy, Eddie. Are you ready to set sail on this ocean of fla—”

“Can it, Robin,” Steve cuts in from his now lazy stance at the back of the shop. “You don’t need to do the whole spiel to Munson every time he visits you at work.”

“But it’s funny,” she argues. She turns to Eddie. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

“It’s hilarious,” Eddie says. Any chance to disagree with Harrington. “I would be so disappointed if you were to stop. Please, continue?”

“Are you ready to set sail on this ocean of flavour?” Robin wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at Eddie. “I’ll be your captain. I’m Steve Har—”

“I knew it!” Steve whines. “I knew this was a way for you to make fun of me!”

Robin unleashes a vault of snort-laughter that sounds like she’s been holding it in all day. Eddie has to physically contain himself from joining along, especially when he sees how disgruntled Steve looks from the low blow.

“It’s not like I want to say that shit,” Steve continues. “They told me to. I’m just doing my job—I just—It’s just—”

Eddie slaps his hand over his mouth, but he can’t stop himself from giggling alongside Robin. It’s especially ironic that Steve is so pressed about getting made fun of when just two weeks ago, he was joining alongside Jason to do that very thing to Eddie. Call it karma.

“Whatever.” Steve crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “Assholes. Leave me alone. Customers are coming.”

Robin takes her time slipping her hat from her head and placing it on a stool behind her. The group of young women appear in front of Steve, who also abandons his hat. Showing off his hair must be the only chance he has at getting laid anymore.

“Ahoy ladies, I’m St—” Steve’s eyes dart sideways to a snickering Robin, and then at Eddie who can feel one of his brows raised like a dare. Steve clears his throat. “I’m Steve. What can I get for you?”

Eddie scoffs at the same time Robin snorts and says, “See you in an hour, Dingus.”

Steve ignores her.

They leave the ice cream shop and make their way to the Burger King in the opposite corner of the food court. Finally, Eddie feels far away enough to ask, “Dingus?”

“Yeah.” Robin scans the menu behind the counter like she’s not just going to order the chicken sandwich. “He’s totally a dingus. I thought you’d agree on that one.”

“There are a lot of colourful words I’d use to describe Steve Harrington,” Eddie mumbles. “But I guess a dingus is a start.”

“There’s the spirit.” Robin slaps Eddie on the back, totally unaware that he is once again stewing over the jock that makes his life a living hell. “Let me buy you something. Whopper or Nuggets?”

“Nuggets. And fries, because all this talk about Steve is really putting me through it.”

“He’s really not that—”

“Not that bad. I know, you’ve said so a thousand times. But do you see my damn cheek?” Eddie points to the nearly healed wound like Robin hasn’t watched it through the red-to-purple-to-yellow healing phases.

She purses her lips and seems to choose her next words carefully. “Right. Okay. But from what I understand, Steve didn’t punch you. Jason did.”

Eddie stares at her incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna get hung up on the details? He called me a—” he lowers his voice to a whisper “—a fairy.”

“I know. And that is seriously not cool. But Jason called you a queer,” Robin retorts, just as quietly. “Fairy is better than the other F word he could have said.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him.” Eddie points to the cashier who is now waiting to take their order. “I also want a Coke.”

Robin rolls her eyes but buys Eddie his meal, which he thinks is the bare minimum that he deserves after all this emotional distress.

The hour seems to fly by, and Eddie thanks whatever power there might be in the universe that Steve doesn’t get mentioned again. Until the walk back to their respective jobs.

“Oh—I forgot to mention. Steve is taking over the closing shift tonight, so I won’t be catching a ride with you.”

Eddie hovers between Camelot Music and Scoops. “Ugh. It’s so desolate here for closing. You better hope I don’t get murdered walking alone in the parking lot after dark.”

“You’ll be fine.” Robin turns away, heading towards Steve who looks like he’s struggling with a gaggle of children ordering milkshakes and sundaes. Eddie swears he hears her breathe under her breath, “Steve will be here.”

Eddie tries not to let that statement paint his face in a scowl for the rest of his shift, but as he inches closer to the clock chiming 9pm, he feels himself failing. It is way too obvious that, yes, Steve will be there as he closes shop. The rest of the food court close their doors at 8, but for some reason the owner of Scoops thinks that an ice cream shop has to stay open late. Like there are children that will be needing their sugar fix before bedtime.

As if.

There are a few other stores besides Camelot that also close at 9, but they’re located near Entrance C. Meaning, for the last hour of his shift, Eddie is forced to stare at Steve pacing behind the fluorescent lights of his ice cream coolers while he sits and simmers behind his own register.

Every now and then, Eddie swears he can see Steve look over in his direction. But each time he turns his head to catch him and hopefully be able to scream out what the fuck do you want?, Steve’s gaze is back on his Nikes.

It’s a major relief when it’s finally 9, and Eddie can swing the gates closed to the front of Camelot. He decides to take longer than usual to tidy up shop, carefully folding the t-shirt display and making sure to pull stock forward on the shelves so they look full for the morning staff. He cashes out, drops the envelope into the safe in the ground, and wipes off the counter. The lights in the front of Scoops have been off for roughly seven minutes (not that Eddie has been staring at the clock since they went dark), so he figures it’s safe to leave from the back entrance.

The heavy door latches behind him as he steps into the giant parking lot. He’d only been half joking with Robin at the mention of getting murdered. It would be a prime spot for some crimes to be committed after dark like this—only a few vehicles still scattered the pavement, far and few between. His van is the farthest of them all.

Regardless, he sucks in a breath and starts to make his way across the eerily quiet lot. It only takes him a few seconds to get a strange tingling sensation on the back on his neck, like he’s being watched. He opens his ears, realises that he can hear a second set of footsteps beyond his own. And they sound close.

Eddie whirs around with his fingers clenched into fists, ready to strike at—

“Steve?” Eddie huffs a sigh of relief, but then realises he still might be very much in danger of getting his ass kicked. He keeps his hands balled up. “What the fuck, man? Why are you following me?”

Steve isn’t exactly geared up to fight. He’s walking on the other side of the lane, his hands in his pockets. Maybe not relaxed, but a lot more relaxed than Eddie feels.

“I’m not following you. I’m walking to my car.” Steve lifts one of his hands from his pockets to point at the burgundy BMW parked a few dozen feet away from Eddie’s van. “I closed. Didn’t Robin tell you?”

“She did, but you closed up ten minutes before I left. You should be gone.”

Steve shrugs. “I was in the back.”

“Convenient,” Eddie says under his breath, mostly to himself. “Look, man, I’m really not in the mood to get jumped tonight. My face is barely back to normal from the last time.”

“Uhuh. How’s that healing?” Steve’s eyes trail over Eddie’s body, like he’s scanning for damage. Eddie feels himself tense under the scrutiny, wondering why Steve might be sizing him up. What kind of carnage he has in mind. Why it sounds like he’s actually curious about Eddie’s face and not being sarcastic. Impossible. “About what I said—”

“What,” Eddie spits, “that I’m a fairy?”

“Yeah—”

“You know, I find it funny.” Eddie keeps his voice low and menacing, a nod to his DM charade he puts on for Hellfire Club. “You go around calling me a fairy like you aren’t the one who got his ass beat by the quiet, gentle photographer not that long ago.”

Steve’s face twists up in confusion. “Byers?”

“Mhmm. I thought you were supposed to be king. Oh—but wait—that title was recently taken from you, wasn’t it? By… who was it again? Oh, yeah, Billy Hargrove.” Eddie’s teeth ache around the name. If there’s anyone who gives Steve a run for his money being Captain Asshole, it’s Billy. “He’s the one I saw you rolling around with, all sweaty and topless in the gym, isn’t it?”

Steve’s face seems to stain red. “He’s on the basketball team.”

“I don’t know. It all seems a little”—Eddie waggles his fingers—“homoerotic to me. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It seems as if Steve has to physically swallow down his rage. Eddie knows it’s not safe to poke the bear, but he just can’t help how he gets around the guy.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Eddie scoffs. “Of course you don’t. Let me dumb it down a bit for you, Stevie. Put it in terms you understand.” He gets so close to Steve’s face that they almost bump noses. “Queer. It seems queer.”

Steve’s jaw visibly twitches, and Eddie can see that his fingernails are biting into the palm of his hands, much like his own. “I’m not like that.”

“You keep saying that,” Eddie condescends, “but each time it’s feeling more and more like an excuse.”

“Shut up.” Steve’s hands twitch at his sides as if they’re begging to be unleashed in a fit of rage. It should be enough to make Eddie back down.

But his own fists are trembling. And his heart is hammering. And he’s filled with a heat that he needs to let escape.

He takes a step into Steve, who stumbles back to create more space between them. “Is that what this is, Harrington? Some sort of coping mechanism?”

“Shut up.” Steve’s eyes seem tumultuous beneath their hazel irises. His skin is staining red. His jaw looks locked.

Just a few more words.

“Are you…” Eddie makes his voice sound mockingly disappointed. Disgusted. “Are you a fag?”

Steve’s composure snaps.

A fist full of Eddie’s t-shirt is suddenly clenched inside one of Steve’s unforgiving fists, tightening around the base of his neck, pulling him flush into the solid mass of Steve’s chest.

The breath is knocked out of him. His hands instinctually grasp around Steve’s grip as he’s virtually hoisted onto his tiptoes. Even though they’re of similar height, it seems that Steve is staring down the bridge of his nose at Eddie. He can feel hot breath puffing against his lips that smells as if Steve just had a smoke.

Eddie braces himself for impact—his own doing, really. But at least he got a word in edge wise. He knew he’d never be able to beat Steve in a fight.

But Steve just… keeps him there. Menacingly close. Bodies shoved against one another. His eyes bore into Eddie’s threateningly. Eddie feels a rush of endorphins, excited to see what Steve does next.

For what seems like ages, Steve doesn’t make a move. Eddie sees the bob of his throat when he swallows, and the angry glimmer in his eye extinguish. He drops Eddie’s shirt and takes a step back.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds as he regains his footing. He’s not sure why Steve didn’t take his chance. There’s nobody else in sight. They’re even out of view from the closest road.

And for some reason… he’s disappointed. He knows he doesn’t really want a shiner. But the way Steve was staring at him—is still staring at him—he’s curious what might have come of… whatever just happened.

His body is still twitching with pent up energy, and anger towards Steve for the last years of his life that have been a living hell thanks to him, and Eddie already feels accomplished standing up for himself. So he takes it one step further.

Eddie looks straight into Steve’s eyes, and says, “Pussy.”

And he spits straight onto Steve’s white and red Nikes.

He turns before he knows what Steve’s reaction might be. He feels invigorated, and wildly in danger. And all he needs to do is get to his van, get out of the parking lot and he would feel like he won.

But Eddie barely makes it outside of his van before Steve is bulldozing into him, rougher than before. The metal wall of his van makes a hallow thump as Steve drives him face-first into it, one arm slung around Eddie’s neck in a chokehold, the other locking around his waist and elbows to immobilize him.

“You think you’re gonna spit on me and just walk away, Munson?”

Eddie squirms in Steve’s grip, shivering against the hot feeling of Steve’s breath so close to his ear. The wall of his van is cold as it’s pressed up against his cheek. And for some reason Eddie can’t explain, all he can think about is the press of Steve’s crotch against his ass, driving him forward, his fly dragging across his hip—

No. No.

That’s not what this is.

That’s not even what he wants. Steve is the bane of his existence, not some hot bar hookup in the alleyway.

“Fuck you, man. Get off me!” Eddie struggles against Steve’s grip. It shouldn’t surprise him how strong he is, considering the guy plays sports 24/7, but he’s a little taken aback when he can’t even get Steve to let up by one measly inch.

Steve only presses harder into him. Eddie’s cheek smooshes against the cold side of his van, probably smearing dirt all over his cheek. It’s been ages since he’s washed it. “You’re the one who fucking spat on me, Munson.”

“And I’d do it again,” Eddie growls, twisting his face up into what he hopes is an intimidating smile.

“Bullshit.” Steve ruts against Eddie so hard that his chin hits his van and snaps his jaw shut. But then, just as quickly, he’s free from Steve’s crazy wrestler’s headlock. He twists around as fast as he can manage, only to find that Steve didn’t step too far away. He’s just standing there, cockily, like he doesn’t believe Eddie could harm a single perfect hair on his head. “Do it then.”

Eddie gawks back at him, slightly phased by Steve’s dare. “What?”

“Try it,” he repeats. “See, I think past your hard exterior and don’t-give-two-shits personality, you don’t actually have the balls to pick a fight with anyone, let alone me—”

Eddie feels a fire travelling to his head. It’s uncontrollable. In a normal circumstance, Steve would be right; Eddie would like to remain lowkey, keep himself out of trouble. But he refuses to let Steve Harrington, of all people, bully him into backing down.

So he purses his lips and spits right onto Steve’s, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Eddie can see his saliva caught on the bottom of Steve’s mouth as it hangs open in stunned silence. It travels down his chin, and then across the angle of his jaw. Finally, it drips onto the pavement below their feet.

He knows he’s essentially started a war, so Eddie balls up his fists and waits for Steve’s next move. What he wasn’t expecting, was for Steve’s tongue to flick out and catch the bead of spit that still remained on his pout; and even less, him sucking that lower lip between his teeth to clean it off.

The breath is sucked right out of his lungs as Steve stares straight into his eyes and catches the collar of his shirt in his hand once more. There noses bump against each other. And their foreheads. And their chests.

“You fucking freak,” Steve says lowly. But it’s paired with his thigh shoving between Eddie’s legs hard enough that it makes his balls ache as his driven against the side of his van. He tries to stop it, but his cock twitches, the seam of his jeans rubbing against it in a frustratingly amazing way.

Something about the threat of violence mixed with friction, a body pressed against his own, a low voice growling in his ear, and an objectively attractive man, gets Eddie going. Even though he’s ashamed that he’s getting hot over a guy he was more than thrilled to see beaten to a pulp earlier in the year.

He wiggles against Steve’s thigh. It doesn’t help the throbbing between his legs. “Back away, Harrington.”

“Make me.”

“I swear to God…”

“What? You swear to God, what?”

“You have three fucking seconds, man!” Eddie shouts. What comes after three seconds? He’s not sure. But that’s all Steve has before Eddie does it.

The threat doesn’t help. Steve starts counting down with a sneer on his face. “Three… Two…”

All of Eddie’s pent up rage channels through his fist.

“One!” Eddie finishes, and clips Steve in the jaw with his knuckles. It sends a shock through his wrist, up into his forearm.

There are a few things that go through Eddie’s mind in that moment.

First, he’s wildly proud of physically standing up for himself. It has been years of letting guys like Harrington and Carver and Hagan touch him without repercussion. It’s time he got a real hit in.

Second—even more than being proud—he’s frightened. Because Steve’s gaze is so fiery that he swears he can almost see his eyes starting to glow red.

This brings Eddie to his third and final thought. That he’s about to die. Because Steve is going to fucking kill him. He’s kind of ashamed to admit that his tummy hurts from the nerves of it all.

Steve only stumbles backwards half a step, Eddie’s shirt still balled up in one of his fists, whose legs are still splayed around Harrington’s strong thigh. Steve’s free hand comes up to wipe at his lip, which Eddie now notices has a split in it that is starting to bloom red. They both stare at his skin stained up with blood as he wipes it away.

“You…” Steve starts, his eyes wild as they dart around Eddie’s face. “You made me bleed.”

Eddie swallows down his fear, manages to spit out, quietly, “You deserve it.”

Antagonizing a guy who has thirty pounds on him is probably not the best idea. But he’s already done the worst. Might as well really commit to the schtick.

He holds his breath. Waits for Steve to make the next move, which he assumes will be his own split lip, maybe another bruised cheekbone, maybe a broken nose.

Steve’s thigh presses even harder between his legs. Eddie’s balls throb against the pressure of it, the feeling of his weight bearing down on Steve’s leg, the solidity of his knee. Eddie tries to wiggle his way away from the pain, but it stirs something in the pit of his stomach. The familiar feeling of pleasure, a need for Steve to move against him.

Eddie makes a noise, soft and quiet. It could mean anything, really; that he’s uncomfortable, or scared, or even angry.

Only he knows for sure what it really means.

That he’s turned on. That his cock is twitching as blood starts to rush south.

And that he really needs to get off Steve’s thigh before he sees it. Feels it.

“Steve,” Eddie says desperately, his toes barely scraping the pavement below them. Each time he moves, it makes his dick pulse. He wants to wiggle away, but he knows it will only hinder him. And if Steve finds out that Eddie’s getting hard, he’ll probably be beaten within an inch of his life.

That’s why he’s shocked when Steve rams forward, and aggressively presses his lips onto Eddie’s.

There’s this moment where, rationally, Eddie cannot believe that Steve is kissing him. His mouth is parted in shock, he can feel Steve’s hot breath, his smoky tongue shoving deep into Eddie’s mouth, the distinct flavour of blood—a coppery tang—dancing on his tastebuds. And for a second—purely on instinct—he kisses back. The wet slide of their tongues gliding together, as brief as it is, makes Eddie groan into Steve’s mouth.

But then, reality strikes.

He shoves against Steve’s chest, forcing their faces apart. “What the fuck, man!”

Steve stumbles back, his leg finally dislodging from between Eddie’s. He wipes at the corner of his mouth, maybe to catch the blood, or maybe the spit. He looks wild as he stares into Eddie’s eyes. “What? You gonna hit me?”

Eddie clenches his jaw. His face is burning up. With rage, with desire. The line between the two is starting to blur. “It seems like you’re asking for it.”

“Maybe I am,” Steve says, with a glimmer in his eye that challenges Eddie. Some sort of silent communication. A dare, or… an invitation?

Eddie swallows down the feeling that this must be some sort of joke, that Steve’s trying to catch him in some sort of gay act that he can use as fuel against him to make his life a living hell. But Steve wouldn’t kiss Eddie just to get a reaction from him. He rationally knows that. But still, his eyes scan the parking lot, searching for any signs of Steve’s friends who might be waiting for the opportunity to jump him.

There’s nothing. No one.

His heart hammers in his chest as he makes a fast and impulsive decision, slipping the key into the back door of his van and prying the doors open.

Eddie points inside. “Get the fuck in.”

A few second pass, Eddie nearly drowning in nerves that maybe he’s reading the situation wrong. Maybe this isn’t some kink thing for Steve, maybe the kiss wasn’t a kiss and was… fuck, he doesn’t even know.

But he doesn’t have to worry too long, because Steve—jaw tight—pushes past Eddie, and hauls himself into the back of the van. His head bows under the low ceiling as he circles back, gives Eddie a look somewhere between inquisitive and angry, and then finally sits down on a crumpled blanket. His shoulders rest against the back of the passenger seat, his legs bent and spread in front of him.

Steve reaches down and squeezes between his legs, where Eddie just now notices the distinct outline of his cock, sitting sideways in his little blue shorts against his hip bone. Against his better judgement, his mouth waters.

A large part of him wants to ask Steve what’s going on. What he wants. How far this thing is supposed to go. Whether or not it’s a game.

But the other part of Eddie—albeit, the smaller one—already knows the answers to those questions.

He pulls all of his confidence out of the recesses of his mind, decides then and there that he’s running the show. That Steve likes him running the show.

“Pathetic,” he says, letting all of his malice towards high school jocks, towards Steve, seep into his tone. “You’re getting stiff from a split lip and my spit running down your face.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just fists his fingers into the blanket under his body. He cants his hips forward, as if he’s answering Eddie. Showing him just how hard he really is by displaying the bulge in the front of his shorts.

Eddie holds back the moan that he desperately wants to loose.

He’s seen Steve in a state of undress before. Not completely, but enough to know that the panes of his chest are flat and solid, that his skin always seems sun kissed, even in the winter, that he has a patch of chest hair that he’s started to grow out since quitting the swim team. He’s always noticed the lump in the front of Steve’s Levi’s. Knew that he was packing from that alone.

But now he can see just how big Steve really is as his cock strains beneath his uniform.

Eddie takes a step forward, cocks his head to one side as he sizes Steve up.

“You’re a prick, you know that?” he says.

Another step forward.

Steve’s brows twitch inward, almost apologetically, but he still doesn’t say anything. Just stares up at Eddie with the biggest, roundest hazel eyes he’s ever seen.

Eddie shoves his boot between Steve’s Nikes, uses it to pry Steve’s legs further apart.

A small gasp escapes Steve’s lips as his knees fall open, the hems of his shorts riding up his thighs. Eddie lets himself ogle the strength of Steve’s legs, how the hair that grows on them thins on the soft inner portion, the closer it gets to his crotch.

He plants his boots on either side of Steve’s hips, bends down to grip his fingers in the red bow on the front of Steve’s shirt. “What a fruity little costume. Where’s your hat?”

Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Pocket.”

“Put it on.”

Steve lifts his hips, his right hand reaching under him to fish out his uniform’s hat from the back of his shorts. Eddie tries not to tremble as Steve’s crotch gets closer to him. He suppresses the urge to sink down onto it, to feel the outline of Steve’s cock against his ass. To rut against it and listen to the noises he can ring out of Steve.

Steve quietly places the hat on his head, fidgeting with his hair, adjusting the way it sits. Eddie reaches out and smacks away Steve’s hand.

He condescendingly studies Steve, makes sure to really stew in the silence as he trails his eyes over Steve’s appearance, from the dumb hat to the dumb shirt, to the… strangely not dumb shorts. At least, not dumb in the way they fit Steve, the way they look riding up his thighs.

Slowly, Eddie sinks down onto his knees, hovering over Steve’s crotch. Only inches separate them, where Steve is hard and Eddie is now almost just as hard, and for a moment he thinks about how bazaar this all is. But he decides not to focus on that.

“Ahoy,” Eddie says, his voice low and amused as he flicks his fingers over the brim of Steve’s hat. He leans further down, feels the brush of Steve’s upper thighs against the ass of his jeans, hears the way Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He slaps away the dumb hat, watches it fly to the other side of the van. “Never mind. You look better without it.”

Then, he lowers himself the rest of the way, until he’s fully seated in Steve’s lap. Their faces are inches apart. Steve’s eyes are blown and glassy, and Eddie can feel the subtle twitch of his thighs as he presses himself harder onto Steve’s crotch.

“Shit,” Steve breathes. His hands loosen from their balls by his hips, lift up to instead splay on Eddie’s thighs as they clench around Steve.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Eddie laces his fingers through the thick top of Steve’s hair. He can feel the crunch of hairspray as he tugs Steve’s head back, exposing the long column of his throat. The tendons strain as Eddie twists his hand tighter in Steve’s locks, forcing his head sideways. “Seems a little gay to me, Stevie.”

“Shut up—Ah!” Steve cries out as Eddie tugs harder; he can feel the tension of Steve’s scalp as he forces his head so far back that the angle of his jawline is right by his lips.

Since the opportunity presents itself, he leans forward and drags his mouth against the line of Steve’s jaw. Steve smells like the remnants of the expensive cologne that still clings to his neck after his shift, like the cigarette he’d been smoking in the lot, like sweat and man.

It drives Eddie crazy, makes him open his mouth and nip down behind Steve’s ear sharply, then run his tongue over the spot he pinched when Steve whimpers softly at the pain.

“Look at you,” Eddie says lowly, trailing his teeth down Steve’s neck. He can feel his heart beating erratically under his lips as they trace his pulse point, can feel the bob of his throat as Steve swallows his nerves. “So excited to have another man in your lap.”

“I’m not gay.” The denial in Steve’s voice is genuine.

A part of Eddie feels bad, like he should drop it, like he shouldn’t push. But it feels good to make Steve suffer for all the years he said the same things about Eddie. At least this was between them. Eddie hadn’t been so lucky when he’d been called queer in front of the entire school.

So he lifts his head higher, bites on Steve’s lower lip, sucks on the split to force blood back up to the surface. He can tell it hurts as Steve twitches away, but he soon leans into Eddie’s kiss when it softens again, parting his lips to let Eddie lick deep into him mouth.

“No?” he says, pulling back from Steve even though the latter chases his lips with his own. “Then why do you love my tongue so much, hmm?” He grinds his ass against Steve’s straining cock, makes him moan into his face. “Why are you ready to bust from me touching you?”

Steve’s eyes flutter open. He looks conflicted, but past the point of coherency. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know.”

“You want to know what I think?” Eddie doesn’t give Steve a chance to respond, just lowers his face until he can feel the brush of Steve’s ear on his lips. He whispers, “I think you’re the fairy.”

“No!” Steve cries, but his hips grind against Eddie as he chases the friction he craves.

“Oh, baby.” Eddie circles his hips. He can feel the line of Steve’s cock getting caught on the back seam of his jeans each time he moves, Steve’s eyes rolling into the back of his skull like it’s driving him mad. “Then why are you about to take my cock into your mouth?”

Steve’s eyes go wide, and he starts to shake his head, but Eddie is already climbing from Steve’s lap, pulling him by the collar of his shirt onto his hands and knees.

Like a good boy, he stays where Eddie moves him.

“Take this off,” Eddie says with another tug of Steve’s shirt. He untangles his hand from the fabric, leans back to watch as Steve grabs it by the hem and pulls it from his shoulders. Steve’s abs flutter and tighten as he tosses his uniform across the van, and resumes his position on all fours. “Fuck. That’s good.”

Eddie straightens out on his knees. His belt clinks as he undoes the heavy buckle, Steve’s eyes bugging out when he undoes his button and tugs down his fly.

“I’m not—”

“Shut up,” Eddie interrupts.

Steve’s eyes are latched onto Eddie’s cock tenting his boxers, his pink lips pulled between his teeth.

Eddie leans forward, popping his thumb into Steve’s mouth instead.

“Open wide.” He pries Steve’s jaw open with a twist of his fingers. If he’s being honest, he’s not met with much resistance. Steve’s mouth just kind of falls open willingly. “Stick your tongue out.”

A small moan falls from Steve’s throat as his tongue lolls out of his mouth, dripping and pink, pushing on Eddie’s thumb. He runs it against the valley of Steve’s tongue, spreading around the little pool of spit that makes his cock kick under his boxers.

“Now stay still,” Eddie says, bringing his wet thumb to the front of his underwear. He shoves them down, his cock springing free so close to Steve’s face that he has a hard time not immediately ramming forward. He tucks the band under his balls, drawing them tighter against his body, creating a delicious pressure that makes him throb with want.

He wraps his fingers around his shaft, gently. He doesn’t want to work himself up too quickly, wants this thing that’s happening to last as long as it can. He knows his dick is already wet from how much he’s leaking, but he still brings his thumb—covered in Steve’s spit—to circle the slit of his cock.

Steve’s eyes watch, transfixed, as Eddie pulls away—a string of his precum connecting this thumb and the reddened tip of his cock.

“Jesus,” Steve says, his voice full of lust. His sticks his tongue back out before Eddie has to tell him to, a long rope of saliva falling from it onto the van’s floor.

Eddie is so hard that his cock is curving upwards, the veins under his skin so swollen that they seem as if they might burst. It feels like it’s a real possibility.

“How many cocks have you sucked before, Steve?” Eddie asks, carding his hand through Steve’s hair once again. He wraps the tendrils around his fingers, tugs Steve forward.

Steve shakes his head in answer, but he doesn’t close his mouth, doesn’t put is tongue back between his lips.

With his left hand, Eddie guides his dick towards Steve’s face. The tip of it grazes Steve’s forehead, then down the bridge of his nose. Across his cheeks. It leaves a little shining trail in its wake.

“That’s okay.” Eddie rubs his cockhead against the expanse of Steve’s tongue. He rings his fingers around himself, pushes forward until he milks a drop of precum from his slit. He wipes it so it mixes with Steve’s saliva in a little pool in his mouth. “I’ll teach you.”

He sinks forward.

The glide of Steve’s tongue is delicious as Eddie moves against it. There’s not a lot of anything, besides the heat and the wetness, but just the visual of it all really gets Eddie going. Steve’s eyes shine up at him, nearly black, never breaking eye contact even as Eddie watches him with unwavering attention.

“Fuck,” he hisses as Steve moves forward on his own. The tip of his cock glides against the roof of his mouth, inches towards the back of his throat.

Eddie pulls back, and rocks forward. Pulls back and rocks forward. Each time he moves deeper into Steve’s mouth he earns a noise from Steve, a hum or a grunt. Spit starts to leak from the side of Steve’s lips; he tries to pull away from Eddie to wipe at it, but Eddie tugs his head further forward and says, “Leave it. I like it messy. Oh my God, this feels good.”

He grips even tighter at Steve’s hair, pulls his head back before shoving him forward again. This time, he feels his cock hit the back of Steve’s throat. It constricts around him as Steve gags. And it feels fucking incredible.

“Shit, Steve.” He rams his hips forward, his cock spearing into Steve with a force that makes him wretch and spasm, makes his mouth go slippery with saliva. Steve’s eyes start watering—he tries to gasp for air when Eddie pulls back, but he fucks back into Steve’s throat before he can manage. “Your mouth…”

He pitches forward again, as deep as he can go. At this point, Steve is struggling against him, desperate for a breath as Eddie’s dick literally chokes him. He’s trying to tear out of Eddie’s grip, his eyes squeezed shut, but still rimmed in red as they stream tears. But Eddie has a vice grip in Steve’s hair, keeping him stilled as his throat pulses around his dick.

And Eddie knows he should back off and let Steve get some air, he knows he should give Steve’s throat a break from the assault of his cock ramming into it. But Steve’s nose is buried in Eddie’s pubes, his balls are pressed against Steve’s chin that’s sopping wet from how much he’s drooling.

And he likes seeing Steve struggle.

He likes that Steve is trying to escape. That the pleasure has probably toppled into a type of pain for him. He likes seeing how small Steve looks on his hands and knees, likes seeing him cry, likes seeing him break under Eddie’s will. He has the power, whether to let Steve breathe. And he doesn’t want him to.

Eddie ruts forward again, even though there’s nowhere for him to go. Steve’s throat tightens around him even more as he gags aggressively around Eddie’s cock, as he shakes his head back and forth, really grapples against Eddie’s hold.

“That’s it,” Eddie growls, the ball of pleasure coiling tight in his lower abdomen. “That’s it—fucking—swallow—"

Steve’s throat tries, but he’s not thinking clearly. His eyes spring open now, in fear. He hasn’t breathed for probably 45 seconds; his jaw is closing reflexively around Eddie’s dick, his teeth scraping sharply against his swollen shaft.

Eddie kind of likes it.

But as much as Eddie wants to push the boundaries, he finally retreats.

Steve starts hacking up a lung as he bows his head, catches himself on the floor with one hand while the other clutches his chest. He gasps. And then gasps, and gasps, and chokes on his own spit that falls out of his mouth in filthy little rivers.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Eddie says, because he literally cannot help himself when Steve is so wrecked in front of him. But to dilute the sentiment a bit he adds, “At least you’re good for something.”

Steve whimpers as he palms at his crotch. Eddie can see a dark blue patch where his cock has wept through the fabric of his shorts.

“Eddie,” he moans, squeezing at his engorged dick over and over again, chasing his own pleasure as if he’s right on the brink. Just like Eddie is.

So he liked getting his throat fucked.

Eddie feels his balls drawing close to his body just thinking about Steve’s desperation. He wants to touch Steve but he also wants to watch Steve suffer after all the shit he put him through.

“Turn over.” Eddie grabs his cock, strokes it as he watches Steve’s eyes go wide once again, face wet from tears and drool, lips swollen, cheeks red.

“What?”

“Turn the fuck over, dude. Now.” He grabs at Steve’s shoulder and digs his fingers into his flesh as he pulls him sideways.

“I—I don’t want you to fuck me,” Steve says, afraid again. But he follows Eddie’s direction, flipping over in the opposite direction. His slutty little Scoops shorts strain tightly over his ass, makes it look round and definitely fuckable.

As much as Eddie knows he’s already been a lot—would like to continue to be a lot, make Steve squirm and cry and fucking scream—he’s really not that much of an asshole to force himself on Steve when he says no.

But Eddie has no issues with making it seem like he is.

“Do you think I give a fuck?”  he says lowly as he bends forward to press his lips into the shell of Steve’s ear. “Arch your back for me.”

He straightens up, smacks his hand on the curve of Steve’s back, and pushes. Eddie pushed until Steve’s spine is bowed in, his cheek plastered against the blanket on the floor, his ass high and his knees spread. His other hand runs against the jut of Steve’s ass, grips into its flesh so hard that he’ll leave a handprint.

Steve moans unabashedly, his mouth hanging open and his eyes squeezing shut. His hands flounder to grab onto something, eventually stretching straight forward to grip at the base of the passenger’s seat. His hips push into Eddie’s hands like he wants more.

Who is Eddie to say no?

He curls his pointer fingers, tucks them under the waistband of Steve’s shorts. He tugs enough to slip them down a couple of inches on Steve’s hips, but not enough to strip him completely.

“This uniform should never have been approved,” Eddie muses, tugging the shorts down even more. Steve’s ass is halfway nude, Eddie ogling at the seam down his body like it leads to a pot of literal gold. “Why did they make these shorts so tight?”

“Just—just take them off, dude,” Steve pants from where he’s basically buried in the blanket by his head.

Eddie pauses, cocks his head sideways to stare down at Steve. “You’re not exactly in a position to make requests, dude. I’ll do what I want to do.”

A sound of indignity escapes Steve. Maybe a scoff, or a moan, or a whimper. Kind of a mix of all three.

“In fact,” Eddie continues, “maybe I’ll stop here. Maybe your shorts will just stay on the whole time.”

“No,” Steve cries in complaint as Eddie pulls his shorts back up onto his hips.

It’s not a real threat. There’s no way in Hell that Eddie would end this thing without getting a good look at Steve’s cock. He’s heard rumours in the halls of Hawkins High, wants to know if any of them ring true. Although, he can already tell by the thick outline between Steve’s legs that the rumour about Harrington having a massive dick is more than true. Overly true.

There’s a part of Eddie that wishes this wouldn’t be a one-time thing, even though every rational part of his brain is telling him it will be. He wants to find out if any of the other rumours are true too—if Steve really is good with his mouth, if he fucks like a god, if he’s able to go more than one round.

Some things, unfortunately, are bound to stay a mystery.

But for now, Eddie has Steve pliant underneath him, moving where he moves, bending where he bends. He’s going to enjoy it.

He grabs at Steve’s hips, brings them towards where his dick is still hard and wet. The tip of his length runs along the fabric, leaves a little wet trail where Eddie guides it over Steve’s clothed asscheeks, and then the seam down the middle of his shorts. He rams his hips forward, so his cock shoves between Steve’s legs from behind.

Eddie knows his cock is dragging where Steve’s balls are more than likely aching underneath his clothes. He knows he feels it too when Steve groans and shoves his ass even harder into Eddie’s hips.

“Oh, fuck.” Steve rocks forward, slams back once more against Eddie where his dick is nestled between Steve’s spread thighs. “Fuck, yeah, keep doing that.”

Eddie guides Steve’s hips roughly, starts fucking against Steve with intention.

The van rocks each time Eddie’s hips slap into Steve’s cheeks, the windows starting to fog up as they both pant into the stale air. It’s humid and muggy, everything feels sticky and damp, and it’s so incredibly hot. Eddie secretly wants to run his tongue over the panes of Steve’s chest, wants to trail it between the defined lines of his muscles like it’s some sort of maze. He wants to bury his face in the patch of chest hair that Steve has between his pecs, trail his mouth over his nipples, catch the beads of sweat that run into it from his neck.

But all of that is too much. He can’t do that with Steve, hasn’t even done that with anyone. Eddie knows he has to keep things impersonal, but that doesn’t stop his desire from rearing its ugly head.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” Eddie says, pitching his hips so far forward that he can feel the heat of Steve’s erection on the top of his own. His mouth runs away from his as he repeats, “I want to fuck you. Want to watch you take my cock.”

Steve whines, his knuckles going white from how hard they’re gripping the base of the seat in front of him. “No, I don’t—I don’t want that.”

“Yes, you do. You want cock up your ass—admit it. You want my cock up your ass.”

“No. No.” One of Steve’s hands fly backwards, grabs at Eddie’s hips. It holds him painfully close, enough that Eddie can feel the tremor in Steve’s thighs, the pulse of his cock as it sits untouched in his shorts.

“Think about how good it’ll feel, Steve. I bet you fuck yourself with your fingers all the time. I bet you wish it was me.”

Eddie can feel how close he is to coming. Ten seconds is all he has to decide what he wants to do, if he’ll stain up Steve’s pretty uniform and make it unwearable for tomorrow’s shift. It’s a tempting idea. But Eddie wants to feel Steve’s skin against him before he’s spent.

He pulls away from Steve; his cock bucking wildly against his abdomen from the loss of stimulation. It’s red and raw where he was rubbing against the fabric of Steve’s shorts, and Eddie knows it’ll be uncomfortable tomorrow.

No part of him cares.

“Take these off,” Eddie says, but he’s already pulling Steve’s shorts off before the other man can comprehend his words.

The seams pop as Eddie pulls them down Steve’s thighs, down to his knees where they draw close together from the restriction of the fabric. Which just won’t do, really, so Eddie tears them down further, until they’re pulled past Steve’s knee-high socks.

Those are definitely staying on, Eddie decides as he stares down at a completely naked Steve. It’s like something from a porno mag as Steve resumes his position, spreading his knees and arching his back, the slutty little socks the only piece of clothing left on him.

And from this angle, everything is exposed. Eddie’s eyes glue between Steve’s legs where is ass is spread open, his asshole winking up at him, pink and inviting. Lower, where Steve’s balls hang heavily, perfectly groomed. And past that, his prick, so fucking swollen that Eddie is perplexed how he hasn’t nutted ten times over in his own boxers.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, stroking himself a few times because he physically cannot hold back when Steve is so goddamn pornographic. He takes his hand, drops his cock. Instead reaches forward and runs his fingers from the small of Steve’s back, down the seam of his ass. He stops at his hole, presses his thumb there. Feels Steve flutter against the pad of it. “I bet you’re so tight. Closeted guys usually are. Virgins, you know? At least where it counts.”

“I’m not—” Steve starts, but he cuts himself off when Eddie applies pressure to his asshole. He wants to slip his thumb inside, but he won’t do it unless Steve tells him to. “Fuuuccckk!”

Below their knees, an impressive pearl of precum pushes from the tip of Steve’s dick where it hangs between his legs. It reaches the floor before it disconnects from his body. Eddie wants to lick it up.

In fact, he wants to do everything to Steve—for Steve. He’s always been a giver. Loves the weight of a dick on his tongue, loves making a guy lose control and shout his name, loves the way cum shoots into his throat and coats his tongue in hot pools of white. He wants to fuck Steve and have Steve fuck him. Wants to teach him all the different places he can come from.

It’s not just a want anymore, it’s a need. But he won’t do it. At least not this time.

Eddie leans forward, tangles his hand in Steve’s hair for the second time tonight. Hauls him upright long enough that he can whisper into his ear, “I’m gonna fuck you, Steve Harrington. Mark my words. You’ll think about me every goddamn night until your fantasies just won’t cut it anymore. You’ll come crawling on your hands and knees begging for it. You’re gonna beg for my cock, Steve, and when you do, I’m gonna fuck the part of you that still thinks you’re straight right out of that dumb head of yours.”

Steve’s mouth hangs open and he fucking cries into the air, his eyes squeezing shut and his hand reaching for his own dick as it dribbles into the blankets under his knees.

Eddie doesn’t give him a chance to say anything, just shoves him face first into the ground. He gathers all of the moisture in his mouth and spits with perfect precision straight onto Steve’s asshole. The puddle of saliva gathers on the rim of muscle, until it flexes hard enough to force its path down his crack, over his perinium. It reaches his balls, leaves a little shining trail before it dissipates into his skin.

His hips surge forward, pressing the tip of his dick where his thumb had just been. A promise for a later date. But instead of pushing inside, Eddie ruts against the line of Steve’s ass, watching as the pink tip of his cock gathers the wet and slips above Steve’s tailbone.

“Gonna come,” Eddie pants, grasping at Steve’s asscheeks and forcing them closer together so they better hug around the base of his dick. His abs clench, and suddenly he’s seeing stars as he paints the moles on Steve’s back with his load.

His dick visibly pulses in tandem with his heartbeat, the veins protruding even more than before, the colour of it turning so red it borders on purple.

And he shouts so loud that his voice breaks, because he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life. More than he ever has in his life. The cum on Steve’s back gathers in the valley of his spine, all the way down to where Eddie’s dick is still twitching against the small of his back. Some even reached his hair, and Eddie can’t help but be smug that he ruined something Steve’s prides himself on.

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie falls back on his knees, his spent cock starting to soften as it hangs above his jeans. He tries to catch his breath, tries to stop the pounding in his ears that he genuinely thinks could make him pass out.

In front of him, Steve whines where he’s been left stranded.

The part of Eddie that cares wants to reach forward, touch Steve, get him off. He’s never left someone hanging before; it’s just not his style.

But this isn’t someone, this is Steve. The guy that made—makes—his life a living hell whenever he’s at school. Sure, it’s gotten better in recent years, but he’s never apologised for actively bullying him. For spending endless hours calling him a loser, and a dork, and a freak. For helping spread rumours that Eddie is gay.

And Eddie is smart enough to know that Steve is probably projecting his fears, blah blah blah. Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about that. All he gives a fuck about is that he has a chance to make Steve feel as forgotten about as Eddie has since he was in goddamn middle school.

So he takes a step back on his knees, starts tucking himself back away in his boxers as Steve cranes his neck to throw him a pleading look.

“Please touch me,” Steve begs. He rights himself so he’s facing Eddie, no longer on his knees. He spreads his legs, grips his cock so hard by the base that it looks like it’s about to pop. “I want you to suck me.”

The way Steve phrases that literally makes Eddie’s mouth water, almost has him bending to get on his knees and take Steve into his mouth.

He could get hard again just by the thought of it.

But he sticks to his guns, zipping up his jeans, doing up his button, languidly sliding the leather of his belt back through the buckle.

“Nah, I’m not feeling up to it,” Eddie says, which is a bold-faced lie, but Steve doesn’t have to know that. He shrugs his shoulders noncommittally as he fishes his smokes from his pocket, places one between his lips. “But I won’t stop you if you want to get yourself off.”

He hopes Steve takes the bait. He wants to watch Steve come, as much as it would still be satisfying to watch him scurry off with the worst case of blue balls he’ll ever have in his life.

Steve gawks at Eddie, his brows pinching above the bridge of his nose, so he gets that signature little crease when he gets all confused. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” Eddie lights up the cigarette and settles his back against the wall of his van like he doesn’t care whether Steve stays or goes.

But damn, he wants him to stay.

Steve’s (insanely) pink lips part. He looks so shattered that he might actually cry, which has Eddie feeling only slightly bad.

Not enough to change his mind, but enough that he’ll point it out.

“Please?” Steve says, voice desperate. “Is that what you want? For me to—to beg?”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He wants to see what Steve does without his instruction. Wants to see him humiliate himself without Eddie even having to ask. So he just takes a drag from his smoke and blows it towards Steve’s face.

“Will you—will you please touch me?” Steve pleads quietly. He strokes his cock lightly, not enough to make himself come because he’s obviously still hoping that Eddie will do it for him. “Please? Please, Eddie?”

What a fucking sight to behold, King Steve begging The Freak for whatever he’ll give to him. It almost makes him bend. Probably one more desperate word from Steve’s pretty mouth would convince him.

He almost hopes he’ll be swayed.

“No, Steve,” Eddie still says, his voice only wavering mildly. He hopes Steve didn’t catch it. “See, I think it would be pretty gay of me to get you off, you know? As one straight guy to another, I know you’ll understand.”

It’s a pretty low blow, but Eddie has never been above pettiness.

The apple in Steve’s throat bobs as he thinks through his options, his hand barely slowing from the miniscule touches he grants himself. He eyes the pile of blue clothing in the corner of the van.

Eddie holds his breath, begging the universe to make Steve stay.

“You’re an asshole,” Steve says. But he leans back against the seat, facing Eddie, and he starts touching himself intentionally.

“I learned from the best.” Eddie locks his eyes on Steve’s hand as he strokes his cock. His foreskin doesn’t stretch quite enough to cover the cherry-red tip each time his fingers ring upwards, but it moves with each pump of his hand, helps it glide over his skin. Eddie can’t help but choke out, “Shit.”

Steve’s feet plant themselves firmly on the floor, his hips tilting towards his fist like he’s chasing his own touch. His fingers loosen, reaching down to squeeze at his balls that look like they’re tight, like he’s already on the brink of coming.

“I wish you’d touch me,” Steve says softly, reverently, and Eddie thinks how unfair it is that Steve seems sweet. Like he could be sweet anyway, if he wasn’t such a cunt.

That being said, it’s the final straw for Eddie’s willpower, he can’t not touch Steve anymore. He’s never been a strong man, and it seems he’s found another weakness.

So Eddie snaps, he’s unable to stop himself from crawling towards Steve, whose eyes go wide with gratification and lust, like all his prayers have been answered.

Without a word, Eddie runs his hands over Steve’s fuzzy thighs gently, revels in how soft his skin feels, how pliant it is under his fingertips. It gets even softer as he slips his palms behinds Steve’s knees. They seem to unfurl, as if Steve is inviting Eddie to hook his arms beneath them.

So that’s exactly what he does.

Eddie hauls Steve up with all his strength. And Steve uses his own muscle as well, his abs going taut as he flings his legs over Eddie’s shoulders.

It might be the hottest thing Eddie has ever seen before—Steve’s stomach creasing as he pushes forwards, forwards, forwards until Steve’s nearly bent in half. And the sounds he’s making—these pathetic little mewls—are nearly fucking unfathomable, his hand slapping wetly against his flesh as he fucks himself raw, fast, hard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come—” Steve’s mouth falls opens in a silent scream, his thighs tremoring under Eddie’s grip.

Eddie reaches forward at the very last moment, squeezes his hand around Steve’s cock right as he starts to cry out. It’s hot and thick in his hands. Smooth. Hard as fucking steel, but Eddie still rings his fingers so tight that the red crown squishes slightly under the pressure.

He stores away all of that information for later, knows already that he’ll make himself come to the memory of Steve’s cock in his hand, the face Steve makes when he tumbles over the ledge, the way his cum shoots with each wave of his orgasm.

With Steve’s gaping mouth, and his body bent in on itself, Eddie takes the opportunity to aim Steve’s cock towards his parted lips. They’re really only a few inches apart, considering the compromising position Steve is in. The opportunity presents itself on a silver platter, and it seems rude if Eddie just passes it up.

So Eddie aims it towards Steve’s lips as they fall open in pleasure, and he forces him to come onto his own tongue.

It’s probably the most erotic thing Eddie has ever seen; Steve’s cum paints his lips in white, his lungs heave, his voice escapes in tiny little ah, ah, ah’s each time Eddie’s fist pumps out another rope, and another, and another. Eddie can feel Steve’s dick pulsating as hard as his own did earlier. He can tell that he probably came as hard, too, by the amount of cum that fills his mouth.

Shit, Steve barely seems conscious of that fact. His irises have disappeared into his skull like he needs a goddamn exorcism. But he’s shaking like he’s currently getting one.

Undoubtedly, Eddie is rock solid again in the confines of his jeans, battling more fantasies about sticking his cock inside Steve before he has the chance to come down from his high, making him scream as he pounds his prostate and uses his cum to jerk his overly sensitive dick until it gets hard again.

It’s a very vivid image in Eddie’s mind. So much so that he has to drop Steve’s knees immediately or he’s just gonna… do it.

Steve gasps as his lower body hits the floor, watching confusedly as Eddie scurries back to the farthest corner. The spark of recognition flashes in his eyes, and Eddie can tell that Steve is now gaining some clarity, that he’s realising he, A: let Eddie touch his dick, B: just lost his goddamn composure enough that he was whimpering and shit, and C (Eddie’s favourite): has a mouthful of his own jizz.

It would normally be hilarious when Steve frantically sits up, swallows his cum (much to Eddie’s surprise), and starts grappling to find his discarded uniform that’s strewn in every corner of the van. Only, Eddie is dealing with his own revelations of, well, very similar things. Like… He just touched Steve’s dick. He made Steve whimper and shit. And, yes, he made Steve cum in his own mouth.

Everything is already a fever dream. There is no way. There is just… no way.

Eddie hauls his knees closer to his chest, makes sure Steve can’t see that he’s hard again. Suddenly, it feels pathetic, now that the heat of the moment has simmered back into something… cold. Whatever it was before.

Only now there will be this knowing between them. A shared memory of… of… this. Touching, and begging, and talking. The things Eddie said to Steve like he’s a guy that says stuff like that. It’s mortifying.

Eddie’s hands tremble as he reaches for the cigarette that was dropped on the floor. It burnt a hole in his blanket, but whatever, there’s a million more where that came from. And he lights it back up to hopefully stop the panic that’s starting to settle in.

Steve has already pulled on his boxers and his shorts, that have suspicious little trails of sticky stains. Eddie can’t look, so he focuses on the wall in front of him, and hopes Steve doesn’t notice the tremble in his fingers.

“Can you hurry up, dude?” Eddie says, because he needs to stick his head between his knees before he passes out.

Are things gonna be better at school next year because if this? Or worse? The same?

He can’t imagine that Steve would sick Jason on him now that he’s graduated. But there’s more impossible things that have happened in this world. Like, for instance, what just happened between them.

Steve knows Eddie’s for sure gay. But by basically fucking him, which should be a comfort to Eddie. Still, he’s worried Steve will somehow manipulate it into something bad, like he’s some sort of homo predator. Will he tell his friends, who will tell the whole school? Will Eddie’s life be miserable next year as he repeats his third time being a senior while Steve isn’t around to reap any of the consequences?

Steve pulls his head through his shirt, his hair sticking out in all different directions. Eddie swears there’s still cum on the side of his lips, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“I’m—I’m going.”

“Go faster.”

Steve tumbles forward, trips over the balled-up blanket as he reaches for the back doors, his top still scrunched to expose a strip of his lower abdomen. But he makes it, flings open the van and flies forward, his face nearly kissing the pavement.

The cool air hits Eddie like a brick wall, but a welcome one. It reminds him that he’s a human and not just some buzzing ball of anxiety. So he leans towards it, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes.

That’s when he notices that Steve has turned around, that he’s stalling. He nervously fidgets with the red tie on his top, stares at Eddie like he wants to say something.

And for a minute, Eddie thinks he will. His lips open, and then close. And then open again. He gets that crease above the bridge of his nose. He cards his hand through the top of his hair that’s sweaty and sticky, and Eddie can tell he realises that as his face scrunches up a bit.

But he doesn’t. At least, not what he was going to say. His jaw just sets in the tense way it had been at the beginning of the night, and he says, “See ya.”

Turns towards his BMW.

Eddie doesn’t stay to gawk. As soon as Steve starts walking away, Eddie slams the back doors and scrambles to the driver’s seat. He doesn’t waist time starting his van, tires squealing as he pushes the clutch to its limit to make it shoot forward.

And once he’s back at the trailer and settled into bed, he pretends he doesn’t come three more times that night to the thought of Steve’s O-face.

***

“Can you please just give it to Steve,” Eddie begs for the hundredth time. Eddie’s throat closes up over Steve’s name, makes it sound thick as he speaks it. But he doesn’t really care. He’s too tired to care, and definitely too tired for this conversation.

Sleep had come so sporadically last night that Eddie almost called off work. But he needs the money, and needs even more to not look like a pussy who’s avoiding Steve after last night.

“I just don’t understand why you have Steve’s Scoops hat.” Robin quirks her brow, stares at where Eddie is extending the piece of Steve’s uniform that had been forgotten in the back of his van last night. It was comforting, in a way, to have physical proof that he hadn’t just completely lost his mind and made the whole thing up.

“I told you, I found it in the parking lot.”

“How do you know it’s Steve’s?” Robin presses.

“Because, it… it was near where he parked his car.”

“How do you know where he parked his car?”

“I saw him drive away last night.”

“But you didn’t see him drop the hat?”

“I wasn’t staring at Steve,” Eddie says with a scoff. Which is absolutely a blatant lie. He had done a lot of staring. “Why would I see him drop the goddamn hat?”

Robin picks at her fries. Eddie had purchased her food on break today, mostly because he didn’t have the energy to argue. And he also thought it might make her behave.

Neither of those things had worked out.

“I just think it’s weird.”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “What’s weird, Rob?”

“It’s just… Steve has this cut on his lip, and a bruise.”

Eddie’s heart picks up in his chest.

Oh, shit.

“And?” he asks, dropping his eyes to focus on his now fidgeting fingers.

“And he said he got it from Jason last night. That they got into a spat.”

Eddie’s heart slows down the tiniest bit. Okay. That’s… yeah. He can work with that. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“He said that Jason met up with him after work. In the parking lot.” Robin’s eyes narrows and they zero in on Eddie. “After he saw you drive away.”

Eddie’s world stops spinning for a split second, realising he got caught in the lie. Of course Steve would have his own story. Of course it wouldn’t align with his own.

But, he knew even though Robin knew he was lying, she wouldn’t know why he was lying. I fucked Steve Harrington last night, is not something she’d expect. At least there’s that.

“I—I guess Steve didn’t actually drive away last night. I don’t really remember, maybe his car was still there. I just found his hat—”

“But didn’t give it to him? If he was still there?”

“I hate the guy,” Eddie says. It’s not a lie. Not really. “Why would I give it to him?”

Robin shoves a handful of fries into her mouth, chews thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But why would you even care enough to pick up his hat, in that case?”

Eddie can feel his face getting red. Can see that Robin notices it too, as she judges him silently from under her lashes. “Why are you pressing me about this?”

She shrugs, takes a sip of her Coke now. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

The clock strikes five. That’s their cue to pack up and head back to their jobs. The legs of the chairs squeak as they push them back into the table.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Eddie asks, tossing out their trays full of garbage.

They head towards Scoops and Camelot Music. Eddie makes sure to stay far on his side of the hall, so he doesn’t have to face Steve.

“I just want to make sure nothing happened between you and Steve last night that you’re not telling me about.”

Eddie nearly chokes on his soda, can feel it bubbling up his throat and nearly out of his nose. He doesn’t catch his breath until they’re nearly standing in front of Camelot, Robin staring at him with concern, but also with this unsettling sense of knowing.

“What do you think happened?” Eddie’s voice comes out raw after he hacked up a lung. He goes with this question, because he figures it’s better than digging himself into a deeper hole.

“I’m not sure,” Robin says, poking at the hat in Eddie’s pocket. She turns towards Scoops without taking it, leaving Eddie with a literal white flag hanging from the back of his jeans. “But I hope it was nothing bad.”

She glares at Eddie, turns her sights towards Steve instead. He’s standing there in a freshly washed uniform. Hair perfect, because there’s no hat to squash it down. He’s staring at Eddie and Robin, but as soon as Eddie catches him, he straightens up and looks towards the buckets of ice cream instead.

“Why?”

“Because—” Robin places her hat on her head. Hikes up her own socks that slipped down her calves “—he asked if he could take my closing shift again tonight.”

Eddie’s face ignites, his eyes flying towards Steve accusingly. Eddie can tell he’s a few shades redder than normal as he twiddles his thumbs behind the counter, pointedly not looking in Eddie’s direction. Like he knows exactly what beans Robin just spilled.

“Fuck,” Eddie cries quietly to himself. He grabs the hat again, one last attempt to hand it to Rob. “Please—just—give this back to him.”

Robin purses her lips, takes a few steps away. “Give it to him yourself, tonight after work. You guys need to work through whatever hatred you have for each other. I’m not gonna be the middleman anymore.”

Eddie’s hand hangs limp between them as Robin turns away.

But she casts Eddie one more look before joining a blushing Steve behind the counter. “Just don’t leave any more marks on Steve. He’s really not that great of a fighter.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything more. Just watches as Robin walks back to the ice cream stand.

Before he looks away, Steve’s eyes lift from his feet. They meet with Eddie’s, and they’re filled with a certain type on intention.

Eddie knows in that moment that Robin will be disappointed tomorrow, when Steve shows up to his shift covered in bruises.

Masterlist

Socials

[maybank-archives]

impulse - jj maybank

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

warning: sexual content. drug use. +18. minors DNI. unprotected sex. laguage. public sex. oral sex,female receiving. public sex.

word count: 1.3 k

author's notes: this was so fun to write! it took me a couple days but its finally here! hope y'all enjoy.

masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

it’s safe to say that having jj as your coworker wasn’t a brilliant idea, specially working around kooks, serving food and with all the flirting and conversations both of you didn’t get a lot of work done around unless there was someone being a pain in your asses. Today is one of those days, three arguments with your boss and by the end of the third one you felt your face turn red with anger.

JJ was your best friend since day one so he pretty much knew your next move as you exchanged looks with him smirking, you tossed your apron into the floor as you stormed out of the room giving your former boss the finger and a proud smile.

as the sun starts to set you walk to the beach, you go to your spot which it’s far from figure eight and far from people. The sound of the waves and the beautiful view of the sun pays off all your exhaustion, your clothes are now in the sand as you run to the oceans in your white bathing suit, the cold water hits your feet causing goosebumps, you swim further feeling your body melt away the tension from earlier.

While you’re floating in between the waves, you spotted a motorcycle approaching JJ, he gets out of the bike and starts walking in your direction, you get out of the water and meet him halfway.

“classic y/n, quits with class and now acts like nothing happens AND still manage to look hotter than ever”.- jj says smiling and clapping

“i swear to god, if i had to listen to that asshole complain for one more hour and i would kill myself”.- you said, rolling your eyes.

“here” jj says, throwing a towel, you half dried yourself and put the towel on the floor to sit on it “please tell me that you have weed on you.” you ask him pouting your lips 

JJ scoffed sitting next to you, he patted his pockets carefully getting a lighter and a pre rolled cigarette. “I'm offended that you even questioned.” 

you hugged your legs waiting patiently, jj lips turned into a smirk watching your mannerism.

“you look like a kid waiting for candy.” he says lighting up the joint “that’s my type of candy” you responded shrugging your shoulders “there ya go cupcake.” he hand you the joint, you pinch the cigarette to your lips inhaling the smoke and releasing a few seconds later, you pass it to JJ who copies your actions.

“What would I do if you weren’t my best friend. Maybank?.” you asked laid down

“probably would be in love with me or trying to get laid by me”. he answered chuckling, you grin at his comment.

A few moments later, a comfortable silence grew between you two, jj was sitting staring at the waves and still hitting his joint, you narrowed your eyes to him as your mind came up with intrusive thoughts.

“you know you’re pretty hot right?” 

“jesus, how high are you?” jj responded lazily

“would mind if i kissed you right now?” you blurred out

“nah, but i don’t think you mean it-” jj was interrupted as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped to his side.

“hi” you whisper

“hi y/n” he replies hesitantly, staring at you, he bites his lips as you tighten your grip around him.

“y/n, what are you doing?.” 

“letting the weed give me courage.” you whispered as you leave wet kisses on his neck, JJ groans placing his hand to your waist as a response “I think it’s time for us to quit flirting.” you said in between kisses.

“jesus” he breathes out  “fuck it.” he curses, laying you to the floor, his lips met yours eagerly, tongue slipping into your mouth grewing the urge between you two. JJ grinds his now, hard dick into you, your fingers reach his shirt pulling over his head, he attacks your neck sucking your skin sending chills through your spine.

“You don't know how long I've been waiting for this.” JJ rasped to your ears

“JJ….” you pleaded, he kept marking your neck, you close your eyes yearning for his touch, you reached the back of your bikini and unties, JJ pulled back, eyes falling to your boobs.

He stare at your state of vulnerability, topless with legs spread open, you filled with lust, your fingers trails your figure ending at your wetness, you pushed the fabric of your bikini to the side and slide your fingers to your folds, you lock eyes with him who has a sinful look in his face.

“princess you're gonna make me cum so fast if you keep doing this...look how perfect and soaked you are.”

“i'm showing you how much of a good girl I am.” your doe eyes stared up at him, softening as you rub your fingers to your clit.

the desire overtake your mind, you brought your fingers to your lips and sucked the liquid out of them, jj was painfully hard watching you taste yourself.

“then show me how well you can ride my dick”.- JJ growls

you climbed on top of him, he quickly removes his shorts and underwear, you stroke his length up and down before adjusting his cock to your entrance, a filthy noise escapes your lips as you feel him throbbing inside of you, JJ move his hands cupping your breast, you fasten your pace , JJ throws his head back of pleasure.

“You feel so good baby, goddammit.”

his thumb teases your clit rubbing circles as you bounce on him  “gosh jj, yes, don't stop.” you cry loudly forgetting that you're in public.

“you like having my dick inside you, don't you? look how amazing you take my cock.” JJ moves his waist helping you ride him, JJ switches positions bending you over this time.

“shit, your pussy feels so good as it looks.” he rasped, flicking his tongue at your cunt.

you shiver as jj goes down on you from behind, you arch your back giving him plenty of space to taste you, his tongue moves through your hole and clit, he wraps his lips around your clit relentlessly.

“jj, please.”

“you taste fucking delicious princess, let me feel your tight pussy again.” 

he lines his cock to your entrance teasing with the tip on your opening, before pushing into you.

“jj, fuck me, please.” you begged again

“So needy, patient baby.” jj says as he speeds up his movements. his hands made way to your clit rubbing vicious circles into it as he let his cock please you.

“right there J, yes”.- you sob, your moans were making him slam his cock inside you harder and faster.

“fuuuuck y/n.” jj cursed, your walls fluttering around his cock, eyes couldn't stay open, the euphoric feeling of being close plus the hint of weed on your system made your entire body shake. JJ cups and squeeze your boobs firmly, bucking his hips deeper.

the sound of your butt slamming on his skin was echoing loudly through the beach.

“shit, you take my cock so well princess.” his hands grips your hips so hard marking your skin.

 “J, I'm c-cumming.” you whined desperately clenching around him. “oh god, yes.” you gasped repeatedly, the familiar frenetic feeling takes all over your twitching body drenching the towel below you.

“yeah, such a good girl.” jj moans his final curse, his thrusts become slower and sloppier, he grunted pulling out painting your ass with his cum.

both of you stumble down and collapse to the floor breathless, you look around making sure one more time that you were both alone, at this point both of you were loud enough to not make any person approach the area.

“goddamn.” JJ rasped as both of you come down off your highs “what was that?” he turned to you 

you chuckle, panting “ I don't know, i just think this type of weed gave me way too much energy.” you spoke

“Then I'll save more for later.” he grabs your face, pulling you into a kiss.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

© maybank-archives 2023 — no one has permission to copy or translate any of my works, if you see any of my work being reproduced in another platform please contact me! :)

[amaranthsynthesis]

A Sacrament to be Taken Kneeling // durgetash cockwarming

A Sacrament to be Taken Kneeling // durgetash // E // 6.8 k // chapter 1/1 Pre-Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Cock Warming, Oral Sex, Dom/sub, Subspace, Humiliation, Degradation, Failed Forced Orgasm, Extremely Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, neither safe nor sane and to be honest the consensual is REALLY pushing it, they were husbands and they were horrible your honor, brief references to untagged for kink

They’ve entertained themselves at great length already, and the story is easy to read in the objects sprawled about. There’s a tray of fruit and cream at the foot of the bed, half picked over from breakfast, the half-eaten honey comb oozing and glinting like gold in the sunlight. A second bottle still remains of the light and sparkling wine they had taken alongside it, cork wedged halfway in and cradled with more hope than precision in the pillows. Open and discarded around them are a scattering of books; a tome of medical diagrams, a Netherese history, a blacksmiths logbook, and a single slim volume of Drowish poetry. They’ve eaten, they’ve drank, they’ve regaled one another with conversation and debate and art. And Enver has had, for the last half a candlemark at least, his cock buried in the Bhaalspawn’s throat. - Enver Gortash and the Dark Urge enjoy a rare, lazy morning in bed.

Extraordinarily self-indulgent hedonism. This is the softest I've ever written these two, which is adorable and concerning.

Read it here!

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part XI

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 3,1 k

About: A date with Atsumu Miya~

Part I II -> Next Part

The silence is almost intimidating, and you find yourself looking around in silent awe.

Atsumu looks exceptionally good. The red uniform suits him well, and he looks even better and more professional than in the videos you've seen. "I can't believe we're actually here. I didn't want to ask Hinata for tickets because he's been busy lately, but I can't believe Atsumu-san managed to get two tickets for this- in the front row even!"

You nod and gaze at the court thinking back at the sudden message that you had received a few days ago.

Atsumu: "Are you free this weekend, Mrs. Miya?"

You stare at the message blankly, trying to figure out what to say. You had just started your nightly routine, not really expecting Atsumu to send you a message tonight. But here it is, white and blue. With a nickname that makes your heart skip a beat.

You: "Yes! :)"

Atsumu: "Great. Wanna come and watch me play? We can hang out at Samu's or my place after that, if you're up for it?"

You: "Sounds good!"

Atsumu: "I'll save ya two spots if you want to. You can bring your friend; Shoyo-kun will be there too. I'm sure she's interested too."

You: "I'll ask her. Thank you for being so considerate <;3"

You close your eyes for a few seconds, fearing his reaction to the heart emoji.

When you open them, you see his instant reply.

Atsumu: "Of course <3 I can't meet ya before probably, but we'll keep in touch, 'kay?"

You: "See you then &lt;3"

Atsumu: "See ya <;3"

It's a special event, a pre-match before the Olympics fully start in a few weeks. The stadium is only half-full, but the people watch excitedly how the members of the Japanese Olympic team participate in a promotional match against each other. Apparently, a very exclusive event that has not been opened to the public, yet, here you are. Sitting in the first row next to Yachi with a drink in your hands—one that she got for you, despite your protests.

"Look, he is going to serve. That's why they are all quiet. It probably won't be like that during the Olympics; there will be a different audience. Today is a very special event. Randomized teams and starting positions, but look how well they all adapt. True professionals." Yachi whispers into your ear, her cheeks flushed already from her drink. You're just glad that Tsukishima has offered to pick her up after the game, you would have been worried about her otherwise.

"It's so quiet; it's almost intimidating." You whisper back and watch Atsumu. He seems really focused on his set, his expression cold and blank, unlike you've ever seen him before. He's truly intimidating on the court.

He seems very focused when he's taking a few steps back and concentrates on a point in the opposite field. It just takes a few seconds, and then you see him jump, the ball flying towards the field in the fraction of a moment. The loud impact makes you shiver, while you watch the field in stunned silence. When you glance back at Atsumu, you could have sworn that he looked at you before he high-fives one of his teammates. The crowd yells and cheers, and you find yourself clapping and calling his name too.

"Did you see that? That's what the boys had to endure back in high school. And it was just as scary back then." Yachi groans and rubs her bare arms; the goosebumps visible in the brightly lit hall. "He's amazing." You know that you're probably watching him with hearts in your eyes, but you can't help yourself when your heart skips a beat at the way he got even more attractive to you now that you've seen him actually play. You definitely get the fangirls now.

As he prepares to set again, you hold your breath nervously, and this time the other team manages to receive it. You watch with wide eyes how the ball is suddenly on the other side of the court again, a quick attack from someone you recognize as Bokuto, and then it's Atsumu who sets the ball flawlessly, a dark-haired spiker scoring a point. The crowd goes wild, chanting a name that you don't know yet, and Yachi is quick to lean over to you again while you watch Atsumu and the dark-haired player exchange a wordless fist bump.

"That's Sakusa Kiyoomi; him and Atsumu-san make a deadly combo on the court." You nod, your eyes not moving from Atsumu, who suddenly turns to you and grins widely. You shyly wave back and give him a thumbs up and a smile; he winks, holding up another finger and pointing to you and then to the ball. You're not sure you completely understand what he's trying to tell you, but you still nod and smile, hoping it was an appropriate reaction.

You finally get that he probably meant to tell you that he'll do another service ace for you when he nails the serve effortlessly, and you stare at him with wide eyes when he turns to you and playfully winks with a thumbs up. You cheer loudly for him, and Yachi also cheers alongside you, not noticing the silent exchange that had just happened right next to her.

---

The teams bow when they finish the game and wave to the crowd, probably well-aware that some of their greatest sponsors sit alongside there. "That was amazing!" You smile at Yachi, and you both clink your glasses and drink the rest of the drinks.

"Kei will pick me up at the back entrance; is it okay if I leave you here?" She looks at you with worry etched in her features, and you nod reassuringly. "He'll pick me up right here. Don't worry; I'm sure he'll be here soon."

You hug her, and after you promise to text her, you sit back in your place. You watch all the people leave until the hall is almost empty, and then finally, after you played with your phone for a while, the athletes start to stroll in the hall, now dressed normally and all of them looking fresh. You look for Atsumu and quickly spot his blonde bright hair. He is now sporting a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt that tightly fits on his torso, his blonde hair still slightly wet from the shower—he looks really good. He strides energetically towards you, a delighted expression on his face, and he doesn't even hesitate before he pulls you into a tight hug.

"Hey."

"Hey, Atsumu. You were great; congratulations." You mumble against his shoulder, and he squeezes you a bit tighter before he lets you go. "Thanks. I hope you had fun."

"I did! I loved every second; it was really cool."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders while you speak and gently directs you towards the exit. "Just wait till ya see the Olympics, that will be even better. Let's go to my place, huh?" You nod and follow him to his car.

xxx

Atsumu has a really nice apartment. It's rather high up, but the elevator is so modern and smooth that you barely realize how high you drive up. Everything is clean and cozy, and you find several pictures of Atsumu and his family on the wall and a lot of trophies. The TV on the wall is ridiculously big, but the couch is far away from it, far enough for it not to strain your eyes. Atsumu gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the living room, and you sit down comfortably.

"I felt a bit out of place, though. Everyone was wearing fan shirts. I should probably get one too for the next game." You stare down at your plain shirt while Atsumu takes a seat next to you, still making sure to keep enough distance not to make you uncomfortable.

"You wanna wear a shirt with my number?" He grins at you, his eyes sparkling while he musters you, and you embarrassedly laugh. "I still need to decide about my favorite player. I might favor Sakusa Kiyoomi, he seemed quite impressive too. And Kageyama's sets were amazing as well." He pouts at your words, pressing his hand to his chest as if you just wounded him. You quickly raise your hands and laugh.

"I was just kidding. Of course, I'd only wear your number. I want to support your big dream of becoming a famous volleyball player someday."

He nods approvingly and reaches into his bag. "In that case, I think I have the perfect shirt for you." He offers you a crumpled piece of cloth that you quickly recognize as the shirt he's been wearing during the game. You stare at him blankly, your eyes wandering from the shirt in his hand to his face. "That's your shirt."

"Yes." He nods, still holding the shirt up.

"You will need it for the Olympics."

"Yes."

"Won't you get in trouble for this?"

"It's not like they can fire me at this point." He just shrugs his shoulder, and you finally reach out for it. "Thank you."

"Of course, can't have ya walking around with Omi's number. He is the worst, have ya seen his ugly face and his glare? I dunno why he has so many fans." He fakes a gagging sound, and you giggle while you place the shirt on the couch next to you. You're quite sure that his shirt would sell online for a fortune—especially his worn shirt. Not that you would do that.

"You seemed to get along pretty well with him on the court." You say with a teasing smile, and he rolls his eyes playfully. "He's still an ass sometimes. He's just lucky that he's good at playing. Would have ditched him otherwise. But we normally get along well, I just love complainin' about him."

"He seems... quite intense." You both exchange a glance and nod in silent agreement, and then he clears his throat.

"Uhm.. do ya wanna drink something?"

"Water is good, thanks." You smile, and he is quick to go into the kitchen and return with two glasses and a carafe of water.

"Thanks." you smile and take a sip of the glass he offers you. You both sit there for a few seconds in silence, and you mentally debate if you should suggest for him to turn on a movie or something- or to start a new topic, but he always makes your brain go blank. You wonder if he regrets his choice of inviting you over. He might have been curious about you in the beginning, like you were curious about him, but what does he actually think about you? He's so hard to read, especially since you're having a hard time figuring out if he just has a natural flirty personality or if he just does it with you. You try to stay calm while you keep on overthinking next to him, your hand tightening almost uncomfortably hard around the glass, but then he suddenly interrupts your thoughts.

"Ya wanna play a game? I got this truth or dare on mobile thing. I bought the full lifetime version when I was drunk a few years ago, and I plan to use it to the fullest." His brown eyes are warm when you meet them and you find yourself forgetting about your worries.

"Oh? I think that is a story that I'd love to hear."

"Ya might if ya use a dare for that." He winks, and you feel your cheeks heat up. He fishes for his phone and starts typing your names in the bright and cartoonish-styled app. "Is random mode fine with ya?"

"Sure." You smile and wait for him to set things up, and he places the phone between the both of you an you both look curiously at the screen.

dare for Atsumu:

Show your latest pic in your camera roll.

He pales visibly after reading it and stares at his phone blankly while you eye him curiously. "Can I pass?" Your eyes widen at his sudden static state, and you simply nod. "Uhm... you don't have to do it if you're not comfortable."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I just don't want to make ya uncomfortable."

Now he has really piqued your interest. "I won't be. Promise."

He doesn't seem convinced but opens the gallery in front of your eyes and clicks on the last picture—a shirtless picture of him, probably taken right after the game. He's still wearing the red shorts and very seductively grinning into the camera, his bare abs on full display for the camera. You quickly avert your gaze and clear your throat, feeling like a teenager looking at their crush. You now rub your throat to hide how flustered you feel from just seeing a goddamn picture of him. "I didn't expect that, to be honest. It's - uh- a nice picture, though."

"I didn't plan on posting it; I just like the after-game pump." He is quick to explain, and you just nod with warm cheeks. It's definitely getting hotter in here. The game successfully managed to create tension in the room- something that you didn't expect from a game that looks like a dorky party game. You take another sip and clear your throat. "Uhm... next?"

"Yeah." He is quick to open the app and tap on the screen.

truth for Y/N:

Who is the hottest person in the room?

You laugh and point at Atsumu. "That is quite self-explanatory."

"Ya got an easy one here since it's just the two of us." He complains and looks at you accusingly while you just laugh about his cute pout.

"Make it a bit more demanding then?"

"How about you tell me who's the hottest person in the Olympic team? You've seen all of us play today. Who's your favorite?"

"I haven't seen them all close up," you try to be neutral, but he just groans.

"There was a poll once about hot volleyball players worldwide, and someone from the Argentinean team won. He's close to Tobio-kun, apparently."

"You didn't win?" You look at him surprised. Atsumu is definitely on the hotter side of the team members from what you've seen so far- at least in your eyes. You haven't really paid attention to the other players though, your eyes always coming back to Atsumu.

"Ya seem genuinely surprised; I take that as a compliment. Nah, I didn't win, but I was in the Top Ten." He proudly puffs his chest, and you give him a playful thumbs up. "Congrats. I would have put you on number one, though." You try your best to calm your heartbeat when you see how intensely he looks at you at your words.

He grins and nods before he simply turns on his phone again without saying more about it.

dare for Atsumu:

Take a picture with a person in the room and set it as your profile pic.

"I can't set it as my Instagram pic or somethin' like that, but maybe just my screensaver?" He says as he contemplates his options.

You nod and move closer to him on the couch, until your shoulders are touching and your knees almost bumping together. He lifts the phone for a selfie and tilts his head in your direction while you tilt yours in his direction and you both try to smile brightly.

You look awkward.

That's easy to tell, and he seems to notice too because he's not taking a picture. "Uhm- maybe. We should do it like this."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to his chest, and you hear the click of the camera while you look surprisedly at him- shocked at this bold actin. "Now, look at the camera." His hand comes up to pinch your cheek gently, and you find yourself smiling at his actions. He's probably in a good mood since he won the game today, so you just let him proceed, trying not to think that this had a deeper meaning- because it probably doesn't. He grins too and takes another picture, and you remain in that position for a few more seconds, his pleasant smell invading your senses now that you're so close to him, and you subtly try to inhale deeply again. He feels good against you. Warm and solid, your body almost naturally fitting against his. Even though you'd love to stay, you slowly move back to your place and create some distance between the two of you. His muscles seem even more prominent when you look at his still raised arm and he slowly lets it sink down to his side.

He goes into his gallery again, and you both look at the two pictures. You look like a real couple. With the way you look up at him, pressed against his chest, your expression clearly flustered while he looks down at you with a grin- it's almost too intimate for you to bear. The other one in which you both smile brightly while he pinches your cheek is a rather cute picture, and he hums while he taps the picture.

"I'll take the second one then?" You nod and watch him set it as a background. "It looks nice." You nod again, definitely not trusting your voice. He is perfect boyfriend material.

"Next one then?" He sets up his phone, and you hold your breath for a second when the words show up.

dare for Y/N:

Kiss the hottest person in the room.

You awkwardly laugh and look down at your glass of water, waiting for him to laugh with you. But he doesn't. It's just silent between you now. Atsumu has not shown any reaction, just staying still as he is, still looking at the screen. You look at him with furrowed brows and then again at the screen. Should you-

No. What are you thinking?

You notice that Atsumu's knee has started bouncing, something that you think is his reaction when he's feeling nervous, and you experimentally lean just a bit closer after taking a deep breath and his eyes move from the screen to you.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips when you lean forward just a bit more, and then he is slowly leaning into you too, much to your surprise. Your gaze shifts to his lips, parted just the slightest bit, so kissable-

He is waiting for you to make your move, giving up all control of the situation to let you do as you're comfortable with- and then you realize one thing when your breath meets his lips and your eyes fall shut.

You're about to kiss Atsumu Miya.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello Steph!!! I was wondering if you or your wonderful followers have recs for me. I'm looking for fanfics with a deep study of Sherlock character. His past, his behaviour etc. Maybe without ships? But I'm ok with johnlock tho. Thanks ❤️

Hey Nonny!! *HUGS*

OOOF Most of my fic recs are Johnlock stories, so I do apologize for that... I DO have a list I put together for "Introspection" type fics, which are essentially character studies or either character so I can use your ask for that list, but I think you'll also find some stuff you'll like on these lists:

POV Sherlock 1st & 2nd Person

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt. 1: Fluff

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 2: Hurt/Comfort & Whump

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 3: Angst/Angsty Fluff or BAMF Fics

Fics in “Sherlock’s Voice”

If anyone has something more catering to Nonny's request, please do, but for now, let's see these Introspection fics!

INTROSPECTION / CHARACTER STUDIES

The Moment When by drekadair (K, 509 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Friendship, First Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock sees John in the pool, and doubts. Set during the end of "The Great Game." (FFNet)

The Hollow Man by HHarris (G, 639 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Chair, Introspection, Sherlock’s Big Feelings™, Post TRF, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, POV Sherlock, Pining / Sad Sherlock) – Still reeling from the apparent loss of his one and only friend, Sherlock returns to 221B for the first time after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Five Seconds by xXLadyLovelaceXx (K+, 658 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Pool Scene, Friendship, Introspection) – In the half-second before Sherlock shoots the jacket, John notices something. (FFNet)

Back in the Saddle by grannysknitting (M, 1,577 w., 1 Ch. || Post TGG AU, Donovan POV, Observation / Introspection, Protective Sherlock, Injured John, Case-ish Fic) – Their first return to solving crime after the pool and the explosion. (FFNet)

Upon This Throne by ifonlynotnever (T, 1,773 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Angst, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Introspection, Imagery, Pining Sherlock, Drug Use, Passage of Time) – Inside Sherlock's mind is a Palace. Inside the Palace are many rooms. Within the largest room is the Throne. Upon the Throne sits the King. (FFNet)

Love and Bombs by Spark Writer (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Romance, Angst, Pining Sherlock, 1st Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Ambiguous Ending) – Love and bombs aren't all that different, John. In the end, they're almost indistinguishable. (FFNet)

You Can Imagine The Christmas Dinners by johnsarmylady (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Family, Introspection, Fluff, Post-ASIP) – Set the morning after a Study in Pink, John sits and contemplates Mycroft's words. (FFNet)

Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil by PipMer (T, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Universe || Deaf John, Mute Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Character Study, Morse Code, Love Confessions) – John is deaf. Sherlock is mute. There are no two people more suited for each other.

Spectrum of Mourning at the Funeral of a Solitary Man by TheBookshelfDweller (T, 1,956 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Grief, Friendship, Sherlock First Person POV, Introspection) – Because each kind of love produces its own kind of grief, a long-ignored voice tells the story of five mourners of Sherlock Holmes, a man who in the end, was all but solitary. (FFNet)

The Lie-In by KendylGirl (M, 2,000 w., 1 Ch. || POV Sherlock 1st Person,  Bed Sharing, Fluff, True Love, Introspection) – Five months after his return, John and Sherlock spend a day in bed. Part 2 of When to Let Go

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into? (FFNet)

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest. (FFNet)

It's All Fine by AkoyaMizuno (T, 2,459 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG, Introspection, Mild Angst, Friendship) – Sherlock never asked what happened in the hours between John being kidnapped and the events at the pool. It occurs to him, days after the fact, that he probably should have. (FFNet)

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Developing Relationship, Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

Days Go By by Hummingbird1759(T, 4,454 w., 6 Ch. || Angst, Friendship, Post-TRF, Introspection) – The characters' lives go on after the Fall... sort of. (FFNet)

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

Applied Linguistics by what_alchemy (M, 4,837 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive / Anxious Sherlock, Introspection, Bed Sharing, Past John Whump, Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Word Play) – “He wants to shake John by the shoulders, wants to open his mouth and swallow John whole. Wants to marry him.” Sherlock searches for the right words.

Bound Into the Fire by Tara Laurel (T, 6,672 w., 5 Ch. || TEH, Suspense, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Bonfire Scene, John Whump, Mary is Nice) – "John sometimes compared Sherlock Holmes to the flaming beast in his mind...Not such a bad way to go, John mused. Being consumed by Sherlock. Dying in his fire. No. This was different. He was burning alive. Not figuratively. Not some flowery metaphor. Burning." There was no two minute stay of execution. "Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." (FFNet)

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well. (FFNet)

A Friend Indeed by Sanru (K+, 8,190 w., 1 Ch. || Missing John, Friendship, Drama, Introspection, Possessive Sherlock, Worried Sherlock) – Something has gone terribly wrong with a supposedly simple case. John Watson is missing. While the search for him is proving to be fruitless, it has made Sherlock realize that having an emotional attachment to someone may have its disadvantages but he liked being able to call John his friend. Now if only he could find out what happened to him... (FFNet)

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Illogical, even. by magikspell (E, 9,119 w., 1 Ch. || Grey-Ace Sherlock, Character Study, Growing Up, Victor Trevor, Romance, First Time/Kiss, Sherlock-centric) – Five reasons Sherlock never believed in love and one reason he does now.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w., 1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty. (FFNet)

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate. (FFNet)

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

The Velveteen Doctor by Lantean_Drift (M, 12,815 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Dev. Rel., Introspection, Mild Whump, Taking Care of Each Other) – A series of events that show John just how real he has become to Sherlock – like a bright, brilliant flash of colour in an otherwise greyscale world.

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn't even know why he resents John's dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don't let that scare you off!)

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson. (FFNet)

And A Doctor by stillwaters01(T, 24,962 w., 6 Ch. || Five and One, BAMF John, Hurt/Comfort, Doctor John, Friendship, Character Study) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn’t just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That “doctor” actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 28,347 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF / Pre-S3 Divergence, BAMF John, Anger, Fighting, Sex, Bed Sharing, Stalking, Case Fic, John’s Past, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crime, Mythology, Darkness) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. Sherlock finds that coming back is not enough to fix all of the damage that he caused by leaving. A post Reichenbach, post reunion re-discovery fic.

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION|| Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

There's Someone On Your Shoulder by halloa_what_is_this (NR, 41,215 w., 6 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Daydreams, Sherlock Loves John So Much it Hurts) – Sherlock trips and falls head over heels in love, makes a lot of lists and stares, stares, stares.

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w., 14 Ch. || Character Injury, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Sherlock POV, Toplock) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.  Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.