#set after helpless

[non4ry]

just two partners relaxing after a mission <3

[princescar]

spoilers in tags for TPYP but:

Something I hammered hard into the og writing for TPYP was that Junko didn't predict the outcome.

I'm a big believer in the idea that she knew what would happen in THH, what each motive would bring out which killers and victims, and it was about the despair and death not so much the unpredictability of the game.

But one thing that Dr0 has taught us is that she can't fully predict everything Ryoko will do.

And because of that, even when she fed the script to ai Junko and Mukuro, she still lost in the end. Because Ryoko did one thing that Junko didn't factor and that completely changed the story.

Then I add in Remnant Matsuda-

And it completely recontextualized the entire fic.

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

.

[myname-isnia]

I hate my mom. So fucking much

[lymtw]

Toji invites you over with a simple text of:

You busy tonight, doll?

To which you respond with:

I don't think so... Not that I know of. Why?

He laughs through his nose when he reads your message. Even the way you text him has your timidness imbued into it. It's precious.

Come spend the night at my place. You told me you're off tomorrow, right?

I am, but are you sure? Driving home is not a problem for me. I can hang out and go home after.

You're staying. I wanna try something with you and it requires you to stay the night. You can't go home.

Oh okay! I'll be there in 10.

Drive safe.

Toji likes that you're very precise about the time you'll be arriving somewhere, and if you're ever late when it comes to spending time with him, you apologize profusely, nonstop. You won't stop blubbering about why you're late and how sorry you are for making him wait, even after Toji's expressed that he's more than understanding. He's the king of showing up late to plans, so he can't be a hypocrite and scold you when you don't do it often at all.

You're so sorry, though, and you don't shut up about it until he makes you shut up with a kiss. You're helpless, and you can't for the life of you figure out where to put your hands when you're so focused on the grip he had on your waist to pull you up against him.

He releases your lips, cracking a grin at the look of wonder on your face. He can't deny the pride that swells in his chest at his ability to disarm you and prevent you from having a total meltdown over a three minute delay.

Toji has gotten so much better at handling situations like these with you. It's only fair for him to gain satisfaction out of making you feel better. After all, you are a first for him. You're emotionally fragile, you're a nervous wreck, and your voice competes with the wind just to be heard. Toji doesn't set aside the fact that you're also beautiful, warmhearted, and you try for him. He sees your attempts to be affectionate. You'll slowly reach your hand out to hold his and then bail the second he catches you. He ends up having to interlock his fingers with yours because your embarrassment doesn't allow you to try again. He still appreciates that you leave your comfort zone for him and allow him to guide you towards new experiences.

"Stop with the guilty feelings, ma. We have all night and all day tomorrow. What's a couple minutes to ensure you get to me in one piece?" He says, comforting your droopy self. You look like a sad, abandoned puppy, now sporting rosy cheeks from his surprising gesture.

"Okay," you say, feeling a little more at ease. "What did you have in mind for tonight?"

"Follow me," he says, leading you through his living room to his kitchen. He pulls out a stool for you and points at it. "Sit." You want to laugh at the way he says it like he's teaching commands to a dog, but you know he doesn't mean it that way, so you obediently sit down like one anyway.

"Have you eaten anything?" He asks, silently hoping you have because he doesn't have anything to make you dinner. He would have to order in or pick something up.

"I ate a couple hours ago. Still pretty full," you respond, watching him reach up for something in his cabinets. There's now a tall glass bottle with a red label and matching cap sitting on the counter.

"How 'bout it?" He says, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "We could go to the couch and watch a movie or something."

He's never seen you under the influence of anything, but based on your reaction, maybe he'll get a show tonight. He's always wanted to know what you would be like if you were more extroverted and outspoken. There's nothing wrong with the way you are, but if things keep going the way they're going between you and Toji, he's bound to meet your chatty alter ego at some point in the future. What better way to have this experience than in a secure place with someone who can handle their alcohol and take care of you if it turns out that you can't.

"Okay, sure." You giggle, excitedly.

You're a lightweight. Even the fruitiest, sweetest alcoholic beverage will quickly take a toll on you while you're sipping on it. Wine is a step up, so you'll have to try your best to keep it together for the sake of not looking sloppy in front of Toji.

Toji brings down two glasses, and pours out the deep red liquid into them. One for you, one for him. He hands the glass to you, and nods at your quiet "thank you".

Toji watches as you immediately take a sip. He sees the way your nose scrunches at what you consider to be a funny taste, but the second you put the glass down, you smile like nothing. You don't like it at all. You hate the bitterness, and the fact that it's made with fermented grapes lives in the back of your head.

"How is it?" He asks, holding back a chuckle. You're too sweet for your own good, pretending to enjoy this for him.

"I like it," you say, pressing your lips together.

"Yeah? I think it's kinda gross. Guess I was expecting more from a fancy ass bottle, but brands are gonna brand, huh?"

You giggle, almost involuntarily. You're one gulp in, and already you're starting to feel the effects.

One of your worst habits includes chugging drinks that don't taste good, just so you can get them over with. You even do this when your drink is messed up at coffee shop. You're too nice to ask the barista to remake it, so you suck it up and drink the incorrect beverage solely for the caffeine you hope it has in it. This time is no different. You hate the taste of alcohol. You don't do plain shots, you can't stand hard ciders, and wine is no exception, but you're doing this for Toji. He cracked open the bottle to share with you, so you're going to drink every ounce of the liquid in the glass, whether you like the taste or not.

You bring the glass to your lips again, taking a much larger sip. The glass is a little less than halfway now, and your eyelids are starting to feel a little heavy. Not in a sleepy manner, but you can't seem to hold your eyes open as wide anymore.

You exhale through your nose, shut your eyes, and then blink them back open to take note of your altered state.

"That was a lot. How are you feeling?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in your demeanor. You seem a little more sluggish now. You turn your attention to him, your eyes rolling when they turn to meet his.

"I'm good, how are you?" You ask, like it was the start of a conversation rather than an ongoing one. Your eyes almost shut completely when you smile at him.

"You're tipsy already, aren't you?" He asks, with a grin on his face.

"Pshh, what? No, i'm not," you say, contradicting yourself with a giggle. "Answer the question, baby. How are you?"

"Fine," he responds, lingering on the pet name. You've got loose lips, now. In any other circumstance, you would address him by his name. Most of the time Toji is the one giving you pet names, for the sake of flustering you. He loves the way you look at him when he calls you doll or sweetheart, somewhat shocked every time the words leave his mouth.

"Yeah? That's good." You pick up the glass one more time, sighing before you mutter, "'scuse me. Gotta finish this."

With that last sip, the glass was now empty. Even Toji thinks you drank that too fast, but he still has the courtesy to ask you if you want more.

"Mhm, I'll have a little bit more. Just a tiny bit." Toji pours as much as he did the first time, chuckling when you nod in approval of the quantity. "That's perfect. Absolutely, perfect. You're a genius, my love." You flash him a smile before starting on the next glass.

Toji was considering having another glass, but that was before you called him "my love" in a tone so warm that he felt like he just had a bowl of hot soup that was now settling in his stomach. That was before you smiled at him in such a free spirited manner. It was too late for him to see you in this state while completely sober, but he sure as hell wouldn't be adding anymore alcohol to his system. He can't miss something like this, so instead he leans forward on the counter, and intently watches your every move.

"I got something on my face?" You ask, dragging your sleeves all over your face. You examine your sleeves and they're clean. "You liar. You're looking at me like that for nothing." You squint at him, a slight scrunch in your nose to define your defensiveness.

Toji laughs, his focus now on the small pinch in your brows. "Don't go picking fights over nothing. It's not a crime to look at my pretty baby."

Your faux tough exterior immediately crumbles, the irked expression on your face dropping to the ground, at the sugary words he uses on you. Your face feels very warm, and now there's an indefinite blush on it. You can't stop smiling at the look on Toji's face. He's so focused that he's gone speechless, and you eventually break into a laughing fit because of it.

"Hey... i'm usually the quiet one. Why aren't you talking, pretty boy? Need me to shut up?"

The pet name has Toji glancing at your glass, noticing that it was full for less than five minutes. This was new— you being flirtatious towards him. He didn't have any complaints about it whatsoever.

Once again, the quantity of the wine in your glass was below the halfway mark. "Nah, baby. Talk to me. You must really like the wine, huh?"

"Mmm..." you lean forward towards him, with your elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm. "What makes you say that?"

He actually snickers this time, earning a sly grin from you. "You're chugging it like it's water. It's either you love it or it tastes like ass and you're dying to spit it out."

You pick up the glass again, one last time. "Let's find out if I like it," you say as if you're not on your second serving. You let the liquid hit your tongue, and you are instantly repulsed by the flavor. The glass is tilted all the way up, signaling that you've finished two cups of wine in less than fifteen minutes. Your cheeks are filled with the drink, blown up like a puffer fish, which makes Toji smile softly with anticipation for your reaction. Your tongue stays on the roof of your mouth, keeping the wine in your cheeks separate, to give you a break for a few seconds. You release the bubbles of your cheeks and your mouth is flooded with the bittersweet liquid. You swallow the burgundy mouthful and smile with your lips pressed together once it's all gone. The mouth drying effect of wine is your least favorite thing about it.

"So?" Toji prompts.

"It's-" you gag, clasping a hand over your mouth with wide, slightly teary eyes.

Toji's chest and shoulders shake as he contains his laughter, his lips pressed together tightly to stifle the smile threatening to show itself, but his eyes tell you everything.

"Wooo, sorry about that," you say, chuckling through the embarrassment. "It's good," you repeat, still muffled by your palm.

"Yeah? Want more?" Toji asks, holding up the bottle with a teasing grin on his face.

You almost gag again but manage to control yourself. "No, thank you. Any more and I'll doze off, and we both know that's not what i'm here for." There was a hint of sultriness in your tone, something Toji was not sufficiently familiar with. It was a completely welcome shift from your normally tentative way of speaking to him.

"I know why you're here, but I wanna know what you think you're here for."

You stand from your stool and lean more of your body onto the counter. Your hand reaches for his, and for the first time, you don't pull back before making contact with his skin. "To love on you, of course," you say, with those pretty rosy cheeks. Your eyes remained glossy and your nose was still red from trying not to bring the wine back up earlier, but Toji thought you looked so cute.

"Is that right?" His thumb brushes over your knuckles, feeling the softness against his rough fingertip.

"Let's go watch that movie you were talking about and you'll see what I mean."

Toji was loving this. Your confidence, your lack of holding back anything you had to say, it was truly baffling how you could be someone else entirely with just a couple glasses of wine.

You keep his hand in yours, and as if it were your house, you say, "come on," and drag him along to the living room.

This time you say "sit" and point at the couch. This time he's the obedient dog and does as you say, sitting on the exact cushion you were pointing at with a smirk on his face. He moves the couch pillow aside to make room for you, but you had another seat in mind. You take two steps towards him before slowly dropping yourself into his lap, straddling him.

"I see you're finally taking your seat on the throne, hm?" He grins, resting his hands on your waist. This is the closest Toji's been allowed to watch you giggle without you burying your face into his neck and it's a trip. He can see the details of the creases around your eyes and the lift in your cheeks as you smile. He feels fuzzy, and he didn't even finish his glass of wine, so he knows it's not that.

"Stop making me laugh and pick a movie, will you? I'm here for that, too."

He picks up the remote for the TV and turns it on. "How are you gonna watch the movie while facing me?"

"Actually,.. can I tell you a secret, baby?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair that reaches towards the nape of his neck, combing through it gently.

"What's that, princess?" Toji asks, vert eyes flitting between your eyes and that sweet smile of yours.

"I don't wanna watch a movie. I... wanna look at you... and that's it." Your nails gently scratch the back of his head, eliciting a tingly sensation that makes chills run down his spine.

"That's cool, too," Toji says, turning the TV off again, not caring that it was on for less than a minute before you changed your mind. He sighs, adjusting his position beneath you. Your thighs are secured around his hips, your knees touching the backrest of the couch.

"You're so handsome, my baby. God, look at those eyes," you whisper in awe, before giggling and bringing your hands to his face. You trace the bags under his eyes with your thumbs while admiring the haunting shade of green that scopes on you. Toji's hand comes up to loosely wrap around your wrist. He's not there to stop you, he just wants to move along with you as you observe his face.

"I know I don't say this to you enough, but I find you..." you sigh, blinking slowly, "enchanting..." You lean in and kiss the left corner of his lips—his right, and feel the smooth, tattered skin beneath your warm lips. "and I love you," you mumble into the cicatrix. "So fucking much, baby. And i'm sorry that you'll never know exactly how much because you aren't me." You're looking at him with so much adoration and touching him with a delicacy that can't be put into words. It's a deadly combination, one that has Toji in a chokehold and forces him to soften up even more for you.

He tightens the hold he has on your waist, pulling you closer until your stomach is pressed to his, as a result. You being so affectionate towards him is making him feel really good, and you have no idea because you're too focused on appreciating him. He's subconsciously leaning into your touch, his softened gaze meeting your lovestruck one.

"Fuck. I love you, too, princess," he murmurs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He pulls your hand down to his chest. "Want you to aim for my lips, this time."

"Okay," you say, smiling before closing the distance between your lips and Toji's. He can still taste the remnants of the wine you inhaled minutes ago, but it tastes much better and a lot sweeter on you. Toji can hear your high pitched little hums as you kiss him, happiness pouring into your kisses. You're trying so hard not to laugh in his face, and trying is the best you can do, right now. You never were good at hiding your smile from Toji. He can't see it, but he can feel the way your lips widen, and he's occasionally kissing your teeth when your sluggishness keeps you from matching his pace. With little pants leaving you, you drag your lips away.

He sighs, frustrated by the loss of your softness against him. "Baby..." he groans, the sound almost whine-like to your ears. He wants more, so much more of you, and you're ignoring him. You're too busy kissing his chin, and his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.

You drag your other hand down to his chest and keep your hands splayed out on it as you let your lips trail his jaw, lightly sucking on the skin. Toji can't help but think about how this version of you will be gone in the morning. You won't be as outwardly affectionate, you'll go back to second guessing every move you make with him and shrinking every time he steals kisses from you, instead of confidently kissing him back like you did a minute ago.

You make your way down his neck, pressing kiss after kiss on him before you move towards his ear. "I love you, Toji," you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear after. "Love you, love you, love you soooo much," you barrage, before throwing him off with a bite to his earlobe. You giggle like a menace into his ear, the warmth of your breath luring goosebumps out onto his skin.

He chuckles, repeatedly squeezing the soft skin of your waist between his hands. "Yeah? Tell me again," he murmurs snaking his hands beneath the back of your shirt. Your skin is very warm, and there's nothing to blame but Toji and that shitty wine for making your body react this way.

With uninterrupted hands, you course your fingers through his hair and lean in to bite him again, this time on his neck. Toji chuckles at how you instantly rush to soothe him with your tongue and a warm kiss, even when you inflicted zero pain on him.

"I love you, Toji," you repeat into the wet indentations you left behind. "My love... my handsome man... I cherish you, you know?"

Toji is practically purring at all the affection you're showering him with. The slurring of your words is blocked out and they remain clear as day to him. He manages to hum a deep little "mhm" to your last statement.

"It's just so hard to talk to you sometimes. You... you're so intimidating, sometimes. I don't expect you to understand..." you divert your gaze to his shoulder, not able to look him in the eyes as vulnerability takes sudden control of your emotions. "It seems like I don't appreciate you sometimes—all the time, but I do, Toji. I do appreciate you, and I can't ever say I love you enough to show it. Words aren't always enough."

Toji catches the waver in your voice and his eyes dart to yours. You're tearing up, and you're trying to still your quivering lips by pressing them together.

"Shit," Toji mutters under his breath. You have the saddest expression he's ever seen and it's messing with his heart. He pulls his hands out of your shirt so that he can swiftly pull you into his warm embrace. "Hey," he coos. You're shaking against him, holding your breath to avoid sobbing. Your lungs burn, but you'd rather feel that than make a scene of your tears. "Don't be sad, mama. What's with the tears, hm?" he murmurs. He can feel your tears dampening his shoulder, but the fact that you haven't made a sound is concerning. "Breathe or you'll die," he says, only half joking. He rubs a soothing palm against your back, his other arm around your waist.

You let out what sounds like a mixture between a choked laugh and a sob, slowly but surely regulating your breathing. You don't even feel like saying anything anymore because you know your voice will give way to even more pity.

"You're more than enough for me," Toji says, his chin resting on your head. "I know how you feel, you know how I feel. We're complete." He can feel the way you scrunch his shirt up into your fists. As if he would go anywhere without you. "I get you and you're stuck with me. Got it?" You silently nod against his shoulder in response. "Sit up and let me look at you."

You really don't want him to see you this way. Your eyes feel swollen and you don't feel presentable.

"I can't..." you say, barely audible. You release his shirt and let your hands go limp behind him.

"Why not?"

"I'm not pretty right now. Don't look at me."

"I'm gonna look at you," he challenges with a teasing grin.

"Toji, don't look at me."

"Too late, it's happening. Plan's already in motion," he says, sliding his arms onto your shoulders.

"Toji, don't-" He effortlessly pushes you off his shoulder and gives you a once over. You look defeated and you're unable to look him in the eyes, but at least he can see you now.

"Don't know what you were so worried about. You look the same but more blush-y." You finally give him your slightly reddened eyes, a soft smile appearing on your face. You look like your sober self. "Yeah, you look the same."

"Are you lying?" You ask, still not regaining the full strength of your voice yet.

"I wouldn't tell you if I was, but no, i'm not lying. You're so pretty." Toji wiped away tears that were stuck beneath your eyes, and you giggled. He washed away your sadness within a couple minutes. Toji always did this for you in exchange for your love and affection. He lifted your spirits when you didn't feel deserving of him, and with time, he got much better at recognizing the signs that came with this ridiculous idea you planted in your head.

"You're done loving on me? Already?" He asks in playful disbelief.

"You're not done with me? Do you actually want more?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Don't want more, I need more," he corrects, returning his hands to their rightful place on your waist. "Get all up on me, princess."

You giggle, leaning closer towards him to peck a kiss onto his cheek.

"Mhm, like that," he says, contently, when you pick up the pace and start smothering him. "Yeah, baby, there you go." His forearms go beneath your shirt, encircling around your bare waist and pulling you close to him like before. "Who's getting spoiled like me?" He says through a grin. You're holding back laughs as he continues to praise you for your affection.

"S-Stop," you say through a wheeze, not able to contain the sound any longer when you looked at him.

"What are you laughing at, huh?" He chases you this time, pressing his nose into your cheek before planting a light kiss into your jaw.

"You're so unserious," you say, turning your head as he keeps going with the kisses.

"Mmm... I'm serious about you," he says, feeling the vibration of your laughter against his grin. "So serious."

Your cheeks feel incredibly hot from how much you've been smiling. In this little drunken haze, things are so good. You're so happy, you're so affectionate, and you talk so much. This isn't like you at all, but it's not hurting anyone, especially not Toji. There was one minor slip, but you moved past it so quickly like the words never left your head to begin with. You're just so simple... so easy to take care of.

Toji notices the way your eyes are starting to lid with tiredness, and while he would love for you to doze off in his arms right then and there, you'd probably prefer waking up in a bed.

"Let's go to bed, yeah?" He suggests.

"What? No! I just got here... We can still talk, and kiss and- I'm not even tired."

Toji grins at the way you fight him on this, and he has half a mind to indulge you when you look so adorable, but he has to stand his ground. He's right.

"But, you are. You can't even hold your eyes open, anymore."

You feel sad again because the rest of the night would be going to waste if you both go to sleep early. You're there to spend time with Toji, and yet you feel like it's your fault your time is being cut short. You're thinking you shouldn't have drank the wine so quickly, if at all.

"Listen, doll," Toji says. He doesn't like the sadness that resurfaces on your pretty face. He doesn't think you should look that way because of him. "We're just gonna go lay in bed. We don't have to go to sleep. We can stay up as long as you want. Light on or light off, whatever you wanna do, let's just move it to the room."

You sigh, still not completely convinced that the night isn't over, but Toji managed to persuade you. "Will you carry me, please? My legs feel like jelly."

"Of course. What kind of person would I be if I let you stumble into the room on your own?"

You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your face buried into the crook of his neck. "You'd still be my favorite person, but i'd be a little upset..."

Toji stands from the couch, humming in response to your quiet mumbles.

"...but not really upset. Just a little bummed. Not for too long, though, 'cause I love you, but I would expect an apology from you if I fell down," you draw out.

Toji cracks at your little ramblings. It's a ten second walk from the couch to the bedroom, and the whole time you were working through a hypothetical conflict.

"Yeah? You'd want me to say sorry?" He asks, setting you down on the bed.

"Mhm, and then I wouldn't be upset or bummed anymore," you mutter to yourself as you roll onto your back.

"That's fair. Want the light on or off?"

"Off," you blurt. "Let's tell scary stories," you trill, enthusiastically. You pull the blanket over your lower body until it reaches just below your chest.

Toji makes his way to the bed after turning off the light. He takes his shirt off, and out of habit lets it fall to the floor. "We're not telling scary stories this late at night," he says, joining you beneath the blanket.

"But, they're funny," you say, turning to face him. "I don't get scared, either."

"Depends on who's telling the story. I'm sure as hell not gonna feed you a nightmare, doll."

"Boo," you say, lowly. "Whatever, i'm over it already," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Toji watches you grow more and more tired as you throw random, nonsensical topics at him. You're taking longer to respond by the minute, and you're dozing off while humming in thought. You shake awake each time it happens and try to keep the conversation going, but Toji just shushes you and tells you to go back to sleep.

"I can see the moon through the window," you mumble, looking past him.

"I know, shh..." he hushes you, again.

"There's only like... one star," you whisper, in awe.

"Baby, come here," Toji says, like he's about to lecture you about the rules of sleep, but really he's just thinking that if his body heat doesn't put you down, he's gonna have to stay up with you until you fall asleep on your own.

You scoot closer towards Toji, tucking your arms into your chest when he reaches out to pull you into him the rest of the way. His body exudes so much warmth, you feel like you don't need the blanket at all.

There was nothing left for you to say when you couldn't see or feel anything but him. It was as if you were gone the second he enveloped you in his arms. You were small to the brink of nonexistence, no longer there to tell him what your surroundings were, or to ask him thoughtless, silly questions. You were no longer there to fight off the sleep he only seemed to bring closer towards you. Feeling his warm skin against you made you change your mind about this invisible fiend that was pulling your eyelids down. You now welcomed the calls to rest from your steady heartbeats.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, but for good measure, he poked at you with a whisper of, "Ma?" and waited a few seconds for your response. Nothing. He sighed and coiled around you tighter. Thoughts of the night ran through his head. Your soft, yet, occasionally bruising kisses and the imprints of your teeth on his skin, your unapologetic laughter, your certainty in using the pet names that claimed him as yours. He was weak for the amount of times you openly told him you loved him. It was a psychedelic dream, to say the least. One he hoped would continue once he followed you into slumber.

You woke up hours later, completely smothered by your bear of a man. All you could do was stare up at the ceiling, while you waited for Toji to wake up because he was literally breathing down your neck. His arm rested over your chest, his legs were tangled with yours, and his face was right beside your face. You weren't feeling the effects of the wine anymore, and luckily, you didn't have a headache or any signs of a hangover. You were back, which meant...

"What are you staring at?" A deep, raspy voice jolts you out of your thoughts.

You look at the handsome face next to you, and as if your heart can hear and see, it wakes up. "Nothing. Just woke up," you lie.

"Mm... you were staring hard at the roof. I thought it came to life or something," Toji chuckles. You smile, briefly, before looking at the ceiling again.

Toji releases you and flips onto his back, wanting to know what's so fascinating about the space you're looking at. "What are you thinking?" He asks, when he discovers nothing but blank space.

You take your time, not wanting to stumble over your words. Your heart skips a beat when he turns his head to look at you. In the time it takes for you to respond, you both could have gone back to sleep again.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he finally says, following the idiom with a question. "Did I even use that correctly?"

You can't help but laugh, nodding your head to answer his question. "I'm thinking about last night. Sorry if I said anything stupid."

Toji turns his body towards you again, thinking the only thing that's stupid is that he's still staring at the roof instead of staring at you. "You didn't. You were calm, from what I got to see, at least."

"So... boring."

"Not boring," he instantly catches. "You were perfect. You didn't have me running around chasing you, you weren't a brat—it couldn't have gone better, ma." He purposely missed something in his less than brief recount of the night to you. He can think back to the emotions that seeped through your little daze, and your insecurity about outwardly showing him love, all he wants, but there's no way in hell he's bringing that up to you, now. "You ramble a lot," he adds, a soft smile emerging on his face.

You can feel your cheeks warming up. "Oh god," you groan in embarrassment. "That's not- Sorry, that sounds... not so fun. Annoying of me, actually."

"Stop, it was cute," he assures, adding more fury to the blush creeping on your face. "Then you wouldn't go to sleep 'cause you kept seeing stuff outside the window."

You wanted to drown yourself in the blanket. Shame and embarrassment were winning their battle against you, as always.

"That was also cute," he says, watching the way your lips twitch as you bite back a smile. "You know my favorite part, though?" He says, grinning as he leans towards your ear.

"N-No, what?" You ask, trying so hard not to giggle.

"When you kissed me and told me you loved me," he murmurs into your ear like it's a dirty secret.

You snicker, the short sound of amusement evolving into laughter within seconds. You throw the blanket over your face and partially over Toji's face. The sight of your veiled body shaking with laughter lured out a couple chuckles of his own.

"That's funny?" He asks, pulling the blanket down, allowing you to see the sly grin he's sporting.

"A little bit," you respond, smiling— a remainder of your laughter.

"Silly girl. Come here," he says, dragging you back into his arms. "There's no reason you should be awake at six in the morning on your day off. Let's go back to sleep," he murmurs into the crown of your head. "We can go out for breakfast, later."

"Okay," you mumble, eyes shut already as you embrace the natural warmth of his body.

"One more thing," he murmurs. You don't raise your gaze, but your ears are open and you're listening closely. "Tell me you love me."

You didn't expect that, but you weren't going to deny him of such a simple thing. The words were easy to recite because you meant them with every fiber of your being. "I love you, Toji," you comply, immediately.

He sighs, contently, almost like hearing those words revitalized him. "Love you, too, mama."

That went out to every version of you.

[sunniques]

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ?

➺ PAIRING: lee heeseung x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepbrother au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: the story of how your stepbrother’s girlfriend realizes her boyfriend has never really been hers.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, possessiveness, heeseung can lift reader, cucking kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f), oral sex (f), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, creampies

➺ WC: 4.6k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read.

A lot of people find your relationship with your stepbrother cute. How could they not? He’s always so doting and protective like a real brother would be. In spite of being only slightly older, Heeseung takes on a very important role in your life. He constantly goes out of his way to take care of you, making sure you have anything you could possibly need.

Heeseung’s girlfriend never thought too much about the relationship between you two. It was natural that he took the naive college freshman under his wing and constantly had you by his side. Mina found it endearing, actually. The way he worried about you like a mother hen who wasn’t ready for her young chick to go into the world alone is adorable and a good sign. After dating so many inconsiderate losers, she thinks she’s finally chosen the right guy.

But somewhere along the way, Mina starts to grow tired of it. Time has gone by, and you’re no longer a naive freshman who can’t get around without her boyfriend’s help. Of course family is important, but it’s not like you’re entirely helpless. And yet, that’s exactly the way Heeseung acts. He’s always ready to drop everything when you need him. On several humiliating occasions, he’s even left her half naked on his bed just to go to you because you bought something you couldn’t figure out how to put together, or because you wanted to hang out with him.

It’s hard for Mina to admit that she’s a little jealous. Especially because it all seems so ridiculous. There’s no way her boyfriend actually wants you like that. But as time goes on, she thinks that maybe she’s not all that crazy. Especially with the affectionate way her boyfriend looks at you. Despite all this, Mina doesn’t say anything. At least, not until Heeseung starts to bring you along to what were meant to be dates.

“Babe, why do you keep bringing your stepsister? i thought we were going on a date?” It’s hard for her to not sound bitter and annoyed.

“Her roommate is going to visit her parents, and I don’t want Y/N to be alone.” His tone is kind and gentle like always, but it’s also firm and leaves no room for arguments.

What’s worse is that Mina can’t bring herself to hate or blame you. In a way, she understands why her boyfriend is always so concerned about you. You’re so nice and trusting that it would be way too easy for someone to take advantage of that. There’s also the fact that you’ve been more than willing to let them have some alone time, but Heeseung never lets you leave.

It’s all so strange and frustrating that Mina feels like she has to take matters into her own hands. So she does.

The key to Heeseung letting you go is getting you a boyfriend—or at least getting you to start dating. It’s easy enough to find a guy who’s interested in you. That’s never been a problem for you, and all it takes is her showing your picture to the cute guy in her communications class for her plan to fall into place. As luck would have it, you’re also into meeting the guy and going out with him.

Little did Mina know, setting you up with him would be a mistake that would cost her everything.

On the night you’re meant to meet up with her classmate, Mina excitedly goes to her boyfriend’s apartment. It’s been a long time since she got to be alone with Heeseung, and she was going to make the most of it.

She’s dressed in tiny tank top and a cute little skirt that Heeseung loves—it barely hides the lingerie she’s wearing underneath. Mina quietly lets herself into her boyfriend’s apartment using her spare key. Quietly, she tiptoes to his room only to find the door wide open. What she doesn’t expect is to find you sitting on his the edge of bed while Heeseung kneels in front of you.

Mina feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her as his pretty hands rub your soft thighs. You look incredible, clad in a cute little dress with your makeup and hair done to perfection. It’s a mistake for Mina to keep watching, but she can’t find her voice at the moment.

“Seungie, what’s wrong?”

God, Mina hates that you call him that. Mostly because she can tell how much Heeseung likes it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out to meet some guy?” Heeseung sounds almost venomous, but it’s like you don’t hear it. “Who is he? How’d you meet him?”

You tilt your head, pretty lips pulled down in a confused frown. “Didn’t Mina tell you? She set me up with a guy from her class. He’s really cute!”

A chill goes down Mina’s spine. She can see Heeseung’s back tense when you tell him how your date came to be. The air feels almost murderous as he gently squeezes your thighs.

It kills Heeseung that he was almost too late in stopping you from meeting some strange guy in the pretty little dress you have on. He softly rubs your thighs, eyes simmering with anger and desire he doesn’t care to hide. Not anymore.

“Oh, angel.” Your stepbrother murmurs, hands slowly trailing up to your thighs. “You know you’re my favorite girl, right?”

An unsuspecting smile graces your lips. “Yeah. And you’re my favorite guy.”

Heeseung hums in satisfaction as his fingers ghost the edges of your dress. He watches your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t say anything. As always, you have blind trust in your stepbrother. That’s all the indication he needs to get up and push you down on his bed. Heeseung hovers over you, loving how you’re staring up at him with sparkling, wide eyes. He swoops down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

Your heart is racing in your chest as Heeseung forces his tongue into your mouth. Despite the initial shock, you quickly melt into the kiss. He swallows your moans, pulling you closer as he deepens the messy kiss. You mewl into his mouth, carding your fingers through his hair with desire you had never realized you had for him.

Meanwhile, Mina can only watch as her boyfriend kisses you with a passion that he clearly never felt for her. It feels like her heart is ripping in half as Heeseung begins to undress you. Tears well up in her eyes when he groans at the sight of the lingerie adorning your body. Mina can see how hard he is from where she’s standing, and the desire in his eyes is very different from the way he looks at her.

“Can’t believe you got all pretty for some other boy.” Heeseung spits as he starts to undress. “Were planning on letting him fuck you?”

You shake your head and go to speak, but you can’t when Heeseung roughly pulls off your lingerie then his own underwear. His cock is thick and big, possibly the biggest you’ve ever seen. It’s twitching and leaking as he looks at you with his dark eyes.

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whine as Heeseung shoves your thighs to your stomach and licks a broad stripe up your wet pussy.

Your stepbrother groans at your sweet taste, thrusting his tongue into your dripping hole. He laps up the juices leaking out of your slit, circling his tongue on your clit for good measure. The noise you let out is downright pornographic and pure music to Heeseung’s ears.

“Seungie!” You keen as you spread your legs and tangle your hands in his messy hair. “I– Fuck!”

Heeseung pulls back with a wet slurp to spread your cunt open with his big hands. “God. You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, angel. Just had to taste it.”

Each one of his words is like a dagger to Mina’s heart and confidence. Wet tears trickle down her face, but she doesn’t say anything as you pull on her boyfriend’s hair. Heeseung only moans and dives back into your slick cunt. He greedily laps up everything that drips out of you, sucking and kissing your clit.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Hee.” You repeat through a needy mewl, making no attempt to stop him. In fact, you buck your pussy into his mouth as he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“Shh, angel.” Heeseung shushes as he flicks his tongue across your swollen bud. “Just relax and let me eat you out. Been wanting to do this for so long.”

Mina swallows thickly, the hurt slowly being replaced by something else. Her eyes grow bigger when she realizes which feeling is taking over. She shifts slightly, feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool in her panties. Mina feels sick that the sight of her boyfriend cheating on her can turn her on, and she thinks that she should leave right now and never return.

But she stays.

Mina licks her lips and continues to watch. Even she can’t help but think how hot you look, whimpering and writhing as Heeseung pushes your thighs apart so he can bury his face deeper in your pussy. He flicks his tongue, slowly descending until he’s lapping at your hole, slowly fucking the wet muscle in and out. Your eyes roll back as your stepbrother eats your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

The sounds coming from your pussy and the way Heeseung messily eats you out has Mina’s own cunt clenching with need. She can feel her underwear start to stick to her cunt as she watches her boyfriend lap up your arousal like a starved man. Mina bites her lip, feeling sick and twisted for being turned on by your pretty moans.

Heeseung suddenly pulls away, but not before he slaps your thigh playfully. He goes to lay on his back all while wearing a filthy smirk. “Sit on my face.”

You bite your lip as a hot flash of arousal pulses through your body. Both your and Mina’s cunts throb at the suggestion. Heeseung sees your hesitation, but doesn’t back down.

“C’mon, baby. Be a good little stepsister and ride my fucking face.” He growls out with dark eyes.

With your pussy dripping, you crawl over to him and kneel over his face. Mina watches with heated eyes as you slowly lower your cunt on her boyfriend’s face. The heat in her stomach grows when she hears Heeseung groan in satisfaction.

“That’s it. I want your pretty pussy suffocating me.”

With that, your stepbrother grabs your hips and pulls your cunt down onto his face with a groan. Mewling quietly, you rub your cunt all over his mouth. Every time he moans or grunts, it sends little vibrations through your pussy. The delicious feeling has you grinding down on his tongue as you chase that feeling. Heeseung eagerly fucks his wet muscle into your hot cunt, already addicted to your sweet taste.

Mina swallows thickly when he sees Heeseung thrusting into the air as he eats you out. His cock is leaking and throbbing with need. Fuck. How she’d like to go and lick all that up, to have him fuck her mouth as he fucks you with his tongue. Mina rubs her thighs to soothe the growing ache in her pussy as she watches you ride Heeseung’s face.

Your eyes roll back when your stepbrother slaps your ass. A loud squeal spills from your lips as Heeseung keeps fucking his tongue up into your cunt. He grabs your ass and kneads it roughly. With one last groan and flick of his tongue, he sits up and takes you with him. The effortless display of strength turns both women on, one containing her moan while the other cries out as she’s pressed back into the mattress.

“Such a sweet little cunt.” Heeseung moans as he buries his face back into your dripping cunt. “Shit, Y/N. You’re fucking soaked down here.”

“Heeseung!” You cry out as he pries your thighs further apart. Your stepbrother shakes his head to grind his tongue against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, you have the hottest little pussy.” Heeseung lifts his head with a groan, lips shiny with your arousal. “Missed eating some good pussy. It’s been so long.”

Mina feels pathetic that her cunt throbs at his degrading words. She bites her lip, hands trailing up her thigh and to her soaked underwear. It’s so filthy and humiliating, but the ache in her pussy is getting to be too much. She slowly rubs circles on her covered cunt as she keeps watching her boyfriend cheat on her.

“Fuck, Seungie.” You mewl desperately. “S-Shouldn’t like having your face buried in my cunt.”

Heeseung smirks into your wetness. He gently circles his tongue on your clit, kissing it tenderly before he gently starts to nip at it with his teeth. Mina shoves her panties aside when you moan out in pleasure. Now she’s furiously rubbing at her bare pussy, wanting to see you cum on her boyfriend’s face.

“But you do, baby. You like me fucking you with my tongue, and I fucking love eating this sweet little pussy.”

Your hips buck up at the words, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you moan for him. Juices drip out of you lewdly, leaking down to your ass and onto Heeseung’s sheets. Your head is swimming with pleasure, and you have to remember that this is all so very wrong.

“You like that?” Heeseung teases you, loving how you’ve turned into putty in his hands. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you like your stepbrother telling you how much he loves tasting your juicy cunt?”

Your back arches when Heeseung sucks your puffy bud into his mouth. “God—yes! Feels so fucking good, Hee! Love having your mouth on my pussy.”

Heeseung growls, the vibrations making your cunt throb as he sucks and licks your swollen clit. Eager to have you cum on his tongue, he slips two fingers into your fluttering hole. Mina follows in suit, unable to take her eyes off the erotic sight of you getting ate out and fingered. Fuck. This was better than any porn she had ever watched. Her hand is dripping with her own arousal, and she can’t even feel disgusted anymore that she’s so turned on by the entire situation.

“Mmmh, shit, Hee.” You whine as the tips of his fingers brush against the gummy spot inside you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Do it, baby. Cream all over my tongue.” He purrs in delight. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Heeseung flattens his tongue on your clit while his fingers grind into the spongy spot in your cunt. Your back arches off the bed, orgasm whiting out your thoughts as you cum around his long fingers.

Mina has to cover her mouth as Heeseung moans along with you. By now she’s shoved her fingers into her sopping pussy, the squelching sound is drowned out from the sounds coming from your own pussy. The filthy sight is driving her wild, and she’s so delirious with arousal that she wishes Heeseung would just fuck you already.

“You’re amazing, angel.” Your stepbrother praises with his fingers still buried knuckle deep in your pussy as he softly strokes your velvety walls. “So soft and wet. It makes me want to shove my dick into your tight little hole.”

Heeseung slowly pulls his fingers out of you, and you can only watched with a lidded gaze as he moves his body between your thighs. His cock is twitching and leaking as he grabs the base. He smacks his cock down on your slippery pussy, dragging his drooling tip up and down your slit slowly. Mina has to press her hand into her mouth harder to stifle her filthy moans. The sight of her boyfriend pressing his drooling cockhead into your soaking pussy is so hot she might just cum all over her fingers.

“S-Seungie—fuck. We shouldn’t.” You whimper as he leans forward and braces his arms by your head.

You and Mina both know you don’t really mean your words. It’s clear that you want your stepbrother to split you open on his big cock. That becomes obvious when you don’t try to stop him as he shoves his cock into your pussy until he bottoms out completely, balls pressing against your ass. Shuddering with pleasure, you scratch your nails up his arms as you sink into the bed.

“Pretty pussy was meant to take my cock.” Heeseung growls, already drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his dick. “Fuck. I know it’s wrong, baby, but I just couldn’t help myself. Your hot little cunt was just begging for my dick. Doesn’t it feel all nice and full having your pussy stuffed with your stepbrother’s big cock?"

Mina starts fucking herself harder when you nod desperately. Your hands go to tangle in his hair as you grind your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Yes! Fuck! Love my stepbrother’s cock stretching me open! Feels so fucking good, Hee!”

Mina knows better than anyone how good you must feel. Although, she imagines you feel must better than she ever did because from the way Heeseung’s fucking you, she can tell he’s doing it with much more enthusiasm and passion. Even his moans are more guttural and full of more pleasure than she’d ever heard. They’re deep as he pulls out until just his tip is spearing you open. Then, he pushes forward, thrusting his cock deep into your fluttering walls.

“That’s it. Tell me how good it feels.” Heeseung leans down, lips brushing against yours. “Don’t be shy, angel. Let me know how much you like this cock fucking you.”

You gasp wantonly and pull him down further to press your lips together. He groans and licks into your mouth easily, tongue slipping past your lips as his cock thrusts deep into your hot, wet cunt. Your hips buck up to meet his, loving how his dick rams into your sweet spot over and over until your sight is painted with pretty little stars.

“Fucking love it, Hee.” You moan between sloppy kisses. “God—I love your cock!”

The coil in Mina’s stomach is close to snapping. By now, her juices are dripping down to her wrist. Luckily, the lewd squelching and sound of skin slapping together drown out any noise she’s making. Heeseung is fucking you so hard and good that she can smell the musky scent of sex from where she’s standing. The erotic aroma turns her on even more, pussy clamping down on her fingers in desperate need of release.

“Tight little pussy feels so good.” Heeseung moans out between the quick pecks he’s giving you. “God, I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

Your heart races as Mina’s breaks all over again. It hurts, but somehow that just turns her on even more. She keeps fingering herself as tears pool in her eyes.

With a low moan, your pussy clamps down on Heeseung’s dick tightly as you go to eagerly kiss him. A soft I love you, too goes unnoticed by Mina, but not by your stepbrother. He groans into your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Mmmh.” Heeseung hums against your lips before he trails wet kisses down your neck. “I love my gorgeous girl. That’s why this feels so good. Even your tight little pussy knows how much I love you.”

His gorgeous girl? Mina thinks deliriously, orgasm dangerously close. It’s something he never referred to her as.

You cry out loudly when Heeseung bites your neck and sucks the skin into his mouth. His hips rock against yours, balls smacking against your ass as his pelvis grinds down on your swollen clit.

“Seungie!” You whine in ecstasy. “I’m getting close.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t let up. In fact, his thrusts seem to get faster and rougher. His cock pistons in and out of your cunt, creating sloppy wet sounds as you get even wetter. His eyes are dark as he pulls back to look at you, all pretty squirming and trembling on his cock.

“Cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet cream so I can fill you up.” Heeseung pants. “Cum on my cock, angel.”

His teeth sink into your neck again, and it pushes you over the edge. Your hot cunt throbs as you squeeze down on his cock. Somehow your pussy only gets tighter and tighter as you get fucked through your orgasm. You tighten your legs around his waist until he can barely pull out, rutting his cock in short shallow thrusts as your climax starts to taper off.

“So fucking tight.” Heeseung hisses by your ear. “Shit, baby. Get ready. I’m about to creampie your cute little pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

With a strangled grunt, he buries his cock to the hilt and shoots his load deep inside your fluttering walls while your pussy softly milks him for every drop of his hot cum. Mina reaches her own climax when she sees her boyfriend cumming inside you. She has to stifle her moans as she trembles and shakes outside the room that’s filled with the smell and sounds of hot sex.

“You’re taking it so well, angel.” Heeseung kisses your jaw tenderly as his fat tip spurts rope after rope of his thick cum into your clenching heat. “Milking my cock like I knew you would.”

He grinds his hips down, cock pulsing as he finishes stuffing you full of his hot, sticky load. Your stepbrother fucks his cum inside a bit more before reluctantly pulling out. Heeseung’s cock throbs as he watches his seed drip from your messy pussy.

He licks his lips, heated gaze never leaving your body. “Let’s do it again.”

You don’t try to protest as your manhandles into a different position. Mina is still coming down from her high when she realizes her boyfriend is still hard and about to fuck you again. She knows she shouldn’t feel excited or aroused by the fact, but she does. Especially when your face is shoved into one of Heeseung’s pillows just before his big cock rails back into your needy pussy.

Heeseung starts fucking you so hard his headboard slams into the wall repeatedly. The harsh sound pairs well with the plop plop plop sound coming from your cunt.

“God, Y/N. You’re so fucking good for me.” Heeseung groans when you clench down on him.

You moan loudly, bouncing yourself back on his cock. “Fu-Fuck, Seungie. This is wrong. We s-shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” Your stepbrother smacks your ass, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “It’s so dirty baby, but I couldn’t help myself. Had to get my dick wet using your pretty little pussy.”

“Mmmh!” You whine out mindlessly, face turned to the side with your ass raised in the air for Heeseung to fuck deeper into your wet hole. “Feels so fucking good!”

“Yeah, it does.” Heeseung’s laugh sounds almost mean as he speeds up his thrusts to fuck his cock harder into your sopping cunt. “Your cute little pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”

His words shouldn’t please you as much as they do, but those lewd words turn you on so much that you can’t stop your cunt from tightening around him as he keeps spearing into you like an animal in heat. They also shouldn’t turn on Heeseung’s girlfriend but that’s exactly what they do. She isn’t angry, only extremely aroused as your ass bounces back on your stepbrother’s pelvis.

“Fuck!” Heeseung groans, fucking his cock right into your g-spot. “You’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You are. So hot that Mina finds herself wishing she could eat Heeseung’s cum out of your pretty cunt. She just knows you taste good, and mixed with her boyfriend she’s sure you must taste even better.

“Seungie, please!” You cry out, dizzy with arousal.

“Shit.” He growls, slipping a hand underneath your hips to rub fast circles on your clit. “Gonna make you cream on my cock again.”

“Heeseung!” You squeal as he picks up his pace, ramming into your squelching pussy as he rubs soft circles into your swollen clit.

Your stepbrother shoves his cock deep into your cunt and grinds, making you squirm and whine as his dick rubs against the spongy spot in your pussy. Your hands twist in the sheets. He flicks and pinches your puffy clit. God, do you look good, and so does Heeseung. Mina is groping one of her tits while the other hand goes to play with her pussy again. Briefly, she thinks she wouldn’t mind having a video of you two fucking so she can watch it over and over again.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You moan against the pillow.

“Do it, baby.” He encourages you, free hand coming down to slap your ass hard. “Cum all over my cock. Want to feel your hot cunt squeeze me.”

It’s not long before your orgasm hits. You’re screaming into your pillow as your cream coats Heeseung’s big cock. Your pussy clamps rhythmically around his dick. Mina can’t see you, but with the way your toes are curling she can tell your eyes are rolling to the back of your head in pure ecstasy.

“Oh, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Heeseung praises you. His hands move to slap your ass again, making you squeal and tighten again. “Fucking work your little pussy on my cock. Fuck. Need to fill you up again.”

“Want you to stuff me full.” You whine back at him, pussy fluttering at the thought of Heeseung’s cum filling your cunt again.

“Yeah?” Your stepbrother laughs, sounding way too delighted. “Want me to creampie your hot little cunt again?”

“Please!” You whine as Heeseung’s fingers slide over your hip to start working soft circles into your clit again. You writhe back on him, feeling yourself get even wetter at the filthy thought of him shooting his hot load inside you.

“Cum inside me, Hee.” You pant, mewling when his fingers rub your clit even faster. “Want it so bad. Want to feel it.”

“Oh, fuck.” Heeseung groans, hips snapping hard against your ass when he feels how tight you’ve gotten. “You ready, baby? Fucking take it. Take your stepbrother’s cum in your needy little cunt.”

You moan loudly when you feel his hot cum filling your pussy, stuffing you so full it drips out around his cock. Heeseung ruts his spent cock into your sloppy pussy as he pinches your clit, watching as your back arches as a fourth orgasm sweeps through you. You lazily fuck your cunt back into him, loving the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and coating your thighs.

Heeseung pulls out of your warm cunt with a low groan. He’s quick to pull you against his chest and lays you down with him. His face is buried in your hair, eyes closed in bliss as you both try to catch your breaths. You feel his smile in your hair as he cuddles you and murmurs sweet praises against your temple.

Through your drooping eyes, you catch sight of Mina. Her eyes widen when you two make eye contact. You can’t hide your smirk when you see that she was masturbating to the sight of Heeseung fucking you raw. Instead of saying anything, you give her a seductive wink. Mina clenches around her fingers because the wink is full of understanding and promises.

It’s clear that Heeseung was never hers, but maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing.

[fictionadventurer]

"Why would I show my daughters Snow White when Anna and Elsa exist?"

Because girls need to see more than one type of female character in their stories. We don't want girls to see "damsel-in-distress housekeeper" as their only option, but its equally dangerous to show them the currently-popular flavor of "take-charge Strong Female Character" as the only acceptable kind of woman to be.

Because Snow White is confident. While the Queen is obsessing over her own insecurities, Snow White is going through her day completely comfortable with who she is.

Because Snow White is skilled. While the Queen's treatment of her is unjust, Snow White's acceptance of her work as a scullery maid makes her, not just an idle princess, but a working woman. She has cleaning and cooking skills that are recognized as valuable contributions to society. She is then able to use those skills when she needs a place to stay--instead of just a helpless damsel-in-distress who has to beg for a place, she is someone they want to have living with them because she has valuable skills to offer.

Because Snow White is kind. She is so kind that animals immediately trust her, that a hardened assassin can't kill her, that dwarves love her. She is sensitive to the feelings of others rather than embittered by her own fears. She is friendly to everyone she meets, showing interest in their lives and concern for their problems.

Because Snow White is a caretaker. Though young and mistreated, she is always looking to care for others. She immediately comforts a lost little bird. When she finds a cottage belonging to what she believes to be lonely orphans, she takes it upon herself to make their home comfortable. She even takes this a bit too far in setting rules for the dwarves' household, which offers depth to her character. She does take charge, but instead of seizing power like the Queen, Snow is looking to serve others and seeks their good.

Because Snow White is brave. After her panicked flight through the forest, she is sharp enough to recognize that her fear made the situation worse than reality, and she consciously decides to adopt a cheerful, hopeful outlook.

Because Snow White is intelligent. She's a good-enough judge of character to recognize a worthy love interest when he appears (and unlike certain princesses, she's right about it). She recognizes when her fear makes things worse than they are and is able to make better plans for the future. She is able to coordinate a housecleaning effort among a huge variety of untrained forest animals.

Because Snow White is humble. She is willing to take on the humblest work in the castle and is not humiliated by it. She asks the animals and the dwarves for help when she needs it. She even recognizes the need for prayer.

Because Snow White is good.

Because she is innocent.

Because she is patient.

Because she is loving.

Because little girls should learn to be all those things, and Snow White is a character who shows them what that looks like.

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Eldritch Horror! Konig with a Witch! Reader who accidentally summoned him and now has no idea how to get rid of the large shadow monster desperate to mate.

You needed a familiar. A bat, or, maybe, a cute black cat that would drag your ingredients from the top shelve and deliver mail. You needed some company, something cute and weak - and you prepared for the ritual, cut a bit of your arm to get the blood out, put some of the tea leaves in the cauldron, waiting for the creature summoned. The book you used for the incantation was just a tad bit weird and old, but almost all witch books are - it's not like you have a lot of options here, unfortunately.

The cauldron went into smoke, then - into boiling. You thought it was a good sign, the magic slowly activating as your powers drained to call for someone cute, someone magical and obedient, someone... There is a tentacle poking out of the cauldron. An octopus familiar, huh...you weren't too disappointed, but it wasn't ideal, either. Maybe if could turn the tentacles in a pretty pink color, or if you could exchange it for something fluffy and adorable or- It's a man. Well, sort off. It's a man, and it sets off your alarms - literally and figuratively. Human-like familiars are almost all demons, and demons as familiar is bad news. You aren't even remotely strong enough to contain someone as strong as him, and with the energy that envelops him as he slowly moves out o the cauldron, too small for his tall, muscular and dangerously beautiful body, you know you're fucked. It's safe to say that you're familiar now. With Konig not being bond by a summoning ritual - he is far too strong for that - you think that the only reason he didn't kill you, a dumb and arrogant witch trying to contain him - is only because he latched on you as his personal breeder. He mated you, the first thing he did after pushing you onto your bed and taking you raw, like the helpless thing you are, and then softly spoke some words in a dead, eldritch language that you don't understand. Then he mated you again and again until you felt nothing but throbbing between your legs and pumps of pleasure as the eggs slowly filled your womb. He brought you some food after - you think it's his way of caring for his mate. He also called you a dumb, arrogant and weak thing, and then something in his language again, that was probably yet another insult.

[solarsturniolo]

𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝕯𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 // 𝕸.𝕾. // 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕺𝖓𝖊

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You never got along with him. Even after years of being friends with his brothers, he never gave you a second glance. He’s hated you for almost six years, what could one weekend at their family’s lake house do to change that?

𝔇𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: None of my stories are real, they are all fictional. You are responsible for what you read. Please read with caution. Practice safe sex. A tritoon is a type of boat. This is a two part story, there will ONLY be two parts and they will be long. THERE WILL NOT BE A THIRD PART TO THIS STORY.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: This basically turned into a novel. lots of plot (you’ve been warned) / Toxic!Matt (if you squint) / tension building / enemies trope / cursing / SMUT / dumbification kink / p in v / unprotected sex / Dom!Matt / spanking / pet names / lots of dirty talk / a true breeding kink / creampie /

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 15,140

©Solarsturniolo 2024

You were never friends.

How could you be?

His brothers were easy to get along with. Nick cherished you. He had a hard time maintaining friendships, people came and went like the seasons or the wind. It took a while for him to open up fully, afraid that it would be the same with you. But you were different. You stayed during the hard times, loving him when he felt like he couldn’t love himself. It made a change in how he perceived friendships. He rarely went anywhere without offering you an invite. All of his social media pages; an intricate collage of pictures and videos together, capturing your happiest moments with each other. His camera roll practically bursting with memories. Years worth of polaroid pictures remained tacked onto his wall, even as time passed he never took them down. He made his appreciation of your friendship known, never shying away from his platonic love for his best friend. 

Chris adored you. In his words, you were like the sister he never had. You immediately clicked the first time you had met, something he wasn’t used to. He was fairly reserved around new people, but you brought his personality out so naturally and easily. People made their assumptions about your relationship with him, it was difficult for them not to when you were both practically joined at the hip; doing everything together even if it was insignificant as going to the garage for a soda or making a trip to the nearby convenience store. He knew everything about you, and you, him. Though his love was platonic, he made it known to everyone: he loved you. Things weren’t perfect, you had arguments and disputes, but at the end of the day he would do anything to repair the cracks and wears in the foundation of your friendship. 

Matt despised you. Or, at least, that was how it felt. He never went out of his way to initiate conversation with you, and it was rare for him to acknowledge you in social settings. Sometimes you could feel him looking at you. It was a feeling that made your blood run cold, your skin crawling with goosebumps. It was worse when you caught him; the way his eyes scanned over you, a shit eating smirk plastered on his face as he looked away, paying no mind to you for the rest of the time you were there. It was a weird feeling, one that would keep you up at night. Part of you wanted to smack that grin off of his face, to pluck his wandering eyes right out of his head. You hated the way his gaze objectified you, making you feel weak and helpless while everyone around you remained ignorant to his behavior. You hated the way he’d cut you off when you’d speak, a satisfied smirk creeping onto his face when you’d shut down and shy away from the conversation, only speaking again if prompted by another person. 

You knew that he did it for some weird power trip. To control you, at least to a certain extent. Years went by, but his behavior remained a constant variable. How he could go years of giving you the cold shoulder, you had no idea, but he managed to do it with ease. But as the years went by you cared less and less. As long as his sour mood and crude behavior didn’t intervene with the friendships you had built with his brothers, you couldn’t care less…

Or that's what you told yourself. 

It ate away at you, no matter how much you told yourself that you didn’t care. Why doesn’t he like me? What did I ever do to him? What do I do to fix it? Why don’t his brothers see it? The way that he looks at me and treats me…Why does it all get swept under the rug? It swirled around your mind, haunting you with hypothetical ideas of how you could have changed everything. Anything you could have done differently just to be on okay terms with him. You weren’t asking for much; you didn’t expect him to be best friends with you, and you certainly had no expectation of him to fall to his knees and declare his undying love for you. But a smile every now and again, a kind word here and there…it would be enough.

It certainly would have made this trip more enjoyable.

“MATT! Quit skipping my music!”

“Or what, Chris? You’ll just queue more-”

Chris leaned over the center console, getting into his brother’s personal space. Matt kept his eyes glued to the wide stretch of road in front of them. “I built that queue from the ground up, I very meticulously chose each song-”

“Chris, what’s the definition of meticulous,” Nick spoke up, his head still resting on your shoulder, eyes glued to his phone. He really wasn’t paying much attention to his brothers squabbling, but his bullshit radar could pick up their nonsense from miles away. The way he interjected himself into the conversation made you smile, he always found a way to be included in their arguments, even if it was just to feed the flame. 

Chris turned his head to look at Nick, furrowing his brow at him. “Why do you need the definition if I know how to use the word right?” 

“Did you use the word right?” Nick rebutted. 

Their argument continued for another ten minutes, even after Chris had Googled the word and passed his phone around as if he were in a blunt rotation, the definition displayed on his screen for everyone to see. His smug demeanor was short lived, though. Matt and Nick very rarely lost an argument with their brother, but when they did, they would share a mutual look and move into Phase Two: gaslight the motherfucker until his brain fried. 

Sometimes it was entertaining to watch, but after being trapped in a car with them for, going on, four hours, you were ready for some peace and quiet. The sound of their quarreling became muffled as you put your airpods in, the noise canceling feature kicking into high gear once both pods were snug in place. You flicked through different playlists on your phone before selecting one that was a little less…intense than the music Chris had been playing previously. Pressing the shuffle button, you let your phone fall into your lap, resting your head against the window and watching the endless line of trees pass by. Nothing but brush and trees for miles ahead. You were excited to be going on this trip with some of your best friends, but you couldn’t help the sense of dread that lingered like a shadow in a dark alleyway. Something terrifying looming in the air, a figure of black lurking just out of sight. A bottomless pit of existential worry formed in your stomach just thinking about anything and everything that could go wrong.

This was going to be a long weekend.

X O X O X O

Gravel crunched beneath the tires, loose pebbles flying up as the beast of a vehicle slowly came to a stop in the unpaved driveway. 

It was late. 

There was still some light outside, enough to see the cluster of dark clouds beginning to close in. The faint warm glow seeping through the windows of houses just across the stream contributed some light, but not much. The dark shadows from the trees absorbed most of it before it could get very far. As the van shifted into park, you lifted your head from where it had been resting, somewhat uncomfortably, against the window. The roar of the engine, that you had all unknowingly grown accustomed to, died down to a soft purr before stopping entirely. The overhead lights flickered to life, illuminating the interior of the car with a hazy yellow glow. For a brief moment, everything came to a complete stop. 

Within the next five seconds, three truths became very evident: One; Chris was asleep. Two; Nick was asleep. And three; you were not. 

Someone else realized this as well, and his sharp icy glare penetrated your skull like an ice pick through the reflection of his rearview mirror. This didn’t go unnoticed by you, it never did, but it was easier to pretend like it did. As you took out your airpods and tentatively placed them back into their case, you shifted in your seat, the squeaking of the leather just barely being drowned out by the music still playing in the car. The song that softly drifted through the speakers was different from what had been playing earlier; smoother, languid, sultry. The lyrics were alluring and sensual, covered by an addictive instrumental that complimented the underlying provocative tone perfectly. It was sexy, it was passionate…

And it made no appearance on any of Chris’s playlists. 

You shifted in your seat again, a sharp inhale coming from the front of the car as the leather squeaked again. “I’ll start unloading the back,” you spoke up, your voice faltering towards the end. He responded with silence, his gaze shifting away from the mirror to stare out of the windshield instead. 

Gravel crunched beneath the soles of your shoes as you stepped out of the van. You took a deep breath as you escaped the tense atmosphere in the car, not realizing you had been holding your breath until now. The air was crisp, underlying earthy and musty tones accompanying the clean, fresh breeze that swept over your shoulder. The faint smell of rain began to grow heavy in the air, the dark clouds overhead drawing in. Treading to the back of the car, you opened the trunk and began unloading the bags that were messily stacked on top of each other. 

Chris and Nick emerged from the passenger side of the car, both of them trudging over to collect their things. It was clear they hadn’t woken up willingly. Nick’s cowlick stuck out like a sore thumb, his eyelids heavy with sleep. Chris yawned obnoxiously, earning himself an irritated glare from his brother. You laughed softly at the sight, handing them their respective bags. Like a bat out of hell, Matt came around to the back of the car and tugged his luggage out from the trunk, his elbow knocking into your arm in the process. He didn’t pay you a second glance as he slammed the trunk shut, his footsteps heavy and dragging as he walked down the gravel driveway. 

Nick rolled his eyes. “Great. We just love grumpy Matt,” he huffed, his tone laced with sarcasm. You offer an apologetic smile, feeling somewhat responsible for Matt’s attitude. It was nothing new, this was his behavior any time you happened to be around, but you knew his brothers must have been getting tired of the same old practices coming from him. 

As you followed the other two, Chris slowed his strides to walk with you. Carrying his luggage in his right hand, he hooked his left arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Hey, you know I can see what you’re thinkin’, right?” He starts, his hand giving your shoulder a soft squeeze. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I feel like I did…” you sighed, not looking up at him. Nick was oblivious to the interaction, his spatial awareness being almost entirely eradicated when he was half asleep. It didn’t take long for him to disappear from view into the house. 

Chris shrugged. “Well, what did you do then?” he questioned. This time you did look up at him, brow furrowed and a glint of confusion in your eyes. 

“I-I don’t know what I did…”

“Then it’s not you,” Chris smiled. “All him. Don’t pay him any attention. I don’t know what’s got his fucking nuts in a knot, but he’s gonna have to get over it,” he continued. Chris took your bag from your hands as you approached the front porch steps, carrying it up to the door for you. “We’re gonna have fun this weekend, even with Miserable Matt here. Don’t let him get to you.” 

Chris handed your bag back to you, his all too familiar boyish grin making an appearance on his face. It was hard not to return the favor, smiling back at him as you slung the strap of the bag over your shoulder. Chris reached out, his fingers brushing the underside of your chin. “Head up, kid,” he tells you. The loud rumble overhead makes both of you flinch, mirroring each other as you and him look up to the sky. Charcoal clouds flood the open sky, blocking out the vivid shades of orange and pink that would have painted the heavens in their beautiful hues. Chris blindly reached out, opening the door to his family’s vacation home. “C’mon,” he mumbled, beckoning you inside. 

You didn’t move for a second. Getting struck by lightning was almost more appealing than being trapped in a house with Matt for an entire weekend. 

Almost.

You step through the doorway and let the strap of your bag slip off of your shoulder, the bag landing on the floor with a soft thud. The door shut behind you as Chris came inside as well, the deadbolt lock clicking into place. Muffled arguing could be heard from upstairs, followed by the loud slam of a door. ‘We’re gonna have fun this weekend.’ His words taunted you. 

“Not likely,” you huffed.

X O X O X O 

What started as a movie night (an attempt to relax and unwind after your long, tiring road trip), quickly began to progress into a memorable night, just not for the better. You should have known to dismiss yourself when Nick suggested watching a romantic comedy, earning an annoyed grunt from his brother who was sulking at the far end of the sectional. His feet kicked up onto the coffee table as he reclined deep into the cushions on the couch. His blatant disregard and disrespect for his parents’ beautiful (and expensive) furniture made you scoff. 

He shot you a hostile glare, testing you to say what you had been thinking; His electric blue irises, like icicles piercing your skin. Thoughts swirled around in your head as you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at the television as Nick flicked through page after page of options, stopping occasionally to read the summary of something that caught his eye. The silence was deafening, you were sure they could all hear you swallowing the lump that had been lodged in your throat. You felt a chill run through you; Even with Chris sitting so close you couldn’t help but feel cold. Frozen. 

“Or we could watch something that won’t bore us all to tears,” Chris suggested, his arm hooking over the back of the sofa. In a spur of passive aggressive frustration, Nick hurled the remote at his brother. The impact was intense enough to draw a groan out of him, and he scowled at Nick as he picked the remote controller up. “I hope the bed bugs DO bite, tonight,” he grunted. 

Nobody even cared about what was put on anymore, just as long as it would break the uncomfortable tension that surrounded them. Finally deciding on a horror movie, Matt switched off the lamp that was next to the couch, the only light in the room coming from the television. Muffled thunder could be heard from outside, and occasionally a white flash of lightning would light up the sky with deep purple shadows. The rain had started a while ago, though it was much more noticeable now as it created a steady rhythm on the roof. The aged wooden boards of the house moaned and creaked with the howling of the wind. Chris turned the volume up on the television to drown out the outside noises. 

Nick was the first to leave. Halfway through the movie, he got up from his spot and shuffled out of the room without a word. Nick wasn’t very chatty when he was tired, usually just communicating through soft grunts and hums, but he was too exhausted to even do that. The floorboards on the stairs groaned with each step he took, though it was only really noticeable if you had been paying attention. 

And you had been paying attention. 

Chris looked down, seeing that your focus wasn’t on the movie playing in front of you, but instead you were staring off towards the staircase that was hidden in the dark shadows of the entryway. He nudged you softly with his arm to break your focus. “He’s just tired. ‘S okay,” he assures you. 

“He seems mad,” you pointed out. 

“He’s not mad. He’s been up since seven this morning, and we all know he’s not a morning person.”

Matt shifted in his spot, inhaling sharply and exhaling just as obnoxiously. Your gaze shifted from Chris to his irritated brother. He didn’t even have to look at you, you could tell exactly how he felt. His posture was as terrible as always, but he was tense, the outline of his shoulder blades evident through his t-shirt. His jaw clenched, emotionless eyes glaring at the television. Arms crossed over his chest, the veins in his arms standing out as his biceps flexed. It didn’t take a body language expert to tell that he was angry, or at the very least annoyed. 

You went quiet as you turned your attention back to the television. You hoped that Chris hadn’t noticed your change in demeanor. The last thing you wanted was to ruin this weekend just by being present; by doing something to make it all about you. Arguing and fighting with Matt would make it about you. Talking to Chris or Nick about it would make it about you. Showing any emotional response to it would make it about you. The easiest thing to do in this situation was stay reserved. 

But Chris was much too conscious of you and your feelings, he always had been. That was one thing you loved so much about him; he was just as in tune with your emotions as he was with his own. However, when he turned his head to glare in his brother’s direction, you wished, for once, that he hadn’t been. “What, Matt.” His voice was gruff and demanding, not even a hint of questioning in his voice. He had gotten sick of Matt’s nasty attitude approximately four and a half years ago, and he officially had enough. “What’s pissing you off this time.”

Matt spared his brother a glance, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “You know how you’re not supposed to talk in the movie theater?” Matt started, pursing his lips as he waited for his brother to reply. Chris rolled his eyes in response. “Same rule typically applies at home.” His tone was passive aggressive, and that was when he finally made eye contact with you. “It’s quite rude.”

“You’re one to talk,” Chris scoffed. 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

You tugged softly at the sleeve of Chris’s t-shirt, attempting to pull his attention away. “It’s fine-“

“No, it’s not fucking fine,” Chris interrupted. He paused the movie, tossing the remote controller in his brother’s direction. “I don’t know what weird ass Netflix Original Series you think you’re in, but this fucking attitude is insufferable,” Chris snapped. He stood up, grabbing his phone off of the coffee table, stuffing it into his pocket. “You give me a fucking headache.” 

“What are you fucking talking about? Netflix Original Series? What kind of comparison is that?” Matt scoffed. 

“A pretty fucking good one. You’ve got this weird ass angsty attitude and nobody can fucking stand it.”

Matt shifted in his spot, his confidence faltering. “Wh- I don’t-“

Chris shot his brother another glare. “Oh, but you actually do. And you act all big and tough until someone finally calls you out on your bullshit. You’ve been on this shit for six fucking years and I’ve fucking had it,” Chris grumbled. His demeanor changes quickly, the flame inside of him burning out. He rubbed his tired eyes as he walked away from the sofa, blindly making his way to the staircase. He grunted out a soft ‘m goin’ to bed’ before disappearing up the stairs, just as Nick had done earlier. 

The floorboards from upstairs could be heard with each step Chris took, muffled creaks and squeaks barely filling the uncomfortable silence in the room until they stopped all together. The dull drumming of the raindrops on the roof filled the uncomfortable silence that engulfed you and Matt as you sat there, refusing to look at each other. There was a soft crackle of television static, and the faint roar of the thunder outside, but nothing else. 

After a few minutes had passed (which had felt more like an hour) you finally decided to steal a glance. Between the light illuminating from the TV and the flash of lightning from outside, all of his features seemed to stand out more so than ever before. The deep shadows beneath his jaw, the light reflecting off of his perfect skin. He pursed his plump lips, almost as if he was about to say something. His earrings glimmered in the dark room, swinging as he turned his head. You felt your heart drop as his eyes locked with yours for the third time that evening. But for once, his gaze held nothing hostile or hateful. His gaze faltered, looking at the couch cushion beside you. He didn’t say anything. He seemed apologetic. Regretful. Remorseful; Something you weren’t sure he was capable of feeling. His fingers picked at the loose threads on the armrest of the sofa, his eyes darting back and forth between the cushions and you. 

You could have drowned in the tension; it flooded the room out of nowhere. It had never been like this before, but then again you had never been left alone with Matt before either. As the tension grew, so did the pit in your stomach. Is he going to snap? What is he thinking? Why hasn’t he said anything? Does he want me to apologize? Why is he acting like this? Why won’t he just get it over with and yell at me? As the thoughts began to consume your entire being, you found your chest constricting, the air catching in your throat with each breath you tried to take. 

“Are you-”

You stood up from the couch the second he spoke. “Yeah, I’m going,” you replied, gracelessly stepping around the coffee table. His brow furrowed as he followed you with his gaze. You paid little attention to it. You were much more focused on getting the fuck out of there. Before he could get another word out, you had already left the room. Making a beeline for your designated room down the hall, you closed the door behind you, finally taking a second to catch your breath. 

This was going to be a very long weekend. 

 X O X O X O

“Why can’t I drive the boat?”

“You can’t even drive a car, why the fuck would we let you drive the boat?” Nick scoffed, looking at his phone attentively. He had gotten comfortable in his seat, taking one of the captain's seats under the shade of the tritoon. His feet were kicked up, heels resting on the leather lounge seats along the inside of the boat. “You need a boating license.”

You had decided to sit on the lounge seats opposite to the ones Nick was using as a personal footrest, soaking up the rays of the sun as they beamed down from the heavens, spears of light penetrating the clouds above. 

Chris stepped onto the boat swiftly, putting down the cooler that he had carried all the way from the house. You weren’t sure why he didn’t wait to fill the cooler once you all had gotten onto the boat, but Chris insisted that he could carry it by himself. You also weren’t quite sure why he had decided to wear a hoodie in 95-degree weather, which surely wasn’t making the job any easier on him. He let out a soft breath as he placed the cooler by the driver’s console, popping it open and pulling an orange Fanta from where it had been buried in the ice. “...Like from SpongeBob?” Chris questioned in response to Nick’s previous comment. He cracked the soda open and brought it to his lips. 

“Or like legally?! You fucking moron?!” Nick retorted, a dumbfounded look finding a way onto his face, his gaze tearing away from his phone to look at you as if to say, ‘are you hearing this shit too?’. You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a laugh. 

Chris narrowed his eyes, scowling at his brother. After he had finished taking a much-needed drink, Chris put the can in a random nearby cup holder. “No need to be rude.”

Nick shook his head in disbelief. “You’re unreal,” he muttered, looking at his phone once again. “If you get pulled over without one-”

“You can’t get pulled over on the water.”

Slowly, Nick turned his head toward you, the same dumbfounded look on his face. You couldn’t hold back your laughter, his reaction was unexpected, but hilarious at the same time. “Am I- Are you-” Nick started, gesturing toward you with his phone. Finally, he looked over at Chris again. “Are you a real fucking person? There is no fucking way you just said that with a straight face. Like, I’m genuinely shocked…No, you know what-” he cut himself off, opening his safari app. He made a quick google search before continuing his harangue. “I am stunned. I am astonished. I am dumbfounded, oh that’s a good one… I am aghast. I am appalled. I am flabbergasted-”

“Alright, man,” Matt interrupted him, stepping onto the boat with a few bags in his hands, all of them filled with snacks that the boys had stocked up on earlier that morning when they went on their grocery store run. “I think we got it.” 

He looked sickeningly good this morning. Nothing about what he was wearing was very out of the ordinary, for him at least. A simple white tank top, his renowned blue flannel pyjama pants, and his signature horse pendant: it was simple, it was effortless, it made you want to rip your hair out. You truly envied Matt’s ability to always look good, no matter the time of day or what he was wearing. It wasn’t fair how he could just roll out of bed and look like he had just walked out of a Calvin Klein photoshoot. Then again, nothing about how he looked was fair. His high cheekbones, his sharp jawline, perfectly clear skin; It was a shame he was such a dick.

Chris pouted, crossing his arms over his chest before slumping down into the seat next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You tore your gaze away from Matt, looking back in Chris’s direction, giggling softly upon seeing the look on his face: defeated and sulking. Nick rolled his eyes at his brother’s childish behavior. He leaned over, pulling an ice-cold Dr.Pepper out of the cooler, cracking it open to take a sip. Chris uncrossed his arms so that he could mock his brother before slinging his arm behind your back, resting it on the railing of the boat. Chris used his free hand to lift his sunglasses, eyeing Matt who stepped off of the boat and back onto the dock. “You sure you don’t wanna come? The Rogers’ are blowing the tube up,” Chris commented, an attempt to persuade his brother into joining them. 

Matt scratched the back of his neck, meeting Chris’s gaze while completely avoiding yours. “In a bit. I haven’t been able to focus a lot back home and I wanted to try to work on Yesterday’s Problem stuff while we’re out here,” he explained, his arm dropping back to his side. “I’ll call you in a bit when I’m done, I just…” Matt trailed off, looking back toward the cabin. “I dunno, I feel inspired, I guess. Motivated.”

“Good,” Nick said simply, placing his beverage in the cupholder in his seat. “It only took you ten months.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware how long it’s been taking,” he grunted. For a moment, his eyes flickered toward you, though you had stopped looking at him a while ago. He shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw clenching as he forced himself to look away.

“Alright. Just call me when you’re ready, we’ll come back around and get you,” Chris shrugged, not caring either way. Matt mumbled something under his breath before turning and heading back towards the house. Chris rolled his eyes as he picked his drink up, taking another sip from it. “Fucker. Probably still mad about last night,” he huffed, pulling you in closer to his side. “Whatever, we’re still gonna have fun, right?” 

For some reason, you felt a weird tightening in your stomach as you watched Matt trudge back towards the house, the sounds of his footsteps growing fainter as he stepped off of the dock. You weren’t sure why you felt this way, almost disappointed that he wasn’t coming too. It was a strange feeling, because you knew deep down that even if he had come, he wouldn’t spare a glance or even a breath in your direction. There was no logical explanation for it, there was no reason why you should want him there, but you did. 

Maybe a part of you hoped that you could sort out your differences. That maybe one conversation alone was all you would need to build a healthy foundation for your friendship. But you didn’t need a time machine to know that would never happen. Having a one-on-one heart to heart with the man that refused to speak to you or look at you…Disney couldn’t find a way to romanticize that one even if they tried. 

“Hey.”

You looked up, his voice dragging you from your thoughts. Chris smiled as your gaze met his, holding out his fist. “Forget him. We’ll have fun without him.” You offered Chris a sheepish smile, gently bumping your fist against his. 

“Whatever you say, Chris.”

X O X O X O

“You sure you wanna be in a house alone with Miserable Matt?”

The time had flown since that morning, hours passing in what felt like minutes. The boys’ neighbors were an absolute delight. You were afraid that they wouldn’t like you, or that they’d be standoffish towards you, but you were pleasantly surprised at how welcoming they had been. Nothing but kindness was directed your way, making it far easier to relax and enjoy your excursion out on the boat with everyone. But by the time you had gone on your third tube ride with Chris, you finally started to feel the fatigue kicking in. 

“I don’t plan on interacting with him,” you laughed lightheartedly, looking over at Chris as you stepped off of the boat and onto the dock. “But I am in desperate need of a shower and a nap.”

Chris pouted, resting his chin on his arms that were folded over the edge of the lounge seats. “You sure you don’t wanna hang out just a little longer?”

“You’ll see me in a little bit. Spend some time with Nick,” you suggested, watching as the two boys turned their heads to make eye contact. Nick grimaced, shaking his head at the thought. You let out another quiet laugh at their typical brotherly behavior. “I’ll see you guys when you get back,” you stated, waving your hand dismissively as you started the walk down the dock. They called out their farewells as their neighbor expertly maneuvered the boat back out onto the lake. 

Getting into the house was easy; Matt didn’t bother to lock the door behind him when he stayed back. As you quietly slipped into the kitchen, you heard the faint music that was playing just down the hallway. ‘As long as I stay quiet, he won’t even know I’m here.’ With that thought fresh in mind, you paid extra mind to close the door behind you with attentiveness, a dull click floating in the air for a moment as the latch slipped into place. Once a few seconds had passed, you made your way through the kitchen, shifting your weight with each step you took to keep your footsteps silent. 

Making your way upstairs was tricky, but once you had made it to your room without drawing his attention, a wave of relief washed over you. You closed the door gently before letting out a deep exhale, taking a few steps into the room before collapsing back onto the bed. You weren’t sure why you were so afraid of your presence disrupting whatever it was that he was doing. Sure, he was an asshole, but he had never done anything to strike that much fear into your heart. Still, the adrenaline rush of not getting caught was like a drug, your heart pounded, you could feel it in your ears as the blood rushed to your head. Nothing you had done was wrong, but it almost felt like it as Matt unknowingly sat in his room just below. 

It only took a few minutes for you to undress, your body wrapped in a bathroom towel as you went around your room to collect the things you would need for your shower. Your heart dropped into your stomach as your toiletries bag slipped out of your hand, landing on the floor with a loud thud. The products that had been securely tucked inside, now scattered around the room. “Motherfucker- Shit!” you hissed under your breath as you got down to clean them up, stuffing them back into the toiletry bag in your hand. A gleam caught your eye, your head turning to see that some of the products had rolled underneath the bed as well. 

‘Now this is just the opening scene of a poorly directed porno,’ you thought to yourself, huffing in annoyance as you bent down, slipping your head and neck under the bed. You used your hands to push yourself forward, your shoulders and back now able to slip under as well. Upon moving further under the bed, it became increasingly obvious that the bottle was too far out of reach, but still you made an attempt. The floorboards creaked and groaned as you shifted your weight, trying your hardest to reach out and grab the mini shampoo bottle. You closed your eyes tightly, the noises almost sounding louder than they normally would. 

You prayed that the music had drowned the sound out, that Matt hadn’t heard the numerous bottles rolling around or the sound of the old wooden floors that gave away any movement that was made in their presence. You especially hoped he hadn’t heard the sound of your head bumping against the wooden bedframe as you tried to slip back out, abruptly stopping when the towel caught onto a nail in the wood, preventing you from moving. 

But of course, your luck had seemed to run out. You felt your heart racing in your chest, your voice getting lodged in your throat at the sound of his footsteps slowly coming up the stairs. You tried again to free yourself, but to no avail. You were screwed, he had caught you. You knew you’d be getting an earful from him once that door opened, but he took his time, his footsteps remaining slow and heavy as he made his way down the hallway. Your eyes screwed shut as the door to the bedroom creaked open slowly. It was quickly followed by silence, but not a regular silence. A thick silence. A silence that made your heart ram against your ribcage. A silence that made you feel like you were about to be torn apart, limb by limb.

“There’s no fucking way-” his voice was hoarse, like he had just seen a ghost. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

X O X O X O

Matt stared at the screen, a yawn slipping past his lips, eyelids heavy with boredom. He had made very little progress on his personal project, though that was no surprise to him. How was he supposed to focus on anything after this morning? Seeing you prancing around in that tiny bikini, leaving so little to the imagination. He tried to push the thoughts out of his head, he always tried but very rarely did he succeed. The image burned into his brain, your skin glowing from the sunscreen you had put on just a few moments prior, your head tilted back as you basked in the warmth of the sunshine. 

He huffed, closing his eyes as he tried to avoid the thought all together. He groaned, his dick stiffening in his pants. His hand slipped over the bulge in his pants, his jaw going slack as he palmed himself slowly. His brow furrowed, eyes staying closed as he thought about how pretty you had looked laid out on those leather seats; Your collarbones taunting him, the valley between your breasts practically yearning for his dick to slide between them. Matt’s fingers wrapped around the outline of his cock, stroking himself through the thin fabric of his pyjama pants. Another soft groan fell from his lips as his imagination plagued him with filthy thoughts. 

‘It’s fine, nobody’s home. Nobody will know.’

Matt shoved his laptop to the empty side of the bed. He situated himself, slightly lifting his hips to pull his pyjama pants down just enough for his cock to slip out. His eyes fluttered open for a moment as he wrapped his fist around his shaft, using his thumb to tease himself, gently rubbing at his tip. 

‘Nobody has to know.’

He let his eyes fall shut again, his head falling back against the headboard. Oh how he wished he could have made his brothers disappear. To suddenly snap his fingers and have you all to himself. To be the only two people on that boat, out in the middle of the lake, bending you over the console with his hand covering your mouth. Matt whimpered at the thought of you on display just for him. Your top discarded on the floor, ample breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips as he held the fabric of your bathing suit bottom aside, having no patience to remove it. His forehead pressed to yours, heavy breaths fanning across his knuckles as he muffled your moans with his palm. “Other people are trying to relax on their vacation too, baby,” he would whisper to you, his cock driving into you deeper and deeper. “Can’t ruin that for them, now, can we? That’s not very fair, is it?” 

Matt inhaled sharply, his hand finding a steady pace. He pumped his cock, a ring of precum forming at the base of his fist as it slipped up and down his shaft with ease. It was no use, this was how it always ended: Matt would try with every ounce of self control to focus, to work, to do anything of substance, and each time he would be distracted by you. Even now, with you on a boat in the middle of the lake, he could only focus on you. Your presence taunted him, consistently reminding him that he had to behave himself. That his brothers were there, and that he couldn’t just lay you down on the couch, sprawled out and writhing beneath him while he buried himself between your thighs. 

His heart skipped a beat, his hand slowing to a stop at the base of his cock. Panting softly, Matt paused and looked towards the ceiling, the faint sound of plastic and glass rolling around suddenly grasping his attention. He waited, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, almost as if he was waiting for something else; Another noise to confirm his suspicions. 

When he heard the loud thud, he quickly tugged at his waistband, securing himself behind the confines of his pyjama bottoms. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing the nearest inanimate object on his way out of the room, which just so happened to be a random antique candle holder that his mother had bought specifically for their vacation home. She had a habit of decorating the cabin with numerous knick knacks and novelties, who knew they could potentially come in handy? 

Matt circled the corner, beginning his ascent up the staircase. He cursed under his breath as the floorboards squeaked, surely giving himself away to any potential intruder that had snuck into the house. His grip tightened around the antique, his knuckles turning white. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Matt chewed on his lip as he braced himself for the worst. He stepped forward, making his way down the hallway in slow strides. ‘Somebody snuck in, they’re in your room going through your things. Thank God you went out with Chris and Nick today, who knows what could have happened to you if you hadn’t.’ He stopped just outside of the bedroom door, his chest tightening with fearful anticipation. Matt took a sharp inhale before he grasped the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open slowly. 

His brain short circuited as he stood in the doorway. “There’s no fucking way-” he croaked out, licking his lips like a man starved, his pupils dilating at the sight in front of him. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

There you were, in all your glory. His dick ached at the sight of you stuck halfway under your bed, your hips up and the hem of your towel just barely protecting your modesty. A soft whine from beneath the bedframe caught his attention. “I-I didn’t mean t-to get stuck,” you timidly spoke. Matt couldn’t do anything but watch, his jaw slack, the candle holder slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. “I just came back to shower, I wasn’t trying to bother you.”

There was just no way that this was an accident. Something had heard his prayers and delivered in the most pleasantly delectable way possible. He blinked a few times as he stood there, unsure if what he was seeing was just a figment of his incredibly active imagination. His jaw clenched as he stepped into the room, adjusting to the reality of the situation. “I can’t have a single fucking day,” Matt muttered, towering over you as he approached the bed, his cock throbbing as you pressed your thighs together tightly. “Not one single goddamn day without you being there.”

You whimpered softly at the sound of his footsteps drawing in closer, the heat rising to your cheeks as you became painfully aware of how exposed you were in this moment. The only thing shielding his wandering gaze was the thin fabric tightly wrapped around you. His voice was thick with something, of what you weren’t sure. He had never spoken to you like this before, and something about it made your head spin. “I’m sorry, I-I-I don’t know-”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he interrupted, swiftly dropping to his knees. Your heart jumped up into your throat as you felt him move down between your legs, his hands gentle as they caressed your calves. The unexpected touch sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped as he moved himself closer, his hips pressing against yours. Matt nearly came in his pants as he watched your own hips press back against his instinctively, a sight he thought he would never see. He watched with a lazy gaze, his jaw slack as your hips molded against his perfectly, like you were made just for him. One of his hands reached up, grasping at the comforter on the bed in a desperate attempt to maintain his composure. “You want me to help you get out, princess?” he taunted, his other hand moving to gently grasp your waist. 

You squirmed beneath his touch, unfamiliar with this side of him, though you weren’t complaining. His words made your head feel fuzzy, like tv static. Swallowing your nerves, you let another soft whine escape your throat. You knew it was wrong, allowing this to happen instead of fighting it after the way he had treated you for years. Still, you couldn’t ignore the ache between your legs as he touched you like you were made of glass, as if the slightest bit of force would shatter you. After years of getting the cold shoulder and nothing but passive aggressive comments, you had never expected that he would be so gentle. You whimpered at the sound of him chuckling, his fingers toying with the towel wrapped around you. “Oh no…you don’t want help getting out, do you?” he sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he moved his hips back, amused at the sight of your hips following, desperate to stay connected. “You like it, huh? Being at my mercy, stuck right here just for me,” he continued. “Like the universe wanted this. Wanted me to find you and ruin you,” he growled. His humiliating words made your face flush with a deep blush. “Come on, doll. You know I need to hear you,” he mumbled.

An embarrassed whine spilled from your lips. “Y-Yes, I-I like it.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear him inhale deeply at your confession. His hands slid gently over your lower back, his fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck, ‘s like you knew I was beatin’ my dick, thinkin’ ‘bout you in that tiny fuckin’ swimsuit,” Matt grunted softly. His words hit you like a semi-truck, completely blindsided by his suppressed feelings, but you had little time to process before he started again. “Fuck, you looked so fuckin’ pretty in that swimsuit, darlin’. Got my dick so fuckin’ hard just seeing your tits stuffed into that itty bitty top. Such a naughty fuckin’ girl, gettin’ me all riled up in front of my brothers.” 

His words were filthy, his tone dark and hungry with lust. His eyes flickered down, the blood rushing right to his cock as he watched your thighs press together tightly. His firm hands slid over the curve of your ass, the towel still hiding your body from him. A voice in the back of his head screamed for him to tear it away from you, to leave you completely bare and at his mercy. Despite the burning desire inside of him, craving to feel you and see you at your most vulnerable, he knew he was already riding a very fair line. The last thing he wanted at this moment was to overstep the boundaries he was already inching closer and closer to. “What‘re you tryin’ to hide there?” he cooed devilishly, testing the waters as he slowly slipped his hand beneath your towel, his fingers softly grazing your inner thigh. “You don’t gotta hide from me, little one.”

He didn’t move further than that, his thumb rubbing circles into your inner thigh. Your knees wobbled, the tightness in your clenched thighs growing weaker and weaker. He could feel the trembling in your legs, and yet he didn’t react. It made you feel dizzy how your desperate state seemed to have no effect on him. You whined, your eyes glossing over with frustrated tears as you ached for him, your arousal slipping down your thighs. 

He watched intently, a primal desire burning deep within him. He knew what he wanted, and he was more than ready to take it, but he needed to know that you wanted it too. He needed to know that it was mutual, that he wasn’t crazy for thinking that you could crave him in the same way he had craved you all of these years. He had to know that you desired him, that you wanted him, that you needed him. You had to need him. You had to crave him. 

His mouth went dry as you arched your back ever so slightly, your hips pressing back against nothing as you made a blind attempt to feel him. A defeated mewl from you made his heart swell, his cock straining against the fabric of his pyjama pants, begging to be set free from its cotton confinements. His lips parted, letting out a shaky exhale. He was ready to stop, afraid that he was pushing you too far, though that line had been crossed the moment he knelt down between your thighs. ‘She’s helpless, I’m taking advantage of her, what was I fucking thinking?’ Just as he started to retract his hand, he heard the soft, pleading whine that was trapped from beneath the bed frame. It was unintelligible what you had said, and yet it still managed to make his body flood with warmth. He stilled his movements entirely, unsure if he had heard you correctly. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He couldn’t have made that up…

“Say that again for me, baby. I didn’t quite catch that,” he instructed. 

You couldn’t deny it any longer. The desire was too overwhelming to push aside. “M-More, f-fuck please…m-more.” 

Silence followed, making you uneasy with anticipation. His hand remained between your thighs, but you ached to feel more of him. “You know, I was supposed to be working.” Your body trembled as his fingers inched further up your thigh. “How am I supposed to get anything done with you around, hm? How am I supposed to focus? You weren’t even in the house and I still couldn’t think about anything but you,” he growled lowly. His fingers grasped the hem of the towel and he pushed it up past your thighs, his eyes darkening as he finally caught a glimpse of what he had longed to see for so long. Matt leaned down; he needed to get a better look. He needed the image to be burned into his brain. He needed to see it when he closed his eyes. His hands grasped the back of your thighs, spreading them with a gentle firmness; he didn’t want to hurt you or push you further than you wanted, but like an animal stalking its prey, he wanted to take his time. Matt didn’t want to scare you off, he didn’t want you to run away. He wanted to feel you surrender to him, letting him tear you apart, letting him devour you until you were nothing. “You’re a sight, darlin’. Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled, his voice thick with desire as he watched your desire drool from your folds. “Beg me.”

Your body tensed at his demand, your stomach twisting into knots. He was teasing you and it was making your brain melt. “M-Matt, p-please,” you mewled weakly. 

“Please what?”

“M-More-” you choked out.

“Come on now, you can do better than that, little bunny.” The nickname was unexpected, but the whine that it drew from you was enough encouragement for him to continue. He chuckled as your thighs filled his palms, your hips desperately pressing back once again, eager to feel anything more from him. Matt licked his lips, the creamy desire between your legs begging for him to have a taste, your pussy tempting him like a ripened peach on a warm summer afternoon, teeth penetrating the ample fruit, sweet juices slipping down his chin carelessly.   “Go on, baby, try again,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning over your heat. 

It was like he had flipped a switch in your brain, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. Your body reacted to every touch, his cold fingertips contrasting with the heat that surfaced your skin. Your lips parted to speak, desperate to tell him exactly how you needed him, everything that you craved from him; But nothing came out. You squirmed around in a pathetic attempt to free yourself just enough to close the space between you. “Oh, my dumb little bunny. Trying to run away already?” He teased, moving one of his hands up your thigh, thumbing slowly at your folds. “Before I’ve even gotten to taste you?”

Your knees felt weak as his thumb circled your clit, his strokes gut-wrenchingly slow. “Nowhere for you to run, bunny. You’re all mine.” It amused him, the way you attempted to grind your hips to feel just a little more friction from him. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until I’m done with this pretty little pussy.” 

“Y-Yours,” you squeaked out. You wanted to say so much more, but that was enough for him. A satisfied smirk curled at his lips. He had you exactly where he wanted you. Years of him dreaming and fantasizing of having you all to himself, thinking that would be the furthest he would ever get with you…years spent daydreaming and envisioning every possible scenario with you...it had all paid off. This wasn’t a dream; this wasn’t his imagination. You were here with him. You were exposed for him, begging for him, giving yourself to him. 

“You learn fast, don’t you? That’s my girl. Maybe you’re not so dumb after all,” Matt mumbled, burying himself between your plush thighs. His thumb slipped away from your clit and down between your slick folds, a chuckle eliciting from the back of his throat. He loved the sounds you made in response to his touch, and he never wanted it to end. If he could tie you down and lay with you, toying with you all day long just to hear your beautiful cries and prayers, he would do it in a heartbeat. He groaned softly, your arousal coating his fingers as he slipped them between your folds, spreading them apart. “God I can’t wait to watch you fall apart on my cock.” 

In an instant, he closed the space between you, his tongue tentatively swiping over your dripping folds. You let out a soft cry at the contact, resting your cheek against the cool wooden floor. Pride rushed through him at the rewarding sound. He hummed at the taste of you on his tongue, a sweetness had never indulged in before now drowning his taste buds. A growl grew at the back of his throat as your hips pressed back pathetically and he tightened his grasp on the back of your thighs, holding you in place. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

You dug your nails into the crevices in the wood floor, biting down on your bottom lip to contain your desperate pleas for more. You had never felt more sexually frustrated in your life. Sure you had sex in the past, but it had always been lousy and sloppy. 

It had also always been planned. Expected. Predictable. And this was anything but. 

“I can play nice with you, little bunny,” he taunted, his tongue tracing your creamy folds with patience. He planted a gentle kiss to your clit, his pride only increasing at the sound of your breath catching in your throat. “And I want to play nice with you. Make you feel good,” he continued, his breath hot against your heat. “But if you’re not gonna behave, I’m gonna have to play dirty,” he smirked, flicking his tongue over your clit, just barely enough to stimulate you. You choked out a whine and clawed at the floor as you tried your hardest to contain your desires. Using every last ounce of your self control to not grind your hips back, to not fuck yourself on his tongue. “You don’t want me to play dirty, baby. I’ll keep you here all night, just like this. For hours and hours and hours,” he continued to taunt, his tone raspy but controlled as he continued to speak slowly. He let his fingers replace his tongue for a moment, spreading your folds to admire the way your arousal drooled from your entrance. “I’ll keep you here and use this pretty pussy until I can’t fill it any more. Even when you’re so full, and my cum is oozing outta you-“ he paused, painting the visual out in his head. He didn’t think it was possible for his dick to get harder than it already was, but the image of you, defeated and squirming, knees wobbling, barely able to hold yourself up as his cum spilled out of you; It was all more than enough to make his cock stiffen even more. “I’ll keep you here just to watch you. There’s no escaping from me, little one. Now, are you going to behave?” 

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his finger slipping through your drenched folds, circling your entrance slowly. “Y-Yes,” you breathed out. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave-“

That was all it took for him to plunge his finger into your dripping heat. Surprisingly, he was the one to let out a groan. “So fuckin’ tight. Fuck, I knew you’d be tight-“ he grunted. In a slow motion, he retracted his digit from your entrance, watching with a predatory glare in his eyes as the light reflected from the arousal that coated his finger. A string of your wetness was all that connected his finger with your pussy, even as he brought his finger to his lips, licking it clean. “You ever been touched like this before?”

“Y-Yes,” you choked out. It wasn’t a lie, you had been touched like this before, but never in the same way he was doing it. The men you had been with were careless, rough, impatient, needy. Matt was the opposite. Despite knowing his brothers could come back from their relaxing day out on the lake at any moment, he was patient. He was slow, attentive to every sound and movement you made. He was gentle, his focus solely on making sure you were enjoying it, especially under the circumstances you were in. 

Well, at least until he heard you say that. 

“Really?” He tested. “Enlighten me, baby. Who else made you feel this good?” 

You swallowed. Suddenly you felt nervous...shy...embarrassed. Nobody had ever made you feel this good before, not even close. But the last thing you wanted to do was feed his ego even more than it already was. He spent the last six years making you feel like shit, and now here he was between your legs, his fingers tracing softly over your clit again in gut-wrenchingly slow circles. You didn’t even need to see him to know he had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face right now, knowing that you were trapped, helpless, and enjoying it. “F-Fuck you,” you growled under your breath, biting at your lip as his fingers slipped between your slick folds again. 

“Yeah? You might if you watch that pretty mouth of yours.” He watched intently as his fingers disappeared inside of you. “I asked you a question. Who else made you feel this good?” He asked again, his voice deep and demanding, a hint of a threat in his tone. You squirmed around, jaw going slack as his fingers sunk deeper into you. His free hand came down harshly onto your ass, eliciting a soft squeak from you in surprise. “One more chance, baby.”

“N-No one,” you huffed in defeat, though your tone changed almost instantly as he started pumping his fingers at a steady pace. “Just you.”

“So smart,” Matt praised. “Say my name this time, sweet girl. Who makes you feel this good?” Sweat glistened on his brow. His lips pursed, a breath of cold air over your sensitive bud making your thighs clench together. The sight pulled an amused sound from deep in his chest. “Try again.” He leaned in again, flicking his tongue over your clit in slow, controlled strokes. 

“F-Fuck, please Matt! Y-You, Matt! Only you! Please just-” you blabbered, frustrated tears glistening in your eyes. “Do something! P-Please! Do anything!” You pleaded.

“...Anything?” He smirked, kissing your soaked heat. “Any ideas in mind, little one?” 

Matt pulled down the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, allowing his painfully erect cock to spring free. His free hand quickly wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking his shaft a few times as he watched his fingers plunge deep inside of your pussy. He licked his lips, still tasting you on this tongue. “Words, little bunny. Use your words,” he rasped. Matt almost wanted you to kick him, to knock him out of this fantasy, because there was no possible way that this was real life. He had spent years dreaming of you beneath him, years full of yearning desires, years of hormonal frustration. And now here you are. All for him. 

Still kneeled between your legs, Matt straightened himself up, his fingers slipping out of your cunt and leaving you feeling empty and desperate. He brought his hand down roughly onto your ass, a sharp smack ringing in the air from the contact. “Naughty little thing. Oh you’re gonna fit around my dick so nice, baby.” Matt held his cock sturdy in his grasp, rubbing his tip over your slick folds. “This what you wanted, baby?” he cooed, his free hand resting on your waist. 

The only thing you could get out was a pathetic whine. You wanted him, that was no secret, especially now. You had no way of hiding your arousal towards him, the excitement you felt as he slapped the tip of his cock against your sticky entrance. What you would’ve given to free yourself from under the bed so that you could roll over and watch him; Watching his dick glide between your dripping heat with ease, watching his face scrunch up as he thrusts into you for the first time. You lifted your head off of the cool wooden floor, wincing as you accidentally bump it against one of the planks above you. 

Matt chuckled softly. “Easy, little one. Y’know ‘m not gonna hurt you,” he hummed. He slapped his tip against your entrance again, groaning under his breath. “Come on now, princess. Need you to tell me what you want.” 

He patiently waited for a response from you. He honestly didn’t mind, he quite enjoyed teasing you for as long as he could. Matt caught his bottom lip between his teeth as the tip of his cock leaked with precum. He thrusted his hips slowly, his shaft gliding against your heat, your arousal combining with his. “M-Matt,” You whimpered, nails clawing at the floorboards once again. Your voice cracked, catching his attention almost immediately. “Please just…f-fuck me.” 

With those words, you opened the gates of heaven for him. Allowing him to have access to you, giving him the greenlight to take you right then and there. He surely didn’t need you to tell him again, though he loved the way it sounded rolling off of your tongue. Matt gave his cock a few quick strokes before positioning his tip at your gleaming entrance. His other hand remained glued to your waist, keeping you both steady as he eased himself inside of you. 

Your lips parted at the delicious feeling of his cock stretching you out. You could hear him hiss in response to your walls clenching around his shaft, but you had very little time to feel smug. Matt lost every single care in the world that he had, moaning loudly as he bottomed out. He didn’t move for a couple moments. You could feel his hands roaming over the plush of your ass and thighs, but his cock stilled inside of you. 

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed. He didn’t dare move a muscle. He had never been so intoxicated by a girl’s pussy in his life. The way you squeezed around him…Hell, if he sat here long enough he could cum just from that alone. It was an addictive feeling, he wanted more even if it killed him. He never wanted it to be over. “Atta girl, look at you taking my dick so well,” Matt grunted, letting his hips finally move, his dick slowly retracting from inside of you. 

You couldn’t bear it any longer, you needed him. He couldn’t leave you hanging again. Your hips followed his, sinking back down onto his cock. Matt watched in awe, his jaw going slack as you did just that. His mind went fuzzy as he watched your hips rock back and forth, working yourself on his cock desperately, coating his shaft in your creamy arousal. “That’s it, baby. Been such a good little thing for me, haven’t you?” His voice was thick with lust. He snapped out of his trance and used his hands to help guide your hips, another whorish groan escaping him. 

You whined in response; It was all you could manage to get out. Your mind was cloudy as his dick filled you more than you had ever felt before. His strong hands groped at your ample ass, pushing you back down onto his cock, his balls snug against your heat. He groaned again, though it was followed by a deep chuckle. “My sweet little bunny. I told you there was nowhere to run,” he smirked, holding your hips in place as his hips rocked backwards, his cock sliding out of you until only his tip remained buried in your heat. “I knew I could break that pretty little brain, princess. It’s not easy, huh? It’s so hard to think isn’t it?” Matt mumbled, his hips snapping forward to drive his dick back inside of you. It resulted in a cry falling from your lips, your pussy squeezing around him once more. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do all that hard thinking for you. You just turn that pretty little head off, okay?” 

His hips snapped forward again, resulting in another moan slipping from your lips. The sound was like a drug to him, he wanted it injected into his veins. “Feels so good, baby. ‘S like your pussy was made just for me,'' Matt grunted, his hips moving back again. He listened to your pathetic sounds as he pulled out, his hand stroking his cock slowly. He rubbed his tip against your folds, watching as you sunk back down onto him, his tip easing back inside of you, followed by the rest of him. His eyebrows knitted together, a low groan escaping him. He brought his hand down, striking your ass again, leaving a sharp smacking sound ringing in the air. “Impatient little brat,” he hummed, giving the other cheek the same attention. Your fingernails tore at the wooden floor, your body flinching at the impact from his hand. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop moving your hips, loving the way he stretched you full with each stroke. 

Matt loved it, watching the way you fucked yourself on his dick; He didn’t even have to move. Amused by your desperation, he cocked his head a little and continued to watch your little performance. Your milky arousal now coating his shaft, his abdomen slick with your juices as you wiggle your hips each time you sink back onto him, desperate to feel more. He groaned as your walls clenched, his dick twitching at the delicious feeling. “Pretty little thing, fuckin’ yourself on my cock…God, I jus’ wanna ruin you…Wanna fuck you so hard, you can’t walk…” His filthy thoughts, now verbally spilling from his mouth like a waterfall. “Wanna make you cum all over my cock, baby. Fuck, jus’ wanna make your pretty little pussy feel good. Only me, nobody else. Wanna put my babies right in your tummy,” he growled, his hand slipping down the side of your waist, his palm pressing against your abdomen. “Gonna put my babies right here. Fuck, I jus’ know you’d make the prettiest little angels. Nobody else's, just mine. All mine.”

He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He had never felt this burning urge in him the previous times he had sex. Something in him awakened, it made his stomach knot up. He panted softly, finally giving into his temptations as he started to thrust in time with your hips, hissing as his dick buried itself impossibly deeper inside of you. “You’d make such a good little mommy, wouldn’t you? So pretty, and soft, and nice…” Matt groaned, letting his hips find a steady pace. A ring of creamy white encircled the base of his shaft, trickling down to his balls with each thrust. The room echoed with the sticky sound of his cock slipping in and out of your tight walls. 

You could hardly process the things he was saying. Every word, dirtier than the last. It became increasingly harder to think, or to respond…all you could focus on was the euphoric feeling coursing through your veins. You gasped softly as his hand slipped down from your abdomen, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bud in quick circles. You squirmed at the feeling, knees beginning to wobble once again. “It’s what you were made for, right? My little bunny…you were made to have my babies,” he growled. He picked up his pace, his thrusts remaining relentless. A string of unintelligible vowels fell from your lips as he pounded into you. The contrast between his rough thrusts and his gentle fingers circling your clit was blissful. “Tell me what you want, princess.”

Your lips parted to speak, but you couldn’t find the words. All you could think about was how he felt inside of you, how he made you feel with his gentle touches and his filthy words. He chuckled, the sound making your thighs tremble. “Dumb little thing. Come on now, you know I can’t read your mind, baby…Not that there’s much goin’ on in there right now anyways.” 

A loud moan slips from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth and muffle the sounds you were making. Matt’s eyes darkened, leaning over until his body was pressed to yours as close as he could possibly get. He reached his free hand under the bed, grasping at your arm. It didn’t take much effort for him to pin your arm behind your back. He kept his thrusts steady, burying his cock in you with each thrust. “Uh uh, I wanna hear every little sound you make. Every whimper and squeak that I fuck outta you,” he huffed. “Naughty fuckin’ brat, tryin’ to hide how bad you want your pussy to be used. I see right through you, little one.” His fingers rubbed at your clit faster, a smirk plastered on his face as you began to fall apart beneath him. 

“P-Please…c-c-cum-” you managed to sputter out. He licked his lips, his throat going dry. “C-Cumming-” you gasped, your hips spasming as he refused to slow his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Warmth pooled in your tummy, your heart pounded against your chest, your teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your bottom lip. 

“Did I say you could?” Matt teased, stopping his fingers abruptly. With a gentle firmness, Matt slapped your clit a few times, rewarding him with the sound of your desperate cries and the feeling of you squeezing around him again. “You’ve been so fuckin’ naughty, I have half a mind to leave you like this,” he growled. “Gettin’ me bricked up every fuckin’ day, bending over in those little tennis skirts, your nipples pokin’ through your shirt, biting your lip- Fuck... every time you bite your lip I wanna grab you by your fuckin’ hair an’ bite it myself.” Matt could feel his own orgasm building up. Any girl he had been with could tell you that he would start to ramble the closer he got to his release, but never like this. “Had to throw out all the fuckin’ popsicles b’cause of you, suckin' on 'em right in front of me. D’you know how many times I had to go jerk off in my room b’cause of you? How many fuckin’ times you joined our party on the game, and I’d die just so I could mute myself and beat my dick to your pretty little fuckin’ sounds. Oh god, baby… Jesus fuck, you’re a fuckin’ minx. You don’t fuckin’ deserve to cum after the fuckin’ hell you put me through,” he growled. “But fuck…I wanna feel your little pussy tighten around my cock while you cum. F-Fuck, I want you to cum, baby.” His fingers collected the juices puddling at the base of his shaft before he reached his arm back around your torso, rubbing at your clit once again. 

“Mmmph, M-Matt,” you mewled out, your head resting against the wooden floor. “P-Please, s-so close-”

“Don’t think, baby. I know it feels good, I know you wanna cum,” Matt panted, picking up his pace as he began to thrust faster, grunting softly as his hips collided with yours. “You're gonna be a good girl and let me put a baby in your tummy, isn’t that right?” Matt whispered, his tone hoarse and gruff. He continued to circle his fingers at your sensitive clit. He knew you wouldn’t last much longer, what between your desperate pleas and your trembling thighs, it was obvious that you were close to your release. “That’s what little bunnies do best, hmm? Making pretty little babies?” He gave your ass a firm squeeze, thrusting his hips even faster. 

You squirmed again beneath him, moans spilling out of your mouth. His thrusts were rough, his hands groping and touching you possessively. You couldn’t help it anymore. Your head felt like it was spinning, your entire body flooding with warmth. “F-Fuck, I-I-I-” you stammered. He moved his hand back to your waist, holding you in place firmly. His fingers rubbed at your clit faster to bring you to your release. “C-Cumming, f-fuck Matt!” 

His fingers dug into your waist, your words only encouraging him to keep going, despite the ache he was feeling in his knees from them boring into the wooden floorboards. Matt rested his head against the edge of the mattress, the sweat forming on his brow seeping into the silk sheets on the bed. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my cock. Did so fuckin’ good for me,” Matt groaned, his hips bucking forward with the desperate need to bring them both to their release. “F-Fuck, please cum on my cock. Please, please, please…Need to feel you, n-need it so bad, baby.”

In an instant, your muscles began to tense, a hoarse cry erupting from you. Your legs wobbled and shook as your orgasm washed over you, finishing with him buried deep inside of you. Matt panted, rubbing your sensitive cunt with slow gentle strokes to ride you through your high. “Atta girl, that’s it. Oh fuck-” he groaned, pumping his cock in and out of you with quick, sloppy thrusts. “God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect. Cummin’ all over my dick, makin’ such a fuckin’ mess. F-Fuck...you’re drippin’ everywhere, baby. S-So fuckin’ messy-” he rambled, grunting with every rut of his hips. His fingers slipped away from your pussy, and he brought them to his lips, sucking your release off of his fingers. He moaned at the taste, bringing his other hand to your waist as well. “Just another minute, baby- f-fuck, ‘m so close. Doing so fuckin’ good. Squeezin’ my cock nice and tight- God you’re so fuckin’ perfect.” 

With your sweaty forehead pressed against the cold floor, you forced your hips to stay up, not letting your knees give out just yet. You weren’t about to look weak in front of him. You just hoped his thrusts wouldn’t get any rougher, because you were only one wrong thrust away from collapsing completely. 

It didn’t take long for Matt to reach his orgasm, his sloppy thrusts slowing almost to a complete stop. His stomach tightened as he bucked his hips forward roughly, groaning loudly and repeating the action. It only took a few rough quick thrusts before he pulled your hips back, forcing your bodies together as close as physically possible. Heavy breaths passed his lips, along with numerous deep moans. His cock throbbed, waves of pleasure hitting him like a tsunami as his cum pumped deep inside of you. The warmth of your pussy still snug around his shaft, along with his hot cum that was beginning to ooze from your entrance where he was still buried inside of you, it made him weak in the knees. An aftershock hit him like a jolt of electricity, his hips rutting forward. “S-So fuckin’ good,” he whimpered. 

He could’ve stayed like that forever; Buried inside of you, watching a mix of his seed and your own release leaking down his shaft. He could’ve gone again, there was no doubt in his mind. He slowly and reluctantly pulled out, his hand grasping the base of his cock. He stroked his shaft, watching with a possessive, predatory gaze as his sticky white cum oozed from your entrance, slipping through your folds and over your clit before dripping onto the floor, pooling between your knees. He wanted nothing more than to bury his dick back inside of you and fuck you until he drained every last drop of cum inside of you, until he was shooting blanks and had nothing left to give. But he knew that if his knees were killing him right now, you were probably in a much more uncomfortable state. He cursed softly under his breath, tucking his cock back into his pants. Matt looked over at the nightstand, grabbing a box of tissues and pulling a few of them from the box, gently wiping the mess from between your legs. He wasn’t worried about the mess on the floor, he would clean it up after. Right now, he had bigger priorities. 

He frowned a little as he saw your legs wobbling again. He took another handful of tissues, gently cleaning you up before tending to the puddle between your knees. Once all of his mess was taken care of, Matt tossed the box of tissues to the side, throwing the wad of used ones into the nearby trash bin. You squirmed, attempting to push yourself out from under the bed. You winced as you heard the sound of the towel ripping.

“Careful- hold on, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Matt mumbled softly as he reached under the bed frame, unhooking your towel from the nail it had gotten caught on. He pulled the hem of the towel back down to cover your upper thighs, his touch lingering slightly. You breathed a sigh of relief. Lowering your body to the ground, you did your best to keep your breathing controlled and steady. Although you wanted to just lay there for a few moments, Matt had other plans. He used all of his strength to carefully lift the bed frame, just barely off of the ground. “Come on, let’s get you out of there,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. He shifted the weight of the bed frame into one hand, using his other to gently guide you out from where you had been stuck previously. 

You didn’t want to look at him. Your stomach twisted into knots as you re-lived what just happened. Matt could tell that something was wrong, that you were avoiding his gaze for a reason, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. His brow furrowed. “Is your head okay?”

You finally looked into his eyes, reading the sincerity in them. “What?” you scoffed. 

Matt frowned a little at your tone, but he recovered quickly. “Your head…you bumped it kinda hard when you were under there. I just wanted to know if it still hurt-“

“My head is fine.” 

“Oh…okay.”

Why is he still here? Does he need an invitation to leave? You looked at him once again, and suddenly a wave of guilt washed over you. What you had done with him was wrong. He was nothing but rude to you for years, and you willingly gave him access to you and your body. You could have cursed him out, you could have fought back or screamed at him to leave the room, you could’ve asked him to help you get out, but you didn’t. “Why, Matt?” you breathed out in a defeated tone. “Why?”

He looked at you with a confused look across his face. With a furrowed brow, Matt shook his head slightly. “Wh-What are you talking about? Why what?” He moved a little closer to you, reaching out to brush your hair out of your face.

You dodge his hand, scooting back. “You know what, Matt,” you bark back. “You’ve hated me since I first came around, you glare at me and say hurtful things. You ignore me when I’m around unless you can find a way to let everyone know just how much you hate me. You refuse to do things with your brothers if I’m involved at all-“ you stopped, feeling your voice getting caught in your throat. 

Matt’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah, woah! Hate? This is news to me,” he interrupted, shaking his head again in disbelief. “I’ve never hated you, where the hell did you pull that one from?”

“Are you serious?! You interrupt me, you’re passive aggressive, you refuse to look at me or interact with me in any other circumstances, you avoid me like I’m the fucking plague, you blame me for not being able to get work done-“

Matt stayed quiet. He reached out to lift your chin. When you tried to look away again, he gently cupped your face in his hands. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked with a heavy heart. As soon as you opened your eyes to look at him, he felt like he had just been shot in the chest. “I never hated you, pretty girl. Never ever,” he whispered soothingly, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away a tear as it rolled down the curve of your cheek. 

You blinked back your tears, disgusted with the idea of looking weak in front of him. “Then why were you like that? Why did you avoid me? Why would you act like that?” You demanded an answer, one that made sense, one that didn’t make you feel sick to your stomach anymore. 

“I-I…” he started, afraid to tell you the truth after keeping it buried for so long. But as he saw the way your eyes glazed over, the way your lip quivered and your body trembled, he knew he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection. “I know how I acted was childish-“

“You think?!”

Matt sighed, though the tight feeling in his chest didn’t go away. “Just listen-“

“No, you listen. I’ve been nothing but nice to you, Matt. I’ve never made a nasty remark, I’ve never glared or scowled at you, I’ve never said anything bad about you. I’ve always greeted you, I’ve always been friendly-“

“And I can’t stand it-“ Matt interrupted you, moving his face closer to yours. He looked deep into your eyes, holding your face delicately in his palms. “I can’t stand how fucking nice you are and how perfect you are. I can’t stand how beautiful you look every goddamn day. I can’t stand it because I want it all for myself,” he admits, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m so fucking selfish, I want you all to myself. I don’t wanna fucking share with my brothers or our friends-“

“That’s such bullshit, Matt,” you scoffed. 

“I’m being for real,” he insisted, his eyes pleading for you to hear him out. “I thought if I…if I didn’t interact with you that maybe…it would all just go away. I thought…” he paused, instantly re-living every moment he had been a dick to you. The way your light would dim, the way your smile would fall and your eyes would lose their natural sparkle. The way you would go quiet and shrink back until you were overlooked, ignored, invisible. “I thought…how could a girl like you ever like someone like me…”

You stayed quiet. You weren’t really sure what to say in response to that. A moment of silence passed, and when you came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to say anything else, you took it as an opening to speak. “You expect me to believe that bullshit sob story?” You growl at him. 

Matt didn’t know how to convince you. He had spent the last six years making you feel like shit, all in an unsuccessful attempt to shield his heart. “I wish I could take it back,” he spoke softly, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek in slow smooth strokes. “I wish I could do it all over again. I-I just…I would see the way you were with Chris-” he stopped for a moment as images of you and his brother rushed through his mind like an avalanche. He looked down, avoiding your gaze all together. “I wanted it to be me…but it wasn’t. And I hated that it wasn’t.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Chris was right, you really do think you’re starring in some crazy ass Netflix Original.”

Your words stung, his eyes were full of desperation and pain, something you had never seen from him before. “You’re not listening to me,” he stated, his eyes glossing over with tears. “I’ve wanted to do that for years-”

“You’ve wanted to fuck me for years?” You scoff. “How endearing.”

“What- No! I-I mean yes, but-” He stammered, running his fingers through his messy hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I’ve wanted to be with you for years…It wasn’t just about sex, I’ve wanted you since the minute I saw you,” he continued, moving closer to you again. 

“You never said anything,” you whispered, positive that if you spoke any louder your voice would waiver. “How was I supposed to know any of this? How do I even know it’s true, Matt? How do I know you’re not just fucking with my head to get whatever the fuck you want?”

Matt leaned against the side of the bed, his eyes still refusing to meet yours. He was quiet for a long moment. He swallowed anxiously. “Brown corduroy pants and a green knit sweater.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“That’s what you were wearing the first time I saw you,” he said, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “I remember thinking…’God, that sweater is so fucking ugly’,” Matt relayed, a soft chuckle following close after. “It was like you heard me say that in my head, because you looked over at me and I thought my heart stopped beating…” 

Your facial expression softened upon hearing the moment from his perspective. It was all so different from how you remembered it. 

“Chris! Get back here and help!”

You and Matt shared a panicked look at the muffled shouting coming from outside. You winced as you stood up, legs aching as you walked over to the window and looked out into the backyard. Your eyes landed on Chris, and your movement must have caught his eye as he looked up to your window, a smile growing on his face. “Hey! We’re gonna have a cookout tonight! Come outside!”

“Chris, quit yelling! We have neighbors!” Nick shouted. 

You turned around, your heart racing as your eyes locked with Matt’s again. He looked up at you, his lips parted slightly. “I’ll leave-” Matt whispered, grabbing the bedpost as he hoisted himself up, being sure not to be in view of the window. “You uh…” he trailed off, running his fingers through his messy hair. 

Your brow furrowed, looking at him in confusion. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head in response. “You just…You look pretty,” Matt said, his eyes avoiding yours as he left the room in a hurry. The sound of his footsteps began to fade as he made his way down the hallway, the stairs creaking under his feet. You stared at the door, almost expecting him to come back, to say more, but he didn’t. 

You rushed to change into something comfortable. You decided on a pair of sweatpants and a simple tube top before you quickly made your way out to the backyard. As you stood at the back door, you saw Matt and Nick setting up some lawn chairs around the stone firepit, already bickering about something stupid, you were sure. Chris chucked a couple of logs into the firepit, spraying some lighter fluid into the pit before lighting a match and tossing it in. The contents in the pit lit up with flames almost instantly, a cheeky smile forming on Chris’s face as he opened the bottle of lighter fluid again. Nick shouted, snatching the bottle away from his brother immediately. You laughed softly, reading his lips as he shouted ‘are you fucking stupid?!’ at Chris. 

Matt laughed under his breath, looking over his shoulder for a moment. As his eyes locked with yours, you tensed up, your breath catching in your throat. You were pleasantly surprised when he smiled, a bashful redness burning in his cheeks. He looked away from you quickly, but you could still see the smile on his face. 

You stepped out onto the back porch, greeting the boys’ neighbors as they started the grill up. You shared a few moments of small talk with them before heading down the porch steps, shuffling over to the boys by the firepit. Chris smiled at you, pulling you into a bear hug. You laughed, hugging him back. Matt watched, his smile faltering a little as he looked down, focusing instead on tossing handfuls of pine needles into the fire, fueling the large flames as they engulfed the debris in the confines of the stone pit. 

Nick had noticed the strange behavior on Matt’s part, and he had been suspicious from the moment Matt happily emerged from the house, smiling and offering to help his brothers. But Nick’s suspicions only grew upon seeing you. He stood up, wiping the dirt from his hands onto his swim trunks. “Hey, feeling a little better?” Nick asked you. 

You smiled, nodding your head. “Yeah.”

“Shower pressure’s pretty nice for an older house,” Chris chuckled. 

“Yeah…It was nice, for sure,” you laughed as well, going along with Chris’s statement. 

Nick raised an eyebrow at you. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nodded again. 

Nick started to walk towards the house, stopping as he stood beside you, leaning down so that his lips were only inches away from your ear. “Your hair is dry,” he stated before walking towards the porch steps.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: Oh my, what is going to happen in part 2?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: @flowerxbunnie @megamett44-lover @xtravrgnoliveoil @mattsturnswife @sturniolofan4lifee @oversturn @soursturniolo @sturnioz @luverboychris @meerkatzthings @soupuurr @gemofthenight @sturnsforlife @hi-7-hi @blahbel668 @mattspleasure @sturnybabes @jjmaybankswifes-blog @sturniolosreads @bernardsleftbootycheek @egirlshit @matthemunch44 @nonamegirlxsturniolo @chrizz333 @sturniolopowers @mattsleftnipple03 @worldlxvlys @hearts4chriss @janiellasblog @creamoncreamoncream2 @meg-sturniolo @ellie-luvsfics @lustfulslxt @braindead4l @ghostlythinggoingaround @taekwite @querenciasturniolo @whicked-hazlatwhore @m4ttslvr @mqttittude @bewtyschooldropout @lovelybrokenheal @h3arts4harry @riowritesitall @freshloveforthefit @esioleren @colorthecosmos444 @mbbsgf @kitkatbar1275

[wordsinhaled]

i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

[ceilidho]

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[obsessiveloveistheonlylove]

Yandere bruce wayne with neglected!daughter reader

Seen a bunch of neglected reader fics recently but I haven't seen one of a Reader who slowly starts to take advantage of the situation and uses batfam for their money and connections so here's this! This only focuses on Bruce for now but if anyone is interested I'd be willing to do some for the other batfam members + hcs for when/if they snap and kidnap the reader. 

Was suppoused to headcanons but ended up more as long rambles than anything lol mainly set up for later posts detailing the situation

Pt1 it got too long, word count ; 2461

Unedited

___

Bruce is absolutely the most susceptible to this behavior, he feels the most guilt about the situation (as he should for being a neglectful father) and he is not going to lie to himself to try and save face and make himself feel better and if he does it's only for a short while before reality slaps him in the face and he has to see the truth. The truth is that there is no one to blame but himself.

When he first noticed your disappearance it had happened slowly… entirely too slow when he really took the time to think about it. You had been gone for a full year and he hadn't even noticed? Were you even old enough to be on your own like that? Something he felt ashamed that he even had to ask. When Alfred informs him that you're nineteen just this month he's shocked not only that you're an adult and that he didn't even realize your birthday had passed but that he couldn't even remember your face. He searches his memories for your Visage but all that he can recall is murky; he can't even remember the correct shade of your eyes or your hair and it startles him how long has it been since he took the time to properly look at you? 

It takes some time but eventually he remembers your face with sudden clarity, he hadn't seen it in a while and the only image he could conjure up was when he first saw you, a small helpless looking child left on his doorstep by commissioner Gordon.  your eyes held the same dull glassy look that his did the night his parents died, you had lost your mom in a similar vein he felt he could relate to at the time. he remembered seeing you and feeling sad for you but not in the way a father does for his child the way he felt was the same way he felt as Batman seeing victims in Gotham streets you didn't deserve this life but you weren't anyone close to him. 

His chest aches and he remembers the way you'd clung to him your first week in the manor and then the way you wilted when he shut that down, it wasn't like he was trying to hurt you but he couldn't have you following him around everywhere especially not when gothams crime was getting out of hand even with the other members picking up his slack. So he reprimanded you, way too harshly now that he looks back on it he knows he only meant to keep you from discovering his secret but he could have worded it better instead he made it sound like you were a burden. Maybe you were to him at the time he thinks and is disgusted with himself for even letting the thought cross his head. 

He reads your diary page after page until he reads through the whole thing. The first few pages are hopeful but solemn detailing how much you missed your mother but you're glad that you have a whole new family and you hope that they will like you, it's heartbreaking to read that kind of childish hope turn into sadness and then hate. You detailed how no one would make time for you that you'd tried everything to get their attention but you'd get blown off by each one it turns into rants about you asking what was wrong with you and why no one ever spent any time with you the writing was scribbled on so he knows you did it in a hurry just to vent out your frustration. The part that hurt most were the pages about him, you had nothing good to say about him in fact in one of the pages you had written that you didn't have much to say about him at all that you hardly knew him and barely saw him once a month and couldn't even call him your father. 

Surely that couldn't be true right? He's not the best father figure by far but he always tried to make time for dick, Tim, Jason, Steph, Damian and Cass ... .surely he did for you. 

He tries to find memories of him being a good father or at least trying to be any kind of father figure to you at all but he can't he can only see the times he rejected your pleas to spend time with you for things he deemed more important than you he sees it clearly each time he rejected you how you got sadder and sadder how you seemed to wilt at each and every rejection until you stopped asking. 

he tries to tell himself that he did it for your protection that he just didn't want to get you involved in the crime fighting scene and since gothams streets were never without crime he spent an exorbitant amount of his time as Batman down in the batcave or out fighting crime with his other children and that's why he couldn't spend time with you. And that's why he seemingly had so many memories with them in the recent years; hell even in the recent weeks he has more memories with dick and the others than he ever had made with you. he tries to use it as an excuse to mask the truth; that you didn't matter in the grand scheme of his life, at least not then but he's going to do everything to make this right.

You'll be surprised to suddenly get a ton of texts from an unknown number even more so when you find out it's from bruce. Suddenly he's asking you how you've been, how was the move, are you in college right now, what major did you take? Obviously you're taken aback when the man who acted like you didn't exist suddenly wants to know everything about you. You would think he'd needed something but you know better than that what could he possibly need with you now? You don't have any money and he wouldn't need that anyways. Maybe he's dying and needs a kidney or something…whatever you don't care that man can rot. 

You leave his messages on read of course, because you don't owe him a response and well maybe to be a bit petty and give him a taste of his own medicine. You don't know how bitter the taste is in Bruce's mouth, he knows you've seen them so why won't you respond? Bruce usually isn't a multi texter but he'll send more and more trying to get any kind of response out of you, he's constantly checking his phone hoping to see three little dots appear and he's noticeably slightly more angsty when out patrolling with the others. 

The texts were annoying but you could mute his notifications and after the first few weeks you basically forgot about the texts going about your normal life until he started calling. It seemed like he was always calling Day in day out, you blocked his number because of how annoying it was but he always just gets a new one leaving the same text “ hey your name its dad” and then the calling would resume. 

One day you pick up and Bruce sounds so relieved when he says your name into the receiver you figure he might really need that kidney if he sounds this excited to see you.

When you answer back he knows you aren't excited in fact you sound completely disinterested in him which takes him by surprise, isn't this what you wanted? What you cried for in your diary begging God that your father would notice you. You're older now so maybe you just aren't looking for that kind of attention anymore, the thought haunts him the idea that he could never truly make it up to you still he pushes through his voice sounding nervous as he starts to tentatively ask about your day. You cut him off with a scoff after some terse conversation telling him to just get to the point already and stop wasting your time. 

The silence is deafening and you almost hang up before he croaks out a response “sorry name, I just wanted to know what you were up to I know we uh.. haven't talked in awhile I just wanted to hear from you and know that everything was alright”  could this really be your father? He sounds so pathetic to you at that very moment, nothing like the confident man you saw on television often nor the man you saw taking care of everyone but you. 

And no nothing was alright you were working a job you hated in some shitty little apartment in Gotham that you had to fear if it would get broken into or not because the damn landlord wouldn't change the faulty locks a rage takes you and you just let it all fall out cursing him for your shitty life and the shitty apartment and for being a shitty father letting all that rage out until you're left heaving.  its silent after your outburst you think he might have hung up but after a moment he offers to pay for a new place and offers to pay your current rent until you can break the lease and that he will take care of you and not to worry about anything financial telling you to quit your job and to send him your bank so he can get things sorted out.  

At first you wanted to vehemently deny this, wanting to prove to yourself that you didn't need him or his help but something In the back of your head tells you to accept it, that if he expects anything back for it then that's his fault for assuming. So you tell him and soon there's a large sum of money in your account more than you have ever had in there. For once you can actually afford to treat yourself instead of eating shitty microwaved ramen, and so you dine out in a nice reasonably expensive restaurant with your friends and you enjoy yourself. 

A week passes in silence and then he's sending you pictures of luxury apartments telling you to pick out any one you want and that he'll get everything settled and you almost can't believe this. Would he actually pay for something so outrageously expensive? You almost doubt it but once your lease is up Bruce is at your door helping you move out any furniture you wanted to keep which was almost nothing seeing as everything was already worn out anyways. 

You didn't say much to him and he seemed to realize you were in no talking mood so he allowed you to be quiet and told you about himself instead talking about the boys and what he'd been working on recently, it feels like what he should've been for you years ago an interaction you'd have killed for when you were fourteen and it just pisses you off so you turn on the radio instead to drown out his words. You don't care how he's doing, you don't want to hear about dick or damian, you're only accepting his help because you're tired of living in that shitty apartment. The ride is otherwise silent except for the annoyingly upbeat pop music which would probably make Damian or Jason have an aneurysm if they had to listen to it. 

The goodbye is  awkward. You can tell Bruce wants to come inside and talk more but you thank him for helping you move in the furniture and shut the door. 

He buys you new furniture without you asking and sends it in by the second week you're in the apartment. You don't realize that he stalks your posts and that he saw one of you complaining about the lack of good furniture.

Life has never been better for you, you live in luxury and can go on shopping sprees literally whenever you want and Bruce sends you a random stream of cash whenever you start to get low and you're definitely not going to look a gift horse in the mouth not when you enjoy every luxury you are afforded. 

Life is good until a certain black haired prick starts inserting himself into your life and this time it isn't bruce, nope it just had to be your annoyingly bubbly, touchy, and all too friendly ‘stepbrother’ dick grayson.

___

So yeah all in all Bruce has the capability to recognize your strained relationship is all his fault and that he never should have ignored you and how selfish he was to put his duties as Batman above his duties as a father to you. He realized he didn't even try to balance the two. 

And Despite himself he ended up hurting you and neglecting you so he feels he owes it to you to make things right even if 'making things right' entails him buying you a luxury apartment or purchasing the latest phone or new car. The best part is that Bruce will not demand time from you (yet) because of his guilt.  He simply suggests that maybe you should come out with him saying that he planned a whole day for the two of you but the ball is in your court since whether or not you ever accept his invites he will continue to be your cash cow to absolve himself of his guilt. 

It's fun because now you get to watch him wilt everytime you reject his attempts at reconnecting, you get to have your petty revenge watching as a part of him dies inside each and every time you ignore the conversations he tries to start when pulling money out of the bank,  you get to watch how he seems to lose all of his luster when you leave once the cash is in your hands without so much as a thanks. Bruce isn't stupid he knows this dynamic is unhealthy and recognizes it for what it is but this is the only way he can get you to talk to him or to even look in his direction. He has his limits though eventually you will talk to him whether you want to or not 

[youryanderedaddy]

When Life Gives Lemons

tw: female reader, technically non con because of stealthing, baby trapping, breeding, obsessive behavior, reader being a bit rude

You couldn’t believe the irony of your life. You were about to break up with your immature boyfriend, and he still managed to be grossly late to the date, unconsciously digging his own grave deeper. You had put on your best white shirt and the tightest skirt you owned, and you even went through the trouble of booking the latest hipster coffee shop close to the centre. He had been fifteen minutes late, to be exact, and when you brought it up, he simply shrugged a long sleazy smile, dragging his skeleton - shaped metal rings against the edge of the table.

“All in due time, princess.” He took a sip off his coffee - a single shot of espresso with no creamer, as always. “All in due time.” He repeated, reaching in his pocket for a pack of off - brand cigarettes. He really couldn’t afford any of the fancy ones. Once the cigarette was lit, he slowly brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting his head relax against the chair. His thick neck tightened as he swallowed the deadly smoke, and even the sun seemed to avoid his messy dark locks, instead keeping the man in the shadows.

“What does that even mean?” You threw your hands around helplessly, sinking into your chair. “Don’t you want to know?” Axel teased, taking another puff. Although his expression was one of mild amusement, his sharp blue eyes were carefully following your every movement - wondering what will tip you off the most. “You know, you’re so fuckin’ hot when you’re mad, mami.” He smiled in a playful boyish way that once would have made you melt, but now only served as a reminder of his unserious nature.

“Stop playing around. I need to discuss something imp–”

“Shhh, don’t talk, babygirl. I need to show you something.” Axel interrupted, gripping the big guitar closer to his lap. ”I wrote you a song.” His thin fingers grazed the delicate transparent strings, forcing a catchy, although not fully polished melody out of the old thing. He took a deep breath, wetting his lips so the lyrics would come out softer. 

My girl knows how to set me

on flames she goes through 

the motions of the wind she

is a fireball, a fireball, on fire

“What the fuck, Axy.” You pounded your fists at the table, shaking the glasses and spilling coffee all over the wooden surface. You could feel everyone’s judging stare across your back, all of the other patrons were jeering and whispering about the two of you, and your cheeks were heating up by the moment. “I’ve told you countless times to stop writing those shitty songs. They don’t even rhyme, for fuck sake.” You whined, suddenly overwhelmed by helplessness. He was never going to change, was he? “This is exactly why I want to break up.”

The music stopped entirely. His dark sunglasses ended on the ground. 

“You wanna break up?” The musician repeated slowly, suddenly appearing awfully composed - so composed it made you look crazy. After that question he remained silent for a very long time, taking long drags off his cigarette while studying your face for any sign of your true feelings bleeding out. “Real’ funny, babe, real’ fun joke.” He forced a crooked smile, reaching in to squeeze your hand all the way through the table. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with the song? I stayed real’ late to compose it just for our date today.” He winked, which only made you feel worse.

“I am being serious, Axel. Let go of me.” Your tone turned icy and your ex boyfriend quickly released you, eyes filling with raw fear. “Wait, baby, we can talk about–”

“There is nothing to talk about. You’re such a child!” You blurted out, too frustrated to spare energy on fluttery words and sweet apologies. “I want to do my masters soon. You know I’m applying to Metwyorth - I can’t be seen hanging around with a high school dropout who does Saturday gigs for a living.” You continued, pursing your lips together. You knew you were being harsh, cruel even, but this was the only way to push him away. The musician could be awfully clingy, so you needed to be firm.

“A highschool dropout who made you scream your brains out.” Axel responded bitterly through clenched teeth, eyes growing dark with anger. You shook your head bashfully, avoiding his fiery gaze. “Sure, we had our fun,” You gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, trying to hide the shame blossoming on your sides. “But it’s time to wake up. I mean, be realistic. We live in different worlds.” You began to collect your things quickly, standing up to leave.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, causing you to turn back just for a second - you owed him that much for all the good memories you knew you both would have trouble forgetting. “You’re making a mistake. Please, think it through.” The man took a hold of your hand, caressing your fingers gently. “I know I can’t offer you much right now, but I really love you!” His eyes dilated, honest and clear like an untouched sea on a quiet day. 

“Goodbye, Axel.”

***

You meet him sooner that you’d like.

Two weeks later you’re drunk off your mind, dancing the night away with some of your girlfriends when you catch a pair of familiar eyes fluttering across your body from the other side of the room. It makes you feel hot all over - despite what you said back then, you felt each agonising moment of the break up. Even if the logical part of your brain knows you have no future with such a man, your body needs him, craves him. 

Axel keeps staring at you intensely, burning holes through your neck, your thighs, your lips. His yearning gaze lingers, completely miserable, and yet as lustful as the night he first wrapped his arms around you and claimed you as his. He can still feel your nails scratching his back red and bloody, sending shivers down his spine and setting fire in his loins. This staring game of yours lasts for approximately thirty minutes before he gives in and comes over to your table. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t look at you or greet your friends, doesn’t even pretend to have any reason to approach you. He simply grabs you, swallows an airy pant, and drags you inside the bathroom.

You’re all over each other in no time. His hands are tangled in your hair and your nails are sinking into his warm flesh once again. You can’t breathe for a second, suffocated by a deep, longing kiss that he only spares you of once your lips start to turn blue. He licks your neck and bites at any spot vulnerable enough to steal a gasp out of you - and you return it by sucking on his collarbone until a purple hickey adorns his skin. You swiftly unzip his loose pants and start taking your dress off, but as you try to spread your legs, he turns you around facing the wall. 

“Fuck, I wanna do you from the back, princess.” Axel mumbles, one strong hand gripping your throat as the other gropes your breasts freely. You nod weakly, too turned on to comprehend any of the words he’s saying. “Ngh, wanna be able to pull your hair n’ shit.” His fist wraps around your ponytail, pulling slightly so you expose your neck to his teeth. You can already feel his throbbing manhood prob at your thighs, slowly moving towards your entrance. “Y-you have a condom on, right?” You manage to whimper through the little electric bursts of pleasure running through your whole body as he plays you like an instrument. He mumbles something like “yeah”, and in this state of mind that’s enough for you.

He starts sinking into your heat slowly, letting you adjust to his hard length inch by inch, then once you’ve settled, practically begging him to just give it to you, he begins thrusting painfully slow - really making you feel it going in and out, in and out in a perfect rhythm. Each time his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot, you’re reduced to a slick, desperate mess, but just as your thighs begin to go numb and you slip down, Axel catches both of your wrists and pins them to the wall, keeping you in place. You’re so wet you can hear the slap of skin on skin every time your gummy walls hug his member, but you’re too far gone to care about the nasty sound.

“F-fuck, baby, you’d be so fucking hot as a mother. Have you ever thought about it?” Your ex whispers against you, picking up the pace. You shake your head - kids have never been your priority, since you’re still so young and your education would always come first. “I thought about it. A lot, ‘n fact, when we were separated.” His heartbeat fastens. “Ugh, you’re still so tight, god…” His free hand dances at your hips, ogling and caressing any curve it can find. “When you dumped me, I was completely lost, ya know? Didn’t sober up for three days. But then I dreamt that I knocked you up accidentally. S-shit, did you just tighten up?”

Your whole body stiffens at his words. Your stomach fills with unexplainable dread - this whole conversation is turning you off, but somehow your body seems to have a mind of its own. 

“Q-quit it with the small talk, asshole.” You groan, pushing back so you’d get more friction between your legs. “Just fuck me, okay? I don’t need to hear your weird fantasies.” You hear yourself saying confidently despite the provocative position you’re currently stuck in - you can’t even see his face, but you know he’s probably laughing at your bossy comment. But instead he keeps blabbering on as if you’re not even there. “You were so beautiful, princess. So big and–” He bites his lower lip. “So fucking needy for me - just like now. You were dripping everywhere. You were so excited for our little baby.” He grunted hoarsely, reaching in to stroke your clit - and despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. 

“And we were a family - just you, n-ngh, me and the little guy.” Axel utters through clenched teeth, trying to hold out for as long as possible - savouring you in tiny little bites. “No stupid degrees or anythin’, just us two against the world.” He slows down further, now barely moving inside of you. It’s driving you crazy with anticipation - both his story and the way he’s fucking you. “And it made me think, we could really have all that - if it wasn’t for your stupid pride. All I need to do is knock you up. Just think about it.” The man grips your hips roughly, impaling you on his thickness. 

“Your tits will swell, your thighs will thicken; you’ll be so tired you’ll have to lay down all the time. You won’t even be able to touch yourself because of your belly.” He smiles at you gently, although you can’t see it. At this point you’re already so close to climax you can’t break through the cotton cloud haze that’s taken over your mind to truly focus. This is one of the reasons you had to break up with the musician - he could get you cockdrunk with a simple touch, and that vulnerability felt terrifying.

“And I will take care of you through every-” He kisses your cheek. “single–” He kisses you again. “step of the way.” He inhales deeply, thrusting in one final time before he spills inside you. “I love you, baby. I really can’t let you go.”

[wanders-in-wonderland]

The Popular Vote

The livestream always happens on midnight of Saturday. There’s a hefty buy-in to be able to tune in but that never stops the audience from growing in number every stream. Every viewer has one ballot per round, each round is different. Cast your ballot before the vote ends and the majority option gets played out in real-time.

This Saturday night, I made the mistake of staying overtime at work, and I missed the last train home. Which meant walking alone on a dark path that, in the daylight, would be a breezy twenty minute stroll. But at night, it’s a different story. And clearly, since that dark trek put me in the perfect position to be taken away in a van by men who were interested in seeing me crying and screaming in pain and pleasure, at the whim of a merciless audience.

When I wake up, I’m naked and tied up, arms and legs spread out, suspended from the ceiling, with each foot on a small platform that offered enough support to take the strain off my arms and shoulders but not enough to offer any true leverage.

It takes me a few minutes to shake off the grogginess of whatever sedative they’d drugged me with, but when I do, I feel my blood run cold.

I’m surrounded by massive screens, several of which show live footage of my predicament from different angles. The screen that scares me the most is the one showing a live chat feed, with a constant barrage of messages coming in from viewers. The set-up is terrifyingly sophisticated and fear curdles my stomach in a way that makes tears well up in my eyes.

“Please! Please let me go!” I cry into the cold, unfeeling room of machinery and screens. My body struggles against the bindings but there’s no give. There’s no audible reply but I watch the chat light up with comments that make me shudder.

“I fucking love when the whores beg before we’ve even started.”

“She’s hot when she’s squirming, can’t wait to see how much she struggles tonight.”

“I wanna see her beg for mercy. Not that there will be any.”

I sob harder, tears making the chat box blurry in my vision. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that there’s no one and nothing saving me from whatever is going to happen here.

Suddenly, a robotic voice fills the room. “Welcome to The Popular Vote. For those of you who are new to the show, please remember that each of you have a single vote to cast during every round. Vote in the allotted time and our team will implement the majority vote’s decision. Please enjoy the show.”

I gasp when the door to the room opens and four men walk in, dressed in identical black uniforms with masks covering their faces.

“Please! Please, let me go, this is a mistake!” My desperate voice fills the room but has no impact on the men, they didn’t even look in my direction, instead walking past me towards a storage cabinet behind me.

I watch through the camera’s footage as they open the cabinets and start to pull out item after item. Each one makes me more and more scared as they pull out various toys, vibrators, and other devices and machines I don’t even recognize.

There’s an electronic ding that fills the room and the same robotic voice is back. “Our first poll is beginning. Please vote now. Option 1 is subjecting our victim to clitoral stimulation by vibrator. Option 2 is vaginal penetrative stimulation by fucking machine.”

I cry out, “Wait, no, please! I don’t want this, please stop!” I watch in vain as the votes start to roll in on the screen, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming me as I watch two competing bars increase in percentage on the screen as viewers place their ballots.

There’s a robotic series of dings that sound, signaling the final few seconds of voting and through my panic, I see that the second option has pulled ahead of the first.

I choke out another sob as I watch the four men in the room start moving towards me. Two of them are rolling a machine over, a motorized piston with a massive dildo attached to the end of it. Clearly it’s meant for me.

“Please, please, no, I don’t want this, please stop!” I know it’s useless to beg but I can’t help it. My voice is shaky and thin with apprehension and I can tell it has no effect on any of the men. I glance to the chat box and the messages there make me feel even more helpless.

“That whore is going to love that machine, these little sluts always do.”

“I hope she squirts and cries when she realizes she likes this, stupid whore is going to get fucking ruined.”

In the few moments I spent reading comments, the men have rolled the fucking machine right under me and started to raise it to reach my core.

With my legs tied down and spread, there is nothing protecting me from the toy and it’s violation of me. I feel the tip of the fake cock brush my core and I thrash pointlessly, barely able to move to make a difference.

As the machine continues to rise, I feel my stomach clench when I realize that my pussy is wet. I gasp when I feel the tip of the dildo breach my core, the thickness of the toy filling me so well that I can’t help but groan. The machine continues, pushing the toy slowly and steadily filling my cunt. My back arches as I feel it rub against every part of my now-dripping cunt and I whine when it finally comes to a stop, fully seated inside of me.

I’m panting, the massive dildo splitting me open in a way that feels so fucking good. I clench around it and whimper when pleasure shoots up my spine. I glance at the livestream and see my own image, my eyes wild and body heaving from the pleasure of just having the toy inside of me. The chat box is flooded with comments about me, the way I look, the sounds I make, and the anticipation of what is to come.

Suddenly, one of the men in the room toggles a switch on the machine, and it begins.

My scream is drawn-out and wanton in response to the indescribable pleasure that floods my every sense. The men set the machine at a relentless pace, the huge cock driving into my cunt ruthlessly at a pace that is virtually inhuman.

I’m lost in the sensation of every single thrust sliding against my g-spot and slamming into my cervix, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. I can feel my body trembling at the onslaught of raw, unadulterated pleasure and the sounds that the machine is pulling from my lips could make a pornstar blush. I can feel the creeping warmth of an orgasm fast approaching as the machine fucks me into submission.

Suddenly, an electronic ding sounds. The robotic voice comes on again, with an announcement that barely registers in my pleasure-scrambled brain. “Please vote to determine the next step. Option 1 subjects our victim to forced orgasms, option 2 is edging and orgasm denial, and option 3 is ruined orgasms.”

I whine and plead but I don’t even know what I’m begging for. My eyes are too unfocused to see the progression of the vote, and of the options, I can’t even begin to fathom which would be the best. I hear the three dings that signal the vote has ended and I force my eyes to focus on the screen, my stomach clenching when I see the result: ruined orgasms.

The machine hasn’t relented on its motions, each thrust driving into my wet cunt in a way that is so perfectly and achingly torturous. My clit is throbbing and part of me wishes I could grind it against something, anything to give me a little more stimulation to push me over the edge. But there’s nothing beyond the machine forcing its cock deep inside of me, making me ride the wave of pleasure that pushes me towards to precipice of a massive orgasm. I feel my entire body tense in response to the impending onslaught of pleasure and my pussy clenches around the dildo splitting me open.

Two more hard thrusts pushes me over the edge and I let out a moaning scream as I feel the tension snap and my body clenches in burning pleasure. A seemingly endless wave of overwhelming and uncontrollable pleasure slams into me as my orgasm erupts. At that exact moment, the toy inside of me a delivers a horrible jolt of electricity, one that slams through my cunt and cruelly and abruptly yanks my body away from pleasure.

The pain takes my breath away but my body reacts more to my ruined orgasm than it does the shock. My moan turns into a wail as useless pleas pour out of my mouth, tears running down my cheeks as I feel the toy continue to fuck me through the disappointment of an orgasm it forced upon me. There’s a cruel emptiness inside of me despite the unrelenting fake cock that fills me with every thrust and a gut-wrenching, unfulfilling hunger that overtakes the pleasure that was horribly ripped away from me.

“Ah, fuck, please, please make it stop!” My voice is ragged and desperate as I plead for mercy from an uncaring audience. The men in the room are maintaining their cold indifference towards my suffering as the machine under their control continues to batter my body.

I feel my body shudder in overstimulation as the merciless machine pushes me closer to another orgasm. There’s no break or respite and my pleas fall onto deaf ears.

And as before, just as I feel my orgasm approaching, the feverish pleasure barely rises within me before it’s ripped away, ruined by the delivery of a shocking pain through my pussy that makes me scream in anguish.

The next time it happens, I hear myself wail out desperate cries and pleas that are met with silence. The time after that, my body jerks pitifully in the bindings as every muscle tenses in grief. The one following is the strongest one yet, the constant buildup and denial pushing my body to the brink of tortured pleasure. As the achingly sweet orgasm barrels through me, my pussy clenches down and gushes with my release. I can feel my own juices flowing down my legs, but my squirting orgasm isn’t any different than the previous cruelly ruined ones. The impeccably-timed electric shock yanks my body back from what would have been a mind-shattering, toe-curling sensation and leaves me feeling hollow and helpless.

After that, I stop keeping track of the ruined orgasms. My body should have been shuddering from the overstimulation of countless orgasms but instead, it aches with a voracious, unfulfillable ache that creates an unbearable cycle of horrible, desperate need barely satisfied with every orgasm until it’s torn away. The predictability of it does nothing to assuage the torment, it only makes it worse, to have every beautiful moment of pleasure marred by the inevitable loss that I can do nothing about.

An electronic ding breaks through the haze, another round. The machine beneath me pauses and I choke back a sob at the temporary relief, desperately try to focus on the words that are being announced.

“Our next round will be introducing pharmacological enhancements and orgasm denial. Please select to determine which of the following will be administered to our victim. Option 1 is administration of our proprietary aphrodisiac with no excess stimulation. Option 2 is administration of our proprietary numbing treatment with clitoral stimulation by vibrator.”

My mind wraps around the meaning behind the announcement and I feel myself tremble with desperation. I want nothing more than to cum, just to feel the full, body-shaking, mind-numbing torrent of pleasure that will flood me when a full, uninterrupted orgasm washes over me. But it’s clear that they have other plans.

I watch as the votes roll in, my heart pounding as the two options are very evenly matched in popularity. I brave a glance at the chat box and whimper when I see the comments.

“I fucking love driving a whore insane with denial. I wonder what kind of promises she’ll make to try and convince us to let her cum.”

“If she were mine, I’d never let her cum again. Sluts don’t deserve orgasms.”

Three dings break my concentration and I swing my gaze over to see the results. Option 2 has won out, but barely. I whimper softly as the four men immediately begin to set up. I watch as they wheel the fucking machine out from under me. A blush stains my cheeks when I see the dildo dripping in slick, evidence of my countless ruined orgasms.

I watch through heavy lidded eyes as one of the men reached for a small container. He deftly opens it and dips a gloved finger in, his finger coming out coated in a creamy ointment.

I watch as he comes towards me, his ointment-covered fingers coming to meet my clit in a soft motion that makes me cry out. He is thorough as he rubs the ointment onto my clit, his fingers gently moving against me, offering a delicious friction that pushes me closer towards another orgasm.

The curling warmth of an oncoming rush builds in my core but before I could fully embrace the pleasure, he pulls away and I choke out a whine. “No please, please I’m so close,” my voice is so broken to my own ears but not enough to sway the man.

They wheel out a different machine, this one shaped like a saddle, lined with ridges that line up perfectly to vibrate against and wreak havoc on my sensitive clit. It doesn’t take long for the men to position the machine underneath me. I feel the cold material of the machine against my burning hot pussy and without even thinking about it, I start to grind myself against it. A broken moan leaves my lips at the pleasure that fills me and I whine softly, trying harder to move myself to rub my throbbing clit against the machine that was very quickly starting to dampen from my dripping cunt.

I know without looking at my own image on the livestream that I made for a shameful display of wanton lust and desperation but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My hips move desperately, the bindings making it so that my movements were limited but not impossible. My eyes drift shut as I chase the pleasure, continuing to grind against the machine.

I can feel myself approaching my orgasm, a few more moments and I could almost taste the sweet pleasure. But something was wrong. Even as I rolled my hips against the machine, I could feel sensation fading in between my legs. My clit throbs and aches but the feeling of the ridges against me has become muted, and no matter how hard I grind myself against the machine, the result was the same and I’m faced with the reality that the orgasm I was chasing so closely is too far out of reach now.

I cry out, begging into the void, “Please, no, please! Make it come back, please! I need to cum, I need it!”

My begs are met with silence and I glance towards the chat box, hoping to see something, anything, that would bring me relief. But there’s nothing but cruel, taunting comments.

“Dumb fucking whore doesn’t even understand what’s happening to her stupid body.”

“They haven’t even turned on the machine yet and she’s crying. I love when sluts realize that there’s nothing they can do against the numbing cream.”

“Her clit is so fucking swollen, I hope she doesn’t get a good orgasm at all tonight.”

Suddenly, the machine beneath me roars to life. I gasp when I feel the vibrations course through my body, the harsh motion batters my clit, but instead of being overwhelmed with pleasure, all I can feel is a vague sensation. I sob when the real understanding of what is happening sinks in. The numbing cream they used on me has left me completely unable to feel the machine. I can feel my pussy clenching in need, dripping over the machine uselessly, unable to enjoy any of it. There are wordless whines and begs erupting from my lips as I chase an unreachable end. I beg because there’s nothing else I can do, and because I know that’s what the audience wants to see.

As my mind wraps around this knowledge, I feel broken. My pussy clenches at the understanding that I’m here purely for other people’s entertainment. My suffering is for their enjoyment, and every orgasm ruined, denied, or forced out of my helpless body is done so without any regard to me or my pleasure. I stare into the camera as the machine underneath me batters my clit in a way that should be making me scream. Despite that realization, or maybe because of that realization, my cunt is leaking and clenching and throbbing. My entire being has narrowed to my clit and my cunt, the ghost sensations of pleasure brushing against my psyche.

My mind is fracturing under the torment of nothing. It tries to rationalize, to make feeling where there is none, and if I really focus, I can fool myself into believing that my clit isn’t numb, isn’t blind to the torturous machine that should be pulling orgasm after orgasm out of me. I don’t know how long I’m suspended in nothingness, how long I’m held in this punishing situation of unreachable pleasure.

Three dings pull me out of my mindless misery. My eyes jump to the screen, seeing the chat light up with excited comments about what’s the come. The robotic voice fills the room.

“We reach the end of our night together and our final poll, please vote now. Option 1 allows our victim to be subjected to forced orgasms after we administer the antidote to the numbing cream in combination with targeted electrostimulation while option 2 involves continued denial with impact play and flogging.”

I can’t stop myself from screaming into the room. “Please! Please, fuck, please let me cum! Please!”

I writhe and renew my struggling, starting to futilely grind myself against the vibrator, hoping that the vote will go in my favor. My eyes glance towards to chat box, my heart pounding in anticipation as I read the flood of messages, hoping desperately for mercy.

“I don’t think this fucking whore deserves to cum tonight, I’d rather see her get her tits whipped.”

“I want to see her pass out from being forced to cum over and over again. Plus I wanna see her tight little body shake with electricity.”

My eyes flit to the results of the poll and my heart leaps when I realize option 1 is pulling ahead. Three dings confirm the results of the vote and immediately, I see one of the men approach me with the antidote.

I sob when his fingers brush this new ointment over my swollen clit and all I can do is babble out whines of gratitude. It doesn’t take long for the antidote to take effect as the vibration of the toy begins to wreck me.

There’s no slow, soft build of pleasure. There’s only pure, bone-shattering sensation that slams into me. It tears my breath away and my body erupts in orgasm. The countless denied and ruined orgasms from the beginning of the night seem to have compounded into one horrible explosion of pleasure that rips through me.

I have no sense of the world around me, my entire being has narrowed to the overwhelming wave of sensation. My cunt pulses, spraying my release over the machine that offers me no respite as it forces my body to unimaginable heights.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt of pain along my side breaks into my haze. My eyes dart over and I see the four men crowded around me, each holding an electric wand that pulses a harsh zap through me at every touch.

“No! Please! Stop!” I scream, my voice pitching higher as the men start their torment. Quick jabs around the soft skin of my stomach, hips, thighs, and arms make me scream and thrash but none of that dulls any of the feeling from the vibrator between my legs.

The pain and pleasure rocks through my body and mind, both blending together in a cruel medley that draws wordless screams from my throat. Another orgasm slams through me right as I feel a terrible zap on my nipple. The scream that bursts out of me makes my own ears ache. My psyche is cracking under the onslaught of torment and there’s not a single part of my body that isn’t screaming in overstimulation. I’m nothing more than a collection of raw nerves and throbbing muscles.

The next zap hits the exposed part of my clit and my ears ring as my vision fades to black. That’s the last thing I remember from that night.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m home, in my own bed, my body achingly sore and exhausted. I glance to my bedside table and I see an envelope. In it is a USB and a note with a phone number.

“Enjoy the footage, we certainly did. Call us if you want a repeat.”

I crawl out of bed to grab my laptop and phone, and I save the number to my contacts.

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Author's Note: I think this is my longest story yet and hope y'all enjoy! Also, I like to imagine this happens in the same universe as Pay to Play, and I'm jealous because I want to live in that universe ;)