#somebody's throat has to be cut

[cressus]

What are you, animals? In a zoo, they keep them in a cage. They keep them apart, they keep them from hurting people, they… Animals. Animals! Animals!

CLASH BY NIGHT (1952) dir. Fritz Lang

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[hysteria-things]

ON THIN ICE

based off of this & this

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: nate gets into a fight during a hockey game, but has an idea to make him feel better.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing, fighting, begging kink, p in v, public, spanking, choking, dacryphilia, unprotected sex (don’t be silly!), cream pie, overstimulation, dumbification, ROUGHH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 928

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: day TWO of nate week!

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 3K??? I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING OMG❤️❤️

whistles blow from left to right from the referees, hockey players from both teams trying to pull away the two boys fighting in the middle of the rink. one of the two boys is your boyfriend, nate.

during the game, you have noticed nate getting a bit disgruntled with a player on the opposing team. suddenly, they stopped in the middle of the rink to talk. in the blink of an eye, nate pounced on him. something must have ticked him off. bad.

murmurs are heard from around the bleachers, the group of people finally pulling the two boys apart. sadly, nate got the red card.

he throws his stick and helmet in a fit of rage as he sits on the bench. he hunches over, taking off his skates and throwing those somewhere too. the game continues after that brief mishap, but your eyes are still set on nate.

he’s angry, face is red while talking to himself. you watch as he gets up to go outside, and you soon follow him. “nate!” you call out, watching as the boy marches toward his car.

hands in fists, he keeps walking until you finally catch up to him. “nate.” you repeat, grabbing his wrists and turning him around.

the way his jaw clenches looks like it’s about to fall off its hinges. his chest still heaves from anger, his eyes looking into yours. “what happened?” you ask calmly.

“nothing,” he responds with bitterness.

you don’t believe that for shit. “what did he say to you?”

“nothing,” he says with a bit more attitude, but then he exhales because it’s you he’s talking to.

since nobody likes to see their boyfriend mad, you cross your arms and sigh. “what can i do to help?”

his eyebrows raise slightly, a smirk appearing on his face. he nudges his head to the hood of his car. “shut up and bend over.”

you gasp when your upper body slams onto the car, hands getting pinned behind your back. nate thought you were taking too long with his command, so he took matters into his own hands.

heart pounding, he takes off your pants, licking his lips and biting them at the view. you wince, the breeze of the night hitting your bare pussy so suddenly.

taking his thumbs, he spreads your folds to admire it. smiling like a fool knowing he can’t have nor feel it. you belong to nate, and he’s going to make sure everybody fucking knows that.

“nate—” you pout, a hand making contact on your ass cutting your words off. you let out a quiet sob. “s-somebody can see.”

“that’s the fucking point. i want people to see,” he says through gritted teeth, smacking your ass once more. with his unoccupied hand, he unties his uniform shorts and slides them down. his tip just about touches your clit, causing you to buck your hips back. “ah, ah, ah. beg for it.”

“please,” you whisper.

spank.

he didn’t like that.

“please.” you cry out louder. “f-fuck me, please. fuck me like you own me. i want to feel your cock, baby. please… i-i’m all for you.”

he licks his teeth and grins, grabbing onto your throat. “that’s my girl.”

your nails dig into his knuckles when he hammers into you; like he’s taking his anger out. because the stretch was so sudden, pained moans leave your lips. he hums approvingly behind you, watching the way your ass recoils off of his thighs. the slapping noise echoes throughout the dark parking lot.

“nate, fuck!” you yelp, the car rocking along with your body movements. “holy—” you pause, eyes rolling back so hard that you see black. his grip on your neck tightens so he can lift your head to look at your reflection in the window.

your wanton expression only makes him move faster, tears running down your face from the force. he snarls, the guy’s voice bouncing back and forth in his brain.

“is that your girl up there? wonder how much she’ll scream for me if i fucked her, instead.”

you’re moaning nonstop, body twitching and shaking the moment he hits numerous spots inside you. “you want to know what that mother fucker said to me?” he rasps out, pinching your clit that makes you jolt but nod. “he said he wanted to fuck you instead. he can’t do that now, can he? do you know why?”

you moan, dropping your forehead onto the hood while nate fucks you dumb. “oh— oh— oh my god, right there! don’t stop, baby… please.”

clenching, his hand leaves another hit on your ass. “answer me.”

“b-because i’m all yours.” you whimper, clenching around his dick again. “i-i’m cumming! please let me cum!”

“that’s right.” he starts, twitching inside of you as his thrusts get sloppier by the second. “let everybody know whose cock you’re screaming and cumming on.”

sobbing from pleasure, you squeeze your orgasm down his shaft. “i need you to be way louder than that, beautiful. i want him to hear you.”

“nathan! i-it hurts too good.” you cry, tears staining your cheeks.

“going to have you walk back in there with my cum dripping down your thighs. how does that sound?”

you can only nod in response, his hips stopping to fill you up with his cum. if it weren’t for him holding onto you, you would’ve fallen over by now from how weak your legs are.

he pulls out slowly, your eyes fluttering when you feel him ooze out of you. that definitely took the heat off.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2 @sturnsjtop @luverboychris @yapperchris @imaslutforoldermen @madisonlovesyouu @poetatorturadaa @chr1sgirl4life @hiimolivia @jo-777 @sturnskiss

[vetteltea]

Green Eyes [CL16 Ending]

Those green eyes. The ones you had married.

Charles visibly breathes out when he sees you, sitting up, blinking towards him. He wants to rush to you, to cradle you in his arms and tell you to your face how much he loves you, cherishes you more than anything else the universe has ever or will ever create.

The moment is more visualized in his head. In reality, Charles’ knees buckle, crouching by the door, tears flowing freely from his eyes. The flowers he had picked up from the giftshop are still in his grasp, almost on the floor as he tries to compose himself, to make his legs strong again. 

“Charles.” You speak softly. “It’s okay.” 

That seems to be enough to draw him further, to stand him up and get to her bedside, placing himself in the plastic chair, hands abandoning the bouquet of flowers and holding your face, a hand pressed to either of your cheeks as the tears pool around his lower lash line. His breathing is erratic, he’s scared. It’s like you’ll be pulled away from him at any moment, he doesn't want that. He cannot have that. 

“Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you still hurt?” His mind can’t catch up with his mouth, a barrage of questions which will surely send him into a spiral. Your heart is racing, you were certain if connected to a monitor, they would think you’re spinning out of control. This time, your actions overtake you, resting a hand on either side of Charles’ rambling face and pulling him to mesh your lips together.

This time, you kiss Charles Leclerc. 

His words immediately cease, a tiny whine leaving his lips as he presses back against you, hands freezing on your face and pulling you closer. He tells himself that if he lets go, you’ll be gone. You’ll stop kissing him. 

The idea of somebody else, of Carlos, is immediately wiped from your mind. He’s not Charles. He’s not your husband. 

Eventually, you have to for the sole reason that you need air. You gently remove yourself, foreheads pressing against one another, the only sounds radiating around the room being the soft catch of breath from yourself and your husband’s racing heartbeat. 

“I’m okay.” You whisper. The quietness sounds unusual, clearing your throat and trying again. “They said it’s a precaution. Dehydration, Stress, that sort of-” 

“-Stress?” Charles cuts you off. The guilt begins to settle in his stomach. Stress. Following him around each weekend. Stress. Wondering whether he’s going to come home to you each and every night. He was the one who had- who was-

“I’m sorry.” Charles murmurs, he’s not able to form his sentences properly. Your mind isn’t configuring correctly, convinced he’s still talking about not being there when you had been taken to hospital, about your current health. You don’t think as you shrug, letting him apologize before you start to speak again.

“Charles. It’s okay. You were in media with Joris-”

“Merde. No, that isn’t what I'm apologizing for.” He freezes, the pregnant pause in the room only growing by the moment. Is he really going to do this? Right here, right now. His wife- your eyes are wide, waiting for him to continue speaking. 

When your hand reaches out to overlay his, he feels the fingers, the lack of your cool wedding band on your ring finger, instead it rests in his pocket. It’s as if your contact has flipped a switch, remoting him to continue speaking. 

“I’m sorry.” He pauses, making sure you didn’t interrupt with an immediate acceptance. “I’m sorry for what I’ve made you go through for the past year.” His second hand rests atop of yours, he’s so cold, it sends a shiver through your arms. “I didn’t want to be married, I didn’t want to be settled but…it was for the best. It was for my career. I never- I never thought about how you must have felt the same way.”

He’s correct; when you had been told by your father of the arrangement, it was the last thing you had ever desired. Being married to a Formula One driver may have been a dream, but not at the expense of finding love. 

“I didn’t give you a chance. You looked-” He pauses changing the past tense. “You look after me. On my best and worst days, you were there. And what did I do? I kept pushing you away, pushing myself towards women who were not my wife.” 

“Charles.” You try to speak, images of his mistress flickering through your mind. “You loved her-”

“-I didn’t love her.” It was true. “I desired her. She was something which reminded me of when I was single. I kept…I wanted to hold onto what I had previously been, that I was single, fun and free.”

You shrug, looking down to where his hands interlocked over your own, careful not to nudge or injure you. “Charles, I get it. It was an arranged marriage, I never should have caught feelings. Not when-”

“I’m not finished.” Charles shakes his head, smiling now. “You were there. You stayed there, you were always there with a kind word and a warm heart. And the entire time that you were there…I ignored it.” He shakes his head. “And it took me so long to realize that what I wanted was a marriage.“ 

“It took-” You pause, you’re not able to be cruel. Your husband isn’t stupid, he knows what you were about to say. 

“-It took him. Yes.” He pauses. “To realize that all I want is you. That all I want is to come home to your arms, to take you for dinner at all the places I should have. To take you for boat rides and tell you how beautiful you look with wet hair and that perfect grin.” 

By this point, your mouth hangs ajar, your heart swelling. He’d never spoken so…honestly to you before. Eyes flicker down to his fingers, how they reach around for his right-hand pocket, sliding out a pocket square, the blue fabric which was ever-present at your wedding all those months ago. 

“I know you will never be able to forgive me for what I did.” He lets the fabric fall away, revealing your own wedding band. Immediately, your eyes snap down to your fingers, only just realizing that the ring had been removed. It wasn’t uncommon; after the six month mark, you had only worn the ring when appearing in public. Even now, it rests away from your finger, instead in your husband’s grasp.

“You can tell me to go right now.” His tone has raised, he’s clearly terrified that is what you’ll want. “I’ll go. You can have the house, the cars, everything. You’ll never see me again and I promise that.” Tears are pooling at his eyes again and you feel your stomach drop. He doesn't want that, of course he does not, but the fact he’s willing to let you go if it will make you happy burns through your heart. 

“But.” He lifts the ring, holding it just over your hand, letting the glistening band reflect across the hospital lights. “I want you to stay. I want to stay with you.” He sighs, his shoulders still so tense. “I promise you. I will do everything in my power to make you happy, to make you feel loved forever. I- I love you.” 

Your heart skyrockets; if it was possible for an organ to spontaneously combust and heal itself in a split second, you were certain it had happened to you. Your husband lifts the ring further, taking your left hand in his own, eyes still full of hope, of tears, of love. 

“Will you marry me, again?” His voice is so quiet. You’re so overwhelmed. “We can do it again. Our wedding. Just us, whatever we want.” It flickers through your mind; somewhere quiet, intimate. A soft white dress that is completely different from your original; rings slid onto one another's' fingers as you promised love all over again. But this time, it could be real. He would look you in the eye to say it, not off to the side, clearly refuting his role in the deal. 

This time, he looks into your eyes. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you can’t hold back the tears in your own eyes, nodding as the ring is slid back onto your finger. You can’t describe it, the way the cool band belongs there, it’s a part of you. 

No. The man sliding the finger onto your finger is the part of you. Wordlessly, Charles pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to every inch of your face, soft lips caressing each part, letting your head fall to his shoulder, breathing synchronized as a hand trails up your back, keeping his wife oh-so-close to him. 

“Let’s go back to the house.” He murmurs. “Let’s go back home.”

[atinylittlepain]

ok so given that the oscars just happened, imagine a joel x actress!reader. before everything went to shit joel was a normal human being who loved watching movies and like any basic person had a celebrity crush. fast forward and the world has gone to shit and joel and ellie (and maybe tommy too) go on a patrol that goes wrong and get saved by miss “i just smashed a guys head in with my oscar” or something like that, just a fluff and fun imagine that isnt gonna break my heart in a million pieces like last nights episode

oh my god, your mindddddd - I love this idea :)

Big Fan

Joel Miller x actress!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel recognizes her right away. After all, she starred in his favorite movie of all time.

warnings | 18+ a little angst, nothing wild, this is fluff through and through

Read part two!

.......................

“Are you–”

“I am.”

“You were in–”

“I was.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

“Alright, somebody better start speaking in full sentences, because I have no clue what the hell is going on.” Joel huffs, glancing at Ellie who's looking at him like he’s gone crazy, her gun still cocked at the woman in front of them.

“What? You don’t recognize her, kid? I just showed you Curtis and Viper.” Ellie’s brow furrows, but then she looks back at the woman and her eyes finally widen in recognition.

“Holy shit.” The woman laughs, eyes still focused on the barrel of Ellie’s gun.

“That’s not usually the movie people recognize me from. But I suppose it was my big break.” Joel nudges Ellie, muttering for her to put her “damn gun away, jesus christ,” and she quickly tucks it back in her belt.

He’s trying to not be weird right now, they did just kill five clickers together, but he’s finding it hard not to lose his cool over the woman who had been a silly crush of his since he first saw that cheap action movie as a teenager. He knows she did much better films afterward, remembers hovering behind the couch one night while Sarah was watching one of those awards shows, lingering just a bit longer when he saw her giving an acceptance speech with a blinding smile in a dress that probably cost more than his house. She’s certainly less elegant-looking now, but even after twenty years in a world like this, he can’t help the quick kick of his heart at actually meeting this woman in the flesh.

He clears his throat, also trying to clear his mind.

“Are you alone?” She sighs, wiping the blade of her knife on her jeans before sliding it back into its sheath.

“I wasn’t, and then I was. We were headed toward a settlement we heard about, I think a bit further north from here?” Joel keeps his expression steady, but can feel Ellie glancing at him. Movie star or not, he knows they have to be careful about who finds out about Jackson. But apparently, this woman isn’t just pretty, and she seems to pick up on the heavy pause after what she said.

“Do you two know about the place I’m talking about? Are we close?” Joel, sighs, looking at Ellie before making a decision that Tommy is probably going to smack him for later.

“We, um– we’re from there, actually. If you’re talking about where I think you’re talking about.” She huffs out a laugh, and offers them that megawatt smile Joel remembers seeing on his TV screen. Ellie, meanwhile, scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at Joel.

“No shit. Do you think you have room for one more?” Joel’s eyes dart once more to Ellie, just seeing the subtle shake of her head, but he chooses to ignore it. How could he say no to the woman who had, embarrassingly, been one of his first wet dreams?

“You’ll have to talk with my brother, but I’m sure you’ll be welcome to stay on.” Megawatt, megawatt, megawatt. He reckons that smile could melt steel beams.

…

“Joel, what the fuck–”

“Ellie–”

“No, what are you thinking? If not Tommy, Maria’s gonna be so pissed she’ll probably cut your balls off.” He shushes the girl, glancing ahead at the woman hiking further in front of them.

“Look, she’s all alone– hardly a threat– and she’s looking for somewhere to stay–” She scoffs.

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the way your eyeballs practically popped out of your head just looking at her?” He grumbles, hand tightening around the strap of his rifle.

“You just mind your own business, alright? I’ll take care of it.” Ellie huffs, starting to trudge further ahead of him, but not before muttering out “whatever you say, fanboy.” Joel is stunned still by her words.

“Where the hell did you get that word from?” She turns on her heel, walking backwards for a beat as she smirks at him.

“One of those old magazines. Pretty sure she was on the front page if you wanna borrow it.” Before he can get a word in edgewise, she’s already turning back around and continuing their hike back to Jackson.

…

“Holy shit. Joel, look who it is!” Joel grunts, nudging Tommy out of his starstruck stupor.

“Yeah, I know. Just hiked five miles with her.” Tommy laughs, slapping him on the back before grinning at her.

“It’s real nice to meet you. You know, Joel here had your poster on his bedroom wall–” The nudge he gives his brother this time is a little less friendly, causing Tommy to grumble and rub his arm. She, however, takes it in stride, laughing lightly as she shifts in her boots.

“I’m flattered, really. It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes go wide.

“I can’t believe you just said my name. This is crazy–”

“Tommy.” Joel cuts his brother off with a hard look before he embarrasses himself anymore. He clears his throat, seeming to get a hold of himself as Joel continues.

“She had been traveling with a group, looking for this place. She’s the only one left though. Was hoping to join the town.” Tommy grins again, glancing between her and Joel.

“Well, I’m sure we can make that happen. I think Joel would kill me if I didn’t let–” He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder hard, willing him to shut his mouth. 

“That little house next to ours is still empty. Why don’t we set her up there?” Tommy’s smile at his brother’s words is all too smug for Joel’s taste, but he still nods, turning his attention back to her.

“If that’s alright with you, ma’am. I’ll let the folks know to turn the gas and electric back on for that place.” She smiles brightly at that.

“That would be amazing. Thank you so much. I owe you all big time.” Tommy snorts.

“I’m pretty sure you can pay Joel back with an autograph, he’d probably cre—“ Joel’s heard enough, resorting to kicking Tommy in the ankle to shut him up. Ellie huffs from where she’s watching their pathetic display.

“Alright, well if you two freaks are done making fools of yourselves, I’ll show her over to that house.” 

…

When Joel gets home, the first thing he does is look at that DVD. He had found it a week or two ago on a patrol shift, left in a hollowed-out RV. Ellie was less than impressed and Maria refused to show it at movie night because it’s so gory, but he held onto it anyways. He can still remember going to see it in the theater with Tommy, both of them too young to get in if not for their friend working the ticket booth. He flips the case over in his hands, and sure enough, there she is on the back cover, looking impossibly beautiful while firing a machine gun. What’s not to like, right?

He’s broken out of his revelry by the sound of the front door opening, and soon enough, Ellie is stomping up the stairs to come looking for him. When she finds him in his bedroom, sitting on the end of his bed, she glances at the DVD he’s holding, a grin spreading over her face.

“Just like you remember, huh, old man?” He grumbles, getting up to set the movie back on the bookshelf before turning back to Ellie.

“She settling in alright?” She hums, nodding lightly.

“Yep, made a beeline for a shower. Told me to thank you. I told her you’d be coming around for your autograph later.” His face crumples in indignation while Ellie lets out a cackle.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But in all seriousness, I think she’s interested– in you– which pains me to even say, but, I figure you deserve to know that the woman of your pubescent dreams was asking questions about you.” Joel’s jaw goes slack, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“She– she was asking about me?” Ellie nods around a smirk.

“Mmhmm. And I told her you’re a grumpy old bum who doesn’t take kindly to strangers.” He huffs, but she laughs again.

“Sorry, kidding again. I didn’t tell her much. Just that you’ll be around. But if I were you, I’d “be around” sooner rather than later, before the rest of Jackson gets a piece of her. Snatch her up before there’s sweeter bait to bite down on, you know?” He thinks briefly that he needs to see just what sort of magazines this kid is reading, because he can’t quite believe what’s coming out of her mouth. He grumbles, shaking his head at her antics.

“There ain’t gonna be any snatching going on. Just mind your–” She huffs, already walking out of his room.

“Mind my business, yeah, yeah, I know. But think about what I said, old man. Better cast your line quick for this one. My guess is you weren’t the only one who had her poster in your bedroom back before.” 

He’s not letting that kid read magazines anymore.

…

When he steps out on his porch later in the afternoon, fully intent on what Ellie has affectionately started calling his “adult nap time,” he’s interrupted by someone calling his name. He catches sight of her sitting on the porch of the little house next door, waving and smiling at him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey, neighbor.” He tentatively waves back, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy her as she motions for him to join her. He sighs, rather stiffly walking over to her porch and joining her on the bench seat, keeping a very respectable distance between them. Clickers, raiders, general imminent danger, he can handle. Pretty lady? That’s touchy. Pretty lady who he imagined marrying as a teenager? Just put him out of his misery already. He knows it’s ridiculous, that none of that matters now. She’s just as worn and weathered as the rest of them by this crumbled world. But that smile she keeps flashing him might just bring him to his knees.

“I wanted to thank you– for bringing me along. I was, uh, starting to lose hope back there a little bit.” He nods, glancing at her.

“No need for thanks. Just the right thing to do in this world. I’m sorry– about your group. I don’t know what happened, but that couldn’t have been easy being out there on your own.” She shrugs, waving off his sentiment.

“It was barely a group to begin with. Just some folks who happened to get out of the San Francisco QZ together.” His brain is quickly trying to knit together the movie star he remembers from the past and this woman who sits before him now, an obvious edge to her.

“Were you in California? Back when everything…” She nods, her face set in a grim look.

“LA, where else? Now that was a nightmare. I bet the only worse place to be when everything went down was New York. Bodies everywhere. Don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She lets out a humorless laugh before glancing at him.

“That movie you like so much? I remember when I got the role, I had no idea how I was gonna pull it off. Grizzled heroine with a dark past and a penchant for violence. I was nothing like her. But now, I feel a whole lot more like her and a whole lot less like me.” She sighs, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I dumped that on you.” Joel is quick to shake his head, leaning over his thighs to catch her gaze.

“No, no. I get it– in my own way, I guess. The world changed and– we had to change with it.” That coaxes a crooked smile out of her as she looks at him. A simple silence descends between them as they share quiet smiles. She finally giggles, scrunching her nose at him.

“That girl– Ellie? I think she said something about you wanting an autograph?” Joel can feel the hot blush creeping up his neck as his face goes slack. She just splits out in a laugh, tipping her head back in delight.

“I’m sorry, I’m kidding. But, you know, what I went by, what people still call me, that isn’t my real name.” Joel’s eyebrows quirk up and she sighs, shaking her head.

“Just a stage name. I don’t really mind people calling me that, but can I tell you my real name?” He can feel the smile tugging at his mouth as he nods. Before he knows what she’s doing, she’s taking his hand into her lap, slowly tracing out her name with her finger across his palm. An autograph, of sorts. He’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits, just barely stringing together her name as she finishes. He murmurs it lowly and she offers him her brightest smile yet, still holding his hand lightly in her own.

“And you’re Joel, right?” He’s only a little embarrassed by how quickly he nods.

“Mmhmm. Miller– Joel Miller, yep.” She lets out a breathy laugh, now clasping his hand in a firm shake.

“It’s nice to really meet you, Joel Miller.” 

[bokuroar]

12:17 — few years later | 🛬❤️‍🩹🎇 iwaizumi h.

“you’ll be there, right? right? right?!”

if it’s anotamically possible to cut your ear off without passing out because of oikawa’s incessant nagging, you would’ve done it the first few seconds he begged you to accept kuroo’s reunion dinner invite before the all-star game. you were seijoh’s babysitter manager after all so, according to kuroo, it’s just right you’re there, in which you only replied with a i’ll think about it.

“haji’s gonna be there.” oikawa says in his annoying singsong voice and you swear you could hear his smirk right through your phone.

you bite your lip as if oikawa could see you blushing and smiling through the call. after years of graduating from high school, you wouldn’t have thought just hearing his name will elicit the same effect on you.

“and?” you reply nonchalantly because you would rather crawl under the earth and bury yourself alive than let oikawa confirm your cutesy, little high school crush on iwaizumi never really went away.

oikawa being your best friend saw through your reply and snorted, “pft, if i know you’ve been looking at his instagram every night before you sleep just because you’re too much of a scaredy cat to hit him up. don’t act as if you don’t zoom in on his shirtless pi—“

“oh my god, fine! i’ll go to this freaking dinner so please for the love god shut the hell up! ” you exasperatedly sigh wanting to tolerate oikawa’s teasing no longer not because it’s untrue but because you felt like you were caught committing a crime. it’s a curse and a gift you have a best friend that knows everything about you.

you hear oikawa shriek through your phone in celebration and about being there at 6, so you mutter a good bye before he lays out a plan that involves dragging you wherever into the night.

as if on cue, your phone lights up with a notification from your old group chat when the call ended,

✉️ t. oikawa: see you all on saturday!!!! no backsies!!!!!! :p

you roll your eyes knowing he’s talking about you. you were about to hit send on a message something about being him still being an annoying ass when another bubble popped in your screen that made you rewrite everything you were about to say.

✉️ h. iwaizumi: im back too 🇯🇵 see you guys :)

✉️ you: i’ll be there ☺️

come saturday, you’re standing in front of the restaurant which every nook and cranny you’re familiar with as this was a popular go-to after-school-dinner-place during your younger years with the team. you try your best not to look frantic while you check your phone at least every 10 seconds to tell oikawa “wru >:(”

you were about to hit the call button when you hear somebody clear their throat. as a reaction, you step away from where you were standing thinking you were probably blocking the entryway.

“sorry i was just w— oh. haji?” you take these few seconds to take him in—the way his shirt hugged his biceps, the watch that also somehow added to his attractiveness, his skin that’s more tanned, his freshly cut hair, and his smile. god, that smile. so many things have changed about him since he last visited home but his kind, subtly giddy smile still reached his eyes.

“been awhile, hasn’t it?” iwaizumi sheepishly say and you hold back a gasp when he scratches the back of his head that flexed his arm.

“it’s been.. yeah? yeah, it has. i mean. yes..” you nervously laugh, mentally kicking yourself for tripping over your words.

you feel your cheeks redden, not from the cold air of the darkening day but because of the manly, handsome laugh that bubbles from iwa’s chest. “watcha doin’ out here, though? waiting for a someone or..” he drags his sentence hoping you don’t hear his silent prayer that you are romantically available.

you snort before you could even think about it, “no, c’mon it’s not like that.” you laugh and went on to tell the tale of oikawa begging you to come, “i’m waiting for that idiot tooru who went several measures to make sure i’m here.”

“you two were thick as thieves, weren’t ya? i’m glad you stayed in touch even if that shithead went abroad.” iwaizumi smiles and you can’t resist staring at how he threw his head back when he laughed at oikawa’s typical antics.

“wish we did too, y’know. i missed ya.” iwaizumi suddenly confesses, “i just found myself wanting to talk to you when i was out there.”

to say your heart felt like it dropped on your feet was an understatement. it’s like everything froze—the leaves halted midair, the world went silent and the only sound you could hear was the loud thump of your heart. all what you manage to let out is, “o-oh? you did? really?”

iwaizumi looks at you like you just asked the most ridiculous question, “‘course i did. we talked every day then! remember how i used to walk you home after our trainings then stop by that dang old ramen place that was there since forever? missed hanging ‘round with you and the team ‘tis all.”

you smile as you look at the ground, shyly but fondly recollecting all the simple but sweetest moments with iwaizumi you cherish so much. with his sudden reminiscing, you recall the sort-of debate you had with him because he kept on insisting he should always walk you home.

“r-right. the team. yeah, i missed them too.” you say as you shake your head along with the thought of having a chance of romance with your longtime friend.

“we should go inside. fuck that tardy tooru i think a lot’s of them here.” you casually laugh and walk towards the door until you felt a hand on your wrist.

iwaizumi shoots you a grin, “what do you say the two of us go grab that ramen? for old time’s sake?”

a/n: so .. uh … im back ! hope everyone’s still here 😅🫣 anw this was supposed to be just a drabble but i got a lil carried away & im alr thinking of writing a pt 2 .. wdyt hehe

[luveline]

Would you ever explore Christmas/new years in the June baby universe? I know Eddie would love to spoil

“It's okay,” you whisper, putting your finger over your lips. “Just don't shout.” 

Junie peaks over your shoulder at the couch. “But Eddie–” she says. 

You cut her off. “Shh, shh. He's sleeping. Can you whisper?” 

“I love Eddie,” Junie says. 

She's been mixing up ‘love’ and ‘miss’ lately, but you've no doubt she loves him. “I know,” you say. “But he's tired, babe. He's been working lots and lots. So let's wait for him to wake up, okay?” 

You glance at Eddie on the couch behind you. He's knocked out hard, the breath of his exhales ruffling the messy hair caught under his chin. He gave you a heart attack and a half when you walked into the living room that morning, not expecting him to be there on your couch. He has a key for a reason, but that reason is to climb into bed with you when you're already sleeping. 

He must've come to bed and found Junie in his place. Poor guy. You swoop the unhappy bed stealer into your arms, her soft pyjamas slippery on your naked shoulder. You're about to tell her, Let's get changed, my love, but there's no point. There's nowhere to go, and no one to impress. Eddie will adore you in your slept in tank top and your sweatpants, and he'll bathe Junie in compliments when he sees her messy hair and spotty pyjamas. It's just the way he is. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” you ask. 

Junie leans back in your arms and grins. “O'meal.” 

“Yeah. With…” 

“Peanu’ buwer.” 

You snort. “You didn't even try! Where's all your t's gone?” She giggles. A few months ago you'd say that the sound of your voice would be enough to get her laughing, but there's a good chance she understands at least a little of what you're saying now. Babies understand more than they let on. “Peanut butter.” 

“Peanut buwer?” 

“Close enough.” 

“What's Eddie's breakfas’?” 

“I'll make him something when he wakes up, baby.” You kiss the top of her head and help her down into her highchair. “You want some juice?” 

You fill a sippy cup with juice and water and start on the oatmeal. The water bowls and bubbles as the gas hisses quietly, while Junie mumbles and eventually says, through gibberish, “Can have a kiss, mom?” 

“Another one!” You sidle up to her high chair, meeting her eyes with a big, silly smile. “You want another kiss? You know, tonight, we have to have our New Year's kiss. You'll probably be sleeping, but I always kiss you anyway.” You rub her cheek. She pouts for kisses. 

She's giggling in your hands when the couch springs squeak and stir. Eddie clears his throat, groans, his feet thudding on the floor as he must turn and sit. 

“Huh! You hear that?” you ask in an urgent whisper. 

“Eddie!” she shouts, lifting her arms. “Eddie's ‘wake!” 

“I'm coming, June!” he shouts back hoarsely. “Just as soon as I can see,” he adds, quieter. 

Junie starts whining to be helped out of the chair. “He's coming, babe, two seconds,” you say, moving out of the way as Eddie walks stiffly into the kitchenette. It's a short distance, and in that time, he plasters over the grimace of somebody who worked a sixteen hour shift with a smile you can't believe he'd wear, the same sort of one you'd have picking Junie up from daycare, that missed-your-kid relief and amusement mixed into one. “See, there he is!” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, slipping his hands under her arms and pulling her up. 

“Miss you!” she says, trying to grab his face. 

His smile downturns. “You did?” 

You wipe the sleep from your eyes. “I missed you too, if that counts.” 

Eddie hugs Junie close to his chest with one arm and opens the other toward you. He seems younger when he first wakes, but his eyes don't change. From the moment you met, he's carried this honesty about him that lines his eyes. He doesn't hide who he is anymore, not an inch, including the way he feels about you. “It counts,” he says, sliding his arm over your shoulder. “I'm hugging you ‘cos I don't know what mess I'm in. But I owe you a kiss, yeah? Happy New Year's Eve, sweetheart.” 

“You're in a huge mess.” 

“Really? Scary looking?” 

You press your fingers to his waist, hoping your touch conveys the opposite of your mouth, “Horrifying.” 

He's carrying the stiffness of long hours in his legs as he sits awkwardly at the table. Junie still has her hands on his face, gazing at him like he's a wonder. Eddie grins at her and turns his face, pretending to take a bite of her fingers. 

“No!” she says. “Mom has oatmeal!” 

At least her Ts are back. 

You lean on his chair as the oatmeal warms, brushing your fingers through his hair. He makes a show of eating Junie’s fingers until there's none left, but somewhere in it his head lists back toward you. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

He pats Junie’s back. “Pain in my shoulders again.” 

“I have aspirin?” 

“In a bit.” He tips his head back completely. “You alright?” 

“I'm fine.” 

“Yeah?” He stares at you. “Well, you look more than alright.” 

“Don't start.” 

Eddie asks Junie to build them a castle to play in after breakfast and she slips off of his lap and races into the living room on bare feet, promising a “Good one, Eddie!” 

He kicks a chair out for you. You have a few minutes until the oatmeal is in danger of burning, so you sit, and when he takes your hands you let him without protest. 

“Sorry you ended up on the couch.” 

Eddie shakes his head. He's looking at you funny. “It's okay. Just making sure it's comfortable for tonight's late night.” 

“Are you sure you don't wanna go out?” you ask. He's been invited to a boatload of parties. 

“And miss our first New Year's kiss? How else am I supposed to usher in the perfect year?” 

You smile at the feeling of him rubbing your fingertips. “I promised the first one to June.” 

“Ooh, that's tough. Guess I have no choice but to go out,” he says, bringing one of your hands up to kiss, then your forearm, “find some other beautiful girl to kiss.” His lips trail to the crook of your elbow. He pulls you forward. “Never find one as pretty as you, but–” He rubs his nose into the thin skin at the crook of your arm. You get goosebumps, and he tries valiantly to rub them away. “What's a guy to do?” 

“You can have the second one.” 

“It'll have to do,” he hums. He kisses all the way back down to your fingers. When Eddie straightens up, he's smiling contentedly, his dark eyes brimming with a tenderness you'd never seen meant for you until you met him. “You sure you're okay?” 

You give in to a want unlike yourself and yank him forward for a kiss. He laughs into your mouth, and again at midnight when Junie's sleeping in your lap, a kazoo covered in spit fallen against her chest. 

“Happy New Year,” he says, pinching your cheek playfully.

You kiss him again. 

[hijackalx]

BG3 NON-COMPANIONS/NON-ORIGIN COMPANIONS TURN ONS/KINKS +18

FEMALE BG3 COMPANIONS

MALE BG3 COMPANIONS

characters included: halsin, minthara, jaheira, gortash

*dark content warning for gortash*

HALSIN

SIZE DIFFERENCE

OBVIOUSLYYYY lmao. he loves how small u are in comparison to him. i mean everything about him is large— hands, arms, chest, thighs. also, i feel like he likes that he has to help u when u take control because ur smaller or weaker than him. like, when he has to subtly help u pin his wrists by moving them in the direction u want lol

THIGH RIDING

this also plays into the size difference thing. like his thigh is just so big/muscular, and he loves watching u grind on it (or he can bounce his knee to help u get off too). the type to grab u by ur hips and assist u when ur rhythm starts to stutter. he also loves the wet spot that forms in ur underwear if u keep them on 💗

DEEP THROATING/FACESITTING

OK HE LOVES BOTH like i said everything about him is large (😈) so he loves to see u try to swallow him whole. the way u gag and struggle to take him in is soooo hot to him. also all the drool that spills out of ur mouth 🤤🤤 as for facesitting u better sit ur ass tf DOWN !! HE CAN TAKE IT !! lovessss when u grind on his face/mouth, also loves to squeeze ur ass during it

THREESOME

THIS MAN IS GENEROUS !!! LOVES to share !! always wanting to invite people to have sex with y'all. he feels like it's so much more fun and also loves to watch u get fucked/have u watch him get fucked. will want to do spit roasting too.

SWINGING

sooo into exchanging partners with other couples. or just fucking other people in general. of course he won't do this if u don't want to though. but he gets really excited if u do 😹😹 probably gets off while sharing ur experiences with each other

MINTHARA

KNIFE PLAY

likes the way u shake and whimper as she brings her knife close to ur skin. will leave small cuts and want to carve her initials into ur skin. also slightly into bloodplay too ?? i feel like she'd be into smearing ur blood on her hands and making u clean them off with ur tongue OOF

BONDAGE

she would absolutely cast web and use it as bondage restraints LMAO. will have u in some crazyyy positions too. kind of in a shibari way but with webs. the webs are actually pretty gentle though and have some give so she's not like, totally sadistic with it 😌💗

DACRYPHILIA

SHE DOES LIKE TO SEE U CRY THOUGH LMAO like something about how weak/pathetic u look turns her on so bad— as long as SHE'S the one that made u cry. if it's because of somebody or something else it's lowkey a boner killer for her 😹😹😹 will say really horrible, mean things to try to bring u to tears and then get wet af. will not comfort u after either

GAGGING

likes to use a ball gag but will honestly use whatever she has at the moment. a rag or her fingers even. she likes that u can't speak and can only moan/whimper. also into the way u drool. will purposely ask u questions and then punish/degrade u for not being able to answer

BOOT WORSHIP

LOVESSS making u kiss her boots. will want to hold u down with her boot and make u praise her endlessly. or step on ur face. might even be into giving u a little kick in the diaphragm if u want 😹😹😹

JAHEIRA

MIRROR SEX

WILL WANT TO BE FUCKED IN FRONT OF A MIRROR!!!! with her face pressed against it while she's getting backshots or even with one propped up beside the bed so she can watch how good she looks while she rides u. lowkey will put on a show for herself and get off to it 😹😹

LINGERIE

loves lingerie of all kinds. the garter straps on her thighs are her favorite part tbh. probably prefers to wear black or red— like classically sexy colors. also probably likes it if u wear some too, and will want to keep it on for the full duration of the sex. LOVES lace

STRIPPING

^^ ALTHOUGH.... she also really likes to strip for u. like going nice and slow while u try to restrain urself lol. will probably give u a lap dance too and is pretty playful with it sometimes. particularly loves to see how u get progressively more horny the longer she takes, also into seeing u touch urself a little bit during it too

NIPPLE PLAY

sucking on/playing with her nipples is a MUST. HUGEEEE erogenous zone for her. can probably cum from nipple stimulation alone. likes when u make it hurt a little too, like pinching or twisting them

DEGRADATION

kind of into u calling her names.... like whore or slut. tell her she's a dirty whore while u pull her hair and fuck her from behind. will also talk down to u if ur not really doing the best job LMAO like u better fuck her right or ur gonna get it 😹😹 she'll straight up be like "is that the best u can do?" or "this is pathetic."

BONUS:

GORTASH

BREEDING

HE NEEDS HEIRRRSSSS !!! ALWAYS wants to cum inside. an actual babymaking MONSTER like he cums so much its crazy. loves to see u stuffed full of his cum, it really makes him feels accomplished after all of his hard work 💪🏻💯😹

DADDY DOM

he is so into being called daddy. depending on the context he’ll get rock hard but also likes if u call him that outside of sex too. u can basically get anything u want from him if u add a ‘please daddy’ at the end of it— like he just can’t bring himself to say no. he’ll do anything for u to keep calling him that lol

*** DUBCON ***

DEFINITELY into coercing u/figuring out ways to get what he wants. likes when u get overstimulated and start telling him it’s too much or trying to push him away (u do have a safeword). also the fact that he can overpower u if he wants gets him sooo hard

POWER PLAY

LOVESSS having u at his beck and call. the more pliant and submissive u are the better. won’t do this outside of the bedroom unless u want to or if u initiate it since he prefers the idea of only him being able to see u like that. he’s the only one you’ll roll over for, so to speak lol

COLLARING

makes a special collar for u with expensive imported materials and shit lmao. thinks u look absolutely gorgeous in it and will tell u that all the time. loves the way u gasp when he sharply tugs on its leash. will also tug on it while giving u backshots. likes how it chokes u a little bit too, and the bruises it leaves behind when he’s too rough with it

MALE BG3 COMPANIONS

FEMALE BG3 COMPANIONS

[kotias]

Ineffable Rockstars

Time to properly become creatively feral about the Ineffable Rockstars project with @vavoom-sorted-art, @searchingforakeythatdoesntexist , @daneecastle, @moonyinpisces and Stitcherydoo!

Summary of the story: human!AU, Crowley and Aziraphale are rockstars in their respective groups, Celestial Harmonies and Hell's Rebuke. Word is out that those two groups have bad history together, and therefore the two of them, while shamelessly talking to each other any festival they get to meet at, do have to be careful about being seen together by their own bands.

Summary of this excerpt: Aziraphale explains the story of the two bands to Crowley, who has arrived after everything went down and was kept in the dark by his mates.

Lyrics: written for the purpose of this fic.

Word count of the excerpt: 872 words

Excerpt:

Crowley sat down next to Aziraphale, whose eyes laid probably a second too long on those long fingers, on this chest showing so proudly from behind his open shirt- He coughed and drank a large gulp from the flute, clutching at the glass like a lifeline.

“It’s- it’s alright. Are you feeling comfortable? How was the concert?”

“Hah, acting like I didn’t see you in the audience, are ya?” Crowley asked with a smirk, and Aziraphale looked away, feeling the heat building up on his face.

“Well, we do need to keep it silent, don’t we?” he answered nonetheless with a coy smile, sipping on his drink.

“Why, though? It’s completely beyond me; Bee recruited me right after the split between Celestial Harmonies and Hell’s Rebuke, but there’s always been… you know, a feeling that it didn’t happen for no reason.”

“They haven’t explained it to you?” Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale sighed. “No wonder you’re lost. Well, to put it simply… Hell’s Rebuke’s members were part of Celestial Harmonies, a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know that-”

“Let me talk, please; I would like to make sure we work with the same information.”

As he began explaining the official history of the two bands, he was cut by a thunder of clapping as the concert was coming to an end, and he and his counterpart felt compelled to stand up and join the applause.

When you reached Summer,

You lost sight of the star lights,

Questions died in your throat,

Cursing a future that is naught

And the night falling upon you

Left you laying awake with open eyes.

After two encore songs and enough clapping to make their hands and wrists sore, Crowley and Aziraphale walked towards another scene and stayed in relative distance, ensuring that they would hear each other. “So, you were saying, Hell’s Rebuke and Celestial Harmonies.”

“Ah! Yes; so, this is fairly public knowledge.” Crowley nodded impatiently. “At least, it is not something that we are actively hiding, neither of the two groups; somebody who knows how to Google us would be able to find this information.” Aziraphale frowned, crossing his arms. “Honestly, that is why it concerns me a little that you have not been informed of this; it is a fairly common question that people are trying out on us, asking about the other group to see how we react. Anyways-”

The vendors just a few metres from them had started cooking a few crepes, and Crowley did not miss the eyes darting towards them. “Want some? C’me on, it’s my treat,” he insisted as Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised -and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to refuse such an offer.

“Well, if you insist,” he answered, the corners of his lips curling up and his eyelashes fluttering; Crowley’s heart missed a beat, his fingers pressed against his flute, and he barely managed to keep a groan from reaching out of his mouth.

“You do have to tell me more, though; ‘specially if you think my ignorance could bite me in the ass.”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped as they reached the line, keeping it to the level of a private conversation. “Bee and Gabriel were… an item.”

“Oh, excellent start. If that’s only the beginning, I might have to stock up on popcorn with that crepe of yours.”

“Heh, well, it might be one of the more interesting aspects of this entire story, so do not keep your expectations too high.”

“No, no, don't kill my hopes, now. Go on, tell me everything, I’m sure it will be full of riveting details, Bee’s never been good at keeping things tidy anyways.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Oh, you should see Gabriel when he gets involved… Ah- one crepe with sugar, thank you,” he said with a bright smile to the vendor. “Alright, so- long story short, the band was originally founded by the two of them; excellent musicians those two are, and the band did have quite the promising future before it. We started having a fairly good reputation.”

“Black coffee and a serving of fries. The name’s been around for a while now, that’s right- I remember seeing it ten years ago on some festival announcements in my city. Cash, thanks.”

“We have, yes. We were very local for a long while, but…”

“What changed?”

“Gabriel and the others were wishing to go professional; Bee and who are now Hell’s Rebuke were not willing to do that.”

“Ah, I see. Well, they didn't change much in that aspect,” Crowley mumbled sourly, extending his arms to grab the crepe and coffee. He gave the dessert over, then took his serving of fries, and they left the vendor’s stand. “Wait, where did you stand? You stayed with Celestial Harmonies, after all.”

“Hm, well…”

That did not sound like somebody who was fully happy to have stayed, Crowley thought, and he crept closer to Aziraphale, nudging him with his elbow. “Come on, spill the beans! Honestly, I’m looking to go in that direction, if there’s anything I should be aware of…”

“Being professional was, and still is, something that I hold dear,” Aziraphale explained, his slow speech feeling heavy, like he was choosing every word carefully.

[seraphimaa]

Doll for a day

Soft(ish) Raphael x fem!Reader/Tav

Slight Haarlep x Fem!reader/Tav

Raphael comes home unexpectedly while a certain somebody is playing with his toys. Tav thinks that playing dead is preferable to facing his wrath. Maybe, in hindsight, it was not her brightest idea.

PART 2 IS UP

Warnings: kind of of dubcon, confessions under false pretences, feelings (boo!😈)

“Haarlep.”

That stern, musical voice cuts like a knife through the washing pleasure she had been so lost in. Ice jolts down her spine and suddenly it feels like someone has turned on the lights. The body over her freezes much the same, buried to the hilt as she clenches down on him, muscles going taut.

She sees the spark of surprise and fear mould the face hanging over her. She guesses that though she worries for her general well-being and survival in the upcoming moments, Haarlep was no doubt reeling at the thought of being put on the naughty step. Nobody ever let him have any fun in this house. The little mouse had been so easy to catch. So desperate to see the eyes he wore look at her the ways that he had. ‘The master is away. He’ll be gone for so long. Aren’t you lonely, little mouse? He’s lonely too and he’s wanted you for so long. Please give yourself to him.’ He’d promised that it would be their little secret and she’d all but melted before him, climbing across the satin, trembling.

“What little pest has managed to crawl out of my walls and find its way into my boudoir?”

Haarlep had promised that he’d let her go long before Raphael was due to return. “don’t worry” he’d said, “give me your trust. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Gods, she was going to haunt him. What a little shit. She did know, however, that he is clearly as caught off guard as she is.

The sounds of Raphael’s polished shoes clack across the tiles near the entrance.

The timbre changes as he reaches the oak flooring and she feels like she could faint, like her mind is floating above her and watching the scene from some detached place. A sigh.

“My fine cormyrean sheets, Haarlep!” He sounds appalled. “Do you know how much they cost, you animal?”

The little demon spawn stays in place, back facing him but tail flicking in obvious unease.

“Thousands. I won’t bore you with exact figures, harlot, as you’ve never been particularly apt in finances…or general intellectual engagement. So, let me ask you again, what little pest have you caught and defiled now? Gods they’re absolutely saturated. You’ve torn them too!”

She could feel her breathing quicken as his rage seems to rapidly increase.

“Hup, hup, Haarlep. Go sulk in the corner. I’m sure you’ll just drown in remorse while I clean up this mess. I’ve had a busy day, you know, and now I have to throw away your leftovers and order new sheets, too. Can a man not relax in his own forsaken house? Is it too much to ask for?”

The is tap, tap, tapping his foot on the ground is motivated, no doubt, by the unavoidable headache that he’d be forced to soothe with a glass of vintage later.

Haarlep begins to lean backwards, his eyes glued to hers. He was curious, excited to see what she was going to do but she could see that he was also silently pleading with her to act very carefully, for both of their sakes. She feels herself flush in humiliation as she loses the physical and psychological shield of Haarlep between them and as much as she desperately wants to curl into a ball and hide, her limbs remain frozen in place, her body completely detached from her thought and command. This was more than she could handle.

The incubus detaches from her and the air catches in her throat as he pulls out completely from her clenching hole, swollen lips left empty and drooling. Another breath catches in the air, but it’s not her own. She wishes she could sink into the sheets and disappear. Part of her is half tempted to just roll off of the bed then under the frame, never to come out again. Nevertheless, she still does not move. Her eyes glue themselves to a small crack in the ceiling above her and her face is slack in shock. Her hair is wild and splayed around her, her legs spread from accommodating their recent guest, her dumb and vacant face flushed a scandalous shade of crimson.

From her peripheral, Haarlep tries to scamper off, tail between his legs, but he’s stopped by his master raising one hand at him, eyes still glued to the little mouse on his bed.

His other hand snatches towards her, latching to her chin and he glowers down his nose at her in his own shock. She refuses to shift her gaze, focussing hard in every detail of the splintered paint above. He jerks her head left and her vision spins then fills with the detailed threading on the edges of his doublet and the hatched material of his trouser legs. He jerks to the right and her visions swims again, filling with stained glass and hazy walls as her other cheek meets the bed. He stands over her like this for some time and she is thankful to be facing the opposite wall as her eyes well in fear. She’s unsure what he plans to do as he continues to ponder her, simmering.

“Haarlep.” She can hear the effort behind the barely collected tone.

“Please, tell me that I’m mistaken. Please, tell me that you didn’t actually suck the soul right out of my most valuable investment. Please,” his voice cracks slightly, “tell me you didn’t just ruin everything everything I had worked so hard for.”

“Master-“

Before the incubus can interject again, Raphael’s claws seize him and suddenly he’s careening. He’s marched blindly backwards under the cambion’s grip, as the rant continues.

“You had one job, not to get meddle. Not to ruin this one thing. I swear I shall send you back into the rotten abyss you crawled out of.”

Haarlep’s legs meet the balcony ledge and he stumbles and plummets over the edge with a yelp. Raphael does not wait to watch his descent and turns back into the room. Stopping again at the edge of the bed.

He stills and heaves a deep sigh, fingers coming to pinch at his brow. He looks again at the mindless doll, all to familiar I shape, on the bed. Her potential was supposed to be so much greater than this. She was the one who would bring him his crown. She could have been his chosen, but there was nothing left. Nothing but her prone form still draped open in mocking invite. He tries to ignore the ache. Tries not to imagine that the invite was for him, that she would have lay so sweet for his craven self.

She knows she should say, do, anything. She screams inside to just start apologising and take the consequences, because there is no avoiding the inevitable but after watching the fate of the incubus, she feels her voice disappear back down her throat and her limbs cement themselves to the silk below. He thinks her to be but a lifeless husk and that was about the only role she felt capable of playing in this moment. He approaches her again and she feels another wave of adrenaline wash over her as he stares down at her, this time his face seems almost defeated. Glum. His eyes search over her. He looks into her eyes. They’re glassy and fixed. They look scared. He doesn’t know what it is that washes over him at the image of her terrified and trapped under the copy of his form as her soul is leeched from her, but he knows that he doesn’t like it. Her cheeks remain rosy, a lurking evidence of her undoing. Her lips are parted in a little gasp. What noises had left them in this very room? Her face looked shocked and horrified, tinged with shame and the remnants of her recent euphoria. Her death mask. From her lips left quick puffs of air but the life that remained in her shell held no more value. His little mouse wasn’t in there anymore. Not in any way that mattered, or so he believes.

With another dramatic sigh, he sags to sit on the edge of the bed, back facing to her. He leans his arms into his knees and considers how to salvage this wagon crash. He could not afford to wallow in childish fantasies and feelings. They never did him any good. She had disappointed him, immensely. He knows not of why she’d come skittering to his house but she’d found her end here none the less. His house was not built to cater to her meek nature. It was done now. He can not stop thinking, however, about what had led her to sneak behind his back and play with his toys. He couldn’t stop that nagging voice in his head reminding him that regardless of her reason to poke around, she’d been distracted by the fiend wearing his visage. She’d been lured in by the promise of laying under him. She was so willing to give herself, and she’d done so with such reckless abandon that she’d let a lowly fool like Haarlep steal her soul. She’d come into his sanctuary and used him without permission. Was she really so desperate? Did she share his hunger?

A wicked thought crosses his mind. He would dispose of her, as was the right thing to do, for it brought him no honour to keep her this way. It was sacrilege. She was, however, right here. She was gone by all means, but her body was still warm and willing. There was nothing to stop him using the carcass of her form as she had used his. It was harmless. Nobody would ever even have to know. She’d be his little secret and then he’d finally rid himself of her once and for all. Rid himself of the hold she had on him.

The screaming in her head falls silent in horror as she feels the bed dip and weight of him straddle her hips. He kneels over her, eyes flicking around, trying not to meet hers. He feels like she is watching him from inside herself. It is almost like she is still there and it makes him feel an uncomfortable twinge of vulnerability.

He brings one claw up to her mouth, pressing it over the curve of her lips and lets it push past, pressing against the ridges of her teeth. He pulls her mouth open, slackening her jaw down as far as he could until it resists, then eases his clawed finger back inside. The tip of certain scratches along the walls of her mouth, over her tongue, and her eyes bulge as it dips down and slips into her throat. She knows that she should stop it right bloody now before it goes even further but a coward she certainly is and she can’t even perceive facing his wrath right now. Her mind continues to feel locked behind the safeguarding of shock and fear, not able to pilot her body to do anything helpful. Her hands twitch at her sides but it escapes his rapt attention in testing her mouth. His face twitches slightly as her throat contacts slightly around his appendage and she realises he is palming himself, his knuckles occasionally bumping her stomach as he works his freed cock.

He plays around with her like this until his fingers come back soaked and stringing with her saliva as it pools - there’s a lump in her throat and she can’t seem swallow.

He clambers up the bed, hanging over her to grasp the headboard, and the intricate detailing of his doubled fills her vision again. She sees him staring down at her from above her point of focus. She tries think about anything other than his face. She swears she must be dreaming, losing her grip on sanity, as her she feels something heavy and hot press it’s weight onto her tongue. He presses the crimson, tapered tip of his cock into her mouth, feeling the wet cavern widen even further to allow him to slide inside. He hears her breathing change as she sucks air through her nostrils and he hears her heart thrum rapid like a rabbits. He supposed there had to be a little life left in someone with such a fate to make them enjoyable, and enjoy you he will. He releases his breath in audible groan as your sloppy, drooling mouth encases him.

Moving his hands to either side of her face, he cradled her skull and began to pump his hips, the muscles of his thighs jerking and jumping with each jolt of pleasure. He lets her gurgle around him at his lazy pace. He is in no rush. He at least deserved some kind of consolation, did he not? Tears crave tracks down her cheeks as he continuously plugs her throat, his cock pulsing in warning.

All at once he is gone from her and she next feels her awareness creep back to her as his hands take hold of her, behind her knees, and her legs are pushed towards her shoulders to expose her fully to his gaze. She hears his ragged breathing as he takes her in. The bud of pink blooming between the soft fat rolls of her labia. He uses his thumbs to part the puffy lips and his cock jumps in anticipation. He drinks her in. A flush, swollen nub perched between a tiny, fluttering pink hole. She is still leaking from her previous partner. The sloppy puddle below her still blooms a dark hue on his sheets. He knows if he doesn’t take her now, he’ll talk himself out of it.

With one thrust, he asserts control of his racing thoughts and sinks to the hilt inside of her, feeling his cock bump and press up against the resistance of her womb. Any thoughts plaguing him are gone as his mind draws blank from the blinding pleasure. The numbing release of finally laying claim to her. He hears her hiccup a wail that fades into a mindless keen and her hands ball into the sheets. She feels like her soul really did just leave her body.

He almost finds himself thanking the gods in that moment, hearing the sweet noises she made. At least her body could still give him that. At least she, like Haarlep, could tell him oleander lies while he buries himself inside of her.

He chokes a moan, sucking in breath and releases it in a hissed growl as he draws his hips back, feeling every twitch of her cunt as he slides against the grip of slick walls. He drives forward again, forcing them both further up the bed. A hand at her leg yanks her back down before she can catch her bearings and he pulls her into him , connecting them again as deeply as he can get. She feels like she’s falling - dying maybe. The conscience and guilt that told her to do good and smart things were long gone, lost some time after he’d speared into her with reckless abandon. Any sense was gone. A new voice was seeping through the hormonal concoction she was swimming in. It told her that this was all that mattered. In this moment she was his and it felt better than she’d ever dreamed, when alone at night with her imagination. She can’t stop the rhythmic song of pleasure he pulls from her, the room full with her whines and cries joining his.

Haarlep, for as devastatingly good as he’d been, could not match the ferocity and intensity that fuelled the fiend above her now. His face was twisted in a snarl, his own mouth hanging slack and his eyes locked to the sight of himself splitting her apart. His moans and gasps begin to lower as his hips stutter in their pace. He buries his face into her neck, hips continuing to rock. He inhales deeply, drinking in her scent.

“You silly mouse.” His voice is strained. He sounds close. Underneath it though, she recognises that somber tone.

“I was so close to having you. You were supposed to be mine. I could have given you the world. I would have given you everything.”

He groans as his hips jerk again, his cock pressing something deep inside. It’s all to much and the bubble finally popped. She shudders under him with a wail as white heat floods her senses. He loses it at her sound and the clenching of her strangling at his length. He collapses onto his forearms at either side of her, letting her quivering pussy milk his seed from him.

“I can find another champion, but you, you had been special. I wanted it to be your hands that passed me the crown. I wanted it to be you I shared it all with.” He stays buried inside of as he softens. His voice is a whisper, as if telling a great secret to the empty room. His hand is petting through her hair absently.

She doesn’t know how long he remains, body pressed to hers. The adrenaline is wearing off and she feels like her spirit is slipping back into her aching, exhausted form. She wasn’t prepared to face any of it. She didn’t think she ever would be. How could she even begin to process current events. How the hells would she explain any of this to anyone, least of all him? The concoction of shame and humiliation began to take hold of her again and she starts to plan, fast. He would never forgive her for this. He’d hate her. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t she stopped it? She knew the real answer. She hadn’t wanted it to stop, really. She’d take being bounced on his cock over the eternity of suffering he was bound to expose her to as soon as the curtain came up. She just wanted to stay like this forever. Maybe time would stand still, or maybe, she’d simply die from a random heart attack from all of this absurdity and stress. Yes, she decided all at once, she’ll just stay here like this. forever. She finds momentary comfort in her delusions, painting herself a happy future where she never faces the music and gets to stay under him like this, hearing his sweet words and bringing him pleasure for the rest of time. She would be his new toy. He’d treat her so well. It would all be so very nice.

The image is ripped from her as a voice she recognises all to well chimes from near the pool.

“Fear not, master. I have returned unharmed. I wish you’d stop doing that all the time, you know I have wings-“ his voice cuts to an scandalised gasp. “Oh my, and back just in time to play, too!” She can feel Raphael’s tail swish in agitation, but he doesn’t have the energy left to channel his rage. “What an interesting turn of events, I must say! I did so hope that you both would work it out peacefully.” The cambion above her hisses as the bed dips with Haarlep’s weight, he sheepishly prowls the edges of the bed, testing the waters with his grumpy master.

Gods, it’s actually Haarlep! She fills with relief that he’s alive.

“See I knew you’d calm right down once you realised that I didn’t touch your mouse’s precious soul. I played so nicely with her. See, aren’t we all glad it was just a big, innocent misunderstanding?” His tail is wagging happily on the air.

She’s is going to kill him. That little shit. She is going to down him in the pool and throw him back over the balcony rails herself.

“Let me join, master, please! I’ll be so quiet that you won’t even notice me there. Think how good it’ll feel to bury yourself in two of those little holes at the same time!”

She doesn’t dare move, not even brave enough to take a breath as the body above hers stiffens then jerks backwards. Her eyes stay on the ceiling. Stay still. Stay still. Stay still. It’s deafeningly silent.

His voice hisses through the air, threatening and full of disbelief.

“Little mouse?”

Well. Fuck.

I guess you could read this and view the protagonist as morally grey but I raise you, as the ringleader of this circus, that I am also just stupid and the “if I don’t move it can’t see me” tactic is my favourite every uncomfortable social situation, so there’s also that. This was more of a practice. I’m trying to oil ye ol rusty smut skills. I hope I managed to make the characters somewhat recognisable even if it’s kinda goofy.

[st-danger]

Phantom breeding kink?

"You wanna?" The questions is huffed out between Dew pushing into him, sliding out. The slow drag of it is delicious. He could enjoy this, not push his luck too much, but Swiss tells him things, secret things, and what would be the point of a well lit path of breadcrumbs if he's not meant to follow?

Dew hesitates. Aeon looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes- the devil's always good about convincing folks he doesn't exist, right? Isn't that the narrative that's pushed here? So- innocent, sweet. Asking in a softer voice, the one that always gets Swiss, the one that sounds like silk. He knows he can look like an angel, even with his legs over somebody's shoulders.

Dew adjusts, so he can bring a hand, wrap it around his throat- holding. Warning.

"Watch it," he says.

Breadcrumbs, though.

"Swiss says it freaks you out," Aeon says. He knows he's pushing it, but he also knows Swiss would not feed him information that wasn't to be used. "Says it makes you cum really hard anyway." Dew continues to stare at him, and when Aeon feels his cock throb hard inside of him, he sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Coquettish.

"Is that what he says," Dew murmurs, tone unkind.

"I thought maybe you wanna try it from the other side," Aeon says. "I need it." Reaches for Dew's chest, and gives the rings in his nipples a playful little tug. "I think you do, too."

Dew scoffs, lets go of his throat, and leans back up, hooking his hands behind Aeon's knees. Aeon sees the cracks in his composure, even if Dew thinks he's being careful. There's been a few things he's gotten really good at Above Ground, and one of his best is working his way under Dew's skin in the best ways possible. Getting into his bloodstream and getting into his head. Dew's never stood a chance with him, has found him alluring and irresistible since the first hookup backstage when he'd shoved him against the door, stroking both of them off, kissing Aeon stupid in between telling him how impressed he was.

They hang suspended for a moment, and Aeon gives him his most beatific smile.

"Wanna knock me up?"

Dew is pulling out, flipping him over, and shoving him down before Aeon's brain catches up to what's happening. A hand on the back of his neck forcing his chest down, his ass up, presented. Dew slides back in without warning. A hard sharp thrust in that makes Aeon gasp with it.

"That what you want?" Dew's voice sounds weird. Tense. Strangled. Another hard thrust, and Aeon laughs, absolutely delighted. Maybe he'll buy Swiss some flowers. The laugh is cut off when Dew slams back in again, forcing the breath from him, and there's a hint of cruelty in it that sends a thrill up his spine. He doesn't wait for a response, just begins fucking into him harder and faster than he's expecting, or prepared for. Aeon startles.

"Dew-"

"I'm gonna," Dew grunts.

"S'really hard," Aeon says, of the pace, the force Dew begins railing him with. It isn't bad, but it's unexpected, and through the arousal, he feels the flicker-flame of nervousness bloom in the pit of his stomach.

"You want it, you're going to take it how I give it to you," Dew says, dark, and hits just the right spot, pushes on the back of his neck just a little harder. Pinning him further. Aeon moans, sharp and reedy. "You wanna be bred so bad? I'll give it to you, then," he says, and Aeon feels the fingers on his hips dig savagely in.

"Do it," Aeon says.

He realizes quickly he's over his head, and realizes just how much he likes it.

Swiss had left him breadcrumbs, but hadn't warned him about what, exactly, it would lead him to.

[d3adp00ls]

I’m still waiting for that angst fic pookie 😍🫶

Clingy

Vanessa (fnaf movie) x reader

Summary: Vanessa has been a lot more distant a lot but you didn’t think she would miss a important night like this. (I KNOW MY SUMMARY IS BEAUTIFUL)

Contents: Angst, Yelling, Tears, stressed Vanessa, Established relationship, hurt no comfort (yet), Vanessa gets slapped 😬, somebody needs driving lessons lol.

Word count: I'm pretty sure my dog knows.

Side note: 🦗🦗🦗🦗🦗

Pt.2 Pt.3

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You were sitting on the couch in your shared home with Vanessa, watching a TV program that featured extravagant rings that cost more than your entire life. Recently, Vanessa had been coming home later than usual, and every time you tried to bring it up, she would dismiss your concerns or accuse you of being too clingy. You tried to brush off her words and the hurt they caused, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore your feelings. Eventually, you gave up and started going to bed before she came home. However, tonight was supposed to be different. You had pleaded with her to come home early and she had promised she would. Filled with hope, you had prepared a romantic candle-lit dinner and even bought her a gift. But as the minutes turned into hours, the food grew cold and the gift remained untouched on the table. You sat on the couch with a half-finished glass of wine, tears welling up in your eyes.

She was supposed to have arrived hours ago, and you had debated whether or not to just go to sleep. But as you were about to doze off, you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling and the front door opening. Vanessa, your late girlfriend, seemed oblivious to your presence as she quietly closed the door and went straight to the kitchen without acknowledging the food you had prepared for her.

With a clenched jaw, you stood up and cleared your throat, causing Vanessa to finally notice you. "Y/n? What are you doing up?" she asked with a confused and slightly worried expression.

You wanted to scoff at her question. How dare she ask that when she had promised to be here? "Oh, you know," you shrugged, taking a few steps towards her, "Just waiting for my girlfriend who was supposed to be here almost four hours ago." Your voice rose with pent-up anger towards the end, and you could see Vanessa flinch slightly at the sound of it.

"Y/n…I lost track of time, I'm sorry, really I am, I-" She started to apologize, but you cut her off, not in the mood for her excuses.

"Do you know what today is?" you asked, your voice heavy with disappointment. Vanessa looked even more puzzled, and you let out a sigh as you walked over to the table and picked up the small gift box you had prepared for her. You fiddled with it between your fingers, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"June 7th," you said, looking back at Vanessa, hoping she would finally understand. But she still looked confused, and you felt your heart sink. "The day we started dating, two years ago. Does it not ring a bell, Vanessa? Or were you too busy thinking about work or some other woman while you were out all night?" you couldn't hold back your anger any longer, and you let out a loud yell, tears now streaming down your face.

"Oh…" Vanessa mumbled, finally realizing her mistake. You nodded, wiping the tears from your cheeks, but they kept coming.

"Yeah…" you said, your disappointment evident in your voice.

"Baby, I know I've been really busy and lost track of time, but please try to understand-" You cut her off abruptly, rolling your eyes and turning away.

"Here we go again…" you mutter under your breath, feeling her glare burning into the back of your head as you make your way to the bedroom. You toss the gift box in the trash on your way, feeling frustrated and angry.

"What do you mean?" she asks, following you into the room. You let out a sigh and close the door behind you, but she stops it with her foot and pushes it open, grabbing your arm and spinning you to face her.

"Don't you dare walk away when I'm talking to you," she says coldly, but you scoff and pull your arm away.

"No, you don't get to act like you haven't been doing the same thing for the past week. You always do this, yet whenever I try and speak up about it, I'm the bad guy? That's complete bullshit!" you yell, jabbing your finger into her chest.

"And don't even try to pretend that you've only missed spending time with me once. You do it every single day," you continue, your voice cracking as tears start to well up in your eyes.

"Every time you tell me you'll be here, you never are. And when I try to talk to you about it, you just shut me down and tell me the same bullshit excuse or you just flat out tell me to get over it. But it's getting harder and harder to ignore, Nessa. And this morning, I had to beg you to stay. You said you would, and I believed you. But then you showed up later than ever and didn't even respond to my messages. You didn't even remember what today was. At this point, I’m convinced I’m just some inconvenience to you." Your voice breaks as you continue to pour out your feelings, wiping away the tears that are now falling freely down your face.

She looks at you in surprise, wanting to reach out and comfort you, but you take a step back and wipe away your own tears before taking a deep breath and looking away from her.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm not important to you, Nessa. I just want to spend time with you and feel like I matter to you. Is that too much to ask?" you say, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Vanessa let out a heavy sigh before shaking her head in frustration.

"Y/n, I love you, but I have responsibilities and obligations that I can't always put on hold for you," she said with a huff.

You looked at her with hurt and confusion in your eyes, crossing your arms and turning away. "Am I not important to you anymore?" you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Vanessa's sigh pained your heart as you heard it. "Of course you are, but you just don't understand," she started, but you interrupted her with a pleading look.

"Then help me understand," you begged, taking her hands and pulling her closer to you. You pressed your forehead against hers, desperate for her to see how much this was affecting you. "Please… I want to understand," you whispered, gazing into her eyes.

She looked away, her jaw clenching as she pulled her hands away from yours. Your heart sank as she avoided your gaze, and you clenched your fists in frustration.

"Okay," you said quietly, finally accepting that she wasn't going to explain. You pushed past her and left the room, heading to the living room.

You didn't hear her follow you as you grabbed your coat and began putting on your shoes. As you searched for your keys, you heard Vanessa enter the room and stand in the middle of it, watching you. But you didn't acknowledge her as you grabbed your wallet from the table behind her.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her tone a little more stern.

You ignored her and continued searching for your keys, finally finding them between the couch cushions. You stood up and began walking towards the door, but she grabbed your arm and turned you around forcefully.

"I asked you a question," she glared at you.

You glared back and snatched your arm away, walking past her towards the door. But she followed you, grabbing your arm more harshly this time and turning you around.

"No, you don't get to leave-" she started, but before she could finish her sentence, you had already raised your hand and slapped her across the cheek.

You were shocked at your own actions and immediately regretted it as you saw the red handprint on her cheek. You both stood there in silence and shock before you finally mumbled a quick apology and left.

She eventually made her way back to the bedroom, her heart breaking as she heard your car speed away. If she had stayed just five seconds longer, she would have heard the sound of another car zooming by and a loud crash. If she hadn't fallen asleep just ten minutes later, she would have heard her phone ringing.

But she would see all of that in the morning.

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BRO I HAVE BEEN PROCRASTINATING THIS FIC FOR A WEEK I LITERALLY HAD IT FINISHED JUST NOT EDITED and then i was supposed to post it earlier but im on the phone with some friends BUT FINALLY I POSTED IT also ill post part two sometime this week hopefully ANYWAYS TOODLES🤪✌🏾

[straykeedz]

day 9: bang chan + corruption kink

©straykeedz

tw: brother’s best friend!chan; reader is inexperienced; very brief hand job; oral sex (both m and f receiving); chan kinda kink-shames himself; fingering (f); chan praising the reader; cum swallowing; implied first time sex and loss of virginity (they basically have sex off screen lol); ♡

wc: 5,6k (I’M SORRY THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 3K MAX I DON’T KNOW HOW IT ENDED UP BEING 5 🫣)

i’m honestly not proud of this lol i changed my mind like a million times while writing this and i still don’t like it but then i thought fuck it and here we are - this was a lot better in my imagination i swear 🥲

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡ ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

⚀

Chan almost falls from the couch when he hears those words - eyes wide as he stares at you like you just told him the most absurd thing in the world. Okay, maybe it is the most absurd thing in the world - or maybe you’re just not supposed to tell your brother’s best friend, who knows? Either way, you’re in too deep now, and Chan looks like he’s about to have a stroke in your living room. 

“Y/n…”, he clears his throat, cheeks flushing slightly pink as he thinks about what to say next. “As your brother’s best friend it’s my duty to tell you that this…”, he trails, and you can already feel your heart drop at what he just said, even though it’s true - he is your brother’s best friend “…is a terrible idea.”, he concludes. 

“Why?”, you furrow your eyebrows, taking a sip of your smoothie. 

He struggles to find the right words to say, that much is clear. You can see it in the way he nervously fidgets with the hem of his oversized sweatshirt, or the way he’s constantly trying to swallow the lump in his throat, though unsuccessfully. Eventually, he figures there’s no right way to say what he has in mind, he just has to say the damn words out loud. 

“Because, y/n…”, he stutters, and you find it cute - seeing him so flustered and clearly embarrassed. “It has to be with someone special, someone you love and who loves you back.”, he explains. “Not with a random dude. It’s your first time, it should be special.”, he concludes. 

Not once in his life Chan thought he’d find himself talking about your sex life while being next to you, on your couch, in your living room. You, his best friend’s sister. Not once he thought he’d find himself lecturing you about how important it is to have your first time with somebody you care about. Yeah, Chan definitely wasn’t prepared for that. He doesn’t even remember how you ended up talking about this in the first place - one minute you were just chilling on the couch waiting for your brother to come home, and the next thing he knew you were complaining to him about the guy you were seeing and your lack of sexual activity. Poor Chan almost choked on his beverage when those words left your lips. 

“Technically, I was about to have my first time.”, you correct him. “It’s not my fault he came before he even put it in and disappeared without a trace because he was too embarrassed.”, you shrug. 

Chan is speechless, tips of his ears red as he listens to your words. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation with Jisung’s sister - you, who’d cry and throw tantrums if your brother won’t let her win while playing video games when you were a little girl. You, who - Chan realizes - are not a little girl anymore. You’re a grown woman now - who dates and is interested in boys and… sex, apparently. 

“I think… you shouldn’t be talking to me about this.” Chan clears his throat. “You should talk with a friend or something.”

“I thought we were friends.”, you tease him. 

“You know what I mean.” Chan sighs. “Like, a girl friend. I’m not- I don’t know what to say besides that I really think you should be doing it with the right person.” 

Chan mentally pats himself on the shoulder - he feels like he did a great job, didn’t he? That’s what he’s supposed to tell his brother’s sister when she asks him for advices in that field, right? Be a good friend and try to prevent you from making stupid decisions that could potentially ruin your life. 

“Please.”, you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. “I gave up on the prince charming delusion a long time ago.”, you chuckle bitterly. 

Chan doesn’t know anything about your private life, now that you think about it. He doesn’t know that you weren’t really into that guy and only went out with him a couple of times because you felt like you were missing out on something, he doesn’t know that you don’t really believe in love since the person you want to be with won’t ever reciprocate your feelings. He doesn’t know any of these things - so maybe coming to him for advice was the wrong decision. 

“You don’t believe there’s the perfect guy for you out there?” Chan inquires, furrowing his eyebrows as he stares at you confused. Part of him is glad the conversation shifted to a less mature topic. 

“Do you?”

“It’s impolite to answer one’s question with another question.” Chan points out, and feels like he just dodged a very dangerous bullet. 

You do. You do believe there’s someone who’s perfect for you, who’d treat you just right and make you the happiest human in the whole world, the problem is - you think it’s Chan, but you can’t tell him that. You can’t tell him you always had a soft spot for him, you can’t tell him you wish he weren’t friends with your brother - things would be easier that way. You can’t tell him any of that. 

“It would never work out.”, you cut it short. 

“Oh, so there is someone.” Chan teases. “Why are you being so pessimistic? Why would it never work out?”, he asks. 

“It’s complicated.”, you try to avoid answer his question directly. “Plus, I’m sure he doesn’t even see me as a woman.”, you let out a bitter chuckle as you fidget with your rings. 

“Now, what does this even mean?” Chan looks at you with a confused expression, an eyebrow quirked at you. “Why wouldn’t he see you as a woman?”, he inquires.

Who could this guy possibly be?, Chan can’t help but wonder. He must be blind or something. You are a woman, a beautiful, stunning woman - with the curves in the right places and the prettiest smile Chan’s ever seen. This guy must be really stupid and he’s missing out on a lot, Chan thinks. 

“Chan…”, you swallow the lump in your throat. “Do you? See me… as a woman?” And not only as your best friend’s sister?, you want to add.

Chan thinks is about to have a stroke, but luckily for him his phone rings - saving him from having to answer your question. However, you don’t miss the way his eyes widen and body freezes, and it hits you - he’ll never see you like you see him. You’ll be nothing more than Jisung’s sister in his eyes, and you’ll never stand a chance. You’ll never get the chance to be the one who makes him happy. 

“N-Never mind.”, you mutter, tears already prickling in your eyes as you stand up from the couch and head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. 

-

What feels like an eternity later but are, probably, ten minutes - someone knocks on your door. Someone being Chan, but from the other side of the door you can’t know it. For all you know, it could be your brother or, you know, a murderer - which seems to be a better option than facing Chan right now anyways. 

But of course it’s Chan. 

“Y/n?”, he calls softly from the hallway. 

You could pretend to be asleep. Or just ignore him and pretend you were wearing headphones and didn’t hear him if he ever brings up the subject. Maybe the earth could swallow you whole. Maybe an asteroid could blow up the Earth in about five seconds to save you from the embarrassment of having to face Chan after the madness that took place in your living room? Your hopes on the asteroid are high. But the five seconds eventually pass, and you’re still in your bedroom, very much alive, and Chan is still on the other side of the door. 

“What do you want?”, your intention was to sound brave and strong, but your voice is incredibly little as you speak. You get closer to the door, but you don’t open it.

He hesitates. “Your… uh, it was your brother - on the phone.”, he clears his throat. “He’s gonna come home late. Apparently there’s been a car crash and the main road is completely blocked, he’s bottled up in traffic.”, he explains. 

“Oh.”

So that’s why he’s here. To pass the message of your brother. Not because he’d been thinking about your words and suddenly realized he loves you and wants to marry you and that you’re basically the love of his life and wants to have lots of babies with you? Disappointed, but not surprised. 

“I also wanted to…”, he hesitates. “Can we- can we talk?”

That damn asteroid better be on its way. 

“About what?”

You know what he wants to talk about, you’re not stupid. You felt so brave in the living room, ten minutes ago, and now? Now you’re staring at a closed door, heart beating loud in your chest as you’re trying to find a solution for the mess you created. Nobody but you. Not Chan, you.

“About… Can you… Could you open the door? Please.”

Giving up on the silly and improbable, yet not impossible, idea of the asteroid, you mentally pat yourself on the shoulder as you wrap your fingers around the doorknob, a few seconds away from closing the distance with Chan. Are you ready to face him? Not really. It wasn’t in your plans to end your night with being rejected by your crush, but hey - this is the life, you guess. 

When you swing the door open, he’s standing there, in his stupid oversized sweatshirt and tight jeans, looking absolutely fucking handsome and all you want to do is slam the door in his stupidly stunning face, get under the covers and basically never ever leave your bed again. How can someone look so hot in just a plain sweatshirt and skinny jeans, by the way?

You’re both clearly embarrassed - standing in front of each other awkwardly. What are you even supposed to say? He seems to be equally uncomfortable. 

“You can… come in.”, you mumble, stepping aside to let him inside your bedroom. You figure it’s better than discussing whatever it is that he wants to talk about standing on the doorstep of your room. 

It leads to you sitting uncomfortably on your bed, knees to your chest, and Chan sat on the gamin chair in your room, fidgeting with his rings, avoiding looking in your direction. You wonder what’s the point in being in the same room if neither of you is going to talk. 

“What did you want to ta-“

“Why did you ask me if I see you as a woman?”

You speak in unison, voices overlapping. Well, this is awkward. What’s even more awkward - is that you’re now staring at each other, looking each other in the eyes. Of course that’s what he wanted to talk about. 

You sigh. “It’s you.”

Chan looks at you confused, eyebrows furrowed as he asks - “Me?”, he genuinely doesn’t know what you’re referring to.

You nod. “You asked me if I believe there’s the perfect guy out there. It’s you.”

“Me?”, he asks again, this time in a high-pitched voice. 

You nod again.

“It’s always been you, Chan. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t notice before.”, you chuckle, breaking the eye contact, fidgeting with the hem of your pajama pants. “I’ve liked you since I was thirteen.”, you confess, blushing a bit, because it feels surreal - to tell him all of this, to pour his heart to him on a random Friday night, in your bedroom. 

He’s sincerely speechless, his brain still trying to process your words. You like him. You like him. Him, Bang Christopher Chan. Him. Since you were thirteen. And you think he’s the perfect guy for you. Him. And you think it’d never work out between you. Why would you think that? Oh, right, Jisung. And you think he doesn’t see you as a woman? You must be crazy. 

Noticing he’s been silent for a while now, you decide to break the silence, despite the palpable tension. “Listen, just- just forget everything. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”, you still wouldn’t look at him. “You can go on with your life pretending I didn’t just confess my feelings for you and I’ll go on pretending I don’t have them.”

Chan blinks a few times, looking at your figure. You look so delicate and fragile, hugging your knees to your chest, and he feels the need to protect you, to take care for you. 

“I can’t do that.”, he manages to say after what feels like an eternity. 

Your head immediately snaps in his direction, meeting his warm, chocolate eyes. “Why?”

Chan runs one hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit, then takes a deep breath. He stands up from your chair and sits on the bed next to you. You try not to cringe at the fact that he’s wearing his outside clothes on your freshly washed sheets - it’s not the focus right now, you can always change them and throw them in the washing machine. His clothes are definitely not the focus when he takes your hand in his, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. 

“Because I have feelings for you, too.”

If the asteroid is on its way, it better reverse right now.

“What?” Chan chuckles at your shocked expression, your jaw practically on the floor. 

He nods. “I always tried to ignore them, tho. You know, because of…” he doesn’t say his name, but you know he’s talking about your brother. “Have had them for a while now. Not as long as you, but long enough to know it’s not just a crush.”

It all feels surreal, but then Chan continues. 

“So, to answer your question - yes, I do see you as a woman.”, his words make your stomach twist - in a good way, of course. “A beautiful one at that.”, he whispers the last words. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. Automatically, you’re both leaning towards each other until your foreheads are pressed together and your noses brushing. You’re sure you’re blushing, and he’s flustered, too.

“Chan can you… can we kiss?”, you whisper.

Chan is taken aback by your request, but it makes his legs feel weak nonetheless. A million thoughts are running through his head right now, most of them featuring your brother, but in the end he comes to the conclusion that you’re both adults and that you can make your own decisions and deal with the consequences later, together. 

So, he closes his eyes and kisses you.

There’s nothing promiscuous in the way he presses his lips against yours, nothing dirty. It’s just a chaste, innocent kiss, however it makes your head spin nonetheless. His plump, soft lips feel a million times better than what you imagined. It’s you who decides to take a step further - deepening the kiss, biting and licking his lower lip, and Chan swears he can feel his soul leave his body. 

He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he places his hand on the nape of your neck and pulls you closer. In a matter of seconds, he’s laying on his back on your mattress, and you’re still kissing him, propped up on one elbow as you cup his face with your free hand. However, Chan’s body instantly freezes when he feels you moving said hand from his face to his jawline, then his neck, then his chest, then his abdomen, and then… he stops you before you can cup his hard-on by wrapping his hands around your wrists, gently. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, his lips are swollen, and it makes you throb knowing it’s because of you. Because he’s been kissing you. Tho, you look at him with a questioning look on your face. 

“Maybe we should wait.” Chan whispers, running his other hand through your hair. 

You blink a few times. “Oh - right. I’m sorry, it’s okay if you don’t want this.”, you mutter, embarrassed, breaking the eye contact. 

Chan is quick to say - “No, no, wait. I do want this - I want this very much.”, he clarifies. “It’s just - I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. I can wait.”, he moves a lock of hair from your face, looking you in the eyes. 

You smile at him, a smile that warms his heart. “I want this, Chan. I’m not feeling pressured.”, you reassure him, tho he still doesn’t look convinced. 

“Are you sure?”, he inquires. You nod. “One hundred percent?” You nod again. 

“You said it before, that it should be with the right person.”, you repeat his words. “And I think you’re the one.”

You don’t recall how it happened, you only know that ten minutes later, both your and Chan’s clothes are scattered on the floor of your bedroom. He’s in his boxer, sitting on your bed, still kissing you, who are in just your oversized t-shirt and panties. His kisses slowly move from your lips to the corner of your mouth until he ends up kissing your jawline. By the time his lips brush the skin of your neck, you’re insanely wet, and can’t wait to feel him closer. 

When you cup his hard cock, albeit still confined in his underwear, Chan thinks he’s about to die right there, right now. That’s it. His life ends like this - with a platonic handjob over his black boxers. However, he feels very much alive when you touch him properly - your hand finding its way under the waistband, cock harder than a fucking piece of metal. 

“Oh, my God.”, he exhales after you give his length a long stroke. 

You pump his length a few more times, before your movements come to a halt. Chan looks at you with a questioning look on his face, concerned - is this making you uncomfortable? You don’t want this anymore? It’s perfectly fine if you don’t, he just wants to make sure you two are still okay. 

“I want to… try something, if that’s okay with you.”, you speak softly. 

Chan nods, then swallows the lump in his throat when you hook your fingers on the sides of his underwear, motioning for him to take them off. He does, standing up from the bed as he lets the dark piece of fabric slide down his thick thighs. Your eyes widen at the sight - you’ve never seen a more beautiful dick. Not that you’ve seen many in real life, only the one of the guy you dated for a short period of time but, you know, you’ve seen a lot in porn. And Chan’s is the prettiest of them all. Average length, you suppose, but a bit thicker and absolutely perfect. 

Chan is about to sit on the bed, when all of a sudden, in a matter of seconds, you’re kneeling right in front of him, making his heart jump in his throat. 

“It’s-… I…”, you stutter, clearly embarrassed. All the confidence you previously had suddenly vanished.

“You don’t have to.” Chan is quick to reassure you, caressing the top of your head, running his fingers through your hair. 

“I want to.”, you correct him. “It’s just - I’ve never done it before. I don’t… know how to.”, you confess, your puffy cheeks blushing a little as you admit you’ve never sucked a cock in your life to your ultimate crush. 

Chan feels a shiver running all over his body, and he doesn’t know why - but his cock gets even harder. It should feel wrong, to be so turned on by a confession, especially if it’s coming from your best friend’s sister. But you look so innocent, kneeling before him, your mouth is only a few inches away from his hard, leaking cock, and Chan can’t stop the dirty thoughts that are now running through his head. The thought of being the first cock you’ll wrap your lips around is making him go feral. Maybe he should stop you - it doesn’t feel right, he feels like he’s about to commit something morally wrong and unacceptable, betraying his own friend, corrupting your innocence like that, even though you told him you want it, you want him. 

“You- you really don’t have to.”, he repeats. 

“You already said that.”, you chuckle. “I really want to, tho, Chan.”, you say once again. “Just- tell me what to do. I want to make you feel good.”

Chan’s soul is definitely burning in hell, he’s gone too far for the Lord to save his soul now. You’re looking at him through your eyelashes, beautiful doe eyes staring into his soul, and for a second there - it feels like you’re the one corrupting him, tempting him, driving him crazy. 

“It’s- just… you can start by, uh- licking the underside.”, the words that leave his mouth sound even dirtier because he’s saying them to you. 

You nod, still looking him in the eye as you proceed to do exactly what he said, wrapping your hand around his base. You lick your lips, damping them, and Chan feels like he’s about to have a stroke. And then, before he has the time to process what’s taking place in your bedroom, he feels your warm, wet tongue on his cock, and a loud sound falls from his lips. You do as he said, licking a long stripe that goes from his thick base to his leaking tip.

“D-Do that again.”, he chokes. 

It shouldn’t feel go good, it shouldn’t feel so good, it shouldn’t feel so good - that’s what he keeps thinking. You repeat your last action - licking the underside of his hard member once again, collecting the little drop of pre-cum that leaked from his tip, tasting him, and his mind feels suddenly empty. 

“Fuck- you drive me crazy.”, he closes his eyes, the sight of your mouth on his cock is too much for him to take. “Now take- take the tip inside. Just the tip.”, he instructs. 

You nod, then wrap your lips around his cockhead. Chan has had his fair share of blowjobs throughout his life - but he swears none of them ever felt this way. Because none of the girls was you, that’s the harsh truth he has to accept. He hisses at the sight of your small mouth around his not-so-small dick, your pretty eyes still still staring at him as you witness him unravel under your touch. 

“Now s-suck”, he stutters. 

He brings his hand on your face as he watches you take his cock in your mouth - when suddenly he finds himself thinking of forbidden thoughts. For instance, that his is the first cock you sucked, that no one else before him had the privilege. He’s your first time doing something so promiscuous. He has you in a way no one has ever had you, and it’s making him going feral.

“Try a bit deeper now, love.”

You moan around his length at the pet name, and Chan can clearly see you clenching your legs as an attempt at relieving some of the tension you’re feeling. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to worry - that he’s going to take care of you, that he’s in charge of your pleasure tonight and, hopefully, from now on. 

To be honest, you’re not skilled enough to take his whole length in, of course, and only manage to take half of it without choking on it, being careful not to hurt him with your teeth, but it’s more than enough for Chan - to be honest, he’s already practically detaining himself from orgasming.

“I’m- I’m so close”, he pants, entangling his fingers in your hair. “I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.”, he warns you. 

You have no intention of pulling away, not when you’re about to see him lose himself in his pleasure. You feel incredibly proud at the thought that it’s because of you. You suck harder, tasting him against your tongue, wanting to make him feel good, better.

“Seriously…”, he hisses, feeling the familiar warmth in his lower abdomen. “I’m - so close.”, he moans. You don’t pull away; in fact, you suck harder. “I’m- fuck, fuck, I’m cumming.”

He shoots inside your mouth before he can stop himself, filling your mouth with his release, kicking his head back and closing his eyes as sweet sounds escape his parted lips and his body is shaken by a shiver. You’re curious about how he tastes, and that encourages you to swallow his release. You read a lot about what cum tastes like - some like it, others absolutely despite it; you have to admit, it tastes differently than what you expected, but not necessarily in a bad way. 

“I’m sorry.”, Chan pants, not fully recovered from his intense high. You frown, looking at him confused. “For… you know, finishing in your mouth.”, he mumbles. 

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then smile at him, cheeks red. “Don’t be, I wanted you to.”, you admit. “I liked it.”

Despite coming, Chan’s dick is still hard, and he’s nearly ready to go again. Not without giving you an equally mind-blowing orgasm in return. Soon, you’re lying on your bed with his body between your legs, his lips on yours, hard cock pressed against your clothed cunt, rubbing against your most sensitive spot, making you whimper. 

“Can I return the favor?”, he whispers on your lips, eyes staring into yours. 

You nod timidly, which is ridiculous considering the fact you had his cock in your mouth only a couple of minutes ago, but it’s different now. He helps you take off your oversized t-shirt, letting it fall on the floor without a care in the world, revealing your naked chest to him and you suddenly feel exposed. The next thing he does is hook his fingers on each side of your panties and slowly slide them down your legs, taking in the sight of your naked body, a sight that makes his head spin. 

“You’re so beautiful.”, he mumbles, placing a soft kiss on your navel which makes you shiver, getting goosebumps all over your naked body. 

He leaves a series of kisses that go from your navel to your groin, but he doesn’t touch you right where you need him the most. Instead, he kisses your inner thigh, licking and scraping the soft flesh with his teeth, before he brings two fingers to his mouth, coating them in his own spit. Your eyes widen and your breath gets caught in your throat when he places those fingers precisely on your clit - finding it on the first try. He continues kissing you inner thigh as he touches your clit, moving his fingers in a circular motion, albeit slowly as his kisses get closer and closer to your sweet spot. 

The moan that leaves your lips when he wraps his plump lips around your clit has him buckling his hips against the sheets in desperate need of some friction. He touches you there with his fingers, lips and tongue at the same time. Then, he drags his fingers all the way to your entrance, still making out with your clit as wet sounds fill your bedroom, but feels you freeze under his touch. 

“Can I?”, he asks, then places another kiss on your clit as his head snaps up in your direction. 

You prop yourself on your elbows, and nod slowly. “It’s… No one has ever…you know.”, you’re a bit embarrassed to admit, even though it’s perfectly normal. 

“Not even… you?” Chan’s a bit embarrassed to ask you such a personal question.

You shake your head as a no, and blush a little. “I usually, uh… do it from the outside.”

Here it is again - the warmth in Chan’s stomach, the shiver down his spine. He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, as his fingers circle your wet entrance. 

“Don’t do this to me…”, he sighs, his hair tickling the skin of your inner thigh. 

“Do what?”, you ask, confused. 

“You… keep saying these things to me and it makes me wanna-“, he rests his forehead on your belly, one arm wrapped around your leg and his fingers on your cunt. The words die in his mouth. 

“It makes you wanna?”, you run one hand through his dark chocolate hair, encouraging him to continue. 

He sighs. “It makes me wanna have you.”, he mumbles against your skin. “In way no one has had you, in ways that feel… forbidden. It shouldn’t turn me on this much.”, he shamefully admits. “It feels almost… wrong, you know?”

“What feels wrong?”

“That I’m turned on by the idea of being your first.”, he exhales. “Before, when you, uh… you don’t know the effect it had on me - seeing you with your lips around me, knowing that I was your first…”, he groans out of frustration. 

You can’t help but chuckle at his confession. “Are you saying you’re feeling guilty because the idea of having sex with me turns you on?”

He sighs, still avoiding eye-contact with you. “It’s not just that.”, he shakes his head. “It’s the thought of being the first to do certain kind of things to you, you know? It feels like… I’m corrupting your innocence or something.”, he whispers the last words, ashamed of himself for voicing that thought. 

“Chan, hey…”, his eyes finally meet yours. You smile warmly at him, showing him that you’re not turned off, neither grossed out by his confession. “It’s okay.”, you reassure him. “It turns me on, too - that you’re the first to do these kind of things to me. You don’t know how many times I thought about this.”

Chan whimpers almost instinctively at your confession. “Really?”

You nod. “It feels so good - knowing that it’s not a dream this time, that it’s all real.”

He begins to slowly move his fingers up and down your slit once again, feeling how wet you are for him, and suddenly he feels less bad about the whole situation - especially after learning that you feel the same about this. He nods, suddenly a lot more confident, then he resumes leaving kisses on your most intimate spot, bringing his lips and tongue back to where they previously were - on your clit, making you whimper. 

“Tell me if it hurts.”, he whispers against your skin, and then you feel his fingers poking at your entrance. 

Then, he lets the tip of his index slip inside, and you both let out a choked moan - him, because of how tight you feel around his digit; you, because, as opposed to what you were expecting, it doesn’t hurt at all, and it’s not uncomfortable either. Or maybe, you’re just super wet and impatient. 

“Good?” Chan asks you once his finger is fully inside of you. 

You nod vigorously. “Good.”, you confirm. 

He resumes making out with your clit, only this time he slowly pumps his finger inside of you, stretching you open, albeit only slightly. He adds a second finger not too long later, delicately as he pushes it inside your tight walls, careful not to hurt you, getting you to adjust to the feeling. A few minutes later, you recognize the familiar warmth in your stomach, signaling your orgasm is close - how could it not be, when Chan’s eating you out like you’re his favorite meal, swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking it while pumping his fingers inside of you?

“Channie, I-“ A couple of long sucks on your clit make you reach your high - releasing around Chan’s fingers with a muffled whimper, legs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. 

Chan licks the residual of your arousal from his fingers, moaning as soon as he gets to taste you. “So sweet, love.”, he mumbles, body pressed against yours, face buried in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with soft kisses. 

You run your fingers through his hair, still trying to catch your breath. After a few seconds spent in complete silence, you murmur - “Chan?”

“Hm?”

“I kind of… want more.”

He snaps his head in your direction, looking at you with wide eyes, as if he’s not sure he heard you right. “More?”, he asks. You nod. “Are you sure, love?” You nod once again. “It’s… a big deal I mean - it’s your first time.”, 

“I’m sure.”, you tell him, and he can tell you’re being honest  “I want it to be with you.” Chan can feel his cock practically throb, tightly pressed against his body and yours - you can feel it. “You don’t want to?”, you ask him, one hand in his hair and the other one caressing his arm and shoulder. “You don’t want to fuck me?”, you whisper on his lips, and he gulps.

You kiss his lips, then his jawline, then nibble his ear - “You don’t want to be my first? Take my virginity?”, you whisper in his ear, and don’t miss the way his body shivers on top of yours - mouth agape as he pants.

“Fuck.”

“Do you want it, Channie?”, you practically moan as you start kissing his neck. “Take me in a way no one has ever done? Make me yours?” 

He instinctively starts to grind his cock against your body in desperate need for friction as the wildest, dirtiest thoughts are running through his head. “Fuck - I do.”, he whimpers when he feels your wetness starting to drip from your pussy, coating his balls as he keeps on grinding against you. “I do. So bad, love. Wanna make you mine.”, he moans. “Wanna be the first to fuck this pretty pussy - fuck, I want to be the last. Wanna make you cum around my cock, fuck. I want it so bad, love.”, he pants, eyes closed as his whole body is a shivering mess. 

“Then take me.”

⚀

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[lewdmommie]

Dom bottom character x Sub top male reader

Where the reader is nervous and keeps whispering “what if somebody hears us” (as he fucks the character) while moaning and withering from overstimulation, at the same time the character is pushing himself down on him, smirk present.

I don’t mind who, you can even make an OC if you’d like. Just the character has to be fucked but still have the dom personality, ordering him around degrading/praising him, and the reader has to do the fucking or has to be trying hard to keep his legs open to let the character lower himself onto him. Readers got that sub personality.

Lunch time

Gojosatoruxhusbandmalereader💗

Summary: y/n spends “lunchtime” with gojo

🎀Warning🎀:18+NSFW,rough sex,raw sex,public sex,language,oral sex, dom/sub, absolute filth

Word count: 1.7k

The halls are swarming with tunnel visioned students and teachers hustling to their next period. Your shoulders brush countless passersby searching for class 1-A. You mumble apologies as you are thrown around in the crowd, the homemade bento box you made following a YouTube tutorial, was clutched close to your stomach. There was no way you would lose all that hard work before he could even see it. The bandaids on your fingers proved that point, you spent all afternoon cutting a variety of veggies and fruit into heart shapes. Your heart pounds as you spot the classroom down the hallway, your cheeks heat up at the thought of seeing him. Somehow after all these years he still managed to make you blush like a new lover. Ever since you two walked these very halls of jujutsu high; you never stopped having a crush on Gojo satoru. You take a deep breath, pumping yourself with confidence as you push the classroom door open. At the front of the class sat the white haired pretty boy, grading papers. He doesn’t look up from his paperwork as he speaks.

“I know you guys love me but you gotta go have lunch-“ his waves, marking the paper with red ink.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your work time.” You say shyly. His head shoots up, gleaming ocean eyes steal your gaze. He smiles wide and cheeky.

“What a pleasant surprise.” His head rests on his hand as he stares at you. He was well aware of the effect he had on you, he loved the way you crumbled under his gaze.

“I-I brought you some lunch.” You walk through the aisles of school desks, he smirks looking you up and down. Nervously, you set the neatly wrapped bento box at the edge of his desk. He wastes no time unwrapping the box, peeking inside.

“Wow, you made this? It’s the best lunch I’ve ever received, thank you baby.” He springs up, pulling you into a long warm hug. You relax in his arms, inhaling the delicious scent of his Versace cologne. He had expensive taste despite being a teacher. Somehow he made a way to support his playboy lifestyle on an educator's salary. You worried he wouldn’t like your home made lunch but to your surprise he loved it.

“Here, here, have a seat.” He clears the tower of homework, motioning to his leather desk chair.

“But that's your spot, I’ll just pull up a chair.” You wave him off. He grabs your waist as you turn away, his breath feathers on your neck.

“I said sit down.” He rasps, planting a warm kiss on your throat. Your feet stumble as he pushes you forcefully down into the chair. You stare up at him with big doe eyes, his cock twitches. Your eyes travel up the length of his body, he stood clad in dark leather shoes,black slacks, and a white button down. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his upper chest. Even wearing the most simple outfit he managed to make it look like a million bucks. His snowy bangs brush over his low crystal eyes as he looks down on you. The crotch of your pants tighten from your growing arousal, you shift nervously in the seat. No way not here, you wouldn’t give into his temptation.

“D-don’t look at me like that.” You stammer, breaking eye contact. His long graceful fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up.

“Like what?” He smirks, focusing his gaze on the thick bulge in your lap. He leans down, closing the space between you. Your breath hitches as his tongue glides over your lower lip. Before you can even think about protesting, his fingers are working the zipper of your denim jeans.

“Wait, does the door lock?!” You whisper/yell in a panic. Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the classroom door anxiously. He slides down to his knees, peering deep into your eyes; completely hypnotizing you. The desk has a pretty large opening underneath, his slender frame is hidden from the view of the door. He nestles in the hiding place, working the waistband of your pants down. After a few seconds, your pants are rolled around your thighs. Gojo’s mouth pools with saliva as he drools at the delectable sight in front of him. He grasps the stiff twitching base of your cock, staring up at you with sinful eyes. He brushes his mouth over your oozing tip, thick warm spit flows from his tongue down the length of your shaft. Your head falls back against the office chair as you hold back your moans. His long slippery tongue swirls around the head of your dick, lapping at the salty pre-cum dribbling out.

“What if someone hears us?” You moan quietly.

“Then you’d better keep your voice down.” His mouth opens wide as he pushes down on your throbbing rod, the aching tip of your cock slams the back of his throat. He lifts up, hollowing out his cheeks, before slamming down and making your dick disappear into his greedy mouth. The hot squishy sensation of his throat clamping down on you is almost too much to handle.

“N-not so much please, feels s’to good ah-“ your nails dig into the arm rest as he moans low in his throat, vibrating your submerged cock. You gasp pulling yourself closer to the edge of the desk as you hear the door knob jingle. Because you pulled yourself closer to the desk, gojo is cramped tightly under with your dick forced so deep in his throat he can barely breath. Tears prick at his eyes as he tries to focus breathing through his nose.

“Mr.Satoru? Mr.satoru are you in here? Oh, hello.” The sweet elderly woman chirps walking up to the front of the class.

“H-hello, can I help you?” You ask shakily.

“Are you subbing for Mr.satoru, I could have sworn I saw him earlier.” She ponders.

Under the desk Gojo has found a comfortable spot in the new position, he pulls his head up, as far as it could go in the limited space, before slowly easing back down. The wet inner walls of his mouth suck you in deep, swallowing the entire length of you. His hands quietly work the button of his pants allowing himself enough room to reach a single hand behind to slide down his pants. Slowly he slips a finger down the back of his pants, rubbing his twitching hole as he sucks you off.

“No he’s um out for lunch, i'm just filling in till he gets b-back.” You lie, biting your lower lip.

“Are you alright? Should I ask the school nurse to stop by?”

“No! No need for that I-im fine.” You stutter.

“Well okay I’ll take your word for it. I’ll just leave these worksheet copies here. He had me print them and never even picked them up.” She complains, setting the papers on the desk.

“I-I’ll let him know, t-thank you.” You wave as she walks towards the door.

“Have a good day…” her eyebrow raises suspiciously before stepping out the door. Gojo’s head bobs steadily swallowing you whole as he fingers his desperate asshole. With an audible sound he pushes you back, rolling the chair into the chalkboard. Your cock shoots from his mouth with a pop, he gasps for much needed air.

“Thank god she’s finally gone, now you can fuck me.” He pants, standing to his feet. His dick is rock solid, thick veins pulse along the length of his shaft. His big hand grips the hilt of his blushed cock, pumping up and down as he stares at you. His tip is glistening, clear pre drips down his hand. You're standing at full attention, your dick twitches against the smooth skin of your stomach.

“W-we can’t…we almost got caught.” You plead, watching him turn around and spread his plush ass cheeks. He hovers over you, rubbing your tip on his puckered entrance. Your hips flick upward begging to be let inside, he smirks pushing down just enough to take in the head. Your tip is surrounded by the pillowy walls of his anus, wrapping you in a warm wet hug.

“Mmm I can feel you twitching inside me. Don’t tell me you’re already gonna cum. So cute and pathetic.” He teases pushing down again, taking in another inch.

“D-don’t tease me.” You whine, squirming beneath him. He pushed down again, harder this time, taking in half of your cock. Your lap is drenched in his saliva. His spit works as a lubricant to guide you easily inside of him.

“Mmm you’re stretching me s’fucking good.” Gojo groans, throwing his ass down with a final slam. Your eyes roll back as you sink into the deepest parts of him, your tip poking his throbbing g spot. He shivers on top of you as your hands rest on his waist pulling him down further. His hands grip your thighs for support as he bounces up and down, gently tugging the skin of your cock with his tight hole.

“Not doing much talking now that your cock is inside me huh? Uhn fuck… you’re gonna fuck me when and where I say. I’m gonna milk you whenever I want.” He pants. His hips whirl stirring your dick inside of him, your nails dig into his skin. Your legs shiver as he Impales himself on you, his hands push your knees, holding your legs open for him.

“Keep them open for me baby, there you go take it, good boy you’re being so obedient for me.” His fist closes around his dick stroking himself as he jumps up and down on your overstimulated rod.

“Gonna c-cum, so close please please please uhn cumming!” Your hips rut upward pushing as deep as his hole allows you. Hot strings of cum spurt from your twitching tip, coating his anal walls with your sticky milk. Gojos tongue lols out as his own orgasm hits him like a truck, his muscles clamp around you as his tip oozes with loads of thick cum. It runs down his hand and drips onto the classroom floor below. Your spent cock trembles inside him, softening in real time. You both jump at the sudden blare of a bell. He smirks sliding up and off your dick, his asshole drips with the mess you made.

“Thanks for the meal.” He leans down kissing your lips.

[starneteyam]

TEACH ME ★

🖇️ Neteyam x Omaticaya! fem! reader

🖇️ warn. SPICY ASF, tension, no smut

🕯️In which you are Neteyam’s childhood best friend, and because you trust him the most, you ask him to teach you how to kiss

A/N I LOVE TENSION. Ending kind of ass bcs I was gonna write more but it got too long

Neteyam has been by your side ever since you could remember. He was glued to your hip, and you don’t remember a second he wasn’t there when you needed help. When the sky people came and burned down your homes, again, he was suddenly there, forcing you to get up and leave while you wailed out cries in his arms.

He was there to teach you how to hunt, as your father, former Olo’eyktan, was killed in the great battle against the Sky People many years ago. You trusted him with all your heart, and he was there to help you, always.

Which is why you expected his help again, but this time, your request was much more… intimate. You knew he had more experience than you. He had a girlfriend before, for a short while, but he broke up with you for reasons he didn’t tell you.

You didn’t care, his girlfriend was mean, anyways. You sat on a tree next to Neteyam, laughing about things that didn’t matter as you made a beaded necklace.

Your laughter quieted as you bit your lip. You were nervous to ask him, and you couldn’t quite figure out why. You opened your mouth, but the words died on your tongue. Neteyam noticed, and turned to you. “What is wrong?” He asked, hand on your arm.

You laughed nervously, swinging your feet gently. You then turned to him, face suddenly serious that is surprised him. “Neteyam, I must ask you a favor.” You said quietly. The two of you were alone, but still, you were afraid somebody could hear — maybe Eywa.

He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning as he nodded, serious as you. He was concerned. You then became shy, turning your head to the side. “Can you teach me how to… kiss?” He leaned away, eyes wide in surprise.

You looked at him, worried, and opened your mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but you were cut off by his laugh. “That’s it?” He laughed, relieved. You couldn’t help but smile too after seeing his.

“Yes- Yes, I can teach you. But why do you want to learn?” He asked, eyes avoiding yours as he smiled nervously. You didn’t know it because you were a big airhead, but he had the biggest crush on you since forever.

Lo’ak knew it, Kiri knew it—hell, even Tuk knew it. “I am almost of age to be chosen by a man and mate before Eywa. But I have never even held a man’s hand?” You whisper shouted, embarrassed as you buried your face into your hand.

Neteyam sighed, grabbing your hand from your face. He was just glad that it wasn’t because you liked somebody—somebody other than him. “Alright, then. Face towards me.” He instructed you, and you cleared your throat as you looked at him.

“Okay, first thing’s first. Try not to breathe through you nose.” He told you, pointing at his own. You nodded as you straightened you posture. “And, you have to- you kind of- ugh.” He groaned, finding it much harder to explain in words.

“Just copy me.” He said, giving up. His eyes searched your face, his hand sneaking to cup the side of your face. His breath hitched as he looked at you.

You were looking up at him with those doe eyes expectantly, and your face fit perfectly into his palm. “Close your eyes.” He whispered as he leaned in, and you did as told, waiting for anything.

You felt his lips on yours. It was a soft, short kiss. Your lip was between his, and your heart burned at the feeling. He was gentle, treating you as if you were glass. “Tilt your head.” He told you in a hushed tone between his kiss, his words almost slurred as he rushed to kiss you once more.

You tilted your head, and he pushed his lips harder against yours. His hands brushed down your body, before resting on your hips. Your body automatically moved, now on your knees, head tilted downwards as you cupped both sides of his face and pressed your body against his.

You kneeled between his legs, the kisses getting more intense and turning from an innocent kiss to an intense make out. You felt yourself getting lost into your feelings, forgetting why you were kissing him in the first place. He hungrily kissed you, swallowing your hitched breaths as his fingers teased your skin.

As you pushed your weight on him, he almost fell back as he supported himself against the fat branch, snapping out of it as he pulled away, chest heaving. The air filled with sound of your outrun breaths and his.

He let out a laugh. “You don’t need practice at all.” He told you, looking up at you and restraining himself from taking it any further, although he wanted to; he wanted to so bad. You looked down at him with hazed eyes and plump lips that made you so damn attractive, his nails digging into the bark as he stopped himself from smashing his lips on yours once more.

You let out a breathy laugh, happy, though you didn’t know about what. “Neteyam? Where are you?” The two of you heard a groan from under you, and you and Neteyam looked at each other, laughing.

You got off him, turning you back towards Neteyam and looked down at the person calling for him. Neteyam let out a silent breath as you finally looked away, his tail waving wildly as he recalled what just happened, his fingers brushing against his lips. God, you were so perfect.

“Lo‘ak! We are up here! We will be there in a second!” You called down to him, and he waved his arm. You looked back at Neteyam, and he quickly recollected himself and made himself seem nonchalant.

“Come, they are looking for us.” You said to him, before climbing down the tree. You laughed silently to yourself as you climbed down the tree, jumping on the grass. You giggled as you remembered the way he stole your breaths in between kisses, or the way his fingers brushed against the curve of your waist.

Lo’ak looked at you, judging you with his eyes. “Ew, what’s up with you?” To which you rolled your eyes at, purposefully hitting him with your tail. “It is none of your business.” You hissed, crossing your arms as you shuddered, feeling yourself smiling as you thought of Neteyam again. Perhaps, there’s something there that wasn’t there before.

[cuubism]

"Ooh, Kinky"

Hob enjoys doing small, nice things for Dream. Dream... really likes it. A lot. Explicit. Acts of service Hob. Horny-for-kindness Dream. Smut, light angst, fluff, and simple pleasures.

Dream is about to reach his fucking limit with this social event. Hob knows, because he's seen it happen more than a few times before. It doesn't help that Dream's limit is... easily reached.

Unfortunately, this is a political event critical to the peaceful relations of the Dreaming, so they can't just fuck off whenever they like. Well, Hob could, probably, but he won't leave Dream stranded surrounded by his greatest enemies. Those enemies being small talk and attempting to smile, of course.

Dream is perfectly savage in a conversation when he’s allowed to use words as clever and cutting as he likes, but this event has been mostly petty, mundane topics and people trying to see just how rude they can get away with being before Dream breaks his composure. He never does, because he’s trying to reaffirm the strength of the Dreaming after his long absence, but his glares are icy and his annoyance visible in the patina of stardust dancing over his skin. Hob’s never seen someone say Your company has been a pleasure with quite so much venom, and he spent a not-insignificant amount of time as a knight in the Queen’s court.

He watches Dream grit his teeth and visibly restrain himself from dissolving into sand at the end of yet another mundane conversation, his fingers clenching at nothing. Once the person’s retreated, Hob leans against his side, murmuring in his ear, “Just a little while longer, hm?” and rubs a hand up and down Dream’s back. “Then I’ll take you home, run you a bath, get you those biscuits you like. Sound good?”

All Hob is expecting to get is a hum of acknowledgment, maybe a smile if he’s really lucky. Instead, Dream stares at him, eyes wide.

“What?” Hob says. He hadn’t even said anything bad. He’d been trying to offer a little encouragement, not make Dream more frustrated, after all.

“I—” Dream says, and swallows hard. Hob watches his throat bob. “That. Would be nice. Thank you.”

Odd.

Hob offers him a small smile, but doesn’t get to ask about it further as somebody else comes up looking for the Dream Lord’s attention. Hob leaves him to it for now, mulling on that reaction as he wanders in search of another conversation partner. He’ll just have to ask about it later.

****

Hob does not get to ask about it later. Nor does he get to run Dream a bath, or even get the biscuits out of the cabinet, because the moment they return to the Waking, Dream is climbing on top of him in bed and pulling down his pajama pants.

Hob just watches him do it for several long moments, half of his brain still asleep and the other half not comprehending things much better. “That all got you really pent up, huh?”

Instead of answering, Dream licks a stripe up Hob’s cock.

Hob yelps. “Jesus fuck!”

Dream merely hums, already hyper-focused on his self-appointed task of driving Hob round the bend. He leans in low, takes Hob’s dick in his mouth, sucks on it like it’s the only thing he’s been thinking of for the past eight hours, or whatever amount of time in the Dreaming, and, well, if Hob wasn’t hard when he woke up, he will be in about three seconds.

What a wakeup call.

“Dream—” Hob flails in his general direction and manages to find his hair, tangles his fingers in it. He has no idea what in the bloody fuck is going on, though it’s hardly a situation he’ll protest. “What—?”

“I appreciated,” Dream says, pulling off Hob’s rapidly hardening cock, “your company at that wretched event.”

Hob pets his hair, cradles his cheek. "My love, you don't have to pay me back for these things. You know I would do anything for you."

"You misunderstand." Dream leans his forehead into Hob's hip, breathing hard. Breathing. He really is worked up. "It is not. Obligation. I simply. Was thinking of you. All night."

"Oh. Alright then. Really?"

"There was nothing that could hold my thoughts more than you, my lover."

Hob sighs. "You say such pretty things."

"As do you."

The sight of Dream looking up at him with his face still pressed to Hob’s pelvis is not sanity-inspiring, but Hob still manages to ask, “What did I say, exactly?”

Dream hums as he presses his closed lips to Hob’s dick again, and the vibration travels all the way through Hob’s body. “Taking me home. Baths.” He kisses the head of Hob’s cock, tongue darting out just briefly to wet it. “Biscuits.”

It takes Hob so long to comprehend this he wonders if he’s actually still been asleep this whole time. “That’s what got you worked up?”

“It was sweet.” His long fingers sneak up to Hob’s hips. “Alluring.”

Hob is going to have to unpack this at a later time. “You sure you don’t just want the bath and biscuits?” he asks, and then immediately wants to hit himself.

“Later,” says Dream, and returns to his task of waking Hob up in the most startling way possible.

Later, they do indeed have that bath, which Dream takes as another opportunity to show his apparent appreciation, then rests, purring, against Hob’s chest as the water cools. Hob still has no bloody idea exactly what he’s done to inspire this, but he’s definitely going to have to do it again.

****

Apparently, he does it again not a week later.

Hob’s finally managed to get Dream in the habit of taking the occasional, proper night off from his work in the Dreaming, and so tonight Hob’s made them dinner (more for the familiar experience of sharing a meal than with the expectation that Dream will actually eat), with plans to have a relaxing night in watching a movie afterwards, and then even later, as they usually do, winding up in bed for something even more ‘relaxing’.

It doesn’t go that way. Or rather, it does go that way, but a hell of a lot faster than Hob had intended, and a lot weirder, too.

It starts with dinner, although ‘dinner’ is a bit of an optimistic way to speak of it—it’s actually ice cream, because if there’s one thing Dream will sometimes eat, it’s sweets. There’s never a bad time to eat ice cream, though, in Hob’s opinion. If you have regular access to ice, and freezers, why the hell wouldn’t you make use of it?

And Dream likes sweets. And florals. Hob has attempted to combine these into lavender-flavored ice cream—not something he’d been certain would work, when he started it, but he thinks it’s turned out pretty well.

He places a dish of it on the coffee table in front of Dream, a tiny spoon already stuck into the ice cream. Dream touches the condensation on the cold dish. “Did you make this?”

“Yup.” Hob takes a tiny spoonful of his own, and, yes, it is good, thank God. “It’s actually not as hard as I might have thought.”

Instead of using his spoon, Dream just dips a delicate fingertip in and brings a tiny smear of ice cream to his mouth. Licks his finger clean. Does he actually, truly, have to do those kinds of things to Hob’s sanity? “Lavender?”

“Mmhmm. Was going to try for dandelion, actually? I remember how much you liked the wine the other day. But I wasn’t sure the flavor would come through.”

“Because I liked it?” Dream says, looking down at the dish again. He sounds lost in thought.

“Yeah, of course I made it because you liked it.” Frankly, a large, and continually growing, percentage of Hob’s behavior is driven by what Dream might like.

“You do not have to go through such effort,” Dream says.

“Don’t have to,” Hob agrees. “I want to. Go on. Eat it.” He taps at Dream’s bowl with his spoon. Dream takes another tentative spoonful—actually using the spoon this time—and hums in appreciation.

“It is… very good,” he admits, and Hob can’t help his smile. He sits beside Dream on the couch, tucks into his own bowl—but quickly becomes aware that Dream is more so watching him than he is eating his ice cream, though he does occasionally lift some to his mouth and take a slow bite, lips lingering on the spoon.

“Have I got it on my face?” Hob asks, but instead of responding, as soon as he turns Dream leans in to kiss him.

Hob lets out an involuntary startled sound, but quickly gets with the program, putting down his bowl and taking Dream’s face between his hands instead. Dream tastes, of course, of lavender, with the static charge that sometimes jumps to his lips when he’s worked up. He licks into Hob’s mouth, pushing closer, leaving aside his bowl and spoon to half-crawl into Hob’s lap, whines when Hob runs his hands through his hair.

Hob chuckles as Dream starts tugging at his shirt. “Easy, love. No rush.”

“Is that truly what you wish?” Dream asks, pulling away just far enough to speak against Hob’s lips. His voice is heavy with want. “For me to go… slower?”

Deep down, Hob is really not a very strong man.

So he lets Dream push him down onto the couch, pulls him in with a smile as Dream kisses him hungrily. Hob’s back will regret this later, but for now he just spins into this moment with Dream, forgets about the subtle strangeness of Dream’s pivot to sex because Dream seems so happy and that’s all Hob wants, for him to be happy.

Dream undresses them both and straddles his lap and rides him like he lives to do it, and that successfully wipes any lingering thoughts from Hob’s head. All he knows is the blessed touch of Dream’s skin and the euphoria of having him. And knowing that, some way or another, he did make Dream happy.

****

Every once in a while, Dream brings his work to the Waking world so he can sit beside Hob while he grades without falling behind on his duties in the Dreaming. Hob’s not sure… exactly how he does that. He can’t properly create dreams in the Waking world, of course, but he seems to be able to… sketch. Drawing patterns in his sand on the tabletop, or molding it in the air before him, then whisking the designs back to the Dreaming for later fulfillment. It’s fascinating and highly distracting when Hob is trying to grade, but he certainly won’t tell Dream to stop.

Now, Dream has been spinning the same amorphous shape before him for nearly an hour, frowning. Stuck. His shoulders are tight, arms held aloft in the same position for far longer than a human would be able to manage.

Hob nudges his calf with his toes from where they’re sitting across from each other on the couch, legs outstretched. “You want to take a break, love?”

“A break,” Dream mutters, greatly affronted. “I think not.”

Oh, Hob can play this game. “What if I make it worth your while? Little massage, maybe? You must be sore after sculpting for that long.”

“I don’t get sore,” Dream, the proud idiot, says instantly — before pausing and taking in the rest of Hob’s statement. He finally meets Hob’s eyes, the swirling sand collapsing back into a cube in his palms. “You would… do that?”

“What, a massage? Yeah, I mean, it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dream agrees, staring off into the distance over Hob’s shoulder. “Nice.”

Hob scoots over on the couch to push up next to him, takes Dream’s hand between both of his own and starts rubbing at the meat of his palm. “Yeah, isn’t it? Something the matter?”

“Not as such.” Dream contemplates for a long moment; Hob waits patiently. “I suppose I am not used to it. It affects me, when you say such things.”

The fact that a simple offer of a massage to make him feel better is confusing to Dream hurts Hob’s heart, but fortunately it’s a problem he can fix. Or at least, something he can make Dream get used to. Eventually.

He kisses Dream’s palm. “Well? How about it, then? Let me make you feel good?”

“You make me feel good,” Dream says, with a little smirk that suggests exactly what he means. “Often.”

“Not what I meant, but we can do that, too.”

“Very well, Hob,” Dream concedes, with a heaving sigh, as if this is quite a concession indeed. “Do your worst.”

****

Hob does not get very far into “his worst.”

He supposes it was only inevitable. Straddling Dream’s thighs, rubbing warm oil in soothing patterns over his lithe back and upper arms, is not really a position conducive to reason. Hob didn’t start it, though. He was determined to show Dream an actual, nice, mostly innocent massage.

Then he’d pressed his thumbs into Dream’s neck, rubbing out the undeniable knots that were there despite Dream’s insistence that he did not have a physical body, and Dream had let out a very not innocent moan. And had pushed his ass up against Hob’s clothed dick.

“Stay still,” Hob had said, and Dream had subsided immediately, but not in true understanding or acquiescence. No, it was the quick obedience he played at because he knew obeying Hob’s commands like that turned Hob on.

Hob had recognized the ploy, but that did not change that fact that his self-control in the face of an obedient, wanting, moaning Dream was exactly zero.

That’s how they’ve ended up here. With Hob pressing Dream into the sheets, fucking him hard and fast, hands still slick with massage oil.

“You are incapable of just having a good fucking time,” he complains, not slowing in the slightest.

When Dream replies, Hob can hear his smirk even through the muffling of the pillow. “I am having a good time now.”

“There’s more than one type of a good time,” Hob says, and bites the back of Dream’s neck.

Dream shudders. “Why change a good thing?”

“More than one type of good thing,” Hob repeats. He doesn’t really know why he’s attempting to convince Dream not to have sex. How incredibly self-sabotaging. Only it feels important that Dream gets to experience simple nice things as well. Not only sex.

Though of course, Hob is always in favor of sex.

He tables that conversation for later. “Hush, now,” he says, and mouths over the bite mark he’d made on the back of Dream’s neck, deepening the bruise. “We’ll talk about that later, after I make you come.”

“Oh, we will?” Dream says, petulantly, and Hob leans back, pulling Dream with him by the hips so he’s balanced precariously on his elbows and knees, spine arched, as Hob keeps fucking into him. Which, admittedly, is probably exactly the kind of reaction Dream wanted to get out of him.

Dream lets out a pleased groan at the new angle, confirming Hob’s suspicions. Hob loves to get those sounds out of him, though, even if by Dream’s design. His own breath is loud in the quiet bedroom, the quick slap of their bodies together too, but Dream’s moan as Hob takes him in hand is louder.

His hand is slick with oil still, and Dream slides easily through his grip, pushed by the force of Hob’s movement. Each thrust punches a broken ha-h! sound from him, and his hands are fisted in the sheets, and Hob knows from experience his eyes are squeezed shut tight. Braced against overwhelm.

Lord does Hob love to overwhelm him.

“Do you think you’ll be sore tomorrow?” he asks, false casual. “More than when you were working? Do you think you’ll still feel me in you?”

“Yes,” Dream pants. “Yes.”

“Will you keep it, even if it hurts?” Dream could easily wash these small human remnants from his form, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he comes back to Hob joints still aching from being fucked. God it makes Hob sick with want.

“Pain is good,” Dream says. “I will take it.” He clenches around Hob as if to emphasize the point, body spasming. Held open and full.

‘Pain is good’ is not exactly what Hob meant, but Dream is overdramatic like that and he does like a little pain, sometimes.

In the morning Hob will take him in his mouth, bring him off with easy heat and agonizing slow pleasure. Then he’ll roll on top of him, fuck him through the afterglow, erase that soreness with a slow, easy stretch that melds right into him. Kiss him and move in him until Dream comes twice, at least.

Now, he twists his grip around Dream and thumbs over his slit in the way he knows will make him come, and grips his hip hard enough to leave bruises, and Dream cries out at the force, spilling over his hand.

Hob doesn’t slow. He takes Dream’s hips in both hands again, holds him there as he fucks into his tight, oversensitive body. So tight after, always, as if whatever arousal unlocked gets timid again in the aftermath. Hob would feel like more of a dick for loving it if Dream didn’t seem to get off on it, too.

“So fucking tense, baby,” he says, pressing Dream to the sheets again, mouthing at the back of his neck. His skin tastes like oil. Dream trembles under him. “Should I stay in you longer? Maybe I should make you wait. Keep you on my cock until you get used to it.”

“Yes,” Dream says. “Mold me to you.”

Hob fucks him harder, down into the bed, and Dream gasps at each stretch. Hob won’t last much longer like this. He’s surprised he lasted this long.

“Come back to me in the morning,” he says, “and we’ll keep practicing.”

And Dream moans, and that’s enough for Hob. With several quick stutters of his hips, he spills in him, Dream’s muscles going all tense under him at the feeling. Then he falls boneless over Dream’s back, and stays like that, in him, keeping a promise, or perhaps a threat, for a time.

“I love when you get like that,” Dream murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded. Shifting against where Hob is going soft inside him.

“How?”

“Wanting me,” Dream says.

“I always want you,” Hob says.

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, Hob does, and it’s not really what he intended for an easy, relaxing evening, though Dream has relaxed under him. But this intensity, this roughness, no matter how much they both love it, hadn’t been what he had been aiming for at the start. He hadn’t even been angling for sex at all at the start.

And now Hob is picking up on the pattern that he’s been pushing aside each time it comes up. The way Hob will try to do something nice for him and Dream will spin it around into sex. After that event in the Dreaming. After Hob had fed him. He had been attributing it just to passion, but… maybe that’s not the whole truth.

He finally pulls out, trying not to relish too much in Dream’s groan at the feeling, and goes to clean him up with quick, practiced motions. Dream just hums, still sprawled out, loose and spoiled. Hob cuddles back up to him, turning him on his side and pulling Dream flush to his body, Dream’s back to his chest. He knows from experience that it’s the best position if he wants to get real, personal answers out of him, because Dream won’t have to look him in the eye as he says them.

“Do you not like,” he starts, thinking it through as he speaks, lips to the back of Dream’s neck, “when we do just… simple things other than sex?”

Dream stiffens immediately, which perhaps was inevitable. Hob holds him tight so he won’t slip away. “If you are dissatisfied with our lovemaking—”

“Not what I said.” He kisses under Dream’s ear. “Don’t jump to conclusions, eh?”

But jumping is how Dream’s mind works, Hob knows. It’s not for dreams to be linear, but to create zigzag webs of meaning, clouds of abstraction. Feelings layered and refracted.

“Are—” he starts, a thought occurring. “Are you unsatisfied?”

“No,” says Dream, but Hob isn’t convinced by it. He doubts Dream would let him do something he didn’t like—Hob hadn’t even gotten away with calling him a friend the first time without getting a reaction—but that doesn’t mean he would speak up about what he does want.

“I do enjoy such things you speak of,” Dream says before Hob can push. “‘Simple things.’ Nice… things.”

“Well. I’m glad, then. Only you… do turn it into sex. A lot. And I’m not doing ‘nice things’ just to get you into bed, you know.”

“Such temptations are not necessary for that, historically,” Dream says, with some of his rare humor. Hob can imagine the tiny smirk on his lips, and leans over to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Temptations, huh?” he says, still close to Dream’s cheek, and Dream blushes. Just the barest amount, but any flush is easily visible on his pale skin. “My attempts at strange ice cream flavors really did it for you?”

“You made it for me,” Dream says. His voice is quiet like the hush of light rain.

Hob squeezes him to his chest. “You talk like no one’s ever done something just nice for you in a relationship.”

“Do not jump to conclusions,” Dream says, echoing him with a twitch of the lips. “But such small signs of care… it is a human thing. I am unused to that. I am… a medium through which fantasies are spun. Not a creature to be made tea and ice cream.”

“What if my fantasy is making you tea and ice cream?” Hob says. His heart hurts at the thought of it being foreign to Dream, even if he knows some of it is just his nature as an Endless, that Dream has had some good relationships, at least for the time that they lasted, and that supernatural creatures can have different ways of showing care—hell, he’s seen it with Dream himself—but still—

“You are turning my words upon themselves,” Dream says, but seems to find it humorous. “I suppose that because I am unused to it, such things unduly affect me. Is it a surprise, then, that I should want you so when you do them?”

“Are you saying those things make you horny?” Hob’s voice pitches up several notches. Dream actually squirms in his arms, as if to wiggle away back into stardust.

“I do not care for that word to be applied to me,” he says.

“You are, though,” Hob says. God, the fact that he seems to get turned on by simple care and kindness in a relationship is both sweet, hot, and terribly sad all at once. But with Dream naked in his arms he’s leaning more towards hot.

Dream doesn’t answer, and Hob leans over to catch his eye. “Hey, Dream. Look at me?” Dream still doesn’t, so Hob takes his chin and tugs until Dream finally turns his gaze to him. He looks almost… ashamed.

“Hey.” Hob lets his hand fall to a gentler hold, cradling Dream’s cheek. “None of that. Would think you were talking about tentacle porn, the way you look.”

Hob does not actually think Dream would be ashamed of tentacle porn. No, it’s only this.

“Humans only see tentacle sex as ‘kinky’ because you do not know any sentient beings with tentacles,” Dream says.

Hob stares at him for several long moments. Has to shake himself hard to reset. “That’s another conversation,” he says, and Dream gives half a smile, enough that it breaks that look on his face. Laughing at Hob’s meager human experience. He’ll take it.

“What I’m saying is,” he continues, “you don’t have to be ashamed. It’s sweet, really.”

Dream finally turns over properly on his back so Hob no longer has to lean over his shoulder. Hob takes advantage of it to lean in and kiss him, slow and lingering, and when he pulls away Dream is looking at him with his pupils wide and his mouth wet and parted, a look that begs another kiss and another of anything Hob’s willing to give him. Which is much.

“You can have whatever you want,” Hob murmurs. “Any other desires you’ve been keeping close to the chest?”

Dream shakes his head. “It is not about elaborate fantasy. I can make any sexual fantasy a reality in the Dreaming. But.” His gaze slants down. “I cannot make someone love me.”

“Oh, darling.” Hob kisses him again, soft and sweet this time. “I want to give that to you, don’t you know? All the time.”

“I am coming to that awareness,” says Dream, softly. “And perhaps we might… do more. Of these ‘simple nice things’ that you speak of.”

“Because it turns you on?” Hob says, but it’s just teasing now.

“Among other reasons,” murmurs Dream, and leans his head against Hob’s.

There’s nothing Hob wants more than to give him those things. The chance to see Dream happy is the sweetest gift he can imagine. His own ‘nice thing,’ perhaps, though nothing about it feels simple.

For now, he cuddles Dream close, rubbing his hand up and down his spine. Dream makes a rumbling, purring sound of pleasure, and presses into him, nose tucked against Hob’s throat. Hob loves him so much it makes his chest hurt, a sweeter version of the wound he’d felt during all of Dream’s long absence.

I’ll make you so used to nice mundane things you’ll get fucking bored, Hob thinks. Though there are a lot of nice, ordinary things—life’s made up of them—so it might take a long time.

Fortunately, Hob has a long time.

****

The next time Hob makes Dream dinner—actual dinner this time, not just ice cream, partly because he’s too weak to handle the image of Dream licking ice cream off his fingertips again—he just pulls Dream to the bedroom afterwards to cuddle. He wants to show Dream a quiet evening, to let him feel good without plan or expectation. And by the way Dream slides into bed beside him, presses up against Hob’s body, skin to skin, just his underwear on, and then rests there like it’s where he belongs, Hob thinks he gets the message.

Dream’s form is warm and alluring against him, but Hob doesn’t feel the need to push it further towards sex. The contented hum of Dream’s body at his side is its own form of satisfaction. The pleasure he can draw in him just by holding him close. Dream is calm and pleased and happy, and while they’ll surely slide into sex later, or maybe just tomorrow morning, if Dream stays that long, for now this is more than enough.

The slow build of pleasure as he strokes his hand through Dream’s hair and down over his back. The brush of Dream’s feathery hair against his jaw as he tucks his head further into Hob’s throat with a sigh. Dream is clearly pleased, Hob can feel that he’s hard against his thigh, but he seems content to just let it be for now, to relish in those early, warm moments of arousal. He really just wanted to be petted and spoiled and adored all along, Hob thinks with a smile. And how long has Hob wanted to spoil and adore him?

Hob’s just about to fall asleep, still lightly stroking Dream’s hair, when Dream’s head snaps up in the direction of the hallway, like a cat that’s spotted a fly buzzing around in the dark. “Sibling,” he calls, “I can sense your irritating presence. Reveal yourself, or suffer the consequences.”

“Ooh, consequences. I’m just shaking in my Louboutins,” says Desire, swanning out of the shadows, eyes glinting. Hob, properly awake now, gets the sense that they’re about to have a very odd conversation, here in his bedroom, in the middle of the night. Never a normal fucking tea in this family.

“What are you doing here,” Dream says flatly. “You aren’t welcome.”

He hasn’t moved from where he’s still curled against Hob, Hob notes with a little thrill.

“The level of horny wafting off this flat is revolting, I simply had to come see what you were getting up to.” Desire leans in the doorway, head in their hand, and looks the two of them up and down, face falling in what looks like genuine disappointment. “Are you fucking… cuddling? Are you— are you petting his disgusting hair?”

“Fuck off, Desire,” Hob says mildly, and Dream smiles smugly.

"Unbelievable," complains Desire. "The utter disrespect upon my realm."

"You are simply jealous that my lover is the most alluring in all the land," says Dream, and kisses Hob on the nose, then on his closed eye, then on the cheek. "Isn't he a sweetheart?”

Desire blinks at them several times in disbelief. Rubs their eyes. Looks again. "Nope, turns out I really did just witness that."

They manifest a cigarette, and take a long pull, leaning their forehead against the doorframe like the weight of the world is upon their shoulders. Then they straighten up, shaking it off.

“Well, I see you've done a swan dive off the deep end. I'll leave you to your demise. Don't call me unless you've decided to try some pet play or something else even marginally respectable."

"I shan't be inviting you to that," says Dream.

"Didn't invite you this time," mutters Hob.

"Lies. Foul lies. I know all. I see—” they point at them ominously— “all. Even though I'm wishing more and more that I did not. Sayonara, you puritan fucks."

And they disappear.

Hob breaks down laughing, tucking his face into Dream's shoulder.

Dream caresses his cheek. “What is it?”

"Oh, just. Kink-shamed by the embodiment of Desire itself. That's all."

Dream pouts. “It is not like Desire to kink shame. I assure you, I could have taken the form of a human and engaged in some real human fucking and they would still have taken issue because it was me.”

“Is that— uh,” Hob frowns. “Is that considered— kinky?”

Dream looks at him seriously. “Very.”

“Huh.” Hob ponders this strange little tidbit about immortal creatures’ lives. “Oh, is that right?”

Dream casts him a warning glance. “Do not do anything untoward with that knowledge.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to do something untoward with that. You kinky bastard, you.”

Dream sighs as if exhausted, yet unsurprised by Hob’s antics. “Many do seem to think so,” he admits.

“This is the best information I have ever learned,” Hob decides. “You know, darling, if you wanted to have terribly spicy human sex, you only had to ask.”

“You may come to regret that offer,” Dream warns, but he settles back against Hob’s side with a satisfied hum.

“Nah.” Hob already has far too many ideas for that. Many more things to add to the list of human experiences he can show Dream. Not all of them quite so wholesome as dinner and cuddling. Indeed, there are many different types of ‘nice things’ to be had, and more than one fun way to spoil him. “I don’t think so.”

And while he’s at it… maybe he’ll ask Dream about that whole tentacles thing, too. If they’re in the process of exchanging kinks, and all.