#why are pixels making me moan

[spaceshipellie]

i literally don’t have the words (nsfw ellie edit)

[thevirtualvalentine]

PRETTY FACE, BAD HABITS.

ft: Atsumu Miya, Tōru Oikawa, Tobio Kageyama, Shōyō Hinata, & Kei Tsukishima.

warnings: smut, afab!reader, daddy kink (atsumu), spanking, fingering, praise kink (oikawa), degradation, alcohol consumption (shōyō), cunnilings, enemies to lovers, small mentions of squirting, they’re lowk a lil filthy and obsessed MUNCH!shōyō bc definitely learned things in Brazil, coffee shop trope.

note: rereading hq, I am incredibly unwell and the volleyball pixels won’t leave me alone. Divider by @grlselle !!!

Thinking about gorgeous boys with pretty faces to the media who are so sadistic behind closed doors.

It goes without saying that setters are the notorious kings of this trope. Given that their charming faces tend to hide a fundamental need to be in control, constantly calling the shots n’ all. The facade cracks behind closed doors.

ATSUMU MIYA ... 4/10, not that shocking. He’s the face of MSBY, the golden boy. He’s got far more acceptable social skills than his other teammates: Shōyō, Kiyoomi, and Kōtarō, he knows how to handle himself in an interview. Flashing a toothy smile here, winking in a fan photo there. He has the hottest face in volleyball.

However, you had to have known about his silver tongue. It’s how he coaxes round after sadistic round out of you.

His stamina is much better than yours and to that he takes full advantage, being a pro-athlete has its perks. The downside is, his pretty face betrays the filth that spews from his maw when you fuck. “Yeah baby, think this messy pussy can give daddy another?”

He’s deplorable — that’s exactly why you keep crawling under him — the vileness you can only find there. “Y-yes, please ‘tsumu!” but woefully, it just isn’t enough for him, ever. He takes care of your trivial needs while chasing his own blissful completion.

“Ah ah baby, it’s daddy when I’m fuckin’ this cunt. Just hear how wet it is for me, fuck angel.” It’s humiliating, hot tears spilling past your lashes as his muscular thighs ram him impossibly further in you. You’re certain he’s in your cervix now.

“Shit — tight n’ creamy too,” he moans, “Feels so good on my cock.” He’s focused, a thin layer of sweat making his platinum blond hair stick to his forehead, eyebrows drawn together in concentration trying to feel everything you can offer him.

It drives you insane how he spoils you with unforgiving pleasure, never shy of showing just how bad he wants you. “Be daddy’s good girl and jus’ take it for me, yeah?”

And with a slap of your ass, he’s back to full speed, fucking you right up the mattress.

TŌRU OIKAWA … 8/10, a sleeping giant, don’t poke the bear. He was your summer fling, making you bubble with excitement and frenzy. His gorgeous face and native tongue were foreign to you but you recognized him from high-level volleyball matches on the news now and then.

Tōru was distinctly filled with passion, in everything he did you could feel it. He was a proud man through and through with a lust for victory.

That’s why he’s such a sadistic fuck, he’s too proud to stop even after he’s came inside you thrice. “Go on princess tell me, whose fingers can make you cum like this?” It’s those hands, those damn fingers you melt on every time he’s knuckled deep inside your sopping heat.

“Yours Tōru, only yours!” He’s peeled back every last restraint on your sanity with his body, reducing you to a tearful sticky mess pooling in his lap.

“I know mami, I know. You have to prove it to me though, show me how much you love it,” he muses rhetorically. His chin rests on your shoulder to get the best view of his practiced digits disappearing in and out of your tight sex; just how you like, just how you need. Those seasoned setter hands are a blessing.

“Ah! oh god — I’m, m’cumming— Tōru,” your chest heaves in his strong arms as he holds you there, letting you freely use and cream on his hands. He’s just so proud that he can make you feel good, so he’ll keep doing it. Over and over again.

“Look at you, my little slut. Just can’t help yourself from cumming all over me, hm?” The squelch of his three thick fingers and your slick coats his hand and your thighs alike.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA … 7/10, delving deeper, it makes sense. On the surface and to your friends and family, Tobio was your good boy. A perfect husband who was very successful in his career, and able to provide for you. People would remark on how starkly different your personalities were, the tabloids even going as far as questioning his feelings towards you.

But you know he loves you when he’s jackhammering your cunny like a rabbit. His brain only knows two things, volleyball and then all his other primal instincts. “Gonna fuck you till you’re sore, you hear me?”

He’s pushed your drooling face into the mattress to deepen your arch, greedy to feel more of your pussy suck him like candy. “You think I don’t see the way you watch me whore,” it’s like he’s punishing you with each grueling stroke of his thick cock inside you. “That’s exactly why you’re getting fucked like one. A dirty, cock-hungry, whore.”

That polite well-mannered man, a simple facade for something more sinister. They mistake his introversion for shyness when in reality he’s most likely self-censoring. He’s not much of a people person and lives a secluded life.

But all throughout his private practice today you plagued him with this singular thought: Kageyama craves it to no end, your utter and total obedience to him. He’s used to controlling his spikers, but you? You bring out an entirely new sadistic side of him. His one track mind learning every inch of your body fast.

“Stop! it’s t’much,” you cry into the sheets, overwhelmed by his sheer power. It feels like he’s deep in your guts with every strong piston of his hips against your ass. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your ears making your brain fuzzy.

“Maybe you should think about that next time you try and tease me,” he knows you want it exactly like this. You rile him up to get a rise out of him, pushing him to his limits and beyond. Exactly how he likes it.

He snakes a hand in between your warm connected bodies, pressing his palm over the outline of himself nestled in your tummy. “Remember how my dick feels inside you right now,” and he smirks feeling you tighten up around him.

You’re so incredibly plaint to a guy like him. His perfectly tuned toy.

With middle blockers, it’s different. They just want to watch you submit. Whether they’re reading the court, blocking, or killing the ball; it gives them an indistinguishable thrill to bring something to its knees deliberately.

SHŌYŌ HINATA … 11/10, virtually undetectable thus making him the most dangerous. When you met him, you found him to be a bit too big for his britches. He was such a sweet guy nonetheless, buying your drinks and slotting a friendly arm around your waist that night.

It felt good to have his attention, those dark brown eyes analyzing your every jiggle and jive. For some reason that night no one else seemed to approach you, perhaps it was due to the fact that #21 of Asas São Paulo had his eye on you.

“Do you wanna come home with me,” you ask him smooth as silk, carding your nails in his short ginger locks. He purs in response, groaning at the sensation and grinding himself against the thin cloth of your club dress.

He’s deceptive, but it’s not on purpose. “Please mami.” He just needs you to know how badly he wants you. Do you not realize he’s everything you need? No matter, he’ll show you.

“Mhhhm, more Shō,” you breathe life into his name like it’s a prayer, supple thighs caging his face to keep him planted there between them. It’s not like he’s going anywhere though, lips suckling on your sweetness as he lifts your ass off the bed to get a better taste.

His mouth does things you didn’t know it could do, massaging your pillowy folds before diving tongue first into your wet slit. It was making you feel hot watching him as he watched you, intent on making you buck against him for more.

He welcomes it, grinding his raging boner into the mattress and groaning into your pussy. “So fucking sexy when you do that baby, drives me crazy,” he says through kisses with your swollen clit.

That same sweet guy is nowhere to be found as there's an insatiable monster between your legs that you willingly invited into your home. “Keep goin’ love, wanna make this sweet pussy squirt.” You’re his, hook line, and sinker.

ps: don’t worry, after this, he’ll go three more rounds with just his cock alone and you better be able to handle it.

KEI TSUKISHIMA … 9/10, only triggered if you can get him to open his big mouth. He was a quiet man. Stoic as he sat in the same chair, in the same corner, at the same café, every day at exactly 6 am.

He may have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Well dressed with fair skin, golden eyes, and blond hair that made him stand out amongst the other patrons. Not to mention the fact he was ginormous, making the cafe chairs almost look like stools as he quietly checked his email. From over your shoulder, you watch him adjust his glasses, opting to look from afar but not touch.

It seems he doesn’t give you the chance though, approaching you as your heart beats loudly in your chest. He’s even more gorgeous as he grows close. His skin smooth like marble matches the stiffness of his face. “You seem to have a staring problem.”

At first, Kei thought you might have been a Frogs fan. That's the only possible excuse he could muster. Then he began to notice the lingering stares as well.

Excuse me— Did you just hear him correctly? You certainly didn’t mean him any harm, if anything it was a compliment. “And you seem to have an attitude problem, doesn’t seem like much can help that though. Goodbye,” you practically scoff before returning to your book and good coffee. What an arrogant fucking jerk.

Before he leaves, he drops a small piece of paper next to your cup. “Have a nice day, miss stalker,” you huff under your breath unfolding the small slip. ‘Maybe you can fix me. xxx-xxx-xxxx'

Since then, the only thing you two seem to do is argue. Especially when he’s stuffed eight inches deep in you from behind, “giving me so much attitude when you just needed a good fuck.” Him and that big fucking mouth, he must love hearing himself talk.

“if you wanted to get fucked like a slut then you could have just said so, brat.” He sneers, spanking you with considerable force behind his meaty palm. You’re Keis’ good girl, of course you can take it. He's trained you to do so.

“Sh-shut up and just fuck me Kei,” he loves when you talk to him like that, using his name like you own it. You’re wrapped around his finger as he bullies his girth into you.

“How can I when this greedy cunt’s not letting me go?” He’s right, within these four walls you’re his as you clench around him even tighter. “You can’t even fit all this,” he’s just inexplicably sexy, condescending yet so giving as he angles himself forward into the plush of your ass.

Pleasing you is an art to him, a deliberate one that he studies to get the best results. It’s brutal how fat his dick is, it matches his brash personality. “Go on, cum.” He says with sheer confidence.

Seconds later you’re unraveling before him as if it was pre-meditated. Like he instinctively knew when it was going to occur, permitting you before the act.

[hellishjoel]

say my name 

8.5k / pairing: brat tamer!joel miller x f!reader

psycho masterlist main masterlist

summary: It’s Joel’s birthday, and his brother, Tommy, is in town to celebrate. You meet the more charming Miller for the first time, and the two of you flirt up a storm. By the end of the night, Joel’s pissed and jealous. But that doesn’t stop you from moaning Tommy’s name in bed. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, brat tamer!Joel, somewhat established relationship (whatever that relationship may be ((situationship, relationship, etc.)), toxic!couple, swearing, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, slapping, degradation, praise kink, spitting, choking, blood, marking kink, creampie, pussy smacking (??), lots of dom!joel brought out by jealous!joel, overstimulation, Tommy being a flirt, angst, mentions of being cheated on, Joel being a menace, unprotected p in v (wrap your willy or whateva), half-ass editing tbh

A/N: happy birthday to Joel Miller!! I was picturing this entire prompt with pixel Joel, thanks to @macfrog - this part is based off this request sent in! 

You did a lot of stupid things tonight. Wearing your shortest dress, stalking Joel to his hangout with Tommy, flirting with his brother for the majority of the night. But now, you were ready to do the stupidest thing yet.  You moan into his ear, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as you feel your orgasm begin to approach. “Fuck me, Tommy.” It hits Joel like a ton of bricks. All his movements pause. He pulls away just half an inch and stares down at you. A cold, downright mean look crosses his face once you’ve popped your eyes open to take a look at him. The room suffocates you in silence.  “What did you say?”

September 26th, 2023. It’s Joel’s forty-second birthday!

The thought alone riles you awake. You love birthdays. You especially love when it’s Joel’s birthday because he hates his birthday. You have no idea why, he looks more and more handsome with each year that he blows out a candle. 

You think about these things curled up into his side, chin on his chest while your fingers lightly grazed over his stippled grey chest hair. It was barely past the early morning hours. You gently trace over the etched lines in his forehead and between his brows. He must scowl at you even in his sleep. You should be asleep, too, especially after having spent the late hours of September 25th celebrating the end of Joel’s forty-first year with a bang. Literally.  

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, clutching his comforter to your bare chest as your panties are just out of reach on the floor a few feet from the bed. You huff and flee the warmth of his bed to retrieve them in as much silence as you can muster, watching him carefully let out a puff of air through his parted lips before lightly rolling over and spooning your pillow in the process. You stifle a giggle as you grab his t-shirt he threw off in the midst of getting handsy with you last night. 

“Happy last day of being forty-one, old timer.”

“Shut up and bend over.”

He always did have a way with words. 

You managed to sneak downstairs without Joel catching you in his arms. Your bare feet meet the cold tile of his kitchen floor. 

Joel’s home looked like you might imagine. Dark walls, not exactly black but not exactly grey or navy. He has a desk, a messy one that is littered with bills and invoices scattered with pencils that had the erasers shaved down to nothing. There was a large flat screen mounted to the wall, and a television console below it filled with old vinyl records and random CDs. He did have a few plants scattered around, and he actually took very good care of them. There were a few dishes in the sink from dinner last night. Empty beer cans on the half-wall by his back garage door. His keys and wallet were thrown haphazardly on the counter. 

These are the things that make you adore staying at Joel’s place, it was so homey and cozy. These were the things that made Joel, Joel. 

You throw your hair up and out of your way, finding the box of cake mix you stashed in the back of his pantry for this very special occasion. And just like that, you were a chef in Joel’s kitchen. Or was it a baker? 

Despite your best efforts, the cake was just a mess. And there were no redoes with cakes. And when you were shopping, you were thinking a little too much about yourself rather than Joel, so the cake was coated in pink icing. It was a shit cake, but you hoped Joel would like it. He wasn’t a guy with a big sweet tooth, but you’d force him to have a slice since this was your labor of love. 

U CAN’T PICK YOUR FATHER BUT U CAN PICK YOUR DADDY was lettered with red icing and cute pink assorted sprinkles. 

The smell of freshly baked cake woke him up. 

“You burnin’ somethin’?” Joel’s tired voice echoed in the kitchen. 

He was wearing grey sweats and his black boxers, the band peaking out from the top of his waistband as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He looked like a big oaf fresh from sleep, shuffling past you to the oven and turning on the fan to air out the smoke and smell. 

“Ha-ha. Nothing’s that burnt. It’s your birthday cake!” You cooed as you showed him what you made. 

The word birthday was enough to make him roll his eyes. 

“Didn’t have to make me anythin’. Just another day.” He muttered but came up behind you to take a look at the cake nonetheless. You watched with a proud smile as the left side of his mouth quirked up upon reading the design. 

“Do you like it?” You asked, turning your back to the counter and letting his hips pin you there. His large, warm palm settled low on your waist. You watch as he swipes his index finger into the frosting, observing the sugary cream before his eyes set on yours. His orbs are as black as night as he offers you a taste. 

You maintain his eye contact as you lean in and wrap your mouth around his finger, hollowing your cheeks as you suckle it off and lap your tongue around the tip before letting him go with a soft smirk. 

“Like it ‘cause you made it. That’s all.” Joel’s chest hums as he speaks, his head ducking down to catch your lips in a delicate kiss. The delicate part doesn’t last for long. His kisses turn heavy, and his cock hardens against your thigh as he bends you backward against the counter. 

Your nails catch his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to smash into the cake. You know that if he gets too into this, he’ll end up pushing it aside so radically that your creation will end up on the floor, so you quickly nudge it out of reach before continuing. 

He’s hungry, his tongue lines your bottom lip, still coated in a sugary taste, before he explores the inside of your mouth dominantly. You’re whimpering in excitement as his possessive hands lift you up onto the counter, your baking instruments clattering around you and rolling, making a complete mess, but you don’t care. It’s Joel’s birthday, after all. 

You gasp into his mouth as he cups your clothed pussy and gently pats his fingers against you. The sensation makes your head fall back, and your eyes flutter closed. Your lips part just a fraction, Joel takes the opportunity to slip his tongue back inside to wrestle with your own. He pats you again, and you feel your panties grow a wet spot as white heat pools your insides. 

“Just how I like it, ready to be taken like a little slut in the mornin’.” His rigid voice growled, suppressing you of any strength you had left to resist collapsing across the counter. 

Both of you pause, irritated facial expressions matching when Joel’s phone starts to ring. 

Your heavy pants mingle in the air between you with indecision. You glare at him as he moves half an inch away, the grip on his shoulders tightening in need. Don’t pick it up, Joel. 

He closes his lips and lightly squints at you in disapproval as he stands up straight and starts toward his phone. You throw your head back and groan, slipping your hand over where his fingers just ghosted over the material of your panties. You lick your lips and watch him as he takes the call. He looks over the screen at the contact, his eyes shift to you. He’s hesitating. Not because he’s left you hot and heavy on the kitchen counter, but because he’s shielding his phone from you. 

So help me god, motherfucker, if I find out you’re cheating on me, I will-

Your nerves are settled when he huffs and swipes right to answer the call. “‘ey Tommy.” After a beat, Joel rolls his eyes to himself. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Just another day.” 

Your eyes blink slowly. It was his brother you had yet to meet. You hum lightly as you sink your hand past the band of your panties, soft lace grazing your knuckles while you slip your fingers between your delicate folds. You slowly pry open the one foot you have kicked up on the counter, spreading your leg wider so Joel can see you playing with yourself. He’s still not looking. You need his attention. 

“Yeah, we can do somethin’, if that somethin’ means you’re payin’ for beers at the bar.” He said with a tired, but playful smirk. You’re growing so wet at the sight of him. Your fingers make a squelching noise as you slowly push two fingers inside your aching hole. This catches his attention. 

His head whips to you like a prowling lion hearing a twig snap. His eyes narrow on the target of the noise before they dart up to you. You know that look. 

Take your hand out of your fuckin’ panties. Don’t you fuckin’ touch yourself. 

You cock your head with an attitude. “Say it with your chest.” You pipe up, so loud that the voice on the other line chirps in. 

“Who was that?” You smirk at the attention Tommy’s already given you. 

“Hi, Tommy!” You shout, and now Joel’s really pissed. He comes up and clamps his hand over your mouth, glaring daggers into your big doe-eyed pupils. 

“Is that your girl, big brother?” 

Joel’s jaw clicks tighter, his breath coming out in hot, annoyed puffs through his aquiline nose. 

“You hidin’ her from me? Invite her to drinks tonight!” Tommy shoots out the invite before Joel can take it away. You slowly lick up the hand that’s holding your mouth hostage. Joel is used to this. He only adds more pressure to his hold on your mouth. 

He glares at you and juts his jaw around in annoyance, considering Tommy’s offer. “Yeah.. yeah, we’ll see,” Joel murmurs while you keep tonguing his hand. He gives your face a little slap, a stupid moan escaping your lips before he grips your cheeks again once more and covers your mouth. 

Don’t forget who’s in charge here, little bitch. 

You hum quietly against his hand and wrap your legs firmly around his hips. He stumbles forward half a step. You can feel his hardened length protruding from his gray sweats, your cores lightly grinding against one another as you purposely whimpered against his palm. 

Not long after, Joel ends the phone call with Tommy, and he begrudgingly releases his slobbery hand from your mouth and pushes back from the hold you attempted to lock him in. You huff as he leaves the kitchen, watching as he rakes his fingers up and down his beard and gently scratches at the skin. What was up with him? 

“We’re going out for drinks tonight?” You pester after you both have taken a shower for far too long, the steam fogging up his mirror and making Joel’s skin a light rosy pink. 

He lets out a short sarcastic chuckle. “I’m goin’ out tonight. You’re stayin’ here.” 

You frown as you look Joel over, his stern facial expression matching his tone. 

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, I’m going out tonight. With you. This is the third time I’ve tried to meet Tommy in person and-”

“And nothin’.” He intercepts, venom dripping from his words that makes your throat become scorching hot with anger. 

You have a hard time letting this go. Especially since whenever Tommy was in town, Joel magically came up with every excuse in the book to keep you from properly meeting his younger brother. Was Joel ashamed of you? He didn’t want Tommy to think that this was the type of girl Joel kept in his company. He didn’t want you to embarrass him. That’s always what it came down to. 

You brushed past him, your shoulder laying a heavy hit to his arm as you fled the bathroom with haste. You enter his bedroom and find your bag carrying your clothes for the weekend. You pulled on whatever you could find as hot rage made your skin tingle.

“Where you goin’, angel?” Joel tries to half-ass console you, stopping your movements, taking the keys you had just dug out from the depth of your bag, and holding them up so tall they were out of your reach even on your tippy toes. 

“Give them back, Joel.” You had a burning feeling in your chest, and Joel was fighting with fire. 

He just shakes his head, his eyes looking over you with a tight jawline. “Need you to relax. Last time you got this pissed at me, you keyed half of my fuckin’ truck.” He muttered, your eyes narrowing on his as you crossed your arms. 

“And I’ll key the other half if you don’t give me back my-”

“Keys?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow, wiggling the keychain with the cute dangly accessories on it and making you absurdly annoyed. You swallow a lump that’s growing in your throat. Joel sighs and cautiously brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek. You hate denying how comforting it is when his warmth courses through your body like this. 

“Why won’t you let me meet your brother?” It sounds more whimpery than you intended, big soft eyes looking into Joel’s hardened ones. “I mean, I know we’re not anything serious, but we’ve been together for a while, and it’s your birthday, and I know that you hate that it’s your birthday, but I love your birthday, and I sort of love you, and I want to meet the people you care the most about.” 

The room tenses as your eyes connect. Shit. That’s how you chose to tell him? That you sort of loved him? Fucking idiot. 

Joel pauses before he starts slowly shaking his head, and your chin dips defeatedly. You think he’s shaking his head because he doesn’t feel the same way, he doesn’t sort of love you like you sort of love him. How could he? Your emotions for one another were a mangled mess. One night, you were fighting like cats and dogs, and both of your eyes lit up during the heat of yet another fight. Then the next night, you were begging him not to stop fucking you, to never leave you, to never betray the trust you had in him that you two had built together over time. 

His thumb delicately courses up your cheekbone then gently across the arch of your chin. His hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in until you’re close enough he can set a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. This was what made it so confusing. Were you still fighting? Were you two making amends? 

“You’re not meetin’ Tommy. Not tonight. That’s final.” His words are whispered but somehow still piercingly cold, his voice monotone and flat as he forbade you from meeting his brother.  “Want you here when I come back so we can celebrate together. Just you and I.” 

A frown etches into your features. More like so he could have a warm body to fuck on his birthday. 

He brushes by you and starts his day like any other. He didn’t even say he sort of loved you back. 

---

Did he really think you’d give up without a fight? 

You managed to convince Joel that you were fine without meeting Tommy tonight, that maybe he just wanted some brotherly time together. He leaned into that shit-ass excuse like it was his last lifeline. He could care less about his familial bond, he just wanted you not to be fucking pissed off. But you were pissed off. And you looked hot pissed off. 

You especially looked hot and pissed off in the skin-tight dress you wore, accompanied by the designer clutch Joel purchased for your last birthday. 

You’d assume that the hardest part of your little plan was knowing which of the many bars Joel and Tommy could make their trek to. But Apple Air Tags came in a bundle of four, so you slipped one into Joel’s truck. What else were you going to do with the extra ones? Might as well put them to use. 

You took a car service to the downtown Austin brewpub, Blue Owl Brewing. Let’s just say you were a bit dressed up for the establishment. 

You spotted Joel sitting at a small table in the back, facing the entrance of the bar as you strolled in with a devilish smirk on your face. His large hand was nursing a tall glass of amber-colored beer, a wide and genuine smile on his lips as he jeered conversation back and forth with Tommy, whose back was to you. 

You slowly made your way through the dark oak bar, Joel’s eyes connecting with yours almost immediately. He looked like he could break you in half the way his eyes narrowed on you. But Joel was smart. He didn’t let much of his anger or annoyance seep through, because the damage was already done and you were already here. 

“Hi, Joel,” you innocently coo before resting your hand on his brother’s bicep. “You must be Tommy?” You ask with a smile so sweet it was probably giving Joel a toothache. He was taking a long, steady drink of his beer, the foam lightly frosting his mustache as he observes you with cautious eyes as you interacted with his brother. 

Tommy looked starstruck by your beauty. His eyes don’t hold back from lightly grazing over your short dress and the exposed skin that accompanies it. “Aren’t you a beauty,” he pauses and looks to his brother with a small smirk of disbelief that his brother could bag a catch as hot as you. “You must be Joel’s girl he keeps me from.” 

His comment makes you giggle, your hand cascading down his bicep to his forearm, your nails lightly adding pressure which makes Joel’s stature more domineering, even from across the table. 

Tommy was younger, with medium-length dark curly hair and a mustache that mirrored Joel’s. But he doesn’t have Joel’s beard, the facial hair you’ve grown to love. His mouth carries a dangerous little smirk, and it hasn’t left since you joined their table. He was handsome, it was a family trait the two brothers shared. 

“Please, sit down, beautiful.” 

You hum softly at the compliment, watching as Tommy grabs a nearby barstool from a table close by and sits you down at the end of the table, between both Tommy and Joel. 

“Joel, I thought you said your girl couldn’t make it out tonight?” Tommy inquires, waving down the waitress to come and get you a drink. 

“Oh, did he?” You ask curiously, crossing one leg over the other and lightly leaning over the table as your breasts nearly spill out of your dress. Your eye contact with Joel was on fire. He was torn between chewing you up and spitting you out right here in the middle of the bar, or dragging you away and ripping off this too-short dress of yours. 

You and Tommy were quickly buzzing with conversation. He was buying you cocktails and complimenting you every chance he could get. If you didn’t know any better, he was flirting with you openly in front of his older brother. Joel didn’t say much, a grunt here and there, a swift kick under the table to Tommy’s kneecap after he talked a little too much about the gorgeous curves of your body. 

“Just can’t believe you are datin’ my brother, didn’t know he could score someone so-” As Tommy attempts to find the words, his warm palm settles on your thigh, dangerously high too. He takes an inch or two of your dress with it, and your breath snags in your throat. You can’t deny the jaded way you feel about it, feeling a hot flash course through your body as you feel your head flush with heat. 

“Watch it.” Joel finally mutters coherently. Perfectly coherent. Like he needs Tommy to hear it crystal clear. No one touches you. 

Tommy seems to like the rise out of Joel just as much as you do. Which is perhaps why you’re leaning into it.

“You’re too kind, Tommy, really.” You take his hand off your thigh and maneuver it back into his lap. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the one Joel has to deal with, not the other way around.” You tease, and Tommy lets out a drunk laugh. 

“Trust me, gorgeous, if you were my girl, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. That was Joel’s first mistake tonight, leavin’ you at home.” 

Your eyes soften, and you glance over to Joel. He’s damn near snarling the way he’s gritting his teeth and staring daggers into Tommy. You had never seen him so possessive before. 

“That’s enough out of you,” Joel remarks as he heavily sets down the empty pint glass and shuffles his barstool back, letting out a screeching scrape. 

“We’re leavin’,” Joel tells you, making your jaw tick tighter. Where did he get off telling you what to do?  

“I don’t think I-”

“Now.” He says more seriously. The giddy feelings you shared with Tommy were now squashed under the weight of Joel’s boot. You decide to hop off the barstool and call it a night, for both of our sakes. You accomplished your mission, met Tommy and disobeyed Joel. So let’s leave while we’re ahead. 

You turn to Tommy, who is also stepping down from the barstool and putting cash on the table to cover the tab. “It was nice meetin’ you, sugar. Take care of my big brother, will ya?” He asks as he settles his hands warmly on your waist and pulls you in for a kiss on your cheek.  

Heat sets your body alight. Tommy was gentle, if not even a bit calculated with his movements. Why did all of a sudden you feel like the pawn in Tommy’s game rather than the other way around? 

“Goodnight, Tommy.” You whisper with a tight-lipped smile, taking Joel’s hand and letting him guide you out of the brewery. 

---

The ride home in the truck was quiet. Real fuckin’ quiet. You tried to be content just listening to the low volume of the radio or the soft rumbling of his truck. You went to switch the station off of country and more to something you liked, but Joel smacked the volume to mute, making you groan. You grew so bored that you started counting the random tar lines in the road, adding to the total with each one you passed over. You stopped counting after fifty, or so. 

“Joel-”

“Enough.” 

He doesn’t let you speak. It makes your blood boil. 

“If you just-”

“I said enough, god dammit. Don’t you think you’ve done enough tonight?” His words cut sharp, and you feel as small as you did this morning. This morning after you confessed that you sort of loved him. He’s breathing in heavy puffs, and he’s driving faster as he tries to get both of you back to the house. 

“Why are you going so fucking fast?” You finally ask. You’re already in deep shit, you don’t care about him telling you to shut up. He ignores you for a moment before you probe him again. “Joel?” You ask with an annoyed tone. His eyes finally meet yours in a quick glance. 

“Getting you home and out of that fucking dress.” He mutters, his large palm reaching across and cupping harshly at your upper thigh. A whiny gasp leaves your mouth as his fingers dig deliciously into your flesh. So that’s what’s got him driving so damn fast. 

He pries your leg open, and he takes one look at how beautiful you look. More importantly, he’s looking at your lacey panties. 

“Red. Perfect for you. Like the fuckin’ devil.” 

You smirk as you grip his wrist and guide his hand to your clothed mound, a weak sigh leaving his lips as he cups over the wet spot that was forming just for him. Joel didn’t have to put in much work for you to be on the edge for him. 

“I fucking hate you, Joel.” 

He puffs out another breath of air through his nose. His way of laughing lately. 

“Fuckin’ hate you more, baby.” 

He toys with your panties for the remaining minutes of the drive, your nails having sunk so hard into his arm that you’re drawing small bits of blood from the moon-shaped cuts. 

He damn near hauls you out of the truck once you’re parked. You leap into his arms as soon as the two of you walk past the threshold of his front door. 

You force him to walk blindly through the house. He’s easily holding you up by one arm as you tighten your legs around his waist, causing your dress to ride up from the tension. You kiss him in a clash of teeth and tongues. You’re both ferociously horny for one another. And he’s pissed. 

“Flirtin’ with my brother all fuckin’ night? You have fun with that?” He mutters against your mouth, slamming you up against the wall with a thud as your breath nearly knocks out of you from the force. He takes the opportunity of you planted there to grab the hem of your dress and push it up and off your body. His mouth latches to your exposed breasts, a throaty moan leaving your mouth as your small fists take him by the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck,” you let out breathily, throwing your head back against the wall and humming lowly. 

“Answer me.” He ruts his hips up against your core, and you’re painfully aware of how naked he’s making you and how clothed he still is. 

“He’s actually really nice-” He suckles harder on your nipple, forcing a hiss out of your mouth. “Think I might trade in my older model for something younger.” Your tone is teasing, but the words are enough to make him detach from your nipple, a sinister look wavering his features cold.  

He sneers and tilts his head to the side and back before shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think so.” 

He rips you from the safety of the wall, your hands quickly scrabble to his shoulders to keep yourself upright while he leads you up the stairs to his bedroom. His heavy boots thud menacingly. You try to hide your smile in the crook of his neck, leaving angelic kisses on his neck and marking him with your lipstick, knowing how good Joel is about to make you feel. 

He tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll, your bare body finds warmth in his sheets. You admire him from below as he pulls his shirt off by gripping the material at the back of his neck and hauling it off him in one swift motion. The sight alone makes your pussy ache and your insides churn. 

God, he was so handsome. He had this soft bulk to his body that expanded from the hardened planes of his chest and toned tummy to the light bulge in his biceps. His chest hair was a sprinkle of dark black stippled with light grey hairs that became sparse before trickling to a thicker patch, creating his happy trail.  

Holy fuck, he looked like he was going to devour you. 

Joel wasted little time with formalities. He had your legs parted, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your soft skin. His tongue explored your mouth while both of his palms massaged the supple plushness of your breasts. He was pinching your nipples between his fingers, making you whine into his mouth for relief while they hardened in his hold. 

You slip your hands between your middles, fingertips gently trailing down to capture the button of his jeans and push down his zipper. You have to wiggle around a bit, as Joel is pinning you to the spot. You’re so desperate for him that it almost turns into a fight to get his jeans off. He tugs on your bottom lip, a light whimper leaving you upon tasting the metallic tang of blood fill your mouth. 

You smack Joel’s arm until he releases you, huffing at him. 

“Asshole.” You mutter.

He sneers at you as he places a delicate kiss to your lips in apology. “That’s what cunts get.”  He mutters under his breath. The term makes you flinch, your hand coming up to give him a good smack across the face, but he captures your wrist and pins it back to the bed. You both eagerly consume one another in a desperate kiss. You think you see him smiling as he tastes the light scrape of blood he’s caused. 

Joel moves his weight to his forearms and aids you in the ongoing war between you and his pesky jeans. With his weight off you, you easily push down his jeans and his black boxers, your feet pushing down the last of the material around his ankles. He sits back on his haunches, heavy hands gripping the sides of your panties as he pulls them down your legs, leaving you bare with him. 

You immediately slip out of the hold he has on your wrist and put your hand between your legs. Your fingers move eagerly between your glistening folds and slick them up with arousal. He smacks your hand away and pins your wrist to the bed once more. So fucking disobedient. 

Once he settles between you, a soft gasp escapes your lips once you feel his thick shaft landing heavily against your sex. He was thick and ready for the taking, his tip was red with anger and need. 

“You were a real fuckin’ handful tonight.” He mutters, letting his tip slide up and down your glistening folds. You were not in the mood for teasing. 

You grit your teeth and glare up at him. “I think Tommy agreed.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He growls, your chest rising and falling quickly. He takes notice as your body tingles with excitement. 

“Such a pain in my goddamn ass sometimes, more trouble than your worth.”

“Why don’t you toss me to Tommy then, huh? That way I can see which Miller brother fucks me better.” You sneer, a sloppy smirk crossing your features. It’s harshly stripped from you as Joel takes your face and squishes your cheeks with the grip of his hand. Your eyes clench closed at the slight pain, feeling him angle your head to face him. He’s power-hungry. 

“Open those eyes, pretty girl.” His voice is rocky and lust-filled, dangerous like gasoline. It takes a moment, but you flutter them open. You didn’t realize that you were holding onto Joel’s puffed-up biceps, hard as a rock under your hold. 

He slowly scans you, up and down, weighing his options of how to handle you. The problem that you were. His little brat. “You wanna cum tonight?”

Your ultimate weakness. A sheepish whimper leaves your squished lips, trying to blink back the slight tears that are forming from his manhandling. Mascara stings your eyes, but you hold his eye contact, because he asked you to, because it’s Joel, and you’d do anything for him at the end of the day. 

You manage an “Mhm, please.” Joel’s eyes soften as he comes back to you and your warmth. 

He doesn’t say anything, just angles his hips just right since you two fit perfectly together and thrusts inward. The breath in your lungs is punched out, head grinding back into the bed as your chin angles to the ceiling.  You hiss at the initial discomfort that his thick cock causes. He’s fucked you a million times, but there’s nothing better than the first thrust where you’re still adjusting to his size, his girth, his length, his everything. 

The clamp his hand has on your cheeks eventually releases, shifting the weight back to his forearms as his head settles above yours. He places another gentle kiss on your lightly swollen bottom lip. His loving reassurance warms your body. He’s starting steady, honorably letting your arousal take the lead in getting you both lubed up. He feels like heaven coursing through your tight hole, making himself the perfect fit for you. 

You wrap your arms around his neck a little too tight, bringing him down into you as he breathily laughs against your ear. 

"Y'know, it's kinda hard to be rough with ya when you're bein' so sweet."

Your chest heaves with his words, a sudden and impactful sense of vulnerability passing through you. It makes you nervous. It makes your skin swelter with warmth and makes a bead of sweat form at your temple. You and Joel don’t have this type of warmth in your relationship. Warm in the sense of boiling, too hot, too much, screaming and shouting and fighting and kissing. Not this. Not the gentle thrusts lightly rocking into you, letting you adjust to him, pulling him in for a gentle embrace as you capture him in a needy hug. 

You’re not the I love you type, yet you said it to him this morning. Sort of. You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly shake your head. 

You remind yourself that he didn’t say it back this morning. He wasn’t saying it now. Was he just using you? No.. no, it wasn’t that. But he wasn’t going to let you meet his family. He wasn’t going to say he loved you. He wasn’t going to marry you if that’s even what you wanted right now. It wasn’t. But you couldn’t deny you thought about your future with Joel. Even with all the fighting, the anger, the jealousy, it was all out of love. But maybe that love was one-sided. 

The arms you had draped around his neck turned into sinking your nails into the base of his back. You slowly began scraping them upwards and forming long, raised red lines in their path. Joel grunts and hisses at the burn he’s feeling, broad shoulders tightening and his hips snapping into you more ferociously now. 

Your lower lip trembled with anger, but you didn’t let him see as you pushed his head down to your breasts. He took the hint with a broken moan as he suckled a bruise on your collarbone. 

The pain of his thrusts turned into numbing pleasure, his tip kissing your cervix with each and every heavy snap of his thrusts. 

“Fuck yeah, Joel,” you moan. You stroking his ego only makes his movements more methodical, one of his hands pushing your leg down onto the bed rather than snaking around his waist and exposing you to a new angle that left you searching for air. Joel returns his forehead to rest over yours, both of your sweat glistening. You stare into his eyes, and all you feel is anger and regret for saying you loved him. He was fucking you so good too, you both had never gone as slow as you had at the start. It was twisting the coil inside of you so smoothly, that your brain was getting foggy. 

You did a lot of stupid things tonight. Wearing your shortest dress, stalking Joel to his hangout with Tommy, flirting with his brother for the majority of the night. But now, you were ready to do the stupidest thing yet. 

You moan into his ear, revenge and regret swirling inside of you like an insidious tornado. Your eyes flutter close in pleasure as you feel your orgasm begin to approach. “Fuck me, Tommy.”

It hits Joel like a ton of bricks. All his movements pause. He pulls away just half an inch and stares down at you. A cold, downright mean look crosses his face once you’ve popped your eyes open to take a look at him. The room suffocates you in silence. 

“What did you say?” His voice is slow, slick with a cursed concoction of lust and fury. 

Too far. Way too fucking far. 

You pause as you try to recollect yourself, having just been nearly blinded by your approaching orgasm. “I- I said Joel,” Now you were just trying to convince yourself that you didn’t accidentally or not accidentally just moaned his brother's name in bed. “I-”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” He mutters, chest puffed up and muscles straining with veins like thick rivers coasting up his arms. 

He starts slow. His hand shifts to fasten around your throat, and with each word that leaves him, his grip tightens. “Tell me… what you said.” He speaks through gritted teeth, eliciting a whimper from you as he snarls. 

You swallow a lump in your throat, cold goosebumps flooding over your previously scorching hot skin. You were starting to feel the neglect from his lack of thrusts, whining softly as you tried to grind your hips up into his. 

His large palm slams into your hip with force and pins you to the bed, letting out a whine of annoyance. 

“You want Tommy fuckin’ you instead? Huh?” His jaw is tight and only clicking tighter as he stares daggers into you. Fuck, you were only flooding him with more of your arousal. You purposely flexed your tight walls around the swell of his cock. 

“N-No, Joel -- fuck -- want you.” You whimper out as your hands soften on his shoulders, and you gently cup his face. He shakes his head loose of your hold, annoyance and anger still shooting up his spine. 

“I don’t think you do, pretty girl, think you want someone else. Tommy.” His hips were thrusting again, harsh snaps that physically rocked your body up the bed with force that made your jaw drop. Fuck he felt so damn good. The lack of air was making your head swirl. 

You took in a sharp breath as he manhandles your face once more, forcing you to look at him. “Dirty fuckin’ slut, you want both of us, don’t you?” Well, you can’t deny the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. He licks his lips before he spits on your face, lathering you in his saliva as you gasp in shock. 

“J-Joel,” your words can’t come out smooth with how roughly he’s fucking you. His hips are slamming your thighs, and the bedframe is smacking the wall with all his might. “Fuck-ing- shit,” you throw your head back now up into his pillows and try to grip onto the sheets to maintain your position. That coil that was smoothly coursing you towards a gentle orgasm was long gone, as was Joel’s right mind. Now the coil was tightening and nearly breaking, your mind going blank and seeing stars. 

“Say my name,” Joel grunts, his hand coming up and smothering the saliva he spat on your face. It runs black with your mascara tears and messy red lipstick before he brings his hand back to your throat. 

You breathe heavily as your mind tries to connect syllables and make a coherent word. “I- I..” You can’t focus, and Joel punishes you for it. He spits on you again, hot and warm on your face, and all you can picture is if it was his cum showering you instead. “Fuck!” You shout at him. He takes the opportunity of your mouth open to speak, forcing two fingers inside. 

“Suck’em, pretty little bitch,” Joel mutters, watching you with eyes from hell. 

You whimper and suckle around his fingers, trying not to choke on them, focusing all your energy on trying not to get in more trouble. You line your tongue up and down both digits, tasting him, tasting Joel. He pulls his fingers from you with force and leaves your own saliva dribbling out of your messy mouth and down your chin. 

He puts his slimy fingers to use and starts slowly circling your clit. Your eyes light up, wide, and you grip onto his bicep for desperation. “P-Please, too much, Joel,” you whimper, feeling the coil close to snapping as he starts doing precise figure-eights on your swollen nub. It was all too much. 

“Say my name,” Joel says on repeat, your glassy eyes only being able to focus on him, just like he wanted. 

He starts marking you with his mouth, ferocious teeth nipping at the sensitive skin along your breasts and collarbones, so harshly that they burn once he’s done, and covering you in red and purple splotches. 

Joel’s grunting above you, withholding his own orgasm as another form of torturing you. “Say my name, god dammit, tell me who owns this fucking pussy.” He spits on you, mean and hot, and he’s all you can see, all you can think. 

Say my name. Say my name. God dammit, say my fucking name. 

“J-Joel!” You cry out his name and clench your eyes closed, but he doesn’t slow his thrusts or his fingers. “Fu-Fuck me, Joel, keep fucking me good, Joel, Joel, Joel- fuck!” you swallow down the lump in your throat as you see his goading smirk, his hips slamming you with all he’s got. 

“Come on baby, want Tommy t’hear you, want the whole damn neighborhood t’hear you-- shit,” he mutters, eyes clenching closed as your walls flutter around him in a nearing orgasm. 

“Say my name!” He shouts, and you cry out in pleasure. 

He was like God, your God. 

“Joel!” You cry out. The coil snaps, and the curtain falls down. Your back arches, and you throw your hips into Joel’s, fisting the sheets and dipping your eyes closed again as you let out a moan that shakes the entire house. Joel’s not long behind you, he paints your walls white in adoration, load after load marking your walls as his own, no one else's. 

A few minutes pass and he’s still buried inside of you. You look psychotic, fucked dumb and raw. “I’m yours, Joel.” You say barely above a whisper, desperate eyes searching his own for warmth. 

You’re twitching below him, overly exerted and tired. You’re motionless, half-dead under the man who resurrected you. He’s panting heavily from doing all the work per usual. His mouth is agape, trying to catch his breath as your numb limbs lie in place while he pulls out of you. He’s dripping with your arousal-cum mixture. Oh, but he’s not done. He kneels on the bed and smacks his hand against your pussy before cupping it. 

It makes your eyes widen, and you let out an overstimulated cry at the feeling. You quickly shake your head, grip his wrist, and meet his eyes with a pleading expression. “N-No Joel, can’t -- fuck -- can’t do another one right away, give me a sec baby-” 

“Do you know why I didn’t want Tommy to meet you?” His words ram your numb brain senseless. 

You whimper as he’s already starting slow circles on your clit, goosebumps forming once more. You muster up a shake of your head. 

No. No, I don’t know why you won’t let me meet your fucking brother, the question has been gnawing at me all damn day, though. 

“When we were younger, Tommy had a bad streak of sneakin’ off with my girlfriends.” He did? You had no idea. Joel’s voice is deviously quiet during his story-telling, wrecked with residual anger and desire for you. 

His thumb takes over massaging your clit, feeling both his index and middle finger slowly curl their way into your entrance. Your head nudges back against the pillows again, releasing a string of whimpers as he works you up again. He’s pushing his cum back inside of you while his fingers squelch.

“He was flirtin’ with ‘em, harmless at first, ‘til he decided he wanted ‘em for himself.” Your jaw tightens as he moves his thumb faster on your clit, angry that you let Tommy manipulate you into getting a rise out of Joel, just like he used to. He was using you as a pawn tonight. 

“Got into so many damn fights over it. S’why my nose is a lil’ crooked. Tommy broke it with a punch, fightin’ about some girl I was seein’ in my twenties.” You frowned. Stop talking about your other girlfriends, Joel.  

A quiet whimper left your lips as your pointer finger came up to brush along the light curve of his nose that you loved so much. 

“Don’t feel bad for me, angel. I broke his goddamn arm for fuckin’ me over like that.” He had a dangerous smirk on his lips, one that you liked, one that made your heart race as he circled your clit even faster and started massaging your walls with his thick fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whispered, the heated coil in your tummy churning again out of the protectiveness and jealousy he felt for you today. 

“He’s never met any of my girls since, so when I saw you walk into that bar..” he trailed off and started shaking his head. Your clit pulsed anxiously under the pad of his thumb, biting down harshly on your bruised and bloody lip. “Would never let him take you away from me. Never.” Your heart gushes for him. 

“I’d never leave you, Joel,” you lightly whimpered, your body twitching and writhing under him. He shook his head and gently shushed you, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Your glassy eyes watched him in adoration, seeing crooked stars in your vision as you felt another orgasm heatedly approaching. 

“Should’a told ya sooner. And you should’a stayed home. Listened to me for once,” He told you in a warning tone. You swallow the lump in your throat and gently nod, your thighs shaking against his legs that pinned yours wide open. 

“S’why when I saw ya in the bar, knew I had t’take you home and make you mine, devil woman.” He muttered with a small smirk. The nickname made a desperate smile trickle on your lips. 

“Yeah?” You said in a sheepish whimper, your walls fluttering around his fingers that were gently exploring your insides, leaving you so close to cumming again. It was too fast, and too damn hot in the room, but Joel was making you his, and that’s all you were going to focus on. 

“So what d’you say?” He asks, raising a curious eyebrow. 

“‘M sorry.” You muster up. “I-I’m sorry, Joel,” He’s got you panting for dear life as your thighs twitch while you near closer and closer to the edge. 

He slowly shakes his head. “And what else, pretty girl?” 

You cock your head and furrow your brows at him, unsure of what he wants you to say next. 

“Say my name, tell me you love me again.” His fingers abandon your entrance and solely focus on pleasuring your clit, going so fast, too fast. His head comes down by yours, resting his forehead against your temple as your eyes force themselves closed.  

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimper. 

“Look at me, baby.” He whispers to you, placing light kisses by the corner of your eye to bring attention to him. 

Your long lashes flutter on your cheeks before your fucked out face turns to Joel. “I love you, I love you, Joel, I love y-you- fuck,” you moan out loudly, throwing your head back and grinding your hips up into his hand. You do love him, the sick bastard that he was. 

Your second release is only minutes from your last; it sparks you like a firework, and you feel your bones tingle. This man was not one to contend with. But you did anyway because you loved him. 

You come down from being overstimulated. He plays this mean game where he grazes his fingers as light as a feather on different parts of your body, watching as your muscles and body twitch from being short-circuited. 

“Fuck you.” You murmur. 

His feet find the floor, his cock still hanging by his thighs, drenched in residual slick. He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the faucet run. It rings in your ears, still trying to center yourself after being fucked to oblivion tonight. 

You didn’t realize your eyes had fallen close until you heard his feet padding towards you as he approached with a warm washcloth. You hum softly gently wipes your face from his spit and your mucky mascara before he rotates the washcloth and wipes at the inside of your thighs. You’re still a little sensitive, you can’t help but let your face twinge. 

He’s careful as he makes sure you’re clean, catching any residual spill. He tosses the washcloth into the laundry basket before he goes searching in your bag for something you can wear. 

“Joel?”

He pauses his movements. “Already know what you’re gonna say.” You instantly smile and observe him. He was so handsome. 

He stops looking through your bag for clothes and moves to his closet. He takes his time choosing what he wants you to wear, which makes you giggle a little bit from bed. You’re motionless, with no energy to move or even roll over. Barely enough to speak. 

He settles on a Metallica band t-shirt, at least twenty years old, with the cotton perfectly soft and worn in. He moves to his dresser and fishes out a clean pair of boxers. They were the most comfy to wear, you had to admit. Panties were to show off your ass before sex. Boxers were for after all that was finished. 

“You okay?” he whispers, to which you slowly nod. He’s always been so good with aftercare, even after a full day of arguing followed by a full night of fucking. 

The boxers are soft as they coast up your legs, and he settles them on your hips. The band reads Calvin Klein. You muster up enough strength to sit up on your elbows, and he helps you put the baggy shirt on. It messes up your hair, and he tries to smooth it over, which makes you bubble up a laugh. “It’ll just get all messed up when we sleep, but thanks,” you whisper before falling back into his pillows once again. 

Joel smirks widely before he lays down tiredly beside you on his front, like a big giant collapsing with a large huff. Your hand travels gently up his back, seeing the raised and jagged lines your nails had caused, your anger had caused. His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t let you know he’s feeling pain. 

“Joel?” You whisper and work up the energy to shimmy closer to him, your foreheads gently resting together. 

“Hm?” He murmurs. 

You feel shy all of a sudden, still vulnerable. “Happy birthday, Joel. I love you.” 

He slowly smiles, a sense of pride flooding his body as he pulls you in closer to him by your hip. He gently glides his thumb across your swollen bottom lip and kisses you lightly. “I love you, too. No matter how much of a brat you are.”

You slowly grin and close your eyes as your heads rest beside one another. 

“Oh my god.” You mutter to yourself. Joel pulls his head away to look down at you. 

“What is it, angel?”

You groan lightly and hide your face in your hands. “The cake! I left it out all day, it’s probably dry as fuck now!”

Joel lets out a puff of laughter, stroking your sweat-soaked hair away from your face. “S’okay, wasn’t gonna have any, anyway.” 

“Yes, you were.” You huff, your finger gently gliding down his nose once more before you gently kiss the tip in adoration. 

He hums softly at your decent behavior. “Good girl.” 

---

masterlist

A reminder that I no longer use taglists!! to keep up with my writing, follow @hellishfics and turn on notifications to keep updated!

[eevees-hobbies]

Look me in my face and tell me Togame isn’t so nonchalant that he won’t absolutely do things to you in public that will make more chalant people (Sakura AHAHAHA) blush. Talking bout feeling his tongue drag over the roof of your mouth in every kiss because he KNOWS it makes you shiver and weak in the knees. Lives for feeling you sway a lil before he tightens his grip on you. Such a show off in front of others :3

Nooooooooow, which one of you Togame enthusiasts is in my inbox, leaving thirsts like this?! Jk, I’m into it. Ok, anon, I’ll look you dead in your pixelated face and tell you that Togame gets off on not only kissing you in public but he likes an audience too.

So take a little thirst walk with me, ok? Be sure to hold my hand, too, because I’m into that.

Content Warning: Making out, making out in front of others who may or may not enjoy that kind of thing (perverts), saliva swapping, pinching, brief mention of groping. Minors Do Not Interact.

Jo Togame has no shame–-I mean, he does usually, but when it comes to you, all bets are off. You began to notice his appreciation for making you blush in public when he would pull you in for a kiss and his tongue would slide into your mouth in full view of anyone that was around. Choji often gets a front-row seat to your make-out sessions, his eyes as wide as saucers as he goads his friend to keep going. 

Sakura tries his best to look away but can’t help taking a peak at the sight of Togame’s tongue infiltrating your open mouth. 

Even poor Sako commented under his breath that you two kiss like pornstars.

And trust me, Sako is not wrong. The kisses are feverish. They are lasting. They are messy.

Yes, Togame will drag his tongue along the ridges and creases along the roof of your mouth, and he’s well aware of the fact that it will always make you gasp, moan, and shiver against him, but that’s part of the fun. 

And Togame knows his girl, so of course, he’ll wrap his arms around you to keep your legs from giving out. Side note: Togame has learned that it’s best to pin you against the nearest wall, his elbows resting on either side of your head, his body pushed against yours to keep you in place.

And he’ll absolutely tease you for it. “Whats gotten into ya? It’s only a kiss, silly girl.”

But it’s not just his tongue that he so kindly shares with you. Togame doesn’t consider it a real kiss unless you have exchanged so much saliva that it collects at the corners of your mouth and leaves wet streaks against yours and his chin. As you finally come up for air, strings of saliva still connected between your lips until they break from tension, cheeks burning and chest heaving, he’ll lick his lips, savoring the taste of you.

And, god, the sounds? The louder the kiss, the better. Whether it’s the squelches your tongues make as they rub against one another or the squeak you emit when he grabs your chin with one hand and pinches your ass with the other—he’s full-on throbbing against you because fuck, why are you so damn cute? 

Just overload Togame’s senses with you, please, because that’s how he loves it.

And that’s only how it started. Now, it’s not just kissing; it’s the groping in front of Shishitoren members that really has you writhing against him because surely you’re not into that, right? Surely, you don’t want them to watch as Togame-

Sorry, that’s not what you asked, anon. You asked about kissing <3

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: video calls and masturbation, vibrators and the bathroom sink! (last one is mainly a warning for Bucky)

“I miss you," you whined at your boyfriend, whose face was all you could see on the screen of your phone. 

“I miss you too, doll.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?" you challenged his admission.

“What is it that you want from me?”

“I want you to touch me.” Your words came out with a whine. Needy. Desperate.

“Where doll? Where do you want me to touch you?” Bucky asked, seemingly unphased.

“Here,” you pulled down the neckline of your oversized night shirt, exposing your braless cleavage.

“Anywhere else, doll? Show me?” 

You smiled slowly, pulling your shirt off over your head, revealing your unbound breasts to the camera. “Sam had better not barge in, Buck.”

“Don’t worry, doll. The door’s locked. No one gets to look at you this way other than me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

You looked at him with a bit of confusion, before you remembered the conversation you'd had with him a few weeks prior, about how well people responded to the title he had been given after he had been drafted. “Yes… Sergeant.”

“Good girl. Now be a doll and see how hard those beautiful nipples of yours can get for me.”

“You want me to touch myself?” you asked innocently.

“It’s going to have to be you, my love. Unless you’re willing to wait tillI get home.”

“And when will that be?”

“Well, if we’re estimating by Sam’s cautiousness, then probably won’t be back for another week.”

You groaned dramatically. “But Buck, I couldn’t possibly wait that long. I need you nooooow,” you exaggerated your pout and dragged out your vowels.

“Go on, doll. Don’t keep me waiting. Believe me, I want this just as much as you do.”

“Not enough to come back home and get me off though,” you said petulantly.

“Stop sulking, doll.” His tone was suddenly more stern. “Or else I’m going to have to punish you.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised and slightly amused by his sudden authoritative behavior. Not once had Bucky ever tried to tell you what to do.

“How exactly do you propose to do that, Buck? From all the way over there!” you teased.

“Oh I can think of a few things, doll.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well for one, I could make sure you don’t get any pleasure at all when I get home.”

“You wouldn’t?” you asked, incredulously.

“Doll, I could, and I would.” The glint in his eye was clear despite the slightly pixelated screen. “Or if you’re insisting on behaving like a brat, we might have to resort to some spanking.”

Your face flushed and a pool of wetness collected between your legs at Bucky’s words. It turned you on more than you ever thought possible. You’d never heard Bucky suggest something like this before and it made you wonder if there was anything else that he hadn’t yet shared with you.

“Now, why don’t you be a doll and touch yourself for me. I want to see those beautiful nipples clearly on this tiny screen.”

You propped your device onto the wireless charging stand and angled it towards you so Bucky had an unobstructed view of your magnificent breasts as you kneaded and massaged them, pinching your nipples until they felt as hard as the peaked mountains they now resembled. You leaned your shoulder against the padded headboard of your bed, legs crossed on the mattress for comfort and stability.

Bucky moaned appreciatively, eyes glued to the screen as he enjoyed the show you were giving him.

“That’s my girl, are you feeling good?”

“So good, Bucky.”

“Better than when I touch you?” he taunted lightly.

“Nothing compares to how you touch me, Buck.”

“You sure do know how to make a guy feel appreciated.”

“You like what you see? 'Cause you’re breathing kinda hard there.”

“Yeah, doll, I love what I see. Trying to imagine how my special ladies are feeling.”

You bit your lip then pouted, “But I thought I was your special lady.”

“You’re my best girl.”

His old-fashioned charm made you smile.

"Well how about giving your best girl something to work with? You've never been afraid to show me your chest before."

"That's usually because you're the one taking off my clothes for me, doll," Bucky chuckled, as he pulled his black tee over his head with one hand. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," you said as dryly as you could before your face broke into a massive smile. Admiring Bucky’s well defined pecs and abs was one of the highlights of your intimate relationship with him. His Adonisesque physique would be the envy of most mortal men, and the knowledge that he kept it all hidden except for your pleasure was an aphrodisiac in and of itself.

Bucky sighed wistfully. "You look stunning."

"Guess you like what you see, huh?" You cupped your breasts with both hands, giving them a few more wanton squeezes before rising up onto your knees and peering at your phone screen. "What's going on down there, Buck?"

Bucky tried to suppress a smile as you squinted into the camera, trying to move onto a position, as if the motion would make more of him visible to you.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Obviously I would. That's why I asked!" You rolled your eyes and sighed dramatically. "Are you touching yourself?" You had an inkling that Bucky was palming himself over the sweats he was sporting as sleep wear.

"Maybe," Bucky shrugged, trying to sound evasive. It wasn't very successful.

"That's not fair, Buck."

"Nothing's fair about this, doll."

"Buuuuck," you whined. "Come oooonnn."

"Tell me what you want, doll."

"I want to see."

"What do you want to see?"

"I want to see you, Buck. I need to see you. To know what I'm missing. God, I wish I could feel you right now."

"Where, doll? Where do you want to feel me?"

"I want you inside me, Buck. I want your hands on my body. I need you touching me," you sighed, your hand rubbing yourself over your satin shorts.

"You getting yourself nice and wet for me?"

"I'm sure I’d do better if you were doing it for me." You pushed your palm against your crotch a little more roughly, reveling in the pleasure you felt from the friction. "Or if you show me how far you've gotten."

"Is this some kind of competition to you, doll?"

"You want to make it one?"

"See who cums first?"

"I mean, I still think it's cheating because you're just sitting there with your pants on. I mean you get to see all this!" You motioned towards your top less torso as you spoke.

"Fine," Bucky huffed before your view on the tiny screen jolted to face the ceiling as Bucky rose from the armchair where he had been sitting. "Gimme a sec, doll."

The screen went dark as Bucky shuffled around. You waited less than patiently, pushing the lace and satin further and further inside you in an attempt to chase your climax.

"It's been more than a second," you complained.

You heard a grunt of disapproval and more shuffling before you caught sight of your boyfriend again. He had made his way into the bathroom and was propping you up on the tiny porcelain sink.

"How's that, doll?

"It's about time," you moaned as your fingers ghosted over your clit. "I'm more than ready, you know."

"I know. Wait for me." He pushed down on the waistband on his sweats until his hardening member sprang forwards to greet you.

"There's my favorite soldier," you tilted your head and tucked your lower lip under your front teeth. "I missed Sarge!" you said coyly.

Bucky rolled his eyes at your reference to his cock. 

"Ready to follow orders?" You spoke, keeping your voice quiet and seductive.

"Who are you talking to, doll? Me or Sarge" Bucky asked, sarcastically.

"I think Sarge could use a little more attention. Bucky, you want to give him a helping hand?"

Bucky couldn't help but groan as he wrapped his flesh hand around his semi erect member. Whether the groaning was his disapproval of your attempts at seduction or the pleasure of that initial touch as he wrapped his fingers around himself, you had no idea. He squeezed at the base before giving his shaft a few firm strokes until his tip kissed the skin below his navel. Bucky grunted softly, as precum leaked from his length. 

It was driving you insane, just sitting by and watching, listening to your boyfriend making those noises as he slowly coated his length with precum, making the slide of his palm easier.

Finally he looked up at you with a smirk. "Your turn doll. Lose the shorts."

"Need to be careful. Might make a mess on the bed and you're not here to clean it up."

"Show me. Show me how wet you are."

You rolled your eyes at him, a blush staining your heated cheeks. It didn't take you long to push your shorts down, shimmying them down your hips and over your knees until they slipped over your feet and onto the floor out of sight.

"Come on, doll. Shake a leg!"

"Buuuuck!" you cried, exasperated. "It took you long enough, be patient!"

Bucky laughed at your incensed state as he stood in front of the camera idly stroking his cock. "I want to see you."

A small smirk spread across your lips as your fingers found your exposed folds. They were already coated in your arousal making the entry of your fingers between the warmth of these lips effortless. Your fingertips brushed over your clit making you gasp, before you pushed them inside you, collecting as much of the fluid on your fingers. The way they felt inside you was a tease, barely a prelude to what Bucky normally provided for you. Today, however, you would have to make do without him. Slowly, you withdrew your digits bringing them to your mouth and sucked them dry, eyes closed as your tongue swirled around them.

"See how wet I am for you and you're not even here to taste me."

Bucky shivered slightly at the thought of tasting you. His tongue shot out, licking his lips at the mere thought of you on them.

"Oh God, doll, I want you so bad," Bucky moaned. His voice over the last speaker sounded more gravelly than normal and it turned you on more than you thought possible.

You pushed your fingers back inside you, watching Bucky on your phone screen, matching your movements to the rhythm with which Bucky was stroking himself. For a minute or two, you both watched each other panting and moaning, but you were starting to feel a little frustrated.

"It's not enough Bucky. Need you," you whined.

Bucky’s laugh was so low that you almost missed it because of the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

"Don't worry, doll. I got you. Open the bottom drawer for me."

"What?" You stopped pumping your fingers to look at Bucky with confusion. 

"Bedside cupboard. Bottom drawer. Open." Bucky kept his directions simple, letting your aroused and addled brain to catch up to his train of thought.

You withdrew your fingers, lingering for a second to caress your clit.

"Don't get distracted," Bucky scolded lightly. He was still moving his hand firmly up and down his swollen length, a smirk on his face and a glint of hidden excitement in his eyes.

"Buck, what's in the drawer?"

"Open it!"

You reached down to the drawer handle and Bucky’s smile got bigger. He loved seeing you face down but he knew he was going to enjoy your reaction to the little gift he had left behind for you.

He had removed the plastic wrapping and placed it into a gift box. All that was required from you was to lift the lid. The pretty pink bow adoring the box was a mere garnish but it made you happy and it very nicely matched the color of his present. 

You gasped as you stared down at the magenta vibrator which was exactly your boyfriend's size. As you picked it up, your fingers accidentally pushed the button and it started buzzing happily in your hand. The salacious sounds that left your lips had Bucky's cock throbbing with need. He got off on the melody of your moans, watching you come undone because of him.

"Do you like it?"

You nodded, your breathing shallow and pupils dilated.

"I wanted you to have something for when I'm not there to take care of you."

"Aww, Buck. Thank you," your voice was quiet but earnest.

"Wanna give it a go, doll? There is a tiny bottle of lube in there if it will help."

"You just think of everything, don't you?"

"Gotta make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not around."

"I'd prefer if you were to take care of me. But thank you Buck, this is very thoughtful."

You grabbed the travel sized lube bottle and coated the vibrator generously. 

"Ready?" Bucky asked, watching your reaction with bated breath.

You turned on the device to its lowest setting and rubbed it over your folds. It already felt delectable, and you closed your eyes trying to imagine it was Bucky who was touching you.

"Eyes on me, doll."

Immediately you snapped your eyes open to look at your boyfriend.

"That's right, look at me. Everything you feel right now is because of me."

You pushed the toy between your folds, pressing it against your sensitive nub. Humming, you mumbled your pleasure. "So good."

"Why do you feel so good, doll?"

"Because of you, Bucky. Always you."

The waves of ecstasy were building steadily, like a rising tide, threatening to overcome you. You flipped up the setting, letting the vibrator do its job. Within minutes you were a whimpering mess, writhing under the strain you were applying to your throbbing clit. The pressure inside was rising, like a flood pushing against a dam until the walls finally cracked and your climax overflowed, drowning you in euphoria.

As the rapture of your orgasm ebbed away, you heard Bucky panting softly. You glanced over at him for his reaction. He had gone back to palming himself but his eyes stayed on you, albeit slightly glassy.

"You're not done already, are you?" he asked.

You mumbled incoherently for a moment before pulling yourself back to reality. "Sooo sensitive."

"I know, doll," Bucky cooed at you. "But don't you want to know how I feel inside you?"

"S'not you," you pouted.

"Then do it for me. Do it because I need to see you, I need to hear you, I need it."

His words were greedy, like needed to see you coming undone with his gift to achieve his own release. How could you deny Bucky this simple request? Especially when his voice was dripping with lust.

"Do it, darling. I know you can take it. Just like you take me so well."

You picked up the pink gadget and slipped it inside you, hissing slightly as electric sensations from your clit made you twitch slightly.

"Show me, doll, show me how good you are, how good I feel inside you." He urged you to continue lust-filled eyes on you as he touched himself.

The desire in his voice had you craving more. You pushed vibrator deeper inside you, looking to Bucky for his approval.

"Faster, doll."

You complied, pumping the silicone shaft faster, reveling in the fantasy of being railed by your beautiful boyfriend. Soft whimpers left your lips as you imitated his movements and pace.

"You sound so good."

"Bucky," you whined as that familiar feeling crept up on you. 

"Tell me, doll. Tell me how good I feel inside you," he begged, desperately thrusting into his fist.

"So good, Buck. Only you make me feel good."

Your walls fluttered around the gift he has left you to be his proxy. It oscillated diligently inside you filling you with an insatiable desire and desperation to reach your zenith.

"I'm not going to last much longer, darling. Not if you keep making those be-beautiful noises for me," Bucky huffed, his breaths coming out fast and shallow.

"All for you, Buck. Just you."

"Doll," Bucky gasped.

Buck, I - I'm gonna, I'm c-"

You groaned and gripped the duvet, arching your back as your second orgasm engulfed you.

Bucky’s metal fist gripped the ceramic sink harder as his body tensed, losing himself in the bucking of his hips. He rutted into his hand, finally losing control to the sounds of your climax. Hot, white spurts shot of his tip as he came, covering his phone and the camera with his cum.

As the first few drops coat the camera, you hear a loud crack and your eyes snap into focus. Unfortunately, Bucky’s release is completely obstructing your view.

"Umm, Buck? What just happened?" You grabbed your phone and brought it closer to your face. 

Bucky stood motionless with a few pieces of crumbling ceramic in his vibranium fist, his flesh hand still wrapped around his sensitive cock.

"Nothing! Everything’s fine." Bucky bit his lower lip before a soft laugh escaped his lips.

"I heard a crack!" You felt a little panicked by the noise.

"Umm, I might have broken the sink when I… you know."

"That good, huh?" You were finally able to relax and laugh when you heard the sheepish tone of his voice.

Bucky's face came back into view, albeit slightly distorted. He had picked his phone and tried to wipe the camera clean.

"Not as good as when I'm in you, doll," he smirked at you.

"I still miss you, you know that right?"

"I know. I still miss you too. But I'd better go and figure out how to deal with this."

You giggled quietly before hanging up and leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. You made a mental note to avoid the bathroom sink when having sex with Bucky in future.

[morgan-the-lonely-brick]

Hi, I still have so many feelings about this, I will never shut up. I also made a gifset out of it because watching the video wasn't enough, i need to memorize every pixel.

(These gifs are free to download & use, they literally took me 5 minutes, so... cheers~)

"It is your job to f-" still haunts me. Also the way light falls on his face exactly when he fumbles is like him getting exposed. Shining a light on his fakery so the others see through it? And then he retreats back into the shadow trying to hide again, but does so only partially? Amazing.

The quick look up at Fang, he's so adorable🥺 i think for a moment there he actually considers admiting something's wrong but backs out of it and right back into defense. The way he freezes at the end sends shivers down my spine. it's so personal to me, Con, staaahp, fr! Also we get the "unhand me" line, or rather [if you touch me now i will start crying and that's embarrassing so don't touch me] That's how i see it.

Now we get to the good shit. Looking up trying not to cry. Avoiding any and all eye contact. His fckn lips shaking. You can clearly see that he's broken by the fact they've even noticed THIS. That expression is like a defeated "oh fuck me". Him being off focus makes this bit even worse.

Actually I was looking at this bit a lot and it almost seems like he doesn't know what Fang is trying to do at first? Like he was defensive because he didn't realise Fang was going in for a hug? Or maybe it's a reflex for anything coming from behind. He's a fighter, after all.

He looks ahead, approximately where Archie and Jim are standing as if to see their reactions or maybe seek help?! But then you can see the moment he understands - he turns his head back towards Fang and leans into it, with a hint of disbelief on his face.

God, the loose strand of hair adds so much to that delicious skrunklyness he has going on. He's so pretty...

In this gif it's clear he's leaning into Fang a lot, even actively pressing his head against him. He could've easily turned away or pulled away, but didn't. He WANTS to be comforted. He WANTS to be held. The way he scans over Frenchie as if checking what he's about to do, I'm suspecting he like. Put a hand on him somewhere or something of the sort. I am so unwell from this-

For the last time he tries to produce words, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything, so he gives up and bites his lip. (im loosing my sanity, Con, what have you done)

Also Frenchie's pout is my H2O He literally went :c

Izzy looks over to Frenchie again as if to verify he's not there to mock him and when it turns out that no. He actually wants to comfort him. Izzy fully looses it and lets out the most gut wrenching puppy dog skrunkly whimper ever produced by a human man. It must mean so much to him... Those last few micro expressions are killing me. He looks up again as if to say "oh god they mean it. They don't think im stupid for this, they're actually taking me seriously" And he can't believe it, he's so dumbfounded that poor guy.

What if this was his first hug in ages? I wouldn't be surprised...

Im breaking my own heart with this why do i do this-

[ipegchangbin]

lol z look at what chan sent on bubble!!! just can’t stop thinking about shy nerdy channie :( i wanna edge him sooooo bad :((

♡ … part 2

you know what? im bored and im gonna write smth

🏷️ sub!nerd!chan, dom!gn!reader, edging, phone sex

all he wanted was to call up his crush. he can’t stop shying away from himself, clutching his phone desperately.

it’s on speaker now, your voice — the stunning one he shyly requested over text — commanding his every move, demanding to hold off from satisfying his cock.

“sounds so wet, is your cock all leaky?” you ask, smirk evident even through the phone. and you’re right, his cock is leaking precum all over himself.

chan only humps his hand faster at your teasing. “i-i’m really w-wet,” he moans.

it’s so wet and hard that it’s sinful to listen to. you would’ve mistaken his cock for a cunt from how wet it sounded. the slick of his cock rubbing against his hand was so loud that you could almost taste it. you can only imagine the glistening picture of his dick with the brightest smile in your face.

but why keep imagining when you can ask to see it?

“turn on your video, chan.”

chan almost hesitated; he stops and stares at his phone with wide eyes, blinking twice before your voice speaks up again.

“i said, turn on your video. i want to see you.”

intimidated, chan angles his phone upwards and presses the video call button, exposing his whole body to you through the screen.

even with all the pixels, you see him in all his glory: he’s wearing thick rimmed glasses, hair tussled in its naturally curly state, cheeks and big nose both flushed with color that you’ve only ever seen in person when you smile at him.

your camera isn’t on, and chan pouts but doesn’t complain. he’s too shy to. or, he’s too scared to ruin your teasing.

“what a good boy,” you coo, “and may i see your pretty cock?”

chan shyly pulls his phone closer, but you can’t see all of it.

“no, channie. can’t see how good you’re fucking it.”

even at this point, he hasn’t stopped pumping his dick. so when he finally shows you himself, it’s all red and hard and painful. pitiful. chan tries to hide his face by looking at the side, but your laugh brings him back to you.

“look at you! why are you getting shy now? you’re showing me your pretty little dick!”

“b-because…y-you…nevermind…”

you laugh again and his cock twitches terribly bad in his hand. it’s pulsing harshly, the veins along his curve popping like there’s no tomorrow. his balls are extra defined at this state, almost as if he’s about to cum.

“oh, does my channie want to cum?”

chan whines loudly, shame leaving him as he reaches his climax. “i-i n-need to…cum—”

“no, no. won’t let you cum till you speak straight.”

chan gulps and a lump forms in his throat. if he cries, he’s doomed — he stutters more when he’s about to cry. but fuck, you’ve been demanding him over the phone and telling him what to do for what seems like an eternity, and he hasn’t shot up once.

“i-i—ah—i’m—fuck—i need…”

“no. won’t do.”

“i wanna—hah—”

your voice firms itself and you reprimand him. “doing so bad. how can you cum like this, huh? thought you wanted to cum so bad, why can’t you follow something so simple?”

chan blinks and tears fall behind his glasses. he whimpers like a hurt pet, but his hand squeezes around his cock.

“chan, repeat after me,” you command. “channie…”

“channie…”

you can’t help but smile to yourself at how cutely he manages to obey your demands.

“needs to…”

“n-needs—needs to…”

he corrects himself when he stutters. he opts for more squeezing on his cock, holding off from cumming. he can’t finish and you’re going to be strict about it.

“…cum. channie needs to cum.”

“…c-cum—cum. channie needs to cum!”

you hum, feigning uncertainty. chan completely stops playing with his cock in anticipation, and it makes you happy to see his girth twitching with need. his tip looks so frustrated that it could blow. if only you were there to make it worse.

why not make it worse now?

“i’m not sure i’m satisfied with that,” you say matter-of-factly, “keep talking till i’m good with it.”

chan’s face almost turns pale white. his hand finds the tip of his cock and palms it, blocking him from cumming despite the sensitivity. his glasses are foggy from the heavy breathing and whining, tear stains escaping the thick rims and falling down his cheeks.

“channie needs to cum,” he repeats like a mantra. except, he stumbles on every single syllable, growing more and more desperate and weak as he keeps speaking. he doesn’t stop at all though, determined to finish and satisfy you.

except, his cock is about to cry along with him, since this goes on for what seems to be thirty more minutes.

“oh, is channie tired?”

he whimpers so loud that it could be mistaken for a howl. “please, y/n! b-been w-wanting you so, so, so bad! i-i can’t help myself! i want to cum!”

“you do?”

“please!” the desperation washes all over chan as his heart burns, stomach clenches, and cock twitches.

“go faster,” you demand, referring to the hand on his cock.

he goes from palming and squeezing it back to pumping along his full length, going as fast as he possibly can. he fists his cock once, twice, thrice, four times, and he finally—

“stop.”

chan stops with a loud groan. he keeps groaning, pitch getting higher as he hesitates from screaming. chan almost cums, but his release is cut short by your demand, making him silently tear up. his phone is propped up on his side table now as he couldn’t stop shaking while holding it.

“please…’ve been…a good b-boy…so good…”

you laugh and command him to touch himself. go faster. then, as he approaches an orgasm, you tell him to stop again.

another thirty minutes passes by and chan is now so tired, glasses abandoned on a pillow, sweat drenching the sheets, ass up in the air as he’s hunched over his comforter from the pain and held-off pleasure.

“oh poor channie. look at your phone.”

he shoots his head up.

your face finally appears on video, smug smile written across your lips. you angle your camera slowly to reveal your naked body, one that chan had fantasized for the longest time, only to take away and laugh at the camera.

“hi, channie.”

the night’s only just begun, and he’s only halfway through.

[addisonnie]

hinge and uhaul

summary: college!au. when all else fails…one must look for love on hinge!

an: hi! back from hiatus and of course it would be for a clump of pixels because i am down astronomically bad! this is the first part of a possible series! so let me know if a part 2 is warranted.

warnings: cursing, reader has 0 rizz shes literally a mess, reader also rambles and lots of this is just her inner dialogue because why not. also not very edited and possible tense shifts because im the worst!

part 2 ———————————

Tinder is a soul-sucking vortex. 

A nightmarish flurry of shirtless mirror selfies, conservatives, and men that look like they’d hit on your mom after walking you to the door. Switching your profile settings from ‘men’ to ‘everyone’ seemed like the best option; It wasn’t. The best option would’ve been to delete your account and light your phone on fire after receiving the fourth “you send?” message in a row.

Hinge is a smaller soul-sucking vortex. At least you can deny their comments before you embarrass yourself by matching with a douche like that. Your account is set to ‘show me everyone’ and you can only hope that ‘everyone’ includes at least some good ones. Swiping and clicking on dating apps seems to be more of a game than it is actual match-making, a time-passer of sorts. 

Your roommate, Dina, huffs loudly from her lofted bed across the room, “would you get your sorry ass off of that app? It’s sad listening to you moan and groan about all the losers!”

You roll your eyes, “my soulmate could be the next person!”

No. No. No, again. Oooh…yes? 

You swipe through the girl’s page before deciding not to match with her, because who’s Hinge bio states that they’re still in love with their ex? Dina cheers while you huff and slam your phone onto your desk, spinning idly in your chair. The television on top of Dina’s purple mini fridge is playing a random episode of Bob’s Burgers and, for a moment, you forget about your ever-growing dating app addiction.

It’s not that you’re addicted per say. You just spend most of your downtime sitting in your bed and judging people’s profiles, when yours surely isn’t up to par either. Hey, at least you don’t have a picture of you holding a fish.

The rhythmic buzz of your phone quickly draws your eyes away from the cartoon on screen, your hand dramatically reaching for your phone.

Hinge: Ellie liked you! Tap to see the comment she left.

Ellie. That’s a cute name…fairly normal too! Surely she didn’t leave some weirdo comment about how your hair looks like it smells good. Your fingers fumble to tap on the notification and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks as you click on Ellie’s like.

She left her comment under a picture of you taken at a local museum. A big cheesy grin is painted across your face and there’s skeletal remains of some random dinosaur behind you, Dina is crouched under the jaw of the creature pretending to scream while she gets eaten. Hopefully this isn’t one of those situations where Ellie asks ‘if your friend is single.’

Nope. She left a simple comment. I love dinosaurs!!!

You smile as you quickly click on Ellie’s profile to see her. There are a couple pictures of her, and good god is she hot. Flushed, you quickly match with her.

But what do you say? This is life or death. You need this woman. 

Hey!

You’re hot

Do you want to have vicious lesbian sex with me?

Okay. Jesus, you are not good at this. While you mull over the keyboard attempting to decide what to say to the ever-attractive Ellie, another message comes in.

Hey, pretty girl!

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Your fingers are fumbling over the keyboard, your heart is beating, you’re planning you and Ellie’s wedding. You wonder if she likes lace or prefers the classic look?

Hey! What’s up?

Nothing really. Just playing some guitar!

Guitar? She just gets hotter. Did she also save puppies from a burning building? You wonder if she would want roses at the wedding. Hopefully not, too basic.

Ooooh guitar you say? Whatcha playing?

It’s a few moments before she responds and you’re biting the nail on your thumb awaiting her reply.

Whatever your favorite song is.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you smile and rest your head in your hand. 

Why don’t I tell you that over dinner?

It takes Ellie a few minutes to respond this time and you’re sure you’ve managed to scare her off at the mention of an actual date. Her reply comes just as you go to turn your phone off,

How about you give me your number and we can talk more about this date?

————

Giving your number to Ellie was perhaps the best decision made in your life thus far. She constantly sends text messages of whatever she’s doing, wearing, eating, or strumming on her guitar. It’s been about a week since you first exchanged information and you’re slightly worried that Ellie no longer wishes to go out on a date. You’ve tried to ‘accidentally’ bump into her on campus multiple times, but she manages to just barely slip away each time. 

You’re sitting at your desk attempting to finish an essay when your phone rings in your lap. Ellie’s contact appears lit up on the screen and you just about scream when you grasp the phone between your fingers.

“Hello?” You’re already blushing.

“Hey, you! What’re you up to?” Ellie’s voice is loud into the microphone and you can make out multiple different voices on her end of the line.

“Nothing important,” you close your computer quickly, “why, what’s up?”

She takes a moment to answer as you hear her yell something to whoever else is in the room with her, “me and some friends are at a bar…will you come? Live music and stuff. Plus, I still haven’t taken you on that date!”

“Yes!” Okay, you probably should’ve tried to sound less excited. “Ehem…yes. Text me the address?”

You hear Ellie laugh before she happily responds, “will do! Text me when you get here and I’ll come out front to meet you.”

—————

Dina and her friends surely shop at Hookers R Us because where else would anybody find a skirt so goddamn short. 

“D. Dina. My cheeks are hanging out the bottom.” Dina rolls her eyes and tugs on the hem of the mini denim skirt.

“Well if you wore it down here,” she tugs the denim again, “instead of up to your tits like a grandma would…maybe it would be longer.”

Several shirts are thrown toward your perch on Dina’s desk chair, “what’s wrong with the shirt I have on?”

Dina’s boyfriend. Jesse, interjects, “because I don’t like it.”

“Okay, fashion police. How about this one?” You hold up a form fitting black top and Dina nods vigorously, “yes. But no bra. Show off them ladies!”

————

The Uber barely comes to a full stop as you clamber out of the backseat. Grasping for your phone, you text Ellie.

Here! :)

Was the smiley face overkill? Too much?

Cominh!!!!!

*Coming. Not drunk, I swear.

You think you’re the one doing the coming as you watch Ellie stroll towards you in the parking lot. If she was hot on Hinge, she’s ten-thousand times hotter in the dingy lighting that casts a magical glow upon her. She’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a white wife-beater, an old worn out flannel is unbuttoned over the top and rolled up just above her elbows. Her raggedy jeans are cuffed to the top of her converse and— wow is she a walking wet dream.

“Hey! I’m glad you came.” She doesn’t wait for an answer as she pulls you straight in for a hug, her calloused hands resting on your hips. You feel her finger tips touching the uncovered skin below your top, the contact makes you shiver.

Ellie squeezes you a little tighter before pulling away, leaving her arm draped over your shoulder, “c’mon, warmer inside.”

You let her lead you into the bar and through the slight crowd congregated near the entrance. A small group of people stand huddled next to the bar and Ellie leads you straight to them as she leans down to speak in your ear, “those are my friends.”

You nod and shamelessly nudge your body to be tucked further into her side, blushing profusely when you feel her arm tighten around your shoulders.

“Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about! And these are my friends I mentioned on the phone.” Ellie smiles while she introduces you to everyone and as much as you enjoy the domesticity of hanging out with her friends, you much prefer the nook you’ve found nestled under Ellie’s toned arm.

———

Her face leans down by your ear again, “wanna drink? I’ll get you one.”

You smile up at her, “would you shoot me if I said I want an espresso martini instead of the beer you’ve been nursing all night?”

She giggles into your ear and her breath fans across your face, “one espresso martini, coming up!” 

She pulls away and salutes you before turning around and marching to the other end of the bar, waving her arm to grab the bartender’s attention.

“So you’re the lucky lady? I’m Abby, Ellie’s friend.” Damn, she is buff as hell. Her toned arm stretches across a barstool to shake your hand.

You stare at her open palm, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. Who still shakes hands? I’m done drinking for the night.”

She cracks a smile when you laugh and shake her hand anyways, “nothing wrong with a good ol’ handshake.”

You speak with Abby while you wait for Ellie to return with your martini. She’s leaning up against the wood and speaking to the bartender as he pours the concoction into a glass. How she manages to look so appealing at all times is an enigma. Her short hair is pulled half-up into a bun while the rest barely skims the top of her shoulders, the botanical tattoo on her forearm sticks out from under her rolled-up sleeve and—fuck. You’re drooling.

Double-fuck. She caught you staring.

You blush when she throws a wink your way, turning back toward the bar to grab your drink. 

And then she’s in front of you once more, “malady.”

She slides in between your legs while you sit atop the cushioned barstool (which you’re pretty sure makes a fart noise any time you move) and rests both of her hands on your hips.

Lifting the drink to your mouth, you hum happily when the flavor covers your tongue, “good?”

“Really good. Superb.” Ellie chuckles and leans in toward you, placing a kiss in the hollow of your collarbone, “c’mon, there’s some more people I want you to meet.”

————

You’re not exactly sure how you ended up in this position but good god do you wish you could die right here and right now. Ellie is leaning up against the poster-covered wall of the bar with you pulled tightly to her chest. Your back is pressed against her front and one of her arms is wrapped around you, long fingers splayed across your lower stomach. She’s talking animatedly to the guy standing in front of you two and in all honestly you can’t focus on what they’re talking about while you feel the tips of Ellie’s fingers rest upon the skin under your skirt. 

It’s innocent. She doesn’t realize her fingers have traveled just south of the top of your skirt, but you’d be lying if you said the feeling of her calloused fingertips below the belt didn’t make you squirm. Her auburn hair tickles the side of your face as your head rests back in the crook between her neck and shoulder. And even better—her cheek presses to the top of your head when there’s a lull in her current conversation.

Hearing the man she was speaking to bid his goodbyes, you turn in her arms. The one that was previously grasping a beer bottle quickly swaps to rest in the back pocket of your skirt instead, her other hand squeezes your hip.

“Hi.” She smiles at you.

“Hi.” You press a kiss to her cheek.

The feeling leaves Ellie warm and she squeezes you a few times before ultimately deciding to cut to the chase and lean in. It’s a sweet peck, a little tipsy kiss that leaves you buzzing and floating outside of your body. The bright, crooked smile she gives you after pulling away punches the air from your lungs and Jesus Christ— now you understand the U-Haul lesbians because in this moment you are well and truly fucked. If this woman, this stranger, asked you to pack your shit and move in, you would.

And the look she gives you as she brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear tells you she might just feel the same.

[coryosmin]

FaceTime sex with coryo

nsfw | mdni | coryo x fem!reader | phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, degradation kink, sir kink etc. | modern AU

when coryo’s phone started ringing, he stopped what he was doing, which was an essay, and answered it seeing as it was you who was calling. you were away for the week, on a vacation with your family while coryo was left at your guys’ shared apartment. he missed you a lot, though he’d never admit that willingly.

“hey,” coryo greeted as he opened the facetime call, seeing your beautiful face greeting him. your phone was close up to your face.

“hi,” you greeted back softly. “y-your by yourself, right?” you asked, biting your lip as you looked at your boyfriend.

coriolanus furrowed his eyebrows, nodding his head at your question. “of course i am,” he replied. “what’s wrong, baby?”

you sighed in relief as you showed more of yourself on the camera. you were wearing a pretty red lace bra, that much coryo could see. “i-“ you blushed shyly. “i really wish you were here.”

coriolanus smirked. “why’s that, baby?”

you pouted. “really need you,” you said, looking at your boyfriend through the screen. you pointed your phone down, showing that your fingers were deep inside your pussy. “tried to be so good but can’t help thinking about your cock.”

coriolanus inhaled sharply as he looked at how wet your pussy was through the pixels on the screen. his cock immediately hardened in his shorts. “fuck baby,” he said, palming himself. “can’t go a whole week without your pussy filled, hmm?”

you shook your head no, setting the camera up so that coryo could see your whole body. coriolanus did the same, setting the camera up on his desk so that you could see his face and his crotch. “want your cock in me so bad, coryo,” you sighed, your fingers still inside of you but not moving.

“god you’re such a fucking whore,” he groaned, shoving a hand in his shorts and jerking himself off. “constantly wanting my cock in that tight pussy of yours,” he said, licking his lips.

you moaned, moving your fingers in and out of your cunt. “want you to fuck me so hard,” you whined.

coriolanus pulled his cock out of the confines of his shorts, jerking himself off as he watched you. “yeah?” he said. “maybe when you get back i’ll punish you for being such a naughty girl,” he said, stroking himself.

you moaned. “please, sir,” you said, moving your fingers faster inside of you. “punish me so good.”

“fuck, baby,” coriolanus groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “maybe i’ll fuck your pretty pussy for hours, denying you of every orgasm while i use you as my personal toy,” he said, stroking himself faster. “use you like the slut you are.”

“yes!” you moaned out, fucking yourself faster. “such a slut for you, sir, please use me.” you felt yourself getting close. “oh my god i’m so close,” you said, fingering yourself hard and fast. coryo could hear the sounds of your pussy through the microphone of your phone, the sounds turning him on more.

“me too, baby, me too,” he said, stroking himself. “god i want to cum inside your cunt so much.” coriolanus watched as you fucked yourself to completion, imagining it was himself making you feel that way. you moaned and arched your back as you came, your thighs clamping down around your hand. coriolanus came with a loud groan, cumming on his shirt.

and when you both came down from your highs, you took your fingers out of yourself, looking at coryo on your phone. “i miss you, coryo,” you said. “i love you.”

coryo let out a small smile. “i miss you too, baby. i love you more.”

[heytherelysia]

riding robin's cock in reverse cowgirl while he plays with his console — not proofread, nsfw.

he was previously shy when it comes to fucking you, especially in the earlier stages of your relationship. but as time flies, he grew bolder. when you gave him a surprise kiss, he was quick to hold your wrist and swirl his tongue with yours, violating the confines of your mouth. you had to tap his shoulder to cue that you could not breath. he pulls away almost immediately, lidded eyes and heaving chest, he apologizes. it is truly a pleasent surprise.

you hang out with him in his room as you've always did even before your relationship started blossoming. multiple clicks can be heard near his console. you turn to observe robin, and you can see that he is quite focused on beating a pixelated, yet scary boss. face scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed, and a stiff posture. something about it... turns you on.

ah.

you don't give yourself a single second to think your thoughts through before you walk up to him, sitting on his bed. robin had no time to question you as you swiftly sit on his lap - facing away from the surprised boy.

robin looks away from his device for a quick second and asks, "what's up, sweetie?".

"it's nothing... just focus on your game..." your words could barely register as a whisper, yet with the slashes of a sword, and the clanks of metal, robin was able to hear you.

he says nothing in response, but you can feel his thighs shifting.

you waste no time pulling his boxers down, you gotta hit 'em when they're distracted. his soft cock bounces from the release, "b-babe? what're you doing?". although there are hints of nervousness in his voice, he sounds pleasently surprised.

"just let me make you feel good... don't mind me."

"o-okay, i trust you..."

you turn to face his night stand and open the cabinet in which a lube lies. you take it and open its cap before facing your back to your boyfriend once again. you pull down your shorts, the clothing sliding to your ankles and pull your briefs to the side. robin feels you shifting and takes a quick look at you, but his eyes snap to your exposed. "fuck..." he swears under his breath, "your hole s'pretty for me yeah?"

you pour an abundant amount of lube to your exposed hole, the cold liquid causing you to have shivers down your spine. "only f'you robin... only for you..." you don't know if that is true, but in this moment, you belong to robin.

casting the lube aside on his sheets, you take a deep breath. you reach behind your back to get a hold of his dick, when you have, he's already so hard. twitching dick representing robin's want to be inside you, so much so that he is shaking.

dragging his cock near your entrance, you slide the tip enough for it not to slide away, but also not enough for it to go inside you.

"such... such a tease..." you hear from behind you.

you rub his tip with your hole a few times, sometimes it would go between your cheeks. you could feel robin thrusting himself to you - he's getting needy, and quite frankly, you are too.

so you did what any pent up person would do, besides, why waste time teasing his cock with your hole when you can just ride from hours upon hours.

the overflowing lube from your hole has merged with robin's cock during your teasing and you had ease sinking yourself in his length. you hear a high moan from robin "f-fuck... so tight... baby..."

you put your arms down to the bed as you arch your back, gleefully riding the orphan's cock. you let out your moans and whimpers as well.

robin has somewhat been more concentrated with your tight walls closing in on his length and his clicks have finally come to a stop. he tosses his console on the side and reaches for your hips, keeping you closer to him. he thrusts into you rhythmically, only to lose rhythm minutes later as he reaches his climax as he mindlessly pushes his cock in and out of your that he loves so much.

robin climaxes inside you, breathing heavily. he sits up to look at you and notices something. "...you didn't come, baby?" you shake your head.

"that won't do..." he says almost upsettingly. robin pulls down your briefs and puts you into missionary, propping his still flaccid coke near your entrance. he puts your hands on the sides of your head and seals them with his own. with half lidded eyes, he leans into your face, lips near touching.

"it's my turn to make you feel good now, handsome."

—

it's dark out, yet the sun slowly retreats from hiding to give light to others. moans, thrusting, and creaking can still be heard from robin's room. the night is still young.

amidst the bodily fluids, the lewd noises, and the lustful exchange of words - robin's console hasn't been turned off. the text on small screen reads "game over" as a somber theme plays to signify his loss. hm, maybe that's why he's adamant for multiple rounds.

[ss-skyearn]

Sugar Rush

PAIRINGS : Choi Yeonjun x fem!reader

WORD COUNT : 7.8k

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Fantasy au, multiple pov (yeonjun+reader), profanity (mild cursing), yearning, mutual pining (?), any more warnings and the storyline will be spoiled; it'll unravel as you go along. ♡

A/N : First time writing for TXT, so I guess this is my debut into moablr. Happy late Valentine's, lovelies. ♡

Just why are you the manifestation of temptation? Why does he desire you so? When he's never had you before… 

Or has he? 

Plush.

That's the only way you can describe this. This sensation.

Euphoria.

That's the only word for you to chronicle this. This feeling.

Elation of the unadulterated kind.

Ecstasy of the bonafide variety.

It's a feeling of fullness, of satisfaction, of gratification.

And all of that accomplished, merely by his presence. You can feel it. The heavy exhale of breathe right at the shell of your ear, the slow drag of his fingers along your curves, explorative, accustomed. Like he's done it a million times prior, like he's never done it before. Unlearning. Mastering.

"Play with me, sugar." A sultry whisper, a request, a promise.

It sends a tingle down your spine, back arching, body aching for more. Yet you force your eyes open, trying to make sense of anything that's not him. Given your state, it's not so easy a task.

Yet as your vision clears, you make out a black and amber sweater, the zipper down as far as it'll go, a plane of smooth skin on display. Looking over his shoulder, all you see is a whirlpool of colours. All kinds, vibrant persimmons, holographic blues, iridescent lilac, swirling and blending, converging together somewhere behind him.

It's hypnotic, looking at the whirlwind of hues, but even moreso, his voice.

"You're addictive." Silky smooth, dripping honey.

You zoom in your eyes on him, trying to recognize his features, his eyes, anything really, to know who he is. But all you see is blur, a pixelated mosaic at best.

You can make out everything in perfect clarity, everything except his face. The expanse of pigmented background, the countless variegated butterflies flying about.

Your eyes land on a magenta one, and it flies its way to come rest right on the convex bulge of his clavicle. But just as it makes contact with his creamy skin, it promptly disintegrates, disappearing with a puff, dusting his collars with even more sparkles.

You don't know where it comes from, this urge to lean forward and lick the glitter studs off his skin, but you make good on that impulse nonetheless, slowly dragging your tongue over his collar bone, savouring the taste of him.

He hums out in satisfaction, slender fingers tangling in your hair, not trying to move you around, just holding, feeling.

"Just like that."

You moan against his skin, trying to make out what he tastes like. You've had it before, this flavour of lust. Your tastebuds tell you as much. But you can't remember where.

Where have you tasted this before?

What is this taste, this flavour?

You move to his other beauty bone, and just as you know you're close to finding out what it is, you're shaken awake by a cool tinge on your neck.

Your eyes slowly fan open, and it takes a moment for you to blink through the tears staining your cheeks.

When had you started crying?

What the hell was that dream?

More importantly, where the fuck are you?

Suddenly wide awake, you snap your head around, looking at your surroundings. Grass and greenery abound, you're positively lost.

You remember being on the cruise a while back, but the vast stretch of water in front of you certainly doesn't look like the lido deck you were soaking in mere moments ago.

Were you thrown off the ship or something? As crazy as it sounds, that's the only possible explanation you can think of. But one body scan later, you conclude that couldn't have been the case. You see no surface injury, no indication of anything painful going down. You try standing up, expecting to at least wince a little after having been laying down on the sand in an uncomfortable position.

But nothing. Nothing at all.

One more full body scan and you find traces of dried up blood on your calves, still no sign of any wound.

Is this someone else's blood? But there's no living thing in sight for as far as you can see.

All you see is the vast ocean and the sand, extending as far as your line of sight goes, a row of bushes separating this piece of land from what lies beyond.

There's something eerily nostalgic about this place. It's evident in the way you know the trees are mulberry even before you catch the sweet waft of the ripe berries in the air that breezes past you, in the way you're sure the chameleon resting on the rock near the water will change colour once you touch it.

Intuition has always proven to be on your side, yet for the first time, you find reason to doubt it. So you take the few steps towards the reptile, extending your palm slowly so as to not scare it away. It hops on to your awaiting hand all too eagerly, much to your pleasant surprise. And true to form, the simplest of touches turns the dusky beige of its scaled skin to a wine shade of purple in a matter of seconds.

Your intuition was right.

But you feel no better, feel no sense of security at having confirmed the reliability of your sixth sense. Quite on the contrary, it's unsettling.

You know this place, have been here sometime ago, that's for sure, but have no recollection of it. Indeed, the sea is something you avoid being in the vicinity of at all costs, the water never failing to instil a sense of dread deep within you. It had taken a lot of cajoling- and bribery- on Taylor's part to even get you on the cruise, under the disguise of emotional blackmail.

"It's my Bachelorette."

"Can't you do this much for me?"

"You know it's been my dream since Love Island."

"Just don't go out on the deck and you won't even know you're on water, it'll be like living in a resort."

Endless arguments made, it was only a matter of time before you caved, the joyous squeal she let out more than worth the trouble you knew you would face when the time finally came to climb aboard. A small price to pay for her happiness, you thought back then. If only you knew how it would come back to bite you in the ass.

After pondering over it for a long while, you decide to see it for yourself, just what is it past the shrubs, what is this magnetic pull you're being dealt with.

Curiosity killed the cat, sure, but standing here, near the water in the mid winter freeze isn't doing you any favours, either.

So you move, seeking the gravity of the tug you're experiencing, like the sailor edges nearer to a siren, even with the smell of his demise prominent from kilometres away.

Only, it's not so much a demise that you're smelling. It's something entirely different.

Something mysterious. Something dangerous. Something delicious.

Something you're willing to risk it all for.

Sweet.

That's the only way he can describe this. This taste.

Arousing.

That's the only word for him to chronicle this. This sensation.

Titillating in every sense of the word.

Galvanising in a way he hasn't known before.

It's a sense of security, of safety, of reprieve.

And all of that accomplished, by your mere existence. He can feel your legs trapping his waist, body pressed against his. You slowly drag the zip on his sweater down, eyes fixated on every tract of skin you uncover.

"Come a little closer." Your voice is sweet, much like everything else about you.

His body moves before his mind does, coming impossibly close, the water sloshing about around the two of you.

"Let me help you now." Anaesthetic, that's what your voice is to him.

"Mm?"

You huff out a laugh, clearly knowing the effect you have on him, the power you hold.

Even if you didn't know, he'd never fail to let you know of it himself. How you have him wrapped around your finger, all yours to have.

He doesn't know why he feels the way he does. For all he knows, is that you're a haze. It's not that you're not real, far from it. He can feel your presence in every single one of his neurons, your touch setting his skin on fire, your breath claiming the attention of every one of his muscles.

But even so, he can't see your face, no matter how he squints, wills his head to stop spinning with want.

Your laugh is what breaks him from his reverie, and he gives up trying to figure out just who you are. For now.

"You just made me feel good, didn't you? My turn now."

As if on cue, his taste buds pulsate and almost suddenly, his mouth is filled with a sweetness he tasted moments prior. A sweetness he's never had before, but simultaneously experienced all the time.

He swirls his tongue around, trying to make sense of this absurd taste.

What is it?

Seemingly having noticed what he's upto, you break out into yet another laugh,

"It's okay, darling. You'll get more of me."

His face blooms red, shyness washing over him at having been caught tasting the remnants of you in his mouth. He lets out a squeak, burying his face in the crook of your neck, arms tightening around you.

You chuckle, "Now now," lacing your fingers with his and giving a squeeze. Your way of letting him know it's okay, that he doesn't need to hide, doesn't have reason to fret. He's safe with you. Secure. Free to be vulnerable, to let his boundaries down.

How he knows all of that from a simple squeeze of his hand, he doesn't know. The same way he doesn't know who you are, and why he trusts you with his life.

All he knows is that he does.

And that he doesn't question it. Not when it feels so right.

A sharp pang of gut wrenching pain that he knows all too well is what jolts him awake, stirs him from yet another one of his dreams. Of visions of a being so beautiful, he's never known the likes of. Of a flavour so sweet, he'd die- time and again- for a taste.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm down the thumping of his heart, the one he can hear all the way up to his ears.

That's when he feels the streams marked on his cheeks, down all the way to his neck.

This is a first.

He's dreamt of her before. He's tasted her in his dreams before.

But never has he cried like this. Never has his heart ached this much.

He swears he was able to taste it this time. This time, he promised himself that he'll remember it. But just like all the other times, it fizzled from his palate the moment he woke up.

It's frustrating, to say the least. He feels denied, deprived of what he deserves.

Soobin won't shut up about craving his lemon sherbet all day. Taehyun won't stop raving about how it's the best sorbet he's ever had the pleasure of tasting.

Beomgyu, Huening; they've all had their share of flavour a billion times over by now.

So why? Why is it that he's the only one that's left behind?

Why is it only him that doesn't know what his person tastes like?

"Good things take time." Is what Mrs. Yeon says. What she's been saying for years now.

But what does she know? Sure, she might be the community elder, the one to have the most wisdom when it comes to anything of the matter. But she's not the one yearning for someone who never comes, wishing upon every fallen star for someone who never shows up, aching for a taste that's not found in anything he tries.

And God, has he tried. The flavour lingers for a little while every time he wakes up, before it disappears from his memory. He's tried committing it to memory, finding it in anything and everything.

Perennials. Botanicals. Herbs. Drugs.

Grapevine is the only thing that comes the closest, but that's honestly downplaying it. It's near insulting to call her taste similar to a mere grapevine but it's a beginning, he supposes.

He almost fell face first into a chronic one-way paralysis trying to make up a concoction by infusing fernflowers with grapevine in an attempt to replicate her flavour.

He's been banned from the Aesculapian Estate ever since, barred from anything relating even remotely to phytomedicine.

But really, is he one to be blamed? He's desperate, rightfully so. Needy in a way he's never been.

Natives call him crazy, fixated, but at the end of the day, they aren't the ones wanting something they can't have. Wanting something they deserve, something their mothers' bedtime stories promised they'd have, something the community elders never failed to mention they would be rewarded with when the time comes.

It's unfair.

It's been years since he came of age. Years since he's been denied his mate. Years and years since he's been seeing everyone around him being paired up and skipping along merrily.

So, why him?

As he lies there, nestled among the outstretched net of tangled roots emerging from the trunk of the Bristlecone Pine tree, he feels it.

Again.

Reluctantly, he gets up and runs to the nearby pond. Aligning himself into the familiar position, hunched over, hands on the edge, he waits for what's to come.

It's violent this time around, the way his stomach squeezes, body convulsing, the breath being knocked out from his lungs.

Retching hasn't ever been something he objectively likes to partake in, but this is excruciating. As painful as it is everytime, it's never this bad. It feels like liquifying all the soft organs he has, coming out in the form of the pink, shining sludge he's seen one too many times before.

After what feels like forever, and for all he knows might as well have been, it stops, the temporary reprieve much welcome. And temporary it is, he knows it to be.

It's what, the sixth time today?

Two is the average, maybe three if the universe is feeling particularly cruel that day, but this is out of the ordinary, even for the level of brutality he's subject to on the daily.

Returning to the previous position against the trunk, he finds a semblance of normality, chest heaving a little slowly, head pounding a little less loudly.

For a reason unknown, the proximity of the evergreens has always had a calming effect on him, being the closest thing to a natural sedative.

He slumps back into the position he was in initially, the drag of bark against his back a welcome comfort, puts an arm over his closed eyes, attempting to even out his breathing.

He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

The further you go, the stronger the pull gets.

It's starting to get dark now and the range of bushes you crossed hours ago is nowhere in sight, lost somewhere in the late evening fog that's beginning to coat the air surrounding you, lacing it with a heaviness, making it a little difficult to breath.

Yet you move in a daze, empowered by this urge, that there's something, someone you're seeking.

You don't know what, or who, just that it's here, somewhere.

A faint whistling catches your attention, coming from somewhere towards the east. Its a sonic you've heard before, a note all too acquainted. It's calming and unnerving at the same time, and you're not particularly fond of the way it fails even your second sight, for you, once again, are doubtful of what is it exactly that's transpiring, every second you venture further into these forsaken woods setting off new alarms within you.

So, much like what you've been doing until now, you follow the unsaid attraction and move towards the sound.

You spot a curtain of string leaves hanging down between two thick tree trunks, violet beams of light peeking through them. Fireflies are buzzing and glowing all around them, seemingly attracted to the luminescence, the night properly pitch dark by now.

You trudge forward, reaching for the leaf garland and drawing it aside and a gasp leaves your lips.

The view you witness is something that puts any fantasy you could ever have to shame.

It's violet all over, everywhere you look. Violet leaves, indigo trunks, prop roots hanging off branches, touching the ground covered with equally purple sand. Thick roots emerge from the tree bases, entwining and curling together, forming a spiderweb on the forest floor. Some leaves shed from their petioles, swirling in the air, filling it with a flowery aroma, twirling and landing on the river. The water has a translucent lavender tinge to it too, moving in small eddies, echoing a gentle hum in the quiet of the night.

That's when you spot it, spot them, someone in the water, submerged save for the head that peakes out. Only the back of the long locks of hair is visible to you, but something within you tightens, and in the same daze, you approach the silhouette without thinking twice about it.

As he hears the sound of the slowly approaching footsteps, he sighs audibly, closing his eyes, getting ready for the blow to land. This is the time of the night when Boemgyu loves to come to him with his stories. Stories of how there's nothing better he's tasted, how much he wishes Yeonjun could have it too.

He knows he comes from a good place, he really does. But listening to him for hours on end, about something that he can't understand, is painful to put it mildly.

But it's through these conversations that he lives vicariously, the closest he gets to knowing what it would be like to finally get to have his mate, the one made just for him, and for whom he was made. It'd all sounded like a fluke the first he heard of it, like the stuff from fairytales; had he not witnessed it firsthand, seen with his very own eyes, he'd still refuse to believe it. He'd been better off not knowing, in all honesty. Sometimes peace of mind comes from being none the wiser, and if this is not the best instance he could apply that faith to, he doesn't know what is.

But the younger native he considers his brother doesn't let him forget it, makes it a point to remind him everyday without fail.

So really, it's a vicious requisite. A masochistic desire.

It hurts him to hear, but is the only salvage he gets to have for now. For however long into the future, until he's shown some mercy.

Even so, as the sound of the footsteps grows, the familiar nausea returns, the bile gurgling up his throat for the seventh time this day, rendering hours of water therapy useless.

He's suddenly on edge.

"Leave me alone, Gyu. I don't want to hear it."

Might be harsh, but he doesn't have it in him to be tactical with his words right now. With how things have been today, he's long given up on being pleasant. That can always wait for another day.

The stomps stop, but don't retreat.

"Leave." He sighs.

Boemgyu knows when not to push him, he knows when to press and when to leave, so the lingering doesn't make any sense. The sheer frustration in his tone would have been reason enough for him to realise that leaving him to his devices was for the best, the best for both of them, and for the tranquillity that envelopes the night. For Yeonjun when mad, is a sight vexatious. He isn't proud of it, but anger control has never been his forte, and considering all the times his anger issues have done him and his community good, he doesn't plan on fixing that aspect of him anytime soon. Sure, it might make him an unpleasant person for many, but it's his shield when needed, his unforgiving armour when other senses fail to be of moment. Beomgyu knows of this, so the stalling about is so unlike him.

Annoyed, he emerges out of the water, whipping around,

"Didn't you hea-"

And promptly stops dead in his tracks.

Gorgeous.

That's the first word that comes to mind.

He's gorgeous.

As you stand there, staring at what you would imagine an angel to look like, your heart thuds the fastest it ever has. A tinge runs down your spine, a feeling akin to a sugar rush coursing through your veins.

Standing in the water, invisible from the waist down, he's the most ethereal being you've ever laid eyes upon.

His jade black hair is wet, crimped and sticking to his forehead, some stray strands getting in his eyes, heavy water drops cascading down his sharp cheekbones, even sharper jawline. So soft, so silken looking.

It's weird how you know the way they would tickle against your inner thighs.

His heart-shaped lips, full and pouty, shining, dripping water. So wet, so inviting.

It's funny how you know what the plump texture would feel against your own.

His flexed biceps, lean and long, skin a fair butter tone. So smooth, so unmarked.

It's uncanny how you know what they would feel like underneath your fingertips.

You've been there, with him. He's been here, with you. Yet it feels as though it were a time no longer valid, or perhaps a time that never was.

He's beauty personified, and you are unwilling to tear your haze away for even a second. He seems to be of a similar mind, for he's been standing there, completely still and gawking up at you, unblinking. His irises restless in their orbits, the way they run in small circles within his pupils is testimony enough to the miles a minute nature of his racing mind.

Then suddenly he frowns, turning about completely, and begins making his way through the splashes, walking towards the shore. And as the water level goes down inch by slow inch, revealing more of his torso, you're a goner.

Body slim yet toned, lean muscles accentuating his morphology at just the right places, his beauty encompasses even itself as he reveals more of himself from under the water. He wears nothing but a thin vest, a poor excuse for clothing, shrinked even more due to being wet, sticking to his sides, honey skin out for you to marvel at. Well technically, not for you to marvel at, but you're going to indulge all the same. He's completely out now, swinging long limbs over the edge of the shore, bending a little, a silver spiked garland necklace clinking and bouncing against his chest. And oh, that chest. Broad and smooth, a far cry from being muscular, but still well defined, clean cuts marking and outlining his pectorals, buds mercifully hidden under the sides of the vest.

The glint from the overshadowing moon catches on the sparkles adorning his body, making him twinkle against the dusk. The gleam only brightens as he comes closer, with you now realising that they embellish his neck too.

Would they come off if you licked them?

Shaking your head, you force your thoughts to come to a halt, their intrusive nature a surprise to your dazed state.

He's a stranger, and by the looks of it, not a normal one. Normal humans don't shine, don't have sparkled necks. No matter how much you feel like you know him, in the grand scheme of things, you don't.

He's standing before you now, soaked cloth clinging to his laterals, figure on display.

One look into his deep chestnut eyes, and the sugar-like rush is back again, albeit stronger this time around.

It's familiar, the way you want to drown in those pools of honey, the way you know the pattern of the golden flecks scattered in his orbs. The kind of knowingness that comes only from years of studying, admiring, loving.

It's well acquainted, the way his plush lips part, the silky tone of his voice,

"Sugar?"

The words are as hesitant as they are shocking, even to himself. It's evident from the way his forehead creases, pouty lips taking on a downward tilt. He's just as baffled as you are, if not more.

"Is that your name? Sugar?"

You meekly shake your head no, even though every impulse is forcing you to agree.

"Oh."

"But it feels like it."

"Oh."

It's deja vu. A familiarity. A recollection.

You know that's not your name. But what you also know is that it belongs to you, the feeling of connection near immediate within your being.

How else would you describe the way your body reacts? The way your ears perk up at the mention, your tongue ready to hum out an affirmative.

It's not your name. But it's meant to be yours.

There's a moment where you both just stare into the other's eyes, standing still, the fireflies flying about, enlightening his face at different angles, casting shadows in different gradients.

But all too soon is the haze broken, and he's averting his eyes, looking at everything but you.

You fight the urge to take his face in your palms and force it back towards you.

He's a stranger, you remind yourself, ignoring every instinct saying otherwise.

A clearing of throat is followed by a quiet question, "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I don't- know."

That sounds sketchy, you're aware of it yourself, but you genuinely don't know. And for some reason, you can't lie to him, don't wish to.

He doesn't seem fazed, just hums. If you were of a more sane mind, you'd find it odd how that was the first question he wanted the answer to, skipping the essential who are you and how did you get here. No, the wording he used, what are you doing here, as if already aware that your arrival was by your own will and knowledge, something that was expected to happen. If so, he couldn't be more wrong.

You know it's not your place to ask questions, to demand any explanation, but the way your heart is brimming with emotion, this feeling that you know him, you can't help yourself,

"What are you?"

His head snaps to face you, those chestnut eyes boring into you with intensity. Not the good kind. He's tense all of a sudden, almost defensive.

"Something you're not." He snaps.

You're thrown off by the bite, but despite yourself, whisper,

"I beg to differ."

The frown deepens, his gaze near burning.

He arches a perfect brow in question and scoffs, "I'd be careful on the bluntness, little one. You're in my territory, with no knowledge of who I am, or what was it that you said? 'What' I am."

He's trying to intimidate you, back you up in a corner, to seem domineering, but you know him to be none of these things. Despite his razor sharp features and tough exterior, his warm eyes give him away. He can play pretend all he wants, but you can feel the gentleness rolling off of him, and perhaps it's on a spiritual level that you feel it, because there's no other way you would have known that he, in effect, poses no harm, however much may he play the part.

"Wouldn't be so sure of that."

Now he just seems amused, the earlier irritation sublimed. His eyebrows rise again in silent expectation, prompting an answer.

"I think- I think I kno-"

You cut yourself off before the thought is said out loud. You're not sure of his reaction, of what to expect, when in total honesty, your own response to the thought said out loud isn't predictable.

"I think I've seen you somewhere." You settle.

The playful expression drops, eyes almost whimsical for but a moment, before his face takes on the neutral stance you'd found him in.

It's baffling, how quickly he changes expressions, his features almost trained to follow suit. Yet you know of this habit of his to be borne out of the need to protect, to self preserve. You wonder what had to have happened for him to adopt an outlook such as this. If you didn't know any better, you'd simply label him a lunatic with no emotional control, but you do know better- the reason for which still unbeknownst to you- and all it does is make you want to shield him from all that is vile, the sudden urge to protect this Adonis of a man running rampant.

He inhales a deep breath, and you assume it's to possibly calm himself- God knows you need to. Rolling his shoulders until his joints pop, he shoves his hands into his cargo pockets, sighs,

"How can you get back hom-," A pause, "get back where you came from?"

Not entirely sure about the reason for the need he felt to correct himself, you once again let your subconscious do the talking,

"No idea. Guess I'm staying."

Leaving a dumbfounded stranger behind, you've no clue where you get the courage to stroll right past him and towards the lake, comfortably seating on the edge, your legs crossed underneath thighs. You cast a glance over your shoulder and sure enough, the bewildered expression is still very much present, maybe even augmented now.

"You gonna keep standing there?"

He blinks, a gesture oddly endearing on his stone cold shell, titling his head to the side, confusion clear as day.

In the short while you've spent with him today, you've already decoded half of his workings apparently, for he says nothing, quietly making his way over, settling down next to you, as far away as the narrow bank allows. This is the way to tame him, you've concluded. Be unsure and he'll take it upon himself to act condescending, be assertive and he'll act not too different to a puppy, following along as instructed. It all feels too natural, taking the lead with him, not being fooled by his sham.

"So," You begin, partly to break the silence that's uncharacteristically taken over him, but more so because it's been bugging you more than you ever could explain, "who's sugar?"

He cuts his eyes in your direction, the heat back in those orbs, and you've got a snide remark ready at the tip of your tongue, having already predicted a reaction such as this- really, he's too easy to read.

Or maybe you've been reading this genre of his longer than you believe, and this is the past experience coming back in waves.

Or, you're simply reading too much into it.

Nevertheless, just as predicted, he snarls,

"No one."

And just as quickly turns away, bringing knees up to his chest, tucking his chin over them.

He looks not unlike a hurt soul masking under the veil of an arrogant persona, and no matter the displeasure he expresses, you can't find it in yourself to find reason to believe the front he puts up, the urge to 'take care' the only inclination overpowering you.

The dismissal too abrupt to have been a result of a thought-over notion, you don't believe it. Not for a second.

But you suppose you'll let it go this time, if only in favour of your own inner turmoil.

Maybe he's feeling what you're feeling too.

The desire to let your guard down, to let this complete stranger in, said desire engaging in a constant contest against preservation instincts.

"Who are you, then?"

It's delibrate, the reframing to your question, and if the laxing of his face is any indication, he registers it too, appreciates it.

"Yeonjun." He breathes, still not looking at you.

You echo your name too, mulling over whether to extend a polite 'nice to meet you' or something of the sorts, but deciding against it, realising it might come off absurd, what with the nature of your conversations uptill now.

The head he had nestled on his knees snuggles further down, and it's either your ears playing tricks on you or you actually do hear a whimper.

"Hey, you okay?" A tentative arm hovers over his shoulder, and you wonder if he'd really mind the comfort you so badly want to offer. If the roles were reversed, you know you wouldn't.

"Fine." He rasps, voice hoarse, his guttural confirmation more alarming than reassuring.

"But you don-"

You don't get to finish the sentiment, as he's suddenly standing to his feet, making a run for the small pond sitting right by the lake. And what you witness is more than enough to have your blood running cold. It's something all too personal, the way he coughs up a saje coloured semiliquid, the way you can see the energy being drained from his person as he spasms violently.

Without second guessing this time around, you run to the pond yourself, crouch down just behind him, run a soothing hand across the expanse of his back. The halting of his shivering is almost immediate, and it only serves to spur your movements as you begin shallowly massaging the muscles.

He slouches back, covers a hand over his mouth, grumbles,

"Changed fucking colours. Cute."

And yet again, you know what he means.

"Used to be pink, huh?"

This seems to have grabbed his attention, as he slowly turns to look at you. You find it perplexing too, how he could have been going through what you have for longer than you can remember, the retching a part of your daily routine by now. There's something bigger at play here, something tying you and this stranger together, something beyond your simple hunch of familiarity.

And this time when you are met with his big, glassy eyes, you find something you didn't before, something you haven't in years.

Ardour. Sorrow. Oddly together.

Not only is the strange mix of emotions familiar, it's familiar in his hue of chestnut, his champagne orbs, the amalgamation untypically unique.

You've seen this look in these eyes. Irrespective of how miscostructive it sounds, you know you have. You'd swear your life on it.

He seems to have been struck with something similar, for the newfound warmth in his eyes- something you mentally blamed him for hiding- is basically overflowing, his guard visibly dropping.

His lips part, release nothing more than a gasp, waver, then seal back. He's hesitant, not wanting to say it out loud, but you hear it all the same. Hear the unsaid endearment, understand the implicit elucidation to his apprehension.

"Can you say it again?" Your voice is a whisper, afraid to shatter this stolen moment of intimacy.

"Say what again?"

"Say my name again?"

He breathes out your name, eyes averting, a blush adorning the apples of his cheeks.

"No. My name."

He's confused for all of a second before realisation dawns on him, cheekbones burning a deeper shade of crimson.

"You mean-?"

"Just say it."

"But- but you said it wasn't your name."

A sigh of exasperation and eye-squeeze of annoyance is all the incentive he needs it seems, for he's fulfilling your wish all too soon.

"Sugar."

And all too soon is your heart thumping in your ears, the same rush coursing through your veins.

Why your body chooses to react this way is beyond you, but it's intense enough to have a deeper connotation than a response to a mere nickname. It means something more.

You know it does.

Have known all this while.

He turns to look at you, and from this up close, the sparkles catching the moonlight once again, he shines brighter than any star, any constellation, any galaxy.

He's your star. Your constellation. Your galaxy.

Your own escape, your angel.

Wait.

Your eyes trail back to the curve of his shoulders, searching for something you know is missing.

He follows your line of sight. There's a split second where you see the panic in his eyes, which disappears when he looks over his shoulders. If he thinks he's safe, he couldn't be more wrong.

"Show me."

It's not a question. Not a demand either, just a soft request, one he can easily decline, but made with enough conviction that tells him there's no way he's getting out of this one with a lie.

So he just looks at you, eyes drooped in acceptance, a sombre expression on his face,

"How?"

You know what he means, but you don't have an answer for him.

"How do you know?" He reiterates.

"I just do."

"Who are you, really?"

You smile at that, for you know the frustration he feels. You feel it too.

The knowledge that you know him, but don't.

The understanding that you know he has wings, but not sure how.

The awareness that you want him, but have no right to.

"Show me, please?" You disregard his question entirely, and he knows as well as you that it's a pointless one anyway.

So he gingerly stands up, backing away from you a little. You thought you were prepared; you overestimated yourself.

A fluttering sound echoes through the silent forest, and amidst the dead of the night, you experience a sight all too enchanting.

The same whirlwind of colours, of shades blending together, the same kind you witnessed in your dreamland not too long ago, is presented before you. Manifesting in the most beautiful pair of wings. The Blue Morpho doesn't hold a candle in the face of such gorgeousness.

Your dream hadn't been a fluke, you saw him in it. You saw his wings, felt his lips.

Once again, your eyes glaze over, heart splitting in two at the view. He's standing there, with tears of his own and you know why.

As if in a trance, you get up and run off towards him, stopping only when you're inches away, panting, out of breathe. And not out of the exhaustion at having made the spree, really there wasn't more than a few metres between you and him. But the emotion has engulfed you, your breath practically belonging to him in this moment, entering your lungs upon his command and his command only.

Your eyes trace his wings, from the arch at the top to the downward droop at the bottom, eventually trailing to his face, and ultimately to his lips. Those full lips.

You step closer still, hands cautiously reaching for his shoulders, going on your tiptoes to whisper against his plump lips,

"I'm sorry, but I really have to do this."

Strong arms wrapping around your waist is all the consent you need and in the next moment you are lunging for him, taking his lips in an all consuming kiss, even after trying your best to hold back, if only to not freak him out. It's no use now, so you let go, let your body react the way it does, let your subconsciousness take the lead.

His mouth is indeed as addicting as you imagined it to be, knew it to be. Your hands make their way up his shoulders to his nape, where you brush his hair and true to form, they're just as soft as you imagined, as you knew.

He lets out a groan in your mouth, tilting his head more, deepening the kiss. He's licking into your mouth at this point, tongue swirling around, sucking the essence right out of you, drinking it in earnest. It's not a kiss, it's so much more than that. It feels like he's ravishing you, tasting you.

A sudden tickling in your back makes you shudder, a feeling akin to having an ice cube slide down your bare skin. Goosebumps break all over you, and the familiar fluttering sound permeates the air around you two.

You pull back to gasp, shaking your shoulder blades. His wings are still there, the same they had been before, so what in the world was that sound?

You look up at Yeonjun to find him not looking at you, his gaze fixated on something behind your shoulder. You turn your head back yourself, only to be met with a carbon copy of those angelic wings somehow attached to your back.

"Wha- How.. What is happening?"

Contrary to your panicked tone, he's calm, almost delighted. That claim is proven right when he suddenly breakes out into a wistful smile, the tears making their way down his waterline.

"I knew it." He ducks his head, resting it on your chest, hands refusing to let go of your sides.

"Yeonjun, what is going on? I'm getting scared now."

His head snaps up at that, hands finding your cheeks, cupping and cradling your face with gentle care.

"Don't be scared, sugar. You're here now. With me. You're finally here." He chokes out the last words, clearly overwhelmed.

You frown, but don't question him, deciding to be patient.

His thumbs brush against your skin, caressing back and forth,

"Don't you remember me?" He gently whispers.

There it is again, the same question, the same vague feeling. You known him but you'd don't.

"It's okay," He somehow senses what you're experiencing it seems, as he doesn't push it further, "it's okay. Let me help you remember, yeah?"

And with that he's closing the distance between your bodies again, lips moulding against yours, whisking you away in a trance like state once again.

This is it.

This is the taste he's been dying for, time and time again. And to think he already had it before, once upon a time.

It's not a sudden downpour of memories that rains down to him, but a slow sprinkle, a calm drizzling, the kind that comes before a thunder storm.

And then it's a torrent, a gush of water, drenching him whole, making him lose his footing. It makes him dizzy but he'll have it any fucking day if it means he gets to taste you again.

He remembers you, remembers the time when you belonged to him, and he you. The times you spent together, near this very spring, tasting each other for hours on end. The times that he has now come to know of as the most peaceful and fulfilled. He felt content, whole.

Before you were snatched away from him, a you-shaped gaping hole left in his heart. Every single one of the memories you made together wiped, yet the hole never closed, never healed.

He always felt something in his life was missing, a last puzzle piece to complete him, a last drop to fill his glass.

And now, with your wings outsretched behind you, the same ones as his, he has found that piece of puzzle, that drop of nectar.

You taste just as he imagined. Like grapevines with an undertone of fernflowers.

A grapevine left untouched for so long, harbouring yeast on the surface. All he has to do is crush his lips against yours, and the grapes burst open, outer skin tearing, juices squirting out, fermenting with the yeast to form the richest wine to ever grace his palate.

The fernflowers that bloom for a period too short, for him only, his very own summer solstice, being fertile just for him.**

He remembers. And you're here with him. At last.

The only thing that's left, is for you to recall as well. It's going to be no difficult fate.

As he reconnects your lips again, pulling you impossibly closer by your middle, his wings wrap around your bodies, and just like every other time in the past, yours do too. With both your appendages curling over and forming a cocoon around your forms, he feels the security all over again, the one he wanted to revel in forever.

Too bad no one told him forever doesn't last as long as one thinks, but now that he finally has you again, he doesn't plan on letting go anytime soon, if ever.

When he breaks the kiss, your own tears have made their way past your jaw, wet eyes twinkling, reflecting the moon in them. For him, they are the moon themselves.

He softly thumbs them away, smiling through his own tears,

"Welcome back, sugar."

You give him a wistful smile, his own sorrow reflecting on your features. An underlying hope buried somewhere deep within the pain.

"Missed you." You mumble, scrunching your nose in a sniffle. It's something you always did back then, and everytime it made him wonder how it was possible for someone to be so cute, so precious.

Winding his arms around your shoulders, he steps forward, slotting himself against you, his face in your neck.

"I missed you more. I fucking missed you so much."

Hot wet trails run down your neck and you lovingly ruffle his hair, remembering how it always soothed his anxiety.

He stays like that a while, hiccuping and reiterating his saudade for you. After his breath evens out, and tears dry up, he pulls back, looking deep in your eyes.

"You know me, right?"

You huff a little, endeared by his need for confirmation.

"I do. I do know you, darling."

Darling.

That's what you always called him. That's what he's been unknowingly wanting to hear all these years. That's what makes him feel complete again.

"Can I kiss you?" The question is frantic, his excitement leaking through the words.

You don't give him an answer, opting to push at his chest and jump up slightly, wrapping your legs around his lean waist. It's the same, the way you fit over him, legs slipping into the curve of his waist. He knows he'll fit into you in other ways, too.

He can't wait to complete you, to be your last piece of the puzzle.

You lean into him again, sliding your lips with his, the soft sounds of moisture all he hears. As if on autopilot, his legs move of their own accord, side stepping all the hurdles, all while kissing you with his eyes closed, with a practised ease. And when your back hits the same Bristlecone Pine tree trunk he spent all day slumped against, he remembers why this routine feels rehearsed. Because to put it simply, it is. It's something he's done countless times before, carrying the familiar weight of you to this very spot.

Once there, he presses his body into you, his want eminent in the way it digs you in the thigh, his hands kneading the flesh. He feels himself getting lost in the pleasure, a throaty groan escaping him,

"Give me more."

Part 1 | Part 2

Main Masterlist

[The follow-up smut drabble will be posted soon. Send an ask if you wish to be tagged when it drops.♡]

**The fern flower is a magic flower in Baltic, Estonian and Slavic mythology. According to the myth, this flower blooms for a very short time on the eve of the summer solstice, and represents fertility. This theme will be explored more in part two to this piece.

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© ss-skyearn 2023. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works is not allowed.

[bbyquokka]

9:25 pm (lfx)

→ GENRE: timestamp | drabble | angst

→ WARNINGS: gn!reader | mentions of taking sleeping pills | alcohol consumption | just a lot of feels and angst rly ;-;

→ WORDS: 0.6k ~ (662)

→ A/N: inspired by deep end from the skz-replay album. did i listen to it on repeat whilst writing this? yup. Am i a sobbing mess rn? yuppp

→ m.list – → ao3

He cannot sleep. He wanders around his apartment night after night, swallowing sleeping pill after sleeping pill, but the memories still haunt him.

Your sweet, angelic laugh. The soft slaps of your bare feet on the wood floor, the soft hums of a tune you adore, dead and gone.

His apartment has never felt so lifeless.

Every room he enters holds a memory of you, a memory he holds so dear to his heart he cannot let go. He can see you, see you making brownies, lounging on the sofa. 

Your smirk as you seduce him. Fingertips dancing ever so lightly on his soft skin, like tiny pixie feet. Your warmth suffocating him, surrounding his body in a blanket of pleasure. Your moans like music to his ears.

He was addicted to you, in more ways than one. You were the cause of his high sex drive. The second his eyes fall upon you, he's caught under your spell, blood rushing south in an instant.

He doesn't have the energy for it. Sex is meaningless to him if it's not with you. You made him feel alive and now that you're gone, he's nothing but a shell of nothingness.

The picture frames remain on the tables, holding special and precious memories of you both. Now all they hold is a thick layer of dust and dirt. Your belongings are still scattered around the apartment; he hasn't gained the courage to sort through them and box them up.

Time stood still. Felix found himself in an endless cycle, spinning around and around. The world carried on around him but for him, time stood still. His body stuck in an endless loop. 

You kept him grounded, advising him and soothing him of his worries. Now they swim around and around in his head, tormenting him, laughing at him until he finds himself screaming into the night. 

Only, no one heard his screams, his cries for help. 

Alone. 

Awake for x amount of hours. swallowing x amount of pills and drinking x amount of cheap vodka, nothing works.

Frustrated. Because nothing works. Nothing seems to soothe him, nothing seems to drown out his thoughts. His own head became his worst enemy. 

How foolish of him to think a walk in the cold, winter air would make him feel alive. It just made it worse. Every store he walked past, every corner he turned was a new memory of you.

“Please make it stop.” Teary eyes looking at the night sky, his usual bottle of vodka in one hand, the other clutching the material of his t-shirt where his broken heart aches. “I can't do this without you.”

Silent sobs shake his thin frame. He's cried so much that he has nothing left.

“You promised.” He'd whisper harshly at his phone screen, his wallpaper still of you after all these months. Violent sobs shake his frame, and there it is. 

A tear. It lands on his screen, the watery texture mixing the pixels together in a range of colours. His vision blurred, a pounding headache approaching from the pressure.

“I want to feel alive again. Please give me a sign. I'll do anything for a glimpse of hope. Just make this pain stop! it's unbearable.”

“Why is the world so cruel to me?” He leans back, sniffing whilst bringing the rim of the vodka bottle to his lips. He hisses, feeling the burn travel down his throat and settling in his empty stomach.

It burns, but it's a sigh he can still feel. Even if he doesn't want to.

“Now I'm truly all alone in this world.” He whispers, eyes closing slowly. He's tired, exhausted body slowly shutting down. He doesn't fight it.

He allows it.

So consumed with his own thoughts, he doesn't hear the soft crunch of the snow approach him. It wasn't until he smelt that all too familiar scent he opened his eyes slowly, a coat wrapped around his shoulders.

“Y/N?”

→ TAGS [open]: @chaneomma | @sstarryoong | @laylasbunbunny | @meltheninja13

[helium-queen]

Random Shane smut because I am a slut for my pixel art chicken man 🫶🏻

Caught

Pairings: SDV Shane x F! Reader

Word Count: 338

Warnings: Explicit Content (Vaginal Sex)

You and Shane lay spooning on the couch in front of the off-white glow from the large old TV sitting on the floor in Marnie's living room. The two of you were nodding off here and there, too tired to stay fully awake but not tired enough to sleep yet.

You wiggle a little where you lay, starting to feel uncomfortable in this position while unintentionally grinding your ass right against Shane's crotch which immediately wakes him up in more ways than one and he starts to grind back against you.

"M'Shane" You moan with a giggle "Stop it"

"Why? You enjoying it too much?" He whispers against the shell of your ear, not stopping his movements

"Maybe" You giggle again and turn your head to meet his lips. Before you know it, the two of you are in the throws of passion. Shane's pants and boxers pulled down just enough for his thick cock and balls to comfortably be exposed and buried inside of your soaked cunt.

"Feels so fucking good, baby" Shane grunts softly "Being such a good girl staying quiet for me" All you manage to muster is a quiet whine, too lost to the pleasure to form words. You soon feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, a clear indicator he was close when suddenly..

The front door flies open followed by a surprised gasp "Oh! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Let me jus-" You hear Marnie shriek as she closes the front door and quickly makes her way to her bedroom while covering her eyes before finally shutting her bedroom door.

You can't help but giggle as you turn your head back around, unable to move anything else as Shane is still deep inside you

"We should move this to my bedroom right?" Shane finally speaks and you erupt with laugher as you playfully smack his shoulder "Yes!" You shout still giggling "I think we've scarred your aunt enough" You follow up as the two of you shuffle into his room for some privacy.

[lord-emerson]

Mimicking Your Embrace

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Howard Underhouse/Oswald J. Emerson

Tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship, Video Calls, Loving Banter, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Trans Male Character, Second Person POV, I wrote this solely to prove a point about how a man pathetically humping a pillow could be hot actually

Words: 815

Summary: Film director Oz is away working on a shoot in the middle of the summer. He gets on a video call with Howard shirtless, something that Howard is very cool and normal about.

“… and I literally said, darling, if this scene could have been filmed anywhere but inside a pool, I would’ve done it. But unfortunately for the both of us, we have to stand here, completely soaked, with the chloride proving absolutely useless against the average crewmember’s musk, so— Are you even paying attention?”

“Mmm? Yeah, of course. Something something soaked member? Some kind of musk, even?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Oswald’s laughter comes out tinny through the laptop speakers. You grin in response, knowing that your joke was well-received despite the rather rude verbal reaction.

“Sorry. But I mean… you’re the one who decided to get on video shirtless, Oz.”

“And? It’s summer, sweetheart. Totally normal for a man to walk around shirtless in this heat.”

“Yeah, well… Not every man has your distractingly perfect tits.”

Oswald’s eyebrows run up his forehead at that. You would recognise that glint of mischief in his eyes any day.

“Yeah? Distracting how?” Oswald says, his fingers brushing past his nipple as if by accident. Bastard.

“Distracting as in, I need to run my tongue over them right now.”

“Aww. Why stop there?” There’s some movement outside of the frame, which you can only interpret as Oswald’s fingers roaming down his stomach towards his clit. You swallow. “You could have your dick between them too.”

That’s your cue. You begin to shift your position where you’re lying down on your stomach, trying to fit your hand down your pants when Oswald interrupts you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not what my chest feels like, darling. It’s much softer than that.”

You take in Oswald’s expression, smirking at you from the screen. Hmm. After a moment’s hesitation, you reach out for a pillow and tuck it under yourself without a word.

“Good boy, Howie.”

You look at Oswald with defiance, or at least with what you hope comes across as defiance through your shitty laptop’s camera. Underneath it all, you bask in the praise nonetheless.

“I wish I was with you,” you admit quietly.

“I wish you were here, too. I would run my fingers down your chest. Feel your breath against my cheek.”

You close your eyes for a moment, taking in the mental image. Your hips move against the pillow, slow and tantalising.

“I want to touch you. Feel how wet you are for me,” you say, slightly out of breath already.

“So wet,” Oswald concurs. His fingers appear in the frame once more, with a familiar glisten to them. You watch as he closes his eyes and licks them clean. Your hand grasps the blanket beneath you and your hips thrust harder into the pillow.

“I’d finger you standing up, just so I could see your knees buckle as you lean into me... You’re always so sweet after your first orgasm of the night.”

Oswald chuckles. “Is that what you want me to be? Sweet and pliant?”

You smile in return, the much loved lines around your eyes almost completely lost in the low-pixel transmission. “Well. Maybe just in the beginning.”

“Mhmm. I could push you down onto the floor, ride your face for a bit. Remind you of your place.”

At that, you make a half-hearted attempt to bite back a moan. You rut desperately against the pillow, a feeling like hot pinpricks spreading across your skin.

“I… Hnng. I could flip you onto your back, arms pinned above your head. Remind you of yours.”

“Please.” The enthusiasm in Oswald’s strained voice is unmistakable. He is getting close.

The friction through your pants, while delicious, is not nearly enough. You use one hand to remove the layers of fabric separating you from the pillow. You briefly consider touching yourself after all, when Oswald’s voice reaches you once more:

“Please, fuck me, Howard. Please.” You groan, returning both your hands to the blanket. Bunching it up in your grasp as your thrusts become more and more erratic.

“I’m here, my sweet. I’m right here,” you say, near feverish. You close your eyes again and you can almost feel Oswald’s soft skin beneath your fingertips. His soft breasts, enveloping your hardness.

“I- I’m—” Oswald’s words are cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look up just in time to see his whole body shake, with one hand grabbing onto his own shoulder. Mimicking your embrace.

You come with a gasp that feels like it's being punched out of you, breathing hard and spilling all over the pillow. Oswald’s pillow, now that you look at it. Whoops. Thank god you’ll have the time to put it in the wash before he comes home at least. 

You haven’t even fully recovered yet when you hear the man in question speak again:

“So yeah, during that pool scene—“

“Oh my god, Oz. Give a man a moment, will you? I need to clean up.”

You both laugh, together. And you will be together again, soon enough.

[dmwrites]

They’d made Jimmy smaller again.

Jimmy stood fuming and yelling up at his friends, demanding they return him to his normal height this instant. He was fully aware that he was now only a few pixels tall now, maybe a block tall at best. His friends were laughing, cooing over him, ruffling his hair with one finger. They called him a little doll and tried to pick him up. Jimmy eventually evaded their hands and flew off, back towards Tumble Town.

“Ugh! If only I knew how to make myself big again!” Jimmy moaned to himself. He kicked around Tumble Town, unable to reach half of the doorknobs and not having a very nice time. Finally, he decided to have a nice, calm strip mining session. There were no short jokes in the mines.

And strip mine he did. Days passed, but Jimmy just kept pushing forward in a straight line, through lava and water and diamonds. It felt good to be able to break the stones like he did, get away from the surface of Empires for a while. The monotony of mining was so relaxing.

Well, relaxing until Jimmy mined into another one by one tunnel. Jimmy turned to look behind him, and then in front of him. He’d only been digging in a straight line, and no one else was small like him.

“What on earth?” Jimmy whispered, stepping forward into the other tunnel.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jimmy screamed as a small blue being stepped out of a tunnel that branched out from the one he stood in. The blue guy was about Jimmy’s size, with fluffy wings and a sword in his hands.

“Oh my word- please, you winged man, quiet your curses around me, I’m a pg channel.” Jimmy cried. “And please don’t kill me, I am just a small guy!”

The blue man’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Sorry, what the fu- oh you mean the like pg as in, okay, I see, whatever. Uh, what the frick are you doing here, and why the fu- frick do you look like Woody from Toy Story?”

Jimmy sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead in annoyance. “I am not a toy. I am the sheriff! My name is Jimmy, nice to meet you, I suppose. Please do not call me a toy again or I will kill you.”

The blue guy squinted at Jimmy as if making a series of moral decisions. He took out his sword at one point, then put it away. “It’s a damn good thing you seem harmless, bro. I’m Sneeg. What the hel- fuc- what are you doing in my tunnel, dude? Where did you even come from?”

“Oh, well, this is my tunnel!” Jimmy said, indicating behind him. “I was strip mining, and it opened up into all of this! I am just as surprised as you are, frankly!”

“Yeah, it’s not every day you find a tiny man cosplaying a cop in your tunnels.” Sneeg replied.

“I am a sheriff, not a cop, whatever that is.” Jimmy said. “And I am not small! We are the same height.”

“Right, but you totally have short energy.” Sneeg replied. “But, like, whatever, it’s chill. Uh, well, welcome to the Origins server, I guess.”

“Origins?” Jimmy asked, confused. “No, no, I’m on the Empires server. That’s where I started my strip mine, anyway.”

“Well, partner, looks like you dug so far you ended up in a whole other server. So why don’t you stay a while?” Sneeg said, patting Jimmy on the back. “Listen, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve met someone smaller- I mean the same height- as me. Let’s go terrorize people or something, it’ll be funny. We short kings gotta stick together, make tall people regret everything.”

Jimmy puffed out his chest. “Well, Mr. Sneeg, I could not agree more with your outlandish ideas of terrorizing those taller then us. Maybe I need to emulate you, make my friends back on Empires respect me and the law.”

“Totes, man.” Sneeg said. “Come on, let’s go fuck some shit up.”

“My goodness! Sneeg, please, again with the language!”

“Huh, funny, you sound a bit like an old friend of mine…”

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

why is my class in art so odd. tell me why my class is always yelling, screaming, and even a few kids (im looking at you, JUSTIN) moaning. ome time in art, i got stabbed in the hand with a colored pencil. today, my crush (the dude i told you about a few weeks ago or something) SAT ON MY LAP. LIKE WHAT ??

anyway, my cat is always so aggressive at night. this mother fucker was biting and scratching at my hand . he only does this at night too, specifically when im on my phone/ipad

update on me and my friend reading your old smaus: we only got halfway through the todoroki one bcus she had to hang up for something, but thats not the point. we giggled. a lot. lots of giggling. so silly. were goofy goobers (just like my name). she wasnt paying too much attention cause she was doing other stuff so at one point she didnt understand what kirishima was talking about (the part where he was calling todoroki out for being rude to Y/N and dumping water on her) so i went on a rant about the lore and Y/N & todorokis history and how they first met and stuff.

im starting to think im not judt reading these to make fun of them and im actually reading them bcus they are actually interesting and entertaining (ngl 2021 you was cooking with these smaus 🔥🔥)

WHY IS THE PICTURE SO LOW QUALITY. I CAN LITERALLY COUNT THE PIXELS. THE WORDS LOOK LIKE A MINECRAFT ENCHANTMENT TABLE. (idk if its still gonna be low quality when i send this but like. its so low quality.)

ur crush sitting in ur lap… ur winning i fear !

and the pic isn’t low quality on my end lolz