low_level's forsaken nsfw requests {CLOSED/ON HOLD}

by low_level

Summary:

hi so i basicallyyyyy..... i wanna write and get better at writing smut and have been obsessed with forsaken since it's public release date and also im lazy and dont wanna work on my other wip fic, so here i am

INFO PAGE UPDATED AS WELL WOO!!
—> better tags r (for each chapter) on the "COMPLETED" section at the bottom of the info page

[on hold right now due to not feeling motivated to write nsfw]

Chapter 1: INFO

~> check bottom to view queue and completed works {includes tags} the work titles r stupid and i dont recommend going off of them for whats exactly happening

 

THIS IS CLOSED PLS DONT REQUEST TOO MANYYYY

 

! DISCLAIMER ! : I DO NOT GUARANTEE I WILL WRITE ANYTHING LMAO IM GONNA BE SUPER BUSY AND IM LAZY. If u send a comment pls dont be mad if i dont wanna write it or never respond. THIS IS FOR PRACTICE!! WILL PROB NOT BE THE BEST OF QUALITY

/+/

> DO NOT REQUEST [subject to be extended] :

[sorry if this is picky, but i dont like/am not comfortable writing some of this stuff]

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age play

anything with coolkidd (check “WHAT WILL I ACCEPT?” for more info)

no jason

incest

pedophilia

anything with bodily fluids besides like spit, cum, or blood | {ex - no piss, diarrhea, ect // i might be fine with puke depending on the context but will prob decline / ask if somethings not listed and u want it}

sexual/suggestive things with feet | {ex - footjobs, foot/toe sucking, ect}

scat, farts, that sorta stuff

force feeding/feeding kinks

omegaverse type stuff

bugs/insects/parasites {srry but bugs gross me out}

vore

philia where u fuck a sleeping person (i think somnophilia)

 

> WHAT WILL I ACCEPT?

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ANYTHING THAT ISNT ABOVE PRACTICALLY!! {i say practically bc if i see a comment of something i dont like ill prob add it above and let you know i dont wanna write it} also i will write for any forsaken collab skins (except dream game —> check a little below for more info)

lowkey im down for some of ur weird and wildest thoughts bc my mind has wandered off too, i dont shame

coolkidd (and all his skins except the future mafiaso skin {including trud skin} will not be accepted unless bc i dont wanna write smut involving a 10 year old.

mafiaso {reworked mafioso} will be treated and written as an adult, and will be accepted

i will also write fics regarding upcoming survivors, but not all upcoming killers. prob only killers ill write r like g666, azure, or noli {just ask lowkey, bc idk - but like personally i hate upcoming killers like koolkiller or whatever}

also if not specified, i will write stuff with my own gender hcs, but i will try to keep the writing pretty open to interpretation. i will list stated appearances in notes (ex- 1x with a ponytail), but 9/10 times stuff like hair color, or exact hair styling in this example will be fully up to u to decide

 

> FAVORITE/LIKED SHIPS?

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some of my fav ships r :

coinrush (and whatever the other 100 names for it r) - chance x elliot

1xdoe - john doe x 1x1x1x1

azuretime - two time x azure {mainly pre azure death}

 

some of my liked ships r :

doublefedora - chance x mafiaso 

johnjane - john doe x jane doe {hmm not sure if ill write tbh}

pizzadebt - elliot x mafiaso

 

i also rlly love builderman

 

> WHAT WILL I ACCEPT FIRST?

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i will go off of the numbered order of my queue. these r mainly based off the time they were submitted to me

also im not super big on survivor x killer, but ill write it

 

> WHAT ABOUT THE GOREY, BLOODY, ABUSIVE STUFF, AND MORE??

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like above in the “WHAT WILL I ACCEPT?”, ill prob write anything that isnt listed on “DO NOT REQUEST” i lowkey dont care if someone is like chopping off limbs and eating their body parts down to mirror shipping with skins

(v) bolded stuff bc huge text chunk. mainly the important stuff

yes ill write rape, but no i dont support it obv., just not somno and its fine w/ me. im okay with wound/injury fucking as well and like idk other wacky stuff, necro is a little ehhh, but ask if im down for it if ur interested—may or may not decline. blood is ok, same with cutting related things/gore. fine with sex anywhere, like public sex.

im totally down for trans or fem/masc characters (ex- fem elliot, trans fem/masc chance) like deadass if its not on “DO NOT REQUEST” im down for it (most likely again)

abuse is a lil tricky since i may decline depending on exactly what is happening, but just lmk bc ill probably accept

 

> HOW SHOULD I REQUEST?

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i would rlly rlly love u if u gave me some more info rather than something like

“yeah, can u make uh, idk like two time x chance or smth”

bc this kinda gives me little to work with and its lowkey harder than u think to work off of ts 😭😭 

also lmk whos on top/bottom (or switch), and if u have any headcannons

i will give u the wettest kiss ever if u give me details and turn the thing above more into a

“can you write spiral two time picking milestone 4 chance up from a casino after getting a drunk call from him late at night. chance is flirting with two time on the way back to two time’s house, and when they get home, chance is practically begging for two time to fuck him. two time is a bit hesitant because hes drunk, but accepts. chance rides two time, and afterwards they fall asleep”

OFC U DONT GOTTA BE SUPER DESCRIPTIVE BUT IT RLLY HELPS A LOT!! condensing this down into a

“spiral two time picks milestone 4 chance up from a casino since hes drunk and the two decide to fuck with chance riding two time, they sleep in end”

also helps sm as well and rlly makes my writing easier and it better for u if u have any specific ideas

also pls dont be scared to request, i genuinely dont care how u format/what u request, and ive gotten so many comments saying theyre scared so pls dont be!!! 💔💔 {no im not switching to the damn wilted rose emoji}

^^ edit : im not gonna write long fluff sections anymore rlly, im spending too long on writing due to it and i dont want to spend as much time as i am currently writing these. this is most likely going to be plain smut now with a basic gist of context

 

> QUESTIONS?

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hit me up in the comments if ur wondering abt anything, i usually check ao3 at least once a day and will probably get back w/ u eventually. i do have school, a lot of after-school activities, other stuff to work on, and my own time off to make me not check this fic out

this is probably not be updated that, that much and will be one-shots. this is again, just to help me improve writing since i dont write smut

 

> YOU FINALLY MADE IT TO THE END!!

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sorry if this was long i just wanted to be thorough with how this is probably gonna work lmao 😭💔 this will open and close as needed. sorry in advance to any unanswered comments

 

>COMPLETED

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Chap 2 * 3.2k words —> bottom 1x + Chance • pinning, making out, blowjob, not sure what to say, 1x has a ponytail

Chap 3 * 4k words —> bottom betrayed 1x {both genitalia (intersex i believe its called?)} + John • rough fucking, breeding, marking, cums inside omg, bondage, chaining up, hairpulling, rough making out/kissing, raw aint no lube in sight, slight pregnancy scare??, gets it from behind most the time-but a bit from the front

Chap 4 * 5.1k words —> bottom john + 1x • fluff, idk what to say theyre basically like bfs and r kinda new to it and r gentle and stuff, condoms, spit as lube, calling it “gettijg it from the front” cuz idk all the sex position names, couch sex

 Chap 5 * 4.5k words —> bottom tmasc chance + mafioso • slight fluff, slightly marking, no bottom surgery chance, chance has top surgery (scars r mentioned once, i lowkey forgot abt them…srry), referenced/implied aftercare (not written), biting, making out, rough sex, like bro full on getting plowed, getting it from behind, no lube in sight he getting it rawww, pulling out/cumming on back, cuddling, dry rutting/humping

Chap 6 * 3.3k words —> bottom taph (ig??) + dusekkar • taph is like missing bc he is wanking and dusek finds him and jacks him off yeah. idk how to tag this so uhm, they also have like an implied little fall in love thingy at the end

Chap 7 * 5k words —> bottom short chubby rooster shedletsky + builderman • (semi)public sex, horny, getting walked in on, raw sex, table sex, cum yeha, shed is shorter than builderman, idk hwat to say, hi, they fuck and kiss, kissing, gentle kissing, blah blah

Chap 8 * 8.1k words —> stalker taph + builderman • no sex, kidnapping, gore, blood, cutting, organs, insides, cannibalism, stalking, sleeping with corpse, tying up, bone crushing, kissing, gentle kissing, obsession, first kisses, cuddling, forcefulness, idek just whatever im done

Chap 9 * 3.4k words —> bottom tmasc 1x + john • eating out, (semi??) rough eating out, clit rubbing, brief clit kissing, top surgery, rough days, neediness, brief face riding/grinding, uh what else do i put, help no joke i just almost screamed cuz i thought someone was in my room but it was a shadow rhis js my sign tk go to bed, establish relationship, referenced past sex

Chap 10 * 2k words —> bottom male genitalia noob + cismale pre-forsaken/beast (NORMAL???) thingy Guest666 • raww no lube ok, from tha back, kissing, brief kissing all over, jerking off, memories, bruh my airpods just died, past relationship, kinda stuck up on relationships, uhm idk noob is horny and jerks it to a memory if them having sex

 

> QUEUE :

! disclaimer: i may switch this around and push fics back, or go ahead and do some. pls dont be mad at me if this happens, as sometimes i just rlly like an idea. ! this will mainly be in the order it is, but i have since removed the numbers because sometimes i just cant write requests idrk what happens
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coinrush - bottom elliot + chance • elliot being a lil suggestive during a date, and gets it handed to him iykyk wink wink

azuretime - bottom AFAB two time + post azure • two time gets choked out by azure's tentacles and gets fingered til they cry

1xchance - bottom 1x + chance • chance finds out 1x has praise kink and flirts, eventually makes ya boy suck him off and then he “fucks the daylights out of 1x1” and then aftercare. will have breeding, objectifiation, praising, owner/pet, exhibitionism and voyeurism, but tbh im not a degenerate enough to know what half those kinks entail so maybe not

azuretime - bottom AMAB two time + azure • pre-incident, they in love, but kinda worried abt the future + the cult. AMAB two time requested by another person (but i was gonna do it anyways heheh)

coinrush - bottom elliot + chance • needy after round for each other and they fuck rough. cockwarming, breeding, marking, rough stuff yah

1xdoe -  bottom demon king john + champion 1x • 1x had rough day sigh john comforts him and 1x a lil clingy and tbey hav sex w/ john riding ya boy {in plain sight 2 doesn't want to associate with forsaken. if you're the requester, please reach out to me to change 1x to whatever you want. i will default to a basic 1x design if not}

pizzadebt - bottom tmasc bunny mafiaso + big/chubby elliot • mafioso goes into heat and begs elliot to breed him

1xdoe - bottom tmasc 1x1 + tmasc john doe • scissoring, vaginal fingering, praise, pussy eating

coinrush - bottom chance + elliot • elliot walks in on chance pleasing himself and help out ya know ya know

buildershed 3some w/ self/mirror ship shed - bottom brat angelic/god-like {height, power, build} telamon + brat-taming builderman and shedletsky • telamon sucks ass at a round and gets his swords robbed by 1x like a loser. builder and shed r mad that the sfoth swords got taken and fuck him up wink wink. rough sex, face fucking, forcefulness, threats of exhibitionism, aftercare. defiling a god type theme

buildershed - bottom tmasc (w/o any surgeries) builderman + chubby rooster shedletsky • they share a room and shed wakes up horny, making builder get it ooaawnn! they go long and r rlly noisy/vocal, and the next morning everyone is pissed bc they wouldnt shut up. breeding kink on both sides, shed being a loser for builder's tits, dacryphilia, overstim, and sum making out

coinrush - bottom elliot + chance • elliot tries to bake some chocolate cupcaks but grabs the wrong chocolate... said chocolate chance bought for some fun times ykkk... (cough, aphrodisiac chocolate like that tabs brand or whatever i kept seeing ads for) bro like puts hella chocolate obv and gets chance to eat a cupcake, and they get baked... and then horny... then fuck rough

coinrush • they get freaky + aftercare (with elliot's pizza)

? (awaiting further info) drakobloxxer fic 

shedn7 (what name help) - tmasc (yess top surgery, nooo bottom surgery) shed + 7n7 • 007 doin gen and shed is kinda flirtin with him and shed rides em, and then they switch a bit at end. in glasshouses, vaginal sex, hair pulling, breeding kink, biting kink, slut shaming

🕊️ chi chi chi pa pa pa! more is to come!

 

once again, this is closed dont request please

 

also hi i made a strawpage if u wanna check it out maybe,,, (it would mean a lot to me) i have my current fic plans up there, and it will update as a fic/chapter is published on my page. 

CLICK HERE FOR MY EPIC STRAWPAGE - https://lowlevel.straw.page/

Chapter 2: 1x1 sucks chance's popsicle and dies *not clickbait*

Notes:

ok well he doesnt die... i might've clickbaited...

1x got a ponytail like in betrayed skin but interpret whatever appearance

shoutout this person for submitting this legit like a minute after i said i was doing requests lol

"cool request dude" — HELLO! i have a request.
first off, i'd like 1x1 and chance. (preferably bottom 1x1, dont see enough of him bottoming EVER)
second, the situation would kinda be like chance is cornered & about to die ,, since he's the only one left, chance'll probably try to kiss 1x1 and the guy's kinda. into it? like 1x1 doesn't mind doing that instead of murdering chance? and it gets a little more heated and. yeah. idk what theyd do but maybe 1x1 would just like, suck chance off or sm
whateverrr vro.. u just use this as a base anyways byebeybyey y

lalala 3.2k words // prob wont do another request in a bit

Tonight was a disaster. No, it was beyond a disaster.

Chance had already been through hell, and now, as he found himself utterly alone, the last man standing, he could almost hear the universe laughing at him.

The night was ink-black, the kind that swallowed all but the faintest glimmers of light. The stars, though present, did little to illuminate his surroundings, their weak glow barely cutting through the oppressive darkness. The moon was hidden away behind a thick veil of clouds, as if it, too, had abandoned him.

The location, something like “brandonworks”,  was a chaotic mess of splintered wooden walls, scattered as if someone had hastily set up a makeshift paintball course. They offered little in terms of solid protection, but at this point, Chance would take what he could get.

His heart pounded in his chest as he pressed himself against one of the sturdier wooden walls, desperately seeking a moment’s reprieve. With unsteady hands, he brought out his rifle, only to feel his stomach drop. The barrel, his lifeline, was completely obliterated, shattered beyond recognition. Pieces of metal still clung to the frame, jagged and useless. He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his gloved fingers tracing over the ruined remains.

“Useless,” he muttered bitterly under his breath.

He had tried fixing it once already. Twice, actually. But whatever cruel fate had cursed him tonight ensured that his efforts were in vain. Even if he had all the time in the world, this gun wasn’t coming back from the dead, so he tossed it off to the side.

A sharp, sudden pain lanced through his body. It came out of nowhere, white-hot and paralyzing, as if an invisible dagger had plunged straight into his spine. His breath hitched. His muscles seized. He tried to move, to so much as twitch a finger, but his body refused to obey. His vision swam, the edges of his world blurring into nothingness.

And then footsteps.

Distant at first, but growing louder. Closer. Each step deliberate, unhurried, and impossibly heavy, as if the very ground recoiled beneath them. Chance held his breath, his lungs burning from the effort. He couldn’t even lift a hand to stifle himself. He could do nothing but hope that whoever it was would pass him by.

But hope was a fleeting thing.

A shadow rounded the corner, a presence cutting through the darkness like a blade. Before Chance could so much as process what was happening, a force slammed into him, pinning him against the wooden wall. A cold, unforgiving edge pressed against his throat, a sword, gleaming even in the dim light.

1x1.

Chance’s pulse skyrocketed. His mind reeled, scrambling for an escape, for anything that could possibly get him out of this. His hands clenched into fists, then released, fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. His breath was ragged, uneven, every inhale sharp and shallow. His heartbeat roared in his ears, drowning out all rational thought.

He was trapped.

Wait… he could move again? His hands did move, right?

The realization struck him like a slap. His body was his own once more, though the blade against his neck was a stark reminder that movement alone wouldn’t save him. Kicking, struggling, none of it would work. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back anyways.

His mind spun through every possible escape, every absurd and desperate idea. 

Wait.

It was ridiculous. Insane, even. But desperate times called for desperate measures, didn’t they?

Chance had seen it before. In movies, in stories. Cornered defenseless women, with no other options, pressing a kiss to her captor’s lips, just enough of a distraction to make her escape. It was a long shot. A stupid, reckless long shot, but he had nothing else.

1x1 shifted slightly, leaning in ever so slightly. The perfect opening.

Chance surged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant, his lips crashing against 1x1’s. The contact sent a jolt through his system, the sensation foreign and electrifying. The sword at his neck bit into his skin, a sharp sting blooming where steel met flesh, but he ignored it. His life depended on this moment, this one fleeting distraction.

1x1’s body tensed. His eyes widened in shock, the crimson pools burning into Chance’s own.

And just like that, the grip on him faltered.

Chance wasted no time. The second he felt the shift in control, he tore himself away, his instincts taking over as he moved to flee. His body had barely begun to turn when… He was caught. Again.

Faster than he could react, he was slammed back against the wall, hands pinning him in place with an iron grip. He barely had time to process the swords being gone before he found himself staring straight into 1x1’s eyes, now darker than before. The fear that had been momentarily replaced with determination returned tenfold.

“Hey—hey, I wasn’t—” Chance stammered, words tumbling from his lips in a frantic attempt to explain himself. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to?” 1x1 cut him off, his voice dangerously smooth. His eyes narrowed, lips curling into something unreadable. “Do you accidentally kiss people all the time?”

Chance opened his mouth, then closed it again, his breath unsteady. He had nothing. No excuse. No clever retort.

And then he felt it, 1x1’s hand shifting down, fingers gripping his waist with an almost possessive force. A chill ran through him, his skin prickling at the unexpected touch. He barely had time to react before he was shoved harder against the wall, his breath escaping in a sharp gasp. The moment was suffocating, thick with tension so tangible it coiled in the air between them like an unspoken force.

Chance barely had a second to react before lips crashed against his, firm, unyielding, driven by an intensity that stole the breath from his lungs. The force of it sent a shiver down his spine, his body instinctively pressing harder against the rough wooden wall behind him, as if seeking some kind of stability amidst the storm unraveling before him. The wall was uncomfortably solid, its jagged edges pressing through the thin fabric of his suit, but the sensation was drowned out by something far stronger, something consuming.

A sound escaped him, something unwilling, something he shouldn’t have let slip, but it did. A low, instinctive moan, barely audible, but undeniably real. His fingers twitched at his sides, a silent battle waging within him, between reason and something far more primal.

He shouldn’t like this.

God, he shouldn’t like this.

But his body had other plans.

The heat between them was unbearable, burning at his skin despite the cool night air that clung to his surroundings. The scent of iron and faint traces of blood still lingered, a reminder of the violence that had brought them here, yet it all seemed distant now.

1x1 pushed in closer, and Chance felt the solid weight of him, the sheer presence that threatened to swallow him whole. His breath hitched as he felt the press of fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, not quite steady, trembling, despite the aggression behind them. It was a contradiction, one that didn’t go unnoticed.

Chance’s mind was racing, thoughts tumbling over one another in a frantic attempt to make sense of what was happening, but logic was slipping through his grasp like sand through open fingers.

Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he bit down. A sharp, precise movement, his teeth sinking just slightly into 1x1’s bottom lip, enough to send a jolt through the other man’s body. The response was immediate, a low, ragged groan tore from 1x1’s throat, something primal and unexpected. His grip on Chance’s shirt tightened, his entire body stiffening for just a fraction of a second before he pushed in even closer, as if the space between them had become intolerable.

1x1’s eyes had fallen shut, lost in something unreadable, and Chance, despite himself, despite every alarm screaming in his mind, couldn’t look away. His gaze flickered over the sharp angles of the other man’s face, the furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted ever so slightly as if caught between hesitation and hunger.

Chance hesitated for just a moment, his breath coming in uneven waves, before his instincts took over once more. His hand moved before his thoughts could catch up, fingers sliding upward, threading through the back of 1x1’s hair. The strands were softer than he expected, his fingers tangling into them as he pulled the other man in, deepening the kiss with an almost lazy ease.

1x1 whimpered.

The sound was quiet, barely there, but unmistakable.

And that, of all things, made something curl inside of Chance, something dangerous.

This was new.

This was unexpected.

1x1, who had moments ago been nothing short of a force of nature, an unstoppable presence, now felt vulnerable.

Chance exhaled through his nose, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He hadn’t expected this kind of reaction, hadn’t anticipated the shift in dynamic, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip away.

Slowly and calculated, he pulled back, his breath fanning against the other’s lips as he took in the sight before him. 1x1’s expression was something to behold. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with something unreadable, his breath coming in quiet, uneven pants. His grip on Chance’s shirt remained firm, fingers still curled into the fabric as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Chance took his time, letting the moment stretch between them, watching as 1x1 seemed caught between regaining composure and losing himself entirely. “Let’s work out a deal, yeah?”

His voice was smooth, teasing, laced with the barest hint of amusement, but beneath it, there was calculation. He wasn’t just talking to fill the silence, he was testing, prodding, watching for reactions.

1x1 blinked, as if he was only just now processing the words.

Chance tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. “You want something, don’t you?” He let his voice drop just a fraction, just enough to keep 1x1 hooked. “So how about this—you treat me a lil’, and in return, you let me walk away. Seems fair, doesn’t it?”

There was no immediate response, but the hesitation that flickered across 1x1’s face told Chance everything he needed to know.

He had him.

1x1’s grip on his shirt remained, but there was an uncertainty now, a flicker of hesitation that hadn’t been there before. The man who had once been so resolute, so unwavering, now seemed caught in a moment of indecision, as if part of him was resisting something unseen.

1x1’s expression was unreadable, his sharp gaze now slightly unfocused, as though his mind was still catching up with his actions. His breaths came in shallow, uneven waves, the rise and fall of his chest betraying a conflict within him that Chance couldn’t quite decipher.

For a man who had held the upper hand mere moments ago, 1x1 suddenly looked lost, as if something had shifted in the very foundation of his being.

Chance watched, his own breath steadying, though his body remained tense, caught somewhere between anticipation and apprehension. His fingers twitched at his sides, hands brushing against the fabric of his suit, but he made no move to stop what was happening.

Then, as if spurred by some unspoken urgency, 1x1 moved. His hands, previously gripping at Chance’s shirt with an almost desperate force, fell lower, reaching with an uncertain, almost hesitant touch. His fingers brushed against the black leather of Chance’s belt, fumbling slightly, his movements lacking the same calculated precision he had displayed before. It was a subtle thing, barely noticeable, really, but to Chance, it was everything.

The buckle of his belt came undone with a quiet, metallic clink, the sound barely audible over the ambient noise of the night. The leather strap loosened under 1x1’s touch, slipping free with an ease that felt almost ceremonial, almost deliberate. Chance exhaled slowly, eyes locked onto the figure in front of him, his mind racing through a dozen different possibilities, none of them quite making sense.

Then, without a word, 1x1 lowered himself further. His knees bent, the weight of his body shifting as he sank down onto the damp earth below. The grass cushioned his descent, softening the impact, though the moment itself felt anything but gentle. There was something raw about it, something heavy that pressed into the space between them, thickening the air with a tension neither of them dared to acknowledge.

For the briefest of moments, 1x1 hesitated. His fingers hovered, barely grazing the fabric beneath them, as if caught in some silent battle between impulse and restraint. His gaze flickered upward, searching for something in Chance’s expression, permission, perhaps, or maybe understanding.

Chance remained still, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something more thoughtful, more measured. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The quiet sound of a zipper being undone broke the silence, subtle yet deafening in the stillness of the night. The way the other man’s fingers flexed as if unsure of themselves, the way his eyes darted, conflicted, his jaw tightening as though he was trying to steady himself. It was fascinating, really, watching someone so composed, so controlled, suddenly come undone at the seams.

With a single swift movement, 1x1 reached out, pulling down Chance’s waistband until his pants and boxers slumped loosely around his knees, the fabric rustling softly against his skin. The gambler’s body tensed for only a brief moment before relaxing, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. 1x1’s eyes held an unfocused haze, as if he had momentarily lost himself to the moment.

Leaning forward, 1x1 slowly extended his hand, fingers brushing against the warm surface of Chance’s cock that had sprung up moments prior. A thin bead of pre dripped came out from the slit, the warmth of his fingertips wrapping around the length as he lifted it toward his lips. He allowed the tip to hover just in front of his slightly parted mouth, watching as the single droplet of fluid slid down the side, leaving behind a glistening trail before falling onto his waiting tongue.

Chance tilted his head back, his lips parting in a slow exhale as 1x1 finally wrapped his mouth around his dick. 1x1 took it in halfway at first, letting the warmth seep into his mouth, the heat spreading down to his own crotch. Chance’s cock was slick with both pre-cum, and the own wetness of 1x1’s mouth, and as the man below adjusted, the salty taste of his fluids coated his tongue.

Chance’s fingers, which had been hanging limply at his sides, suddenly moved with a newfound purpose, sliding up to the back of 1x1’s head. His grip was firm, fingers tangling in the strands of his neatly tied ponytail, curling just enough to keep him in place. The sudden contact sent a shiver down 1x1’s spine.

Without warning, Chance applied pressure, guiding him further down until the entire length of his cock disappeared between the other’s lips. 1x1’s mouth burned now, a sharp sting as the sides of his mouth were stretched out from the length. Chance’s dick spilt a bit of cum down the back of his throat, and he had no choice but to swallow, the bitterness intensifying as it slid down.

Chance pulled him back for only a brief moment before pressing him forward once again, repeating the motion with a slow, deliberate rhythm. His grip in 1x1’s hair tightened, the tension evident in the way his fingers curled possessively, ensuring there was no retreat. Each time he was forced down, the feeling of being used sent jolts of sensation through 1x1’s body, small whimpers coming from deep within him.

The way 1x1 looked in that moment was striking. His cheeks were flushed a soft pink, the result of the growing heat spreading through his body. His eyes fluttered closed, his lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks as he focused on the overwhelming sensations overtaking him. His lips, now glossy with a mixture of pre-cum and his own saliva, stretched around Chance’s cock as he was pushed forward once again.

Chance’s breath hitched, his smirk widening as he took in the sight before him. “You look so damn eager,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl, eyes locked onto 1x1’s face. “Savoring every bit like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

1x1 let out a shaky exhale around his length, his fingers tightening against Chance’s waist as if grounding himself. His entire focus was consumed by the sensation, the burn against his mouth, the sticky liquid coating his lips, the firm grip in his hair that left no room for hesitation.

Chance continued his slow, teasing pace, watching with keen interest as each movement of his dick in and out of 1x1’s mouth sent more cum trickling down, slipping past the corner of the other’s lips, gathering at his chin before dripping onto the ground below. The sight alone was mesmerizing.

“Look at you,” Chance mused, his voice laced with amusement. “You’re making a mess.”

His tone was taunting, but there was something else beneath it, something darker, something satisfied. He pressed his thumb to the corner of 1x1’s lips, wiping away a stray droplet before bringing his thumb to his own mouth, licking away his own fluid with a deliberate slowness.

As if spurred on by the sight, 1x1 adjusted his grip, his hands trembling slightly as he steadied himself. He hollowed his cheeks slightly, allowing his dick to slide in deeper, the pleasure more intense than before. The sensation was almost overwhelming to Chance now, his own fingers beginning to tremble.

Chance’s breathing grew heavier, the intensity of the moment sinking in. His grip in 1x1’s hair tightened once more as he pulled him in for a final deep stroke, ensuring that his cock was taken in entirely, his cum shooting out in hot ropes and spilling into 1x1’s mouth.

With a slow, satisfied hum, Chance finally released his hold, allowing 1x1 to pull back. His lips parted with a soft ‘pop’ as Chance’s dick left his mouth. His tongue flicked out instinctively, catching the last traces of cum lingering on his lips before he swallowed every ounce of fluid in his mouth.

Chance’s smirk deepened as he took in the sight before him, 1x1, breathless, dazed, his lips slightly swollen, cheeks still flushed with warmth. Without a word, Chance reached down, adjusting his belt, pulling his pants back into place as he stepped back, his expression one of quiet amusement.

1x1, still recovering from the intensity of the moment, leaned back against the wooden wall next to Chance, his body lax, his breath coming in slow, measured puffs. He blinked up at Chance through lidded eyes, the aftershock of sensation still evident in his posture.

Chance took one last lingering glance before turning on his heel, walking away without another word, leaving behind nothing but the lingering scent of sweat.

Maybe, he should use kissing as a tactic more often.

Notes:

if any of u guys read my other stuff then expect a new chapter of Emergency and prob a domestic fluffy sickfic for 1xdoe where john gets sick or soemthing idk sometime later as those r prob gonna be what i start next before starting another request 🆙⬆️

if yall got any tags pls lmk bc i lowkey blanked out and couldnt come up with tags

Chapter 3: idk like 1x tied up and submissive with john or something help

Notes:

"VERDANT_ASCENT" -

a 1xdoe fic. i prefer betrayed 1x but you can whichever version of them you'd like. perhaps one where john is topping. you may give 1x any genitalia you prefer but i think it'd be fun to give them both. maybe rough sex, with a bit of breeding, marking, etc. if you desire, perhaps it is after 1x kills a bunch of survivors, and john (stupid animal.) doesn't like smelling others on 1x, and gets jealous. also bonus if you tie up 1x. i think that'd be fun.

--
does use betrayed and he gets tied up with both reproductive organs wow, basically tried to keep this similar to the request

never wrote breeding before or rlly read it so idk if this is how it goes ngl

~4k words i think

When 1x1 finally arrived back home, the heavy door creaked open with a groan, its hinges protesting under the strain of years of wear. A yawn escaped him, long and unrestrained, the exhaustion etched deep into every part of his being. His body felt grotesque, slick and sticky beneath layers of dried blood that clung stubbornly to his skin like a second, unwanted layer. The faint metallic tang of it filled his nostrils. His muscles ached from the relentless pace of the day, the aftermath of “dealing with” around eight survivors weighing on him not just physically but mentally as well.

Though he had tried earlier to rid himself of the worst of the filth, the task had proven difficult. The chains coiled around his body like an unforgiving serpent, their cold, unyielding links slick with blood, making every movement feel heavier, more burdensome. His hair wasn’t spared either, strands stiff and matted where crimson had soaked through, dried into dark, brittle patches that tugged uncomfortably against his scalp with every slight turn of his head.

Dragging his weary feet across the creaking floorboards, 1x1 made his way toward the bedroom, his mind set on nothing more than washing away the grime that clung to him like a curse. He half expected to cross paths with John somewhere in the dim corridors of their shared space. The faint echoes of silence, however, greeted him instead, an emptiness that felt both hollow and strangely oppressive. Still, he paid it little mind, assuming John had gone out without leaving any sign of his departure, as he was prone to do.

Reaching the bedroom, 1x1 shrugged off his bandana with a careless flick of his hand. The fabric, saturated with sweat and blood, fell to the floor with an unsettlingly wet splat, leaving behind faint streaks of red on the floorboards. His crown followed soon after, and he placed it on the nearby nightstand with a soft clink, the sound resonating in the stillness of the room. Fingers threaded through his tangled hair, trying to soothe the discomfort where blood had dried and pulled at his scalp, but the sensation only hurt.

Then came a sound, subtle yet distinct, the soft, rhythmic cadence of footsteps, their echoes growing louder as they approached. 1x1’s head turned instinctively toward the doorway, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. There stood John, his presence framed by the dim light that spilled faintly into the room from the hallway beyond. Perhaps he had never left after all, merely lurking elsewhere in the house, his presence unnoticed until now.

John’s expression shifted as he crossed the threshold, his features darkening with something that wasn’t quite anger but something equally fierce. His movements were deliberate, purposeful, as he closed the distance between them. Without a word, his hands found their way around 1x1’s body, the grip firm yet filled with an undercurrent of tension. There was an edge to his touch, possessive, protective, something that hummed just beneath the surface.

1x1’s gaze remained steady, observing the subtle changes in John’s demeanor. His eyes, usually so composed, now flickered with something wild, his pupils dilated as they roamed over the bloodstained canvas of 1x1’s skin. John’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around him, the faint tremor in his breath betraying the storm that brewed within.

“Those disgraces…” John’s voice was low, gravelly, tinged with something darker than jealousy. His head dipped, breath warm as it ghosted along the curve of 1x1’s neck. “They aren’t worthy enough to be slain by your hand. They aren’t even worthy enough to be gazed upon by your eyes…” His words dripped with venom, yet his touch remained reverent, as if torn between wrath and worship. “Yet here you are, carrying around their blood… their scent… their damned scent.”

John’s face pressed closer, nuzzling into the space where neck met shoulder, his breath hot against 1x1’s cool skin. 1x1’s arms rose almost instinctively, wrapping around John’s back, fingers splaying across the tense muscles there. His breath hitched, not out of fear, but from the electric pulse that John’s presence always seemed to ignite within him.

John’s corruption had always been like a shadow trailing close behind (figuratively and literally at times), warping his emotions into something raw, untamed. It made him act strangely, as if the normal rules of attachment and affection had been twisted into a form more primal. Jealousy burned bright within him, sharp and consuming, as it did now.

A sharp inhale was all 1x1 managed before John’s teeth found his skin, a quick, precise bite that broke through with ease. Pain flared first, sharp and stinging, followed by the warmth of fresh blood trickling from the wound. John’s hands slid lower, resting possessively at 1x1’s waist as he pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lap at the crimson that welled from the puncture marks.

1x1 let out a shuddered sigh, his fingers tightening briefly against John’s back as he tilted his head to meet his lover’s darkened gaze. “John…” His voice was soft, laced with something between admonishment and longing.

John’s lips curled into a faint smile, though his eyes remained shadowed. “I’ll make it known,” he whispered, his voice a low growl, rough with emotion. “If any of their pathetic eyes dare gaze upon you, they’ll know you belong to me. To me and me alone.” His hand rose, fingers threading into 1x1’s hair, pulling gently but firmly, tipping his head just enough to expose more of his jawline.

John’s words sent a warmth crawling up 1x1’s neck, a telltale flush dusting his cheeks as he tilted his head even more, granting John better access than what he had before. The man took advantage of the offering, his lips trailing along 1x1’s jaw, pressing heated, lingering kisses into his skin.

Their movements carried them backward, the bed greeting them with soft resistance as John pressed him down into the sheets. The weight of his body atop 1x1’s was a familiar, grounding presence, warmth seeping between the layers of fabric still separating them. John’s lips wandered further, dotting fervent kisses over every inch of exposed skin he could reach, as though he were trying to map out 1x1’s entire being with the press of his mouth.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away. The shift in contact was abrupt, leaving the space where his body had been feeling oddly vacant. 1x1 blinked up at him, confused by the sudden retreat. He barely had time to process the absence before he felt a firm hand at his waist, guiding him to turn over. He complied, though confusion still danced in his expression, his lips slightly parted as though forming a question that never fully left his mouth.

Before he could voice it, he felt a soft but firm pressure around his wrists. John’s tie that he had seemingly taken off, smooth and silken, slid around his skin, drawing his hands together. The sensation was snug but not restrictive; if he wanted, he could easily break free. But he didn’t. He remained still, feeling the delicate pull of the knot as John secured it, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary as if gauging his reaction.

“…What are you doing?” 1x1 finally asked, his voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and something quieter, something unspoken. He glanced over his shoulder at John, watching as his lover’s hands moved to his pants, fingers curling around the fabric before tugging them down in one fluid motion.

“Trying something new.” John’s smirk was subtle but present as he replied, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he discarded the garment carelessly onto the floor. His fingers ghosted along the waistband of 1x1’s remaining underwear, a teasing touch that sent a shiver up his spine. Without another word, he slid them down as well, leaving them forgotten somewhere among the now growing pile on the floor.

Cool air met 1x1’s skin, eliciting an involuntary shudder. Instinctively, his legs began to draw inward, but John was quicker, his hand wrapping around one thigh, keeping it from closing. The sensation of cool metal brushed against his skin, his chains being taken off his torso and used for another purpose, its surface smooth yet unyielding as it coiled around his leg, encircling his thigh and shin in a deliberate pattern. Another length followed, mirroring the first, leaving both of his legs adorned in the same intricate entanglement.

1x1 barely had a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation before he felt another tug, this time at his neck. The chain had found its way there as well, snug but not suffocating, a mere suggestion of restraint rather than true captivity. A soft, accidental sound escaped his lips at a sudden pull, and John chuckled at the reaction, a deep, knowing hum reverberating from his chest. With slow, intentional movements, he looped the remaining lengths of chain in seemingly random patterns over 1x1’s form, as though decorating him with the cold, gleaming lines of silverish-black.

1x1 heard the sound of rustling fabric behind him, and he turned his head slightly, catching glimpses of movement as John undressed. Each article of clothing was removed with purpose, revealing more and more of his form. The shifting light played across his skin, casting faint shadows that accentuated the contours of his body. 1x1’s gaze traced the familiar lines, his red eyes lingering, admiring, but before his thoughts could fully form, a quick yank at his hair interrupted them.

His head was pulled upward, exposing the length of his neck. John’s breath was warm against his skin before his lips followed, pressing into the sensitive juncture between his neck and shoulder. A sharp nip followed, just like before, a teasing bite that made 1x1 gasp softly, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. John’s other hand trailed downward to tease 1x1’s clit, the warmth of his palm contrasting against the cool metal resting against 1x1’s skin. His fingers moved deliberately, tracing patterns along his nub, teasing touches that never lingered long enough to satisfy.

John pressed in closer, his chest flush against 1x1’s back, his presence consuming. His lips continued their journey, leaving behind marks adorning 1x1’s dark skin. The pressure of his bites grew, each one sinking a little deeper, as though he were trying to imprint himself into 1x1’s very being.

1x1 was only half-aware, lost in the haze of sensation, when something new disrupted their rhythm, a sudden, undeniable presence against his vulva. A sharp gasp tore through the quiet air, the sudden contrast of temperature sending a tremor through the 1x1’s very being. He quivered as something foreign pressed against his cunt again, something hot, firm, unyielding in its persistence. 

The tip of John’s dick lingered just at the edge, hovering, teasing, as though testing the resilience of the warm, sticky interior of the pussy in front of him, already soaking wet with pre-cum. Without warning, John pressed his cock downward harshly, the length meeting the tight wet heat of 1x1, his prostate practically being slammed into. 1x1’s breath stuttered, a startled noise catching in his throat as the muscular tube of his vagina gave way with resistance and clenched, his body shivering from the pressure.

His cunt, tight and wet, clung desperately to the hot, intruding surface, his walls stinging with the pain of being stretched. A fresh wave of slick trailed out of him, seeping onto the bed and coating the length of John’s dick, almost like a makeshift lube.

“F-Fuck—! Warn me first, damnit!” 1x1’s voice wavered, the mixture of shock and pleasure leaving him breathless. 

John only chuckled, his deep, knowing amusement vibrating through the still air. He remained silent, offering no words of reassurance, though his hand toying with 1x1’s nub sped up slightly, as if that was his response. John let go of his hair, opting to take hold of his waist instead.

1x1’s dick throbbed, his cunt loosening up slightly, surrendering to the previous intrusion and pleasure racking through his body. John’s hand moved over to 1x1’s cock, his body shuddering with every deliberate, lazy stroke made by the hand grasping it, a thumb idly swiping along his dick’s slit.

John’s smirk widened as he pulled out, the motion slow, torturous. A strand of sticky pre-cum stretched between them, reluctant to snap. 1x1’s pussy trembled, the sensation of withdrawal leaving an emptiness, a yearning for his cock to return as he subconsciously clenched around the air.

Then, suddenly, John snapped forward again, his cock sinking once more into the molten depths of 1x1. A strained, high-pitched moan left 1x1’s lips as the overwhelming sensation wracked through him, the thickness of John’s dick stretching him, burning his insides. It was intoxicating—the way John’s dick sent sharp tingles through him, the way he would feel slick attempting to flow out of him, only to be kept within due to the length plugging him. It was almost too much. Almost.

John leaned down, his breath a whisper against 1x1’s ear, his voice dark with amusement. “You take me so well,” he murmured, watching the way the 1x1 clenched around him, as though unwilling to let it go. “I’m going to fucking breed you… fill you up with my kids… make you all nice and pretty…”

Another slow, deliberate drag followed, and his dick withdrew once more, a faint squelch sounding as sticky fluid clung to it, thick ribbons stretching and breaking with the movement. The withdrawal was maddening, the loss of feeling whole, the momentary emptiness where warmth had once enveloped what now felt cold.

Another sharp, rough push sent his cock sinking even deeper than before, 1x1’s body trembling from the force. His cunt, now semi-stretched out, molded itself around John’s member, welcoming it in, holding it there, refusing to let go.

1x1 let out a trembling exhale, his body responding involuntarily as a pulse of slick dripped from him, his senses drowning in the overwhelming mix of heat. John watched with fascination as his cock bulged inside of 1x1, his length fully visible within his lover’s translucent stomach. Tiny rivulets of cum trailed down his dick, mixing, merging, becoming one with 1x1’s own cum below.

John adjusted his grip, angling his dick slightly before thrusting, strings cum connecting their body parts as John began setting a fast, rough pace. 1x1 shivered, his breath uneven, his body unable to do anything but surrender to the sensations overwhelming him. Every movement, every subtle shift sent another wave of heat rolling through him. John’s smirk deepened as he leaned closer, his fingers tracing the edge of 1x1's privates, watching as he trembled beneath his touch. “Look at you,” he murmured, admiration lacing his tone. “Taking me so, hnn…, fucking perfectly.”

A slow drag. Another rough, abusive thrust. The cycle continued, each movement drawing out pathetic moans from 1x1. His cunt, definitely bruised now, had fully accepted its fate, embracing John’s cock entirely. The once-firm walls now quivered with every press, pre-cum flowing freely between the two's body parts, staining the sheets below.

Hips slammed against his ass again, John’s dick planted inside of him pounding against his prostate relentlessly. “R-Right there—! Shit—!” 1x1 whined out needily, his head buried into the bed beneath him. The hand holding 1x1’s cock pumped lazily, 1x1’s hips desperately thrusting into the hand holding him for any sort of friction. 1x1 felt tears spilling from his eyes and trailing down his cheeks, but he couldn't help the way his cunt was being stretched around the dick piercing him. A mix of pre-cum from both parties dribbled from 1x1’s pussy everytime John pulled out of him, the fluids spilling onto the bed below them as the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed loudly across the room.

1x1 couldn't help but moan John’s name desperately as he was rammed into harshly, inches slamming into him and abusing his poor prostate as he helplessly cried from pleasure he was receiving. John moved the hand resting on his hip onto the chain around 1x1’s neck again, pulling it to hoist the head it was attached to upwards. John stared at the tear-streaked face that greeted him, leaning forward to plaster a kiss onto 1x1’s mouth needily, though it was sloppy and lust filled.

1x1 felt himself getting closer to his own orgasm, which was quicker than he would've liked to admit, and it seemed John noticed he was close too. He never pulled away from the kiss they shared, but his cock began to jackhammer into him, only getting faster as 1x1 groaned into his mouth pathetically. The cacophony of a squeeky creaking bed, the wet squish of fluids, the sound of skin against skin, and loud moans must've rung throughout their whole neighborhood at this point, and 1x1 hoped they wouldn't get any noise complaints later.

John broke their kiss, a string of saliva slinging across their lips before breaking. “Cum for me. Cum for me like the good bitch you are.” he demanded, his voice low and subductive in 1x1’s ear. Those words alone sent 1x1 embarrassingly over the edge, his body shuddering as thick ropes of cum shot out from his dick, spilling onto the bed below him, his own stomach, and John’s hand. He clenched around John’s cock once he came, cum flowing thickly out of his cunt as he slumped down onto the plush sheets, back arching as he was thrusted into.

1x1 would've moaned when he came, but his voice shot, a weak, strained, and downright pathetic sound coming out instead. His eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes dusting against his cheeks as John groaned behind him. “Fuck, your cunt is just begging to be, hnn…, fucking filled…” John started thrusting harder, faster, more desperate now. “Imagine your creator’s face, hahh…, seeing your belly full with my kids…"

He flipped 1x1 back over, his back flush against the bed now as the hand that gripped used to grip the chain around his neck moved to his chest, groping around and savoring him. He felt the gross, moist feeling of his cum pressing against his back, but he soon forgot about it as he looked down at his own stomach, watching as John’s cock slid in and out of him, a bulge evident on his stomach from the length harboring inside.

“Look at how your cute little pussy clenches onto me… Ghnn, fuckk—, you're so hot right now.” John groaned out, leaning down and biting onto one of 1x1’s nipples. 1x1 cried out, his hips bucking into John’s thrusts as John began sucking on his nub.

He looked at John’s leaned over body fucking into him, watching as his lower half moved back and forth, his hips stuttering slightly. His breath was hot against 1x1’s skin, his mouth now sucking along the length of his neck as he groaned needily, mumbling random things as his thrusts grew more sloppy and desperate. John leaned back up, staring lovingly at 1x1, his breath heavy as he captured 1x1’s lips once again in a kiss.

And then, with a final, deliberate push, his dick was fully nestled within the heart 1x1’s womb, searing hot cum spurting out in thick ropes and filling the man beneath him.

A deep, shuddering breath left 1x1’s lips, his body trembling with the aftershocks of sensation. John’s dick was now soft, and he pulled out gently, watching the way his cum flowed out of 1x1, letting out a soft, satisfied hum. “Perfect,” he murmured, trailing a finger along the where 1x1’s womb would be on his stomach.

John carefully undid the bindings around 1x1’s wrists and legs, the materials slipping away in slow, deliberate movements, leaving behind faint red imprints on his skin. As soon as the constraints were lifted, 1x1 flexed his fingers experimentally, rolling his wrists in slow circles before stretching his legs, savoring the relief of regained movement. The muscles in his limbs ached with a dull, satisfied soreness, a warmth lingering in his joints as he stretched out fully against the sheets.

Beside him, John exhaled a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding, his body growing heavy with exhaustion as he slumped down next to his lover. The bed dipped beneath their combined weight, the fabric beneath them crinkling softly in protest. Without hesitation, John reached out, pulling 1x1 into his embrace, his arms wrapping securely around his waist. The heat between them had yet to fade, skin still warm and tingling from every lingering touch.

John turned his head slightly, pressing a lingering, affectionate kiss to 1x1’s cheek, the touch light as a feather, yet brimming with quiet adoration. His lips barely brushed against the heated skin before he pulled away just enough to meet 1x1’s gaze. The dim light in the room softened the sharp angles of his face, casting gentle shadows that danced along his features.

1x1 responded by nestling closer, his head finding its rightful place beneath John’s chin, his breath steady and slow against his lover’s collarbone. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest signaled his descent into exhaustion, the tension in his body slowly unraveling as he surrendered to the comforting warmth of John’s hold.

John’s hands instinctively tightened around 1x1’s waist, fingers splayed across his back, pressing him closer than before, as if grounding himself in the reality of his presence. His thumb traced absentminded patterns along the marred skin, running over old scars and new bruises alike, mapping out the familiar terrain of 1x1’s body in a gesture that was both reverent and possessive.

A quiet chuckle escaped John’s lips before he spoke, his voice a low murmur in the hush of the room. “1x?” he called softly, his breath fanning over 1x1’s temple. There was a pause, a beat of hesitation, before he continued, the question leaving his lips in a near-whisper. “You’re still on the pill, right?”

1x1, too tired to form a full response, merely hummed an acknowledgment, the sound low and drowsy. “Mn.” His head tilted slightly in acceptance of the question, his eyes already fluttering closed as his body melted further into the embrace.

John exhaled, the tension in his shoulders unwinding as he pressed another light kiss to 1x1’s temple, lingering a fraction longer this time. His hands never ceased their movement, rubbing slow, soothing circles into the expanse of his lover’s back, tracing the lines of his spine with the care of someone memorizing every detail.

He sighed, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if speaking the words too loudly would break the quiet sanctity of the moment. “I love you…” The confession slipped past his lips effortlessly, unguarded and raw.

But there was no response.

1x1’s breathing had evened out completely, the slow, rhythmic cadence of his inhales and exhales signaling that he had already drifted into sleep. John let out a small, breathy laugh, not out of disappointment, but rather out of quiet amusement. He hadn’t expected a response anywaya, but there was a warmth that spread through his chest at the way 1x1 subconsciously burrowed closer, as if drawn toward him even in sleep.

For a long moment, John simply laid there, his own exhaustion creeping in as his eyes grew heavier. The silence in the room wrapped around them like a thick, comforting blanket, broken only by the faint sound of their synchronized breathing.

His hand smoothed up and down 1x1’s back one last time before he finally allowed himself to succumb to the pull of sleep, his grip around his lover never loosening.

Hopefully, their laundry wouldn’t be too much of a disaster in the morning.

Notes:

gonna do the other 1xdoe req next, i just saw this one first and wanted to write 1xdoe and ill try working in it maybe later tomorrow (for me) bc its currently like 1:30am and my eyes were closing writing the end of this and ima be busy

also a little but semi unrelated i have like a ton of comments in my inbox i gotta check bc i havent been on so sorry for not replying ill check when i wake up

Chapter 4: 1xdoe but theyre stupid idiots dating and in love

Notes:

“the_silly_one” -

1xdoe!!! yayy i love 1xdoe with all my heart.
SO!!!! firstly its gonna be established relationship (yaoi..... 🤤🤤🤤)
basically 1x1 visits john doe because something something yea they don't live together at the moment BUT do visit each other very frequently becausr they're DATING!!!!!
1x1 gets there they talk they cuddle they do something then things get 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎.... (freaky) aka they maybe start making out and uh oh they're having hot gay sex
wait i forgot to say 1x4 is top john is bottom

took a bit longer than i expected but ive been rlly busy in school sighh... im not sure what else to say, so hi, not my best work i kinda wrote 75% of this at 2 am this morning after randomly waking up

~5.1k words

1x1 sat cross-legged on his bed, a soft, worn towel in his hands as he meticulously worked at scrubbing the blade of one of his swords. The dim glow of his bedside lamp cast long shadows along the edges of the weapon, reflecting faint glimmers of light as he moved the cloth in slow, deliberate circles. The rhythmic motion was soothing, almost meditative, as he lost himself in the quiet task. His mind drifted, his focus blurring between reality and the familiar thoughts that often accompanied moments like this, memories, emotions, little things that made up his life.

A sudden vibration in his pocket shattered the calm, a buzzing sensation against his thigh that yanked him out of his trance. His hand stilled, his grip tightening on the hilt of the sword before he exhaled softly and set it aside with care. He wiped his hands on his pants before reaching into his pocket, retrieving his phone with practiced ease. His eyes flickered to the screen, scanning the unfamiliar number before the caller ID registered in his brain. John… John!

His heartbeat quickened, a slight flutter in his chest that had no real reason to exist other than the fact that it was John. Without hesitation, his thumb brushed against the green call button, and he lifted the phone to his ear, already bracing himself for the warmth that his boyfriend’s voice would bring.

John and 1x1 had been dating for a little while now, their relationship still somewhat fresh, yet steady enough to feel secure. They hadn’t gotten too far physically, mostly stolen kisses and makeout sessions that always left them breathless but never pushed past the invisible boundary of sex they hadn’t talked about yet. Still, none of that really mattered. 1x1 loved him, wholeheartedly and deeply, and he cherished every conversation they had. The frequent calls made the distance between them feel smaller, as if John were sitting beside him rather than miles away.

The second the line connected, John’s voice greeted him, bright and cheerful. “Hi!” His enthusiasm was contagious, and 1x1 found himself smiling before he could stop it. “What are you doing right now, precious?”

Heat immediately crept up 1x1’s neck, pooling in his cheeks at the unexpected pet name. He was immensely grateful that John couldn’t see his flustered expression. It seemed like every time they talked, John found a new way to make his heart race, a fresh name to call him that left him weak in the knees.

“You seem to call me something new every time we talk,” 1x1 murmured, trying to keep his voice steady. He absentmindedly uncrossed his legs, his feet now dangling off the edge of the bed, swinging slightly as if to dispel the nervous energy building inside him. “I’m not doing anything in particular, just polishing my swords. Why?”

There was a brief pause before John’s soft laughter filtered through the speaker, a sound so effortlessly sweet that it sent a dull ache through 1x1’s chest. He wished he could bottle it up, keep it with him, and replay it whenever he missed him.

“Well,” John started, his voice teasing, “I finally remembered to wash those clothes I borrowed from you a while ago—you know, the ones I swore I’d give back? Sooo… I was wondering if you’d like to come by, pick them up, and maybe… hang out for a bit?”

1x1’s brain short-circuited.

His thoughts turned into a tangled mess, tripping over themselves as he tried to process the invitation. It wasn’t like they hadn’t hung out before. In fact, they’d spent plenty of time together, but every single time John extended the offer, it still managed to send his mind spiraling into a warm, muddled haze. His stomach fluttered, a strange mix of excitement and nerves taking root as his body heated up in response. Though, the silence stretched just long enough for John to take notice.

“Hellooo?” John’s voice piped up again, a slight lilt of concern in his tone. “Did I lose connection…? Ughh… this damn internet…” He mumbled to himself, and 1x1 could almost picture him, probably frowning at his phone, brow furrowed in mild frustration.

Snapping himself out of his stupor, 1x1 cleared his throat, forcing himself to answer before John thought something was wrong. “I’ll get ready now and come over. I should be there in twenty.” His voice came out steadier than he expected, though the lingering warmth in his chest refused to fade.

There was a brief shuffling sound on the other end, the soft rustling of fabric, followed by a light thump—maybe John leaning against something. “Great! See you soon, love!” His voice was warm, carrying a hint of excitement that made 1x1’s stomach do another somersault.

1x1 hummed in response, a quiet yet affectionate sound. “Love you. See you soon.” The words left his lips effortlessly, but they still carried weight.

As soon as the call ended, he found himself gripping his phone tightly, a smile creeping onto his face as he swung his legs off the bed, already heading toward the bathroom. His mind raced ahead, thoughts of John filling every corner of his consciousness. He needed to get ready, to make himself look presentable, but all he could really focus on was the fact that soon, he’d be with John. And that thought alone made his heart soar.

/+/

1x1 arrived precisely one minute early to John’s house, his heart already picking up a steady rhythm in anticipation. The evening air was crisp, the sky painted in soft hues of twilight as he stepped onto the porch. He adjusted his hair slightly, a subconscious attempt to smooth out stray pieces before raising his hand and knocking three times against the wooden door, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet of the neighborhood.

A brief silence followed before the muffled noise of movement reached his ears—soft, hurried footsteps against the floor, the rustling of fabric, the unmistakable metallic click of a lock being undone. The door creaked open a second later, revealing John standing in the dim light of his hallway, his expression instantly shifting from neutral to warm the moment his eyes landed on 1x1.

For a second, neither of them spoke, merely looking at each other as if silently drinking in the sight. John’s lips curled into a gentle smile before, without hesitation, he reached out and took 1x1’s hand in his, his fingers naturally slipping between the spaces of his boyfriend’s like they had done a hundred times before. 1x1 glanced down at their intertwined hands, his pulse quickening at the simple yet intimate gesture.

Before he could say anything, John’s free hand came up, gently cupping the side of 1x1’s face and guiding his gaze back upward. Their eyes met again, this time closer, more intense. Then, without preamble, John leaned in and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to 1x1’s lips. It was barely more than a brush of warmth, but it sent a wave of heat rushing through 1x1’s chest.

John pulled back just as effortlessly as he had leaned in, his fingers slipping from 1x1’s jaw as he tugged him inside with their still-laced hands. The door shut behind them with a quiet click, followed by the familiar sound of the lock turning.

The house smelled faintly of vanilla, mixed with the lingering scent of freshly laundered clothes. The lighting inside was dim and warm, casting soft golden glows across the living room furniture. John led him further inside, not letting go of his hand as they moved toward the couch. He finally released him only when he sat down first, patting the space beside him in silent invitation.

1x1 followed without question, settling beside him and shrugging off his shoes, their shoulders barely brushing. The warmth of John’s presence was immediate, comforting in a way that made his nerves settle. He felt the absence of John’s hand when it left his, the other man placing it into his own lap as if hesitating over something.

Then, after a small pause, John finally spoke. “Do you mind if we cuddle?” His voice was soft, tinged with something that almost sounded like shyness. “I’ve missed you… a lot.”

1x1 blinked, taking in the sight of his boyfriend now avoiding his gaze, his head slightly tilted downward as though regretting the question.

A small smile tugged at 1x1’s lips. “I wouldn’t mind,” he replied, his voice gentle as he reached out and placed his hand atop John’s.

The tension melted from John’s shoulders almost instantly, his lips stretching into a relieved, almost bashful grin. Without wasting another second, 1x1 shifted his position, stretching out along the couch before John carefully climbed into 1x1’s lap. The moment he settled against him, John’s arms encircled his back, his hands pressing into the flesh of his body as he pulled him close.

1x1 exhaled, his head resting against John’s shoulder as his arms circled around his lover in return, feeling the steady rise and fall of his boyfriend’s breathing. The embrace was warm, familiar, the kind that made the world outside feel insignificant. John giggled, the soft sound vibrating against 1x1’s skin before he began pressing tiny kisses across his face—his cheeks, his temple, the bridge of his nose. The playful affection made 1x1’s breath hitch, his face heating up as his heart pounded in response.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” John teased, grinning as he continued his affectionate assault.

1x1 huffed in embarrassment but didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached up, fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind John’s ear. The action made John pause, his lips curling as he let out another soft chuckle. Their eyes locked, something unspoken passing between them before John leaned in again, this time capturing 1x1’s lips in another kiss. Unlike the first, this one lingered, a slow and deliberate melding of warmth and affection.

1x1 responded without hesitation, pressing back, deepening it just slightly. A small sigh escaped John, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed further into the moment. The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if neither of them wanted to pull away. John shifted slightly, pressing himself closer, molding into 1x1’s frame as their arms instinctively tightened around each other. A small, contented sigh escaped John, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes slipped shut.

1x1 felt his heartbeat quicken, a pleasant warmth settling deep in his chest as he reached up, his fingers instinctively finding their way to the back of John’s head. He let his hand weave through the soft strands of his boyfriend’s hair, tangling his fingers just slightly as he guided John even closer.

John responded instantly, his hold tightening, a barely audible sound escaping him—somewhere between a sigh and a quiet whimper. The sound sent a spark of warmth through 1x1’s body, his stomach twisting with something he couldn’t quite name. Their movements slowed, becoming more deliberate, more in sync. Every touch, every subtle shift, every tilt of their heads spoke volumes. John’s hands wandered, trailing along 1x1’s spine, fingers brushing against his back in a way that sent shivers across his skin.

As the kiss deepened, 1x1 instinctively nipped at John’s bottom lip gently, the sensation making John tense ever so slightly before relaxing again, his fingers gripping onto him just a bit tighter. 1x1 could feel the faint, rapid beat of John’s heart against his own, their breaths mingling between them, filling the small space that remained. Everything else—the rest of the world, the ticking clock in the distance, the dim glow of the lamps surrounding them—felt like background noise, insignificant compared to the moment they were sharing.

John tilted his head slightly, his body shifting closer as if drawn by some invisible force. The warmth of his presence, the way their fingers brushed over each other’s skin, the quiet hums of satisfaction they exchanged—it was intoxicating. 1x1 could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, the overwhelming fondness in his chest growing stronger with every second that passed. It wasn’t just the physical connection that made his heart race—it was everything about John. The way he held him so tenderly, the way he sighed into the kiss, the way he instinctively sought him out, as if being apart for too long felt unnatural.

Then, there was a shift—just a small one, a slight movement that made contact in a way neither of them had entirely anticipated. 1x1 felt something firm press against his stomach, a bulge, and his breath hitched, his entire body freezing in place for a fraction of a second. Their lips parted, and the warmth between them seemed to linger in the air, a single strand of something invisible stretching and breaking in the space that formed. A tense silence followed, the only sound in the room being their shallow breaths.

John’s face was already flushed, but now his entire expression twisted into something halfway between shock and mortification. His eyes darted away, as if he could somehow escape the moment if he just avoided 1x1’s gaze.

“John…” 1x1 spoke softly, his voice steady yet gentle, his eyes flickering downward at the tent in John’s pants for just a moment before returning to meet his boyfriend’s gaze.

John, however, was already unraveling. He swallowed thickly, his hands fumbling to adjust his shirt as he stammered out, “I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying to—” His voice was higher than usual, words tumbling over each other in his rush to explain. “This is my fault… I got carried away… I just— I love you a lot, and I—”

Before he could say another word, 1x1 silenced him in the most effective way he knew how. He shifted his weight, gently pushing John down so that he was lying beneath him on the couch. The action was fluid, careful, yet assertive. John barely had time to gasp before 1x1’s lips found his again, this time with more intention, more certainty.

John let out a quiet, surprised whine against his mouth, his fingers instinctively tightening their hold on 1x1’s back. The kiss was deep, lingering, but 1x1 pulled back just as quickly, hovering inches above him. His breath was warm against John’s lips as he whispered, “I love you too, but please, listen to me.”

John’s wide eyes searched 1x1’s face, his expression caught between curiosity and vulnerability. He was still flustered, his cheeks painted a soft pink, but he nodded, waiting for him to continue.

1x1 lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles against John’s cheek before cupping it fully, his thumb tracing soothing circles along his skin. “Nothing is your fault,” he said, his voice calm, reassuring. “It’s normal—it happens. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” His words were steady, careful, meant to ease the tension that had built between them.

John blinked up at him, his breathing evening out as he processed his boyfriend’s words. Slowly, his body relaxed, melting into the couch beneath him. After a moment, he gave a small nod, leaning into the warmth of 1x1’s palm.

1x1 smiled slightly at the gesture. “Now,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket, “Let me treat you, okay?”

John raised an eyebrow, still recovering from the previous moment. “What…?”

1x1 pulled back, his lips lingering near John’s for a fleeting moment before he finally sat up, his breath still warm against John’s skin. His hands briefly skimmed over John’s sides as he straightened himself, reaching down and tugging down his pants in a swift motion. John let out a small gasp as the cool air of his house hit his legs, his bulge straining against his underwear. 1x1 drew his fingers across his length before they hooked along his waistband, shoving them down as well. As 1x1 tossed the garments onto the floor, he moved to fish around in the pockets of his own pants, his fingers brushing against the fabric in search of something specific.

John, still catching his breath, wrapped his arms loosely around 1x1’s neck, his fingertips grazing his hair. He watched with curiosity as 1x1’s movements paused for a second before he finally retrieved a small, square packet, holding it up between them. The soft crinkle of plastic broke the silence, and John’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized what it was.

“…Really?” John raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he eyed the condom resting against his fingers. “Do you always carry around condoms with you?”

1x1 smirked, nonchalantly placing the protective wrapper on John’s leg as he shifted to remove his own pants, throwing them onto the floor soon after. “What?” he mused, his voice laced with amusement. “You never know when you might need one.”

John let out an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms as he watched 1x1 toss his clothes onto the floor. “Okay, but how long have you even had that in your pocket?”

1x1 hummed in thought, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, one of his hands moving between John’s legs to spread them apart. “Not sure. But it has a purpose now, doesn’t it?”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Right. Because this was definitely part of your plan.”

1x1 chuckled, plucking the condom from John’s thigh with deliberate ease. He held it between his fingers and began carefully tearing it open, the sound of the plastic splitting apart filling the room. John watched as 1x1 retrieved the balloon-esque circle inside and groaned, covering his face with his hands. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” 1x1 teased, beginning to roll the condom around his dick, “you love me anyway.”

John peeked at him through his fingers, a knowing look flashing across his face. “Debatable.”

1x1 casually spit into his hand, his palm going down up and down along his cock as he lubed himself. The chill sent a sharp sensation through his body, though when he glanced over at John who had a weird expression, he stopped in his tracks.

John visibly shuddered. “Oh my God, why would you do that?”

1x1 tilted his head in confusion. “Do what?”

“You’re using spit!” John gestured wildly, as if that explained everything. “And now you’re just gonna— I don’t know— put it in me?”

1x1 raised an amused eyebrow. “John, you do realize that you’ve already had my saliva all over you just from kissing alone, right?” He gave a small chuckle, a hand gripping onto John’s waist. “This is hardly any different, plus I doubt you have any sort of lube, do you? Unless you have olive oil in your kitchen.”

John’s face contorted as if he were experiencing an internal crisis. “…You’re so gross.”

1x1 only laughed, leaning down to plant a small, affectionate kiss on John’s cheek. “Sorry, dear,” he murmured against his skin, his voice dripping with amusement. John huffed, pouting slightly despite the warmth creeping up his neck.

The air between them felt thick with anticipation, a warmth spreading through John’s body as 1x1 leaned down, placing a small, lingering kiss against his jaw. The tenderness of the touch sent a shiver through John’s frame, his breath catching slightly as he felt 1x1’s hand brush against his skin. John stared at how 1x1’s dick seemed to gleam in the dim light, a small bead of pre-cum at the tip of the condom. His gaze flickered between his length and 1x1’s expression, which remained calm, focused, almost teasing, watching as 1x1 moved carefully, making sure his cock was lined up, glancing back at him with an affectionate expression.

“I never asked,” 1x1 murmured, voice low and smooth, “You’re fine with doing this, right?”

John swallowed, suddenly feeling warm despite the cool air nipping at his skin. “Mhm… I trust you.”

1x1 chuckled softly, bringing a reassuring hand to John’s side. “Relax,” he whispered. “I promise you’ll like it.”

With that, he carefully guided his dick forward, his tip gliding along the tight ring of muscle of his boyfriend's ass. John inhaled deeply, his body tingling with anticipation as 1x1’s cock was gently pressed against his hole’s surface. As 1x1 pushed inside of him carefully, he gasped slightly, his body reacting instinctively to the burning sensation of being stretched out. His walls clenched around 1x1 under the pressure, tightening just enough to cradle his dick in his heat. 1x1 watched him closely, a small smile playing on his lips. “See?” he murmured. “Not so bad, is it?”

John, breath slightly uneven, shook his head. “No… it’s just…” He trailed off, feeling the way the warmth of his cock seemed to mold itself nicely inside of him. 1x1 took his time, slowly pressing himself deeper into John’s ass, watching as sticky fluid dripped from John’s cock and onto his vest. Pre-cum glistened as it streamed slowly from his slit the more 1x1 went further in, the base of his dick twitching slightly.

John let out a quiet moan, his fingers curling into the couch beneath him as 1x1 finally buried his cock fully inside his hole, his ass feeling stuffed as he tried to get accommodated to the length. His breath hitched slightly at the feeling of soft kisses being planted littered his face, John’s legs wrapping around 1x1’s waist. 1x1 waited for John to adjust, his hand brushing soothing circles against his side. “Do you want me to start moving?” he asked, his voice gentle, considerate.

John hesitated only briefly before nodding, his lips parting slightly as he murmured, “Yeah… I think I’m ready.”

1x1 slowly withdrew, leaving just the very tip of his dick resting against the warm, inviting surface of his hole. He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting upward to admire John, whose face was painted with a blend of pleasure and expectation. The way John’s chest rose and fell with each breath, the slight parting of his lips, the almost imperceptible shiver that ran through his body, it was a sight that sent a warm satisfaction coursing through 1x1.

A slow smile formed on 1x1’s lips as he moved his free hand, to gently start stroking John’s dick. The faintest quiver of his fingers betrayed his excitement as he gently eased his length forward again, letting it sink back into the soft, yielding heat of his ass. His walls welcomed his cock, giving way under the pressure and molding around it as if it had been waiting for this moment.

John let out a quiet sound, something between a gasp and a moan, his hands gripping the edge of the couch for support. A deep warmth spread through his gut, both from the sensation and the way 1x1 was looking at him, like he was the most exquisite person ever created. The tenderness in 1x1’s movements made every second stretch into eternity, drawing out every sensation, every subtle shift, every moment where he had adjusted to accommodate the slow, deliberate movement of his dick.

Leaning down, 1x1 pressed his lips against John’s, the kiss lingering, their breaths mingling as he whispered against his mouth, “You’re absolutely breathtaking…” His voice was low, reverent, as though he couldn’t quite believe the perfection before him.

John’s face flushed a deeper shade, his breath hitching as a gentle press of his dick scraping across his sweet spot sent shivers through him. 1x1 continued his careful movements, adjusting his grip to hold onto John’s waist. His fingers pressed just a little firmer against John’s skin, angling his body ever so slightly to ensure his dick caressed just the right spot within him.

John’s hands clenched, his knuckles white. He couldn’t help but react, his body responded instinctively, the warmth in his core growing, his breaths becoming uneven. He had tried to hold back, to savor this as long as possible, but the way 1x1 handled him—made restraint nearly impossible.

1x1 noticed the subtle shifts in John’s body, the way his fingers twitched, the way his breath caught in his throat, and he adjusted his movements accordingly. A sharper intake of breath from John told him he had found the perfect rhythm, the perfect depth, and he committed it to memory, repeating the motion with just enough variation to keep things unpredictable.

His walls were tight around him, clenching him as if 1x1 was his lifeline. The sensation of being thrusted into sent shivers through John’s body, his head tilting back slightly as he let out a soft moan of pleasure. 1x1 watched him with admiration, his fingers tightening slightly against John’s side as he continued his cock meeting against John’s skin with every thrust forward, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing quietly throughout the living room. 

John felt warmth flooding through him, his body trembling slightly from the sheer indulgence of the moment. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, and his fingers twitched, grasping at nothing as he let himself get lost in the experience. 1x1’s pace gradually increased, his movements becoming a little more fluid, a little more confident. His cock sank deeper into John, disappearing into its warm, tight, depths, making John let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” 1x1 murmured against his skin. John could only nod, his voice caught in his throat.

John felt himself teetering on the edge, his mind clouded with the overwhelming sensation of being filled so perfectly, so deliberately. He bit his lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape him, but he was losing the battle. The pleasure was too much, the pressure too great. His body shuddered, a warmth blooming from deep within, and before he could stop it, he let go.

A soft, broken moan left him as a harsh sensation of pleasure washed over him, thick ropes of cum coating his vest in a sticky, undeniable display of his satisfaction. His chest heaved as he tried to regain control, his body still trembling from the aftershocks. That sight alone was enough to push 1x1 over the edge as well. His breath hitched, his grip on John's plush skin tightening as he gave one final, deep push, sinking his cock as far into John’s ass as he could go. His own release came moments later, the culmination of all the tension and pleasure, his body momentarily still as he let it wash over him.

For a few lingering moments, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their uneven breaths. Finally, 1x1 withdrew his, now soft, dick with a satisfied sigh, taking off and tossing the now filled condom beside his discarded clothing. He reached out, gently brushing a few strands of damp hair away from John’s forehead, his touch soft, affectionate.

John looked up at him, his expression hazy but content, a lazy smile curling at his lips. “That was…” he trailed off, words failing him, but the look in his eyes said enough.

1x1 chuckled softly, leaning in to press another lingering kiss against John’s lips, savoring the warmth, the closeness, the undeniable intimacy of the moment. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction and an understanding of John’s unspoken words. “It really was.”

1x1 let out a quiet, shaky breath as his body gave in to the weight of exhaustion and emotion, slumping down beside John with a slow, deliberate motion, as though every fiber of his being longed to be near him. Without hesitation, he slid closer, their bodies now inches apart, before wrapping John in a tight, unwavering embrace, as if holding him any less firmly might cause him to slip away. His arms encircled John with a tenderness that contrasted the intensity of his grip.

John, feeling the warmth of 1x1’s touch seep into his very core, shifted instinctively. He adjusted his position with a soft rustle of fabric and a gentle sigh, turning onto his side so their faces were now mere breaths apart. His legs, once loosely draped over 1x1’s waist, now carefully untangled, allowing him to curl more intimately into the embrace. His arms, trembling ever so slightly from the depth of his emotions, slid around 1x1’s torso, pulling him closer with a quiet, unspoken plea for this moment to never end.

The air between them felt thick with unspoken words, yet none were necessary. John’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath still uneven from the whirlwind of feelings surging through him. He tucked his head into the crook of 1x1’s neck, his forehead pressing gently against the soft skin there. The faint, steady beat of 1x1’s heart thrummed beneath his cheek, grounding him, anchoring him in a reality that, in this moment, felt too perfect to be true. His lips, barely brushing against 1x1’s collarbone, parted to whisper words that trembled with sincerity.

“I love you so much…” he breathed, the words fragile yet filled with a depth of emotion that could scarcely be contained. Each syllable hung in the air, a quiet confession that resonated through every fiber of his being.

He felt, almost immediately, the subtle shift as 1x1’s grip tightened around him. Arms that were already secure now clutched him even closer, as if the mere thought of space between them was unbearable. The warmth of 1x1’s body enveloped John entirely, a protective cocoon that promised safety, comfort, and above all, love.

“I love you too…” 1x1 whispered in return, his voice low and tender, yet unshakable in its certainty. The words were not merely a response but a vow, an unspoken promise that echoed louder than any declaration ever could.

A soft kiss, delicate and fleeting yet infinitely meaningful, was placed on John’s forehead. The touch lingered, leaving behind a warmth that spread through him like the first rays of sunlight after a long, cold night. In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The chaos, the noise, the endless demands of life—all of it faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the quiet, shared heartbeat between them, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, and the unspoken understanding that neither needed anything more than this.

Both would willingly give up the world to be with the other. They would face any challenge, conquer any fear, and endure any hardship, as long as it meant they could remain by each other’s side. But right now, in this fragile, fleeting moment, there was no need for sacrifice. There was no need for grand gestures or monumental declarations.

Because right now, in the quiet stillness of their embrace, they were exactly where they belonged, together.

Notes:

thinking abt doing the doublefedora or coinrush/paycheck req. next (finally no 1x!! /j) will be worked on later since ima be super busy this weekend and kinda wanna make some valentines fics (but i doubt that will happen)

Chapter 5: tmasc chance gets obliterated by mafioso

Notes:

edit: fixed impossible anatomy issues involving the female genitalia. i apologize for messing up as i kinda pick up on keywords used in other nsfw works, and got confused with some stuff. it might still be a bit wonky as i didnt fully read it again, lmk if theres any issues

took long whatever sorry not too paying atention to these... itd 2 am and i desperately need sleep
massive coincidence but a friend of mine just came out as transmasc officially like 2 minutes ago so uhm if ur maybe here bc u stalk my works rhen i guess i will have to start calling u papas instead of mamas king...

"LADY_JESUS” -

i have a small request for doublefedora... my beloveds <3
mafioso comes home after a very rough day at work and he lowkey wants to fuck to let his anger out but chance is too kind and oblivious ... he doesn't really realize what mafioso wants he just welcomes him home and is happy to see him .... eventually they end up in bed, cuddling and mafioso can't help but rut against chances body ,,, it turns into dry humping and eventually they fuck but like. rough. really rough. because mafioso is letting out all of his anger from throughout the day but chance is EATING it up. probably some blood if you'd like. OH AND trans chance w top surgery but no bottom surgery :3

4.5k words // tmasc chance w/ top surgery + female genitalia

The night air was thick with the scent of city life—smoke, rain-damp pavement, and the faint lingering odor of blood that clung stubbornly to Mafioso’s suit. Killing people all day was exhausting, but dealing with the aftermath was somehow worse. His body ached from the numerous stuns he had endured, his nerves still frayed from the fights that had gone on longer than they should have, bruises hidden beneath the crisp, tailored layers of his clothing.

As he reached the front door of his shared home, he exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension. The knob turned beneath his hand with an ease that contrasted sharply with the day he had just endured, and with a quiet click, he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. The familiar scent of home—subtle cologne, faint traces of coffee, and something unmistakably Chance—welcomed him like a soothing balm, though it did little to temper the fire burning inside him.

His eyes landed on Chance, comfortably lounging on the couch in the dimly lit living room. The warm glow of a nearby lamp cast long shadows across the space, flickering faintly against the lenses of Chance’s ever-present sunglasses. Though his eyes were hidden, Mafioso could feel the weight of his gaze on him—sharp, knowing, expectant. There was something in the tilt of his head, the way his lips curled into that signature smirk, that made it clear he had noticed the tension rolling off Mafioso in waves.

Chance, dressed down in a loose-fitted shirt and shorts, looked utterly at ease, a stark contrast to the blood-stained chaos Mafioso had just come from, and well, the black suit he wore everyday. His usual accessories, his limited hat and headphones, were absent, but the sunglasses remained, even in the low lighting. It was so casually and effortlessly him, and something about it made Mafioso’s frustration spike in an entirely different direction.

He needed relief. Desperately.

And Chance was the perfect answer.

The sight of him alone was enough to stir something deep within him, something dark and possessive, something that had been building up all day, clawing at the edges of his restraint.

That damned smirk playing on his lips, teasing, taunting—practically begging to be wiped away, replaced with something else, something breathless, something wrecked. The way he looked at him, even with his eyes obscured, sent a rush of heat through Mafioso’s veins. God, he needed him so badly…

Chance, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of just how deep the hunger ran through his lover at that moment, unknown to the turmoil he caused the other. His heart lifted at the sight of Mafioso standing in the doorway, finally home. He had been waiting for him, missing him, and it showed in the way he immediately took off his glasses, setting them off to the side as he hopped up from the couch, practically bouncing toward Mafioso, his excitement barely restrained.

As soon as he was close enough, Mafioso wasted no time, and before Chance could speak, Mafioso closed the distance between them, gripping the gambler by the waist and pulling him flush against his body. Their lips crashed together in a heated kiss, raw and unrestrained. Chance let out a small noise of surprise but quickly melted into it, his hands instinctively finding their way to the back of Mafioso’s neck, fingers weaving into his thick, slightly disheveled hair. The sudden intensity of the kiss caught him off guard, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Mafioso nipped at Chance’s bottom lip, a sharp little bite that made the gambler gasp slightly before pulling back with a smirk. He placed one of his palms against Mafioso’s chest, gently pushing him back just enough to put a sliver of space between them. “Woahh, happy to see me, huh?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement. “I know I’m good lookin’, but I didn’t think you’d be this all over me.”

Mafioso didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along Chance’s neck, the warmth of his breath ghosting over his skin. The hand at Chance’s waist tightened slightly, anchoring him in place. Chance’s fingers traced absentmindedly over the nape of Mafioso’s neck, twirling a strand of his hair between them before shifting his other hand at his chest to cup his jaw, tilting his head up just enough for their eyes to meet.

Chance’s smirk softened slightly as he leaned in, placing a chaste, almost teasing kiss on Mafioso’s lips before pulling away just as quickly. “Let’s go cuddle, hm?” he murmured, voice dipping into something softer, more affectionate. “That’ll make you less clingy, won’t it?”

Mafioso’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded without hesitation. He wasn’t about to argue—not when he was this tense, and Chance was offering him exactly what he needed.

Their fingers intertwined as Chance led him through the quiet home toward their bedroom. The air was cooler here, the faint scent of Chance’s cologne lingering on the sheets. The moment they stepped inside, Chance released Mafioso’s hand and turned to him, making quick work of peeling off his suit jacket. Mafioso watched in silence, his gaze following the graceful movements of Chance’s hands as he reached for his tie next, loosening the fabric before setting it aside neatly at the foot of the bed.

“Take your shoes off and get cozy,” Chance instructed, glancing at Mafioso with an easygoing grin. “It’s not like you’re out serving your dear princess anymore.”

Mafioso let out a quiet exhale, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He slipped off his leather shoes, setting them neatly beside the door before removing his hat, running a hand through his slightly tousled hair as he moved toward the bed. Chance had already climbed under the sheets, watching him with a lazy, expectant expression.

The soft rustling of fabric accompanied his movements as he lifted the blanket and slid in literally behind Chance, the warmth of the other man instantly seeping into his skin. With a slow, deliberate motion, he draped an arm around Chance’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against each other. Chance let out a soft sigh at the contact, the corners of his lips quirking into a faint smile as Mafioso nestled against him, his face pressing into the crook of his neck. The warmth of his breath ghosted over Chance’s skin, each exhale carrying the faintest hint of the cigars he’d been smoking earlier.

Chance reached down, lacing his fingers through Mafioso’s where they rested against his stomach, giving them a small, reassuring squeeze. “Rough day?” he murmured.

Mafioso let out a low hum of agreement, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of Chance’s shoulder.

Chance tilted his head slightly, giving him just a little more room to rest. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly. “Just relax, alright?”

For a while, they simply laid there, wrapped in a shared silence, the steady rhythm of their breathing aligning naturally. But as the minutes stretched on, Mafioso became keenly aware of the way Chance’s body molded so perfectly against his own, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the scent of his skin—something soft, warm, and intoxicating in a way the finest whiskey could never compare to.

His breathing grew heavier without him realizing, his grip around Chance’s waist tightening just slightly. His body acted on its own accord, the slow, subtle movement of his hips pressing forward, the friction sending a shiver through his spine. He hadn’t meant to, but now that he had, it was impossible to stop.

Chance either didn’t notice the way he slowly grinded against his ass, or chose not to comment, merely shifting into the touch, his body instinctively responding as he leaned into Mafioso’s hold. The quiet sound of fabric shifting against fabric filled the air as Mafioso’s breath grew warmer against his neck, lips parting as he pressed the softest of kisses along the exposed skin. The gentle graze of his lips soon turned to lingering pecks, and then, gradually, a trail of open-mouthed kisses, his lips mapping out the curve of Chance’s throat.

His hips moved a bit rougher, a bit more needy. His grip on Chance’s waist firmed, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and a quiet groan escaping his throat as he rutted against the gambler. He could feel Chance’s breath hitch beneath him, the tiniest, surprised gasp slipping from his lips as Mafioso’s teeth scraped lightly against his neck.

“You’re so beautiful, my little gambler…” Mafioso whispered, his voice thick with heat, every word laced with something possessive, reverent.

A deep flush painted Chance’s cheeks, warmth flooding his chest at the words. He shivered under the attention, his body betraying him as he pressed back ever so slightly into Mafioso’s movements, drawn in by the intoxicating pull of his touch.

Mafioso groaned softly at the reaction, his teeth finding purchase on the sensitive skin just below Chance’s jaw. He bit down gently before soothing the mark with his tongue, the motion slow and deliberate. His hips rocked forward with more insistence as he began dry humping Chance, the pressure between them growing more intense.

Chance let out a quiet whimper, his fingers twitching against the sheets. “Ahhnn… Mafioso… What are you doing…?” His voice was barely above a whisper, breathy and tinged with something dangerously close to need.

Mafioso didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he dragged his lips up along the curve of Chance’s jaw, placing a lingering kiss just beneath his ear before murmuring against his skin, “I need you so badly, baby…” His voice was low, rough, the weight of the words sinking into Chance’s bones.

His hand slid beneath Chance’s shirt, the warmth of his palm pressing against the bare skin of his stomach. His fingers spread out, gripping the flesh beneath them, feeling the way Chance trembled ever so slightly under his touch. A sharp exhale left Mafioso’s lips as his body rutted forward again, his movements even more desperate now.

“All day I’ve needed you…” he admitted, his voice thick with something bordering on frustration and longing.

Chance’s breath caught in his throat, the sheer intensity of Mafioso’s presence leaving him dizzy. He tilted his head slightly, granting his lover even better access to his neck, a silent invitation.

Mafioso took full advantage, his lips latching onto the newly exposed skin, sucking slow, deliberate marks into the flesh. His grip on Chance tightened as the friction between them grew more insistent, a deep groan vibrating from his throat as his body pressed forward, seeking more—needing more.

Chance’s mind swam, the heat pooling in his gut becoming unbearable. His lips parted, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out in a breathy whisper. “Then take me…”

The moment the words reached his ears, Mafioso’s entire body tensed. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and in an instant, his hands were on Chance’s waist, flipping him onto his stomach with an ease that left the blankets shifting and tumbling around them. The sudden movement sent a thrill through Chance’s veins, a rush of anticipation washing over him as Mafioso moved above him.

The warm glow of the bedside lamp cast elongated shadows across the room, the light catching on the sharp angles of Mafioso’s face as he worked at the buttons of his dress shirt. He didn’t bother with finesse—his movements were impatient, filled with urgency, yanking the fabric apart with little care for the buttons that scattered to the floor in quiet, forgotten clinks. The shirt was discarded in an instant, and soon followed his pants, landing somewhere amidst the growing pile of clothing that had been shed. His gaze was locked onto Chance, his now freed dick twitching with want and leaking pre-cum.

Chance was sprawled beneath him on the bed, breath already coming out in uneven exhales. Mafioso’s hands found their way under Chance’s shirt again, fingers tracing the curve of his waist, mapping out each muscle, each scar, every familiar dip and ridge of his lover’s body. His touch was slow, deliberate, relishing every inch of skin he exposed as he lifted the shirt higher and higher until it, too, joined the mess of clothing on the floor.

Mafioso’s fingers trailed down Chance’s spine, pressing into the warmth of his back, memorizing the way his muscles tensed and shivered beneath his touch. When he reached the waistband of Chance’s shorts, he didn’t hesitate. His fingers hooked into the fabric, tugging them and his boxers downward with a slow, deliberate pull, the fabric pooling around Chance’s knees before being kicked off entirely.

The cool air of the room met Chance’s cunt, sending a faint shiver down his spine. Mafioso took in the sight before him, eyes dark with intent, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips as he pressed a firm hand against Chance’s back, guiding him lower until his chest met the mattress. His other hand pressed under his hips, lifting them slightly, adjusting him just how he wanted. Chance’s back arched under the guidance, his breathing uneven as anticipation curled in his stomach.

Mafioso’s hands roamed freely now, fingertips gliding over the raised, textured top scars that marred his torso. The touch sent a shudder through Chance, his breath catching in his throat as Mafioso took his time exploring.

A satisfied hum rumbled in Mafioso’s chest as he grabbed his dick with one hand, running it along the curve of Chance’s spine, tracing the same path his fingers had moments ago. Chance shivered at the sensation, his body instinctively arching, only to press back into the warmth of Mafioso’s chest. A quiet chuckle escaped Mafioso as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of Chance’s ear.

“Relax, my little gambler,” he murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing.

Chance swallowed, his fingers clenching around the bed sheets as Mafioso shifted, positioning himself behind him. His hand roamed up from Chance’s shoulder, tracing the delicate, raised lines of old wounds with a slow, deliberate touch. His fingers ghosted over each ridge and valley of Chance’s skin, mapping out the history carved into his flesh. The gambler’s breath hitched, his body twitching involuntarily under the attention.

Mafioso smirked at the reaction, the corners of his mouth tugging upward as he leaned in, his breath hot against the nape of Chance’s neck. Without hesitation, he pressed his hips forward, grinding with deliberate force against the gambler’s ass, letting the sheer firmness of his cock be known. Chance gasped, his fingers tightening around the sheets, his knuckles paling as he felt the friction—rough, unyielding, and utterly inescapable.

“Mmm, you’re already so eager,” Mafioso murmured, his voice thick with amusement. He dragged his lips along the gambler’s skin, inhaling the faint traces of sweat. “Let’s see how much more you can take.”

His grip on Chance’s waist tightened, his fingers digging in just enough to leave the threat of bruises blooming beneath his touch. Then, with one sudden, powerful thrust, he pushed forward—his cock plunging roughly into Chance’s cunt—a force that sent Chance reeling. The sensation was overwhelming, the unrelenting stretch sending sparks of overstimulation through his entire body. A sharp, broken cry tore from his throat, his body arching in response.

“Hgnnh—! Ffuckkhh—Mafioso—!” Chance gasped, his voice shaking with every syllable. His body instinctively clenched around the intrusion, struggling to accommodate the sheer force pressing into him.

Mafioso didn’t wait. He pulled back completely before slamming forward again, the rough texture of his unlubed dick scraping along the yielding warmth of his pussy, filling every crevice in one brutal motion. The impact sent a deep, shuddering sensation through Chance’s body, a mix of a stringing burn and pleasure that left him breathless. With every movement, slick dripping from his cunt was forced outward, a slick mixture gathering with every withdrawal before being shoved deeper as Mafioso’s pace grew relentless.

The sound of it echoed in the room—a wet, unfiltered squelch followed by the harsh slap of skin against skin from Mafioso’s steady, punishing rhythm. It was dizzying, all-consuming, and Chance was helpless to do anything but take it. He gripped the sheets like a lifeline, his body trembling. His breath came in short, erratic gasps, his body practically burning from the sheer intensity of it all.

Mafioso groaned low in his throat, watching the way Chance’s body reacted to every movement, every push deeper. He relished the way Chance trembled beneath him, completely at his mercy. His smirk widened as he leaned down, his teeth grazing over the delicate skin of Chance’s neck before biting down with a force that sent a sharp jolt through the gambler’s body. The taste of copper bloomed on his tongue, the faintest trail of red dripping down Chance’s shoulder.

“Look at you,” Mafioso growled, licking his lips as he sat back up, his fingers pressing even harder into the gambler’s sides. “Taking my cock so—nnnghh—damn well… Like you were made for it…”

Chance couldn’t even form words anymore. He was lost in the overwhelming sensations, his mind clouded by the sheer depth of his dick pushing into him over and over. His body twitched with every jarring thrust, his breath hitching into strangled moans that barely formed coherent syllables. His thighs trembled, his legs spread just enough to accommodate the merciless invasion, but his body could barely keep up with the intensity.

Mafioso chuckled, pleased with the incoherent mess Chance had become beneath him. “Shhitt—Mafioso…, mmhhff—, please… Ahhnn—Hhahh—Mafioso~!” Chance whined, his voice breaking as he tried to push back so their hips could meet, his body instinctively seeking more.

Mafioso groaned at that, his grip tightening as he slammed forward even harder, his pace growing impossibly rougher. “That’s right,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep moaning my name, baby… Acting like my cock was made for you….”

His hand moved lower, fingers slipping over his trembling clit, teasing its delicate surface with slow, calculated strokes. The moment his fingers connected, Chance’s entire body jerked violently, his breath catching in his throat. His muscles went taut before turning to jelly, the combination of pleasure too much to handle.

Chance was beyond reason now, his body reduced to nothing but raw sensation. His voice had turned into nothing but a mess of pleases, curses, and Mafioso’s name. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, unbidden and unchecked, slipping down his flushed cheeks. His lips were parted, a thin trail of saliva pooling onto the sheets below him as he panted, his body unable to do anything but tremble beneath the unyielding pressure.

Mafioso grinned as he felt the tension build, as he pushed deeper, deeper still, until finally—he felt it, the give of resistance he had been waiting for. A wicked gleam flashed in his eyes as he bore down, shoving forward with a sudden deliberate force, hitting a good spot within him.

Chance practically screamed, but his voice had been reduced to little more than a strangled cry, his throat too raw to make a proper sound. His back arched violently, his fingers clawing at the sheets as a sharp, overwhelming sensation rocked through him. “There—! Hnnhh—Right There—!”

Mafioso smirked at the wrecked plea and did exactly as asked, grinding deep, the very core of his pussg yielding to the rough intrusion. The depth of it sent new waves of overstimulation crashing through Chance’s already trembling form, his body shuddering under the relentless sensation.

His muscles clenched instinctively, a desperate attempt to adjust to the sheer force pressing into him, but Mafioso wasn’t about to let up. He drove forward with renewed vigor, chasing something primal, something deep, something that left them both gasping.

Chance was gone, his body convulsing with every push, his limbs weak and trembling. His vision blurred, his mind struggling to keep up with the unrelenting force that had overtaken him. He felt like he was being completely unraveled, pulled apart piece by piece and put back together in a haze of raw sensation.

Chance’s fingers twisted into the sheets below him, knuckles paling under the strain. His head lolled to the side, exposing the column of his throat as his mouth fell open, breathy gasps slipping free between moans that barely formed into words.

“M-Mafioso… hhff—ahh… please—!” His voice cracked, trembling under the weight of need.

Mafioso smirked at the way Chance writhed, his every movement an unmistakable plea for more. He tightened his grip on Chance’s waist, grounding him before pressing forward again and again with deliberate force.

“Hhah—Yeah, that’s it,” Mafioso muttered, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with something darkly satisfied. “You love this, don’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes drinking in every reaction Chance gave him. The way his body clenched, the way his lips quivered, the way his breath hitched every time his cock pressed just a little deeper into him cunt—it was intoxicating.

Chance’s voice was high-pitched now, barely recognizable—each syllable a warbled plea, a desperate cry for something more, something deeper, harsher, rougher. His legs trembled, his toes curling as waves of sensation crashed through him. He shuddered violently under the force of Mafioso’s thrusts, cum threatening to spill over from the sheer force pressing into him, his body closer and closer with every press into his pussy.

Chance gasped out suddenly, his entire body seizing as he felt his lover’s cock reach the depths of his womb, Mafioso’s tip popping in and out of his uterus. He barely had the ability to breathe, his senses overwhelmed by the deep pressure against his guts, a hand reaching up as his fingers dug into Mafioso’s arm, clinging to him for support.

Mafioso grinned at that, looking as Chance was so sweetly desperate. Chance clenched around Mafioso’s dick tightly, signaling that it was reaching its breaking point. The gambler’s body convulsed, his breath catching in his throat before cumming around Mafioso’s cock with a shattered moan. 

His hand clawed at the sheets, at Mafioso, at anything that could tether him to reality as wave after wave of overstimulation wracked through him. His body clenched hard, the warmth of his cum coating Mafioso’s dick as his cunt held him in a vice-like grip, riding out the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling.

Mafioso wasn’t far behind reaching his own orgasm. He groaned deeply, the sound reverberating through his chest as he pulled out at the last second, letting the remnants of his own release spill over. Hot ropes of cum, thick and warm, streaked across the trembling form beneath him, plastering Chance’s back with a show of his pleasure.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of ragged breathing. The heavy, intoxicating scent of their exertion lingered in the air, wrapping around them like an unspoken promise.

Mafioso, his body still buzzing with a mixture of fatigue and lingering adrenaline, let his weight sink into the mattress. His arm lazily draped around Chance’s waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns along the small of his back, careful not to touch his own cum that still painted his back.

Chance shifted against him, his movements sluggish, almost too tired to even get comfortable. He turned, pressing himself closer, his forehead resting lightly against Mafioso’s chest. One of his hands moved with little effort, fingers finding their way to the curve of Mafioso’s shoulder as if drawn there by instinct alone. His breaths were steady but laced with something just shy of exhaustion, his entire body still heavy from the night’s events.

“Ughhh…” he groaned, his voice muffled against Mafioso’s stomach. His fingers curled slightly against his lover’s skin, grasping at nothing. “If I can’t walk tomorrow, you’re not allowed to complain when I make you stay home with me. I think you literally fucked my insides up…”

Mafioso let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and rich as he tightened his hold around Chance’s frame, pulling him impossibly closer. His lips brushed against the top of Chance’s head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss into his hair before letting his own head rest against the gambler’s.

“I wouldn’t mind staying home with you,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement. His fingers idly traced the curve of Chance’s spine, the slow, deliberate movements an unspoken promise of care. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind either.”

Chance scoffed lightly, though there was no real bite to it. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze flickering up to meet Mafioso’s, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. The exhaustion in his expression didn’t dull the warmth in his eyes, nor did it stop the way his hand found its way up, fingers gliding along Mafioso’s jaw with a touch so soft it was almost teasing.

“Well…” he drawled, thumb grazing over the sharp line of Mafioso’s chin. “Would you mind cleaning me up then?”

Mafioso leaned in, brushing a feather-light kiss against Chance’s lips before pulling back just enough to answer, his voice a quiet murmur against the gambler’s skin. “I’m sure you know the answer already, my dear gambler.”

Chance let out a small, breathy laugh, rubbing slow circles against Mafioso’s jawline with his thumb. His smirk softened into something more affectionate as he leaned in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to Mafioso’s lips in response. “Do simple yes or no answers not suffice for you mafia men?”

Mafioso hummed, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally sat up, his arms shifting as he effortlessly pulled Chance into them. His grip was firm yet careful, holding him in a way that made it clear he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“If you want me to be exact with my words,” he said, tilting his head slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes, “then yes, I will.”

Chance let out a soft huff, rolling his eyes playfully as his arms moved to drape around Mafioso’s neck, fingers threading lightly through the strands of his hair. “You’re stupid sometimes, you know?”

Mafioso only chuckled, the warmth in his gaze unwavering as he met Chance’s eyes. “I beg to differ,” he countered smoothly, his lips ghosting over Chance’s temple. “As I do appear smarter than you, dear.” He paused, letting the smirk play at his lips before softening just slightly. “Though, I would say I love you just the same.”

Chance tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as if considering whether or not to argue—though, in the end, he didn’t bother. Instead, he leaned in, closing the small gap between them as he pressed another slow, lingering kiss against Mafioso’s lips. His fingers tightened slightly at the back of Mafioso’s neck, pulling him deeper into it before murmuring softly against his lips, “Yeah, yeah… Now shut up and help me.”

Mafioso smiled against the kiss, letting himself sink into it fully, savoring the way Chance fit against him so effortlessly. And in that quiet, dimly lit room, where the weight of the world felt far away, nothing else seemed to matter.

Notes:

back at it again plugging my strawpage (last time i swear) but, im working on a eunash fic with artwork (writing not started and art is kinda off to the side rn) and if ur interested, check it out bc teasers r there and uhhmm yeah i love all the support ive received on there and ty sorry im genuinely abt to pass out rn

https://lowlevel.straw.page/

i also have what my plans r on there and it will be updated as fics come and go on my page so yeah, also ask any questions on there if u wanf

lowkey might not see me upload in a bit bc im super busy this week and also wanna post a 1xdoe fic or 2 maybe, work on rendering the eunash art since i decided to do full body, and uhm just stupid busy irl stuff with school and work and such

anyways sorry for rant hope u enjoyed also sorry for any typos bc i doubt i got away scott free or whatever the saying is bc i feel like im abt to die so goodnight or technically morning for me but im going to sleep, apologies in advance for the wait ur gonna endure for next chap prob

Chapter 6: pumpkintrap more like springtrap.... haha... anyways taph gets jerked off whatever

Notes:

i took a break bc i had the busiest past 2 weeks of this school year and i genuinely was so tired out last weekend and i kinda took this week off to catch up on some assignments and take time to myself.

was a personal request bc i kept trying to write and for some reason i physically couldnt write the next req... genuinely idk why i would write legit 2 words being like "When Chance" and thats it but, dont worry ill try to keep these coming.

next fic from me will be that one 1xdoe sicfic i said i would do a month ago bc i made a thing for it but there r 0 words. hopefully will be done by march 18th lmao im still super tired and just like in a mental slump, sorry. idk what happened to me but i had a huge burn out of life so i became rlly sluggish, but yeah hopefully ill get back into things

sorry for rant, just wanted to explain stuff.

~~~ ACTUAL stuff abt this fic (v)

taph speaks like he does in game (emojis + captions) and i tried to use emojis similar to kinda what he uses {legit only person ive seen use "❣️"}. referred to as "the trapper" at times

tried to make him speak as he does in game (rhyming) dueskkar is referred to as "the admin" at times

3.3k words

When having a team full of Sentinels who couldn’t help themselves from charging headfirst into danger, getting battered and bruised until they were hanging on by a thread, every support member mattered—without them, the balance of survival was thrown into disarray. So when there were only two support members, and one was suddenly nowhere to be found, things started to get… tricky.

The current map, which the survivors dubbed “Yorick’s”, had gone eerily quiet, the once-disheartening sounds of combat and chaos reduced to the distant echoes of rustling foliage and the occasional creak of the decaying structures that surrounded the area. The air was thick with the damp, musky scent of old wood and earth, mingling with the ever-present metallic tang of blood that lingered in the atmosphere from the fallen. The terrain stretched out in jagged, unnatural formations. Even a towering rock structure that had somehow formed, casted long shadows that danced under the weak moonlight, further amplifying the sense of unease.

Dusekkar moved carefully through the uneven ground, his form levitating above the loose dirt and scattered debris as his sharp gaze swept across the terrain. The silence was unnerving, pressing against his ears like an unseen weight. Though he was no stranger to the unsettling solitude that often came with his work, something about this night felt… off.

Taph had gone missing, which was the only other support—and the team was already spread thin. It was only natural for Dusekkar, who honestly did need to seek out some sort of high-ground—plus was on what the other survivors had coined “cooldowns”, to seek out their missing ally.

The admin’s path led him up a natural rocky stairway, winding its way toward the looming silhouette of an old mansion perched atop the hill. The structure was imposing, its darkened frame barely distinguishable from the night sky, save for the occasional gleam of moonlight that flickered off the dust-coated windows. The place seemed long abandoned, its presence alone sending a chill down Dusekkar’s spine. But he pressed forward, undeterred by the foreboding atmosphere.

Reaching the porch, he cautiously maneuvered his way inside. The air was thick, stale, and unmoving, filled with the scent of aged wood and neglect. Dust hung in the air like a fine mist, illuminated in the dim glow of his head. The silence inside the mansion was deafening, the only sound being the random soft creak of the wooden floor beneath him beginning to give out from its age.

He moved through the open area off to the left with careful precision, his eyes scanning every shadowed corner, though there was no sign of life. The dining room, vast yet barren, provided no answers either, save for the same suffocating quiet that only served to set his nerves further on edge.

Just as doubt began to creep into his mind, the stillness of the night was broken by a faint sound—a soft, barely audible whimper coming from beyond the back of the house. The noise was almost swallowed by the wind, but Dusekkar’s ears caught it nonetheless. His body tensed, instincts sharpening as he turned his attention toward the source.

Proceeding cautiously through the doorframe at the back of the mansion, he poked his head out into the night, his eyes scanning both directions with precision similar to the killers. Then, just off to the left, his gaze landed on a familiar figure.

Taph.

The trapper was slouched against the exterior wall of the mansion, his form partially obscured by the shadows. He was seated on the ground with his legs spread slightly, his head tilted slightly upward, and his posture betraying an air of exhaustion or perhaps… something else. The drape of his dark robes made it difficult to tell exactly what he was doing, but from Dusekkar’s vantage point, it almost appeared as though he was clutching at himself—his body tense, his breaths uneven. Another soft whimper slipped past his lips, barely louder than before, yet unmistakably strained.

A pang of concern shot through Dusekkar’s chest. Was he injured? Had something happened while he was separated from the group?

Wasting no time, he moved toward Taph with quiet urgency, announcing his presence softly as he soon kneeled beside him. His eyes studied the trapper’s darkened face with quiet intensity, noting the barely perceptible tremor in his posture.

“Is this one in need on this solemn night? For what particular sitch has made you such blight?” His voice was even, yet tinged with the unmistakable weight of concern.

Taph’s reaction was immediate—his body jolting upright with a startled twitch, as though he had just been yanked from a trance. His head snapped toward Dusekkar, his movements stiff and almost frantic as he quickly adjusted his posture. His legs snapped shut, his arms yanking his robes tightly around him as if to shield himself from view. Even in the dim light, a faint blush could be seen creeping past the edges of his bandana.

“🖐️❗️😰 (Wait! I— I can explain!)” Taph stammered to gesture, his left hand shooting up in a defensive motion, as though trying to halt Dusekkar’s line of thinking before it could form.

Dusekkar tilted his head, his concern deepening as he observed Taph’s tense body language. He shifted slightly closer, his sharp gaze scanning the trapper’s form for any visible signs of injury. “If you continue to move and worry, you might not suffice long enough before your words become slurry.”

He reached out, intending to assess for wounds, but Taph instinctively shrank back and didn't registered his words, his reaction more panicked than one would expect from someone simply startled. 

“🙇😣❗️(I’m sorry… but I swear this isn’t what it looks like!)” Taph gestured, his motions coming in quick, uneven movements. “😥❓(It was a… a desperate moment, y’know? I—)”

His gestures faltered as Dusekkar reached forward, gently parting the folds of his robes in search of an injury. His mind had already begun calculating worst-case scenarios—perhaps a wound hidden beneath the fabric, a deep gash or internal damage that Taph was too stubborn to admit to. His body language screamed discomfort, but Dusekkar had seen many survivors attempt to mask their pain before.

“🎃🖐️(Dusekkar, wait—)”

At first, Dusekkar’s movements were purely instinctual, expecting to find something that might explain the tremor in Taph’s voice, the unsteadiness of his posture. But as the fabric parted and Dusekkar’s eyes traveled downward, he found no blood, no lacerations—only a peculiar, unexpected sight before him.

Taph’s pants were loosely bunched around his knees, the belt undone and hanging limply at his sides. The smooth expanse of his stomach was taut with tension, and there, resting against it, was a sight that made Dusekkar’s breath hitch in his throat. His cock, hardened and firm, laid precariously against the heat of Taph’s stomach, the tip slick with pre-cum that started to dribble down the base in thin rivulets. His pre-cum pooled faintly at his navel, catching the dim light like scattered beads of nectar.

Dusekkar swallowed thickly, his pulse quickening as his mind struggled to reconcile the situation before him. His fingers still clutched loosely at the folds of Taph’s robes, but his gaze flickered, conflicted, between the hard cock in front of him and the shadowed obscurity where Taph’s expression should have been.

“…O-Oh blesséd thee…” Dusekkar murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “For this… this was a sight I did not expect to see…”

The words fell from his lips unbidden, his usual composure slipping beneath the weight of the moment. The tension in the air was palpable, thick and heavy like incense smoke curling through the terrain.

Taph shifted slightly, his body stiffening under the scrutiny, his fingers twitching where they rested. He averted his head, as though shame weighed upon his shoulders like the heavy cloak he wore. “😞🙇(I didn’t mean… I… I’m sorry…)” His gestures were slow and careful, and if he could speak, his voice would probably be barely audible, a fractured whisper that would’ve barely reached Dusekkar’s ears.

Dusekkar forced himself to tear his gaze away from the sight before him, his head dipping slightly, as if the sheer intimacy of the moment was almost too much to bear. But even as he looked away, he could still see it in his mind—the faint, lingering shimmer of cum trickling downward the length of his dick, catching the moonlight perfectly… 

Oh, he must compose himself…

Slowly, carefully, Dusekkar’s hands moved, settling upon Taph’s thighs with a touch so light it was barely there. The heat of Taph’s skin radiated like embers beneath a veil of ash, his skin soft as if he treated it with the utmost care.

“Forgive me for such a sinful request,” Dusekkar murmured, his voice tinged with hesitant reverence. “But I may assist your mire… if you acquiesce.”

Taph remained motionless for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of the offer, the implications that lay woven between Dusekkar’s words. Then, finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his movements slow, deliberate. “😓❣️(I would like that…)” he admitted with quiet vulnerability.

Dusekkar wasted no time. His hands, once hesitant, now moved with newfound purpose, trailing along the contours of Taph’s thighs with careful precision. His fingertips skimmed along the heated skin, tracing patterns that held no meaning beyond the simple need to soothe, to comfort.

His palm hovered over his abandoned dick, the cool air of the night seeping into his skin as he lifted his cock slightly, tilting it just enough to let another slow trickle of cum dribble down. The liquid pooled against the warmth of Taph’s skin, glistening as it clung to the smooth planes of the sides of his stomach before slipping lower, vanishing into the unseen folds of his robes still clinging to his body.

Experimentally, Dusekkar wrapped both of his hands around Taph’s dick, giving a slow, deliberate twist of his wrist, rolling his cock between his fingers. The reaction was immediate—Taph sucked in a sharp breath, his head tilting back slightly as a soft, unbidden sound slipped past his lips. His fingers clenched against his sides, gripping at his robes as if to ground himself against the sensation.

He grasped at Taph’s dick with more purpose, running his fingers along its surface as he began a slow, deliberate motion, moving his hands up and down in a steady rhythm. His grip was firm but careful, adjusting the pressure slightly as he watched Taph’s reaction closely.

Dusekkar’s gaze flickered upward, watching carefully, taking in every subtle shift in Taph’s expression, the way his body reacted beneath his hands. He adjusted his grip, fingers tightening slightly as he twisted his hands along his length again, letting the now burning hot sensation of his hands glide along the overheated flesh of Taph’s dick.

A soft, wet sound echoed in the quiet night, the remnants of whatever new, or old, pre-cum mixing with the warmth of Taph’s body, allowing the admin’s hands to be coated in a warm, natural lube. The texture of it—slick, sticky, and undeniably messy—left faint trails of Taph’s shed pleasure wherever Dusekkar’s hands moved.

Feeling a bit bolder, Dusekkar let one of his hands wander to the very tip of Taph’s cock, his fingertips brushing lightly against the rounded, flushed end. He applied the faintest pressure, teasing at the delicate natural lactation of his slit before rolling the pad of his thumb over the surface. Taph let out a muffled moan, his body instinctively reacting to the the touch. 

Taph’s head fell back against the wall behind him with a soft thump, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “😮‍💨👍❣️(Ghhnn… Just—Just like that…)” he motioned, his groan barely more than a breath.

Dusekkar felt his own face flush at Taph’s reactions, a deep heat settling in his chest as he swiped his thumb along the sticky, glistening surface of his tip, smearing his pre-cum further. The messiness of it was undeniable—the way Taph’s cum clinged to his skin, the way his own fingers now bore the faintest traces of the lingering fluids, thin strings stretching across his hands...

“Such undivine actions we here commit…” Dusekkar whispered, his voice thick with something he couldn’t quite name. “The moon might as well be against us… highlighting with its silent gaze, your squit.”

Despite his words, he did not stop. His hands continued their ministrations, his movements growing more deliberate, more precise. He adjusted his pace, his grip firm yet careful, attuned to every reaction that played across Taph’s body.

The trapper trembled beneath his touch, small, breathy whimpers escaping from the shadows of his concealed face. Beads of pre-cum now ran freely from his slit, catching the dim light in their descent, adding to the ever-growing mess between them.

Dusekkar let the hand on his tip drift, smearing the lingering slick of his cum against the inside of Taph’s thigh as it lowered, his fingers pressing small, absentminded circles into the heated flesh of his inner thigh. The mix of being jerked off and the intimate warmth of Dusekkar’s sweet touch was intoxicating, leaving a trail of sensation that sent shivers rippling through Taph’s frame.

The man beneath Dusekkar exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His breath hitched once more as he turned his head to look at the admin, his voice barely more than a whisper. “⏱️(I’m close…)” he admitted, his gesture laced with something raw and vulnerable. His body twitched slightly beneath Dusekkar’s touch, the anticipation of release making his muscles tense.

Dusekkar’s breath caught in his throat, but he did not falter. He only pressed closer, his movements steady, his fingers moving with slow, deliberate intent. The moment lingered, stretching between them like the pull of the tide, inevitable and all-consuming.

Dusekkar’s hands sent another shudder through Taph, his head tilting back slightly once again, exposing the vulnerable curve of his throat. His breath came out in small, uneven gasps as Dusekkar’s hands moved with more confidence, twisting and turning. Spilt pre-cum left behind a slick residue, making each movement smoother, more fluid. 

His hands moved with more certainty now, guiding his cock up and down with an even rhythm. The soft, slick sounds of their hands-on love filled the quiet air, mingling with the small, barely contained noises slipping past Taph’s lips. Dusekkar continued to move his thumb in small, slow circles on Taph’s thigh, caressing the sensitive skin gently. Taph let out a shuddering sigh again, his muscles tensing slightly before relaxing under the touch.

Dusekkar quickened his pace on Taph’s dick, his fingers working with newfound determination. He focused on maintaining a steady rhythm, watching as Taph’s chest rose and fell in time with his movements. His eyes lingered on the way his lips parted slightly beneath his bandana, the faintest flush dusting his cheeks, making him look rather adorable in the dim light.

Dusekkar’s gaze flickered downward, watching as another droplet of pre-cum spurted and trickled down, its lazy descent hypnotic against Taph’s molten hot skin. 

He adjusted his grip slightly, pressing his palm more firmly against his cock’s length, and was rewarded with a sharp moan from the trapper beneath him. “😖👍❣️(Hgnn… Your hands feel so good…)” The confession made Dusekkar’s fingers twitch slightly, but he did not allow himself to be distracted. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, his movements precise, methodical. 

Dusekkar could see it now, the way Taph’s muscles trembled with restrained tension, the way his fingers clutched at his robes, grasping for purchase against the overwhelming sensations that wracked his frame. His breathing had turned shallower, punctuated by soft, needy sounds that slipped past his lips before he could stop them. He was so close…, and Dusekkar wanted—needed him to cum…

A sudden, shuddering groan tore from the trapper’s throat as the last remnants of restraint unraveled. His body jerked slightly, as if overcome by an unseen force, and Dusekkar watched, transfixed, as hot ropes of cum shot forth from his cock, streaking his stomach in thick, milky-white stripes of his bodily pleasure.

Dusekkar remained still for a moment, his fingers hovering over Taph’s trembling frame, mesmerized by the sight before him. And then, almost instinctively, he moved his hand once more, teasing the last lingering spurts of cum out of his cock, ensuring that no trace of unresolved tension was left.

Taph flinched slightly at the overstimulation, a soft, breathless whine escaping his lips as his body gave one final, involuntary shudder, somehow weakly coming a second time, which Dusekkar didn’t even know was possible in that timeframe.

Dusekkar finally withdrew his hands, settling them into his own lap. The sensation of stickiness clung stubbornly to his fingers, a lingering testament to the mess they had made. He flexed his fingers experimentally, watching as thin strands of cum clung between them, shining under the dim light. It was undeniably messy, undeniably slick and gross—but as he lifted his gaze to meet Taph’s, he found that he didn’t mind in the slightest. The sight before him made it entirely worth it.

The trapper laid there, still trying to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured movements. His cheeks, though partially obscured by the shadow of his bandana, were unmistakably flushed, a deep, humiliated warmth creeping up his skin. After a moment, he turned his head slightly, his gestures slow and shaky. “🙇🙏(Again… I’m sorry for all of this… But thank you.)”

Dusekkar merely watched as Taph reached for the small pouch hanging from his discarded belt, retrieving a cloth and dabbing away the remnants of cum from his stomach. The act itself was unceremonious, but there was something oddly intimate about the way he moved, as if grounding himself after the moment they had just shared. Once finished, he tucked the cloth away, adjusted his clothing, and fastened his belt once more, reclaiming the composure that had momentarily slipped from his grasp.

He turned then, his gaze settling on Dusekkar’s still-kneeling form, his expression unreadable. “🤔🔮(If you need anything in the future,)” he motioned, now steady despite his earlier shakiness “💣💸(I’ll be indebted to you.)”

Dusekkar rose to his feet, his movements slow, deliberate. He extended a hand toward Taph, who hesitated only briefly before accepting it. The trapper’s grip was firm, steady, despite the subtle tremors that still lingered in his fingers.

“Speak none of debt,” Dusekkar intoned, his voice laced with something soft, something almost tender. “As I do not mind… unless it is to undo a coverlet.”

The words lingered in the air between them, thick with meaning. And then, before Taph could fully process what was happening, Dusekkar leaned in, pressing a small, fleeting kiss to the shadowed obscurity of his face.

The moment lasted only a second—barely long enough for Taph to react. And then, as quickly as it had happened, Dusekkar was gone, slipping into the darkness of the night off to tend to whatever trouble the other survivors had gotten into, his figure vanishing beyond the clear right side pathway of the mansion.

Taph remained frozen in place, his mind struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded. The heat that bloomed across his cheeks was unmistakable, an unshakable warmth that refused to fade.

“🫢(…Huh?)”

Somewhere, in the distance, Dusekkar prayed his impulsive advance wouldn’t come back to haunt him and kick him in the ass—but deep down, he knew he wouldn’t mind imagining a future where it did. Actually, he wouldn't mind any sort of future with the trapper.

Notes:

my power is like lowkey abt to shut off like its flickering bc of a bad storm uhm hi

uhmm sorry if this is ass like i said ive been burnt out, wrote this all rn no breaks no nothing lmao

petition to keep taph's emojis in game pls

~~~other fic stuff (v)

yeah so expect 1xdoe sicfic if u read my stuff/r a fan of 1xdoe. i have another fic thought out abt them but not sure when/if that will come out, but bc its kinda just smut it might be posted here idk.

if ur interested in the eunash stuff, 6/7 arts r sketched, 2/7 r rendered, with 1 having flatcolors {i do this in my free time, so im srry if its taking forever. the flat color 1 may be removed bc i lowkey hate it, so dont be suprised if only 6}

[ edit : ive gotten quiet a few reqs. of a part 2 of the little one night stand coinrush fic i made, so if any of yall r reading this and liked it—lmk if u'd maybe want a part 2. i never expected to make a part 2, but i wanna make yall happy, so yeah. idk what i'd write abt, but if u guys want it, send me some ideas ]

Chapter 7: building sheds (get it buildershed abhaah) with a bottom rooster shedletsky

Notes:

edit: removed a single paragraph bc i cringed reading it and i have no clue what i was thinking when writing it

how i feel after wanting to push this out 2 days ago but then not.... (i legit started this last night at 11pm, fell asleep writing, then got busy and finished this in 1 sitting)

sorry i feel like i didnt fulfill this request the best

“💛” -

Mid round, survivors are in a group, the killer comes and smashes Builderman's sentry. but Shedletsky stuns them and runs off with the others. When they hide again Builderman compliments Shed's swordsmanship n rubs his back... a friendly gesture but Shed is rlly touched starved/sensitive and gets horny. When the rounds over, they go fuck upstairs
So public sex, emphasis on sensory, and Bottom Shedletsky. Maybe they get caught at the end that'd be fun,,, Not alot of walls in that house
Dont want it focused like a kink but Id prefer Shed written as chubby... also shorter than builder. U know how some fanartists give Shed a rooster tail or other beastie stuff like claws, Id like that too if possible

5k words

The night air was cool and crisp, wrapping around Shedletsky as he stood beside the now-finished generator. The metallic hum of its machinery finally subsided, leaving only the distant howling of the wind. Above him, the sky was a sprawling blanket of stars, twinkling against the black void like distant beacons. For a moment, it offered some semblance of peace—a fleeting reminder that there was a world beyond this forsaken landscape.

But even the stars couldn’t quell the lingering dread that clung to the atmosphere. The constant fear of the killer’s presence gnawed at his mind, the unsettling knowledge that at any moment, something could emerge from the shadows. Shedletsky forced himself to shake it off, stretching his arms in an attempt to ease the ache that had built up from cranking the rusted machine.

It wasn’t like him to stand idle for long. Especially not when there were others out there—people who counted on him, people who needed protection. He was a sentinel, and though the term came with the expectation of combat and strength, the unspoken duty of watching over the team was something he’d embraced.

But as he stood there, alone in the unsettling quiet, a new realization crept into his thoughts. Where were the others?

The absence of chatter or distant footsteps was unnerving. Usually, even during the tensest of moments, someone would crack a joke or grumble about the killer. Survivors had a way of clinging to whatever scraps of normalcy they could. But now? Nothing. Just the oppressive silence.

Shedletsky’s jaw tightened as he scanned the area. Dark silhouettes of ruined structures loomed on the horizon, their jagged outlines forming an ominous skyline. The terrain was decent, not the best, but definitely not the worst. It was uneven with random patches of gravel and filled with overgrown grass that crunched softly beneath his feet.

And so, he set off, his strides purposeful as he followed the dirt path that snaked through Planet Voss.

It didn’t take long before a certain contraption caught his attention, the obvious red color of a deployed sentry. Relief washed over him. If Builderman had managed to set up defenses, the others couldn’t be too far. His pace quickened as the sound of muffled voices carried through the air, and there they were.

Behind one of the large white walls that littered the map, the group had gathered, a cluster of familiar faces amidst the desolation. Builderman stood attentively, his gaze flickering from the sentry to the others, no doubt assessing the situation. Nearby, Elliot knelt, carefully tending to Two Time’s wounds with the meticulous focus of someone who had done this far too often. The occasional wince from the injured cultist was met with gentle reassurances, Elliot’s calm demeanor never wavering.

Further off, 007n7 was hunched over, his fingers rapidly tapping away at his interface, the soft glow from his GUI illuminating his face. Whatever he was running, Shedletsky could only assume it was some plan to turn the tide of the match.

And then there was Chance…

The gambler was predictably leaning against the rock wall enclosing everyone in, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he flipped his signature coin. Despite the ever-looming threat, Chance remained infuriatingly composed, as if the danger was nothing more than an amusing inconvenience. He was always like that, untouchable, unreadable. Even now, Shedletsky couldn’t tell if his nonchalance was genuine or just another mask that everyone ended up eventually displaying.

The sight of them all, still standing, still fighting—it brought a warmth to Shedletsky’s chest.

He approached quietly, the gravel crunching beneath his feet announcing his presence. Builderman was the first to notice, his head turning to meet Shedletsky’s gaze. A small smile tugged at the taller man’s lips, relief flickering in his eyes.

“Hey, Shedletsky! Thought we might’ve lost ya’ back there.” Builderman’s voice was low but warm, the casual tone doing little to mask the underlying concern. “I was—”

Before he could finish, the harsh sound of shattering metal echoed through the air. The sentry.

The metallic clang of the destroyed machinery reverberated, sending a ripple of tension through the group. No one moved. The sheer force of the sound was enough to confirm what had happened… The killer had arrived.

The only question was where.

Shedletsky’s breath quickened as he instinctively reached for the sword at his waist. His fingers curled tightly around the hilt, the cool metal a grounding presence against his palm. 

Footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoed from beyond the wall they were behind, drawing closer with every agonizing second. The killer wasn’t rushing. No, this was a hunter who enjoyed the anticipation—the fear.

The tension shattered the moment the killer stepped into view. A figure rounded the corner, their worn hockey mask gleaming beneath the faint light. There was no hesitation, no pause, and Shedletsky reacted on instinct.

His blade lashed out, striking true as it met the killer’s side. The impact sent a harsh reverberation up his arm, but he didn’t stop to assess the damage. The killer recoiled, their body staggering from the force, but not enough to fully falter.

Then, someone shouted, “Run!” and it was all the cue they needed.

The survivors scattered, their footsteps pounding against the dirt as they fled in every direction. The killer’s guttural growl echoed behind them, but Shedletsky didn’t dare look back.

He kept his focus on Builderman, who sprinted alongside him, the two weaving through the remnants of the battlefield. It wasn’t until they reached the far side of the map that Builderman finally slowed, his breaths ragged as he doubled over, hands on his knees. Shedletsky came to a halt, scanning the surroundings for any sign of pursuit. The distant screams and sounds of crashing debris suggested the killer had found a new target. Damn…

“Still alive?” Shedletsky asked, the words carrying a breath of relief.

Builderman nodded, straightening with a shaky laugh. “Fer’ now.”

Builderman’s hair clung slightly to his forehead, damp with sweat, but his smile quickly came back.

“Ya’ really know how t’use that sword of yer’s,” Builderman said, his voice warm and tinged with admiration. The way he spoke, rough yet kind, sent an unexpected warmth through Shedletsky. There was something so genuine about the praise—something that struck deeper than just words of gratitude.

Shedletsky gave a modest nod as he carefully sheathed his sword, the blade humming faintly as it scraped against its holster. Before he could respond, he felt the sudden press of Builderman’s palm against the small of his back. The motion was firm yet comforting, the warmth from his hand spreading through the fabric of his shirt like a slow, steady flame.

Builderman’s fingers traced small, soothing circles, absentminded perhaps, but every brush sent a ripple through Shedletsky’s senses. The contrast of the roughened calluses of Builderman’s hand against his back was enough to make his skin tingle. A flush crept beneath the surface of Shedletsky’s cheeks, though he kept his expression composed. But inside? Inside, it was a different story.

He was horny… Stupidly so…

The steady thrum of his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Every small shift of Builderman’s hand seemed amplified, the warmth, the slight pressure, the ease with which he touched him. And the smile… Spawn, that smile. It was all too much. His body betrayed him, a rush of heat pooling low in his stomach, and the constricting fabric of his pants didn’t offer much relief.

Builderman finally withdrew his hand, the absence of his touch more noticeable than Shedletsky wanted to admit. With a casual wave, the man straightened up. “I gotta check up on everyone else, see if anyone got hurt, y’know? I’ll see ya’ back at the cabin!”

Shedletsky barely managed a nod before Builderman turned and strode away, his figure disappearing. The lingering ghost of his hand remained, and the cool air against his now far-too-warm skin did little to soothe him. He shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. Of all the moments for his body to react like this, that was humiliating. At least now, with Builderman gone, he’d have a chance to pull himself together.

But the problem remained, the ache that pulsed beneath his shorts, the shameful swell that refused to subside. No amount of deep breathing seemed to help. The hours passed, and as the match had ended, Shedletsky’s inner turmoil seemed to stubbornly raged on.

The return to the cabin was a blur. Dim lantern light flickered against the wooden walls, casting elongated shadows that danced across the floor. The lingering buzz of conversation filled the air as the survivors recounted the highlights of the match, exchanging both triumphant boasts and playful grumbles. But none of it fully registered for Shedletsky.

He stayed silent, his laughter faint and forced when the moment called for it. All he could think about was Builderman. The way his fingers had felt. The way his voice had sounded, low and comforting. How close they had stood… and how much closer he had wanted them to be.

It wasn’t until most of the survivors, except one, had retreated to their rooms that the weight of the day finally settled in.

Usually, Shedletsky wouldn't mind him and Builderman being alone together, but tonight, this was one of the last things he wanted. The main floor, once alive with chatter, had grown quiet, only the faint creak of the wooden beams and the occasional distant rustle from outside broke the silence.

Shedletsky remained on the upper floor, leaning heavily against the smooth railing as he gazed down at the now-empty space below. His thoughts wandered, tangled in memories of Builderman’s touch. He should have moved on. He should have pushed it aside. But even now, the phantom sensation lingered, and he hated how much he craved it.

A soft clatter of footsteps drew his attention. The admin ascended the stairs, the dim glow of the lanterns casting a golden hue over his features. His expression was one of curiosity, softened with concern. “Whatcha doin’ up here alone? Not going to bed yet?”

Shedletsky tried to mask all the sudden emotions that came pummeling at him by the mere sight of the other with a quick shrug. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I guess I’m up here since I’m lonely, as weird as that sounds.”

Builderman gave a low chuckle, the sound rumbling pleasantly in his chest. “Well, ya’ got me now.”

The words were so simple, so genuine, and yet they hit Shedletsky like a wave. Before he could think, Builderman’s hand found his shoulder, the touch once again igniting a spark beneath his skin. 

Shedletsky’s eyes flickered away, his breathing quickening ever so slightly. The pressure of Builderman’s fingers, the steady weight of his palm, it was unbearable. And yet, he wanted nothing more than for it to remain.

Builderman shifted closer, concern etched across his face. “You alright? You seem kinda… off.”

Shedletsky forced a nod, though his heart pounded. The closeness between them was overwhelming. The steady rise and fall of Builderman’s chest, the faint smell of sweat and earth from the previous round—it all mingled in the air between them.

Before he could stop himself, Shedletsky reached out, his trembling hand cupping Builderman’s face. The heat that burned beneath his fingertips sent a jolt through his body, but he didn’t pull away. His thumb traced over the stubble lining Builderman’s jaw, savoring the contrast between roughness and warmth.

“This is so out of the blue, but…” Shedletsky’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

The words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, Builderman simply stared. The blush that crept across his cheeks was undeniable, and Shedletsky braced himself for rejection, for the awkward retreat—but it never came.

Instead, Builderman leaned forward, his lips capturing Shedletsky’s in a kiss that was as sudden as it was electric. It was slow at first, tentative and questioning, but the pull between them was undeniable.  And for the first time that night, Shedletsky finally allowed himself to give in.

An arm wrapped securely around his back, fingers pressing gently against his skin. Shedletsky shivered at the sensation, a soft, involuntary trill rising from his throat as Builderman’s warmth seeped into him. Builderman pulled away, their faces inches apart, breaths mingling in the dim glow of the surrounding lanterns. Then, with a slow inevitability, their lips met again, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger. The kiss deepened, lips molding together like two puzzle pieces finding their fit, Builderman’s hand sliding up from Shedletsky’s shoulder to cradle the back of his neck.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely in that moment, the world beyond the inner balcony fading into irrelevance. When they pulled apart once more, Shedletsky barely gave them space to breathe before closing the distance, drawn to the taste, the warmth, the intoxicating sensation of being this close. Builderman let out a quiet, pleased sound as he melted into the kiss, fingers threading into Shedletsky’s hair, pulling him closer still. It was a gravitational force neither of them could resist.

In a fluid motion, Builderman guided Shedletsky backward, and with a surprised but delighted gasp, the latter found himself atop the sturdy circular table that stood alone on the balcony. The cool wood pressed against his back, contrasting with the heat simmering between them. Builderman leaned over him, one hand bracing against the table’s edge while the other found purchase along the chubby skin of Shedletsky’s waist, fingers pressing gently, possessively.

Shedletsky reacted instinctively, his legs curling around Builderman’s torso, ankles locking behind his back and spurs accidentally scraping along his skin. The motion brought them even closer, the shift causing his sword to slip from its place, clattering onto the floor. The weapon’s tip nicked the wooden planks, leaving behind a faint slash as a testament to their fervor. Neither of them paid it any mind.

Builderman pulled back slightly, allowing his lips to break away from Shedletsky’s as he trailed slow, deliberate kisses along his jawline, then down to his neck. Each press of his lips was met with a quiet, needy sigh from the man beneath him, the sound sending a thrill through Builderman’s spine. Shedletsky arched ever so slightly, his fingers tangling in Builderman’s hair, wordlessly encouraging him.

As Builderman’s lips ghosted over his collarbone, Shedletsky let out a breathy whimper, the sound barely audible above the night’s soft breeze. The warmth of Builderman’s hand shifted, fingertips tracing along the edge of Shedletsky’s waistband, teasing, lingering. Then, he hesitated for a brief moment, lifting his gaze to meet Shedletsky’s. His voice was softer now, edged with an unspoken question. 

“This is fine, right?”

Shedletsky’s answer came not in words but in action. His hands moved with intent, gripping the fabric of Builderman’s shirt as he pulled him down into another fervent kiss, pouring every ounce of unspoken desire into it. Builderman groaned against his lips, the sound reverberating between them as he braced himself, shifting slightly to tug off Shedletsky’s shorts and boxers in one swipe.

His dick gleamed under the soft glow of the lanterns, its surface beginning to glisten as the night’s warmth kissed its edges, highlighting the pre-cum that dripped from his slit.

As Builderman slipped his own pants and boxers down to his knees, allowing his cock to spring free from its confines, Shedletsky’s eyes flickered toward his length, a knowing glint forming in his gaze as Builderman clutched his own dick, gently bringing his member closer to the muscle of his hole. Moving one of his hands, Shedletsky grabbed his abandoned dick, the surface slightly glossy as beads of pre-cum slid languidly down its length. 

Builderman’s gaze lingered on Shedletsky, his cock poised in his fingers. Slowly, deliberately, he brought the tip of his length to the edge of the other’s hole, brushing himself gently along Shedletsky's ass. His hole gave slight resistance at first, clenching beneath the warm touch, small beads of Builderman's own pre-cum clinging to the surface as he traced his dick in feather-light patterns. Each delicate pass was unhurried, deliberate, as though the two of them had all the time in the world.

With a careful motion, Builderman pressed the head of his length forward, easing it into the thick warmth of his ass. The surface tension between them broke, and his cock sank in slightly, Shedletsky involuntary clenching greedily as if unwilling to let go. 

Shedletsky inhaled sharply as Builderman began to push his cock deeper, his ass stretching slightly around him to accommodate his girth. The swordsman trembled ever so slightly in Builderman’s grasp as he continued, inch by inch, to work himself further in. Builderman’s hand on his dick moved across the outer ring of the other’s ass, fingertips gently pressing down around the entry point, guiding Shedletsky to take his cock as smoothly as possible.

“God… so tight…,” Builderman muttered under his breath, voice low and husky.

Strings of pre-cum stretched between the two as Builderman slowly withdrew his cock halfway, only to push it back in again with a careful, measured motion. He repeated this rhythm, Shedletsky’s ass giving way more easily with each movement, loosening under his touch and surrendering to the pleasure. Shedletsky let out a soft, quiet moan, mesmerized by the hypnotic back-and-forth, the way each motion seemed to blend together, a seamless intimate dance between the two’s bodies.

Builderman leaned forward, letting his breath ghost over Shedletsky’s jaw, the scent of sex mingling around them. His fingers now traced intricate patterns around Shedletsky’s hole, occasionally pausing to press down lightly, pressing a finger in and making space, only to pull it back out. Each movement seemed deliberate and instinctive, as though they were made to have this moment together… maybe even made for each other…

The tension in the room thickened with every thrust, every string of cum flowing from their dicks like a lover reluctant to part. Builderman’s grip on Shedletsky’s side tightened slightly, his other hand now moved to push up his shirt and rub along his stomach. A thin sheen of pre-cum coated his fingers from himself, glistening in the light as he spread it along the other’s skin.

As Builderman slid his cock in fully, Shedletsky seemed to mold himself around the other’s length, embracing the intrusion completely. Shedletsky couldn’t tear his gaze away, eyes wide, body tense, as Builderman’s movements became steadier, more confident. His dick glided in and out of himself effortlessly now as Builderman’s hands held onto him for support, guiding the two as Shedletsky yielded completely to the rhythm he had established. Builderman paused, eyes glancing up briefly, before pushing forward just a fraction. The tip of his dick dipping even further inside of Shedletsky, the swordsman being stretched around the length of his cock.

The sounds in the cabin were quiet, but unmistakable—the soft squeak of the table, the sound of skin hitting against skin, the faint crackle of the fire mingling with the wet, squelching noises that punctuated each careful motion, followed by a series of elongated moans.

Shedletsky let out another quiet breath, as though he could feel every movement, every pulse of heat and chill. He quivered with each touch, his body bearing the marks of Builderman’s attentions, pliant and tender under his care.

Builderman moved with rhythmic precision, his cock sliding in and out, cum clinging more easily with each motion. He adjusted his grip, moving the hand along Shedletsky's stomach to the other side of his waist, securely holding him in place.

Shedletsky’s fingers flexed involuntarily, his chest rising and falling, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the man before him. His entire body seemed attuned to every careful motion, every subtle shift as he gave under Builderman’s steady, patient love.

Without breaking rhythm, Builderman slowly guided himself impossibly deeper, letting himself sink to the base, drawing back out with the same measured pace. Cum continued to glisten in long strands, stretching from Builderman’s hut to Shedletsky’s ass before snapping back with a soft, sticky sound.

Shedletsky couldn’t suppress the quiet sound that escaped him, a breathless moan lost beneath the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath them.

Builderman shifted his stance slightly, angling his cock just so, allowing himself to fuck into the man under him more easily. Shedletsky’s breath hitched again as he watched, seeing how effortlessly Builderman’s dick seemed to stretch him out.

Builderman let out a low, breathy groan as he carefully continued thrusting, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He leaned down once more, unable to resist the urge, planting a delicate kiss against Shedletsky’s lips, savoring the taste of his mouth before drawing back. His movements grew more confident, hips subtly rocking as he pressed himself harsher against the swordsman, Shedletsky forcefully being stretched out further to accommodate his harder thrusts.

Shedletsky felt the heat building, not only from the fireplace but from the act itself—the careful rhythm, the slow unraveling of tension. Builderman adjusted his grip once again, lifting Shedletsky’s legs above his shoulders, angling him to allow his cock to slide in at a new angle.

The result was immediate. Shedletsky moaned loudly as he was forced to spread wider than before, forcing to take the other’s cock even deeper, enveloping him more completely. Builderman let out another breath, the satisfaction palpable in the air, as he felt himself settle snugly within, almost as Shedletsky had been made solely for this moment.

Push. Sink. Pull. Push. Sink. Pull… Each careful motion elicited a deeper reaction from Shedletsky, each thrust heightening his senses.

Builderman leaned forward again, trailing his lips along Shedletsky’s neck, his hands remaining firm on his sides. The soft, rhythmic sound of his cock sliding in and out of the other filled the room, louder this time. Shedletsky seemed impossibly full now, stretched to his limit and shuddering with every thrust.

Shedletsky tilted his head to the side slightly, his eyes fluttering shut as though overwhelmed by the moment, the sensations. He didn’t dare look directly at Builderman, he was too close to admire the man. The warmth radiating from his cock mirrored that feeling bubbling inside him—close, trembling at the cusp, waiting for the pleasurable release that an orgasm offers. “Nghh—Builder… I’m close…” Shedletsky whined out.

Builderman’s movements had grown more erratic now. Where before he’d guided cock with slow, steady precision, carefully easing it deeper into his ass, drawing out only to slide himself back in with expert control. But now there was a palpable urgency in his rhythm, his hand trembling slightly as he gripped the swordsman’s side.

“I’m close as well, Shedletsky…” Builderman murmured, his voice low, rough, breath catching between each word like he could barely hold it together. “Hold out a bit longer for me…, and cum with me…”

His motions, though still deliberate, had grown more intense, each push of his dick sinking deeper, pre-cum spilling slightly out of Shedletsky's ass and dripping softly onto the table under him. Shedletsky swallowed thickly, his throat dry despite the thick air hanging heavy in the room. He felt himself teetering, not even sure if he could wait long enough to cum with the other, each thrust pulling something taut inside of him, every stroke of his own dick sending ripples through his gut.

Shedletsky gazed up at Builderman, his fingers gently moving upward, brushing over the faint traces of stubble dusted on Builderman’s chin. His hands cupped the man’s jaw with deliberate tenderness, palms warm against the slight coolness of the other’s skin. His eyes sparkled faintly beneath half-lowered lids, reflecting the soft golden glow of the cabin’s dim lamplight.

“Cum inside me, please… Ahhnn—I want you to…” Shedletsky whispered, voice smooth and quiet like molasses slowly dripping from a spoon. His plea hung heavy in the air, almost lost beneath the subtle crackling of the nearby fireplace. As he spoke, he leaned forward, pulling Builderman into a deep, languid kiss, their lips pressing together gently. The moment felt weighty yet fragile, the kind of kiss that carried unspoken understanding and quiet urgency all at once.

Shedletsky couldn’t hold back any longer. As their mouths moved in sync, he let out a soft, involuntary sound—a moan that seemed to reverberate softly within the warm walls of the cabin, barely above a whisper but palpable. His body tensed slightly, the sensation mounting, as though years of craving and anticipation had all built up to this singular moment, and the tension culminated as he shuddered faintly. 

Thick, hot, milky white ropes of cum seeped across the top of his stomach as they spewed out from his dick, viscous ribbons curling like delicate icing along the curves of his form, the sweet representation of pleasure painting him as if he were a canvas

Builderman, still locked in the kiss, wasn’t far behind in reaching his own peak. A deep, resonant groan vibrated low in his chest as he leaned closer, his body pressing flush against Shedletsky’s, as if trying to become one with him. His hands clutched the sides of the swordsman firmly, guiding his cock deeper with a few last thrusts.

Streams of thick, molten hot stripes of cum flooded the space inside Shedletsky’s ass, seeping deep into every crevice inside of him—the sensation was intoxicating.

Shedletsky trembled faintly, his fingers still curled gently around Builderman’s jaw as if anchoring himself. They both stilled in the aftermath, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the quiet drip… drip… drip… of cum seeping out and pooling beneath Shedletsky, like time itself had slowed, allowing them a pause to take in what they’d done.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room seemed to hum softly around them—firelight flickering lazily, casting shadows on rough-hewn walls, the faint scent of their combined colognes lingering in the air, mingling with the more intimate aromas they’d created together. Shedletsky’s hand slowly slid to the back of Builderman’s head, fingers threading into his hair, gently pulling him impossibly closer as they continued kissing. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a brief stretch of eternity, there was nothing but the taste of the kiss, the warmth shared between them, and the unspoken understanding of what they’d just experienced.

Then, suddenly—sharp, jarring—the unmistakable sound of the front door creaking open cut through the stillness like a gust of cold air.

Both of them froze.

The kiss broke, lips hovering apart but still close, and in unison, they turned their gaze toward the source of the intrusion. Builderman’s hand instinctively released from the swordsman, while Shedletsky’s eyes widened, heart leaping to his throat.

Standing framed in the doorway, Noob awkwardly shuffled in, glancing around with little notice at first. But then their eyes landed on the scene before them—the shedded clothes remnant of their shared moment, the telltale slick smeared across Shedletsky’s stomach, their half hard members both visible under the dim lights…

Noob’s mouth dropped open slightly. A faint blush crept up their cheeks, and almost reflexively, they raised a hand to shield their eyes, fingers parting slightly as if forming a makeshift visor.

“Uh… Sorry to interrupt—I, uh… left my keys here…” they mumbled hurriedly, their voice a mixture of embarrassment and second-hand discomfort.

Builderman quickly shifted slightly to untangle Shedletsky’s legs from around him, deftly moving away from the disarray as Noob made their way toward the fireplace, snatching up the stray pair of keys left on the table nearby.

One of Builderman’s hands grabbed Shedletsky’s clothes and the other his own, tossing them hastily toward the swordsman, who was still caught somewhere between mortification and afterglow.

Shedletsky blinked, the weight of the situation catching up to him as he clumsily pulled his shirt back down, trying to cover the sticky glaze smeared across his front and shifting his shorts and boxers back on. Builderman was already tugging on his jeans, his face a careful mask of nonchalance though a faint flush lingered on his cheeks.

Noob, mercifully, seemed intent on pretending none of it happened. Keys now retrieved, they gave a tight, polite nod and fled the cabin, the door swinging shut with a soft thud that somehow felt deafening in the sudden quiet.

For a long beat, neither of them spoke.

Shedletsky finally let out a low groan, running a hand over his face as he stood up. The sticky sensation clinging to his stomach, the warmth, and now pain, radiating faintly from where a dick was shoved inches up his ass. It all lingered, undeniable, even as the moment passed. 

He glanced over at Builderman, who let out a soft, slightly sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing up at the ceiling as if silently asking the universe why their timing had to be so cursed. With a small shake of his head, Shedletsky bent down, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword to pick it up. When he stood up and glanced back at Builderman, his lips twitched into a faint, wry smile.

“Not exactly how I pictured things ending tonight…” Shedletsky murmured, voice quiet but touched with genuine amusement. “But I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

Stepping closer, he reached up, brushing a kiss against Builderman’s cheek—soft, fleeting, but meaningful. Pulling back just slightly, he caught his gaze, something warm and hopeful flickering in his eyes.

“You want to come back to my room to sleep?” he asked, voice lower now, almost tentative.

Builderman’s answering smile was slow but sure, a silent agreement between them. Without another word, the two quickly cleaned up their mess, moving toward the cabin’s front door. As they stepped out into the cool night air, the soft thud of the door closing behind them seemed to seal away the evening’s events, leaving only the possibility of another night like this—one that, perhaps, wouldn’t be interrupted.

Shedletsky couldn’t help but hope for it. Preferably next time, in a place where no unexpected visitors could walk in… though a part of him found the chaos oddly fitting, too.

Notes:

me after saying im not gonna do as long requests and whipping out 5k words...

anyways uhm my intrusive thoughts are telling me to start a cowboy/western forsaken au... but idk... i also got a request to make a hc fic, so idk if anyone is interested in either of those lmk bc it might happen (idk how hc fics rlly work tbh... i think you just rewrite the story with hcs right?? whatever idk)

sorry for taking a bit long to make this also i hit tag limit rip

Chapter 8: i dont even know. taph x builderman but bad and gorey

Notes:

dead dove
gore, kidnapping, cannibalism, cutting, organs and such, bone crushing, uhm yeah

no sex or anything, but some can-be referred-to-as-sexual ideas r discussed abt

im sorry for being gone. im going to be gone from this fic for a while. idk im not in a bad mental state but for some reason ive been rlly stressed and kinda am??? but im fine ehhhh

i started this fic like 3 weeks ago and never finished. it was between this and chance tripping absolute balls on datura. chose this. im not sure what im saying uhm sorry. my head hurts rlly bad i think im dehydrated

also this is my first time writing gore, so im sorry. also i think u can tell quality dropped a bit

 

taph did speech therapy to speak very, small words/noises. also previously stalked builder. talks like {'example'} when signing and "example" when actually speaking

ooc can kill me idrc.

also pls dont send any bad comments abt the topic of this cuz i dont think my mental can handle it rn unlike usual. i change my mind cuz i think my mental state is kinda bad, so ig this is slightly a vent lol

 

8.1k words.

If there was ever a soul to breathe life into the word “perfect,” to walk among the rest of them as something not quite human, not quite mortal, it was Builderman. The name alone carried a certain weight, a quiet gravity that drew eyes, hearts, and the very air in the room toward him. His presence made the world feel stiller, softer—like the lull between thunder or the moment just before sunrise breaks the edge of a dark sky. Builderman wasn’t just flawless—he was ethereal.

From the soft baritone of his voice, which dripped like warm honey through the fog of exhaustion they all carried, to the shape of his face—his cheekbones, dusky lashes, and a perpetual glint in his eye like he knew something you didn’t. His beauty was something sculpted from dusk and gold, not born, but crafted with intention. His personality made the air warmer. His humor, always dry, always perfectly timed, could melt even the most frigid silence. Everything about him shone, not brightly, but in a soft, magnetic sort of way that made it hard to look away—made it harder to ever stop thinking about him.

And Taph… oh, Taph could’ve gone on for hours, days, about the way Builderman’s laugh sometimes cracked at the end, or how he hummed under his breath when he was focused. About the way he always smelled faintly of sawdust, wind, and pine resin—the scent of someone who worked with their hands and lived to help others. Taph had notebooks—yes, plural—where he had written page after page of things he’d noticed, things he’d admired from across rooms, through windows, in brief glances and long stares. His admiration was not idle. It was constant. It was consuming.

And tonight, under the velvet hush of the nighttime canopy, the moon tucked behind a veil of clouds, Taph sat quietly on the front steps of the survivor’s cabin, kicking his feet in small arcs, hands tucked into the folds of his robes. He pulled his hood lower over his face, not that it helped too much since it was already hard to see his features. His cheeks were hot, flushed with a guilty warmth he hoped no one could see. The light from the lanterns strung overhead glowed soft and amber, casting long shadows on the dirt, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide his expression completely if you stared hard enough.

From his perch, he could see Builderman at the bulletin board—somewhat tall, broad-shouldered, posture loose but purposeful. He was removing the old, curling flyers, outdated announcements, and fading posters from the board, prepping it for a fresh layer of order. God, even that was beautiful. The way his sleeves were pushed up just enough to bare his forearms, the veins and sinew shifting beneath his skin every time he reached up, each subtle flex mesmerizing. He moved like someone who never wasted energy—efficient, capable, and effortlessly graceful. Taph couldn’t stop watching. He never could. His breath caught in his throat every time Builderman shifted weight from one foot to the other. He wanted so badly to be held in those arms, to be seen—not just noticed, but truly seen—by him.

But tonight wasn’t for idle admiration. No… tonight, he had a plan.

Taph’s fingers curled around the rag he’d kept tucked close to his side. It was off-white, stained from the chemical cocktail it had absorbed. The scent was strong—overwhelming, even at a distance—a sharp blend of ammonia, bleach, and something else acidic that burned the nose and made his eyes water—a makeshift chloroform. He’d mixed it carefully, precisely, the way Builderman would’ve, were he the one planning something with such precision. Taph smiled softly at the thought. He wanted this moment to be perfect. Just like him.

He stood up slowly, heart drumming beneath his ribs, palms clammy with anticipation as he approached. Each step crunched underfoot—dry leaves, twigs, loose gravel—though he moved as lightly as he could, like a ghost. The shadows danced with him, stretching and shrinking with the movement of the lanterns above.

Builderman hadn’t noticed yet. He was still preoccupied, brow furrowed just slightly as he worked the last few staples from the board. Taph was close enough now to see the slight sheen of sweat along the curve of Builderman’s neck, the way a few strands of hair stuck to the back of it, damp from labor. He could see the rise and fall of his chest and the strength beneath his calm.

Builderman turned, just his head, just a glance over his shoulder, and Taph froze, caught briefly in that look. Builderman only gave a polite, slightly confused smile—small, harmless. Beautiful. God, he was beautiful.

Taph lifted one hand in a sheepish wave, trying not to let his other hand tremble, still clutching the chemical-soaked rag. He watched, breath held tight in his throat, as Builderman turned back to the board without suspicion. No questions. No alarm. Just trust. Always trust.

It was such a blessing. Such a gift. And Taph took it.

He closed the remaining distance in two quick steps, pressing the front of his body flush against Builderman’s back. One arm snaked around, firm and fast, shoving the rag hard against his mouth, the other hand pinching his nose closed in the same breath. Builderman’s whole body went rigid, and he jerked backward instinctively, posters fluttering from his hands, the stapler clattering to the ground with a dull thud. His legs kicked slightly, trying to get footing, trying to resist, but the chemicals were potent—more potent than they should’ve been, maybe. It only took seconds before he began to sag in Taph’s grip, the tension draining from him like a sigh.

Taph held him the entire time, not letting go, not easing up, whispering a quiet, almost loving “shhh” into his ear as he felt the final twitch of resistance leave him. The sound came out rough and uneven, even with Taph having practiced making small noises like that for him, and he hoped Builderman heard the effort he put into making the sound.

Builderman was heavy, solid in his arms, but Taph lifted him with a tenderness he hadn’t thought himself capable of. He adjusted his grip, arms curling beneath Builderman’s knees and back, hoisting him up into a bridal carry as though they were standing at the altar, flowers raining from above, everyone clapping.

He stared down at the unconscious man in his arms. His lashes were so long, his lips parted ever so slightly—He looked at peace. Taph’s chest fluttered.

He smiled—slowly, dreamily—and stepped away from the board, cradling Builderman like something sacred. He ignored the posters scattered around their feet. He ignored the stapler glinting on the ground, broken and forgotten. There would be time for cleanup later.

Tonight, he would make reality feel like a dream. And soon, Builderman would wake up in it. With him. Forever.

…

Taph stood in the center of the warehouse, the door behind him long shut and sealed with thick chains and a reinforced lock. The sound of it closing earlier still rang faintly in his mind—final, metallic, irreversible. This place, forgotten on the outskirts of town, had once been a storage space for tools or perhaps lumber. Now it had been stripped of purpose, hollow and echoing like the cavern of his own longings. He’d rented it quietly days ago, under a false name, with cash he’d saved over months, and no questions had been asked. That was the blessing of desolate places—no one cared what happened inside them.

Dust hung in the air like powder, stirred into faint clouds every time Taph moved. It caught the light of the single lantern he’d set on a crate beside the wooden chair sat in the middle, forming golden ribbons that spun lazily around him. That lantern was the room’s only illumination—a modest, flickering flame that pulsed in sync with Taph’s quickened breath. Its glow was soft and trembling, casting dancing shadows along the warped walls and cracked concrete floor. In its warm circle of light sat Builderman, slouched gently in the chair, the same chair Taph had found discarded outside the warehouse and dragged here for this purpose.

The chair itself was unremarkable—its legs uneven, the wood dry and splintering, stained faintly from age. But seated in it, Builderman transformed it. He made it elegant. Even now, unconscious, head bowed slightly forward, his presence filled the room. His shadow reached long behind him, arms limp at his sides, mouth parted just slightly, drawing in soft, slow breaths. He was beautiful—achingly so. His hair had fallen forward to brush against his cheek, catching the lantern light in strands of pure gorgeousness. His chest rose and fell with such tranquil rhythm that for a moment, Taph merely stood and watched him, marveling at the way he existed. But he couldn’t lose focus. Not now.

He stepped quietly across the room, boots scuffing faintly on the ground as he approached, each movement deliberate. From within the folds of his robes, he pulled out the thin coil of wire he had tucked there earlier—gleaming silver, cold, coiled like a serpent waiting to strike. It wasn’t ideal. Rope would’ve been softer, more traditional, but wire was unforgiving. Wire bit. And if Builderman stirred, if he panicked, it would serve as a quiet warning—a whisper against the skin that said: “Don’t struggle. Don’t leave me.”

Taph knelt beside him, knees settling in the dust with a soft crunch. The air smelled of rust, old wood, and faintly of bleach—he’d cleaned the mattress earlier with whatever he had on hand left from his earlier chloroform concoction, scrubbing until his knuckles turned red so it would look nice enough for Builderman to lay on it. It still looked dingy, sitting folded in the far corner of the room, but it was cleaner now. Or at least… passable.

He took Builderman’s right arm first, gently lifting it and pressing it against the arm of the chair. His skin was warm to the touch. Taph paused, letting his hand rest on his wrist for a moment too long, just feeling the pulse beneath his fingertips. Slow, steady. Then he looped the wire around—once, twice, thrice—until it was snug, pressing lightly into the flesh but not cutting. Not yet.

He repeated the process with the other arm, then the legs—carefully wrapping them to the legs of the chair, ensuring there was no room to twist away, no slack to work loose. Each movement was practiced now. He’d rehearsed it in his head for days, nights, in fevered dreams and waking thoughts.

He stepped back to assess. Builderman’s form was still, his breath unchanged, though his brow twitched slightly in discomfort. Taph hesitated, then reached back into his robes and pulled out the last of the wire. Just to be sure. Just for safety. He wrapped it lightly across his torso, crossing over his chest and beneath his arms, anchoring him securely to the wooden spine of the chair. He pulled the ends tight, but not cruelly. It wasn’t about pain. It was about closeness.

The wire, finally spent, was tucked back into the folds of his robes. His fingers felt clumsy now. Too warm, too fast. His heart was racing and he could feel the thud of it in his throat as he stood there, staring.

Builderman looked angelic. Slouched but still noble, helpless but not broken. Even bound, he radiated a calm power. And Taph… Taph was overwhelmed. A tide rising in his chest.

Slowly, with reverence, he reached up and plucked the familiar hat from Builderman’s head—the one he always wore, the one that shadowed his eyes just enough to make him enigmatic. It was stiff between his fingers, worn along the edges, smelling faintly of sweat. He turned it over once, then lowered it gently to the floor beside the chair.

{‘There,’} Taph signed to himself. {‘Now I can see you better.’}

And he could. With his hair no longer tucked beneath the hat, strands tumbled over his forehead and temples, soft and tousled from unwilling sleep. Taph reached out, careful, soft, and brushed a lock away from his eyes, tucking it gently behind his ear. As he did, Builderman flinched faintly, a small, involuntary twitch at the touch. The soft brush of hair against his skin made his brow crease slightly. A beautiful reaction—So delicate, so real.

Taph felt his breath catch.

He reached out again, this time cupping Builderman’s cheek in his palm. The stubble along his jaw was coarse beneath his thumb, but warm. Comforting. He rubbed slow, small circles there, marveling at the subtle response. Builderman leaned into his touch, unconsciously, instinctively. Builderman’s lips parted just a little bit, his eyelashes quivered—then fluttered. And then… his eyes opened.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Builderman blinked slowly, groggy and dazed, the pupils of his eyes dilating as he tried to focus. He looked around—eyes darting to the shadows, the ceiling, the walls—then the wires. Panic began to rise behind his gaze like a tide. Taph saw the way his breathing picked up, saw his chest begin to tremble with realization. 

But Taph was already there for him. He brought his hand from Builderman’s cheek to his mouth, placing his index finger lightly over his lips. A hush. A promise. “Shh,” he whispered hoarsely like before, trying to make it like a lullaby. Then he brought his other hand to his own face, mimicking the motion—finger to lips—inviting silence, understanding.

Builderman hesitated. But then slowly… he obeyed. 

He went still, his eyes locked onto Taph’s. He didn’t speak.

Obedient. So obedient. Taph’s heart bloomed in his chest like something sacred. He lowered his hand and just looked at him, stared into those confused, searching eyes, drinking in the quiet between them like it was holy.

Now that he had him—now that he really had him—he didn’t know what to do.

As Taph stood in the low light of the warehouse, the flickering lantern beside them casting long, trembling shadows against the cracked concrete walls, his mind churned with a dozen restless desires. 

Thoughts curled like smoke through his consciousness—soft, slow, sticky-sweet things. He imagined it over and over again, tracing the thought like the edge of a blade: what it would feel like to curl up on Builderman’s lap—not just rest there, not just sit, but truly belong there. To be wrapped up, pressed tight against that warm, firm chest, letting himself melt into the curve of his arms. He’d bury his face in the warm hollow of Builderman’s neck and inhale deeply, greedily, until his lungs ached with the scent he’d memorized so long ago. That earthy cologne—bold and subtle at once—was familiar, constant, grounding. It clung to Builderman like the air clings to a thunderstorm. Rich. Magnetic. His.

Builderman deserved that. Deserved to be held. Deserved to be worshipped, adored, treasured like the miracle he was. He didn’t know it—not yet—but Taph would give him that. All of it. Forever, if he let him.

As the thought consumed him, Taph took a step forward, emerging from the circle of dim lanternlight and into Builderman’s immediate orbit. His boots whispered against the floor, kicking up little bursts of dust in his wake. Builderman’s eyes tracked the movement faintly, lids still half-lowered from exhaustion and the remnants of fumes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. But his body… his body reacted.

Taph’s breath hitched as he watched it: the slight, instinctive pull at his arms as Builderman tried to adjust to his approaching figure. The wires, still tightly looped, bit into his skin with little mercy. His sleeves had been rolled to the elbows when Taph took him, exposing the soft, grey underside of his forearms—skin that was now marred with irritated red rings and the thin beginnings of shallow welts. 

The movement pulled against the bindings, causing the wire to slice just enough to draw narrow beads of blood that slipped slowly across his skin like ink. Builderman groaned softly—not loud, but pained, a low, involuntary sound that reverberated through Taph’s chest like thunder. His heart sank.

Taph immediately dropped to his knees beside the chair, the sight of those crimson threads breaking through the surface of such perfect skin sending a sharp pang through his gut. {‘No… no, I didn’t mean to hurt you,’} he signed, mostly to himself. 

His hands hovered for a moment, shaking faintly, before he finally bunched up one of the long, draping sleeves of his robes. The fabric—already dark—grew darker still as it absorbed the warm, wet blood that had begun to trickle. He dabbed at it softly, carefully, almost reverently. As if touching a holy wound. The fabric soaked and pressed, and Builderman’s arms flinched once again—less from pain this time, more from discomfort.

{‘They’re not deep,’} Taph pulled away briefly to sign, reassuring himself. {‘They’re not deep. You’ll be okay.’} But even as the blood stopped, the raw red lines remained, angry and fresh, blooming beneath the wire like warnings. It made his stomach twist. He hadn’t prepared well enough. Silk ties, maybe. Something that wouldn’t scar. Something worthy of Builderman’s body.

Taph’s sleeve fell back down, heavy with blood and regret. He let out a breath, long and low, before slowly standing and stepping forward again—closer, close enough that Builderman could feel the heat radiating from his body. Taph stared at him for a moment, chest rising and falling with quiet intensity.

Then, gently, slowly, he climbed onto Builderman’s lap.

It was awkward at first, squeezing his legs through the narrow openings beneath the chair’s wooden arms, shifting his weight carefully so as not to pull at the bindings. But when he settled—when his knees found purchase and his body lowered into Builderman’s lap—something clicked. Builderman’s stomach flinched beneath the pressure, muscles contracting as he adjusted instinctively to the weight. But he didn’t pull away this time. He didn’t fight it. He stilled.

Smart, Taph thought. So, so smart.

He was careful as he leaned in, arms snaking around Builderman’s back, threading between the criss-cross of taut wire, finding space to wrap around him in a full, protective hold. His chest pressed gently to Builderman’s, their bodies fitting together with surprising ease. Taph rested his head in the crook of his neck, nuzzling softly into the space there. Builderman’s skin was warm—alive. Not like many times before. Not like when he was unconscious. This was different, this was real. Breathing, pulsing, trembling warmth. Taph’s eyes fluttered closed, his entire body sinking into that presence as his face flushed with heat.

The sensation overwhelmed him. Builderman was solid beneath him—broad, strong, and unmistakably there. The blood rushed to his face, his ears, his chest—pounding like a hymn in his veins. He buried his face deeper into Builderman’s neck, lips barely brushing the skin through the cloth covering them, and felt a shudder run through him from the contact.

He needed more.

With one slow, trembling hand, Taph reached up and moved the bandana from his face, tugging it down to rest loosely around his neck. The cool air kissed his lips, made them feel exposed, but he didn’t care. His arm returned to its place around Builderman’s waist, and now—now—his breath landed directly against that sensitive stretch of skin at his neck. Slow, warm, damp.

He paused.

He tilted his head slightly.

And he kissed him.

Just once, at first—a soft, careful press of lips to the base of Builderman’s neck, where the pulse thrummed beneath the skin. Builderman flinched again, his shoulders tightening, his mouth parting with a silent gasp. Taph felt it. Felt the breath leave him. Felt the tremor that ran down his spine. The surprise.

Adorable.

So he kissed him again—this time just a little higher, his lips lingering longer against the skin, warm and open and reverent. His mouth was gentle, tracing the line of Builderman’s neck with worshipful care. The texture of his skin was like silk warmed by sunlight. Every inch of it was a miracle. And Taph wasn’t about to leave any of it untouched.

He moved slowly, delicately, trailing kisses from the curve of his throat up to the edge of his jaw. Each kiss was a prayer, each breath a confession. Builderman’s head tilted ever so slightly—just enough to give him more space, intentional or not. His cheeks flushed faintly in the dim lanternlight, pink blooming beneath his skin like roses through snow. Taph’s heart throbbed at the sight. 

He brought the hand resting at his waist upwards and cupped Builderman’s jaw, guiding his face gently with the pads of his fingers. His stubble was rough, prickling against his lips as he kissed along it, but Taph didn’t mind. The sensation only made it more real. Every little “imperfection” only made him more divine.

He could see it now—Builderman’s eyes fluttering, lips parted but silent, throat working as he swallowed thickly. A visible movement—his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly, drawing Taph’s attention to it like a magnet. There was something tender in that motion, something almost shy—almost scared, and Taph couldn’t resist pressing his lips there too, gentle and slow, before returning to the edge of his jaw.

Without thinking, Taph’s hand slid up from around Builderman’s back and cradled his jaw. The curve of his palm fit perfectly against his face, thumb pressing lightly along the edge of his cheekbone. He guided him gently, not forcing—just easing him, tilting his head even further so he could kiss up the side of his jaw further. Builderman’s jaw was strong, but the small tremors in his cheeks betrayed him—he was nervous. Flushed. Vulnerable in a way Taph had never seen. He was gorgeous like this.

Sure, Taph had seen him blush before. A drink too many, maybe, or a compliment said a little too loud. But this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t intoxication. This wasn’t playfulness. This was the raw heat of touch. The kind of closeness that stripped people bare.

So cute. So achingly cute.

Builderman parted his lips slightly as though to speak, the shape of a word forming at the corner of his mouth—but Taph moved quickly. One of his hands that had cupped his jaw shifted upward, covering his mouth with gentle pressure. His thumb brushed against his cheek, silencing him before sound could leave. He didn’t want to hear it—not yet.

He loved Builderman’s voice. He could listen to him speak for hours. But now? Now, it frightened him. What if he said something that would break this moment? What if his voice fractured the illusion of safety that wrapped around them like a blanket?

No—no words.

Taph leaned in and kissed the curve of his cheek instead, a soft press of lips to skin still warm from the beginnings of a tear. Then, slowly, he pulled back. He wanted to see him—really see him.

Builderman’s eyes met his, wide and bright beneath the low light. There was fear in them. Not panic, but something quieter—a deep, tired vulnerability. One of his eyes shimmered, and a single tear clung to the corner like a raindrop suspended on glass. It hadn’t fallen yet. It just hung there, waiting, as if asking permission.

Taph’s heart clenched.

It hurt to see him like this.

He brought his hand back to cup Builderman’s jaw again, his thumb drawing small circles into his cheek the way it had before—soft, slow, endlessly patient. With his other hand, he reached up to gently catch the tear with his finger. It disappeared against his skin, absorbed and erased, but the emotion behind it remained.

With both hands now cradling his face, Taph leaned in once more. He moved slowly—as always—as though the air between them had turned thick with meaning, and he had to push through it to reach him. When their lips finally met, it was almost hesitant. A breath held too long. A touch that trembled with weight.

Builderman’s lips were soft—incredibly soft. Softer than Taph had imagined, even in his most secret thoughts. And he had imagined this before—hundreds of times, in fleeting glimpses and whispered dreams. But never like this. Never with so much quiet intensity between them.

He’d held himself back for so long. He’d never kissed him before today—not even once. And now that he had, he was overwhelmed. It was like kissing sunlight, or falling into a warm sea. His eyes fluttered closed, his mind blurring into the feeling.

Then—unexpectedly—a soft sound escaped Taph’s lips as he felt a hesitant pressure against his own. Builderman was kissing him back.

It was cautious. Fragile. Barely there. But real.

That simple gesture—the smallest, softest response—made something inside Taph break open. A slow, aching hunger filled his chest. He leaned in more, deepening the kiss instinctively, lips pressing harder against Builderman’s. In his desperation, his weight shifted slightly, and Builderman’s back pressed into the chair—too hard. Taph froze as he felt him stiffen beneath him, a sharp breath trembling against his mouth. 

Then—a cry. A soft, muffled whimper, quickly followed by the sensation of something wet landing on Taph’s cheek. Taph pulled away.

Builderman was panting softly, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. His lips were slightly swollen, red from the kiss. And a tear was slipping down his cheek, tracing a path through the flush still clinging to his skin.

Taph’s face fell into a deep frown.

No. That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t cry.

He was being kissed. Being loved. Why was he sad? Why did his face twist like that, like he was hurt?

He wasn’t bleeding anymore. He wasn’t alone. He was being worshipped, held, adored.

Wasn’t that what every man wanted? To be seen like this? Touched like this?

To be treasured?

Taph didn’t understand—but he tried. Gently, again, he wiped the tear away with his hand, brushing it across his cheek like one might handle the edge of a broken petal. Then he let his hands drop from Builderman’s face, giving him room.

He brought his hands up again, this time not to touch—but to speak.

With a soft motion, he signed a single sentence, his fingers flowing in smooth, practiced movements. {‘Stop crying.’} He added a small hand heart at the end, fingers curling together before his chest—his own way of saying “I care for you. I really do.”

Builderman blinked. He sniffed softly and gave a faint nod, swallowing down another wave of emotion. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension melting just a little, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slow.

Taph rewarded him with a soft kiss to the cheek, the warmth of it lingering long after his lips parted from skin. The gesture was soft—gentle—but behind it was a hidden hunger, barely restrained. 

His hands, no longer idle, wandered instinctively down, finding the hem of Builderman’s hoodie. His fingers brushed the soft fabric until they met the firm shape of his waist beneath it. There, they rested for a heartbeat—palms flat, thumbs lightly grazing the gentle swell of skin at his sides.

It was subtle, that curve of flesh. A softness that many might overlook—but Taph noticed. He noticed everything about Builderman.

He wanted more.

Was that odd?

He didn’t think so.

Was it too much to want to know him—not just the man who stood tall and brave and carried his name like armor, but the body that held him? Taph wanted to feel the real weight of him, to explore the little feature that made him beautiful in ways that had nothing to do with symmetry or design.

He wanted to feel the slight pudge at his sides, the kind of softness that meant there had been nights with too much food, mornings without routines, comfort taken where it could be found. He wanted to run his palms along the contours of his stomach, feel the faint hair that dusted the plane of his body—not because it was remarkable, but because it was his.

Builderman’s body wasn’t sculpted or pristine. It was lived-in. Human. And that humanity was magnetic.

Taph’s fingers slid upward, slow and reverent, tugging the hoodie with them. The fabric rose inch by inch, revealing slivers of warm skin beneath. The texture changed—first the edge of waistband, then a flat plane of stomach, and finally, the smooth curve just beneath his chest. As the garment bunched beneath his pecs, still hiding them away, the faint light in the room caught the skin at different angles, casting soft shadows along the faint line of muscle and the dip of his navel.

Taph’s eyes were drawn to the line of hair tracing its way from Builderman’s bellybutton downward. A simple trail, dark and curled, leading beneath the waistband of his pants. It was a line that told a story—one that whispered of vulnerability and heat, of something private and real.

The sight alone made Taph’s face burn, warmth blossoming across his cheeks like wildfire. He wasn’t just flustered. He was consumed.

He had always admired Builderman’s hair—not just the strands on his head, which he had seen tousled after sleep or damp from sweat—but the hair everywhere else. The dark dusting on his arms that caught sunlight in almost golden strands. The thicker tufts on his legs, tangled and soft. Even the darker curls lower down—coarser, hidden, rarely seen—Taph adored them all, though he’d never say so aloud.

Unless Builderman asked.

Obviously.

A breath caught in Taph’s throat as he dropped down, knees gently thudding against the floor. He knelt before him, like someone at an altar, his hands still cradling that soft waist. His eyes took in his stomach now exposed before him, and with slow deliberation, he leaned forward.

His lips met warm skin—just above the navel.

The contact was electric. He felt the faint tremor that passed through Builderman’s frame at the first kiss, his muscles twitching slightly beneath him. Encouraged, Taph pressed another kiss, this time to the bellybutton itself, and then another along the line of the happy trail. Each kiss was more daring than the last, and as he grew bolder, his hand gripped the soft flesh at Builderman’s side just a bit tighter.

He gave it a gentle squeeze—just enough to feel the give beneath his fingers, the realness of it. The warmth. The life.

Then, emboldened beyond reason, Taph dragged his tongue lightly along the trail of hair leading downward. He wasn’t thinking. He was just moving, pulled by instinct, by curiosity, by devotion disguised as desire. It wasn’t vulgar—it was reverent, worshipful. Like he was learning a language built entirely out of skin.

Builderman’s breath caught, sharp and sudden. His stomach sucked in from the sensation, tightening beneath Taph’s mouth, and from his lips escaped a small, almost inaudible groan. It was fragile, as though even that noise had hesitated to exist.

Taph heard it. Felt it. And inside his chest, something bloomed.

He liked that. He liked knowing he could draw that sound out of him. That he could cause this reaction with nothing more than lips and tongue and hands that knew how to ask, not take.

It thrilled him.

Taph’s mouth moved lower still, trailing kisses down to the waistband of Builderman’s pants. His lips found the edge of the fabric, brushing across the seam where skin met cotton. The scent of Builderman’s laundry detergent met his nose—clean, faintly citrus, comfortingly domestic. It was so distinctly him, and for some reason, it made Taph’s chest ache.

As he kissed the waistband itself, he felt it—the faintest twitch. Builderman’s hips shifting ever so slightly, a small buck forward, barely perceptible, as though his body couldn’t help itself.

Taph noticed everything.

The movement didn’t go far—he was still tied, after all. The wire binding his legs was tight, snug against his pants, pinning his thighs down. It bit into the fabric a little but hadn’t torn anything. And thankfully, it hadn’t touched skin.

Still, it was there. A barrier. A reminder.

And Taph?

Taph wanted him. He wanted him badly.

But he knew better.

The idea alone was dangerous. Reckless. His hands stilled against Builderman’s hips, and his mouth lingered at the waistband before pulling away. His gaze traveled upward, following the line of Builderman’s stomach, up to his flushed face, his wide, dark eyes staring down at him.

There was heat in those eyes.

And something else.

Uncertainty.

Fear, maybe.

Taph knew—he knew—that Builderman wouldn’t want what he was thinking. Wouldn’t want to give what Taph’s body ached to ask for.

And that should have been enough to stop the thoughts.

But they wouldn’t shut up.

Taph wanted everything. His mind spiraled, trembling on the edge of something far darker than touch. He wanted his heart, his pulse, his bones. He wanted to peel him open, understand every sinew and muscle, hold every piece of him in his hands and feel what made him Builderman.

He wanted to unzip him from the inside out. He wanted to know him the way teeth know flesh.

He wanted to claw it all off and eat it.

He didn’t want to harm him—not really. It wasn’t malice. It was worship twisted into obsession. A grotesque, beautiful hunger that language couldn’t explain. Something sublime. Wynorrific. Bittersweet and decaying like overripe fruit.

A mess of thoughts. Jumbled, spiraling, unholy.

But it would quiet them. Wouldn’t it? If he just—just took.

As Taph sat on his knees, the cold concrete pressing hard into his joints, he stared upward with a gaze that flickered between reverence and hunger. His lips parted, damp with anticipation, tongue flicking out to wet the dryness of silence, and the subtle tremble in his hands betrayed how tightly his focus had narrowed on Builderman. There was a heat between them—dense, humming, almost sickly-sweet.

Builderman flushed, his skin dampening with a sheen that caught the light like sugar melting. Sweat beaded along his hairline and trickled slowly down the slope of his temple, tracing rivulets along his jaw. His chest rose in staggered pulls, as though every breath was a slow stir of something thick threatening to seize.

Taph’s hands, once idle, reached up to steady himself. They found Builderman’s legs, fumbling slightly, seeking something to brace against as his thoughts jumbled. His fingers dug into the pockets of Builderman’s pants—clumsily at first, then slower.

There were things in those pockets. Objects.

His hands clenched around them, uncertain. Curiosity bloomed in his face.

What exactly had he brought with him? What was he carrying?

With careful fingers, he reached into the left pocket, pulling out objects one by one like an old surgeon selecting his instruments. A phone—cracked and buzzing faintly with a half-dead screen. A worn leather wallet, edges curled like it had seen years of use. And finally, a small box of matches, rough cardboard softened by use.

Taph examined the matches, set them gently aside as if they were too fragile for what came next, and tossed the phone and wallet over his shoulder. The sound of the phone shattering against the floor echoed through the room with a satisfying crunch, like brittle bones under a mallet.

Then his hand slid into the other pocket, deeper. There, nestled like a final surprise at the bottom of a pickled mason jar, was a pocketknife. Not the kind bloated with tons of awkward tools, but a single, gleaming blade—sleek, balanced, beautiful. The handle was smooth and cool, like the inner lining of hollow organs.

“Oh,” Taph whispered roughly to the best of his ability to no one, smile curling like a ribbon of pulled tendons. {‘A perfect edge.’}

He stood. The knife flicked open with a practiced motion, steel glinting under the lantern’s light. It caught the shine like a surgical blade being held to a patient. He traced the air with the blade, dancing it lazily before plunging it into the arm of the wooden chair beside one of Builderman’s hands.

The wood gave a groan, splintering in protest. Builderman flinched, instinctively pulling his hand back from the sudden intrusion. The movement was quick but small enough to draw a hairline scratch from the wire once again—no more than a paper cut—but red welled up regardless.

Taph tilted his head, as if fascinated by the color, and reached out. He pressed his sleeve against the scratch with a featherlight touch again, absorbing the blood into the fabric. His smile widened, patient and oddly satisfied.

Then, almost ceremoniously, Taph climbed onto Builderman’s lap, resuming his previous position. The warmth radiating off the man’s chest rose up like he was a fresh corpse, and his fingers drifted across the bare skin of his abdomen, tracing lazy, floury lines, as though marking places to signal where to cut as if it was a surgery. Builderman tensed, a quiet sound escaping him—half groan, half breath—caught between embarrassment and some deeper instinct.

Taph leaned in to press a slow, deliberate kiss to his mouth, sweet and stifling. But he pulled away just as quickly, as though it had only been a test.

He untied the wire that laced Builderman’s midsection—like the decorative wrapping of bandage. With the same knife still in hand, he brought the blade to the surface of that beautiful grey-colored skin, not to cut, but to trace.

Slowly, with the care of a doctor looking for any problems with his supple flesh, he drew the edge across Builderman’s stomach. The pressure was deliberate but still gentle and Builderman sucked in a sharp breath, ribs lifting. A painter might call it an under-sketch. A surgeon might call it a mark of intent. Taph simply called it foreplay.

The knife kissed the skin with a cold gleam, catching against it just enough to leave a line—shallow, harmless, but clear. Builderman’s whole body went stiff beneath him, breath caught and held.

Then Taph tilted his head, pouted mock-thoughtfully, and pressed the blade down to slice into his perfect flesh. He imagined what laid inside—layers of cell and tissue, the dense organ-meat of human perfection. Liver, kidneys, lungs and liver… The heart…

The anatomy of beauty, all hidden beneath a soft shell of skin.

Builderman cried out, and Taph moved swiftly, stuffing his sleeve between Builderman’s lips, muffling the sound. His expression turned down, not in cruelty but in disappointment. {‘Quiet. No noise,’} he signed awkwardly due to his sleeve. {‘It’s not time to taste you yet.’}

He resumed his slicing, dragging the blade down in looping spirals, almost cutting just to cut. The blood began spilling everywhere on the two—liquid maroon, thick as syrup, emerging in ribbons. It stained Taph’s clothes, darkening the black of his robe into something bruised and dark red. His hands worked carefully, as if performing surgery with warm, bare fingers, pulling at a world of secrets just beneath the surface.

Soon he reached what he imagined to be the ribs—hard, brittle, and sharp. They resisted with a crackle. He quickly signed, frustrated at the obstruction. {‘Stupid. So useless.’}

It took several precise, almost forceful shoves against the right side of Builderman’s ribs before Taph heard the first satisfying crack. It wasn’t clean. No, nothing worth savoring ever was. Fractures spidered outward from the impact site, forming delicate webs of bone fissures that shimmered in the light, glowing with deep cherry-red blood above their surface. He hummed a tune under his breath—some lullaby or childhood memory, forgotten in words but remembered in feeling—as he drove his knife deeper into the ethereal body beneath him.

Each stroke of the blade was a challenge, a whisper of friction meeting something dense and resistant. There were hiccups, of course—Builderman squirmed under the pressure, letting out startled gasps, stifled shouts, muffled screams that echoed like kettle-whistles against Taph’s cheek. The resistance wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, maybe even spiritual. But resistance always gave way.

Somewhere in his surgical improvisation, he slipped—his blade sliced a lung by mistake. A large squirt of blood poured outward and Builderman stilled almost immediately. His body gave one final tremor, then settled, sinking into the chair’s embrace.

Taph paused, tilting his head. “Oh?” he whispered, voice lined with ragged, yet honeyed concern. No more wriggling. No more squirming. No more disobedient clenching of fists or twitching of knees. {‘Did you fall asleep on me?’} He leaned in, touching his forehead to Builderman’s. {‘That’s cute. You really couldn’t wait, huh?’}

The blood—rich, thick, sticky—was everywhere. It matted the folds of Taph’s robes and clung to the ridges of his fingers, ruddy and slow as if reluctant to be shed. With a delicate flick of the wrist, he began a longer incision down the abdomen, dragging the tip of his blade like a calligrapher dragging ink across parchment. He wasn’t just cutting—he was opening, unveiling. Unwrapping a gift.

The skin parted under his fingers like fondant being rolled away from a cake’s inner layer. With care, he peeled the flap of the skin back and tucked it gently to the side, revealing the soft, damp glisten of Builderman’s inside world. There were no words, not really—just a flutter in Taph’s chest. A sense of awe. Was it beauty? Horror? Infatuation?

His hands, still sticky with that ruby glaze, slid inside the hollow cavity as he set the knife onto his lap, each movement a gentle shuffle through the plush, drenched interior. His fingers passed over his intestines, pushed through internal organs, plush folds of fat, and kidneys slick with blood—like everything else. The scent of iron still hung thick in the air, but his brain was too overwhelmed by the sweetness of the moment.

Then he finally found it after feeling around. Nestled deep inside, warm but fading, was the heart. It wasn’t the plump, cartoonish version he’d once seen drawn in pink ink on handmade valentines—it was dense and strange. It pulsed once, or maybe it was just his own pulse, echoing through his hands.

He cradled it in both palms and brought it slowly toward his chest, as though holding the final piece of a dessert he had labored hours to bake. The heart was heavy, warm, and it felt like it was reluctant to leave its bloodied cradle. It slipped slightly in his grasp, leaving streaks of red-black behind as it plopped into his lap.

{‘Hello there,’} Taph signed, as if meeting someone new at a party. {‘You’re smaller than I thought.’}

Then, unable to resist, he picked it back up and brought it to his lips.

The first lick was tentative—a taste test. The iron tang didn’t play well with the organ-y overtones, and he winced, brow furrowing. Like biting into a truffle only to discover it’s filled with cold gravy. But still—this was Builderman. This was him. To waste any of it would be a crime against sentiment.

He opened his mouth and took a slow, grinding bite, teeth barely making it through the tissue before sinking into the chewy, soft center. The texture was appalling. Grainy. Bitter. Chewy in the wrong way. He gagged once, covered his mouth with his sticky wrist, and forced himself to swallow.

The heart went down in chunks, slow and rebellious. Taph had to breathe through his nose between bites, almost crying with the effort to keep it all down. It was vile. It was intimate. It was devotion.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. But when it was over—when he wiped the last smear of iron-rich blood from his chin—he sat back in a daze, hands trembling, mouth coated in the taste of something holy and rotten at once.

As he slid off of Builderman, a delicate clink rang out—the knife that had been resting on his lap fell to the floor, glinting like a shard under the dim light. It spun for a moment, catching the glow before coming to a rest on the soaked concrete floor.

With a meticulous hand, Taph reached down to untangle the wires that had been wound around Builderman’s wrists and ankles—caring less about the knife now. The bindings fell away in loops, curling onto the floor with the soft obedience of something no longer resisting. As the wire fell away, Builderman’s body slumped forward, slightly folding with the fragile grace. Despite his limpness, he remained sitting upright in the chair—a patient with his procedure completed, posture still, as though waiting for the doctor’s final assessment.

Taph tilted his head, a smile curling on his face. {‘So obedient when you choose to be,’} he mused to himself, running his hand along Builderman’s jaw like he was appraising a delicate piece of art. Then, with a reverent motion, he reached forward and cradled Builderman into his arms—a marionette resting against its puppeteer. The hug was awkward, like wrapping oneself around a mannequin, but Taph didn’t mind the imbalance. He simply held on, letting their warmth mingle.

As he pulled away to admire his beloved, he finally took in the full aftermath. Blood slicked along Builderman’s torso, soaked into his wrinkled clothes. It stained everything, soaked the floor of the room, the chair, their skin. So much mess—so much life—and it was all his. Such a waste, and yet, such beauty.

With a trembling reverence, Taph pressed a gentle kiss to Builderman’s cheek, unaware that his own face was already sticky with the residue of their earlier chaos. The moment their skin met, the blood—a thick and sticky blush—spread from one body to another.

Taph gasped. {‘No, no, no…’} he panicked, rubbing Builderman's face hastily, trying to erase the scarlet smear, but with every attempt, the red deepened, streaking across his features.

His robes were no help either—saturated in the same thick liquid, no longer absorbent but merely another vessel of the same color. Taph stared for a long moment, biting his lip, the taste of iron lingering there. Finally, he let out a sigh, a sound like a balloon deflating quietly at a party’s end.

With practiced care, he scooped Builderman up once more, carrying him bridal-style as though he were a delicate sculpture that might collapse under its own weight. Across the warehouse he walked, stepping lightly to avoid puddles of blood that threatened to cling to his boots.

He moved to the far corner that sat the mattress—bare and lonely. He lowered Builderman onto it gently, the thin blanket crinkling beneath them, already beginning to drink in the red like thirsty velvet.

Taph adjusted the blanket over Builderman’s body with a tender touch. Then, sliding under the blanket himself, Taph turned onto his side, curling his body toward the one beside him. He reached out and laid his hand against Builderman’s torso, where the warmth still lingered faintly. He nuzzled close, pressing his forehead to the crook of Builderman’s neck, where the skin was still soft and slightly damp.

{‘So perfect,’} he signed under the blacket. {‘Everything about you. The symmetry. The softness. The quiet.’} His fingers traced along Builderman’s side, delicate as a scalpel tracing a line before the incision is made.

He could’ve done more. He should’ve. There was so much he had left unexplored, untouched—so many connections left uncharted, like a surgeon leaving the anatomy book half-read. But perhaps Builderman understood. Perhaps that unspoken empathy passed between them in some nonverbal transmission, like a pulse of electricity on a fading ECG screen.

Taph yawned softly, fatigue rolling over him like anesthesia settling into his bloodstream. His eyelids grew heavy. His breath synced with the still chest beside him, imagining for a moment that they were rising and falling together.

{‘One day,’} he signed, invisibly under the blanket still, {‘we’ll walk the aisle… You’ll look so handsome. So full of color again…’}

He tightened his arms around the cooling frame, imagining the day they would stand side by side again—him in dark robes tailored like a tuxedo, Builderman radiant beneath soft cathedral light. He could see it so clearly, like a memory he hadn’t made yet. Builderman would be vibrant, eyes alive with mischief and affection, lips curved into the faintest smile. Taph would walk the aisle beside him, not with trembling hands, but with certainty. With love stitched into every fiber of his being.

But that was a future fantasy.

Now, he had to remain in the present. With the blood. With the quiet. With the soft, decaying comfort of closeness that still, somehow, warmed his heart.

Taph let his eyes close.

Here, in the dim glow of a singular forgotten lantern, beneath a blanket soaked with more than sleep, he could finally rest.

And Builderman would be watching. Always watching.

Always his.

Notes:

thank you all for the support on this fic btw. im not too sure what else to say, but you guys mean a lot

sorry again, but idk why km apologizing.

western fic mentioned in last chapter is alive and running—it is my current priority. if youre a fan of it, then expect next segment maybe tomorrow depending on my motivation

my head is killing me oh my lord

Chapter 9: john has a 5 course meal, eating out a tmasc 1x as his entree

Notes:

bruh titles r annoying... uhm hi im back yah ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 im now jusf gonna update this when j feel like it tbh... im super craving 1xdoe and its ljke too late at night—SO WOW U GUYS IF U READ ALL MY STUFF GOT LUCKY TODAY WITB A DOUBLE POSTT!!! (technically quadruple, but u get the idea...)

anyways, heres ur little 1xdoe my 1xdoelings

(sorry if i didnt rlly get him to be like.... devoured or wtv.. was gonna do another round but im too tired and lazy to...)

"UNDYINGDEVoTION” —

could I get some 1xdoe with john as top and 1x as bottom please,,also could 1x be trans with top surgery but no bottom surgery yet guh!! here's the plot ig uhh basically 1x comes home stressed from another round and john helps relieve 1x via eating him out,,and I mean,,,eating EATING him out..like no mercy eating him out (what I mean is like john DEVOURING that thang)

3.4k words

1x1 stood at the doorstep of the house he shared with John, the soles of his boots scuffing wearily against the wood as he leaned his weight against the doorframe, his shoulders sagging like a man who had just carried the whole world on his back. The faint, comforting scent of home—woodsmoke, dust, and the lingering trace of John’s cologne—seeped out from the cracks around the door, a bittersweet tease that only deepened his exhaustion.

With a low, tired groan, he shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers sluggish and clumsy as they rifled through the fabric. Left pocket—nothing but a random crumpled receipt. Right pocket—only the cool slip of a coin. He cursed under his breath, his brows knitting tighter with every passing second. His mind, already battered from the long day, began to fray even further at the edges, each failed attempt to find the keys sending another thin crack running through his patience.

All he wanted was to get inside, to shed the armor of the outside world, to stumble into the arms of the one person who could quiet the restless noise in his chest. John. He pictured it in aching detail: John’s arms folded snugly around him, the steady, grounding beat of his heart against his ear, the reassuring weight of their shared breath as they drifted into sleep together. It didn’t matter who held who. 1x1 would’ve gladly melted into John’s hold or enveloped him just the same. He just needed to feel him. Needed to be near him.

Finally, after what felt like hours in the cold night air, his fingertips brushed the cool metal of the keys hidden deep in his right pocket. Relief bloomed—but only for a second.

As he tugged them out, they slipped from his trembling grasp and clattered loudly to the ground, the jarring noise splintering the quiet of the night and making 1x1 flinch. His eyes squeezed shut in a wince. That was it. That tiny, stupid moment was enough to make his already strained composure waver.

He crouched stiffly, scooping up the keys with a hand that shook ever so slightly, and jammed the correct one into the lock without another second wasted.

The door creaked open with a soft groan, and 1x1 practically fell inside, slamming it shut behind him with a desperate finality. He pressed his back to it for a moment, letting the cool wood brace him as he drew in a ragged breath.

The house was barely lit, shadows soft and inviting along the familiar walls. The living room was the first thing his eyes found—his gaze immediately darting toward the worn couch where John almost always lounged at this hour, thumbing lazily through a book or tapping absently on his phone. But tonight, the space was jarringly empty.

An icy knot twisted in 1x1’s gut.

He blinked, waiting, almost expecting John to pop up from behind the couch, laughing at making it some joke, but the room remained silent. Still. The rational part of his mind whispered that John could just be in the kitchen, the bathroom, anywhere else—but the panic rising in his chest steamrolled over reason.

Terrible images flooded in with brutal clarity. What if something had happened? What if John had been taken, attacked, hurt? 1x1’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs, a nauseating rhythm that made him sweat despite the cool air of the house. He knew John was strong—God, he was so strong—but even the strongest could be caught off-guard. What if he had been ambushed? Stunned and then tied up somewhere?

He swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the sudden spike of anxiety, but it felt like inhaling shards of glass.

“John…” he whispered hoarsely into the empty room, the sound of his voice startlingly small.

And then—a voice, soft and concerned, sliced through the fog of dread like a lighthouse beacon cutting through a storm.

“1x? What’s wrong? I can tell something’s up.”

John’s voice.

1x1 turned so fast he nearly stumbled, his head snapping toward the bedroom doorway where John now stood, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp behind him. His hair was tousled slightly, his eyes sharp with worry as he padded barefoot toward 1x1.

Relief hit so hard that 1x1 almost sank to his knees.

John was here. Safe. Warm. Real.

Without thinking, 1x1 moved to meet him halfway, his boots thudding softly against the floorboards. His eyes devoured every inch of John’s familiar face—the slight crinkle between his brows, the gentle parting of his lips as he waited for an answer.

“1x?” John prompted again, reaching out and lightly touching 1x1’s arm.

1x1 realized he hadn’t said a word, had simply been standing there, drinking him in like a man starved. He shook his head quickly, as if trying to jar loose the heavy weight of his emotions.

“Sorry,” he croaked out, voice hoarse. “Everything’s fine…”

John clearly wasn’t convinced. His hand slid up from 1x1’s arm to his face, cupping his cheek tenderly. His thumb began to rub slow, soothing circles into the sharp angle of 1x1’s jaw, grounding him like an anchor tossed into a raging sea.

“Dear,” John murmured, voice thick with concern, “I’m not that blind. You never just… stand there like a ghost at the door. Talk to me. Please.”

1x1 leaned into the touch without thinking, letting his body sway closer to John’s warmth. His hand came up slowly, covering John’s where it cradled his face, holding it there like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“I had a rough day,” he admitted after a long beat of silence, his voice nearly a whisper. “It’s stupid, but when I came home and… you weren’t there where you usually are… I panicked. I thought—” He broke off, pressing his forehead against John’s, closing his eyes. “I thought something happened.”

John gave a soft, breathy chuckle—a warm puff of air against 1x1’s skin—and shifted closer. His hand slid behind 1x1’s head, fingers threading through his hair to pull him even nearer. His other hand stayed firm against his cheek, grounding, soothing, protecting.

“You poor thing,” John murmured, pressing a kiss to 1x1’s flushed cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Not now, not ever.”

The simple promise, spoken so gently, so surely, undid something inside 1x1. His chest ached with a raw, messy kind of affection.

John’s arms slid fully around him now, pulling him into a proper embrace, fitting their bodies together perfectly. He whispered again, lips brushing the shell of 1x1’s ear.

“Do you want me to treat you? Help you relax? Remind you how much you mean to me?”

Another kiss, softer this time, ghosted across his cheekbone, sending a fine shiver down his spine.

“If you’re in the mood,” John added, his voice dropping into a low, tantalizing murmur. “Only if you want to, sweetheart.”

1x1 bit his bottom lip, his breath catching in his throat. The warm rasp of John’s voice, the slow, deliberate tenderness of his touches, the way he hovered so close but didn’t push—it all set a fire low in his gut. His fingers tightened on John’s sleeve, grounding himself in the fabric.

He needed him. Needed John to melt away the lingering fear, to smooth out the jagged edges left by the awful day. He needed the safety, the comfort, the love only John could offer.

Lifting his gaze, he met John’s eyes—eyes that held nothing but endless patience and a fierce, unwavering love.

“Please,” 1x1 whispered, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of everything he felt.

John smiled warmly against the side of 1x1’s neck as he moved down to there, the gentlest of kisses pressed to the sensitive skin, his lips lingering for a breath longer than necessary as if memorizing the taste of him. His hand, which had once been cradling 1x1’s chin so delicately, slid downwards with almost reverent slowness, fingertips brushing the length of his throat, the hollow dip between his collarbones, until it came to rest over his chest.

He could feel the way 1x1’s breath hitched under the careful graze of his fingers, the faint flutter of a heartbeat beneath skin scarred and hardened by forced wounds. John’s touch was feather-light, tracing the rougher ridges of the old scars with a kind of sacred attention.

A small, broken sound escaped from 1x1’s throat—a half-groan, half-sigh—as he instinctively pushed John back with a hand pressed lightly to his shoulder. His touch wasn’t harsh, wasn’t dismissive. It was pleading, almost frantic in the way it trembled.

“John…” 1x1’s voice cracked ever so slightly, filled with a desperate vulnerability. “I need you… I need you to do more than these measly kisses…”

John’s mouth twitched into a knowing smirk, his eyes glinting with fond mischief. He didn’t argue, didn’t tease the way he sometimes did. Instead, he simply caught one of 1x1’s hands in his own, their fingers interlacing naturally, like two ces of a puzzle finding their place.

“Alright, baby,” he said softly, the words dripping with quiet promise.

He began to walk backward toward the bedroom, guiding 1x1 with their joined hands. 1x1 followed him eagerly, unable and unwilling to hide how badly he wanted this closeness, this grounding. The hallway felt longer tonight, every step slow and aching with anticipation, every brush of their knuckles sending little jolts of electricity up his spine.

The bedroom welcomed them with a soft golden glow from a bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows along the walls. John gave his hand a squeeze before letting go, motioning lightly toward the bathroom.

“Get comfortable,” he said over his shoulder with a wink. “I’ll grab a towel for us.”

And with that, he disappeared into the darker room, leaving 1x1 standing in the center of the warm, inviting space.

1x1 didn’t waste a second. He quickly rid himself of his pants, his underwear and boots soon following, leaving him feeling bare but not cold—not with the thought of John’s return wrapping around him like a blanket. He climbed onto the bed, the comforter cool against his skin, and adjusted himself into a seated position, leaning back on his hands and pushing himself further up toward the pillows.

John returned before the absence had time to weigh too heavily, a dark towel folded under one arm. He climbed onto the mattress with a catlike grace, setting the towel carefully down beside him.

“Lift up for me, love,” he said, voice low and tender.

1x1 obeyed without hesitation, lifting his hips slightly as John slid the towel beneath him in one smooth motion. Almost immediately after, John’s hands found his legs, strong and steady as he guided them apart with an easy insistence.

1x1’s breath caught in his throat at the sheer intimacy of it—the way John handled him with so much care, so much deliberate affection. His skin prickled in response as John’s gaze roved over him, studying him as though committing every detail to memory.

He shifted onto his stomach, spreading himself comfortably between 1x1’s open thighs. He watched with now half-lidded eyes as John settled closer, his breath warm against the tender air between them, gently ghosting against his pleading cunt

John braced a hand on 1x1’s inner thigh, squeezing softly in reassurance before leaning in.

His mouth descended slowly, languidly, over his pussy, and 1x1 swore he could feel every molecule of the space between them tremble with anticipation.

John’s breath gusted over his lower body’s sticky surface, making his slick wetness shimmer slightly. With agonizing slowness, he dipped down, his lips brushing his clit first—a whisper of a kiss—before moving down to his needy hole as his tongue flicked out to sample a taste.

1x1 gave easily beneath him, a small wave of pre-cum trickling out of his vagina in small rivulets under the soft pressure of his mouth. John hummed in satisfaction, a low, guttural sound of appreciation that vibrated through his chest and echoed softly into the space between their bodies.

“Fuck—John… Get on with it…” 1x1 grumbled, desperate anticipation thick in his voice.

John chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating in his throat as he threw a glance upward, locking eyes with 1x1 briefly, a spark of shared mischief dancing between them.

“Fine,” John murmured, his voice warm, thick with amusement. “If you’re so needy, baby…”

John was methodical, almost reverent, as he pushed deeper, his organ slipping into his greedy cunt eagerly. His tongue curled into his pussy’s warm center, dragging up thick, sticky white pre-cum. He lingered there, savoring the texture of his walls, the taste of his liquid pleasure, the feel of it all, moving his mouth slowly, insistently, the same way he had memorized every inch of 1x1’s body so many nights before.

1x1 tipped his head back with a shaky sigh, overwhelmed by the thick, sweet-ish—sour smell filling the room from the combination of sweat and pre-cum, and the sight of John’s utter devotion to the task of pleasing him.

John’s free hand slid up 1x1’s clit, his thumb stroking absentminded little patterns into the sensitive skin there as he worked deeper into his birth canal. His mouth moved in slow circles, digging greedily into his soft, yielding insides, slick clinging to his tongue and lips.

He lifted his head slightly, licking a stray line of pre-cum from the corner of his mouth with a lazy flick of his tongue, before diving back in, more eager, more insistent.

1x1 spewed out a tangle of incoherent sounds—half-formed words, stray syllables, fragments of emotion—his body trembling from the stimulation as he clutched at John’s hair, fingers threading tightly through the dark, soft strands. His chest heaved with every unsteady breath, heart hammering a wild rhythm against his ribs.

John, undeterred by 1x1’s mindless ramblings, pressed closer, his mouth working hungrily at 1x1’s pussy. He pushed in deeper with his tongue, his walls giving way with a slow, decadent surrender as he nudged gently at his cervix. 1x1 let out a louder, more desperate moan, the pleasure sparking through him like electricity.

He ground himself subtly against John’s face, shivering at the sensation of warmth, of roughened skin and determined pressure. He could feel his pre-cum running slick along his lower body, dripping down in lazy beads to pool quietly on the towel beneath him.

John momentarily withdrew his tongue, a faint wet sound breaking through the charged silence, and 1x1 whined softly, a sound that spoke of longing and frustration, his fingers tightening reflexively in John’s hair.

Without hesitation, John thrust back in, the move sudden and jarring, his tongue stroking insistently along the trembling, wet inside of his cunt, searching with unerring instinct for the pleasurable, softest spots hidden deep inside him.

“Nghh—Ahhn—J-John…! Fuck, right there…” 1x1 gasped out, voice breaking deliciously as John found a particularly tender spot. His words were breathy and thin, barely more than vapor, but John heard him loud and clear, adjusting the angle of his mouth to hit the spot over and over again.

Despite how many times they’d shared moments like this—John with his easy mastery, 1x1 with his reckless surrender—this still felt overwhelming. Every touch, every shift of John’s mouth, every hum of his breath against sensitive skin burned in 1x1’s veins like liquid fire.

More pre-cum dribbled down from his pussy, sticky and warm, coating John’s lips, clinging to his chin, dripping lazily down to catch on his jaw. He barely noticed, too focused on 1x1’s every quiver, every stifled gasp.

Without warning, a sudden gush of fluid—sweet, viscous, and thick—flooded John’s mouth as 1x1 unexpectedly came on his tongue. He accepted it without flinching, savoring the rush, groaning low in satisfaction as he swallowed his cum greedily.

1x1 cried out, his entire body arching as if pulled by invisible strings, his hand fisting tighter into John’s hair, shoving him hard into the mess of his cunt. His hips rutted desperately against John’s mouth, needing—aching—for more, for everything.

John stayed perfectly still at first, letting 1x1 ride out the high, offering only the pressure of his mouth and the unwavering steadiness of his hands anchoring him.

Finally, when 1x1’s body started to still, John pulled back slightly, chest heaving as he caught a brief breath.

But it wasn’t long before John leaned back in, his hunger unquenched, his tongue diving into the softened and clenched insides of 1x1’s pussy once more with eager, greedy strokes. He thrust forward repeatedly, pressing deeper with each movement, seeking out every last drop of the wet sweetness still hidden within his ruined vagina.

1x1 shook violently, whimpering from the overstimulation. His eyes fluttered open just enough for tears to bead at the corners, a brilliant sheen that blurred the glowing light above him.

“Ghnn—! S-Shit—Wait a moment! I can’t go again this fast, John!” 1x1 cried, voice trembling with raw sensitivity.

But John didn’t stop. If anything, he seemed to redouble his efforts, plunging into him with a renewed ferocity, tongue working tirelessly to tease apart every tender wall, every hidden fold of skin and slick that hadn’t yet been savored.

The mess only grew worse—cum coating his cheeks, catching again in the corners of his mouth, a rich sheen glistening on his lips. Still, he pressed on, committed to wringing every last ounce of pleasure from his lover.

He slid his hand up from 1x1’s clit, gliding over his scarred chest until his thumb brushed across the soft scars of 1x1’s top surgery under his pecs. He thumbed it absentmindedly, the circular motions adding to the overwhelming flood of sensation.

1x1, unable to resist, cried out again, voice raw and hoarse. His body betrayed him—his muscles tightening, hips bucking—before he came once more, trembling around John’s mouth with a sound that was half-sob, half-moan.

John finally eased back after the second wave of cum had passed, his tongue darting out to lap at the fluids still weeping from his twitching cunt. He sucked lightly at his hole, coaxing the last remnants of slick from it, slow and tender now, drawing out every last taste with worshipful attention.

Once satisfied that he had swallowed everything his pussy had to offer, John pulled away, his cheeks flushed and glistening with the remains of their messy indulgence. He wiped his chin lazily with the same hand that had once thumbed over 1x1’s chest, smearing the sticky residue across the towel below without a second thought.

With slow, careful hands, John helped guide 1x1’s trembling legs down onto the mattress, his touch gentle, reverent. 1x1 collapsed into the sheets, utterly spent, chest rising and falling with shallow, exhausted breaths as he stared dazedly up at the ceiling.

John gathered the ruined towel and tossed it onto the floor, a problem for tomorrow’s morning light.

He crawled back toward 1x1 without hesitation, laying down so that their bodies lined up, his forehead nearly brushing against 1x1’s. John’s eyes softened as he reached out, fingers carefully sweeping back the sweat-soaked strands of hair clinging to 1x1’s forehead.

He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss there, letting his lips linger against the hot skin for a moment longer than necessary.

A low groan rumbled from 1x1’s throat as he shifted, arms reaching out instinctively to wrap around John’s middle, pulling him closer. He burrowed his face into the crook of John’s neck, breathing in the warm, comforting scent of him—his lingering cologne, sweat, and something unmistakably John.

“I love you, John…” 1x1 mumbled against his skin, voice small but certain.

John smiled against the top of his head, threading a hand into 1x1’s hair, cradling him gently. “Love you too, 1x,” he murmured back, the words a soft promise against the hush of the room.

Neither of them moved for a long while. Their mess forgotten. All that mattered was the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the way John’s hand continued to move in soothing, lazy strokes along 1x1’s back, grounding him.

The exhaustion tugged harder and harder at 1x1’s body, and he welcomed it, choosing to fall into sleep right there, in John’s arms.

John held him until the weight of sleep claimed them both, the lamp casting a soft, golden cocoon over them, sealing them in a peace that no morning could take away.

Notes:

guess my favorite ship challenge level: impossible

Chapter 10: horny noob jerks it to a memory of g666 and them having sexxx yur

Notes:

hi this lowkey might suck since i wrote this from 2:30 am - 4:30 am and jm tired so uhm hi everyone.

req from a friend

"TheRealChrisHansen7Real" —

Can you make it so Noob comes back to their room and they get horny or something and decide to pleasure themselves to a memory of them as the Party skin and pre-beast (or whatever?) Guest666 having sex from when they were still a thing? Would be cool if this was at a club (a private room or something) like in Party's render. Also He-Him top Cismale Guest + Them-They bottom Noob with male genitalia.

2k words

The door to Noob’s room creaked open with a slow, tired push, the dim hallway light curling in like a hesitant visitor before the figure stepped inside. The door whispered shut behind them with a soft click, as if sealing the weight of the world out—or locking it in. Noob stood there a moment, motionless, framed by the soft gray hush of early evening. The dust in the air glittered like faint memories in the low golden light that spilled through the half-closed blinds.

They walked to the bed with the grace of someone half-awake and half-broken, each step tugging at an invisible thread woven around their ankles. Their knees bent and gave way, and they collapsed onto the mattress with a sigh that sagged from the soul. The blankets ruffled beneath them like dry leaves in autumn wind. Face-first, they sank into the pillow, letting it muffle their voice and cradle the ache in their chest.

Noob didn’t bother pulling up the covers. Instead, they curled inward like a question mark, folding legs up to their chest, and wrapped their arms tightly around the pillow. It had the faint scent of detergent and old cologne, like something once warm now long cooled. They buried their face deeper into the cotton, squeezing their eyes shut as if they could disappear into that softness and dream of a time when they weren’t so alone.

Noob bit their bottom lip, soft and trembling, as they exhaled through their nose—eyes fluttering half-shut with a mixture of longing and memory. A quiet whimper slipped past their lips as their thighs shifted restlessly, the friction of fabric brushing between them just enough to stir something deep, aching, and insistent. It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

They reached down, hand slow, hesitant at first, grazing fingertips along the edge of their waistband with a feather-light touch. Their other arm tucked beneath the pillow, cradling their flushed cheek as they burrowed further into the warmth of the bed. A stuttering breath escaped them as they pulled their knees apart just slightly, the movement small but deliberate—just enough to give their hips space to rock forward against the gentle give of the sheets pbeneath.

God…, they wished Guest was still here. The absence of him—it was practically physical, like a hollow space carved out in the center of Noob’s chest, growing larger by the second. It throbbed and pulsed with every shallow breath, every faint rustle of the blankets. It was unbearable, this emptiness. This want.

Their hand slipped lower. They weren’t really thinking anymore, just following the rhythm of the ache coiled inside them. Their fingers sank just beneath the hem and sunk into their boxers, not with urgency, but reverence. As if every movement might undo something sacred. Their fingers grazed along their dick, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

It never would be—not with just memory, not with just the soft echo of someone no longer there. Their hand stilled. A pulse of frustration flickered through them, followed by the gentle, aching whisper of a need that had nowhere to land.

The thought crept in, uninvited but welcome: what if Guest was still here?

Noob squeezed their eyes shut and let their thoughts drift as their hand slowly grasped their aching cock, their fingers finding a steady up and down rhythm as they began to please themself silently.

They retreated into memory—not into the whole day, not into casual smiles or club music—but into that sacred sliver of time where everything slowed and the rest of the world receded. 

The room had been dim, heavy with the scent of distant cologne and fading neon. A private little hideaway above a club neither of them had cared to remember the name of. The walls had been painted in shadow, the kind that made the corners feel deeper than they were, and in that cocoon of quiet and closeness, Noob remembered how their hearts had thudded in sync.

Guest had been lying beneath them, half-laughing, eyes dark with something warmer than mischief. Noob had straddled him with trembling knees, the fabric of their clothes slipping and shifting with every breath.

They’d leaned in close, lips ghosting over Guest’s before catching them fully—hungrily. It had been clumsy at first, impatient. But then slower, deeper, like the kiss had been made to last. Guest had responded in kind, hands rising up to trace Noob’s sides, pausing quietly at their waist like the moment might fracture if touched too hard.

Words might have been said, but the memory offered no sound—only texture, warm hands, the rustle of fabric, the sound of breath swallowing breath.

Guest’s fingers lingered at the edge of Noob’s soft blue tank top, tugging the fabric upward with a slow, deliberate patience, like peeling back the delicate wrapping of a summer treat. The cotton gave way with a whisper of friction, revealing skin beneath that glowed with a quiet sheen, warmed by the late night moon that bled in through the gauzy curtains. Noob’s chest rose and fell subtly, a breath catching as Guest leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss against the smooth expanse just below their collarbone.

Noob exhaled, a sound more sigh than breath, and let their own hands wander—tracing the outline of their skirt with the backs of their knuckles, grazing the green ruffles like a hand drifting through meadow grass. Their fingers reached the belt loop, unthreading the material with the care. The belt slipped free with a quiet clink and landed on the floor with a muted thud.

Guest straightened, eyes following the motion. There was admiration there, curiosity too, as if every gesture was a page turned, a secret revealed. His hands moved again, this time toward Noob’s skirt—pulling it down inch by inch to uncover what was beneath. He watched with quiet hunger as Noob’s skirt slid down, catching for just a moment on their hips before Noob threw it to the floor. Beneath that skirt, where their skin shined, the evidence of need already bloomed—their hardened cock leaking slightly with pre-cum.

Guest stared at them for a long, reverent moment, lips parted, before leaning in to kiss Noob fully. Their mouths met like storm clouds converging—hunger and tenderness in equal measure. Noob was guided backward until their body met the mattress, the plush bedding welcoming them like a field of moss. Guest’s lips never stayed still; they traveled across his skin like raindrops sliding down glass—over the jaw, the curve of the neck, the hollow between collarbones—before finally pausing at the subtle rise of their stomach.

Noob’s breath hitched again as Guest’s hands found their waist, strong and careful, gripping the sides with a greedy softness. Fingers kneaded the skin there, sinking into it like hands into fresh-baked bread. A moment later, those same hands gently turned Noob over, guiding them onto their stomach. They rested their head to one side, cheek against the sheets, lashes casting tiny shadows over flushed skin.

Then came the sensation—a slow, tentative press, presumably Guest’s cock trying to ease itself into the hest of their ass. Not yet entering, only resting, testing, aligning. Noob instinctively arched, hips rising slightly in invitation, in expectation. It was a silent plea, met with a sudden depth as Guest answered without warning.

Slowly—achingly—he pressed the tip of his dick forwards. The faint traces of pre-cum trailed down into the crease of their ass, the fluid tracing invisible roads across the skin as Guest slid deeper. Cum oozed out off their hole where Guest’s cock penetrated where the two bodies met, clinging, slowly sliding down their skin inch by inch. They rolled their hips and rotated his dick slightly, pressing the other a little deeper.

A small thrust was made, almost testing the waters—but it felt so good once he had finally moved. A tremor rolled through Noob, their body involuntarily pressing back into the gesture. Guest’s hands found their hips again, guiding them, coaxing the right angles, the right rhythm. His cock moved within them slowly at first, cautious and exploratory, each slide leaving behind more pre-cum in its wake.

There was no lube—only the natural friction of burning hot skin rubbing against each other, and the slight help of whatever pre-cum leaked from Guest’s dick. It was messy. It stung. But it was vivid, raw, alive. His length slid deeper each time, more easily, as Noob’s tight walls grew more yielding as time passed. 

Noob’s fingers curled into the blanket, bunching the fabric beneath his palms. His mouth pressed into the mattress, trying to quiet the groans spilling out. Guest’s motions grew steadier and more confident, his pace speeding up. One hand left Noob’s hip and found their own leaking cock, still untouched and aching. That hand began to stroke it in time with the rhythm of their hips—long, gentle pulls that matched the push and drag.

They could feel their own current hips twitching against the mattress, unconsciously chasing that rhythm, that ghost of memory. Their hand moved much faster, aching, and Noob clutched the pillow tighter, their breath hitching in response. 

Guest moved with growing urgency in that dream, their dick in his hand now slick and glistening with pre-cum. Each press into his ass became a little faster, a little less careful, and with every plunge, the soft sound of a low, squelching murmur—oozing and welcoming—resounded. The smell was rich—sweat, cum, and that odd aroma that screamed “sex”. It filled the room like a spell.

Noob’s whole body trembled with the imagined pleasure, the imagined fullness they felt so long ago. They clenched a fist in the folds of the pillow as the rhythm behind their eyes grew faster.

Guest’s hand worked steadily, though it wasn’t long before Noob managed to cum. Their dick shot out thin ropes of white, sticky, fluid, and his hand glistened with it—sticky, slow trails of their peak stringing from wrist to knuckle.

His ass had changed too—Its heat a wreck of newfound overstimulation. Each time Guest pushed his cock back in, Noob’s ass pulsed slightly, flexing outward briefly, trying to hold the pressure but giving in with a slow, indulgent sigh.

Guest began to move faster. His dick began to twitch ever so slightly, beginning to get close, but still holding together under the momentum. Faster and deeper he seemed to move, each stroke sending a little spurt of his fluids up the side, where it rolled lazily down their ass’s edge and onto the bed beneath.

Then, with one last shuddering push, his cock slid in up to the hilt, and Guest’s breath caught. His own fluids spilt from his length, his cum beginning to spill out into Noob’s insides in slow, thick ribbons that spread through his lower body like veins. Guest pulled out slowly, watching as his dick left Noob’s heat, dripping with cum.

Noob’s hips rolled slowly against their actual bed, their whole body flushed with heat and memory. The mental image burned behind their eyes—so messy and ruined and perfect. Their own breath caught again and they let their orgasm come out slowly, shakily, against the fabric of their boxers as it began slowly absorbing all of their cum.

And then they imagined Guest licking their fingers clean in that dream. Not rushed, not greedy, just slowly, indulgently. One digit at a time, every finger cleaned, lips parting gently around each, tongue tracing the path of sweetness until there was nothing left but the warmth of breath and a faint stickiness on the skin.

Noob stayed like that a while longer, breathing in silence. Their hand eventually slipped back, resting against their stomach, fingers still trembling slightly from the force of memory.