#'if i had a shot for every goddamn time i thought / about your face and what i lost / at least id get some sleep' WOOO

[bueckets]

Competitive Stamina

Pairing: teammate!Paige x reader

Genre: fuck buddies with unresolved issues, unbearable sexual tension, dom!Paige, strap, degradation, slapping, edging, post-game aggression sex, possessive paige, rough sex that solves nothing, idk just porn w minimal plot (I KNOOOOOW)

WC: 6.3kish?

Bus rides after a loss were a special kind of hell.

The stale air of the charter, the overhead lights too dim to be useful but too bright to let you sink into oblivion, the stiff-backed seats that creaked with every shift—everything grated on your nerves. The taste of failure sat heavy on your tongue, thick and bitter, and no amount of Gatorade could wash it away.

You sat near the back, arms crossed, jaw tight, replaying every goddamn second of the game like a goddamn. masochist. Every blown rotation, every missed shot, every second too slow on defense. It was a fucking disaster.

The low hum of the engine did nothing to drown out the tension hanging in the air. Some of the team sat slumped in their seats, headphones jammed in, pretending like they weren’t reliving the same nightmare. Others were scrolling through their phones, avoiding the inevitable post-game analysis that would come the second you all got back.

And then there was Paige.

Slouched in the seat across the aisle, one long leg stretched out, the other knee bouncing restlessly. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, the muscles in her jaw flexing every time she gritted her teeth. The blue glow of her phone screen flickered across her face, but you could tell she wasn’t actually looking at it. Just brooding.

You tried not to look at her. Tried to keep your glare aimed out the window, at the blur of highway lights cutting through the night.

But the energy rolling off her was impossible to ignore.

Fucking furious. The kind of anger that vibrated beneath the skin, white-hot, impossible to smother. She was pissed in a way that she wouldn’t let go of anytime soon, the kind of loss that would eat at her, keep her up all night, have her in the gym first thing in the morning with her hoodie up and music blasting like she could outwork the ghosts of the game.

Your fingers curled into your palms.

Because yeah, you were mad too. Mad at yourself. Mad at the team. Mad at how fucking avoidable it all had been. But mostly, you were mad at how much you felt it—how the weight of it sat heavy on your chest, suffocating. You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight. Not because you didn’t want to, but because your brain wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t stop dissecting every mistake, every misstep.

Paige exhaled sharply, a sound more bite than breath.

You glanced over, barely turning your head.

Her fingers drummed against her bicep, rapid, restless, a nervous tick she only ever had when she was barely keeping her frustration in check. Her knee bounced faster.

Then, she turned her head, and her eyes found yours.

Sharp. Burning.

And just like that, you were both back on the court. Back in the moment she’d called the switch and you hesitated a fraction too long. Back in the second where everything unraveled.

The muscle in her jaw flexed. You could practically hear what she wanted to say. The words sat heavy between you, unspoken but loud.

What the fuck was that?

You swallowed hard, refusing to be the one to break first. You weren’t about to sit here and get chewed out on a moving bus, in front of everyone.

But the fire in her eyes told you that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The door barely slammed shut before Paige was on you, shoving you back so hard your shoulder blades smacked the wall. The cheap dorm drywall rattled behind you, a picture frame nearly toppling off its hook.

Her breath was sharp, jagged, her whole body coiled so tight with frustration it looked like it might snap. She was still in her jersey, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, strands of blonde hair stuck to her forehead like she hadn’t even thought about peeling them away. But it wasn’t exhaustion in her eyes. It was fury. Blazing. Undiluted.

“What the fuck was that?” she spat, stepping into your space like she wanted to press you through the goddamn wall.

Your own irritation flared, heat crawling up your spine, but she wasn’t done.

“I called it. I fucking called it. You hesitated." Her voice cut like a whip, her breath hot against your face. “You don’t hesitate.”

Your jaw clenched. “I heard you, Paige. It wasn’t just me. We all fucked up.”

“Oh, fuck off with that.” Her laugh was sharp, humorless, nothing but teeth. “I don’t give a shit about them. You were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to listen to me.”

You bristled, hands curling into fists at your sides. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who fucking cares. You think I wanted to lose? You think I don’t feel like shit right now?”

Paige’s glare burned straight through you. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring, like she wanted to say something even sharper, even worse, but she just looked at you. Like she was daring you to take the blame. To admit it. To fold under her fire.

But you weren’t folding. Not tonight.

“You wanna fight me over this?” you snapped, stepping forward, barely an inch between you now. “Fine. Take a fucking swing, Paige.”

Her breathing hitched. For a half-second, something flickered in her eyes—something reckless, something raw. You thought maybe she would hit you, thought maybe you wanted her to.

Instead, she shoved you—hard. Your back hit the wall again, and this time she followed, grabbed your jersey with both hands, yanking you into her.

And then her mouth crashed onto yours, all teeth and heat and fucking rage.

You gasped against her lips, but she didn’t care—didn’t even give you the space to breathe. Her fingers dug into your jersey, nearly lifting you off the ground as she pressed you into the wall, her body flush against yours, hot and furious and unrelenting.

You bit down on her lower lip, hard, just to make her feel how pissed off you were too.

Paige growled, a low, dangerous sound, and then she was yanking you off the wall, turning, dragging you with her, stumbling toward the nearest surface.

Your hands found her hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her jersey. She was still in her shorts, her body taut with adrenaline, with the remnants of competition. You could feel her heart pounding beneath your palm as you pressed against her, pushing back just enough to let her know you weren’t going to just take it.

But Paige didn’t give a damn about pushback. She just grabbed the front of your shirt, dragging you with her as she stumbled backward, lips never leaving yours. She was all fire, all pent-up rage, and you were more than willing to be the thing she burned through.

“Fucking—” she muttered against your lips, frustration bleeding into something else as her fingers tangled in your hair, nails scraping against your scalp. “You drive me insane.”

“You’re the one losing your shit,” you bit back, but the words barely made it out before she was kissing you again, harder this time, as if she could shut you up with the force of her mouth alone.

The room spun as she shoved you back, barely making it to the couch before you tumbled onto it together. Her body was already on top of yours, pressing you down, thighs tight around your waist. Every inch of her was tense, electric, and you could feel it—the way she trembled, the way her breath came too fast, the way her fingers flexed against your skin like she didn’t know if she wanted to fight you or fuck you.

Maybe both.

Your hands roamed, slipping beneath her jersey, tracing the heat of her back. She sucked in a sharp breath as your fingers ghosted over her spine, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, she leaned in harder, her hips pressing down, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“I hate you,” she muttered, but her hands were already working at your jersey, pushing it up, fingers skimming the bare skin underneath.

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah? Feels like something else.”

She growled, actually fucking growled, and suddenly she was yanking your jersey over your head, tossing it somewhere behind her. The air was thick, charged, your bodies too close, too desperate, too much.

“Shut up,” she ordered, and then her lips were on your collarbone, her teeth nipping at sensitive skin, her hands gripping your waist like she was trying to anchor herself—like she was afraid if she let go, she’d lose herself completely.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to stop her or let her.

Your laugh died in your throat the second Paige’s fingers dug into your waist, her grip rough, possessive. Her body was hot against yours, muscles tight with lingering adrenaline, her breath ragged as she straddled you. Every inch of her was taut with frustration, with need, with something far more dangerous than simple post-game aggression.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, and then your hands were on her hips, squeezing, dragging her closer, feeling the way her thighs flexed beneath your grip.

“Oh, you wanna be a smartass?” Paige growled, her fingers already sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts, snapping the elastic hard against your skin. Her eyes were wild, blown wide with something dark, something hungry.

You grinned, challenging. “What are you gonna do about it?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

A sharp crack rang out as her palm met your thigh, the sting immediate, heat blooming across your skin in its wake. You gasped, your body jerking at the impact, but Paige just smirked, her fingers soothing over the mark she’d left behind.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured, and then her hands were pushing at your shorts, yanking them down with the same force as her frustration. “You know what your problem is?”

You arched a brow, breath hitching as she ran her fingers down the inside of your thigh, deliberately avoiding where you needed her most. “Enlighten me.”

Paige hummed, slow, teasing, dragging her nails lightly across your skin before she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “You don’t listen.”

And then her teeth were on your neck, biting, claiming, distracting you just long enough for her fingers to slip lower, tracing over your already-soaked underwear.

Your hips jerked up, chasing her touch, but she pulled back, clicking her tongue.

“No,” she said, voice sharp, commanding. “You don’t get to be greedy. Not after that bullshit on the court.”

You groaned, frustration curling tight in your stomach. “Paige—”

Another sharp smack against your thigh. You gasped, your body trembling as the sting settled into a dull, aching heat.

“You’ll take what I give you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss over the mark she’d just made. “And you’ll be grateful for it.”

You barely had time to respond before she was moving again, shifting off you just long enough to grab something from her bag. Your breath caught when you saw it—the familiar black strap, the sleek vibrator she loved to tease you with.

Your pulse spiked.

“Color?” she asked, voice low, dangerous.

You exhaled shakily, your body already aching, already desperate. “Green.”

Paige smirked. “Good.”

And then she was on you again, pressing you down, pinning you beneath her as she reached for the harness, her hands sure, practiced.

“Now,” she murmured, buckling it into place, her blue eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Let’s see if you can pay attention this time.”

You barely had a second to breathe before Paige moved—gripping you with both hands, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, shoving you down onto the couch with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

The cushions barely softened the impact.

Your cheek pressed into the rough fabric, your pulse hammering against it, every nerve in your body already on edge, already buzzing with anticipation.

Then—her hands were on you again.

“On your knees,” she ordered, her voice low, firm—no room for negotiation.

A shiver ran through you at the sheer authority in her tone, and you scrambled to obey, pushing yourself up, ass in the air, legs spread just enough to keep your balance. Paige didn’t hesitate. Her hand came down hard against your ass, the sharp crack echoing through the apartment.

You gasped, your whole body jolting at the impact, the sting radiating outward in a hot, delicious burn.

Paige hummed behind you, pleased. “Fuck, I missed this,” she murmured, her fingers smoothing over the mark she’d just left. “You’re so fucking pretty when you take it.”

Another slap. Harder.

Your hands clenched into fists, your breath stuttering as the pain twisted into something dangerously close to pleasure.

“You like that?” Paige taunted, her palm resting on your already burning skin, her fingers digging in. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice unsteady. “Fuck—yes.”

“Good,” she muttered, reaching for something behind you, the couch shifting with her movement. A small click—then the unmistakable slick pop of a cap flipping open. The scent hit first. Sharp, clean, something cool against the heat simmering beneath your skin.

She shifted behind you, knees pressing firm into the cushions, the heat of her body radiating against your back, against the backs of your thighs. Her breath ghosted over your skin—too close, not close enough.

Then—her fingers.

She didn’t give you time to prepare.

A rough fistful of your hair, yanking hard, forcing your spine into an arch so deep your ribs strained, your lips parting in a sharp, unbidden gasp.

The pull was brutal, just shy of painful, the roots of your hair screaming—but the way her grip anchored you, controlled you, owned you—

You swallowed, legs trembling beneath you.

“Stay fucking still,” she warned, pressing the head of the strap between your thighs, teasing, dragging it through your wetness, spreading it around. “I’m gonna ruin this fucking pussy.”

She thrust, pushing in hard, deep, no warning beyond the stretch, the sheer fullness stealing the breath from your lungs.

You whimpered, your arms shaking as you fought to stay upright, your body clenching around the intrusion, the burn sharp, perfect.

Paige groaned behind you, her grip tightening in your hair. “Jesus fuck, you take it so well,” she muttered, rolling her hips, dragging the length in and out, slow at first, teasing, letting you feel every inch.

Then—another crack against your ass. Your moan was shameless, your body jerking forward, only to be pulled back by her grip on your hair.

“Fuck, you sound so good,” Paige rasped, voice thick, wrecked. Her grip on your hip tightened, her fingers digging into your skin like she wanted to brand herself into you. Her thrusts were deep, relentless, knocking the air straight out of your lungs with every snap of her hips. “You like it when I use you like this?”

Like it?

Like it?

You could barely hold yourself up, fingers curling into the couch, your body betraying you in every possible way—hips arching back without thinking, legs shaking, thighs slick with everything she’d already wrung from you.

Your mind was a haze, a mess of static, the sharp sting of her fingers bruising into your hip mixing with the raw aching stretch between your legs. There was no room for thought, for pride, for anything except the unbearable, devastating need to keep her right fucking there.

She pulled back—almost all the way—leaving you empty, your walls clenching around nothing, a sharp, helpless noise slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Then she slammed back in.

A cry tore from your throat, your body jerking forward with the force of it, pleasure spiking so sharp it hurt.

“Yeah?” she breathed, amusement curling at the edges of her voice, sharp and teasing, like she could feel how fucked out you were, like she loved it. “Fucking say it.”

Say it. Admit it. Let the words fall from your lips and cement exactly how pathetic you were for her.

You clenched your teeth, breath ragged, body trembling beneath her. The stubborn part of you—the part that fought—clawed at your ribs, held your tongue, refused to give her the satisfaction.

Her palm cracked across your ass—sharp, punishing, hot—and your whole body jerked. A strangled whimper escaped you, high and wrecked, and before you could so much as breathe, she yanked your head back by your hair, forcing your spine to arch, forcing your mouth open on a choked gasp.

“You wanna fucking test me?” she growled, voice low, dangerous, pressing in—so deep you felt it in your fucking stomach.

Your pulse slammed in your throat. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, every muscle locking tight, refusing to give her the satisfaction, refusing—

“I love it,” you gasped, your voice breaking as she spanked you again, making you clench around the strap, making your whole body shake. “Fuck—Paige, please—”

She growled, a low, feral sound, and suddenly her hand left your hip, reaching for the vibrator she’d left on the couch.

“You wanna beg?” she taunted, flicking it on, pressing the toy right against your swollen clit. “Then fucking beg for it.”

Paige yanked your head back by your hair, making your back arch, making your ass push up even higher, exposing everything to her. The stretch in your scalp sent shivers straight down your spine, the sharp pull mixing with the brutal way she was pounding into you. Deep. Hard. No mercy.

“Look at this greedy fucking pussy,” she growled, voice dripping with filth, eyes locked on where she was splitting you open. “You’re dripping all over my cock, fucking yourself on it like a desperate little slut.”

Your moan was ragged, broken, the force of each thrust knocking it right out of your lungs. Your arms trembled, struggling to keep you up, but Paige didn’t give a fuck. She loved seeing you like this—wrecked, used, hers.

She shifted behind you, digging her nails into your hip as she slammed into you harder, deeper, making the couch creak under both of you. Every thrust sent wet, obscene sounds echoing through the apartment, slick, filthy, undeniable.

“Listen to this messy fucking hole,” she hissed, smacking your ass again, fingers digging into the flesh right after. Your skin was burning, tingling, the heat radiating through your whole body. “You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? Like a dumb little slut, letting me wreck you.”

You gasped, nodding frantically, not trusting yourself to speak—not when every thrust hit something devastating inside you, making you whimper like you’d lost your mind.

“Use your fucking words,” Paige snapped, yanking your hair harder, forcing you to arch so much you thought you might break in half. “Tell me what you are.”

“Y-Your slut,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips before she spanked you again, harder than before, the sting rocketing through you, making your whole body twitch.

“Damn right you are,” she muttered, her breath hot against your ear as she leaned over you, still fucking into you, still ruining you. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice high, needy, desperate.

Paige groaned, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, making you scream. Your arms collapsed, your face pressing into the couch, your body unable to hold itself up anymore—but she didn’t stop.

“Oh, fuck no,” Paige laughed, dark and wicked, reaching for your wrists and yanking them behind your back, pinning them there. “You don’t get to tap out now. I’m not done with you yet.”

You sobbed against the cushions, pleasure and overstimulation crashing over you in waves. The way she had you—spine arched, arms pinned, completely fucking helpless—made your head spin. And then—fuck—she reached for the vibrator again, pressing it right against your clit.

You howled, your whole body jerking at the sudden intensity, at the way she wouldn’t fucking let up.

“Oh, you’re squirting for me, huh?” Paige teased, her voice full of pure fucking ego as she felt the mess dripping down her thighs. “Can’t even handle my cock without making a mess, can you?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out—just a sharp, shuddering breath, a wrecked sound that barely made it past your lips. Your throat felt raw, your body trembling, pushed beyond its limits but still, still chasing more.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her amusement curling at the edges of your desperation. She leaned in close, her breath rolling hot against the sweat-damp skin of your neck. The tip of her nose ghosted over your jaw, her lips brushing the shell of your ear—not a kiss, just enough to taunt, to tease.

“Pathetic little thing,” she murmured, her voice all velvet and cruelty, her words sinking deep into the mess she’d made of you.

Her hips rolled, the strap dragging slow, deliberate, pressing deeper just as the vibrator ground into your swollen, aching clit. The sensation sent a violent tremor through you, your fingers clenching into useless fists, every nerve frayed and screaming.

Paige hummed, pleased.

“What if I just kept you like this?” Her tone was almost thoughtful, but there was something darker beneath it, something that made your stomach flip, made the heat between your legs flare so violently it nearly hurt.

She rocked her hips again, slower this time, grinding the strap deep, her other hand pressing the vibrator harder, no mercy, no relief.

Your back arched, legs twitching, your body caught between pain and unbearable pleasure. Your mouth opened again, but the sound that tore from your throat was nothing human—a choked, broken whimper, your breath catching on the sheer force of it.

Paige’s grip tightened at your hip, steadying you, owning you.

“Kept you bent over,” she murmured, almost absentminded, like she was imagining it, like she was picturing every second of it. “Stuffed full, dripping all over me, shaking so fucking hard you can’t even hold yourself up.”

Your muscles seized, heat crashing through you like a live wire. Your nails scratched at the couch, desperate, useless, but Paige just laughed, feeling the way your body convulsed, the way you clenched down tight around the strap, your walls fluttering, trembling, breaking.

“Go ahead, baby,” she groaned, biting down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “Cum on my cock. Fucking scream for me.”

Paige laughed as she felt your body convulse beneath her, as she felt your cunt squeeze down around the strap, milking it like it was real, like you couldn’t help yourself. The moment your orgasm tore through you, she didn’t stop—kept fucking into you through it, kept the vibrator locked tight against your clit, holding you down as you twitched and shook, your body betraying you.

You screamed, legs kicking, but Paige just grinned, watching you break.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” she muttered, dragging her lips over your spine, biting down hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to own you. “Look at this greedy little hole—still clenching, still soaking my cock.”

Your brain was fried, barely able to process the overstimulation, your whole body shaking, but Paige didn’t care.

She pulled out slowly, dragging the strap through your swollen, ruined folds, making you feel every inch as she left you empty, used, gaping. Your thighs were soaked, your pussy wrecked, your skin hot and buzzing from the spankings.

Then—another slap, this time right over your dripping folds, her palm catching the mess you’d made.

You jerked, gasping, pleasure and pain crackling through you at once.

Paige chuckled, sliding her fingers through your wetness, gathering it up before shoving them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

“Suck,” she ordered, and you obeyed, wrapping your lips around her fingers, your tongue swirling over them, licking up every drop.

She groaned, watching you, eyes burning.

Paige dragged her fingers from your mouth, slow, deliberate, her touch lingering just long enough to make you chase it—your lips parting instinctively, tongue flicking out as if to pull her back in.

Wet pop.

The slick, obscene sound echoed in the space between you, and Paige exhaled, something dark, something satisfied curling at the edges of her breath.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” she murmured, her voice thick, heavy, sinking straight into your bones. Her fingers brushed over your cheek, smearing the mess she’d just pulled from your mouth, her thumb pressing against your lip, teasing, taunting.

Then—she moved.

Fast. Unyielding.

Hands at your hips, gripping tight, flipping you like you weighed nothing, like you were just another thing for her to use. The cushions barely had time to register your weight before she was spreading you open, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, pushing until there was nothing hidden from her.

You barely processed the shift before cool air hit your soaked, swollen skin, the contrast so sharp it sent a full-body tremor through you.

Your thighs were quivering, slick shining under the dim lights of the apartment, your pussy swollen, throbbing. Paige ran her fingers over it, barely touching, watching the way you twitched, still overstimulated.

“God, you look fucking ruined,” she smirked, gripping the base of the strap, tapping the tip against your still-sensitive clit, making you jump. “Think you can take more?”

Your breath was ragged, your body wrecked, but fuck—fuck, you needed it.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Please.”

Paige’s eyes darkened.

“Then spread those fucking legs wider,” she commanded.

And you did.

Paige smirked as you obeyed, spreading your legs wider, exposing yourself completely—flushed, dripping, needy despite how wrecked you already were. But she didn’t give you anything. Not yet. Instead, she pressed the tip of the strap just against your entrance, teasing, not pushing in, just barely letting you feel the pressure.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over your trembling thighs, pressing down on the spots she’d spanked raw, making you flinch, making you feel every mark she’d left on you.

“You really think you deserve more?” she taunted, dragging the tip of the strap through your soaked folds, never giving you enough. “After that fucking disaster on the court?”

You whimpered, your body twitching, desperate for more friction, but Paige just smirked, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“You cost us that game,” she murmured, her voice low, dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning.

“I—”

Slap.

Paige’s palm met your inner thigh, hard, making you jolt, making you yelp.

“Try again,” she said, her grip on your chin tightening, nails digging in. “Say it.”

You shuddered, your body betraying you, thrumming under her control, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“I—I lost us the game,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige hummed, pleased, dragging the strap down again, teasing, but still not giving you what you wanted. “Louder.”

You whimpered, your face burning hotter.

“I lost us the game,” you gasped, the words tasting like shame, like submission.

Paige grinned. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

And then she thrust in, hard, no warning, splitting you open in one smooth, devastating motion.

You screamed, your back arching, your whole body shaking at the sudden stretch, the sudden fullness.

Paige groaned, rolling her hips, making you feel every inch of it. “That’s what a fucking loser like you deserves, huh?” she muttered, one hand gripping your throat, the other pressing the vibrator right against your clit. “Getting fucked like a brainless little toy.”

You sobbed, your body already teetering on the edge, too much, too fast, but Paige just grinned, watching you struggle, watching you break.

Then—she stopped.

Everything.

No movement. No friction. The vibrator still humming against you, but not pushing enough to get you there.

You whined, your hips bucking, trying to chase it, but Paige held you down, her grip on your throat tightening.

“Oh, no,” she mocked, tilting her head. “You think you’re getting off that easy? After you fucked up my game?”

You gasped, your body shaking, the pleasure so close, so unbearable—

But Paige just smirked, lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You’re not cumming until I say you can.”

Your breath hitched, your entire body screaming for release, your skin hot, your muscles tight, that unbearable edge turning into something sharp, almost painful. Paige was still inside you, thick and unyielding, the vibrator right there, your clit swollen, throbbing—but she wasn’t moving. Just watching. Waiting.

Fuck. Fuck.

You needed it, needed her to just move, just do something, but the moment your hips jerked forward, chasing friction, Paige’s hand tightened around your throat, pressing down just enough to steal the air from your lungs. Your back arched, your body helpless, caught between pain and pleasure, oxygen slipping from your grasp.

“You don’t listen,” Paige murmured, shaking her head, like she was disappointed in you. “I told you—you don’t get to cum yet.”

Her grip eased up just enough to let you breathe, let you speak.

Your jaw clenched. Your pride flared—some stubborn, defiant part of you that hated being told what to do, even if your body was betraying you, even if you were dripping around her, desperate for more.

Fuck that.

Your hands snapped up, grabbing at her wrist, trying to pry her fingers away from your throat.

Paige’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.

“Oh, you wanna fight now?” she taunted, laughing at you, mocking you, like you weren’t even a threat, like you were nothing more than her plaything.

Rage flared in your chest, heat curling in your gut, fueled by humiliation, by desperation. Your nails dug into her wrist, and you bucked your hips hard, trying to throw her off, trying to gain some kind of control.

Bad fucking idea.

Paige growled, low and dangerous, and before you could blink, she had your wrists pinned above your head, her weight pressing you down, her breath hot against your ear.

“That was fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice dark with something dangerous, something predatory. “Now I’m gonna make you beg for it.”

You struggled, tried to fight back, but she was stronger, her grip iron, her body unshakable.

“You love this,” she whispered, grinding her hips down, making the strap press deeper, making you whimper. “You love being under me. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking toy.”

You clenched your teeth, shaking your head, your breath ragged.

“N-No—”

Slap.

Paige’s hand cracked across your face, your head snapping to the side, heat blooming across your cheek.

Your gasp was sharp, shocked, but the second she grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing your eyes to lock with hers, your stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

She saw it. Felt it.

The way your pussy clenched around the strap. The way your thighs trembled. The way your lips parted, breath hitching, body betraying you entirely.

Paige smirked.

“Oh, you liked that,” she mocked, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit, making you jolt, making you whimper. “Fucking filthy.”

You hated how right she was.

Hated that you were fucking soaked, your body burning, your pride cracking under the.

She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice slow, teasing, cruel.

“Say it,” she whispered, rolling her hips, dragging the strap out of you, just enough to make you ache, to make you chase it.

You clenched your teeth, fighting it, fighting her.

She laughed, mocking, pressing the strap just against your entrance, right there, but not inside, not giving you what you needed.

“Say it,” Paige murmured again, her voice slow, dragging over the syllables, rolling them over her tongue like she relished the sound. Like she knew she had you. Like she owned you. “Say you love it.”

Her tone was laced with something dark, something dangerous, but it was her eyes that truly wrecked you—those piercing blue irises locked onto yours, drinking in your desperation, your humiliation, your surrender.

You shook, your entire body trembling, every nerve burning with the unbearable edge she had you dangling over. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, aching, needing her to just move, to just fucking fuck you, but she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t give it to you until you admitted it. Until you broke completely.

Your fists clenched above your head where she still had them pinned, nails biting into your own skin as you tried to fight it, tried to hold on to the last shreds of your pride.

But it was slipping.

You could feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, your body betraying you, betraying everything, and fuck—fuck, she knew. She could see it.

Her smirk deepened, her fingers tightening around your wrists, pressing them harder into the cushions, her body looming over you, suffocating in the best fucking way.

She waited.

She didn’t repeat herself. Didn’t need to.

Your breath hitched, caught in your throat, your thighs quivering where they were still spread wide open for her, still needy, still so fucking wrecked.

And then—

“… I love it.”

The words were barely a whisper, barely more than shame slipping from your lips, and the moment they left your mouth, Paige fucking grinned.

Her fingers released your wrists, only to slide down, wrapping around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur, to make your breath stutter.

“Good fucking girl,” she purred, her voice thick with pride, with ownership, with pure fucking satisfaction.

And then she slammed back in.

Hard.

No warning. No buildup. Just a brutal, unrelenting thrust that forced a wrecked cry from your lips, your back arching, your body convulsing under her.

She didn’t ease you into it. Didn’t fucking care that you were still trembling, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive. She just used you, fucking into you with brutal, merciless strokes, making your breath punch out of you with every thrust.

Her hand tightened around your throat, her other hand grabbing your hip, holding you still, forcing you to take it, to accept it, to submit completely.

“Say it again,” she growled, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice dripping with sin, with dominance, with something feral.

You whimpered, your whole body wrecked, already tipping toward that unbearable edge again, already so fucking close.

Her hips snapped harder, her cock splitting you open, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, ruining you.

“Say it again,” she snarled, her grip on your throat tightening, the vibrator pressing harder against your clit, sending a white-hot shock through you.

Your entire body twitched, fire spreading through your veins, through every nerve—

And then—

“I love it—fuck, I fucking love it.”

Paige moaned, deep and guttural, her hand sliding up, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing you to see how much she was enjoying this. How much she loved seeing you like this—ruined, helpless, hers.

“That’s fucking right,” she spat, pounding into you harder, her fingers digging into your cheeks, her nails biting into your skin. “You fucking love it. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking slut.”

You sobbed, pleasure crashing through you, your whole body convulsing as she fucked you through it, as she held you down and forced you to take every second of it.

And fuck—fuck—she wasn’t stopping.

She had you right where she wanted you—under her, wrecked, body trembling, clenching around the strap, soaking both of you. She was fucking you through another orgasm, grip tight on your jaw, vibrator still pressed to your swollen, abused clit, your body unable to do anything but take it.

Her breath hitched, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she watched you fall apart.

“God damn,” Paige grunted, her gaze locked on the way your thighs shook, the way your fingers clawed at her forearms, the couch cushions, fucking air—like there was anywhere to go, like she wasn’t going to hold you right there until you had nothing left.

“You’re so fucking pathetic like this.”

You sobbed, every nerve fried, pleasure tipping past unbearable, white-hot static frying your goddamn brain—

BANG BANG BANG.

Your whole body seized. Paige froze.

For a second, the only sound in the room was the both of you panting—loud, breathless, soaked—

Then—

“HEY!”

A voice from the other side of the door. KK. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whispered, mortified, pure horror crawling up your spine.

Paige, though? She fucking laughed.

“Yeah, we’re serious,” she called out, still breathless, still inside you, still fucking smug. “What do you wan?”

A groan. Another thud of a fist against the door.

“It’s two in the fucking morning! Some of us don’t wanna listen to your freaky-ass sex life all fucking night!”

You covered your face with your hands. Paige grinned, completely unbothered, shifting her hips just enough to make your breath hitch, like this was funny, like this wasn’t the worst moment of your entire fucking life.

“Maybe you should get some fucking earplugs,” she shot back, smirking.

“Or maybe you should go fuck in a soundproof basement like a normal goddamn person!”

Paige snorted, her body shaking from how hard she was holding back laughter.

“Not my fault this bitch is loud as fuck.”

You kicked her.

Hard.

Paige cackled, her whole body shaking on top of you.

“Jesus Christ!” KK groaned, slamming the door one last time before stomping away, voice trailing off as she disappeared down the hall. “Fucking lesbians, man…”

Silence.

Then, Paige propped herself up on her elbows, grinning down at you, still breathless, still flushed, still inside you.

“Well,” she smirked.

She rocked her hips—slow, teasing, devastating.

“Where were we?”

A beat.

Then, from the depths of your absolute humiliation, you mustered the last bit of strength in your body—

“KK! YOU’RE GAY TOO, BITCH!”

Silence. 

A door slammed down the hall.

Paige lost her shit, laughing so hard she actually collapsed on top of you, her whole body shaking, still breathless, still inside you.

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “I hate you.”

Paige propped herself up, still grinning like an absolute psycho, eyes gleaming.

“No, you don’t.”

[kyunniebuns]

Helloooo :3. I wanna know how Jin Woo deals with S/O who got bullied in high school because of her face and always feels insecure because of that. And also isolates and distances herself whenever people hurt her feelings. Requesting headcanons and one shot if u r free of course! :0

˗ˏˋ Entry : 061 - Sung Jinwoo x Bullied! Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[ BULLYING. Heavy depictions of depression, anxiety, body/face dysmorphia, avoidance of mirrors, idealization of self-harm/mutilation. I've been a victim of bullying so this is quite personal. Fluff Ending]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ When the flowers wilts first instead of blooming ] ¡! ❞

Pretty privilege.

Even if you're a child, you know it's a thing. Of course, you can't quite pinpoint why you're being treaed the way you are. But there is that weird inkling that something is going terribly wrong.

The boys in class often snicker at you, making fun of you for no reason in front of your oblivious face. You can tell there is some sort of mockery coming from them and that they treat other girls in class quite differently.

With the other girls, they are respectful and even trying to suck up with them? With you? They're actively snorting and getting off on making you miserably.

It's the little things they say that slowly degraded your poor mind over time.

"Your smile is weird"

"Your cheeks are too fat"

"Hey, can you quit laughing for a bit? You look ugly as hell hahah"

"It's the freak"

With the girls? Oh it gets worse.

They wont shut up about how your features are grotesque and even downright disgusting.

That's odd, you just wanted to be friends with everyone, yet here you are being the center of ridicule— Being pushed out of every single chance to make genuine connection just because they didn't like the way you look.

Well.. It isn't too bad.

There's a boy in class who befriended you. He listened to every story you have and he even laughs at the jokes you make even if you have picked them up from everybody else. If you mimic the popular kids, everyone will like you more right?...

Right?

However that same boy you thought was your friend had been secretly mocking you with his popular friends. He had been making fun of you no matter how kind and outgoing you were with him.

From then on? You started to slowly isolate yourself from everyone.

But somehow, the bullying only got worse.

It was to the point that everyone laughs at you during class and teasing you whenever you try to participate in class. They make wild noises whenever it's your turn to report.

Everyone, everyone just wont stop hurting you.

How about the adults? Surely they will help?

"... Just, try to ignore them, yeah?" — Was the reply the adults with give.

That's funny, shouldn't teachers be taking your side? You're the one who is being wronged here. You're the one who is getting the cruel end of these so called jokes.

Why is everyone making fun of you?

Even outside of the classroom and in the schoolbus— The kids younger and older than you are all a bunch of jerks who gaslight you everytime you try to be friendly with them.

One day, you decided to please everyone and sit on the floor because the pretty girls and the boys deserve it. The reward of your obedience?

Water gets poured on the top of your head and they all cackle in joy.

You went home soaking that day, sobbing miserably as your bag's contents are also drowning in water. Of course, your family confronted the school.

But the solution? Somehow eveything goes fucking downhill even more.

You're pushed out of all social circles. You're considered a goddamn freak.

And thus, the once bubbly and outgoing you had been stripped down to an anti-social and anxious loser that everyone despises. Anyone who comes across you would look at you with either pity or ridicule.

In the end? It doesn't matter anymore.

At some point, you completely gave up on trying to be friends with anyone and chose to keep to yourself. Maybe you had a few they all left overtime.

So you chose to just... Keep to yourself. What better is there to protect your already battered heart than to make sure nobody dares come close?

If being alone is what it takes to finally have the peace you've been longing for and can avoid all sense of harm— Then so be it.

Alone may you be, but at least you're happy.

꒰ .... ꒱

Meeting you is quite odd for Jinwoo so to speak. Of course, he is well aware of anti-social people who actively avoid any sort of interaction. Even small talk is considered a pure living nightmare to go through.

He tried being friendly with you and Jinwoo can tell no matter how polite and meek you are— You are actively trying to escape the conversation and find ways to shut it off.

Well, he could always leave you alone. But somehow he didn't want to. So even if you were uncomfortable, Jinwoo always attempted to be friends with you.

Slowly, he would notice the little things about you.

Such as your hair being grown in a way that obscures your little face, how you're dressed in thick clothes just to hide your body, how you're always choosing to stand alone in a corner where there is a least amount of students.

He knew of that fact that you're making yourself more and more invisible to everyone else by doing this. And he had an inkling something has gone terribly wrong for you to be this willing to isolate yourself.

Even when he managed to make you warm up to him, he knew you were desperate in making sure you don't offend him in any sort of way. He can see that way your demeanour would change if his tone shifts to a lazier and deeper sound out of nowhere.

You're studying his every movement.

Just like he is studying you.

꒰ .... ꒱

One day, he managed to convince you to come with him to go to the mall. Everything is currently boring and dull for him since there isn't much to do on the last week of the semester thanks to both of you handing everything on time. The only reason why school is still ongoing are for those students that are on the path of repeating the grade.

Everything was going well until you find yourself staring at your own reflection in a mirror.

How grotesque.

Those godforsaken awful cheeks you have, the shape of your eyes being so infuriating to look at, how pathetically built you are, how overall unappealing your appearance were.

If you could just run your cutters all of your fucking face maybe you'd be fixed.

This is why you hated mirrors so much.

They remind you of the disgustingly horrid image you have. Mirrors have a talent of showing the god awful being one is.

Because they don't lie.

These objects are made to reflect the person facing them. Despite being mouthless beings, you always had a feeling these fucking things are mocking you just for existing yourself.

Maybe you should scratch your cheek? That way you can shape them down even more—

"Don't look there." A soft, gentle deep voice calls out as a hand stretched out to block your line of sight towards the mirror.

When you look up, you are only met with a pair of kind grey orbs gazing at you as he says; "How about we go to the park instead?"

Jinwoo then moves his hand to grasp yours, squeezing it a little before guiding you out of the place.

꒰ .... ꒱

The walk in the empty park is silent and awkard, your footsteps being the only source of noise as you trail behind Jinwoo's tall and broad back.

"Sorry..." You say, lowering your head as you paused in your steps. "I ruined your shopping day."

"I was getting bored anyway, it's fine" He shrugs, waving his hand dismissively.

"Still," You purse your lips, feeling even more awful since you know Jinwoo is just being kind to you.

"You're always working hard to not make me mad, it wouldn't hurt to be a bit mean sometimes" Jinwoo reaches over to mess up your head.

"You... Are very aware of what I did before, yet you're still nice to me?"

Ah yes, that story, that story where you sent a kid limping in the hallways leaving a trail of blood from his bleeding nose. He finds it a little funny that you think you would scare him, the same bastard who put monarchs at their graves and sending god's army packing when they tried to pull another bullshit in his regression.

Still, it is awfully cute of you in his mind.

"I don't know what they did to you, or what they said that you're this anxious and afraid of ever offending me— But I only care about making you happy." He then becomes a bit flustered as he realized his own words. "W-well, I mean, hahah... That sounds so bad, I just,... Er... You're pretty cute when you smile so—"

Jinwoo stopped talking as he feels you suddenly throwing your arms around him.

"Hey..." He sighs, rubbing your back gently as he feels your tears soaking up his hoodie.

Being called cute by someone like him feels unreal, but somehow you can tell he isn't lying or just saying it to say something. Jinwoo for one has never lied to you, sure, he keeps things to himself most of the time. But he never lied.

So it's okay to trust him, right? it's okay to give him your heart even for just a little bit? With him, it feels like you;re healing a part of yourself that got broken overtime due to the bullying and isolation you had to put yourself through just so you can make sure no one can hurt you ever.

Jinwoo could only cradle you, sighing deeply as his rough fingers card through your strands affectionately. He should've reached out sooner.

Just from the raw, unfiltered and broken sobs that you are emitting— He can tell your cries are an amalgamation of sorrow, pain and loneliness that has long been brewing throughout the years of no solace.

"Joonwoo, Ae-yeong, Hajoon, Beom-shik, Eun-ae" He starts listing a bunch of names and ten other more.

Names familiar to you.

"Those are their names, right?" Jinwoo asks softly, receiving a soft nod from you.

He keeps your head firmly pressed against his shoulder as his face contorts that of pure malice. The undead soldiers hiding inside his shadows stir and whine a bit as they sense their master's temper coming to a close boiling point.

"I hope they enjoyed their sleep these past few days, a hellscape nightmares will be coming their way after all."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: I could've been more graphic but I chose to be merciful and choose this. There's more but ehnnn,,, I wanna play hollow knight immed rn<33. To everyone who is suffering from ptsd and body dysmorphia please know you are beautiful and perfect just the way you are. It'll take a long while to heal but you're not alone and never should be. Please surround yourself with happiness and cute things. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[acmeangel]

♡ For my Valentine's Week Event! ♡ SFW fluffy!!! ♡ Modern!Levi x Reader ♡ Short one shot, fluffy ♡ Summary: It's your first Valentine's Day with Levi—what does he do? (I built this around one of my headcanons from here!)

"This is fucking ridiculous," Levi muttered under his breath as he navigated the uncharacteristically disastrous war zone that was his kitchen. As he held up the recipe, leaving flour-coated finger prints on it, his eyes scanned over the same step repeatedly, his brow cinched with exasperation.

"What the hell does it mean to cream butter?" he griped, turning the paper over, as if it magically would have new instructions on it. "Who in their right mind would assume everyone knows what that means?"

He set his hands down on the counter, sighing with frustration, as he took in the sights of his attempt to make sugar cookies—your favorite—though he'd internally drawn the line at heart-shaped cookie cutters. It was Valentine's Day, the first one you'd be spending together.

While you'd reassured him repeatedly that you weren't expecting him to do anything, that you'd be more than happy to just spend a night in together, he saw the way your eyes sparkled when you saw the pink and red Valentine's Day window displays at every store you passed by. He was determined not to mess this up—he felt lucky that he'd even been able to win you over in the first place, given his lack of "game" as Erwin had called it.

Levi was never one for grand gestures—and that wasn't about to change on a whim—so he'd decided on baking your favorite treat, making you dinner, and giving you flowers. For him, this was considered over-the-top.

What Levi hadn't expected was how goddamned complicated it was to make sugar cookies. He'd barely managed to create something that resembled dough, when he checked the time and realized that you'd be arriving soon.

"Shit," he mumbled, his kitchen still in disarray, and dinner not even started. At least, he thought, I managed to get the flowers. He'd picked up a bouquet of your favorite flowers earlier that day, which sat on the kitchen table, away from the disaster zone.

Before he could reconsider his plan or come up with a backup, he heard the sound of your key in the lock to the front door (he'd only just recently given you your own key). Moments later, you appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, stopping in your tracks as you took in the sight.

You started laughing—you couldn't help it.

"Levi," you said, a smile beaming on your face, "what in the world is going on in here?"

His expression turned classically grumpy, the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment.

"They make these recipes impossible to follow," he said, defensively, holding up the recipe for you to see. "I couldn't explain to you what half of this is telling me to do."

You laughed again, stepping further into the kitchen, dodging the messes that were surely driving Levi to his breaking point.

"Let me see that," you said, an amused smile on your face as you took the paper from him, scanning over it briefly. "Sugar cookies, hm?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, his eyes studying your expression, "I wanted to make them for you. I know you like them."

Your expression softened as you put down the recipe and looked at him, your hand reaching up to gently brush away a smudge of flour from his forehead.

"Levi," you said, your voice soft and filled with affection for this man who was really trying his best to make you happy, "you didn't have to do all this. But, I appreciate it. Really."

One of the corners of his lips tugged into a half-smile. "I didn't fuck up entirely. I got you flowers." He nodded toward the table where the bouquet was waiting for you.

"Mmm, I can see that," your voice dipped just above a whisper. "Thank you, Levi."

You leaned in, your lips meeting his for a soft, flour-coated kiss.

"This recipe really isn't that complicated, though," you added, a loving tease. "I'll show you later, and then I'll let you go to town cleaning this kitchen."

"Ah," he said, his arm sliding down to wrap around your waist and draw you in closer, "you know just what I want."

You giggled, your arms slinging behind his neck. "That's because I love you, Levi."

"Love you, too," he replied, a faint raise to his eyebrow as he added, "But next year, I'm taking you out, instead."

♡ Participate in my Valentine’s Week Event! Rules are here.

♡ Requested by anonymous

♡ Masterlist

[saederkrupps]

waow keys song

[simpjaes]

So Sweet. ― P.JS

The one where Jay, in all of his cherry-flavored thoughts, makes you cherry flavored too. requested here, here, and here 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― park jongseong x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT― 3.8k

CONTENT―   reader is jealous over nothing, NO THIS IS NOT ANGST, mostly just smutty stuff, food play, costume party (jay is wearing cat ears hueheuehue), alcohol is involved but it’s consenting, ya’ll fuck in [redacted]’s room and leave the mess for him to clean up. 

WARNING―  idk, reader is possessive and jealous, kinda crazy. very me tbh. jay kinda just shoves it in even tho it’s painful for her……and keeps going………

NOTE ― happy almost halloween :D this is very short, written with haste, and probably not that good but…….jay, yknow? jay makes it good. 

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― big fat huge cock jay, candy-play, costumes & cat ears, reader sucks his candy like it’s his cock and he nearly combusts over it,  pussy eating, cock stuffing, cream pie

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s gotta be the cat ears, you think, as you stare at your boyfriend from across the room. Everyone is a blur, but goddamn something is off tonight. Because, like, why is every fucking woman in this room staring at him like they wanna rip his clothes off?! 

Or, maybe it’s that faux-freshly-fucked blushy glow across his cheeks, or the blinking out of sync that comes paired with his drunken jokes and words. The atmosphere truly is making the usual, stoic, lame-ass Jay appear as nothing but an endearing cat-man who deserves a mouth on him. 

And you know, the fact that you came here with him, with matching ears and a fucking tail, should scare off all these little bitches, yet there they are? Suddenly just so interested in your man?! 

Jake is the first to notice the way you stare, raising a brow in confusion.

“You guys get in a fight or something?” He asks as his own animal-themed ears flop around when he turns his head to you.

“No–” You narrow your eyes at a woman who keeps glancing at your boyfriend as you say it, paying Jake little to no mind. “Just wondering why everyone has a hard-on for my boyfriend right now.”

Jake nods, pouting his lip out and raising a brow as if to silently say “Ah, makes sense.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better–” Jake starts, glancing around the room. “I literally don’t see anyone trying to get it on with him. I think you’re making problems.”

Pause.

“Please. Look at her!” You slightly raise your voice, pointing to a woman who is absolutely not trying to get on Jay’s dick, in fact, she’s literally eyeing Heeseung like she’s about to pounce. 

It’s really just the fact that she’s standing right next to Jay, and you caught her looking at him a few times, and also they had a “conversation” a few days ago. Nevermind that it was a “See ya after break!” type of conversation, or that she said it to everyone, and not specifically to Jay. It’s just that he responded alongside everyone else.

“You’re being annoying.” Jake finally starts to walk away from you, not actually annoyed but more-so amused at how jealous you’ve become solely because you’ve had a few shots. 

It’s not often you drink, after all. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Gonna go kiss on your man–” Jake laughs, now rushing his way through a crowd of drinkers and glancing at you when he whispers in your boyfriend’s ear.

You watch the way Jay falls into a face of concentration trying to hear his friend, and then see his eyes flick to you. 

Oh, well that’s just great. Surely Jake isn’t actually trying to hit on Jay, he’s probably over there snitching like a little asshole. Which sucks because this relationship with Jay is….it’s kinda new, you know? You don’t want to come across as the possessive type, or like– controlling.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You find yourself panicking when Jay stumbles his way over to you, a newly unwrapped lollipop hanging half from his lips as he sips his drink around the candy, and only spilling it once solely because he keeps his eyes on you rather than his footing. Jake is left behind, now beside that girl that clearly wants Heeseung to bone her into the next dimension, looking uncomfortable and left out. 

Good. She deserves it. 

“So…” Jay says as he stands next to you, leaning back against the wall and snaking one arm behind you to grab at your waist. “Someone’s jealous?”

You fold in on yourself a little bit, feeling that grip he gives to you that forces you against his side. 

“Of course not.” You mumble, sipping from your cup and still staring out into the room of people. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Jake said so.” Jay laughs now, leaning his head over to whisper under your ear. “You saying he’s lying?”

His breath sends a shiver down your spine just as the song changes to that of muffled bass, loud enough to have you wanting to cover your ears.

“Yes–” You start. 

“Huh?” Jay pulls back to look at you. 

“Yes, he’s lying.” You try again.

“What?”

Before you try to answer again, you feel him pull you. Around a corner, up, up, and away from the booming music one floor up. He lands you in someone’s room, fuck if you know who’s.

“Hm?”

Your breath catches in your throat when you look at him now. No one else in the room to muffle that croak in his drunken voice, those blushed cheeks, the fucking ears.

“I said, he’s lying.” You say meekly, unable to tear your eyes from the little split in his lip, reddened by the candy hanging from his mouth. 

His breath smells of cherry and tequila when he leans closer, tilting his head playfully to look into your eyes, as if to check if you’re the one lying. 

“Is that so?” He says, pulling the lollipop from his lips and sucking the taste down his throat, allowing that scent to waft through your nose yet again. “So you don’t mind knowing Jake’s ex tried to get my number?” 

Your eyes widen before they narrow. You cross your arms and look away from him.

“Of course not.” You lie. 

“And you wouldn’t care that I gave it to her?” He says now, hovering his lips near yours, eyes hooded as he plays with his words. 

That makes your blood boil though, and no longer can you sit here and pretend like you wouldn’t bring out the claws and start pulling hair if it comes to it. After all, that bitch was a homewrecker! Totally broke Jake’s heart and has the audacity to come to parties when she knows he will be here? And she asked for Jay’s number?!

And he gave it to her?! Jay chuckles when he pulls back, popping the candy back into his mouth as he studies the shift in your nonchalant vibe. He stays silent though, amused, waiting for you to argue until he notices the way your eyes fall. 

No longer annoyed, but hurt.

In all fairness, that silence he gave you after that had you thinking…he really gave her his number?

“Baby–” Jay soothes now, pushing the lollipop to his cheek with his tongue so he can speak as clearly as he can despite the slur in his speech from the drinks. “I’m joking.”

The relief washes over your drunken mind, feeling better but now back to being irritated. What’s with him right now? You don’t exactly want to be jealous, but the fact that he’s making damn sure that you were is kinda…like, is he into that? Does he want you to be possessive?

You’d be lying though, if you said he didn’t look hot as hell the other day pulling you closer to his side because a store clerk looked at you for a second too long. You might’ve even swooned a bit. 

“You’re a dick.” You finally respond, shoving him back playfully, unable to hide the relieved smile on your lips. “Looking hot-and-bothered all night, leaving me in a random room only for me to see you talking with some girl after finding you again.” 

He lends you his own laugh now, wiggling his eyebrows before popping the candy out of his mouth again. “Oh, her? The girl who Heeseung basically just finger fucked on the kitchen counter?”

You pause for a second, unsure as to why that sounds hot. Maybe just because she’s not after your man? Or maybe you like, wish you’d have seen.

“And you didn’t even take me to see?!” You go to playfully shove him again, but he stops you with his own gentle shove. Straight against the door, getting up real close to your face before whispering.

“So, you were jealous?” That slur in his speech is nowhere to be found before you taste the explosion of cherry. You’re kind of just staring at him, nodding out an admittance as his eyes fall lower, to where he’s tracing the bulbous head of that lollipop against your bottom lip. “Hot.”

“You’re going to drive me insane, you know that?” You finally say after the fourth or fifth time he’s swiped that lollipop against you, adding a translucent sheen to your already alcohol-sweet lips. 

“Mhm.” He nods triumphantly, now pushing the candy past your lips and into your mouth. “Should’ve came over and let me finger fuck you on the counter next, would that have made you feel better?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, ignoring the throb between your legs at his bold words. Jay isn’t typically this feisty, though you’d have totally let him do such a thing regardless of the eyes that could see. You just, like, didn’t really think he’d be willing to do something like that.

“I learn something new about you every day.” You chuckle out, noting the way he stares at your mouth and the way you suck on his lollipop. 

“Got loads of secrets for you, babe–” He smirks, taking initiative now and pressing his palms down on your shoulders, as if to make you lower yourself to the floor. Which, of course you do. You sink down, feeling the wooden door behind you sturdy and strong. As you do, he reaches over, locking the door.

What you think is about to be the best head of his life turns out to be him sinking down with you, slotting himself between your legs on the floor and pinning you there with his hands against the door. His head tilts cutely, the cat ears now looking more realistic than ever.

He doesn’t look like a curious little black cat anymore, he looks like he’s hunting for prey as he looks at you. 

“Look at you,” He says, more serious and without that smirk before he takes the candy back. “So, so cute.”

You’re melting against him after those words, feeling his tongue lick against your lips before you can even return to compliment. It’s sweet, red coated tongues creating a sugary mess, hums and pleasant sounds leave both of you at the flavor, only to deepen the kiss because neither of you can really get enough of it either. 

You reach up in the kiss, petting the ears on his head despite knowing he can’t feel it the way a real feline would, but he reacts all the same. Totally into it, even, nearly roleplaying as he groans. Maybe he’s just amused that you did that, or maybe he’s wondering if you’ll pull at his next or something. 

And in this kiss that seems to never end, he gets touchy. Pushing and pulling you to both give and take control, one hand moving from cupping your face, to gently holding your neck, up until it finds its way down down down, then up your scanty shirt. 

Totally lost in it, both of you are. With you skewing his ears to scratching at the nape of his neck, to him groping, and suddenly– prodding that same lollipop that you’d forgotten about between both of your lips. He’s amused when you lick it, the dulling cherry flavor coming back into the kiss with full force between you as he pulls back, red salvia stains all around his mouth before the smirk is back.

He watches as you take it back into your mouth, his own hand pushing it in and out, watching you chase it when he tries to pull it out entirely, only to shove it back in, deeper. That’s when he groans, pinching your nipple through your shirt particularly hard due to the sheer arousal that rushes to his cock. It lends him a little throb, a dribble of pre-cum messing his pants.

That about does it for him, pulling the candy out of your mouth now despite the way you chase it pitifully. He pops it into his own temporarily so he can go straight for what he not only wants, but needs right now. You watch him, a little dazed with the way his hair matches perfectly with the color of the cat ears, now a little crooked due to your meddling. 

He goes straight for it too, reaching under your skirt and practically tearing your panties off of you before he’s spreading your thighs wide and re-adjusting himself back between your legs. 

You squeak a little in response, proud of the unintentional sound because it’s very in character for the whole, you know, matching cat costume thing. And he only responds with another kiss, the sucker now removed from his mouth as he offers the flavor through his own saliva. 

Drinking it up is easy as you lick into his mouth, feeling the way his fingers toy with your folds, sliding up and down the slippery heat before–

“Jay–” You pull back, confused at the new feeling between your legs as you look at him.

His pupils are wide when he looks at you, mouth still slack from the kiss you were in the middle of, shoulder moving in tune with each push inside of you. He doesn’t respond, lost entirely in the moment and so fucking horny over what he’s doing to you right now. 

He kisses against you again, moving his hand faster, deeper, when his lips reach your neck. 

“Cherry girl.” He mumbles mindlessly, kissing down your neck and to the exposed skin on your chest that your shirt offers. “Tastes good on you.” He continues to mumble, working his way down as he kisses over your clothes up until he dips under your skirt. “In you.”

So, yeah, you���re being fucked with a well-abused lollipop and you’re not ashamed to moan about it because, holy shit.

His mouth is on you harder than it was when he was making out with you previously. Chasing the flavor, moaning for it, gripping your ass and pulling you closer against his tongue. You grip at the hard floor under you, unable to grasp anything at all through the sudden and intense jolts of pleasure.

And he doesn’t stop moaning, that sucker still being pushed in and out of you, only pulled out briefly for him to, presumably, shove it in his mouth before circling his lips around your clit with a hard suck. And he does that over and over again, like a loop of intended pleasure where he’s just fucking drowning in all of his favorite flavors. 

To not be into this is insane, to not grip onto something is even crazier. You reach down, pulling your skirt up just to see the way his eyes are rolled back, totally unable to make eye contact with you as he relishes in the red-sugar flavor of your cunt. The image alone makes you roll your hips up, which leads to him moaning louder for you to do it again, and again, essentially fucking yourself both on your boyfriend’s tongue, and his candy. 

In the heat of the moment, you finally find your grip in his hair, pulling it so tightly between your fingers that you know it’s hurting him, but he seems to like it. Another secret of his, you guess, as you keep doing that, pulling his hair, riding up against the pleasure he’s offering, and then– god the fucking ears. 

So cute on a man doing something so filthy and messy. You can’t hold it, you just–

“Fuck, keep going–” You stutter out in time with your hips, jerking back and forth both towards and away from him. “Right there,”

Jay is beyond pleased knowing he can make you cum this way. It wasn’t exactly in the plan to fuck his girlfriend like this tonight, but he’s glad he did. Especially seeing you chase the pleasure like this. He’s quick to maintain his rhythm, pushing the lollipop in right at the perfect angle, lips and tongue vibrating against your clit in a way that forces your hips forward, unmoving, stiff and you release. 

He can feel it, that sticky sweet slick dripping out of you, pulsing with each rush of pleasure. It takes everything in him not to abandon your clit and drink it all up, but he’s stronger than (barely). He’s good to you, waiting until that grip in his hair finally loosens before–

You’re pulling twice as hard at it now. Feeling the way he gives you no seconds to recover. He’s immediately pushing his face back down, licking everything that’s dripped out of you and letting it slide down his throat before finally pulling the lollipop out of you.

And he continues to lick, and lick, and lick, sucking and still fucking you with his tongue, lollipop gripped in his hand, pressing it against your thigh as if it’s forgotten about.

You try to wiggle away from him, the sensitivity too much from the image of him going feral, to the way he’s licking inside of you, to the forceful push of his nose right against your sensitive clit. And it’s so fucking crazy too, the way you’re still throbbing, the way you feel a second orgasm coming far too soon to the point you know it’ll hurt. 

You grip at his hair again, accidentally unclipping one of his ears as you have to force him to come up for air. More for your sake, in all honesty, but fuuuuck, it’s hard to hold him here with the way he’s looking at you now.

Lost, confused, even a bit…insane.

“I can’t–”

He tries to push back down, tongue falling out of his mouth when you keep that grip in his hair. 

“Jay, It hurts.”

“Fuck, baby,” He starts in an out of breath groan, totally forgetting about the nearly-disintegrated lollipop as it drops to the floor. “Just really, really need it right now.” 

In that action, you see Jay act more desperate than he ever has, grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you further down, forcing your legs open despite the sensitivity. You swear you hear him purr when he looks between your legs, witnessing a wet mess of sweetness, only to see even more the truth of his words now. 

You see the truth of how badly he needs it in the way he takes that sticky hand of his and pushes it down his pants, not even unbuttoning them before aggressively palming against himself, panting out for you to give him more. 

God. You think you might be in love with this guy. Too soon.

Too fucking soon.

What does it matter if you’re sensitive? Fucking look at him. He’s dying for it.

And so, you spread your legs wider, embarrassingly wiggling down to lock your legs around your sweet, black-cat of a boyfriend who can’t stop furiously jerking off. 

“Take it then.” You coo out, wiggling your open cunt right in front of his lap.

He doesn’t take his time either, shoving his too-tight pants down his thighs, shifting onto his knees, and immediately stuffing his cock into that same sugary slick. He holds his breath at first before releasing an insanely broken moan at the grip of your cunt around him.

The moan nearly sounds like he’s in pain, muttering half-words that can’t articulate a damn meaning even if he tried. Totally lost in the tightness, he barely notices you wrapping your legs around his waist, suffering through the way he knows he’s big, and ignoring how usually he always takes it slow so you can adjust. 

Not this time. No, you feel each pulse try to rip your hole just to accommodate the thickness he offers. And he just moans more at the way you wince, practically drooling on yourself as you clench, and squeeze, and hold onto him as if you’ll fall off the face of the earth if you were to let go. 

His mind is clear enough to hold you in return though, only because he knows it’s about to hurt more before it starts feeling better for you. Unfortunately, his mind is also just foggy enough to give you the short relief of his thick cock leaving you, only to slam in again, harder. 

You cry out at it, nails nearly digging straight through his shirt as you instinctively try to hold onto him through the pain. He soothes you through each pleasurable sound. Out-of-breath hums and moans right in your face when he presses his forehead to yours, each painful thrust followed with a compliment and a grunt. 

“So good, baby, so–” 

“You’ve taken it so many times before, fuck, just a bit more–” 

“Just relax. Please, baby, I know it hurts.”

Eventually, your body does relax, accommodating his size and painful plunges into you. Up until the rhythm is natural and the slapping of where your bodies meet sounds like nothing but a pornographic mess of pleasure. 

Both of you now losing it, you let Jay be the one to take it. You let him fuck freely, as hard as he wants, as loud as he wants up until you’ve had at least two more orgasms and you’re barely able to open your eyes, better yet function.

You don’t know where he got this stamina, considering most nights when you’re together it’s a one and done thing. Then again, most nights he doesn’t fuck you with halloween candy, eat it out of you, then fuck it back into you. 

When he finally reaches his climax though. Oh, oh god. You think you might’ve let the word “love” slip from your slack lips upon feeling his cum inside of you, pumping out and filling you up beyond what’s normal for him. 

You wonder if that little slip of words made him last longer, because goddamn did he hold you closer, and fuck did he kiss you like he never has before through the orgasm.

And when it’s all said and done, the two of you are left out of breath, a sticky mess of pink-tinted cum, salty sweat, and nearly bruised lips. You’d say it should be embarrassing to walk out of whoever’s room this is, but you actually find yourself giggling into your boyfriend’s side during the walk of shame. 

Mostly because you left the room together to find an entire circle of people outside of the door, presumably listening in. Which is…yeah, they’re weirdos. Then again, the two of you didn’t really make it into the room before all of this started. You guess you’d probably listen too if someone was getting fucked against a door.

The giggling though, that comes from learning who owns the bedroom you just got candy-fucked in. His wide eyes narrowing upon witnessing who was in there is probably the funniest thing you’d seen all night. 

Poor Sunghoon. You’d have cleaned up the mess if your legs were working properly.

But they’re not, so, good luck to him, you guess.

[fatecantstopme]

Spell Bound

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen...I couldn't help myself.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names. An excessive amount of heavy SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), rough sex, oral (F receiving), multiple cream pies

"I freaking hate witches," Dean mumbled as he picked the lock on the apartment door.

You chuckled softly, very used to hearing him grumble every time you were hunting a witch.

He slowly walked into the apartment and you followed in after him.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" you asked quietly.

"Big scary magic book. Sam said it's probably on or near some kind of altar."

"Big scary magic book," you muttered under your breath. "Makes perfect sense."

You sighed as you walked into the living room and noticed several bookcases lined with large books. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dean shot you a weary smile. "Guess it might take a little longer than I thought."

"You think?"

You took one side of the room and Dean took the other. Sam had described the look of the book to the both of you, but there was really no way to be 100% certain if you found it.

About 15 minutes into your perusal, you spotted a large leather-bound book tucked under what appeared to be an altar cloth. You slowly removed the cloth, wary of what you might uncover. The book was almost exactly as Sam had described, so you had a feeling it was the right one.

"I think I found it," you said aloud.

At almost the same exact moment, a crash sounded from behind you and Dean let out a string of curses.

You spun around to see the hunter brushing off some sort of florescent pink dust from his face. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was moving some of the books and this box fell out and some powder just kinda...sprayed my face."

"Seriously?"

He looked sheepish. "I didn't even see it."

You sighed. "Great. God only knows what the hell that was."

He looked at the box carefully, but there was nothing written on it to identify the powdery substance he had inhaled. He gave you another sheepish look and shrugged. "Maybe it's not harmful."

You shot him a stony look. "Dean...it's a witch. It's not gonna be fairy dust."

He sighed, knowing you were right. He started shifting his shoulders a bit as if he was uncomfortable.

"Let's get out of here. I'll call Sam on the way back to the motel and see if he has any idea what it could be."

Dean nodded and followed you out the door. By the time you got outside the building and to the car, he was twitching like an addict in need of a fix.

"Dean?" you asked tentatively.

"My skin feels like it's on fire and--and it's like--itchy. And there's a weird feeling inside that I can't describe, but it doesn't feel nice."

"Okay...how 'bout I drive?"

He looked up at you with concerned eyes, but he handed you the keys and got into the passenger seat. You knew he must really be feeling terrible if he was letting you drive Baby.

You started the car up and pulled out of the parking spot while simultaneously calling Sam on your cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Dean got some sort of witchy powder on his face and now he's...itchy?" you said quickly in lieu of a greeting.

Sam sighed. "What are his symptoms?"

You put the phone on speaker. "Dean, what are your symptoms?"

Dean couldn't look at you and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin, everything aches, and I'm having a hard time breathing right. Oh and I can literally smell (Y/N)'s skin, which is totally not normal!"

"You can smell my skin?"

He grumbled under his breath. "I can smell your skin and your shampoo and your goddamn body wash, and I want--fuck. What the hell is wrong with me, Sam?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know. Let me call Bobby and see if he has any ideas."

You set the phone down on the seat beside you. "Maybe you're turning into some kind of animal?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean...you can smell me...which is weird and kind of--animalistic."

"I don't think that's it," he said harshly. "My body is aching in a way I can't even begin to describe to you, but I don't think I'm morphing into anything."

You eyed him carefully, worry etched into your face. He was your closest friend and trusted hunting partner, and you hated seeing him like this. Witches scared the shit out of you...you knew what they were capable of.

"Maybe drive a little faster," he hissed.

You pressed harder on the gas and the Impala shot down the road. When your phone rang, you answered it immediately.

"So I think I might know what it is, but I have something I need to ask Dean first," Sam said.

"Okay." You looked at Dean. "Can you hold the phone? Sam wants to ask you something."

Dean took the phone from your hand, hissing as his skin made contact with yours. "What?" he grumbled.

"This is gonna be awkward, but I need to know, okay? Do you feel--umm--aroused at all?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he let his brother's question sink in. Ohhh fuuuuck, he thought to himself. He glanced down at his jeans and noticed the bulge straining against them. With the intense pain he was experiencing, he hadn't really noticed. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Okay, well the good news is, I know what it is. It's called sex pollen."

"It's called what?"

"Sex pollen. The name doesn't really matter, but you have all the symptoms. They're only going to get worse until--well until you die."

"Die? Is there a cure?"

You looked over at Dean in terror, your foot pressing down even further on the pedal. Dean's hand was shaking slightly as he put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

"You have to--uhh--well--shit. You have to umm...fuck it out."

"I have to what?"

"Dude, I know, okay? But you don't have a choice. If you don't you'll die a rather painful death."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said again. "Can I, umm, take care of it myself?"

"According to what Bobby read, the only option is actual intercourse with another person."

"How long do I have?"

You were acutely aware of Dean's close proximity to you, and now you understood the nature of his pain. Your own breathing was more labored, but you desperately tried to maintain control of yourself. Don't make it weird, (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

"30 minutes from the time of contact until...until death," Sam answered.

"30 minutes?" you gasped. You started doing the math in your head as Dean continued talking to his brother. "We have maybe 10 more minutes until we get back to the motel and that leaves about 10 until..."

Dean looked over at you, his normally green eyes dark with need. "I'm so fucked," he muttered.

"That doesn't really leave us time to find someone for you to--you know," you said worriedly.

"Shit."

"Might wanna make it fast," Sam said.

"Obviously," Dean snapped. "How long will it take to...get out of my system?"

"That depends," Sam began. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

"Another story?"

"It could take a lot longer."

"Great," you mumbled.

"Sam, don't be there when we get there," Dean growled at his brother before hanging up the phone.

"Dean?" you questioned softly.

"Just drive, (Y/N)."

You continued driving, but your focus was most definitely not on the road. You could hear the heavy breathing and the soft pained sounds coming from the man beside you and it made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It certainly didn't help that you had wanted him for years and seeing him like this was making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't be feeling.

Dean flirted with you regularly, but he flirted with almost every person he came into contact with. It's just a part of his personality, so you never read into it. While Dean quite obviously adored you (and you him), you were not his type. You were a good fighter, sure, but where you really excelled was research. You were brilliant--almost as knowledgable as Bobby, though you still had plenty to learn. You were also significantly more--voluptuous than the women Dean gravitated to. Soft, chubby, more to love--whatever you wanna call it. As such, you'd never made any sort of move to announce your feelings for him. You didn't want to face his rejection.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speed up, I'm liable to die before we make it there," Dean hissed.

You shot him a look. "We're less than two minutes away, so don't die on me yet, Winchester."

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm not gonna make it either way, (Y/N). Like you said, we don't have enough time to find a, uh--partner."

You took a deep breath. "I can't let you die."

He looked over at you and you felt his gaze boring right into your soul. "I can't do that to you."

"I really don't see how we have much of a choice here."

You pulled into the motel parking lot before he could respond.

"Let's go," you said quickly as you got out of the car and made your way to your room.

Dean was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. As soon as the door was unlocked, Dean was pushing you through it and locking it behind you.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's okay, Dean," you said softly. "I'm not afraid."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your chin. "You should be...I'm going to lose control."

"It's alright...use me."

He let out a low growl and squeezed your chin tighter. "I--I won't be able to make this good for you."

You pressed yourself against his body, feeling the hard ridges against you. "It's not about me. You need this."

That was all it took for Dean to let go. His lips attacked yours with a hunger you were not expecting despite the intensity of the situation. He was not at all gentle as he tore your clothes from your body, ripping his own off with equal force.

He tossed you down on the bed with shocking ease. He had absolutely no difficulty manhandling you. You weren't sure if it was the sex pollen or just him.

His lips and hands were everywhere, touching every inch of your soft skin he could possibly reach. He needed to be inside of you so badly it was almost impossible to breathe. His skin burned with each touch and his instincts screamed at him to just break you.

He moves his way down your body and you're surprised as he stops just above your core. "Dean, what are you doing?" You knew he needed a release--and soon--or he wasn't gonna make it.

A voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). Even in his current state, he wanted to avoid hurting you if he could. "Need to get you ready," he grunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was devouring your pussy. The sounds he made were incredible, the feeling almost electrifying. He slid two fingers in and moved them in a scissoring motion to help loosen you up.

He was only down there for a 30 seconds before he came up and locked eyes with you. "I can't hold off anymore."

You nodded. "Just let go. I'll be okay."

He knew the moment he slid inside you, he'd be a goner. Whatever tiny amount of self control he'd managed to hang onto would disappear in an instant. But he could also feel the roaring agony inside him and he needed to feed it before it devoured him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear a split second before he sheathed himself fully inside you.

You cried out--pain mixing with pleasure as his large member stretched you in ways you'd never before experienced.

Dean couldn't give you time to adjust--he was too far gone. His hips began to move and his sole focus was on his own pleasure--his own release.

His thrusts were powerful and fast, so much so that your body started to scoot farther up the bed. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, pace never faltering. The sensations were almost painful given his size, but you wouldn't have stopped him even if you could have.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so good," he grunted.

You were more than a little surprised when he spoke--you hadn't pegged him as a dirty talker. Then again, it could very well have been the pollen. The same could be said of the sounds coming from his mouth. You'd never heard such sinful noises and you loved them.

"So tight--squeezing me so good. Feels like heaven."

You squeezed his cock purposefully, making him groan each time you clenched down. He needed his release and you were gonna make sure he got it. Your own enjoyment was far from your mind--this was essentially a transaction--a lifesaving measure. You had to view it that way to protect your heart...at least that's what you told yourself.

"Baby," he moaned. "Imma fill you up--so close."

Despite the voice in your head telling you this wasn't real--that you shouldn't have any emotional attachments--you reached up and touched his face, caressing it lovingly. "Cum for me, Dean," you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours and he bit his lip--hearing you say his name in the heat of the moment was a bigger turn on than he'd ever imagined. It pushed him right over the edge and he spilled inside of you with a grunt.

You lay beneath him, panting despite the minimal exertion on your part. He'd had his orgasm, but he was still moving, much to your surprise. "You're not done--?"

He shook his head. "Need more."

He pulled out and quickly flipped you over with no warning. You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him access, which he took without hesitation. His cock was still throbbing and the need still burned in his veins. His mind remained singularly focused on his relief--his pleasure.

He slammed into your pussy and set a brutal pace, earning a cry of pain from your lips. This new angle allowed him better access, sending his cock deeper inside of you. His head brushed against your cervix with each thrust, a stinging pain accompanying the pleasure.

Dean's large palm came down on your ass with a hard smack, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Your pussy clamped down on his cock as he landed another slap to your round cheek.

"Fuck baby, you like that don't you?" Smack. "You like it when I slap this sexy ass?" Smack. "Fuck--squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." Smack.

He was right though, you loved it. You always had, but there was something extra enjoyable about having your ass smacked by Dean Fucking Winchester. Even if you couldn't verbally express your pleasure to him, your pussy made it well-known.

Dean's right hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as he continued pumping. His left hand trailed up your back until he grabbed a fist full of hair at the base of your neck and pulled. Your head snapped back and you cried out, but you didn't fight him.

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to pull this hair, pretty girl? Fuck--I think about it all the time." His pace was relentless and his hand remained entangled in your hair.

You'd never really noticed him looking at your hair in any particular way, so you assumed once again the pollen was making him say such dirty little things.

After several more thrusts, Dean let go of your hair and pushed down on your upper back, forcing you to press your upper body into the mattress. Dean gripped your hips with both of his hands and slammed into you with an intensity that was unmatched by any of his previous actions.

You had a feeling he was close to another orgasm, at least if his grunts and curses were anything to go by. You clenched down around him again, intent on pushing him past the brink.

It worked like a charm. Dean came with a cry of your name, thrusts continuing as he emptied inside of you once again.

You were exhausted and you hadn't had a single orgasm. Part of you really hoped Dean had gotten it all out of his system, but another part of you didn't want this to end. Even if it wasn't real--even if he didn't actually want to be having sex with you, you liked pretending, if only for a little while.

Dean pulled out of you slowly and rolled you over with a surprising gentleness. You assumed that meant he was satiated and the pollen was out of his system.

When you met his eyes, you were surprised by how brilliantly green they were. You'd almost gotten used to the dark forest color that had taken over as a result of the pollen. He was looking at you with an odd expression you couldn't quite place, but for some reason it made you want to scurry away and hide.

"Better?" you whispered.

He cocked his head to the side and a small smirk played on his lips. "Not even close," he murmured.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss before you had time to respond. Unlike the previous kisses, this one was more passionate, more intense. It made your body tingle all over and a warmth spread through your veins.

Dean's brain fog had finally cleared enough that he could actually slow down and focus on what was happening--on what he was doing, or rather who. He hated that he'd cum twice without even thinking about you, let alone making you orgasm. Dean prided himself on being an excellent lover and he wasn't about to let you leave this bed unsatisfied.

His cock brushed against your pussy as he shifted to hold you closer. You both inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation. Dean's lips began to travel down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses in his wake. He nipped at your pulse point, earning an excited moan from you. He liked hearing that sound, so he sucked on that spot until you were panting heavily beneath him.

His hands traveled over your soft curves, touching and squeezing all the parts of your body you were self-conscious about. Dean didn't seem to give a damn that your stomach wasn't flat, that your hips weren't narrow and your thighs weren't skinny--in fact, he seemed to be reveling in the feeling of softness.

His lips were so gentle as he continued his downward movements. He kissed and licked and sucked on each of your breasts, spending several minutes focusing on each one. "You have such perfect breasts," he murmured.

You were too surprised, and perhaps too lost in pleasure, to formulate any kind of response to his words. Luckily, he didn't seem to need one, and he refocused his attention on you.

Once he was satisfied your breasts had received enough love, he continued moving down your stomach, stopping to place soft kisses to every mark and scar he saw.

When he reached your sweet pussy, he spread your legs as wide as he could and settled down between them. You were surprised at his actions, especially since you knew he was still hard--that he still needed another release.

Dean was now singularly focused on one thing--and that was you. Now that his damn brain was working properly, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this--even if it was a one time thing because you didn't want him to die, he wasn't about to walk away from this without making you scream his name at least once.

He breathed in deeply, smelling your arousal mixed with his own spend, and he smirked. His eyes flicked up to yours and his mouth latched onto your clit, unleashing an overwhelming assault on your swollen mound.

You gasped as the sudden pleasure washed over you. You couldn't take your eyes off the man between your legs--nor did he take his eyes off you. Every time your hips bucked or you tried to move, his strong arms held you in place so he could continue to watch you.

You were writhing against the sheets in what felt like seconds--it was probably longer, but either way you felt embarrassed at how quickly you fell apart under his touch. Your orgasm tore through you like a hurricane, broken moans dripping from your lips.

To your shock, and perhaps concern, Dean didn't stop his assault on your pussy. Even as you tried to squirm away, he held you in place, desperate to give you another orgasm. You whimpered that it was too much, begged him to give you a break, but all of those words quickly morphed into pleas to keep going--don't stop.

"Dean," you gasped as your fingers slipped into his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks by the roots. Your nails scrapped lightly against his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

His tongue seemed to dance across your clit, creating beautiful designs and languages only he seemed to know. He paid attention to what motions made you quiver, which ones made you moan, and which ones had you tugging on his hair with an iron grip.

"Dean, please--I--so close," you moaned.

He smiled, enjoying the immense pleasure he was giving you just as much as you seemed to enjoy it. A few moments later, you were once again coming apart against his mouth and he eagerly lapped up everything you had to give him.

This time as you tugged on his hair and squirmed away, he obliged, lifting himself up from between your thighs. He licked his lips as he looked down at your blissed out face.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he murmured. "Wanna taste?"

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes widened and you nodded hesitantly. He smiled wolfishly as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly, allowing you to taste yourself.

You moaned into the kiss and he held you even more tightly, lips sealed to yours like he needed your air to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to control his urges long enough to coax two orgasms from you, but he could feel that control waning. "I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so badly."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You lifted your hips to brush against his cock and he groaned at the contact. You nipped at his jaw and pulled him back down to you. "Fuck me, Dean. Please."

He groaned. "Yes ma'am."

He didn't hesitate as he gripped his cock firmly and lined it up with your entrance. He slipped inside easily, having plenty of lubrication to assist him. Despite having been inside of you multiple times at this point, he was still taken aback by how fucking incredible you felt.

"God, I love this pussy," he murmured. "She was made for me."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of him inside you once again. As he started to move, he was much more gentle and you found yourself enjoying the sensations--perhaps more than you should.

"You're so good for me, (Y/N)," Dean mumbled, already lost in the feeling of you.

You would have given anything to hear him say that, but the words broke your heart a little. Had he had any other choice, he likely wouldn't be here right now--you wouldn't be the one he was fucking.

"Hey," he whispered, a rough, calloused hand running along your cheek as he looked at you. "Where's that pretty little head at?"

You smiled at him. "Right here, Dean."

Somewhere inside of him, he knew you were lying, but the damn pollen was still affecting his senses. He accepted your response and went back to his actions, focusing on the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock like a vise.

He wanted to feel you cum one more time...wanted to feel the way you'd squeeze his cock as you came. He wanted to watch you come undone beneath him, lost in pleasure he gave you.

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your hips, sliding the pillow under them. This provided him a new, improved angle, allowing him to cage you beneath him and hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Dean!" you gasped as the first thrust hit your g-spot.

He grinned and picked up his pace, slamming into it repeatedly. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge of an orgasm you knew would ruin you. Dean Winchester already made you feel things no other man ever had and his ability in bed was no exception. Damn him.

His thrusts were firm and measured, each one sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through your body. The familiar tightening in your gut was so intense you thought you might actually explode.

Dean's strong arms were on either side of your head and he was looking down at you with that same strange expression from earlier. "You're so damn beautiful, baby. I wanna watch this pretty face as you cum for me."

You gasped, unprepared for the way his words made you feel. You felt emboldened, so you asked for what you needed. "I need more, Dean."

His hand slipped between your bodies, a single finger gently massaging your clit as he continued to fuck you. "That better, baby?"

You nodded rapidly, earning a soft chuckle from his sweet lips.

"You gonna cum for me beautiful?"

You nodded again.

"Yeah? I want you to keep those pretty eyes open when you cum, okay? Wanna see you fall apart."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I know, sweet girl. I've got you."

Your brain seemed to short-circuit in that moment. All you could feel was a blinding hot pressure immediately followed by an intense euphoria. You heard someone scream "Dean!" and you belatedly realized it had been your voice.

The intensity of your orgasm sent Dean spiraling over the edge of his own. He hadn't even been prepared for it--the mixture of you screaming his name and the sensations of you squeezing him so tightly and the gorgeous way your face contorted as you came was all he needed.

He emptied into you a third and final time, his cock finally beginning to soften as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out and flopped down beside you on the bed, his body aching from what had to be some of the best sex of his life--sex pollen or not.

You were just as sore as Dean--probably more so given you literally couldn't move. The two of you laid there in silence, slowly coming down from the electrical highs you'd experienced, both trying to catch your breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Dean was the first to recover. "Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly you almost didn't hear him.

You turned your head to look at him and your heart clenched at the expression on his face. He was genuinely worried, brows furrowed in concern. You contemplated lying to him, but you knew he'd see right through you.

"A little," you said honestly.

He winced and his beautiful eyes closed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)--I would never hurt you on purpose--ever."

You offered him a small smile he couldn't see, until your hand touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again. "I know."

There were a thousand other things you wanted to say--a thousand words you wanted to string together into just the right sentences, but you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself through it.

"Shower?" he asked softly.

"I honestly don't think I can stand."

A smirk played on his lips. "That should not make me feel so damn good."

You laughed lightly, glad to hear the teasing tone in his voice that you loved so much.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "It's not ideal, but there is a bathtub..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind a bath," you admitted.

He nodded and got to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but managed to make his way to the bathroom. You heard the water running as he filled up the tub.

You laid there thinking about everything that had just happened. This was a position you'd never imagined you'd be in--with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

You knew this wasn't something you were going to be able to forget about, but you hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you and eventually this would just be a funny story.

Suddenly, Sam's words from earlier snapped into your mind. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

One and done...one and done. This most definitely had not been a 'one and done' scenario. But didn't that mean...? No. No way. Impossible. Dean Winchester does NOT have feelings for you.

You began to rationalize your thought process. Maybe "care about" included a friendly relationship. Yeah...yeah that made the most sense. Of course Dean cares about you. You're his best friend. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it...right?

As if on cue, Dean stepped back into the room. "Bath's ready."

"Okay." You tried to pull yourself up, but you immediately fell back against the mattress, body too worn out to sustain any kind of movement.

Dean chuckled lightly and came up to the side of the bed. He pulled the pillow out from under your hips and slipped his arms under your body, hoisting you up bridal style.

"Jesus!" you yelled. "Put me down! I'm too heavy--you'll throw out your back."

Dean laughed. "Calm down, (Y/N). I just threw you around this bed repeatedly with zero issues. I promise I can carry you to the bathroom without dying."

"But--"

He glared at you and tightened his grip on you as if to prove his point. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with your body, so shut it."

Your mouth closed immediately. His words sent a jolt directly to your core and you were almost annoyed by it. As if three orgasms wasn't enough...

Dean very gently set you on your feet in the bathroom and slowly helped you into the tub. As soon as he got you into a seated position, he got into the tub as well, slipping in behind you.

"Umm...whatcha doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"Isn't the tub a bit small for both of us?"

You could feel him shrug behind you. "I think it's perfect size. Now come here." He grabbed your shoulders and gently pulled you back so you were laying against his chest. "That's better," he muttered.

Your mind began to race once again as you laid there, body tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, (Y/N), I know you better than anyone, so don't you dare lie to me. Where's your head at?"

"I--" you sighed. "I'm not really sure how to feel."

He nodded. "I know you didn't want this--I feel like I had to literally force myself onto you and I hate that. I know you only agreed so I wouldn't die, but--"

"Woah--stop." You sat up and turned your head to face him. "That's not true at all. You didn't force me to do anything."

"Okay, maybe 'force' is the wrong word...but you did have sex with me to save my life. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm painfully aware," you muttered.

He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not saying any of this right."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

He bit his lip. "Remember what Sammy said? About...how long the effects would last?"

You nodded.

"Well in case you didn't notice, I had three orgasms."

"Both me and my very sore vagina noticed," you said lightly.

He sighed. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, (Y/N)?"

You turned a little more so you could see his face better. He had that same look he'd had when he was making you feel incredible. "I need to hear you say it..." you whispered.

He nodded and leaned forward so his face was mere inches from yours. "He didn't mean 'care' as in 'we're friends, so I care about you'...he meant 'care' as in 'love'."

Your lips parted and you inhaled sharply.

"So you see, I don't just care about you as a friend...and I don't just love you as a friend...I'm in love with you."

"You--you love me?"

"In love," he repeated. "For as long as I can remember."

"You're in love--with me?"

He chuckled softly. "Who else would I be talking to, baby? Yes, I'm in love with you."

"I--I don't know--" you stuttered.

"The only thing you need to know is how you feel. Do you know how you feel about me, (Y/N)?" he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

"And?"

"I'm in love with you too."

He grinned widely. "Yeah?"

You nodded, cheeks turning red.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him. He looked down at you with that expression he'd been wearing and you suddenly realized what it was...it was love--real, true, beautiful, heart aching love.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, which you returned in kind. He held you tightly, loving the feeling of your body in his arms.

"We better get cleaned up before this water gets cold," he said softly, lips pressing to your hair.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

He chuckled. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, babe."

"But I'm comfortable," you whined.

He smiled against your cheek. "Give me five minutes to clean you up and then we can sleep, okay?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "Deal."

Loved this fic? Support my work by buying me a coffee 💜

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 bmf

synopsis: zoro doesn't take kindly to you being disrespected... at all.

cw: supposed to parallel piña colada, fluffy fluff, comfort, ZORO DOES NOT PLAY ABOUT YOU, protective zoro, decent amount of profanity in this one, zoro is mr. handle it.

a/n: I LOVE LANA SO MUCH I IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF ZORO WHEN I HEARD THIS SONG <3 i suggest you listen to it while reading for the full experience.

"This is insane!" a random onlooker exclaimed, hand gripping his hair in disbelief. "Are these guys even human?!"

His shouts of surprise were followed by howls of excitement from the other passerby, everyone packed tightly around your net and towels to get a glimpse of the action.

Originally, the boys had been taking on challengers in four-on-four volleyball matches, but when they kept kicking everyone's ass, they opted for two on two between themselves instead.

The current match was Sanji and Usopp vs. Zoro and Franky.

And the entire crowd was on the edge of their seats.

"C'mon, Sanji! Get your head in the game!" Nami exclaimed, slightly tipsy, as she gripped onto her wad of cash. "If you lose this, I'm out thirty thousand berries!"

"Yes, Nami-Swan! Your wish is my command!" the lovesick cook squealed, completely stopping what he was doing to gawk at her, his eyes turning heart-shaped.

With a smirk, Zoro took the opportunity to launch himself in the air, meeting Franky's set perfectly and spiking the ball into the sand with a deafening slam, the force creating a small crater.

"Yes! Good job, Zo'!" you cheered, pumping your free fist in the air while the other held your swordsman's sake.

"SANJI!" Nami growled, furious.

With a small chuckle, Robin glanced up from her book, eyes carefully examining the navigator's puffed cheeks and childish pout.

'Adorable...'

"Nami, this is supposed to be a vacation..." you snickered, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you relax?"

"I would be relaxed if I was making money!" she huffed, crossing her arms over his chest. "I ask him to do one thing, and he can't even do that!"

"This is for the win! One last rally!" Chopper announced, happily jumping atop his lifeguard chair.

"C'mon, Sanji, you gotta help me on this!" Usopp exclaimed as he grabbed the cook by his shoulders, attempting to shake him out of it. "There's no way I'm stopping them if they pull that move again!"

"Nice work, bro!" Franky commended, giving your moss-haired swordsman a high-five as he approached the service line, ball in hand.

"Thanks," he nodded, a cocky smirk settling on his lips as he turned to face the net. "Now, let's finish this... I got a nice bottle of sake waiting for me."

Out the corner of his eye, he glanced at his towel, where you sat, reapplying your sunscreen.

Carefully, you squeezed a glob into your palm, closing the cap before rubbing your hands together and massaging it into the flesh of your legs.

Like a dog with a bone, he watched, mesmerized, as you caressed your skin, the sunscreen giving you an alluring shine and making your legs look ripe and tender for the grabbing.

'Goddamn...'

He grinned, taking in the light (f/c) of your bikini, along with the waist beads hanging lazily over your stomach, and the gold anklets and bracelets that jingled with your every movement.

You looked oh-so sexy, and he was oh-so ready to join you.

"Let's hurry this up!"

Tossing the ball in the air, he served, sending it flying over the net with the force of a cannonball.

"Sanji!" Usopp shrieked, eyes wide with fear as he slapped his hands on his cheeks.

"Diable Mouton Shot!" Sanji spat, jumping into the air and hitting the ball with a flaming kick, sending the it right back.

The damned thing caught on fire with his force, and was headed straight for the sand.

"What a weak serve! I'd expect that from you, moss for brains!"

"HAH?! YOU WANNA SAY THAT AGAIN!"

"I got it, bro!" Franky dove, extending his fist in the nick of time and saving the ball, letting it bounce into the sky. "All you!"

Pissed, Zoro broke into a running start before launching himself into the air once again, the crowd going wild as he wound up his arm for one monster slam.

Suddenly, something called his attention to the sidelines, his eyes instantly landing on the (h/c) head of hair that belonged to his girlfriend.

You were smiling from ear to ear, beaming with pride, hands clasped together as you watched him soar through the air.

Finding his eyes, you gave your swordsman a firm nod, your expression encouraging him to push forward.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With renewed vigor, Zoro turned to the ball, your support turning his drive into pure, molten fire.

He roared, striking down on the ball, executing a perfect spike.

"Ow!" a random woman winced as she walked past, lifting up her foot. "Stupid seashells..."

"Do you need help, my dear?! I'd be glad to carry you wherever you need to go!" Sanji offered, practically teleporting to her side with a lovesick grin.

"SANJI!" Usopp screamed, terrified, as the ball came careening toward him.

Frantic, he dove out the way, just barely saving his ass as it slammed into the ground with a thunderous crack, a large burst of sand shooting up from the ground.

For a moment, the crowd was silent, before erupting with roars of joy and excitement.

Everyone rushed Zoro as he landed, Franky letting out loud whoops and howls of victory.

"SANJI!" Nami shouted, dropping herself face first in her towel. "My berries!"

"Zoro and Franky win! Way to go, Zoro!" Chopper cheered, jumping off of the lifeguard chair.

"That move was killer, man!" one of the onlookers exclaimed. "I could barely see the ball!"

"You should go pro! You'd make a killing!" another added.

"Great game!"

"Good job!"

"You're the best player I've ever seen!”

"That last spike was insane! A little higher and you could've jumped over the net!"

The women were next to swarm, pushing past the men and surrounding him on all sides.

"Nice game, hot stuff!"

"You're really strong, aren't you?"

"You doin' anything later tonight?"

Zoro rolled his eyes, unamused, as he attempted to maneuver around them, one thing on his mind.

You.

Though, as he managed to peer past the crowd of girls, he caught sight of a man next to his towel.

He was large for an average guy, muscular and decently good-looking with shaggy brown hair.

But that wasn't what bothered Zoro.

What bothered Zoro was the way he was talking to you, forcibly positioning himself to tower over your sitting form and using a sharp tone that sparked a few embers of anger in the swordsman's chest.

Who the fuck did he think he was talking to?

"You got a name, handso—?" "Move."

Pushing past her and the other girls, he power-walked toward your umbrella, getting close enough to actually make out what you were saying.

"Look, whatever your name is, I'm trying to help you out," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I can't promise your safety if my boyfriend comes back here and catches you acting like this."

He'd been at this for fifteen minutes...

After Robin left to go get a drink, and Nami ran off to kick Sanji's ass, he swooped in like a vulture on the hunt, attempting to put the moves on you.

He used every line in the book, laying it on thick as he bragged about his weight-lifting stats and obnoxiously flexed his muscles in your face.

"My safety?" he scoffed, letting out a haughty chuckle at your outlandish statement. "Sweetheart, if anything, your boyfriend's the one that should be worryin' about safety. I guarantee you I'm twice the man he is."

You paused a moment, almost disbelieving, lifting up your shades and waiting to see if the man was serious.

He was.

Deadly serious, actually.

'HA!'

You threw your head back in a burst of uproarious laughter, the sound causing the man to jolt with surprise, and slight confusion.

He'd never seen your expressions range anything past disinterest, so seeing you so amused by the idea of him beating up your boyfriend was... jarring, to say the least.

But you couldn't help yourself.

Zoro, the man with a bounty over one billion?

Zoro, the master of the sword belonging to the king of hell?

Zoro, the man who has moved literal mountains with his bare hands?

It was almost too much.

The man's brows furrowed, face burning at the mockery.

"The hell is so fuckin' funny?!" he huffed, growing anger.

Attempting to regain your composure, you wiped a tear from your eye, slightly clutching your stomach as your laughs died down.

"You wish," you snickered into the rim of your fruity drink, taking a sip as you attempted to muffle your chuckles. "He'd kill you... like actually."

Furious, the man took a harsh step forward, completely invading your personal space and smacking your drink out your hand, knocking the cup into the sand.

"You think I'm some kind of joke, bitch?!" he exclaimed, the veins in his neck bulging.

"Pick it up."

Zoro's voice traveled through the air like a wave of ice, quelling the slight pangs of worry in your chest like water to a fire.

Feeling tough, the man snapped his head around, meeting your swordsman with a harsh glare.

That is... until he realized who he was talking to.

Instantly, the wind left his sails, eyes widening and heart sinking like a rock in a river as it all finally clicked.

Your boyfriend was one of the most wanted men in the New World.

"Y-You... Y-You're... Pirate Hunter?!"

"I said... pick it up," Zoro pressed, tone leaving no room for argument, eye sharply trained on the bastard in front of him. "Before I make you do it myself."

"Look! I didn't know she was your girlfriend!" the man blubbered, practically shaking as he scrambled to pick up your glass, frantically handing it to you. "I didn't mean it! I don't want any trouble!"

"Then get lost," Zoro spat, harshly, brows cinching with anger. "You come around here again and I'll show you who's the real bitch."

The man didn't have to hear it twice.

Like that, he was gone, running back to his friends with his tail between his legs.

Finally able to sit, Zoro plopped himself down next to you, muttering and grumbling to himself in annoyance as he watched the man run away.

He let him off easy—only because you chewed him out the last time he "went overboard" and caused an island-wide incident, forcing the crew to evacuate.

He nearly murdered the island's sovereign for calling you out of your name, and doubling down when he told him to watch his mouth.

Tenderly, you grabbed his chin, pulling him in and placing a thankful kiss on his cheek as you handed off his sake.

"My hero," you cooed, teasingly.

With a grumble, he popped the cork with his teeth, taking a large swig with puffed cheeks, before breaking off with a harsh sigh.

As he wiped the excess with the back of his hand, he glanced at the man once again, anger flaring in his chest when the bastard hid behind his umbrella.

Like a goddamn child...

Zoro scoffed, taking another swig of his sake.

"Fuckin' pussy..."

[janiehellion]

𝚨 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐢𝐧 ⋮ ℜ𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You were younger than him, tempting—wearing nothing but a sundress in the heat of a warm summer breeze. And Rick Grimes never planned on giving in, but you—you were the taste of sin he couldn’t ignore.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Cheating ⋮ Age Gap ⋮ Infidelity ⋮ Semi-Public Sex ⋮ Blowjob ⋮ Cumplay ⋮ Dub-Con Elements ⋮ Manipulation ⋮ Language

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 10.201 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S02E06 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

You've had your eyes on Rick Grimes, not that it was anything new. Since Atlanta, really. You couldn't help but stare, even though you knew you shouldn't.

Maybe you did because the world was falling apart, and Rick was still trying to hold it all together right from the start. But then again, maybe it was just the way he wore that sheriff's hat when there was no law anymore, the way his eyes caught yours when you least expected it, and the way it made your heart race.

So when you saw him now, talking to Shane and Lori in the distance, you couldn't help but keep your gaze completely on him, your thoughts wandering to places they probably shouldn't.

You weren't stupid. You knew Rick was married, and you knew that Lori was his wife. Hell, everyone knew that, but it didn't stop the fire that started to rage inside of you every time you looked at him.

But the moment you saw the gun in Carl's hand, your jaw dropped.

And as you watched part of the group gather around him—Lori's voice rising in panic and irritation while Rick was trying to stay calm—something made you act and get a little closer.

"So on top of everything else, he lied," Lori snapped, her hands thrown up in the air like she couldn't handle another goddamn thing after everything that had happened so far.

Dale's voice, meanwhile, was surprisingly calm. "Well, it's my fault. I let him into the RV. He said he wanted a walkie, that you sent him for one."

You could tell Lori wasn't buying it, her face full of disbelief. But Rick didn't flinch. He just looked tired—drained, really—like this was the last thing he needed today. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes, how his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of this new world.

"I'm not comfortable with it," Lori continued, her voice higher now, demanding. "Oh, don't make me out to be the unreasonable one here. Rick?"

Rick let out a long, heavy sigh, his eyes finally looking from Lori to Carl and back. "I know. I have my concerns too, but..."

Lori immediately jumped on him. "There's no but! He was just shot! He's just back on his feet, and he wants a gun?"

Rick's jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "Better than him being afraid of ‘em. There are guns in camp for a reason. He should learn to handle them safely."

Lori's anger almost boiled over. "I don't want my kid walking around with a gun!"

And you? You couldn't stop yourself from speaking up, too. "But Rick's right, Lori," you said, stepping forward. "This is about survival."

Lori's eyes snapped to you, narrowing as if she hadn't realized you were even standing there. "And who in the whole wide world asked you for your opinion when it comes to my family?"

You met her gaze head-on. "I'm just saying, if Carl's going to be out there, he needs to know how to defend himself."

Rick looked at you as well—briefly, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. He didn't say anything, but there was approval in his eyes before he turned back to Lori.

"Look, Carl's not a child anymore," he continued. "He's gotta start understanding this world, Lori. You can't keep sheltering him."

Lori's face was turning red a little, the argument getting more personal now. "Then he needs to act like one," she snapped, her hands on her hips. "He's not mature enough to handle a gun!"

Carl stood a little straighter, trying to defend himself. "I'm not gonna play with it, Mom!"

But it wasn't just about Carl and the gun. It was about something that no one wanted to talk about, but everyone else seemed to notice.

And you knew that the cracks in their marriage were getting bigger. You couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before one of them stepped out.

Rick shifted his weight, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at Lori. "We can't keep treating Carl like a little kid. Not in this world. He needs to grow up, and fast."

"Exactly. Just give it a rest, Lori."

Your words made all eyes look at you.

"I'm sorry?" She demanded, voice rising. "How about you stay out of this?"

You crossed your arms, still not backing down.

"No, give it a rest. Carl's not a damn baby. This world's gone to hell, and you're still acting like he's gonna be safe because you tell him to stay put."

Meanwhile, Shane smirked at you. But you didn't care about him right now.

"Excuse me, but this is my son we're talking about. Not yours!"

"Oh, we all know that," you snapped, stepping closer. "You just don't want him to grow up because then he won't need Mommy holding his hand anymore."

Her mouth dropped open, stunned silent.

You didn't stop.

"I'm just saying… Rick's right. Shane as well. He needs to learn how to survive. But go ahead. Let's see how well that works when a walker gets too close and he'll turn. Because from where I stand, you don't get it, do you? Carl's not a fucking baby. If you think this world's going to get any better, you're out of your damn mind."

"You're just a teenager," she responded, putting her hands on her hips like she was somehow superior to you. "What do you know?"

"I'm not." You stepped forward. "I know a hell of a lot more than you give me credit for. Maybe it's time you stop playing the victim and realize we all have to step up, not just Carl. It's not his fault he's growing up in this nightmare."

Shane and Rick stayed silent, but you could feel their eyes on you. You didn't care. Lori was the one who'd been pissing you off for days, and it was time someone called her out besides Daryl Dixon.

But Lori, fuming, turned on her heel and stormed off, just like that. And the moment she was gone, Rick let out a deep breath, clearly relieved that it was over for now.

He didn't speak to you at first, just glanced at you with that tired look on his face, like he had no idea what to say. Then, his voice came out soft, like it had to fight its way through his exhaustion.

"Thanks," he said, the corner of his mouth showing a tiny hint of a smile. He didn't say much, but it was enough.

You nodded, smiling at him in return. "No problem."

Rick gave you one last look before turning away, and you couldn't help but stare after him, your heart pounding.

The hours dragged on, the heat making you sweat. You leaned against the side of the porch, arms crossed, watching the others from a distance. Maggie and Glenn had just left, but you weren't paying attention to them. You were lost in your thoughts, as usual.

Letting out a slow breath, you stared at the dirt beneath your feet, the faintest trace of dust swirling around. It felt like the world was always watching you, but you never seemed to matter. They all looked right past you like you were invisible at best.

You were supposed to be part of this group, right? But somehow, you always felt like an outsider. Even back in Atlanta, when the world was still—well, a little bit more normal—you didn't fit in. The others saw you somehow as a kid. Just a teenager, no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Hell, you were an adult now, having had your birthday already, but no one ever seemed to treat you that way.

"Jim was the only one who ever really talked to me," you said to yourself, shaking your head. "Before he got bit, anyway."

You let the memory of Jim come back. He has been looking out for you, always making sure you were safe. You used to hate how it felt like pity, but now? Now, you'd give anything to have that feeling again.

But the others? Rick, Lori, Shane, Dale, and the rest—they didn't see you that way. They saw you as a kid to protect. A burden.

You rolled your eyes, fighting the frustration that threatened to come back, too. "Dale? Yeah, he used to look out for me too. But as soon as Andrea came into the picture, it was like I didn't even exist anymore. It's always the same. There's always someone else. Maggie's got Glenn. Shane's still got his thing with Lori… And Rick?"

Your heart raced at the thought of him. You didn't want it to, but it did. And you couldn't help yourself. "Rick… he doesn't even see me. Not really. Looking at me, sure. But he's too busy playing the damn sheriff, trying to keep this group together."

Your fingers twitched at your sides, fighting the urge to run your hands through your hair. You shook your head again, clearing the thoughts.

"God, what the hell's wrong with me?" You laughed, taking a slow breath. "It's not like I'm a kid anymore. I'm not some… little girl."

You let out another bitter laugh. "Now I'm just here, stuck in the background. Glenn and Maggie? Yeah, they've already got each other. They've got this… thing. And they're gonna keep it, just like the rest of ‘em, while I'm left here. Alone."

It wasn't fair. Why did they all get to find something? Why did they get to find a connection while you were stuck in the circle of getting replaced?

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to shake the feeling off. It wasn't like you wanted to be envious. But you couldn't help it.

"Maybe Rick could see me," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But he probably doesn't even know I'm here. Probably sees me as some damn kid still."

You laughed again, softer now, but still sounding bitter. "He's too busy with Lori. They've got their shit to figure out, and I'm just the quiet one in the background. Not important."

But the thought stayed anyway. What if he did see you? What if, for once, you weren't invisible to him?

"God, what I'd do just to feel him—" you whispered to yourself. You imagined the heat of his chest pressing against yours, the weight of his hips pressing against yours, the way he might growl your name as you wrapped your legs around him, desperate to feel him inside you. So fucking desperate.

Still, you shoved that thought away before it could go any further. But the yearning, that ache in your chest, stayed. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to make him see you. You wanted him to see you as something more than just the girl in the background. Something worth noticing.

You were about to slip back into your head, your thoughts wandering down that dangerous path again—the one where you imagined Rick's arms around you, his body pressing into yours, his lips on yours, and him finally losing control—when you heard footsteps stopping right next to you.

You snapped out of it just in time to see Dale passing by. He didn't seem to notice you at first, his focus on whatever task was occupying his mind, but as he got closer, his eyes looked to yours.

It was as if he could see right through you and every goddamn thought you were trying to hide.

"What's on your mind, kid?"

Dale certainly had his way of catching people off guard.

You stiffened, unsure whether to answer. He wasn't the type to push too hard, but you had this feeling that he knew exactly what was going on in your head. You didn't want him to see that side of you, the side that couldn't help but fantasize about things better left unsaid. He'd always been kind to you, like a father. But since Andrea, that kindness felt almost like a trap.

You bit your lip, trying to play it cool. "Nothing, just... thinking," you grumbled, trying to wave it off. But you could feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, the telltale blush that was always there when your thoughts went to places they shouldn't.

Dale didn't buy it. Of course, he didn't. He took another step toward you, his hands resting lightly on his hips. He studied you, his expression unreadable.

"Thinking about what, exactly?" His voice had that certain tone, the one that made you feel like you couldn't hide anything from him, no matter how hard you tried.

You swallowed, the words almost slipping out before you could stop them. "I don't know... Just the way things are, I guess," you answered, noticing the vulnerability in your voice despite your best efforts.

His gaze softened for a moment, but you knew he was too smart for his own good. Too perceptive.

"You know," he began slowly, eyes looking around to make sure no one else was around, "I don't blame you for feeling the way you do. It's not easy... watching others find what they need while you're stuck in the background. But don't mistake that frustration for something more."

You tensed up again, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you mean?" You asked, the words coming out meaner than you intended.

Dale's expression didn't change, but he shook his head. And him shaking his head always told you he was about to say something you weren't sure you wanted to hear. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. But you might want to be careful, kid. You shouldn't want something that is not for free."

You felt your heart drop. "I—" You were about to deny it, about to play it off as just your imagination, but something about the way Dale was looking at you made you freeze. His voice wasn't sounding accusatory, but more like a quiet warning. He wasn't angry; he wasn't judging. But the way he said it—like he knew—made you feel exposed and uncomfortable.

Dale let out a quiet sigh when you didn't continue. "You're not the first one to want something you can't have, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea to act on it. Sometimes, it's better to let things go. Before they end up biting you in the ass."

The words hit you like a slap to the face. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got caught in your throat. What the hell was he talking about? Was he warning you off Rick? Was he implying that you had no chance?

But Dale just shook his head, as if reading your thoughts. "I'm not saying it's wrong to feel things. But sometimes, wanting something too badly can make you do stupid shit. And trust me, I know all about that."

The way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from more than just observation. But before you could pry any further, Dale patted you on the shoulder and smiled.

"Just keep your head on straight, okay?" And then, with one last look, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, feeling like a damn fool.

Your mind raced, a million thoughts colliding at once. It was like Dale had read your mind like he knew exactly what you were thinking—what you were feeling. But the fact that he was still treating you like a kid, even though you were an adult, didn't sit right. And it sure as hell didn't help that you couldn't stop thinking about Rick, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself.

Dale had a point, in some ways. But the thing was—you didn't want to just sit on the sidelines anymore. And if you were going to make that happen, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed. But the nerve of him, acting like he had it all figured out like he knew you better than you knew yourself? That made you stomp after him.

"Why don't you mind your own damn business for once?" You snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dale paused mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. He didn't turn around, didn't say anything. For a moment, it looked like he might, but then he just shook his head and kept walking farther and farther away.

He didn't get it. None of them did. And the worst part? He was right about one thing—you did want something you shouldn't. Something you couldn't stop thinking about.

With a frustrated huff and clenched fists, you turned on your heel and made your way back toward your tent. You didn't want to think about Dale, or Rick, or anyone else right now. You just wanted to disappear for a while, to escape the constant heat of the sun and the weight of everyone's expectations.

The air inside your tent was stale due to the summer heat, but it was offering at least a bit of privacy. You kicked off your boots, collapsing onto the sleeping pad. Sleep came slowly, your mind still racing with thoughts of Rick—his smile, his walk, the way his lips would feel against your skin. You could almost hear his voice, whispering things only you were meant to hear.

Eventually, exhaustion won out, dragging you into a restless nap.

Later, you woke up to the sound of raised voices outside your tent. Blinking against the midday light that made its way through tiny holes in your tent, you pushed yourself up, groggy and a little disoriented.

Maggie's voice rang out, louder this time. "Hey! We got your stuff."

You moved toward the edge of the tent, peering out just enough to catch the scene unfolding near you. Maggie stood there, fuming, looking frustrated and angry. Glenn was right behind her, looking like he wanted to disappear.

"Maggie, hang on, please," Glenn urged nervously, but Maggie wasn't having it.

"Come on in here," Lori started, but Maggie cut her off. "We got your special delivery right here! We got your lotion, got your conditioner, your Soap Opera Digest!"

"Maggie…" Lori answered, but Maggie wasn't done.

"Next time you want something, get it your damn self! We're not your errand boys!"

"Honey, I—" Lori tried again, but Maggie wasn't listening, fumbling with something in her hands.

"And here's your abortion pills!" She practically spat the words, throwing the pills onto the ground before storming off.

Glenn seemed to hesitate before he turned and followed Maggie into the farmhouse.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, your heart pounding in your chest. Maggie's words came back to your mind, louder with each passing second: Next time you want something, get it your damn self.

The frustration in her voice, the anger—it made you think.

Get it your damn self...

Your mind started to race, the thoughts clicking into place. Maybe Maggie was right. If you wanted something, maybe it was time to stop sitting around waiting for it to happen. Maybe it was time to do something about it.

And you knew exactly what you wanted.

You'd been sitting on the sidelines long enough, letting everyone else call the shots, letting yourself fade into the background. Not anymore.

The sound of the farmhouse door got your attention. You looked out of your tent, catching sight of Glenn stepping back onto the porch, his head low, before leaving Maggie standing there alone in the doorway.

She didn't move, didn't look around—just stared out at the fields as if she were trying to will the world into something different.

You saw your chance and took it.

Stepping out into the hot sun, you made your way toward her, keeping your expression neutral. "Hey," you called softly as you approached, keeping your voice light but just concerned enough. "You okay?"

Maggie glanced at you, her brows furrowing for a split second before she sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides. "Yeah," she answered, though the tone of her voice betrayed her. "Just tired of cleaning up other people's shit."

You gave her a small, understanding smile. "I get that," you said, leaning casually against the porch railing beside her. "Lori's got a way of bothering people the wrong way."

That got a short, bitter laugh out of her. "You don't say?"

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence. You wiped a bead of sweat from your temple, exaggerating the motion just enough to get Maggie's attention.

"God, it's too damn hot for this," you said, fanning yourself half-heartedly. "I swear, if I have to spend another day in these jeans around here, I'm gonna lose my damn mind."

Maggie glanced at you, her frustration disappearing just a bit. "Tell me about it," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Feels like I've been roasting all day. But I'm used to it."

You hesitated, letting the silence be just long enough before tilting your head slightly as if having an idea. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have anything lighter, would you? I didn't exactly pack for a heatwave and a vacation on a farm, and I'm about ready to cut these jeans into shorts."

Maggie blinked, caught off guard by the question, but then shrugged. "Actually… I might," she said, her tone thoughtful. "I've got some sundresses I don't wear. They're just hanging around in my closet."

You tried not to let your excitement show, keeping your expression casual as you said, "Really? That'd be amazing. I'd owe you big time for that."

Maggie waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it," she said, turning toward the door. "C'mon, I'll grab a few for you. You're right; it's too hot for jeans. At least, for you city folks."

You followed Maggie into the house before she disappeared into another room, returning a minute later with a handful of sundresses in her arms. She held them out to you with a small smile. "Here. I doubt they'll fit perfectly, but they should be lighter than what you've got."

You took the dresses, running your fingers over the fabric as you smiled up at her. "These are perfect. Thanks, Maggie."

She shrugged, brushing it off. "No big deal. Like I said, I don't wear 'em anyway."

You held the dresses close, already imagining how they'd feel against your skin, how they'd cling just enough to make an impression without giving too much away. You knew exactly how you'd use them, and the thought sent a thrill through you.

"Seriously," you said, your smile widening. "Thank you."

Maggie nodded, her own smile small but genuine. "Anytime," she responded, her tone lighter now. "And hey—don't let Lori get to you, too. She doesn't need to drag you into her bullshit too."

You laughed softly, nodding. "Trust me, I'm staying out of it. And away from her."

She gave you one last look, then turned and headed toward the kitchen, leaving you standing there in the doorway with the dresses and a plan forming in your mind.

Maggie had no idea what she'd just handed you once you stepped back outside. And if things went the way you intended, neither would Rick—at least, not at first.

The next morning, you slipped into the sundress that clung to you the most like a second skin, its fabric so light it felt almost indecent. The hem barely grazed mid-thigh, and you couldn't help but smirk at the way it looked on you.

This wasn't just a dress—it was bait. Especially since you decided to wear nothing underneath.

You'd barely stepped out of your tent before the heat of the day and the sun beat down mercilessly. The farm was quiet for now, everyone busying themselves with chores or trying to escape the relentless summer. It was the perfect opportunity to set your plan in motion.

You made your way toward the chicken coop, a basket in hand, one of the tasks you'd kept yourself occupied with as of late. Rick was nearby, fixing something with T-Dog, but you didn't look at him—not yet. Let him notice you first.

Crouching by the coop, you reached for an egg near the far corner, leaning in farther than necessary on purpose. The hem of the dress lifted just enough to expose the curve of your naked ass, the sun warming your skin. You pretended not to notice as you heard footsteps slow down behind you before turning to glance over your shoulder. Rick stood several feet away, holding a tool, his expression unreadable.

"Morning, Rick," you said casually, your lips only showing the hint of a smile.

He cleared his throat, nodding. "Morning. You, uh... need any help with that?"

You shook your head, holding up an egg. "Think I can handle it just fine. But thanks." Your tone was sweet, almost innocent, but you knew what you were doing, before Rick blinked several times and gave you another nod before turning back toward T-Dog.

For just a second, his mind betrayed him—an image burning itself into it that was just too quick to stop. You, bent over right there in the dirt, the dress pushed up around your waist, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. His cock buried so deep inside you, those soft little noises you'd whimper, and the feeling of your hot, sweaty skin in the heat of the sun.

Rick swallowed hard, shaking it off like a man burned. Fuck. He needed to get his head on straight.

You bit back a grin as you watched him walk away, his shoulders all tense, his grip on the tool just a little too strong.

Gotcha.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way. You found little excuses to be near him, brushing by just close enough for your bare arm to graze his, or bending over to grab something at just the right angle to make his eyes wander. Every time, his reaction was the same—quick glances, tense shoulders, and a blush that made its way to his cheeks.

By the time the sun began to set slowly, you were sitting on the porch with one leg crossed over the other, staring out at the farm and admiring the beautiful surroundings until you were sure no one was really around anymore.

Waiting until Rick was alone now, especially with Shane nowhere in sight, you adjusted the straps of the sundress, letting it slip just a little further down your shoulders, and walked toward him.

"Rick?" You called out, your voice soft enough that he had to turn fully to hear you. His eyes looked up, immediately following the curves of your body before moving back to your face. He hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard.

"Yeah?" He replied, quite distracted.

You stopped a few feet away from him, tilting your head. "This may sound weird, but I was wondering… Shane's usually the one teaching people how to shoot, right?"

Rick nodded slowly, his brows furrowing. "Yeah. Shane's the best instructor I know. I've seen him teach kids even younger than Carl. Why?"

"Well, I thought maybe I should learn, too. I know, I know... I can shoot, but I was thinking it wouldn't hurt to learn it from someone who actually knows how to handle a weapon. You know, in case I ever need to protect myself even better." You smiled sweetly, putting your weight to one hip so the tight dress clung more to your curves. "But Shane's nowhere to be found. I think he's away and teaching Andrea today; I'm not sure. Think you could show me?"

Rick's jaw twitched as he glanced past you as if looking for an escape, but there was none in sight.

"I... yeah, I haven't seen him half of the day, either, and Andrea neither, so I guess I could do that. But not for long. The sun is setting already. C'mon, follow me."

You grinned, stepping a little closer. "Thanks, Sheriff Grimes. I'd feel a lot safer knowing I can really handle a gun. You never know when things might go south, after all." Your hand touched his arm lightly as he turned, leading the way toward the area they chose for training.

By the time you reached the spot, Rick handed you a silenced pistol, his fingers touching yours. His hand stopped just a moment too long, and you caught the slight hitch in his breath as you turned it over in your hands.

"Alright," he said, stepping behind you. "First, you need to get a good grip on it. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire. Always treat it like it's loaded. Never point it at anything you don't want to shoot. Got it?"

You pretended to fumble with the gun, tilting it awkwardly in your hand. "Like this?" You asked, glancing over your shoulder at him with innocent eyes.

Rick sighed, stepping closer until his chest almost pressed against your back. "No," he grumbled. "Here, let me..."

His hands slid over yours, guiding your fingers into place, and you leaned back ever so slightly, your ass pressing against his hips.

Rick just froze.

You bit your lip, trying to appear oblivious as you moved again, this time pressing yourself more insistently against him. Thedress left nothing between you, and you didn't miss the way he stiffened—not just his body, but the unmistakable hardness of his cock growing against you.

"Careful. Stand still."

"Sorry," you answered, moving just enough to grind back against him, pretending to be a little bit too clumsy. "I guess I'm not as good at this as I thought."

His hands tightened on your arms. "Stop that," he said, hissing slightly, but his voice betrayed him. It was sounding like he was fighting with himself.

You didn't stop. You pressed back again, slower this time, letting the movement seem unintentional. "Stop what?" You asked, your voice soft and sweet, playing dumb.

Rick groaned softly, the sound barely there, but you caught it. "Put…" He growled, stepping back suddenly. "Put the gun down. And follow me."

You obeyed, putting the gun down and letting him lead you toward the chicken coop.

It felt like Rick's hand was swallowing yours whole as he yanked you along, half-dragging, half-guiding you further behind the chicken coop. His boots crunched against the dry dirt, and your sandals barely made a sound as you stumbled to keep up.

The second you were fully out of sight, Rick spun on you, backing you into the wall. The coop creaked under the sudden impact, dust kicking up between the cracks. The secluded spot was shaded with shadows by now, with only the last rays of sunlight shining onto the ground.

"The hell do you think you're doin'?" His voice sounded frustrated, every word coming out with irritation.

You blinked up at him, pretending to be innocent, but your lips couldn't help but turn into a smirk. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

His eyes were dropping for a second as he stepped back—just a second—to your breasts, where the sundress clung to your skin, nipples already hard.

He didn't even bother hiding it now.

His jaw clenched, his eyes scanning you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you.

"I just asked you… What the hell do you think you're doing?"

You shrugged. "And I said that I don't know what you mean. What are you talking about, Rick?"

"The hell you don't," he shot back, stepping closer.

You took a step closer as well, your heart pounding in your chest. "So what if I do?" You challenged him, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are you gonna do about it, Sheriff Grimes?"

His eyes narrowed slightly before he grabbed your arm, his grip rough but not painful. "You don't understand," he said, slightly annoyed. "You're—"

"An adult," you cut in, rolling your eyes. "I'm not even a teenager anymore! And I'm damn well not a fucking child! Stop pretending I am!"

He shook his head, his eyes searching yours. Your lips parted, but no words came out. The frustration in his eyes made your heart race, the anger in them somehow making your knees weak.

"Sorry..." You blinked up at him. "But I just wanted to learn how to shoot. How to be even better at shooting, I mean."

"Oh, don't play dumb," he snapped back. "You're getting way too close—"

"Too close?" You cut him off again as you pressed your chest against his. "I don't think it's close enough, Rick."

"No. This ain't right. You're just—"

"Don't," you interrupted again. "Don't. I'm not. And you know it."

Rick started to crack. His breath was brushing along your cheek as he leaned in, closer than before, but with that same look on his face. "You think I didn't notice? Walking around in that little dress, no fuckin' bra, no damn panties. Flashing' your ass, rubbing' up on me with your tits like some goddamn—"

"Like some what?" You interrupted, tilting your head. "Say it."

Rick's nostrils flared. He didn't know what to answer, didn't know what to do, but that smirk on your face?

That made him act.

Rick's hand shot out, gripping your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His other hand shoved up beneath your dress, squeezing one cheek of your naked ass.

"Fuckin' knew it," he hissed like he was angry at himself for being right.

But he didn't move away. His thumb was pressing against your hipbone, his fingernails scratching your skin.

"You think I ain't got more important shit to deal with right now?" He snapped further, but it was weak, crumbling. "Like searching for Sophia?"

"Of course you do. But you also need to relax from time to time, Rick," you smirked, voice as sweet as ever, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling his heart beating through the sweaty shirt. "You're wound up so tight, it's gotta hurt after a while."

He laughed—loud, humorless. "Yeah? And you think you're the solution?"

You leaned in, lips stopping near the stubble on his jaw. "I could be."

Rick's hand slid higher, fingers moving along your spine, pulling your body closer until your hips met his. You felt it—his cock—hard and thick, pressing against your belly.

No, he wasn't fooling anyone. And he definitely wasn't fooling you.

"This isn't a good idea," he grumbled, voice still strained.

You moved your hips, slowy on purpose, grinding against him, feeling the twitch in his cock through his pants. "Dunno. Feels like a good idea to me."

"Jesus, f-fuck…" He stuttered, but he didn't move.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your smirk turning into a warm smile. "Unless… you can't handle it."

Rick's eyes looked to yours. For a moment, the world stood still—the distant voices near the farmhouse, the rustle of leaves, and even the clucking of chickens felt far away.

He leaned in, so close his lips barely touched yours when he spoke.

"Don't fuckin' test me. This is wrong." His voice was almost a growl. "I got a wife. I got a son."

You could feel the words scraping his throat like they physically hurt coming out.

"Oh, now you remember?" You shot back, eyes narrowing. "That didn't stop you from staring every damn time I bent over. Since Atlanta."

Rick flinched, just barely, but it was there. His grip slipped for half a second before tightening again.

"Don't—"

"What? Tell the truth? You don't want me to tell the truth?" You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper again. "You've been watching me. You think I didn't notice? The way your eyes stared at me, the way you tensed up when I walked by?"

Rick's jaw was clenched so tight you thought it might dislocate itself.

"Doesn't matter," he spat out, like saying it again would make it real, make it matter. "I'm married."

"Yeah? And Lori's really faithful, huh?"

His whole body went still. Rigid.

"Just," he warned, but his voice had lost its bite. "Just stop it."

"I'm just saying!" You tilted your head. "Maybe I'm not the only one who's been looking for… comfort. And I bet you know it and knew it for some time now."

Rick didn't say a word. His grip on you loosened again, and that was all you needed to push him further.

"What's the matter, Rick? Don't like hearing the truth? You really think Shane's out there teaching Andrea how to shoot right now? Or is he too busy teaching Lori how to fuck like a married woman should? Who knows, right?"

Rick's breath hitched—a little—but it was enough.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. You're really still holding onto that lie of a marriage, aren't you?" You pressed, leaning in just a little closer. "That picture-perfect family you've convinced yourself is still intact while the world's gone to shit?"

You didn't miss how his chest rose and fell faster, heavier.

"Fuck you," he spat, but it wasn't anger—it was defeat.

"Maybe you should."

That was it.

He lunged forward, pushing his mouth against yours, teeth clashing, lips bruising. It wasn't a kiss—it was punishment, it was desperation, it was everything all at once.

His hands were everywhere—one tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, the other gripping your ass so hard you swore he'd leave marks behind.

You gasped against him, but it only opened you up for more, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, deep and unforgiving.

Your hands clawed at his shirt, nails scraping against the sweaty fabric, trying to pull him closer, closer, like there was any space left between you.

Rick shoved you harder against the chicken coop wall as you hooked a leg around his hip, grinding up against his hard cock through his pants.

"Just… just keep it quiet," he growled against you. "Or someone'll hear."

But the risk only made it more exciting.

Your hips ground into his, chasing friction, and Rick groaned, biting down on your shoulder to muffle it in need. He seemed caught between wanting to shove you away and drag you closer.

"This isn't right…" He whispered, more to himself than to you, but his hands kept you in place, fingers digging into your body. "You may be an adult, but you're still too young for me."

You huffed a laugh, breathing against his neck. "But not too young for you to stare at, huh?"

Both his hands moved before his mind could catch up, grabbing your hips and suddenly lifting you like you weighed nothing. You gasped, both of your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, the sundress riding up to your hips, leaving nothing between you but his pants straining against his cock.

Rick slammed you back against the chicken coop with force before his mouth was on yours again—messy and wet. One hand went under your ass while the other slid up, muffling the needy sounds coming from your lips against his shoulder.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was undoing his belt with one hand, fumbling, cursing quietly to himself when it didn't want to at first. The sound of it opening, the noise of a zipper, and then he was free, hard and leaking, pressing against you, twitching and throbbing.

He hesitated for a second, forehead pressed to yours, his breathing ragged.

"This is your last chance to tell me to stop," he growled out, barely holding it together.

Your answer was a slow, greedy roll of your hips against him.

That was all it took.

Rick pushed into you in one hard, punishing thrust, splitting you open around him, filling you so deep with his cock that it knocked the breath straight from your lungs.

Your muffled cry was swallowed against his shoulder still, his hand on the back of your head pushing you against him, his teeth sinking into your neck to silence the groans that tore from his own throat.

"Shit," he hissed, his voice ragged, hips slamming into yours again, harder this time as you clamped your legs around him. "So fuckin' tight and wet..."

The chicken coop creaked behind you, every thrust of his hips against yours making you think the noise may be way too loud in the warm summer air, and that sooner or later, someone might catch you, after all.

"Stay quiet," he growled again, but his voice was shaky, sounding desperate. His hand didn't leave the back of your head, his palm sweaty against your disheveled hair. "Stay quiet…"

But the risk—the danger and wrongness of it—only made you feel higher, made you feel him more.

Anyone could walk by. Carol. Shane. Dale. Daryl. Lori. Anyone else from the group. Hell, even the Greenes.

But Rick didn't stop. He didn't slow down.

His grip on you only tightened, bruising, holding you open and steady for him, pushing into you over and over, harder and deeper.

The heat of summer, the sweat of your bodies, the sound of his shaky breathing in your ear—it was overwhelming, delicious. And exactly what you wanted.

"Goddamn it…" He cursed to himself, his face still buried in your neck, before the hand in your hair moved to cover your mouth.

But still, he held back. His pace was slow, and he wasn't chasing the end of it—of this—not yet.

It was punishment. It was control.

And it was slipping.

The way his breath hitched, the ragged growls that came from his throat—he was losing it, fast.

His hand remained against your mouth, but it wasn't as rough it could be. His chest rose and fell quickly as if the restraint was killing him. His eyes, when he pulled his head back to look at you, opened for a moment. They were wild, like a man fighting against a storm that was brewing inside himself.

"You need to stop," he groaned, taking his hand away again.

You arched into him, bouncing up and down on his cock in perfect rhythm, urging him on as you held on tight. "Me? And what about you? Are you sure you can, Rick?" Your voice was sweet and teasing, and it made his breath hitch. "You've been staring at me all this time. You've been fuckin' dreaming about this, haven't you?"

"Don't push me."

But you didn't listen. You never did.

One of your hands slid from his shoulder, down his chest, feeling him tense up even more. Slowly, you ran your fingers over his abs, letting him fuck you just the way he wanted to.

"What would Lori think if she saw us like this?" You suddenly whispered, eyes looking up to meet his as you bit your lower lip, leaning in closer. "Does she ever wonder why you look at me like that? Why you don't stop staring when I walk past? You think she's worried?"

Rick's whole body went still for a moment, but he stayed inside you. He let out a deep, controlled breath, but his eyes never left yours. You could see the fight in him, the battle to do the right thing, to not cross that line. But it was already crossed—crossed faster than he'd ever care to admit.

You moved your hips against his all over, dragging a moan from him as your legs tightened around his waist. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The words were poison, but Rick was too far gone to stop himself from letting them sink in.

"Don't… don't talk about her."

You smirked, feeling a rush of power, the heat of the moment making your heart race faster. "But it's true, isn't it? She doesn't need to know about us. She's too busy with Shane, right? You wouldn't be here if you didn't know. You wouldn't want this if…"

His eyes narrowed at the mention of Shane, and you saw the doubt on his face. But then his hips moved, fucking into you harder, faster, almost like he was trying to forget the words you'd just said.

You slid one hand up to his face, fingers moving slowly along the line of his jaw, urging him to look at you. "You want this. You want me. You can't stop yourself, and I know it."

His hands clenched on your body, as if the meaning of your words was pushing him further into those thoughts he'd been fighting against. The ache between your legs grew unbearable, the need for him, the craving for him deeper than before. You could feel his cock twitch inside you, his body barely holding on, his legs trying not to buckle, but still not giving in.

"You're wrong…" He groaned, but his eyes told a different story. His breath was coming faster now, uneven, like he was trying to resist the unavoidable. But the heat between you both couldn't be ignored.

Your mouth found his again, lips teasing, pressing against his in slow, sensual kisses. You moved against him once more until he hissed, his grip tightening once again.

"Am I really? Because… I think you like this," you whispered against his lips, your breath coming in quick bursts of moans. "I think you like knowing you could still fuck me even with all the other shit going on. You love it, Rick."

His lips trembled against yours, with him thrusting into you like he was trying to rid himself of any thought other than this, just the two of you at this moment.

"Because you've been teasing' me all damn day," he whispered as if he was choking on the words. "Walking around like that, letting me see everything—"

"Wanted you to look," you gasped, bouncing harder on him, shameless. "Wanted you to fuck me."

"Goddamn dress," Rick moaned as he squeezed you harder, his fingers now bruising your flesh as he pushed into you faster. "Knew you weren't wearin' a fuckin' thing under this. Knew you wanted me to see it."

"I did," you gasped, your words breaking. "Wanted you to—oh, fuck—do this!"

Rick's mouth found your neck, his beard brushing against your tingling skin as he bit and kissed a sloppy trail along your throat. You could feel him everywhere—his hands, his cock, his lips—taking you in a way that was so real and desperate that it left you trembling and made it hard for your legs to keep holding on.

You bucked against him, moving your hips in time with his, meeting him thrust for thrust as your moans grew a little bit louder, but Rick silenced you by crashing his mouth to yours, his tongue sliding against yours with the same urgency as his movements.

"I feel you," he then groaned against your lips, his voice cracking. His grip on your ass softened slightly as if he couldn't decide between fucking you senseless or worshipping you. "You're close, aren't you? You're gonna come for me, won't you?"

"Y-yes," you whimpered quietly, your nails raking over his shoulders through his shirt. "Rick, don't stop—please, don't stop—not now."

His thrusts stopped for half a second, and then he suddenly slowed down, his thrusts deep and on purpose now, dragging out the feeling with every inch of his cock sliding into you. He was pulling you impossibly closer, grinding his hips into yours so you could feel every inch of him.

"Come for me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice was softer now, gentler, but no less frustrated. "Let me feel you... Let me see and feel you come on my cock."

You couldn't stop yourself. You came with a silent cry, eyes wide, your pussy clenching around him as your orgasm ripped through you in an instant. Rick groaned in response, his grip tightening on you again as he kept moving, drawing out every shiver and whimper.

But he didn't stop. Not yet. You felt him still holding back, his cock throbbing inside you, a tiny drop of sweat rolling down his face. His thrusts slowed even further, almost agonizingly sensual now as if he was savoring every second.

"Rick…" You whispered, your voice hoarse, your fingers trying to hold on to his shoulders again. His eyes met yours once more, searching, and questioning, before he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his thrusts slowing to a stop as he fought to regain control.

"I can't," he stammered. "I shouldn't."

He was still fighting it. Fighting you. And himself.

You shifted slightly, a sensual roll of your hips that made him hiss through his teeth. "Don't," he groaned, his voice trembling. "You don't understand what you're doing, what this is gonna—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," you interrupted. "I've been waiting for this all day, Rick. For so damn long. Don't hold back on me now."

Before he could protest, you were gripping his shoulders even harder. With one slow motion, you lifted yourself, feeling every inch of his cock slide out of your pussy, only to drop back down hard, taking him to the hilt again before starting to bounce up and down.

Rick cursed, the sound ripping from his throat as his head fell back, his eyes squeezing shut. His control cracked instantly, both his hands now holding on to your ass, grabbing you like he needed to hold on as you were the one to set the rhythm this time. You rode him with everything you had, grinding down on him as you bounced, the muscles of your thighs burning with the effort but your need pushing you harder.

Each thrust pulled him deeper, the head of his cock brushing against your G-spot that made you shudder and clench around him, tearing more curses from his lips.

"Goddamn it," he growled, his voice shaking. "You're gonna—fuck—you're gonna make me—"

"That's the idea," you gasped, your nails raking down his shoulders. "Don't fight it, Rick. Let go. Fuck me."

His eyes went shut, his expression full of desperate need that sent a thrill through you. He was close, so close, and you wanted him to let go. You kept riding him, harder, faster, until his hands trembled against your ass, his breathing turning into whimpering, uneven moans.

And then, just as he tensed, his body going rigid beneath you, you stopped.

Rick's eyes flew open in shock, his hips jerking up instinctively as he chased the orgasm you'd just denied him. But you were already sliding off him with a smirk on your face.

He stood there with his pants shoved halfway down his legs, his cock throbbing in your hand as you kneeled in front of him. His chest rose and fell like he'd just run a marathon, and yet, he still had this damn look on his face. Like he was trying to convince himself that none of this was happening. That he wasn't about to let you do this.

But he'd already failed. Miserably.

"Rick…" You whispered, your voice teasing him on purpose, lips kissing the tip of his leaking cock as you looked up at him. Your fingers tightened their hold while sliding up his shaft, smearing the pre-cum around the tip.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. For a second, his eyes looked out into the distance, scanning the open fields and the rest of the farm beyond the chicken coop. Guilt was seen on his face, written all over it.

But then his gaze dropped back to you, to your lips. To where you knelt in the dirt, the sundress bunched around your thighs, one hand holding his throbbing cock, and he knew there wasn't a single thing in the world that could stop him from wanting this right now.

"But… this isn't right," he still tried to convinve himself, and his body betrayed him, a drop of pre-cum dripping down as you dragged your thumb along his tip again.

"Sure," you answered, leaning in to let your tongue lick across the head of his cock. He hissed through his teeth, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to pull you back up but couldn't. "Because standing here with your dick in my hand after fucking me is real loyal of you, huh?"

Rick then remembered Atlanta, finding Lori and Carl alive, the relief that had made him feel like everything was about to feel right in the world again. But that feeling had disappeared quickly, hadn't it?

He hadn't forgotten the way Shane had acted—shocked, protective, too close to Carl and his wife. And Lori? Somewhat distant and confused. He wasn't stupid. He could see it. Feel it. Something had been broken long before he ever came back.

And now here you were. Young, bold, shameless. A part of him wanted to shove you away, to walk the hell back to the farmhouse, and pretend this never happened.

But you looked up at him like he was the last man on Earth. Like he was everything. And that hunger in your eyes—he hadn't felt wanted and desired like that in years. Maybe ever.

You leaned in again, pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, dragging it up slowly, savoring every inch of him like he was only yours to take.

"Fuck—don't stop," he groaned, his voice cracking, and his hand grabbing the back of your head.

You wrapped your lips around his cock, taking him in deep, slow at first, letting him feel the warmth your mouth. His hips bucked involuntarily, his shaft pushing deeper, hitting the back of your throat.

But when you raised your hand to grip him tighter again, Rick growled, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away. "Don't," he said quietly, shaking his head.

Instead, he gripped himself, holding his cock steady as he pulled out and pressed the tip against your lips, smearing pre-cum across them. "Open up," he ordered.

You did, letting your lips part wide, your tongue sliding out to taste him. Rick groaned again, his head falling back for a moment as he guided his cock into your mouth, pushing in deeper this time, fucking into it.

"Shit," he hissed through his teeth, his free hand still tangling in your hair as he held you still. "You—shit—you feel so goddamn good."

Your hands rested on his thighs now, nails digging in as you let him set the pace. It was messy, wet, sloppy. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, sliding down your chin as he thrust shallowly, just enough to keep himself right on the edge.

Rick couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop.

All he could see was you—on your knees, looking up at him with those innocent eyes, lips stretched around his cock, taking him like you were made for it. And it felt so good it was almost unbearable.

"God, what the hell am I doing…" He groaned quietly, his hips trembling. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Not when you were pulling him deeper, harder, your tongue working over him like you wanted to suck him empty.

His grip on your hair tightened, his cock twitching in your mouth as he fought to keep control. But when you moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through him, he lost it.

Rick pulled back suddenly, his cock slipping from your mouth in an instant. You looked up at him, lips shiny, cheeks all red and hot, as he stroked himself, his hand and cock wet with your spit.

"You're gonna make me come," he groaned, his eyes locked on your lips.

He pressed the tip of his cock to them again, smearing the pre-cum across them, down your chin, his strokes turning faster and rougher. You opened your mouth, trying to take him back in, but Rick held you still, teasing himself against your lips, the head of his cock nudging against your tongue.

And then he came.

A loud moan escaped his throat as his cum shot all across your mouth, so warm and thick. You stuck your tongue out, catching what you could, swallowing it greedily as he smeared the rest across your lips with the tip of his cock.

Rick was shaking, his body trembling as he pumped himself through it, every bit of tension leaving him as he watched you lick your lips clean, swallowing every drop.

When he was done, he just stood there, staring down at you like he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"Shit," he whispered, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

You stood up slowly, brushing the dirt off your knees and adjusting the sundress. Rick's eyes followed your every move, staying on your lips, your throat, and your breasts. He looked like a man torn in two, his guilt fighting with his loyalty.

"This… can't happen again," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Shouldn't."

You smirked, stepping closer, your hand moving along his chest, fingers toying with the open collar of his shirt before moving to the waistband of his pants. The belt still hung loose, his zipper still undone, and you tugged on the leather lightly.

"Whatever you say… Sheriff Grimes."

Rick sucked in a quick breath as you leaned in, your lips kissing his cheek lightly. And then, just like that, you pulled back and walked away.

The sundress moved in the evening wind with every step, the warm summer breeze lifting it just enough to reveal your naked ass once more.

But Rick remained where he was, his chest still heaving, his mind a mess of want and guilt and so many more feelings he couldn't even name.

He then reached down, adjusting himself with shaky hands, tucking his now soft cock back into his pants. The belt slipped from his fingers once before he managed to buckle it, fumbling with the leather as his legs threatened to give out, not yet closing the zipper. Finally, he leaned back against the chicken coop, dragging his hands over his face.

What the hell had he just done?

His throat was all dry, his whole body still shaking with the feeling of your touch. He'd always thought of himself as a good man, hadn't he? A loyal husband. A good father.

But standing there, with his pants still half-open and the taste of sin on his lips, he didn't feel like either.

As soon as Rick was about to leave, a sudden movement caught his eye, and his stomach dropped, twisting itself into a tight knot that made him want to vomit on the spot.

Shane.

The other man was walking back toward the tents, Andrea at his side and stumbling slightly behind him. Shane looked casual like he didn't have a care in the world, but as he looked around to scan the surroundings for any danger, his eyes immediately stayed on Rick.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

He felt exposed, uncomfortable, like Shane could see everything—the guilt written all over his face, the smell of sex still clinging to his skin and his clothes.

And then Shane's head moved, his eyes following Rick's next line of sight.

You.

You were halfway back with walking to the tents, the sundress moving in the breeze again, the curve of your bare ass showing itself for another second. Shane tilted his head, his expression unreadable, his mouth twitching like he was holding back a loud laugh.

Rick saw it, though. Right there, on Shane's face. Amusement? Judgment? Maybe a little of both.

By now, Rick felt like he was suffocating under the weight of it all—Lori, Carl, you, Shane. Everything.

Because Shane was no saint. He knew that. It was like you had said before; he knew it for some time now. His best friend had slept with Lori, and maybe even wanted to take his place. But right now? Rick wasn't sure he was any better than him.

He pushed himself off the chicken coop, his boots kicking the dirt as he turned toward the farmhouse. He didn't say a word as he passed Shane, didn't even look at him.

But he could feel Shane's eyes on him, the smirk burning into the back of his skull like a brand.

As Rick walked back toward the tent where Lori was sleeping with Carl at her side, his heart was still racing. And he felt how his mouth tasted dry—no, worse—like you.

It tasted like sin—devouring him whole.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I wrote this a bit quicker than usual. I know, I know, I’m a slow writer, sorry about that! Please bear with me. I tried my best to clean up any repetition or grammar mistakes, and since this is my first Rick Grimes oneshot in a while, I’m honestly a little nervous to even share it. I still feel like there might be some missing details or areas that could’ve been expanded more, but I hope you still enjoyed it.

SONG RECOMMENDATION ⁀➴ 「VANDENBERG ⋮ SIN」

[sorchathered]

He’s in love with the girl

Pairing-Jake Seresin x reader

Warnings- smut and language

A/N- I’m baaaack yall! Here’s a little smutty one shot to tie you over until I post for kinktober! @bobgasm and I have been reading too many cowboy romances lately so here’s a little brother’s best friend romance for ya.

Summary- Jake comes home for the summer and falls head over heels for his bestie’s little sister. How’s he gonna tell him that he thinks she’s the one?

———————————————————————————

He shouldn’t be here.

He knows he absolutely shouldn’t , and yet here he is, body pressed up against your bedroom door with his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck.

Any other girl on earth would have been suitable, but no, Jake Seresin just had to fall in love with his best friend’s baby sister.

He’d come home on leave for a month and had expected it to be just like any other trip to Austin. Bar hopping and wrangling cattle, until you walked into his mama’s house. Freshly graduated from college and looking every bit his type. Gorgeous, smart, funny, and a little bit mean to him; it was like kryptonite to him.

He could lie and say he tried to stay away, but you both know that wasn’t true at all. He was down bad, sneaking quiet moments with you in the barn, stopping by to see you after your shifts at the hospital, midnight drives to nowhere that ended with you both tangled up in the back seat of his truck. Your poor brother didn’t have a damn clue, his own life and family kept him just busy enough to keep him out of the loop, and you’d keep it from him as long as you could. Last thing you wanted was for him to pop the perfect bubble the two of you were in.

It wasn’t like he’d held a torch for you or anything like that, anything untoward he was sure Gavin could dream up just wasn’t true. When he’d been reintroduced to you at the beginning of the summer it was like you were a completely different person, not at all the annoying pre teen girl with her one direction obsession that had followed them around years before. You were a bad ass nurse now, someone who took no shit and he’d been falling over himself to get your attention ever since. You’d brushed him off and tried to stay away, but you couldn’t deny that there was absolutely something there, and when he kissed you for the first time it had scared you just how much you wanted more.

“You’re a goddamn dream you know that?” Jake sighed as you ran your nose along his sharp jawline, hands fumbling with his belt as he let his hands roam over the small of your back down to your ass as he kneaded one and then the other cheek before lifting you into his arms. You let out a shriek and erupted into giggles as he carried you to your bed and spread you out on the worn cross and crown patterned quilt.

“You’re gonna get us both in trouble if you keep manhandling me like this you big oaf, the whole house is gonna think-“

“I don’t give a shit what they think, you could scream my name loud enough that they hear it in town, don’t make a difference to me, sugar. I’m tired of sneaking around; want you to be mine.” He had both hands on your hips, staring down at you like you hung the moon and stars. It stole your breath away, you’d thought he’d just been fooling around with you all summer, just another notch in the Hangman’s belt. But the way he was looking at you, it made things feel very, very real.

“Jake. What about Gavin?” You whispered, and he gave a little shake of his head, trying to rid himself of the spell your half naked body had him under. He needed to get this off his chest, if you wanted what he wanted then Gavin could take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared; he’d get over it eventually.

He eased himself on top of you and swiped a loose hair behind your ear, watching as your body relaxed from his touch. Cocky grin plastered on his pretty face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, he took a deep breath and let the words loose that he’d kept buried deep all summer long.

“You know I love Gavin, I’d go to the ends of the earth for that idiot, but I’d be lying if I said his opinion matters one bit when it comes to this. I want you, y/n. I don’t just want you for the summer, I’ll do long distance, late night phone calls, whatever you’ll let me until I can make this permanent. I never thought I’d be the settling down type but damnit darlin’ I’ve got all sorts of dreams planned for me and you, and if you want that too it doesn’t matter what anyone wants or thinks about us, all that matters is how much I’m totally wrapped around your little finger.”

“But-“ he cut you off by placing his lips on yours, letting his hands slide up your sides to cup your face and stealing your breath.

He wasn’t having it- clearly your stubborn ass wasn’t hearing him, he’d just have to show you instead.

He had you naked and spread out before you could even come up with another coherent thought, golden head of hair buried between your legs as he brought you to the edge…and then stopped.

“Look at me pretty girl, I want your eyes on mine when you come, all those sweet noises you make are for me, no one else you got it?” He was being a giant tease, fingers still buried deep as you tried to fight the urge to smack that stupid grin off his face.

“Fuck- you can’t just stop, I- I need-“

“I know what you need baby, and I’ll give it to you every time. But you’re gonna commit this to memory, no one’s ever gonna get to see you like this ‘cept me ever again, you’re mine, and you know I’m used to getting what I want.” He says with a wink, sliding back down to suck your clit into his hot mouth, watching as you arch your whole body into him with a whine.

“Yours Jake, just yours.”

He felt the sun through the blinds and groaned, it was too damn early and warm all wrapped up in you, but he couldn’t put off his plans forever, there was too much at stake and he’d chicken out if he waited much longer. Pressing kisses to your face and neck he untangled himself from you and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He had to come clean to Gavin, and if it didn’t end up with a black eye he’d call that a win.

He pulled up to the diner on Main that had been home to many a hangover meal and found Gavin lounging in their favorite booth along the back wall, his gruff exterior a complete facade as soon as Jake came in the door. Goofy wide smile splitting his face as he made his way over to the table, but Jake couldn’t bring the smile to his eyes. He’d been ready for battle on the drive here, but now that he was inside he felt his resolve crumble a little. He’d known him since they were in diapers, their moms had been debutantes together for god sake; what was he supposed to do if this ended sour?

Knocked loose from his thoughts as the waitress, Gladys, who was probably here when the town began, brought him a steaming cup of coffee and ruffled his hair. He could do this, he just needed to man up. He’d fought in firefights thousands of miles in the sky, surely this would be easier.

“You’ve been here all summer and I swear it feels like we’ve barely seen you brother, where the hell you been?” Gavin says as he digs into his breakfast, chomping away at his pancakes with no idea what bomb is about to be dropped on him.

Jake wipes his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans as he stares intently on his steaming mug, drawing a shaky breath and preparing for the worst.

“I’ve uh- I’ve been seeing somebody. I know I should’ve been better about keeping in touch, just kinda got caught up in it. It’s why I asked you here bud, gotta talk to you about it before I explode if I’m honest.”

Gavin stops his Joey Chestnut impression long enough to look over Jake’s stoic exterior, and guffaws. Throws his head back and quite literally cackles.

“Ha- oh shit man, I’ve been waiting on you to spill the beans on this shit. You should see your damn face “we need to talk Gav, I’m in love.” Hahaha goddamn, if I’d known all it would take is my sister coming back into town to get you to settle down I'd have tried to play matchmaker years ago.”

Jake nearly drops his mug, eyes bugging out of his head.

“You- you know?! Jesus Christ Gav, I’ve been losing my shit over this for days, way to bury the lead.”

“Oh come on, you two haven’t exactly been subtle. For someone who is supposedly a stealth pilot, you sure don’t know how to hide a relationship. Also, if you’re going to fool around with her at mom and pop’s, might want to remember the walls are paper thin. We found you guys out weeks ago dude.” He goes right back to destroying his plate, like the two of them had been talking about sports scores and not the fact that Jake was definitely fucking Gavin’s baby sister.

“You don’t need my permission, and you definitely have my approval if you were really that worried. She’s harbored a crush for years, doesn’t surprise me in the least that she shot her shot. Just do me a favor, don’t make her wait too long before you propose, she’d probably say yes with a ring made out of napkins from the way she looks at you.”

He didn’t make you wait long at all, and crazy as it all sounded to his squad back in Fightertown when he showed up at the end of block leave with a fiancée, they knew he was hooked from the minute you introduced yourself. You transferred hospitals and made the move to California, and made his empty bachelor pad a home with all your fancy appliances and skincare products he couldn’t pronounce to save his life.

When you both had gotten all the boxes unpacked he laid you down in your shared bed and made love to you like he hoped he’d get to do for the rest of his life, he couldn’t wait to start a life with you, and maybe a baby.. or 5, but that would be a whole other discussion for another day.

———————————————————————————

🏷️ tagging- @roosterforme @nouis-bum @sebsxphia @teacupsandtopgun @sunsetsimpsblog @sio-ina-bottle @kissmecaitie @mynameismckenziemae @senawashere @seitmai-too @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @dizzybee03 @mygyn @jessicab1991 @djs8891 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @86laura11

[shoeistars]

— NO PHOTOS ! pt. 2

༺ feat. reo, barou, rin, sae, shidou

༺ outline. where the boys keep their slutty polas of you <3

༺ w. pro!players, 18+ content, minors dni, photos/polas, fem!reader, read at your own discretion as I don’t do individual tagging for element of surprise <3

༺ pt. 1 (isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi)

— REO ! car dash

When Reo got his hands on his first hypercar, his main priority was keeping the thing clean. No trash, no eating inside of the vehicle, you weren’t even allowed to do your makeup when you’re playing your role of passenger princess. He just wanted to keep the interior spotless, despite the fact that he could buy as many overpriced vehicles as he fucking desired

So, when you hopped into the car one day and noticed the pola of you that he had resting against the dash of his brand new Bugatti, you were stunned. He hadn’t even put a goddamn air freshener on the rearview yet

Whenever you got around to questioning him, all he did was shrug, a smug grin on his face as he drove you to your nail appointment. After all, he got bored when he was sitting in traffic. The picture of you, perched on his California king with the prettiest bra and panty set hugging your body juuust right was worth bending a few rules over

— BAROU ! wallet

The polaroid itself was your idea in the first place. He didn’t really understand what the hell the hype was about, but he’d bend over backwards to see that pretty smile you’d give him when you got your way. Whenever he saw the photo, however, his perspective was changed immediately

You’d been hiked up onto a bathroom sink, always getting way too horny for your own good at events where attendance mattered. He’d sneak you away when you’d start touching on him and whispering dirty shit in his ear, never able to say no to his queen

Thus the birth of the pola nestled in his wallet, right beside his bank card. The view of his thick dick stretching your tightness out was too good to pass up, milky ring of cream wrapped around his base and spilling out of your hole. He just had to have it with him at all times

— RIN ! under his pillow

Pushing the pussy whipped loser boy agenda for Rin because you’re most definitely his first love, the first girl he’s ever touched, fingered, fucked. Having popped his cherry, he can’t help but be completely enamored by you. The mere thought of you gets him hard and he hates that factor to his core

Which plays into why exactly he has a nasty polaroid of you tucked under his navy-clad pillow, right where he rests his head to sleep for the night. It’s safe there, it’s within easy reach for him to fuck his fist to when you’re too far away, which is too often for his own liking thanks to away games

The photo itself is his treasure, a simple one where you’re on your bruised knees, showing him what exactly a facial is. Although he loves you most barefaced, he can’t even lie and deny that your face dripping wet and sticky with his seed isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on

— SAE ! checkbook

Weird place, sure, but there is nothing normal about Sae as a whole. In his eyes, there are three prizes in the world: wins, money, and you. The polaroid fits perfectly right where he has it

There’s nothing more rewarding to him than whipping out his checkbook to buy something big, just to be greeted with your cunt on full display, the photo clipped front and center onto the leather book cover

It’s a real looker of a photo too, his thumb spreading your glossy folds to show off the stream of his cum dripping out of your hole, coating your asshole in thick nut. All he can ever think about is how you whimpered when he licked it up after snapping the shot

— SHIDOU ! pola wall

The consequences of dating a shameless, unhinged individual consists of your nudes being shown off any and every possible chance presented to him. He’s sick, sometimes unreasonable, but you’re too goddamn pretty for him to just hide away

Hence why he’s got a nice slab of white wall in his bedroom, fully dedicated to you. He calls it romantic, of course. All sorts of polas are taped up as decoration, different positions and scenarios

Maybe it’s awkward for guests that just so happen to step into his bedroom for whatever reason, but you like being shown off, don’t you? He figured a slut like you would wanna be put on display, considering you’re just like him

[barnesafterglow]

first burn

summary: your crush on peter may burn you alive

pairing: mcu!peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: not canon compliant (no snap, everyone is happy and healthy and no one did anything stupid), peter is of age and well within his rights to fuck!!, a little tropey for a second (brief "fake dating" and "only one bed" to move the story along), smut [unprotected sex, pull out method oral (f receiving), just some sweet love making dude], listen i'm here for a good time not a long time

a/n: two fics in a year?? who is she

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

Peter Parker was going to be the death of you.

With each grunt that echoed through the gym in Avengers Tower, your eyes flicked to his sweaty form. The goddamned death of you.

You tried to backtrack, to see when these feelings first started as a small burning in the back of your mind that had turned into a raging wildfire every time you were in his presence. It had to have been the mission in London.

It was normal - or as normal as any Avengers mission could be. 

You had just stumbled through the throes of midtown London, hand in hand with your boyfriend, looking with every bit of wonder like neither of you had ever seen the delights it had to offer.

Then, as soon as you stepped through the hotel door, Peter dropped your hand as if it had burned him the whole time. 

Maybe it started then, with that glimmer of disappointment. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend and he would never take the time to take you around tourist London like he had just done. 

And then that pit in your stomach grew as the door to your room opened: only one bed. Jesus Christ, Tony. 

“I know,” came the response from beside you; you must have spoken out loud. “It’ll be fine.”

Those were the last words he spoke for a long while, as you both got ready for bed, then slid in beside each other. The tension was palpable, and you didn’t know if it was your slowly mounting feelings or the clench of his discomfort, but regardless you slept fitfully for hours until you finally stumbled into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle - somehow pressed there in the dark of the night - and the world spun around you as you shot up.

Peter was alert in seconds, standing by the bed assessing for a threat, when his eyes met yours - utterly confused and you had no real answer for him.

“Bad dream,” you mumbled as you headed to the bathroom, the door clicking with a sort of finality behind you.

And it was fine, really it was. You definitely didn’t think about the way press of his body against yours and how sexy his bed head had looked. Nope. Not at all. 

And you definitely didn’t imagine what he would have looked like if you were the one who made him sweaty and flushed like he was right now.

Snapping out of your borderline impure thoughts, you stood from your spot on the ground where you had been warming up and - before your mouth said something you could regret - you walked out of the gym.

With your back turned, you missed the way Peter’s eyes followed you the whole way.

-

Saturday nights were girl’s nights, as Wanda so boldly claimed. And girl’s night came with a lot of complaining.

Throwing the shot back, you groaned, not even wanting to voice your thoughts aloud.

“I shouldn’t even think about it,” you said. “He’s practically a kid.”

“Not to impede on your self-loathing, but he’s not a kid anymore babe,” was Natasha’s response. She nodded across the bar where Peter was sipping his beer, laughing at something Sam had said. Right, he was 22 and totally within your age range, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still see him as the 16 year old kid who had fought by Tony’s side. “Plus you’re not that much older than him. We used to call you a kid too, you know.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you stood from the table to order another drink, ignoring Nat and Wanda’s laughter at your misery.

As you leaned against the bar waiting, Peter dropped down into the stool beside you.

“Alright, what did I do to you?” His words were casual, joking, but you could hear the hurt laced within. That was never your intention, and your heart sank.

You and Peter had been friends for a long time, since Tony had first brought him in after the air had cleared with him and Cap. You bonded over being the youngest Avengers and what that meant for your lives. The two of you understood each other on another level that no one else truly did. And here you were, ruining everything over a little crush.

“Nothing, Pete.” You ruffled your hand through his hair and his face lit up in a blush that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” he replied, then looked down at you - when had he gotten so tall - with an unreadable emotion on his face. “I miss you.”

Right. And you were back where you started. Admittedly, you had avoided him for the most part since that London mission, only saying hi in passing and at the occasional movie night or debrief. You weren’t exactly proud of it, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, shame coating your words. You never meant to hurt him - honestly, you didn’t. “Listen, kid, I just-“

“Don’t call me kid.” And the anger in his words surprised you. “I’m not that kid you met six years ago - when you were barely any older, might I remind you - and you know that. I know you know that. So don’t use that as an excuse to stop whatever is going on here.” His hands gestured between the two of you. 

Strong, capable hands that you had seen hurt and save, had seen run through his hair, had seen play video games. Hands that you had imagined for weeks now. Hands that you couldn’t help but grab out of mid air, clasping one in your own. 

“And what’s going on here, Peter?”

He leaned in close, breath hot on your ear. 

“I see the way you look at me.” Your breath hitched, then stopped altogether. “But I don’t think you see me looking right back.”

Body all of a sudden hot and raging with emotion, you squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. 

“Take me home.”

-

Your apartment was closer, so you walked the handful of blocks from the bar in tangible silence. Every brush of fingers was an electric jolt through your body and every bump of shoulders sent heat through your core. By the time you reached your front door, the tension was pulled so tight it was bound to snap at any moment.

And snap it did.

As soon as you had the apartment door closed behind you, Peter was on you, his hands everywhere all at once. He crowded you, pulling you close to him when you winced at the door knob digging into your side. One hand came to rest on your hip, rubbing soothing circles there, while the other cradled your face, eyes searching for permission.

You didn’t know what you were giving him permission for, but you nodded anyway.

The world around you stopped as Peter placed a searing kiss to your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. The hand on your face moved to gently tug your hair and he took your gasp as an invitation to explore your mouth. God the boy knew how to kiss.

His tongue pressed into you, tasting every inch while your hands roamed his body. When he pulled away - not for air, not to leave you, but to place hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of burning fire in their wake - you tugged on his t-shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before. Between missions and training and plain old gym sessions, you were thankfully no stranger to a shirtless Peter Parker. But in the dim light of your living room, with those brown eyes boring into your own, everything was suddenly different.

You just stared - for far longer than necessary, you were sure - until he took a step back towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. Nodding at him, you started to lead him towards your bedroom, not making it more than two steps until his hands were once again exploring your body.

When you finally made it - a trail of both of your clothes left in your wake - your breaths were heavy and panting, aching for more of him.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you, taking in the red lace of your bra and underwear. Unable to contain himself, he ripped it off of you in two quick pulls, leaving you bare before him.

You expected him to jump on you the second you were naked. Instead he pressed his front against your own - you gasped at the contact of your nipples against his bare chest - and lightly traced shapes over your exposed back, moving down to trail along your legs, then back up your arms. Everywhere he touched burned the memory into your skin.

Finally, finally, he gently pushed you against your bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, and he peeled off his jeans and underwear before manhandling you towards the center, moving your body as if you weighed nothing.

You truly didn’t need any foreplay, the tension on your own end built up these last few weeks on top of Peter’s heated discovery of your body made for an easy transition, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

No, Peter Parker was a fucking tease.

He started by kneading the soft skin of your breasts, touch light and gentle as if you were something precious. Even when he leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he still only gave you quick nips, nothing as satisfying as you needed. He made his way down your body, placing lover’s kisses everywhere he could reach, before finally settling down on his stomach between your legs.

You thought that this was surely the moment you would get some reprieve, some kind of real touch that may or may not send you over the edge, but no. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kissed the inside of each thigh, alternating until he was breathing right where you needed him most. When you thought you were about to explode, he finally lowered his mouth to your core.

The feeling after so long of teasing was euphoric, and you swear if you were a weaker woman you could have come from the first swipe of his tongue against your clit. You held out as his tongue made its way in circles and figure eights, then he pressed a finger against your entrance, eyes looking up through dark lashes to silently ask permission.

Once you had given it, he sank a finger into you, pumping it a few times before adding another. With that, both his hand and mouth picked up speed until you were grinding on his face, chasing your orgasm.

You were on the edge, ready to jump off, when he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and tried to sit up, but one large hand pushed you back against the bed, the other starting its assault all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were coming all over his face, and you think you blacked out for a second because the next thing you knew he was over top of you, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before kissing you, driving his tongue in and swallowing down your moans.

He ground his hips against you, his cock sliding easily through your folds, and you both whined as his tip caught at your entrance. He continued his movements, getting closer and closer to fucking you with every pass, but never quite committing.

Sick of his teasing, you pushed hard on his shoulders and, in his surprise, were able to flip him so he was on his back.

“Stop teasing, Peter,” you whispered in his ear as you straddled his waist. “I need you.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his, before he nodded and wrapped his hands around your hips. Taking that as permission, you grabbed his cock, lining it up and slowly sliding down.

He was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and you had to take your time before he was fully seated inside you. Once your hips were flush together, you took a breath, practically feeling him in your throat. 

He looked up at you - almost adoringly - as you adjusted to him. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of emotion you possibly could into it before starting to move your hips. Now more adjusted, the burn of the stretch turned into a pleasure that had you melting against him and hands guided your hips to move you along his length.

For long minutes you let him move you as he wanted, content to hang on for the ride. You didn’t expect for Peter to flip you over and start pounding into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he settled your legs over your shoulders. “So fucking deep.”

All you could do is hold onto him as he fucked you, alternating between hard thrusts and slow grinds until you were dizzy with pleasure, chasing an orgasm that wasn’t going to come unless Peter damn well wanted it to.

And when he did, when he reached down and rubbed harsh circles into your clit, you exploded around him. The clench of your heat around his cock spurred his own orgasm, and he pulled out at the last second, his come coating your stomach and tits.

That on is own was hot enough, but Peter fucking Parker did not come to play. He swiped two fingers through his own release before pressing them to your mouth. You opened up for him, cleaning off his fingers as he groaned, and you could see his cock give an interested twitch, like it was already trying to go for round two.

The weight of his body disappeared from yours and you whined, reaching out for him even with your eyes closed. He quickly returned with a warm rag and cleaned you up before maneuvering you both under the covers. 

Regaining a semblance of strength, you turned so that you were facing him, suddenly very aware of each of your nakedness.

“What now?” Your voice was hoarse-sounding, it’s only use in the last bit from moans and gasps.

“Well,” he started, once again tracing shapes along your bare skin, “I think we maybe skipped a step in the middle of all this.”

“What do you mean?” If he was going to say what you thought he might, your heart would implode.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a really long time, longer than I’m going to admit, and I took this chance because I didn’t know if I would ever get it again. But if I’m right - and I think I am - then you feel the same way I do. So, I want to take you on a proper date. I want to make this work.”

His confession made your heart stutter-step and you couldn’t even find the words to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Instead, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, hoping every emotion he had just poured out to you was matched in the press of your lips against his.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“Yeah, Pete, it is.”

[wannabanauthor]

What if Tommy and Eddie discussed the breakup, and it goes from serious to funny?

So Eddie goes to Tommy's house and is like "I'm here to check on you, let's get a beer."

Tommy tries to refuse, but Eddie says, "You broke my best friend's heart, so the least you could do is explain your reasoning to me."

Tommy reluctantly goes. After a few beers, he starts rambling.

"I fucked up, and I don't know how to fix it or even if I should fix it. I was falling in love with him, and it snuck up on me. I didn't expect for it to get more serious," Tommy says. "I thought it was just going to be fun for awhile, and we'd go our separate ways."

"Your second date with him was to his sister's wedding," Eddie points out.

"Oh so sue me! It's not my fault I caved. He gave me these pleading puppy eyes, and I found myself agreeing."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Well, if you never expected it to get serious and didn't want it to get serious, then why haven't you found your rebound yet? It's been weeks. Even Chimney and Maddie are telling Buck to start dating again."

Tommy groans into his hands and then rubs his temples. "Fucking traitors."

"Well, I know this hot priest-"

"Been there, done that," Tommy says and takes a swig of his beer.

Eddie looks at him with a bewildered look on his face. "What?"

"What?" Tommy responds with a shrug. "I was raised Catholic. Guilt about sexuality is easy to spot, but he made the first move."

"Do I even want to know how?"

"Ever had sex in a confession booth?"

Eddie's eyes are wide and horrified. "Please don't tell me-"

"It was an old booth in storage, but it was still pretty hot. Once I admitted to myself that I was gay, I had a lot of catching up to do."

Then Tommy goes quiet and gets sad again. "I'll never meet another Evan in my life. I think he's ruined me for other men."

"Don't say that. While, I prefer you two together, you can always find someone else."

Tommy snorts in disbelief. "Yeah, not gonna happen. At least when it comes to sex. His adorable face and cheery smile haunt my dreams, and his proficiency with dick makes it impossible for me to get it up even when watching porn."

"Oh no, I need more alcohol for this," Eddie says and orders some shots.

He and Tommy go through a couple of them.

Tommy's tongue gets looser. "His dick is fantastic. Perfect length, thickness, and stamina. I know my body pretty well, and let me tell you, the prostate orgasms from him were out of this world. I barely lasted five minutes before coming just from him fucking me."

Eddie is drunk enough that he's not even fazed.

"Not to mention he has this slight curve that makes him hit the spot every time, and goddamn, I miss that dick and the dork attached to it," Tommy continues. "He made me feel comfortable and safe and cherished. Being around him was effortless, mostly, and I miss him so much."

Tommy starts sniffling, and then tears roll down his cheeks. "Fuck, I don't want to cry."

Eddie puts a comforting hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Call him. He's a mess and miserable without you. He's been baking so much that the entire station's hemoglobin A1C levels are pre-diabetic. We had to force him to focus on savory cooking."

Tommy shakes his head. "He doesn't want to hear from me. I broke his heart. I'm the last person that should be contacting him."

"He does want to hear from you. He's only been baking and cooking so much to stop himself from contacting you because he wants to give you space and respect your boundaries post-breakup."

"What would I even say? That I panicked and ran? I told him he would break my heart if we moved in together. There's no coming back from that."

Eddie sighs and sets his drink down. "Listen, the first time you ended things with Buck, I told him he was an idiot but to call you anyway. Now it's your turn to be the idiot. Go get your man back. Call him. Talk to him. He'd settle for a text. Just do something! You both are suffering without each other. You don't have to move in with him. He just wants you back in his life."

More tears run down Tommy's face and it turns into full sobs. Eddie scoots closer to him and gives him a hug. Tommy clings to him, sobbing even harder.

After drinks, they stop by a taco place and sober up while eating delicious birria tacos. They go back to Tommy's place, and Eddie sleeps on the couch just to make sure Tommy is alright. Before he falls asleep, he texts Buck.

"If Tommy contacts you, go easy on him. He's an idiot too."

When Tommy wakes up the next morning, he nearly stops breathing when he sees that Evan texted him.

"I miss you." was all it said.

Tommy cradles his phone in his hands for several minutes before pressing the call button. He holds his breath until Evan answers.

"I miss you too," Tommy says.

[bluebeary-jay]

clouded judgment / clear mind

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: it was a long time since Joel had felt a maddening rage like this, but he weren't about to let anyone who dares to hurt you get away with it (based on this ask)

Tags: Joel goes apeshit, angst, a bit of comfort at the end, established relationship, protective Joel (REALLY protective lmao), basically he goes feral

Warnings: uh. VERY graphic descriptions of violence (I'm not good at writing action sequences but it is graphic), swearing, kinda torturing 😬

Word count: 4.5K

A/N: this one was really challenging, but i hope yall will like what i came up with :) i really didn't expect it to be so difficult to write buuut i tried to focus on the "giving-his-brother-nightmares" side of Joel and i think i succeeded. anyway !!! happy reading ❤️

He should have never left you alone.

Which was a ridiculous thought, of course, because how are you supposed to patrol efficiently if the other person refuses to leave your side even for a moment? Besides, he didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you – he saw multiple times what you were capable of first-hand and he knew you were able to take care of yourself.

He put it forward once – to not split up and patrol the same area within the eyeshot of each other. You sent him a crooked smile at that, saying something about him being a little too overprotective before you gave him a kiss and went on your merry way, leaving him alone and slightly annoyed (but with a faint, stupid grin on his face).

So he tried to rein in this ‘overprotectiveness’ you mentioned. He never brought it up again, even though a cold shiver ran up his spine every time he lost sight of you beyond the safe walls of Jackson. Each time you two went on a patrol, he had to take a second to calm down and remind himself this is not one of his dreams when he loses you.

That’s why at first, when he heard your voice screaming his name from a distance, he wasn’t sure if it was really happening.

The instinct, however, kicked in the next second and he rushed back to where he saw you last, to the interior of a resort around which he was scouting. This was supposed to be one of the safest options for patrolling – no one ever saw any signs of life here besides occasional infected, and Joel was never that worried when you went inside alone to check the place.

He had a feeling his cautious (he really didn’t want to call it ‘overprotective’) nature was gonna become a nuisance again after this incident.

The goddamn downpour outside made listening for any noises aggravatingly difficult. Joel yelled for you, but he didn’t hear any answer and the driving rain beating against the windows of the resort absorbed all the sounds.

He made his way inside the building and up the stairs when he noticed your hat lying discarded against the wall. A wave of ice-cold dread washed over him. The stairway was dark but even with the little light he had he could see a couple of wet, almost black droplets on the dirty floor.

What he felt next reminded him of falling asleep – his shoulders relaxed and from head to toe a cool, silent equilibrium crept over him. Joel gripped his rifle firmly and pushed on soundlessly. It didn’t seem like you were stabbed or shot – there would be much more blood present – but you were hurt. Someone must’ve laid in wait to ambush you, and now…

It didn’t matter. Whoever it was, they made a grave mistake.

Joel reached the second floor, listening intently for any clues as to where you might be or how many people are in the building with him, but he didn’t even have to check the rooms one by one. A faint light, which couldn't have been left by the previous patrol, was spilling out from underneath the doors at the far end of the corridor . He did consider the possibility that it was a decoy and your attacker was hiding in one of the other rooms, but the closer he got to the sliver of light on the dusty floor, and the more doors he passed, it became clear that whoever got you, they weren’t that cunning.

And then he heard it. A sound of a blow from the other side of the door, and then a strangled cry.

It was you. Your voice.

Joel took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and kicked the door open, bursting into the room with his rifle held high – only to find himself surrounded by six men, five of whom were holding him at gunpoint.

The sixth one, a ragged-looking blond, stood over you and the second he saw Joel, he grabbed you by the hair and pressed a knife against your neck, making both you and Joel freeze.

“You’re from this town nearby, right?” asked the man with a heavy accent Joel couldn’t place. “The one that fucking shoots off any newcomers.”

Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at this man. All he could see was your bruised and battered face and the blood running freely from your – probably broken – nose and down your chin. You had a black eye and a split brow, but your gaze was sharp and alert when you looked back at him.

He felt like his insides were boiling.

“Hey, dickhead!” the leader of the group yelled, gripping your hair tighter and making you hiss in pain. “You deaf or something?”

Joel finally managed to take his eyes off you – your blood and your bruises, and the concealed fear on your face – and glared at the man standing over you. His jaw was clenched and nostrils flaring, but he quickly collected himself. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him when you were in danger.

He lifted his hands slowly, showing that he was no threat to them. The thug tilted his head at one of his friends.

“Put down your gun and slide it over.”

Joel watched you following his movements with your eyes as he carefully put his rifle down and kicked it in the direction of one of the men. The blond holding the knife nodded twice.

“Now. You two are from the town, aren’tcha?”

“Let her go,” said Joel, trying to remain calm and not use – quoting Ellie – his ‘asshole voice’. “Then we’ll talk.”

The man shook his head and chuckled.

“Oh, no, no.” He pressed the blade harder against your throat. “We have the upper hand here. You understand?”

The man was looking at him expectantly but Joel’s eyes were nailed on the trickle of blood now running down the column of your neck. He remembered kissing that same neck this morning and tickling it with his nose, and the thought of this fucking bastard cutting your soft skin and leaving such a mark on it made him feel like he was about to burst.

“Fine,” he ground out with his jaw set. He looked over at the leader of the group. “What do you want?”

Had any of them been smarter, they would have picked up a dangerous note in his voice. But just like he suspected, they weren’t that bright.

“You go back to your town and bring five more horses here,” said the blond.  “And ammo. My buddy here,” he used his chin to point at another guy, standing behind Joel, “will tell you what kind. You try anything or come back with someone else, and I’ll slit her throat right open.”

“She will go get that shit for you and I will stay,” Joel negotiated strongly, but the leader of the group shook his head again.

“No. No way. You go and bring back everything we ask for, and I’ll let your little friend go.”

Joel’s eyes once again shifted to your form and something inside his chest twitched. You noticed it – of course you did, you were always able to read him like no one else – and tried to offer him a half smile.

“I’ll be fine, Joel,” you reassured him. “Nothing I haven’t–”

“Shut your trap!” The shorter man standing to your right yelled and raised his hand, making you flinch.

Joel could almost feel fire burning in his veins and through his skin, peeling it off his bones.

“Hey! There’s no need for that!” he said louder, taking a step forward, but the gang lifted their guns higher. He stopped and spread his arms wider. “I’ll get you the stuff you want. Just leave her alone.”

“You better hurry, then,” said the blond with a nasty smile, and Joel nodded while trying not to look too desperate. He looked at his friend. “Tell him what we need.”

Joel didn’t give a shit what they were saying – it was him who needed to think of something, and fast. He had a suspicion as to who these men were – he heard from Tommy about a larger group trying to gain entry to Jackson several times. Apparently they threatened the patrol which found them when they were denied permission to join their community. It was before Joel came to the small town for the first time with you and Ellie, but the word around was that any rogue group around this terrains wasn’t to be trusted.

And everything from the description Tommy gave him fit: ragged looks, traveling on foot, low on ammunition.

While one of the men listed what kind of guns they had and how much supplies they wanted, a motion in Joel’s field of vision caught his attention and his eyes darted to you – or more specifically, to your left hand.

You stared right back at him, moving your fingers slightly so the others didn’t notice.

N… O… A… M…

No ammo.

None? That’s probably why the one standing next to you wasn’t holding you at gunpoint but with a knife to the throat. The rest of them must’ve had their pistols drawn just for show. Joel had no idea how you figured it out, but a thought struck him and he surveyed the members of the group. He remembered which one held onto his rifle, but you were armed, too…

As if reading his mind, your fingers started to twitch again the second he looked back at you.

U... Left… B, E, H, I…

Suddenly the man to your right bowed over you again and punched you square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of you.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled with contempt and glared back at Joel. “No funny games, you hear me? You come back with a gun or anyone else, and I won’t hesitate to fucking kill her, man.”

Joel’s heart was pounding in his chest. All he could see was your face contorted in pain, all he could hear were your coughs and grunts.

Two of the men came forward – the one on his left had a loaded gun from what you managed to convey to him in sign language – and pushed him towards the exit. Joel shifted his icy stare at the man standing next to him, and then at the two situated near you.

They were all going to die.

When he gets back, he’s going to kill every one last of them, and he’s going to enjoy it immensely.

Joel sent you one last look before turning around and slowly walking out of the room with both men close behind, pointing their guns (and only one of them loaded) at him.

It was going to be alright. He had a stirring of a plan and when he comes back, maybe with Tommy or someone else…

You gasped and coughed again behind his back after the sound of another punch.

Joel came to a dead stop, not registering the gun barrel digging into his back, and he felt like his jaw was going to snap if he kept clenching it like that.

You murmured something he didn’t quite catch and Joel turned his head slightly just in time to see the short man kicking you in the ribs and your form lying on the wooden floor, spitting out blood…

“You think you’re so clever, huh? I swear to fucking god, if you pull something like that again…”

Joel didn’t even let the man finish.

In a split second he elbowed the man behind him, grabbing his hand holding the gun – the one they took from you – and shooting the blond standing over you. He fell backwards and the knife fell out of his grip. Taking out the guy Joel grappled with was embarrassingly easy, and once he had a good grip on the pistol belonging to you, he spun around to face the other thug with his gun, standing on the opposite side of the room.

The ragged man fired at him, but Joel didn’t even need to duck, for the bullet missed him by half a meter at least. The man was lying dead soon after, shot twice in the head, and the remaining three took out their weapons, ready for a fight.

None of them reached for Joel’s rifle, lying under their friend’s corpse.

“That’s even better,” he murmured to himself, unloading the gun and throwing it against the far wall.

If looks could kill, they’d already be lying on the ground and writhing in agony. But Joel was more than happy to do it himself. And with his bare hands.

He strode with confidence to the nearest man who swung a machete at him. Joel avoided the attack and pushed him back, quickly darting to the side and decking the other man coming at him.

A sharp pain ripped through his body from the back of his arm when the third thug cut through his clothes. Joel blocked the second strike and twisted the opponent's arm, applying so much pressure that the bone in the forearm snapped and the man’s scream pierced the air.

He lurched back to dodge the machete aimed at his neck and picked up a knife dropped by the previous guy. He surged forward, driving the blade into the thigh of his current attacker, which made the other man lose his balance. Their friend, the last one still unharmed, managed to punch Joel’s jaw, making something crack and reverberate inside his skull, but he only wiped the blood from his face.

When the last thug came closer, Joel used his own momentum and grabbed the back of his skull, bringing the guy's face down onto his own knee. After that his movements were practically automatic when he grabbed the dazed man from behind and broke his neck in a swift motion.

Breathing heavily, he made his way to the first man he knocked out and took your gun from, picking up the machete en route. That son of a bitch wasn’t even conscious, but it didn’t stop Joel from bringing the weapon down and through his head.

The next one was the bastard with the broken arm, but his screams quickly died away when he, too, received a deep and lethal wound from Joel – this time aimed at his chest, almost cutting it open.

Your yelp ripped through the roar of blood in his ears and Joel turned around just in time to see the blond he shot in the shoulder sitting on top of you, trying to stab you with his knife. You managed to dodge it and before that idiot could try again, Joel came up to you both, grabbed the man’s hair and all but threw him off of you and onto the floor.

The blond was still holding the weapon in his hand, but didn’t get another chance to use it – with all his strength Joel brought the heel of his heavy boot down on the injured man's fingers. The man screamed when the satisfying crunch of the bones in his hand breaking echoed throughout the room and Joel couldn't hide a smirk.

He deserved it. All of them deserved it.

He again saw before his eyes the way this motherfucker kicked you and how his friend threatened to cut your throat. Again he saw red.

“You piece of shit,” Joel whispered, still blinded by rage, and gave the man a taste of his own medicine by kicking him in the stomach as hard as he could. The bastard coughed and yelled in pain but it wasn’t enough.

Joel’s focus was sharp and clear when he stood over the battered and bleeding man, staring down at him with hatred. He thought the blond tried to say something – his lips were certainly moving – but he didn’t concern himself with any begging or threats the thug had to offer. Instead he gripped the front of his sweater and punched him in the jaw, letting the limp body fall to the floor and relishing in the sounds of his curses, his grunts of pain, his blood dripping onto the floor…

Not enough.

Joel did that several more times – grabbing the idiot’s clothes, hair, whatever – to pull him up and hit him in the jaw, temple, nose and wherever else his fist landed. The face of the man was bloodied and he was barely conscious at this point and still all Joel could see was the look of sadistic glee on this man's face after finding an excuse to hurt you.

Joel didn’t have much strength anymore, but he ignored the biting pain from the cut on his arm and the raw wounds on his bloody knuckles, and straddled the lying man. The survival instinct must've kicked in and the blond started to tussle, reaching with his not-broken fingers to Joel’s face, scratching his brow and cheek.

And just like the glee he saw in the thug’s eyes earlier, Joel was more than happy that he gave him an excuse – and an idea – how to hurt him more.

“I saw how you looked at her,” he said in a low tone to the unlucky man, holding his left arm in place with his knee and pressing his own thumb to that fucker's swollen eye. “You like hearin’ people screamin’ in pain? Because I just know this is going to bring me great joy.”

Blood was flowing from under Joel’s finger and down his hand when he gouged the blond’s eye out and the man was shrieking. He was writhing and struggling under Joel's weight, and his voice became guttural and hoarse soon after when the dark blood started to flood his mouth. Joel pulled his hand away, panting heavily, and soaked in the suffering of that bastard whose face now resembled a smashed, bloody goo.

Not enough.

It was unfortunate that the blond was the only one left Joel could take it out on, but he couldn’t find any compassion in himself at the moment. So he punched him again, staining the floor with the scumbug's blood.

And again.

And again.

And again.

“Joel.”

Joel turned around sharply, grasping the thug’s knife. He could still feel rage churning inside of him and he was breathing heavily, trying to contain the fury filling him without screaming out loud. His hands were covered in blood – not his – and he subconsciously knew that the man lying motionlessly under him was long since dead, his face completely destroyed, but he wished that son of a bitch was still alive so that he could feel the suffering Joel longed to inflict upon him.

Everything because he hurt you.

You…

The ringing in his ears stopped suddenly and the knife fell out of his hand when he ran up to where you were still lying on the floor. You were curled up on your side with your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach and your face twisted in pain.

Joel’s breathing got quicker, now for an entirely different reason, when he noticed that the cut on your neck was bigger than he originally thought, and still bleeding. Your face was bruised and he knew your whole torso will probably turn green and purple soon, too.

“Oh, babygirl,” he whispered tenderly, his trembling hands hovering above your body, but not touching it. “It’s…” It’s alright, he wanted to say. Or maybe, where does it hurt the most?

He had trouble finding his voice, though. In his fury he completely forgot that you were still here and in need of his help.

You took a deep breath and turned your head ever so slightly to look at him in the corner of your eye. A sad smile appeared on your face.

“Hi, Joel.”

Joel breathed in. Out. In again.

For fuck’s sake, what was he thinking?

He quickly wiped the blood of the people he killed on his pants and cursed at himself mentally.

“Hi, darlin’,” he murmured in response, focusing back on you. “You’re gonna be alright. How are you feeling?”

“I think I might have a broken rib or two,” you breathed while Joel pulled out a clean piece of cloth he carried in his jacket for cases like this one and pressed it against the cut on the side of your neck. You winced and he felt a pang of pain in his own chest.

“Can I check?”

You let go of your stomach with a strangled gasp. Joel started to gently feel your torso, trying to discern if he could feel any broken bones or signs of internal bleeding. He kept his touch as delicate as he could, not wanting to hurt you even more, or worse – scare you.

He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, though, no matter how much he tried to calm his breathing. He wished he could hold you as securely as he held his gun, with a quiet heart and sharp focus, but the fear of accidentally hurting you made his fingertips recoil at times.

Although you two knew each other for years now, you were never a witness to this cruel side of him. You knew about it, of course, of horrible things he’s done before he got to Boston and met you. A couple of times you even saw with your own eyes snippets of these primary emotions of fear or anger overtaking Joel’s mind and body.

But never like that. Never with such ferocity, hatred and satisfaction from hurting those who did the same to you.

He just really didn’t want you to be afraid of him. You were so precious to him and often he thought those brutal hands of his, which he knew were guilty of inflicting unimaginable pain and suffering, weren't worthy of touching someone who in his eyes was so delicate and pure.

But it never stopped you from seeking his touch, and although Joel could be stubborn and tough at times, he didn’t have it in himself to ever refuse you anything – even when he knew better.

That was always the case. His judgment and mind were clouded when it came to you.

“I don’t think anythin’ is broken,” he finally said in a quiet voice, cupping your cheek gingerly and turning your head to look at it better. “But the nose probably is. How did it happen?”

“They jumped out on me in the hallway,” you answered, not meeting his eyes while he gently touched the base of your nose. Then you looked to the window against which the still pouring rain was beating. “One of them punched me when I shouted for you. I thought you might have not heard me.”

“I heard you,” he murmured and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You came for me pretty quickly, so–”

“Not that. M’sorry you had to see… this.”

To that, you didn't say anything. Joel felt his heart clenching on itself and almost stopping from the wave of terror that washed over him.

His treacherous mind was rushing him to defend his actions or make excuses – because if he doesn’t, if it turns out you’re scared of him and the things he’s capable of…

You might leave him. And if you leave, Joel won’t survive that.

But he didn’t give in to those cruel thoughts and silenced the voice in his head.

“I’d do it again,” he said quietly, making you lift your head. “In a heartbeat. I’m really sorry you had to see that, darlin’, but I… just know I’d never hurt you. And if I can help it, no one else will either.”

“Hey.” Your knuckles brushed his cheek and you looked at him with sad eyes. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I know you did it to protect me.”

“I wanted them to suffer,” he continued as if you didn’t say anything, but at the same time he soaked in the feeling of your soft touch on his face. “I don’t know how much you saw–”

“Joel.” You sat up with a wince after interrupting him, and your gaze turned sharp. “Why are you telling me this?”

Even though the bloody, battered mess that he made of the blond man seemed to push itself into Joel’s field of vision, he refused to look away from you.

“‘Cause you need to know. I feel like I’d be lyin’ to you if I didn’t explain that it wasn’t an accident or a one-time thing,” he answered, his eyes flickering from your neck to your face, and down to his own stained hands. “Couldn’t think of anythin’ else after I saw you like that, on the ground and…”

“Listen to me.” You took his head firmly in your hands and your gaze was unwavering – like you wanted to make sure that your every word will reach the depths of his soul. “I’ll say it again: you don’t need to explain. I get why you did that. And don’t even think you’re gonna drive me away because of that.”

You knew him too well. Sometimes it was slightly annoying, sometimes even scary.

This time, however, it felt reassuring.

You looked to the side where the body of his last victim lay, and Joel grimaced, gently touching the edge of your jaw and tilting it back to him. “Don’t look,” he whispered, realizing with surprise, as well as a horrible lump in his throat, that he felt almost ashamed.

Your bright eyes met his again and he briefly wondered if your gaze always was so scrutinizing.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said sternly, like always knowing what was going on in his head. “I'm not, so stop thinking that.” You shook him by the arm a little and when he didn’t answer, the corner of your lips tugged upwards in a teasing manner. “I’ve seen you multiple times in the morning. I know you’re secretly a big softie.”

Joel really didn’t deserve this kind of kindness and understanding from you. That didn’t stop him from craving it, though.

He didn't say anything – just leaned in and kissed your cheek tenderly, lingering there for a moment but paying attention not to brush your nose. You exhaled and closed your eyes, your eyelashes tickling his skin, and he decided not to drag this conversation on any longer.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart. I’ll help you up.”

He stood up and held out his hand. It was rough and covered in blood, but even after you saw what he did to those men and heard their screams, you didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Joel,” you said gravely after standing up. There was no trace of your previous smile on your face. “If you were the one in danger, I’d do the same thing.”

You were looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer, and after a couple of seconds he nodded slightly. Apparently it was good enough for you, because you just squeezed his hand and tugged him after you and out of the room.

Joel didn’t know if he believed you.

But your words made him feel calmer and cleared his clouded mind nonetheless.

[ylangelegy]

as we are (teaser) ⚾ seungmin x reader.

★ baseball captain!seungmin x f!reader. ★ teaser word count: 3,000~ ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: university, alternate universe: varsity baseball captain!seungmin, alternate universe: political science major!seungmin. idiots in love, slow burn, friends to lovers, seungmin is emotionally constipated (and a red flag, if you squint). skz ensemble (dormmates + hyunjin and chan are on the baseball team). baseball references i am not 100% sure about. ★ footnotes: this is perhaps the skz fic i've done the most work on, though it's largely self-indulgent. i never thought it would see the light of day, but ksm's teaser for as we are featured him playing baseball and it has singlehandedly dragged me back to the possibility of finishing this. publishing the teaser for now in hopes of getting some motivation to put out the whole thing. enjoy!

As Seungmin's bat cracks against a pitched ball for the nth time that afternoon, he tries to think of anything but the bitterness in the back of his throat.

His feet are rigid and his shoulders are impossibly taut. He's clutching the grip of his bat a little too tight, but none of his teammates have the heart to call him out on it. They know their captain and they know better to question him when he's like this.

"Again," Seungmin says coolly, and the terse pitcher does as he's asked.

Thwack. The ball soars over the outfield. Seungmin tries to think, instead, of the essay he has to do for World Governance later, of what Jeongin might want to dinner. Anything but the fact you ditched him for some goddamn date or something.

A flicker of annoyance flashes across Seungmin's expression. "Again," he commands, and he hits the next ball so hard that the bat nearly flies out of his hands.

It's a litany of again, again, again until the pitcher misses his target completely. Seungmin's eyes narrow as he notices the way the pitcher is eyeing something over his shoulder. He turns to look at the bleachers.

When he catches sight of you, his already stoic face hardens into something stone cold. You had somehow snuck in undetected, and you were now lounging there like you hadn't told Seungmin some two hours ago that your weekly dinner had to be called off.

For a moment, Seungmin's grip on his bat tightens even further before he glances back at his pitcher. He shoots him a look before he walks over to the fence, stopping a few feet away from you.

"What are you doing here?" he snipes, his eyes flickering with irritation.

Without missing a beat, you reach for something that had been resting at your feet: An iced flat white with an extra shot of espresso. You hold it up for him to see as you stay in your seat.

It's his usual order, the same thing he got whenever we went out for coffee.

"Peace offering," you say simply, which is the closest to an apology that Seungmin will probably ever get from you.

Seungmin's expression remains taut, but the tension in his shoulders relaxes almost imperceptibly. He considers you for a few heartbeats, before his gaze slowly rises back to yours. His jaw clenches.

"You can't just give me coffee every time you want me to forgive you," he snipes, crossing his arms.

You don't falter, just keep holding out the coffee and waiting for him to take it. "That's why I switch it up. Sometimes, I get you croissants," you deadpan.

He eyes the coffee cup you're holding out to him, still refusing to take it. "You're insufferable," he mutters, but there's a hint of exasperated fondness in his voice.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you before Seungmin finally uncrosses his arms. He reaches out to take the coffee from you, fingers brushing against your own.

"What do you even want?" he grumbles, taking a sip.

"Can't a girl watch her best friend practice baseball?" you respond, the hint of a smile on your lips.

One of the teammates playing third base wolf-whistles in the background and earns himself a quick smack upside the head. Seungmin shoots a glower at them but says nothing, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Yeah? You here to cheer me on?" he asks you dryly, raising an eyebrow.

You prop your arms over the chairs next to your and cross your legs— a clear sign that you're not going anywhere any time soon. "Something like that," you say without missing a beat. "I'm a big fan of uniform number twenty-two."

As much as he tries to remain aloof and unaffected by your presence, Seungmin's cheek tinge with a hint of pink at your comment.

He tries to cover it up with a scoff, but the blush betrays him. "I know you are," he mutters, before clearing his throat and taking another gulp of his coffee. "You can watch, but don't distract me."

You finally let a bit of a smile slip through, like you're relieved that you're not being hauled out of the stadium.

"Kncok 'em dead, captain," you call after Seungmin's retreating back, drawing snickers among his teammates.

"Shut up!" Seungmin barks at the boys, but the blush on the back of his neck betrays his words. He takes a brief moment to glare at them all before he regains his composure.

With a short sigh, he steps back up onto home plate, and the other players on the field get ready. The pitcher nods at Seungmin, and the captain raises his bat, taking a moment to look up at the bleachers.

His eyes catch on your seated figure, and his chest clenches just a little. He turns away before he can think too hard about it.

As practice winds to a close, one of Seungmin's teammates and roommates— Chan— jogs up to you.

"Hey, angel," he greets, the lilt of a tease already on his tongue. "You have any coffee for me, too?"

Chan grins, unperturbed by the eye roll you give him. He props his arms on the railing and looks up at you with an expression that's far too innocent.

He casts a glance towards Seungmin, who's still on the field, having a word with the pitcher who had been throwing balls for him. "So, what did you to piss off the captain this time?" Chan asks nonchalantly, his smile widening as he catches sight of the hoodie you're wearing. Seungmin's hoodie.

"Ditched him for a tutoring session," you answer.

"Ow!" Chan places a hand to his chest in a show of faux horror. "Don't you know how many girls would kill for a date with the Kim Seungmin?"

You rest your forearms against your thighs as you lean forward to keep watch of Seungmin. "Mhm," you hum. "And here I am, breaking his heart."

Chan gives you a knowing look before he lets out a bark of laughter.

He glances back towards Seungmin, who's still chatting with the pitcher— or more likely, giving him a thorough lecturing on the state of his fastball.

"He's been in a pissy mood all day," Chan says with a slight shrug. "We all thought he was about to blow a fuse, until—" He gestures vaguely, his eyes still drawn to the way you're wearing Seungmin's clothes.

"The hoodie is part of the three-step plan," you say wryly. "Seungmin has a thing for seeing me in his clothes."

Chan lets out an unceremonious snort of laughter. "Gee, I wonder why."

You retort by pointedly asking, "Don't you have to throw some balls or something? Better get out of here before your captain decides to make you his next target."

Chan rolls his eyes at your taunt, but he knows it's true.

As if on cue, Seungmin suddenly turns around, and his eyes land on the sight of you and Chan in the bleachers. His jaw clenches, and he immediately begins to stalk towards the two of you.

Chan lets out a low whistle, raising his hands up in defense as Seungmin draws closer. "Hey, hey, I'm going, I'm going—"

Chan is gone before Seungmin can even open his mouth at him, and Seungmin gives you a baleful glare.

"What was Chan saying to you?" he asks coolly, arms crossed as he stands over you. He's sweaty from practice, and his body is tense with irritation.

"We were discussing how much of an absolute ray of sunshine you are," you say dryly.

Chan, from a couple of feet away, hollers, "Do not listen to her, Min!"

Seungmin scowls over at Chan's direction. Chan grins deviously, while Seungmin's features sour even further.

"Insufferable," he mutters under his breath before he turns back to you.

He crosses his arms, his eyes flickering down to the hoodie you're wearing. "That's mine," he says curtly, factually.

You tug the sleeves over your wrists, as if to say, Oh, this little ol' thing? The hoodie was one of Seungmin's older ones. An oversized piece featuring cover art of his favorite band, DAY6.

"You forgot it at my apartment last weekend. When you helped me fix the IKEA shelf," you remind him. "Want it back?"

Seungmin's expression falters for a moment as you tug at the sleeves. The sight of you in his hoodie makes his heart stutter briefly.

He hesitates, momentarily thrown off-balance, but he quickly composes himself and shakes his head. "Yes. I want it back. Immediately."

You let out a small tch of disapproval, but you're in no position to argue. You reach one hand to the back of the hoodie and pull it over your head in one deft movement. Your cropped top underneath rises ever so slightly.

"Here ya go," you say, holding out the hoodie over the railing.

A muscle in Seungmin's jaw ticks as his eyes are drawn to a sliver of exposed skin at your mid-riff, before shooting back up to your face, where his gaze hardens.

He scowls at you— mostly in an attempt to distract himself from the fact that he's suddenly become extremely flustered— and snatches the hoodie from your hands.

"Put a shirt on," he snaps, averting his eyes. "You're distracting."

Distracting me, he neglects to add, but you both know that's what he's thinking.

"I am wearing a shirt," you sigh, leaning back into your seat. The top leaves most of your midriff exposed. "And I was also wearing your hoodie, but it is what it is, I s'pose."

In the grand scheme of things, the amount of skin that the top exposes is a minuscule amount.

But as your best friend and as a guy with eyes, Seungmin knows it's the most dangerous part of your outfit. He tries to look anywhere but the slice of exposed skin, but it's a damn near impossible task.

"Wear something that covers that damn midriff," he grumbles.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and say slowly, as if explaining to a child, "I don't have any other clothes, Kim."

"You couldn't have been bothered to find something less..." He waves one hand in the general direction of your midriff. "Exposed?"

He's aware of how hypocritical he sounds. You, out of everyone in the entire world, have seen him in the bare minimum of clothing. But, in his head, it's different when you walk around in a revealing top. It's not decent, he argues in his head. It's not proper.

More importantly, it's driving him insane.

For some odd reason, he wants no one else looking at you.

"Jesus Christ," you huff.

Seungmin is impossible, pedantic, and stubborn. There are days when you can’t believe you’ve managed not to strangle each other over the last three years.

You shove out your hand, your gaze as cold as steel. "Just loan me the damn hoodie again."

"You—" His jaw clenches. "Fine. Take it. But this is the last time, ever."

He thrusts the hoodie back towards you, and his fingers curl into fists, so as to prevent himself from reaching for you instead.

"It has been the last time ever for three years now," you grumble as you easily slide back into the hoodie. Once it's back in place, you chirp, "Happy?"

Seungmin scoffs, but he doesn't answer.

He looks absolutely livid, but he's more angry at how much he likes you in his hoodie. The image of you in it will be stuck in his mind for days to come, he's sure.

He gives a frustrated huff as he runs a hand through his damp hair, trying— and failing— to quell the swarm of thoughts in his mind. "Yeah," he says gruffly. "Happy."

A beat. And then, you sigh, "Go terrorize your team. I'm taking you out for dinner after."

"What?" he says, incredulous. He knows you well enough to know you're not joking, but he thinks he must be hallucinating. "You— You are?"

It seems impossible that you'd want to spend more time with him, after he's been so moody.

A corner of your lip twitches upward, mimicking the not-quite-a-smirk on Seungmin's face. You retaliate with, "Because I can't just get you coffee every time I want you to forgive me."

That statement alone has Seungmin's smirk spreading into a slow, lazy grin. He folds his arms and tips his head to the side, leaning one hip against the railing.

"So you're bribing me," he says, one eyebrow arched upward. "With food."

"Would you rather I cause a scene?" you prompt. "I can get on my knees. Say the word."

The image of you on your knees before him sends a dangerous shiver down his spine, and Seungmin tightens his arms across his chest. He knows damn well that you'd do it in a heartbeat.

"You wouldn't," he says, his voice a low rasp. He's not sure who he's trying to convince at this point.

You lean forward until your arms dangle over the railing. You press your cheek against your forearm, looking almost like a stretching cat, as you stare straight up at Seungmin. "Try me."

His gaze drifts to the smooth expanse of your bare arms, and in his mind, he's all too aware of just how easy it would be to simply lean over and—

His train of thoughts comes to a screeching halt, and he forcibly drags his gaze back up onto your face. No, he chides himself. Not a wise idea.

The look in your eyes tells him that you know exactly what you're doing to him. He swallows and croaks, "You play dirty."

You break into a proper grin. "And you're not playing at all, captain."

You give a vague gesture to his team, who are all mostly milling about and slacking off in his absence. "Go whip them into shape so we can have dinner sooner."

Seungmin wants to make a snide comment about you giving him orders, but the thought of dinner is enough to have him scowling once more.

He spares a brief glance back at his team, before his gaze snaps back to you. "Fine," he says, narrowing his eyes. "Don't go anywhere."

He pushes away from the railing and heads off reluctantly towards his teammates, making it all too clear that he'd much rather stay and continue bickering with you.

When practice finally, finally ends, Chan bounds up to you, having narrowly escaped the captain's wrath.

"I could kiss you," he announces a little too loudly. "Goddamn miracle worker."

You let out a small 'tch' of disapproval. "You're going to get yourself killed," you sigh, because, of course, Seungmin overheard and is also on his way back.

Seungmin glares at Chan as he approaches, his annoyance returning in full force, but he makes sure to keep a healthy distance away from the other boy.

Chan grins unabashedly at Seungmin. "C'mon, Min, even you have to admit that—"

The look on Seungmin's face makes Chan pause, his smile faltering as he takes a cautious step backwards. Seungmin looks like he'd rather throw Chan off the bleachers than listen to anything he had to say right now.

"Why don't you head home, Chan?" Seungmin says tersely.

Chan's eyes widen, and he raises his hands up in surrender, immediately taking this as his cue to exit.

The second he's out of sight, Seungmin looks back towards you. He's still visibly irritated, and the way he clenches his hands by his sides tells you exactly how happy he is at the moment.

You give Chan a lazy wave as he scurries away. You can feel Seungmin's gaze on the side of your face, but you're careful not to look at him just yet.

Instead, you keep your gaze trained on the baseball pitch, where half the team is trying not to pay attention to you.

"Not that I'm interested in Bang," you drawl. "But you make it impossible for any other guy to approach me. You know that, right?"

A muscle in Seungmin's jaw ticks at the mention of another boy potentially having an interest in you.

The sight of you in his hoodie has riled up those feelings— the possessive, protective ones that tell him to keep you close, to not even let anyone look at you the wrong way.

"I think of it more as a public service," he says through gritted teeth. "You shouldn't be dating anyone, anyway."

Seungmin registers the brief flicker of hurt on your face, and he almost flinches.

He doesn't know why he said that, only that the mere thought of you dating someone fills him with irrational anger, which makes no damn sense because you weren't his to begin with.

"Go take your damn shower already," you grumble, already properly acquainted with Seungmin's post-practice routines. "And while you're there, think of what you want for dinner."

At your grumpy tone, he feels a pang of guilt, but he's quick to shove that feeling aside. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it even further. "Fine. See you in ten."

Seungmin heads off to the locker rooms with his bag slung over his shoulder.

By the time he's finished with his shower, he's managed to shove all the guilt and anger and frustration deep down in the confines of his mind.

He doesn't want to sour the mood right before a date— wait, no, it wasn't a date, it was just dinner, right?

He runs a frustrated hand through his still-damp hair as he enters the lobby, his eyes automatically seeking you.

He finds you in your usual spot, leaning against a wall and scrolling through your phone, and the sight in front of him almost has his breath catching in his chest.

For a split second, he almost wonders if it's a vision of his future— of you waiting for him after every game, of you in his hoodie as he walks towards you— but he shakes the thought from his head.

He's not sure he's allowed to have that future.

[astrophileous]

The Monday Pursuit

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: The three times Derek tries to find out your name, and the one time he finally gets it. Or, the story of four different Mondays that Derek spends on the pursuit of your name.

Warning(s): shy!reader, cursing, public confrontation (verbal and physical) with a douchebag, verbal and physical threats, talks of killing someone, name-calling, protective derek, a bit of damsel in distress situation, and that's it really. this is just tooth-rotting fluff 💞

Word Count: 4300-ish

Author's Note: I FINALLY POSTED A DEREK ONE SHOT! YAY! I was toying around with the idea of making this a series of connected one shots, each one focusing on the significance of a particular day (tuesday, wednesday, thursday, etc) in the progress of your relationship. does that sound like something you guys would be interested in? tell me what you think! plsss!!! don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Derek noticed you on a Monday.

He couldn't count how many times his eyes had swept over you absentmindedly in the past few weeks. None of them ever lasted long enough for him to linger around, but somehow, this particular Monday was different.

It was different because the moment Derek's gaze drifted towards the direction where he would usually find you, he finally noticed that you were gone.

It was ironic in a way, how he only noticed you in the wake of your absence. But somewhere in the ruckus that his favorite coffee shop would whirl into every morning, Derek had begun associating the table in the corner of that place with you.

Even then, when someone else was occupying the seat at the end of his long stare, Derek could picture the scene in his head: your laptop on the table, a cup of steaming hot coffee in your hand, and a serious but adorable crease on the center of your forehead. Those three things stood out from the rest. Perhaps if he had the same eidietic ability as Spender Reid, Derek could list more details about your habits and person. Nonetheless, somewhere in his subsconscious, Derek's memories must have deemed you important enough to keep, and that was all it took for him to wonder what about you was so goddamn special.

His fog of reverie was soon broken by an interrupting voice, "She's out of town."

Derek turned his head to see one of the barristas giving him a sly smile. "Excuse me?"

"The writer. She's out of town."

"Writer?" Derek didn't know that. "She's a writer?"

"On the side. She's in grad school," the barrista said. "She has two books out and another one pending publication. She's in New York right now for a book signing."

The word impressive promptly filled Derek's mind, and judging by the barrista's expression, it seemed that the word had translated unmistakably on his face, too.

"You know, you shouldn't give out someone's information to random people like that," Derek warned.

"I don't usually, but I thought, since you're FBI..."

The surprise in Derek's eyes couldn't be more palpable. "How'd you know?"

"Dude, you've been around a while." The barrista shrugged. "Besides, I don't think she would mind."

Derek frowned.

"She likes you," the barrista revealed once they saw the confusion settling on Derek's face.

"What?"

"She's got a bad crush on you, didn't you know?"

"Uh, no?"

"Huh." The barrista put down the cup containing Derek's order on the counter. "I thought you knew. She was so obvious. I mean, I'm not sure how she hasn't burned through the back of your skull with how hard she always stares."

Flabbergasted couldn't even begin to describe what Derek was feeling. His curious eyes flicked momentarily towards your table before he addressed the barrista again, "She's a friend of yours?"

"Hell yeah, she is." The barrista smiled. "That's why I know she's got it bad for you."

Being admired wasn't exactly something new for Derek, so he struggled to comprehend why the thought of you crushing on him had triggered a wave of heat to travel up and down his body.

"What's her name?" Derek asked, trying to sound casual and nonchalant as he picked up his cup of coffee.

The barrista grinned smugly. "I thought you told me not to give someone's information to a random person like that?"

With that said, the barrista went to attend to another customer, leaving Derek to curse over his excellent ability to dig up his own hole.

You were back in town the following week.

When Derek walked into the coffee shop the next Monday, he immediately found you huddled up in your usual seat. For one split second, Derek saw you looking up from your laptop, your eyes locking with his from across the room. But before he could offer a smile, you averted your gaze as if you couldn't wait to get away from him.

That thought didn't conjure well in Derek's mind.

Derek proceeded to give his usual order and waited by the counter. However, when he saw a plate of blueberry muffin being placed next to his cup to go, Derek glimpsed up in confusion at the awaiting smirk on your friend's--the barrista's--face.

"I didn't order this."

"No, you didn't. But do you know whose favorite dessert it is?"

Derek casted a glance towards your direction.

"Exactly." The barrista grinned wider. "Now, go. It's on the house."

The loud drumming inside Derek's chest should have been laughable.

He was never like this. Derek was always self-assured, especially when it came to flirting and courting, so there really was no reason for him to be feeling like this. But something about you had spiked the rhytmic beating in his chest, and Derek didn't like being out of his element when there was a pretty girl at stake.

Thus, with an ease born out of years of practice, Derek worked to turn on his good ol' charm. The same one that dripped from his footsteps as he sauntered over your table with his coffee in one hand and one special plate of blueberry muffin in the other.

Deer caught in headlights; that was exactly the perfect description to visualize how you looked when Derek finally placed the muffin on the table. The man smirked triumphantly at the knowledge that he affected you just as much as you affected him.

"Hey," Derek greeted almost complacently. "I heard this is your favorite."

"What? I don't.... how did you..."

You stopped speaking altogether, sending a grimace to the direction of the counter--where your friend was working--when you deduced what could probably have transpired

"I missed you last week," Derek added.

If you were abashed before, then you must have been mortified when those words slipped out of Derek's lips. You looked up at him with a gaping mouth, and Derek would have laughed at how precious you looked if he didn't have compassion for your poor nerves.

"I was out of town," you eventually managed to say.

"I heard. A writer, right? You had a book signing." Derek smiled. "That's impressive. Anything of yours I might know?"

Your face contorted after hearing his question. "I doubt it. I'm not big at all."

"I don't know. Book signing in New York? Sounds pretty big to me."

"Not as much as you would expect, to be honest."

Derek didn't know why, but he despised the sound of you downplaying your own accomplishments as if they weren't worthy of being praised. He swore he would assist in changing that tendency if given the chance.

"My name is Derek. Derek Morgan."

"I know."

Derek raised a curious eyebrow.

You cowered shyly when you realized what you had admitted. "I heard you mention it a while ago, when you were ordering."

"And you remember?"

Your bashful expression nearly compelled Derek to cheer out loud.

"Do you need something?" you finally asked, not at all mean or bitter, more timid than anything else.

"Yes. I was wondering if I could ask for your name."

"My name?

Derek nodded. "Well, you see, I wanted to ask for your number, but I figured since I still don't have your name yet, then maybe I should get around to it first."

You bit your bottom lip, seemingly in deep thought as you assessed Derek with soft eyes.

"My name is--"

Just as the answer was dangling on the tip of your tongue, Derek's phone suddenly started to ring. He internally cursed his life for its partiality to bad timings, holding up an apologetic finger as he accepted the call without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hey, beefcake, where are you?" Penelope Garcia asked from the other end of the line. "Hotch just told everyone to be up and running in 30."

"What? I thought the briefing starts in 30."

"He's debriefing on the plane. Another body just turned up."

"Shit. Shit. Okay, fine, I'll be there."

Derek ended the call in the next second, panic clouding his mind to the point that he failed to realize he didn't bid his usual farewell to his favorite tech analyst. In front of him, you were staring with a pair of expectant eyes that made Derek wish he could stop time to spend it by your side. Alas, such power only existed in fantasy, and Derek--frankly--didn't have enough time at hand to pay grievance over that fact.

"I'm sorry."

Your face fell at Derek's apology, even if slightly.

"God, this sucks. I wish I could stay. I haven't even--"

"Derek, it's okay," you cut him off. "Just go."

"But you didn't--"

"Derek." Your hand on the table slid forward, as though wanting to reach out to him but stopped shortly before you did. "I'm always here."

It was such a simple statement. Three small words that carried hardly any weight on their own whatsoever. But strung together, Derek knew exactly what you meant, the real meaning behind the sentence you chose to say.

You can go. It's okay. We'll continue this some other time.

Reeling from your generous understanding, Derek rushed a goodbye before sprinting towards the door. But just as he was about to touch its handle, he span around for one last look, calling out a sentence that he had pocketed safely as a promise.

"I'll see you soon."

Since Derek's last encounter with you at the coffee shop, the BAU had been thrown from one case to another in the span of two weeks, during which Derek seemed to struggle eliminating the thought of you from the depth of his mind.

When a new Monday rolled around, Derek found himself whistling to a favorite tune as he took the morning route towards the coffee shop. The day was a gloomy one, gray and cloudy with a high chance of rain, contrasting entirely with the sunshine inside Derek's chest. In a few minutes, he would finally see you again, and Derek couldn't wait to woo you into agreeing on a date with him as his palm pressed on the door of the coffee shop.

Unfortunately, Derek's movements ceased the moment he stepped into the familiar establishment.

The atmosphere in the coffee shop struck no resemblance to what Derek had associated with the place: warm, safe, and welcoming. Instead, the taste of tension was hot on his tongue, sizzling under the thick silence that had rendered the entire room into a standstill.

In the middle of it all, just a few paces from where the front door stood, Derek had found you.

You were standing with your head down, which wasn't a strange sight considering that you often did that to avoid unwanted attention. But Derek never saw your lips quiver that way before, nor did he ever see your eyes blown so out of proportion in a telltale sign of fright.

Upon a further inspection of the room, Derek realized that he wasn't the only one whose eyes were trained on you. Every patron in the shop, including every worker behind the counter, was staring openly in your direction as well. He was a milisecond away from taking another step when the man in front of you started to scream out of the blue.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Are you fucking stupid?!"

The malicious words didn't sit well with the vituous bone in Derek's body. But it was seeing you flinch from the verbal onslaught that finally made Derek dash forward, putting himself as a shield between you and the insolent stranger.

"That's enough," Derek said as he tugged you behind his back.

The stranger looked up at Derek with an ugly scowl on his face. "Who the hell are you?!"

"If you have a problem, let's take this outsi--"

"I don't have a problem with you, dickhead. I have a problem with her!" Derek extended to his full height instinctively, trying to hide you from the brazen man. "Now, move. This is none of your fucking business!"

"It became my business the second you chose to disrupt everyone's morning," Derek countered. "Why don't you tell me what's going on here?"

"Why don't you ask your bitch, huh? She fucking started all of this."

"Fucking bastard."

Red clouded Derek's vision when he clenched the man's collar in his hand. All around him, the crowd erupted in a chorus of gasps. Satisfaction filled Derek's chest when he glimpsed the hint of fear in the man's eyes.

"I dare you to say one more word about her," Derek seethed. "I dare you."

"Derek." He felt your fingers then, twisting around a portion of his shirt, pulling desperately until Derek loosened his grip on the other man. "Please."

The douchebag stumbled dramatically when Derek finally discarded him to the side.

Derek span around, looking directly into your eyes for the first time that morning. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Instead of answering his question, you pushed past a frowning Derek, addressing the horrible man whose face was now crimson; either from rage or embarrassment, Derek didn't know. He didn't care.

"I'm sorry, sir." Your voice vibrated in the air. It wavered with a clear sign of tears. "I didn't... I wasn't thinking. I've caused you trouble. I'm sorry. And I apologize to everyone for ruining your day."

With that, you turned around and picked up your belongings that were scattered on the floor before dashing straight out of the door. Derek stared at your back until it disappeared from view.

"You better tell me what the fuck happened here," Derek fumed towards the man.

"You heard her. She fucked up, that's what happened."

"That's not true." A new voice arose. Derek turned his head to see your barrista friend standing behind the counter, their eyes flaming with anger.

"The poor girl spilled her coffee," another voice interjected. It belonged to an old lady who was standing at the very front of the line. "She didn't mean to, but it got all over his things. Then he just started screaming all kinds of stuff to her."

Derek closed his eyes before reopening them again, shooting daggers towards the man. "You're pulling this crap over a spilled fucking coffee?!"

The other man began to stutter. "She ruined important documents!"

"It wasn't even her fault," the barrista added. "He was too busy being on his phone to watch where he was going."

That last piece of information was the last straw for Derek.

He used his forearm to push the douchebag by the throat, slamming his back against the wall until the man gasped for air.

"You will never step foot in here again, do you hear me?" Derek pressed his elbow deeper into the man, stopping only when he started to nod frantically. "You don't come near this place, ever again. But most importantly, you don't come near her. I'm gonna fucking kill you if you do."

Derek let him go afterwards, ignoring the series of coughs that the man had fallen into while he marched towards the door.

"Don't even think for a minute that I'm gonna let this go!" the man shouted just as Derek was about to exit the coffee shop. "I'll be notifying the authorities about what happened here today. You'll see!"

The scoff Derek let out couldn't be more condescending. "Yeah, you do that. And when you do, tell them--" Derek reached into his pocket, pulling out his credentials before flashing it towards the man, "--the name's Agent Derek Morgan. FBI."

He slammed the door behind him.

Once outside, Derek's eyes darted around to find any trace of you in the midst of the morning rush hour. Eventually, he spotted the back of your head, walking away about a few feet ahead of him. Derek broke into a sprint almost immediately, squeezing himself in between the ocean of people, trying to catch up with you before realizing that he most like wouldn't be able to.

Just as he watched you turning a corner, Derek mourned the fact that he couldn't call out to you because he still didn't know your name.

It was the second Monday that Derek didn't see you anywhere in, or near, the coffee shop.

In total, it had been two whole weeks without you showing your face at the place, not even once. Your barrista friend was as clueless about your whereabouts as Derek was. He even had started coming into the shop at odd hours during the day, or whenever his schedule would allow him to, sometimes lingering for a few minutes in the morning just in case he would catch you walking through those doors.

You never did.

In a moment fueled by something akin to desperation, Derek found himself marching towards the office of Penelope Garcia. If there was anyone who could find you--who you were, where you were, and everything else about you--it was going to be the team's tech genius.

The tech analyst wasn't in the room when Derek entered, and as he found himself standing there--alone in the silence--Derek was confronted by how ridiculous he was being.

He couldn't understand why he was acting like this. Why the thought of never seeing you again managed to lure him into considering a breach of privacy. Derek had barely even talked to you, yet whatever brief interaction the two of you had so far was enough to affect him in ways that shouldn't be possible.

Derek decided to turn around and vacant the room before anyone could catch him lingering there like an idiot, but his steps fell short when he saw Penelope standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here, Sugar?" Penelope questioned, her eyes squinting into a suspicion-filled look.

"Looking for you, of course," Derek lied.

"Derek Morgan, I didn't spend years working with the best profilers in the country to not be able to tell when someone is lying." Penelope walked towards her chair, making sure that she was settled comfortably before swiveling around to face Derek again. "Talk to me."

"Babygirl, there's nothing to talk about."

"Oh my God. It's about a girl."

How the fuck does she do that?

"Derek, you tell me right now every single thing about this lovely creature who has captured your heart, and I meant every single thing. What's her name? What does she do? Where did you guys meet? You guys are official, right? Because if not, then--"

"Okay, Blondie, pump your brakes," Derek interfered before Penelope could vomit the entire content of the Oxford dictionary. "There's no girl."

Penelope frowned. "There isn't?"

"No."

"But you want it to be?"

Derek couldn't give her an answer.

"Mister, you tell me what's going on right now, and don't leave out any details."

So, that was exactly what Derek ended up doing.

He told Penelope about you; about the little snippets of yourself that had infiltrated Derek's subsconscious without him even realizing it, about your first proper interraction where your smile looked more appetizing than the blueberry muffin he had put on the table, and about the incident that marked his last ever encounter with you.

By the time he wrapped the story up, Penelope's face was a heap of reactions.

"You know," the tech analyst finally said, "I can probably find her for you."

"I told you I don't want that, Sweetness."

"But why?!" Penelope nearly whined. "You like her, and her friend said she obviously likes you, too. What if you never see her again? Are you seriously just going to let your story end in what ifs?"

"Of course, I don't want that. But this is not how I want our story to start, too, if there is even gonna be one." Derek gripped Penelope's shoulder, squeezing affectionately. "Thanks for the offer, Babygirl, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

For the rest of that day, Derek threw himself into work in order to keep his head preoccupied with something else other than the images of you.

In a few hours, he had successfully completed all of the pending case reports that were piling on his desk. A quick glance at the clock told Derek that he still had another three hours before he was supposed to go home. Sighing, Derek got up from his desk and walked towards the pantry.

"It's been four hours," Derek heard Emily say as soon as he walked towards the kitchenette. "What are they doing there?"

"She could be a reporter. Maybe she's interviewing him," Spencer theorized.

"Who's interviewing who?" Derek asked.

He headed for the coffee maker only to realize that there was no coffee left. Derek cursed under his breath before he went to make a fresh batch.

"Rossi has a guest, and they've been in his office for four hours," Spencer explained.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Really? I didn't see anyone."

"She came in during lunch."

"Huh. A woman?"

Spencer nodded.

"Potential lover?" Derek asked again.

"I don't think so. She's young."

"Unless, he's that kind of guy." Emily smirked.

Spencer frowned. "What kind of guy?"

"I don't think Rossi's like that." Derek chuckled.

"Who is she, then?" Emily questioned.

"Is no one going to tell me what kind of guy Rossi is?" Spencer suddenly said.

"A student, perhaps? A fan? Who knows?" Derek shrugged. "Or maybe you were right. She's here to interview him."

"Oh! Here they come!" Emily exclaimed a few minutes later.

Derek turned to steal a glance at the guest that had captured his fellow teammates' interest. But just as he was about to catch a glimpse of her, Derek suddenly spilled hot coffee everywhere, flooding nearly half the counter until some of it dripped down the cabinets as well.

"Shit." Derek stared at the mess he had made in annoyance. "Fuck me."

"She's really pretty, though," Emily pointed out--no doubt about Rossi's guest--earning an agreeing hum from Spencer.

After he had cleaned up the spilled coffee, Derek ambled back towards the direction of his desk. As he was passing the glass doors to the bullpen, however, Derek saw Rossi standing in front of the elevator, waving towards the person who had just walked inside of it.

Someone who--as Derek realized with a particularly loud thump in his chest--turned out to be you.

Derek was barely able to place the steaming cup of coffee on a random desk before he made a run for the elevator. But just as he reached Rossi's side, the elevator's doors had closed, making you vanish once more from Derek's sight.

"Shit," Derek muttered. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Beside him, Rossi was staring in open confusion. "Morgan?"

Derek finally turned towards the older man. "The girl who was in the elevator. Who is she?"

Rossi's forehead creased. "Why?"

"Do you know her?"

"She's a fellow crime writer. She was here for a consultation," Rossi answered. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

"Her name. What's her name?"

"What the hell is going on, Morgan?"

"Rossi, come on, man," Derek sounded desperate, but he didn't care. "I just need her name."

Derek barely succeeded in mumbling a quick thank you to Rossi for giving him your name before he rushed straight to the emergency stairs. The entire run down to the lobby was a blur in Derek's eyes. The only focus in his mind was about getting to you.

Once he was outside of the headquarters building, Derek saw you walking a few paces ahead of him in the direction of the parking lot. He shouted your name with all of his might, seeing you stop and turn your body around from the distance, and soon enough, he had managed to close it in a matter of seconds.

Derek was a mess of panting breaths and drumming heartbeats when he finally stood in front of you. The look you gave him spoke of surprise and bewilderment, and Derek relished in the feeling of being at the receiving end of your lovely gaze.

"Derek? What? What are you--"

"I work with Rossi," Derek stated simply.

Your eyebrows escalated in surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah. I saw you earlier with him," Derek continued. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Derek allowed his eyes to roam over your entire person, from the top of your head to the tip your toes. There was no malice in his stare as he did, just appreciation, and maybe a little bit of longing from not having seen you in such a long time.

"I haven't been to the coffee shop again. Not after--" you swallowed the lump in your throat. "I was embarrassed. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

"You got dragged into my mess. I owe you an apology."

"You owe me nothing. Okay? What happened wasn't your fault. That man was just an asshole," Derek told you truthfully. "You don't have to be worried about him anymore. He's never coming back."

His last statement caused you to lift your head up so fast, Derek was scared you were going to have a whiplash.

"Nothing happened, sweetheart," he elaborated once he saw the panic in your eyes. "I just made sure to let him know that he wasn't welcome there anymore."

The breath you let out sounded eerily similar with relief.

"Thank you, Derek. For everything," you offered shyly. "Please tell me if there's anything I could do to make it up to you."

That last sentence you uttered prompted a wide grin across Derek's face. "Actually, there may be something."

Derek took a step closer towards you then, noting the way your shoulders tensed up from his proximity. His own senses were overcome by everything about you; from the slight parting of your lips, the steady rise and fall of your chest that seemed to be growing more rapid in Derek's presence, and to the sweet plus addictive smell of your perfume.

Taking his own deep breath, Derek forced the words--the same ones that he had been keeping deep inside of him--to tumble freely into the air.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#399

“Oh man, Fuck!...  Oh sorry you had to hear that call.  Didn’t mean to interrupt you enjoying your brew.  It’s just that my girlfriend makes me so fucking pissed off….  Get this, she knows I work 14 days straight busting my ass on that drilling rig.  I am about to head home for four days of rest.  That’s a 7-hour drive, each way.  So she tells me that her sister and mother are in town staying with us.  My days of relaxing are shot to shit.  And worse yet there’s no way I’m getting her pussy.  I probably won’t even get head.  Ain’t that shit?...

“Oh sorry.  I forget that I’m not with a dozen or so other roughnecks out in the field.  All they talk about is pussy.  Most of them don’t have a girlfriend, let alone a wife.  Hearing them go on and on about fucking and getting a blow job, I forget that other people might talk about something else.

“My god, I just wanted to get home and kick back with a beer and get some head.  You know the kind of blowjob that goes on for an hour and it relaxes your entire body.  That doesn’t even include blowing your wad.  You know what I’m talking about?

“Oh there I go again.  Sorry if I’m telling too much....  I do that when I start drinking.   Do you care if I talk about getting blown?...  Good.  Thought so.  What man doesn’t want head at the end of weeks of working damned hard? 

“…Here’s to blowjobs!  Cheers! 

“Hey Frank! Get my friend here another beer….  Nah!  Put your money away.  I got this. 

“So your car broke down?...  We are one of two taverns for twenty miles.  The other is by the interstate one mile away.  At this time of day it’s quite deserted.  We typically only get locals in here.  That is, unless you are having work done at Mike Larson’s garage.  There’s not that much out here, just the garage, Frank’s tavern, the lodge, and the oilfield’s main office over there across the creek.  Was I right?  Is it your car?

“…That was not a happy nod.  So, you’re here for tonight… Oh wait, the garage is closed for the weekend.  You are here until Monday?  …Again, that nod tells me everything.  Well to make matters worse, there are no available women for at least 50 or 60 miles.  This is what this hellhole has to offer. 

“I don’t know about you but it looks like it’s going to be an evening of pounding the pud.  And when I get done, I’ll use my other hand to make it feel like I’m getting a handjob from someone else.

“Goddamn my girlfriend fucked this all up.  I only had this weekend off, before I have to report back here to start filling in for a bud on Wednesday.  She thought that I would want to spend time with her fucking family.  Sometimes I wonder why I’m still with her.

“You have a wife or girlfriend?... 

“…Huh!  Well, sometimes I wish I was like you, single.  But sometimes I really need to get my balls drained.  She gives great head though.  She’s the only girlfriend I had who can take my head in her throat.  I have a big schlong, and every woman I dated complained about its size.  It takes her a long time to throat me.  Most of the time I get frustrated, and I wind up grabbing her head and fucking her mouth.  Eventually it ends in her throat.  She has never taken me down to the root.

“But I really have to be buzzed to get into skull fucking the bitch.  The part she really hates is me dick slapping her.  As I said, I have a gigantic dick.  Smacking her upside her head with my cock usually throws her off balance.  So does a face slap with my hand. 

“When I get in the zone, I am all kinds of aggressive.  I am only after one thing, to bust my nut.  If that means roughing up the bitch, then she’s going to get roughed up.  If I’m drunk enough, I’ll not only fuck her cunt, but she’ll take me in her ass.

“Right now, if she were here, I would be fucking her in every position in every hole.  I wouldn’t care if she was enjoying it.  I’m so fucking horny.  I would use any woman right now.  I can’t have a weekend of jerking off.  Hell, if there was a faggot, I would use him the same way. 

“And it’s a good thing that I have a faggot sitting not ten feet away from me, paying attention to every word I say, licking his lips every time I mention blowjobs, and responding with awkward silence when I asked if he had a bitch back home.  No straight man acts this way.

“I would ask you if you are a cock sucking faggot, but we both know the answer.  Don’t we?  So this is what is going to happen.  I’m going to walk over there, to the men’s toilet.  You want my fat hog in your faggot throat, you follow me in.  Don’t say a word.  Get on your faggot knees and open your faggot mouth. 

“I’ll give you until I drain my piss.  If you don’t come in at that time, then you better be out of here and hide in your room at the lodge.

“I really got to piss, so you don’t have much time….

“…Well fuck.  I would have thought you would have taken some time to think about it.  But OK.

“I really have to piss.  While I do that get in the stall and on your knees.  Be ready for me.  I swear, the beers just pour right through me.  Oh, this feels good—

“What the fuck?  I’m not done pissing….  Oh?  So, you are one of those kinds of faggots.  Nasty piss drinking faggot!  Oh fuck, your mouth feels good.  You are definitely getting a reaction out of my hog.  That’s it for my piss for now.

“Faggot, see how big it is?  You think you can take it?

“Jesus fuck!  Right to the root with no problem!  Holy shit.  You faggots know what you are doing.  Oh man.  This is… fuck!  Oh my god! 

“Bob up and down.  Go head-to-root-to-head-to-root.  Fuck!  This is the blowjob I have been looking for all my life.  Lucky me I found me a faggot with car problems.

“Pull off.  I said, ‘Pull off!’  Look up at me.  Hold still…. 

“…What?  Nothing?  I just gave you one of the hardest bitch slaps I have ever given and you just take it….  Wait, what did you just say?  Did you just thank me… for bitch slapping you?

“Get up.  Get your faggot-ty ass up.  Let’s go.  Move!

“We are going to my room at the lodge.  You are going to spend your night with me. 

“Pay Frank your tab and leave a good tip.  Meet me outside…  A fifty?  You know what a good tip is, that or you didn’t care to wait for him to give you change.

“OK faggot.  I have never used a fag before.  But damn, that one minute in the toilet told me I have been missing out. 

“Over here.  I’m the last room.  The lodge is free for us roughnecks.  The company pays for our housing.  My room is at the end.  It’s a glorified motel room.  I have tons of beer.  You won’t get any, at least not without it going through me first.  Never did that before, but fuck I liked it.

“I plan on being here for four days.  You are going to spend your time with me and my cock down your throat.  You probably take it up your ass.  I will definitely try that out.

“Now listen up.  I have no interest in you or your dick.  I ain’t sucking you or getting fucked by you.  You try anything like that, and I will beat the shit out of you.  Understand me?...  Understand me faggot?

“And keep up the ‘Yes Sir!’  I like the sound of that.  Here we are.  Faggot this is all new for me.  But I will tell you this, I am liking what has been done so far.  I’m so ready to do this.  My cock has not lost it’s hard on.  I may never go back.  Faggot get inside and strip!”