#( v. hell on heels. )

[spynorth]

tag drop to raise them from the dead before i go to work

[stellamarielu]

on the job

joel miller x female reader

summary: you and joel are forced to work together, but neither of you can get past the others stubborn attitude or contractor!joel and interior designer!reader fuck in a walk-in closet

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, pre outbreak!joel, he’s kind of a huge asshole sorry, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, slightly dubcon, fingering, use of nicknames such as princess sweetheart and good girl, finger sucking, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, sex against a wall, kinda public sex bc it’s on a job site?? pull out game strong with this one

author’s note: based on this lovely request. i made joel a little mean bc it felt right but at the end of the day he will forever be babygirl. also, i know very little about both of these professions so i apologize for any inaccuracies in that department

You liked to think that you were easy to work with, always polite and mindful— pleasant even.

You mostly kept to yourself, especially when you were working on a project alongside others, however, not everyone shared your cooperative mindset.

In fact, you had worked with a multitude of assholes. Men who thought they held some kind of power over you, who flourished under the opportunity to demean and mock your job like theirs was more important, but none of them even held a candle to Joel Miller.

Your paths crossed when you were hired by a pretentious, middle-aged woman in Austin to help design the interior of her new home— a home that was still under construction.

To make yourself familiar with the layout, you visited the site multiple times in the weeks before construction was scheduled to finish.

It was always an easy and uneventful trip. You greeted the workers, took a few pictures, wrote down some dimensions and then you were gone in twenty minutes tops; but that all changed the day you met Joel. 

You waltzed into the house, waving to one of the men you had come to know from your previous visits and then you heard it, a deep berating voice targeted directly at you.

“Who the hell are you and why are you on my site without a fuckin’ hard hat?”

You stopped in your tracks as you were met with an unknown face. 

“Uh sorry. I’m working on an interior design project for the Johnson’s. They told me I was welcome to come check out the space if I needed anything.” You didn’t know why, but your voice was coming out in compliance, the tone hushed. 

The way this man approached you was incredibly entitled and unabashedly rude.

Normally you wouldn’t let some asshole like this get within two feet of you, let alone talk to you like that; but this guy had you questioning your morals for a split second. He was tall, and broad, and handsome. The southern drawl slipping from the smug curl of his lips and the flex of his biceps as his arms crossed over his chest, had your words stuttering.

“Well, until my job is finished, and the Johnson’s have the keys to their front door, I call the shots. And I don’t do well with unexpected visitors walkin’ around while my guys are trying to get work done.”

Your mouth nearly hung open at his words.

You’d barely said a word to him and he was coming at you with a disgustingly brash and assertive attitude. What the hell was his deal?

“Okay...” The word was drawn-out as it fell from your lips in annoyance.

“Well, it’s kind of funny, because this is probably the fifth time I’ve been here, and none of your guys seem to give a rats ass, so how about you let me do my job and I’ll let you do yours.” 

Finally, you had gotten past the stranger’s criminally good looks and stuck to your guns.

There was no way in hell you were going to let him reprimand you for doing your job. Afterall, you had every right to be here. 

“Yeah well, my guys will let you do whatever you want when you’re prancin’ around here in tight little dresses and high heels. You think they’re just bein’ nice for the hell of it?” 

His irritation was masked by amusement as he looked you up and down, dramatically raking his eyes over your body. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just drop the attitude and keep things professional.” The quality of your voice was stern, juxtaposing the way his eyes on your body had you suddenly feeling a rush of heat throughout your chest.

Anger.

The warmth was an angry fervor, definitely not one of lust or temptation. It was a burning irritation for the man standing in front of you, not a curious warmth for how his eyes clung to every curve of your body, taking his time drinking in any exposed skin.

His smile widened as he watched you falter under his stare. “I’ll drop my attitude when you drop yours sweetheart.”

“Listen, Mr-“

“Miller. Joel Miller.”

“Okay, Mr. Joel Miller. I have work to do, so I’m just going to walk past you, take a few notes and I’ll be out of your hair. Deal?” 

“Fine. But if I see you back here again you better be wearin’ a hard hat. Don’t need any trouble because you trip and hit your pretty little head.” He let his eyes wander down your body once more, his voice full of sarcasm.

“Yeah yeah, got it boss.” You scoffed as you pushed past his broad frame. You didn’t turn to look back, but you could practically feel his eyes burning into you as you swayed into the entry way, hoping it was the last time you’d ever have to speak to him.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

You ran into Joel a few more times, each meeting more infuriating and demeaning than the last. He always had a smart comment on his tongue or a mocking intention in his voice. 

Joel Miller had quickly become the bane of your existence; yet, for some reason there was a part of you, deep down, that always hoped to run into him when you went to scout out a new project for the house.   

Maybe because he was undeniably handsome, always walking around with a charming smirk on his lips and a devious glint in his big brown eyes. It was almost as if he were challenging you— seeing how far he could push you before you snapped. 

He continued to test your patience as you now stood in the giant walk-in closet off the primary bedroom.

You were trying to establish a color scheme sophisticated enough to fit Miss Johnson’s impossible to please pallet while Joel was making unnecessarily loud noises across the room.

He was far from graceful, the slamming and pounding of tools was all you could hear as he worked on one of the many intricate shoe shelves on the wall.

“I thought this side of the house was done.” You were speaking without looking in his direction, your eyes following the paint swatches on the wall. 

“Was.” Joel’s voice was gruff as he continued working.

“Until the queen decided she needed more storage for all her designer shit.” He was chuckling at his own words, side eyeing you from his spot kneeling on the floor. 

“You are genuinely the most unprofessional person I’ve ever met.” You dismissed his rude comment about the woman you were both employed by.

“That right?”

You refused to look at him, but you could hear the delight in his voice. 

“Absolutely.” Your response was curt, a quick and straight-forward delivery.

“Good.”

As if you couldn’t hate him more, the word leaving his lips had you turning your head sharply in his direction, an appalled expression plastered across your face. 

“God you get on my last nerve.”

“That right?” Again, his lips tugged into a smirk as he looked at you. 

You raised your brows in annoyance with a single nod of your head at his question.

“Good.” His voice was taunting as he watched you shake your head in frustration. 

You brought your eyes back to the wall in front of you, not giving Joel another second of your attention.

After a few seconds of silence his deep voice broke into the room. “You know, if you weren’t so uptight, maybe I’d ask you out for a drink sometime.” 

It took you a minute to register his words. Was he implying that he wanted to ask you on a date while insulting you at the same time? What a fucked-up, backhanded compliment; one that had your chest stirring with warmth.

“Well, I guess it’s too bad I’m such an high-strung bitch then.” Sarcasm dripped from your words as you kept your eyes trained ahead, your head spinning from Joel’s implicit interest. 

“I doubt you’d last one minute in the bar I’d take you to anyway.”

His comment had your head snapping back again. This time his eyes were already on you, waiting to see a reaction. 

“And why’s that?” Your voice cut through the room at his assumption. 

“Because it’s not exactly a five star establishment, and I think you’re just like all these pretentious fucks you work for.” He raised an eyebrow at you before turning back to the shelf in front of him, tending to a few finishing touches. 

“Always so put together, walking around here with your shoulders high.” He was nonchalant as he criticized you, hands busy taking measurements, not even paying an ounce of attention to the dirty look you were currently shooting at him from the other side of the room. 

“You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just another pretty face with an overblown ego.”

There it was. The final blow that had your body tensing with anger.

You couldn’t believe that just a few seconds ago you were letting him flatter you, swooning under the smallest inkling of positivity he threw your way.

He was the worst kind of guy, the kind that built you up just to tear you down. The kind that wanted to make you feel worse about yourself so you would go running to him for a semblance of positive reinforcement.

Joel Miller liked the chase— thrived off being such a douchebag that women somehow ended up falling on their knees for him. But you, you weren’t going to be that woman. 

“Me? Talk about a massive-fucking-ego, take a look in the mirror Miller. You’re the one always making sure I know my place around here, acting like a fucking sociopath. It’s like you get off on being an asshole.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked directly at you, his expression unreadable, like your cruel words caused a switch in him to flip. 

“Maybe I do.”

“What?”

“Maybe I like gettin’ under your skin, watchin’ you get all flustered.” He spoke slowly, setting down his materials and standing to his feet.

“Think it’s kinda cute. You’re always tryin’ to act all big and bad, but I know I make you nervous. I can see it in the way you look at me.” He didn’t move, the smirk on his face causing your eyebrows to furrow in irritation. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, standing strong on your opinion that Joel was the world’s biggest asshole. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting his words get to you.

“You can stop wherever you’re going with this. I’m not here to play your little bullshit games, I’m here to do a job and get paid.”

“Who says you can’t have a little fun on the job?” His voice was laced with a deep seriousness as he set his tools down on one of the many shelves adorning the walls. You watched him over your shoulder but kept your back turned, your body still facing the wall.

“Turn around.” The command left his lips and you wanted to laugh at his attempt of authority but the sincerity in his voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What? No-“

“C’mon sweetheart, I think we both know you like bein’ told what to do.” His voice cut you off, the signature smirk on his lips sending a buzz straight to your head.

You didn’t mean to, or maybe you did, but your body turned to face him, watching intently as he continued speaking. His broad frame emphatic as he stood across from you.

“I bet you like it, having someone boss you around. Makes you feel a little inferior.”

As the words left his lips he began walking toward you.

It was a casual stroll, not intense or threatening, yet you felt your pulse racing and your posture slumping at his advances.

“Oh please. You need a reality check Joel.” 

“Wanna give it to me princess?”

You kept the appearance of control as he continued moving forward, but internally you were fighting feelings of complete disarray.

You wanted to be offended— maybe even slap him across the face for his wildly inappropriate nickname and the implication of his words. But instead, you froze, his body now less than a foot away from yours and his words ringing in your ears. 

There was absolutely no denying the way his statement had your thighs clenching and your head spinning. Something in his delivery, smug and dirty with his eyes holding a perverted hunger and a promise of follow through, made you weak.

You kept your body from jolting when you felt the touch of his hand wrapping around your waist, finding purchase dangerously low on your back. 

“Bet you’ve never done anythin’ like this.” His voice was sturdy— rigid with power.

The weight of his hand was rough, his palm resting just above the curve of your ass. His touch was heavy yet temperate as he held you, softly pulling you’re your body further into his. 

“Lettin’ some guy you barely know put his hands all over you.”

You watched his eyes carefully, your lips parted but you couldn’t find any words to fill them. You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him to stop or keep going. 

“Bet all the guys you hook up with are just as prim and proper as you. Can’t imagine that those dipshits graduating from UT with a business degree are fuckin’ you the right way.”

His other hand came to the small of your waist, the movement sending a faint gasp straight to your lips. Your reaction had Joel smirking, reinforcing his grip on your body.

“Probably don’t even know how to get you off.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Your voice was a whisper. The insult that you meant to hurl his way dissolved in a pitiful sigh at the way his fingertips were latching onto you.

“Am I? Bet you like that too.” This time he leaned in, causing his words to land directly in your ear, his breath warm on your neck.  

“Bet you want someone a little rough around the edges. Someone to fuck you real nice.” 

As he spoke, his fingers curled into your body. His grip on you constricting.

His frame pushed into yours, sending you shuffling backward until your back was met with the solid friction of the wall.

“Joel..” 

You were searching in your mind, trying to form an articulate sentence to explain why this was wrong; why you couldn’t be in this position with him.

But he had you trapped against the weight of his body— big and wide and rough.

Every single rational thought in your head dissipated, replaced by an instinctual need to have him fuck you against the wall of this ridiculously expensive closet.

He was right, you’d never done anything like this and the excitement of it— the risk, had your entire body burning with white-hot desire. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” His hands were holding your hips, pressing you into the wall with his chest dangerously close to yours. 

“But I don’t think you want me to.” For a single second you could see an indication of honesty in his eyes as he looked you over, searching for any sign of distress on your face. And when he couldn’t find it, his stare narrowed and his hands held tighter, rotating your body in his grasp until your chest was pressed against the wall. 

“I think,” He leaned into you, your ass pushing against the bulge in his jeans as his hum landed on the skin right beneath your ear. 

“You want me to lift up this pretty little dress and fuck you nice and hard right here, against this wall.”

His hands found the hem of your dress, bringing it up just enough to bunch at your waist.

Your lower half was almost bare, the only clothing keeping your cunt from being fully exposed to him was the little black thong encasing the dripping mess that had now built up between your legs. It didn’t stop him from reaching between your bodies, pressing his thumb against your clothed entrance. 

“Fuck- you’re soaked princess.” The first word was a prolonged throaty groan, the rest of the sentence fumbling behind it. 

“How long you been thinkin’ bout this huh? Me touchin’ you, makin’ you beg for it.” He was having too much fun playing with you through your panties, his thumb threatening to dip into you even with the lace still covering your entrance.

He pushed against it, moving between your clothed folds and marveling at the wetness seeping through the material. 

“I’m not begging.” You managed to hiss out a response, turning your head to peer at him, your cheek nearly pressing against the wall. 

“Oh, so she’s always mouthy huh?” 

You watched the diabolical grin eat away at his face from the power trip of having you trapped under his weight.

You could talk-back all you wanted— be as bratty and uncooperative as possible, but it didn’t change the fact that he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Keep talkin’ baby, go on.” He innocently raised his brows at you, his voice taunting as the weight of his thumb danced between your legs.

“I Know you want this too. You act like you can’t stand me, but I see the way you look at me…” Your voice was quiet but strong as you held onto the last bit of composure you had left, using it to defy the man at your back.

You were trying your best not to lose your train of thought as you spoke. You wouldn’t give up the fight that easily, succumbing to his tempting words and lewd touches. You could tell Joel was used to getting his way and every muscle in your body ached to challenge him. 

“The way your eyes are glued to my ass every time I walk past you.” You glared over your shoulder as the words drifted off your lips in a gentle accusation. 

His dark chuckle filled the room as his eyes darted away from yours for a short second. Then his stare was back on you— more intense than before. The two of you watching each other, sitting in a pool of mutual revelation. 

You both knew it.

You knew since day one that there was a shared attraction, an unspoken sexual tension hidden behind rude words and unsavory exchanges.

What was happening now was just a detonation of built-up pressure that had been stewing for weeks; evident in the wetness at your core and the bulge in Joel’s jeans. 

“Anythin’ else you wanna say? Should probably get it all out before I have you all fucked-out on my cock.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as he hooked his thumb into your underwear, pulling the material to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely. 

A soft gasp slid from your lips at the cool air meeting your newly exposed center, the slick pooling at your entrance only adding to the airy sensation. 

“You’re so fucking arrogant.” 

The words barely left your lips when you felt his touch meet your core, his fingers spreading your arousal.

You had more to say to him, you wanted to tell him how annoying he was and how you had lost every ounce of decency by letting him talk to you this way, but the words were caught in your throat as he pushed two fingers into you. 

“Maybe I have good reason to be.” 

Your eyes were squeezed shut at the unexpected feeling of him filling you with his fingers, yet you could hear the smirk dripping in his voice.

“You ever think about that sweetheart?”

His words were impatient, the initial drive of his fingers into your entrance was rough, but now they slowly worked into you. His movements were careful— cautious even.

It was as if he wanted to take his time, watching your body and listening to the shaky breaths leave your lips.

His hand worked between your legs, searching for the exact technique that would send you spewing profanities and crumbling against the wall.  

He curled his fingertips at just the right spot, not too deep and not too forceful, just a gentle pulse that had an impulsive whimper pouring from your chest.

“Maybe I’m so arrogant because I know I’m good at what I do.” His words held a double meaning as he added a third finger to stroke your newfound sweet spot.

You almost yelped from the stretch, but you held it back as best you could, refusing to give him the gratification of your submission. 

The position he had you in; back arched and ass pushed out, made it almost embarrassingly easy for the addition of a third digit as he watched them to sink into you.

You couldn’t help but hum in approval as he stroked you repeatedly, rubbing against the inviting drawl of your walls. You tried not to lose yourself at his fingertips, knowing from the familiar coil of pleasure in your core that he could have you coming on his fingers at any given moment. 

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, huh?” Your voice was a string of moans as you tried your best to form a coherent sentence with his hand pushed between your bodies. 

As much as you didn’t want his movements to stop, you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d barely even gotten his hands on you.

Knowing Joel, he would never let you live it down. He’d ride around on his metaphorical high horse and crown himself the king of female orgasms. So instead of letting him bring you to the precipice of release, you met him with a phrase of defiance. But your challenging words were really just a gateway to get what you wanted. You could put on a tough act, but at the end of the day Joel was right, you did want him to fuck you in way no one ever had— hungry and hard against the wall, right here in your client’s house.

In fact, the thought of it had taken over every fiber of your being. The anticipation of feeling him rail into you was clouding your judgement and coursing through your veins at an alarming speed. 

“Think you can take it?” His growl stuck in your ears as he pulled out of you. The lewd noises of his fingers plunging into the slick mess at your folds was quickly replaced by the sound of him fumbling with his belt buckle. 

“How d’you want it, huh baby? You the sentimental type? Want it nice and slow and deep? Or d’you just wanna be ruined? Want someone to be a little rough with ya?” He was asking, but you couldn’t help but note the rhetorical quality of his words as you heard the rustle of his jeans pushing down his thighs. 

“That’s sweet of you to give me choice, maybe you don’t like control as much as I thought- “

Your sarcastic remark was cut short at the abrupt stretch of Joel’s length slamming into you.

“Rough it is then.” His voice was a deep grunt echoing from behind you as he paused, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling back out and thrusting into you again. 

“Shit princess, didn’t think you’d be this fuckin’ tight.”

His voice swam with amusement and pleasure as he watched the way his dick fully disappeared into you with each thrust of his hips.

Hands pulled at your waist as you felt Joel drive deeper with every breathless groan floating off his lips. 

“Look at you, takin’ me like such a good girl.” The words weren’t sweet, instead they teased you, shooting out of his mouth with a mocking tenor. 

You couldn’t keep your body from reacting to his praise, albeit contemptuous, the words still held a deep truth about the situation unfolding against the wall of your shared employer’s closet. 

“Oh, you like that don’t ya? When I tell you what a good girl you are?” His voice was a broken growl of grunts and sighs as he fucked into you— vigorous and desperate.

His pace was unrelenting as he held onto your waist, pulling you back to meet him with every drive of his hips into yours. 

He let one of his hands travel up your body until he was reaching for your jaw, tilting your head up and back until your body was arched at a sinful angle.

“See, I knew you just needed a good fuck.” His groan was right in your ear now that he held your head close to his, the grip he had on your jaw was firm.

It was becoming impossible for you to keep quiet, the strength and depth of his thrusts were causing explicit moans to skate past yours lips.

The hand that Joel was using to hold your face was now maneuvering to your mouth in an effort to muffle the obscene sounds rolling off your tongue. Two of his fingers pushed at your lips, hooking into your mouth. 

“Knew that little attitude a’yours was all for show.”

You closed your lips around his digits as he railed into you, a guttural moan sliding up your throat and humming onto his fingers. 

“Fuck.” His fowl groan was a direct result of your soft mouth sucking around his fingers, mimicking the way you had his cock encased between your legs.

You invited his touch onto your tongue, swirling around his thick digits and sucking him in deeper, earning a prolonged sigh from Joel as he fucked into you even harder.

Each stroke of his cock had your body pressing further into the wall— his pace was mean and unyielding, like he had something to prove. 

With the hand not in your mouth, Joel reached around your body, his fingertips finding your clit and rubbing quick careless circles over the bundle of nerves.

Your body faltered under his touch, your knees slightly buckling, and if it weren’t for the weight of his body trapping you against the wall, you’d be a puddle on the floor. 

He slowed his pace slightly, taking his time to find that spot along your walls again. The one that he discovered just minutes ago when he was three fingers deep in your dripping cunt. 

Whines of approval vibrated against the pads of his fingertips still pressing down on your tongue. His hips began rocking into you at just the right angle— slow and deliberate, with the goal of feeling you coming undone on his cock. 

“That it baby? Right there?” Again, his words were a sadistic tease, but his voice gave way to pitiful throaty whines.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think with the way he was working you toward your release.

Everything felt so overwhelming, his unrelenting thrusts hitting you in the perfect place, his touch on your clit, rough and impatient and his fingers filling your mouth— all of it creating the perfect storm of inconceivable pleasure. 

A jolt of relief surged through your body as the pressure inside you snapped. You let yourself fall further into the wall as Joel’s name slipped from your mouth in a chant.

Hearing his name on your lips in such a distant and dazed voice, had Joel’s cock pulsing. Your walls were clenching from your climax, sucking him in deeper and he couldn’t handle the abundance of warmth enveloping him. 

Both of his hands came down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as held tight.

His thrusts were merciless as he used you to reach his peak, chasing the familiar buildup of tension in his core as he drove into you at a startling pace. 

Then he pulled out abruptly. 

One hand on his cock, stroking just twice before spilling onto the skin of your lower back, the other pushing your dress further up your body to keep it from becoming a jizz painted mess. 

Silence filled the room.

Neither of you spoke as your hands pushed against the wall underneath your palms. You stayed pressed there, Joel’s body still behind you evident in the ragged breaths leaving his chest. 

Still no words were exchanged as you felt Joel take a step back, the warmth of his presence fading just slightly.

You dared to break your pleasure induced trance to look over your shoulder, only find him pulling his jeans back up his body and tightening his belt without even sparing you a glance.

You began to move until you were reminded of the thick warm mess resting on your back, keeping you from pulling your dress down.

Before you could do anything, Joel was back behind you, hooking his fingers into the waist band of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stopped at your ankles to tap against your skin, prompting you to step out of them.

Once the lacy material was fully in his grasp, he brought them up to your lower back, using them to gather his spend. He cleaned his mess with the lacy material then pulled your dress back down to cover your lower half. A sticky residue was left on your backside as a plaguing reminder of what had just transpired between you. 

You turned to face him, watching as he crumpled up your ruined underwear and shoved it into his back pocket with a smirk on his face. 

“How about that drink? Could meet you tomorrow night, should be done here around five.” He was back across the room in an instant, gathering tools and not bothering to look in your direction.

His invitation was genuine, but his words lacked interest. 

“I’ll get these back to you then.” His hand came to rest on his back pocket, fingers tapping against the denim holding your used panties.

A self-righteous smile sat on his face as he shot you a look of pure deviance before his eyes were back on his hands as they worked to gather his materials. 

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice came out more flustered than you intended as you smoothed out your dress over your thighs.

Joel was heading for the closet door, tool bag clutched in his hand as he gave you one last gaze of victory.

“It’s a date.” The words were a grumble from his lips, the same ones that were busy parading a smug smile. 

Then he left you standing alone in the small room, your mind racing around itself and your legs still trembling.

A subtle grin rested on your face as you stared down at the floor, trying to find some sort of equilibrium before even attempting to move.

The giant walk-in closet still encasing a lingering heat of reckless choices as you prepared to go on with your day— business as usual.

my masterlist

[jaysbaefie]

slide into me | pjs

synopsis: in which your night shift ends in the backrooms and the only way out is through him.

genre: backrooms au

pairing: entity!jay x afab reader

warnings: dubcon, very weird descriptions of places, descriptions of flesh, mean dom!jay, gaslighter!jay, mocking, teasing, invisible binding, oral (f. rec), fingering, clit slapping, spitting, manhandling, overstimulating, dirty talk, degrading, dacryphilia, unprotected p in v, jay has a demon dick!!!! lowkey a breeding kink sprinkled in there, creampie, i think that’s it..

wc: 9.1k

a/n: look who’s back…anyways i felt inspired after reading @gyuuberryy ‘s fic ‘don’t look back’ so i decided to write one w a bit of my own twist. this is such a fun concept of writing i feel like i should write more horror esk concepts even though this is very tame. anyways..enjoy. comments,reblogs and notes are always appreciated!

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

you took the job because it was supposed to be easy.

midnight shifts, half-asleep mall rats, and a paycheck big enough to cover your rent and leave you just enough for junk food and gas. it was supposed to be quiet. boring, even. which it was—until tonight.

the mall had always been unsettling after hours. too quiet. too still. the overhead fluorescents hummed above you like a dying animal, and the janitor's closet on the second floor always reeked of bleach and something else you couldn't place. but still, nothing that screamed danger. nothing you couldn't handle with a flashlight and a firm tone.

until tonight.

it starts with a sound. soft and distant. like the scuff of a shoe on the squeaky floor tiles of the place.

you pause by the entrance of the food court, your flashlight flicking over darkened storefronts and plastic chairs stacked like bones. the noise comes again, this time sharper—like fingers dragging across metal.

your stomach tightens.

you pull your walkie to your mouth, whispering a check-in to your partner on the other end. but no response comes back, just static.

okay, you tell yourself. don't be dumb. don't go towards it. you're not in a horror movie.

you step back. your sneakers squeak on the floor, loud in the quiet. you turn on your heel and start walking the other way, fast. maybe it's a rat. maybe it's some idiot hiding in the dark and doing one of those '24 hours in the mall challenge' from 2016, or maybe it's nothing.

whatever it is, you just want to get to the office, call it in, and get the hell out.

but the air shifts.

it feels... wrong. heavy. thick, like walking through water. the hum of the lights grows louder, buzzing at a pitch that makes your jaw ache. something flickers in your peripheral. you spin, flashlight jerking toward it—nothing.

your knees suddenly give out.

no warning. no pain. just a dizzy, stomach-dropping sensation like the floor disappeared beneath you—and then black.

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

when you wake, everything is yellow.

the world smells like mold. not fresh mold—old, dead mold. the kind that's lived too long in dark spaces and grown stale with time.

you're lying on cold carpet, face pressed into a nauseating mix of damp fibers and dust. fluorescent lights above you stutter and blink, buzzing in intervals that sound almost... rhythmic.

you sit up fast, heart slamming in your chest as your eyes struggle to adjust to the stale brightness of the unknown place.

this isn't the mall.

you're in a hallway. no windows, no doors. just endless, repeating yellow wallpaper—peeling in places, patterned with some ugly 90s texture—and identical hallways stretching on in every direction.

you push yourself to your feet, head spinning.

"hello?" you call out, voice cracking. nothing. just the hum. you turn a corner. then another. and another.

it feels like walking in circles, except every hallway is just different enough to make you doubt it. a different stain, a different pattern in the ceiling tiles. but always the same walls. the same lights. the same sickly yellow glow that makes your skin look waxy.

where the fuck are you?

you start to run. but the halls go on. and on. and on.

and somewhere behind you, a shadow moves. you've been walking for what feels like hours.

your legs ache. your throat is dry. and the lights—god, the lights—never stop humming. they flicker sometimes, almost rhythmically, as if reacting to your breathing.

you gave up calling out 20 minutes ago. the silence that followed every "hello?" was worse than nothing. it felt... intentional. like something was listening. choosing not to respond.

you stop to rest against a wall. the wallpaper peels beneath your touch, crumbling like dried-out skin. the carpet squelches faintly underfoot. it's damp now. damper than before. it didn't start out that way—you're sure of it.

you close your eyes. just for a second. then you hear it.

click.

a tiny, impossible sound. like a nail tapping on glass. you spin around fast—nothing behind you. just more yellow, more humming.

you swallow hard and start walking again, faster this time.

the whisper comes a few minutes later.

faint. garbled. like a voice behind a wall.

you stop cold, "...can you hear me?"

you whip around—heart hammering, chest heaving—but the hallway is empty. it sounded so close. like someone just on the other side of the wallpaper, lips pressed to the wall, whispering into your ear.

"don't run."

your breath catches and you take a step back. then another.

a low, almost inaudible rustle drifts from behind you, like fabric dragging along the floor. you don't look back this time, you run.

you sprint down the endless corridors, turns blurring together. every wall looks the same. every shadow stretches too long. the humming of the lights becomes deafening, almost sentient—rising and falling in sync with your panic.

and then—a corner.

you turn it too fast, shoulder slamming the wall. and there he is.

a boy.

he's standing halfway down the corridor, backlit by the same yellow haze, dressed in black and hunched slightly, like he's been walking for days. he looks up, his eyes hollow and lifeless.

you freeze.

he looks just as scared as you. "wait—" he says, breathless. "you're real?"

your heart nearly caves in your chest.

finally—finally—someone else.

you don't know that he's been waiting here for you. you don't know that the whispers were his. you don't know that he's the reason you're here at all.

you only know relief and that's exactly what he wants.

he's standing in the middle of the corridor like he's been waiting there forever. just... still. as if he knew you were coming.

your feet skid to a stop, sneakers dragging against the damp carpet, chest heaving from your sprint. his head lifts slowly. your eyes meet.

he's beautiful.

not the kind of beautiful you expect in a place like this—no, he looks too clean, too human, too painfully real. black hair falls across his forehead, his eyes wide and startled, like he hadn't seen another living thing in years. his frame is lean, shoulders hunched slightly with tension, a black jacket clinging to him like a second skin. he looks tired.

his mouth parts, stunned. "you're... real?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you don't answer at first. you're still frozen. still trying to figure out if this is a hallucination. if the place has finally cracked your mind open and spilled delusions into your skull. but he takes a hesitant step forward, hands raised as if to show he means no harm.

"i—i heard someone running. i didn't think... i thought i was alone."

you nod, slowly. your throat is too dry to speak. he sees it in your face, that fractured look of someone at the edge—and his features soften.

"hey, it's okay. i'm not gonna hurt you," he says gently. "you've been here long?"

your voice finally stirs. "i don't know. not long. maybe an hour?"

he winces. "i've been here days," he says, lowering his gaze. "maybe weeks. it's hard to tell."

you want to ask where is this and how do we get out, but the words collapse in your mouth. he seems just as lost. just as scared. and if there's one thing you know about surviving fucked-up situations, it's that panic spreads like a disease. and right now, he's the only person tethering you to something human.

"what's your name?" you ask, voice hoarse.

he smiles faintly, "jay." you give yours in return. and somehow, it feels sacred. the first time you've said it aloud since waking up here. it tastes real again.

you walk together.

not aimlessly—jay says he's mapped a bit of the place out. that some corridors loop, some don't. he tells you he's found areas with flickering lights and strange noises. some that smell like burnt plastic. some that feel colder than others, like they're not finished forming.

"sometimes i hear things," he says, tone hushed. "but i try not to listen."

"you hear them too?" you ask, something cold settling in your bones.

he glances at you. then gives the smallest nod. "they whisper your name, don't they?"

you don't answer, but your stomach twists.

you keep walking. you try not to notice the way the lights don't flicker around him like they do when you're alone. how his shadow always falls in the right direction, no matter where you turn. how his footsteps are too quiet—too synchronized with yours.

you try not to notice how his eyes flick toward your throat when you speak. how he never really seems out of breath. how the carpet never squelches beneath his feet the way it does yours.

he keeps asking you things.

where you're from. how you got here. what you remember.

and every time you answer, he watches you like he's cataloging each word. storing it. savoring it. but his smile is kind. his laugh—quiet, sweet, disarming. it feels like warmth in this place where nothing is warm.

hours pass. well, you think.

the corridors have started to change. the wallpaper grows darker the deeper you go, browner. as if stained by time or something else entirely. the lights flicker longer now and shadows linger too long at the edges of your vision.

you want to stop walking, but jay touches your arm—gentle, reassuring—and murmurs, "we're close. i think i found something a while ago. it might be a way out."

your chest stutters with cautious hope.

"really?"

he nods. "i didn't go alone. i was scared. but with you—" he breaks off. his voice turns soft, "—i feel safer with you here."

you look at him. he seems so genuine. eyes big, expression honest. he says it like it's a confession. like he needs you. you nod. "okay. lead the way."

and so you do. deeper.until the lights above flicker one final time—and die.

time doesn't pass here the way it should.

you think it's been days. maybe a week. maybe more. but there's no sunrise, no clocks, no hunger cues to guide you. only the flickering lights and the ever-stretching corridors—yellow fading into brown, into olive, into something sickly gray.

but you stop counting the days. because now, you have jay.

he stays close. always at your side, quiet but attentive. sometimes he hums under his breath—soft, tuneless notes that lull your nerves. sometimes he tells stories about his old life: a little apartment with too-thin walls. a sister he hasn't seen in years. a favorite café with mismatched mugs. things that feel so vividly real you almost forget where you are.

you learn his quirks. how he hates the buzzing lights more than the silence. how he taps his fingers on his thigh when he's thinking. how he always walks slightly ahead of you, like he's trying to shield you from whatever comes next.

"you know," you say one 'day' as you walk together through a hallway tinged orange by dying fluorescents, "if you weren't here, i think i'd have lost my mind already."

he glances back at you, lips quirking into a small smile. "same."

"really? you seem like you've got it together."

"nah," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "i'm just good at pretending."

you don't think about it much. but the next time the lights go dark for a stretch of corridor, it's his hand that finds yours. warm. solid. grounding.

and you don't pull away.

you have moments like that now. tiny, precious ones that feel stolen from reality.

he finds a corridor with walls covered in strange drawings—childlike scribbles in charcoal, some of them humanoid, some not. you sit with your backs to the wall and pretend you're at a museum, whispering critiques and giving the "artists" fake names.

you laugh together. it's a rusty sound at first—too loud in the quiet—but jay laughs too, soft and real.

sometimes, when it gets too quiet, he'll ask about you.

your job. your family. the place you grew up. and he listens—really listens—with his whole body, eyes fixed on you like you're telling him the most important story in the world. when you falter, he encourages you. when your voice cracks, he gently changes the subject.

and when you dream—because you do, sometimes, in flickers and fits—he's always in them. guiding you through endless rooms. catching your hand. pulling you close before you fall.

you wake up and he's right there, watching you with a worried expression like he's been guarding your sleep.

"you talk in your sleep," he says once, voice quiet.

"oh god," you groan, rubbing your eyes. "what'd i say?"

he pauses. smiles faintly.

"you called my name."

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

somewhere around day fourteen—or what you think is day fourteen—you stop hoping for a way out.

not because you've given up, but because this, whatever this is, doesn't feel unbearable anymore. you eat the ration bars from your security belt. you sleep curled near jay in corners that feel less watched. you follow his lead because he always seems to know where to go, which halls to avoid, when to turn around.

you stop asking questions.

and you start looking at him longer. watching the way his profile softens when he's not speaking. how his hair falls into his eyes. how he always reaches for you first when the shadows flicker too close.

he never tries anything. never crosses a line. he treats you like something breakable.

so you start crossing those lines yourself. a teasing shoulder bump when he's zoning out. lingering touches when you pass him supplies. once, you fall asleep with your head on his thigh. when you wake, he hasn't moved an inch.

"you could've shifted me off," you mumble groggily.

"i didn't want to."

but still... there are moments. strange ones.

times when the lights flicker a little longer when he walks through. when the hum syncs to his steps. when he looks ahead into the darkness a beat too long, his expression unreadable. once, you see something in the wall—a smear of something dark, a shadow stretching toward you—but jay turns his head at the exact moment and it disappears.

you blink. it's gone.

and he's already holding his hand out to you again, voice soft. "this way."

you take it. you always take it.

"i think we're close." jay's voice is quiet, but it cuts through the murky silence like a flare.

you blink up at him, wiping the sleep from your eyes. your back aches from the floor. the light above your heads flickers with that same electric buzz, only softer now—like it's struggling. failing.

"close to what?" you murmur, throat dry.

he glances down the corridor ahead. you follow his gaze.

it's different here. the walls have changed again—duller, the yellow wallpaper turning jaundiced and blistered, warped like water damage has soaked through the structure itself. the ceiling is lower, and the light is dimmer. there's a smell now. faint. metallic. wrong.

"a way out," he says softly. "or... something. i don't know. i didn't go in before. i found it a while back, but i was alone."

"but you didn't try?"

he shakes his head. "i was scared." his voice wavers, just a little. you look at him closer, and it feels like the most human you've ever seen him—shoulders slightly hunched, jaw tight, eyes dark with something you can't place.

"but i'm not now. not with you."

you believe him. how could you not? after everything, all the ways he's kept you calm, grounded—safe.

so you follow.

the deeper you go, the more the backrooms begin to rot.

the wallpaper falls away in strips, revealing a glistening material beneath—like old flesh or wet clay. pipes jut from the walls now. some of them drip. the air is heavy, saturated with warmth, as if something is breathing in these corridors right along with you.

"do you hear that?" you ask quietly.

jay tilts his head.

there's a sound behind the walls. a low thrum. a rhythmic thud-thud-thud—like a heartbeat. like footsteps. but not yours.

you grip his sleeve.

"don't worry," he says. "just a little farther."

the hallway finally ends in a door.

not a real one—just an opening. the trim is darker here, almost black. the light inside pulses faintly, like it's trying to lure you in. and the smell intensifies.

when you step through, you find yourself in a new chamber.

this one is wide, circular. walls curved and smooth, lit by a single humming bulb that swings slightly above your head. in the middle of the room are three slides—long, slick, and strangely out of place, like they were built into the floor of a decaying playground.

one is white, polished like marble. one is red, chipped at the edges, with a faint dark smear down the middle. one is black, dull and velvety, almost absorbing the light around it.

you stare at them. "what... is this?"

jay exhales next to you. "i don't know. i found this place once before. didn't stay long enough to figure it out."

"you said it could be a way out."

"i think it is. maybe."

his voice is unreadable.

you turn to him. "do you know where they lead?"

he shakes his head slowly. "no. but we have to choose. eventually."

you look back at the slides. something deep in your stomach curls. they feel alive somehow. waiting. "what if it's a trap?"

he doesn't answer right away. then softly says, "then we face it together."

you look at him. he looks calm, soft-eyed—safe. just pick one, you think. you're not alone. he's here.

your eyes fall to the slides again. white. red. black.

your fingers twitch toward the black one. the surface almost shimmers. you step toward it.

and jay smiles. not sweet. not warm. sharp.

but you don't see it, not yet. the moment your foot touches the black slide, it shudders beneath you.

not visibly. not violently. but it reacts—subtle, like something flexing beneath its skin. the surface isn't hard plastic like you expected. it's soft. pliable. warm. like flesh left out too long.

but jay is right behind you. watching. and something in your chest tells you to keep going.

so you sit and push off.

the slide isn't straight. it twists. drops. swells and curves like a throat swallowing you whole. the walls are too close—pressing in—and the material isn't smooth. it pulses. you think you feel something breathe against your shoulder.

your hands sink slightly as you try to brace yourself. a slick, wet sound echoes all around you. like something digesting. and then—black.

pure, absolute black. no light. no air. no sound but your own blood roaring in your ears.

you try to scream—but nothing comes out.

you fall forever.

and then—you land.

hard.

but not on carpet, on something alive.

it shifts beneath you, twitching like muscle memory. the ground is slick and damp, lit by dim red bioluminescence leaking from the walls like infected wounds. it smells like copper. salt. something rotten and sweet.

you stumble to your feet. the slide behind you is gone. there's no way back.

you're alone. or—you think you are. until you hear his voice. "you chose it, you know."

your head snaps toward it.

jay.

but he's standing different now—spine straight, head tilted at an unnatural angle, like his neck is made of wire instead of bone. he's watching you. not with the wide, soft gaze you've grown used to.

with something else. something ancient.

"you could've picked any of them," he says quietly, stepping forward. "safety. death. or this."

you shake your head, backing away. "what are you talking about?"

"you picked me." his voice is still warm. still familiar. but too steady. too calm.

"i don't—this isn't—what the fuck is this place?"

"it's mine," he says simply. "or, more accurately... i am of it."

your stomach turns, "i don't understand—" he smiles. soft. so soft. but something ripples beneath his skin, like muscle twitching beneath stretched fabric.

"i made it easy for you," he murmurs. "you wouldn't have followed me if i wasn't kind. if i wasn't... safe."

your knees nearly buckle, "you're lying."

"no. i've never lied to you. not once." he pauses, his mouth curling into a cruel smile, he steps closer. "you just never asked the right questions."

your heart is in your throat now. the walls pulse with it—thump-thump-thump—like they're echoing your fear.

"this isn't real."

"it's more real than where you came from," jay says, almost tender. "you just don't want to admit it."

"what are you?" you whisper.

his smile widens, just slightly. his teeth look too white. too straight. too perfect.

"hungry."

you've never felt cold in the backrooms. until now.

the air is still warm—wet and clinging to your skin—but your body is shaking. not from temperature. from something else entirely. from the kind of fear that curdles in your gut and hollows you out.

you stagger back, but the ground beneath your feet pulses with every movement. it's not carpet. not even earth. it's... him. it's part of him. you don't know how you know that, but you do.

jay stands in front of you, his expression peaceful. soft. like this isn't a reveal—like it's a gift.

"you were always going to end up here," he says gently. "i just helped you make peace with it."

you shake your head slowly, the world pitching around you. everything's wrong. everything's been wrong.

his kindness. his patience. his restraint.

"you lied to me."

"i didn't," he replies, stepping closer. "you just believed what was convenient." and that, that—breaks something open inside of you.

because he's right. you never questioned him. not once. not when he always walked ahead of you, somehow always knowing where to go. not when his eyes flicked toward the shadows before you noticed them. not even when he told you "i feel safer with you here" and never let you see him afraid.

you wanted to trust him. you needed to.

and now you realize: you told him everything. your childhood, your family, your fears, the dreams that had started to fray in the real world. every scar. every vulnerability. you poured yourself out like an offering because he listened. because he looked at you like you mattered.

but what did he tell you?

his name. that he had a sister. a favorite café.

things you can't prove.

"i asked you what you did before this," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "you said it didn't matter anymore." you could feel a stream of tears begin to pour down your face like a facet, and you could only imagine how ridiculous you looked right now.

"because it didn't."

"you said you couldn't remember how you got here."

"i didn't lie."

you can't breathe.

you remember how he always turned questions around on you, how he always made you feel like the one in control. and you fell for it. every time. he played the perfect companion, the kind stranger, the fragile survivor. but he was leading you. grooming your trust. guiding your hand to this exact moment.

and you never saw it.

"you were watching me this whole time."

his smile doesn't change. "since before you fell. you were marked the second you stepped out of your world."

you try to move, to turn, to run—but the room itself responds. the walls bulge inward, not closing, just guiding you back toward him. toward the center.

and now, behind jay, the ground shifts, ripples, and 3 new openings emerge from the flesh-like floor. 3 more slides, each one glistening in the low red light.

white. red. black. again.

but this time, they're not clean. they're not innocent. they're organic—like veins, like tongues, like they've grown from the very bones of this place.

"you made me choose," you whisper. "back then."

"i had to. i needed your consent. your fear. your longing." you flinch at his words, your body twitching with fear.

"you could've picked safety," he continues, voice low. "you could've chosen death."

"but you picked me."

you can't speak. you can barely stand. the pressure in the room is like a hand on your throat.

"and now," he says, walking toward you slowly, reverently, "i'm giving you a second chance."

he gestures to the slides behind him, and you realized what each colour had represented.

white is safety. "you'll wake up in your home. you'll think that this is all a dream and if you tell anyone they'll never believe you."

red is death. "not metaphorical. not symbolic. ending. i promise it will be quick."

black is to stay. "with me. not just in this place. part of it. bound. fed. worshiped."

your knees nearly give out, "why me?"

he stops. looks at you—really looks at you.

"because you were lonely," he says softly. "you needed to be wanted. i felt it when you fell in. all that ache, all that heat under your skin, how badly you needed something to hold you down, claim you, keep you."

he tilts his head.

"i just answered the call."

you want to scream. you want to cry. but deep down, under the panic, under the betrayal, under the spiraling horror— a part of you remembers how safe he made you feel.

how warm his presence was. how seen you felt when he looked at you. and that part of you doesn't want to leave.

jay sees it. he senses it.

he steps closer, close enough for you to see the subtle shifts in his face—something beneath his skin twitching, pulsing, like he's holding back something monstrous, waiting to be chosen.

"i'll let you go," he whispers, "if that's what you really want."

you stare at the slides.

white. red. black.

you step toward one of them and your fingers brush the edge. behind you, jay's breath hitches. soft. hopeful. and you fall forward—into white.

you don't land. you arrive.

the slide disappears beneath you the moment your body releases into it—no momentum, no tumbling drop. just a blink—

and then you're standing, a chamber breathes around you.

walls of dark, glistening flesh, lit by a muted, red glow that pulses like a living heartbeat. the air hums. it tastes of copper and warmth. there's no door. no light above. no escape.

you turn in a slow, stunned circle.

what is this? where is he?

and then you hear, "you picked well." jay's voice cuts through the silence like silk dragging across bone.

you whip around. he's behind you. standing too close.

his features are familiar, still mostly human, but they don't move like they used to. his limbs are too fluid. his eyes glow faintly with something primal and ancient. there's no tension in his body now, no hesitation—just the unshakable stillness of a predator who has already won.

your chest tightens. "what is this place?"

he just smiles. not cruel. not mocking. patient. "home."

you stare at him, heart thudding, breath shallow. your mind races back to the moment at the slide. how he'd waited. watched. how he hadn't even followed. he knew.

"you said... you said it was a choice."

"and you made one."

"but the others—" your voice cracks. "white was supposed to be safety. red was death."

his expression softens ever so slightly in faux sympathy, "white was suppose to be home, this is home."

you step back like you've been struck, "you said—"

"i never said which realm," he interrupts gently. "i just said they were options."

you feel like you're floating—adrift in something sick and sweet. "then why—why offer a choice at all?"

he tilts his head, gaze tracking you as you retreat another step. the chamber pulses around you, sensing your panic. the walls twitch with each heartbeat. the floor beneath your feet trembles in response to your breath.

you are not in control.

"because you would've run, if i hadn't made you feel like you had a say." his voice is calm. steady. "but this way—" he closes the distance in a single, quiet step, "it's consensual, isn't it?"

your breath stutters. "you tricked me—"

"no. i led you. there's a difference." he begins to circle you.

his movements are slow. languid. like he's savoring your fear. not in a sadistic way—but with intimacy. like he's memorizing every tremble, every shake of your breath.

"i listened to you. i protected you. i let you tell me every little thing that made you feel small. and when it was time to choose... you chose me."

the walls around you shiver. something stirs beneath the floor.

"there was no way out," you whisper, horrified.

"no," he confirms. "but if i told you that from the beginning, you wouldn't have been ready for me."

"you used me."

"i wanted you," he corrects softly. "and i waited until you wanted me back."

he's right in front of you now. you want to scream, but it catches in your throat. not because of fear.

because somewhere, deep down—beneath the betrayal, beneath the horror—you still remember how it felt to be seen by him. how safe you felt when he looked at you like you were worth something.

"you never had a choice, little one," he murmurs. "but the moment you believed you did... you became mine."

you don't run. you can't. your feet won't move, no matter how loud your brain is screaming. because it's not just fear anymore.

it's confusion. it's betrayal. it's the bitter taste of something that once felt safe now turning rotten in your mouth.

your breath stutters, but jay doesn't move. he stands there, gaze quiet, composed—like he's waiting for you to catch up. like he wants you to take your time. let it all sink in.

and oh god, it does.

your thoughts tumble out in a frantic stream:

he never told you anything real. he always let you talk first. he dodged questions with smiles. he cried once, remember? but his face never wrinkled. not really. he held your hand when you were scared, but his skin never sweated. never shook. he never ate. he never slept. but you trusted him anyway.

you think of the stories he told—the apartment, the sister, the café with mismatched mugs—and how vivid they seemed at the time.

but now?

you realize... none of them had names. not the street. not the city. not the sister. just placeholders. just enough to fill the silence you gave him.

you built him. you projected goodness onto something hollow.

and he let you.

"i thought you cared about me." your voice is hoarse, barely audible.

"i do," he says.

and it sounds real. but so did everything else.

you stagger back a step, and the floor beneath your feet shivers—soft, slick, and alive. you suck in a breath, but the air's too thick, syrupy and humid. every inhale feels like it costs you something.

your body is overheating.

you can feel your heartbeat pounding behind your eyes. your chest. between your legs. like the atmosphere itself is stroking your nerves raw.

"why does this feel like—"

you cut yourself off, horrified. because it feels good.

your body—traitorous, stupid—responds to his closeness. the heat, the scent of him. the pull. and it disgusts you. it shames you. but it also excites something low in your gut that you can't name.

jay sees it.

of course he does.

"the backrooms don't just shift for anyone," he murmurs. "they respond to what you feel. what you want."

you shake your head, frantic. "no. i didn't want this. i didn't want—"

"didn't you?" he steps forward again, slow, like he's taming a wounded animal.

"you followed me. you chose me. you let me in."

your vision sways. your breath shortens. because some part of you is still clinging to the way he held you when you were scared. the way his voice calmed you. the way he never pushed. never demanded. he earned your trust and now he's twisting it in his palm like a flower's stem, bending until it snaps.

you sink to your knees, shaking.

you can feel the pulse of the room rising—thump-thump-thump—the walls breathing with you, the floor cradling your body like it wants to hold you. trap you. keep you soft and helpless and pliant.

jay crouches in front of you.

he doesn't touch you, not yet.

his voice is quiet.

"you can cry. you can scream. but it doesn't change anything." he continues, "you're here now. with me. where you were always meant to be."

your vision swims. the fear twists into something else. something hotter.

is it adrenaline? arousal? both?

you hate it but you want more. and that, more than anything else, breaks you.

because now you're not scared of jay. you're scared of yourself.

"you can't move, can you?" jay's voice is soft. breathy. too close.

your limbs won't respond—your legs twitch, your fingers curl—but you're locked in place. not harshly. not like restraints.

like... longing.

your thighs ache to part. your back arches just slightly. it's like your body is moving on instinct, reacting to him.

he circles you slowly, steps silent. the walls pulse with a deep, ambient thrum, responding to the rise in your breathing.

"look at you," he murmurs from behind, his palm dragging down your spine. "so sensitive. like your skin's just waiting to be touched."

you shudder under his hand, eyes fluttering closed. you want to deny it, you should—but all you can do is feel.

heat. tension. craving. your own body is betraying you.

"you think it's just arousal, don't you?"

he appears in front of you, crouching. his eyes glow faintly in the red light. there's something predatory in the way he watches you—like he's savoring a secret.

"you think it's just the moment. adrenaline. fear. me." his hand slides beneath your chin, tilts your face up."it's not."

he smiles, slow and indulgent. "you're already bound to me. you just haven't noticed yet."

your breath catches. "what are you—"

but you stop because you feel it now—subtle threads under your skin, like the gravity in the room is focused only on you. like something invisible is holding your wrists, your thighs, your breath, and telling it to stay. to obey.

"you gave yourself to me the second you believed in me," he whispers. "and now you'll let me take everything."

his hand falls between your thighs, and your knees instinctively try to close—but they don't. you're wide open. exposed. desperate.

he chuckles low in his throat. "see? not even trying anymore. your body knows who it belongs to."

you gasp as his fingers stroke the inside of your thigh, slow and torturously light.  he leans in, pressing his mouth to the shell of your ear. "you don't want gentle, do you?"

his other hand rises. fingers grab your jaw—firm, but not painful. he turns your face toward him. you meet his eyes and almost flinch. they're burning.

"you want filthy. you want my hands on you. my spit in your mouth and my cum slipping out of your cunt. you want to be ruined by something that doesn't even pretend to be human anymore."

you whimper, but your hips rock forward—helpless, aching. he grins. a flash of something sharp behind his lips. "good girl."

then—he spits. right between your parted lips.

you choke on your breath, stunned, but you don't pull away. you can't. you swallow without thinking, dazed, flushed from the heat crawling across your skin.

"that's it," he breathes. "so easy now. so eager."

he pushes you down, palms skimming your thighs as you sink. you don't even realize you've dropped to your knees until you're looking up at him, blinking like you've come undone.

the floor pulses under your skin. the room is watching.

his hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing gently at your lip like he's wiping you clean—but you both know better.

"no one's ever gonna take you like this. no one else could," he murmurs. "you were made for this. for me."

his voice is velvet-wrapped venom. his gaze pins you in place.

and you? you're no longer sure if you want to be free.

"that's what i thought."

jay sinks down in front of you—slow, deliberate, like he's descending into worship or war. his knees press into the pulsing floor, and your breath catches the moment he pushes you back and his hands come to your thighs.

his eyes trail down. he grabs the waistband of your pants—your last piece of dignity—and pauses just long enough for the panic to rise in your chest. then he rips them down, dragging your underwear with them in one fluid movement.

you gasp, hands moving to cover yourself—but something catches your wrists and forces them above your head, pressing them down into the floor.

the bindings return. invisible, pulsing. your arms are trapped, held still by nothing you can see — just the air around his body thick with power, with control, with him.

"still crying a few minutes ago, weren't you?" he murmurs, voice low and cruel. "sobbing about trust and betrayal and 'how could you do this to me, jay?'" he mimics your tone mockingly, a smirk curling his lips.

you turn your face, burning. but he grabs your chin—firm, sharp fingers tilting your gaze back to his. "look at me when i speak to you."

your breath stutters. his hands slide downward again, slow over your thighs. your skin trembles beneath him. and when his fingers graze over the soaked heat between your legs, he lets out a laugh—soft, delighted, mean.

"oh, sweetheart..."

he drags two fingers slowly through your slick, watching the way your hips twitch, how your mouth parts on instinct.

"you really let me break you that fast?"

you squirm, but the invisible binding tightens. you're not moving unless he allows it.

"so wet for the monster who lied to you," he taunts. "the same one who's been watching you, stalking you, baiting you since the moment you stepped through that yellow door."

he presses his fingers against your clit—just enough pressure to make you gasp. "and now look at you."

he leans in, lips brushing your cheek. "so needy. so fucking ruined."

his free hand grabs your thigh and pulls you open wider, like he's claiming more of you by the second.

"don't you dare pretend you don't like this. your body's too honest, baby."

he spits again but this time low, messy, right where you're dripping—then drags his fingers through it and back onto you, rubbing it in like something unholy.

"i should keep you like this," he whispers. "on your knees. dripping. trembling. always ready for me." your head drops back, a moan torn from your throat.

"that's it. make those pretty little sounds—show me what a filthy thing you are now."

his mouth replaces his hand and he devours you. he licks a thick strip up your slit, enjoying the way your body twitches when he slides over your clit. he ditches the teasing fairly quickly, his mouth engulfing you whole.

not gently. not lovingly. like he's starving and this is what he's been made to eat. his tongue drags through every inch of you, relentless and skilled, and you can feel his power tightening around your limbs every time you twitch or buck.

he's not holding you down with strength. he's holding you down with want. and you can't fight it anymore, you don't want to.

not when he pulls back and looks up at you, mouth wet, eyes gleaming with something dark and endless.

"say it." his voice drops to a growl. "say you want to be mine."

your lips tremble, your chest heaves, and all that comes out is a whimper—but you say it.

"yours."

his smile is all teeth, "that's my girl."

"pathetic little thing." jay's voice is rich with amusement, a low rumble in the thick air around you. he's still crouched between your thighs, fingers gliding lazily through your slick heat, but he's not focused on pleasuring you—he's toying.

his hand moves away. you gasp at the loss, but he's already reaching higher.

"take this off."

you blink through the haze. "what?"

he leans in. slow. terrifying. "your shirt. now."

your hands move on instinct. you tug it up, trembling, but your fingers fumble and you wince when the fabric catches. your eyes blur with tears —again.

jay clicks his tongue. "unbelievable." in one swift motion, his hands are on you, tearing.

the sound of fabric splitting echoes like a scream in the pulsing room. your shirt is gone in seconds, shredded, forgotten and he tosses it aside like trash.

"you can't even get undressed without crying?" he laughs, shoving you back. the warm, fleshy floor catches you like a cradle. "were you always this helpless, or do i just bring it out of you?"

his hand grabs your jaw. not hard enough to bruise, not yet—but enough to make your breath hitch. "you were so loud before. crying about betrayal. sniffling like i ruined your life." he leans in. voice dropping. "but your nipples are hard and you're soaking through your panties. want to explain that to me, baby?"

you turn your face, humiliated. his grip tightens, "look. at. me." you do. your eyes sting. your bottom lip trembles. you hate this. you love it.

he sees everything, "you don't get to hide anymore."

he leans back on his heels, gaze raking over your fully bare body, and groans like he's witnessing something sacred.

"fuck, look at you. trembling. dripping. thighs shaking like you've been begging for this since the day you met me."

your face burns. you try to squeeze your legs together but he slaps your inner thigh.

not hard. not painful. but enough to sting. to make your hips jolt. "spread. them."

you don't obey fast enough so he grabs your knees and forces them open. "you want to cry again? go ahead. i like the way your tears look when they roll into your mouth."

you let out a shaky sob, frustration and arousal eating you alive, but jay just leans down and licks the tear from your cheek.

"sweet little mess," he breathes, lips ghosting over your skin. "this is what you were made for."

he kisses down your neck. your chest. your stomach. his teeth graze your hip. "tell me you want it, or i'll stop."

you squirm, humiliated, raw, "say it."

"i want it," you whisper.

"say it louder."

"i want it."

he smiles. mean. sharp. perfect, "good girl."

he presses his mouth to your heat again. tongue flat, slow, claiming. and this time, he doesn't stop. his tongue slides over your center like he's savoring something expensive.

slow. wide. cruel.

you arch under him with a soft cry, body already raw from how he's stripped you down—not just physically, but completely. nerves exposed. pride shattered. his now, and he knows it.

"mm," jay hums against your core, licking you again, slow and deliberate. "sweet little thing... this what betrayal tastes like?"

your thighs twitch. his grip tightens.

"thought you hated me just ten minutes ago. now you're dripping like you've been waiting your whole life for my mouth."

you whimper, hips twitching. he doesn't give you relief—just more pressure. too slow. too controlled. like he's building something just to tear it down.

he pulls back, licking his lips lazily. his mouth shines.

"you gonna cry again? huh?" he coos, one brow raised. "go ahead. doesn't matter how much you sob, this pretty cunt's still begging me to fill it."

you suck in a breath as his fingers trail back down between your legs. he teases you—barely brushing the slick entrance with two fingers, then pulling away.

again. and again. you try to buck your hips and move your arms but the invisible bindings at your wrists tighten.

"stay still." his voice darkens. and something shifts in the air.

he presses two fingers in—finally—but only halfway.

your eyes roll. your mouth drops open. he watches you, eyes filled with amusement. "that desperate for my fingers? not even halfway in and you're already squeezing like a whore."

you squirm as he thrusts them deeper. the stretch is overwhelming, so sudden after being teased for so long, and the heel of his palm grinds down against your clit until your vision blurs.

"feel that?" his voice is right in your ear now—he's everywhere. "that's your body saying yes while your head's still pretending to be innocent."

he curls his fingers just right and you scream. he grins like the devil himself, "there she is."

he thrusts faster now, fingers soaked, the sound of it filthy in the quiet, pulsing space. his palm slaps against your clit with every movement. your thighs shake, your hips jerk—but you're bound. you're stuck.

"how long do you think you'll last?" he murmurs. "how many times can i make you cum before you forget your own name?"

you whimper, breath hitched. "please, i—"

"please what?" he slows. again.

you almost sob.

"please let you come? please wreck you harder? or maybe you just want to be filled up like a good little toy."

you moan, body straining. the bindings tighten again—not painfully, but enough to remind you that you're completely his.

he leans in, fingers still deep, curling slow and mean. "you're not cumming until you admit it."

"admit what—?"

"that you like this."

you freeze. breathless.

"say it. say you like being used. being ruined. say you like being owned by the thing you were so scared of."

you hesitate, so he stops. fingers still buried inside you, but unmoving. "say it or i leave you here. trembling. soaked. aching."

you bite your lip. humiliated. soaked. desperate. and then you whisper it, "i like it."

"louder."

"i like it. i like being ruined. i like you owning me."

he smiles and fucks you hard with his fingers, curling, thrusting, his mouth back on your clit as he laps at you hungrily. you feel a foreign feeling build in the pit of your stomach, your body shaking and twitching.

you cum fast. loud. messy. completely undone. your body shakes, back arching, a loud sob tearing from your throat as he holds you through it—mouth locked to you, tongue relentless, fingers fucking you through the aftershocks.

and when you collapse?

he doesn't stop, "you thought i was done with you?"

jay's voice is thick with amusement, warm breath fanning over your thighs as he stays buried between them. his fingers don't stop moving. his tongue is still licking.

slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

you're shaking. sobbing. your thighs twitch with every tiny stroke to your clit, and your hips jerk helplessly, but you still can't move—not from exhaustion, not from the invisible force that keeps your wrists pinned above your head.

"don't squirm," he mutters, licking a long stripe up your oversensitive center. "you said you liked being ruined. so now i'm going to ruin you right."

you choke on a moan, head thrashing. "too much—"

he laughs. "too bad." his fingers thrust again—deeper, meaner now. the squelch of your slick, the wet drag of his knuckles, the obscene slap of his palm against your clit—it's all loud now. deliberate. degrading.

"listen to that," he sneers. "your messy little cunt can't even pretend to fight me anymore. soaked. swollen. like it's been waiting for me for years."

you gasp, mouth open in a silent cry as he flattens his tongue against your clit again. but this time, it's not slow. this time, he devours you—relentless, tongue dragging tight circles, fingers curling into that sweet, ruined spot that makes your whole body seize.

"you're gonna cum again," he growls into you, voice muffled by your skin. "don't care if you're ready. don't care if you're crying. this little pussy's mine now, and i decide when it stops."

your eyes roll back and you can feel it—already. your legs shake violently, breath catching in short, high-pitched gasps as you spiral toward a second orgasm.

"that's it. you're close, aren't you? fuck, look at you—" he slaps your clit once, sharp, just to watch you jolt. "—so easy now. so fucking weak for me."

you scream. you thrash. but the bindings hold.

"you gonna cum again, baby? gonna soak my hand like the needy little hole you are?"

your voice breaks, "jay—please—"

"beg louder."

"please! please, i—" but you never finish.

he fucks his fingers into you deeper, thumb circling your clit, tongue flicking across your folds like he's marking you with every stroke—and it tips you over.

the second orgasm crashes into you like a wave of white heat. you scream—louder than before—head thrown back, thighs quivering, tears spilling freely as your body locks and trembles and pulses around his fingers.

and he doesn't stop.

"yeah, that's it," he growls, watching the way you break apart beneath him. "fucking cum for me again. make a mess. cry about it. you're not leaving this floor until i'm finished with you."

your chest heaves, mind blank.

and jay? he's just getting started.

"look at you." jay's voice is velvet-coated filth. he's above you now, body heavy between your thighs, pinning you to the pulsing floor with casual, crushing dominance.

you can barely see him through the blur of tears. your face is hot, your lips swollen, your chest heaving with hiccuped sobs—and he's smiling. like your wreckage is beautiful. like your suffering is his reward.

"crying again, angel? didn't i just give you everything you begged for?" he reaches down—grips himself—and your breath stops.

because that's not human. not anymore.

you hadn't realized when he got the chance to slip off his pants, your eyes immediately zeroing in on what was clenches between his fist.  his cock is thick. veiny. too hot. it pulses in his hand like it has a heartbeat of its own, the head flushed darker than the rest, slightly curved, the base wrapped in ridged muscle you've never seen on anyone living. it looks designed—to stretch, to bruise, to own.

"don't pretend you're scared now," he huffs, pressing the thick head against your drenched entrance. "you begged for this. cried for it. soaked my face like a desperate little whore."

you whimper as he shoves in the tip.

your back arches, and your mouth drops down to an 'o'. "too big?" he mocks. "what a shame." his hand clamps down on your waist. you try to pull away—reflex—but he drags you back down like your body belongs to him. because it does.

"this body's not made for anything soft anymore." he pushes deeper and you scream. it burns. it stretches. he's so much, and you're still raw, still trembling from the last orgasm—and he knows it.

"so fucking tight," he grits. "like you were waiting to be split open."

he bottoms out and you sob again and jay laughs. "god, you're crying again. what's wrong, baby? can't handle being filled by what you gave yourself to?"

your fingers claw the air, wrists still bound, whole body shaking as his hips start to move—slow at first, dragging every ridge and vein against your walls, pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss before slamming back in deep.

"this pussy's mine now." he pounds into you again, "say it."

"j—jay—"

he grabs your jaw, forces your mouth open. "say it or i'll cum inside you and keep you full forever."

your cunt clamps down on him tight and he groans, low and dangerous. "fuck. you liked that, didn't you? thought you'd hate being ruined, but now you want it dripping down your thighs."

you choke. your legs are shaking again. your mind is gone. he keeps fucking into you—hard, brutal, possessive.

"i'm gonna fuck you until you forget you ever had a name. until the only word you know is mine."

your body convulses and another orgasm hits you, this one violent and sharp—rips through you as his cock drags over every spot that shouldn't exist inside you. it's like he's built to keep you on edge, to ruin you forever.

and when you cum, crying, broken, babbling nonsense—he smiles. "good girl."

he thrusts once. twice. and then he growls, a sound inhuman and deep, filling you with a rush of heat so intense your whole body trembles.

his cock pulses. deep inside. and he doesn't pull out. you could feel yourself dripping with him, your cunt clenching pathetically around him like a vice.

"mine now," he whispers into your ear, licking the sweat from your temple. "forever."

you don't respond. you can't.

and jay? jay just watches you twitch beneath him, a satisfied god feasting on the wreckage he made.

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

no one finds her.

not the mall staff. not the cops who skim the grainy security footage with bored eyes. not her family, who post missing posters no one reads.

there's no door. no sound. no sign.

just static on the feed where her flashlight dropped. just silence in the halls where she vanished.

but sometimes—if you're unlucky— if you wander too far past where the lights flicker and the walls feel too soft you might hear something.

a voice.

a moan.

a laugh, low and sweet and wrong.

or maybe you'll see something flash by—dark hair, bare feet, eyes too wide, a figure slumped against yellow walls with something crawling beneath her skin.

you won't know if she's alive.

you won't know if she's alone.

and the worst part? she might smile at you.

soft. slow. dreamy.

like she's waiting. like you're next.

because the backrooms keep what they're given. and they remember every sob, every scream, every second of surrender.

and somewhere inside them, in the red-lit heart of something ancient and hungry—he's still fucking her open. still whispering in her ear.

still asking the same question, over and over again: "do you want to be mine?"

and maybe—just maybe..

she said yes.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

��Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[bluetimeombre]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ A friend of the families

you and Ellie became close when she moved to Jackson. you and Joel got even closer

[wanted to get this out tonight so it feels rushed but also good. Cause I wanted it out it is not proof read. Dunno how much more Joel I'll be writing as Arthur Morgan is my latest obsession but I may yet prove good at multi tasking]

warning: older Joel, younger reader, (unspecified) oral (both receiving) fingering, kinda mean and teasing Joel. reader is described as female. you and joel just needy.reader is friend of Ellie's. takes place in Jackson, this is a long piece but ends in a quickie. P in V. A possible part two?

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Joel was not accustomed to a teen girl in the house.

He’d lost Sarah before they could reach the ‘no boys’ ‘no drugs’ ‘curfew ten thirty,’ so with Ellie, it was a fresh start. All new.

"Joel, what the hell?"

He’d yet to learn the golden rule about knocking.

You and Ellie were sat on her bed in her garage room, a comic sitting between you two. It was innocent, it was nothing but when Joel saw you it all felt wrong.

It all felt like he was seeing something he shouldn’t.

And you smirked at him.

"S-sorry," he apologised to Ellie and stepped away, gently closing the door behind him.

He lingered- he didn’t mean to but he caught the first glimpse of your voice and halted.

"You didn’t tell me he was hot," he heard you say.

"Ew- that’s gross, because he’s not," said Ellie.

Joel shook his head, banishing every thought and trying to think of anything that wasn’t your smirk. Who were you? And why’d you look at him like he was an appetizer to a meal.

He took himself away. He wasn’t dense enough to know that young girls liked privacy but surely… Joel couldn’t remember seeing you around, but you had to be a couple years older than Ellie.

You were mature in face and in the way you looked at him, daring a tease.

He thought about it, thought about you as he sat in his quiet and lonely house since Ellie had moved to the garage.

Joel had no idea how long he’d been sitting before he heard the back door close quietly.

He looked back and saw you lurking.

"Sorry, Mr Miller," you apologised, hands behind your back as you rocked on your heels. "Ellie said company was fine."

"It is," he insisted, stretching his arm along the sofa. "It is fine."

You still lingered, unable to leave.

Joel’s eyes darted around, dragging up your body. "What’s your- what’s your name?"

You told him and he repeated it, testing the syllables on his tongue.

"You known Ellie long?" He asked, shifting on the sofa to look at you. It was no secret to the town of Jackson that he and Ellie weren’t exactly getting along at the moment. It was maybe a better kept secret with how well Joel had been coping with it.

"Couple months, Jesse was helping with training both of us."

You still stood there, not taking a step closer to him.

Joel hummed in amusement. "I don’t bite, you know."

Your brows rose and that smirk graced your lips again as is his words awoke something in you. "Who’s to say I don’t."

Joel’s eyes flickered to you.

You stood there. Confident, hands clasped behind your back like they couldn’t be trusted in front of you.

Before he could think of something to say, before he could think if he wanted to tempt you to more or remind himself you were Ellie’s friend, you walked around the sofa and toward the door.

"I’ll see you around, Mr Miller."

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"The girl?" Said Tommy. "Maria found her some years back. Helps out a lot, good shooter, good with horses too. She’s a good girl."

Joel had given himself a month to think about you before he asked Tommy and in that month he saw you everywhere.

At the bar, sassing Seth.

At the stables with Ellie.

Eating with Jesse.

You invaded every space.

You’d even been in the garage with Ellie more times than he could count, if he didn’t see you he could hear your laughter.

Sometimes you left through his house, always leaving with a comment and a Mr Miller.

Once you’d dared drag your finger tips across his arm.

A good girl his ass.

"She good for Ellie to be around?" Joel asked.

Tommy chuckled at the accusation. "Nobody better. She’s a good one, Joel."

A good one. Often he’d found his subconscious mind thinking just how good you were. If you’d listen to him in bed or if you’d be the brat you keep giving him glimpses of.

"Why all the questions?" Tommy asked.

The two brothers were out taking their route for patrol. Joel hadn’t been to start talking about you.

He just couldn’t help himself.

"I was wondering if she’s ever patrolled?" He asked. "I could show her."

Tommy chuckled, looking over at Joel, a familiar glint in his eyes. "Yeah Joel, you could teach her."

The rest of patrol drove him crazy. As he moved his horse and did the checks all he could think about was sharing a horse with you, having your body curling into his, arms around you as held the reins.

Who cared if you could ride a horse yourself, he’d teach you to ride his way.

Once him and Tommy rode back through the gates Joel jumped off and headed to the bar. Usually he was tired, aching, just wanted to go home, but he wanted to find you.

It was easy to in the bar.

The people nodded at him, making small greetings as he walked through. He made comfortable conversation but didn’t linger.

You were at the bar, third wheeling a Jesse and Dina who laughed together. You were nursing a beer, wiping the condensation down the glass.

Joel slid himself in next to you, waving for a whiskey.

You gulped down a sip of your beer. "Mr Miller."

Joel turned to you, as if he was surprised to see you there and didn’t know that was your Friday routine.

He knew he should have told you it was Joel but god the way your lips shaped his name.

"Having fun?" He asked, gesturing to the two who chatted behind you.

"Not ideally how I like to spend my Friday nights," you slowly brought the beer to your lips, tasted it.

Joel was a damned man as he watched. "Tommy said you don’t patrol."

"Talking to Tommy about me now?" You teased.

The whiskey was placed in front of him. He took a sip and licked the sharpness of it from his lips. He was old enough to play your games. He could beat you at them to.

"Think it’s about time you learn how," he said.

You cringed. "Why?"

"Bout time you pull your weight," he said, leaning on the counter. His leg was kicked out, close enough to yours.

You peered at him. You weren’t drunk but there was a haze from the beers you’d had. "And you’re the one who decides that are you?"

"I am now," he said. His fingers danced around the rim of his glass and he wasn’t ignorant to how you watched the move of his fingers. "You’ll ride with me."

"I’ll ride with you," you repeated the words. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and Joel was just a man- just a man being reeled in like a fish on a hook.

He nodded. "If you can keep up."

"I’m sure I’ll manage," you said.

"Joel?" A sudden reminder that you came to the Bison not alone- with Ellie- entered his mind as her voice called from behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Joel backed away from the counter, "just fancied a drink, kiddo."

Ellie stood between the two of you, unknowingly cutting through the tension. "Did something go wrong on patrol?"

"No," he said. "Nothing wrong."

He did the only thing he could, down his whiskey and head for the door.

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"Why is Joel teaching you to patrol?" Asked Ellie.

"Time to earn my keep, he said," you told her, pulling up your hair for the fourth time that morning.

"He’s so annoying." You could see Ellie roll her eyes from her place on her bed. Her arms were folded over as she glared at nothing and imagined Joel.

"He’s not so bad," you told her.

Ellie muttered. "You don’t know him like I do."

No, you didn’t. You didn’t know why Ellie didn’t talk to him. You didn’t know why he looked at you with dark eyes and clenched fists. You weren’t even sure Joel knew half the time.

But you wanted to know. You wanted to know what made Joel tick and wither. You wanted to know the touch of his hands and the drag of his lips.

You wanted to feel the tears of roughness ontop of you, pressing you down, holding you. His lips-

There was a knock at the door as Joel called through.

Ellie pushed herself up, opening the door.

His jacket fitted him, sleeves ripped slightly and work from the years.

You smiled to yourself, turning and fixing yourself. You wanted to impress the man and be able to patrol. It was a hard one to balance.

When you turned to him and Joel froze you imagined you’d done a good job. Until all he did was nod his head and hurry you along.

Ellie looked back to you, dead-panned. "See?"

You shrugged and squeezed her arm as you walked out the door. "I’ll see you later."

Ellie hesitated at the door like a mother watching her child leave. "Don’t let him get to you!"

You laughed to yourself and turned to her as you walked away. "Who’s to say I won’t be the one getting to him?"

"Gross- seriously!"

Yes. Seriously. Everyone knew Joel was easy to annoy, often spending most his time grumbling at people rather than talking. His age was catching up to him, his grumpiness evident in every blink of his eyes.

Around you you’d noticed it was different. He was kinder, alert. Maybe he could see your teasing nature. If he did… it sure would make out to be an interesting trip.

Joel waited outside his house for you, eyes low even as you got closer.

It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that he tutted and went back inside, leaving you there.

You stood, perplexed.

Was he unimpressed? You’d dressed fine- maybe your pants were too tight and framed your hips too well-

Joel marched down the stairs, an old jacket in hand. "Take it off," he demanded.

Your breath caught.

He rolled his eyes (so much like Ellie). "Your coat, won’t do anything to keep you warm. Put this on."

He handed you and old and worn jacket, similar shades to his but lighter.

So he was worried about you. Your stomach flipped.

Slowly you peeled off your little coat. It already wasn’t keeping out the on coming frost but it did things for you that you wanted Joel to appreciate.

As you took it off, he looked away, a cock to his head as he held out the jacket.

"Was this Ellie’s?" You asked. It hung on you slightly, the sleeves far too long as it felt down and down.

There was a faint trace of wood on the collar as you pulled it around you.

"No, it was mine," he said. He looked at you finally.

It was drowning you, him looking at you in the coat that shrunk you down. It wasn’t exactly the effect you wanted.

"Suits you," he said. "Now c’mon."

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Patrol was supposed to be an honour. Something the adults did and boasted for. Something all the kids wanted to aspire to.

You weren’t sure why, it was boring.

It turned out all it really counted for was following the path made by others, looking round every tree and such.

Joel rode behind you on his horse as you rode ahead on yours. The only thing keeping you awake as you calmly trod through the woods was the heat of his gaze on you.

The lure of danger behind you.

Every time you wanted to glance back he snapped. 'Face front'.

You listened though.

"Up here," he took the lead as you were led to an abandoned building. Where they logged patrols.

Your horses remained outside as Joel went in first, gun out. There was one holstered at your hip but as you watched Joel’s hand wrap around the weapon, fingers squeezing you couldn’t think to reach for yours. Only think-

"You’re distracted," Joel huffed. He slouched, not opening the door till he had your attention.

You rose a brow.

"Raiders could be in here and you’re-"

"There was no horse tracks or feet on the ground leading up. The door has no signs of struggle," you said. "It’s fine."

Joel looked at you. "It’s confidence like that that gets you killed, smartass."

You roll your eyes but oblige him, getting out your own gun. "Confidence has got me this far."

"Confidence has got you here with me." He said it as if it wasn’t a dream come true for you.

Inside Joel walked, gun up and you followed, assessing every move he made like he was an enemy to watch.

"Every room needs to be assessed. If there’s anything unusual you report it," he instructed. "Any fires recently put out, any blood. You’ll learn to know these rooms like the back of your hands. Then you-"

"Log it," you finished.

Joel checked the last room while you were already logging in the book, looking at past logs.

J. Miller was scribbled frequently and it wasn’t just your desire manifesting him wherever you went, it was just him.

"You patrol a lot," you said.

"Yeah."

"Nothing better to do with your time?" You asked, looking over your shoulder to him.

Joel stalked closer, his boots thudding on the ground with every step as he assessed the space between the two of you getting smaller and smaller. "No. Not really."

You nodded and leant over, scribbling again.

You didn’t miss the clear of his throat and how he stepped toward the side. "No Ellie on here. You don’t let her patrol?"

"No," he said. "She’s not ready yet."

"But I am?"

"You’re older," said Joel. "More mature."

You stood straight, leaning on the table and looking at him. "Mature. I think that’s a compliment, Mr Miller."

He stared at you a moment longer and you let him, almost becoming breathless with his gaze. Joel wasn’t doing much better.

But he wouldn’t take the first step. For months, since your eyes first caught him you’d waited for something. For a pinch of the desire from him, for a stutter of breath.

And all you got was those eyes.

You stepped from the table and Joel stepped back. "Mr Miller-"

"Don’t-"

You stopped, your hands clasped in front of you.

"I think I know why you wanted me on patrol."

He shook his head, jaw clenched. "You don’t."

You did affect him. You did have that want buried inside of him, had planted it there like a seed, and around you it blossomed in spring.

You had no idea if you’d lunged first or if Joel had grasped out for you but soon enough your arms were around his neck and his curled around your waist and pulled your body into his.

His lips were chapped and bruising as they worked against yours.

Kissing him was like every wet dream. Every dangerous thought. His lips were the desert and you the rain.

His hands were even better, unable to stop the exploration of the new world.

They found themselves traveling under the coat, bunching up the shirt you’d dare wear.

Your tongue fought for entrance to his mouth and he granted it, opening wide for you.

His leg nudged apart yours, sliding in as his hands wandered up and pulled your hair.

His eyes were hooded, body all tense as he tugged at your hair to look at you, your neck stretched back, lips red. "You’re Ellie’s friend."

You nodded as best you could in his hold.

"Tell me to stop."

"No."

When Joel dove in again his hands had moved down to your rear, pulling you into him and his lips found the expanse of your neck.

His teeth nipped, his tongue ran and heat soared through you until you were sweating his his jacket.

You went to tug it off but with something like a growl in your neck, Joel pulled it back. He pulled away enough to see you in.

"It’s mine," he said, his feet shuffling with yours until he had you on the table, sweeping the book of patrol away and sitting you on there.

His hands, rough and firm, gripped your thighs and pried them apart, slinging himself between. "This is wrong."

Both of you knew Ellie would kill if she knew Joel’s hands were finding themselves higher on your thighs and yours were trailing under his checkered shirt.

Once. Just once. That what you and Joel decided in one glance. Once couldn’t hurt.

As your nails dug into his skin, feeling the softness of his stomach and the happy trail teasing you down, Joel worked your belt undone, the buttons popping.

As you felt the pads of his finger dip into your panties, you drew him in, smelling sandlewood in his neck and burying yourself in the scent.

"Oh babygirl," he cooed as his fingers dipped into the dampness. "This for little old me."

You nod, biting into his neck. "You, Joel."

There was a chuckle and a groan as his fingers curled up, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Fuck, the way you say my name, you’re gonna-"

"Joel, you there?" Both of you paused as the static at his hip sounded. "Joel?"

Both of you shifted away, you worked up your trousers as Joel fished out the walkie talkie.

Tommy’s voice crackled over as you both listened. "There’s a storm that’s gonna be coming in, it’s looking bad. Is everything ok over there?"

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing and doing everything not to look at you. "Yeah, everything’s fine over here."

His voice was clipped.

Your eyes trailed down his body, at his shirt that was now untucked from his trousers and the strain. The strain of his aching cock for your touch that looked so thick and heavy that it had to be painful.

Or maybe it was more painful that your lips weren’t wrapped around him

"Then you two should think about heading back," said Tommy.

Joel looked at you. At you, not at your eyes but at the spot his fingers had just tasted for the first time. "Heading back?"

It was more a question in your direction. Head back, pretend this hasn’t happened, or wait out the storm.

"Yeah. Listen, Ellie’s pretty worried about the two of you out there. She wants you home."

The question was answered. In the way neither of you wanted Ellie to worry, or in the way she could never know about this.

Both of you turned from each other.

What were you doing? There was harmless flirting but what you just did wasn’t harmless. It was… so many filthy things you couldn’t bring yourself to hate the memory of.

Joel quickly said you’d be back soon and slid it back to his waist.

He looked to you, eyes still dark, but a heat rising up his neck. "We should leave."

You nod, tidying yourself and taking yourself from the table, putting the book back in its place.

What had you done? The heat had vanished and cold like the storm came.

"Mr Miller, I didn’t-" you turned, expecting him to be waiting for an apology when in fact he stood close.

"If you’re about to tell me, you didn’t mean for it to get that far, we’re gonna have to stay here, through the storm and you’re gonna have to make it up to me."

It was a warning you were willing to take.

Ellie. Ellie. Ellie.

Joel made sure you understood.

He fingers that had been curling inside of you shortly ago rose to his lips and he ran it over before grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you.

Before you could embrace him, he pulled back. "Ellie can never know."

"Never."

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And she didn’t.

For the next week you hung out with Ellie away from her house and any glimpses of Joel were spent rushing to remember the touch of him.

Ellie was home the wiser.

And Joel, he acted as if he didn’t even know you.

Perhaps it was for the best. You dared the feeling and that was all you got. Maybe you could live without it…

You could get it out your system if you stuffed your own fingers in your pussy and chased the thought of him.

(It was proving very difficult)

Only when Joel was out the house- as Ellie told you- that you waited in her garage for her. She was trailing with Jesse but wanted to show you her latest comic find.

You said you'd wait, and you did. Walking around her space, strumming the strings of a guitar, flicking through pages of comic books and staring at a picture of her and Joel at the stables.

The door creaked open.

"Ellie?"

You knew that voice in your dreams. Knew it like it was your own.

"Not quite."

Joel appeared over the door, looking around the empty room until he found you, lurking at her desk. "Huh," he mumbled. His boots were slow on the floor as he stood there. "Where's Ellie?"

"She's with Jesse, said she wouldn't be long." You picked at the wood of the table.

It had been easy to tease him before, to want him and dip your toes into that.

You hadn't thought that knowing the feel of him could make it worse.

Joel nodded and closed the door behind him, trapping the two of you inside. He still looked around, carelessly kicking his feet as he walked over. "Long? How long ago was that?"

You lifted your shoulders. "Twenty minutes. Maybe more."

He nodded once more and stopped when he was close enough to feel your breath on him. "You've been waiting in here this whole time?"

You nodded.

Something uneasy flickered in his eyes. "You didn't want to see me, huh?"

"I did!" you said, almost too quickly. "I mean, I assumed you'd you know, be busy." With what you didn't know. Had he ever fisted his cock imagining your lips? He was older, probably better controlled.

"I have been busy," he said. "But all I could think about was you. You know what you've done to me?"

You looked up at him. The greys in his beard were prominent, as were the little dark circles under his eyes. "What i've done?"

His hand reached out, cupping your cheek and feeling your skin. He took in a deep breath, a relief of one. "Been thinking about these-" the pad of his thumb brushed against your lips. "This-" his other hand cupped the heat between your thighs.

Your eyes screwed shut. However long you'd thought about it and no matter how much you tell yourself it's filthy to think of him, Ellie's dad practically, in that light, it didn't stop the wetness that laid there.

"It's wrong," said Joel, shaking his head at you like he could read your thoughts. "It ain't right."

Your gaze flickered up to him. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, the hand that was comfortable between your legs. "So we shouldn't?"

Joel looked at his thumb that dragged across your bottom lip. "We shouldn't."

"Even if I-" your throat bobbed and Joel watched the movement. "Even if I need you? Need you so bad?"

"How bad?"

An invitation.

Without words you moved his hand away and slid it down the band of your jeans and panties until his fingers dragged over your clit and felt the need.

It was wrong. It would be so wrong.

Joel took his hand away and grabbed your wrist, dragging you from the garage.

Your feet were practically tripping over themselves as you fought his grasp. Was he gonna chuck you out? Tell you to never come back? To leave Ellie alone? "Mr Miller? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

Joel pushed open the kitchen door, letting it bang on the wall as he dragged you inside his house. Once in, he kicked the door closed again and led you into the counter.

His lips were just as hungry, just as desperate as the last time. If not, more so.

A groan fought it's way through his throat and he wasted no time in slipping his tongue inside your mouth. It was wet and all tongue and all teeth like he was eating you, hiding you inside of him.

There wasn't time.

Who knew what interruption would come again.

Your fingers fumbled with his belt and Joel helped you throw it aside.

This time, you reached for him, feeling the dent of him through his boxers.

"F-fuck, sweetheart," Joel groaned against your lips. "You- your-"

"I need you," you said, breathless against him. "Please, I need you."

"I know, I know," his head dropped to your shoulder, hands at the bottom of your shirt. "I know you've been teasing me. Damn well testing me for weeks. Fuck, you've wanted this, haven't you baby girl?"

You nodded as your hand moved up and down his length.

"Say yes."

"Yes, Mr Miller."

His teeth bit down on your shoulder through the fabric. "You'd let me? Let me have you?"

"Maybe we just-" your fingers traced the elastic at his boxers. "Need it out our system?"

"Out our system?" he repeated.

Joel pulled his head back and looked at you.

You meat his gaze and didn't falter as your hand snuck down his boxers and grasped his cock, squeezing.

"Sh-shit," Joel stuttered, falling into you and crowding you on the counter. "Touch me like that baby and I won't make it inside of you before I come."

You chuckled and kissed him. Slowly, you dragged your hand up and down, his pre-cum making it easy to have him groaning and kissing you furiously. "Can I- mmh."

"Can you what, baby?" he asked, pulling away only enough for you to hear his words.

"Can I suck your cock? Please, please."

Joel groaned as you thumb swiped over the head of his leaking tip. "Oh fuck, baby, you're so polite. So different now you have my cock in hand."

"Can I?" you asked again. He was heavy in your hand, warm and you feared the embarrassment for what you'd do to feel him on your tongue.

He grinned and pecked your lips. "Who am I to say no?"

In a haze, his hand was in your hair and you were on your knees and his cock was in your mouth.

Joel's hands clenched on the countertop, head thrown back as you took him deep and warm and wet on your first take. "Shit, you're taking me deep."

You moaned around him. It was all fast, all so fast when all you wanted was to feel him, hold him, taste him. You wanted to savour every drop of pre-cum and every word of his.

"So pretty," his hands pushed your hair back into a ponytail but he didn't tug. He didn't force his cock down your throat, he just let you feel and taste. "Such a pretty throat, so nice, so pretty. So nice of you to want me."

Your held the base of him, working what you didn't take as you increased your speed.

His praise to you was one thing, but the way he spoke to himself had your hand travelling to your pussy and circling your clit. 'Old man like me got a young thing like you all hot and bothered... the things I'd do to you... too good for me, baby. Feel too good."

You hollowed your cheeks as you took him down, gagging at the depths.

Joel tugged at your hair and you released him in a mess of need. "You're gonna make me come, sweetheart."

You caught your breath and wiped the mess from your lips. "Want you to, Joel," you said, still holding him and looking as if it was a wonder. "Want to taste you."

"Honey, if this is the only time I do this i'm not coming till i've felt how tight you are."

You groaned.

Joel chuckled, tapping your chin till you looked up at him. "Behaviour like that and you'll-"

Suddenly, the sound of the front door alerted you both.

Joel's eyes widened. "Shit!"

"Hey Joel, have you seen my comic?"

You couldn't move. You were hidden behind the counter but if you crawled out now, red in the cheeks and hair tangled there'd be no question what you were doing.

You shifted but Joel's hand clamped down on you and pushed you down, keeping you in front of his cock.

His still very tempting and leaking cock.

"Ellie, what are you doing here?" he asked. He let go of your hair, but continued soothing it back gently.

"I'm looking for my savage starlight comic, I wanted to show- are you ok?"

You glanced up at Joel. There was a thin layer of sweat over his forehead and the hand that wasn't on you was balled tight.

"You look kinda..." Ellie trailed off.

Cautiously, you started to move your hand up and down, watching the muscle in his jaw twitch.

"F-fine, just a migraine."

"Oh, didn't know you got them," said Ellie.

"Oh yeah," said Joel, seething. "This one's pretty persistent."

Persistent? You could show him persistent.

While you slowly worked him up and down and Ellie kept throwing out ideas where she'd last seen the comic, you licked up his cock like it was a treat and you were starving.

He withered in your touch.

"I haven't- urg- I haven't seen it, kiddo," Joel groaned, head hung. His eyes were squeezed shut, not even daring to glance at you on your knees. "Have you checked your garage?"

"Yes i've- shit, you look terrible. Should I get Tommy?"

"No," said Joel.

You squeezed his cock.

"Fu- yes! Yes! Yes, Ellie go get Tommy. Tell him to bring some, mh, some painkillers, would ya?" he'd practically shouted the words at her, lips pursed and body hunched over.

"Woah, ok, ok, I... will you be alright alone?"

"Yes, yes just please, go get Tommy."

"Ok, Ok, just- just don't move!" the sound of sneakers on the ground quickly told you Ellie was rushing off, so concerned for Joel's health.

"Oh, I won't."

His eyes opened down at you and you froze.

Both of you remained still until you heard the front door slam shut.

You winced, expecting the tug of your chair and the strength of Joel to throw you to your feet and get you out the house.

You didn't expect for Joel to join you on the ground, lying you down on the kitchen floor.

"We ain't got enough damn time," he grunted, lying over you. He had himself propped up with his forearm, panting as he pulled down your pants.

You helped him, wriggling your hips until they were at your knees. "Joel, what are you-"

The words died in a moan as he went in, tongue first, into your pussy.

He licked up the mess he'd created, drooling and kissing along your lips and clit. It was messy. It was quick. He made out with your pussy with as much enthusiasm he did with your lips.

You were a mess on the floor, moaning loud enough you were surprised Ellie didn't hear. Your legs couldn't keep still, wanting to wrap around him but unable to due to your pants.

Joel's hands dug into your thigh. "Squirm anymore and I'll think you don't want it." He glanced up at you.

"I do. I do want it, want it real bad, please," you moan, back arching, offering yourself to him on a silver plate.

Joel kissed your pussy. "That's my girl."

You didn't know if he was talking to you or the heaven between your thighs. Frankly, you didn't care as his tongue swept up inside and he spread your legs to reach you deeper.

His finger slid inside of you easily. "Never known something as warm as you," he mumbled as he rested his head upon you, tongue making circles on your clit. "God, can't wait to feel you warm on my cock."

"Want it," you nod, eyes screwed shut as the familiar feel of pleasure built. "Please, I'm gonna- i'm gonna-"

Joel pulled back, kissing your thigh as he watched your pussy take his fingers, clench around them. "Wanna take my time, really wanna feel you."

Coldness swept in as he took away his fingers but a new heat built as you watched him suck your wetness off and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

There was no time.

Joel loomed back over you, guiding the head of his cock along the walls of your pussy. "No time, can you take me?"

"Y-yes, Mr Miller."

"You want it?"

"Yes."

"Are you gonna take it?"

He pushed the head inside your warmth and almost collapsed atop you. You held onto his back, holding him close. "Shit baby, jus- just need to feel you."

"No time, don't have time!" you whined, your legs constantly moving to be closer.

"Fuck, ok, ok," Joel grabbed your hand, entwining your fingers as he slowly pushed into you more. "Oh, this what you wanted? Wanted it deeper, wanted it quicker?"

You nod, lips pursed to hold your whimper.

"You jus' couldn't wait, huh?" Joel moved in and Joel moved out, your slick and his own coating him as he tried to go faster without hurting you.

He kissed like he needed it and touched like he may never get the chance again. But all he wanted was to love you right, to take his time. To know what made you wither and whimper.

He was torn between keeping watch on your face or watch how your pussy took him deep and well.

"Joel, faster, please!" you begged, hands pulling his shoulders in.

Both of you were still clothed and starting to sweat. If he wasn't fast enough neither of you would get to finish before Ellie returned with his brother and then you'd have an audience.

"Shit, ok, ok," Joel pulled down your jeans more and held your leg toward him. "Gonna fuck you now, baby girl, you're gonna take it."

You nodded along, biting down on your lip. He was deep, deeper than you thought possible.

"Gonna fuck you but we'll do it again, I promise, I promise," he coaxed you, rocking you, gripping your hand like it was his anchor. "You clench me so well baby, yeah, so warm, can't have you once."

"Have me, Joel, have me," you said, eyes shut as you chased your high desperately. How long had it been since Ellie left? Not long enough.

"I will baby girl, I will. Gonna have you in every room-" he thrusted hard and lingered inside, cock twitching, "on every wall," he did it again and groaned loud. It almost sounded like he was in pain. "Would fuck you in every room in Jackson so you'd never stop thinking about me."

You were close, getting so close to the release you'd craved for months.

Your breaths were quick, mixing like a song with the sound of skin on skin and Joel's words.

"So warm, you're so good for me, you're a good girl letting me... letting me use you like this," Joel's hand cupped your cheek. "Open your eyes, look at us."

Your body reacted to him in ways you'd never experienced before.

Your eyes opened and went to watching his cock plunge in and out.

"Just like that, juuusss like that," Joel grunted. "Fuck, c'mon!"

"Joel, i'm gonna, i'm gonna-" you panted.

He wanted you to hold it, wanted to feel you come with him and watch it seep out of you. "Look at me. Please, baby, look at me."

Once your eyes, wide and wanting met his Joel groaned loud and didn't have a chance to warn you until his cock twitched and he released inside you.

He couldn't form an apology or a word as he felt himself spill inside you, all in you. It drove him insane.

"Joel," you whimper at the feel of him, body tense as he released.

He wasn't having it like this. He didn't care if Ellie and Tommy were outside the door. He was making you cum.

He reached between your bodies, where he didn't move inside of you and used what seed of his that was coming out against your clit, circling it slow enough to drive you mad.

"Come for me," he said, heading in your neck as he sucked a mark there. Let Ellie tease and question you about it, he needed to be able to see this had happened. To look at that mark and know you'd been there.

"Joel, I'm gonna-"

He kept his steady pace but the pressure grew and grew. "Know you wanna, know you wanna finish with me inside of you. Me all messy and hot from what you do to me. You know it's wrong, you know you shouldn't but you wanna."

"Want to, want to-"

Joel slowly moved his cock out of you and replaced his fingers with himself, smearing him all over your clit and rubbing.

You finished with a moan, your most delicious one yet that Joel swallowed up in his mouth, groaning with you as he felt your release fall down him.

As you chased your high Joel kissed you like he should have the first time. Slow, tasting. His lips moved along yours with no sense of urgency and he let you breath.

Only when his lungs burned did he pull back enough to see your red cheeks and gleaming skin.

"Next time," Joel kissed your cheek. "We'll work something out and next time I'm making you come on my tongue on a bed."

You huffed a laugh, your legs finally stopping their shaking as you rested your head back. "Is that a promise?"

Joel kissed you softly.

It was a peaceful moment. If the two of you were anybody else that's how it all would've began.

But you were reminded your roles as the un-mistakable sound of a worried Tommy called out.

[em1i2a3]

Glide

Pairing: College AU! Frat Boy!Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader!

Summary: When your friends drag you to a frat house party during spring break you weren’t expecting much, but when you go to seek out a moment of silence and end up accidentally stepping into someone’s room, you end up forming an odd connection with one of the fraternity members. (Sequel is ‘Fantasy’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Some Angst, Mentions of Alcohol and Drug Use, Reader gets a little anxious in the crowd and mentions agoraphobia, Swearing, Reader has beef with one of the fraternity members, Reader is a Chemistry Major, Bobs in Aerospace Engineering

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (Female and Male Receiving), Handjob, Bob is Inexperienced (but he’s enthusiastic to try everything), Bob talks a lot during sexual acts, Dirty Talk, Praise/Worship Kink, Breast Play, Making Out and Dry Humping, Bob is super sensitive.

Author’s Note: Frat Boy Bob y’all. This was technically a request, but I dashed away with it and truly came to enjoy this so so much. Also just as a side note lol, Frats aren’t really a huge thing where I am, they’re so subdued it’s not even funny, though if you go to party schools you’re definitely going to get an experience and a half (I did not go to a party school so I’m going off of my friends experiences at this point 😂)

Word Count: 17,352

”Tell me again why the hell we’re going to this party?” Your voice cut through the late evening air, low and flat, edged with irritation as you pulled your windbreaker tighter across your chest. The nylon rasped beneath your fingers, a poor excuse for protection against the sharp spring breeze. The smell of your dorm clung to it–laundry detergent, stale coffee, and whatever perfume your roommate had sprayed on in the vicinity of it.

The sidewalk beneath your sneakers was still damp from a passing rain shower. Faint streaks of moisture glimmered on the concerte, catching the fractured yellow light from the street lamps above. You stepped around a crushed beer can and kept your head down, following the clacking of heels and bare legs that were moving a few paces ahead of you.

Jess, Monica, and Sue, your friends by proximity. You had met them during welcome week and never managed to shake them–even though you didn’t really want to. They existed in a different orbit entirely, but they took you in with open arms and tried to crack the shell that you had built around yourself. They were the people that convinced you that college didn’t have to be all about studying and going to class and that it could also be fun too, despite the hefty tuition bill.

The girls had built a three person wall along the sidewalk, pushing against each other as they chatted and laughed about something you hadn’t heard, keeping balance on their heels, skipping cracks in the pavement. They were dressed like the party was going to be a runway show instead of an absolute chaotic mess. Jess wore a short leather skirt and a cropped corset top under a trench coat she wasn’t planning to keep on. Her hair was up, slick and sharp, gold hoops brushing her jaw. Monica had on a silver halter top that sparkled under every porch light you passed, paired with high-waisted jeans and glossy lipstick that matched the cherry polish on her nails. Sue, as always, looked like she’d stepped out of an editorial spread–draped in a backless silk dress and strappy heels that should’ve been impractical, but somehow weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were the outlier–and it was obvious.

Black low-rise jeans hugged your hips, the waistband dipping just enough to expose a sliver of your stomach where your t-shirt stopped. The top was fitted and a plain navy blue, not short enough to be bold, and not long enough to be considered modest–though it was enough to remind you of the cold every time the wind shifted. Your black sneakers were scuffed at the toes, laces uneven, but they were practical for the walk home.

Technically, you were dressed for the weather, but standing next to your friends made you feel underdressed in a different way. Not because you didn’t look good, but because you just didn’t meet the same standard they had set for the group.

Your question had interrupted whatever conversation they were tangled in. Jess glanced over her shoulder first, her earrings catching the light at the turn.

”Well, Jake personally invited us,” She explained, like that was a valid reason, “And you’ve been holed up in your room almost all of spring break studying. You needed to get out. Breathe some fresh air, get social contact apart from us…Maybe drink something that hits a little better than three iced coffees a day.” You groaned immediately at the name Jake, ignoring the rest of the comments she had made about what you had been doing during the break.

”Not that meathead…If I knew that moron invited you guys, I would’ve locked my door and turned off my phone.” Monica sighed.

”C’mon, Y/N, he’s not that bad.” You let out a short laugh–dry and humorless.

”He’s a douchebag. And he thinks I’m a cockblock because I don’t let him get handsy with you guys when you’re half a drink in. I think he’s exactly that bad.” Jess gave a low laugh.

”He’s just a flirt.” You hummed.

”Right, and I’m just a buzzkill.” You muttered. Sue looked over at you now.

”We appreciate the defense. Really. But tonight…We’ve got a bit of a bet going.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What, like who’s gonna bed him first?” There was a pause, and the silence was telling. It caused you to stop walking.

”Oh god.” You rubbed your fingers into the corners of your eyes like you could physically wipe the idea out of your brain. Monica didn’t even flinch.

”He’s hot! How can you not be curious?! I’ve heard a lot of good things…” You dropped your head, staring at her.

”You better make that guy bathe in hand sanitizer before he touches you. God only knows where he’s been.” That got a laugh–sharp, unapologetic. Jess bit back a grin. Sue let out a quiet, breathy chuckle behind her hand, and even Monica smiled.

They didn’t deny it. They didn’t defend him, either.

The four of you continued to walk, your pace catching up to them so you could get involved in their conversation a little more, as your ears caught a hint of bass echoing through the streets.

Campus was surprisingly crowded for a week that should’ve been quiet. Most students hadn’t gone home–not for lack of desire, but practicality. A three-day visit to your hometown wasn’t worth the bus ticket, the packing, and the return. The majority of people who didn’t travel long distances had quietly agreed to stay put, which caused a social pressure cooker of chaos. Parties bled from one house to the next, yards were flooded with empty kegs and pool floats, and of course people were out till all hours of the night taking in the extracurriculars.

You were one of the people who chose to stay, but it was for different reasons.

You had a chemistry midterm that was going to hit you on the Monday right after break, and you needed peace and quiet to get the thirty five page study guide your professor had emailed. You had been hunched over your laptop, dragging a pen across every other line and downing iced coffee like it counted as fuel. Your residence hall had been silent–peaceful in the way only empty buildings could be. No thumping floors. No bathroom chatter. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional door shutting down the hall.

And honestly, you liked it that way.

Which was why walking up this street, with the scent of cheap body spray and beer already creeping into the air, made your skin itch.

Jess, Monica, and Sue weren’t wrong–you had wasted half your break studying. But a frat party was a far cry from the kind of break you would’ve chosen. You would’ve taken a quiet bookstore, a blackout curtained room, maybe a hot bath. Instead, you were heading straight into the epicenter of campus chaos.

The house came into view like a rising tide–inevitable and loud.

Theta Rho Alpha Sigma Heta.

TRASH, for short.

It was a reputation as much as a name. It was burned into every party story, every Camus warning, and every early morning regret that started with “so we went to TRASH last night.” Ten fraternity brothers lived inside, and every square foot off the place bore evidence of that fact. It was a massive, century-old house–once regal, now abused. Three floors, five bedrooms, two makeshift attic spaces, a finished basement that doubled as a moldy second living room. The paint on the siding had faded into a blotchy, sun-peeled gray, warped by years of weather and neglect. The porch sagged under the weight of too many bodies. One of the support beams had been duct-taped after someone fell through it last fall.

The front steps were uneven, patched with mismatched bricks and sagging plywood. Two of the railing posts were zip-tied together in a last-ditch effort to pass housing inspection. The fraternity’s letters were bolted crookedly above the door, one hanging loose on a single screw. Half-lit from a porch light that flickered like a dying candle.

Light poured from every window–yellow, blown out, too warm. It cast strange shadows across the lawn, catching in the curls of smoke that drifted from blunts and vapes and burning firewood in the backyard pit. The music pulsed through the siding—more vibration than melody. Heavy bass that flattened everything it touched, beating into your chest like an arrhythmic second heartbeat.

The lawn was packed–shoulder to shoulder, people overflowing onto the sidewalk, the flowerbeds, the hood of someone’s car parked at a bad angle. Plastic cups were everywhere, crushed or half-full or abandoned in the grass. The scent of spilled beer hung in the air, warm and sharp, mixing with sweat, weed, fast food, gasoline from a knocked-over jerry can, and the stale breath of a thousand unwashed Red Solo cups.

Someone was blasting a megaphone from the porch steps–a guy in a backwards cap, red-faced and laughing, trying to shout over the music. You caught pieces of it: something about jello shots, something about the beer pong table being “winner stays,” and something that sounded suspiciously like “naked mile.”

Two guys were wrestling in the grass by the mailbox, one of them missing a shirt, the other holding a can of whipped cream like a weapon. A girl stumbled past them in glitter boots and a bikini top, waving a phone and yelling at someone you couldn’t see. Another was throwing up behind a bush while her friend held her hair and nodded along to the music like it was a shared ritual.

From the second-floor balcony, a makeshift banner drooped crookedly on a frayed bedsheet:

TRASH FEST 2NITE - NO RULES. NO EXCUSES. NO SLEEP.

“Jesus,” Jess muttered under her breath, pausing at the edge of the lawn. “It’s already booming and it’s not even 9:30. We are so late.”

You followed a few paces behind her, stepping carefully around a puddle of cheap beer that had soaked into the grass. “Didn’t know we could be late for a frat party,” You mumbled, eyeing the porch like it might collapse under the weight of the crowd.

But the girls were already in motion, rushing toward the chaos like it was gravity pulling them in. You hung back just slightly, weaving your way around the worst of the lawn–dodging a guy hurling glow sticks into the crowd and stepping over a discarded takeout container that looked like it hadn’t survived the walk from the sidewalk. Your shoes slipped slightly on the wet grass as you moved toward the porch steps, where cigarette butts and crushed cups had collected like driftwood on the edge of a rising tide.

You stepped up, sneakers hitting the warped planets, hand grazing the rickety railing as the music began to rattle your teeth at full force. The door was open, the entryway wide and glowing with overexposed yellow light. You could smell it all before you even crossed the threshold–booze, sweat, pot, deodorant masking body odor, and something burnt that might’ve been food or someone’s hair.

The second your foot crossed the threshold, it hit you all at once–the heat, the crowd, the crush of music and smoke and too many bodies packed into too little space. The entryway smelled like spilled tequila and cheap cologne. Someone’s hoodie brushed your shoulder, sticky with sweat, and you recoiled instinctively, scanning for your friends. Jess’s trench coat disappeared into the living room. Monica’s glitter top flashed once, then vanished into the blur. Sue was already at the bar cart in the corner, snagging plastic cups.

You were still deciding whether to follow–or leave–when he stepped in front of you.

Jake Seresin.

Leaning casually against the wall near the stairs, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

He looked the same as always–clean cut and cocky, like a walking recruitment poster that never had to try too hard. His hair was neatly styled, strawberry blonde in colour, and slightly dampened from either sweat or a shower. You didn’t know and quite frankly you didn’t care.

He wore a snug black t-shirt that clung to the curve of his biceps, jeans slung low on his hips, worn-in boots planted like he owned the floorboards. A silver chain peeked from under his collar, catching the glow from the overhead bulb. The smirk on his face arrived before he spoke.

“Y/N…I see you’ve decided to come out of your cave.” Jake’s voice cut through the heat and noise like he owned the damn place–which, unfortunately, he sort of did, especially because he was the head of the house. His smirk was smug enough to slap off his face, and the way he looked at you–lazy, head tilted just slightly–made your blood itch.

“Didn’t realize you were doing doorman duty tonight. What’s the matter–couldn’t con a freshman into kissing your boots on the way in?”

Jake laughed, low and amused. He shifted his weight, arms crossing, biceps flexing like it was involuntary. “Cute. But if you really wanted to see me, you could’ve just said so. No need to pretend you’re here for the punch.”

“If I wanted to see you, I’d schedule a lobotomy first,” You said, eyes scanning past him to where the party stretched out like a sweaty nightmare, “You’re like athlete’s foot. Persistent. Itchy. Impossible to get rid of.”

That earned you a flash of teeth, the smirk sharpening. “Damn. Must’ve missed that sparkling charm of yours. Thought maybe you’d chilled out since fall semester.”

“Nah,” You replied, smiling without warmth, “You don’t know me well enough to assume something like that.” He hummed.

”You always this feisty, or do you just save it all for me?”

“I save it for pests,” You shot back, “Like you.” And with that, you pushed past him–your shoulder clipping his lightly–just enough to make it clear you were done. You didn’t wait for a comeback. You didn’t care what his smug ass had to said next. The music hit harder in the next room, and the humidity had already begun to creep under your clothes like steam.

Sue caught up to you almost instantly, already grinning like she’d watched the whole exchange from the sidelines.

“Thanks for buttering him up,” she said, patting your arm. Her tone was teasing, but not mocking. “I’m going in for the first interaction of the night.”

You raised your cup-less hand and gave her a small salute.

“Good luck,” You shouted back over the bass, smirking. She gave you a wink before disappearing into the crowd, swaying through the bodies with ease. You peeled off toward the kitchen, dodging a couple making out near the coat rack and stepping over a few abandoned beer cans. The kitchen was a warzone of overturned shot glasses, and a group of architecture students stacking some of the spare red solo cups in a tower. To your left, a half-empty bowl of lime wedges was slowly withering beside an array of crumpled napkins, and then your eyes found the coolers.

There were three of them, stacked neatly along the wall beneath the fogged kitchen window–white Igloo coolers with duct-tape labels stuck to their lids like someone had planned this out. You paused for a second, brow lifting slightly. It was the first thing you’d seen in this entire house that resembled forethought.

POP / ENERGY / SPORTS DRINKS

It was handwritten in black Sharpie, a little smudged from condensation, but legible. Organized.

You flipped the lid, expecting warm cans swimming in brown ice water and maybe the scent of something that had once been fruit punch. Instead, it was ice cold. There were cans lined up in half-hearted rows–soda, sports drinks, a few scattered energy drinks, and even a rogue seltzer tucked in the corner.

You spotted the ginger ale immediately and grabbed it, the can blessedly cold against your hand. You popped the tab with a low crack, the fizz whispering up as you turned around and leaned back against the counter. The metal felt cool through your jeans, a shock of comfort against your overheated skin.

You brought the can to your lips and took a sip–dry, sweet, clean. The carbonation hit your throat gently, but the cold grounded you.

The nausea that had been curling in your gut since you stepped into the house–maybe even since you left the dorm–began to quiet under the fizzy bite. Not completely. But enough.

Your eyes scanned the room as you sipped. People buzzed in and out like bees. Music bled through the drywall. There were beer pong shouts from the living room, someone screaming off-key to a pop remix from the basement, and a girl in the corner of the kitchen trying to convince her friend that no, taking another shot wouldn’t fix the situation.

You took another sip of your ginger ale, but this time it caught in your throat.

You coughed into your arm, quietly at first—then once more, harder, sharp enough to make your eyes water. The fizz didn’t settle your stomach like before. It turned sour, bubbling too fast. Heat rose under your skin, too much of it. The air felt wrong—like it wasn’t going in properly, like the room had subtly tilted without warning and your lungs were working against it.

Maybe it was the noise. The press of people. The humidity clinging to every surface like a second skin. Or maybe it was you.

You blinked slowly, dragging in another breath through your nose, but it didn’t go deep enough. Your chest tightened instead. Like a pressure band had cinched beneath your ribs, subtle at first, then steady, then sharp.

Shit.

You glanced around again, searching for something—a signal, maybe. A reason to leave. A place to bolt to. But everything looked the same: sticky floors, laughing strangers, red cups tipping on every flat surface. Too much noise. Too much movement. You couldn’t catch your footing in it. Couldn’t ground yourself.

You didn’t know if you were going to throw up or have a panic attack, and honestly, it didn’t matter—because either way, you needed out.

You pushed off the counter. The cold had left your jeans, and your hand trembled slightly as you set your can down, half-full and already forgotten. The kitchen was a blur behind you, the music thudding harder now, bass lines vibrating in your teeth.

You moved fast, weaving through the main floor with quick, shallow breaths. Eyes down. Shoulders tight. The living room passed in a smear of sweat and cheap cologne, someone’s laughter bouncing too loud off the crown molding. You didn’t stop to said anything. Didn’t look for your friends. You didn’t want to worry them–not yet. Not until you figured out what the hell was happening.

Going outside wasn’t an option. Not with the yard full of people. If one of your friends saw you slipping out, they’d follow. Or worse–they’d worry. You didn’t want that either.

So you made for the stairs.

The banister was sticky and warm under your palm as you took the steps two at a time. Your breath hitched halfway up, chest clenching like your ribs were welded shut. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to keep going.

The second floor was marginally quieter, but the walls were still too thin. Bass leaked through every inch. Laughter echoed from behind doors, and the smell of weed hung low like a fog.

You moved fast–hand grazing doorknobs, cracking one open only to find two people already tangled on a futon, backlit by LED strips. You didn’t pause. You just kept going.

Next room: a circle of guys smoking out of a gravity bong made from an Arizona bottle. One lifted his hand in greeting, eyes bloodshot and lazy. You shut the door.

Another: a girl crying on the floor while two of her friends huddled around her with shot glasses. You closed that one a little more gently.

The hallway seemed endless. Your chest was still too tight. Like there wasn’t enough air on this floor either.

Then finally the last door on the left creaked open to a well lit, completely empty room. You stepped in, fast, and shoved it shut behind you, the slam loud in the sudden quiet. Your back hit the wood, hard enough to jolt your spine, and you didn’t care. The silence was immediate, muffled and warm and blessedly still.

Your eyes adjusted to the sight in front of you and almost immediately you were absorbing all the details.

The room was bright in contrast to the rest of the house–lit by a desk lamp angled toward a bulletin board cluttered with index cards and printouts. The overhead light was on too, not dim or tinted like the others downstairs, but clean and soft and yellow, illuminating the space in a way that made everything feel more grounded. Less warped. Less unreal.

Your eyes scanned the details, cataloguing without meaning to.

A twin XL bed sat tucked in the corner, sharply made with a green-and-navy plaid duvet pulled taut at every corner. The sheet edges were squared, the pillows firm and aligned. Not a wrinkle in sight. There was a subtle indent on the right side of the mattress—someone had been sitting there recently. Maybe even within the hour. But whoever it was, they weren’t here now.

You stared at the bed like it might steady you. Like if you focused hard enough, the room would stop spinning entirely.

Beside the bed, a heavy oak bookcase ran nearly the full height of the wall. It was packed with titles, every shelf brimming. Not decorative either–thoroughly read. Dog-eared paperbacks leaned into thick hardcover editions, grouped not by color or aesthetic, but by subject. Biographies. Math. Novels. Non-Fiction. Chemistry and Science. A few textbooks on differential equations, stacked beside a worn copy of Dune and a boxed set of The Lord of the Rings. Your fingers twitched, instinctively wanting to trace the spines.

You blinked slowly. Breathed in through your nose. The room smelled faintly like pine and laundry detergent–clean and muted. No sweat, no beer, no weed. Just detergent, and the faint dry scent of paperback pages.

A corkboard hung above the desk, pinned with exam timetables, lab schedules, a few biology notes, and what looked like a printed-out list of citations in 12-point Times New Roman. The chair tucked neatly beneath was ergonomic, not cheap. Beside it sat a large, dented water bottle and a stack of neatly bound notebooks.

Posters lined the wall–nerdy ones. Retro Star Wars prints. A 2001: A Space Odyssey poster framed in black. There was a NASA diagram of the solar system pinned above the desk, annotated in ballpoint pen like whoever lived here used it to actually study, not just decorate.

You took a step forward, the floor creaking under your weight.

“…Geeky,” You muttered to yourself, voice hoarse, quiet. The sound came out more like a breath than a statement. Your knees nearly gave out when you reached the side of the bed. You sat down slowly, hands braced on the plaid comforter, fingers splayed across the dense fabric.

It gave a little under your palms. Still faintly warm.

You let out another breath–long, uneven, but better than before.

Your heart was still pounding, but it was loosening its grip. Slowly. The walls weren’t closing in anymore. Your lungs weren’t seizing.

You tapped your fingers against the mattress and started listing what you could see.

“Desk lamp. Physics textbooks. Star Wars poster. Clean sheets. Plaid pattern.”

Another breath.

“Water bottle. Books on aerospace…Math. Scent’s clean. No body spray. No beer.”

Another breath.

It wasn’t magic. But it helped. saiding it all aloud gave your mind something to anchor to.

You swallowed, eyes fixed on the corner of the room. “Big bookshelf. Index cards on the corkboard. Neatly folded blanket on the chair.” You paused, blinking. “Shit,” you whispered softly, dragging your hand down your face.

It wasn’t that you were weak. You knew what this was. You’d never been diagnosed, but the signs were hard to ignore. The panic. The way crowds made your body feel like it was misfiring from the inside out. How your throat closed up in packed rooms. How every party ended with your head spinning and your jaw locked in quiet dread.

Agoraphobia. You’d read about it. Dismissed it. Then quietly reconsidered it. And then dismissed it again.

But tonight? Tonight your body had decided to remind you it was real.

You leaned forward, elbows to knees, head in your hands. Not crying. Just breathing. For a long moment, you stayed like that–drinking in the quiet, letting the static in your limbs slowly begin to fade.

The sound of the door handle turning ripped through the quiet like a thunderclap.

You jolted upright–spine snapping straight, fingers braced against the mattress, breath catching mid-inhale.

The door creaked open slowly, a rectangle of warm hallway light spilling across the floor, cutting a golden line through the carpet and up your jeans. And then he stepped inside.

You blinked hard.

He froze halfway through the threshold. One foot in, one out, like he hadn’t meant to walk in on anyone–and certainly hadn’t expected to find a stranger perched on his bed.

He looked about your age, maybe slightly older. Tall but not imposing, lean in the kind of way that came from long hours of running or lifting–not bulking. His face was unmistakable even in the soft light: gentle features, tousled light brown hair that curled slightly at the ends from where it had dried naturally, no product. A strong jaw softened by the faintest dusting of stubble. He had a pair of glasses perched on his nose–simple, silver rimmed, they looked similar to aviator glasses, just a little more rounded off in the lenses. They were crooked but he didn’t reach up to fix them.

And those eyes…Wide, bright, and startlingly blue.

Like the ocean under a cold sky. The colour made your stomach turn, and the way they reflected in the light made your head spin.

He wore a navy crew neck sweater with the university crest stitched over the chest, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing ink stains and a faint red pressure mark on his wrist where a watch probably used to be. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, worn at the knees, soft enough that they must’ve been his go-to. A can of sprite was in his hand, dripping from the ice that had melted over it.

“Oh. Oh god–I’m sorry.” The words rushed out of your mouth quickly, breathless, “I didn’t mean to–I wasn’t…” His brows lifted slightly, but there was no alarm on his face. Just surprise. His voice was low, quiet, and careful.

“It’s okay…I–uh–it’s alright.” He hesitated, eyes flicking across the room, landing briefly on your curled posture, your flushed face, the slight tremble in your hand as you pushed back from the bed. “Are you…Okay?” You blinked. Your heart was still hammering. Not from fear anymore–but embarrassment. Humiliation. He didn’t look like he thought you were stealing. He didn’t even glance toward the desk or the bookshelf. He was looking at you. Really looking. Reading the panic that hadn’t quite drained from your body yet.

You felt your shoulders curl in instinctively, defensive. But there was no judgment in his expression–just a quiet, earnest concern that felt way too soft for someone who’d just found a stranger in his room.

“I–” You swallowed, hand hovering mid-air like you weren’t sure whether to stand or bolt. “I didn’t know anyone was here. I just–I needed out. I was–I had to get out of the kitchen.” He nodded once, like he understood completely. He stepped the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him–not all the way, but enough to soften the noise from the hallway. It was strange how quickly the room felt like a bubble again. A barrier. A pause from everything that came before it.

“I figured…” He said quietly, “The parties here get pretty loud and overcrowded, so I don’t blame you for wanting to get some peace for a minute.” You swallowed thickly, your throat still tight with leftover nerves, and exhaled through your nose.

“Yeah,” you murmured, voice quieter now, “I can’t imagine living here, to be honest.” He smiled—not cocky like Jake, not smug or practiced. Just a small, self-deprecating curl of his lips, as if he agreed with you more than he was willing to admit.

“Noise-cancelling headphones really come in handy.” That earned a low breath of amusement from you.

“I guess you’re right with that one…”

He took a sip of his Sprite, the faint crackle of carbonation filling the small silence that followed. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly–just heavy with all the things neither of you were sure how to said yet. He stayed near the door, not wanting to hover or crowd you in any way. You watched him for a second, and then another, noting the way his shoulders shifted under the weight of the conversation–or maybe just the attention.

Then, softly, like he was testing the waters:

“I’ve seen you around before…In the science building. You’re in Chem 241, right?”

Your brows lifted slightly, caught between surprise and guarded curiosity. “Yeah… it’s my major.” You tilted your head. “How do you know what class I’m in?” He gave a sheepish, quiet laugh, the kind that curled at the corners of his mouth without ever really reaching full confidence. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion making it stick up slightly in the front.

“You’re in the class before mine. You’ve got kind of a familiar face.”

You paused, eyes still on him, your heart starting to settle into something else–less fight-or-flight, more puzzled curiosity. He didn’t look embarrassed exactly, but there was a warmth in his cheeks now, visible even in the soft lighting. A flicker of nervous energy vibrated at the tips of his fingers as he shifted his Sprite to the other hand.

Then, like the thought had only just occurred to him:

“Oh–Jesus, sorry. I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Floyd.” He grimaced slightly at the awkwardness of it, wiping his damp palm against the thigh of his sweatpants before offering it out to you, fingers curled slightly.

You hesitated for only half a second before reaching out and slipping your hand into his. His palm was warm, slightly chilled from the condensation of the can but dry now. The grip was gentle, just enough to be firm without overcompensating.

“Y/N,” You said quietly. Your name sounded softer in this room than it had downstairs-like the sound itself respected the quiet.

He smiled again. “Y/N,” He repeated, a little slower this time, like he was filing it away in some meticulous corner of his brain. “Nice name,” Bob said, quiet and genuine. The words weren’t perfunctory–they landed with a softness that didn’t feel like filler. More like a real compliment, shaped by how he said it. You blinked once, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded.

Before either of you could speak again, a sudden crash reverberated through the floorboards beneath you–so loud and forceful that your feet actually lifted a half inch from the mattress. Something heavy had toppled on the first floor. Maybe furniture. Maybe a person. Followed by a cascade of laughter that barely muffled the groaning bass still pounding through the walls.

You flinched, eyes widening, then looked toward Bob with a raised brow.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a frat house, by the way?” You asked, your voice dry but curious, brushing your palms down the front of your jeans. “You seem too…Sane.” Bob took another slow sip of his Sprite, his glasses catching the overhead light as he tilted his head slightly.

“It’s pretty good to have on a résumé,” He said mildly. “Minus the parties, of course.”

You hummed, the sound low in your throat as your eyes flicked toward the ceiling like you were scanning for divine confirmation. “Yeah…I think if any future employer found out the type of parties TRASH throws, I’m pretty sure you’d be hired immediately. Just for surviving them.” That earned an actual laugh from him–low and warm, the kind that started in his chest and curled up into his mouth like it surprised even him. It settled something inside you. Not the panic entirely, but the vulnerability that had followed it. His laugh made the room feel a little more human. Less clinical. More like a moment you weren’t intruding on, but sharing.

“I don’t participate in them, evidently,” He claimed, gesturing lightly toward his desk. “So I’d be lying.”

You followed the motion with your eyes–the papers, the water bottle, a perfectly aligned mechanical pencil, and what looked like a cracked-open packet filled with printed slides and diagrams.

“Evidently,” you echoed softly, tilting your head a little as you looked around again. “What were you doing?” Bob exhaled–half sigh, half breath of frustration–and stepped toward the desk. He reached for the study packet, flipping the top corner up between his fingers to show you the first page. It was already heavily marked–some in black pen, some in red. Diagrams had been annotated, circled, dissected line by line. Across the top margin, written in neat, even letters, was the course title: Space Systems Design – Midterm Review Packet.

“Studying,” He said. “I have the test on Monday, and I’m nowhere near done with this thing.” His tone was tired but not bitter, just resigned in the way that only students deeply familiar with academic despair could be.

You gave a quiet, knowing laugh–one that felt more like release than amusement. “Of course. I guess every professor gets off on torturing science and engineering students,” You muttered, stretching your arms briefly. “Because I’ve got a very similar packet sitting on my desk right now for my Chem Midterm.” He placed the packet back on the desk with a soft tap.

”Misery loves company, I guess.” He offered.

“More like intellectual suffering,” You replied dryly, crossing one ankle over the other where you sat at the edge of his bed. There was a beat of silence, the kind that settled into the warmth between two people who hadn’t yet decided if they were strangers or acquaintances.

Bob leaned slightly against his desk, fingers still resting on the edge of the study packet. He tilted his head just enough for his glasses to slip down his nose for a moment, then asked softly, “So…Who dragged you out of your studying and brought you here?”

You huffed out a breath, half a laugh. “My friends got personally invited by your frat brother Jake,” you said, tone flat and unamused. “I’m assuming you know him well.”

That pulled a low, genuine laugh from Bob–his shoulders lifted slightly, the sound soft and disbelieving. “Well… I guess he’s trying to expand his roster again.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little on your palms. “Guess one of my friends is getting lucky tonight then, if he’s looking to score.”

Bob let out a hum, lips twitching toward a grin. “As long as they have a pulse, they’re fair game.”

You groaned. “Figured that…”

Another crash exploded beneath your feet–some combination of broken glass and furniture legs giving out–followed by a howling cheer from the crowd downstairs. You both winced slightly, shoulders tensing at the same time.

Bob exhaled a sharp breath, then straightened. He looked at you carefully–not with pity, but consideration–and then asked, quiet and steady:

“You wanna maybe…Get out of here?”

You blinked.

He shrugged one shoulder, casual but sincere. “Denny’s is 24 hours. We could sit there for a bit, get something to eat. And I’m sure if we stay long enough, the party’ll start to die down. Then you can get your friends when they’re all done here…” It was such a simple offer. No pressure. No weird edge. Just a safe, open hand held out toward the exit sign.

And god, it was tempting.

“Yeah…” you said almost immediately, your fingers already moving to unlock your phone. “Yeah, that sounds great, actually. I’ll just text them and let them know I’m going.”

Bob smiled–wide this time, soft and relieved. “Great.”

You glanced back up at him, still a little breathless from the past hour, still not sure if this was all a fever dream or the best part of your spring break. But you smiled back.

And maybe, just maybe, your night was finally starting to turn around.

———————————

The walk to Denny’s wasn’t long, but it was everything you needed.

The fresh air hit your lungs like a blessing–not sharp, not cold, just crisp enough to wash the smoke and sweat from your senses. Each breath cleared your head a little more. The bass from TRASH still thudded faintly in the distance, but the further you got from the house, the more it faded into the background noise of a quiet college town on a restless spring break night.

The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional burst of laughter echoing down from a distant porch or a cluster of bikes propped against a lamppost. The rain from earlier had left the sidewalks glistening, catching the glow from streetlights and shop signs like scattered glass. Bob walked beside you, not too close, not too far–just an easy, steady presence. Every now and then, his shoulder would sway slightly toward yours, like gravity had its own opinion on the distance.

Denny’s sat at the edge of campus like a low-lit promise. The sign flickered faintly overhead, buzzing with the tired hum of fluorescent tubes, casting a pale glow on the nearly empty parking lot. It was a local staple–open all night, slightly grimy, and universally understood to be the unofficial overflow space for students who couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to go home, or just needed somewhere to exist without judgment. You’d studied here before. So had everyone. It smelled like syrup and fry oil and burnt coffee, and for some reason, it always felt safe.

Inside, the place was quieter than usual. A couple of booths were filled–one with a pair of students whispering over open textbooks, another with two guys splitting a plate of mozzarella sticks and arguing over a March Madness bracket. But the energy was muted. Dimmed. Like the whole place had taken a collective breath and decided to chill.

You and Bob slid into a booth by the window, vinyl seats squeaking under your weight. The table was slightly sticky with syrup residue–standard–but the lighting overhead was warm and soft. You could actually hear yourselves talk. You could actually think.

The waitress–a woman with tired eyes and a pen stuck behind her ear–dropped off two mugs and a full pot of coffee without asking. She must’ve pegged you both as regulars, or at least as students. Bob gave her a soft “thank you,” and you echoed it before she disappeared behind the counter.

Bob poured the coffee first, filling your mug before his. The gesture was small, automatic, but it made you pause for just a second.

“I think breakfast is one of the only meals I actually enjoy at any time of day,” he said as he handed you the sugar packet holder.

You hummed softly, stirring a little cream into your cup. “Pancakes, waffles, French toast–all sweet things,” You replied, voice a little lighter now, “But I do agree…Breakfast foods are definitely better than most.”

Bob nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he reached for a menu. “Haven’t eaten much today, so I’m probably going to order a lot,” He said, deadpan but with a flicker of a smile. “Just warning you now.”

You laughed, slouching into your seat as you wrapped your hands around the warmth of the mug. “I won’t judge. As long as you don’t judge me for ordering an extra order of bacon. And possibly ham…And maybe another round of home fries.”

He looked up at that, a glint in his eyes beneath the lens glare. “Definitely won’t.”

Then, leaning forward just a little, voice conspiratorial and soft, he added, “But I will probably steal some of those home fries though, so…By all means, order away.”

You grinned, lifting your coffee to your lips. “Fair trade.”

And just like that, the tension that had wrapped itself around your ribs for hours began to unravel–for real this time.

It took a few minutes for both of you to confirm your orders–too many good, greasy options, too little brainpower left to commit. You squinted at the menu through the soft overhead glow, half your focus still caught in the feeling of warm coffee and the unexpected calm of the moment. Bob, meanwhile, flipped his menu once, then again, lips twitching like every option looked equally dangerous.

The waitress returned, pad in hand, looking only marginally more awake than when you walked in.

“I’ll have the fruit-topped pancakes,” You said, “With a side of bacon, ham…And an extra order of home fries…For the table of course…” You offered a small smile, like you were trying to excuse your own hunger, but she didn’t blink.

Bob, on the other hand, cleared his throat like he was preparing to read an oath. “Ultimate omelette, please. A side of pancakes, just the normal ones…And…A side of French toast, with bacon.”

She paused. Just slightly.

Her gaze slid over him like she was doing mental math on how someone built like a straight-laced study boy could possibly demolish what would equate to three breakfasts at once. Her brow lifted–just for a second–but she didn’t say anything. Just jotted it all down with a faint scribble of pen on paper, nodded, and disappeared with both menus in hand.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Bob let out a short, quiet laugh, leaning back in his seat. “I think I freaked her out a bit with all the food.”

You stifled your own laugh behind the rim of your mug. “Yeah, maybe a little. She’s probably wondering how you’re going to eat all of it.”

He shrugged, lifting his coffee. “We’ve got a bit of time. I think I can manage.”

That earned a proper laugh from you, low and genuine. You settled back against the booth as the hum of Denny’s buzzed softly in the background—silverware clinking, someone flipping a page from the next table over, a soft beep from the kitchen.

Bob took another sip of his coffee and set the mug down, fingers tracing the rim absently. “So…” He began, voice still gentle, “what’re you doing on campus during spring break?”

You exhaled slowly, watching the light catch the small glint of moisture still clinging to the window beside you. “My parents’ house is… A little chaotic,” You admitted. “And I really wouldn’t be able to study if I went back. So I just figured I’d stay in my dorm. Easier to focus. Cheaper, too.”

Bob nodded, listening like he really meant to. “Do you work?”

You reached up to scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. “Yeah. I work at Beans To You. Part-time barista. It gives me some extra spending money–enough to keep me caffeinated through exam season, anyway.”

That pulled another smile from him. “Do you like it?”

You lifted your hand and made a so-so motion in the air. “It’s fine. Tips are decent. My manager’s a nightmare, but I like the regulars.”

He nodded like he got it, then said, “I don’t really work…Not officially, anyway. Sometimes I write essays for a few of the frat guys and they pay me.” He gave a small shrug. “So I don’t know if you’d count that as a job or just…An Academic crime.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest like you’d just been personally betrayed. “You? Violating academic integrity? I’m shocked.”

Bob laughed, tipping his head down in mock shame. “Yeah, well…I can’t really keep a normal job while studying. Too much going on up here.” He tapped the side of his temple with a finger. “But I commend you for being able to juggle it.” You can feel your face heat up slightly.

“Thanks…” The silence between you and Bob stretches for a few seconds–comfortable, not strained. Outside the Denny’s window, a streetlight flickers, casting faint gold shadows across the table. The warmth of your coffee mug seeps into your palms, grounding you even as your thoughts turn over the night like a loose coin.

You glance over at him, chin tilted slightly, voice soft. “So why are you still on campus during spring break? Since you asked me…”

Bob’s hand curls around the coffee pot again. The ceramic glugs quietly as he refills his mug, steam rising faintly into the warm air between you. He doesn’t speak right away–just watches the dark liquid settle.

“Same as you, pretty much,” He replied after a beat, setting the pot back down. “But… I also don’t have a lock on my door, and the guys go into my room pretty often to steal things, so…” He shrugs one shoulder, faintly sheepish. “I figured it was better to be there. Y’know–stand guard.”

You smirk and lean forward slightly, grabbing a little plastic creamer cup from the holder and rolling it between your fingers. It clicks softly as it spins. “Interesting that you have a bunch of thieves in your presence.”

That earns a laugh from him–low and rough with amusement. “Well… they’ll always give the stuff back, of course. But only if I remind them.” He lifts his mug, lips quirking slightly as he takes a sip.

You hum, raising a brow. “Still sounds like thievery to me.”

His cheeks tint pink as he glances down into his cup, swirling it once before replying under his breath, “Touché I guess…” The silence slips in again—brief, like a shared breath—and you let your gaze settle on his hands for a moment. They’re long-fingered, a little ink-stained around the knuckles. Gentle, despite the size. His nails are clean but bitten at the edges. Tired hands. Capable ones.

Your voice cuts through the quiet again, this time softer, almost curious: “Your girlfriend must not like the guys coming in and out of your room, though.”

Bob pauses mid-sip. His lips part like he’s going to reply quickly, then he stops. A flicker of surprise crosses his face. He sets the mug down gently.

“No girlfriend,” He confirmed finally. His voice is steady, but there’s a faint guardedness behind it. “Kinda stopped trying with the whole dating thing. It was a bit… much.”

You blink at that. “Too much of a line-up?”

That draws a real laugh from him–quiet, exasperated, a hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. His glasses slide slightly down his nose again.

“Oh, please…” He chuckles. “No. No line-up for me. I mean—look at me.”

You do, pointedly. “I am.”

He goes redder. You smirk.

“It’s just…” He exhales, shoulders relaxing as his fingers stir the coffee absentmindedly. “It’s complicated, y’know? I’m not very good at the whole–putting yourself out there thing. And I think people expect something when you show up to a date all prepared and polished. It gets weird. You have this whole pressure to perform. To be ‘on.’”

You tilt your head slightly. “Well, you seem to be outgoing. You’re doing pretty good with this conversation. I don’t know how it could be complicated.”

Bob stirs the sugar in his mug, the spoon clinking gently. He looks down at it, not quite meeting your eyes, but not avoiding them either.

“Maybe it’s because you’re pretty easy to talk to,” He explained. “It’s different when there’s no pressure. No expectations. You didn’t show up tonight wanting something from me. We just…Met. You don’t have a picture in your head of who I’m supposed to be.”

That strikes something in you–a truth you hadn’t quite realized was sitting at the edge of your own thoughts. You nod slowly, leaning a little further into the table.

“That makes sense,” You said softly. Your hand brushes the edge of the sugar packet holder again, fingertips tapping faintly. “I also think you walking in on me having a bit of an anxiety attack probably helped. With you staying calm, I mean.”

Bob’s head lifts slightly. His blue eyes catch yours again–bright, steady, warm. “That too,” he said, with a small smile. “It kind of cut through the usual noise. I knew what it was the second I saw you.”

You raise a brow gently. “Do you have experience with that kind of thing?”

He nods once. “I’ve had my moments. I’m…Pretty familiar with what it looks like. What it feels like.”

You feel your chest loosen–just slightly. There’s something in the quiet way he said it that wraps around you like a thread. Honest. Matter-of-fact. Not dramatic. Just shared.

You sip your coffee again, letting the silence settle in a way that feels companionable now, like you’ve both earned it.

Then Bob lifts his head a little more, his glasses catching the light as he looks at you across the table. His voice is lower now. “You’re okay now though, right?” You could feel your heart catch–not in that suffocating, chaotic way from earlier, but in a softer, almost stunned kind of ache. Because here he was: Bob, a stranger only hours ago, asking with quiet sincerity if you were okay. Not out of obligation. Not to get something from you. Just… because he cared. And somehow, that mattered more than you were prepared to admit.

“Yeah,” You replied, your voice light, but genuine. “I’m definitely feeling much better. I think it was just…How cramped the house was, to be honest.” You gave a soft, sheepish smile, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Wasn’t really a fan, I guess.”

Bob nodded, the corners of his mouth curling faintly. “That makes sense,” He murmured. “I think TRASH is like… the physical embodiment of a migraine.”

You snorted, and it broke the last of the lingering tension between you.

Before either of you could respond, the clatter of ceramic and the faint shuffle of sneakers announced the return of your waitress. She placed your food down with the weary grace of someone who’d balanced plates through hundreds of midnight shifts.

“Alright,” She said, eyeing the table, “Round one.”

She set down your fruit-topped pancakes–stacked high, glistening with syrup and dotted with blueberries and strawberries. The bacon was curled and crispy, the ham thick-cut and slightly charred at the edges. A steaming mountain of home fries followed, golden and peppered with bits of caramelized onion.

Bob’s first plate came next: a monstrous omelette, folded tight and stuffed with peppers, ham, cheese, and something else that looked like it might have once been alive and screaming. French toast followed, dusted with powdered sugar and still steaming, then the final plate of classic pancakes–plain, but perfectly browned and stacked like they belonged in a diner commercial.

“Damn,” You muttered as she walked away to grab another pot of coffee. “You weren’t kidding.”

Bob gave a faux-serious nod. “I take breakfast very seriously.”

Conversation flowed easily now, spilling over between bites and swipes of syrup, the low hum of the diner cocooning you in soft sounds: the hiss of the kitchen, the occasional ding of a timer, and the quiet scrape of forks over ceramic.

You talked about everything and nothing. Favorite professors. Weirdest drink orders you’d ever made at work. Other times, he said things you hadn’t expected: like how he wanted to work in aerospace design someday, or how he didn’t sleep well unless there was white noise playing somewhere nearby.

Somewhere between your second helping of home fries and Bob’s last piece of French toast, your phone buzzed. You picked it up mid-chew and glanced at the screen.

Jess: we’re heading back. dorms are too far but jake’s breath is worse. I’m tapping out.

Monica: don’t wait up <3

Sue: text when you’re home safe pls 🫶

You thumbed a quick reply, a warm smile tugging at your lips.

You: i’ll be good. i’ll text when i get back to the residence so you know i got home safe <3

When you set the phone down again, Bob was watching you–not in a weird way, just casually, curiously, like he could tell something in your expression had shifted.

“Friends bailing on you?” He asked, reaching for the last bite of his pancakes.

You nodded. “Yeah. Party must’ve worn them out.”

“Probably for the best,” He started, “It starts getting rowdy at around this time.” You snorted.

”What’s new? It’s like y’all don’t sleep, I’ve heard enough stories that it literally feels like when I don’t go to one of your parties I still attended.”

Bob laughed so hard he almost choked on his coffee.

By the time your plates were mostly empty and the coffee pot had been drained down to lukewarm remnants, you realized just how late it had gotten. The booths had began to thin out even more–there was just one table of students left, dozing over half-finished pancake stacks. The quiet was deeper now, but not uncomfortable.

The waitress returned to your table just as you were lifting your mug for one final sip, now half-cold and slightly bitter. Her pen was already poised, her notepad loose in one hand, her face unreadable behind the faint sheen of a night shift glaze.

“It’ll be one bill,” Bob said before she could even ask, his voice smooth but casual.

Your head jerked slightly in surprise, a protest already rising in your throat. “Wait, no–Bob, come on, you don’t have to–”

He shook his head gently, cutting you off with nothing more than a glance and a small smile. “It’s all good,” He murmured, already pulling out his wallet. “You got me out of the house for the first time this week. I owe you.” Your cheeks warmed, a slow bloom of heat rising into your ears. You blinked down at your mug, then back at him, and that’s when the sky opened.

A sudden roar of rain crashed against the diner’s roof, pounding like a thousand thrown pebbles. The windows misted almost instantly, a sheet of water streaming down the glass and distorting the world outside into a watercolor blur.

Bob flinched slightly, twisting in his seat to look outside. His shoulders hunched on instinct, and a low, resigned sound escaped from his throat. “Well…” he said, squinting past the droplets, “That doesn’t look good.”

You turned your gaze to the window and let out a dry laugh, exhaling softly as you looked down at the windbreaker you had draped over your lap. The nylon was thin and practically useless, more aesthetic than functional, and the idea of stepping into a monsoon in it was laughable at best.

“Guess I’m gonna be taking a second shower tonight,” you muttered.

Bob laughed—a soft, tired huff that carried the warmth of shared annoyance. He reached for the debit machine the waitress had just placed down, brows furrowing slightly at the glowing screen.

“I mean…” he began, eyes still on the numbers as he typed in a 20% tip with practiced ease, “TRASH is closer than your residence, I’m assuming…”

You stilled, your fingers lightly tapping the rim of your coffee cup. You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head toward him, a smirk flickering at the corner of your mouth. “Are you asking me to stay over at the frat house for the night?”

The question hung in the air, playful but open-ended, wrapped in something more vulnerable beneath the teasing. Bob’s fingers hesitated only a second on the keypad. Then he cleared his throat, his jaw flexing faintly as he focused a little too intently on the screen.

A tinge of pink crept into his cheeks, barely visible in the soft overhead glow, “Well,” He started, still looking at the machine, ““I don’t think it’ll be as chaotic as it was when we first left. It’s…”

He pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket, thumb swiping the screen quickly before glancing at the time. His voice was slightly rough when he spoke again. “1:58…So most of the party crowd’s probably passed out or Ubered home.” You let the moment linger, your gaze resting on him as you traced the edge of your mug with your fingertip. The rain was still coming down hard, a near-constant shushing against the glass. You could feel the chill creeping in from the windowpane behind you, but your fingers were warm.

Your tongue flicked out to dampen your upper lip–an unconscious movement. “Okay,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes as he finally looked up. “You’re right.”

Something flickered behind his glasses–relief, maybe. Or hope.

“So…” He asked, voice gentler now, “Is that a yes?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it for dramatic effect. Then you nodded, slow and sure, your smile small but certain. “Definitely.”

———————————

By the time you reached the frat house again, your windbreaker had clung to your frame like a second skin–useless, soaked through, plastered to your arms and back. Bob hadn’t fared much better; his sweatshirt was darkened with rain, sweatpants sticking to his legs, curls dripping water down the sides of his face. You both half-jogged the final stretch of the walk, laughing breathlessly as puddles splashed beneath your sneakers, your jeans growing heavier with every step.

The porch light still flickered above the sagging steps of TRASH, casting its usual jaundiced glow across the warped wood and the crowd that lingered despite the downpour. The music inside had dulled to a murmur now–more background hum than bassline. A few people still lounged on the porch and by the windows, some wrapped in borrowed blankets or wearing half-soaked hoodies, clearly unwilling to brave the rain to get home.

You and Bob didn’t say anything as you stepped back inside. You didn’t need to.

The shift in temperature was immediate. Warmth hit you like a wall–sticky and musty from the remains of the party, but comforting after the rain. Your wet clothes clung to your skin, and you blinked against the fog that immediately fogged up Bob’s glasses.

He muttered something under his breath and took them off, reaching blindly for the nearest surface. A tissue box sat crookedly on the edge of a table cluttered with empty bottles and a half-eaten slice of pizza. He snagged one with a quiet “thanks,” as if the house had done him a favor, and carefully wiped the raindrops from the lenses.

You stood beside him, dripping gently onto the floorboards, ignoring the damp squish of your socks in your shoes.

“This is your fault,” You murmured dryly, nudging him with your elbow, pointing down at your shoes.

Bob smiled behind the tissue, his glasses still in hand. “Can’t control the way I splashed the puddles, it’s not my fault.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth of the exchange settled between you like steam, softening the cold still clinging to your back.

The climb to the second floor was quieter than before–no bodies spilling down the stairs, no screams from behind doors. The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of a nightlight near the bathroom and the soft hum of a TV still playing somewhere behind a closed door. You padded side by side, shoes squelching softly, until you reached the door at the very end.

Bob stopped and looked down at the wet prints you’d both left on the wood floor. “Wait,” He said, hooking a finger into the heel of his sneaker. “Let’s not trash the room on the way in.”

You mimicked him without question, tugging your own shoes off and stepping gingerly onto the dry patch of carpet just outside his door. Your barefeet were cold against the wood, but you followed his lead as he opened the door and ushered you inside.

The warmth of the room embraced you immediately–soft light still glowing from the desk lamp, books undisturbed, bed still neatly made. It looked exactly as you’d left it, like the universe had paused while you were gone. A pocket of calm in the storm.

Bob shut the door behind you with a quiet click, and you both stood there for a second, wet and shivering, taking in the familiar scent of detergent and paper and pine.

You turned to him, wringing out the bottom hem of your shirt slightly. “So…What’s the protocol here?” You asked, gesturing vaguely to your soaked clothes. Bob cleared his throat, the sound soft but a little strained as he shifted in place. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead from the humidity of the rain and the faint warmth of the room.

“Um… I have some spare clothes you can wear,” He said, gesturing vaguely toward the small closet on the far side of the room. “They might be a little big, but…”

You shook your head immediately, brushing a few wet strands of hair back from your face as water dripped quietly from your sleeves. “I don’t mind,” You murmured. “Not really trying to impress anyone.”

That earned the faintest smirk from him, quick and crooked–just a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He turned away and opened his closet, the wooden door creaking faintly on old hinges. Inside, everything was neatly stacked or hung: flannel shirts, hoodies, folded sweats, a few plastic hangers twisting slightly from where they’d been jostled. It wasn’t much, but it was organized–just like the rest of him.

After a second of deliberation, Bob pulled out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms–soft-looking, forest green and navy plaid–and a white t-shirt with faded navy lettering stretched across the front.

You tilted your head, brows lifting slightly. “‘The All-State Mathletes’?”

He sighed. “Yeah…It was a math team I was on in my first year. Don’t ask.”

You grinned and took the bundle from his hands, brushing your thumb across the worn fabric of the shirt. “I’ll take anything at this point.”

“I figured,” He muttered with a low huff of a laugh. Then, with a tilt of his head, “Bathroom’s two doors down. Towels are in the top drawer if you need one.”

“Got it.” You nodded, stepping back into the hallway barefoot, flannel bundle tucked under your arm and your wet clothes slapping faintly against your side with every step.

The bathroom was empty–thank god–and you wasted no time peeling off your drenched clothes. The fabric clung stubbornly, cold and limp against your skin, your jeans making that awful suction sound as you dragged them down your legs. The windbreaker hit the floor with a wet slap, your socks not far behind.

The dry fabric of the borrowed clothes was a godsend.

The pajama pants were big, predictably, and you had to roll the waistband twice just to get them to sit above your hips. The t-shirt hung past your thighs, thin and worn soft with age, the letters cracked and faded from a thousand washes. You caught your reflection in the mirror briefly as you towel-dried your hair–still damp–but a little steadier now.

You bundled your soaked clothes into a loose pile in your arms and padded back down the hall, feet cool against the hardwood. The party had dulled into something sleepy and distant. A door creaked open somewhere behind you, but you ignored it, your focus set entirely on the quiet golden glow spilling from the crack beneath Bob’s door.

When you opened it, your hand halfway full of damp denim, you froze in the doorway.

Bob was halfway through pulling on a clean shirt, the fabric bunched in his hands as it hovered just below his collarbone. His back was to you, bare and still slightly damp, pale under the soft overhead light. And god–he was lean, sure, but he was defined. His shoulders tapered into the strong slope of his spine, the muscles along his back pulling tight with every breath as he raised his arms. His skin was smooth, but the planes of him were lined with quiet strength–faint dips and ridges casting gentle shadows across his shoulder blades and the curve of his waist. You hadn’t expected him to be built like that.

Your throat went dry.

You coughed–a soft, involuntary sound that slipped from your chest before you could stop it.

Bob startled slightly and turned, shirt still bunched in his hands. His glasses were back on, fogged faintly from the warmth of the room. His cheeks went pink almost instantly, like the realization had only just hit him. “Oh Jesus,” he muttered, yanking the shirt over his head in a single, awkward movement. “I didn’t know you’d be back already.”

You took a cautious step in, one hand tightening around the bundle of wet clothes clutched to your chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just walk in–didn’t really expect you to be…Changing.”

Bob shook his head as he adjusted the hem of the shirt, tugging it into place at his hips, smoothing it over the faint damp patches on his new pair of navy sweatpants. “No–it’s fine. Really. Uh…Let me get you a towel for your pillow…And I can throw your clothes in the dryer so they’ll be good by morning.” He moved quickly, brushing past you with careful steps, warm air trailing in his wake. You caught the scent of him as he passed–faint detergent, piney body wash, something subtle and clean that clung to the soft cotton of his shirt.

He opened a small drawer near the dresser, pulling out a thick grey towel and handing it to you without making eye contact. Then he glanced down at the soaked bundle in your arms and gently reached for it.

“I’ll toss these downstairs now,” He offered. “Give me five minutes and they’ll be spinning.”

You nodded, lips parting slightly. “Thanks. Really.”

Bob’s expression softened as he looked up at you–his blue eyes still wide behind the lenses, but a little calmer now. “Do you want a drink or anything?” He asked as he backed toward the door. “I’m probably gonna grab some water before…Sleep.”

You hesitated, then gave a small, grateful smile. “Yeah. Water is fine…Thank you.”

He nodded once and slipped out the door, leaving you alone again in the soft glow of his bedroom. The sound of his footsteps faded down the stairs, and you sat slowly at the edge of the bed again, towel draped across your shoulders, the smell of his room slowly working its way deeper into your skin.

You thumbed open your group chat as you sat at the edge of Bob’s bed, the thick towel still draped over your shoulders like a shield. Your wet clothes were gone–already clunking softly in the dryer downstairs–and the cold had mostly left your skin, replaced by the slow radiating warmth of his room.

The group chat lit up under your fingers:

You: made it back to the frat house safe. staying here tonight—will explain tmrw. love you guys. <3

A second later, Sue reacted with a heart. Jess sent a gif of someone raising an eyebrow dramatically, and Monica just wrote: “knew it 😉”

You rolled your eyes and let out a soft breath of amusement, then set the phone down on Bob’s desk, the screen glowing faintly for another second before fading to black. You turned back toward the bed and let yourself sink into the mattress, exhaling slowly as your shoulders dropped. The towel slipped from your frame, and you folded it carefully, placing it over the pillow before lying back, arms stretched loosely at your sides.

The room hummed around you. Softly. Comfortably. A distant thump of music still pulsed from the floors below–muted now, a sleepy echo of chaos already starting to dissolve into morning fog. Somewhere, a door clicked shut. Pipes murmured in the walls. And the desk lamp bathed the room in a low, golden glow, casting soft shadows against the bookshelves and the edge of the closet.

Then, the door opened again.

Bob entered quietly, closing it behind him with the same practiced care he’d used all night. His hair was slightly less damp, the ends curling gently around his ears. A bottle of water was tucked in each hand, condensation trailing slow rivulets down his fingers.

“Here,” He said, holding one out to you.

You sat up slightly, taking the bottle with a soft “Thanks,” and cracking it open. The cap clicked beneath your fingers, the cool water a sharp contrast against your warm skin. Bob twisted the top off his own and took a quick sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. Then he lowered it and glanced toward the bookshelf with an unreadable expression.

“I’m just going to grab a blanket,” he said casually, “and take the spare room.”

You paused mid-sip, brows lifting. “What?” you said, letting the cap snap gently back in place. “You don’t want to share a bed?”

Bob’s eyes darted to yours, surprised. His lips parted faintly. “You…want to share a bed?”

You shrugged, voice light but steady. “Well…yeah. I don’t really mind. There’s enough room, isn’t there?”

His gaze flicked to the mattress like it needed to be double-checked. “Yeah, there is,” He admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Just thought you wouldn’t want to be sleeping in a bed with a stranger.”

You tilted your head, the edge of a smirk tugging at your lips. “Hey now,” You teased softly, “Come on. We aren’t strangers.”

Bob huffed out a breath–a laugh, almost. “We met less than twelve hours ago and we’re already sleeping in the same bed. Seems fast.”

You stood slowly, the blanket falling back in soft folds behind your legs. “I’m fine with fast if you are,” you said, tone flirtier than before, the words curling at the edge like steam rising from pavement.

Bob looked at you for a long moment. His eyes flicked down your frame briefly–respectfully–but you caught it. Just the faintest breath of a glance at the oversized shirt, the rolled waistband of his pajama pants on your hips. Then he swallowed, the movement subtle but visible.

You climbed under the covers, placing your towel-topped pillow against the headboard and leaning back into it. The sheets were soft–cotton, a little warm from the dryer, carrying the faint scent of his detergent. Your body sank into the mattress like it remembered the panic you’d felt hours ago and wanted to nestle into something still, something safe.

You patted the empty space beside you, eyebrows raised in invitation. “Well?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He just smiled–shy and a little stunned–and shuffled toward the bed like he didn’t quite believe this was real. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he climbed in beside you, his long legs folding under the blanket, which he pulled up to his shoulders like muscle memory.

His shoulder brushed yours–barely–but the heat of it lingered.

You reached across your chest and handed him your water bottle without a word. He blinked once, took it with a murmur of thanks, and leaned over to place it gently on the nightstand beside his own. The lamp clicked off a second later, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint sliver of moonlight that slipped through the small window of his room. A silver-blue sheen spread softly across the edge of the comforter.

The quiet pressed in, not heavy or stifling, but thick with awareness.

Your bodies didn’t touch, but the heat between them curled like smoke.

You could hear the shift of the covers when Bob adjusted his legs, the soft whisper of fabric against skin as he rolled slightly toward you on instinct–then seemed to catch himself and settle again on his back. The bed creaked faintly beneath the motion, and then stillness returned.

The air smelled like clean cotton, pine body wash, the faintest trace of rainwater clinging to the ends of your hair. You turned your head on the pillow slightly, voice just above a whisper.

“Still awake?”

“…Yeah,” He said quietly. “You?”

You nodded in the dark. “Mm-hm.”

The quiet stillness wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, warm but buzzing with something new. It had shifted—gently, imperceptibly—but it was there now. Not the panic. Not the awkwardness. Something softer. Something waiting.

You turned over slowly, your arm sliding across the blanket as you rolled onto your side, the mattress giving slightly under your weight. The movement made a faint rustle, just enough for him to hear.

Bob shifted too.

His silhouette turned toward you, quiet and careful, until you could make out the soft rise of his chest beneath the covers, the faint slope of his shoulder, and the curve of his jaw in the pale wash of moonlight. His glasses were gone, probably folded on the nightstand with your water bottles, but even in the dim light you could see the glassy reflection of his eyes.

Blue. Gentle. Wide. Fixed on yours.

“Do you maybe want to maybe…Do something?” You asked, voice soft, watching as he swallowed hard.

”…What…What do you have in mind?” You didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch between you like silk. Then your gaze dipped, slow and deliberate, to the shape of his mouth.

Soft, parted slightly. Waiting.

His breath caught–just the faintest hitch–and you saw his eyes flick down to your lips, mirroring you. Like instinct. Like gravity.

You leaned in.

It was tentative at first–your chest barely grazing his, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the pillow as you crossed the final few inches. Bob didn’t move, but his breath deepened, a quiet exhale drifting over your cheek as your nose brushed his. Then you closed the distance.

Your lips met his, soft and feather-light.

He froze for half a second, as if stunned–but then he kissed you back. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but so gentle it almost made your ribs ache. He moved like he was afraid to shatter you, like this moment was too fragile to claim outright.

His hand came up slowly–hesitant at first, then steady. His palm cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone. The contact lit a slow-burning warmth across your skin. He let out a breath–long and unsteady against your lips, like the kind you exhale when you’ve been holding it too long.

He pulled back just a little, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he hovered, eyes open now, close enough that you could feel the faint tremble of his breath. You opened your eyes too.

And then you leaned forward again.

This time it wasn’t tentative. Still soft, still slow–but heavier now. More certain. You kissed him with your full mouth, with the weight of everything the night had built. Your lips parted slightly and so did his. The kiss deepened, quiet but lingering, the kind of kiss that said I see you. I feel this too.

Bob responded with a quiet sound in the back of his throat, like the breath had been pulled from him again. His hand shifted from your cheek to the base of your skull, fingers slipping into your damp hair, holding you with a gentleness that made your stomach flutter.

Your other hand found his forearm beneath the blanket, the heat of his skin a slow thrum against your fingertips. He tilted his head slightly to meet your mouth more fully, deepening the kiss just enough that you felt your body lean in instinctively. His lips moved against yours with the kind of reverence that made your breath catch–slow, aching, as if he didn’t want to stop.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by an inch. Just enough for air. Just enough to look at you.

The moonlight caught in his lashes, his irises shining like sea glass. His lips were redder now, parted slightly, the corner of his mouth trembling faintly from restraint or disbelief. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he studied you, breath still coming a little faster than before.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.

Your heart twisted at the softness in his voice. You nodded–barely a motion–but it was enough.

“Yeah,” You whispered back. “It’s perfect.” Bob stared at you for a breath longer, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like this whole thing might vanish if he blinked too fast.

Then he leaned in again.

The kiss that followed was deeper–hungrier. Less tentative. His hand was still cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing under your eye, but there was a new weight behind the way he kissed you now. A heat that curled up from the pit of your stomach, spreading like honey beneath your skin. His lips parted a little faster, like he was giving in to something he’d been holding back.

You pressed in with him, lips slotting together again and again, and then you moved–your body shifting under the blanket as you brought one leg over his hip, slowly, testing.

Bob froze for half a second–just long enough for you to hesitate–but then his hand moved. The one on your cheek slid down, dragging lightly along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder, until it found your thigh. His fingers curled around the back of it, firm and warm, and pulled you gently closer.

You moved instinctively, hips settling into the cradle of his body, your leg draped loosely over his, pressing in. The blanket bunched around your waists, forgotten. The worn cotton of his borrowed flannel pants brushed against your skin as you rocked forward, just enough to feel the heat between your bodies catch.

His breath hitched.

The kiss deepened again, your lips parting just slightly, just enough to taste his breath. And then you felt it–his tongue, tentative but sure, slipping past your lips to meet yours. It wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was slow and searching, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth from the inside out. You responded in kind, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt, gripping the soft cotton as you rolled your hips again–just once.

Bob gasped against your lips.

It wasn’t loud, but it was raw–half breath, half sound, the air from his lungs catching in his throat. You felt the heat of him through the fabric, the slow, aching tension building there. His fingers dug into your thigh just slightly, not enough to hurt–just enough to pull.

You did it again. Slower this time. Your hips moved in a slow, steady circle, the friction sweet and hot even through the layers of borrowed clothes. Bob broke the kiss suddenly, his lips parting with a soft huff of air as his head tilted back against the pillow.

“Fuck–” He breathed, almost inaudible, as though it had been dragged from him by accident.

You pulled back slightly, brushing your nose along his cheek before pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Get on top?” he asked, voice rough, uncertain but yearning.

You nodded, lips still brushing his.

He shifted beneath you, back arching slightly as he rolled onto his back, adjusting the blanket so it slipped lower across his hips. You followed the motion, moving carefully, straddling him with slow, deliberate movements. The oversized shirt you wore fell forward slightly, hanging off your shoulders as you adjusted your weight over him.

His hands settled instinctively on your thighs, fingertips flexing gently as you leaned down to kiss him again–this time firmer, more desperate. It was less polished now, more honest. You kissed like people who hadn’t had something like this in a long time. Like this was a secret you weren’t supposed to be sharing but needed anyway.

You began to move again, hips rocking gently against him in a slow rhythm that made his jaw slacken beneath your mouth.

Bob groaned–quiet, tight–and his hands moved to your waist, holding you just a little more firmly now. His breath was hot against your mouth as he kissed you harder, sloppier now, letting go of some invisible restraint. Your thighs squeezed around his hips, the pressure sending heat curling down your spine. You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants now, the heat of him pressed up between your legs with every slow drag of your hips.

His moan broke the rhythm.

Soft and helpless. It slipped into your mouth like a secret.

You pulled back, barely, kissing the line of his jaw and the soft, exposed skin of his neck. He tilted his head just enough to give you more space. His throat flexed when you kissed him there–gently, again and again–before murmuring softly:

“Are you okay?”

His fingers tightened just slightly where they rested on your hips. His breath came a little faster now, chest rising against yours in shallow waves. And then, softly, almost embarrassed:

“I…I’m a bit sensitive…”

You paused, still straddling him, your hand smoothing lightly over his chest. The thump of his heart was rapid beneath your palm.

You looked down at him, eyes searching in the dark. “Are you…A virgin?”

He shook his head quickly, cheeks flushed red even in the faint light.

“No…No, not a virgin. But it’s…It’s kind of been a while. And I haven’t… I haven’t had sex with many people.”

Your heart softened at the honesty. The way he said it, not ashamed–just cautious. Like he wanted you to know what you were working with. What you were holding in your hands.

You leaned down, brushing your lips gently against his jaw.

“We can stop if you want,” You murmured. “I don’t mind just doing this. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Bob shook his head immediately, voice quiet but steady. “No…No, we can keep going. I want to. I really want to.”

You smiled, slow and reassuring. A gentle hand slid down to his chest again, your thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt as you spoke.

“If you want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

He nodded, eyes wide and warm. “Okay.” You leaned down again, your lips brushing the corner of his jaw, then trailing lower, slow and coaxing. Bob tilted his head back, just enough to expose his throat to you, and you took the invitation without hesitation–pressing soft, lingering kisses to the curve of his neck, the warm hollow beneath his jaw. You let your tongue flick out lightly, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint tang of piney body wash and rainwater still clinging to him.

His breath hitched again when your lips ghosted over the edge of his collarbone.

You kept moving downward, slow and deliberate, your hips still rocking gently against his as your kisses followed the slope of his body. The heat between your legs pulsed against the firmness beneath his sweatpants with each subtle shift, each teasing grind of pressure. You could feel him trembling slightly under you–barely noticeable, but there.

Then, without a word, he shifted.

He leaned up just enough to grab the hem of his shirt and peel it over his head in one fluid, unhurried motion. His hair stuck up in damp little curls as he tossed the shirt aside, chest rising and falling more quickly now, bare and flushed under the faint light.

You paused.

Your gaze swept over him–up close now. Every inch of him laid out before you. His chest was broad, lined with soft muscle, not overworked but strong. The subtle lines of his ribs shifted with each breath. A faint trail of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweats, and your mouth went dry again.

“Jesus,” You murmured, almost to yourself, your fingers ghosting over his sternum. He shivered under your touch. Your hands traced down slowly–past his chest, over his stomach, feeling the flutter of his abs tensing beneath your palm. You kissed each inch as you moved, warm and open-mouthed, pushing the comforter lower as you went.

He was breathing harder now, lips parted, one hand fisting the sheets beside him as he fought to stay still.

When you reached the waistband of his sweatpants, you looked up.

“Can I take these off?” You asked softly, fingers already hooked into the fabric.

Bob looked down at you, eyes glassy with heat, and nodded. “Yes… Please.”

You pulled them down slowly, dragging them past his hips, down his thighs, then off entirely. Your breath caught as he was finally exposed to you–fully, completely. He was big. Thick and flushed and already twitching under your stare, the head glossy with arousal, a vein pulsing visibly along the underside.

Your eyes widened just a little.

He saw it.

His face went red immediately, arms twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to cover himself or not. “Is…Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly–so quickly it made your hair shift. “Yes. Oh my god…Yes.” You reached up, wrapping your hand around him carefully. His whole body reacted–his hips stuttered and his eyes fluttered shut, a choked gasp leaving his lips. His thighs tensed beneath your knees.

“Still okay?” You asked gently, your hand already stroking him in slow, reverent pulls.

He opened his eyes, dazed and breathless, and nodded. “Yeah. Fuck–yeah.”

You leaned forward then, dragging your mouth along the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen, kissing just above the base of him. His hips jerked slightly under you. And then you took him into your mouth.

The reaction was immediate.

Bob let out a sound–high and broken, something between a moan and a whimper–and his hand flew up, grabbing at the pillow behind his head like he needed something to hold on to. You started slow, letting your lips stretch around him, your tongue tracing every inch you could reach, eyes flicking up to watch the way he unraveled.

It was messy. Your lips were already slick, your breath hot against him as you took him in deeper, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t manage. You let spit slide down your chin, let your tongue swirl at the sensitive underside of the head, and when you pulled back just enough to suck softly–he whimpered again.

“Fuck–Fuck, you’re–” He didn’t finish.

His chest was heaving now, one hand clenching the sheets, the other twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. You glanced up again, your eyes meeting his as you took him back into your mouth, deeper this time. His head fell back.

He tried to warn you. “I–I’m gonna–shit–”

You didn’t stop.

You kept going, messy and steady, humming softly around him. That was what pushed him over.

He came hard.

It hit like a jolt–his thighs tensed, a full-body tremble ran through him, and his hips jerked once, deep and involuntary. You swallowed everything, kept your mouth on him, letting him ride everything out with soft, wet pulls until he was gasping, his voice broken and breathless.

“Holy shit…” He whispered, “Holy shit.” You pulled off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, then kissed the inside of his thigh gently. He twitched under the touch, already so sensitive.

You looked up at him.

His hair was wild against the pillow. His chest was still rising and falling fast. He looked wrecked–in the best way. Flushed and dazed and entirely undone.

“…You okay?” You asked softly, your voice a little hoarse. He nods. His chest rose and fell in shallow waves, a light sheen of sweat just beginning to bead at his collarbones. His voice was rough when he finally spoke.

“You’re…” He swallowed, almost like he didn’t believe it himself. “You’re so good at that.”

You smiled–lazy, warm, lips still glistening from where you’d had him in your mouth. “Glad I didn’t disappoint.”

Then you began kissing your way back up, slow and teasing, your mouth trailing over his thigh, the curve of his hip, the faint dip of his navel. His body tensed in small waves under you, his hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to grab you or ground himself.

By the time you reached his chest again, your lips hovered above his, your palms pressed flat against his ribcage as you straddled him once more. The moment your mouths met again–softer now, slower–he kissed you like he could still taste himself on your tongue. Like he didn’t care. Like it made him hungrier.

Then, without a word, he shifted beneath you.

His core tightened–subtle but strong–and his hands slid firmly up your sides. And in one smooth, steady motion, he turned you both. Rolled you right onto your back, his body pressing down over yours, careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped beneath the change in weight, the blanket twisting around your waists as he settled on top of you.

You gasped, then laughed, the sound half-breathless. “Oh, okay,” You whispered, grinning up at him in the moonlight. “You’ve got muscles after all.”

Bob smirked–still shy, still pink in the cheeks, but he liked that reaction. You could tell.

His hands skimmed up beneath the oversized shirt, fingers warm and reverent as they rested just below your ribs. His thumbs rubbed slow, uncertain circles into your skin.

“Is this okay?” He murmured, already breathless again, eyes locked on yours like he’d stop the world if you flinched.

You nodded slowly, voice quiet but steady. “Yeah. Let me take it off for you.”

Bob leaned back just enough to let you sit up, his hands sliding down to brace your waist. You grabbed the hem of the shirt and peeled it up and over your head in one swift motion, the cotton catching briefly at your wrists before falling in a heap beside the bed.

The second you were bare to him, Bob’s eyes darkened. Not with anything aggressive–just wonder. Awe.

Then his mouth was on you immediately.

He leaned down, lips brushing the curve of your breast, then the center of it, then closing over your nipple with a gentleness that made your breath stutter. His mouth was hot–wet and reverent–and when he sucked, slow and careful, your back arched instinctively off the bed.

You heard him moan against you.

It was low and quiet, but you felt the vibration hum through your skin, straight down your spine. One of his hands came up to cup the other breast, thumb flicking across the nipple, just barely grazing it–testing your reaction. You gasped, thighs shifting beneath him, and his fingers twitched in response.

He liked that. He really liked that.

Bob switched sides without warning–his lips moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of kisses behind. He sucked more firmly this time, tongue circling your nipple before pulling it into the warmth of his mouth. You couldn’t help it–you let out a soft, broken moan, your fingers threading into his hair.

You tugged. Not hard, but enough.

His breath hitched again, and he groaned into your skin.

The sounds he was making were softer than you’d expected–gentle and desperate all at once. As if pleasuring you was more overwhelming than being pleasured himself. He took his time with your chest, letting each kiss linger, letting each flick of his tongue draw another gasp from you. He alternated pressure, learning what made your back arch, what made you squirm, what made your thighs tremble against his hips.

You tightened your fingers in his curls and whispered, “Bob…Fuck.”

He pulled back, lips red and wet, his breath warm against your breast. His eyes flicked up to yours.

“Can I go down on you?”

The question hit low in your stomach–immediate, electric.

Your lips parted before you even thought. “Yes…” A breath. “Yes, please.”

His smile broke through slow and stunned, like it had just dawned on him that he’d get to do this–that this was real. He kissed your sternum once, then lower, reverent as he worked his way down your body. His hands slid beneath the waistband of your pajama pants, fingers brushing your hips gently.

You lifted your hips in silent offering.

The flannel was untied with fumbling fingers–more eager than graceful–and he tugged it down with care, eyes glued to your body like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. You helped him, pushing the fabric past your thighs, letting it fall in a heap somewhere at the end of the bed.

Bob shifted between your legs, hands bracing your thighs as he kissed the inside of one, then the other. His short strands of hair brushed your skin, his breath hot and unsteady against the most sensitive part of you, and when he glanced up–eyes wide, lips parted–you thought you might actually combust.

He settled lower. Breathed deep. And then tasted you.

The sound he made was immediate—a choked, guttural moan that vibrated through your entire pelvis.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice wrecked already. “You taste so good…”

Then his mouth was back on you.

Hot, open, eager.

He didn’t know what he was doing at first—at least not perfectly—but he learned fast. Every whimper, every shift of your hips, every breathless moan was something he studied. His tongue flicked, then flattened. Lapped broad and slow, then circled tight and precise, adjusting to your reactions like he was memorizing you.

The warmth of his mouth was overwhelming. It was everywhere. Wet and insistent and so good.

Your back arched and your hips rolled forward on instinct, chasing the pressure, and he groaned into you again—into you—like the weight of your pleasure was his. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you open for him, holding you steady like he needed to stay here, buried here, like he couldn’t risk missing anything.

“Bob–oh my god–”

You felt him moan at the sound of his name, his tongue dragging slow and deep, lips sucking just enough to make your breath catch and stutter. It was dirty and worshipful all at once. Sloppy and reverent. It had you squirming against his mouth, your legs trembling on either side of his shoulders.

Then he paused.

Pulled back just barely–just enough to catch his breath and speak. His voice was thick and panting, his lips shiny, chin wet.

“I’m gonna…” He swallowed. “Add fingers.”

You let out a breathy, desperate moan, hips twitching up toward him involuntarily.

“Fuck, Bob…Please.”

He dipped his head again, kissing your clit once–soft and wet–before trailing lower with his tongue as his hand slid between your thighs. You felt the first press of his fingertips at your entrance–tentative, reverent–and then one slipped inside, slow and gentle, curling just enough to make you cry out.

“God,” He breathed, kissing your thigh as he moved. “You’re so wet…”

He added the second without warning–easing it in slowly, stretching you around his knuckles, and you swore the breath left your body in a rush. His fingers filled you, thick and warm and so good, and he started moving them–slow and firm, curling upward just right, just right–and then his mouth was back.

This time, he devoured you.

Messy, hungry, moaning against your clit as his fingers worked inside you, finding a rhythm that had your entire body going taut. You were writhing now–hips lifting, thighs clenching, voice catching in your throat as you tried to stay grounded, stay still, but he was relentless. Determined.

Like he’d waited years to do this and he was making up for lost time.

You felt it building–hot and sharp and inevitable–and your hands found his hair, pulling tight, holding on for dear life as your body surged forward.

“I–I’m gonna–fuck, Bob, don’t stop–”

And he didn’t. He just moaned into you, tongue flicking faster, fingers pumping deeper, curling as he groaned in response to your tightening around him.

You shattered.

Your thighs clamped around his head, heels digging into the mattress, your hips twitching against his face as you came with a full-body spasm, mouth open in a silent cry. You heard yourself babble his name, hips bucking helplessly as the orgasm tore through you, hard and fast and blinding.

Bob kept going. Gentle but steady. Lapping you through it, moaning into you like your pleasure was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You finally collapsed back into the sheets, breathing ragged, hair clinging to your forehead. You laughed–soft and winded–still twitching every time he brushed too close.

He lifted his head slowly, face flushed, lips slick, chin glistening in the low light. His pupils were blown, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

“You okay?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You blinked up at him, dazed and completely blissed out.

“You’ve been blessed…” You dragged in a breath. “With such raw talent.”

Bob blinked–then laughed. Hard. Giddy. His smile broke wide across his face, messy and flushed and so proud. “Yeah?”

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Definitely. You were so good… So, so good.”

His cheeks turned red. “Like, uh… Good enough for a second round?” He teased, voice low. Your smile widened, slow and a little wicked, still flushed and catching your breath. “I think…” You murmured, voice soft but laced with heat, “I want to feel you. Actually.”

Bob’s breath caught. His eyebrows rose just slightly, like the words had short-circuited his brain. “Yeah?” he asked, half-disbelieving.

You nodded, lifting your hand to trace a lazy finger along the line of his jaw. “If you want to, of course.”

His eyes softened instantly. “I want to.” His voice was rough again, thick with desire, but gentled by the way he looked at you. With care. With hunger. With awe.

He crawled slowly up your body, his hands braced beside your ribs, his chest brushing softly against yours. His lips found your collarbone first–featherlight and reverent. Then your neck, where he pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below your ear, tongue flicking briefly against your skin.

You could feel him, hard and hot, dragging against your inner thigh as he moved. It made your hips roll on instinct.

“Going down on you really got me going…” He breathed into your skin, voice low and desperate, hips twitching slightly. His body was shaking with restraint.

You giggled–a breathy, warm sound that made him smile as you turned your face toward him. Your mouths met again, lips pressing together, and you tasted yourself on him–your own slickness still clinging faintly to his lips, his tongue. You kissed him deeper, your hand sliding along his spine.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “You really want to?”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Do I need a condom?”

You watched his pupils dilate at the question, a harsh breath catching in his throat. “I’m on the pill, and I haven’t had sex in a bit but my recent STD test was clean.” You added, voice even softer now.

“Fuck…” He breathed, voice cracking a little. “Okay.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time–urgent but not rushed. Like he needed to feel you everywhere before he could push in. One of his hands slid down between your bodies, finding the heat between your thighs with instinctive precision. He nudged the tip of himself against your folds, dragging it up and down–slick and hot–through your wetness.

You both groaned.

Your hands gripped his arms, fingers curling into his skin as he slowly began to push in. His body trembled above you, the pace careful but steady, like he wanted to feel every second of it. The stretch burned in the best way–deep, hot, slow.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob whispered, his voice completely wrecked. “You feel so good… You’re so fucking warm…”

You gasped when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, every inch of him buried deep inside. The fullness made your toes curl, your whole body responding with an involuntary tremble.

He didn’t move right away. Just hovered above you, his breath ragged, his eyes searching your face. He kissed you–softly–his mouth trembling slightly as he whispered:

“You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”

You moaned at that, your thighs tightening around his waist, your hands sliding up his back and digging in just enough to make him gasp. His hips drew back and rolled forward again–deep, grinding, slow. Each thrust pressed his pubic bone against your clit, and the sensation made your breath stutter.

“Oh–fuck–“ You gasped, your voice catching.

Bob stilled immediately, looking down at you through glassy, blown eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded frantically, hand gripping his bicep. “Yeah. Do it again.”

He did.

Again. And again. A slow, sensual grind that hit exactly right every time. Your hips began to twitch under him, your breath breaking in little gasps as you chased the rhythm with your body.

He moaned into your mouth as he kissed you–lips sloppy now, too lost in the moment to care. Every sound he made was raw: gasps, whimpers, soft broken curses whispered against your lips and skin.

“Fuck… You feel so good, so good around me, sweetheart,” He rasped. “You’re squeezing me—God, you’re… You’re perfect…”

The praise was relentless. You could barely breathe from how hot it made you.

You tightened around him, fluttering involuntarily with every thrust. You were close again–dangerously close–and the next roll of his hips sent a bolt of heat straight through you.

Your orgasm hit with a choked moan, your nails digging into his back, your body clenching tight around him as your hips bucked helplessly. Bob groaned as your walls squeezed him, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuck–I’m gonna–” He gasped, hips stuttering.

Then he buried himself deep, letting out a ragged, whimpering moan as he came inside you, face pressed into your neck. You felt his teeth graze your skin, his whole body trembling with the force of it.

For a moment, you both just lay there–panting, gasping, covered in sweat and warmth and each other.

Then he slowly lifted his head, eyes dazed but bright, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised.

“…Do you,” He began, breathless, “Do you want to go out to dinner with me tomorrow?”

You blinked, and then started laughing–a soft, disbelieving, breathless laugh.

“That would be really great,” You murmured, your voice thick with affection.

Bob grinned, wide and flushed, before collapsing gently beside you on the mattress. Your legs tangled. Your breath slowed. The room hummed in the quiet aftermath, soft and safe and one with the both of you.

[strawberry-nugget]

You ask Katsuki to give you a massage and end up with him blowing your back out♡♡

Warnings: smut, 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, happy ending massage, p in v sex, fingering, (some light) anal fingering, oiled up sex yall #holyfuckingairball, slight!dirty talking, slow sex, biting, spitting, prone-bone position, unprotected sex, All characters are 20+

Katsuki’s hands are huge. Heavy. Warm like stones left out in the sun. His fingers are thick, bulky and chubby where his knuckles are, the pads of his thumbs are calloused and rough, freed from the texture of a print due to regular filing, and still, my god— do they feel good rubbing zig zag lines and uneven shaped circles against your sore back.

His hands settle over every curve of your back like they were made to be there. Broad palms that are quirk charged bracketing your waist, spreading heat through his thumbs over muscle and skin until you’re not sure where your body ends and his begins. The weight of them is grounding, like gravity doubled. Like exhaling for the first time in hours.

You have been sore for way too long. Debating on whether you should book an appointment for a massage or get doctor prescribed physios, but ultimately in your lack of time and indecisiveness, you’ve let the issue come to its boiling point, let your back feel sore and aching to even the touch of your nails when you scratch yourself. 

You tell yourself it surely wasn’t an excuse to make Katsuki get his hands on you like this, but then again if you were asked, you couldn’t say the opposite. The feeling of his hands on your skin is scorching every cell of your existence at all times and now— now you’re enjoying this way too much.

Naturally, your breath starts to stutter. Just a little. Shallow at first—barely-there catches of air that stalls in your chest each time his thumbs roll in deep near your spine, right where it always hurts worst. Katsuki notices. Of course he does. His hands pause for half a beat, then glide lower, smoothing the ache with a gentler pass like he’s coaxing the tension out instead of breaking it.

“Too much?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and heat and something else he doesn’t name. Something that lives between the cracks of his touch.

You shake your head into the pillow.

No. Not even close.

If anything, you feel as if you might as well melt.

The room is candlelit, filled with that slow bloom of lavender and something warmer—jasmine? Chamomile? It smells almost toasted from where his palms heat up the oil, seeping into the air like steam curling off summer pavement after rain. Soft music is playing in the background, drumming low with every single lyric the singer sings; Katsuki has gone out of his usual way to make you feel comfortable.

You’re already half-melted into the mattress by now, face buried in a pillow that still smells like his skin, the edge of your tank top pushed up to your ribs. You feel him behind you, quiet, deliberate, the bed dipping beneath his weight as his hands find the bottle of oil again.

When his hands leave your back, you’re back to feeling like hell, like all the alleviated pain just punched its way back into your rear.

To save you from this agony, Katsuki’s hands—those massive, brutish hands that have torn through half the villains in Japan, the hands that have been worked in excruciating and harsh conditions over the years—are moving over your back again like they’re made of sunlight and patience.

He presses again, harder this time. Not cruel, not rough. Just deliberate. One thumb working in a crooked elliptical circle beneath your shoulder blade while the heel of his other palm drags slow, wide strokes across your lower back. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern. Just instinct. Just him. And maybe that’s why it feels so good. Because it’s not technique, not some learned routine from a textbook. It’s just him and the way he cares about you. Cares enough to soften his rough edges, to make his hardened palms feel incredible and soothing on your back.

Katsuki settles on either side of your legs, sitting on his knees above you as his oily thumbs hook under your bunched up shirt, coaxing you to lift only ever just a little, so he can take the article of clothing off of you.

With only a small tag, the flimsy piece of clothing is over your head, discarded onto the edge of the bed and Katsuki moves over your legs again, this time sitting low, just over the back of your knees. Rough palms that drip of fresh lavender oil feel your tummy as you stay lifted up, running up, up, up, until they slide across your breasts, thumbs softly brushing your nipples.

You moan with a rasp, at the loss of the feeling, or maybe at how hot his palms are when they engulf your shoulders and give a pinching little rub. 

You feel Katsuki press in with a slow, unyielding pressure that makes your breath hitch against the pillow. He knows exactly where to go—where you hold stress, where it bites. Right between your shoulder blades, far up on the back of your neck, low at the base of your spine, the outer edges of your hips. His thumbs circle there, digging in just enough to ache, then easing off like a tide pulling back from shore.

He tags at your pyjama shorts next, just the waistline at first, then the start of your panties, but his thumbs stain the fabric in lavender sweetness, tagging even further when he says “Off”

You lift your hips without a word. It’s not even a decision—it’s instinct. A quiet offering. A permission that’s already been granted a hundred times in your body before it ever reaches your lips.

The shorts slide down slow. The elastic tugs over the swell of your ass, catching just slightly at the curve of your thighs before easing off, guided by thumbs that are far too gentle for how rough they look. His hands are reverent, even now. Even with your bare skin revealed under the low flicker of candlelight, with the smell of lavender thick in the air, wrapping around you both like a silken ribbon.

There’s a pause. Not long. Just enough to make you breathe in, hold it. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back. Feel it like a touch. Like heat.

Then his hands are on you again, and it’s almost worse than before. Better. Unbearably better.

His thumbs drag low, slow, slick with oil as they part the dip of your spine. They don’t press too hard. Just smooth you open—figuratively, literally—with strokes that make your toes curl into the sheets. His fingers knead into the meat of your hips now, heavy and full, pressing into places that ache with tiredness, places that never get touched this way unless it’s under the guise of something much filthier.

“You wait too long,” he mutters. Voice rough, low, almost annoyed—but not really. Not at you. “Could feel the knots from the second I touched you.”

You hum, something low in your throat. Almost a laugh. Almost a whimper. “Didn’t have time.”

“Make time,” he snaps, but it’s soft. Almost affectionate. His hands say more than the words ever could. They dig in again, dragging slow zigzags along the base of your spine, making your back arch and your thighs twitch. He smooths them over your ass, dragging the oil agonisingly slow over you, until his thumbs brush over the lower crevices of your bottom.

“Just ask, I’ll rub your back”

You can’t tell if it’s the oil or your own sweat making your skin slick now. Can’t tell where the ache ends and the heat begins. Can’t tell where you end and his skilled fingers begin.

All you know is that Katsuki’s hands are still on you—huge and hot and unrelenting—and that you never want them to stop.

You’re starting to forget the ache.

Not because it’s gone, but because it’s changed, morphed into something else under his hands. It’s still there, but not sharp. Not angry. Just… full. Blooming warm in your chest and pooling low in your belly like syrup, like honey slowly melting down a spoon.

You breathe again. Really breathe. And it comes out shaky, lips parted against the pillow, lashes fluttering in the candlelight.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Not directed at him. Not even really a word. Just a sound of surrender.

Katsuki shifts behind you, and you feel it—his weight bearing down gently on the back of your thighs, his thighs bracketing yours now, his body closer than it was before. Still clothed. Still in control. But not distant.

Never distant.

You feel his breath brush across the back of your neck a second before his lips do.

A soft press. Nothing more. Just warmth. Just acknowledgement.

“I know you’re tired,” he murmurs, voice low, sticky with quiet tenderness and worn-down. “But you can’t let yourself get like this.”

You nod—barely—but he sees it. He always sees you. Even when you try not to be seen.

“I’m here,” he says. “You got a boyfriend to fix your back anytime”

It’s simple. Not romantic, not flowery. Just your usual Katsuki. 

His palms flatten against your waist again, spreading out like wings, dragging slow and deliberate as they glide up your sides. They pass over the swells of your breasts without urgency this time, just pressure and heat and familiarity, before curling over your shoulders. His thumbs dip under your arms, into the softest parts of you, and rub gentle, grounding circles.

You lean into it. Into him.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur, voice hushed against the pillow. His hands still. Not gone. Just still.

You call out his name, almost sheepishly, sleep dragging a voice that’s ready to complain, in contrast to your previous statement. You pout even, “Don’t stop babe i'm sore” 

Katsuki exhales through his nose, and it sounds like a laugh, except it’s lower. Thicker. Like he’s trying not to let on how fond he is of you when you get like this tired and whiny and melting beneath his hands like you were made to be touched and felt up by him.

“Yeah?” he mutters, and you hear the smirk even before you feel it. “Thought I didn’t gotta fix everything.”

You nuzzle your cheek deeper into the pillow, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

He hums. His thumbs move again, slow, small circles into the soft spot just below your shoulder blades. You sigh, finally loud and satisfied again—and he shakes his head like he’s trying to be annoyed, even as his hands keep coaxing little, blissed-out sounds from your throat.

“Back’s all locked up like you’re made of concrete. What the hell’ve you been carryin’ around?”

You shrug lazily, the motion barely registering. “Life?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Too much of it.”

He shifts again, the bed dipping as his weight adjusts. One arm slides beneath your stomach, anchoring you gently, while the other keeps working slow and steady down your spine. Every stroke is fixated to every dip of your back like he’s trying to draw something out of you. Not just the tension. The tired. The worry.

You make another soft, contented noise, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck again—no heat, no rush, just a quiet, grateful touch.

One moment you’re relaxed, open, muscles soft, the dull ache of being rubbed with such pressure weighing you down to complete relaxation and the next—Katsuki’s lips find the edge of your shoulder blade. Smooching once, twice over spots that are oiled up.

He can’t help himself.

The lavender scent. The way your ass is curved upwards, so perky. The oil makes your skin shine in the low light of the candles. The angelic way the music starts sounding as the notes hit your skin like the softest raindrops on flower leaves; He feels himself lean into the fondly softness of the moment, growing hotter by each second. His cock has already started giving him warning throbs inside his briefs.

It’s almost quite dangerous, what you do to him. The sight of you sprawling limp and sleepy and soft under just the touch of his hands. So in a bold movement he smooths his wonders once again over your ass, thumbs parting your legs from the inside of your thighs, just a little. When he pulls back to his original position, vermillion eyes flicker where your slit is, glistening softly, not throbbing quite yet.

The slow drag of his hands, smoothing lower, is parted only by a moment from the pause just above the dip of your ass, where his thumbs rest—hover—like he’s thinking something over. Like he’s holding himself back, the way he always does when he thinks this might be too much, too soon, too selfish of him.

But to assure him, it isn’t, you push your hips back, just a tiny bit. So eager for him as always, even in this vulnerable state.

“Katsuki,” you breathe through a moan slurred, not like a question, not a plea. Just his name. Like you’re granting him permission by calling it out.

It’s all he needs.

His hands firm at your waist again, grip tightening just slightly, a groan catching low in his chest as his body bows over yours. You feel the warm press of his mouth at the nape of your neck, open and slow and wet. Feel his breath, the way it shakes. The way it matches yours.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters against your skin. “Lyin’ here like this. Soundin’ like that.”

You’d laugh, a soft breathy chuckle, but it comes out like a whimper when his thumbs knead into the meat of your thighs and spread you gently apart. Lavender clings to everything. Your skin, your breath, the air—but now it’s mixed with eerie desire, like it wouldn’t turn out exactly like this when you asked him to rub your back.

His hands don’t rush, like they usually do when his chest is so tight with desire, arousal. They drag over your hips, your waist, until his fingers slide down the sides of your belly and find the edge of your hips again. This time, when he tugs your love handles, doughing them into the pads of his palms, there’s no hesitation. Just soft skin and warm oil peeling away from your skin, pooling on the sheets behind you.

You’re bare. Completely. The candlelight flickers, catching the sheen of sweat and oil across your back, your thighs. Katsuki pours more oil on his palms. You feel it trickle down your spine, between your legs. You feel him there too, kneeling behind you, hovering over you like heat itself.

And when his hands return, when his fingers slide between your thighs and find you already wet, already open—his breath punches out in one low, reverent curse, like he doesn’t remember seeing the way you were glistening when he looked over a second ago.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands slowly opening your ass cheeks “Look at you.”

You press your face harder into the pillow, hips tilting, thighs spreading wider in a silent invitation you’ve never needed to say aloud with him.

He slides one thick finger through your slick and groans, low and guttural like it hurts. Like he’s the one unraveling.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, voice rough, dazed, groaning out his words “fuckin’ dripping…”

The first push of his fingers is slow, deliberate—just one at first, thick and sure. Dragging the edge of the knuckle softly against your clit. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open. His other hand braces at your hip, grounding you, owning you.

Then another finger joins the first.

And god, his fingers are just as big as his hands, and you swear they’re made for this. Not gentle, but not rough either. Just pressure. Heat. Depth. The kind of stretch that makes your legs tremble, your body pulse with something deeper than need.

You sob into the pillow, and he shushes you softly—lips at your shoulder, tongue dragging the edge of your skin, teeth sinking in.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes in your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

You shiver when the pads of his thumbs push on the outter lips of your pussy, spreading you wider for him with that same careful control he uses in a fight—like he knows exactly how much force to use, how far to take it before it ruins you. And maybe you want to be ruined a little.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki murmurs, voice nearly gone, wrecked from how hard he’s breathing. His thumbs hold you open while his fingers curl slow, deep—dragging against that spot, under the hood of your clit that makes your thighs jolt, makes your chest squeeze tight. He watches you clench around him, watches the oil and slick mix and drip down to the crease of your thighs. Watches everything with that starved kind of look on his face, biting his lips and scrunching his nose, eyes blown wide like he’s being allowed to witness something sacred.

And he can’t help himself, once again, not to drag his left thumb over your entrance, circling softly, to gather some slick before his finger taps at your other puckered hole, rubbing once, twice, before slowly sinking in.

At the same time, almost, his right pointer finger enters your pussy, the thumb never leaving your clit, always circling it lazily, elliptical.

You both hiss, you at the feeling of both of your holes being entered, him at the feeling of how tightly you clamp around just his fingers.

His cock is furious inside his pants now. Angry at the top and leaking over the spot the tip has settled at.

“Fuuuuck,” he whispers again, this time quieter. Like it’s just for himself. Like he can’t believe how good you feel, how warm and wet and tight you are, clenching down on both fingers like your body’s trying to drag him in deeper.

And he feels like he might as well go insane.

Because it’s not just the way your body reacts to him, not just the way you sob and tremble and push back against his hand like you can’t get enough, though all of that drives him crazy. It’s that you let him see it. Let him touch you here, like this, in this kind of quiet, candlelit intimacy where everything is soft and raw and slow.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

It’s too much and at the same time, not enough.

His left hand, still slick and strong, adjusts where it holds you open. That finger still lazily and slowly pumping —almost still of movement— in the hole of your ass, teasing in slow, subtle pushes that make your whole spine tense, makes your toes curl into the sheets. And all the while, his right hand works in tandem; pointer finger deep inside your pussy, thumb lazy and steady on your clit like he’s marking time. Like he knows just how fast to take you, just how slow to pull you apart.

You whimper, shamefully loud. 

It’s the kind of sound you’d usually try to bite back, bury into your wrist or his bicep, but Katsuki doesn’t let you this time. He growls at it, low, like a threat, pushes in just a bit deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb in slow, wet circles against your clit until your hips twitch again.

“There you go,” he mutters. “That’s it. Let me hear it, baby.”

You do. Because you can’t not.

As you carefully wiggle your hips just a little more upwards, you yelp, feeling just a little pain from the thick finger in your ass and it takes all of Katsuki’s humility to gather a ball of spit in his mouth and let it go off, past his raspberry blown lips and onto the slit of your ass. 

His finger exits so, so, so slowly, still you groan at the slight discomfort due to it, making his chest swell, and he catches some of his spit with his finger and enters you again.

Every nerve in your body is lit, every edge of you aching and raw. Katsuki doesn’t let up and with his chest bearing all this excitement and humility that makes his ears red and tingly from seeing you so spread open like this, he doesn’t stop. Just holds you open like you’re something precious and obscene all at once, his fingers working slow and deep until you’re shaking under him, toes curling, face buried in the pillow to keep from sobbing his name.

Suddenly, the bed creaks under his knees as he leans down, dwelling chest brushing your back, breath hot on your neck. His fingers never stop working—sliding deeper, curling, then scissoring your pussy open just slightly as if to test how ready you are for what comes next. He simply rasps at how wet you are, but it’s swallowed under the silky sounds of your squelching.

You feel open, loose, hot to the touch and unable to move, like your lower half has been lost in a cloud of overbearing pleasure.

Then, like you're kicked to the gut and jolted out of your pleasure cloud nine— you feel it. The weight of it.

Katsuki’s cock, hard and heavy, presses against the swell of your ass, sizzling hot even through the thin cotton of his boxers, begging to be set free.

You feel yourself leak, a beady drop of sticky sleek that trails down the lips of your pussy and onto his thumb. He presses down on your clit like it’s a button, squeezing just enough before flicking it, left then right, up then down and all over again until you’re screaming into the pillow.

Your pussy feels like it’s on fire and for once, the finger in your ass is starting to feel way more pleasing than it’s ever felt in the few times you two have tried this.

You feel the steady pulse of his throbbing mushroom tip beneath your skin, a weight that drags and shifts with every careful motion of his hips, like he’s tracing the shape of you without needing to see. Every inch memorized in the heat of this moment.

Slowly and so deliberately, his hands exit out of you with a pop and a treacherous whine from the depths of your chest that drips on your lips and slip to the waistband of his briefs, fingers rough only to himself as they peel the fabric down his thighs, releasing the tight hold. The cool air hits the bare skin of his cock, already glistening with heat and promise, and your breath catches at the sound of his dick hitting his abdomen.

Katsuki shifts closer, lips trailing a feather-light kiss along your shoulder, warm and urgent, grounding and electric all at once. His fingers slip free from where they held you open just moments ago, replaced by the thick, slick head of him pressing between your folds, nestling there like he’s already part of you.

His cockhead on your clit feels like heaven. Everything nice. Big and bulky and heavier than his thumb, it glides over a few, agonisingly slow times, before his voice breaks into speech. 

He finds your clit again, traps it between flesh and fingertip, giving a small, delicious pinch that makes you shiver and arch against him.

“Y’gonna let me in, baby?” he whispers, lips dragging over your shoulder as his fingers slip free, replaced by the thick head of him nestling between your folds again.

You’re going crazy. Aching at the loss of his tip on your entrance. Drool catches at the side of your mouth and spills over the pillow, walls clamping down around thin air. You need him inside you right now or else you’ll combust. You’ve been spread out and toyed with for oh so long.

“Y-yes, please baby, put it in”

His breath fans across your skin, hot and ragged, as he shifts the last bit of distance between you. The head of him presses deeper, teasing the wet, swollen gate of your slit, just at the edge of full surrender. Your body tightens, trembling with the delicious agony of waiting.

Then, painfully slow, he pushes inside you, past the tight rim of your entrance—inch by inch, and so deliberate, a tender invasion that makes your chest rise and fall in ragged gasps. The heat of him floods you, filling every ache and hollow with only his tip that's pouring clear precum like a river. A vein on his cock throbs, catches close to your g-spot and you moan at the feeling, your clit throbbing like its on fire, by the action.

Katsuki’s hot hands slide down your hips, gripping firm enough to anchor you but gentle enough to let you melt beneath him. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses that trail lower—each one a quiet confession, a promise stitched into flesh. He bucks into you again, broken breath and a rhythm to match it, hips far from even stuttering against you.

All Katsuki can think right now as he looks down at his hands on your plush skin is that he loves you. All blown out and barely spread open as he pushes your ass close, chanting his name as he feels you trap his veiny cock inside your walls. He couldn’t keep his hands off you for a second and it’s like a blessing that you asked him to massage you. A curse too, because he knew he wouldn’t hold back from turning it into sex even if he tried.

With every -barely- measured thrust, you feel his chest swell against your back, pounding with something more than desire—a love so raw and fierce it almost hurts. His cock drags deep inside you, the slow rhythm setting fire to every nerve, every whisper of skin-on-skin.

He buries his face into your shoulder, breath hitching, biting onto your earlobe and sucking before he speaks, voice thick and vulnerable at once. “Love you babe.”

Your body trembles, caught between the sweet sting of pleasure and the weight of his words. You press back into him, aching to close the distance, to be lost in the overwhelming pull of this moment—where every touch, every breath, every heartbeat says you.

“Love you too” you whisper, finally.

You gasp when he grinds deeper, and he groans like he’s hurting, like it physically aches how much he wants to make this last.

And then he starts kissing you. Everywhere.

“I gotchu babe, let go” he whimpers “You’re killin’ me,” he breathes. “Feels so good—I just wanna stay here, baby, please—lemme just…”

His hips stutter and you feel him shake into your sore neck, just a little—and his lips press harder, tighter, to your shoulder as he groans your name into your skin like a vow. Like he’s praying and you're his only god.

Your hand reaches back blindly, desperate to touch him, to grab at something real, with your face still squished into the pillow and he catches the movement, brings one of his hands to match yours and threads your fingers together without a second of hesitation. His hand tangles with yours above the pillow. Fingers sticky with lavender oil and need, pressing into yours like he needs the anchor. The other stays at your hip, guiding you back into him with the same rhythm he holds in battle—steady, devastating.

You can feel the way his heart beats against your back when he leans in close. Can hear the way his breath hitches when you let out a soft moan into the pillow, hips pushing back into his, seeking more.

His grip is tight, grounding. A promise made in the trembling space between sweating and hot skin.

You feel every inch of him, not just inside you, in the squelching in and out and the sound of skin slapping, but around you, covering you, his chest flush and hot on your back, the way his arm tighten around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

With every thrust, he leans in, chest brushing your back, lips dragging kisses along the curve of your shoulder, your neck, the back of your ear. His breath is warm and ragged, but his mouth is gentle. If saying ‘I love you’ wasn’t enough, his cock spells it out inside you, like he can’t stop saying the phrase without saying it out loud.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck, voice breaking against your skin. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Katsuki’s hips roll again, and you gasp more from the emotion than the sensation. You’re so full, he’s so deep in it almost hurts. But he’s so tender with it. You feel him kiss your shoulder again, then the spot just underneath your ear. You shiver under the weight of it, under the heat of his breath.

“Can’t get close enough to you,” he mutters, almost like he’s mad at himself for trying. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about.”

You reach for him with your other hand as well, fingers searching behind you until your hand finds his forearm. Taut, huge as always and trembling from the control he’s holding. You clutch him there, and he groans at the contact, your nails dig in and he’s thrusting just a little deeper, a little slower.

Each time his hips meet yours, your breath stutters, your throat tight with the aching swell of something bigger than arousal. It’s overwhelming—the way he fills you, how soft he’s being, how quiet and gentle he is when usually he’s all noise and heat and thunder. But now? There’s no room for temper now. And if he’s always just slightly embarrassed and aroused by that feeling in the bedroom, this time, it’s becoming something worse. His belly tightens, stomach tight and numb and falling like he’s been punched.

That bubbling feeling is travelling straight to his cock, making him impossibly hard, letting the start of an orgasm shimmer, his balls tightening so much he can feel it.

You can feel it where his hard abs brush your back, where his nose presses into your shoulder blade, where his hips move with more emotion than rhythm. His voice is cracking, his fingers are squeezing yours for dear life.

But the way he is fucking into you, is not rough, nor fast. It’s worship. Slow and delicious.

Every inch of his body sings with it, matching the soft song in the background. Every part of him is working to memorize a body he already knows like the back of his hand—not just how you feel around him, but the sound of your voice when you gasp, the way your hand tightens in his when the pleasure crests too high, the way your breath stutters when he kisses the back of your neck like he’s saying sorry for every time he ever doubted he’d deserve this.

He doesn’t even know what’s gotten into him right now.

It’s probably that he only feels safe when you touch him, when he touches you. It’s probably that the feeling of your skin on his is unlike any touch that he despises in this world. The hand you're digging your nails in is scarred, littered with skin tissue that’s newer, tissue that isn't going to match his old skin no matter how many years pass. And even though he hates looking at it, his cock throbs inside you at the sight of your bodies connecting there.

And it’s in every groan that leaves his lips, every kiss he drags across your spine, every tremble in his arms as he pulls you impossibly closer, like he needs your bodies fuse when he fucks you fron the back like a sin. Slowly, never picking up pace, likes he’s fucking you through it instead of towards it.

Your stomach feels likes it’s dropping, adorned in adoration, his love laced rhythm, that slow-motion hammering way he’s fucking you with is messing with your mind and body in delicious ways.

You’re almost at your breaking point.

Your breath catches again, again as the tension rises unbearably, a string pulled tighter and tighter through every snug and wet thrust, every kiss he plants tenderly, along your back 

Katsuki’s forehead falls to your shoulder. He’s barely trembling by an inch but you feel it. Not from strain, not from fatigue, but from the way this is undoing him. And fucking hell if this isnt the hottest sex youve had in a while.

There’s no fight for dominance, no cockiness, just tenderness. Him not being close to you enough, you not being close to him enough either.

He desperately wants you two to merge into one.

You can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. Not a growl, not a command. Just a whisper. Frayed, cracked, raw.

“Can’t—can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The words split you open somewhere deeper than sore muscle. Because it’s not just the way he’s moving inside you, it’s the way his heart feels like it’s pulsing against your spine, the way he’s holding you like you’re both breakable.

You're scared for a second, that he's going to get irregular heart palpitations again, but the thought is pushed away when his lips brush your ear. “Your pussy 's so tight. Fuck...I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

But he doesn’t make a move to pull away despite his words. Doesn’t even speed up. If anything, he presses in closer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize this exact second—the shape of your back under his chest, the soft pull of your fingers on his scarred forearm, the hitch in your breath that comes every time his hips roll forward.

You can feel the tremble in his thighs now. The catch in his rhythm. You’re so close, just on the edge, and he knows it. You know he is too. But he’s holding it back like he’s trying to stretch this moment out forever, like climaxing would mean letting go and he doesn’t want to let go.

But oh—you can feel it coming, like thunder on the horizon.

It coils in your belly, winds tighter with every breathless thrust. Slow, grounding, devastating in its tenderness. Katsuki’s mouth is at your shoulder again, dragging crazed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, the base of your hair, drunk on the scent of lavender and your skin like it’s an aphrodisiac.

You think you hear him whisper your name. Just your name. Not even his usual ‘babe’ like it’s the only word he remembers how to say, but it’s so cracked and under his breath you can’t pinpoint it over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

His cock pulses deep inside you, catching the perfect angle of your g-spot and it’s so hard now it aches, dragging against every place that makes you cry out, stretch, tremble. He’s still slow. Still careful. Always clinging to you like the act of letting go might mean waking up from this.

His arms wrap tighter around you. His scarred hand finds your chest from underneath you , just above your heart, and stays there, pressing down like he needs to feel every beat. His other is tangled over yours, fingers still locked tight, sweaty and trembling and unrelenting.

“Katsuki—” you choke, and he moans like your voice alone just finished him. A total fatality.

“I know, baby,” he breathes. “I know—‘m right here, come f—ah— for me. Let me fucking feel you. Say it babe, say you wanna come and I’ll —fuck, I’ll get you there”

“Wanna come on your cock Katsuki, feels s’good”

“Let go babe, ‘m here, I got ya” he whispers against your ear.

“Please… please, mhmm”

You shudder under him, your legs trembling as you reach that edge and go right over, your whole body clenching, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper as everything breaks open inside you. Your cry is caught in the pillow, but he feels it. Feels you squeeze, feels your hips arch, your back press flush against him, feels your ass fill out the space on his v-line.

And then he loses it. Sweat drips from his forehead and it takes all of his restraint to not let anything in his body ignite his quirk right now. You feel so good, so wet, so hot around him. 

He sinks as deep as he can go and stays there, buried, kissing your cervix with his leaky tip, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, one long broken sound leaving his chest as his body jolts once, twice, into yours.

You feel him come inside you. Hot. Filling out every tight spot his cock doesn’t kiss in you. And still, he doesn’t stop holding you.

His breath is a mess against your skin. Lips still find you in the aftermath—your shoulder, the side of your neck, the shell of your ear. Your cheek. His arms won’t stop shaking. Neither will yours.

But he doesn’t move. He goes still. Stiff like his whole body is cramping.

Minutes pass like this. Breathing each other in. Skin to skin. Not a single space left between you as he pushes you with his hand from underneath you, into his chest.

You shift your head, enough to reach for him with your mouth, just barely brushing your lips to his knuckles where your fingers are still laced together.

“Babe—Kats,” you breathe, lunges closing in, a hint of guilt closing in as you know he has no other way to make you feel he means it when he says he loves you “I love you so much but I’ll pass out”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me—” he shifts a little, just to pull out, dragging his hand just enough to flip you over as he lays on the bed “all good now. Love you”

Katsuki catches your cheeks and presses a tiny kiss to the apples of both your squished cheeks. He flattens you against his chest with that same arm—the one that pulled you through it all. His hand is spread wide over your back like he’s trying to cover every inch of you.

Your cheek rests against his collarbone, lips parted, lashes damp. You feel the flutter of his pulse against your mouth, a part of you, the one that’s worried about his heart, tries to count how many times his heart beats in sixty seconds.

“I can’t feel my thighs,” you murmur, the words slurred, not really a complaint, when you decide his heart is pumping just fine.

“Shut up,” he says, but it’s all rasp, no bite. His lips press to your sticky forehead like punctuation.

You hum a soft laugh against his chest, then pout as you hold and squeeze onto his peck, kissing the outer rim of his scar over and over again. “No, really. I think I forgot how to walk, you’re gonna have to massage me all oooover again”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe cameron x fem!reader

this one is for the boys in the polos… he just gotta give me that look, when he give me that look then the panties comin' off

or reader is kinda tipsy and rafe looks a little too good in a black polo (3.1k)

cw: 18+ mdni, p in v, tipsy reader, possessive and a bit obssesive rafe but that’s expected, starts off with reader down bad but he very quickly matches your freak <3, praise k!nk, size k!nk, he has to make it fit :>, sweat k!nk(?), no protection (wrap it up!), dumbification if u squint

the neon blue mixer you’d been drinking all night was tasting more and more like candy than anything else and you could tell it was finally having its intended effect. rafe had made sure you weren’t given anything hard, he didn’t want his baby to be too drunk before he could make his way over to you. you’d gotten to the party hours ago and you had scarcely seen your boyfriend, he was busy doing business. sure in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t that long since you spent most of your day together but when your friends’ conversation started becoming boring and your feet began to hurt you wanted nothing more than his strong arms supporting your weight. usually he’d be against your back, biceps curled at the side of your head while he held you close. the pout on your lips was beginning to feel impossible to remove and the pathetic sighs were increasing in frequency. if you didn’t see him soon enough you’d go looking for him, to hell with his wishes that you stay out of his business. you mumbled something about getting more to drink, your cup still practically full as you walked on your damned platform heels in search of your man.

as if he could sense your growing impatience rafe was making his way downstairs. he could probably find you with his eyes closed as he made his way down, watching your body move through the crowd, in that damned baby blue tank that you’d worn cause “it matched his eyes”. he loved how you looked in it but hated that everyone else probably did too, especially since you sacrificed a bra for it. there was a pout on your shiny lips, your arms crossed as you looked around, looked for him. he wasn’t any better. he’d been thinking about you the entire time you were apart, wishing he was fiddling with the hem of your shirt rather than dealing to idiot college students. he stepped into your space, you recognized his cologne before you could register his presence, the expensive and overwhelming scent somehow comforting you, a large hand clasped around your waist and turned your body towards him. and it was as if you could finally breathe you looked up at him, your shoulders dropping and with it the tension you hadn’t known you’d been holding. blue eyes softened as they met yours. he looked too good, you hadn’t seen him when he left, he’d headed out early while you got ready with the girls. low light and his tan skin against the black polo accentuated his features and muscles. your arms looped around his neck before you even spoke and rafe’s lips curled as he watched the frustration in your eyes be replaced with need. your big doe eyes looked up at him, slightly glazed over from your drink and something he shared. as you raised up, your shirt did the same and his thumb swiped against the soft skin of your stomach. just enough contact to make you melt even more.

“‘missed you.” your voice came out small, almost a whine. oh his poor baby. he leaned down, forehead resting against yours and he didn’t care what it looked like, he’d do anything for you. no one would fuck with him or you regardless. the pout was back on your lips and rafe hated it.

“sorry angel, let me make it up to you hmm?” his hands caressed your skin, distracting you from your frustration, and the soft squeeze of your waist thoroughly removed any doubts from your mind. with a slight nod to your head, rafe removed one hand, the other coming to rest on your lower back as he pulled away and led you two away. heads turned as rafe moved you through the party, a satisfied smile creeping onto your lips now that your boyfriend was by your side and rafe felt the same. he could finally relax.

when rafe decided you’d reached your destination he removed his hand. you were on the other side of the house now, there were less people around and an empty couch rafe pulled you onto. despite the room for three people, you were promptly pulled onto his lap, not that you minded, you would’ve ended up there anyway. you leaned your head back to face him, the only downside to being on his lap was not being able to stare at him properly. rafe chuckled at something you weren’t privy to, you didn’t know how transparent you were when you were drunk. it wasn’t even the alcohol anymore that had you in such a state, it was him. the smell of his cologne, his strong thighs under your own, the possessive curl of his arm around your middle, it all had you so far gone you couldn’t even notice his amusement. his hand came up to press a thumb against your lips, his large hand cradling your face easily. god he hated when you pouted, your pretty glossed lips looked so much better when they were smiling, laughing, and especially when they were around him. the cold metal of his ring pressed against your cheek and you shivered.

“hey i’m here now.” you nodded, grabbing his large hand with two of your own and pressing a sweet kiss to the thumb that had been trying to force your lips into a smile. your wide round eyes always gave away your true feelings, you were fine now but you wanted to give him some hell, and he’d let you. rafe smiled at your actions, always so damn adorable.

“yeah it’s just you look really good, kinda wish i could’ve had you all t’myself.” the air left his lungs at your boldness, he knew it was the alcohol making you so careless with your words, but it didn’t matter when he was finding it near impossible to control himself. you were back to looking at his chest, you could easily meet his eyes but no you were just drinking in how tight the polo looked on his arms, how broad his shoulders were, how even though the material was dark you could see his pecs stretching it out, his gold chain peeking through under the collar taunting you. god you needed to buy him more black shirts maybe even a size too small. rafe caught onto your gaze, you had hardly been subtle. his jaw clenched at the way your thighs shamelessly pressed together as if he couldn’t feel them move on his own. he’d had enough, his hand moving down the side of your body, tracing your curves as it landed its target, thick fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, this finally made you look up. this time his laugh was less comforting, you’d been caught. his lips were on yours in an instant, and the force of his kiss made you squirm on his lap, his hand slipping under your skirt and making you gasp. you tried to match his energy, his tongue swirling in your mouth, drool collecting on your tongue and you wanted more. the slight roll of your hips made rafe pull back abruptly, could you even feel how hard he was or were you that far gone? the hazy look in your eyes and slight drool slipping past your lips gave him his answer.

“get up.” he glared down at you, the blue being swallowed by black and you watched his jaw tick in impatience. your body warmed at the way he looked at you, not angry no he was desperate for you. you knew the feeling. you nodded dumbly, a smirk curling his lips as he stood unceremoniously, you stumbling to catch yourself. he would’ve laughed had he not been so pent up, offering a hand as he led you away with fervor. it wasn’t to his car though, no you were going deeper into the house. anticipation coiled in your stomach, your lace underwear drenched through at how forcefully rafe was acting with you. you almost tripped at how quickly he was moving, his long legs making it hard for you to keep up, he didn’t care. you wondered if it might have been better if he threw you over his shoulder at this point. the thought made you even dizzier. rafe tried every doorknob before one opened, an empty guest room that you were being ushered into.

“what are-“ rafe pushed you back gently onto the bed. your mind caught up to his actions, you thought you were going back home, you were supposed to be leaving. the way he was looking down at you, made your skin prick with heat, you’d be lucky if you made it out of this room alive. his arms caged you on either side of your head, veins protruding and muscles taut from tension. he was gonna make you start begging for it if he didn’t act soon.

“not making it home.” the gruff answer was all you could take, a desperate sound crawling up your throat as you fisted the material of his polo and pulled him into a kiss. sloppy and feverish, you were more so trying to consume him than kiss him and he gave in, groaning as you bit his lip hard. at least now he could finally get his hands under that scrap of fabric you called a skirt, tracing the edges of your laced panties as you gasped at the ghost of his touch. and just like that he had the upper hand again, he could feel your nipples pebbling against his chest and he didn’t bother removing his clothes, he knew you liked how he looked with them on anyway. instead he was shoving your legs open, looping one around his hips to make space for himself, drawing a gasp from your glossed lips.

“what do you mean-“ your wide eyes looked up at him, hands instinctively curling into the fabric of his polo. eyes dripping with need and adoration, he wished he could keep you by his side forever he felt so fucking stupid for leaving you in the first place. the way you looked at him made his heart break.

“need you now, fuck do you even know what you’re doing to me?” narrowed navy eyes glared down at you through long lashes, tearing your underwear and skirt down in one fluid motion, the cool air against your sticky cunt making you shiver. “gonna burn this, everyone can see your tits, pissing me off all night.” rafe shoved the blue tank top up your chest, your breasts recoiling and bouncing down to rest against your chest, nipples hard and tempting. mesmerized, rafe was thanking every deity that he was the only one fortunate to see you like this.

“rafey-“ a whine of his name was all it took for something in him to snap out of his trance, without warning your legs were being hoisted over his shoulders and he was unzipping his pants. he was painfully hard and you groaned at the feeling of his weepy tip pressing at your entrance, shaking your head furiously for him to continue. you knew it would hurt, rafe had to prep you before taking him but clearly neither of you could care at the moment. your poor cunt spasmed as he shoved his way in, being pushed out once or twice as you felt your walls spasm in pain at the intrusion, all the while getting wetter in a frustrating dichotomy. such a stretch you couldn’t help the whines leaving your lips, rafe was cursing under his breath at how fucking tight you were. when he finally slipped in he let out a sigh of relief, one he’d been holding since he left your side those few hours ago. your warm wet walls enveloped his tip, holding him tight like he’d ever even want to leave. you felt so good he couldn’t help but want to propose to you every time, he had to hold his tongue the first time you let him hit raw. his calloused thumb reached down to stroke your clit, jolting your body and making you grab onto his shoulders even tighter, trying to relax you so he could be all the way in.

“so fucking tight baby god you feel like a dream, never gonna leave you again.” he gritted the words out, your nails now scratching at his back as you tried to ground yourself. rafe pushed against every ring of resistance, bullying his way in and you felt a lump in your throat, panicked that it was somehow his tip. you could feel every vein, every curve molding your cunt to take him.

“s’too big.” you whined and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. a moment of reprieve from the way he was treating you.

“you can take it, you’re my good girl right?” you squirmed under him at the praise, cheeks puffing up as you huffed out a frustrated breath. you were so damn adorable, rafe fought the urge to bite you. you didn’t respond, continuing your fight to adjust to his size. “let me hear you baby, ‘missed your sweet voice.” his words came out low and sweet, an adoring lilt to his tone that you know he only reserved for you. a siren beckoning you to your demise.

“yes rafey, im yours.” you had barely processed what he said besides the praise, you were slowly adjusting to him and the pain was giving away to pleasure. your adoring, annoyingly accurate, boyfriend had angled you just right so his tip pressed right against your sweet spot. you could feel him hot and angry inside you, leaking precum adding to the mess between your thighs. you didn’t have any space left so all of your arousal was dripping down your crack, pooling on the sheets in an obscene puddle.

“fuckkk that’s right you’re mine.” the kiss he pressed against you was less desperate than yours, sweet and slow, like you had all the time in the world and maybe you did. the weight of his body pressing into yours to kiss you was a welcome one, calming your nerves and reminding you of home. when he pulled back his blue eyes stared into yours, creased at the ends from how he smiled at you, you felt shy all of a sudden, closing yours eyes as you smiled and nodded for him to move.

despite how badly he wanted to rail you into next week he started out slowly, fucking his length in and out of you until he didn’t have to push into you each time. “shouldn’t have looked at me like that pretty girl,” you were starting to grow feverish, he was purposefully missing where you needed him the most, moving too slowly to scratch your itch. his words finally caught up to you, realizing he wanted a response before he gave you what you wanted.

“l-like what?” the sweat running down his neck looked tempting, you wondered if you reached up would you be able to taste him, but that would prove difficult in your current position. rafe could see your hungry gaze trying to work something out, his dick twitching at how even now, when he was 9 inches deep you were still desperate for him. he’d made you like this he knew that, how could he blame his poor baby?

“like you are right now.” your eyes flickered up to meet his, you were caught once again. you didn’t care any more, he was yours and you were his.

“can’t help it-hah-black suits you.” rafe scoffed at your indignant response, ramming his hips a bit harder than he intended and making you cream around him. there was a white ring forming at his base and he’d make you clean it up after. by now he’d had enough, he couldn’t ignore how painfully hard he was much longer.

“blue suits you baby, but just mine.” his sentiment was a bit insane in hindsight, you should have recognized that but you didn’t really care when he slid all the way out and rammed into you. the bed shook from the force of his weight pressed down into yours and you screamed. you were guessing it was his name but it didn’t matter because the next few times it definitely was. rafe was fucking you mean and hard, your legs were far past his shoulders as he slammed his hips against yours his rip bruising your cervix and your g-spot every thrust. you were shaking after being filled by him and then being left empty, every time your body went into shock from the sensation. he chanted your name and a string of curses, drops of his sweat and a few tears mixing on your cheeks and falling into your mouth. the pressure building inside you felt like a dam ready to burst, your orgasm came abruptly, and rafe didn’t even slow down a bit when your walls spasmed around him, trying desperately to hold him still. your back arched and violent shivers ran down your spine at the sensation and subsequent overstimulation. smalls hands shoved his shoulders and it was useless when he had you close to a second orgasm in seconds, as an apology for the sting he pressed a kiss to your ankle between thrusts. the second orgasm was warm and fuzzy, your mind going a bit numb to the pleasure and you’d blame him for making you so cockdrunk if he teases you later for what you were about to do. rafe felt your tongue lick a long wet stripe along his jawline, his sweat salty on your tastebuds and you hummed at the taste. he was close to coming from that alone. a groan left his lips, rumbling deep through you, washing over you like a silent command.

“rafe come inside please.” he slowed down at your words, thinking he might just knock you up if you keep talking like that. with the mean mating press he had you in, it wouldn’t even be difficult.

“fuck want it to-ugh-drip down your legs for everyone to see huh?” you whined at his words, nodding furiously and he smiled down at you, proud of how equally unhinged you’d become. your wish was his command, after all. he drew you to another orgasm before driving his hips into you again and cumming into you, making sure every single drop was given to you. his hips flush against you, with no space for anything to slip out, effectively plugging you full. with the cloud of pleasure slowly drifting away you started to feel the aches in your body and between your legs. no one would see anything because you’d have to be carried out. he rolled off you, pulling your underwear up your legs and making sure his cum didn’t slip away from you, it felt so disgusting but you didn’t have the luxury to worry about that. you were more worried about how you felt like you’d been body slammed by a linebacker. rafe looked thoroughly fucked out, you wondered how bad you looked. he didn’t tell you that he’d have to fix your makeup before leaving the room.

“don’t think i can walk.” you turned towards him on the bed, pulling your shirt down which he watched unabashedly. instead of frowning or faking some kind of empathy, the fucker smiled.

“hell yeah” you shoved at him and he laughed, pulling you closer as if it were possible, your forehead pressed against his. “don’t worry baby i’ll carry you, plus you were kinda slowing me down anyways.” a roll of your eyes and a twitch of your lips told rafe that you’d be okay, he’d pamper you tomorrow and maybe fill you up again, and again, just to see how it would look like running down your legs. you’re the one who asked for it, how could he deprive his baby?

[rafesslxt]

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 | 𝐚.𝐬.

nsfw content | anakin x female bsf!reader | moodboard

aesthetic: 🎞️🍝🫂🫦❤️‍🔥 | words: 3,5k

「 ✦ after just another bad date you seek comfort from your best friend and roommate Anakin which turns into a steamy session ✦ 」

warnings: smut, modern!anakin, best friends to lovers, reader describing her worst date ever to Anakin, making out, hand job, blowjob, teasing, just the tip first, unprotected p in v, pxrn link inserted into the story so don't open in public, fucking the whole night, begging, breeding kink I think

note: the p!link is from twitter, you have to be logged in to twitter to watch it/ be able to see it. English is not my first language.

"Movie night?"

When Anakin read my message, he instantly knew my date didn't went well. It was something like a tradition between us whenever someone seeks comfort.

He replied with a "Of course, when will you be here? Have you already eaten?" He always asked me that. If I have eaten and drunken enough, every day.

"I'll be there in 30 and no not really." I replied before putting my phone away to drive back home.

After college Anakin and me moved in together after being roommates in school, that's how we met each other in first place. It was just always so easy between us. No drama, no arguing, no cleaning after each other. Most of the times.

When I pulled up at our apartment I kind of knew what awaited me already. With a sigh I entered the apartment, smelling food which put a smile on my face. I heard Anakin walking towards me.

"Woah." he says, eyeing me up and down in my new dress. "Thank's.. that's even more than he said." I chuckled and pulled off my heels. "That bad huh?" he asks me, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest.

"Yeah, that bad. I'll just change and come back down yeah?" I say, already up the stairs to change out of my tight dress. When I looked at myself in the mirror I just didn't get it. I looked bomb, why he hell were all these guys I date so.. trashy? It's not like my character didn‘t matched my looks.

With a groan I changed into grey loose sweatpants and a sports bra. Walking back down into the living room I just couldn't hide my smile when I saw the dimmed lights, Harry Potter on our TV and snacks on the little coffee table. The couch was covered with blankets and pillows. I walked further into the kitchen where Anakin stood, putting Pasta on two plates.

I walked up behind him and hugged him from behind so my cheek was pressed against his back. "Thank you Ani." I muttered. "No problem. Come on take your plate and lets watch Harry Potter so you can tell me what it was this time." he had to hide a chuckle, not wanting to make me mad.

I did like he told me and sat down on our couch with my plate in hand, starting to eat as he starts the movie. "Soo..?" he begins, digging into his food now too.

"Ugh it was.. hideous! It started really good you know. He was dressed well, we met in front of this really nice restaurant and talking to him was so easy. Until, we looked for what to order. I told him to just order the lasagna for me because I had to go to the bathroom."

"Oh I have a feeling where this is leading to.." Anakin joked with a smirk on his lips.

"So when I came back everything was fine, he tells me he ordered food so we continue talking until the food comes and that motherfucker just ordered a fucking salad for me. And you know what? That's not even the worst! Without fucking dressing because apparently 'that's what makes you gain weight'."

"What?" Now he was full on laughing and almost chocking on his food. "Oh that has to be the best story of 'em all by now."

"Oh no I'm not finished, the story goes further. So I'm sitting there, the waitress looking at me apologetic, I didn't even knew what to say so I just ate that excuse of a salad and when I asked him why he ordered it, he tells me 'I like em skinny' , like, what the fuck?"

Anakin puts his food away now because he had to laugh so hard he fell on his back. "Ani!" I whined but also laughing a litte. " I-I'm sorry that happened to you but- but It's so funny to me imagining you sitting there like 'What the fuck bro' "

"After that I thought it couldn't get more worse so why not go home with him and at least get a good fuck out of it, right? So we drive home to him, talking, blabla. Then it get's heated and shit and Ani, I swear to god I had to hold back on laughing when he pulled down his pants! I never felt so bad for someone in my life! "

At this point Anakin forgot how to breath properly. Laughing so loud the whole neighborhood had to hear.

"And when he wanted to go down on me and I let him, it was so bad I just had to stop him and tell him I have to go and oh boy he didn't took that well. He got so mad to a point where he told me girls would fight me to be at my place right now.When I opened the door to leave and he asked me what my problem was I just told him 'I like em big' like he told me he likes the skinny in the restaurant."

All you could hear through the apartment was Anakin's laugh. "Stooop it's so bad I'm just thinking about dating girls!" I joke and smile at him as he slowly calms down with tears in his eyes.

"You probably broke him at this point." he laughs, teasing me a litte. " Yeah I hope so to be honest. Maybe he will let women order what they like now."

He giggles and starts eating again.

"I just think I‘ll go for older guys at this point." I huff rolling my eyes and really considering it while digging into my food too.

"Older guys?" Anakin repeats with a full mouth and looks at me with knitted eyebrows. "Yeah, maybe it's the age. Like, all these so called men, just act like little boys."

"Hey! I'm not a boy!" Anakin looks at me with an opened mouth, acting as If he was shocked. I roll my eyes at him playfully before putting my empty plate away. "Oh yeah? What makes you different from all these boys I go out with huh?" I ask him with a teasing smirk on my face.

"Uh - did you ever see one running out that door before ?" He was right, they never run away from him. It's the opposite to be exact. They always try to stay, most of the times giving me dirty looks which I find funny every time.

"No, but thanks for reminding me how I always have to wear headphones." "Not my fault I'm that good." he says with an arrogant smile. I only scoff to this and turn back to the Tv. If I'm being honest, I would give a lot to be with someone like Anakin. They always sound like they are having the time of their lives. Lord help me.

After a while of watching the movie in front of us together I got kind of.. impatient? No that's the wrong word. I just couldn't stay still, always shifting somehow every few minutes.

"Whats wrong?" he whispers with a soft voice, my head on his shoulder. "Uhm, I don't know I feel uneasy." "Uneasy?" "Yeah." I simply reply. I shift again, pressing my thighs together this time.

"You sure you mean uneasy and not horny?" he grins now, licking his lips. "Fuck off." I answer him, rolling my eyes. " No, I'm serious, maybe that's why you're so pent up. When was the last time you actually had an orgasm while having sex?" My eyes go wide and I turn my head back to him, shock on my face. " Anakin! I'm not telling you that!"

"Why not? We always tell each other everything. I'm sure this wouldn't hurt to answer right?" I sigh and look away again. "I don't know." I answer him quietly.

"Come on, tell me. I bet - " "Anakin that was my answer to your question. I don't know. I don't know when the last time was." I repeat.

"What? What do you mean you don't know? You were in a relationship half a year ago with -" I interrupted him again. "He never made me come." I sigh again as this just reminded me at how desperate I was at this point.

"Wow.. " he just breathed out with his eyebrows knitted and a little smug grin on his face.

An idea popped into my head, but I tried to shake it away as fast as I could. "What? What is it?" he asked, seeing my expression. "I - never mind, Anakin. Just – let's watch the movie again, okay?"

But he shook his head and turned my head towards his with his fingers on my chin. "No, tell me what you were thinking. I can see it in your face."

Suddenly my face got all red and I felt the heat rising up my neck. I never felt that way around Anakin, I was always comfortable and easy, calming down my nerves instead of getting them wrecked.

"I uh - I really can‘t tell you Ani." He tilted his head down a little and looked at me with piercing eyes. "Tell me." he commanded and repeated himself.

I swallowed down the clump that had formed in my throat. I knew that look, it was the same one he used on all these girls in clubs and bars before taking them home.

"Please don‘t look at me like that." "Why not?" yes that scene aaahh

"It‘s making me uncomfortable..“ i lied, looking away with my eyes even tho he still holds my chin. "Come on, tell me.."

Here goes nothing huh? "Would you.. I mean.. help me?" "Help you with what?" Oh now he was just teasing me. "Ani.. you know what.." I whined and glared at him, my eyes on his again. He just shook his head and and a deep chuckle rumbled through his throat.

"Maybe.. but I still want you to say it." "I want you to fuck me." I blurted out bluntly. There it is. No way back now.

"You sure you want me to do that? Because there‘s no backing down from it.“ I nod my head as a sign of 'yes' before he crashed his lips into mine.

Both his hands found the sides of my face and placed themselves there, stroking the skin with his thumbs almost in a loving kind of way. When I finally realized what was happening, I pushed him back onto his back and sat down on his lap.

One of his hands ghosted over my bare back since I only wore my sportsbra, down to my ass, grabbing it and pushing me more against his hips.

"Fuck you have no idea how long I‘ve wanted this y/n.." he groaned against my lips, kissing me with passion. "Really?"

He pulled away for a moment and stared at me as If I had three heads. "Are you kidding me? You know how many boners I‘ve had in my life when you walked around in the morning with nothing but my shirt on? Or when you came back from the gym all sweaty and panting in your little shorts?"

I had to chuckle lightly and shook my head. "Well sorry 'bout that then.." " Don‘t worry baby, now‘s your chance to make up for it." he smirked before he started kissing my neck and placing his hand on my thigh, squeezing it through my sweatpants. His soft lips left a wet trail down my skin, sending shivers down my spine. His scent filled my nose and made my head dizzy.

I started grinding against him, already feeling his boner through his pants. My fingers pulled his zipper down eagerly and pushed his pants down. "Shit.." i mumble to myself when I saw the big tent in his boxers. He glared up at me with a proud smirk on his lips. "What?Surprised?" he smirked and put his hands on my hip, grinding me against it again.

"You will be my last try with guys my age. If this ends just like all my other dates then I’m gonna go for older guys." I huff, supporting myself with my hands on his shoulders. I gazed down at him, taking in his angelic face. He always looked so beautiful to me, even more now when he bit his lip and his eyelids were heavy and hooded like he enjoyed this just as much as I did.

"You'll never think about someone else when I'm ready with you, promised." he groans, lifting his hips up against my core. Both his hands found my ass again before he suddenly got up from the couch, carrying me up the stairs. "I'm gonna fuck you into your mattress so every time you sleep in your bed, you smell us."

He kicked my door open and walked towards my bed where he let me down at the edge. My hands immediately found his boxers which I pulled down, met by his hard cock slapping against his stomach. I swallowed the clump in my throat down before looking back up at him. "What? Surprised?" he asked with an arrogant smirk.

I bit my lip and looked back down, slowly taking him into my hand. The tip was already leaking pre-cum over it's red skin. He was thick and a lot bigger than the guys I've had before him. I let a finger slide down a prominent vein that started at the base and ended right before the tip.

With my hand around him, I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around the tip, teasingly sucking on it while my hand slowly moved up and down his shaft.

"Mmhh fuck, I'm gonna go insane If this is just another dream." Dream? He was dreaming about me? Doing stuff like that with him? My ego boosted, so I sunk down a bit further with my mouth before I felt Anakin's hands in my hair, tugging at my scalp.

My second hand steadied against his thigh and pushing him back every time he wants to go deeper. I let go of him and started to just kiss the head, letting my tongue glide over it. "Stop teasing me.." I heard him mumble, his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly.

I let my tongue glide over his cock from the bottom to the top which seemed to be the final straw for his not existing patience. He pushed my back onto the bed so my head met one of my pillows. He tugged my pants and top of, leaving me in just my slip. His eyes slowly wandered over my body with a soft smile on his lips.

"You're beautiful y/n." I don't know what it was but something inside my stomach moved when he said my name like that. He leaned between my legs, one hand stroking the inside of my thigh. "Your skin is so soft.." he started kissing the same spots where his hand just rested a few seconds ago. ".. and you smell even better."

He pushed his thumb right against my clit through my soaked underwear. "Ani.." I moaned, pushing my head back into the pillow.

"What do you want, hm?" he tauntingly asked as If he didn't knew the answer. "Fuck me, please." I saw the surprise in his face when I answered him so bluntly without batting even one lash.

"Oh where's the fun in giving you what you want so soon, huh?" He pushed my underwear to the side, his grip hard around the cotton. "Shit.." he groaned when he saw me exposed, licking his lips hungrily. "I'm gonna wreck your world baby." he more laughed to himself than with me. He pushed his fat tip against my pussy, running it through my soaked folds, over my clit over and over again in a tormenting way.

"Ani.. please. I need you." I started begging at some point, not being able to take his teasing anymore. "Want me to push it in?" he smirked devilish before he only pushed the head inside, already making my eyes roll. God how am I supposed to take all of him? But as soon as he pushed in, he pulled back again. He did the same procedure again and again.

"I can't believe these idiots didn't treat or fuck you right with such a tight little cunt." he breathed out, his chest moving up and down, trying to control himself. "Need you.." I mumbled, my hips shaking slightly.

Then, without a single warning, he pushed in again but this time more than the tip, but all the way to the half of his cock. A loud gasp and moan left my lips, my jaw hanging loose and wide open. "Oh fuck–" "What was that huh? Still need someone older princess?"

His hips moved forward again until his whole length was inside my greedy cunt, my walls pulling him inside. "Fucking hell, you're so damn tight. Already squeezing me empty.." he groaned and started to move his hips back and forth against mine.

I grabbed his back, digging my nails into his skin. "Hold on tight baby." he chuckled before he started to fuck me into the mattress like there was no tomorrow. My eyes widened and my nails dug deeper into his skin, leaving marks all over it and my legs wrapping around his hips to feel him even deeper.

He leaned down and breathed against my lips and touching my forehead with his. "You feel so good.." a moan left his mouth. "Oh fuck Anakin, you're so – fuck yes." I arched my back and pulled on the hair of his neck with one of my hands.

"You keep your hands where they are or I'll tie you up." he taunts right into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

The night was long, it felt like hours and I heard early birds chirping at some point. I laid on my stomach, pillow under my tummy and ass up in the air while he pounded me from behind. His hands were on my throat and on my nipples, playing with them, making me even wetter than before.

"God Ani.. need to cum.." I mumbled tired into the pillow under my face, a whiney tone to it. my eyes rolling back and my bottom lip tugged between my teeth, probably looking like straight from porn. "Aw what, did I fuck you stupid?" he mocked me with a following grunt, the sound of skin slapping filling the air around us.

A whimper left my mouth as an answer and I moved one of my hands down to my clit, rubbing it in circles, desperate to cum. "Want help with that?" he murmured into my ear from behind, his sweaty chest against my sore back. I nodded helpless and let him push my hand away to replace it with his own.

"Please let me come, please." I cried, pushing my ass with the same rhythm against his hips. he squeezed my throat tighter, letting my mind go fuzzy. "Nhhg fuck yes - come around my cock baby, fucking drip down on me like the little slut you are." he groaned into my ear.

I squeezed my eyes shut when the heat inside my tummy became too much and finally exploded. My mouth hung open and a broken cry erupted from my throat. My legs were shaking like crazy, my walls clenching around his throbbing cock.

"Hm fuck yeah, milk me baby.. want me to come inside that pretty pussy? Wanna feel my cum?" I heard it in his voice how close he was and that he was probably holding back right now. "Yes.." I sighed tired but happy which was enough for him to slap my ass hard and let out a quiet whimper, creating goosebumps on my skin from that needy sound.

"God I'm gonna come, I'm - ohh.." he gasped in a deep breath and held still, shooting his load right inside of me, painting my pulsing walls. A sensitive whimper came out of me and I looked back behind me. Anakin's head hung low and his upper body was shaking slightly from his orgasm.

He slowly and carefully pulled out of me, collapsing next to me. His arms wrapped themselves around me and pulled me closer against his chest. "That was wonderful.. such a high." he sighed against my hair. I nuzzled my head against his chest and took a deep breath, smelling his scent. "I should have asked you way sooner.." I giggled quietly, my eyes still closed since they were heavy and burning, seeking for some sleep.

"Hmm.. don't worry. You'll never have to worry about that ever again." he whispered back, pulling my even closer than before.

thank u for reading, it‘s the first time i wrote something for anakin 💓

taglist: @imabee-oralizard @supernaturaldawning @beautywine @whyamireadingthis @cardi-bre91 @jordynhartley2001 @meneatervv

masterlist

xoxo sarah <3

[katsukilvr]

bratty!reader x farmer!katsuki

cw:NOT PROOFREAD,reader is a female, reader dresses in a feminine way, reader is a bitch and so it katsuki. reader is spoiled. forced proximity. eventual smut. public?? sex, reader likes to tease, spanking, cussing, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, katsuki is huge.. lmk if i missed anything

you didn’t choose to be here.

you didn’t choose to be the daughter of a ceo. the heir of a company. you didn’t choose the lavish lifestyle you were given, and you didn’t choose this.

you were in the back of your chauffeur, huffing and puffing as the car drove over extremely rough and rocky roads, slowly seeing the city disappear behind you.

let’s get the story straight.

you were spoiled. you could admit that. in fact you were glad to be spoiled, to be able to do whatever you want for all your life, never hearing the word ‘no’. so obviously, you were accustomed to getting everything you wanted at the flick of the wrist.

suddenly, your father sprang the news that he’d retire soon, and either you, or your younger brother was to inherit the entire company and manage it as the new ceo, and your dad wanted you to be the successor because frankly, your brother wasn’t a good fit and he was pretty young. unless he learned about responsibility, finances, manners in a couple years, he would not be eligible.

then came the responsibilities.

your dad had fired all the maids, and you were suddenly tasked with a deadline, and a list a chores.

you were forced to get back into school, especially in communications, management, and financing (you wanted to barf.).

and a ton of other things to do throughout the day.

but.. you didn’t want to. and growing up spoiled, you just didn’t do any of it. leaving the house to get dirty, getting bad grades in your classes, and neglecting all the orders from your father.

before this, you were never met with no. you were never met with discipline, but when your dad saw that you couldn’t even sweep the floors, let alone do a couple simple cleaning chores, he decided to call up an old friend of his.

his friend, masaru bakugo, owned DYNAMIGHT FARMS, a place that stretched for acres and acres of just plants and crops and animals.

he informed you that you were being sent somewhere special but didn’t tell you it was for you to learn responsibility and discipline, because clearly, you were taking everything for granted.

so here you were, on your way to the farm far from the city with no phone, no tv, no nothing.

you were to learn to survive and work for the food over your head and the dinner on the table, little did you know how hard it’d be because..

one, you didn’t know anything about farming, or tending to animals. all you knew was they were gross, muddy, dirty, and smelly.

and two, you didn’t know masaru had a son your age.

his name was katsuki, he was tall. very tall. his boy was made of pure muscle and his hair was a dirty blonde and often very messy.

he was really handsome.. but.. he was a no nonsense person.

when you finally got to the farm, your were grossed out. there was mud everywhere, the house didn’t look huge and it looked elimcredibly dirty. your heels immediately got dirty as you stepped out of your porsche and as soon as you got out, your driver did too and moved to the trunk of the car, setting your bags and suitcases down, filled to the brim with dresses, heels, and cute outfits that weren’t supposed to get dirty. you didn’t know what to pack since it was a surprise from your dad.

you gasped as your driver drove away, some mud spraying on your outfit and hair. you wanted to cry.

“where the hell am i?” you whined, using your hand to pick out some dirt from your face.

“i take it your y/n l/n.” you hear a gruff voice behind you say.

you turned, ready to scold whoever thought it was a good idea to send you here instead of some luxury resort you were used to.

you were met with a tall man, crossing his arms and looking down at you.

“who are you?” you scoffed, stepping back and giving an annoyed face at him.

he groaned and rolled his eyes at your attitude. “katsuki bakugo, i’m masaru’s son.” he said, extending a hand out to you.

you looked down at his hand, it was dirty, rough, and had calluses. they looked like they’ve seen hell and back, but your father taught to shake any hand back so you did, his hand enveloping yours.

“masaru?!” you murmured as you realized. he was a good friend of your dad, you had heard his name multiple times before. bakugo looked nothing like him, more leaning towards his mom, mitsuki.

“why am i here?” you asked, wiping your hand on a cloth as you looked down at your outfit, it was ruined from the moment you got here. you pouted slightly and bakugo furrowed his brows. “what do you mean? your dad said you were spending the summer here.” he said, scoffing at you cleaning your hands after you touched him, as if he was dirt.

“what?!” you exclaimed, looking around. “i need to go back home now.” you whined, lifting your dress up as you walked up to the house, slowly opening the door and stepping inside, your heels clicking on the wooden floors.

“miss! you left your damn bags here!” he called out to you but you either didn’t hear or didn’t care, so he begrudgingly picked the heavy bags and suitcases easily, following far behind you.

you looked for masaru, finding him in the kitchen. you treated him like your own dad, since he felt like a second one to you.

“masaru!!” you said, smiling slightly as you walked up to him, crossing your arms. “what’s this about me staying here for the entire summer?” you exclaimed, acting like it was the end of the world and he just chuckled at you and threw a towel over his shoulder.

“nice to see you too, y/n.” he laughed, ruffling your hair. “it’s about you being ungrateful.” he said, returning to whatever he was cooking.

“ungrateful?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

he nodded, “you’ve been taking advantage and taking your father and his money for granted. we both talked and agreed it was time for you to learn how to work hard.” he said, cracking an egg onto the pan, the sizzling startling you.

you couldn’t even disagree because you were, but who wouldn’t take advantage of having basically unlimited money and being young?!

you sighed, shaking her head. “work hard? what do you mean by that?” you asked, raising a brow before spotting katsuki dragging your bags into the house, glaring at you.

“oh! pick those up please, they are vintage.” you said with a sweet smile, scrunching your nose as you made an upwards gesture at the man. he rolled his eyes, dropping all your bags on the floor.

“i mean, your going to be working on the farm everyday with my son if you want food on the table.” he said, sliding the sunny side up onto a plate along with some cut up vegetables and serving it to his son who was staring at him like he had grown a third head.

“what?” katsuki muttered, “since when did i deserve to be stuck with some snobby rich girl all summer?” he practically whined, taking the food and eating it up. you gasped, “excuse you!” you said, taking offense. “i didn’t deserve to be with some dirty ugly farmer all summer either.” you retorted, grabbing a towel and wiping down your shoes.

“both of you quit it. this is final, stop whining.” he said, sighing, just thinking about being around you two bickering all summer is giving him a headache.

you sighed, knowing your dad is a no nonsense man so you accept your fate in this junky house. you asked where the bedroom was, retiring to it as you took of your heels and laying on the bed, just staring at the ceiling when you heard a knock on the door after a few minutes before it creaked open and it was katsuki.

“you left your bags again.” he said, walking into your room and plopping them down there. “sleep early tonight, we’re waking up before the sun does to go buy some cattle.” he said before leaving, slamming the door shut. you groaned even more, tossing and turning on the uncomfortable bed.

you saw the sky start to turn into a mix of oranges and reds and you knew the sun was setting so you changed into your pajamas, shivering in the rickety and hard bed.

“get up.. get up.. get up, damnit!”

katsuki said, shaking your body. you groaned, slowly sitting up. “what the hell? what time is it?” you murmured, rubbing your eyes.

“i told you that we were waking up early, now get ready.” he said, “and wear something comfortable, we’re probably going to be out there for a while.” he murmured, turning to your window and opening your curtains, letting in the sun before leaving.

he went to the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast for you, his dad, and himself. a simple breakfast, just bacon, eggs, and some toast.

he served it, calling for both of you and wondered when you didn’t come unlike his father, so he went to check up on you to find that you had fallen asleep again. he rolled his eyes, wondering if he should just leave you there but he didn’t want to go against his dads orders so he shook you awake again.

“i told you once, get up. get ready.” he growled, having to open up your curtains once again before moving to your closet, finding that you had unpacked your stuff already. he was met with sparkly dresses, tops that were clearly meant for partying, and pants and skirts that hinted to him that you truly didn’t know you were going to be stuck at a farm. he tried to pick out an appropriate enough outfit, grabbing a pair of jeans and some frilly top, tossing them at you.

“put it on, go eat breakfast, we gotta go quick before the rush comes and the drive is like an hour.” he said, crossing his arms as he watched you get up from the bed and grab your clothes. once he was sure you wouldn’t go back to bed, he gave you privacy and left, getting the car started and just chatting with his dad before you came out to eat and he thought his heart was about to explode at the look of you in that outfit. his ears flushed and masaru took a mental note of that, laughing at his son.

you finished up your breakfast, surprisingly enjoying the meal before walking out the door, still in heels. katsuki rolled his eyes before saying goodbye to his dad, and walking outside.

he got in the drivers seat of his truck, turning in the ac and adjusting his hat.

“you don’t have no sneakers or boots?” he said, his southern accent slipping through the cracks.

“..no.” he said, staring at your shoes, admiring the aesthetic but not how they were already hurting your feet.

he just hummed in response, turning the radio on as you guys set for the sale barn closest to you.

he could only look forward onto the road, he thought if he didn’t look at you, your face, your outfit, your everything, he wouldn’t get distracted by you but it was all in vain because all he could think about was you, even if you were already a pain in the ass and were gonna be for the rest of summer.

finally after about an hour, you guys got there and he stepped out, opening the door for you. he couldn’t help it, his father always taught him to open doors for people, especially women.

you got out, immediately smelling the stink that he had grown accustomed to. he chuckled at the faces you were making as you guys walked over and he talked with a few of his buddies there before making your way to the cows.

“wanna learn how to see if a cow is good to take home?” he asked, walking up to one and petting it, his voice already softening being around the animals.

your face was uncertain but you watched silently.

he gently took the cows head and tilted it up, checking inside the mouth to look for any signs of disease of illness, or damage to the cow. when the cow started to act bothered, he assured her, petting her and smiling at it. “don’t worry, we’re almost done, sweetie.” he said, kneeling down and checking the hooves.

all you could do was watch, your lower lip caught between your teeth. how was he so hot right now? he was literally kneeling in mud and probably cow shit, but the way he talked, so sweetly, and touched, so gently, and his muscles bulged every time he moved.. your knees already felt weak but you willed yourself through.

then he beckoned you over, pointing at the heel.

“see how it’s cracked?” he whispered, pointing at the damage, before he pointed somewhere else, “see that? that’s what we call slurry heel, when they leave her around manure and piss for a while, this’ll happen.” he said, letting go of the foot, standing back up. “it probably hurts her, poor gal.” he murmured, petting it once more.

he then told you to follow him to another one, petting it before looking at its mouth.

“see that? this lady is a gummer. most her teeth is missing, or worn down like that.” he said, glancing at you eating up every word he said.

“can’t take these two girls home.” he shrugged, moving on to the next one but little did he know all you were hearing was blah blah blah because the moment you got a whiff of his cologne up close, your mind short circuited.

“hello? wanna check her?” he said, snapping you out of it as he led you to one.

you were scared, and grossed out but did it anyway, because you were pretty bored.

he could tell how scared you were and chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“like this, see?” he said, moving his hands over yours, instructing you how to check for fleas in the hair, destruction in the teeth, and damage in the hooves.

you nodded, following along. once the handsome man was done explaining, he had gone off to check other animals, leaving you with the cows. you picked a couple good ones over a few hours but it was insanely boring. you didn’t want anything more than to go home.

this was the experience for the entire week, but atleast you got to catch up with masaru, and know katsuki better.

but you couldn’t keep going like this.

you’d go insane.

so what do you do? you decide to torture katsuki as well.

you knew this man got a bit shy around you. sometimes he couldn’t even look you in the eye.

this time you were picking carrots from the ground and you had gone in front of him for a reason. every time you bent down, he got a full view of your ass.

and even though he had bought you new clothes, suitable clothes for farming and sweating in, your ass still looked delectable.

he forced himself to look away, even though his pants grew tighter by the second, and you teased him for not doing anything.

“what are you doing? i can’t be the only one trying to pull out these carrots!” you laughed and he just sighed, continuing with his job.

day two of torturing him was in the morning. you decided to wake up early, knowing he’d come to wake you up as your own personal alarm clock like he always did, so you made sure he’d walk in on you changing.

and he did, and youd never seen anyone close a door faster than he did.

he didn’t speak to you during breakfast. he was glad his dad was out early to not witness his bright red face.

and to not hear the sounds coming out of your mouth as you ate his food.

“mm.. kats.. this is soo good.” you whined, bite after bite, and he had his back to you. he gripped the counter hard, waiting for his own eggs to cook.

day 3, you came with him to water some plants.

you purposely pointed the hose at him, gigging at him as he groaned. you kept spraying him to the point where he couldn’t help but retaliate but little did he know, you weren’t wearing anything under your white shirt.

he soaked it with water, snorting, before seeing your chest on display. he gulped, looking down, his entire face red.

he didn’t talk to you for the rest of the day.

this went on. for days and days. weeks even.

one day, he snapped. he couldn’t take it anymore. you had started showing up in his dreams.

you guys were out in the field, far from the house, enjoying your lunch.

you decided to test him again, to poke the sleeping bear.

you reached for water across from him, your tits practically dangling in his face and you were inches from his lap.

“fuck.” he murmured under his breath, his hands coming up to grip your hips, putting you down in his lap. he was already hard. he couldn’t help himself.

“y/n.” he grumbled, squeezing your hips even more.

“katsuki.” you smiled, giggling in his lap.

“you know what your doing.” he growled, his lips moving to your neck, placing hot, open mouthed kisses on it, sucking on sensitive spots as you gasped.

he took the opportunity to kiss you. it was rough, sloppy, deep but it took your breath away. you kissed back, your hands finding purchase in his hair as his hands roamed all over your body, almost like he was committing it to memory. he wanted to do this ever since he saw you.

“fucking..” he murmured, kissing you again, “tease.” he said, yanking your hair back slightly to kiss at your neck again, then down to your collarbone before flipping you guys, you were under him and he was on top, taking off his shirt. “on your hands and knees.” he ordered and you complied almost immediately. he chuckled, biting his lip as he stared at your ass, grinding against it as you both let out a shaky moan.

he pushed your skirt up, licking his lips at the black lacy panties you decided to wear.

“so fucking beautiful, y/n.” he whispered, leaning down to kiss at your clothed cunt. he used his hand to yank down your panties, practically groaning as he ate your pussy like it was his last meal on earth.

he loved seeing your legs tremble, his hand coming up to spank your ass as he watched it jiggle before going back in, one of his fingers invading you, his mouth on your clit.

you moaned his name and the stirred him on even more. he added a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, curling them to hit just the right spot inside of you that made you see stars. his other hand went down to palm his cock, groaning.

he felt your walls flutter around his fingers, and he thought he was about to cum in his pants. he kept going, sucking harder, pumping faster.

“go on. cum. cum on my fingers, you dirty fucking tease.” he growled against your clit, using that sexy low voice that always turned you on.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck!” you moaned, your back arching as you came on his fingers. he lapped everything up, wiping his mouth before getting on his knees again.

“stay there.” he said, squeezing your ass, using his other hand to unbuckled his belt, pulling down his pants and freeing his aching cock.

“be good for me, yeah?” he whispered, pumping himself a little before aligning himself with your hole, pushing him slowly, inch by agonizing inch.

you both let out a groan, your walls tightening around the girthy, 10 inch invasion. you gripped the picnic blanket beneath you, your breath shuddering.

“you tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he murmured, finally sheathing himself fully into you. he stayed there for a moment, savoring the feeling before pulling back, only the tip inside before slamming back into you.

you let out a loud moan. god you made the cutest noises ever. he couldn’t wait to hear more so he kept thrust, fucking you with no abandon.

“so fucking tight.. keep squeezing me.. just like that.” he groaned, reaching for your hair, taking it back and biting his lip as he went faster, harder, the only sound were you both moaning, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the birds chirping around you.

“katsuki!” you whined out, your legs starting to shake again, a telltale sign that you were close.

“hm?” he hummed with a low chuckle, letting go over your hair as he bent over, his chest against your back. “what do you need, baby?” he murmured against your ear as one hand snaked its way down to rub delicious circles on your clit.

“cum.. i’m gonna cum.. fuck..” you moan, your head hanging as he sped up.

“fuck. right there with you, y/n..” he growled, straightening his back up as he grabbed your hips, hard enough to leave marks as he focused on your climax first, feeling you clamp down on his cock as you came again.

“in or out?” he managed to moan out, getting closer and closer.

“in!” you whimpered and he immediately came inside you, pumping you full of his seed, spanking you once more.

he pulled out after a while, just staring down at the view. the sight made his cock twitch yet again as his hand reaches down and gathered cum that was spilling out and pumping it back inside, enjoying seeing you squirm.

he eventually grabbed some paper towels and water, cleaning you up, a smile present on his face as he finally sat back down, looking at you. he pulled you close, fixing your hair, and letting you lay on his chest.

he was gonna enjoy this summer after all.

HEADCANONS

farmer!katsuki would marry you soon after that, making you forget about all your worries other than the farm, and that company you were going to inherit? your brother became ceo instead, finally stepping up after a few years. you still had money but none of that mattered to you now.

farmer!katsuki would wake you up gently after you two got together, making your favorite breakfasts, organizing what clothes you were gonna wear that day and everything.

farmer!katsuki who teaches you things every time you two do work together on the farm.

NSFW HEADCANONS

farmer!katsuki who you couldn’t get enough of after that special picnic you guys had together. if you had nothing important to do, you’d be extra touchy, looking him up and down, and he’d get the memo, bending you over anytime and anywhere.

farmer!katsuki who you still tease relentlessly, one day you came up behind him in the kitchen and whispered something about how you had no panties on under your pajama set. safe to say you guys never left the house because he immediately ripped the clothes off you, going at it for hours.

farmer!katsuki who knows he’s big. he knows it’s hard for you to adjust to his size, and he likes the way your eyes widen every single time like you’ve never seen it before. he lets you adjust whenever he’s inside you unless he’s feeling angry that day. and the first time you tried to give him head? he felt bad that you couldn’t take most of him so he ended up giving you head instead.

farmer!katsuki when he is angry will definetly take it out on you. the moment he gets home, you know what’s gonna happen because he throws his jacket down, kicks off his boots and immediately stomps over to you, not caring about what you were doing as he throws you over his shoulder.

A/N: this was so fun to write omf.. i hope you guys like it.. i cringed at some parts.. but i thought of farmer katsuki and couldn’t get him out of my head since. also support department au is on its way!! it’s in my drafts rn

[suguru-getos]

Yeah my boyfriend’s pretty cool, but he’s not as cool as me — K. Bakugou x f!Reader

Summary: You, a top model meet pro hero Dynamight on your Victoria's Secret fashion show. You didn't know how easily you both could cling like magnets. Maybe you found your soulmate, why else does it seem so easy? So loving? So ethereal? A/N: I missed writing my Jerk (Bakugou) so here I go. The character is giving off Y/N from Wattpad almost (KEKEKEK) :3 What! Sue me! Also brb gonna take a bath in holy water after this. Not beta'd take the typos like a pro ;) also this is probably my longest fic IN A WHILE and that's saying something!!! Warnings: N!pple play, F!ingering, S3x(P in V), missionary, doggy-style, squ!rting, breed!ng, dirty talk, spank!ngs. Let me know if I missed anything. :3 Oh and TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

You sucked in a breath when you heard the announcements go off, the announcer urging the models to get done with their hair & makeup fast. It wasn’t like any other show, honestly. It was the Victoria’s Secret show. The internet alone can swamp any and every other news when this ‘phenomenon’ occurs. You have been on a strict diet of salads, high pilates & cardio, and for the past two days — dehydration to show your abs more. Being a successful model is all about making it look effortless even if it’s all graft, tenacity & utterless devotion. No career is easy at the end of the day after all.

“Y/n, are you okay? The show is about to start.” Your manager, also the manager of this event comes up to you, long, poised strides in her red bottom pencil heels. She’s wearing a satin, well-tailored coat and a skirt. “Can’t wait to munch on a fucking burger and drink a gallon of cold soda.” You smirk, your eye makeup was completed, the final touches of the makeup setting spray was splayed on by the makeup artist tending to you.

“You look gorgeous, Y/n.” He commented, voice feminine & fashion sense incredible. He was gay, and one of your best friends in the industry. “Man, so many people would be here in the show.” You snorted, “who’s coming to sing?” Your curiosity is piqued. There is always a star who comes in and makes sure the runway ends up a much better experience.

“It’s Jungkook.” Your manager responds curtly.

“Fuckin’ hell they literally bagged Jungkook?” You scoffed almost, ah— shit. Jungkook has a massive following, of course they would. Even if he’s your ex boyfriend. Of course they fucking would. You pursed your lips, your relationship with him was entirely kept a secret. He’s an idol, worshipped infact— and that ended up for the best when you parted ways. The NDA was perfect. Though you often wondered if the glamour you chose for yourself would ever allow you a fair chance at getting the right partner.

“Eh, Jungkook’s not my type.” Your bestie, the makeup artist Samuel hums, his shoulders shrugging up. “I got my eyes on the heroes.” He winks, adjusting the last finished strands of your hair. The heroes…

“I don’t understand why the heroes are invited to stuff like these.” You roll your eyes. It is weird to think about. He chuffs, “oh come on— they’re just as big of celebrities & events like these are all about glamour and showing off.” He snorts, “Dynamight’s coming, Star and Stripes is coming, a lot of the heroes who are under the top three would be here. Gahh I wonder how Dynamight looks in a suit… dude’s fucking jacked. I’m drooling just thinking about it.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Okay okay, drooling dog. Leave me alone and let me calm my tits before the walk begins.”

Dynamight huh, Katsuki Bakugou. The number one hero of Japan. He is popular enough, you have seen him bag the Calvin Klein’s Times Square ad. Your fingers itched towards your phone, searching up Dynamight on Instagram. There were two accounts. One of them was the official hero account, named Dynamight. The other was— seemingly his personal account, it was named BakugouKatsuki. Both of them were public though. Ah, you will stalk him later. Now isn’t the best time.

You get up, itching in your feet into the pencil heels and stretching your body. Amidst the ruckus, you were given your Victoria’s Secret wings, and your lingerie set. It was beautiful, you’d give them that. They do end up spending and extravagant amount of money for this after all. “Phew, I’m ready.”

There were other models lined up before you, you had been the show-stopper. It’s flamingly obvious not to think much about yourself, but you’d give yourself credit for being one of the top models in the entire industry. You also have a whooping Instagram following, and your socials are always stacked with brand deals. Jungkook was singing Seven, a safe version. You don't want to be delusional and think he chose that song because he wrote it for you, nah, you and him are over for good. Besides, he was in a parasocial relationship with his fans. That's just not your vibe.

You exhaled, engaging your core and coming out finally. It was your turn to go in and leave the crowd in absolute awe. Your time to shine! Yeah, your time to shine. No matter how many shows you have participated in, the feeling before the runway is second to none. You stepped out, peppering flying kisses to the crowd as you passed by Jungkook, catwalking.

You didn't think the first person your eyes would meet would be Bakugou himself, it was eye contact that lasted a few seconds, as you turned around and walked back inside, coming out with the fashion designer and clapping.

"What was that Bakubro?" Red Riot was sitting beside his high school best friend, smirking when he noticed Katsuki caught red-handed. "Didn't you say you have no interest in watching models and this was a waste of time?" He snickers, pulling Katsuki's leg.

Katsuki.... on the other hand, was mesmerized. He had never seen someone so beautiful. Honestly, he wasn't one to keep up with the models and the glamour the industry had to offer. He had a simple routine, focus on training, go patrolling, partake in brand deals, and sleep by 9 pm. This seemed different, especially when the eye contact you both had was so magnetic. What the fuck was happening to him he wondered... why was he behaving like a high school student all over again. Dynamight was in his late twenties now. It's not to say that he hasn't dated people at all, he has, in fact, he has a fair share of girlfriends too. He just wasn't expecting you to latch onto his heart & rip it out of his chest (respectfully).

Maybe he dan divert his mind until after the show. The Victoria's Secret brand had dealings with the Bulgari Hotel in Milan. (Where the show was held), of course, your and Katsuki's suites would be on the same floor. The show was a huge success, you knew it the moment you walked back inside and got jump-hugged by the entire team. They loved your walk, and it made you grin like an appreciated child.

"Finally I can binge." You snickered, getting out after thirty minutes or so from the show. In your head, the eye-contact with the ruby-eyed man was nothing much, merely a coincidence perhaps. You don't know much about Bakugou Katsuki anyway. You do tell your gay best friend about it though, chuckling & giggling at how he loses his mind over it. "I think Dynamight will stay in the same hotel as mine, but before leaving, I can secure an autograph for you if you'd like."

"YOU'D DO THAT?" Samuel is on top of the world when he hears your offer. How nice and kind of you. "I could do that of course!" You smile, he has been great and helpful in calming your nerves before your show. You can do that for him without thinking twice. "Great, thank you so much Y/N! You are a literal gem." He whines, kicking feet in excitement. "Dynamight's known for being intimidating and a no-bullshit guy, so just be...careful." He smiled. You raised a brow at the description, chuckling. Whatever, it's just an autograph. You were sure Samuel was just fangirling.

You walked towards Bakugou and his friend Red Riot, wearing a plain white tee shirt and some shorts. A Prada handbag over your shoulder, Cartier bracelet set on your left arm, and some boots just so you look fine in case you get accidentally papped. "Uh oh, Hottie alert, Hottie alert. She's coming this way Bakugou." Kirishima warns, while Katsuki doesn't turn, smirking. "Maybe she's into you just as much huh?" "Shut up, Kiri. I'm not even into her." What a lie, what a damned lie, because when you tap his shoulder, his entire body shudders.

"Hey- Dynamight, hi!" You smile, watching him turn to face you. Geez, he's tall and big, the blonde doesn't make him look any less intimidating. He has a scar on his eye but it only accentuates his gruff and masculine look. You swallow, "Hey there." Katsuki raises a brow, smirking at you. "Y/N right? The fabulous show stopper." He praises, and you can't help but blush a little.

"Hehe, yeah, thank you so much." You gently tussle through your bag, taking out a notepad. "Can I please get an autograph?" You smile, you wouldn't be one of those cunts who would outrightly say that it's not for you. Why do you need to specify explicitly anyway? "Aww, she's a fan?" Katsuki grins, taking the notepad from you. "Haha!" You don't respond. You don't want to ruin the vibe of the interaction. Unlucky for you, Bakugou is a pest. "So should I write Y/N, or ShowStopper Y/N?" He smirked, uh oh... "You can make two?" You raised a brow, smiling softly. "One for me and one for Samuel, my makeup artist." You smile. "Sure can." He writes the autograph, smirking, "You didn't want an autograph did ya?" Ouch, how did he catch you red-handed so easily? "Hm? Why do you feel so?" You raise a brow, taking the notepad from him. "I'm the number one hero of Japan, Sweetheart. I got my own tricks up my sleeve." He smirked, oh what a charming guy. You wonder why is he infamous for being intimidating then... maybe just his personality and his looks. "I don't mind getting one, honestly, who knows I might become a fan in the future." You smiled back. "Oh yeah? That's gonna make me real fuckin' proud of yer taste, Sweetheart." He grins, and Kirishima has long excused Bakugou and you to chitchat alone.

You chuckled, oh my, he was cocky and yet charming enough to pull it off. Meanwhile, all Bakugou thought was how your eyes are so pretty, and you smile so easily it should be illegal. Your smile makes even the crankiest of people smile. Him included.

"Whatcha doin' after this?" He asks you, raising a brow. Please be free, please be free. "Ah- it's just, my own ritual of unwinding after fashion shows to go and binge on junk food. I am going to this amazing pizza place." You smile, and Bakugou notices your body, you are stunning, but it's clear you need to maintain unrealistic standards for this. "Mind if I join?" He confidently asks, Bakugou Katsuki's confidence ever since he was a child was sky high. He doesn't mind chasing what he wants, he doesn't mind latching on to what he wants. He doesn't mind putting in the work for what he wants. Whether it's the number one hero ranking, or his new ambition - You.

"You can." You perk up, of course, you don't mind that. You wonder if he's asking you on a date or just hanging out with you. "Alright then, let's go?" You ask him again, truth be told you were starving. You need a lot of water down your stomach and also, food. "Lead the way Kitten."

You blink at the nickname, Kitten? "Kitten?" You snorted, why? "Yeah, cus you walk the show like a little lion cub," he smirked, quite assertive behind his reasoning. It makes your heart flutter. "I, see... interesting. Is it something you do? Give people you like, nicknames?" "Yeah, it's a me thing," Katsuki smirked, he loved how you sneakily asked him whether he likes you or not. "I do that to people I hate too though." He teased, biting his lip and smirking at the confused pout. "Not you though, I like ya." He admits upfront. Katsuki doesn't want to play games. It's either he doesn't give a shit, or he's into it dedicatedly.

You gnaw at your lip, walking ahead of him, thank god your back is turned towards him. Else you'd be embarrassed of just how easily he can sway you off your feet. You and him get into the car after, driving to the nearest pizza place. Your knees touch during the car ride, fuck why are you thinking about the slightest of touches Jesus! Neither of you avoid the touch though. "So I'm guessing the pre-walk schedule is pretty ass, huh?" You like that he wants to know about you in a 'I want to get to know you better' sense and not in a 'I want to hook up and leave you after' sense. "Yeah, the last four days I have been dehydrated. I can enjoy in peace now though, before the next show." You nod, looking at him in the eyes, evaluating his expressions. Bakugou looks, conflicted. On one hand, he admires this, on the other hand, he's pissed that this is what gets imposed. He clicks his tongue, "If I were to organize a damn show I'd make sure none of the dehydration shit happens, tch." You chuckle at how intensely he feels about it. It makes you feel validated, makes you feel seen and heard. "Yeah? Maybe you can organize one for your merch." You winked.

"Fuckin' Brilliant aren'tcha?" Katsuki exclaims, grinning wide. He would, and you'd be the show stopper, and it would be a statement towards normalizing human bodies. It sounds so perfect in his head, he would definitely bother his Assistant about this later.

When you both reached the Pizza place, Bakugou gets your door, smirking when you are almost shocked by it. "What? The least ya can do is expect a Hero to be chivalrous, ye?" You giggle, holding his hand, noticing the sheer difference in your hands versus his. Your hands are soft, meek, delicate, having their own hand care routine. His hands are smooth, a little moist due to sweat which you think doesn't bother him. It doesn't bother you either honestly. Plus, he smells amazing... almost in a way that could make you dizzy from it all.

"Um, what should I call you? Dynamight? Bakugou? Katsuki? Japanese people prefer to be called by their last name until they explicitly give permission, no?" You have done a few shows in Japan and know a thing or two about their culture. Bakugou only smirks harder, holding your hand & caressing it with the pad of his thumb, he leans it up to show you. "If I'm holdin' yer hand, I'd prefer to be called Katsuki, Sweetheart." "Y-Yeah, right." You are flustered. The way he looks at you is so intense and yet calming. This man is almost paradoxical.

You both get inside, taking one of the cozy booths of the restaurant. The vibe of the place is luxurious, Grenadil, African Blackwood, lamps which are delicately hand-carved. The place speaks Old-Money.

Bakugou takes a seat next to you, handing you the laminated menu with exquisite handwritten Calligraphy, "There ya go." He smirks. You notice the menu he has given you has no prices on the dishes. He has his own menu. "Uh, they have no money imprinted, are you sure this menu is okay?" This is your first time seeing this. "Yeah, s' okay. S' cus y'er not supposed to be worrying about the price of the dishes." He says it rather assertively. "The man should." He shows his menu. Oh- Of course, for a place this extra, they would have some new ritual like this for all the trophy-wives. "Katsuki- no- I'd feel guilty." You pouted. "Yeah? Yer gonna feel guilty for it bein' my job to spoil ya? On a date? Our first date?" All of a sudden, every doubt in your mind is faded. Things were escalating so quickly yet, you feel like you know this man for years, how bizarre, how comforting, how amazing! The way your heart breaks into little palpitations of excitement is second to none.

You looked down, a hue of red creeping into your cheeks. ''Gah would ya look at that!" Bakugou points at your flustered expression instantly. "She's the prettiest baddest Queen in this world, and I got her feelin' cutesy and feminine, ye?" Yes, yes it has... it's always the little things after all. You chuckle, looking up at him, extending your hand over the table so he could hold it. "You smell amazing, Katsuki." You compliment him too.

Honestly, you have never felt someone smelling this amazing as Bakugou. "Yeah? Part of my charm." He croons in his gravelly voice, the tip of his tongue brushing his upper teeth in a mischievous grin. "S' a part of my quirk." He admits, leaning back and manspreading a little. Your heart feels like it would jump out of your chest at that, you swallow the thick lump of saliva. "Yeah?" "Yeah, that's right Sweetheart." Bakugou hums again, kissing your knuckle. "What about you, have any quirks?" "Unfortunately, nope." You chuckle, a little embarrassed. You know if this man is the number one hero of Japan, he must have a formidable quirk after all. "Aw, she's my little quirkless rarity gem ain't she?" "Yeah."

Katsuki's words were healing something within you that you didn't know was broken. You were feeling all sorts of things, slightly aghast at how easily your senses feel dizzy around the true embodiment of masculinity. A little merry on how you don't have to think about anything and let him take care of you. You needed this after the tough show you've had. You ordered a pizza, and some drinks with it. "So, what next?" You don't want to get too ahead of yourself either. Maybe all this could fade the moment you both sleep together.

"Next, we go on another date, then another, then another. In between those dates, I'll steal a kiss or two." He grins. Making you chuckle, how old school... "That's all you will steal?" You ask him, quite upfront on your own this time. "Mm~ I can't be too greedy or I might make a certain Kitten uncomfortable." He winks.

"Would I make a certain hero uncomfortable if I stole more than a kiss?" You smirk, watching Bakugou grin in surprise. "Nah, the hero wants what his Princess wants." He admits shamelessly.

The dinner goes by in a haze, Bakugou asks you about your family, how many people are there in your nuclear family, you ask him, a little bit of what and hows about starting a career. You get to know he's a Taurus, and his MBTI Type is ENTJ, his Enneagram is 8w7. No wonder he is so steadfast and determined. The dinner ended with you two getting back to go to the same hotel, walking and chit-chatting through your lives, how a daily routine in your lives looks like, favourite coffee order, favourite animals, favourite bands, favourite brands, favourite foods.... until Bakugou was in front of your suite.

"Uhm, goodnight Katsuki." You smile, getting on your tippy toes and kissing his lips softly. A burning sensation ripples through your nerves instantly. Oh no- now you can't stop. Now he can't stop. There is an unsaid desperation in the way you & him deepen the kiss, a relief washing over you as the suite's door gets unlocked with a beeping sound of your card against the sensor.

You jump on him immediately, cupping his face, scratching his undercut, rabid pants echoing through the room as you lean back to catch a breath. "Wildin' aren't we?" Bakugou smirked, leaning you against the wall with his hand supporting the back of your head as he kissed you more, fuck you have awakened something carnal within him. "Yeah- yeah-" You manage to choke on your breaths as he dives against your neck, nibbling at the supple skin, licking the tender ache. "Katsuki- please-" You want more. Especially now when you can feel his semi nudged against your heat. You want it so bad, you didn't even know him a few hours ago... and now here you were.

"Yeah? Are ya sure?" He asks, seriously. He doesn't need this to be hurried. "Yeah, I'm sure."

And that was all Bakugou needed, his lips smashing against you once more, tongue exploring your mouth, colliding against yours, his mouth wrapping around your tongue and suckling nastily. Katsuki leans back, a string of saliva connecting your lips and his. He supports you by your booty, hands kneading the area on your clothed shorts as he manspreads on the couch, watching how you straddle him. You take off your shirt on your own, and unhook your tee shirt bra next. Before you can switch to your shorts, Katsuki removes his own shirt. Oh my god-

He is jacked, and there are battle scars all over his body. Your hand leans in, absentmindedly tracing one of them. You could only imagine how dangerous it must be, how dangerous his line of work is. Everyday he keeps his life on the line to protect people like you - to protect those who can't fend for themselves. Your eyes softened, and Bakugou notices you lean into the duvet of your thoughts. "Hey, they're from years ago." He smirked, kissing your cheek. "Literal years, when I was Baby Dynamight." He chuckled, lightening up your mood instantly. He leans in, hands kneading and groping at your now perky breasts and tits. "She's fuckin' stunning god damn." He cusses under his breath, eagerly wrapping his tongue around one of the nipples, while his fingers pinched and played around with the other. The sensation sends waves of pleasure down your core, it aches so deliciously good. You lean your head back, gasping out at the welcomed assault on your body. This was beyond perfect. "Katsuki-" You mumbled, just chanting his name as he switches to the other nipple, his hand caressing your sides, knuckles caressing the temples of your cheek. "Mhm~ so perfect, Princess."

Every action only makes you dive deeper into a space you've never dived on before. His fingers skilfully unbutton your shorts next, peeling off your panties. "Let's check what's the situation." He smirks, though his ruby eyes are steeled on your face. Massive hands cupping your bare pussy, you can feel your essence coat his palm, but you're not shy anymore. You want him to know he does this to you. You want him to be aware of the effect he has on you. "Fuckin' soaking." He smirked, middle finger and ring finger parting your entrance while his middle finger nudged against your tight hole. The tip pierces inside your pussy almost instantly. "Oh perfect little thing." He snickers, curling it just the right way to make your eyes roll back. "Yeah baby, keep makin' that pretty face f'me." He groans, leaning in and latching onto your sensitive tits again. "Not sorry bout it in the least, need to mark ya." He groans, suckling against your skin, marking your breasts in hickeys while he drills his finger inside your cunt. The pleasure has you reeling soon, eyes rolling back. "Katsuki- please-" you buck your hips against him helplessly, pussy twitching and fluttering shamelessly. "Yeah baby? Gonna cum?" He croons, smirking at the way your body gets littered in goosebumps. "Mhm~ Yeah." You nodded like a bobble head, the pleasure reaching new heights. "Gonna make a mess on Daddy's fingers?" he asks again, almost edging you. The new nickname has you clamping tightly as a reaction, Bakugou chuckles. "Then cum."

Your entire body shivers at the assault, his thumb finding it's way to your clit, rubbing in rhythmic circles around the bundle of nerves, watching you tweak and tremble. "Atta girl! Good job little one." He smirked, quickly changing your position to laying on the couch with him hovering over you. His hand never leaves your clit, pulling out a long and tiring orgasm as his massive cock greets you. Before you could say anything before you could protest in whines that his massive, veiny cock could never fit inside you. It could break you- his cock fills you up instantly.

You see white, your senses are torn apart. The pain surges through your body like venom, filled with excruciating amounts of pleasure. You scream out, cunt almost ripped open despite being so wet and so lubed. "Kah- AH- t'suki-" You are broken, this is exactly how you expected it to feel like. Still, you want him to move, you want him to make you feel better. You want him to show you how it feels when he's pistoning this inside and out, when he's ruining your insides his shape.

Bakugou leans in, caressing your face and peppering it with soft kisses. "Yeah Princess, you did it." He praises, and you couldn't help but rut your hips against him at the praise. You need him. "Uh huh? Wan' Daddy to take care of you?" He smirked at that, relishing your shameless movements, his cock jams against your pussy, fervour akin to an animal in a rut. You feel so good he can't help but want more either, thrusts powerful enough to cause your breasts to jiggle from the impact. "Atta girl, look at you, taking me like yer made for me." he groans, watching your fucked out expressions, listening to your melodious cries that only make him push you further. "Kah- Mm!"

His hand caresses your clit, pinching at the sensitive bundle of nerves, tap-slapping it, caressing it, playing with it. Every movement sends you reeling towards the peak of pleasure. It's not too long before you feel like cumming again, a familiar knot building in your pelvis, eager to snap. "Gonna fill ya up, yeah? Need your insides to know who knocked em up' need yer pussy to know who fucked her up, who stretched her up, who ripped her up to his shape-" The way he speaks is making you spiral, your mouth falls agape as another orgasm tears through you. Helplessly wailing and letting your pussy flutter around his muscular and veiny cock. His own release comes with it, hot and thick seed painting your insides his.

You're panting like you've just run a marathon, Bakugou's sweat only making your senses hazy with its sweet, caramel scent.

"Got one more in ya?" Bakugou asks with a smirk, watching your eyes widen. You are thinking, you are contemplating. "N-never did it before." You answered honestly. "Good, then it's my princess' first time." He smirked, manhandling you to bend over the couch's arm rest, letting your legs nudge together. "Get on yer tippy toes Kitten." he kneads at your ass, spanking it once just to test the waters.

The whore-ish moan that comes out of your mouth at that only makes him more amazed. "She likes spankings huh?" He smirks, slapping on the other side and watching his hand print cover almost your whole ass cheek. "Fuck-" He hissed at the sight, watching you get on your tippy toes as he pierces your cum-dripping pussy once again. Your stomach is already pressed by the arm-rest. The position is enough to make you see stars, you can't form words. Just mewling and moaning with mouth open. His thrusts are a lot precise, a lot sharper, a lot more calculated and a lot more rough.

The force of his pelvis colliding against your ass feels like spankings in itself, your womb is crying at the feeling, your cunt squelching and making lewd noises that echo like music to his ears, just perfectly entwined with your loud moans. "Fuck- you are bloody gonna have me addicted to this shit." He groans, sounds of pap- pap- paps filling the room.

You feel weird, you feel like you could pee from the pressure alone. "Katsuki- feel like gonna squirt." You whine, embarrassed. "Aw, it's okay, do it." He hums, hand wrapping around your hair and tilting your head back for a passionate kiss.

And so you let go, you don't have any choice anyway with his thrusts ripping your pussy. "Fuck- fuck-" and so you end up squirting, the liquid dripping down your thighs as you cum your brains out. Katsuki tips off the edge at the sight too, oh what a lovely mess indeed. "Oh that's fuckin' incredible" He chuckles, slowing his thrusts to a stop.

You are floating in subspace already. You can't believe the hero you were going to stalk on Instagram has your insides bred, twice. Katsuki carries you princess-way and takes you to the bedroom, "gonna get ya some water, you were so amazin' holy shit Princess." he chuckles, peppering your face with soft, feather-like kisses. You only hum and groan in response, he literally fucked your brain into mush.

He returned with some water and added electrolytes that he found in the fridge to ensure better hydration. "Come on, champ, c'mere." He cradles you on his lap like a baby - his baby to be precise. He held the glass for you, letting you drink from the straw while his other hand is busy petting your body soothingly, your arms, your hair, your back.

"Do you want to sign an NDA? If we're gonna be a thing?" You asked him, genuinely curious, but it upsets him that this is the first thing that you say. This industry really is disgusting. "Nah, I'd like you to sign an NBA."

You raised a brow, what does that mean? "Mm?"

"Non-Breakup Agreement" He chuckled, watching you giggle too as he leaned in and kissed your lips.

[dead-flight]

SORRY, I THOUGHT I COULD LET YOU GO. ONESHOT -> lowkey feral!needy!fwb!simon x reader ; request by @codreblogs

simon's just a friend. but you don't usually wish your date is another person--let alone someone you claim is 'just a friend'.

TAGS: p in v, fwb, mating press, biting, clothes ripping x1, oral, fingering, possession, desperation, "slut"

It was casual. He promised. But it wasn't really all that casual with his hand around your waist, posessively, like he owned you. It wasn't casual with his breath ghosting down your neck, his fingers trailing down the marks he'd left where you couldn't just cover it up with the collar of your shirt.

It wasn't casual, the way his eyes lingered over your body, drinking you in like you were the most saccharine honey he'd had the pleasure of tasting.

But it didn't matter what he did. Didn't matter how he grunted 'Mine' as he speared you down his length - it didn't matter. What mattered was that it was casual. It wasn't exclusive, he made that clear. Simon didn't do feelings.

You were okay with it. Friends with benefits, even if it wasn't healthy.

Before anything, however - you were friends. So you came to his texts, sending him pictures of your pretty little dress, notched just high enough for him to see the curve of your thighs. You were teasing him without even realising, and that's what pissed him off. It pissed him off more, though, when you told him what the occasion was - a fancy little date somewhere off at some five star resturaunt with a guy you'd just met.

He could do better. You could do better.

But Simon had pride. So he told you that you looked pretty, sent you on your way with a bitter 'Good luck.'

It's late into the night, when there's a knock on the door of his shithole apartment. He's sat on his couch, one leg strewn on the side, the other dangling off - he sits like a dad on his sixth beer. That wouldn't be too far off, but his eyes absently follow some news channel, listening to the reporter prattle on and on about some car crash on the highway.

He gets up with a grunt, runs a hand through his messy hair, opens the door and stares at you. He's half naked, in boxers and the chains of his dog tags on his neck.

He lets you in, shuts the door behind you and locks it with a click. You slide in like you belonged there, you sit yourself on the couch where he'd been a second ago - the fabric is still warm. You don't mind, staring off into the distance. "Ay, you look like he gave y'some shitty head," he comments, meandering to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water in a cup that sat somewhere on his counter - it didn't really matter if he'd used it already. The two of you had shared more than a little saliva.

He hands you the cup as you rub your eyes. "Didn't get to that part yet," you reply, your voice steady. You stare at the rug. There's a few stains. You're pretty sure you're the cause of one or two of them.

"Y'didn't?" he asks curiously, sits down right beside you, manspreads like he doesn't care. He doesn't.

"No," you reply quietly, run a hand through your hair. You'd curled it just for this occasion. Fuck that.

"Why? He's terrible company?" he leans back, makes himself comfortable and grabs the remote, shutting the TV off and silencing the news.

"No. He was nice," you sigh, tilting your head. "Just thought I could do better."

That's what Simon thought too. If only he knew how to voice it to you. Hell, he thought a lot of things about your date. A blue-collar guy, honorable, no criminal record... Simon knew he'd be good. A real keeper, if you were attracted to him enough.

But you weren't. Because as much as you denied it, you felt more for Simon. More than what he thought was possible, with you.

"Fuckin' hell," Simon sighs, sliding down from the couch. He pulls off your heels, places them aside, kisses your knees. Like he knew what you needed. You didn't even have to ask.

"I think he wanted more," you sigh, "He offered to let me come to his place, but I said no."

Simon's fingers trail up your thighs. They push your dress up, study the lacy pair of underwear you had underneath, as if you were prepared to actually get intimate with your date. Or maybe you just hoped Simon would stop you in time.

"Mm. Didn't ask again, did he? Didn't pressure you?" he rests his cheek against the inside of your thigh, his fingers toying with the gusset of your panties. You make no attempt to shove him away, only draw your fingers through his hair, still mildly damp from a recent shower.

"No," you say. "He was fine."

But you honestly don't know why you didn't come with him. Until you look down, stare into those eyes that stare back at you with protectiveness. Like he's angry that you even considered going without him. But he's not angry at you, no - he's angry that he thought it'd be okay if he let you go.

It wasn't. He turns his head to the side, bites your thigh. Sinks his teeth in, leaves a mark. He ignores the noise you make, the stifled gasp as your hand tightens in his hair.

His hand tightens around the fabric of your panties, tugs it off. He's on you like a slobbering mutt, his hands spreading you wide for him, moving to your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the couch, right against his lips where he gives a long, firm suck to your clit.

You're collapsing like dead weight against him, your body falling slack at the immediate pleasure. His fingers dig into you sharply, like the imprints of his fingernails might make you his. He whispers then, right against you, a soft mutter, "Fuckin' cunt's all mine..." and it isn't a question, it's a statement.

It's him knowing he's fucked you up for anyone else, and that you're perfectly fine with that.

Your hips press up against him, clit bumping his nose every time you jolt as he swipes a thick tongue between your folds. He eats like he's starved, like he's erasing the idea of someone else taking care of you from your brain. He's rough, uncaring, laying claim to your skin.

He works you up, his lips nipping at your inner thighs while a hand snakes up, his thumb pressing with mild force against your clit, offering no reprive from his aggressive touch. He slips his middle finger in, leans up to whisper against your belly, "Fuckin'... do your dates fuck... fuck y'like this?"

You shake your head, mewling as his fingers graze the softest part of your gummy walls, his lips kissing up your body. He's soft where necessary, rough around the edges, and overwhelming. He pulls his fingers out of you, ignoring the desperate buck your hips give as you chase him--he tugs his boxers off, throws them to the side. They land somewhere on the carpet, forgotten. He kisses up your neck, his hand moving to your chin, pulling your head closer. He seals his lips against yours, stuffs a greedy tongue in your mouth. It's clumsy, dirty, desperate.

Goosebumps crowd your skin as he tugs your dress over your head, pulling away to do so. He admires you like a work of art, runs his hand over the lingere you wore just in case your date with the guy went well enough for something more to happen. It pisses him off, that you wore it for someone else.

With a soft tearing sound, the lace shreds under his fingertips. He soothes your complaints with a kiss to the forehead, muttering under your skin, "M'jus' gonna buy y'some better ones, mh?"

And you nod, too lost in the hickeys he leaves across your skin, burning like brands, pleasurably so.

"Fuck, baby," he fists his cock in his hand. It's hard now, ruddy tip leaking down his thick shaft. He pulls you up by the hips, lifts you into his arms, and eases back into the couch, switching the positions so you hover over him.

He positions you over his cock, presses you down slowly, eyes watching how your greedy cunt swallows him like he was made for you. "Mine," he hisses, the sound turning into a desperate moan as you fully seat yourself over his pelvis, "Fuck."

He lets you take the lead, for a little. Watches you bounce on his cock like the princess he treats you as, delicately, carefully, and he watches how your mouth falls open in silent gasps as you tilt your head back.

But it's not enough for him. He's greedy. He flips you over again, has your back thudding against the couch, lifting your legs up to his shoulders so he can bottom out in you fully, pressing deep into your cunt.

He has you in a full mating press now, the tip of his cock pressing against you. It throbs inside you when he slows to catch his breath, and that has you clenching down on him desperately. That's the only reprive you get, as the way your walls squeeze him has him forcing himself deeper, his arms moving to stabalise himself beside your head.

"Fuck, Si," you rasp, your hand digging into his forearm, leaving marks in the muscle, "S...sffff... deep..."

"Yeah?" he grits, "Y'like that? Eh, fuckin' knew you would. Little cunt's a slut f'me."

He's getting close now, he can feel the tension in his limbs, the way his balls tighten, but he holds it back. He wants to hear you. "Mm, fuck, tell me, doll, y'ever be fucked like this? Your one nighters fill y'cunt this good?"

You shake your head, eyes glossing with pleasure - he slaps you, focuses you back on the way his eyes burn into the marks he left on your neck, "Words."

"Y...yes, Si..." you whine, squeezing down on him again, "Si, si, m'gonna cum, please..."

"Yeah? Fffffuck--... cum with me, sweet'eart, g'nna fill y'up, so y'can't leave me..."

You grip him like a lifeline. He fucks you so well, pushes every inch of his desperation deep into you. His eyes are fixed to yours as your head lolls back, your cunt squeezing on him desperately, your mind fogged over with nothing. He fills you then, spills his white pearly seed inside you, moans against you as he comes down from his high.

As he pulls out, he sits to watch it spill out of you, a small smile touching the corner of his lips. You’re covered in him, marked as his from head to toe…

He might just reconsider keeping you.

[houseofaegon]

can I put in a request for Rhett Abbott x Reader? They’re in his truck since they were “star gazing”but a hot steamy make out ends up with reader riding him and before he finishes, reader goes down on him.

DEAD OF NIGHT ╱ RHETT ABBOTT X FEM!READER

"you wake me up, you say it's time to ride in the dead of night"

+18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪  no use of y/n, fluff, explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v, oral sex (m!receving), best friend!rhett, dirty talk, explicit language, praise kink, grinding, save a horse ride a cowboy!!!! mention of unrequited feelings, mutual pinning, sexual tension, friends to lovers trope, stargazing under the wyoming sky with rhett!! <3

SUMMARY: you didn't really plan on spending tonight anywhere but in bed, binge-watching true crime and savoring wine. but when your best friend rhett abbott texts you at 1 am asking you to come outside, your comfortable night in turns into a starry, intimate confession beneath the wyoming sky. the lines of friendship blur deliciously into something deeper and hotter—under constellations and blankets on rhett's truck. and he finally shows you exactly how long he's been waiting to make you his.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: aaaaahhhh!!! thank you soooo much for requesting rhett!! this is my first ever fic for him and i'm so excited to write more outer range stuff!! ughhh i love rhett so fucking much you have no idea!! i'm already through season 2 and oh my god?? it's soooo good!!!! literally obsessed with rhett and cowboys. head over heels for my favorite bull rider!! he just does things to me gahhhhh stargazing, confessions under the night sky, and riding rhett?? sign me tfff up!!! thank you for this ask, i loved the idea so much<3 i hope you like it! love, your friendly neighborhood cowboy-lover, bri.

You weren't really planning on doing anything tonight. Your warm bed awaited patiently, the cold sheets a welcoming embrace, while an unopened bottle of red Sauvignon shimmered in the silver glow of the moonlight streaming through your window. Netflix was paused on your TV—a true crime documentary glowing softly on the screen—waiting patiently to wash away the week's stress.

Your phone buzzed, jolting you from your cozy haze. You groaned softly—who the hell was texting at nearly one in the morning?

Rhett🤠💛: You awake, sweetheart?

You bit your lip, smiling softly. Your heart fluttered involuntarily at the sight of his name on your screen. Of course, Rhett Abbott would be the culprit. Always Rhett, your best friend since forever, your ride-or-die cowboy with that infuriatingly cocky grin and sky-blue eyes that always made your breath catch in your chest.

You: depends on what awake means

He responded immediately, almost as if he'd been waiting for your answer.

Rhett🤠💛: Eyes open, heartbeat steady. You missin’ me?

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm.

You: you wish, cowboy

Rhett🤠💛: I sure do. Come to your window.

Frowning curiously, your phone buzzed again—his picture lighting up the screen. You sighed, unable to hide your amusement as you swiped to answer.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured into the phone, padding across the floor and pulling back the curtains.

There he stood, propped against his trusty old truck, cowboy hat tilted just right, his smirk lazy and infuriatingly charming beneath the porch lights. He lifted his head to meet your gaze, and even at a distance, you could see his eyes shimmer mischievously.

“It’s almost one in the morning, Rhett. What the hell are you doing here?” you whispered into the phone, but he could hear the smile in your voice.

He chuckled warmly. “C’mon down, sweetheart. Don’t keep me waitin’. Got somethin' to show ya.”

“Fine, give me a minute.”

“Take your time, darlin’. Not like I'm freezin' my ass off or anything.”

“It’s barely cold, drama queen,” you scoffed, and he laughed lightly, a sound that melted into your bones.

You ended the call, grinning to yourself, excitement making your heart skip as you quickly shed your oversized shirt and slipped into a delicate white sundress, stepping into your worn, beloved cowboy boots.

You ran down, finding him exactly where you'd left him, the same stupidly charming smirk stretched across his face.

"Howdy, darlin'," he drawled, eyes flickering appreciatively over you.

“You’re obnoxious,” you teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.

“Ah,” Rhett countered easily, swinging open his passenger door for you, eyes glittering warmly beneath his hat. “But you love it.”

You hesitated dramatically. “You sure you’re not kidnapping me?”

Rhett grinned, eyes darkening playfully beneath his hat. “Kidnappin’? Well shit, sweetheart, sounds terribly hot.”

You scoffed, climbing up into the truck. "You're disgusting."

“Only for you,” he drawled, sliding into the driver's seat and firing up the engine.

As he drove, you stole glances his way. Rhett Abbott—playboy, flirt, and the keeper of your deepest secrets. He knew your favorite songs, your go-to midnight snacks, how you liked your coffee, and the names of every one of your childhood pets. He’d been there for your best and worst days, steadfast and irritatingly observant, noticing things about you no one else bothered to. Like how your brow furrowed when you were stressed, or the particular kind of silence you kept when something upset you. He noticed every detail. Every quiet shift.

God, you loved him.

You'd loved him—helplessly, recklessly, and quietly.

You’d loved Rhett Abbott for longer than you could remember, every stolen glance embedding deeper in your heart, every casual brush of his hand against your skin lingering long after he pulled away. Your love had become a secret you cradled close, hidden safely in shadows and subtle sighs, nestled in sleepless nights spent dreaming of what could be, wrapped in every heartbeat that stuttered at the mere sound of his laughter.

But confessing? Fuck no.

The thought alone terrified you. It was easy to joke with him, easy to laugh at his teasing comments and playful flirtations because that was Rhett. Cocky, charming, effortlessly alluring, the guy who could walk into any room and draw every eye. He had always been your best friend, your constant, your confidant. But turning this steady, beloved friendship into something else—something uncertain and dangerously delicate—felt far too risky.

And then there was Maria Olivares.

A shadow from high school, Rhett’s supposed ‘great love.’ You’d spent years watching him chase after her, hearing him speak her name like it was poetry he memorized. Though lately, you noticed he barely mentioned her anymore. Still, the echo of her presence lingered—a reminder that maybe you were just a placeholder, someone to distract him when the memories became too sharp. Maybe his lingering glances and softened touches were simply illusions your foolish heart conjured because you wanted them so badly to be real.

How could you risk it?

Because risking your heart felt like risking everything else too—every late-night phone call, every comfortable silence, every inside joke whispered conspiratorially between you two. Your friendship with Rhett Abbott was your safe place, a precious shelter built over countless nights spent laughing until dawn, confiding secrets no one else knew, sharing fears, hopes, dreams you trusted only to each other.

It was safer to keep quiet, safer to keep smiling and teasing, safer to pretend you didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on you longer lately, the way his voice softened whenever he murmured "sweetheart," the way your heart skipped wildly, frantically, beneath his attentive gaze.

Because losing Rhett—even the smallest chance of it—would shatter your heart completely, leaving you lost and adrift without the boy you’d always loved quietly, desperately, hopelessly from the shadows.

So, you buried your secret deeper still, hiding it behind careful laughter and practiced smiles, behind sarcastic retorts and playful banter, hoping it would remain safely hidden—hoping, selfishly, that someday it might finally, mercifully slip free.

But until then, you'd guard it fiercely, keeping the love you felt safely, silently yours.

It was safer this way, even if it hurt.

And god, did it hurt.

“You’re definitely kidnapping me,” you teased lightly, noticing he was heading toward his ranch’s secluded pastures.

“Maybe,” he replied playfully, eyes gleaming beneath the moonlight. “Maybe I’m gonna murder you and hide your pretty little body somewhere out in these woods.”

“So romantic,” you deadpanned sarcastically.

He snorted softly, shaking his head. "Shut up, dumbass."

Beside you, Rhett’s heart beat quickly, his thoughts tangled and aching. He glanced at you—his best friend, his sweet torment. You were everything to him: your laughter, your teasing words, your stubborn kindness. He knew every hidden freckle, every quiet sigh, every favorite snack. He’d spent years drowning himself in meaningless distractions, Maria a distant memory that had long faded beneath your gentle presence.

He loved you desperately, fiercely, terrified that admitting it would send you running from him. Because if he lost you—he’d lose everything.

When Rhett parked in the open field, he hopped down smoothly, rounding to your side. Before you could protest, his strong hands gripped your waist, easily lifting you from the seat. You squealed in protest, and he laughed warmly, setting you down gently by the tailgate. Opening it, he revealed blankets and pillows piled invitingly.

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “If you wanted sex, Abbott, you could’ve just asked.”

Rhett leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. “Sweetheart, trust me—if I wanted that tonight, you'd already know.”

Your cheeks flushed hot as he chuckled, delighting in your reaction. His grip softened, gentle once more, easing you up to sit atop the truck bed.

“I remember you told me once—probably drunk off your ass—that you loved stargazin’,” Rhett said softly, almost shyly, glancing upward. “Thought you might like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He remembered. Always so perceptive, attentive to every quiet detail you'd shared, every fleeting whisper you'd half-forgotten yourself. Rhett Abbott somehow catalogued every secret part of your soul.

"Are you serious?" Your voice was breathless, touched.

"Dead serious," he confirmed softly, hopping onto the truck bed beside you, reclining back and patting his chest invitingly. "C'mere."

After a shy hesitation, you sank against him, head gently nestled over his steady heartbeat. The sky stretched out overhead, an ocean of glittering starlight, infinite, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Rhett pointed lazily upward. "Alright, stargirl. Which one’s that?"

“Orion,” you smiled.

He hummed approval, voice teasing. "Alright, what about that one over there?"

"Cassiopeia."

He chuckled warmly. “You’re real good at this.”

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed softly.

“Yeah,” Rhett murmured, voice softer. “So damn beautiful.”

Your gaze shifted, heart thumping, realizing he wasn’t looking at the sky—he was looking at you.

His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. His thumb traced your lower lip lightly, and he whispered huskily, eyes searching yours, “You're beautiful.”

“Rhett,” you murmured breathlessly.

In the breathless heartbeat that followed, he surged forward, cradling your face in his strong, calloused hands, claiming your mouth in a fierce yet tender kiss. Your world spun wildly as you melted instantly into his embrace, lips moving hungrily, passionately against his own.

He groaned low into your mouth, desperation and relief laced in the sound. “God, sweetheart,” he murmured feverishly between kisses, “wanted this—wanted you for so fucking long.”

His tongue traced hotly along your lower lip, teasing entrance until your mouth parted eagerly beneath him, allowing him in, tasting and teasing until you moaned breathlessly.

“You drive me crazy, darlin’,” he growled softly, gripping the back of your neck possessively, deepening the kiss until it felt like he was stealing the breath straight from your lungs. “Think about you all the goddamn time.”

“Rhett—” you whispered, clutching at his shoulders, fingertips sinking into muscle, holding him desperately close. “Me too—god, please…”

At your whispered confession, something snapped in Rhett, and his kisses turned frantic, heated, teeth tugging lightly at your lip, dragging delicious moans from your throat. His hands roamed possessively, slipping beneath your dress, tracing urgently over the curve of your thighs, your hips, grasping firmly to anchor you closer.

“C'mere, baby,” he rasped, voice rough with need as he pulled you onto his lap. You gasped sharply, thighs parting instinctively, knees bracketing his waist. Your dress rucked up high, pooling carelessly around your hips as his hands gripped and kneaded your bare thighs, pulling you tight against him.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart—” he groaned, head falling back slightly as you ground experimentally against the rigid, straining bulge of his jeans. “Just like that, baby—god, you feel so fucking good.”

Your hands tangled into his soft hair, tugging lightly to tilt his head back, exposing his throat for your lips to explore hungrily. Rhett shuddered beneath you, growling deeply in his chest, fingers gripping tighter, pulling you closer, hips thrusting upwards desperately, chasing friction.

“So good,” he whispered fervently into your skin, teeth scraping tenderly at your collarbone. “So fucking perfect, baby—wanted to touch you like this for so damn long.”

You whimpered softly, rolling your hips faster, grinding harder against his hardness. He hissed sharply, fingers bruising into your hips, guiding your frantic movements, desperate to feel you closer, deeper.

“Need you, Rhett,” you pleaded softly, breath ragged and trembling.

He surged upright, pressing you flush against him, kissing you deeply, fiercely, as his fingers swiftly undid his jeans. “You’ve got me, sweetheart. Always.”

When you finally sank onto him, stretching deliciously around him, he groaned loudly—unrestrained, wild with pleasure. “Fuck—sweetheart,” he gasped, voice strained with raw pleasure. “Look how good you take me, darlin’—goddamn—so tight, so fucking perfect.”

You moaned his name, tossing your head back, riding him slow and deep beneath the watchful eyes of the stars. He leaned back against the truck bed, eyes glued hungrily to your flushed face, awed by every gasp and whimper falling from your parted lips.

“You look like a goddamn dream riding me like that,” he praised roughly, hands gripping your waist, guiding you up and down, matching each roll of your hips. “Fuck—just like that, beautiful. God, yes.”

Your nails dragged lightly down his chest, back arching beautifully beneath his heated gaze. Pleasure coiled tight within you, spiraling, pushing you to the edge until your rhythm faltered, breath catching sharply.

“Rhett—fuck—I’m gonna—” you gasped desperately, riding him faster, harder, chasing release.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged roughly, his thumb brushing firmly over your sensitive clit. “Let go—I wanna feel you come undone.”

His words sent you spiraling, shattering instantly around him. “Oh fuck, Rhett—” you cried out loudly, moaning shamelessly, trembling as pleasure consumed you, shaking wildly around him.

“Good girl,” he groaned, voice thick and hoarse with adoration. “So perfect, sweetheart—fuck, you feel so good.”

Before he could tip over the edge himself, you slid off his lap with a wicked smirk, sinking down onto your knees between his spread thighs.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, eyes darkening hungrily as your mouth enveloped him completely, hot and wet and perfect. “Oh fuck—baby, yes—”

He trembled beneath your touch, hips bucking involuntarily as your tongue swirled and teased. “God, your mouth—fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart—gonna make me come.”

You hummed softly, the vibration sending him spiraling, fingers gripping your hair desperately, gently guiding your head, hips thrusting shallowly, lost in your wet, warm mouth.

“Fuck—I’m—” Rhett gasped raggedly, head thrown back, stars dancing behind his eyes as he came undone, spilling hotly into your mouth. You swallowed obediently, savoring him, your eyes locked wickedly onto his flushed face.

“Come here,” he rasped breathlessly, pulling you urgently back up, crashing his mouth onto yours fiercely. He groaned against your lips, tasting himself, tasting you, the intoxicating blend making him dizzy.

“Goddamn, you taste good, baby,” he murmured breathlessly, forehead pressed tenderly against yours, fingers still threaded possessively into your hair. “I love you, sweetheart—I’ve always fucking loved you.”

Your heart skipped violently at his whispered confession. “You do?”

Rhett laughed softly, tenderly, kissing you again, softer this time, almost reverently. “More than I know what to do with.”

You smiled shyly, your fingertips tracing gentle circles over his chest. “I love you, Rhett. Always have.”

He exhaled, relief flooding his eyes, expression growing boyishly sweet. “Thank fuck for that.”

You laughed quietly, settling comfortably against him, nestled safely in his arms. “Mmm,” you teased lightly, drawing lazy patterns on his chest. “I could get used to this.”

His grin turned mischievous, cocky smirk returning as he pressed a teasing kiss against your forehead. “Oh, you definitely will. I ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight now, darlin’. Especially now that I know what your pretty mouth can do.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giggling softly. “You’re impossible, Rhett Abbott.”

He chuckled deeply, wrapping his arms around you possessively, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Oh, but you love it.”

You tilted your head, gazing up into his beautiful blue eyes, heart swelling with affection, softness overwhelming you beneath the starlit sky.

“Yes,” you whispered quietly, truth heavy yet freeing on your lips, “I do.”

Beneath the vast Wyoming stars, Rhett held you tighter, knowing for certain now that everything he'd ever needed—everything he could ever want—was right there, safe in his arms.

[glossgojo]

father charlie mayhew x undercover detective fem! reader/that one fleabag scene

5k words (i went crazy with this one)

oh boy where do i begin

TAGS: siren reader!, AFAB reader, religious themes, nonreligious reader, confession booth is sexy, oraI male receiving, big d!ck charlie, dubious consent, p in v, no protection, breeding cuz duh it’s me, blood k!nk (if u squint)

after lois was nearly detained for being belligerently drunk at work, the FBI called you in. not to work alongside her no, to survey and investigate the community. the crimes surrounded her. you became lois’s daughter’s “friend” living with her and hanging around whenever you could. fortunately for both of you, lois did actually like your company and so did her daughter.

with some miracle you became a part of her everyday life, even tagging along when she met sister megan once. the nun was peculiar and although you weren’t nearly as trusting as lois you liked her enough to fake your way into an unlikely friendship. you the hard on her luck “college student” and her the eccentric murder-obsessed nun. it worked well enough for a cover story and she seemed to buy it. given your experience you knew enough about murderers to get along with her, pretending to share her passion for serial killers and the like. she had mentioned visiting the diner over text one day, you thought it a great opportunity to get out and people watch but what you didn’t expect was that she had company.

you knew megan was unconventional to say the least but you didn’t expect her to be on a date with, the looks of it, a lady killer. the closer you got the more you had to mask your reaction, she was with the new priest. you just didn’t expect him to be near your age and straight out of a GQ magazine. you willed a smile to your lips as you sauntered to the side of her booth, throwing an around the back of her seat and leaning down. megan tore her eyes away from the priest, meeting yours after what felt like minutes. you didn’t blame her, you were having a hard time ignoring him as well. “megan! hey i hope i'm not interrupting.” you finally looked pointedly towards him, your smile withering as you met his chocolate eyes. you hadn’t seen eyes so dark in a while.

“did something happen?” she assumed you had an update, it wouldn’t be the first time since you lived so close to lois. you sometimes told her details to gain her trust, of course clearing it with lois first. you pretended you did, pretended whatever you had to say was not for the eyes of a very curious priest. his eyes hadn’t left you since you interrupted.

“no, uh we can talk later.” you motioned slightly towards him and megan realized she’d never made introductions. she broke eye contact turning towards the priest, finding him already looking at you, well more so the small sliver of skin your crop top displayed above your skirt from the way you stretched over her booth. she knew father mayhew was less traditional but she didn’t expect this.

“oh y/n this is father mayhew.” you looked at him waiting a beat before you smiled brighter than before, he was intrigued to say the least. you were confusing him, sending signals he couldn’t quite decipher. maybe he wasn’t your type because you seemed wholly unaffected by him. that or you were just good at hiding it.

“nice to meet you mr.mayhew.” there was no way you were calling him father, you weren’t religious much less catholic.

“father-“ megan started to correct you and you cocked your head to the side, ready to remind her you didn’t believe in organized religion.

“charlie is fine, please y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” he cut in before you two began your conversation, seeing the way your eyes narrowed at the correction. your eyes were back on him as soon as he said your name, masterfully hiding how your stomach flipped at it coming from his lips. it didn’t matter to him that you weren’t religious, hell it might be for the best if you weren’t. he would rather never see you or your red heels ever again.

“charlie, i’ll leave you two to it.” you attributed the startling attraction you felt to the taboo of it all. a priest, sinfully handsome, and from the look of his shoulders and arms his body was even more unholy. your glances had been brief but they were enough to spike your curiosity.

“please join us, i’d be interested to hear whatever you were about to share.” there was that egotistical expression on his face that made you think he didn’t usually get no from women.

“oh i don’t know it’s kind of a secret. can you keep a secret charlie?” you were pulling out all the stops, straightening your posture, batting your eyelids, even cocking your head to the side and if megan wasn’t so transfixed by his reaction she would’ve taken notes. he was completely drawn into you, reminding himself to blink and respond when you a smile twitched at the corner of your lips when you were met with silence. you knew you had him and he knew too.

“let’s pretend this is confession.” he drew his arms out, leaning back against the booth and you took the challenge, sitting next to megan before she could try to leave you two alone. the scent of your perfume hit him as you sat down, sensual and distinct. he’d remember it for days.

“sure confession, i’ve always liked the notion. there’s something so sexy about the whole thing don’t you think megan?” charlie watched you try to shift the subject away from whatever you came to say. he wasn’t so naive. however one thing became clear, you didn’t trust him.

“oh geez, i guess it is sexy. you’re dishing out your deepest darkest secrets in a small box where you can’t see the other person.” he could see the way your eyes softened around the edges when you looked at megan. and the way they changed when you looked back towards him. he hadn’t felt so wholly consumed by someone. whatever trap you had laid out, he was ensnared.

“i’ve always wondered who a priest confesses to?”

“God.” his eyebrow cocked at the question, eyes lighting up in amusement and you bashfully nodded your head.

“ah right.” megan laughed at your response, finding the exchange a bit trivial. she was itching to hear the new information.

“i’m gonna head back to the church, can’t exactly leave it unattended this long. sister it was great to speak with you and again nice to meet you y/n.” you waved him a goodbye as he got up and walked past you both, your eyes never leaving him until you couldn’t crane your neck much further. megan shook off the worries that were beginning to surface and instead pestered you to spill your guts. you did as soon as the diner’s bell rang to signal the door closing. you told her what you had rehearsed all the while being haunted by the ghost of father mayhew’s appearance.

the murders continued and you spent late nights with lois spinning every possible theory. you couldn’t scratch the itch that bothered you about megan and charlie. instead of asking megan to meet you, you decided to visit the father himself. although you would play it off as a last minute plan you carefully dressed for the occasion, a baby pink cropped cardigan covered your lacy tank top fit with high waisted flare jeans that hugged your curves just right. it looked casual and your skin was indeed covered enough for church but if you stretched or raised your arms even slightly your skin would show and you knew his eyes would find their way there just like before. you wore baby pink platform heels to match even, your hair up in a seemingly effortless updo that actually took you thirty minutes to perfect. and to top it all off you made sure to smell downright sinful and gloss your lips to the heavens.

he didn’t stand a chance.

you were grateful to find the church empty save the priest in question sitting in the pews reading what you assumed was the bible. the click of your heels drew his gaze over his shoulder, he would lose this battle without a doubt in his mind. he only hoped god would forgive him after. he rose to stand, abandoning the bible with ease and a smile crept to your lips as he met you in the walkway between the pews.

“y/n, what a surprise i thought you weren’t religious.” he didn’t think he’d see you again, not like this at least. maybe only in his dreams or when the desire deep inside him took over.

“oh i’m not, just curious.” you cocked your head to the side and charlie had a sneaking suspicion you got whatever you wanted when you did that. he wasn’t a stranger to using his looks to get things handed to him, he just didn’t expect to be so easily swayed by it himself.

“anything i can help you with?” as much as he would have liked to continue this staring contest he had an idea you were here on a mission. you had unsuccessfully hidden how taken you were with him. now standing at his full height you were finding it hard to disguise your attraction. he was tall, much taller than you had figured and even in your heels you came up to his shoulder. his body was crafted for sports, for modeling, for anything but the cloth. the sheer strength he wielded was going to waste, you wondered why he needed it all.

“you and sister megan are so wholly devoted to all this. i’ve never had that, something so…guiding.” he invited you to sit next to where he was situated before, you did with ease crossing your legs and sitting closer than you should be.

“your morals surely come from somewhere.”

“my parents, they weren’t religious, at least not catholic. all these murders, it just made me wonder.” you spoke in hushed whispers, the church was eerily quiet, so starkly different from the chaos of lois’s home.

“you’re scared, it’s reasonable to be. faith can give you strength but it can’t fix everything.” his head turned down towards you, onyx eyes sucking you in, you were captivated.

“hey i thought i was the atheist here.” you bumped your shoulder against his or really your shoulder against the muscle of his arms. he sucked in a breath, finding himself thinking less of religion the more he looked into your eyes. charlie drew the bible in front of him, turning the page to where he knew he’d find distraction.

“Isaiah 41:13 God promises to comfort and help those who are worried, and to take their hand and guide them through difficult times.” he turned the page to continue, not licking his finger in time and cutting his finger on the paper. it had never happened before and he didn’t even notice it until you listened on, eyes naturally drawn to his large veiny hands and then the pearl of blood that threatened to drop on the spotless floor.

“oh charlie,” you took his right hand in both of yours, thoroughly stopping his reading. you did the first thing you could think of, not wanting the blood to spill anywhere, bringing it to your lips and licking it off, meeting his gaze bashfully. the familiar taste of salty iron lined your teeth. the wet warm lap of your tongue against the pad of his finger combined with the sheen of your lips and your eye contact made charlie suddenly very aware of his corporeal form, all the rest of his blood rushing south. you did it so casually, as if consuming his blood was as natural as wine. the quiet vulnerability making him twitch in his pants. he thanked god it wasn’t well lit in the church or the bulge in his black slacks would be apparent. fortunately for him you were also too embarrassed to notice.

“s-sorry i just didn’t want it to spill.” you dropped his hand quickly, ignoring the warmth between your legs and opting to look very intently at the first button of his dress shirt. he needed to diffuse the situation before he coaxed you upstairs and smudged your damned lip gloss.

“it’s alright, i’m gonna grab a bandaid.”

“okay i’ll be hiding in the confession box trying not to burst into flames.” he laughed at your admission, he hadn’t expected you to be so embarrassed. it was probably the hottest thing he’d experienced and he thought you would own it, own that you were unabashedly seducing him. perhaps he’d misjudged your intentions all along. he came back to empty pews and he scoffed at the realization you were actually in the booth.

“what do you wish to confess?” he assumed the position, taking it as seriously as he could muster. part of him was wishing you would just tell him something substantial about yourself, he didn’t even know what you did for a living.

“how much time do you have?” charlie huffed a laugh at your words and you liked his laugh, it was airier and lighter than you expected. “i suppose ill start with the most recent sin, i embarrassed myself in front of a priest. surely that’s against some rule.”

“not entirely, embarrassment isn’t a sin.” he crossed his arms across his chest, endeared by your admission.

“right, what about lust?” he closed his eyes, he’d nearly gone half-soft but here you were painting deadly images in his mind. he felt like a teenage boy, rock hard and trying to will it down.

“lust, one of the seven deadly sins, but it can be forgiven. that is if you don’t act on it.”

“ah i’ve never been good at that part.”

“i can pray for you, kneel with me.” you did as he said, finding it hard to deny him of anything when his voice was so deep and commanding through the grated screen. you waited a beat and then another, breathing out in and out. you wondered if he was trying to remember a prayer or you were too far gone for one that readily came to mind. instead you heard him grumble under his breath, the church far too quiet for it to go unnoticed.

“fuck it.” you blinked your eyes in surprise, the wood digging into your knees as you waited another beat and the curtain to your side was drawn open and charlie stood in front of you. the sight of you kneeling nearly made him pass out, he swore he’d never been so hard in his life.

“tell me no.” his large hand, now with a bandage on one finger, slid to the side of your face, tilting your face up and up until your neck craned to meet his as he stepped closer. the heat of his body radiated against you. his thumb pushed at the plush of your bottom lip, the lip gloss was as sticky as he imagined, drawing your mouth open. your eyelashes fluttered at the gentle pressure, the coaxing, the slow sensuality of it all. you felt as if you would actually burst into flames, you wished you had worn a skirt. the denim of your jeans felt like hot coals against your skin, your underwear sticky with need. he could see the desire dripping from your gaze, but he needed to be sure.

“i can’t.” you whispered, like the obedient girl you were. and that was enough for him, he shoved the thumb fully between your lips, you hummed at the intrusion. the warm wet heat of your mouth made him whimper as you swirled around the finger sucking it like you wanted so desperately to do something else. your gaze finally moved from his eyes down the length of his body to his slacks, you raised up on your knees and you were eye level with his bulge. even in the dim light you could tell he was massive and your jaw would be sore tomorrow.

“father let me help you, please?” he huffed a breath at the name, there was no going back now though, he knew what he was doing making you kneel. he nodded at your request, removing his hand from your face so you could do as you pleased. the urgency in your motions made him scoff as you practically tore his zipper down and cupped his bulge. you fidgeted to get his length through and when you did you grinned at the sight. the shadow of his length covered your face and while you were intimidated and failing to hide it you still licked tentatively at the furious red tip.

“good girl.” he smiled down at you and you squeezed your thighs at his words, cleaning up all the precum along his slit. he was so big you didn’t think you’d get him even halfway down your throat, but you were never a quitter. your hand circled his base, one cupping his heavy balls as you licked along his shaft, veins protruding angrily and you kissed the tip one more time before flattening your tongue against the bottom of him, stretching your mouth as wide as you could to accommodate his girth. it was a struggle to attempt and you groaned at how hard it was. he chuckled at your frustration, he couldn’t deny how hot the whole scene was. he placed a hand on your head, guiding you down his length and you moaned at the feeling, shivering from how badly you needed him. you wished for some sense of relief and so you took one hand off his balls and tried to touch yourself. it was no use because charlie saw you, catching your wrist. he was gentle until then, forcing you down his length and you gagged. he was so heavy and thick you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the sensation made you nearly lightheaded and he finally released his grip letting you relax and slink back. you got into a comfortable rhythm then, pumping the length you couldn’t reach and swirling your tongue along his veins while moving up and down his length. he could tell he was close from the small groans and whimpers you could hear, his grip on your wrist tightening until he let go completely and pulled you off him. he tapped his cock against your tongue, debating if he should finish this now or give in fully to what he needed.

“tell me about your sin.” your eyes glazed over as he held his cock away from your mouth, letting you speak but making you mourn the heavy feeling. it took you a few seconds to remember what he was talking about.

“i’ve touched myself thinking about this man, but he’s devoted to someone else, to god. it never feels as good as i know he can make me feel.” your gaze traveling from his cock to his eyes, he jaw clenched as he looked away before leaning down and lifting you effortlessly out of the booth and into his hold. your legs looped around his waist and your arms around his neck. he was strong and solid against you, and you whined at the slightest hint of friction of your core bumping his belt buckle.

“we can attone later.” it’s all he says as he’s walking purposefully up the stairs and down a hallway, the walk is long or at least it feels that way when you’re nearly drunk from desire.

your back hits something soft, you realize it’s his bed as he’s climbing over you. you sit up, unbuttoning his shirt while he’s doing the same to your pesky jeans. his shirt is unbuttoned before he’s pulling them off you and you marvel at the sculpted muscles of his body. you're not sure if you’re drooling but you could be. he doesn’t bother to take your heels off, opting for your cardigan and crop top next. and you whine as you try to reach the buttons of his slacks, he tucked himself back in at some point and you don’t like the insinuation. charlie can’t help but laugh at you, maybe you weren’t the femme fatale he thought you were. “patience is a virtue.” he’s got you in your bra and panties splayed out under him and he relished in the sight of your lip gloss smudged. in the light of his room he could see all the sinful details of your body and he couldn’t wait to wreck every part he hadn’t touched yet. he kneels in front of you, shirt gone and his slacks unbuttoned, watching your chest rise and fall in anticipation as you maintain eye contact. he can tell you’re struggling to, the way your eyelids droop and narrow. when he’s finally bare in front of you, you’re looping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, finally kissing him and it’s as messy as you hoped for. all teeth and tongue, he bites your lip hard enough to draw blood and you groan into his mouth. he’s feral and you can’t help but arch into him, the hard planes of his body pressing so deliciously against you, you silently wish you could grind against his abs for some kind of friction. charlie pins your wrists above you with one of his hands, the other deftly unclasping your bra, an action that speaks volumes of his experience.

he doesn’t loosen his grip on your wrists even slightly, somehow in control despite the rabid look in his eyes, trailing his lips down your neck, biting and sucking likely leaving marks for tomorrow. you buck your hips into him, desperate for something, anything. he’s so hard against your core, sliding against your stomach. you can’t imagine he’ll fit, not with how far up your chest his length reaches. your thoughts are drawn back to the hot mouth that’s latching to your nipple, bitting and sucking like it’s the last thing he’ll do. charlie groans around your breast, massaging the other one with his hand rough palms creating a friction you try to get closer to. he’s slurping and biting so roughly you’re whining without realizing, tears pricking your eyes from the sharp pain. it’s so devastating you think it might be the way you want to go out.

and when you feel you might just come from his mouth on your breasts, he’s moving off you with a pop to his lips. it’s reminiscent of your actions downstairs and his cock twitches at the image. he leans back to take a look at his work releasing your wrists, bite marks and bruises littering your shaking chest and his lips curl in a smile. you think you’ve never seen him genuinely happy until now. he stays out of your reach kneeling between your spread legs and you almost complain until he’s peeling your underwear off you, it’s sticky and you revel in the cool air finally grazing your heat. charlie’s eyes are inexplicably drawn to how you’re nearly dripping onto his sheets, the light illuminating how badly you needed him, and from the looks of it it was just as long as he did. you can’t help the moan slip from your mouth when he’s biting his lips and spreading your folds to watch a fat wad of arousal drop down to your ass.

your pleasure ends when you see him leaning down for a taste, far too gone for any more foreplay. you need him and you need him now. you’re twitching when you slide your fingers into his hair, drawing your gaze to him. the hunger in his gaze doesn’t dissolve but the black of his eyes seems to soften when he sees your wrecked expression.

“please i need your cock, now please.” you’re begging and charlie can’t say no to that. he’s been aching for what feels like forever. he coos at your request, wiping the tears you didn’t even notice were falling and moves back on top of you, the satisfying weight against you calming whatever worries you had. but he doesn’t give you what you want. his fingers, still spreading your folds dip into you, there’s zero resistance from your sopping entrance, but the stretch makes your eyes roll back. “please.” you don’t want his fingers, you don’t care if he splits you in half at this point.

“relax baby,” he’s soothing you as best as he can when he just wants to sink into you. instead of focusing on where he can make you unravel, he scissors you open, getting impatient himself. you hum at the shift, bringing his lips to yours with a hand still threading through his hair. when he adds a third finger you groan at the stretch. “so tight darling, you won’t be able to take me.” he’s purring at you, teasing you. you can’t string the words together to dissuade him. when he’s satisfied you’re stretched enough he pulls back, licking his fingers and groaning at the taste. devine, just like he expected.

despite your wishes he’s leaning back, tapping his angry cock head against your clit, and you realize his words may be true. your legs slide over his shoulders like they were made to be there and when you look down at your entrance, panic creeps in.

“i don’t think it will fit.” he watches your eyes widen, your brows furrowed in genuine concern. it’s comical.

“where did my good girl go? you were just begging for it.” he’s teasing you, laughing at the way your wide eyes meet his. without you responding, he slips his head towards your entrance, catching on it and slipping away, fuck you were so tight. you whimpered at the feeling, trying to slink away from him but he tightens his hold on your hips. you realize, albeit far too late, your heels are still on and very much on his shoulders.

“it won’t fit.” you’re pleading with him, for what exactly you’re not sure. and then he’s leaning down, pressing the tops of your thighs back towards you, folding you in half, his lips not quite reaching yours.

“i’ll make it fit.” without warning he’s nudging at your entrance again, bullying his way in and you whine and jostle at the feeling. it’s too big, the stretch too much and you feel tears prick your eyes. he’s tearing you open, ruining your for anyone else and you can’t find it in you to care.

when the tip is finally in you breathe out in relief, there’s still an ache between your legs and you know you’re dripping onto his sheets but you think the worst is over. you don’t know you’re far from it. because while charlie is a man of faith, of perseverance and virtue he can’t hold back from how addictive your pussy is. the tight hug of your cunt around his tip drives him to ease his full length into you without warning. you paw at his chest, eyes rolling back as he pushes his way fully in nestling against your cervix and curving inside you. making you gush out more liquid than you knew you had. in fact, it’s so much you’re not sure if you’re squirting or you just came. the pain and pleasure mix into one and you think scream his name. you swear you can feel him in your ribcage and you choke out a breath.

he’s barely holding himself still when his balls finally rest against you. your walls are molding to him, and he think he might have died and gone to heaven. “so fucking tight, you were made for me.” a deep groan leaves him before he can hold back and you whine at the sound, clenching down on him and making him only more painfully turned on. you can feeling him throbbing inside, carving you out, the veins of his cock pressed against.

when you begin to squirm under him, still not used to his size but not in pain, he starts moving. every time he moves out he feels he has to push back in, your poor abused cunt is gripping him so tight, he feels bad even pulling out. the burn becomes so intense and every time his tip bumps your cervix you twitch beneath him. he presses a sweet kiss to your ankle over the strap of your heels before pressing his hips down and reaching even deeper. you cry out his name at the change in position and then he’s drilling into you like he wants you to be ruined forever. you don’t know where your orgasms start or end as he continuously fucks against your most sensitive spot, your mind numb from pleasure and the only word leaving your lips is his name and cries of pleasure.

he’s no better, he swears he might be addicted to you. the way you call out his name, the way you clench around him when he groans and how you seem to still get wetter from his thrusts. he hopes you don’t blame him when he feels himself getting close already, from the look on your face he realizes you might not be able to think at all. his pace is cruel, driving you into the mattress and likely denting the wooden floor.

your mind is fractured into a million tiny pieces; the only thing you know is that you need him. and when he’s close he’s pressing into you like he wants to get you pregnant, he’s breeding you, making you his and you come again. there’s no room for his cum inside you, so it’s leaking out the sides and he can’t have that, not after how good you’ve been, how well you take him, so he’s scooping it back up and fingering it inside you all the while pumping you full. you don’t know when you started crying but you can taste the saltiness of your tears when you pull him down for a kiss, savoring in the drag of his tongue along your teeth and you suck on it slightly, still hungry. he wishes the moment could last forever, but begrudgingly he pulls out and swallows down your whimper. how could he ever begin to atone for this? he had a feeling he would be begging for forgiveness for the rest of his life, there was no way he could forget you.

[axelsagewrites]

Hey, can I please request Jacaerys x aunt!reader where he goes to her after the dance as she had been imprisoned in the dungeons and he offer her to let him have her or she'll be sentenced to death or sum. And reader is as pious and religious as Alicent and she is horrified by the idea of being sullied by ""bastard seed"" but she reveals to be c0ck-drunk by the end of it?

Jace Velaryon*Perfect Wife

Pairing: Jace x f!reader

Word count: 2809

Warnings: dub con, imprisonment, held at knife point (not during smut), praise, degradation, nipple play, p in v sex, hickeys, spanking, bruising, forced marriage, smut 18+c

Masterlist here

You weren’t much of a warrior. You had been raised the way a princess should have been. Well, that’s what your mother told you. However, when two days had passed since Aemond and Aegon had left to confront Rhanerya, and everyone refused to tell you what was happening you decided to get the hell out of there on your dragon.

Maybe you’d end up in Essos and sell a dragon egg for a home. Maybe even Dorne. You could try throw yourself on their mercy. After all, their ambassadors had always seemed to enjoy your company. However, all your plans soon crumbled when you accidentally flew into what you’d assumed to be an empty clearing.

You’d landed in a small field and had quickly tried to ‘borrow’ an apple from a local farm when you felt a strong grip on your arm and a sharp blade on your neck. So cold it had to be Valyrian steel. “And who do we have here?” you recognised Jace’s voice clearly. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you pretty girls shouldn’t go about dawdling?”

-

The stone floors bruised your knees each time you knelt to pray but you didn’t complain or even wince at the pain. You’d counted the days you’d been here by etching marks in the stone with the corner of your Seven-star necklace your mother had given you. 27 days so far. Each morning you prayed. Well, what you thought was morning. Then each afternoon then evening. Each time to a different member of the seven. Even the stranger since perhaps the god of death was the one you truly needed right now.

“My lady,” a sing song voice called out, “Lunch is ready,” Jace said as he approached your cell with his usual grin. He didn’t come every day but when he did it only seemed to add to your punishment. “I made sure to pick you the freshest apple,” he crouched down, holding it out to you.

You kept your eyes on the ground as you tried to finish your prayer, “C’mon now. They’re clearly not listening to you,” he mocked, sitting down the tray in front of the bars to your cell.

Still, you ignored him as you wrapped them up. Jace sighed and just as you finished your prayers he stood, taking the tray with him. “Where are you going?” you called, moving to stand on your feet and grabbing the bars, “That’s my food,”

“No this is my food,” he said, as if he was calling the sky blue, “And you never took it,”

“I was praying!”

“Not fast enough,” he teased. “Maybe next time you’ll remember to acknowledge the heir to Westeros,” he said as he turned to leave.

“My brothers not here,” you mumbled, turning around to go take your place on the wooden bench they called a bed.

The wine cup clattered against the wall, missing your head by only an inch. You span on your heels to confront him, but the only trace was your food dropped on the ground in a head and the apple slowly rolling towards your cell.

It stopped just out of arm’s length of the bars as if the gods really were mocking you. It took you laying on the ground, stretching out the tips of your fingernails to manage to roll it closer so you could grab it. You consoled yourself knowing he never came twice in one day.

Yet this time he did.

Jace arrived with a meal so nice looking it almost reminded you of what you used to eat. There was even a whole chicken leg on it. when he saw the apple core in the corner of your cell Jace couldn’t help but laugh. “Here,” he said, reaching it out for you to try manoeuvre through the bars when he suddenly pulled it back, “Aren’t you going to thank your prince?”

“Thank you,” you glared, reaching your hand out.

Jace just smirked, “Thank you what?”

“Thank you, dear nephew,” you offered with a fake smile.

“Say it. say that I am the true heir, a true prince, and I will be most obliged to give you this chicken leg. Straight from the queens table,” he said, showing it to you once more just to rub it in.

You could feel your stomach rumble, but you couldn’t say it. not after all this time. Not after all the battles. Not for a chicken leg. “My mother isn’t here,” you said through gritted teeth.

Jace reached through the bars, grabbing your neck before you could react. His grasp was tight but despite his fingers digging into your skin you weren’t afraid, “I can only be so patient,” he warned before letting you go. He turned to leave, taking the food with him, “besides, who said your mother is even alive?” he mocked before slamming the door shut behind him.

The stalemate continued for another day and a half and suddenly you were regretting not rationing the apple. At least the guards had kept your water jug topped up, but you didn’t want to risk that being taken too.

“I have a new deal,” Jace said, walking in empty handed.

“Where’s my food?” you said, not even standing from where you sat on your bed.

“That’s not very polite,” Jace tutted, leaning against the bars, “How would you like to get out of here?” you couldn’t help your eyes widening at the idea. Something Jace seemed to revel in. he unlocked your cell and despite wanting to run you sat still as he closed the door behind him. “Come here. Let me get a closer look at you,”

You wanted to slap him but instead you stood up and slowly crossed the floor while Jace’s eyes scanned your frame. “Still so beautiful,” he mumbled before he finally brought his eyes back to yours as your cheeks burned, “I have a new proposal for you,” he said, reaching to stroke your cheek. He was gentle but you still flinched at his touch.

He stepped closer, moving his hand down till he was toying with your necklace, his eyes not so subtly on your chest, “Marry me,” he said, and you instantly grimaced at his words, “Be my wife and I will let you free,”

“I wouldn’t be free,” you snapped, “I’d be the wife of a bastard, a nobody, a waste of space- “you began to spit your venom at him only to be cut off by his tight grasp around your neck.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty if I was you,” he warned, “What I’m offering is generous. You should hear what Daemon had planned for you,” he dropped his grip and you instantly stepped back, trying to recatch your breath.

Jace slowly began to circle you, eyeing you up from every angle as you silently thought over his offer when suddenly a thought popped into your head, “What’s in it for you? Last time I checked you already had a betrothed,”

“Alliances can change, we both know that” he drawled, his chest pressed against your back while his hand grazed your hip. Not mine, you thought, but you stayed silent instead. “Besides I need a wife. Someone to show off in court,” his hand trailed up from your hip to your waist making you shudder through the thin dress they’d gave you, “Someone to bear children. Someone to warm my bed,” he said, his lips pressed against your ear.

His hand went to move to your front, but you grabbed his wrist before he could touch anything, “I’d rather die,” you spat.

Jace grabbed your hips, spinning you around and pulling you flush against his chest, “That can be arranged,” he warned but he still wore his teasing smirk, “You think you’d survive here without me? A pretty young things like yourself in nothing but her night dress roaming around court, think of the scandals. Gods help you if you even make it out the castle. What do you think the small folk would do with a princess like you?”

“Perhaps they’d save me. If they believed in the true king,” you said, trying to hold firm but feeling yourself shake.

He chuckled under his breath, “There is only a queen. C’mon, I can’t be that bad surely. You saying you’ve never thought about it?” he said, his hand moving down to your ass, his lips moving to your ear, “Its not just the gods who know your dirty little secrets,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning your neck.

“I want my dragon back,” you said suddenly making Jace lift his head from where he’d been dragging his lips across your neck, “If I’m to be your wife,”

“As soon as your belly swells with my seed,” he said, “Anything else?”

It felt like a trap, but you tried anyway, “And separate rooms. I don’t want to see you more than I have to,”

He chuckled this time, “That can be arranged, anything else?” you eyed him carefully before shaking your head no. one child and then you could escape with your dragon. It would take a year, maybe two, and then you’d be free. “Good. I shall have them draw up a treaty. But in the meantime,” he said, grabbing your ass so suddenly you gasped, “I want some kind of reassurance you won’t back out,”

“And what’s that?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“I want to fuck you,” he said making the words dry up in your throat, “And if I didn’t know any better id say you wanted me too,”

“And if I say no?” you asked.

Jace dropped his grip, but a smirk fell on his lips as he began to walk away. “Then no deal,” he said, reaching for the door.

“Wait!” you called, reaching out to grab his arm. Jace turned his gaze back to you with a knowing smirk, “I suppose if you are to be my husband. The gods, they’d understand,” you said, trying to rationalise it all.

Jace moved closer to you till his chest was flush against yours, “I’m sure they’d understand after all,” he said, pushing the hair out of your face, “Who could blame you for wanting some pleasure in your life?” he said, his hand trailing down till he grabbed your tit, squeezing it softly, “Why would something that feels so good be so wrong?” he whispered in your ear, his hand traveling lower to your thighs, toying with the hem of his dress.

His lips moved to kiss down your jaw, across your neck till he was kissing your undiscovered sweet spot making you moan softly. His arms moved to slip around your waist, pulling you somehow closer to him as your hands rested on his shoulders. You gasped when he squeezed your ass and winced at the quick slap, he gave it before his hands moved to the hem of your dress.

The cold air rushed over your frame, making your nipples harden as Jace pulled the dress over your head in one swoop. The only thing to cover you was your necklace but right now that felt even worse. Jace’s eyes travelled your frame, soaking up every inch, “The gods have blessed me with you,” he murmured.

“You do not know the gods,” you glared but Jace just chuckled as his hands went to cup your tits, stroking his thumbs over your perked nipples making you whimper.

“Perhaps you don’t either,” he said as he led you by your hips to your bed. He sat on it, his hands resting on your hips as he pulled you into his lap.

His lips moved to your collarbones, kissing and nipping at the soft skin. Your brain told you to push him away, but a strange feeling was overcoming your body as his hands moved to your hips. You could feel a hard bulge under his trousers as he began to move your hips, pushing your core onto his clothed cock. You moaned at the friction, his bulge rubbing perfectly against your clit sending shock waves up your body.

Soon you felt your hips begin to buck and move of their own accord. You felt his smirk against your skin as his hands moved to your tits. You gasped when he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers making you moan. “Oh god,” you couldn’t help the moan that slipped out when he took one into his mouth, sucking on the perked bud.

You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, your moans growing louder as you took the gods in vain at the top of your lungs. You felt your peak hit you like a boulder before you slumped into Jace’s chest.

He moved to kiss your cheek with a chuckle. “Not even fucked you yet and look at you,” Jace said, slipping his hand down to rub against your sensitive core making your body lurch, “So wet for me,” he praised, his hand moving to unlace his trousers. “Can’t wait to see what my cock does to you,”

Before you could protest you felt his tip pressing into your entrance. You gasped, your hands moving to grab his shoulders, “Aw,” Jace pouted, “Does it hurt?” he mocked, pushing you down further, “Too fucking bad,” he practically growled as he used your hips to push you all the way down.

You almost screamed at the feeling, as if you were being split in half but Jace groaned, throwing his head back against the wall as you felt his cock twitch inside you, “Fuck you’re so tight,” he praised, giving you a moment to adjust. Your hips betrayed you again, moving without your mind thinking making him chuckle.

“Such a desperate little thing,” Jace mocked, grabbing your jaw as you tried to move away. His thumb ran over your bottom lip before using it to pry your mouth open, resting it on your tongue, “Good girl,” he praised, his free hand moving your hips.

“Fuck,” you gasped as you felt him hit all the right spots. You gave up trying to resit as your hips began to grind onto his cock.

Jace’s hands moved to your hair, grabbing it suddenly and pulling it back so he could have full access to your neck. You were sure by the way he kissed it there would be marks tomorrow but that didn’t matter now. Your hands went to his hair, tugging it softly making him growl against your skin.

His free hand went to your ass, grabbing it tightly before suddenly leaving stinging slaps against the soft flesh. You could feel your second peak fast approaching and when Jace moved to run quick circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves you felt your cunt squeeze around him as it came crashing down again.

“Fuck,” Jace mumbled, a stream of profanity tumbling from his lips as his hands moved to your hips so he could fuck you through your orgasm, “You feel so good,” he praised, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You felt yourself coming down from your high and his movements began to slow, “Don’t stop Jace. Please gods don’t stop,” you began to beg, and you could feel his smirk.

“Begging suits you,” he teased, grabbing your jaw so he could make you face him, “You look so good right now. So drunk on my cock. Is that it?”

“Yes,” you whined, “I need you please,”

“Aw my poor baby,” he teased, “So desperate for her king,”

“Yes,” you weren’t even thinking any longer, and a spark ignited behind his eyes, “Need you. Want you my king,” you moaned.

Jace grabbed your hips tightly, standing suddenly before turning as you back slammed against the wall. You winced until you felt his hips begin to snap up against yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him tight against you. This new angle had him hitting newer spots that had your legs wrapping tight around him.

“So good,” Jace mumbled against your skin as you felt a third orgasm approaching, “My perfect little wife,” his words sent you tumbling over the edge.

Jace couldn’t resist anymore as your cunt squeezed around his cock and with a couple more pumps, he began to spill his seed. His thrusts became slow as he rode out his own peak, fucking his seed deep inside you. You were both panting as he pulled out, his forehead resting against yours as your feet finally hit the ground again.

“I always knew you had a dark side in you,” Jace chuckled as he pulled away.

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you in your sleep, husband,” you threatened but the last word made him smile. Maybe this was a good trade after all.

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[pittrabbit]

warnings: smut, kind of pwp, sexual harassment (from some guy, not pope), afab reader, age gap implied (everyone act shocked), p in v sex, soft dom reader and sub andrew, reader and andrew want each other bad, physical altercation, dry humping, prolonged foreplay, etc etc etc.

summary: you weren't sure how you ended up at this random party by the beach, but you started to regret it when some idiot wouldn't leave you alone. thank god the guy you'd been making eyes at all night decides to come to the rescue.

word count: 5.9k

note: not really happy with this one but here it is i guess!!

➽──────────────────❥

attending a party at some unknown's house by the beach hadn't really been part of tonight's plans. but when your best friend had shown up after work with a pout on her face and an annoying insistence you tag along, you sighed in compliance, slipping on a tiny dress and some kitten heels before trailing behind her.

there was some guy that had invited her, she'd said. you weren't really sure about it, never having heard of the guy or of the people hosting it. she'd stay with you all night, she'd claimed, and apparently parties went down there quite often without any trouble.

you were mostly past your partying days, but being a good friend, you still agreed, knowing it was better to go as a group rather than let her go to a strange place alone.

too bad she hadn't been as good a friend to you at said party.

almost within minutes of your arrival, you'd lost her in the crowd of bodies. as soon as she'd locked eyes with whatever guy she attended the party for, she decided to leave you on your own in favor of going with him. she promised she'd be back, that she'd just hang with him for a while before coming back to you.

and for some stupid reason, you stayed. instead of calling up an uber and drafting some angry text to her, you decided to stay and make the most of it. you wanted to be a good friend, wait around for her so she wouldn't have to go home alone — if she even went back home tonight.

it was a nice house, they had enough drinks to go around, and hell, you looked amazing. it would've been stupid to make the trek back home and waste the twenty minutes it'd taken you to get here (and the hour to get ready) just to turn right back around.

unlike your friend, you weren't really planning to hook up with anyone tonight. you were past your partying era, as you'd told your friend before being dragged here. however, enjoying the atmosphere and maybe dancing a little wouldn't hurt you. you'd keep things casual, just enjoy yourself for an hour or two before searching around for your friend in order to check in (and hopefully leave).

➽──────────────────❥

you grew bored of the party within an hour.

it had quickly turned into rowdy men fucking around in the pool and far too many people spilling their drinks carelessly into the water. after dancing and mingling for a while, you decided to stick to a wall, take the role of a loner and just watch the idiots wrestling one another in the pool.

there was still no sign of your friend (other than a lone text letting you know she'd get back to you soon, she promised!!), and you were in a low social battery mode, so you were really just killing time by holding up the wall.

and you would've been okay with that for another hour or two if it wasn't for the guy that had started harassing you one hour into the party.

it started with a look from across the pool. a very suggestive look, might you add. you were used to those, usually being able to shrug them off and keep it moving. this guy, however, was one of the unlucky insistent ones.

immediately looking away after making eye contact had not been enough of a hint, apparently. no, this man had actually taken that as a sign for him to make his way across the room and join you in holding up the wall.

finding his way to your side, he left about a foot of distance between you as he leaned against that same wall, drink in hand to occupy his hands as he did a terrible job at shooting you subtle looks from the side.

not wanting to be straight up rude, you didn't walk away — a mistake, in retrospect. instead, you became interested in your shoes, the guys fucking around in the pool, the couple making out to your left, just anything but him.

it didnt take long for him to get bored, though. within five minutes or so, that foot of distance became just a few inches, the man now standing shoulder to shoulder with you, leaning down a bit to share his first words with you over the music.

"hey. never seen you around here before. you a friend of the cody's? what's your name?"

god. way too much all at once. not to mention that his breath was too heavy against your ear.

whatever happened to personal space.

"uhm, nope. i'm just here with a friend. actually, i should go look for-"

he stepped closer then, taking your response — however non-receptive as it was — as a welcome to keep talking.

"yeah? i don't see any friend. i've been watching you, actually." he chuckled. "you looked kinda bored. thought id keep you some company."

he smelled like tequila. reeked of it, actually. that was never a good sign. he was clearly drunk, or at least well on his way there.

you took a step back, wanting to revive the space between you. your eyes didnt meet his, knowing he'd also take eye contact as a welcoming sign.

instead, you looked past him. you looked past him in hopes of finding someone else to latch on to, some excuse to walk away.

and past this man's shoulder, you found another pair of eyes watching you, a face you hadn't taken notice of until now.

you kept looking at him, now meeting his eyes. the effect was immediate. the intensity in his gaze had you captivated within mere seconds of focusing your eyes on his own.

he didn't seem to be too tall, but his build made up for it. his arms remained crossed over his chest, a serious look in his eyes. some fresh cuts and bruises adorned his arms, you could tell as much from the small distance between you. there was one on his eyebrow that called your attention. you instinctively wanted to reach out and run your thumb through it, ask if it hurt, how he got it.

usually when meeting someone's eyes in the middle of a crowd like this, someone will look away (usually you), but the two of you stayed focused on one another. you pushed aside any of your surroundings and kept staring, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden feeling his gaze gave you.

he was a little further from the two of you, though still close enough to be able to observe your interaction with precision if he so wished. and it seemed like he was very focused on it. his eyes only left you to stare a hole into the back of the man that had been cornering you. with his eyebrows twisted together, his face showed a expression of slight annoyance at what he was seeing.

you were about to signal him with your eyes, having somehow forgotten the other man in your vicinity, but you were once again rudely interrupted.

"don't be rude, i'm talking to you." he huffed, face tilting to meet your eye line so he could force some eye contact with you.

your eyes finally left the stranger's, refocusing on the unknown man in front of you. you couldn't help but feel even more annoyed now, wanting to continue the silent conversation you were having with the mysterious man, but now being unable to even see him due to your view being blocked by some idiot.

you decided to try again, clearing your throat before responding to him.

"i told you. i'm here with a friend. i should really go look for her-" you made move to walk away, but were interrupted once more, though this time physically.

one of his hands found your arm, grasping it loosely enough to not raise any alarms to anyone nearby, but hard enough to send you a silent message.

"stop lying to me, you cunt. if you're not interested, just fucking say so. have some respect." he practically barked, not caring for the remnants of saliva that slipped out of his mouth.

your fight or flight mode activated as soon as he raised his voice — as soon as he put his hand on you, really. as unfortunate as missing out on more intense eye contact from the cute guy you'd missed sight of felt, you needed to get out of there as soon as possible. before this guy escalated things.

without thinking, you put your unoccupied hand on his chest in order to create some distance between you. that's when you lost your balance and spilled some of the overflow of your drink on him, simultaneously pushing him away with more force than you'd intended.

your eyes were focused on his white shirt, now covered in a burgundy mixture of drinks you'd found in some punch by the kitchen.

before you could react, the man practically growled at you, shaking his head with an angry scoff and throwing his own drink on the floor, making sure it splashed all over your legs before crowding you even more against the wall.

"you fucking bitch. i swear to god, i'm going to-"

you ducked, scared he might hit you or retaliate in some worse way, eyes closed shut and hands covering your face.

but nothing ever came after that.

just a voice. a very neutral one.

"step away." said the voice.

when you opened your eyes, you found the scary man with his hands behind his back, behind him the man with the intense eyes clearly holding him against his will, mouth almost attached to his ear as he directed the threat towards him. his eyes landed on yours when you opened them.

the man tried to get away, failing as he was not as strong as the man who'd stepped in to defend you. "this doesnt concern-"

"either you get the fuck out of my house, or i'll take care of you myself." he tightened his grip, twisting the man's arms and getting a yelp out of him.

he didnt wait for a response, pushing him towards the wall next to you, causing you to jump back at the sudden commotion. a few other partygoers were now watching the scene, but with one threatening look from the man, most of them drew their attention away.

"fucking freak. not worth the trouble anyway." were the last words from that other man, muttered under his breath as he got up and walked away.

the nameless man looked back to you, still looking a little threatening but with a newfound understanding look in his eyes. stretching his hand, he spoke to you.

"come with me."

and you followed, a little shocked and a little shaken up by the other man's actions, but numb enough to not question this guy.

the two of you walked away from the scene, with him leading you without another word.

➽──────────────────❥

within moments, you made it to what you could only assume to be his room. you hadn't asked. you hadn't really said anything in the past five minutes you'd been behind closed doors with your savior.

he'd just led you in here without much information, only telling you "it's empty in here." before taking a seat next to you at the edge of his bed.

he was quiet, serious, a brooding presence. but you still felt safe around him. he'd stepped in and helped you without you so much as asking. any other partygoer near you just ignored what was clearly a threatening presence looming over you while he stepped in and took care of matters within seconds, not a single sign of cockiness or need for praise at his actions.

you'd been attracted to him from the moment you met his eyes. even as you had some other guy showing clear interest in you (far too much, to be honest), your eyes had been glued to his, captivated by the way he looked back at you. you didn't believe in the love at first sight bullshit, but you could at least admit that this was infatuation at first sight. hopefully a mutual one.

"are you okay?"

he finally broke the silence, eyes still ahead of him rather than on you. his posture was relaxed, his avoidance of facing you clearly a result of social awkwardness rather than nerves.

you turned your body to face him, inadvertently causing your knees to touch the side of his thigh.

"yeah, i- thank you for helping me back there, that guy was-"

"yeah. it's no problem." he interrupted, rough, cutting without really meaning to.

silence washed over you again, slightly awkward, slightly comfortable, a weird mixture that left you not knowing what to do.

"uhm, is this your room?" you asked, getting up with some hesitation as you attempted to make some conversation.

"yeah." was all he responded with, though you could now feel his eyes on you, following you as you took slow steps and looked around his room.

you were about to brave a look at some of the stuff around his room before his voice broke out again, making you fully turn your body towards him in question.

"your legs." he began, hand pointing at them as if you needed confirmation as to where they were. "they- his drink spilled all over you. let me help you clean up" he spoke, getting up before even letting you respond.

he exited the room after that, closing it behind him and leaving you there confused.

it only took him a few moments to come back, opening the door and closing it back up as he held rags and a water bottle with him. with the objects in his hands, he gestured at you to sit back down on the bed, to which you obeyed without objection.

now sitting, you gaped at him when he knelt in front of you, nearing your legs far too much for someone you had only exchanged a handful of words with.

"is this okay?" he asked though he'd already uncapped the water bottle, pouring some of its contents on the rag.

"oh, uh, yeah. thanks."

you weren't usually this socially inept, but his blunt yet awkward behavior made you unsure of how to act. you feared that you'd be off-putting to him if you were too forward, but maybe if you kept to yourself too much he'd think you were scared of him. so you opted to just sit there, facing your body towards him and letting him press the damp rag to your calves, which had already gone sticky from letting the punch dry on your skin.

"what's your name?" you asked after a few moments of silence.

he appeared so innocent as he looked up to you. even with the threatening aura he'd displayed outside, he was completely calm in here with you. his wide eyes gave you the opposite effect the man outside had caused in you. you didn't know this man, yet you felt comfortable with him. he was taking care of you. it made you want to return the favor.

him on his knees also caused an entirely different effect on you, but you shoved it aside. it was clear this poor guy had no interest in anything like that. he had you all alone in his room, tiny dress riding up while he had you heavy-breathing at his through a damp rag, yet he remained entirely disinterested.

"andrew."

"andrew." you repeated. "i like it. thank you for all your help, andrew. i'm sorry i caused a scene at your party, i didn't-"

"don't apologize." he interrupted, letting silence invade the room once again.

you couldn't really think of anything else to say, but you didn't want your time with him to end so quickly. maybe he just wasn't interested at all. he kept his answers short, kept all his focus on helping you, getting you cleaned up, didn't engage in any sort of back and forth, nothing that expressed any sort of emotion toward you. those looks earlier at the party must've just been coincidental. he was probably lost in thought and you just so happened to be in his line of sight. there was clearly nothing going on between you.

then he mumbled something. under his breath, not loud or intelligible enough for you to make out.

"sorry?"

you leaned your body down a bit, causing him to look up at you. he stiffened a little when he noticed the closed proximity between you, hand stilling on your calf.

"your name."

you gave it to him, smiling at yourself for getting a few more words out of him.

"i, uh, i like it." he looked back down as he said it, rag now tending to your strappy heels — he was being quite thorough, slow in his movements and gentle as he removed the sticky remnants of alcohol from your skin.

"thank you."

without thinking, your hand went to his hair, fingers running lightly through the curls at the top. they were soft under your touch, long enough for you to pull at if you so wished — and you did wish, only holding back for the sake of decorum.

"i- uh."

you drew your hand away at his discomfort, nose scrunching awkwardly at having crossed a line without meaning to.

"shit, sorry, i-"

"no. it's okay. keep- you can do it again." he looked up at you again, using one hand to draw yours back to his hair, immediately going back to pouring fresh water onto the almost-dry rag and continuing his work.

but you interrupted him, hand leaving his hair in favor of removing the rag from his hand, putting it on the floor next to him.

you had to take advantage of the first time of the night in which he'd been receptive to you. he liked it when you touched him? you could do way better than that.

"why don't you sit up here with me, andrew? i think you've cleaned me up enough."

it was true. by now you were sure he'd even cleaned you off the moisturizer you'd applied on your legs before leaving your apartment. he seemed very adamant in getting you free of any remnant of the party outside, but who were you to complain?

with some hesitation, he let your hand go to his bicep, leading him to sit far too close to you despite his half-hearted attempt to sit a little further. and even as he sat, you didn't let go of his arm, now using your thumb to caress its skin softly, far too softly for someone you'd just met.

"i'm all clean now. see?" your other hand went to his chin, tilting it so he would look down at your legs, but strategically so that his eyes would land on your thighs rather than your calves which he'd been wiping at.

he continued to say nothing, eyes staring straight at your legs before turning back to your eyes, hands firm and resting on his own thighs. you decided to remedy that by taking his hand in yours, resting it atop your legs, fingers intertwined.

"thank you for taking care of me tonight, andrew." you thanked him again, voice sweet, sickly so.

"yeah." he mumbled. he looked down at your interlocked hands before looking back at you, eyes unreadable. but the rising of his chest told you enough.

scooting even closer, legs now completely pressed to his own, you let go of his hand, softly thumbing at the fresh cut on his eyebrow, the same one you wanted to take care of earlier in the day. now you could see it up close, pout at the thought of him hurting even if you didn't know the injury's origin.

"can i return the favor?"

he took a breath, air releasing from his nose, recalibrating almost.

"how?"

"just trust me." you smiled at him. "the same way i trust you."

he seemed to like those words, mouth opening and closing before his hands went down to your waist, aiding you in taking the final step so you could straddle him.

under you, he was sturdy, full of reliable muscle. you could feel the hardness hiding under his skin as your hands gripped at his shoulders. but you didn't need to hold on to him, not when his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you safely pressed against him.

slowly, as if you couldn't risk any sudden movements, you leaned down, eyes resting heavily on his lips. andrew leaned into you, nose bumping softly into yours, lips gracing over your own. it was tense, breaths mixing together before you finally lost your patience and closed the distance, diving in for an open-mouthed kiss.

maybe it was too needy a kiss to give a guy who seemed to keep to himself, but you were surprised to find that he matched your energy with no complaint. his hands gripped at your hips, his mouth open just like yours, tongue being chased and trapped by yours. your hands traveled from his shoulders to his hair, running your hands through it and pulling lightly at the dark amber strands. this drew a muffled groan from him, wordlessly urging you to do it more.

"andrew." you sighed against him, hips beginning to ground into his own, slowly at first, creating an intimate rhythm between you.

a pained groan left him when you began your movements, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress bunching at your hips. his legs opened further, causing yours to do so too, which made it so you could grind even deeper into him. it took him a few moments to match your movements, but when he did, he had you dizzy, moaning into his mouth and enticing him to lick into it.

"are you sure about this?" he asked, though he didn't falter, unlike his eyes that began fluttering in pleasure.

"so sure."

you said it in between pants. you were already affected by him, enough to have your head dropping on his shoulder. taking advantage of the angle, your lips trailed the sharp line of his jaw, finding a sensitive point at the end of it and latching your teeth lightly on the skin.

"fuck."

that was enough encouragement for you to keep going. if you left marks, that was andrew's problem for tomorrow. his skin was already decorated in scars of all kinds, what was a few love bites among them?

"that feels- that feels good."

"i can make you feel even better." you offered with a teasing smile against his skin.

"yeah?"

you nodded with a giggle. you were already lightheaded at the situation — in a good way. in an amazing way. biting your lip as you looked down at him, you lifted your hand, tracing the side of his face lightly, thumb landing on his chin and lifting his face towards yours. below you, you found the prettiest pairs of eyes staring directly into yours. and he seemed just as affected as you. he appeared pained, the sound of his panting filling the room as you delayed the pleasure you'd promised him. your hips had stilled by now, which seemed to be much to his dismay.

"yeah." was all your whispered back before closing the distance once more, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth and sucking at it before kissing him again.

this time your hands went down to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it before his hands took over, rushing the process and practically throwing his shirt off. when his hands finally became disoccupied, you dragged yours up and down his chest, appreciating every ridge created by the strong muscle adorning his abdomen. you moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of his warm, muscled skin, making him hum in appreciation.

"god, andrew, look at you."

he had you dizzy with desire. he was so docile, so sweet for you despite his hardened exterior. his skin was so perfect under yours. and his every reaction to your touches had you losing your mind. he was yours in this moment. it was an unspoken agreement. his body sought your touch, a service you were more than willing to provide.

reaching behind you, you guided his hands from your back to the hem of your dress, silently guiding him into lifting it up and throwing it off.

his eyes widened slightly at the sight of bare skin, only covered by a bra and panties. gaze finding you, he opened his mouth as if to ask for something but giving up before the words left him. you answered anyways, pulling his head towards your chest and sighing when his mouth immediately went to kiss and suck at the nude skin.

the barrier your bra caused drove you mad within seconds, so you remedied it by practically ripping it off and letting it fall aside. this earned you another gratuitous groan from the man whose lips were attached to your chest.

softly, his kisses made their way to your breasts, face nuzzling into your skin as he dampened your skin with his saliva. his lips wrapped around your nipple, licking at it with a sigh of relief, reserving his more depraved sounds for when your fingers would dig a little harder into his hair.

"a-andrew ... that feels so nice." you sighed in an almost-whisper. "love your mouth, angel. shit."

and, god, did he like your words.

the groan he let out at that was grueling. it only intensified his kisses, which now morphed into suckles and bites of your nipples. his hands were now digging into your skin, holding you against him as if it were urgent. your hips began moving away, making your eyes roll back at the friction and the feeling of his mouth combined.

"let me make you feel good, handsome." you bit your lip, looking down at him as you pulled his head away from your tits, using herculean effort to not lose your mind at the needy look on his eyes.

the poor guy was so starved of touch, so pliant and willing to do anything you wanted. it was a fucking dream come true. he was barely doing anything, yet he was doing an excellent job at breaking your resolve.

you softly pushed at his chest to lay him down on the bed, his honeyed eyes never leaving yours. before sitting on him again, you dragged off your panties and threw off your heels. that's when you found his hands gripping at the sheets as he looked up at you. he reeked of silent desperation. there was no way this man would take what he wanted from you on his own. you'd have to give it to him, and just imagining how much effort his self-control must've taken him made you lose your own.

you sat back on him, wet cunt likely ruining his pants. your hands undid his belt, haphazardly pulling his pants down while you remained on top. after the fact, you were now straddling him, with his boxers remaining the final layer between you.

biting your lip, your hands dragged up and down his body, appreciating how perfectly laid it was for your taking. he practically whimpered at your teasing touches, swallowing back groans when your fingers trailed up to his nipples and circled around them, not touching but coming near enough for the desired effect of your touch.

"you want this, baby?"

"please."

he was so polite, such a pent-up pretty little thing under you.

you leaned down, body splayed over his own as your lips wrapped around the shell of his ear, nibbling at it lightly.

"tell me how much you want me."

he inhaled, a shaky breath leaving him in return.

"i want you. please-"

"yeah?" you smiled, hands trailing their way down to his middle, fingers teasingly trailing the outline of his cock trapped within his boxers.

it practically wept under you. twitching at your initial touch, you reached under the fabric and wrapped your hand around it, lowering the fabric with your other hand for better access. his breath was heavy when you began working him, head lowering to your shoulder and mouthing at the skin there. his noises were quiet and mostly controlled, but every so often you'd get a broken moan out of him that had you tightening around nothing.

not too long after, you lifted yourself up by your knees, dick on one hand while you balanced yourself with the other by gripping his shoulder. grabbing onto him, you ran the tip up and down the length of your cunt, circling it on your swollen clit for a few moments. this drew moans out of the two of you, which you silenced by pulling him into a deep kiss.

"got a condom, baby?" you interrupted between kisses.

this made him grip you tighter in realization, slowly halting his kisses.

"maybe on my nightstand?"

you reached behind him, removing most of your weight from him. his hands gripped your hips even tighter. he didn't want to let go, risk ending this before it even started. you instinctively pouted at the act, stopping for a second to give him a reassuring kiss on his lips before you attempted to retrieve the condom once more.

once it was in your hand, you did the usual song and dance of ripping it open, pinching the tip and lowering it on his hardness. he hissed at this, mumbling a curse as he looked down at the space between you. when you finally lined him up, lowering yourself on him, you released a sigh of relief.

andrew filled you up to completion. he was so warm and perfect inside you, curving deliciously. it hadn't been in your plans to end the night like this, but the feeling of andrew inside you was all you needed to turn your mind around.

"is that good, baby?" you whispered into his ear.

with the muffled music outside, it felt like the two of you were in a world of your own. you felt as if andrew was your secret, like you could keep him all to yourself as long as no one invaded your bubble.

"feels good. yeah, you feel ... fuck."

"i'm gonna move now, okay? wanna make you cum, andrew."

he gave you yet another pained look, but nodded lightly before settling his hands on your waist. his fingers found purchase on your skin, helping guide your bounces on his lap. it started slow and mellow, passionate almost.

andrew was a quiet man, unnervingly so, but the small sounds of pleasure he released had you in incomparable state of ecstasy. knowing that your swollen walls had him losing his composure, trying but failing to keep down his groans of pleasure, it made your eyes roll back, it made your nails dig into his back, leaving marks you hoped would keep a memory of you instilled in his brain for days to come.

he nosed at your neck, burying his head in the hollow and breathing you in deep. one muscled hand went up to your head, digging his fingers in your hair to ensure you couldn't go anywhere. he seemed to have some unspoken fear that you'd abandon him, not realizing just how good he'd made you feel from the moment your eyes found his.

there was nothing you wanted more than to make him feel good, to break him, ruin him, keep yourself buried in his mind and make him think of you every night he laid on this bed.

"you feel so amazing, andrew. so perfect for me." your hips sped up, creating that erotic sound of slapping skin.

you pressed your hands flat on his chest, softly pushing him to fully lay down on the bed. his eyes, though silent, told you that he did not want any space between you, so you remedied his fear before he could voice it by pressing yourself flat against him, dragging your hips up and down.

your clit dragged perfectly against his pelvis. his hands perched themselves on your ass, aiding your movements. he groaned at the sensation, legs settling flat on the bed to begin driving his hips up into yours. that's when it all became a filthy exchange between you. up until then, it'd all been soft, intimate, but now it was a passionate mess.

"i need you to come." andrew huffed, head throwing back when you tightened at his voice. "need to get you there for me."

"i'm almost there, baby, just- fuck, keep fucking me."

every whine, every scratch of skin, he was receptive to it all. you could feel the physical effect you had on him. without much words, he made you feel wanted, as if he couldn't breathe if he didn't make you feel good. his hands could not get their fill of you, being dragged up and down every inch, fingers tracing every ridge they could hang on to.

"you're so good, andrew- so fucking good." you praised when he brought his hand down to your clit. he knew just how to touch you to get you melting for him, not needing even a nudge in the right direction.

"come for me." he practically pleaded. "i want it. need it." he groaned in a whisper.

and then you came, nails dragging down his chest, surely leaving your mark on his skin, just as you'd wanted. if it hurt, he expressed no pain, only faltering the hammering of his hips when his orgasm finally caught onto him. he buried himself in you as deep as he could, face deep in the crook of you neck as he kissed and sucked a last few love bites into your skin.

when he finished, he didn't let go, instead flipping you off him so you'd lay side by side. he only pulled out when it became uncomfortable, throwing the condom to the side and reaching out to you immediately after. he wanted you close, which you appreciated.

his hands ran up and down your body, latching onto your leg and pulling it to wrap around his waist, removing any possible separation between you. it was like he wanted to melt into your skin, as his hands refused to stop rubbing at every curve they could get to. with his head buried in your neck, he nosed at your skin, breathing it in deep and pressing the occasional chaste kiss there.

"don't leave yet." he broke the silence. "you can leave if you want, just ... just stay like this for a while."

the defeated tone of his voice made you frown. it made you want him closer, want to become his comfort. you wanted him inside you again, but not in a sexual way. in that moment, you'd do anything to make him feel as safe as he'd made you.

you wrapped your hands around him, hands running through his curls as you held him against your chest, cradling him like a baby in your arms.

"i'll stay as long as you'll let me." you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "just wanna be here with you."

he shuddered, kissing your chest again and again.

"thank you."

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note: wouldnt be me if it didnt turn domestic at the end