#((he realizes this; and so he wants to cut out the middle man and just go for it-he wants to bite the bullet))

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Haven't been able to stop thinking about this post from @ourfag which very rightly points out that a telling aspect of the pop-pop scene is how it reveals that Ed is entirely capable of building up a whole daddy issues complex around a brand new guy in under 24 hours given the right circumstances.

This has caused me to rotate the scene around in my head non-stop, and, much like Ed when faced with a middle-aged or older white man, I've attached a great deal of meaning to it in a very short amount of time.

Additional things the pop-pop scene reveals that will make you say "wow, Ed Teach needs to go to therapy, like, yesterday:"

literally the single most important criteria for Ed projecting his daddy issues onto another man is simply being physically close to him. Others pointed this out already but I don't think it can be overstated. Even the most vague of similarities to Ed's actual father will do perfectly fine. This explains a lot about why Izzy (another angry shouty white man who drinks a lot and berates Ed for his behavior) was so easy for these issues to latch onto.

there is absolutely no point at which Ed can be incentivized to lift a finger to defend himself. When pop-pop tackles Ed to the ground all he will do is just lay there about it

Ed is so desperate to role-play domestic bliss that it hurts. All he wants to do is hold hands around a family meal

Even after pop-pop has made it clear that he's fed up with Ed, yelled at him, and physically attacked him, Ed just keeps begging for second chances and promising to work harder and faster and better. There is no point at which Ed will cut off a relationship with someone who he has projected his daddy issues onto until that person forces him out themselves. Again, explains a LOT about the Izzy of it all

Ed is dogshit awful at standing up for himself. just so very bad at it. all he does here is just beg for more chances and topple over. he doesn't even shout "you guys are dicks" until he's rowed his boat safely out of retaliation range

the fucking way. that once Ed realizes what's happened at the Republic of Pirates and he's realized that Stede is danger or possibly even dead, and he's trying to think of his next move, and he remembers pop-pop telling him "if you were ever good at anything, go and do that." Like he's still trying to fucking impress fucking pop-pop.

[meebles]

Several Sentence Sunday

I was tagged by @biscuityskies over a month ago, and I'm excited that I now have something to share! Thank you for the tag! This is another WIP for a @codywanfirstkissbingo fill, in which Cody and Obi-Wan end up forming their own little two-person bookclub to read a cheesy romance together :) here's the start of the lead-up to that:

“Those are my datapads.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t bother looking up from the requisition form he’s currently checking over. “Correct,” he says, waving a hand absently to shut his office door, having previously opened it to let his commander inside.

He can feel the irritation wafting off of Cody— purposefully, since Obi-Wan knows for a fact that Cody’s shielding is durasteel-clad should he wish it so— and bites back a smile. He signs the pad with a quick flourish of his finger, and sets it aside before looking up. When he does, he sees Cody reaching for the remaining stack of pads, which Obi-Wan quickly pulls through the air and into his own hands before Cody can grab them.

Cody huffs, but Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the barely-there twitch of his lips. “I don’t need you to do my datawork for me. Sir.”

“I know you don’t need me to, but I wanted to,” Obi-Wan shrugs. “I finished my own for the night, so I figured I might as well. I wanted you to have enough time for Waxer’s book club.”

Cody raises a brow at him. “I hadn’t realized you’d heard about that.”

Internally, Obi-Wan winces, afraid he’s overstepped. “They were talking about it in the mess. I know you like reading, and I know the two of you are close, so I just assumed. I apologize, if I— ”

“No, I— I do appreciate it, General, thank you. But I’m not going.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, frowning. “Not interested in what they’re reading?”

Cody shakes his head, pulling over a chair and setting himself down. “No, it’s not that. I am actually interested in the book they chose, but it’s… ” Cody purses his lips, averting his gaze and staring into the middle distance behind Obi-Wan. “Everyone else who attends is of similar rank. My vode need some time away from the chain of authority, especially their commander. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Cody, I’m sure they would— ”

“I know they would let me join, if I asked. But I also know that bookclub is about 30% actually discussing the book, 70% drinking the starshine we don’t know about while shooting the shit.” Cody meets his eyes, shrugging. “It’s no big deal, really. We still spar and have our holo nights whenever the opportunity arises, but I want to let them have this.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan nods. “That’s very considerate of you, Cody. However, I’m still sorry that the nature of the situation prevents you from joining them, especially if it’s something you wanted to read.”

Cody shrugs again. “If I want to, I can just read it on my own. Unlike my datawork, however, which I cannot complete unless you actually give it back to— ”

He cuts himself off with a snort, shaking his head as he watches the stack rise towards the ceiling of the room, just out of reach. Obi-Wan grins, ridiculously pleased as always when he can pull a laugh out of the other man.

I'll tag @countryboyskywalker @petrifiedforests @anxiousotters @bluemaskedkarma @loverboy-havocboy @goddammitjim and anyone else who wants to play!

[all-i-do-is-live-in-daydreams]

I can't get over every little thing spencer reid does. like his little mannerisms are EVERYTHING TO ME. The way he talks with his hands, how he presses his middle finger to his thumb and rubs them together sometimes or moves it as if he's writing when talking, the way he scrunches his face up sometimes, the way he wrings his hands at all really like just playing with the fingers of his other hand or sometimes I've seen him just press his knuckles together and rub them together, the thin lipped pressed together smile he does as he awkwardly waves to new people he's being introduced to, when his hair is a long enough length and he tucks it behind his ears all the time. I think he does both sides sometimes and and and UGHHHHH I LOVE HIM

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Oh, I couldn't," Randall grinned as he resumed eating his gumbo, rather delighted by the mental image of a little Emily trying to inconspicuously snatch up a chocolate blueberry bon-bon from the box when her mother wasn't looking. He'd had very similar experiences with strawberries, as he recounted, "I was the strawberry bandit in my house-my parents always had to hide them, otherwise I'd run off with them!"

He could just see it now-bringing Emily over for dinner some night, and his parents regaling her with many colorful tales of his childhood, with one of those no doubt being his little misadventure with the strawberry preserves when he was very little. How he managed to get up to the cabinet shelf with the jar in them he couldn't remember, all he knew was that his mother found him and, to ensure he never lived it down, snapped a picture of him, looking all kinds of big-eyed and pleased with himself all smeared with strawberry, before she hauled him off for his second bath of the day.

Deciding to save that story for another time, he replied, "Strawberry shortcake is one of my favorite ways to have them; my ma likes to bake me one for my birthday, but to tell you the truth...a little bowl of them with some cream is the best way to go. What, uh, what's your favorite way to have blueberries? In a pie? As a jam? In pancakes, maybe?"

[sleep-0-deprived]

can i ask for the yan!roommate's reaction to the reader finding the camera in the bathroom and purposefully jacking off in front of it?

just found out about this blog and i am already hyped we need more subby yans in the world

Yandere roommate imagines (sub Yandere oc) ~!

A/N so the Yandere is just a random Oc you can imagine it as whoever I just needed a name for the fic! And you’re totally right there aren’t nearly enough sub Yandere as I’d like <33

Imagine you just got home from the gyms and all you wanna do is get into your shower you don’t have many other thoughts in your brain, you would have used the shower at the game but you have a “problem”~ between your legs and you knew you had to get home.

Imagine, you’re stripping your clothes cutting the hot water on as the mirror begins to fog up, your cock pressing to your stomach with precum oozing from the slit as you step in the shower running your fingers through your hair letting out a quiet grunt. You notice something from the corner of your eye when you’re looking up at the shower head, confused you reach for it picking it up you realize it’s a camera.

Imagine you already know who put the camera there I mean how could you not? There was only one man you knew creepy enough to wanna watch you shower and that was you’re roommate, and you know you felt a little generous you thought since you were already hard why not give him a show.

Imagine you sit the camera on a bath shelf and start speaking “I know you’re watching me Lucas” you grin as you bend down a little making sure your face was in full view as you use one hand to run down giving your pec a firm squeeze before gripping at your shaft giving one long stroke. On the other end of the camera Lucas sat in his room in the shared apartment nearly going feral when he sees your hand on your cock.

Imagine his face all red laying originally across his bed he soon gets up hurriedly trapping his laptop making sure the door was locked as he shakily grips the device for dear life feeling himself already aroused by the sight of you touching yourself, wanting nothing more than for your cock to be stuffed inside him as he rubs himself up against his matress letting out a few whines of desperation.

Imagine your hand holding your cock pointed straight at the camera giving him the perfect shot of your veins pulsing beneath your fingers while you bite at your bottom lip “didn’t know u had a total creep of a roommate, Lucas?~” you coo hazily standing in the shower the water running down your body down past your thighs with a few heaves meanwhile Lucas on the other hand wasn’t nearly as calm.

Imagine his hands fumbling with his zipper sitting the laptop on his bed as he pulls his boxers down placing the laptop on his pillows in front of his face as he drools, two fingers shoved between his lips with him laying on his stomach removing his fingers with them all coated in spit as he presses them to his rim pressing one finger in moving it in sync with your hand imagining it was your cock inside him as adrenaline fills his head making his body numb to the pleasure only becoming more infatuated with you each second as he murmurs out “y-es~” over and over.

Imagine when you cum you make sure your cock head is pointed directly at the camera lens, wanting him to see your red, angry looking tip when you climax. Your body tensing up intentionally not letting him see the face you make when you orgasm, only attempting to further tease your roommate with what he can’t seem to fully grasp hold of, which is you. “Hope you enjoyed my little show Lucas”

Imagine when Lucas sees that he’s in a whole other world of need, if he was feral before it was like he was a rabbit in the middle of heat because he pulled his hands away from himself with a little gasp while getting up not even bothering to turn his computer off, pouncing on you as soon as you make it to your bedroom with his brain all fuzzy and fast from your menacing taunts pulling your towel off.

Imagine your night ending with your roommate on top of you his thighs straddling you with his hands gripping your shoulders tightly mewling his lips all parted wide and his eyes half lidded and rolled back glossed over while he erratically lifts himself over and over again riding you harshly even when he feels like his rim is on fire from being stretched so long, you give his ass cheek a slap punching the ref handprint grumbling in his ear “this was what you wanted right?” As you hold his hip tightly grounding yourself deeper inside him pressing to his prostate roughly “then take it Lucas”

[velvrei]

logan dating tony starks daughter !!! like he wants to dislike you soooooo bad because he automatically assumes you’re some spoilt brat who’s always gotten anything and everything that she’s wanted without having to lift a finger but after being forced to spend time with you (probably because of missions) he can’t help but fall head over heels for you!!! that stark charm is definitely something to be in awe of (ur dad and him still despise each other tho)

the other stark

pairing: older!logan howlett x stark!reader

summary: logan finally meets you, tony starks daughter at an avengers gala. as much as he thinks you are a stuck up brat who has everything handed to her, he couldn’t wait to have his hands on you.

warnings: smut, age gap (legal), somewhat forbidden romance, slight degradation, praise kink, cowgirl position, face riding, oral (f receiving), kinda slow burn, kinda enemies to lovers, really filthy smut, intentional overuse of the word fuck at the end, tony is pissed when he finds out

word count: 5k

a/n: don’t look to closely on the gif cause you’ll find the part where i didn’t try

nsfw below the cut!

logan was not looking forward to attending the avenger’s ‘met gala'. mostly because he knew he would be meeting the folks he was supposed to despise the most.

tony stark invited the x-men as a way of trying to mend the rip between the two groups; it was always avengers vs. the x-men, never avengers and the x-men. tony wanted to change that. logan didn’t.

as everyone arrive, there was a little red carpet where several photographers stood, flashing pictures in the hopes of capturing good shots of each of the visitors.

the x-men limo slowly approached the curb, with spectators surrounding the vehicle as everyone exited.

logan huffed and climbed out the door, disregarding the fangirls that surrounded him, eager to get the night over with.

he walked up to the carpet alongside his team, each member getting a solo shot. when it was logan’s turn, he rested his face and let the camera take pictures of him, stood up straight.

he was wearing dress pants, a button up, with the sleeves rolled up just above his forearms, and a black vest over his button up. the shirt easily displayed his muscles, which he claimed was unintentional, but it was vastly intentional.

the paparazzi turned their cameras as another limo pulled up, and out came peter parker, and logan rolled his eyes knowing it was all the younger avengers.

logan couldn’t help but watch as peter stepped to the side, holding his hand out as he watched a woman get out. he gulped, seeing who the woman was.

it was you, tony starks daughter, or so he heard from his team. he had never actually met you. as much as he wanted to persuade himself he wasn't drawn to you, it would be a complete lie.

you were wearing a long, form fitting dress. it was a dark red, almost maroon. you wore gold heels and chunky gold bangles and necklace along with it, making sure it wasn’t just one color, which was something logan noticed.

peter stood at your side and it made logan a bit curious as to what your relationship with him was, but once he saw you two begin bickering he quickly realized it was more of a sibling relationship.

logan felt like he was going through the five stages of grief as the two of you walked over, followed by some others that exited the limo. you walked in front of peter, walking up to the red carpet.

logan was still stood in the middle, he quickly turned his attention in front of him, looking at the camera for the picture.

“logan! pose with tony’s daughter!” one of the men behind the camera shouted. peter shot you a protective look, however you just shook your head, silently telling him to calm down.

logan almost huffed as you walked up next to him, even though you had never met the man, it would be more embarrassing to turn down the offer in front of millions of people.

“logan.” you say.

logan questions the fact you know him, wondering if he should’ve done his research beforehand.

“y/n.” he responds. he knows your name, and that’s it. he knows nothing else about you, and he is almost sure he doesn’t want to know.

the more he stood next to you, the longer he saw how many times you posed for the camera, wanting to roll his eyes but holding back knowing that would definitely get caught on camera.

you gave a small smile to the camera, turning to logan as you stood next to him. the two of you stood together, nothing more.

logan saw it as awkward, while you thought nothing of it, walking off the red carpet as he followed, quickly finding his team in attempt to avoid speaking to you any longer.

…

it had been an hour and logan hadn’t seen you again sense the introduction. he knew he was bound to be brought back to you again, but he didn’t want to be the cause of it.

logan finally spotted wade, approaching him, trying to pretend that wade wasn’t his comfort person.

“well hello my second favorite furball! i’ve missed you.” wade’s words make logan roll his eyes.

“missed ya too, bub. i barely know anyone here.” logan admits, quietly. he looks around the room to see if he saw anyone else he was comfortable with, but he just saw you in the corner, casually chatting with thor.

wade gasps, beginning to speak loudly on purpose. “the wolverine doesn’t know people-” wade starts but logan covers his mouth, staring daggers into his eyes.

“shut the fuck up. now is not the time.” logan says rather quiet, seeming a bit panicky as wade furrows his eyebrows.

wade goes to say a muffled remark but catches where logan’s distress is coming from. logan slowly lets go of wade’s mouth, watching as wade’s face brightens as if a light bulb had just been placed over his head.

“is billionaire bitch still your opp?”

“stop fucking talking like that.”

wade couldn’t help but giggle. “is it because of tony? he’s trying to make amends, stud muffin. i don’t know why you’re stressed.”

logan goes to respond, but takes a second, actually processing. “i- i don’t know why i’m stressed either if im being honest.”

wade smiled, appreciating the fact that his friend was actually processing his feelings instead of pushing away. that was something wade had taught logan, which was something wade had learned from his therapist.

“logan, you can’t hate the avengers forever. we’re gonna be forced to work with them. and as much as you may hate the starks, i’ve already looked at the first mission list and you’re partnered up with stark’s daughter.”

logan practically chokes on his champagne as wade speaks his last sentence. logan didn’t know whether to be curious or incredibly annoyed.

“oh, fuck me…” logan complains, rubbing his forehead.

wade holds back a giggle, “oh, i’m sure she will.”

with a smack to wade’s arm, the two boys noticed you and your father making your way over to them. logan almost cussed out tony in his head.

tony walked up, you not far behind your father, you have wade a side hug and gave logan a hand shake, that was strangely quick. tony smiled his millionaire smile. “thank you guys for joining us tonight. so glad you could make it, and i’m so happy we can finally kill this little rivalry.”

you knew your dad was being fake, but it wasn’t your place to say anything, especially when it was against wolverine and deadpool.

logan spoke the words, “i’m happy to be here,” but his face showed different, which earned him a smack in the arm from wade.

“i bet. we have a lovely spread of finger foods and you’re more than welcome to help yourself to some more champagne. would’ve told you how expensive it was before you decided to chug it all, however that’s okay.”

logan literally bit his tongue to stop himself from retaliating. if it was really okay as tony offered, tony wouldn’t care of the price.

after a few more dreadful minutes of banter between the two, and many side eye looks between you and wade, tony walked away, leaving just you, wade and logan.

which wade quickly saw himself out. “i’m gonna go find the woman with the magic hands, been dying to meet her. you two fartknockers try not to kill each other, okay?” his voice seemed so sarcastic but wasn’t, which made you almost smile.

wade walked away and left the two of you there. logan sighed as you started talking.

“you know, you don’t have to avoid me, logan.”

logan’s eyes shot up into yours. he wasn’t avoiding you. was he? “excuse me?”

you almost huffed, watching as his body tensed up. you stood up straight, even though you were still a bit shorter than him. “logan. i am not my father.”

your words cause logan to scoff. logan knew you weren’t your father. he just saw you as an exact replica of your bloodline. he didn’t want to say that right to your face, but you noticed he was processing a response, so you ignored the awkward silence and let him get his thoughts in order.

“obviously, you’re not him. your father is a 55 year old billionaire with a mustache. however you two are more similar than you think.”

his words make you think for a minute, deciding to keep the conversation a bit flirty, as much as you convinced yourself it wasn’t a good idea.

“listen, my father and i are just like you and wade. one is the caustic, sassy fighter who never knows when to quit. and the other is the hot one who simply follows the other's example.” your remarks force his brow to furrow.

out of the long phrase you just said, logan only processed one thing. “did you just call me hot?”

you smiled, batting your eyelashes before answered. “no, i called myself hot. you just happened to assume we’re similar, proving my point.”

logan hated how self centered you were. key word, hated. logan slowly realized how attractive your confidence was, but covered it up through his grunts and complaints of how stuck up you were. you weren’t wrong at all. you were hot, and there was nothing he could do about it.

logan rolled his eyes, “of course. you evil woman.” his words were half sarcastic, but you smiled, quickly remarking to his comment.

“you can call me evil, lo, but you can’t call me ugly.” and with that you walked away, leaving him there in his thoughts for the second time that night.

logan huffed. he would be lying if he said your words didn’t get to him. but he couldn’t. he was over half your age, and your father was the one person on this earth he couldn’t stand.

…

the first mission was the hardest. you and logan didn’t agree on much, the two of you couldn’t even decide on what food the team should get after the mission.

with each mission, logan felt his hatred for you slowly slipping away. as much as he tried to keep it because of who your father was, he couldn’t help but secretly adore you. your confidence, your skills, your remarks.

when you shared missions, logan was always paired with you. wade was sometimes there, but sometimes it was just the two of you. logan was the muscles, while you were the brains.

as much as he hated that, each mission he found it easier and easier to protect you. at first, he almost didn’t want to, so that way you could possibly learn your lesson.

then, by the third mission, he was protecting you like you were his own. you noticed those changes, knowing you were slowly getting to the man.

it was the aftermath of the fifth mission. all the avengers and x-men rented out a hotel through tony’s card. it was a smaller one, but was able to fit everybody. each partner was neighbored, but thankfully for logan not in the same room if opposite genders.

so logan was lucky enough to have a room to himself, however, that meant sleeping on his bed, knowing yours was on the opposite side of the wall. the walls weren’t exactly thick, which made it harder for him to keep himself together.

he felt filthy as he listened to your phone conversation with one of your friends. he refrained his interest and was just laying in his bed, reading a book when something you said striked his interest.

he assumed your friend asked about the person you were partnered up with, because as soon as your name left his mouth he couldn’t help but listen.

“yeah, i’m with logan.” he perked up, placing a book mark into his book before placing it onto his nightstand. he felt creepy listening in on your conversation, but convinced himself he had every right because he heard his name.

he heard nothing but mumbles from your friend, before he heard you speaking again.

“yeah, i can’t even lie, everytime i walk past him i just… there’s just something about him being my dad’s least favorite person that makes me want him even more.”

logan was at a loss for words. you wanted him? no. you couldn’t. he was practically forbidden. he felt like a pervert at the fact that his pants were tightening.

the friend laughed, and logan was not tuned out from your conversation, wondering what should be done from there. he quickly reminded himself that was your private conversation that he wasn’t supposed to hear, so what he knows must remain a secret.

…

logan usually wasn’t one to get much sleep, especially during the nights during missions, and especially only hours ago he found out you had the hots for him.

it was around two in the morning. he tossed and turned, trying to figure out what he should do.

he paused, throat feeling dry. he stood, throwing on his pajama pants, not bothering to wear a shirt before he left his hotel room, walking down the single set of stairs to the mini den, where there was a small kitchen and some lounge chairs.

he unintentionally scanned the room, catching you sitting in one of the lounge chairs, book in hand and your reading glasses sat low on your nose.

he swallowed his spit, walking over the the cupboard and grabbing a small glass, filling it with clean tap water from the sink.

the noise of the water running through the sink brought you from your reading trance, you took your glasses from your face and set your book down, finally noticing logan’s presence.

you slowly stood up, and logan tried to ignore your actions. looking out the window above the sink and quickly downing his water.

before he could leave the room you stopped him. “got somewhere to be?” your words made him sigh, head falling down as he turned his body to you.

he shook his head, realizing his attempt to avoid you was unsuccessful. you gave him your signature smile, not breaking eye contact even though he was tempted to.

“just tired.” his eyes tell different. he wasn’t tired at all. just couldn’t sleep. he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to now that he was down here with you.

“why are you lying to me? why are you avoiding me?” your words slow down as you mention him avoiding you, making sure your sentence really sinks in to his mind.

you couldn’t help but eye his shirtless figure, noticing how defined his abs we’re and feeling yourself become wet because of how manly he looked.

he notices your eyes and gulps, you watch his adams apple bob, and he suddenly realizes he needs to not look like a fucking pussy, even though he feels like one.

“why do you care?” his voice is back to his usual raspy. there’s your boy. you smile, finally recognizing he was back to the grumpy man you know and forbiddingly wanted.

“am i supposed to not care because my dad doesn’t? because i’ve told you many times. i am not my father.”

logan couldn’t help but search your body up and down. his act of checking you out, which you caught, makes your smile grow. “clearly not.” logan murmurs.

you eyebrows raise, your eyes never leaving his. “is that flirty comment leaving your mouth?” your words make him almost stutter but he takes a deep breath to stop himself from being vulnerable around you.

“no. it’s only flirting if you take it that way. i’m not flirting with you. i can’t.” logan’s last words make you curious. was he not flirting because he didn’t want to, or cause he couldn’t?

“you can’t? cause of my dad? fuck who my dad is. as much as i love him he’s gotten in the way of almost everything i’ve wanted that didn’t follow his path for me. i’m not letting him ruin this for me.” his breath quickened as you continued, “sometimes a girl needs to be taken care of. no matter who it is..”

your words make his eyes widen. he didn’t even know what to say.

we’re you flirting with him? he knew based on your phone call earlier that you wanted him because of the thrill it brought. but was that the only reason? did you actually want him?

“is that right?” his voice is low, trying to hide his desperation, and his words make you realize you’ve got him. he’s slowly letting down his forbidden barrier.

which is exactly what you wanted.

you step closer to him. “exactly right.” you were so close to him, only a few inches from his face, his husky breath fanning your face, you were able to smell his minty toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth just a few hours before.

you smiled, trailing a hand down his arm, watching satisfied as he shivered beneath your touch. “feels good, doesn’t it?”

logan backed up, finally letting his head reprocess what was happening. “no. y/n. we can’t. we can’t.” he repeats, and you can’t tell if he’s convincing you, or himself.

"why not? cause of my dad? don't you want to anger him? make him mad? isn't that what you've always wanted? well his daughter is standing right here, begging you to take care of her, to show her how she deserves to be taken care of."

logan almost moans at the thought. you step closer to him again, hand running down his arm.

you watched as he shivered, but instead of stepping back this time, he leans into your touch.

he sighs, your touch calming his nerves. he looks down at you, jaw clenching. "i'm.. too old for you. you deserve someone younger."

his words almost make you scoff in disagreement, and you couldn't help but disagree more with him.

"younger? all the guys my age are either assholes or taken, logan. i need someone older, to take care of me, to show me what it's like to be treated right, and fucked good. wouldn't you rather that that be you, rather than another man your age?"

it's like you knew just what to say, because he was standing there, as his dick hardened in his pants at your words.

he wanted you so bad. he didn't know what to say. he wanted to protest, for your sake, all he knew is that he wanted you so fucking bad.

your name tumbles from his lips, trying to think of what to say next.

“don’t tell me we can’t. because we can. we can do whatever we fucking want. we’re adults, aren’t we, lo?”

he sighs as the nickname slips from your mouth, he bites his lip, looking down at you, searching your eyes for any hesitation. he found none. just pure lust. he almost moaned as you gazed into his eyes, pupils dilating slightly.

“we are.” is all he says, eyes looking from your pupils, down to your lips. he licked his, eyes sharpening as he perked up.

you smiled up at him, batting your eyelashes, practically daring him to make the first move.

you decided to tease him a bit more, knowing exactly how to irritate him.

“i could always, go find another older guy to take care of me.” your words caused him to growl, slightly, jaw clenching at the thought of you with another boy, let alone an older guy.

“hell no. you’re mine.” his words make you smile, your expression still facing away from him as you turned your head, raising your eyebrows at him.

“i’m yours?” your words slightly questioning him, “prove it.”

at that moment, logan felt all his control slipping away.

the moment he’d been waiting for had finally come, he could finally devour you the way he had dreamed about many nights before.

you started to walk away, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back in his direction and turning you around.

his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his other on your waist, bringing you closer and finally connecting your lips with his.

he moaned into the kiss, knowing this was the moment he’d been waiting for. his lips were hungry, he was hungry.

logan let his hands roam along your body, both going down to grab your ass, squeezing and chuckling as you squealed into his mouth, taking that as his chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, touching yours.

he couldn’t help but moan as your lips wrapped around his tongue, sucking on it.

your eyes looked at his. causing his body to tremble at how dirty you were being.

he quickly squeezed your ass again, as the two of you continued to kiss, spreading your legs and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“who knew you were so fucking naughty.” he whispered against your lips, pecking them after speaking then setting you onto the counter.

he stood in between your legs, hands running up your thighs, noticing how short your sleep shorts really were.

he kissed you again, kissing your jaw and continuing down your neck.

he made out with the sensitive skin just below your chin, panting as your head fell back gently against the cupboard.

his hands slowly went under your t-shirt, nails running against your torso, and up to your chest, squeezing, hearing as you moaned, quickly bringing one out and covering your mouth.

“gotta stay quiet, sugar. wouldn’t want your father hearing and getting curious.”

you moan into his hand, and he just chuckles at you, enjoying how needy you’re being just for him. he’s grunting against your skin, his hand moving faster than his brain.

he tries to ignore the fact his dick is practically leaking in his pants as his hand runs up your thigh, closer and closer to your core.

his face is still in your neck, as his hand pushes your shorts and underwear aside, his other still around your mouth to silence your sounds.

he quickly slips a finger in your pussy, smiling into your neck as he feels you moan into his hand. he pressed a kiss against your neck, as he wasted no time, thumb rubbing against your clit as his finger penetrated your hole.

he stuck another finger in, loving the fact he had you trembling under him. his two fingers curved inside of you, watching as your thighs shook at his unexpected action.

you whined into his hand, almost biting down onto his fingers.

he noticed that and removed his hand for a brief second before slipping his fingers into your mouth.

his lips moved from your neck to your ear. “god, look at you, letting my fingers stuff two of your holes,” he moaned around your fingers, smiling to himself as he shoves them down your throat.

his fingers leave your mouth after making you gag, his other set of two fingers still inside your pussy.

his other hand went to your neck, holding it as he licked a long stripe up and kissed it, nibbling on your soft skin.

“fuck, if your dad walked down right now and saw how much of a slut you’re being for me. would piss him off so bad, wouldn’t it, sugar.”

his words made you bit your lip, holding back your whimpers and whines as his fingers relentlessly pounded into you.

you finally let out a whimper, causing his smile to grow, his fingers leaving your pussy, leaving you slightly stretched out.

he placed a sweet, quick kiss to your lips before slipping you off the counter and into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

he walked you upstairs to his hotel room, kicking the door open then kicking it closed behind him.

“sweet girl couldn’t handle being quiet, felt too fucking good didn’t it?”

he set you down, forcing you to stand, sitting himself on the bed. he unintentionally manspread, holding himself up on his elbows. “come on sugar. strip for me.”

his words only encouraged you, smiling as you took off your shirt in a teasingly slow manner, leaving you in your lace bra and skimpy pajama shorts.

he bit his lip, eyeing you up and down. normally you’d feel intimidated, but you’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. there was no time to be intimidated by him.

you smiled as you slowly slid your shorts down your legs, revealing the matching panties, causing his head to fall back.

“a matching set? you planned this, didn’t you?”

all the dots connected in his head and he couldn’t help but moan at the thought of you planning to seduce him, and the fact you wanted him that bad to make a whole plan.

he brought his hand up, using his two fingers to signal you closer. without a word you stepped closer to him.

you straddled his body, leg wrapping around his waist, before you move his elbows and push him back onto the bed.

he moaned as you did so, looking up at you with wide eyes. “oh? is that how we’re feeling, sugar?” his words only made your confidence grow, palms resting on each of his pecks.

you tilted your head slightly, bringing one hand down to his pants, slowly palming the sensitive area you were sitting on.

“yeah, don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on, either. i feel you through your pants. your little friend here’s practically screaming for me to touch him.”

your hand palms him, slowly gaining speed as logan feels his breath hitch, heart skipping a beat. the friction of your hand manipulating his clothed dick only made him harder, head falling back onto the bed, as his back arched like a slut.

the material of his pajama pants stimulating his cock in all the right places.

at this point your cunt was sticky, logan could almost feel it through the two articles of clothing, forgetting the fact yours was extremely thin.

“feels good, doesn’t it? you were already so fucking hard, lo. does it turn you on that i’m so much younger than you? that this is forbidden?” your words only make his hips buck into your hand, mouth falling open.

you smiled grew, biting your lip as you watched his desperate. “god, it does, doesn’t it? you gonna let me ride you?”

logan moaned and nod his head, “if i’m not inside you within the next ten seconds i’m flipping you over and fucking you myself.” his words made you moan, losing your dominance, feeling the sudden need for him to demolish you.

“really, you don’t want me to sit on your face?” logan’s mouth watered at your words, quickly changing his mind.

he moaned, “wait, fuck yes. give it to me. come here and sit on my fucking face.”

you stood off him, slowly taking off your panties, then bracing yourself and climbing back on top of him, slowly making your way up to his face. you smiled, seeing logan’s desperate expression, as if he needed your pussy in order to live. he yearned for you, and it made you wetter at the sight.

you slowly hovered over his face, lowering onto his mouth, moaning as soon as his nose rubbed against your clit.

his tongue immediately went to your hole, tongue fucking you. you couldn’t help but squirm, moaning again as you felt his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you onto his face.

logan is loving the desperate way you try to bite your lip to keep yourself from being too loud, as if anyone was up at this hour.

"eating me so fucking good," you moan out, feeling as logan moans against your cunt, your words were like fuel to him, and he found himself bucking his hips at nothing because of how beautiful and desperate you sounded.

you adored how eager he was for you, causing you to scream as he moved his tongue quicker, eventually moving his entire face after noticing your liking for his nose on your clit.

he was getting so into it, being so messy, pussy clenching around his tongue, but he slowly removed his arms from your legs, lifting you off his face, then down to his abs, uninstall sitting your clit onto his hard abs, causing you both to moan.

“fuck, need you to cum on my dick, you can cum on my face later. i need you now. need you to ride me so good.”

logan moaned out as you quickly moved down, pulling down his pants and boxers, and with no warning, quickly sinking onto his dick.

logan moaned out slightly louder than you, making your smile grow.

you slowly took your hair out from the ponytail it was in, letting it fall down. logan looked up at you in awe, watching as you started to ride his cock.

“i’ve imagined this so many times, and god, nothing is better than it actually happened. you’re so fucking beautiful.”

you smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek before placing your hands to his v-line, using his hot body to brace yourself as you rode his thick cock.

as you began to bounce, logan was a moaning mess. he started fucking up into you, “come on sugar, ride it.”

his words of encouragement made your moans become louder. he smiled up at you, his hands now holding your hips, holding you in place as he fucked up into you.

“that’s it, baby. take it, take my fucking cock. so fucking tight around me.” he eyes moved from your glowing body, down to your pussy, practically sucking his dick in.

“look at you, sucking me in so good, like she was made for me. fuck.” he looked at your stomach, practically seeing a bulge move in and out of you.

“can see me in your tummy, fuck,” he points out, and you look down and moan. you smiled at him, watching his glistening body, as sweat droplets formed on his forehead.

“god that’s so hot, you’re so fucking big. told you i needed an older guy to take care of me.”

his name tumbles from your lips, he sees you in your desperate state. the two of you both feel your climaxes reaching closer, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer if he kept talking to you like that.

“good fucking girl.” his voice was so low and raspy, you couldn’t help but moan.

logan enjoyed the fact he had tony stark’s daughter currently bouncing on his cock, begging for more. it was forbidden, and the thought alone almost made him cum.

“you keep talking to me like that i’m gonna cum,” your voice is desperate and needy, and that turns him on to the max, slowly feeling himself reach the edge. he grunts, jaw clenching, feeling himself go almost animalistic, he grunts through his teeth.

“come on sugar. that’s it. cum on my fucking cock. riding me so fucking good i’m gonna cum myself. want you to moan so loud tony hears you from the floor below and knows his arch nemesis is fucking his daughter. wanna see my cum spill out of this sweet little pussy of yours.”

his words carry you over the edge, as he continues to talk you through it. “that’s it, bub, i’m so fucking close. this pretty little pussy is sucking me in so good, yeah i feel you clenching. dick so good it has you trembling, huh, sugar?” you cum on his cock, legs shaking as you stop bouncing, but logan grabs your hips and drills into you, chasing his own climax.

you feeling extremely overstimulated, you couldn’t control your whimpers and whines and how loud you were. logan finally came with you, mouth falling open as he grunted, moaned, and even almost whimpered.

your eyes scrunch shut, when you finally are able to open them you see logan under you, body glistening in sweat, his eyes closed shut and his head pushed back into the pillows, holding your hips so tight, like if he lets you go you’ll leave.

you smile as you come down from your high, logan quickly following you, his smile growing as his eyes meet yours again.

“that what you meant when you said take care of you?” his cocky words make you smack his bare chest, slowly pulling off him, your cum and his cum slowly spilling out of you, getting both of your attention.

“fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” logan mumbled under his breath.

you almost moaned again, feeling empty as you pull his cock out of your pussy, the cum dripping onto his v-line and abs, making your smile grow.

“yes, this is what i meant. fucked me so good.” you giggled, going to get up but logan flipped you over gently and pushed you down onto the bed.

“lay here, sugar. i’ll clean you up.”

logan grabs a damp, warm rag from the bathroom of his hotel room, bringing it to you and wiping up the cum, once you’re fully clean he tosses it into the hamper across the room. he goes to his bag, grabbing one of his shirts and walking over to you.

he smiles and carefully brings it over your head, finding your tired state adorable.

once you have the shirt on, you lay down in the bed, pulling the covers over you sleepily, as he puts his pajama pants back on, climbing back into bed next to you.

…

the next morning, logan isn’t in bed with you, you check the time and it’s about 10am. your mission didn’t start for another few hours, so you decided to go downstairs and get yourself some of the hotel breakfast.

you slipped on some sleep shorts and slowly walked out of your room, down the stairs and into the kitchen where breakfast was being served.

you walked over to the counter, putting waffle batter into the waffle maker and turning around, trying to find your dad within the many avengers and x-men sat around the mini tables, but when you saw almost everyone staring at you, some with their mouths slightly open, you became confused.

you turned to see your dad, tony, sat at a table with steve, thor and bruce.

tony almost gasped as you turned around and continued making your waffle, not caring how loud he was.

“why the fuck does the last name on the back of you shirt say howlett.” as soon as your dad reveals that information, you avoid turning back around to face him.

logan smiles from his seat, watching as tony slowly turns to look at him at the table near him.

tony’s eye twitches as he looks over at logan. logan unfortunately cant hide his amused expression, almost giggling at the situation, watching as wade walks into the room, also noticing the back of your shirt.

wade jumps up and down, clapping his hands together. “is that logan’s shirt! omg, they finally fucked!”

bruce and thor can’t help but giggle to each other, as steve holds in his laugh.

tony eyes shoot from wade to logan, practically shaking from how mad he was. it was something logan wanted to take a picture of and remember forever.

“you stuck your dick in my fucking daughter!?” tony’s loud, obviously unhappy voice made you slowly turn around, you and logan making eye contact trying not to break into laughter.

“am i the only one furious at this? why the fuck are you all fucking laughing!?” tony shouts, standing up, almost spilling his coffee all over the table.

…

a/n: don’t forget to comment and tell me your thoughts ;)

[oceantornadoo]

Could you maybe write a fic for Simon pursuing a reader who has no experience despite being in her early 20s?

(disclaimer: this ask said early 20s but i didn't really focus on that exact age for reality and inclusivity purposes)

you like to think you're a pretty calm person. have to be, for the kind of work you do - can't be a hothead when you're dealing with hundreds of other hotheads (a.k.a. military men). that environment, seeing the vicious effects of too much testosterone and loyalty to those who don't deserve it, has led you to this predicament. a lack of experience with men. all the ones you've met are loud or self-absorbed and your work is so time-consuming so that when you've found yourself at this precipice, you realize you have no experience to guide you. only a few drunk kisses and one teenage crush to act as the map for the journey you're about to take.

it was odd, how easily you fell into simon riley. he duped you into your first date, calling it a celebratory post-mission dinner when in reality, he'd had the reservations for weeks. it progressed smoothly from there: coffee and ice cream and a scary movie you didn't want to see alone. a few weeks later and you let him into your sacred apartment, a couch no man had ever sat on. he was so respectful, soft words and light touches to get you comfortable with him.

you intrigued simon. it was like befriending a stray cat; one wrong move and he'd be out in the hall. he'd asked around (a.k.a. asked johnny) and found out you'd never dated anyone on base. not surprising, he hadn't either, but your skittish nature led him to believe you'd never dated anybody. you were comfortable with men, sure, but you'd never made any moves on simon despite seeming to like him so much. if he were a less confident man, he would think you weren't interested, but it was in the way your eyes lingered on him, the glances you shot him when you thought he wasn't looking. he decided a conversation was necessary to clear the air so he didn't keep handling you like a bomb that could go off any second.

the two of you were watching footie, a bowl of popcorn in the middle. your hands brushed occasionally as you ate, your knee touching his, but nothing further. simon was well practiced in restraint, and he would wait as long as he needed to, but he felt like he was operating blind, no night vision goggles in sight. "love." it was like flipping a switch. you jumped up, snatching the popcorn bowl and murmuring something about supplying a refill even though it was more than halfway full. he let you have your freakout in the kitchen, giving you time to collect your thoughts. finally, you came back ten minutes later, hand shaking slightly as you put the bowl back down, which was decidedly not full. "can i ask you somethin'?" his hand gripped your knee before you could get up again, settling you back on the couch. your eyes were wide, searching his at a rapid speed as you tried to figure out what he was asking.

"w-what?" he started stroking your knee slowly, thumb brushing over the fabric of your sweats. he didn't answer right away, letting the rhythm of his thumb calm you until your shoulders dropped a fraction. "do i scare y'?" he murmured in a low tone. your shoulders dropped completely, your head collapsing on the couch behind you. you figured it was time to have this talk anyways. "no, it's nothing like that. i trust you, si." he nodded, checking a question off his list. his thumb was still stroking you, the motion anchoring you to the moment. "did someone hurt y'? before me?" you shook your head. "no, it's nothing like that. i just-" you cut yourself off, biting your lip. you chanced a glance at simon, his face open and patient. "i just don't have a lot of experience with men. and it makes me nervous, thinking i'll do something wrong." simon nodded in understanding. "'s while y're so jumpy. how much experience?" you muttered your answer too low for him to hear. "wot?" ugh. "none." oh. oh.

simon was rewriting scripts in his head. no experience was not what he was expecting, but it didn't put him off. if anything, he felt honored you picked him to give you experience. "doesn't matter, love. we can go 's slow as you want. just gotta tell me what y' want." your hand covered his on your knee. "i want you, si. i just don't know how to show it." he squeezed your knee. "trust me?" you nodded instantly. suddenly, you were being moved, strong hands around your waist dragging you into simon's lap. he arranged you into a straddle, setting you back on the middle of his thighs. simon didn't want to give you the wrong idea by putting you on his cock so soon. there was time.

"ya ever kiss anyone?" you gave him a small smile. "not sober. none that i really remember." he laughed, the feeling vibrating through his chest down to his thighs. it was exhilarating, being so close to him and not being scared. you were still nervous, sure, but there was less expectation hanging over your head now that you had talked. "c'mere. we'll take it slow. close your eyes." he sat up a little, a hand on your hip preventing you from being jostled. you closed your eyes obediently, lips parting slightly with the exhale of your breath. you could feel his body heat come closer. he brushed his lips against yours, pulled back, and then gave you a real kiss.

you weren't sure what to do. you had listened to enough advice podcasts to know you shouldn't use any tongue, but that was it. his lips were soft, if a bit chapped, pressing against yours deliciously. he felt so close, so intimate, and you pushed back against him, just a little. it melted your heart a little as he pushed back, warm and willing. your hands instinctively dove into his hair, finally feeling those strands you'd been dreaming about. it went on and on, experimenting with little licks and bites as you got more confident. unfortunately, the more passionate you became, the less air in your lungs. you pulled back with a gasp.

"fuck." his lips were swollen and red, his hair sticking up at all angles. ravished. "good?" he asked, licking his lips. you nodded. "can we do it again?" the eagerness would have made you cringe if you didn't want it so much. "yeah, baby, anytime you want. c'mere."

--

i hope i did this justice!! my first kiss was terrible but i was also 14 so i think it would be better with an experienced man lol

[deusfoundry]

part 1 here! this can be read as a stand alone but these two drabbles are set in the same universe/timeline!

girl dad!zayne is a decade older now, and while some things have changed, most remain constant. his body is still fit, the muscles of his upper limbs still defined, but he's got a slight pudge on his belly from your cooking. he still scoffs down ungodly amounts of candies and pastries, much to your dismay. he still spends a good chunk of his time at the hospital, but you've been able to coax him into taking less shifts lately, so he's at home with you more often.

girl dad!zayne who's pleasantly surprised when his daughter's boyfriend knocks on their front door, but grows confused when he realizes he's alone.

"hi!" he hands zayne a small box containing two portions of the same cake they had for christmas a few years back. the first one he spent together with your little family. "this is for you and auntie."

"come in, son." zayne places a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him inside the house with a smile.

girl dad!zayne who's starting to put two and two together when he shifts in his place on the dining table, almost uncomfortable and definitely nervous.

while he's visited your home by himself with just a cake and anecdotes about your daughter in tow before, zayne knows this is different.

"my wife isn't home yet, and according to her i've already hit my weekly sugar limit." he sets a plate down in front of him. “so you better eat this with me. otherwise, we'd both get in trouble.”

girl dad!zayne who stays quiet when he asks for his daughter's hand in marriage.

zayne knew it was bound to happen, expected it from the way he stutters between sentences, the way slips up and calls him "sir" when it's been eight years since he last used the honorific.

"i love your daughter. so, so much. and i can see myself- no- i know i want to spend the rest of my life with her. if she'll let me." he ends his speech with an exhale, holding zayne's gaze with a decisive look on his face.

zayne's eyes flicker towards the tiny box in his hands.

girl dad!zayne is equally terrified and relieved. he knows he can trust him, has known it for the last decade or so. but he can't shake the small voice in the back of his head that selfishly wants to keep his daughter close forever, that still holds on to the image of when all of her drowns in his arms.

she was so small, so vulnerable to the dangers of the world, and part of him wants to protect her for as long as he can.

girl dad!zayne who gives his blessing in the form of a simple question.

"how are you planning on proposing to her?"

zayne watches the man in front of him break into a grin, tears welling up on his eyes. and before zayne knows it, he's pulled into a tight hug. the air is knocked out of his lungs as he thanks him profusely.

girl dad!zayne who lets himself be held by you. the side of his head rests on your chest, close enough to your heart that he can hear the faint but steady thud of your heartbeat. your hand runs through his hair while the other cradles his back.

"he's proposing to her." he whispers as your fingers find his scalp.

"i know."

zayne freezes. "what?"

"he asked for my blessing a month ago. i told him he can stay until you came home, but he said he still has to build up the courage to ask you."

he pries himself away from you, putting just enough distance so he can look at you in disbelief. he opens his mouth, a string of complaints forcing their way out of his throat, but as always you beat him to it.

"hey, he asked me to keep it a secret! plus i didn't know it'd take him that long to ask you. you can't blame the man though, you're scarier than you think you are, dear."

and you had the nerve to giggle at his face.

girl dad!zayne who answers a call from his daughter two and a half weeks later.

it's the middle of the night when his ringtone cuts through the silence of your shared bedroom. he reaches for his phone and groggily slides it open. he rests it against his ear without putting it on speaker mode to not disturb your sleep.

he regrets it immediately when he hears his daughter's squeals over the phone.

"daddy i'm getting married!"

zayne pulls his phone away from his ear, hissing sharply.

"r- really, sweetheart? that's great." he briefly forgets about her boyfriend- well, fiance, asking him for his blessing a few weeks ago.

"he just proposed to me an hour ago and it was the most romantic thing ever! is mom with you?"

he hums, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. "she's asleep."

"oh right! i forgot it's nighttime for you there. sorry dad, i'll just call lat-"

"no, no-" zayne can almost imagine the grimace on his daughter's face, the tiny apologetic smile he knows she dons. "it's alright, dear. tell me all about it."

half an hour later, zayne falls asleep to his daughter's voice. she giggles when she hears his quiet snores through the phone.

"i love you, dad." she whispers before ending the call.

girl dad!zayne who visits his daughter on the day of her wedding right before he has to walk her down the aisle. it takes all of his willpower to not cry on the way to her hotel room and even more when he finally enters, spotting her standing in front of a mirror.

“dad!” she brightens up when she sees his reflection on the mirror.

“sweetheart,” zayne walks towards his daughter, but freezes in place when he's finally close enough to see her.

she's stunning, white satin cascading all the way down to the carpet of the floor, make-up done just right, jet black hair curled to perfection. clipped to her hair is the veil you wore at your wedding all those years ago, and for a brief moment, he sees you standing in front of him.

“i- i have something for you.” he hands over the box he's keeping in his pocket.

she eyes it with curiosity, gently unclasping the tiny lock to reveal the heart-shaped locket nestled inside. 

“dad…” 

“your mom gave it to me on our first anniversary.” he runs a thumb over the intricate detailing where the rust has settled, time wearing down the charm. “i didn't want to put my own photo inside. so for the longest time, it was just your mom…”

he opens the locket to show a picture of you in your early 20s. the brightest smile on your face tugs at the edges of your daughter’s lips.

“until we had you.” zayne shifts it to where a picture of her as a baby resides.

he hears her sniffle in his arms, and instinctively his hand flies to her back, fingers rubbing comforting circles over the fabric.

“you're making me ruin my makeup, dad.” her voice cracks through her words.

"your something old." zayne chuckles, moving around to help her put on the necklace. he pulls her impossibly closer to plant a kiss on the top of her head, over the veil she borrowed from you. "i'm so happy for you."

girl dad!zayne who walks his daughter down the aisle with you on the other side, because she insisted on having both her parents with her.

the whole walk is a blur to him. he remembers a few stray tears falling down his cheek and you scolding him for crying so early on through watery eyes. he remembers her laughter and the almost deathly grip she has on his arms. he remembers the comforting smiles you both give her when she admits she's nervous, asks what she should do if she messes up her vows.

"you'll do great."

"he's already in love with you. i'm sure nothing like that could change his feelings."

he remembers untangling his arms from your daughter when you arrive at the altar, but his hand still lingers on hers. he remembers locking eyes with her fiance.

“take good care of her.”

he gives him an affirming nod, and zayne finally releases the grip he has on his little girl to find your hands.

girl dad!zayne who weeps halfway through the ceremony. the brave front he's been keeping up all day shatters from just one look at your tear stained cheeks. he tries his damnedest to block any thoughts of his little girl, but it's the only thing he can think of as the ceremony goes on.

he hears her laughter and suddenly, she's two years old. and the best thing in her world is her dad making tiny seals and kittens out of his evol.

he catches sight of the tears welling up on her eyes and suddenly, he's helping her nurse a scraped knee with his hand over the wound and a whole tub of ice cream for them to share.

she turns towards you two right before she says her vows and suddenly, it's the first night you spend at the hospital after giving birth. he looms over your spent figure, holding the tiny bundle of joy in your arms as she gives you the smallest of smiles.

zayne chokes down a sob, leaning down to hide his face on the crook of your neck.

girl dad!zayne who joins in on the applause, his arm linked around yours as his daughter runs down the aisle with her husband, safe in the knowledge that someone loves his little girl the same way he loves you.

not proofread!!!! im not very satisfied w this again but we Move ehrhhehe hope u enjoy this all the same chat mwaah!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[visionsofmagic]

day 6: roronoa zoro [cock warming]

࿓ synopsis • you ask to zoro whether he needs any help or not, and in return, he makes you sit on his cock so that it can get warm while he’s sleeping.

―❦ nsfw, opla!zoro, f!reader, reader is being needy & brat, pussy slapping, pet names, teasing, swearing, ‘is all! • 1.2k • a man that takes all my attention to himself in an instant in every type of universe; live action, manga, and anime. I chose to write for la!zoro version ‘cause why not? enjoy, hope I did everything right! [kinktober m.]

“stop moving, you're distracin' me.”

his deep voice cuts your actions of trying to stay still on his lap, adjusting your position so that your numb legs will fix, but, the struggle causes your pussy to clench around his length because of sudden movement which ends up by earning an unsteady thrust. looking at his face, hands gripping the collar of his sleeve, you see his closed eyes, trying to continue the nap he’s taking in the middle of the day.

 “sorry –“ you say, smiling innocently knowing he cannot see, “I didn’t mean to, it’s just –“ you try to find a solid word to describe the situation you’re in now but the weight of lust running through your pussy takes your brain away, wanting to break free, letting yourself go and wasting the last thirty-four minutes waste, waking zoro up, being a greedy brat – only to make him not sleep, instead, fuck you. “so much.”

you can’t bring yourself to say what you’re thinking aloud – just fuck me already! Just move this thick cock and fill me up! – pathetic.

you’re here, sitting down on his cock, warming it, being useful.

the moment of the morning came into your mind; the crew went to bring food and new clothes to the ship, and when they left, only you and zoro were on the ship, you said ‘I wanna be useful for you’ because he’s still healing and you wanted to help – anything, you added, which was a bad idea – maybe, it wasn’t that bad though.

zoro, being a greedy boyfriend even if he tries to hide it, decided to make you a useful one – for his damn cock – to warm it up!

“so much?” he teases you, taking you back to reality, making the sensation on your pussy grow bigger each passing time, moving his hips, acting as if he just adjusts his position like you did minutes ago – only this time, it’s an act – to try you, seeing how much you can handle this. folding his arms, he opens his eyes slowly, an eyebrow is raised, questioning, “what’s so much? I even didn’t begin to fuck you, did I, doll?”

opening your legs wider, challenging him, a whimper leaves your mouth yet zoro doesn’t show any sign of being greedy to fuck you – oh, what self-control!

but you’re not done yet. “it seems you will never do,” you say, shrugging, hands on his shoulder building up to his neck, playing with the hair on his neck – the most breathtaking man you have ever seen – he’s so beautiful that you would beg anytime now but you should try first – to break him into the point in which he will let himself go and move his hips. “I know I am here for the help – to warm your cock,” you point to the sight in front of him – your pussy beautifully covering his thick cock, wetness that comes out of you soaking his veined length. “am I helping?”

opening his arms, he puts them behind his head’s back instead as he leans to the wall of the chair you’re sitting on – eyes travel from your tight pussy to your face, meeting with your innocent smile and sparkling eyes.

“u-huh,” he says, trying to understand where you’re heading with this question, because he knows you well enough to realize you want him to move, yet stubborn and prideful to beg, not until the right moment which zoro waits to arrive. “warming my cock so well that I can feel you dripping into it – hot.”

nodding to him, heat rushes to your face at the sudden compliment, making you gain a confident manner, and continue on with your act; being a fucking brat, using his jealousy to achieve your goal – you would feel bad under other circumstances but not today, not when you want him to devour you – he’s hard to resist, and you’re so greedy to be a good girl.

“anything for my crewmate,” not boyfriend – a crewmate. it takes his attention, eyes on your face, daring you to go on with piercing gazes, jaw getting tight, straight face expression that screams danger. it only turns you on further. “I will make sure to provide my service to the captain as well than because he can need – agggh – zoro –!”

your words are cut by him; raising your body up a little until his tip releases you, and then, without missing a heartbeat, putting it down on his length, thrusting into your dozy pussy, earning a scream out of your mouth.

holding his shoulder tightly, you try to stay in balance while he keeps doing that without any particular rhythm and steadiness so that you get cockdumbed mind right away – all dizzy, just moaning, feeling him shoving his dick into you, balls hitting the ass – finally!

“is this what you wanted, brat?” he asks, hands open your skirt by damaging its buttons, nearly tearing it apart, cupping the breasts through the fabric of your bra before letting them watch how they bounce in sync with your body, raising up and down on his cock with more rapid pace now – devouring you – the things you wanted for a long time. “want me to break that pussy, pretty doll – ohhh – uhmm – y/n – you – you will fuckin’ get it!”

his hands are positioned on your waist, looking down, seeing your clit getting wider with each of his hard and strong thrusts, warming it with all the juices you make – you literally soak now, close to the edge, and zoro smirks at you the moment he hears the crew entering the ship.

his possessive and rough side takes control of his mind – his soul as he picks you up, you already begin to beg for him to put his cock inside, pleases coming out of your parted pink lips that you bite so hard. you let him turning your body, abdomen touching the surface of the bed, cock’s tip resting on the entrance of your pussy, then, he slaps it with his dick, a hand finds your neck, putting your face down onto the pillow – his body hovering behind you as your ass gets higher and higher.

it feels so vulnerable to be in this position as if you’re his own fucktoy to play with, and you can’t deny the fact that even the thought of it can make you cum in an instant.

“zoro – aggh – I –“ you try to say when his dick slaps your clit once again, your body jumps – feeling both shy and shameless at the same time but he cuts you out, cock enters you in one go, jolting your body forward.

“cut it. you don’t want to waste your breath now, you will need it when I make you scream my name enough to make all the crew hear it,” he chuckles – the rings of danger echo inside your head, making you look behind and see him; standing on his knees, eyes on your face, a smirk is visible that gives chill down to your spine at the sight – his glory has one meaning – is that he will not leave this room until others – and your brat brain understands only he can have you like this.

“will make sure everyone knows who’s fuckin’ you day and night, including you, you dumb doll. should’ve learned it sooner, but, I’m always open to teaching you how to be a good fuckin' girl for me.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear *cuties*

[blkkizzat]

HILLS HAVE EYES, THE HILLS HAVE EYES, WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE?

THE HILLS HAVE EYES CHOSO X READER

a/n: part 1 teaser. cw: mentions of cannibalism, blood, murder. kidnapping. ptsd. slightly yan choso. more warnings in later parts. eventual smut. wc: 918 (fyi, no taglist <1k) kinktober m.list

The Hills Have Eyes Choso who first sees you through his binoculars as you are running for your life across a dusty open field.

Eso and Kechizu were leisurely chasing you, hooping and hollering taunts. Little did you know you weren't running towards the road but deeper in the desert towards the caves and their encampment at the old abandoned military base.

While Choso wasn't one to usually deny Eso and Kechizu their fun, they weren't the best trackers and would surely lose you or worse if you ran into the caves. With a sigh, Choso agiley descends from his perched outlook post to cut you off before you can reach the cavern opening.

You were a good distance ahead of him but this is his land, he knows it well, and still manages to cut you off right as you reach the entrance.

Choso's big looming figure stands in your path.

"Oh thank god!" Yet instead of terror in your eyes, Choso is taken aback as you look to him like your savior. Upon seeing him and his seemingly normal features you practically throw yourself into his arms, so happy to run into someone who was not a mutant.

Utterly touch-starved, this kind of embrace from a pretty girl was something extremely new for Choso.

Your small arms are littered with scrapes and oozing cuts that look far too painful for you to be desperately clinging to him to the degree you are. Fully pressed against him, the intense heat radiating off your body amplifies that of the scorching desert and for a few moments Choso feels dizzy as you sob harder into him.

You're babbling, words nearly nonsensical as they spill out of you:

About your tour bus getting lost in this desert two days ago, how the spiked wire placed in the middle of the road shredded the tires, and finally how mutants attacked your bus.

They'd ruthlessly killed the driver and scattered your friends across the desert leading you here to find him now.

Choso says nothing.

What can he say?

You'd find out sooner than later you were the only one remaining from that tour bus still alive. Instinctively comforting you despite your impending doom, Choso drapes his arms around you bringing you into his embrace. His hands, stained with the dried blood of all your friends, weaves into your hair and grips your soft waist.

Grasping your strands between his dirted fingers, Choso can't resist inhaling deeply.

You smell nice.

Of vanilla and sugar, simple flavors he had forgotten about until the scent of you stirred the comforting reminder.

The smell of his home.

The smell of his mother.

Her face flashed before his eyes and he pushed away the terrible memory he thought he'd buried deep enough it wouldn't resurface again.

But now Choso finds himself clinging to you just as desperately.

The child in him from all those years ago empathizing with the fragile lil desert dove that had flown so broken into his arms. An intense need he didn't fully understand surging through his body.

He'd protect you.

He'd be your salvation.

Unfortunately for you, it wouldn't be the rescue you wanted and Choso wasn't the hero he appeared to be.

Too distraught and broken—you don't notice this. Nor do you notice flesh caked to the machete at his hips or even question what a man looking like he'd been in the desert longer than you was doing out here—still alive.

None of the pieces fit but you are too grateful to question anything. Until you hear a twisted voice cut through your sobs and ring in your ears.

The chilling words leave you paralyzed. "Ha! Brother Choso! Ya caught 'er for us!"

Kechizu cheers.

Your eyes are now bulging out of your skull and by the time you attempt to push away from the man, you finally realize his hold isn't one of comfort but containment.

To your horror Choso whips you around, both his arms now wrapped around your midsection as the mutants who were chasing your—who you now know to be his brothers approaches you.

"She looks so tasty too! She'll cook up nice. All that runnin' n' cryin' making her nice and tender, I bet."

Eso quips, licking his lips at you.

You felt queasy, the overwhelming nausea that accompanies your despair making you retch. It's only the dehydration from being hunted in the desert for the past two days that keeps the bile in your stomach from rising to your throat when you realized the intentions of these mutants.

They were cannibals.

Not only were you going to die.

You were going to be eaten.

"Now, now...Eso, Kechizu—stand down, you two."

Choso's words are cheery yet chiding words of a kind older brother, which prompts the collective child-like groans from his two very grown mutant brothers—brothers who look nothing like their far more handsome, normal looking brother.

"We're going to keep her."

Choso now only holds you with one arm, yet it might as well be a muscular iron band welded across your waist. No amount of your squirming can make him budge an inch.

His free hand comes around to press the flat edge of his well-used machete against your exposed navel—instantly stopping your escape attempts lest the weapon cut into your flesh.

Choso's gruff heady voice puffs into your ear causing a chill of terror to quake down your spine as your sobs are renewed. "You'll be good for us, right ma?"

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

a/n: needed to post something for Oct 1st and I'm PST so I still made it!! lol. note, i will continue this but not until the other kinktober stories are completed. this was just brainrot. fyi there will be elements of non con but no sa of reader. will be angsty and smutty mostly (choso with huge mommy kink). this story actually has a plot and depending on how long i wanna take it might be pretty long lol.

please reblog and comment. taglist if you have asked to be tagged in general kinktober or are on my general tag list (with dead dove checked) i will tag you in this for later parts. if not then comment below to be tagged.

[solarmorrigan]

Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

-

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

[fordford]

responding to this reply on my post saying stan and fiddleford don't like each other - i was going to reblog and add it but i forgot you can't add videos in reblogs so i guess this is its own post now; anyway here's stan talking shit about mcgucket for almost a minute from the land before swine hidden commentary track. video description below the cut.

video description: a clip of the land before swine in-character grunkle stan hidden commentary. the episode is playing as normal, but the volume of the actual episode is turned down to an almost inaudible level and grunkle stan is commentating. the video transcript is as follows:

oh, gosh. this guy. yeah, so, uh… y'know, old man mcgucket… he's a bit of a - he's kind of a liability. i mean i guess he helped us save the world with that robot and whatever, um, but, y'know, prior to me realizing he was a genius, he was mainly just a nuisance. like i think i run - ran over him with my car a couple times. he's like a possum, he just runs out in the middle of the road. (laughing) i mean - y'know, everyone in gravity falls has run over old man mcgucket at least once. it's kinda - it's kind of a rite of passage when you're in that town. y'know, obviously i didn't want him on this mission, y'know, mcgucket-ing up the whole thing. he's a liability, i mean, let's face it! various tales that we didn't need to hear. that gold tooth glinting in my eye distracting me all the time. uh, y'know, i'm pretty sure he was responsible for getting us to fall off of this thing - wait, let's wait and see. yeah, there it is. called it! his fault. sometimes i remember things being someone else's fault but in this case i was right! all mcgucket.

end video description.

[superswet]

🌲 road trip.

scott miller x reader Synopsis: when your camping trip with scott gets cut short because of a work emergency, you nearly kill him and every member of storm par, intent on making your ire well known on the drive home. but when you push scott too far, his impatience has other plans. or “If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” Word Count: 13.3k Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!, no use of y/n, bdsm, established dom/sub dynamic, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby), brief mentions of serial killerisms (teasingly… maybe), semi-priv public sex (in a truck), scott has a whore mouth (again), groping, belting (f! receiving), spanking/slapping (f! receiving, breasts & v), oral (m+f), nippleplay (f! receiving), unprotected pinv, orgasm denial, fingering (f), cumplay, breeding A/N: when the "just a quick one shot" turns into a beast... oops? 😬 thank you to my proud sponsor aka the scott rot™️! if you enjoyed, pls feel free to reblog or give it a like and as always, my inbox is open if you want to chat!!! 🤍

On hour two of the drive back to OKC, you think you’ve lost your mind.

What had begun as a much-anticipated weekend road trip with Scott — an incredibly overdue escape, though you weren’t exactly keeping track — had swiftly turned from enjoying the fresh, open air and the promise of an entire weekend distraction-free, to a mountain of frustration that battled the ones in the distance. All because your charming, secretly sentimental boyfriend had wanted a picture of you and the sunset for his lock screen.

If you weren’t so upset about it, you probably would’ve laughed.

But this was the fourth (fourth!) time that something had gotten in the way of your Scott Time, and, look — you needed it. So. Fucking. Badly.

Which was why when his phone had gone off again, after Scott had ignored the voicemails Javi left him, you were so, so very tempted to hurl the fucking thing into the pond. Instead, you sat there, already trying to think of a way to get your lick back with the fact that he was the one who’d insisted that going off the grid meant going off the grid and electronics simply took away from the nature of it all, the hypocritical ass. And you’d watched, with dawning realization and equal devastation, as Scott’s entire demeanor had shifted from peeved that Javi even had the audacity, to shutting his mouth and speaking in yes, sir’s and I understand, sir’s.

Oh, Marshall Riggs was going to get an absolute earful the next time y’all sat down for Sunday dinner.

But first, you had your sights set on Scott. And, quite frankly, he deserved every second of petulant that you were giving him.

When he adjusted the air conditioning, you dropped the temp lower. When he found a good station on the radio, you changed it. When he asked for one of the snacks by your seat, you munched on it first, mumbling a fake apology when you passed him a small piece. And when you finally started talking, it was one word answers: yes, no, dunno, sure, fine, whatever.

And every time he gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter, you felt vindicated by the fact that it was ticking him off.

Good. You were ticked off. And unbelievably, atrociously bored. There were only so many things you could do in his truck while you were half giving him a cold shoulder. And, well, after the last time you’d reached for the volume and he’d caught your wrist with a stern ‘knock it off’, like you were a child, you’d resorted to pouting out the window, then sifting through his middle storage, and then snooping through his glove box.

All of which were boring, in the exact way that only a man’s truck could be boring. Who didn’t have a car Chapstick, but could have packs of gum hidden everywhere? And where were the just-in-case napkins? And what did he even use pliers for?

Your brattiness — no, curiosity — wins over the agitation that still simmers just under the surface. You turn to Scott with a mischievous grin as you hold up the pliers. “Be honest. Are you secretly a serial killer?”

Scott glances at you, then at the pliers, before rolling his eyes with a faint smirk. “Caught me,” he deadpans, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to draw out your giggle.

“I knew it.” You dig further into his glove box like you expect to find a pair of gloves, which stupidly has you giggling because you’d lost your mind, see, and there was no way there’d actually— Oh. Shit. He really did have gloves. “You’re the worst serial killer I’ve met. Your whole murder kit is in here and you haven’t even tried to kill me yet?”

“Getting close to it, honey,” Scott quips, a teasing edge to his voice that makes your heart flutter. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips, betraying his amusement.

Until you keep it up, making an exaggerated show of pulling out every item you find, each discovery more dramatic than the last. The subtle tightening of his jaw tells you that rummaging through his stuff is getting more of a rise from him than your earlier silence had. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, the whites of his knuckles glowing under the moonlight, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sight.

Curling your knees to your chest with his newest item in your lap (a bundle of zip ties), you bat your lashes up at him with feigned innocence. “Am I bothering you, baby?”

“Nope.” Scott, to his credit (you pretend it’s not because you’re his girlfriend but because he just chooses to be kind), swallows down whatever shitty retort is on the tip of his tongue as he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

His eyes flick briefly to you, then back to the road, as if anchoring himself, before he plasters one of his obnoxiously fake smiles on that doesn’t reach his eyes. Your own smile slips at the blatant irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, hating that look, knowing he knew you hated when he was fake with you. He reaches over, his hand finding your knee — not in the usual affectionate squeeze, but more as a grounding gesture, a silent plea for you to stop before you push him too far.

“You might want to close that now,” he adds, his voice soft but laced with an unmistakable edge as he jerks his chin toward his still-open glove box. “Before I really lose my patience.”

“But...” you start, pouting a little, your fingers lingering on the edge of the glove box. “I was just having fun. I mean, what else could be in here? Secret spy gadgets? Hidden treasures?”

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. His patience is fraying, each word clipped and precise as he says, “Close. It. Now.”

You relent, closing it with a dramatic flourish and an equally exaggerated sigh. “Okay, okay. Glove box exploration time is over.”

Scott exhales, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Thank you,” he mutters, though his eyes still carry a hint of irritation as he changes the radio station a couple of times, scowling at the country crooning through his speakers, before just shutting it off.

“You sure you’re okay?” You test, still pushing his limits. You figured that Scott knew you better than that. That you knew him better than that. Nearly seven months together — again, not that you were counting — and he really thought you couldn’t tell when something was off?

You continue, “Just because… Well, you seem a little stressed. Is it because you didn’t get to tie me up and torture me back there by the pond? I mean, I’m sure you’ll get another chance someday, like when cows fly, but—”

“Are you done?” Scott huffs, shooting you a look.

You don’t back down from it, leveling him with your own hard expression. When he’s forced to return to the road, breaking eye contact first, that prideful part of you purrs. He sighs. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I don’t have any other choice. So sit down, shut up, and stop fucking with my system, please.”

He says the last through gritted teeth, and as much as you loved to antagonize him, you knew when to push and when to not. Putting the last of the stuff back where you’d found it exactly how you’d found it, you stuff your hands under your thighs and pout quietly until he visibly relaxes again.

“You’re not being very nice,” you mumble, the silence that encases you both too much to bear.

Scott runs his tongue over his teeth, then looks over at you, his expression hard. “And you’re lucky I haven’t spanked your ass raw for that attitude yet.” Surprise must flash across your face, because a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth that he quickly masks. “What? Did you think I would just let all that slide?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Liar.”

Damn it.

Before you can say anything else, Scott reaches over, gently but firmly tilting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as his eyes leave the road for a second. “Do I need to remind you of the rules?” he asks, his tone shifting from frustrated to something far more controlled and deliberate — each word laced with a quiet authority that sends a shiver down your spine and makes your blood run hot.

It’s a tone you’ve come to know all too well, one that signals a subtle shift in the dynamic between you, a reminder of exactly who’s in charge.

To anyone else, it might have sounded like another classic Scott lecture — a stern word from someone who was used to being in control. But you knew this side of him intimately well, understood the depths of what he was really asking. This wasn’t just about a conversation or setting you straight; it was a command, a subtle but potent assertion of the power he held over you.

“Answer me,” he prompts, his voice dropping to a low, steady hum that makes your pulse race. “Yes or no, honey.”

“No,” you breathe, testing the waters of defiance.

“Let’s try that again.” Scott’s grip remains steady on the wheel, but the weight of his gaze feels like a tightening hold around you. “No, what?” he asks, his voice low and demanding, leaving no room for anything but the correct response.

You swallow. The tension between you is thick and electric. “No, sir.”

He holds your gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity, long enough for you to actually worry about him being behind the wheel. But a quick glance at the road reassures you — he’s in complete control, staying perfectly between the lines, maintaining a comfortable distance from the cars ahead and behind.

His eyes flicker to your mouth, lingering there with a deliberate intensity. “We’ll see.”

A noise of discontent escapes you immediately when he returns to his side of the truck as if nothing happened, all the air leaving your lungs. We’ll see. That was it? No good girl? It’s a reprimand all on its own, defiance filling you quickly.

What was the point of his rules if he wasn’t going to listen to them?

First with his phone, which had gotten you here in the first place, and now this. You pout, crossing your arms as you glare at the car in front of you, hating everything about this weekend. God, you’d both been so exhausted from the drive to the campsite that you hadn’t even touched him like he’d promised you could **— **on top of the week he’d already instructed you not to touch yourself.

And now Scott was going to be buried in work again. He’d drop you off at home just to drive another hour or two to who the hell knew where, and from there it was back to the office to get the paperwork rolling, call the banks, pouring hour after hour into making sure this deal went through. All because Riggs had decided his time off was more important than yours.

But it wasn’t. You’d waited eons for this. And you were damned if you were going to let both him and Scott stop you.

Slowly, so slowly, you angle yourself toward your boyfriend, his eyes distant as he readjusts in his seat and fishes absentmindedly for a piece of gum to smack on. For a moment you can’t help but admire him, appreciating the way he filled out the seat, the way his jaw worked with the gum, how when he got lost in his thoughts and had a particularly interesting idea he swiped his fingers along his perfect, full mouth.

He was masculine without any effort, intelligent and calculating, and, despite this weekend, was the most attentive boyfriend you’d ever had.

And you ached for him.

Just that tone shift alone — from Scott to sir — had spiked your temperature, leaving you warm with the lack of air conditioning. You knew better than to reach for the knobs, even if the thought of him pinning your wrist down had your thighs pressing together. So you shift forward to unzip his jacket you’d stolen, meaning to shimmy it off, when you catch his eyes on you.

Instead of taking it off completely, you let the gray fabric bunch to your elbows. His eyes slide from the way it now sits on you to your white tank top before focusing back on the road, his gum making that unmistakable snap! he always did. “What’re you doing?” He asks, stealing another glance as you wriggle in the seat.

“Just hot, baby,” you hum, which wasn’t a lie.

But there’s no way to be subtle as you collect your hair into a ponytail and tie it with your scrunchie, just like there’s no way Scott can be subtle as he zeroes in on your hair being up or the fact that your tits jiggle with every bump or dip in the road. His hand flexes on the wheel, quick to snap his attention to the mirrors, as if he’d been checking them in the first place.

You bite back a smile.

By the time Scott is pressing on the brakes, an accident brings the two-lane down to one, one foot is propped up on his dashboard, your head turned to face him with every sigh that leaves your lips. With nothing to pull his attention now other than the slow crawl, his eyes catch yours again, his guard dropping as he falsely believes you’ve listened.

And that’s when you make your move.

“Baby,” you groan, wetting your lips as your fingers brush across his sleeve. Your other hand rests against your knee, slipping down along your thigh while you bat thick lashes up at him. “Can you turn the air on, please? I’m dying.”

“Mhm.” Scott does, following the invisible line your fingers paint across your skin as the air kicks on. The cool air is welcomed and the content noise that leaves you isn’t entirely fabricated. When his hand drops to rest on your thigh, you know he feels how flushed you are under his cold touch. And you know he feels you arch into it. “How’s that? Better?”

“’ Little.” Not even close, but you play it up now that you’ve got him. “Still too hot.”

“Sorry, honey,” Scott’s deep voice is genuine, frowning a bit as he squeezes your thigh. “Got it the lowest it can go. Need me to roll a window down?”

You shake your head. “It’d just bring all the hot air in.” Something he should’ve known, but you couldn’t blame him for being a little distracted. You press on, confident, still inflecting that whine in your voice. “Your hand feels good, though.”

His touch inches up your thigh in response, sure that he’s not even aware he’s doing it. As your touch moves in time with his, you drag your free hand across your chest, pressing against the leather of his seats and pushing a strap off your shoulder. The cool air directly hitting you causes a flurry of goosebumps to rise and your nipples to poke through the fabric, chest rising and falling as you make a show of overheating.

Scott snaps his gum again, removing his hand to tug gently on his jacket. “What did I say about going through my stuff?”

“Oh, you left it at my place. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” You try to play innocent, but the smile you give him is nothing short of mischievous as you intentionally arch up into his touch. “Do you want it back, sir?”

He’s quiet for so long that you think he’s returned to the road. Instead, his eyes are locked on the thin tank top that clings tight around you. A quiet hum echoes in the back of his throat as he runs his knuckles over the swell of your breast, dragging slowly across your nipple, before he seems to think better of himself and places both hands back on the wheel.

“Keep it.” He grunts, “It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Really?” Despite how you try to hide the happiness from your voice, you fail miserably. Scott didn’t offer many liberties, especially not with his personal belongings. You don’t let the distance keep you far, unhooking your seatbelt and leaning over the center divider to beam up at him.

“Really.” Your heart pitter-patters in your chest when he hums again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. His eyes slide back to the road, still at a slow crawl. “Don’t get any ideas, honey.”

Oh, you had about fifty different ones, most of which included seeing how far you could go down this new avenue. You drop a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling against his cold skin, slipping your arm through his and guiding his hand back to your thigh. Scott squeezes again, a small warning to behave. But since when did you do that?

“Come on,” he taps an index against you after a few minutes, “Buckle up. Safety first.”

“But—” You pout, wrapping your arm around him tighter. He could drive with one hand, and besides, you were barely moving enough for a seatbelt to matter. “You feel so nice. And you’re always away for sooo long, baby. And now you’re gonna be gone again?” Brushing your nose along his jaw, you let your hand drop casually to his thigh. “I just miss you.”

“It’ll only be for a few days.” He shifts under you, chewing his gum slower. No doubt weighing whether he should let this continue or end it early.

“A few days too many.” You feel him inhale as your touch roams, sliding over his muscled thigh and across the zipper of his jeans. He’s already half-hard, the outline of him growing more apparent as you continue, “Do you know how lonely it gets without you? Knowing I can’t cuddle you… Kiss you… Touch you?”

You grope him where you know his weak point is while leaning up to scrape your teeth against his earlobe. His hips lift of their own accord as he instinctively searches for more, his grip on the wheel tightening as he squeezes your thigh in his big hands.

You hide your smile as he thickens under your palm. And smile wider at the growl in his voice as he orders, “Behave.”

“Am I breaking any rules, sir?” With your lips at his ear, every needy breath against him has Scott tensing in response.

Your shorts ride up — and so does his hand, until he’s close enough that you can grind your clothed heat into him. It’s just a single roll of your hips, keeping pressure where you crave him, but it has you whining all the same.

“Please, I missed you so much… I miss touching you, feeling how big you are in my hands…” You drag your palm against his thick length, fully straining against his zipper now, his breath coming out heavy as you grip him. “Please, please, just let me taste you. I’ll be such a good girl, I promise. Wouldn’t I look so pretty with your cock stuffed down my throat? Sounding so pretty as I choke on you?” You whimper against him, the sound small and needy. “Please, sir?”

The combination of your fingers wrapped around him and the feel of your tongue lapping at that sweet spot on his neck has Scott groaning, the noise coming from deep in his throat. Before you can react, he presses you firmly back into your seat, keeping you pinned with his hand across your sternum while you try to fight against the distance he forces between you two.

“Behave.” His gaze meets yours, dark and heavy and no-nonsense.

Your cunt clenches at the authority in his tone, nipples peaking in response. Scott slips his palm under the fabric of your shirt, kneading your heaving chest and rolling the hardened nub between his index and thumb. You writhe at the sensation, a moan spilling out of you, until he pinches you hard enough that you gasp. Just as quick as it happens, he pulls out just enough to bring his palm down roughly against your tit.

The sting of the impact has you arching off the seat as your cry pierces the silence.

Scott presses his index to your mouth in warning as the police lights finally illuminate his truck, the accident off to the side. You’re breathing too heavy to pay attention to it beyond that, not caring about anything happening outside of this truck, and you pass by quickly without any incident.

The air is still heavy as you meet his gaze. And you can’t help when your fingers grip the sides of your shorts to bunch the material in your hands, greedily grinding into the taut seam aligned perfectly with your center.

Scott watches it all silently. “You want to be my good girl?” His fingers draw invisible lines down your thigh, spreading your legs apart with just a touch. You comply easily, nodding as he smooths his hand along your skin and ignites a fire inside you. “Then fucking act like one.”

There’s no warning when he slaps your pussy hard, the denim digging painfully into you. Your hands fly out to grip whatever you can as your hips stir against the pain, crying out as another smack sounds, punishing your disobedience.

And still, you can’t help but whine out for him. “But I need you! I’ve been so, so good this whole time, I swear. Even when you told me not to touch, even when I wanted to so badly— I listened, I swear I did.” Pouting over at Scott, you whimper. “Please, I promise.”

“Go on. Keep it up. Do you think you’re listening now?” His hand tightens to a fist as he rests it hard against the center divider. His gaze pings to the time display on the dashboard, then to you. “The more you misbehave, the longer you wait. Was a week too short, honey? Do we need to extend it to two? Three? Can you even wait that long without disobeying me again?”

You can barely answer, only whimpering out as you press yourself into his arm, careening out of the seat. His hand clasps hard around your wrist when you reach for his zipper again, cutting off whatever noise is in your throat with a low growl.

“If I have to pull over,” he grits out, looking you dead in the eyes, “You won’t be able to walk for a week.”

You level his hard gaze with your own even as your heart pounds heavy, his threat thinly veiled as his grip tightens around your wrist.

And you swear you don’t mean to, but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Can you go that long without fucking me? If I can’t touch, neither can you. Not a kiss, not a hug, I won’t even let you fuck my mouth!”

As your frustration boils over, you breathe raggedly against yourself, fighting to rip your hand out of his strong grasp. He’s quiet as he watches you, the look in his eyes betraying nothing that simmers underneath the surface.

Calmly, too calmly, he continues driving, following the road as the dark trees pass you by. When he moves off the pavement to turn down a dirt road, your heart flies to your throat.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, looking behind you as if expecting anyone else to follow, but it’s just you on the solitary single lane, his tires crunching on the dirt road. “Scott?”

His mouth stays shut, turning into a clearing of trees. You usually love the outdoors, but the forest around you looks foreboding and eerie, the trees looming large overhead. You glance out the window to the night sky, but there’s not even a twinkle of starlight here. Just inky black nothingness.

He shuts the engine off, taking the headlights with it.

You think you stop breathing.

“Get in the back.” His order is quiet against the silence but travels along your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Now.”

As much as you want to protest, the words catch in your throat, refusing to form. Instead, you wordlessly climb over the center divider, dropping his zip ties into the cupholder with a deliberate clink. Your bags, shoved angrily into the back when he’d asked you to pack up, tumble to the floor, landing in a haphazard pile as you settle into the backseat.

The sudden darkness engulfs you, your eyes straining to adjust to the dim light. You can barely make out Scott’s silhouette, his intense gaze fixed on you before he opens his door with a determined click.

Silently, Scott slips out of the driver’s seat, the slam of each door echoing through the night like a final verdict. You hold your breath as he rounds the truck, each crunch of his boots against the twigs and leaves sounding louder than meant to be. The backseat door opens, and he slides in beside you, the leather creaking softly under his weight.

You find your breath again when his hand, warm and steady, smooths around your ankle, his touch both grounding and possessive. He makes room for himself, his presence filling the confined space with an electric charge. The air grows thick with anticipation as you sit there, the darkness around you deepening, your heart pounding in your chest.

Scott’s fingers trail up your leg with deliberate slowness, each movement precise and controlled. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you hostage. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, searching for some sort of escape. But it was too dark outside to see, the woods maybe terrified you a little bit without Scott by your side, and even if he chased after you — and you weren’t bratty enough to do that — you had absolutely no idea how to get back to a road, let alone the road.

And, well, you didn’t really want to get away from him. Just the punishment you knew he would dole out for your disobedience.

Still—

“I thought we had to get back to the city,” you squeak out, voice trembling against your better efforts as you try to plead your case to deaf ears, “Riggs– Riggs said you needed to be back, right? And you know how far my place is from your office, and—”

“We have time for this,” Scott interrupts, his voice firm, a low rumble that leaves no room for argument. He presses his index to the pout of your mouth, silencing you. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath hitching as you squirm under his grip, eyes wide and pleading.

If you were a deer in headlights, Scott was a hunter. And he was a damn good hunter.

Scott’s beautiful mouth curves into a grin, his eyes darkening with a hint of amusement. He leans in closer, his presence overwhelming, the scent of leather and the outdoors mingling with his intoxicating scent. The tension in the air thickens, every sound amplified by the stillness of the night. The rustling leaves outside, the distant hoot of an owl, even the faint hum of the truck’s cooling engine — all seem to echo the pulsing beat of your heart.

You can feel the rough texture of his jeans against your skin as he shifts, making himself comfortable, his body pressing against yours in the confined space. His hand, warm and commanding, moves from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” he states, his eyes gleaming, all possession and affection. His words wrap around you like a promise, binding you to this moment, to him.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, the gravity of everything sinking in. Scott’s eyes lock onto yours, a silent command for your complete attention. His other hand slides down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re safe with me.”

Your lashes flutter as a noise sounds in the back of your throat, caught between a plea and a whimper. You trusted Scott more than anything, and knew, without question, without fear, that he would never do anything you didn’t want.

And god, you wanted him bad enough that it ached.

“I need you to understand a few things, honey,” Scott continues, his voice still that deadly calm, his finger dragging slowly down your chin, tracing a deliberate path down the column of your throat. “I can tolerate you being upset. I’m not happy about it, either, despite what you might think.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his gaze lock onto yours, his eyes dark and unwavering. “But what I won’t tolerate,” he says, his tone sharpening as he closes his hand around your throat with a possessive grip, “is your disrespect.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” Scott’s voice is a low, dangerous growl as he tightens his hold on you, his thumb pressing firmly into your pulse. The pressure is confident and calculated — the kind of control that comes from having done this countless times before. “I’m not done.”

Defiance bubbles up and fights Scott at every turn, and despite the way you wriggle under him, your eyes grow hazy with need at the feel of his hand around your throat. God, you knew exactly what those hands were capable of; sweet, delicious torture, doling punishment and reward with equal passion. “But—”

“Why can you never fucking listen?” His voice drops to a growl that vibrates against your ear, his body shifting so that his weight presses down on you. You whimper at the added pressure, your fingers instinctively fisting the fabric of his shirt, trying to hold onto something solid.

Scott notices. With a swift motion, he knocks your wrists away, gripping both of them together with a firm, unyielding hold. When he pins them above your head, possessive and commanding, you can’t help but moan, growing pliant under his weight.

“Maybe I do need to remind you of my rules,” he says, his voice a dangerous purr, “since you seem to like breaking them.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Every word is low and steady, completely in control. “You’re going to pay attention now, aren’t you? You’re going to listen to every word I say.”

Your pulse races under his thumb, the pressure making it difficult to focus on anything other than the commanding presence of his body pressed against yours. The conflicting emotions — fear, need, frustration — swirl together, drawing the breath from your lungs.

Scott’s eyes meet yours again, the dark intensity he’d first set on you softening slightly. “Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, carrying with it both a challenge and an invitation.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe. Always.

“Good.” He presses a tender kiss to your temple and cheek, nudging his nose into the curve of your shoulder and kissing the column of your throat. Your body responds in kind, arching up into his generosity, the calm before the storm, as he slowly releases his hold on you. One tap against your wrist is a silent order to keep them there, and you thread your fingers together, looping them into the door grip as he kisses his way back up to your mouth. “Because you’re going to hate me tonight.”

You want to tell him that such a thing is impossible — there was nothing Scott could do that would make you hate him, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes — but he doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Lifting you up, or at least as much as he can in the truck with his hulking size, Scott draws a hand around the curve of your waist, pushing his jacket aside to expose more of you.

“Take this off.” He orders. His expression melts back into one of superiority, one you’re all too familiar with, and you try not to pout when he continues with, “I changed my mind. I want it back.”

“Want what back?” You hum, fingers twitching. You debate the pros and cons of pointing out that you can’t take off his jacket with your hands still pinned in place, but bite your lip instead. You were already pushing the envelope — a lot — by feigning innocence.

“You know what.” Sensing that you’re still… sort of… listening, Scott, taps your wrist twice, freeing you of your position. Under his tone, your fingers close around the material of his comfortable clothing, lifting to slip it fully off your frame. You drop it next to your stuff with your eyes trained on his. “When I’m convinced you can behave, I’ll consider giving it back.”

That snaps your mouth shut. Pressing your lips together, you nod as you place your hands back in their previous position, the only tell that he’s satisfied by your change of heart being a slight twitch of a smile.

“I didn’t say you were done,” he drags his gaze along the length of you, his touch following where his eyes roam until he hooks a finger around the belt loop of your shorts. “Take these off, too, and turn around.”

Electricity charges through you at the command in his voice. Your movements are slow, careful, as you try not to bump into anything as you slide out from under him and remove your shirt. Your shorts follow, but he stops you as you hook your thumbs under the waist of your panties, both of his large hands sliding on your hips to face you opposite him.

He’s massive against you, your back pressing against his chest as his hands roam freely, trailing up the length of you and then down your arms to place your hands back in their previous position, fingers curling around yours in a silent gesture. And then his touch returns, calloused fingertips dragging over every spot of your soft skin, cupping your breast in his hand as he sighs against your neck.

You feel the hard length of him straining against his jeans as he pulls you to him, every caress coaxing a fire in you. Even though you want nothing more than to touch him, to take him into your hands, he has you caught. You really wanted that jacket.

And you hated disappointing him.

His touch wanders to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he smooths a hand up your spine, signaling for you to bend over. You comply with shallow breaths, the warmth of him missing when he puts even more space between you.

“How many times do you think you disobeyed me tonight, honey?” He asks, the question making your heart stutter. He continues to knead your skin, but with your angle, you can’t see anything happening behind you. “I’ll let you guess.”

You try to think back, but everything is hazy now. When you got in these moods — which was more often than not — you had a hard time telling which rules were broken and which weren’t, because, well, you tended to do it a lot. And you knew Scott well enough by now that even if you guessed any number, it wouldn’t be specific. It wouldn’t be right. Guess lower, and he’d add more. Guess higher, and he’d use your number, then remind you of the true one after it was all said and done.

A gasp escapes from you as your eyes flutter shut. Fuck. “I– I don’t know, sir.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he just hums, adjusting the twisted straps of your underwear higher up on your hips. “Thirty-two times.” He lets that sit heavy in the air for a moment, your breath stalling in your throat. “You know what happens when it gets that high, honey.”

“You use the belt,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Scott nods. “Mhm. I use the belt.” The soft, metallic clink of his buckle coming undone is followed by a steady hand against your hip, smoothing circles along your skin as you begin to tremble in anticipation. “Shhh. You know the rules. Count.”

The first point of contact is always the worst. He lets the moment play out, your body tensing and easing as you wait for any sign that it’s coming, but he gives no indication when he stops touching you. And then the sharp sting as leather meets your rear, the folded-over halves biting into you with practiced efficiency.

Your eyes squeeze shut, fingers tightening around the handle as you gasp out, “One.”

By the end, your muscles are taut and your backside is red and flaming, your whimpers spilling freely from your mouth. It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to hold yourself up, trembling with exertion. Scott rubs his hand along your curves, having given equal attention to both cheeks, a content noise sounding in the back of his throat as you still careen toward him.

“Last one, honey. You’re doing so good.” He praises quietly, the only encouragement you need as his belt goes sailing toward you again, leaving another welt in its wake.

“Thirty-two!” Escaping through gritted teeth, you jerk forward with the impact, breathing hard and heavy when you hear the clink of his belt falling to the floor.

Scott taps twice along your stomach as he brings you up to his chest, careful to leave space between you as he smooths over your sore muscles, easing the pain. He presses kisses along your throat, your shoulder, letting you shake against him as you lulls you down from the high, every touch soft and affectionate. “That’s it, I know… Shhh… Did so good for me, honey…”

Each sweet nothing brings you down, continuing to press kisses against your skin until your breathing evens out. Scott sets his hands to your hips, holding you firmly, nudging the space just behind your ear.

“If you just listened, I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He reminds, letting your hands drift over his. Despite the softness of his tone, you still catch the authority seeping through every word, and you know it’s far from over. “I don’t like how you spoke to me today, honey.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you breathe, meaning them truthfully. Scott presses another kiss to your skin in acknowledgment. “I was just upset. I wanted to spend this weekend with you, and—”

“Am I not making this time now?” He questions, cutting you off. When his touch wanders between your thighs, fingers circling your clothed clit, soaked despite his brutal treatment, he groans against you. “What was it you said earlier… That I couldn’t touch you? That you wouldn’t let me?”

Vaguely, through your hazy mind, you remember saying that. But you keep your mouth shut, quiet little noises escaping as he continues to please you, easing away the pain he’d caused. Your desire for him, so neglected because of his orders, coils deep inside you as he recites your perfect tempo — having spent hours exploring, learning, and committing what you enjoyed to memory.

“Let’s make one thing abundantly clear,” he continues. “Every part of you is mine to touch, spank, suck, lick, and fuck as I please. Any time. Any day. Any place. Those are the rules you agreed to. If I want you just like this…” Adding pressure, he holds you up as your knees buckle against him, “I will, for as long as I want. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Your words come out shaky, breath hitching with every skilled circle of his fingers. “I understand, sir.”

“Then show me you understand.” Within a second his touch is gone, leaving you delirious as you search for him. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you, twisting to watch him slip off his shirt, then ease himself down on the backseat with a foot firmly planted on the floor. His fingers hover over the button on his jeans, flipping it open as his dark gaze trains on you. “Come here.”

You comply immediately, drawing forward as his hand slips in your hair. Scott pushes down the restricting fabric, slipping his hand into his black briefs, freeing himself from his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, thick and veiny and dripping with precum, his fist stroking himself as he holds you there, coating his length with his desire.

“Look what you do to me,” he whispers, drinking in every shallow breath, the way your eyes remain fixed on his hand, how your hips stir with every twist like you imagining yourself riding him. “Even when you’re a fucking brat, I can’t get enough of you, honey. Always so fucking hard for you. You have no idea…” He releases himself to cup your chin, spreading himself over the swell of your mouth. You greedily taste what he offers, tongue lapping at him before sucking on the tip of his thumb. “I’d spend an eternity inside you if I could.”

Those words — the claim, the rare admission — makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Without waiting for his command, you crawl between his legs and sink to draw your hand along his jean-clad thigh, a silent plea echoing in your eyes. As he wets his lips, you grip his length in your hand, his girth barely allowing you to wrap fully around him. Scott’s breath hitches as you stroke him exactly how he prefers, your hand sinking lower with each slow, deliberate movement.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, the tip of his cock as pink as his lips, and you pay special attention to it, thumb smoothing along the sensitive underside of him. The soft action has his hips bucking up into your touch, breath hissing between his teeth as he wraps your hair around his fist.

No matter how many times you were in this position, nothing changed how exhilarating it was to have brief a moment of power over him.

When you move to take him into your mouth, your tongue flat and eager, Scott wraps his fingers around your throat, that playful glint in his eyes replacing quickly with hellish intent.

“Did I tell you that you could touch?” He murmurs, releasing his grip on your hair to pluck your hand off him.

You want to point out that he didn’t seem to have a problem with that when he’d been half-thrusting into your hand, but the look in his eyes silences the retort on your lips. So you let him grip your wrist, and your throat, sure he can feel the heavy pound of your pulse as you whimper at the interruption.

“I just want a little taste,” you plead, jutting your bottom lip out and batting your thick lashes up at him through a heavy-lidded gaze.

Scott just shakes his head. And you feel the coil of defiance begin again.

“Don’t you want my tongue on you, sir? Licking up every thick inch of you? Seeing how much I can take in my hot little mouth?” You know you’re pushing it with how his grip on your wrist tightens, but fuck, you needed to feel him, to touch him, especially after he’d denied you the pleasure of it for so long.

You shift so your free hand wraps around his shaft again. Scott grunts as he watches you play with him, your small hand moving effortlessly along his girth. With both his hands occupied, he has nothing to stop you from doing what you want, what you need, as your gaze flickers down to openly admire his masculinity. “Don’t I look so pretty when I choke on you, baby?”

Despite how his gaze darkens and he twitches in your hand, Scott releases your wrist enough to rest his hand on the edge of the backseat, his brow raising. “You’d look prettier if you listened, sweetheart.”

The condescending nickname rolls through you, your face twisting in disgust at it — he knew you hated it, knew it reminded you of the old men who often tried to make passes at you. It disgusts you enough that you release him from your grip, watching a smile slowly spread on his face.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to sound weak with his fist still around you.

“And I thought I told you to listen, but you don’t seem to be doing a good job of that even after the belt.” He shifts his grip from the front of your neck to the back of it, pulling you closer. “What’s my name?”

You hesitate at how hard his gaze is trained on you. “Sir.”

He nods. “And what did you call me earlier?”

Oh. As the dots connect, realization flickering across your features, Scott’s eyes mirror your understanding. He doesn’t give you a chance to say it, continuing, “Until you can learn to listen, you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

You wait for a day, an end time, something that’ll make counting the days at least a little worthwhile — but it never comes. Instead, he just stares at you, waiting for you to defy him again, waiting for you to open your mouth, to push back. But his fingers twitch like he’s going to reach for his belt again, and the thought of that on your already raw backside makes a whimper escape.

“I understand, sir.”

His gaze softens for a moment — and a small part of you hopes that he changes his mind, that he’ll take it back… But Scott was never that type of man. Once something was final, it was final. No amount of begging or pleading could win your case.

He cups your face in his hands like he knows what he’s asking may push you past your breaking point. Never in the months you’ve been together has he implemented something indefinitely, but you’ve never pushed back this much. When his mouth roams over yours, gentle given the circumstances, you taste the sharp spearmint of his gum as his tongue explores you, soothing your whimpers and whines until you’re somewhat relaxed under his touch.

“Are you going to be a good girl if I let you blow me, honey?” He asks, lips ghosting over your mouth, your jaw, pressing a kiss against the column of your throat. You nod, not trusting your voice. “I mean it. No whining. No pleading. No biting.” His gaze flickers up to yours as a memory passes through both of you, your cheeks heating up, caught. He knew you too fucking well. “If I want you to choke on me, you’re going to choke. If I want you to wrap those pretty lips around my head, you will. And if I want your mouth not on me at all…”

“I’ll listen, sir,” you promise, breathless, squirming with need.

Scott’s eyes flash with approval, pressing one more kiss to your mouth before he settles back down against the leather. You follow, slow, cautious, your hands pressing into his thighs as he grips himself.

And when you wrap your lips around him, everything else fades away. You take him at his pace, slower than you would prefer but dutifully obeying his silent instructions, your hair coiled around his fist. The taste of him on your tongue has your eyes glazing over with desire, flickering up to watch him watch you, your head bobbing around his length, spit sliding down his shaft as he makes you take him deeper, deeper, until he’s hitting the back of your throat and there’s still inches between you.

Scott groans as he pushes you further, trained on how your body instinctively fights him, taking his cock entirely in your mouth when your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen. Your core drips with need, soaking your panties, at the guttural sound that escapes him: all masculine and intoxicating. You crave more of it, more of his approval, more of him — but he pulls you off with a pop, a trail of saliva traveling from his swollen head to your mouth, before doing it again and again, each time longer than the last.

“So fucking good,” he pants, pulling you off him again, his eyes blown as you suck on his tip like a lollipop.

Your tongue swirls around his head, wrapping your hands around the rest of him that you don’t swallow, little moans escaping.

And then he’s pressing you back down again, his grip holding you stationary as he thrusts into you like he can’t help himself, every action powerful and erotic as the sound of your throat taking his vigorous pace fills the truck. As he fucks your mouth, you knead your breast in your hand, pinching hard at your nipple when the desire to slip your hand between your thighs nearly overcomes you.

Scott watches it all with a growing arousal, his voice deep as he groans. “Fuck, honey, just like that. Want you to remember this next time you think of talking back,” he says, eyes closing briefly at how good you feel. “So fucking perfect with my cock down your throat. Does that make you hot, honey? Wanna rub that fucking clit while I fuck your face?”

You moan around him in response, something between a yes and a please that sounds more muffled than an actual word. Every time you take him deeper you feel that hot flash of aching desire pulse through you, your blood hot, sure that even through your panties you were dripping all over his leather seats.

The thought has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Scott’s growls turn positively primal as he pulls you off. “Keep making that face and I’m gonna cum right down that pretty throat.” He lifts enough to bring you to your knees, wrapping an arm around you to pull you flush against him as he drags his heavy touch along your naked frame. “You don’t want that, do you, honey? Fuck, I can smell how soaked you are for me.”

He wastes no time as he slips his hand beneath your panties, fingers sliding easily between your slicked folds as he groans. “My dirty girl. You like my filthy fucking mouth, honey, is that it?” Scott pushes a finger inside you, your body arching up into his as you nod, a breathy noise escaping. “Like when I tell you how good you feel? How fucking hard it gets me? How I dream about fucking you every single night when I’m away?”

God, yes. You assumed — but never asked — about what he thought when he couldn’t be near you, but the confirmation that you were on his mind just as much as he was on yours makes you clench around his finger.

“I’m gonna taste you,” Scott promises, his voice ragged. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll hear you in the city.”

It’s all the warning you get before he presses you down onto the seat, his mouth capturing yours as he settles atop you. Your body is pliant underneath his, gripping every inch of him, while he trails his mouth along your soft skin. Fuck, you felt like heaven to him — so smooth to his calloused hands.

And you made the prettiest noises when his mouth descended on your nipple, sucking and flicking at the hardened nub before giving equal attention to the other, all too aware of how your hips roll helplessly as he kisses his way down your tummy.

“I love how desperate you get,” he groans, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, drawing them down your legs. He nudges your legs apart with his nose, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of your thigh. Thick fingers spread your folds apart as he takes you in, the touch making you reach for something to hold onto.

“Please,” you whine, running your fingertips along his shoulder, propping yourself up as he sucked a possessive mark into your thigh. Scott just hums, moving to the other, relishing in the sharp intake of breath as he nips at you. “Please make me feel good, sir?”

“You gonna be good for me?” He asks again, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, his question serious as he nears the apex of your thighs.

You nod, tongue darting out between your lips as his focus momentarily breaks, darting down to watch how his fingers slide effortlessly over you, teasing your clit. “I’ll be good, sir, I swear.” Just as long as he keeps touching you like that, you’ll agree to anything.

Scott hums, playing with you for long enough that you think he’ll tease you into oblivion. But then his tongue darts out. licking a hot stripe up your center, and he groans, and you… You have just enough time to fall back to seat before his mouth is upon you.

The way he claims you with his tongue makes the wait worth it. Scott isn’t shy about feasting on you, his wet fingers slipping to spread your thighs further apart for him, lapping at you like your pussy is a melting ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Every swirl of his tongue, every flick against your clit, every long drag that has you gasping for breath, your mouth falling open while he readjusts his grip to keep you steady.

Scott groans as he collects your desire on his tongue, pulling back enough to revel at how spread open you are for him. He spits, the lewd action making your head spin, before his fingers rub it through your folds, circling your entrance while his other reaches up to knead your breast.

“I wish we had hours for this.” The admission is low in his voice, ragged from claiming you, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you try to still your hips against his torturous fingers. “Just as sweet as I remember, honey. Better. Fuck, you taste so…”

He doesn’t finish his thought, descending upon you again as his mouth attaches to your clit. You cry out at the special attention he gives it, teasing you just right, his tongue swirling and flicking and lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips move on their own accord, fingers digging into his brown curls as you grind in time with his tongue. Scott gasps as his touch abandons you to stroke himself, the angle uncomfortable in the cramped space of his backseat.

You clamp down on your bottom lip when your orgasm builds faster than you expect it to, hoping to stifle the increase of noise as he brings you closer and closer. Scott just keeps his brutal pace, those dark blue eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“Sir—” Your breath comes out hot when he groans, the vibrations of it nearly toppling you over the edge. You want so desperately to listen, fighting the way he coaxes it quicker, something heady and mischievous sparkling in those eyes, but it’s too much, he’s too much, that invisible rubber band pulling tighter and tighter, your control slipping, the wet sounds of his tongue dragging over your heat too much to bear—

You scream out as Scott pulls away entirely from you, all that tension coiling tight with nowhere to release, and watch helplessly as his expression flickers somewhere between smug and disappointed. You tremble against the loss, little twitches that give away how close you were from disobedience, your whine high and keening.

“Oh, honey, were you close?” Scott coos, his tone full of condescension as he rests his cheek on your thigh, an evil, wicked, vile grin teasing the corners of his mouth. You glare at the dimple in his cheek. “You think I’m dumb enough to not know when you are? That your pussy doesn’t tell me when you’re trying to be quiet? I know all your tells, honey. Every. Single. One.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his palm coming down hard against your open heat. The slap has you spiraling, a cry escaping you as your back arches up off the leather, the pain lingering uncomfortably as your ass grinds against the seat. Scott wastes no time crawling up your body, swallowing all your pitiful noises as you taste yourself on his tongue.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip as he pulls away. “Not tonight, honey.”

Your heart seizes in your chest at the confirmation — having suspected it, but half-hoping that he’d forgive your past sins if you were good enough. Scott just grins, lifting so all his weight isn’t settled atop you, running his hands down the still-twitching frame of your body, pushing his jeans down further as one hand drags along your hip.

“Please?” You beg, taking his face in your hands, blinking big doe eyes up at him. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His confidence in you is unwavering, pausing his movements to give you his undivided attention. One kiss, two, three, to the corner of your mouth, each softer than the last, bringing you down from a high he stole away. “We’ll test those limits properly another time. I have so many ideas…” He trails off with a groan, seeming to think better of listing all the ways he could make you bend to his will. “But you can. And you will.”

A whimper escapes at the finality, but you manage a weak nod. It’s all the encouragement Scott needs to draw your leg around his hip, slotting himself between your parted legs. The weight of him dragging through your slicked folds presses a gasp into his shoulder, your arms sliding around his broad frame.

And then he’s sinking into you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your taut body stretches to accommodate his size.

He’s massive — and delicious and throbbing and every other perfect word in the dictionary as you forget how to breathe, how to think, the more he buries himself inside you. You hear his strangled moan against your neck as your head tosses back, pulling him closer, hissing as he draws back just to press right back into you.

He works you just like that for what feels like hours, pushing and pulling, slow as he presses kisses to your skin, holding your hips steady. You know he’s holding himself back, that he’s letting your body get used to him after so long apart, after little more than a press of his fingers and tongue at your entrance. It makes your heart flutter in your chest — he could have fucked his way ruthlessly through you and you would’ve taken every second of it just the same, but the fact that he pauses to take his time now, to lengthen a moment that he shouldn’t be having in the first place…

God. You loved him.

You both moan as he bottoms out inside you, his hips driving forward just a little further on instinct. “Fucking missed this,” Scott pants, careful as he slides a palm under you, lifting your ass off the seat to thrust inside you again. Your gentle touch trails across his broad shoulders and down his arms, a silent message for him to keep going.

And then he fucks you like he promised.

It’s a combination of everything: the time apart, the time you had left, how neither of you could seem to get close enough to each other. He splits you apart and brings you back together with every snap of his hips, filling you exactly how you need, gasping against each other as you angle up to meet him halfway.

Your mouth presses feverishly to his, the sound of your desperate moans filling the small space against the way your body greedily accepts his. Scott stalls his tempo just enough to pull away, sliding his hands back to your hips to lift you onto him before returning to his brutal pace, the new angle giving you a perfect view of his cock stretching you out.

“Being so good for me,” Scott hums, pleased, his fingers splaying over your belly as he ruts deeper into you. The intensity of it, of him, makes you blink back stars as his heady gaze is trained on yours, grabbing onto him as he continues, “Feels so fucking good, honey, fuck.“

Your eyes slip down to watch as he slides in you, the sight of him hard and coated with your arousal making you moan. Scott grips the back of your neck to keep you there, your body curled up into whatever mold he desires, pressing your knee back to the cushion as he shifts himself closer.

“Dirty fucking girl, you like that?” Scott’s voice turns guttural with how you tighten around him, your pretty moans like music to his ears, “Like watching your little pussy take my cock? Seeing how fucking good I stretch you out?”

You nod, another moan spilling from your mouth, only to whimper when he slides fully out of you. The crude smack of his cock against your clit only makes you hotter, your skin on fire as he plays with you, always in control. “Tell me,” he groans, teasing as he grinds himself against you. “Let me hear you, honey.”

“I love it,” you pant, unable to tear your gaze away from his thick length. You want desperately to reach down and press him where you crave him most, but you resist, fingers curling into fists at his sides as you plead, “Please fill me up, sir, I need it. Need you to fuck me, need you to claim me, need you to make this little pussy all fucking yours, please.”

It’s all Scott needs to press into you again, his pace hard and demanding with your wishes. He slides an arm underneath you to hold you steady, his teeth leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, your collar, pressing moans into your skin with every rough piston of his hips, the sound of skin on skin, and your hard, labored breathing filling the space. And then he’s flipping you over, your hands and knees pressing into the leather as you push back against him, delirious with the new angle as he tugs you up, your back to his chest.

The possessive, strong grip on your waist slides up to knead your breast while he thrusts into you from behind, his lips at your ear, growling every profanity under the sun.

“This what you want, honey?” His hips snap hard into you, the contact against your sensitive ass making your eyes roll back into your head. The mix of the pleasure and the pain he gives you is unlike anything else you’ve ever felt. Scott always finds the perfect balance, his hand sliding between your thighs to tease your clit, your body wanton against him. “Being claimed? Owning you completely?” At your answering moan, he grins. “Could you handle it? Being mine in every way?”

“Yes,” you moan, trying in vain not to swirl your hips and failing, searching for more while he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I’m already yours, sir.”

“Yeah, honey, I feel it.” They come out strangled as you clench around him, your body responding eagerly to every touch. “So sweet right now, aren’t you? Wanna cum so badly, don’t you?” You whimper out as he angles himself deeper inside you, hitting that spongey spot in time with his ministrations. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, as he finds the perfect pace to drive you closer to the edge, dangling just on the precipice of release. “Bet you’d agree to anything right now just to cum, wouldn’t you, honey?”

Head tossing back against his shoulder, you dig your nails into his jeans where you hold him to you, looking at but not seeing the reflection of how he commands you, his mouth drawing along your neck. “Please,” you beg, trembling with the exertion of holding yourself together. “Scott— Sir, please, I’m so close—”

“I know.” Cooed, mockingly, along the column of your throat, he ceases every torturous move as he stills inside of you, his hands quick to press your hips down against his. The sudden lack of attention makes you cry out, chest heaving, as he steals your orgasm away again, the frustration and desire mixing until you’re growling through clenched teeth.

Scott just grins, watching it all with a gleeful expression, that dark look swirling in his eyes as he doesn’t dare move an inch. “You can be as nice as you want, honey,” He presses a patronizing kiss to your shoulder, that alone having you twitching against him, small little sounds that you can’t control escaping as he toys with your fraying edges. “I’m still not letting you cum tonight.”

“But—” You think better against talking back, clamping your mouth shut as you whimper again. “When?”

“When you’ve earned it.” Scott slides his hands over your body, dragging along your peaked nipples, taking both breasts in his large hands and groaning as he touches you. “You want to earn it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp automatically, your hands fisting handfuls of his brown locks as he sucks another possessive mark on you. “Please, sir.”

“How far would you go?” His voice carries that inquisitive tone that speaks of danger, the kind that has your cunt fluttering around him in response. He grunts against you at the sensation, still unmoving, just thick and hard and throbbing in you enough to leave your mind reeling. Your breath stalls when his touch wanders down to press at your belly. “Would you let me cum inside you?”

Every thought in your brain scatters at those words, wanting and needing before you can even voice it. He’s never asked; always pulling out to paint your chest, your back, your face. But the way he asks, his voice quiet yet desperate, the unmistakable edge to it that tells you he’s been thinking about it for a while, waiting for the right time, the right moment — suddenly his insistence on if you’d brought your birth control comes to the front of your mind, and you know. Know he’s been planning this. That if it weren’t here, it would’ve been sometime this weekend.

Scott is patient as he lets it all sink in, studying you, waiting for a shift of an expression, or your body responding against his desires. Something dark awakens in him at your whimper of approval.

“You’d look so fucking pretty like that,” he continues, slowly resuming his pace, much slower now than it was before, as he groans every fantasy he’s dreamt of for the past week into you. “So full of my cum… It wouldn’t all fit, would it, honey? But you’d beg me, wouldn’t you? Beg me to fuck it deeper in your sweet cunt?” Your breath labors as he grunts out, teeth sinking into your skin. “Beg me to put a baby in you?”

Fuck, yes.

You writhe against him with every word out of his mouth, your moans spilling freely as you nod, desperate, agreeable, unaware of how much he wanted it, obsessed about it. How the sight of you in his clothes made him want to put a ring on your finger, how every time you came over to his place he had to fight to ask you to move in, how the idea of your belly swollen with his child made him so horny he couldn’t think about anything else some days, how the thought of you and forever were so intertwined to him now that he couldn’t imagine anyone else to spend the rest of his life with.

All sappy, sentimental things that he didn’t dare voice, locked tight between his teeth, letting only a little spill out.

The need to own you, to claim you, was overwhelming. Scott wanted nothing more than to fuck you hard enough to make your brain flicker off until you couldn’t even speak, until you were completely at his mercy, until every drop of him was spent inside you. Possession and desire bleed into one — just waiting, aching, throbbing, bruisingly so, for your voiced consent.

“I need it,” you finally choke out, trembling, your voice utterly broken. “Please give it to me, sir? Please, please, pretty please?”

Scott moans, long and deep and loud, as he buries his face in the curve of your neck. And then he’s pounding into you, every muscle of his body pulled tight as you wrap around him like velvet perfection, his grip hard and unyielding against your hips as every rough slam of his hips into yours sends your body jolting forward. Your hand slaps to the window in front of you, leaving prints against the foggy glass, and he follows greedily, pressing his weight into you as he spreads your thighs further apart with a growl, fucking you into the seats.

Your orgasm painfully lingers, every needy moan spilling from your mouth only driving him further into you, wild with need, no longer the controlled man you knew but something more animalistic, primal.

“Fucking take it just like that,” he growls, not even sounding human, every word gritted through his teeth as you feel every thick inch of him around your slick walls, his hand slotted between your thighs to part your folds, sinking deeper until there’s no space left. “F-fuck, that’s so fucking— Perfect, honey, fuck— Pussy’s fucking made for me—”

He’s close — you can feel it in the way his thrusts grow uneven as he chases his release, the way he roughly grasps your chin to kiss you, sloppy and more tongue than lips, how his fingers leave Scott-shaped bruises wherever he grips you, his blunt nails biting into your hip, your sides, your breasts as he struggles for purchase. You don’t realize you’re sobbing in pleasure until he wipes your tears away, until he praises how good you’re being taking him like this, groaning when your body responds eagerly to his positivity.

You dance in time with him, meeting him halfway, angling your hips up just right. And you feel, rather than hear, the way Scott moans in ecstasy as he finds that perfect spot in your heat, numb to anything and everything that isn’t his thick cock pounding your weeping, used hole.

You think you cum — or maybe it’s just the last shreds of sanity leaving as Scott reaches his peak, nothing but your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fills you with his seed, rutting up against you until it’s painful, the warmth of him spreading into you. His heart pounds against you as he slips his hand to your belly, pressing you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as his hips twitch until he’s emptied out, fucking the last drops of his cum into you exactly like he’s dreamt.

And when you come down your orgasm sits uncomfortably high and untouched, a broken sob escaping you as he pulls out with a wet pop.

You feel his cum slide down your swollen cunt and flinch with sensitivity as he’s quick to collect himself on his fingers, fucking it back into you. The tension coils tightly inside of you until you’re sure you’re begging him to stop, the pleasure and pain completely overwhelming, exhausted with the effort of obeying his orders as he presses his digits into your used hole.

When you think just about to break, he stops.

And you know you’re going to kill him as he steals your release for a third time.

“Good girl,” Scott whispers, pressing kisses along your soft skin, his hands soothing every part of your twitching frame. You don’t have the strength to ask for more as he pulls you into his arms after sliding your panties back into place, letting you come down as he finds his peace in caring for you, murmuring sweet nothings while your body is pliant against him.

You nuzzle into him when you feel more in control of yourself, your heart slowing to a more steady pace. His name falls softly from your lips, your arms snaking around him to hold him close, his fingertips soft along the small of your back.

When he presses his mouth to yours, you melt into his embrace, exploring him lazily until he’s pulling away, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. “Mine.” He praises with a smile, that dark expression gone, leaving nothing but bright, shining blues you could drown in for hours. “All fucking mine. I own you.”

“Mmm,” Despite the weary in your bones, you can’t help but smile back, a giggle escaping, “Do you?”

Scott doesn’t need to slip his hand between your legs for you to get the picture, just hooks a finger along the waistband of your ruined panties. “You just let me prove it, honey.” He leans forward to kiss you again, slower this time, before pulling away with a regretful sigh when the distinctive chime of his phone goes off. “Need help getting back in your seat?”

“Already?” You whine.

“Gotta go, honey.” He taps your hip, twice. Non-negotiable. “Come on, before the bears smell you and want you for themselves.”

That has you cracking a grin. “You wouldn’t fight a bear for me?”

“What do you think the murder kit is for?” One last kiss to your mouth. “’Course I would. Just not tonight.”

You pout further, but let him grab your long-forgotten clothes off the floor, making yourself presentable again before he does the same. And when you settle back into the passenger seat as he starts the engine, you let your head rest against the window, bubbly and content and happy. Even if you know it won’t last when he has to leave.

As Scott drives through the familiar city streets, you hate the knot of apprehension that clogs your throat when your mind wanders too far about him being gone. Out on the field, anything could happen, even if it was just one of his routine visits. The people he spoke with — if he approached the wrong one, it would be so easy for them to lash out. Scott was a big man, he could take care of himself, but that didn’t stop your fears from pressing down against you.

His hand is firm on your thigh, thumb stroking soft lines in your skin as he catches your expression. And then his truck takes a turn in the opposite direction of your apartment, heading toward his house.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice tinged with confusion as you try to shake off your emotions.

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens just a fraction, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “My place,” he answers simply. “You’ve been up all night, and I’m not about to drop you off and leave you alone like that.”

You frown, the earlier emotions fighting to come back; you glance quickly out the window, cheeks flaming as you’re caught, hating that he’d noticed your weakness. “I’m fine, Scott. I can—”

“No,” he cuts in gently, but firmly. “You need rest. And I’ll rest better knowing you’re somewhere comfortable.” His eyes flick toward you, catching your reflection in the dim light of the street lamps. “Besides,” he adds, his voice lowering to something more intimate, “I’ve got a bed that’s been missing you.”

It’s not a request, and the way he says it makes your heart skip. You know he’s right. As much as you’d wanted to protest, the thought of sleeping alone in your own bed feels wrong, especially with the lingering warmth of his touch still buzzing under your skin.

By the time you pull into his driveway, the familiar sight of his place is almost a comfort in itself. Scott’s fingers brush over your thigh before he parks the truck, a silent reassurance. “I’ll be gone for a few days,” he murmurs, shutting off the engine, “but I want you here. I want you safe.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with a meaning he’s too stubborn to say out loud, but you feel it all the same. He reaches over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nod, unable to find the words, so you just lean into his touch. Scott doesn’t need more than that. He’s out of the truck and rounding it to your side before you can even blink, opening your door and offering his hand.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says softly, tugging you out and pulling you close against him. His arm slips around your waist as he guides you to the front door, his hold steady and reassuring.

Once inside, the warmth of his home envelops you both, and you feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt away. He’s quick to guide you to his bedroom, knowing the layout of his place better than anyone, but still taking the time to make sure you’re comfortable, handing you one of his shirts to sleep in.

As you slip under the covers, Scott pauses at the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on you. “Get some sleep,” he tells you, his voice gruff but tinged with affection. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You reach for him, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide in beside you, pulling you against his chest. For a moment, you both just lie there, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothing you into a drowsy haze. Scott presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting protectively over your hip.

“Sleep, honey,” he murmurs, his voice the last thing you hear before sleep claims you.

In the morning, you wake to the sound of his alarm, the room still dark. Scott’s already dressed, but he hasn’t left yet. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with a softness in his eyes that he rarely lets show. He reaches out, brushing his fingers through your hair as you try to rustle yourself awake.

“Go back to sleep,” he says quietly, his thumb grazing your cheek. “I’ll be back in a few days. Promise.”

Before you can respond, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his lips. You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you drift back into a peaceful slumber, the last thing you feel is the comforting weight of his hand slipping from yours.

When you finally rise, well rested but achey from the night’s exertions, the sun is high in the afternoon sky and his house is empty, his truck missing from the garage. You wander into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea, pulling the kettle out from underneath his cabinet. And when the steaming mug is in your hands, settling into the breakfast nook that overlooks his backyard, your eyes fall upon his jacket, folded neatly atop all the stuff he’d unpacked while you were sleeping.

And you know he loves you as much as you love him.

[dearru]

playing a prank on them | ft. hq boys

-> rq: how would the hq boys react to you doing the TikTok trend where you wake them up in the middle of the night to play uno? (click HERE for TikTok trend! anon also explains it in their original request which is also linked :3)

-> pairings: miya atsumu, tsukishima kei, akaashi keiji, kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader | sfw | cw: cursing, i proofread this but also did i really… , akaashi is super sweet here so that is either ooc or super in character to some of u freaks | genre: fluff | wc: 1400 | mlist

❀ MIYA ATSUMU !

Atsumu is a deep sleeper and it normally takes him about one hour or so to fully wake up, but when he realizes he’s fallen asleep mid-game, he immediately locks in. It makes sense since he’s the most competitive man you’ve ever met… but also what the fuck is wrong with him.

I think he realizes it’s a prank because you can’t stop laughing but he doesn’t even care because he wants to win.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

— Your boyfriend may be the deepest sleeper in the entire universe. When setting up the prank, you had dropped your phone on him, opened the deck of cards loudly, and turned on the overhead light— all while he snored peacefully. If you googled the phrase, “sleeping like a rock,” you’re almost positive a picture of him would pop up.

Shaking his shoulders forcefully, you call his name, “‘Tsumu! Wake up!” Frowning when he groans, still asleep, you shake harder, “‘Tsumu!”

Half lidded, he mumbles, “What’s goin’ on?” It’s cute, you think. His tousled hair coupled with the hazy look on his face. So cute that your choked-back laughter rises to the surface.

“Uno, babe,” You chuckle, “We’re playing Uno.”

“We’re playin’...” He drawls out, opening his eyes and finally noticing the cards, “Yeah, that’s right…” He says, sitting up in bed and setting one down. His expression is so serious that you burst into a fit of giggles, your face growing hot from the silliness of it all.

“What ‘re ya laughin’ for?” Atsumu pouts, gesturing with his free-hand, brows furrowing, “‘S yer turn now.”

Tears are forming in your eyes now. Wiping them with the sleeve of your shirt, you laugh softly, “We weren’t actually playing Uno. I pranked you.”

You expect him to whine in typical Atsumu manner, but instead, he shakes his head, still focused, “I don’t give a damn if we weren’t playin’ in the first place, we gotta finish.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. Smiling at him in amusement, you chuckle again, re-explaining yourself, “No– I mean, we were never playing. It’s this trend on TikTok where–”

“‘S still your turn.” He repeats, cutting you off, eyes laser-focused on the game in such a way that you know he’s not letting this slide.

Sighing, you place a card down.

As soon as you do, Atsumu nods, satisfied, then leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms like he’s about to make his next big move.

You can’t help but laugh again. He’s ridiculous.

❀ TSUKISHIMA KEI !

You’re super thorough when setting up the prank, but unfortunately, your boyfriend’s lowkey chronically online so he catches on immediately. He thinks it’s a really stupid joke, but it’s also two in the morning so what does he know.

Crankiest guy ever when woken up, but he loves you, so he tries to be somewhat nice. You are literally the only one who can get away with doing this to him.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

— “Kei,” You say in a hushed tone, hardly able to contain your giggles. Lips quirked up into a sly grin, you tap your boyfriend gently on the shoulder– voice teetering on the edge of a whisper-yell, “C’mon, it’s your turn.”

His eyes flutter open and adjust to the light. He stares at you like you’ve just spoken to him in another language. Too tired to act irritated, but awake enough to know he’s annoyed, he mumbles, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You gesture for him to look down, and when he notices the cards in his hand, he sighs. Without another word, he tosses them to the side and rolls over in bed, stealing a majority of the covers.

Nudging his back with your foot, you frown, “Don’t ignore me. It’s your turn.”

“No, it’s not,” He mumbles, voice thick with sleep and laced with subtle defiance, “Now go back to sleep.”

“What? But—“

“I’ve seen this trend before,” He cuts you off, sounding much too smug despite being drowsy, “Good try, though.”

Sighing, you start to clean the cards up, mumbling profanities under your breath. You can hear the faintest of snickers coming from his side of the bed.

“It’s not funny!” You pout, glaring at his backside.

“Yes, it is,” He replies, and you can picture the stupid grin on his face as he drifts back into a comfortable slumber, leaving you to stew in your Uno-induced defeat.

❀ AKAASHI KEIJI !

Keiji is a pretty light sleeper so you’re honestly surprised you were even able to set the prank up in the first place. I think it would be funny if you forgot to put his glasses on him so he literally cannot see LMAOOO.

Wakes up panicked because he thinks something bad has happened ;-; He is so sweetie pie…just let him sleep please.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

— “Keiji!” You whisper-shout, poking your boyfriend’s cheek, “Keiji!” 

He wakes immediately to the sound of your apparent distress, his mind instantly alert and anticipating danger. With panicked-filled eyes, he jolts upright, sheets pooling at his waist to reveal his black-shirt-clad frame, “What?” He gasps, gaze falling to you to ensure you’re alright, “What is it?” 

He looks so startled that you almost feel guilty for the prank altogether. 

Almost. 

“Everything’s fine,” You reassure him, barely keeping it together, you gesture to the cards in his hand, “But it’s your turn.” 

Only then does his mind relax enough to notice the Uno cards. His expression morphs from one of panic to embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, love” He murmurs, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. Squinting at the cards, he sighs and lays them face down on the mattress, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” His voice is soft and apologetic– like he’s let you down in some way.

Okay, now you feel guilty. 

“Can we finish tomorrow?” Keiji asks, “Work’s been tiring from all the deadlines, and I really–”

The words die on his lips when you throw your arms around him and plant a kiss on his cheek. His arms wrap around you instinctively and he returns the kiss, albeit, a little confused, “What was that for?” 

Hugging him tighter, you mumble into his neck, “There was no game, it was a prank. I’m sorry.” 

Relaxing into your embrace, he chuckles, “I thought something was up.” 

“And you went along with it anyways?” You tilt your head, looking at him in amusement, “Why?” 

 “Because I like playing Uno” He smiles, pulling you closer. You can feel the cards press against your body as you lean into him, but you don’t mind. He kisses you on the forehead and looks at you in adoration, “And you.”

❀ KUROO TETSURO !

Kuroo sleeps with his mouth open and has the nastiest case of bedhead you’ve ever seen– which makes it kind of difficult for you to set the prank up without laughing. He also has a silk sleep mask laid over his eyes, and that doesn’t really help your case with being discreet, but you do end of successfully removing it before waking him up so he doesn’t get suspicious.

When he wakes up, he’s confused, but he goes along with it and probably wins because he takes card games very seriously.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

—“Tetsu,” You coo, tapping his arm gently, “Tetsu~” 

“Wha..?” He mumbles, looking at you, disorientated from being woken up so suddenly. His eyes glance from your expectant face down to the cards in his hand, and he wordlessly places a +4 down. 

Trying to contain your laughter, you snicker triumphantly as you place another +4 down in response to his play, irises shining with delight at how easily he’s fallen for your trick. 

He hums thoughtfully at this and you have to hold yourself back from cackling evilly. Your smugness is short-lived; however, when a satisfied look creeps over his face. It’s the kind of look he only gets when he knows he’s about to win. 

A feeling of impending doom washes over you when you realize you forgot to check what cards you gave him. 

“No…” You plead, eyes begging for mercy, “I thought you loved me.” 

“Sorry, babe,” He smiles, a picture of innocence as he places yet another +4 on top of yours, “Love doesn’t matter when it comes to Uno.”

Staring at the stacked cards in horror, you chuckle sheepishly, “You know– it’s late. Let’s just go to bed.” 

“No, no,” He says, grinning widely. For a man who was asleep moments ago, he looks more awake than ever, “I think I’m winning.”

–a/n: I have a WIP of this trend with Shoyo so lmk if you want a part 2 :). rq more characters if you’d like bc idk who else to write abt…

[catching-the-light]

wc: 1.2k

[18+ only]

content: mentions of oral sex [f receiving], unprotected sex and cockwarming [very brief]

[just a little something i wrote. pretty much all smut with little to no plot.]

With the side of her face pressed down into the mattress and hips snapping against her ass - all that flooded her ears were his deep grunts, the sound of skin clashing and her lewd moans. He had woken her up in the middle of the night, but she didn’t mind. She had given him permission to wake her up whenever he needed it. More specifically, she had even given him permission to wake her up by kissing her right between her plush thighs. It was one of her favorite things - waking up to her boyfriend eating her out. She didn’t understand how he could be so good at it. All her previous boyfriends had complained when she asked for it. They would say it made their jaw hurt. That they didn’t like the thought of putting their tongue down there, but they never did complain when she would put her tongue on them.

Harry was unlike any other man she had met. He doted on her. He took care of her. He provided for her. If it were up to him, (Y/N) would never have to lift a finger, but he knew that his girl also liked being self-sufficient. He both admired and loathed how independent she could be sometimes. He loved how strong she was, but sometimes it scared him. He couldn’t help but wonder every now and then what would happen if (Y/N) realized she didn’t need him anymore - didn’t want to be his anymore. Harry was sure that his heart would never be mended if that happened.

(Y/N) was his everything. He never had a love like her before, and he had no intention of having another love ever. He was going to marry her. That was a cold hard fact.

“Harry,” she whimpered as she brought one of her hands back and behind her.

He knew what she wanted, and he gave it to her. Placing his large hand in hers, he intertwined their fingers - flexing his to give hers a soft squeeze.

“Feeling good, baby?” Harry’s chin rested against his chest as he looked down at where his thick cock entered his girlfriend.

(Y/N) just hummed in response, but that wasn’t enough for Harry. Propping one foot up on the mattress, he brought his freehand down and swatted at one of her ass cheeks. “You know that’s not going to cut it.”

Stopping his thrusts, he pulled out which caused (Y/N) to gasp, and she looked over her shoulder at him with wide eyes. She was flipped onto her back faster than she could blink.

Harry’s hands came down to her thighs, and he pushed them apart before plunging back inside of her with one fluid roll of his hips.

“Oh my god,” (Y/N) moaned with her eyes screwed shut. “You’re so fucking deep, H.”

Smirking to himself, Harry leaned down and scraped his teeth against his beautiful girlfriend’s jawline. “Do you like that, (Y/N)? Feeling me so deep in there?”

“Yes, yes,” she panted as he started pounding into her once more. “I love it when you’re this deep. I feel you all the way…all the way in here.”

Placing a hand over her lower stomach, (Y/N) pressed down - eliciting a groan from Harry and another mewl of pleasure from her with just how good that felt. 

(Y/N) was never properly fucked before, and Harry caught onto that by the first time they slept together. She made him work for it, something he didn’t mind doing by any means, but when the time actually came, he was seething at her past lovers at what he had seen. Sexy and confident (Y/N) had retreated into a shell of herself the moment he had her laid out on his mattress. She had asked him to turn almost all the lights off, and the ones that were left on had been turned down. She had asked that he not remove her bra, and that he just pull her panties to the side. It pained him to realize that she didn’t want him to see her fully naked.

That changed before Harry entered her that night. He took his time to kiss over every inch of her skin. To compliment every piece of her that he could see. He let her know that she was by far the prettiest thing he had ever seen in the world. The most beautiful woman to ever be in his bed. He made it clear that no one before her ever compared, and that no one ever would.

By the time he took her home the next morning, (Y/N) had allowed Harry to take her in four different positions, resulting in six orgasms total. It was obvious to both of them that they’d never get enough of each other just after that one night. 

“Squeezin’ my cock so tight. You’re gonna have me coming sooner than I want to,” Harry huffed out a laugh at himself, and it caused (Y/N) to also giggle. “But, fuck, honey, you just feel too damn good. Such a snug little thing.”

His words had (Y/N)’s cunt pulsing around him even more, and he could tell she was right on the edge of her orgasm. 

Sucking on the pad of his thumb, Harry brought it down to start rubbing precise circles against his girlfriend’s clit, and that had her arching her back off the bed.

“Holy shit,” she gasped - toes curling and fists clenching against the pale pink sheets surrounding them. “I’m about to cum.”

Harry watched as (Y/N) threw her head back which resulted in her pretty neck being completely exposed to him. He could feel her walls beginning to clamp down around him, and with one more deep thrust, her orgasm gushed around his length.

“Good girl,” he crooned, leaning down to kiss over (Y/N)’s collarbone. “Such a good girl f’me.”

Once she felt like the air had properly returned to her lungs, (Y/N) blinked her eyes open to stare at the gorgeous man above her.

“Fill me up, please,” she pouted her lips at him as she tapped her fingertips against the spot on her stomach that she had pressed down on earlier. “Right in here.”

“Yeah?” Harry smirked as he gripped onto her hips and angled them up just a little more. “Want it tucked up in there?”

“Mhmm,” (Y/N) hummed with a nod of her head. “I like it when it’s up there that far. It takes longer to drip out of me, and I like feeling it for as long as I can.”

(Y/N) could be dirty when she wanted to be, but he had never heard her say something like that to him before. Choking out a moan, Harry felt the warmth in his lower abdomen boil over, and before he could process it, he was shooting his load inside her slick pussy.

Biting down on her bottom lip, (Y/N) reeled from the feeling of Harry pumping his cum into her. He didn’t stop until he felt like he couldn’t hold himself up with his shaky arms anymore. He collapsed against her chest, and she wrapped her arms around him as they both continued to come down from their highs.

“I love when you wake me up in the middle of the night like that,” (Y/N) played with Harry’s curls as she spoke. “Can we fall back asleep like this?”

“Sure, baby,” Harry puckered a kiss to the top of one of her breasts. “And then when we wake up in a few hours, I’ll continue fucking that same load into you before giving you another."

[casinocarpediem]

▪︎■☆ Новое Mолоко 🐮🥛 ☆■▪︎

(Translation: New Milk)

☆ 🔞!!NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!🔞

☆ male! subtop! Francis Mosses / male! dombottom! Reader

☆ overstimulation if ya squint a lil, milking, breeding, dumbification, passing out, belly bulge (If your not into this, look away!! 👻👻)

☆ implied Russian speaking Francis (translated from google translate and research for needed accuracy, however, any form of critique or correction definetely is allowed!)

☆ short (I think???)

☆ author has played Not My Neighbor

°○☆nsfw under the cut☆○°

You and Francis had a thing. And, fuck, for a minimum wage worker who barely gets any kind of rest at all, he's fucking good at what he does. He's a big fan of milking. Not his job, no, he could rant about how shitty it can be despite not wanting to get a new one (A/N: so real) but he's a fan of milking. Just the other kind of milking.

The first tim you two had sex, he was pretty sheepish about it, yeah. He didn't know if you prefered topping or bottoming so he settled for a handjob. You did the same as well. Until you both got used to each other and realized that he was pretty flexible. He'd do whatever you'd want to do, whatever you had in store, as long as if it wasn't too much for either of you. He loves fucking but he surely isn't a sex devient. Somewhere in the middle. Pliant to whatever you to had planned. But recently, he may or may not have discovered a new kink. Somethig that made his legs flex and his stamina increase and the gooey, warm, and fuzzy gears in his head grind back to life to keep on going. The last time you two had sex, there was now no condom, and he was pounding you into the bed that you swore Isaack would definetely send a formally written complain, persuasive enough for the both of you to not have such intense, hot, steamy sex for the next few months, (He's a reporter after all, have to respect the man informing the people, and he definetely has a way with words).

Humming, groaning, a little against your neck. You swore it was like a kitten, as if he was purring in a way. You pulled his hair as per usual and with a louder grunt his dark brown eyes roll up just a slight and flutter, closing shut as he fills you to the brim with his warm baby batter. Shaking, sweating, and biting his lip when he just keeps on cumming until theres nothing more to give. Or is there?

What he didn't expect, was when you suddenly whispered in the midst of him balls deep inside you,

"Thats it... good boy, you fuckin slut... Cum in me, keep milkin' yourself f'me"

Ah shit, he swore something inside of him just snapped loose. With the way he shivered violently, and as your hand loosened on his sweaty brown hair he moves again. Oh how odd, after a few rounds, the last one being penetration, he's always so tired, opting to give you a handjob or finger you if you didnt get a taste of your climax but shit. If this wasn't hot then what was?!

When you had basically degraded him to milk his balls dry you didn't mean literally, but fuck. This was so appealing, that your little milk boy had his quirks.

You look down at yourself seeing the bulge appearing on your abdoment everytime he thrusts in and god does it make you feel dizzy. Your hard dick, leaking as well just begging to cum while Francis gasps and shudders a little more, oh he looks so dumb. Trying to do as he's told. To keep milking himself. Milking himself for you. Just for motherfucking you. It keeps fuzzy sparks inside of his brain that has him smiling and drooling against your chest.

"Awe, what an adorable little cow you are... Milking your-...yourself for me... Giving me every ounce of that sweet sweet milk of yours, hmm? You wanna give me your milk Francis? You wanna fucking cum in me again?"

He feels so lightheaded that he smiles dumbly at the idea and nods as if his head is too heavy, full of warm cream. Muttering several words in russian mixed in with english as he nods slowly, trembling as his cock, still hard and moving perfectly against every spot inside of you.

"Please please please К-Куколка please... fuck fuckk- let me cum... inside... inside... cum inside please please milk me- oh... П-Пожалуйста... З-...Золотце... Пожалуйста..."

The pathetic, brown haired man sobs. Pawing at your sides like an injured little puppy. Begging so prettily, who could deny those eyes of his? all teary and tired. Small blobs of salty water dripping down his eyebags which were now disappearing, thanks to yourself for keeping his sleep schedule normal again after years of nap malnutrition.

After a few more moments of Francis groaning so softly against your ear, you feel yourself about to cum too, and when you order it directly, he really does come undone. Panting like a dog in heat while nails dig against his back skin. All the while he buries himself deep inside of you once again and fills you up with a second load of his fluids that it's practically drooling out of your hole. You hiss as well, shutting your eyes with a shudder as your dick spurts out a thick white rope of cum, coating Francis' stomach and your chest. Fuck.

Francis pants, collapsing on you. You gently push him to the side and just watch him catch his breath. Eyes closed, skin warm and sweaty while he's still inside you. All soft. But its not uncomfortable. At least now, you definetely know how you can abuse this new found information with your lovely boyfriend.