#18+ (mdni)

[killerplink]

Shameless

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 10k

Plot: You're supposed to head straight home after the bar. You really are. But you're drunk, and needy, and desperate for his dick, so now you're in some alley getting fucked stupid against a wall.

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, drunk sex, praise kink, size kink, public sex, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare

The bar is dim and comfortably loud, some old rock song spilling from the jukebox while Jason leans back against the booth, arm draped along the backrest, watching you with a lazy smile. You're already two drinks and some shots deep—which, for you, is a lot—and it shows in the way you're slumped just slightly against his side, giggly and loose, eyes a little glassy under the neon glow.

He knew you needed this. Knew this week had been a fucking nightmare for you. And yeah, maybe getting you tipsy wasn't the most responsible move, but God, you're cute like this, all soft and clingy and running your mouth without a filter.

"Y'know," you slur a little, gesturing wildly with your glass, "that bitch from the subway? The one who kept pushing into me?" Your brows knit together in offended disbelief, like you're personally wounded all over again just thinking about her. "I shoulda knocked her fucking teeth out."

Jason has to bite the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips. You're so damn small, and the way you say it, all dramatic and dead serious, makes it even funnier. But you're not joking. You slam your palm against his chest to drive the point home, which, to you, probably feels like a decent smack, but to him, it's barely a tap.

"Right?" you demand, eyes wide and expectant, waiting for him to back you up.

Jason clears his throat, desperately swallowing the grin threatening to break free. "Yeah, baby. Totally. Shoulda knocked her the fuck out."

"Exactly!" you nod so hard your whole body sways, and Jason has to steady you with his free hand to keep you from sliding right off the seat. "No respect. None! Who does that?"

You keep ranting, every slurred complaint punctuated with another dramatic gesture or a wild wave of your drink. Jason just sits there, half-listening, half-savoring how fucking adorable you are like this, all small and feisty, tipsy and dramatic, tucked into his side like you belong there.

He loves you so much it's fucking stupid. And it's only a matter of time before that sweet mouth of yours gets him into trouble tonight—one way or another.

By the time your third drink arrives, your body feels warm and heavy, head swimming in that sweet, fuzzy way that makes everything feel a little softer, a little funnier, and way hornier than it should.

Jason's sitting there next to you, all broad and solid, wearing that black t-shirt that stretches just right over his chest and arms, showing off all that ink. His thighs, thick and spread wide, are right there next to yours, and you can't help yourself—your free hand starts to wander.

You trace slow circles along the inside of his thigh, your fingers sneaking higher each time until your knuckles almost brush the bulge straining against his jeans. Jason tenses just slightly, the muscle under your palm jumping at the touch, but he doesn't stop you right away.

He's used to your drunk grabby hands by now, and hell, it's flattering how fast you get worked up for him. But his dick? His dick's got no chill, thick and half-hard already, and your teasing fingers aren't helping.

"Baby," he murmurs, his free hand curling around your wrist, stopping you gently. "Behave."

You pout instantly, squirming closer until you're practically in his lap, your big, glossy eyes locked on his like you're about to cry over it.

"Jay," you mumble, voice all soft and slurred, "you're so fucking hot."

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his beer. "Am I?"

You nod. Hard. Like you're trying to convince him of a life-or-death fact. "Hottest guy I ever been with," you say, and Jason's ears go pink at the blunt praise. "Can't believe you chose me."

Jason's brow arches, that soft smile curving his lips. "What do you mean, pretty girl?"

You just shrug, lifting your drink to your mouth again, and miss it entirely—half your sip spills down your chin, sticky and sweet. Jason sighs, amused, and reaches out with his thumb, gently swiping the alcohol off your skin.

That's when your grin turns wicked. Before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, pulling his thumb between your lips. Your tongue flicks against the pad before you suck gently, cleaning off the spill like it's the most natural thing in the world. But your mind? Your drunk, horny mind immediately derails into filth.

You wish it was his cock instead—thick and hot, sliding across your tongue, stretching your lips wide, fucking your throat until you're gagging and drooling and swallowing down every messy drop of his cum.

Your thighs clench under the table, the sudden rush of slick making you squirm, a soft whimper slipping out before you can stop it. Jason's brow furrows, his beer halfway to his mouth.

"Baby," he asks, voice lower now, "you okay?"

You nod too hard again, the world tilting slightly around you as you lean in, your hand landing high on his thigh once more. "Wanna fuck," you whisper, way too loud for how crowded the bar is.

Jason barks out a surprised laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe you. But fuck if it isn't turning him on, how unfiltered and needy you get for him when you're drunk.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, tipping back the rest of his beer in one long swallow before setting the bottle down with a clink. "Okay, pretty girl. Let me pay the tab and we'll go home, yeah?"

You hum happily, already leaning into his side, and Jason's hand settles warm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless shapes while his other hand fishes his wallet out. You're still thinking about his dick—hot and leaking, sliding into your mouth, fucking your throat open before he bends you over and makes a mess of your pussy. And you've got zero intention of waiting until you're home to get your hands on him.

Before you leave, you decide you need the bathroom, weaving your way through the crowded bar with Jason's hand at the small of your back, his touch warm and steady, guiding you even though you're not exactly steady yourself.

The bathroom is... well, a Gotham bar bathroom—dim, one flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead, cracked mirror, graffiti covering the stall doors. It smells like vodka, faint piss, and one of those cheap lavender air fresheners, and honestly? You've pissed in worse. You handle your business, wash your hands, and catch your reflection in the smeared mirror.

You look... a little wrecked already. Cheeks flushed, lips glossy and a little swollen from how you've been biting at them all night. Your eyeliner's still holding on, but your hair's a mess from leaning into Jason every time you got touchy—and you always get touchy when you drink. Still, even a little tipsy and sloppy, you grin at yourself, knowing damn well Jason still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

You smooth your hands down your skirt, adjust your top, and stumble your way back out, only to immediately see her.

Some too-pretty bitch draping herself all over your man like she doesn't know he's taken, her stupid pink acrylic nails tracing up his arm, leaning way too close into his space like she's got a shot in hell.

And Jason? He looks exactly like you expect—bored out of his fucking mind. He doesn't smile, doesn't lean back, doesn't flirt. His body stays turned toward you, eyes scanning for you even as she talks, and the second you step back into view, his shoulders relax like Thank fuck you're back.

But you? Oh, you're seeing red.

"Excuse me?" you shout, voice cutting through the music and bar chatter like a fucking gunshot. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jason groans under his breath—"Oh, shit." —but it's too late. You're already stomping toward them, small but furious, your heels clacking hard against the floor like you're about to fight for your goddamn life.

The girl barely gets a chance to blink before you're in her face, finger jabbing at her chest, your other hand pointing wildly at Jason like a woman unhinged.

"That's my man, you thirsty fucking skank. Go throw yourself at someone who doesn't have a girlfriend."

Jason stands immediately, his big hand wrapping around your waist, physically lifting you off the floor because you're already reaching for her hair, fully prepared to drag her across the bar.

"Doll," he says, low and firm, voice edged with both amusement and actual concern. "C'mon, pretty girl, let's go."

"No!" you shout, flailing in his grip like a feral little cat. "She—she touched you! You're mine!"

"I know, baby," Jason says, voice softer now, soothing, his lips brushing your ear as he starts hauling you toward the door. "I'm all yours, always yours, pretty girl, you know that."

The girl stares in shock, but Jason doesn't even glance back at her. His only focus is you—his loud, drunk, ridiculously hot girlfriend who's out here ready to commit assault over him, and damn if that doesn't make him feel a little smug.

Outside, the cool night air hits you, and you're still huffy, arms crossed tight, refusing to look at him. Jason tugs you into the nearest alley, far enough from the entrance that you've got a little privacy, and then he tips your chin up gently, making you meet his eyes.

"Baby," he says, soft and serious, "you know I don't give a fuck about anyone else, right? You're it for me. My perfect girl. Nobody else even exists."

You bite your lip, still pouting, but your heart melts, all fuzzy and warm at the edges. "Promise?"

"Swear on my life," Jason says, hand over his heart, even though you both know his heart's been yours since the day you stumbled into his world.

You sigh dramatically, leaning into him, forehead to his chest. "Okay," you mumble. "But if she looks at you again, I'm breaking her nose."

Jason huffs a laugh, arms wrapping tight around you, hiding his smile in your hair. "I know you will, doll."

Then it hits him. Fuck. He walked you both here. No car, no bike. And now he's got to get your tipsy, horny, fight-happy ass home on foot.

"Oh, this is gonna be a long walk," Jason mutters, but even with the impending chaos, all he feels is love.

Wild, messy, absolutely fucking insane love for his feral little girlfriend who'd burn the world down for him if he asked. Jason's big hand reaches for yours, callused fingers curling gently around your smaller ones, and you let him intertwine them, your palm snug against his, so much bigger, so warm, so him.

You look up at him, eyes still wide and pouty, lip poked out just a little, and Jason can't help it. He leans down, catching your mouth with his in a kiss that's meant to be sweet, but fuck, you're drunk and needy and soft under him, and it goes from gentle to hot and sloppy real fast.

You moan against his mouth, pressing up on your toes to get closer, tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting beer and Jason and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Your free hand slides between you, fingers tracing down the front of his jeans until you find his dick, thick and warm, already stirring to life the second your palm cups him.

"Jesus Christ," Jason mutters against your lips, breaking the kiss with a panting breath. "Baby, you're insatiable."

"Yeah," you giggle, voice all breathy and fucked out already. "I want you so bad, Jay."

He takes a deep breath, trying to get his pulse under control, even though his cock is already hardening under your touch.

"C'mon, baby, let's get going. We'll be home in no time, yeah?"

You shake your head so violently you nearly knock yourself over, and Jason's quick, both hands grabbing your waist to steady you, brows raised in that exasperated, fond way that makes you feel like the most spoiled little brat in the world.

"No?" he asks, amusement curling in his voice. "What do you want, then?"

You pout, full-on drunk girl tantrum loading, tugging at his shirt like a needy little gremlin. "I want your dick, baby."

Jason laughs, head tipping back, the sound echoing off the brick alley walls. "I know, baby. And you'll get it." He cups your face, thumb dragging across your lower lip, eyes warm and full of affection. "Home. I'm not fuckin' you against a dumpster in Crime Alley."

You whine, actually whine, stomping your foot once for good measure. "But I'm so wet, Jay," you mumble, words all slurred and pouty. "My pussy hurts."

"Baby," Jason groans, running a hand down his face like he's in actual physical pain from trying to be a good man right now. "You are killin' me."

"So fuck me," you say, all wide-eyed, like you've cracked the fucking code.

Jason breathes deep through his nose, hands settling firm on your hips, holding you just far enough away from his dick so you can't start rubbing all over him again.

"Baby. Baby. Listen to me."

"No," you cut in, dramatically folding your arms under your tits, cleavage spilling in your too-tight top. "You listen to me. You always wanna fuck me. Why not now?"

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing fucking therapy, before he cups your cheeks again, squishing them until your lips pucker.

"Pretty girl, I do always wanna fuck you. But if I fuck you here, in this nasty-ass alley, I will never forgive myself. And you, my sweet, drunk little menace, will complain the whole way home about how your knees hurt or your back hurts or how you got gum in your hair from leanin' against this filthy fuckin' wall."

You blink at him, brain working overtime to process all that, and then you sniff. "Fine."

"Thank fuck," Jason sighs.

"But I'm walking all sexy so you stare at my ass the whole way."

"Baby," Jason groans, sliding a hand down to smack your ass once, hard enough to make you squeal and giggle. "You're a fuckin' nightmare."

"A sexy nightmare," you correct, wagging a finger in his face before you twirl dramatically toward the sidewalk, hips swinging like you're on a runway.

Jason follows, shaking his head, but fuck if he isn't staring at your ass just like you wanted. Even under the dim streetlights, the sway of your hips is hypnotic, that short skirt barely covering you, and all he can think about is getting you home, spreading you out, and ruining you properly.

But first? He's gotta get you both back alive.

His hand settles on the small of your back again, eyes scanning every shadow, every rooftop, every alley you pass, because it's Gotham. And drunk, horny, dramatic as you are, you're still his most precious thing—the only thing he'd throw himself in front of a bullet for without a second thought.

"Stay close, baby," he murmurs, fingers curling in your waistband, keeping you just a little closer as you both make your way down the sidewalk. "Don't need you wanderin' off."

You hum, leaning into him for a second before dancing away, spinning in a circle because you're drunk and happy and feeling yourself, and Jason knows—knows—that if you weren't so fucking adorable, he'd have lost his mind years ago.

His hand stays wrapped around yours, big and warm and strong, fingers interlocked so tight it feels like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. You're not even thinking about the way his grip has a slight edge to it, the way his shoulders stay tense, scanning every shadow you pass, every figure leaning against a wall or sitting on a curb. To you, it's just Jason holding your hand like he always does, but to him, it's the only way to stop himself from grabbing the nearest asshole staring at your tits and slamming their face into a brick wall.

Because yeah, you're loud. Laughing too hard at your own jokes, voice bouncing off every building as you tell him how much you love his biceps, actually grabbing his arm with both hands and smooshing your cheek against it like it's the only pillow you ever want again.

"Baby, I swear to God, I think your arm is bigger than my whole head," you giggle, fingers barely stretching around the thickness of his bicep.

Your cheek stays pressed against him, your lips practically kissing the fabric of his jacket, and Jason just grunts, biting back a smile.

He's trying so fucking hard to stay focused. You're walking through downtown Gotham, and even though you're getting closer to Bristol, you're still technically in territory where he knows half the guys on the sidewalk have at least one weapon on them.

But you? You're bouncing beside him in your cute little skirt, tits pushed up perfectly, heels clicking on the pavement, and every time you laugh, your nipples press against the thin fabric like a filthy little tease.

Jason glances down just once, and fuck, you're not wearing a bra. His jaw clenches so tight his teeth might crack.

"Jay, Jay—hey," you tug at his arm, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, one strong hand on your hip, the other still holding your hand tight. "I'm okay!" you announce, way too loud, grinning up at him.

"Yeah, I see that," he mutters, tugging you closer so you're practically walking under his arm now. "Maybe let me steer, baby, before you snap one of those pretty ankles."

You just hum, leaning into his side, your arm wrapping around his waist, your cheek back against his ribs this time, and you barely reach his shoulder like this, even with the height boost from your heels.

It's obscene, really, how small you are compared to him, and Jason feels it everywhere. In the way your soft hand barely wraps around his fingers, the way your arm can't even get all the way around his torso, the way your chin tilts up so far just to meet his eyes.

It's making his dick throb again, especially with the way you keep pressing against him like you can't get close enough, your tits practically plastered to his side. And when your hand slips lower, over his hip, fingers skimming his belt? Yeah, his dick definitely stirs again, already half-hard in his jeans.

But Jason grits his teeth, eyes flicking down a side street where a couple of guys lean against a car, watching you both pass with a little too much interest.

He could end them. Real easy. But that means letting go of you for even a second, and in a place like this, that's too much time.

So instead, he focuses on getting you both to Bristol. Once you're there, it's different. Still Gotham, sure, but way less grime, way fewer threats.

"Baby, your biceps," you murmur dreamily, still snuggled into his side. "I wanna live here. Make me a bicep hammock. I could just... take a nap right here."

"Jesus Christ," Jason huffs, half-laughing, half-suffering.

His hand squeezes your hip hard enough to make you gasp softly, and your thighs press together instinctively, slick panties clinging to your skin.

And you know it's bad—for him, for you—because you can already feel how wet you are, panties soaked just from the feel of his hand and the size of his arm and the fact that Jason fucking Todd is all yours.

Every broad inch of him belongs to you, and you want him so badly your nipples ache, hard and sensitive, the cool night air brushing them through your top with every step.

Jason feels it too, the way your body stays glued to his, warm and soft and sweet, all that restless, needy energy radiating off you like heat. And even though his jaw stays tight, his eyes sharp and scanning for trouble, his dick is already thinking about the safety of your shared apartment, where he can fuck you in peace.

But finally, you make it into Bristol, and Jason feels like he can breathe again. Shoulders easing just slightly, the tension that's been coiled in his spine since you left the bar loosens a fraction, though he's still hyper-aware of every footstep behind you, every flickering streetlight, every passing car.

Gotham's quieter here, but it's still Gotham. And no sane person drives a cab through this shithole, especially not after dark, which is exactly why you're stuck walking home. Buses aren't much better—either they're not running at all, or they're full of people Jason would rather not share air with, let alone a seat.

But you? You're not thinking about cabs or buses or safety at all. You're too busy scanning the sidewalks like you're searching for treasure, except the treasure you want is a dark, secluded little alley where your man can fuck you until you're crying.

And you find one.

You stop so suddenly Jason nearly stumbles into you, and you gasp like you just discovered the lost city of gold.

"What now, doll?" he sighs, already bracing for whatever chaos is about to spill from your pretty mouth.

Your grin is downright wicked, that playful, tipsy sparkle in your eyes as you grab his arm with both hands and start walking backwards toward the alley entrance. It's tucked behind some trendy little wine bar, barely lit, and Jason's already shaking his head, planting his feet like a stubborn brick wall.

"Baby," he warns, voice low, but you're having none of it.

"Jay," you pout, stepping back into the shadows, fingers curling around his belt to tug him with you. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease. I can't wait. I'm so fucking wet, I swear it's dripping down my thighs."

"Jesus," he mutters, but his resolve is crumbling fast, especially when you grab his wrist and guide his hand under your skirt, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the damp lace of your panties.

Jason hisses between his teeth, jaw clenched tight as his fingertips press into the soaked fabric, feeling just how messy you already are. "Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers stroking you through the lace until you're trembling. "You really are dripping."

You nod so hard it's almost comical, hips rocking into his touch, and he curses again, pulling his hand back before he loses whatever sliver of restraint he has left.

"C'mon, Jay," you murmur, voice all sweet and syrupy as you press your body against him. "No one's here. I need you so bad."

He's so fucking weak for you. He always has been. With a low, rumbling sigh, he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly off the ground, keeping your heels from clicking against the damp pavement, his strength so effortless it makes you dizzy.

Your arms loop around his neck, lips grazing his jaw, and you whisper, "Knew you couldn't resist me."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but there's already a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he carries you further into the alley.

And to both your surprise, it's not that bad. No reeking garbage, no questionable puddles, just a slightly damp brick wall and enough privacy to make this work.

Jason pins you to the wall gently, broad hands spreading your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt to bunch it up around your hips, and the cool air against your soaked panties makes you shiver.

"We're doing this fast," he murmurs, voice dark and low as he towers over you, his body heat sinking into your skin. "Then I'm carrying your ass home and fucking you proper, got it?"

You just nod, biting your lip as your hips wiggle, trying to press against him. Before you can fully grind up against him, Jason pulls you off the wall like you weigh nothing, his big hand splayed across your back, holding you up effortlessly with just one arm.

"Hold still, baby," he murmurs, though there's a flicker of fond amusement in his voice.

You cling to him, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, legs dangling slightly until he sets you down just long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. Then he drapes it over your shoulders, the worn leather heavy and warm from his body heat, swallowing you whole.

"Don't want you all scratched up," he says, fingers brushing your cheek before he lifts you up and pins you back to the wall, his body following, pressing tight against yours.

The kiss that follows is messy, almost desperate, like neither of you has any patience left, his mouth slanting over yours, tongue licking deep between your parted lips. You taste like alcohol and sweetness, like the cocktails you couldn't stop sipping, and Jason tastes like beer and heat and him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your mouth, and he rolls his hips into you, grinding his thick cock against your sopping cunt through your panties, the rough denim dragging against the soaked lace until you whimper into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, forehead pressed to yours. "You're so fuckin' wet. I can feel it through my jeans."

"Then stop teasing," you pout, hips canting against him again, your thighs trembling from the sheer ache of needing him inside you.

"Oh, baby," Jason grins, all teeth, his hand sliding between you to push your panties aside, fingers dipping low to swipe through your slick folds, making you jerk. "Teasing's my favorite part."

"Jay," you whine, voice high and thin, your hips trying to chase his fingers as they stroke along your slit, purposefully avoiding your clit. "Please. Don't—don't tease, I'm so wet, I need you, please."

"Yeah?" He drags his fingers lower, tracing around your entrance, gathering up your slick, rubbing it slow over your throbbing clit until your whole body jerks again. "You need me that bad, baby?"

"Yes," you cry, voice pitchy and desperate, hands fisting in his shirt. "Need your dick, need you to fuck me, pleasepleaseplease—"

Jason hums low in his throat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches you come undone right in front of him. "Greedy little thing," he teases, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit until you're trembling against him. "So fuckin' needy."

"Because you made me like this," you snap, drunk enough that you barely have a filter, every single thought spilling from your lips. "You and your stupid big dick and your stupid perfect hands and your stupid hot face—"

Jason barks a laugh, cutting you off by sinking two fingers deep into your cunt with a filthy squelch that echoes through the alley, your protests melting into a soft, helpless moan.

"There we go," he murmurs, voice low and rough as his fingers pump in and out, stretching you open, slick dripping down to coat his knuckles. "Gotta open you up, baby. You know you can't take me if I don't stretch this sweet little pussy first."

You just whimper, hips rocking down onto his hand, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, your drunk little brain so overwhelmed by how good his fingers feel, how deep they reach, already curling to press against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

"Always so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, thumb circling your clit as his fingers fuck into you, slow and deliberate.

You nod frantically, too far gone to do anything else, all your focus narrowed down to the way his fingers stretch and fill you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet alley.

"Think you can behave if I fuck you right here?" he asks, lips brushing your ear, fingers never slowing. "Or are you gonna be a noisy little brat and get us caught?"

Jason's fingers work your cunt like it's his job, those thick digits scissoring inside you, spreading you wide, your walls clenching down hard every time he drags them out only to push them back in knuckle-deep.

You're soaked, dripping all over his hand, slick and messy and obscene, and he fucking loves it. Loves the way you always need a little stretching, loves how no matter how many times he's fucked this pussy, you still go all tight and greedy on him like you're brand new every single time.

His thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, just enough to keep you right on the edge of frustration, never quite enough to let you fall over, and you whine—a long, high-pitched sound that makes him smirk.

"Jay," you slur, lips dragging over his jaw, sticky and soft, your fingers clawing at his back through his shirt, hips squirming helplessly against his hand. "Want your dick, baby, please."

"Shhh," Jason hums against your mouth, voice rough, fingers still fucking into you, that relentless rhythm making your thighs shake. "I've got you, baby. Let me make you cum first, yeah? Can't have you all tight and needy like this. You'll hurt yourself tryin' to take me."

"Don't care," you pout, sucking a mark into his neck, messy and wet, your tongue flicking over the spot before you nip at it, making him grunt softly. "Wanna be full, Jay, wanna feel you stretch me out, wanna feel you fuck me so deep, baby, please—"

"Jesus," Jason mutters, but there's no heat to it, just low, throaty amusement, like he can't believe how fucking desperate you get when you're drunk and horny like this.

He shifts his hand, fingers crooking inside you just right, dragging over that spot that makes you jolt, and you whimper, thighs clenching around his waist.

"Look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he watches your face twist in pleasure, mouth all pouty and glossy, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to your temples from how hot you've gotten. "So fucking pretty when you're like this, baby. All fucked out and desperate for me."

"Because I love you," you slur, fingers fisting in his hair, tugging him down into a kiss that's all tongue and teeth, messy and clumsy and so fucking hot he groans into it. "Love your dick, love your hands, love your stupid face—"

Jason swallows your rambling with another kiss, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit until you're trembling, back arching, your whole body pressing into his like you're trying to crawl inside his skin.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers against your lips, voice low and dark and sweet like sin. "Cum for me. Make a mess all over my fingers, show me how bad you want me."

You sob—a high, helpless sound—as your cunt clenches down hard, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking freight train, your hips stuttering against his hand, slick gushing over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

"Good girl," Jason praises, kissing you through it, swallowing every little moan and whimper as his fingers keep pumping, working you through the aftershocks until you're twitching, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

"Too much," you mumble, slurring against his mouth, but he just hums, grinning against your lips.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, pulling his fingers from your spent pussy, shiny and dripping, your slick coating his knuckles and glistening under the dim alley light. He holds his hand up, spreading his fingers just to watch the strings of your arousal stretch between them, his lip curling into a dark little smirk. "Look at this messy little pussy, baby. You really are my perfect fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You whimper, squirming against the wall, thighs trembling where they wrap around his waist, and Jason's grin only widens. "Can't get enough of me, can you? Drippin' just from my fingers. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna ruin you."

"Please," you mumble, words all breathless and slurred, your glossy eyes locked on his mouth like you're starving for him. "Kiss me, Jay."

He doesn't need to be told twice—his mouth crashes into yours, hot and hungry, all tongue and teeth and filthy little moans that make your head spin. You taste like your cocktails and him, and you drink down his groans like they're your favorite liquor, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard just to feel him grunt against your tongue.

His kiss is messy, wet, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging until you whine before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand stays firm on your ass, keeping you pinned, while his other works at his belt with practiced ease, the jingle making your pussy clench down hard around nothing. Your thighs squeeze his waist, your needy body rocking against him like you're trying to catch his dick the second it's free.

"Desperate," Jason teases, voice thick with amusement, but his own breath stutters when his jeans finally slide down just enough to let his dick spring free, hot and heavy, the flushed tip already smeared with precum.

He grunts softly as he fists himself, dragging his slick thumb over the head before he ruts against your messy cunt, grinding his cock between your folds until his length is coated in your slick, sliding so easily against your soaked, swollen clit.

"Baby," you moan, head lolling back against the brick, your eyes going half-lidded, all glassy and drunk on him. "Want you so bad. Please, Jay."

"Fuck, you're so needy," he groans, angling his hips just right so the thick head of his cock notches at your entrance, pushing in just a little, stretching you open slow. "Always so tight for me, baby. So fuckin' perfect."

You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, his neck—anywhere you can hold onto as he starts to push deeper, the stretch making your mouth drop open, your eyes going wide as your cunt struggles to take him, even as slick as you are.

"Every time," Jason mutters, almost to himself, watching your face, your body, your perfect pussy swallowing him inch by inch. "Every fuckin' time this pussy fights me at first. Like you forget how big my dick is until I'm stuffin' you full again."

He doesn't even bother bottoming out at first, just fucking into you shallow and rough, enough to make your body bounce against the wall, enough to make you cry out soft and sweet with every thrust.

"Jay—" you whimper, too loud, but he slaps a big hand over your mouth, muffling you, his own jaw tight as he glares down at you.

"We're still in public, baby," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust, finally bottoming out in one stroke that makes your eyes roll back. "Behave. I don't wanna spend the night in jail 'cause my girl couldn't keep her pretty mouth shut."

You whimper against his palm, nodding hard, eyes still wide and glassy, and he kisses your forehead like you're not split open on his dick in the middle of a fucking alley.

"That's my good girl," he purrs, letting his hand slide down to grip your waist, both hands anchoring you now as he starts to move.

And fuck, he moves—lifting you up like you weigh nothing, only to slam you back down onto his cock, impaling you over and over, your messy little cunt squelching loud and obscene every time he bottoms out. Your slick coats his dick, smearing down his thighs, dripping onto the pavement, and he's fucking feral for it, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his temples from how tight you are.

"Fuck, baby, this pussy's made for me," he groans, his grip bruising at your hips, his cock grinding so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. "So fuckin' tight—so wet for me. Look at you, baby, takin' me so good. My perfect little slut."

"Yours," you slur, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, your head dropping back against the wall, throat exposed and begging for his mouth. "Love your dick, Jay. Love you. Love you so much."

"Love you too, baby," he grunts, barely coherent as your walls flutter around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he can barely pull back without you chasing him. "Love this messy little pussy. Gonna fuck you stupid right here, doll. Gonna make you cum on my dick, and then I'm gonna stuff you full of cum. Even if it gets me arrested."

The words shoot straight to your core, making your pussy clamp down around him so sweet and snug that Jason has to grit his teeth, his hips stuttering just for a second as heat flashes down his spine.

"Fuck—just like that, baby," he breathes, voice low, vibrating against your neck. "Keep squeezin' me like that, doll, you're gonna milk me dry."

The sound of your cunt taking him is fucking obscene, a slick, messy squelch every time he pulls out, followed by a wet, filthy slap as he fucks back in, balls-deep. It echoes off the brick walls, mixing with his ragged grunts and your soft, breathless moans, and it's so fucking dirty it makes his cock twitch inside you.

His hands cup your ass, those big, strong hands lifting and spreading you, kneading your soft flesh as he works you up and down his cock like you're weightless, his fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

The sweet scent of your arousal fills his nose, thick and heady in the cool night air, and Jason can't help himself—he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep like he's getting high off the smell of your pussy.

"Always so fuckin' sweet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

His tongue flicks out to taste the sweat beading there before he sucks at your neck, hard and messy, leaving dark bruises like a brand. He soothes the sting with his tongue, a lazy, possessive stroke that makes you whimper and tighten your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands like you're trying to keep him exactly where he is.

He doesn't give a fuck if you pull every single strand out, doesn't give a shit if you ruin his scalp, because all that matters is the way your pussy feels—so fucking soft, so hot, clenching around him like you were made to take his dick. His thighs burn from the angle, his back sticky under his shirt, but none of it registers because all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how perfectly you fit around him.

Jason knows, deep down, that this is fucking insane. He's not supposed to be fucking you in an alley in Bristol. Usually, he's the one talking you down when you're drunk and horny, steering you home with that cocky little grin, promising to fuck you into the mattress the second you walk through the door. But tonight, reason flew out the window the second you dragged him into the shadows, panties already soaked, begging for his dick like a needy little slut.

And fuck, how's he supposed to resist you when you look at him like that? When you sound like this? All soft, breathless little moans, spilling past your kiss-swollen lips as you clutch at him like you'll die if he stops? When your body trembles in his hands, your slick running down his balls, every ragged little breath carrying his name?

"Jason," you whisper, so soft and sweet it fucking kills him, your voice all wrecked from the way he's been fucking you open. "So big, baby. Feels so good."

"Yeah?" His voice drops, rough and husky, fingers digging into your ass just a little harder as he fucks you deeper, cock grinding against that soft spot inside you that makes you tremble all over. "This dick's yours, doll. Made to stretch this sweet little pussy. You're perfect, baby—fuck, you're perfect for me."

Your nails rake down his back, short little scrapes through his shirt that make his abs flex, and Jason growls low in his throat, biting at your neck, at your shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth into.

"So good, doll. So fuckin' tight. My messy little slut, all drunk and desperate for my dick. Gonna fuck you until you can't even stand, baby."

Your walls pulse around him like you're already close, your breath hitching in soft, uneven moans, and Jason groans against your skin, fucking you harder, faster, losing any semblance of control. His hips slap against yours, your slick painting his skin, his cock so soaked it glides into you with filthy ease.

"C'mon, doll," he whispers against your ear, voice dark and sweet, dripping filth like honey. "Be my good girl and cum for me, yeah? Let me feel you soak my dick. Let me ruin this pretty little pussy."

Jason's grip shifts, just slightly, and the angle hits different—deeper, somehow rougher, but the real kicker is how his hips grind up against your clit every time he bottoms out, his skin rubbing over that swollen little bundle of nerves.

It's not even intentional at first, just the natural press of his body against yours in this position, but once he hears the choked little moan you make, he fucking locks onto it like a bloodhound, making sure to grind against you every time his cock stretches you open.

Your head falls back, clunking lightly against the brick, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in closer, deeper. "Gonna cum," you gasp, voice thin, whiny and so fucking needy Jason feels his cock twitch inside you. "Jay—gonna cum, baby, please—"

"Yeah, you are," he rasps, kissing you quick and filthy, all tongue and teeth, biting at your lower lip before pulling back to look at you, all fucked-out and perfect. "Cum on my dick, baby. Make a mess all over me."

His thrusts turn deep and shallow, grinding against your clit with every stroke, the fat head of his cock dragging over that sweet little spot inside you until your legs start to shake. Your whole body tenses, back arching off the wall as your cunt pulses around him, gushing so hard it drips down his cock, slicking up his thighs and the inside of yours, messy and obscene and so fucking good.

"OhmyfuckingGod," you gasp, the words running together into a high-pitched moan, your body trembling in his hands. You're loud—too loud, and Jason clamps his hand over your mouth again, shushing you in that low, dangerous tone that always makes your cunt clench.

"Shhh, doll. You wanna get us caught?" he murmurs, right against your ear. "I'll stop. I fuckin' will. I'll pull out and leave you drippin', you keep bein' so fuckin' loud."

You shake your head wildly, wide, desperate eyes looking up at him, your hands clutching at his shoulders like your life depends on it. You can't stop now—you need his cum, need him to fuck it into you so deep it sticks, so deep you feel him for days.

Jason knows. Of course he knows—knows how much you love it when he pumps you full, knows how fucked-out and blissed you get when you feel him leak out of you, warm and thick and messy.

He's just about to give you what you want when—

The flash of red and blue lights paints the alley in sharp neon. You both freeze.

Jason's heart fucking stops, then kicks up so hard he can feel it in his teeth, every muscle in his body going taut like a wire ready to snap. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp, fingers digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent marks through his shirt.

"Shhh, baby," he whispers again, this time more soothing than stern, his hand smoothing over your hip like that's gonna calm either of you down. "If you're quiet, they're not even gonna know we're here."

You nod fast, lip caught between your teeth, eyes darting to the mouth of the alley where the cop car slows, brake lights flaring red through the shadows.

Jason's heart pounds, his cock still buried balls-deep in your cunt, and this might actually be the stupidest, most reckless shit he's ever done—which is really saying something, considering his track record.

The car idles there for a beat too long, and you start to panic for real, breath coming too fast, your fingers clutching at him, but Jason dips down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice low and calm.

"Hey. It's okay, baby. They're just bored. Ain't got shit to do out here. They'll move."

And they do—after what feels like a fucking lifetime, the car finally rolls past the alley, the glow of the lights fading into the night.

"See, baby? Told you. We're good."

He grins, kissing you again, slow and sweet at first, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper, the kiss turning sloppy and filthy all over again. Tongues sliding together, your moans humming right into his mouth, his cock twitching inside you.

"Now," Jason mutters between kisses, "where the fuck were we?"

He starts moving again, lifting you in his arms like you weigh nothing, slamming you back down onto his cock, the force of it making your whole body bounce, your slick cunt taking him so easy now after you came all over him.

Jason fucks you hard—not fast, not hurried, but with deep, brutal strokes, splitting you open every time, grinding against your clit at the end of each thrust until your breath stutters and your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back against the wall.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged, hands locked around your waist, holding you tight like you might slip through his fingers. "You're so fuckin' tight. You feel that, doll? Feel how perfect this little pussy fits around my dick?"

You moan, soft and breathless, nails raking down his back, and Jason fucking loves it—loves how wild you get for him, how no matter how many times he's fucked you, you're still so damn tight around him.

"Love this pussy, baby," he mutters, voice thick and low, "love ruinin' you. My messy little slut, all drunk and dripping for me. Fuckin' perfect."

He can't stop kissing you, can't stop tasting your lips, your tongue, the little whimpers you feed him between kisses, his hips never slowing, driving into you over and over, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

He knows you need to get the fuck out of here before the cops come back, before some nosey old lady comes out of that wine bar and catches you. But your pussy's too good, too sweet and snug, and if he doesn't cum soon, he might actually lose his mind.

Jason's pace shifts—rougher now, driven by that primal need to fill you up, to mark you inside and out, to make sure no one could even think about touching you after this. His thrusts slam into you with brutal precision, the thick length of his cock dragging along every slick, swollen inch of your cunt, stretching you wide around him, splitting you open over and over until your pussy feels raw and tender and so fucking full it's like you can't take a breath without feeling him buried deep inside you.

He knows you can feel every vein, every ridge, the blunt head of his cock grinding right against your cervix, and fuck, you're so wet—dripping all over him, down his thighs, pooling between you, every thrust making a filthy squelch echo down the alley. If anyone walked past right now, there wouldn't be a doubt what's happening here.

Not with the way your slick coats his cock, makes every thrust slippery and obscene, not with the way your breathy little moans hitch every time he bottoms out, not with the way his hips slap against yours, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

Your thoughts are a fucking mess—the only things running through your drunk, fucked-out brain are Jason, dick, cum, more. You can't think past the way his cock stretches you, how perfect it feels to be pinned up like this, taken apart by him like you're nothing but a toy, his strong arms the only thing keeping you up. You swear you can feel him everywhere, like he's inside your bones, like the next time you take a step you'll still feel the heavy weight of him between your legs.

He kisses you again, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, teeth clashing, spit slicking up your chin, but neither of you give a fuck. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt into your mouth, and he swears he could cum from just this—from the taste of you, the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the soft little whimpers you spill into his mouth every time his cock hits that sweet spot.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple, "this pussy's so fuckin' messy. So fuckin' tight. Can barely move, you're clenching so hard. You gonna cum again for me, doll? Gonna make a mess all over my dick?"

You nod, whining, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because it's too much—too good, too deep, too full—but you don't want him to stop. "Please, Jay—wanna cum with you, wanna feel you fill me up."

"Yeah?" His thrusts speed up, hips snapping into you hard and fast, dragging you down onto him like a ragdoll. "Wanna feel me cum inside this needy little pussy? Stuff you so full it leaks out of you? You fuckin' love it, don't you?"

You whimper, nails biting into his skin, legs tightening around his waist, and you're so fucking close—right on the edge, your whole body buzzing, heat coiling low in your belly, until one perfect grind of his cock against your clit sends you over, your cunt fluttering around him, sucking him in so deep.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," you chant, head falling back against the wall, eyes rolling back, body shaking in his grip as you gush all over him, slick dripping down his cock, onto the pavement, messy and obscene.

"Fuck—there you go, baby. Fuckin' soak me," Jason groans, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking, grip bruising around your waist. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And then he's right behind you, cock throbbing, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, hot and heavy, pumping against your cervix until you can feel it everywhere, until you swear it's gonna leak out of your mouth.

His head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, breath ragged as his hips keep moving, slow, deep thrusts fucking his cum deeper into you, even though it's already dripping down his dick, slicking up your inner thighs.

But he's not done—not yet.

You barely catch your breath before he starts moving again, overstimulated and tender, but his dick's still hard, still hungry, and he loves you like this—drunk on him, too dumb to think about anything except the way he fills you up, the way he uses you like his personal fucktoy.

"Jason," you slur, clinging to him, nails digging into his scalp, his back, anywhere you can reach, "too much—too much—"

"You can take it, baby," he purrs, kissing you again, softer now, but still deep, still filthy. "Know you can take it for me. One more, yeah? Be my good girl."

And fuck, of course you're his good girl. Of course you'll give him one more.

He pounds into you harder, faster, sloppy and desperate, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet squelch of your cunt, the sweet scent of your arousal thick in the air, his nose buried in your neck, sucking messy bruises into your skin as his fingers grip your ass, kneading and spreading you, watching the way his cock disappears inside you over and over again.

Your thoughts are gone—totally fucked out, only able to focus on the way he fills you, the way his cum squelches out around his cock every time he thrusts back in.

And Jason? Jason's fucking feral—eyes locked on the sight of his cock splitting you open, cunt so swollen and puffy, all slicked up with both of you, and all he can think about is how fucking perfect you are.

"Look at you, baby," he whispers, voice low and reverent, fingers sliding between your bodies to rub your clit, even though you're already so sensitive you're trembling. "My perfect little pussy. Made to take me. Made to get fucked dumb, stuffed full of my cum. My sweet girl."

And that's all it takes—one more twist of his fingers, one more deep thrust, and you're cumming again, body jerking in his hands, cunt milking him for every last drop.

Jason kisses you through it, drinking down your whimpers, your soft little cries, soothing you with his tongue even as his hips finally slow, his cock still thick and heavy inside you, keeping every messy drop right where it belongs.

"Good girl," he breathes against your lips, forehead resting against yours, hands smoothing over your hips, "my perfect, messy girl."

Your body is deadweight in his arms, completely boneless and blissed out, every limb heavy with exhaustion and the sweet, drugged haze of post-fuck bliss. You're still trembling, but not just from the aftershocks—the cool night air prickles at your exposed skin, goosebumps pebbling over your arms, your thighs, the still-damp mess between your legs.

Jason feels it immediately, the way your soft, bare skin shivers against his, and it sends a twist of guilt through his gut—fucking you into a fucking alley like some horny teenager. But truth be told, it was your idea.

But before he can even say anything, your hands cup his face, small fingers curled around the rough edges of his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and you kiss him. It's slow this time—messy, sure, still tasting like beer and sweat and something sweet that's all you—but it lingers, softer, deeper, your tongue curling into his mouth, tracing along his teeth, savoring him like you need to commit the taste of him to memory.

You're still trembling, but the heat between your bodies eases it just a little, your fingers combing through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as you melt into him, the kiss lasting long enough that his dick gives a lazy twitch inside you again, still hard even after he just filled you to the brim.

Finally, you pull back, lips red and swollen, your face glowing with the kind of fucked-out bliss that makes his chest ache with pride.

He smirks down at you, brushing a strand of hair off your face as he mutters, "You're fuckin' insane, pretty girl."

You giggle, that sweet little drunken giggle that makes his cock twitch again, and your head tilts back against the wall. "I thought I was gonna die without your dick, baby."

He groans, shaking his head, but there's no real exasperation there—just affection under the rasp of his voice. "Yeah, like I said. Fuckin' insane."

But you're already nuzzling into his neck, soft lips brushing his skin, your breath warm and sleepy against his throat. You smell like sweat and sex, all wrapped up in that sweet scent that's all you, and his arms tighten around you without thinking.

His lips press to the side of your head, lingering there as he murmurs, "C'mon, we need to get you home, yeah?"

You pout, face still buried in his neck. "Can't move. "M tired. And cold."

"I know, baby," he soothes, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I know. I'll carry you."

You scoff weakly, lifting your head just enough to squint up at him. "We're far from home."

"So?" he shrugs, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't act like you weigh a ton of fuckin' bricks."

You giggle again, arms going slack around his neck as you settle more comfortably into his hold, cheek squished against his shoulder. Jason's hands ease under your thighs, holding you up as gently as he can while he slowly pulls out, your slick warmth clinging to his cock, your messy cunt fluttering around nothing as his cum immediately starts to drip down.

You whimper softly at the loss, fingers curling into his shirt, but before you can complain, he's already reaching down, sliding your panties back up over your swollen cunt. Not to keep you modest—no, that ship sailed about four orgasms ago—but just to keep as much of his cum inside you as possible. He watches the way the lace darkens immediately, soaked through from the mess he made of you, and his cock twitches again in the cool air.

He sets you down carefully, but your knees buckle instantly, legs still shaking too hard to hold you up. "Jesus, baby," he chuckles, steadying you with one arm as he tucks his cock back into his jeans, adjusting them like he didn't just ruin you against an alley wall. "Gonna have to work on your stamina."

"Don't be mean," you pout, swaying a little as he smooths your skirt back down over your thighs—not that it covers much, but at least it's an attempt at decency.

Then he grabs his jacket from your shoulders, wrapping it around you properly this time, tugging your arms through the sleeves before zipping it all the way up. It's way too big, swallowing your smaller frame whole, and the sight makes him laugh—your fucked-out face peeking up at him from inside the oversized jacket, makeup smeared, mascara smudged under your eyes, lips still swollen and shiny with spit and his kisses.

You pout harder at his laugh, but it only makes him grin wider. "Shut up."

"Never," he says, scooping you back into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. You try to protest weakly, but he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just let me take care of you, baby. Bet those pretty little feet already hurt in those heels."

And you can't even argue because he's fucking right, and honestly? Being carried sounds pretty nice right now.

Jason's grip adjusts as he walks, arms cradling you tighter to his chest, your body boneless and pliant in his hold. You're so out of it, head resting against his shoulder, lips slightly parted, soft breath warming his skin every few seconds. His jacket drowns you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and he can feel the damp heat between your thighs seeping into the fabric where you're curled against him.

You're a mess—hair sticking to your forehead, skin sticky with sweat, makeup smudged in every direction, and his cum still leaking slowly down your thigh, leaving shiny streaks against your skin. But fuck if you aren't the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He carries you easily, years of strength training making your weight feel like nothing. His feet move on autopilot, familiar with the route home, but his mind? That's a fucking mess.

Because Jason Todd doesn't do this. Doesn't fuck his girl drunk in a dirty alley with the risk of cops busting them. He's the one who's usually dragging your ass home before you get yourself into trouble, lecturing you about safety, tucking you into bed with water and painkillers. But tonight?

Tonight you begged so sweetly, moaned so filthy, kissed him so needy that all his common sense evaporated. And now he's here, hauling your wrecked body home, knowing you're gonna be sore as hell tomorrow—all his fault. And he can't even bring himself to regret it.

The door creaks softly when he shoulders it open, the apartment dim and quiet, and by the time he crosses the threshold, you're completely asleep against him. Your breath is soft and steady, face smushed into his neck, lips still a little wet from those sloppy kisses you couldn't stop giving him.

He sighs, kissing the top of your head before carrying you straight to the bathroom, flicking the light on with his elbow. The bright light makes you stir, a soft whimper leaving your throat, but you don't wake until he starts peppering little kisses across your face. Your nose first, then your forehead, then your cheeks—until your lashes flutter, and you blink up at him, all confused and sleepy and perfect.

"We're home, baby," he murmurs, voice soft.

You look around, eyes squinting at the light, brow furrowing as you take in the bathroom. "Huh?"

It's so adorably confused, so genuine, that Jason can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, doll," he grins, setting you down on wobbly feet. "We made it."

You sway a little, legs still weak, and he steadies you with one hand while the other shrugs his jacket off your shoulders, tossing it over the counter. Then he sinks to his knees, big hands cupping your ankles as he carefully unbuckles your heels, sliding them off one by one.

His palms rub over your skin, easing the ache, and he leans in to press a kiss to your calf before standing again. "Feet hurt?"

You nod sleepily, arms looping lazily around his neck, and he smiles. "Told you."

He gets the water running, warm but not too hot, and undresses you like you're made of glass—peeling the sweat-damp top and skirt from your skin, sliding your panties down those shaky legs, until you're bare and glowing under the bright bathroom light.

His own clothes come off fast, jeans and t-shirt kicked into the corner, and then he's guiding you under the spray, his big body crowding in behind you, keeping you steady.

You whine, soft and pitiful, as the water hits your oversensitive skin. "So tired," you mumble, cheek pressed to his chest.

"I know, baby," he soothes, hands moving quickly—gentle but efficient, washing away your makeup, the sweat and cum and alley grime, fingers gliding between your legs, over your thighs, along your back.

Every protest, every sleepy complaint, gets kissed away—a kiss to your shoulder, your temple, your lips. By the time he's rinsed you off, you're barely awake, your body slumping against him as he wraps you in a towel and carries you straight to bed.

You hit the mattress face-first, towel half hanging off, and you're out like a light in under five seconds.

Jason watches you for a second, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Hopeless."

He tries—he really does—to dress you at least in one of his shirts, but you don't even budge, and honestly? If you wanna sleep naked, who the fuck is he to stop you? Less work for him in the morning. He tosses the towels back into the bathroom, pulls on a pair of boxers, and slides into bed beside you.

The second his body heat hits you, you roll into him, face pressed to his chest, soft thigh hitching over his hip like you can't stand to have any space between you. His arm curls around your waist automatically, palm sliding up the curve of your ass, along your back, tracing lazy patterns across your bare skin.

He's still thinking—about you, about tonight, about how the fuck you've got him wrapped around your little finger so tightly that one pout can ruin every ounce of self-control he's got. And it should piss him off. Should make him wanna teach you a lesson. But instead, it just makes him want to ruin you again, until you forget your own fucking name.

"Insane," he mutters into your hair, mouth curling into a grin.

But you're his insane, and that's all that fucking matters.

[supernovae-explosion]

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮? 𝟙𝟠+

I. II. III. .·:¨ Dividers | Masterlist ¨:·. 🔞 MDNI 🔞

Hello! To pick a pile please clear your mind and focus on the images above, whichever one speaks to you the most or you feel the most drawn to, this one is for you! If more than one speaks to you, feel free to read both. Remember to take only what resonates with you 🌠 If you enjoyed this reading please like and reblog, it's very appreciated <3

PILE I.

In their eyes, you are a walking goddess, everything they ever dreamt of, their soulmate. They feel it very intensively which makes them willing to fight for you. You are what they were asking for the universe, and they finally found it, they for sure are not letting you go. I can feel this possessive energy coming from them. It’s like they fantasize about chanting under their breath “mine mine mine” while you guys enjoy each other. The way you walk and present yourself, the way you take care of yourself has a big effect on them it really turns them on. Your initial indifference and playing hard to get when you meet makes them very riled up, they want to fight for you, make you theirs. They want to explore you, not only your body, but your mind – all the secrets, every detail about you and how you think, it makes them excited. They have this dominating energy, but whenever you come up they get more submissive, I really feel like they would be into worshipping you and your body, pleasing you as much as they can. They are really into this, you are a prize in their eyes and winning you over is the most satisfying thing they can do, they can’t help themselves. They might want to spoil you with gifts, in their mind it would help a lot with winning you over, no matter how much things would cost I feel like they would go with it just to satisfy you.

Songs: Telepatía by Kali Uchis | Dark Red by Steve Lacy | National Anthem by Lana Del Rey

PILE II.

This may be a third party situation or a secret relationship type of beat. What I'm seeing for sure here is that being sneaky and keeping it a secret is really working on their excitement – I’m seeing a scenario where you two sneak out of the party to the bathroom to enjoy yourselves, the danger of being found out makes it thrilling, exciting, which turns them on even more. They might be into kissing your neck a lot, or even biting it, they like it rough. You really pushed this person to the edge, they see you as this never stopping, powerful individual. There’s this weird connection between the two of you, this may be a karmic relationship. On a lighter note, it seems like you are a light in the tunnel for them, they may feel alone and unappreciated in this current situation they are in but you bring this excitement and will for a new beginning into their life again. They really give off this capricorn energy, maybe they have some planets in it, or they are ruled by saturn? This will be a sign that this pile is for you. Your inner strength and determination makes them feel ways they didn’t feel before, it’s very dangerous and alluring and it makes them go crazy with want. They may have options around them, but you take all their attention, you have this magnetic pull on them and their instincts.

Songs: So High by Doja Cat | See You Again by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis | I Don’t Wanna Talk (I Just Wanna Dance) by Glass Animals

PILE III.

Your creativity, your strategical thinking, how easy it all is for you, how you to make friends without breaking a sweat. They see you as this wise advisor, someone who’s good at everything, who is willing to help and support them in each single endeavor. Someone who thinks before they act. They really admire you, they might have a gemini venus, this really screams at me that your intellect is turning them on, sapiosexual is the word I was looking for. The way you are so well put together, how you have things figured out, the amount of hard work you put in everything you do - this is really working wonders on them, they really admire you I’m so serious right now. They want to see you succeed and I think they might be even more proud about it than you haha! They might be more into traditional sex, full of affection and love, showing you how much and how strong they actually feel for you. If they were to try new things I think they might be into you dominating them. There’s a part in this connection where I feel like they might feel like they’re worse than you. I know the question was different but that’s what I’m seeing and I feel like it needs to be said, I wish you all the best.

Songs: Hot Sugar by Glass Animals | Peppers by Lana Del Rey | WUSYANAME by Tyler, The Creator

[cutenbrattyxx]

Come here Daddy 🤭

[clairerosetarot]

PICK A PIC: Your Future Spouses Favorite Part/Feature of You 18+ 💦

Hey guysss this was the most requested reading in my inbox, so here y’all go! :)) Also I forgot to add the cards I pulled and I forgot what they were after writing lmao pls bear wit me y’all. Anyways remember if it doesn’t apply let it fly 🪽 as this is a general and not personal reading.

Pile 1 🍒 Your future spouse is drawn to your confident and radiant energy! They love the way you carry yourself—there's something magnetic about your presence. The card reveals that they adore your sensuality and the way you move with grace. 💃💫 It’s your inner charm and the way you make them feel alive that is irresistible. They’ll always be enchanted by your vibe. Maybe you aren’t like this ow but trust- you will be when you become their wife🫣😂 🥺

You have what i’m hearing is like a celebrity vibe, and they can’t believe you- their so called celebrity crush😂 is giving them all this attention. When they imagine you, they can’t help but picture the feeling of your body against theirs—your hips swaying with confidence as you move towards them, the delicate touch of your fingertips tracing over their skin. ( they also love to watch you ride🎠🐎🤭) Every move you make, every flick of your hair, only adds to the overwhelming pull they feel. They love how every glance from you makes them feel like they’re the only one in the room, and they can’t stop thinking about the chemistry between you two. There’s no denying it: your presence is magnetic, and they can’t get enough of how effortlessly you captivate them. The way you make them feel so alive with just your presence leaves them hungering for more, always ready to experience the electric connection between you two, again and again. 💋🔥

Pile 2 🍉 In this pile, the card hints that your future spouse is captivated by your playful spirit. They love your smile and the way you laugh, which lights up any room. 😏😊 It's the little moments, like the twinkle in your eyes or the way you tease them with a wink. Your playful energy is something they find truly irresistible, keeping them coming back for more.

Your future spouse is absolutely entranced by the playful, yet deeply seductive energy you bring. There’s something about the way you smile, the way your lips curl into that flirty expression, that sends a rush of desire through them. 🤤 It’s not just your physical beauty that they adore, but the way you tease them with your playful energy, making every moment feel charged with sexual tension. I’m getting that this pile’s dynamic is very grumpy x sunshine were they are more stoic and reserved and you are this lovely ball of of sunshine awww. 🌈🥰 Your smile, your laugh, the way you make everything feel lighthearted and fun, drives them wild because they know there’s a much deeper, more passionate side to you that they can’t wait to experience. It’s almost like you’re a puzzle to them—beautiful, mysterious, and always keeping them wanting more. The way you catch their eye and hold that gaze, that slight smirk on your face, it’s like you’re daring them to take things further. And they just might take the bait everytime 🤭.

Pile 3 🍓 Here, the cards show they’re entranced by your touch. Whether it’s a soft caress or a lingering hand, your future spouse loves how you make them feel with even the smallest physical gestures. 🫶💋 They can’t get enough of your affection and feel completely connected when you touch them. It’s a bond that feels intimate, electric, and oh so sensual.

You trace along their body, exploring, teasing, and sending their senses into overdrive, leaves them yearning for more. They love the warmth of your skin against theirs, the way your bodies connect and create sparks with every touch. The intensity of your touch speaks volumes to them, making them feel things they’ve never felt before, as if you’re unlocking a new layer of desire that they didn’t even know existed. The simple act of your hands on their body drives them wild, and they can’t wait to feel that connection every time you’re close. They fantasize about feeling you trace your hands over them, each touch sending shivers down their spine and igniting a passion that only you can stir. Your touch makes them feel like they belong to you, that the bond between you two is deeper and more intimate than anything they’ve ever known. ❤️‍🔥🥺

They think about how your touch makes them feel so alive, how you can communicate everything without saying a word. Your hands on their body have the power to make them feel things they’ve never felt before, and they can’t wait to be touched by you again. They love the way you know just how to touch them, whether it’s with a light, teasing caress or a more possessive grip that leaves them breathless. Your touch brings them closer to you, and with every moment, they crave the feeling of your hands all over them, and theirs all over you. P.S. I’m also getting that they love your hair, maybe you have a lot, and it’s really curly and big or you just take good care of it with a luxurious routine, whatever it is - its got them hooked. 😂

Pile 4 🍰 In this pile, the cards reveals your future spouse’s deep admiration for your lips. They’re completely entranced by the way your lips move when you speak or smile, and they often find themselves daydreaming about your kisses. 😘💋 Whether it’s a gentle peck or a passionate embrace, or even more 😏 your lips are their favorite feature—an irresistible invitation they can’t resist.

Your future spouse is utterly captivated by your lips. There’s something so magnetic about the way your lips move, the way they curve into that smile or part slightly when you speak. Every time they look at your lips, they feel an overwhelming urge to kiss you, to feel the softness of your lips against theirs. They fantasize about your kisses—how they start slow and tender, exploring, before escalating into something deeper, more urgent. I’m also getting that after a long day at work all they can think about is you using those lips to get them off🫣🍭. The feeling of your lips on theirs is something they can’t get enough of, each kiss sending waves of desire through their entire body. Can somebody say oral fixation?!?! LOL.

[babybeez]

These pjs are really my favorite they give great easy access ☺️

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Somewhere Safe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This story touches on sensitive themes of domestic abuse. If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please know that help is available. I've included resources below that offer support, guidance, and ways to take action. You are not alone, and there is always hope for a way out. Please take care of yourself as you read.

International Domestic Abuse Resource Link

Words: ~9,500

Tags: Violence, Abuse, Trauma, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort

Beta: @newdreamlove95💚

The world tilted when Sebastian pressed his back against the wall, a slow, lazy grin tugging at his lips as the woman in front of him whispered something he didn’t quite catch.

K-something.

Karina? Kelsey? Kate? Fuck, had she even told him? Maybe once, over the roar of the music in the bar, the hum of Ominis and Garreth’s laughter, the clink of glasses and shouted orders. It was distant now, fuzzy around the edges. The only thing sharp was the heat of her breath on his skin, the way her nails scratched lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

He let his head tip back against the wall, eyes slipping closed for just a moment. He was tipsy, not drunk. The whiskey still swam warm in his veins, enough to make everything feel slow and a little surreal, like watching himself from the outside. Too much, probably. He hadn’t planned on drinking that much, but Garreth had been in rare form tonight, rambling about some catastrophic potion mishap that had almost set his shop on fire, and Ominis—miraculously—had tolerated them both for longer than usual before fucking off home.

Sebastian had thought about leaving then, too. He should have. He'd been about to grab his coat, already debating—instinctively—whether to call you.

It was always you. Even after all these years, through all the tangled, unspoken things between you, his first thought was always you.

But then K-something had leaned into him at the bar, laughing, a teasing nail dragging down his arm. The look she gave him was clear, unmistakable—an invitation, no strings attached, nothing complicated, nothing messy. Just one night.

That had been enough. He let her take his hand, let her press against him in the back of the cab, let her perfume wrap around him—something floral, a little too sweet. Not right. Not familiar.

And now, here they were. His apartment. His mind blank where it mattered.

The door had barely clicked shut before her hands were on him, pressing, pulling, trying to unravel him. Her lips were eager, swallowing the taste of whiskey on his tongue, coaxing him toward the bedroom. His fingers ghosted over her hips, hesitant, and for the first time tonight, the thought crept in—

I don’t actually want this.

He ignored it.

Sebastian let her push him back against the wall, let her fingertips skim the waistband of his jeans, let his mind fog over with something other than the sharp edges of thought. He was just loose enough to let his body take over where his mind was absent.

And then—

A thunderous pounding on his front door.

K-something startled against him, pulling back with a little noise of surprise. Another knock—louder, harder, more frantic.

“What the hell?” she murmured, but Sebastian wasn’t listening.

Something was wrong.

If it were Garreth, he’d be yelling something obnoxious through the door. If it were Ominis, he would have texted first, making some sardonic remark about how it was far too late for him to be dealing with Sebastian’s nonsense.

Then—

“Sebastian, are you there?”

Your voice. Hoarse and desperate.

“Who is that?” K-something asked, tilting her head toward the door, annoyance creeping into her tone.

Sebastian didn’t answer. His whole body was already moving—pushing past her, heart pounding.

Another hit—this one shakier, weaker. A small, broken sound from the other side.

His hands were on the lock in an instant, fumbling, his pulse roaring in his ears. The second the front door swung open, his breath caught in his throat.

What the fuck happened to you?

Your hair was a mess, wild and tangled like you’d been running. Your shirt—torn, slipping off one shoulder—was smeared with something dark, and his brain tried to tell him it was just dirt,  instead of what he feared. Your eyebrow was split, a thin trail of blood tracing down your temple. The bruises blooming along your arms and neck were fresh, ugly, fingershaped.

You were shaking, too, and not from the cold. You were wrung out, your breath coming too fast, too shallow, like you were barely holding yourself together.

But it was your expression that really sent ice straight through his veins. Wide, fractured eyes. Lips parted, trembling like you wanted to speak but couldn’t. Like you were afraid.

"Fuck," he breathed. "What—"

Your eyes flickered past him into the apartment, taking in the scene—the woman behind him, her rumpled clothes, the way Sebastian had clearly been in the middle of something when you knocked.

Your face crumpled. Your whole body tensed. You took a step back.

"Sorry, I—I shouldn’t have come." Your voice wavered, raw and too damn small. Your fingers curled against your ribs like something there ached. "I didn’t mean to—"

Oh, hell no.

Sebastian took a step forward, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could slip away, but his voice never had the chance to follow—

A voice from behind him cut through the moment.

“Sebastian?” K-something called, her impatience laced with confusion. “Who is—”

She finally stepped closer, eyes widening when she took in your appearance. Her lips parted, expression shifting from irritation to realization. She wasn’t stupid. She could see what this was.

“…I should go.” She sputtered, already grabbing her bag from the counter. “I’ll call a cab.”

Sebastian barely heard her. He didn’t care.

She did hover for a moment, like she expected him to say something—to at least acknowledge her—but his eyes never left you. Eventually, she exhaled sharply and muttered something about Sebastian being a “waste of time” before leaving.

The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, the distant slam of the stairwell door barely registering in his ears. It was like a pressure valve had released, but it didn’t make anything better.

Because Sebastian had never—not once—seen you like this. Not even out in the field, back-to-back with him, dueling dark wizards without hesitation. Not even on the worst nights, when you were exhausted and bleeding but still smirking, still throwing out some dry remark.

But here? Now?

You were a mess of trembling limbs and wide, haunted eyes. You looked like you were barely holding yourself together, like if he breathed wrong, you might break apart completely.

His grip on your wrist was light—barely there—but your pulse raced beneath his fingers. You hadn’t tried to pull away, but you weren’t looking at him either, gaze flickering somewhere over his shoulder like you wished you could vanish entirely.

He swallowed hard, speaking past the gravel in his throat.

“What happened?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just a shaky exhale that barely made it past your teeth.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled you inside, stepping around you to close the door with a quiet click. You stood stiffly in the entryway, one wrist still in his hand, your other arm wrapped around yourself like you were holding your own ribs together.

Sebastian could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. His skin still buzzed with whiskey, his body sluggish from the alcohol, but his mind—fuck, his mind was awake now.

Someone had hurt you. Not just in the way that left bruises blooming across your skin or a sluggish trickle of blood tracing down your brow—but in the way you stood, small and hollowed out, like something inside you had caved in.

And he was going to make them pay for it.

The rage inside him wasn’t just anger—it was something worse. Something deeper. A raw, seething thing that coiled around his spine, tightening with every second he spent looking at you like this. It clawed at his ribs, demanding blood, demanding violence.

Sebastian had done a lot of things in his life—things he wasn’t proud of, things he couldn’t take back—but none of it would compare to what he would do to the person who put their hands on you.

His voice came out strained. “Tell me who did this.”

He watched the hesitation flicker across your face. You shook your head once. No.

He felt his pulse hammer in his throat, hot frustration bubbling up beneath his skin.

“Who?” His voice came sharper than he meant, rough and edged with something dangerous. “Just tell me who—”

Sebastian felt the second he fucked up. The moment the sharp edge of his voice cut the air, you flinched—so small, so fleeting, but there. And suddenly, the anger curdling in his chest didn’t matter. You didn’t need his temper, his anger, the violence simmering beneath his skin. You needed the part of him that knew how to take care of you.

His grip on your wrist loosened instantly, shifting instead into something light, barely-there, just enough to anchor you without holding you in place. His entire body language changed—he softened, dropping the heat, the demand, everything that might make you feel like you were being cornered. Because you weren’t. Never with him.

“Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to push,” he said quickly, voice dropping low, steady, warm. “You’re safe now, love. You’re with me."

Your lips pressed together, a sharp inhale stuttering in your chest, like you were trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

Sebastian took a slow step forward. Not too close. Just enough.

“I’ve got you," he murmured, even softer now. The backs of his knuckles brushed against your arm, barely a touch. Just enough to let you know he was there. That he wasn’t like whoever had put their hands on you tonight.

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now, okay? We’ll deal with it later. You just—” His throat tightened. “Just let me help, alright sweetheart?”

Your gaze flickered to his, and for the first time since he’d opened the door, he saw it—relief. Not much, just a flicker. A tiny, fragile thing. But it was enough.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once.

“Come here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he was making an offering. A place to land. A way out of your own head.

And when you stepped forward—hesitant, small, but willing—he didn’t hesitate.

Sebastian’s arms came around you in an instant, warm and solid, pulling you in carefully, shielding, steady. His hands were broad against your back, his entire frame curving around you, like maybe if he just held you tight enough, nothing could touch you anymore.

Your breath stuttered against his chest, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a fraction. He felt it happen—felt the smallest bit of weight drop from you as your forehead pressed lightly against his collarbone, like you were finally, finally letting yourself breathe.

Sebastian shut his eyes, exhaling slow and controlled. His voice was a low, quiet promise against your hair.

"You're safe. You hear me, love? You're safe now. You're with me."

Your voice came out quiet, fragile in a way he’d never heard before.

“I—I’m sorry, Seb” you murmured shakily against his chest. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I just—I ended up here, and—”

Sebastian stiffened. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. His grip on you twitched, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, to see the exhausted tilt of your head, the way your eyes wouldn’t quite meet his, how you were curling in on yourself like you could make yourself smaller, less of an inconvenience.

Something sharp lodged itself in his throat.

His hands ghosted down your arms, then one of them lifted before he could stop himself—fingertips barely brushing the side of your face, near the cut on your eyebrow. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You didn't 'ruin' anything. You can always come to me,” he murmured. “No matter what. Doesn’t matter where I am, what I’m doing—you can always come to me. Understand?”

You swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out. Instead, your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping at him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

Sebastian exhaled softly. “That’s my girl.”

Your weight was pressing against him now, not quite leaning but… there. Trusting.

Then, so quiet he almost missed it, you hummed softly against his chest.

“I don’t even remember coming here,” you murmured. “I just… walked. It’s like my feet knew where to go before I did.”

Sebastian stilled. His mind tripped over itself, racing to keep up. You walked here? From your flat? That wasn’t close—at least three miles, probably more. At this hour? In this state?

His stomach turned.

Had someone broken in? Had they been waiting for you? Did you even get a chance to fight back? Why didn’t you use magic? His pulse roared in his ears, questions piling up faster than he could process them—

But he didn’t voice any of it.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers curling lightly beneath your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, sharp—wide with something like realization.

“You walked here?” His voice was low, too calm, too careful—like he was trying not to startle you. Like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you correctly before he let himself lose it.

You blinked at him, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that this was something he might react to. “…Yeah?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

“That’s—” He exhaled sharply. “That’s miles away.”

You flinched, just barely, but this time it wasn’t from him—it was like you were only just now realizing what you had done, the reality settling in now that he had said it aloud.

“I—” Your voice wavered. “I didn’t even think about it, I just—” You shook your head, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, I just needed to go. And I guess—”

Sebastian didn’t let you finish.

His hands were tightening around you in an instant—not gripping, not pulling, just there. Solid. Like he needed to convince himself that you weren’t still out there wandering the streets, hurt and vulnerable and alone.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead dropping briefly against yours, eyes screwing shut. “Fuck, fuck—”

The thought of you, alone, stumbling through the dark like a ghost, disoriented, wrecked, bleeding—it made him sick. You could have collapsed. You could have gotten lost. You could have—he couldn't even finish the thought.

Sebastian sucked in a slow breath, forcing himself to breathe, to be what you needed.

“Alright.” His voice was softer now, quieter. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s sit you down so I can clean you up, yeah?”

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then, finally, you nodded.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once in return.

“Good girl.” The words slipped out without thought, low and full of quiet, genuine relief.

Then, before you could process that—before he could process that—Sebastian was already moving, guiding you carefully toward his bedroom.

The dim glow from the bedside lamp bathed the space in soft, golden light, stretching long shadows across the floor. It was familiar, safe. You’d been here a thousand times before—kicking off your shoes without a second thought, making yourself at home on his bed, wrapped in that massive, worn-out blanket you always stole whenever you stayed over.

Sebastian barely had to nudge you down before you were sinking onto the edge of the mattress, exhausted, hands twisting together in your lap like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Without a word, Sebastian pulled the heavy blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders, tucking it in carefully. You sank into it immediately, pulling the edges closer.

"Just sit tight," Sebastian murmured. "I’ll be right back."

You nodded—slow, small—and he gave your shoulder the lightest squeeze before pushing himself to his feet.

The moment he stepped into the ensuite, he exhaled sharply, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain of the sink. His reflection in the mirror looked as wrecked as he felt—jaw clenched, eyes dark with something raw and sharp.

The cabinet door creaked as he yanked it open, hands moving fast. A clean washcloth, warm from the sink. A Dixie cup of water. The first aid kit he’d barely ever needed but always kept—just in case. He nearly knocked over a bottle of cologne reaching for it.

When he returned, you hadn’t moved much. Still perched on the edge of his bed, shoulders drawn in, hands curled loosely in your lap. The trembling had eased, but not completely.

Sebastian set everything on the floor and knelt in front of you, careful, steady, slipping effortlessly into the version of himself you needed right now. The one who would take care of you.

“Here.” He held out the paper cup, his fingers brushing against yours as you took it. “Drink.”

You brought it to your lips, taking slow, small sips. Sebastian didn’t look away, watching carefully, making sure you drank enough. Making sure you weren’t about to fold in on yourself.

Then, once you’d set the cup aside, he reached for the washcloth, folding it into a neat square.

“Okay,” he murmured. “This might sting.”

Your gaze flicked toward his, cautious but steady, and you nodded.

His fingers were steady when they cupped your cheek, tilting your face just enough to give him a better look at the cut above your eyebrow. He barely even touched you, just the ghost of his palm against your jaw, his thumb resting near your temple.

And fuck, seeing it up close was worse.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was still bleeding sluggishly. The skin around it was red and raw, like you had wiped at it with the sleeve of your shirt at some point. There were bruises along your temple too, darkening by the second.

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it sent a dull ache down his neck.

Breathe. Focus.

He kept his touch gentle, dabbing carefully at the blood along your brow, slow enough to avoid hurting you more than necessary.

You winced, breath hitching just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Your eyes fluttered for a moment before settling on him. And that was when he felt it. Like a thread pulling taut between you—delicate but unbreakable.

He knew that look. He’d known it for years. Had seen it a thousand times in fleeting moments—across the rim of a coffee mug, under the hazy glow of streetlights on late-night walks, in the quiet of stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Soft. Open. Trusting. Loving.

Even now. Even after tonight—after whatever fresh hell you’d been put through—you still looked at him like that. Like he was safe. Like he was yours.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing down the impossible tightness in his throat.

“Good news is,” he managed, trying to keep his voice light, normal, like he wasn’t seconds away from completely fucking losing it, “you still got your pretty face intact.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of your lips. Not quite a smile, but close—softer than anything he’d seen from you all night. More importantly, it earned him the softest exhale, a breath of sound barely there, barely audible, but approaching a laugh.

Sebastian let himself smile—small, reassuring, nothing too much.

His thumb moved before he could stop it, brushing over your cheekbone, the lightest, most absent-minded touch.

"Let me see your hands," he murmured.

There was hesitation—he felt it before he even saw it. Your fingers curled into the blanket, your body tensing, as if you weren’t sure you wanted him to look. Then, slowly, you unwound your fingers, releasing the fabric, and let him take your hands.

And fuck. Even your knuckles were torn up—split, raw, some still sluggishly weeping where the skin had broken open. Dark smudges of dried blood clung between your fingers, across your palms. The skin along your wrist was bruised, as if someone had grabbed you.

He felt his pulse slam against his ribs.

You’d fought back. Of course you did. Of course you fucking did.

Because you were you. Because you were strong, stubborn, fierce even when the odds were stacked against you. But the thought of you having to fight—having to defend yourself like this, having to claw your way out of something horrible—

Sebastian inhaled sharply through his nose.

He forced it down—the fire, the violence curling under his skin, the instinct to demand names, places, details—he swallowed all of it.

Later. He’d deal with that later. Right now, you needed him.

Sebastian lifted the washcloth again, pressing it carefully to your knuckles. You hissed softly at the sting, hands jerking slightly in his grip.

“Easy, love,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, thick with something that sounded like devotion. “I’ve got you.”

He cleaned away the blood with slow, deliberate strokes, careful and methodical. Taking his time, as if it might make a difference. As if he could erase what had happened, wipe it from your skin, lift the weight from your shoulders and take it onto his own.

The silence between you settled, thick and heavy but not suffocating. Not tense. Just… there. A presence in the room.

When he finished, he set the washcloth aside and reached for the first aid kit again, fingers brushing over the zipper before he pulled it open. His hands were steady, practiced, as he found what he needed—a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

He twisted the cap off and squeezed a little onto his fingertip.

Neither of you spoke when he smoothed it gently over the cut above your eyebrow, his touch featherlight. You didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, just let him. And when he moved to your knuckles, carefully spreading the ointment over the split skin, you watched him—eyes dark, unreadable, but there. Present.

When he was finished, he squeezed your hand. That part wasn’t strictly necessary, but he did it anyway. A small thing. A quiet reassurance. And thenyour fingers curled around his, squeezing back—just barely.

Sebastian swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “I’m getting you a clean shirt,” he said softly.

He turned to his dresser, yanking open a drawer and rifling through the mess. Because you were not staying in that fucking t-shirt. Not when the collar was torn, stretched where it shouldn’t be, the fabric stained with blood.

The thought of you still wearing it made something ugly curl in his stomach.

So he found the softest thing he owned—one of his old hoodies, oversized and warm, worn to hell but clean. Safe. Something that smelled like him.

He turned back to you, pressing it into your hands.

"Thanks," you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric, the sleeves bunched between your knuckles.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You can change in here,” he said. “Or the bathroom. Whatever’s—”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

His entire body went still. The words weren’t loud. If the room had been any noisier from the traffic outside, he might have missed them. But they hit like a gut punch, like a fist curling around his ribs and squeezing tight.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was downcast, fixed somewhere near the floor, but your posture told him everything. Shoulders curled inward. Small. Hesitant.

Sebastian turned back to you instantly.

"Alright," he murmured, voice steady, unwavering. "I'll stay right here."

Something in your expression shifted, like the tension in your chest eased just slightly. Then slowly, carefully you peeled off your ruined t-shirt.

Sebastian tore his gaze away, jaw clenching. Not because he didn’t want to look—fuck, that was never the problem.

But because this wasn’t about that.

You needed comfort, not whatever mess of feelings he was shoving down, not whatever heat curled low in his stomach whenever you were close. Not the part of him that had spent years wanting to touch you, years wanting you in ways he’d never said aloud.

So he clenched his fists and stared at the wall, listening to the soft rustle of fabric as you pulled his hoodie over your head.

A moment of silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Sebastian turned back.

The hoodie was massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

He exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair before nodding once. “Better?”

You gave the smallest nod.

“Good.” His voice softer now, the rough edge smoothed just slightly. “Right then, let’s get you settled.”

Sebastian reached for the bed, moving on instinct. He pulled back the messy covers, shaking them out before propping up the pillows against the headboard, making sure they were stacked just right. Then, with quiet purpose, he turned back to you, nodding toward the bed.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

Your gaze flickered up at him, exhaustion dulling your eyes, but beneath it—gratitude. Silent, unspoken, but undeniable.

Slowly, you crawled onto the mattress, shifting beneath the blankets, and the second your head hit the pillow, you curled in on yourself, like your body had been waiting for this—this warmth, this safety—to finally let go.

Sebastian grabbed the blanket—your blanket—and tucked it securely over you, smoothing it over your shoulders before sitting on the edge of the bed, just close enough to reach you if you needed him.

“Anything I can get you?” he asked. “Tea? A snack? Whatever you want, love, just say the word.”

Your fingers curled into the edge of the blanket, your brows drawing together slightly like you hadn’t even considered that option.

“I—” Your voice was quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet, almost amused sound. “Not exactly a helpful answer.”

You exhaled a soft breath—one that might have been the ghost of a laugh if you weren’t so drawn out—and ducked your chin into the blanket.

Sebastian watched you for a second, then nodded to himself, already making up his mind.

“Alright,” he murmured, standing. “Something to eat, then.”

You blinked up at him, looking so small, so tired, but you didn’t protest. Sebastian took that as a win.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, already scrolling through the UberEats app with single-minded focus. He wasn’t just looking for just anything—he was looking for your favorite restaurant.

He knew what you liked. Knew what you always ordered when you were too exhausted to cook, when you’d had a rough day, when you needed something warm and familiar to make the world feel a little less harsh.

And besides, it wasn’t like he had anything useful in his kitchen. The last time he’d checked, his fridge contained precisely one beer, a half-empty bottle of hot sauce, and something that might have once been a loaf of bread but was now a science experiment.

Not exactly ideal.

But even if he had groceries, it wouldn’t have mattered. You’d said you didn’t want to be alone. So he wasn’t going anywhere—not even to the damn kitchen.

As he flicked through the menu, your voice broke the silence.

“…Seb?”

He glanced up immediately, his full attention snapping back to you in an instant.

“Yeah?”

“…Will you lay with me?”

Something thick and impossible to name lodged itself in his throat, pressing against his ribs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, already moving. “Of course.”

He climbed into the bed beside you, careful and deliberate, mindful to keep a respectful distance—giving you space to breathe, to settle, to feel safe. But the second he was still, the second the warmth of him fully registered beside you, you scooted closer, the space between you vanishing in an instant. You curled into him, pressing into his side, burrowing against his chest like it was the only place you wanted to be.

Sebastian barely had a second to process it before instinct took over.

His free arm came around you automatically, pulling you in, keeping you there. He didn’t even think about it—just moved, just held.

And fuck, you fit against him so perfectly it made his heart lurch.

He ignored it.

Ignored the way your warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, ignored the way your breath ghosted against his neck, ignored the way his own pulse stupidly, traitorously picked up speed as you curled your fingers into the hem of his hoodie like you had no plans to let go.

Instead, he adjusted the angle of his phone so you could see the screen, keeping his voice casual. Normal. Like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Here,” he murmured. “Do you want your usual?”

“…Yeah,” you said, voice half-muffled against his chest. “That sounds good.”

Sebastian hummed, tapping the order in without question.

“Alright,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”

His fingers flexed lightly against your waist, soothing, absent-minded, and you sighed, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian swallowed hard, ignoring the way something deep in his chest ached at the feeling. He was in trouble.

But fuck it.

He’d deal with that later.

The next little while passed in silence—not the uncomfortable kind, not tense or heavy, just quiet. Steady.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Neither did you. You just lay there, curled into him, your breath even and slow, the warmth of you pressed into his side.

But Sebastian didn’t need words.

He was just thankful you were here, that your body had finally started to relax, that the tension had drained from your limbs.

Then, eventually, the soft buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand broke the stillness.

The food was here.

Sebastian sighed, shifting slightly, preparing to get up, but the second he moved, he felt it. You stiffened. Barely perceptible, just the slightest tensing of your fingers against his shirt, but enough. Enough for something cold to crawl up his spine.

So instead of pulling away completely, he murmured, “Alright, come on then,” and reached down, slipping his arm around you.

You made a soft, startled sound as he shifted, rolling forward until you were draped across his back. His hands hooked securely under your thighs as he straightened, carrying you with him as he padded toward the door.

You didn’t protest. You just buried your face into the crook of his neck, fingers loosely gripping his shoulders as he moved.

Sebastian grabbed the takeout bag with one hand, snatched a couple of forks from the kitchen drawer on his way back, and carried you straight back to bed.

He placed the food between you, climbed in beside you again, and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV. Some random YouTube video started playing—something dumb, nothing serious, just background noise to keep things from feeling too quiet.

You didn’t eat much. Just picked at your food, nudging pieces around with your fork.

That was fine. Sebastian didn’t push. Didn’t say anything about it. Just sat beside you, eating in easy silence, letting you take what you needed at your own pace.

And then, finally, you spoke.

Your voice was soft, quiet, but clear.

“…Sebastian.”

He glanced over immediately. “Yeah, love?”

You swallowed, staring at your food like you weren’t really seeing it. Then, slowly, you set your fork aside, taking in a shaky breath.

“I'm... I'm ready to tell you what happened.”

Sebastian’s fork stopped midway to his mouth.

The words settled between you, quiet but heavy, sinking into his ribs like a slow, aching weight.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you as you stared down at your takeout, your breath uneven like you were preparing yourself.

Slowly, he reached for the remote. The video playing in the background cut off instantly, plunging the room into a thick, expectant silence. Sebastian set his fork down on the nightstand and turned his full attention to you.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’m listening.”

You inhaled sharply, like you were bracing yourself, and when you spoke, your voice wavered—small and fragile in a way that made something in his chest splinter.

“It was him.”

The second the words left your mouth, his stomach dropped, and a sharp, seething hatred coiled hot and violent in his chest.

Sebastian knew who you meant. It was him. 

And fuck, of course it was. How hadn't he put it together sooner?

Sebastian had never liked your boyfriend. Never. Not even in the beginning, when everyone else had acted like he was some goddamn catch. Sebastian hadn’t needed a reason, hadn’t needed proof—he just knew there was something off about him. Something that never sat right with Sebastian, no matter how many times you swore he was nice.

He’d never said anything, though. Not outright. You were happy, or at least that's what you said, and Sebastian—Sebastian, who was a selfish bastard on the best of days when it came to you—hadn’t wanted to be the bitter one. The one sitting on the sidelines, waiting for something to go wrong.

But now—now—he was fucking furious at himself for not pushing harder.

Because if he had, if he’d done something, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here, hands trembling, voice wrecked, telling him about how the person who was supposed to love you had put his fucking hands on you.

His fists clenched in the blanket.

He had never understood why the fuck you got with him in the first place. A Muggle, sure, fine—Sebastian didn’t give a shit about blood status—but him?

You were brilliant, sharp, always three steps ahead in a conversation, in a duel, in everything. You had a way of reading people, of understanding things too quickly, like your mind was always moving, always making connections that no one else could see.

And your boyfriend? The guy was dense. It wasn’t even an insult, just a fact.

Sebastian had been baffled when you first introduced him. Because what the hell did you even talk about? He wasn’t clever, or funny, or anything that made sense for you. He was just… there. All tall, broad-shouldered, perfect-featured statue of a man, like some idiot Greek god who had never had a thought deeper than his own reflection.

And you, who could debate theory for hours, who could outduel anyone, who never backed down from an argument—had ended up with him?

It made no fucking sense.

At first, Sebastian had assumed it was just a passing thing. Maybe you were into the whole tall, hot, and dumb aesthetic. Maybe you just wanted something easy. Someone who wouldn’t challenge you, someone who wouldn’t drag you into the kind of shit Sebastian always did.

But then the relationship had lasted. For months.

Sebastian tried telling himself that his problem with your boyfriend was just jealousy, that it was something ugly in him that hated seeing you with someone else.

But deep down, it wasn’t just that.

He had never liked him. Never trusted him. And now—now he fucking knew why.

Your fingers tightened in the fabric of Sebastian’s hoodie, but you didn’t look at him. Your gaze stayed locked on the blanket draped over your lap, like you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

“He went out drinking,” you murmured, voice thin and raw. “Came home late. I was already in bed, and I—I could hear him from the other room. Slamming drawers, throwing shit. He was mad about something—probably work, or maybe just the fucking weather, I don’t know. But I knew it was bad. I knew the second I heard him that it was one of those nights.”

Sebastian didn’t move. His entire body had gone tight, coiled like a wire stretched too thin. One of those nights?

How many times had you stood there, listening to him throw shit around the apartment, waiting for him to come for you? How many nights had you lain awake, breath shallow, heart pounding, afraid of the man who was supposed to love you? How many times had you flinched at the sound of keys in the door?

Sebastian's breath was slow, measured—too controlled. He had to keep himself in check. Because if he let himself fully think about it, if he let himself process the fact that this wasn’t just some freak incident, that you had lived like this—

You kept talking, your voice quiet but raw, and he forced himself to listen.

“I tried to pretend I was asleep,” you muttered. “Hoped he’d just pass out on the couch. But then he came into the bedroom. Flicked on the light. Stood in the doorway for a second, just looking at me.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“And then he started talking—no, ranting—about everything that had gone wrong today. Like it was my fault. Like I was supposed to fix it. I told him to calm down, but that just made it worse.”

Sebastian swallowed, his throat dry as fucking sandpaper.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, knuckles pressing against your ribs like you were trying to hold yourself together. “He got in my face,” you continued. “He does that sometimes, to intimidate me, I think. I told him to back off, but he didn’t.” Your voice broke slightly, and you sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I reached for my wand.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

And then, he knew. He knew what was coming. Knew it.

But when you finally said it—when the words left your mouth, shaking, broken—he still felt like the fucking floor had been ripped out from under him.

“He grabbed it out of my hand,” you whispered. “And he snapped it in half.”

But you weren’t done.

“And then he grabbed me.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fucking break something.

“I hit him,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I tried. That’s why my knuckles are—” You gestured vaguely to one hand with the other, your fingers trembling. “But obviously I was never going to win against him. Then he shoved me, slammed me against the wall so hard I thought my head was gonna split open.”

Sebastian’s fingers twitched against the blanket. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp. He needed to stay still, needed to stay quiet because this wasn’t about him, but—fuck. You were shaking now, and it took everything in him not to pull you into his arms right then and there.

“I—I must have hit the dresser on the way down,” you said, voice thick as you reached up, brushing a fingertip over your eyebrow.

Sebastian felt sick.

“He grabbed me again,” you continued, voice unsteady. “By the arms. He was yelling, I don’t even know what the fuck he was saying anymore. I—I tried to claw him off, and then he—”

You stopped. Sebastian’s pulse roared in his ears.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He could feel what was coming next, and it terrified him more than anything else you’d said.

His voice, when it finally came, was low. Too low.

“He what?”

You swallowed, voice thick with unshed tears. “He put his hands around my throat.”

Sebastian’s world went fucking silent. The breath was knocked out of him. His heart slammed so hard against his ribs he thought it might crack them.

“And I—I couldn’t—” Your voice wavered, raw and unsteady. “I couldn’t breathe. I was kicking, and I—I think I got him in the ribs or something, because he let go just long enough for me to shove him and run.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“ I didn’t think. I didn’t even grab anything,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I just—I had to get out, so I ran, and… and I dunno, I ended up here.”

Sebastian couldn’t breathe. You had to run from your own home. You had to run for your life.

Sebastian was going to kill him. No—he was going to do worse.

And then, then, his mind supplied the worst possible thought.

His voice came out strained. Tight. Lethal. “…Did he do anything else? Did he— did he touch you?”

You shook your head. Small. Quick. Immediate.

“No,” you whispered, voice thick. “No. He didn’t.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to collapse with relief. But the fact that he even had to ask—the fact that he had even worried about it—was enough to send another wave of fury rolling through his chest.

His voice, when it finally came, was flat, cold in a way that barely sounded like him.

“Where is he now?”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian’s fingers curled into the blanket, his jaw locking so hard it ached.

“I don’t know if he chased me down the street,” you muttered, voice distant, "or if he just passed out on the floor in the flat.” Your mouth twisted slightly, bitter. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sebastian saw red. Wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the first fucking time. The words slammed into him like a punch to the gut, a brutal, taunting echo that wouldn’t stop.

How long? How long had this been happening? Had there been times when you’d wanted to tell him? When the words had almost left your lips, only to be swallowed back down by fear? How many times had you thought about leaving but been too scared?

Sebastian’s stomach twisted violently, a sickening, nauseating weight settling deep in his ribs.

Had he ever looked at you and missed it? Had you ever shown up to work, to his flat, tired or distracted, wearing long sleeves even when it was warm? Had he ever caught a glimpse of something he should have seen—some hidden bruise, some flicker of fear in your eyes—and fucking ignored it?

His vision blurred at the edges. He should have known. He should have fucking known.

And now—now it was too late, because it had already happened, and you were sitting right here, bruised and battered, wearing his hoodie because your own clothes were ruined, voice small and wrecked as you told him about how you had run for your life.

Sebastian couldn’t sit still.

The rage was too much, too sharp, clawing up his throat, curling around his spine, making his limbs itch with the need to move, to do something, to fucking fix this.

So he shoved his takeout onto the nightstand, barely registering the sound it made, and pushed off the bed before the anger swallowed him whole.

But he didn’t get far.

The second he was standing, he felt it—your fingers catching weakly at the fabric of his shirt, not pulling, not stopping him, just… holding.

Sebastian froze. His hands twitched at his sides, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to breathe, swallowing the violence in his throat.

“Tomorrow,” he said, voice hard with finality, “I’m getting all your stuff from your place.”

Your head snapped up, eyes widening slightly, but Sebastian didn’t let you speak.

“You’re never going back there,” he continued, unmoving. “You live here now.”

Your lips parted, and for a second, he saw it—that flicker of resistance, the part of you that was always so fucking stubborn, always ready to argue, to find some logical excuse for why you couldn't—

Sebastian didn’t give you the chance.

“No.” His tone was unyielding, “You don’t get to argue with me on this."

Sebastian steeled himself, forcing himself to be rational, to speak in the way you’d actually listen instead of just demanding you do what he fucking said.

“You don’t have a wand,” he reminded you, voice rough but steady. “You don’t know where he is. I’m not letting you walk back into that flat. Ever.”

You swallowed hard. “But—”

Sebastian shook his head.

“No. This is your home now,” he said. “For as long as you need. As long as you want.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but finally—so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—

“…Okay.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from his shoulders just slightly, just enough that his hands didn’t feel like they were about to break something.

“If you want to report it,” he said, steady, certain, determined, “we’ll figure it out. We’ll go to the Ministry if we need to, or the Muggle police.” His throat felt tight, but he pushed through it. “Whatever you need. Whatever justice looks like for you—we’ll get it.”

Your breath stuttered slightly, but you didn’t speak.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We can ask Ominis which one to go to. He’s good with this shit—he’ll know what to do.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “And if you don’t want to tell him… that’s fine, too. I’ll sort it out myself.”

Because he would. If you wanted to handle this the legal way, he’d be right there beside you, every step of the way. And if you didn’t—

“But if you don’t want to do that,” he said, voice dropping lower, gentler, softer in a way that made his ribs ache, “that’s okay.”

It was your choice. All of it. For what was probably the first time in months, it was yours.

Sebastian was about to say more—was about to ask if you wanted him to do something now, to go to the flat, to find that fucking bastard—but then you made a sound. A small, barely there sound, like something breaking apart inside you. And before he could even process it, your shoulders shook, your face crumpling as the first sob ripped out of you.

Sebastian's stomach dropped.

Fuck—

What did he say? What did he do?

He had tried to be so careful, but now you were crying—really crying, for the first time all night—and fuck, had he pushed too hard? Had he said something—

Your hands were reaching for him.

Sebastian barely had time to breathe before you were clutching at him, holding him with all the strength left in you.

He melted. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in, one hand cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into his chest. He felt the shudder of your breath, the way your whole body trembled as you broke apart against him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was low, rough, but so fucking gentle. "I've got you. It’s alright. Just—just let it out."

You gasped between sobs, fists curling into him like you needed him to keep you steady.

And then, through the shaking, through the broken sobs, “Thank you.”

Sebastian's breath stuttered, his grip tightening around you. You were still crying, still wrecked, still clinging to him, but the words were so raw, so genuine, it made something ache deep in his chest.

"Don’t thank me," he muttered, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. "You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. This—" He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I would do anything for you. You do know that, don't you?"

You let out a soft, breathy laugh against his chest, barely more than a shaky exhale. It wasn’t light, wasn’t joyful. It was exhausted, raw, frayed at the edges like you didn’t quite have the energy for it but couldn’t help yourself. A sound that came from somewhere deep, somewhere aching.

And then, you whispered, "Yeah, Seb… I know."

Your voice was hoarse, wrecked—but sure in a way that made his ribs feel like they were caving in. Like there had never been a doubt in your mind. Like you had always known.

And something inside him cracked.

All the anger, the panic, the terror that had been keeping him upright—keeping him steady—just snapped, and suddenly he was unraveling too, spilling apart at the seams before he could even think to stop it.

Because the truth, the reality of this finally hit him—really hit him, slamming into him all at once like a freight train, like a fist to the ribs, like something he would never recover from.

You could have not made it here. He could have lost you. Not in some abstract, distant, what if kind of way.

No.

This had been real. This had happened. And if things had gone just a little differently—if you hadn’t gotten away, if that bastard had held on just a second longer—

The thought suffocated him, dragged him under, wrenched something raw and painful out of his chest. His breath hitched sharply against your hair. His shoulders trembled. And then, before he could stop it, before he could even fight it, a choked, wrecked sob ripped out of him.

Sebastian never cried.

Not when his uncle died. Not when he thought he’d lost Ominis for good. Not even when he lost Anne and the weight of his own mistakes had nearly crushed him. He’d swallowed it all down, shoved it away, because crying never changed anything.

But this—

This was different. This wasn’t grief. This wasn’t regret or guilt or self-hatred.

This was terror.

Pure. Crippling. The kind that hollowed you out, carved into you like a knife, left you feeling like there was nothing inside but raw, open wounds.

He could’ve lost you.

His breath came too fast, uneven, the pressure in his chest too much, and his mouth was already moving before he could stop it.

“I swear to God, I don’t— I don’t know what I would have done if—” His voice cracked, a raw, fractured thing that barely made it out past his lips.

“I—I should’ve known, I should’ve done something—” His grip flexed, desperate. “I knew something was off about him, I fucking knew, and I didn’t say anything—”

“Sebastian—”

“And I—fuck, I can’t stop picturing it. You— you walked here, you were just, just out there, all alone, and I wasn’t—” His voice cracked again, barely holding together. “I wasn’t there, I didn’t know—”

Your hand lifted, soft and soothing, brushing against the side of his face, and it wrecked him, because fuck, you shouldn’t have to comfort him. Not after what you had just been through. Not when he was supposed to be taking care of you.

But you did. You just held him.

Sebastian let out another ragged breath, desperately clinging to you. “I could have lost you.”

Your thumbs swept across his cheekbones, gentle, careful, steady. "You didn’t.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a sharp exhale and a broken laugh, because that wasn’t the point. The point was that it had been so fucking close.

“I—” His fingers curled against the nape of your neck, into your hair, gripping you like a lifeline. "You have no fucking idea—I just—I thought—" He inhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice turning frantic, desperate.

"Sebastian—"

"I knew he was wrong for you, I knew it, and I—fuck—I just let it happen—"

"Seb—"

"I love you."

It ripped out of him.

Messy. Raw. Completely unfiltered.

“I love you and—fuck—" his voice was wild, frantic, cracking over itself. "And I swear to God, I’m going to kill him." His breath hitched, a sharp, furious sound. " I’m going to bury him, I’m going to make him suffer, I’m going to make sure he knows—"

His breath came hard, uneven, furious, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"He’s done," His laugh was sharp, bitter, wrecked. "I mean it—I mean it, I will put him in the fucking ground, I will tear him apart with my bare hands—"

His voice was getting rougher, more desperate, more unhinged with every word that tumbled out. He couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop picturing it, him, with his hands on you, hurting you, breaking your wand, stealing your power, making you run for your life—

"I should’ve stopped this, I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve done something the second I saw him looking at you like you were his, I should’ve fucking known—"

"Seb—"

"You don’t understand—he put his hands on you. On you. Do you have any idea what that means to me? Do you have any clue what I would do for you?" His breath came sharp and fast, his words spilling out unchecked, unstoppable. "You—you’re everything to me—I love you, fuck, I love you—"

And that was when it hit him.

He said it.

Again.

For the fourth fucking time, actually.

He had said the one thing he was never supposed to say, the thing he had spent years shoving down under layers of denial and cowardice and self-preservation because it was safer that way. Because it was easier to pretend, easier to be your friend, easier to just be there for you without ruining everything.

But it was out now. It was out, and there was no taking it back, and fuck, he shouldn’t have said it—not like this, not when this wasn’t about him, not when you had just been through hell—

And suddenly, fresh panic was clawing up his throat, his mind spinning too fast, spiraling, trying to fix it, trying to backpedal—

And then you kissed him.

Sebastian’s mind blipped.

Just shut off completely.

One second, he was losing his goddamn mind, his body shaking, his hands gripping onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from self-destructing, and the next, your lips were on his, soft and desperate and real.

It was like slamming into a wall at full speed.

Every thought cut out at once.

The rage. The panic. The terror.

Gone.

All that was left was this. You. The feeling of your hands curling into the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer. The way your breath hitched against his lips, the way your body melted against his like you had wanted this just as much as he had.

Sebastian made a noise in the back of his throat—wrecked, wild—before he sank into you completely.

His hands flew up, cupping your face, tilting your head like he needed more, like he was drowning and this was the only thing that could save him.

He felt your fingers shaking, gripping him like you needed him as much as he needed you, and fuck, if that wasn’t enough to destroy him.

He broke away just long enough to suck in a breath, his forehead dropping to yours, his whole body shaking.

And then—softly, like he couldn’t help himself—he let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh.

“…Okay,” he breathed, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Okay. That was—yeah. That was a good way to shut me up.”

Your lips twitched—small, barely there—

But there.

[bcmbiquinn]

[sageivyreads]

harmless beast

Poly 141!/Fem!Puppy hybrid!Reader

introduction: hi its me again! i kinda hate this but i wanted to post something for 130 followers! thank you! 6.2k words. most of this is proofread, for the rest i wish u luck. 1st half is backstory, 2nd half is smut. i was dying to finish this so i could focus more on smth else so bare with the messiness. all 141 is mentioned but smut is focused on gaz/soap/r. same universe as this but technically more related as a prequel then part 2. reader is a hybrid but only has ears and a tail. disclaimer: i have no knowledge of the military or accents lol. everything is for plot convenience thank you and hope you enjoy!

contains/warnings: smut 18+!!, age gap (reader is early 20s, Price early 30s, Ghost late 20s, Soap and Gaz mid 20s), light daddy kink (Price), spit, fingering, polyamory, handjob, light nipple play, coming inside (not mentioned but r has bc implant), p in v penetration, 3-some, slight allusions to hyper sexual reader, reader is left in the dark a lot and kind of babied, Ghost is a little mean to r, no mention of size or race but reader is a woman who wears a dress and has hair long enough to run your fingers through.

Three weeks. Three weeks you’d gone without Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. You wish it were harder to admit you missed them. It’s not normal to get attached so quickly. You’d only been with them about a month before they’d gone on their first assignment. It was hard to not be sad.

Price said he’d only tell you when he knew for a fact they were coming home. He knew you’d be too anxious for their arrival to the point you wouldn’t be able to sleep. So, when he gets a call from them right before bed that they’d be getting home, he decides not to tell you. He takes you straight to bed, lets you cuddle up into his arms, and waits for the chaos in the morning.

You normally alternated between sleeping in Price’s bed, Gaz’s, or Soap’s. They had their own separate little area of the base sectioned off once you were introduced. A tiny common room attached to something that could just barely be called a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. Each one had two beds. One room with Ghost and Price, one room with Gaz and Soap.

The 141 and the rest of that base’s staff had been told you were a danger to other people. If anything, they’d rather the four of them be at risk than the entire base. But you couldn’t be that bad, could you?

No, you’d turned out to be an annoying little sweetheart. They’d known that after you failed ninety percent of your drills, tests, and quizzes, and avoided any type of confrontation. Zero kill drive, they’d eventually learnt after your dozenth fail. You were supposed to be a vicious, powerful dog hybrid. They’d received an overgrown puppy.

The team was told by the higher-ups that they’d have to keep you for a while longer, considering there was no more transferring you when they were supposed to be your final placement. You’d aged out of the facility. That’s why you were here.

The facility was built a little after hybrids were manufactured. Once they’d realized what a tool for the military that hybrids could be. Meant to raise the artificially made hybrids from ages ten months and up and turn them into soldiers. Teach them combat, fieldwork, and how to use weapons. Scientifically made to obey orders and be raised as soldiers.

The 141 had no idea what they were doing over at the facility, but whatever they had raised wasn’t a soldier. You were clueless. Confused. A little dumb, even, in social aspects. It wasn’t your fault they weren’t competent enough to teach you how to use the stove.

After you’d been with them for about a month and even Ghost had started to tolerate you, they’d finally gotten news of a new placement for you. You’d aged out of the facility, regular civilian life was made for no hybrid, and other task forces wouldn’t take you after what they’d heard. So, where else was there to go?

Front lines, they said. No, they were taking you to an underpaid, under-regulated, isolated Space Force unit. The lowest-ranked branch throughout this entirety military. But they didn’t focus on space, did they? This particular unit had teamed up with an EOD* unit considering the amount of unused acres they had.

Everyone there was glorified test dummies, specially created for soldiers with one too many loose screws to test their bomb diffusing skills. While the space force spent their time pretending they were above board and everyone was getting their work done, they were blowing up fields.

They were apparently the only place willing to take you. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Hybrids could be useful in sniffing out explosives. But they were ecstatic for your arrival. Excited. Urging. Practically foaming at the mouth for a compliant hybrid that no one cared about enough about to check if you lived or died.

Price wouldn’t be able to fucking live with himself if he left some defenseless, pretty little puppy to get blown up under the guise of ‘testing’.

(He didn’t realize it, but he’d been won over the moment he saw your picture tucked into the file he’d been given on you. Your sweet smile with those pointy little canines. You could charm a snake with one flash of teeth.)

He’d been working with you for a little over four weeks before the boys left and he’d found you could barely take care of yourself. Clumsy, naive, unknowing of what was outside of the facility.

He declined and insisted they’d keep you before even having a chance to discuss it with the rest of his team. No, he’d figure out something to do with you. He was told the other base was disappointed they wouldn’t be receiving you, but Price had pulled enough strings to know they’d never hear your name again.

That was just a few days ago. They were already having a hard time getting adjusted. Having to teach you bloody everything. He’d eventually have to figure out a way to gently tell the boys they were keeping you. But when he saw your excited, smiling face when you saw the returning boots of Gaz, Ghost, and Soap at the door, he knew he couldn’t have decided to leave you in their greedy paws.

You’d woken up to Price getting ready. Compared to the rest of them being so stealthy, Price was loud in the mornings. It was dark and you were still so sleepy, you didn’t even see Ghost asleep in the bed next to where you’d slept.

It’s only when you’ve brushed your teeth and done your morning routine that you wander out into the common areas. Clad in a new dress that Price bought you for good behavior during a meeting. You follow Price aimlessly out into the kitchen, watching as he plugs in the coffee machine. Your eyes scan the area absently as you lean against the counter, focus landing on three pairs of dirty combat boots by the door.

“They-“ you squeak, voice turning all high pitched with excitement as you turn towards a messy-haired Price at the bar in the kitchen. Your tail beats against the backs of your thighs.

“Easy,” he grunts. He knows where this is going. He slips from his stool to grab the warm bread currently popping from the rusty toaster. “Just got back late last night. Let them sleep in, yeah? It was a hard one.” he says, voice deep with sleep as he slips two onto his plate and another two on yours.

You’re already practically vibrating with excitement. You try to urge your tail to stop causing a fuss behind you. It doesn’t work. You curl your hands around the fabric where your dress ends, mid-thigh. You squeeze until staying quiet isn’t nearly as painful. You swallow. “Y-yeah. Makes sense.” you try, voice coming out a little hoarse.

“You’ll see ‘em later. Gotta let ‘em sleep and eat, and then you can jump all over them.” His gaze is still focused on the food as he plops the last few fresh blueberries throughout the base onto your plate. He knows you love them.

The coffee machine dings, signaling it’s finished its job. He pushes your plate towards you as he takes a long sip from his coffee. A first of many. “Plus, you’ll be busy. Gotta help me with my paperwork, remember?”

You nod, stiff and forced. You want to whine. Storm right back into their rooms and hug them so tightly your knuckles turn white. But you don’t. Price has been teaching you about obedience. Listening even when you don’t want to. You’re not a fan.

You didn’t even help with his paperwork. You just stayed in his office, did puzzles sometimes when he could find one for you, and cuddled into his lap when he let you. But, you agreed.

Only that with the prospect of seeing the others later, you wouldn’t be able to stay still. Even during breakfast. Surely not when you’re cooped up in his office. Not when he has no puzzles, can’t have you in his lap right now, is taking too many phone calls to talk, is unable to take you out for a walk around the fields, or is even available to give you an ounce of attention.

He’d even brushed you off when you tried to slip between his thighs, bare knees against the carpet, refusing to look down at you.

You can’t stay still. You need something to do. Even as you shuffle around the room, prod at metals and picture frames, and flop from one chair to another, he doesn’t seem to mind. Not when you drag a chair across the room to get a good look at something high on the walls. Not when you huff and puff to yourself.

It’s when you’re tidying some pens you accidentally knocked on the floor that you notice one of the drawers to his filing cabinet is slightly ajar. Weird. He always has those locked. You settle onto your knees in front of the drawers a few feet away from his desk.

You peek over to see if he’s watching once, or twice. Still hyper-focused on the papers in front of him if the wrinkle between his brow tells you anything. You quietly open it and just when your gaze falls on a file titled with your name, suddenly Price is just as stealthy as the rest of them.

The drawer is closed by a large hand appearing in front of you. Your head snaps up as Price stands over you and you gape at him as he tells you, “Nothin’ in there for you, little one.” while he slips the key into the hole and locks it.

You don’t even bother apologizing when you’re so pent-up right now. Your tail falls limp behind you. You furrow your brows as you glance up at him, slumping back onto your heels into a sitting position. “Why not? What’s in there?”

He can barely resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Get off the damn floor,” he sighs and leans down to grip your biceps, pulling you up to stand. You let him, but you’re not very cooperative.

“Fine. You really want something to do?” he asks and doesn’t finish until you hesitantly nod. He walks back over to his desk to grab his nearly empty coffee mug and brings it over to you. “Get me some more coffee and yourself… some fuckin’ juice or somethin’, alright?”

You frown slightly. Seriously? That’s what he wants you do to? I guess.. it’d be better for you to take a moment. Even if it was just a short walk back to your common room, he seemed pretty frustrated with you.

You feel a little bad. But not enough to apologize when you were frustrated with him, too. “Fine,” you huff, grabbing the cup from him and turning around as you walk back toward the door.

The walk back to the kitchen is maybe 60 seconds. Your eyes are down the whole time, paying attention to your steps, the floor creaking under your weight. You open the door to the common room and shut it behind you, going straight to the kitchen.

You pop one of the coffee pods in the machine and start it up again after you put the mug in, leaning against the counter as you hear it come to life. You pick at a cuticle at the edge of your nail while your sharp canines dig into your bottom lip absently.

“Love? That you?”

Your ears perk, your head snaps up and your spine straightens. A bright smile takes over your lips as your eyes land on Gaz walking out of the bathroom in a grey tee and blue shorts. You can feel your tail beat over the back of your thighs as you rush over to him. You slam straight into his chest, completely missing the bandage around his upper arm and shoulder, just missing his quiet groan.

Your arms wrap around him tightly, burrowing your nose into the crook of his neck under his ear.

Just right. Just what you needed.

He lets out a pained chuckle, arms slowly coming around you.

“Mmm… missed me?”

You nod wildly, head bobbing up and down and knocking against his chin. One of his hands slides down your back, gliding against the soft material of your dress until his hand settles in the curve of your lower back. He tilts his head until his lips are by your ear, “Daddy get you a new dress?”

You repeat your nod, pulling back until you can see his face. Your hands slide up his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck of his neck as your eyes flick over his face. He looks mostly uninjured besides a tiny split on the edge of his jaw. He always told you not to worry about it. While you tried not to, you couldn’t control every single one of your thoughts. “…Yeah. Do you like it?”

“‘Course I do,”

His lips quirk up into a smile that you return while his hands slide down to cup your ass. He pulls you a little closer until you’re back up against his chest and you’ve risen onto your tippy toes. Pulls you until your breasts flatten against his chest and his hand cups the side of your neck with his thumb under your jaw.

He tilts your chin up enough that he can kiss you, his lips slightly chapped against yours. His other hand’s fingers dig into the flesh of your cheek, giving a firm squeeze. It’s slow and soft at first, but you can feel the tension bubbling beneath the surface. He pries your lips open with his tongue, running it along your teeth before slipping fully inside to join yours.

You hum happily into his mouth, massaging your tongue against his before he slips away. Tilts your chin to the side with his thumb to give him the access he needs to kiss along your jaw. “You look.. fuckin’ lovely, baby.” he rasps, lips wet with a mixture of yours and his saliva as he drags his kisses down to your neck.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip to not smile *too* wide, feeling warmth rise on your cheeks. “Thanks,” is all you can squeak with the sudden shyness slipping up your spine and grasping around your brain. You can feel something stiff against your thigh.

Your ears twitch as the coffee machine beeps. He nearly rolls his eyes. Great fuckin’ timing.

You start to lean away, slowly releasing your grip on him. “Kyle… I gotta finish John’s coffee. I promised.”

He groans, letting his head fall back. He huffs and gives you a quick squeeze before he eventually releases you. You turn and make your way over to one of the higher cabinets. It creaks open as you reach up, grabbing a gray mug and watching as a tanned hand comes around you to pluck it from your grasp. He sets it on the table, sliding it out of your arms length as you reach for it.

“Kyle!” You whine, unable to turn to look at him with the way he presses up against your back. He places his hands on each side of your waist, pressing his warm chest tight against your back.

“I know, I know.”

You huff.

“My pretty girl..” he mumbles under his breath as he runs his hands up and down your sides. Before you can think to respond, he’s kissing you again. One hand to turn your jaw towards him and one on your waist while he holds you still to shove his tongue down your throat. You can barely keep up. It’s only morning, but.. you missed him, too.

His head ducks down over your shoulder to pepper kisses along your exposed collarbone.

“Need you,“ he whispers. All you’ve done at this point is blink, and he’s pinned you against the counter.

He buries his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder, hands gliding up your front to cup your breasts through the fabric of your dress. You don’t even stiffen. You’re just surprised at how quickly he’s moving things along. He’s acting like he’s intoxicated.

But you’d be a little desperate to have something soft and pretty after weeks of hard work, no?

His thumb brushes over where he assumes your nipple would be. His mouth waters. Something’s buzzing in his ears. Howling.

“Need to fuck you. Please. Need to touch you so bad, love. Will you let me?”

You shiver as his nose runs along the curve of your neck until he’s nudging at your jaw. “Yeah,” you whisper like it’s some poorly kept secret of how badly you need each other. His hips grind against your ass from behind and he groans, hips giving an involuntary buck before he’s quickly reaching down to push the skirt of your dress above the swell of your ass.

He can already feel himself stiffening in his trousers. He needs you. “Yeah, you missed me too. Right, baby?” he asks, placing a kiss on your neck before he moans at the sight of your half-bare bottom only partially covered by the edges of your underwear.

He uses one hand to gently pin your fluffy tail to your right hip to keep it out of the way. You lean forward slightly, bracing your hands on the cold counter. “Yes- Yes, I missed you, Kyle.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to restrain himself as his free hand comes around your front to dip under the band of your underwear. He inhales sharply as his fingers cup over your cunt beneath your underwear. Soaking wet like always, he finds. “Fuck, she needs me real bad, doesn’t she?” he breathes quietly.

You whine as his middle finger slips between your slit to gently rub against your clit. His finger glides easily with the slick provided by your needy body. Your breath is too shaky for you to attempt to speak. He rubs precise circles around your bud to coax even more slickness from your body, increasing the pressure until your thighs shake.

“Oh, God,” you cry, head falling forward between your shoulders. He adds a second finger, rubbing firmly with two now. “That feel nice?” he asks, breath rushing over your shoulder. He rests his chin there while he presses a little tighter against you from behind. He’s so fucking hard, it nearly hurts. Five more minutes and it might.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer, voice coming out choked and rushed. It feels better than good. You can feel shockwaves of pleasure spreading out from between your thighs, over your stomach, and down your legs. “Can you?-“ you cut yourself off with a moan as a single finger of his presses inside you, your jaw falling slack.

“Yes,” you groan, tongue feeling numb in your mouth. A few pumps of his finger have your thighs clenching together, one hand slipping from the counter and reaching behind you. You just want to touch him, even if you can’t see him. You grasp his hip with little finesse, nails biting into his skin.

“Mm.. just like that, huh? Want another? Shit, you’re so warm, baby. So soft. Just for me.” he pants, chest rising and falling against your back.

You nod and straighten a little to push your ass back against him. His hand, which has been gliding up and down your waist, shifts to grip your hip tightly while he hisses. You mewl as he adds a second finger, palm grinding against your clit.

“Easy, love. Be good. Know I won’t hurt you. Gotta be gentle, take our time.” he confirms, turning his head to bury his nose behind the line of your jaw.

“Need you now,” you moan as his fingers curve inside of you to brush against something that makes you throb. You push back against his fingers, craving more. Needing more. “Won’t hurt so bad. You’ve done enough. Just let me have you now. Please, Kyle.”

“Fuck,” he exhales, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. Almost to ward off the ache. Yeah, he was lying to himself earlier. What’d he say, five minutes? It’s hardly been two and he can feel his cock pulsing painfully against his thigh. “Yeah, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

He shoves your panties down your thigh and gently pushes at your low back until you bend over enough to let him ruck your dress over the swell of your ass. You’re bent halfway, your palms flat against the counter. He carefully grips your tail to push it aside once more. He lets go briefly to push his blue shorts and black boxers down his thighs, not even bothering to take them all the way off. No, you were much more important.

He grips your hips while using both thumbs to keep the fabric up as he positions himself behind you. “Ready?” he huffs, his voice so husky and deep you were almost worried he had a sore throat. You nod and the glans of his head nudge against your entrance before slowly pushing in.

Your jaw slowly drops open as he presses inside, gently stretching you open just right so that the hinges of your skull ache. You’re suddenly stunned into silence. Normally, to put it bluntly, you talked a lot. You loved learning about people. Especially people hard to learn about like the 141 boys. But now, it seemed like Gaz was awfully interested in exploring the internal parts of you.

Gaz slides a little deeper as you whine. It stings, but not too bad. Not when you’re so fucking wet. “Still alright?” he confirms, warm breath brushing over your cheek. His hips are flush with yours now and he feels burning hot against you. Inside you. “Mhm.” you hum shakily, not quite trusting your vocal cords to pronounce your words enough to be heard.

There’s a sound of creaking wood that comes from the doorway. Your ears perk. Both of your chins suddenly tilt up in that direction to see a sleepy, grinning Soap. Wearing only grey boxers. The slight crease between your brows softens and you smile. “I knew you two were gettin’ up to somethin’ without me,”

You feel Gaz’s lips split into a grin against the heated skin of your cheek. “Just started. Still plenty of time for you to join,” he says breathlessly as he pulls his hips back just enough to carefully thrust them forward. You jolt slightly, hand leaving him to grip over his on your hip.

A whimper slips from your lips. You pant, the front of Gaz’s thighs sticking to the back of yours from the accumulated sweat. “Johnny,” you whine, nearly reaching out toward him but opting not to with the fear you’d collapse.

Soap’s smile turns a little softer as he approaches, but the length between his legs certainly does not. You moan as Gaz starts up with a slow rock against your ass, feeling sweat start to prick the skin of your neck and armpits. He groans quietly in your ear.

Soap walks until he’s on the opposite side of the counter you were pressed up against. It wouldn’t take much to reach him.

“Fuck, ye look so wrecked,” Soap chuckles with his lips opened in a grin, smoothing your hair back with his hand. Gaz smiles behind you but your lips turn into a pout. Did you seriously look that bad? I mean, you knew sex wasn’t pretty, but you looked so bad he described you as ‘wrecked’?

Soap quickly notices the way your shoulders tense slightly, a light wrinkle between your brows. “No, no, I only mean in a good way, lovely. Wasnae bein’ mean to ya. You look as pretty as ever, baby.” he coos, pinches your left cheek between his fingers, and leans forward to press a kiss to your right.

You huff, but you let your guard down easily around them. Soap wouldn’t say something like that and mean it poorly, could he? No, you trust them.

Your hand leaves Gaz’s hand at your hip to grab Soap’s retreating one, pressing his palm against your cheek. “I missed you,” you sigh, but it more or less trails off into a groan as Gaz’s thrusts get a little firmer.

One of Gaz’s hands slips up from your hip to tug the right strap of your dress down, then reaches forward to tug the cup of the fabric down until one of your breasts is free. Your hand slides back to the edge of the counter.

Gaz and Soap both share a groan as their eyes flick down, Gaz’s chin on your shoulder as his hand firmly squeezes the flesh. “Ah’ ken ya did. But I’m sure Price took good care of you, yeah?” Soap purrs, his hand moving to the left strap to tug it down your chest as well.

The whole front of your dress slips down, revealing your front. Gaz huffs and puffs warm breath against the side of your neck, thumb, and pointer gently plucking at your nipple as his hips thrust against yours.

Soap’s eyes briefly flick down to the slick mess between your thighs. Gaz slid between them, penetrating you, not bothering to even pull all the way out before he punched in with another slow thrust. You’re so wet. So willing and eager, your hole just swallows him up.

You moan at every entrance and exit, not bothering to quiet your noises. Not when Soap and Gaz love them so much.

Your attention is vaguely brought back to Soap as one of his hands cradles your cheek.

“C’mere,” His thumb wiggles its way into your mouth, hooking behind your bottom teeth and tugging a little until your chin is tilted towards him and your jaw is open. He looms above you, much taller than you with the way you’re leaning forward.

You’re a little confused. Is he going to stick his tongue in your mouth? You’re blinking up at him, face scrunched in confusion, mouth open. You flinch slightly at the sound of him spitting while your eyes instinctively close.

Suddenly, there’s something warm and wet in your mouth. Your eyelids flutter open, and all you can do is moan at the sight of saliva dripping from his mouth into yours.

Gaz’s voice joins yours as you moan, peering over your shoulder to watch the way Soap spits, waits for you to swallow, and then presses your lips together. You mewl into his mouth, one hand coming up to cling onto his bicep as Gaz gets a little rougher behind you.

His tongue slips inside your mouth, massaging against your own, licking against your teeth as if to memorize your taste. “Fuck, baby.” he moans as he pulls away to pant against your lips, eyebrows scrunching together.

You’re almost in awe at how he could be so worked up by just a kiss.

There’s a slick clicking noise between you. Your eyes flick down to see Gaz’s hand stuffed in his boxers, wrapped firmly around Soap’s cock. You hadn’t even noticed that his hand had left your chest.

Your fuzzy eyes are transfixed on the sight. Blurry from the vision in front of you and the cock inside of you. Watching the way Gaz slides his hand up, tightening and twisting around the head while Soap shudders and his upper body lurches forward. His hands turned into fists against the counter, head hanging between his shoulders as his chest heaved.

“Fuckin’ hell, Gaz…”

Gaz seems to notice your interest, his hand pumping twice more before lifting off. “You wanna try a go, love?” Your face is flushed with heat. Not from embarrassment. Arousal. You look over to see his chin on your shoulder, his heated gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. You nod.

He smiles, and your hand on Soap’s bicep slips down to support you against the counter once more. Gaz takes your dominant hand and slowly curls your fingers into a fist around the base of Soap’s cock. His fingers fit in between the gaps of yours. Soap’s lips purse as Gaz starts slowly dragging your hand up and down.

Your lungs pause for a moment. He’s hot. Burning hot between your fingertips. He feels different than you expected, honestly. The skin is soft.

Soap’s eyes are focused on the sight of both your hands working around him as Gaz gets you to a solid pace. He then exits his hand to grip your waist, fucking into you a little harder. You moan, hand fumbling a little without his before tightening your grip to do it on your own. And eventually, a little faster.

“Fuuuck… Yeah, jus’ like that. Mm..” Soap moans, his hand wrapping around yours to guide you and make your grip a little tighter. Gaz picks up the pace, one hand tight on your hip and the other on your waist to support you during his roughening thrusts.

You can feel the beginnings of a fire stirring in your lower belly, sparks begging to be caught and ignited. Your hearing is going a little fuzzy, brain struggling to choose a sense to focus on. Soap’s hips pump into your joined hands, his hips twitching as he chases the pleasure.

Soap abruptly pulls your fingers off to spit into your palm before bringing it back to his cock, whining about the slick, warm feeling of your hand around him. He tightens his grip around yours, forcing you to pick up your pace before he releases you to do it as you’d like.

Gaz’s thrusts start to run a little wild, his short fingernails digging lightly into your flesh. “*Fuck*- Fuck, I’m gonna come.” he groans, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder.

“Bleedin- ahhh, shit. ‘m close too.” Soap stutters out, shoulders hunching as his other hand supports him against the counter to help fuck his pelvis into your fist. his free hand reaching out to grab Gaz by the back of his neck. He leans forward, smashing his lips against his. You think you hear some connection to teeth through the moans, but neither of them seem to care.

It’s a filthy display of tongues and spit, and neither of them really seem to care about the mess. Soap pulls away briefly after a moment, both of their bodies gasping for air. “Come for us, Gaz.” he whispers, lips brushing and neck and face flushed with arousal.

You’d say you’re disappointed by not being able to come with him if he weren’t so goddamn beautiful. The way he chokes on his noises, forehead leaning against Soap’s as his cock jerks inside you. He’s always so warm when he’s inside you, burning liquid dripping out around where he’s penetrated you. Oh, and hot on the outside too.

Soap can’t help but follow, his hand leaves the counter to practically choke your hand around his cock as he stammers, “Oh, fuckin’, ohhhh God.” He moans louder than he probably should, even with our living space blocked off from the rest of the base.

Gaz’s thrusts start to slow to a stop, Soap’s hips jolting and stuttering in their movements until his spend drips over yours and his fingers. It’s silent for a moment, Soap slowly releasing your hand off his cock, just to snatch it up in his own and bring it to his mouth.

He drags his tongue over a dribble of come on your finger, humming at the taste. His eyes are half-lidded when they lock with yours and you think all your internal organs pause for a moment or two.

With heavy breaths in the air, Gaz slowly pulls out. He stays pressed up against you, loosening his grip, and rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “Lemme make it up to you.”

“It’s.. it’s okay,” you pant, a little delirious.

By the time Soap lets go of your hand, it’s no longer wet with his spend, but instead his spit. Gaz’s fingertips slip between your thighs once more, gently rubbing over your sore slit. A whimper slips from your throat and you cling to his tan forearm as he slowly dips two fingers inside of you.

“My pretty baby,” Soap croons, cupping your cheek with his dry hand and running a thumb along the skin. “We could never forget about ya, sweet thing.”

He leans in to give a short, sweet kiss to your lips. His other hand, slightly wet, cups the soft flesh of your tit in his big hand. His thumb and pointer pluck at your nipple until you whine, which is when he then ducks down to suck the swollen bud into his mouth.

You were already getting close before Gaz came and now you were practically hurtling towards the edge. Gaz keeps a slow pace at first, rubbing firmly at your clit with his thumb while his fingers pump inside of you. One of your hands claws at Gaz’s forearm, the other still supporting you against the edge of the counter.

“Johnny,” you whine as Gaz pumps his fingers a little faster, his hand squeezing your side once before his hand comes up to pinch at your neglected breast. Soap grazes his teeth against you before briefly pulling away, “Not the name you should be moanin’, sweetheart.”

You lean back onto Gaz, head falling against his shoulder. “Kyle..” you moan, the new position leaving your other hand free. It comes up to the back of Soap’s head, holding him to you. You can feel the way he smiles against your nipple.

“Hm? You close?” he teases, nose brushing against your ear. “Uh-huh,” you nod, mouth ajar. Your eyes flutter closed as warmth spreads into your lower stomach, building and building. He keeps a steady pace with his fingers, but you jolt slightly when you feel a second hand between your legs.

You look down to see Soap’s thumb rubbing firmly against your clit, pointer finger lifting your hood. Almost too firmly with the way your back arches off Gaz’s chest and a guttural noise is ripped from your throat. Your toes curl in your shoes, heels nearly lifting off the floor.

“F-Fuck!” you suddenly cry as a wave of pleasure slams into you, nearly shoving you out of your body. Your vision goes white. By the time your eyes lazily reopen, Soap is standing in front of you, chuckling.

Gaz smiles against your shoulder. You’re too busy blinking away the fuzziness at the corners of your vision and too focused on the slick and come dripping onto your thighs.

“Who knew all you needed was a good orgasm to finally curse?”

“I could’ve guessed.” Gaz helpfully adds from behind you. You smile.

“Sod off.” Soap grumbles, leaning off the counter and cringing at the stickiness of the fake marble. And his hands. And thighs. And basically everywhere. At some point, you’d started slumping over, and Gaz gently laid you down. “Easy, easy,”

Your chest was flat against the cool counter while your panting breaths puffed against it. Your eyes flutter shut while the wave of pleasure washes over you and leaves with a twinge in your abdomen as a goodbye.

You don’t even twitch as a pair of footsteps approach. You blink. Your ears twitch. When’d the door open? Gaz slowly pulls off of you. He brings your panties up your thighs once more, making sure they’re secure around you with one hand as the other flips your dress back down. You cringe as you feel the fabric immediately start to dampen.

You vaguely hear him pull his boxers and shorts back up before he rubs a hand along your back. “You alright?” he asks, still sounding a little breathless. He brings your dress back up your torso, slipping the straps back over your shoulders.

You nod after a moment, nearly jolt as your eyes land on a dark figure in the room. You recognize it. Him. He appears like a Ghost. You swallow to soothe your dry throat, watching with furrowed brows as he takes a few more steps until he’s right in front of the counter you’re bent over.

His shoes are squeaking against the floor. There are sprinkles of water on the shoulders of his hoodie. He’s in his usual running attire, which he must’ve just come back from, and you’d guess it was probably raining, too.

He’s not wearing his mask. You try your best not to gape as your eyes flick over his features. His hair is darker than you thought it’d be. His eyelashes are normally smudged in coal, but they’re blond right now.

Ghost is not… particularly attractive. I mean, you think he’s pretty. You think the other boys do, too. But by conventional Western beauty standards, he’s not a top model.

Ugly, mean scars are across his entire body and face. There’s a tiny cleft on his upper lip. His shoulders are always tensed up to his ears. Not to mention the scowl he always seems to wear. Even with the mask on.

You can always seem to sense when he’s glaring at you. He doesn’t seem to be happy with you often. But if some random clueless puppy joined your military task force, you wouldn’t be either.

You’re yanked out of your head by his hand raising to pinch one of your spaghetti straps before letting it snap back to your skin. You flinch. If he notices, he doesn’t care.

“When’d you get this little number?”

His voice is raspy like he’d just woken up. But you’d guess he’s been awake for a few hours. He’s not even in boxers or PJs. You’re not sure if you can even imagine him sleeping in anything besides daytime clothes, though.

“Daddy.. Daddy took me out shopping. While you guys were gone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. It’s slow to catch up. You don’t bother asking for approval or opinion. He won’t give it to you. He grunts as he starts walking away, still in your line of sight as he pulls the now cold coffee mug out of the machine to replace it with his own mug.

“You lot need to be more quiet. Price came pokin’ around looking for her. And ‘e’s half deaf. Take it to a room next time.”

Shit, Price.

You all have the same response, but yours is much quieter.

“Sorry, LT.”

notes: this is literally my third time ever writing smut and first writing penetrative sex so PLEASE have mercy 🙏 . if you know nothing of the military like me, *EOD means Explosive Ordnance Disposal which is a branch of the military and basically i think they deal with and diffuse explosives. there probably won’t be any more parts to this. also i still can’t force myself to like this much for some reason so im probably gonna disappear off tumblr for a bit 😞 love you guys!

tags: @other-fandoms-reblogs

[wrtchdrtt]

Something about bucky barnes original winter soldier arm does things to me!

Mdni!

Art by me!

[1meowmeow83]

I’m feeling so so needy right now ☹️

[annjelica]

i love biceps sm, was with a himbo wrestler for a while and when i tell u i objectified that man DAILY feeling up his pecs and biceps 🤗

[melstinybrain]

MDNI

remus to a begging sirius: ah, ah, ah; beg properly. do you think you're gonna get what you want from me just because you started whining and pleading? poor darling, that's not how it works. not at all, angel. if you want me to give you what you want, use that mouth.

[sashaaababy]

jjk twitter prn links!! ft. Gojo, Nanami, Toji, Megumi, Choso

cws: G*n play, mdni, prn, size k*nk, oral, slapping, ddlg, bdsm, wax, rough s*x, gagging, choking

Gojo: Making Love<3, Playing with your tits, fingering your small cunt, what he sends you while your in class, playing with your ass, sucking on your tits, playing with his cock, sitting on daddys lap

Nanami: deeppp stretch, spanking, bad girl, spanking2, pussy slapping, spanking3, daddys girl, size diff

Toji: rough fingering, pounding you in your school uniform, muscles, g*n play, nicee and deep, slapping, g*n fucking, 3 sum ft:Gojo

Megumi: playing with your ass, fingering, pleasuring eachother, you can take it, finger gagging, sitting on his lap while he plays with your pussy

Choso: eating you out, jerking him off, your so mean to him:(, tying him up, he loves your pussy, overstimulating him