#And then at the end realized you’re still not good enough somehow?

[depravitycentral]

Tw: stalking, dub-con turned non-con but the reader is still kind of into it, recording, non-consensual recording, physical assault, threats, reader's kind of a freak in this

Thinking of yanderes who are so, so desperate to be intimate with you that they’re willing to go by your terms and adhere to the conditions you lay out for them.

You don’t want to touch him, not really – not with everything you know he’s done. You know he’s stalked you incessantly, following you like your shadow for months on end with no sense of privacy or personal space, intruding on every aspect of your personal life with only a passing sense of guilt.

(He’s watched you sleep, even settling beside you on your bed and watching the rise and fall of your chest, listening to the soft inhales and exhales, even going so far as to let his mouth hover over yours, breathing in the air of your soft little snores. He’s watched you shower, setting up cameras and staring through windows to see even a peek of your nude figure, palming himself and practically drooling because fuck, he would cut off his own limb to be washing your hair for you or soaping down your back, your thighs, your tits…)

You know he’s threatened others, blackmailed friends, family, and partners, perhaps even permanently eliminated potential rivals. You know he’s gone to extreme lengths to keep you right where he  wants you, to keep you within his imaginary grasp so that he can finally, finally make the final move to make you officially his.

He's a creep in every sense of word, but perhaps you’re a bit of a creep, too, because there’s something about the raw, carnal desperation he’s exhibiting for you that almost feels good. It’s flattering in a fucked up way, making your self-confidence skyrocket because here’s this grown man that’s absolutely whipped for you, willing to do all sorts of illegal and depraved things just for your allowance of him to breath the same air and occupy the same space as you.

You may not be a particularly egocentric person, but perhaps you can indulge his little obsession. Perhaps it’s boredom, excitement at just how pathetically eager he is, or maybe it’s even a genuine sort of fondness and attraction you’ve developed for him – regardless, the next time he begs for you to please, please just give him a single chance to show you that he can make you feel good, you’re biting your lip and nodding, interrupting his stuttered gasp and shocked r-really with a few conditions of your own.

And yet, no matter what conditions you lay forward, things don’t go quite as you’d planned, quite as you’d hoped. Somehow you lose control of the situation, and before you can stop it you realize you’ve opened the floodgates, the truly breadth of his yearning and disregard for morality uncomfortably obvious. Somehow, the creep manages to bend you to his whim – showcasing just how dangerous and strong his Loverboy, eager-to-please façade had been. Because now, the man hovering over you and groaning declarations of love and devotion is suddenly very strong and very impossible to push off of you.

And yet, his creep has rubbed off onto you, because you’re almost enjoying it.

And now, for the sake of imagination, let’s say you give one of three possible conditions…

He’s not allowed to touch you.

It’s a proposition that makes him whine, disappointment settling deep in his chest because how is he supposed to show you what you’re missing out on if he can’t kiss you or touch you or stuff you so full of his cock that you’re dazed and nonsensical?

It irritates him, but the prospect of getting to touch himself with you looking at him is enough to get him agreeing, and you’ll find yourself sitting in front of him, fully clothed even while he’s stripped down to nothing, red, swollen cock in hand as he furiously brings his wrist up and down. It’s loud – squelching and making bassy, tacky thump noises with each slam of his fist against his navel, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s too busy staring at you, eyes seemingly unblinking even when they’re half-closed in lust.

It’s arousing at first to watch a man so blatantly and needily masturbating to you, but the moment that your eyes stray from him and his body he’s faltering, fury sprouting from his gut because how dare you not be looking at him during this. How dare you not contribute the same amount of attention and intimacy that he is. How dare you ignore him like he’s just some little puny bug when he’s whining and gasping about every little explicit, detailed fantasy he’s had of you.

And he’s moving before you know it, grabbing your clothed wrists in a single hand and pinning them above your head, keeping your thighs trapped between his own as he ruts into his fist, the smell and sound overwhelming now as he hovers over you.

Look at me look at me look at me he’s chanting to you, voice strained and uneven as the pleasure mounts, the scared look in your eye only making him harder, precum oozing from his sensitive tip in copious amounts, even dripping down his knuckles and lightly staining your shirt.

It’s not long before he’s coming, crying out your name and pressing his crotch against your body, cum spurting out to cover your torso, even getting a little bit against your neck and chin, the hot, slimy sensation making you squirm.

He’s panting, and as he resumes stroking himself, hissing and wincing slightly at the overstimulation, he’ll only breathily laugh down at you, smile too wide and his cheeks too flushed as he reminds you that I’m not touching you, am I? Fabric separating us still, but isn’t this good? D’you like being covered in my spunk?

It feels like hours before he finally lets his fist slow down, cum covering your chest, but with the majority of his releases concentrated over the expanse of your cunt, seeping through the fabric of your jeans and leaving the skin below feeling wet, the sheer volume impressive and leaving you to wonder how he hasn’t passed out from exhaustion.

He’ll groan, eyes fluttering closed briefly before opening up wide, leaning down so that he’s merely a breath away from your lips, murmuring next time, we’ll do this again and I’ll stick to your fucking rules, but a condom counts as not touching, right? Right?

Kyojuro Rengoku, Gyutarou, Koushi Sugawara, Atsumu Miya, Yuu Nishinoya, Koutarou Bokuto, Hawks, Jin Bubaigawara, Nobunaga Hazama, Uvogin, Leorio Paradinight

2. You want another person present in the room.

Maybe it’s a safety precaution, or perhaps this is the chance to play out some long-standing fantasy of a threesome you’ve had for longer than you’d care to admit. Regardless, he’s not pleased about the prospect of sharing you, but the months of wringing himself dry to the point of rashes and skin-rubbed-raw leave him babbling out a yes, promising to include whoever you desire.

Except, maybe you really are a sadist because of course you choose the man he hates most.

It’s a slap in the face but he manages to pull through, irritation already coursing through him the moment the three of you settle onto the bed, but things only get progressively worse. Almost immediately, the fucker is stealing your attention – pulling you in for a messy, loud kiss, and it makes his skin crawl to see the way your eyes close, how you lean into the kiss, how you guide his hands to cup your tits and grope at your thighs.

The intruder is far too comfortable, and as your yandere grabs you and physically puts you onto the other side of the bed so that he’s sitting between you two, he can only swallow. He’s immediately leaning in for a kiss of his own, lips working against yours in a fervor, hands unable to stay still as he yanks at the hem of your shift, ripping the material. He’s groaning against you, moving hurriedly as he tries to strip you, unwilling to let the intruder do anything as monumental and intimate as undressing you. But it’s too late, because the man is moving to your other side, pressing his navel against your ass and biting at your ear, and you’re breaking the kiss to moan and he thinks he’s going to be sick because the intruder’s hand is slipping under your skirt.

He slaps the man’s hand away, sending him a glare that makes even a shiver roll down your spine, before shoving his hand between your thighs instead, sucking in a breath because he knows what panties you’re wearing by feel, the pretty black ones that make your ass look so damn good, the one he’s stolen and jerked himself with so many times that it’s making a sort of Pavlov response hit him and oh oh oh no no no he can’t come yet oh please god no –

The moment is ruined, though, because the intruder’s kissing you again, suddenly slapping your thigh with his cock and telling you to beg for it, pretty girl, tell me you want it and something inside your yandere just sort of snaps.

He’s got the man on the ground before he can stop himself, fists raised and connecting with the man’s face, blood already covering his knuckles with just a few hits. He’s growling, a sort of inhuman sound that leaves his teeth bared, audible even over the man’s pained whimpers, even as the consciousness slips from his eyes and he goes limp against the ground, chest rising and falling very slowly.

And you’re still on the bed, staring with a dropped jaw and fear swimming in those pretty eyes as your yandere comes back to you, blood staining his palms and speckling his shirt, his breathing ragged as he shoves your head down to his crotch, telling you suck it clean or I’ll kill him, a smirk settling on his lips as you immediately hollow your cheeks.

And as he maneuvers you onto your knees, fingertips groping and kneading at your cheeks as he fucks into you from behind hard enough to leave your ass ricocheting and jiggling, it’s difficult to not hear the way he breathily laughs, thumb coming around to pinch at your clit as he tells you didn’t break your rule, there’s still another person in the room, isn’t there? Stupid fucker’s just not able to see how well you take my cock.

He’s shoving your face too far into the mattress to respond though, so he only answers himself with a slurred groan of ‘m coming, fuck take it take it –

Sanemi and Giyuu, Akaza and Douma, Oikawa and Kageyama, Kuroo and Daichi, Daishou and Kuroo, Tsukishima and Hinata, Shigaraki and Dabi, Endeavor and All Might, Nobunaga and Franklin

3. You want everything on camera.

Maybe it’s a kink for being recorded or maybe you simply want hard evidence to be able to use against him when you eventually take him to court, confident that he’ll let something incriminating slip out. Regardless, he’s very, very eager to fulfill your request, only growing slightly camera shy when the time finally comes.

It’s not a complicated set up, really – you’ve got a tripod of sorts with your phone balanced on it, the video rolling and centered on the bed where you’re settled in his lap. He’s clutching at you, making all sorts of little whimpers and whines as you kiss him, his lips eager and insistent and his tongue immediately pushing into your mouth the moment he can. It’s sticky sounding, and you’re sure the camera can pick it up.

When you pull back for air, letting your shirt come up and over your head, you’re almost embarrassed at the way he immediately shoves his face between your breasts, violently shaking his head back and forth, not paying attention to the way your bra cups poke at his eyes. He’s mouthing at your nipples over the fabric, even going so far as to dig one out of the cup, sucking and licking at it. His free hands travel down the expanse of your back, tracing the muscles under the skin and eventually settling at your ass, moving you to grind on his already very hard cock.

He pulls back with a little pop noise, licking his lips and looking up at you almost dazed. So pretty, he mumbles to himself, squeezing his hands, and you can only shiver in both excitement and discomfort as he starts rambling.

Been dreaming of this for so long, baby, stalked you for so long that I know exactly how to touch you, how to fuck ya… Been touching myself too much to the thought of you, huh? Feel how fucking hard I am just from a bit of kissing and touching?

He giggles at that, nipping at your nipple and enjoying the way you squirm slightly.

Broke into your apartment almost every day the last year, stolen your stuff and licked every utensil you own. Wore your panties and sucked on your toothbrush, stole your mail and hacked into your laptop and phone cameras just to get a front row view of you.

The information makes your stomach drop and you stiffen in his hold, his his insistent, guided grinds against his crotch only pick up.

Touched you while you slept, too, but I think you already knew that. You’re hard to wake up, y’know? And you make this cute little whine when I finger you, but this is much better right now. You’re hotter when you’re awake, but I’ll take you either way.

It’s ten more minutes of dreadful, disturbing admissions from him as he grinds you against him and suckles at your chest, leaving your nipples sore and bruised, puffy and overly-sensitive. The camera’s still rolling, and it’s only when he curls in on himself, a strained f-fuck spilling past his lips as something warm and wet seeps through his boxers that he slows down, stopping and cupping at your tits, squeezing harshly and burying his face in them once more for a brief moment.

He detaches himself, walking over to your phone and ending the video, before pulling his own out and replacing it with yours, walking back over to you and licking his lips.

Hey now that we’ve got yours and I’ve confessed to all the shit you wanted me to, it’s my turn, yeah? We make a video for you, now we make a sex tape for me. Oh, don’t make that face – ‘m not going to show it to anyone. Well, except maybe you, would you like to watch it back with me?

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he flips you onto your stomach, displaying a level of strength that shocks you, keeping you flat against the bed as he pulls you towards him so that you’re dangling off the edge, ass bared to the camera. He giggles, tracing a fingers against your clothed cunt, before slapping at it harshly, enjoying the way you squirm.

Let’s put on a good show, huh? I’m thinking…

He lets a leg stand on either side of your hips, settling himself so that his chest is pressed flush against your back, lips brushing at your ear as he murmurs we’ll start like this, the angle will be really good, I promise. Trust me, ‘ve watched a lot of porn – you’ll look good like this.

Then he’s forcing you into his lap, facing the camera and making your legs spread wide, a hand slipping into your shorts and toying with your clit. Then like this – think I can make you squirt? Think it’ll reach the camera from all the way over here?

Finally, he’s forcing you onto your knees while he stands over you, the camera right at your face level as he pets at your hair, sighing dreamily and saying and we’ll finish it like this – be loud, okay? Wanna see you gagging and choking. And if you don’t swallow, I’ll just have to do it again – thoughts on throatfucking?

And as he settles you onto your stomach, mounting you and letting the camera roll as he fucks into you hard enough to leave you screaming his name, he’ll only whisper in your ear between hearty groans and the slap of his balls against your ass remember, you wanted the video sweetheart.

Douma, Tengen Uzui, Rintarou Suna, Kenma Kozume, Tooru Oikawa, Dabi, Hizashi Yamada, Shalnark (like a LOT), Uvogin

Be careful what you wish for, because with your rule in place, they will bend it to work to their advantage – but don’t be too hard on yourself for enjoying it. After all, they know you better than you know yourself – can you really be surprised that they know exactly what will turn you on, too?

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

.

[starryjake]

book lover | s.j

in which you’re trying to read your book and jake gets needy.

pairing: jake x fem!reader

includes: rough jake, blowjobs, nipple play, choking, unprotected sex, cumming inside, masturbating, finger sucking, fingering (lmk if i missed anything).

you were so effortlessly pretty. literally effortless. you were laying there on the couch, your face glued to the book you’d been reading for the past couple of days. jake thought you looked good. really good.

the fireplace was on, an orange glow reflecting on your smooth face, making you look somehow even more beautiful.

jake was sat on the other end of the couch, your socked feet curled in his lap. he side eyed you, hoping you’d pay him some attention, but you were too entranced in the world of your book.

he brought his hands to your feet and began giving them a massage, thinking maybe that would get your attention, but it was like you didn’t even notice.

jake let out a loud, dramatic, sigh, finally capturing your attention.

“what is it?” you asked, tearing your gaze from the book.

“nothing, why?” he responded.

“oh,” you shrugged. “thought you needed something.”

he frowned as you went back to your book. that didn’t work out how he wanted it to.

he waited a few more minutes, occasionally looking over at you, but you were still so engrossed in something else that wasn’t him and it was starting to piss him off.

there was one way he knew for certain would get your attention.

he softly pushed your feet off his lap, which you unsurprisingly didn’t even notice. he kept his eye on you as he brought his hand to his bulge, palming himself until he built up an erection. just by staring at you, he was getting harder by the second.

eventually, just rubbing himself over his pants wasn’t enough anymore, so he slid his hand underneath his waistband and his boxers, grabbing his bare cock with no interference.

he sighed in relief at the contact, watching you to see if you’d notice, but you didn’t. he jut his bottom lip out, pouting at how it felt like you were ignoring him when you really just didn’t realize what he was doing.

he pulled his dick out of his pants and wrapped his hand around it tightly, dragging it up and down his length. a little bead of precum gathered at his slit which he let trickle down the side of his cock, the sensation making him shiver. he then smeared it around his tip, moaning out at the feeling.

“what the hell are you doing?” you asked, finally noticing him.

“jerking off,” he said through a deep breath, starting to feel really good now that he’d been caught.

“yeah, i can see that,” you replied, setting your book to the side.

for a moment, you decided to just watch. it didn’t take long for yourself to start feeling worked up, seeing your boyfriend touch himself and be so into it.

“feel good?” you asked.

“feels so fucking good,” he answered, looking at you through dark hooded eyes. “wish it was you.”

“i bet,” you answered.

he frowned, rubbing his thumb over his slit and twitching. he let a wad of saliva trickle out of his mouth and land on his tip, using it to help his hand glide easier.

you bit your lip, watching your boyfriend’s hand speed up around his cock, already working to make himself cum.

you watched for a few minutes before deciding to involve yourself. you sat up on your knees and crawled over to him. he immediately grabbed you by the hair on the back of your head and pushed your mouth onto his cock.

jake threw his head back against the couch as soon as he felt your warm throat wrapped around him. he kept his grip on your hair, giving you no choice but to suck him off.

you gagged around his length, saliva spilling out of your mouth and down the sides of his cock, which he loved. he loved when you were messy, which it was hard not to be when he was gagging you like that.

“fuck yeah,” he groaned, lifting his head to watch you suck it.

he could feel his tip hit the back of your throat and he jutted his hips up just a bit, just to test your limits. you clenched your hands into fists, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“good girl,” he cooed, speaking to you like you were a dog.

he even patted your head, loosening his grip ever so slightly.

he gave you a second to come up for air which you took full advantage of, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

jake grabbed your chin, smiling at your fucked out face.

“c’mere,” he urged.

you sat on his bare lap and he immediately pressed his lips to yours, licking up your saliva and his precum that was smeared all over your lips. you panted against his mouth, your breathing rate still not back to normal.

you’d wondered what had gotten into jake. he could be rough at times but it was rare. if anything, he usually was game to let you be the one running the show, but you could tell that was not how it was going to go tonight.

his hands were suddenly on your waist and he was pushing your sweater up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor. you’d gone braless today and jake thanked whatever god was out there that you did, needing his mouth on your pretty tits immediately.

he moaned as he took a hard nipple into his mouth, suctioning his lips around and sucking on it like he truly hoped something would come out of it.

with his other hand, he gripped his cock and started stroking it again. there was even more precum now, enough that it could’ve passed as a small load, but it wasn’t. he was just incredibly aroused and it showed.

he gathered the precum on his fingers and brought them up to your lips. he didn’t even need to ask you to open your mouth, you just did so, and he knew then that he trained you well.

you wrapped your lips around his long fingers, sucking on them and swallowing the salty taste of his precum.

he switched to your other nipple, leaving the one he had been sucking on wet to the cool air. it didn’t go unnoticed to him the way you were trying to subtly hump his leg, his fingers still pressed down on your tongue. he allowed it as it only fueled him to jerk his cock off harder.

he pulled back from your chest after another moment and grabbed your hips, laying you down on the couch. he tugged on your sweatpants and pulled them off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

he wanted to taste you so bad. he always did, but he just couldn’t wait tonight. he needed to shove his cock inside you as deep as he could and just fuck you until his dick stopped working.

so, he pulled your panties down leaving you completely bare on the couch. he cock was fully drooling precum, a string dripping down onto your stomach.

he was quick to kick his sweatpants off his legs and pulled his shirt over his shoulders. he needed to feel his bare skin against your bare skin, which was exactly what he did as he pressed himself against you, kissing you again.

you moaned into the kiss, feeling his cock slide between your soaked folds. you slid your fingers through his dark hair, wrapping your legs around his waist to get into position.

he could tell you were eager, maybe just as eager as he was. he pulled back and lined his cock up with your drooling hole, pushing in slowly to feel himself break that barrier, to stretch out your tight, velvety walls.

“fuuuuck,” he groaned, eyes rolling back at the overwhelming sensation.

you whimpered, placing your hands on top of his over your waist.

you were absolutely covering his cock in your wetness, adding another layer to it that was just purely your arousal.

he pushed himself all the way inside your pussy until your pelvises were aligned. unmoving, he stayed there, relishing the feeling of his cock resting in you.

“move,” you begged, needing to feel him do something other than just sitting there inside of you.

“hang on,” he mumbled.

he couldn’t move. he would cum if he moved. he clenched his eyes shut, momentarily trying to take himself out of this situation in his mind so he didn’t bust on the first thrust.

“please,” you begged, raising your hips up to try and get some movement.

that one movement alone did it for him, just like he knew it would.

he choked on a moan, eyes still closed as he started to cum inside you. he was so embarrassed, he didn’t even want to look. he wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening. he’d fucked you a million times before and this had never happened. there was something about tonight, though, something that had taken over him.

you were speechless as you felt his hot ropes of cum stain your insides. nothing had even happened. you didn’t understand why he was already cumming.

you stayed silent until he was finished, a sheen of sweat covering his body from the pure intensity of his first orgasm.

his eyes opened then and they were darker than before as he looked down at you.

“i said hang on,” he said sternly, angrily even, his fingertips digging into the skin on your waist.

“i didn’t know you were about to cum,” you defended.

“it doesn’t matter,” he retorted, a vein slightly bulging in his forehead. “listen if i fucking tell you something.”

you swallowed, suddenly getting the chills at his change in demeanor.

“i’m s—”

he pulled out of you so quickly and suddenly that it hurt, making you shut up your own apology. his cum came spilling out of you like a broken dam and dripped down onto the couch.

you watched him with anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen next but just hoping he wouldn’t leave you there without making you cum first.

“get on your stomach,” he demanded.

you nodded, your nervousness evident. you quickly laid down on your stomach, still nervous but excited for what he would do now.

he grabbed your waist and pulled your hips up. his cum still slowly trickled out of you, leaking down your sticky thighs.

you suddenly felt his finger pry at your entrance before sliding in and feeling your warm pussy, full of his early release.

“jake,” you whined, wishing he would just put his dick back in you and fuck you like normal.

“shh,” he said. “let me have my fun with you. i think it’s the least you could do, hm?”

you turned your head to the side, cheek pressed against the couch again.

“are you gonna fuck me?” you asked.

“i tried,” he said, sliding another finger into your pussy. “but you just couldn’t listen.”

“please,” you cried out, your fingers clenched into fists at the side of your head. “i didn’t know. please, i just need you to fuck me.”

jake cooed at your eagerness, at how you were begging for him now when you were never really one to beg. he did want to fuck you again, and he would, but he needed you to keep begging for it.

“i bet,” he said, purposely repeating your own words from earlier, which were now clearly biting you in the ass.

“please,” you groaned, pushing your hips back on his fingers. “i can’t wait. i just wanna cum.”

jake was a weak man when it came to you and he knew that. he wanted to make you wait just a little longer, but how could he when you were begging and needing him so sweetly?

he jerked himself off for a second again before realigning his tip with your entrance. he slid himself in again, twitching when he felt your walls pulsating around him.

“fuck!” you cried out. “thank you thank you thank you.”

“can’t say no to you,” he huffed, starting to thrust right away. “you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? just have to give my baby what she wants.”

“mmm yes!” you rasped, drooling onto the couch. “feels so good, jake, oh my god.”

“i know,” he said, holding onto your hips as he fucked you nice and hard, watching your ass bounce back on his torso. “you’re so warm, baby.”

“‘m close,” you warned.

he wanted to ask, “already?” but decided not to given the fact he’d just cum from merely being inside of you less than five minutes ago.

he rubbed the skin on your hips, silently urging you to let go, not just for yourself but for him too. nothing felt better than your walls clenching around him when you came and how wet and slippery your pussy became.

“jake!” you yelled, looking back at him with teary eyes and bright red cheeks. “i’m cumming!”

he moaned as he felt it and watched you go through it. your eyes rolled back into your head, your toes curling. you collapsed back down onto the couch and he continued fucking you through it, his stomach clenching from the sound of your wet pussy getting pounded by his cock.

“good girl,” he cooed, rubbing your back as you attempted to calm down, which was hard since he was still fucking you at the same fast and hard pace.

he grabbed your hips again and pulled you up so you were on your knees with your back pressed against his chest. you were so tired and limp, he had to keep his arm around his stomach to keep you upright.

“fuck, my little doll,” he grunted, speeding his thrusts up even more, your entire body jolting. “my little fuck doll, yeah?”

you just moaned, dazed, lolling your head back against his shoulder. with your neck exposed the way it was, jake couldn’t resist.

he immediately wrapped his around your neck and squeezed, feeling his cock twitch uncontrollably. you let out a tiny sound, a gasp for air mixed with a tiny squeak and jake nearly came just from the sound alone. you were so innocent and perfect, letting him just fuck you like he needed without argument.

he squeezed your neck until your neck turned red and his hand left an imprint. he had to force himself to let go. but he wasn’t done.

he let you catch your breath for a second before wrapping his entire arm around your neck like putting you in a chokehold, literally giving you no room to move and forced to take it.

but jake knew you liked it because you let out a yelp and were suddenly releasing all over his cock again without warning.

he released the chokehold after a few more seconds and kissed your neck, caressing it with his thumb.

“good girl,” he praised. “i’m close.”

“please,” you whispered, beyond exhausted and lightheaded at that point. “inside.”

“want my cum inside of you again?” he asked, taunting you almost. you just nodded, looking up at him with shiny eyes. “okay, baby. i’ll give my good girl what she wants.”

he fucked his cock into you a few more times before he was releasing his second load deep inside your cunt, marking your walls up all over again.

he was dripping sweat, his fingers pressed against your clit as he came, his orgasm lasting even longer than the first. he was practically shaking by the end of it.

once you were both done, he helped lay you down on the couch and covered you up with one of the throw blankets.

he immediately got you a glass of water, worry overcoming him because he’d never been so rough with you before and you hadn’t uttered a word in minutes.

“drink,” he urged, handing you the glass of cool water. you took a few sips before handing the glass back to him. “are you okay?”

“mhm,” you said tiredly, offering a sly smile. “that was really hot.”

“oh,” jake let out a sigh of relief. “you scared me, baby. got so quiet, i thought i was too rough.”

“well it was kinda hard to speak while you were choking me,” you joked. “but I’m exhausted now, baby. can we nap?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” he said, joining you in laying down.

you rested your head on his sweaty chest, immediately falling asleep as soon as he began running his fingers through your messy hair.

jake laid awake for a few minutes, replaying the scene that just occurred in his head until he too eventually fell asleep.

-

a/n. idk why i decided to make him put reader in a chokehold i think i blacked out.

thanks for reading!! <3

[beautysamour]

miguel accidentally overstimulating himself not realizing that his breeding kink kicked in 🤲🧎‍♀️

overstimulation with miguel o’hara ❤︎

— a/n: oh my

warnings ﾟ𐦍༘⋆: some vulgar language, mentions of having kids during sex

“Mi—Miguel,” you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck as he fucks you into the mattress, “‘s—‘s too much? Ah—are you oh—okay?”

You shudder in unison as he pumps another load of his cum into your drenched pussy.

“I’m fi—fine,” he stutters as his dick twitches. It hurts—he’s sensitive—but it’s not enough. He hasn’t given you enough.

A broken mewl escapes you as your head hits the headboard, Miguel tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from slipping off his cock as his hips stutter through his thrusts.

His visions blurs as you clench around his dick—he was surprised he was still able to move.

He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

You’re both covered in sweat, and cum, and saliva. You feel hot, the silk bedsheets Miguel bought does nothing to cool you down, and your head is spinning. Your heart pounds in your chest as your body tenses—you were about to cum again, and your pussy wanted to cry.

“Miguel,” you whimper, “‘m close, Miguel, ‘m close,” you whine. His dick deliciously rubs against your walls as he sticks his thumb into your mouth—your head hits the headboard.

“I know mami—me too.” Your head hits the headboard again, “Gotta fill you up again, don’t you want that? Gonna make you feel good, I promise mami, I promise.”

“Mig—“ he pushes his thumb down on your tongue.

“‘m gonna make you feel so good, mami,” he starts to babble, “Gonna feel so good.”

Somehow every movement he made was even more intense, you could feel every vein, every twitch, every—everything. He became more precise, every thrust ended with him hitting your g—spot, you were never sure if that was going to be the moment you came.

“Miguel—,” you babble, sucking his thumb. “‘m gonna cum, right there Miguel, I’m gonna—“

His thrusts became erratic, the feeling of your warm pussy engrains itself in his memory.

He’d definitely be going back to this memory.

“Wait for me mami, I’m almost there too,” he grabs one of your hands, bringing it close to his mouth, and he presses his lips against your wrist. “Gonna make you a mother, yeah?”

You bite his thumb.

He presses a hand against your stomach as the bed creaks, “Make me a father?”

His hips stutter as you moan around his thumb.

You avoid eye contact as he leans over you, the pure devotion in his eyes makes you feel tingles in your stomach—and make you feel even more of that in your pussy.

“Look at me when you come mami, pl—please. Need you too.”

You didn’t expect it to happen that quickly when you looked at him.

Miguel looks down at you with lust blown eyes, his hair drops down from his face, and his mouth hangs open—the hand holding your wrist shaking. He slowly thrusts into you as he came inside you—your own cum mixed with his leaking around his dick.

His chest goes up and down as he heavily breathes—fuck was he beautiful as always.

He dips his head pressing a quick sloppy kiss onto your lips, “You’re leaking.”

You laugh, “It’s your fault.”

You expect him to laugh, to take it as a joke and then pick you up to go take a relaxing bath and cuddle for the rest of night—but he doesn’t.

“Oh,” he purrs, “Well, I should fix my mistake, shouldn’t I?”

He drops your wrist and focuses on your left boob, he pinches your nipple—you moan softly.

You wince in unison when he starts to move his hips again, his free hand trailing down to your waist from your stomach, “Ha—have to make sure none of my cum goes to waste, right mami? Can’t risk you not getting pregnant.”

Tears weld in his eyes, your pussy hurts as you pulse around him. He lets out a weak breath, “You want me to cum in you again, right?”

Your head hits the headboard once more as he thrusts get stronger.

It hurts, you’re too sensitive, and you’re positive he is too—yet he’s right. You do want that, you want him.

With a broken, hoarse voice, you say “Yes.”

[moonstruckme]

remus x his girl with sleepy girl syndrome.

at a friendly gathering and she is trying SO hard to stay awake.

love u and ur work pls take care of urself

Thank you angel!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 516 words

Remus watches you from the corner of his eye. You’re drooping, elbow propped on the table and chin propped on your hand, watching James and Sirius tell a story through half-lidded eyes. Remus leans over to speak to you at a murmur. 

“Want to go home?” 

He immediately regrets phrasing it that way. You sit up straighter and look at him with forced attentiveness. “No,” you say, lips tilting upward for his benefit. “I’m having fun.” 

Remus doesn’t think you’re lying, but enjoyment and exhaustion aren’t mutually exclusive. Dinner has gone on longer than either of you expected, dusk turning to true darkness and streetlamps flickering on outside the pub. He thinks you’re probably barely keeping yourself awake. 

“We could go, though,” he suggests gently. “I’m starting to feel ready for bed, too.”

“Let’s stay a while longer,” you say, though you loop your arm through his, leaning against his side. “I want to hear the rest of the story.” 

That last part is said just a bit more intentionally. Remus follows your gaze down the table to James, whose attention has caught on you. He doesn’t seem to know what’s passing between you and Remus, is too far away to have heard your small conversation, but he smiles anyway at your last words. 

It’s a lucky thing that his gaze wanders from you as he gets deeper into the story again. Soon your head dips until it’s resting on Remus’ shoulder. He keeps still, only wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you tucked up against his side. Your eyelids droop and then shut. 

Remus strokes slow lines over your ribs with his thumb as James and Sirius wrap up their story. The length is somehow unaffected by how fast they tell it, voices overlapping and obscure details added between bouts of laughter, but eventually it’s done. Lily smiles into her drink, watching you. 

Cute, she mouths to Remus. 

He gives her a smile in return that says he knows. 

“Sweetheart.” He kisses your hair. “Let’s go, yeah? Let’s go home.” 

“Mm?” You come awake with a remarkable job of acting, pretending as if you’ve never been asleep at all. “No, I’m good.” 

Remus grins down at you. He reaches for your coat. “You made it to the end of the story. I think that’s enough for tonight.” 

“I did?” Your brow furrows, and Remus realizes you really hadn’t known you’d been sleeping at all. “Oh, shit. M’sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he laughs, standing and encouraging you along with him by your elbow. “I think we’re just ready to get some sleep. Here, dove.” 

He helps you into your coat, the both of you saying goodbye to your friends before leaving the warmth of the pub for the cool night. You attach yourself to Remus’ side instantly, arm wound through his. 

“Think you’ll be able to make the walk home?” he asks, only half teasing but wholly fond. 

Your reply is less jocular. “Yeah, I think so. Might lean on you if you don’t mind, though.”

Remus tuts, kissing your head. “I never mind.”

[luviwon]

CLASSROOM HOOK UP | n.rk

kinktober day 8! back to the masterlist here!

☆ classmate!niki x reader

; you really hated the physical education class, and so did your classmate niki. but skipping it together didn’t keep you from finding another way to burn some calories.

genre ; smut

taglist ; @blushbunini @moonpri @blackp1nkfan @mitmit01 @pasteltheghost16 @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @mlywon @lhspeachie @seraphira @kaykay11sworld @winuvs @yuniesluv @shhth @rizzki09 @mylettterstoyou @d-dilemma @aanniikkaa

the sound of your footsteps echoes down the empty hallway as you and niki run, the muffled shouts from the gym growing quieter behind you. your heart is pounding, a mix of excitement and nerves tightening in your chest as the two of you make your escape. skipping PE wasn’t the plan when the day started, but niki had given you that mischievous look, the one that always spelled trouble, and somehow you ended up here—racing through the hallways, trying not to get caught.

"this way," niki whispers, pulling you around a corner and into your classroom. the door swings shut behind you with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels almost too loud after all the rushing.

you’re both breathless, hunched over slightly as you try to catch your breath, the air in the classroom still and cool compared to the heat of the gym. niki straightens up first, running a hand through his tousled hair, his grin wide and unapologetic. he looks like he’s done this a thousand times before.

"we're good," he says, glancing around the empty room, the rows of desks standing like silent witnesses. “no one saw us.”

you lean against the teacher's desk, trying to calm the wild thumping of your heart. the thrill of skipping PE is still fresh, mixing with a bit of guilt at the back of your mind, but niki’s excitement is contagious. he moves to the window, peeking through the blinds like he’s checking for any sign of pursuit. when he’s sure the coast is clear, he turns back to you with that playful glint still in his eyes.

"think they'll miss us?" you ask, half-joking, though there’s a small part of you that wonders how long it’ll take before someone realizes you're gone.

niki just shrugs. "probably not for a while. besides, who needs dodgeball when we’ve got the whole classroom to ourselves?"

you can’t help but smile at that. there's something freeing about the idea of hiding out in here while the rest of your classmates are still sweating it out in PE. the quiet feels almost too peaceful after the chaos of the gym, the soft ticking of the classroom clock reminding you of how much time you're stealing away.

"so... what now?" you ask, not entirely sure what to do with this unexpected freedom.

"well," he says, his voice low and teasing, "i guess i have an idea."

he walks towards you slowly, a smirk playing on his lips as he closes the distance between you. before you can even process it, he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your face as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. his touch is gentle, almost too intimate for the moment, and for a second, you feel yourself drawn in—heart pounding, pulse quickening, your mind going blank under the weight of his gaze.

but then reality snaps back like a rubber band pulled too tight. you take a small step back, your breath catching in your throat as you shake your head. "niki," you murmur, your voice coming out softer than you intended. "we said we wouldn't do that anymore."

his smirk doesn’t falter, though you can see the flicker of something else in his eyes—something darker, more persistent. he takes another step closer, and suddenly the air feels heavier, the space between you almost nonexistent. his presence is overwhelming, and you realize, with a slight jolt, just how close he is now.

"do what?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin. his body hovers near yours, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, pulling you in despite yourself. his eyes lock onto yours, challenging, daring you to say it aloud.

your throat feels tight, the words lodged there as you try to hold onto the distance you’d promised to keep between the two of you. but standing here now, with niki so close you can feel the thrum of his heartbeat in the air between you, it’s almost impossible to think straight.

you swallow hard, your lips parting to respond, but no sound comes out at first. niki’s gaze never leaves you, watching, waiting.

your breath is shallow, every part of your body hyperaware of how close he is. you should step back, break the moment like you’ve done before, but for some reason, your feet feel glued to the floor. niki’s eyes haven’t left yours, his head tilting just slightly as if he’s reading every thought racing through your mind. you’re trapped in this moment, caught between what you promised yourself and what you can’t seem to resist.

he takes another half-step, his body now almost brushing against yours. “you didn’t answer,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, pulling you in further. “what won’t we do anymore?”

you swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but it only gets more difficult as his hand moves again, this time lightly trailing down your arm. goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch, and your pulse quickens. the weight of his question hangs in the air, thick with all the things left unsaid between you two.

“niki, we can’t…” you finally whisper, though the words come out weak, lacking the conviction you’d hoped for. you know what you’re supposed to say, what’s right, but in this moment, with him standing this close, logic feels slippery.

“can’t what?” he presses, his lips curving into a soft smirk, his voice still that same, teasing drawl. “you’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”

before you can answer, his hand shifts to your waist, not grabbing, but just resting there, warm and solid, like he’s testing the boundaries. your skin burns under his touch, and your mind races, torn between pulling away and staying exactly where you are. the intensity of his gaze pins you in place, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the way the air crackles between you, like something electric, something inevitable.

you manage to shake your head, your breath shaky as you force the words out. “we agreed… no more of this. it’s just… too complicated.”

niki’s smile softens just a little, but he doesn’t move away. instead, his fingers tighten just the slightest bit against your waist, as if daring you to push him away but knowing you won’t. “complicated doesn’t mean bad,” he murmurs, his voice so close it sends a shiver down your spine. “maybe it means we’re just figuring things out.”

your heart stumbles at that, but before you can react, the sound of footsteps from the hallway sends a jolt through both of you. without warning, niki grabs your waist tighter, and instead of stepping back, he pulls you down with him in one swift movement. you barely have time to stifle a gasp as the two of you fall into the cramped space beneath the teacher's desk, his body pressed close against yours.

your heart is racing, both from the sudden fall and the way your knees bump together awkwardly, his arm wrapping around your back to steady you. the footsteps get louder, closer—someone must have opened the door. you hold your breath, trying not to move, trying not to make any sound. but niki’s face is so close to yours, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his lips hovering just an inch from yours.

the space under the desk is small, too small for the both of you to fit comfortably, and you’re forced even closer, your bodies practically tangled together. his knee presses against yours, your hand accidentally resting on his chest as you steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat, quick and steady beneath your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

his gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and you can’t help but notice the way his breath hitches slightly. the tension between you is unbearable, your lips almost brushing, the heat radiating from his body making it impossible to think about anything other than the fact that he’s right there, so close you could lean in just a little and—

a shuffle from the door snaps your attention back. you try to focus, but your head is spinning, the mix of adrenaline and proximity making your pulse thrum in your ears. whoever entered the room pauses, their footsteps slow as if they’re scanning the space. you don’t dare look, too afraid that any movement will give you both away.

niki’s hand tightens slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin as if to remind you to stay still. you can feel the tension in his body, but there’s something else too—something more deliberate in the way his thumb brushes lightly against your side, sending a shiver up your spine.

his lips part as if he’s about to whisper something, but the closeness is unbearable. his mouth is just a breath away from yours, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything other than him. the silence stretches out, heavy, charged with everything that’s unsaid between you two.

you swallow, your throat dry, your body betraying you as you lean just slightly closer, almost instinctively, your lips brushing against his for the briefest second—

but then, the footsteps retreat.

the second the door clicks shut, the tension snaps.

before you can even process it, niki’s lips crash into yours, fierce and demanding, igniting something deep inside you. it’s not soft or gentle—there’s nothing careful about it. it’s raw, desperate, like every unspoken feeling between you is pouring out all at once, burning through any hesitation. his hand tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away.

your body reacts instantly, like instinct, melting into him as the kiss deepens. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends a rush of heat through your veins, his lips demanding, relentless. you kiss him back with just as much force, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pull him even closer, desperate to close the distance between you.

there’s no space, no air left between your bodies as you press against him in the cramped space under the desk, your legs tangling together awkwardly but neither of you caring. all you can feel is the heat of his body, the way his lips devour yours, like he’s been waiting for this as long as you have. every inch of your skin feels electrified, your pulse pounding in your ears as the intensity of the kiss takes over.

niki’s hand moves from your waist, sliding up your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer still, like he can’t get enough of you. his other hand cups the back of your neck, his grip firm, keeping you locked in place as his lips move against yours with a fire that consumes every thought, every bit of logic.

you respond with equal intensity, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough, your body burning with a need you didn’t realize you still had. his teeth graze your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, setting your whole body alight.

the space is too small, too tight, but it only adds to the heat, the desperation between you both. your back presses against the desk’s edge, but you don’t care—you don’t want to stop, don’t want to think about what this means, only that niki’s mouth is on yours, his body against yours, and it feels like fire spreading through every nerve.

his lips leave yours for a second, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, his breath heavy and ragged as he moves. every brush of his lips against your skin sends sparks through you, and you tilt your head back slightly, giving him more access as his mouth moves to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

you bite your lip to hold back a moan, your fingers tightening in his hair as his lips return to yours, crashing back into another kiss, this one even more urgent, more desperate than the last. it’s like you’re both trying to make up for lost time, for every moment you’ve spent holding back, and now there’s no going back.

with a natural swing, niki pulls both of you up from under the desk, and without any second thoughts, he is carefully pushing you down the teacher desk, making sure you lie down properly as he opens your shirt buttons, licking his lips hungrily. he reveals your chest, hidden behind a basic white bra, yet so hot from his view in that moment, when the tension reached roof height and the passion grew over the minute.

he stuck out his tongue, running it down on the middle of your chest, from top to bottom. niki acted playful now, even untightening his tie for a second, feeling out of air. if you were caught, then you could simply say goodbye to graduating in 2 months, but this moment felt to die for, so no expelling would be worth pushing this moment away.

niki spread your legs apart, his lips moisturised again by his tongue. “let’s do it fast, okay?” he asked on a caring tone, palming himself in front of you for a second. he looked incredibly sexy, his tie loosened, his hair messy, his bulge enormous. all you could want right now is feeling him all the way inside, no break, no mercy, just taking your minds away.

niki swallowed and pushed down his pants, his hardness shocking you once again. not to be pathetic of you, but you could have sworn it didn’t look like this last time. “niki-“ you meant to whispered, but he told you to close your mouth, his index finger against his lips. you nodded and let your head fall down on the desk, legs starting to cross from the nervousness.

“i didn’t say you could close them” he whispered, following to spit on the tip of his dick, spreading the liquid all around his length to make sure you get a bit of comfort. niki pushed your legs open again, this time holding your left thigh down with his hand. you closed your eyes, not ready to have your cunt ruined by him, yet they opened immediately when you felt your walls stretched out slowly, his thrust full of care and adjustment.

you looked at him, eyes already unable to control, not to roll back, and you smiled naively, just the perfect time for him to start thrusting into your harder and pushing all of himself inside you, your bodies making a beautiful harmony with the clapping sounds. his cock felt incredible inside you, stretching you out, making you clench around him, feeling your soul living your body each minute.

“n-niki” you moaned his name, louder than you would have expected, and he let a quiet “fuck” leave his mouth as he sped up his rhythm, his eyes only staring at the way his dick was sliding in and out your pussy, fitting so perfectly inside you, like you were made just for him.

“harder? faster?” he asked, biting his lower lips and moving his gaze to you, making him go harder on you before you could even give him a response. but how could he wait? you looked so beautiful lying on the desk, your chest exposed only for his view, your neck with fainted marks and your mouth moaning his name like it’s the only word you know.

“s-slower-” you ask him, whining inside your mouth while trying to grab onto something. “what was that?” niki said on a sarcastic tone, his smirk never disappearing from his face “did you say harder?”. you disagreed, closing your eyes again and trying to deny but he was faster, so was his pace, each thrust sending electric shivers through your body, your chest bouncing along.

yet you are not the only one that feels so affected by his choice, he himself feeling like your walls will be painted white any moment now. and careful as he is, he pulls out just in time, pumping his dick fast enough to shoot all of his cum on your chest, throwing his head back and moaning while his hand going up and down his dick. “fuck” he whispered again, looking at your fresly new coat of sweetener.

[nereidprinc3ss]

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers. 

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door. 

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this. 

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door. 

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth. 

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up. 

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it. 

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety. 

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement. 

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care. 

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves. 

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone. 

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you. 

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are. 

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh. 

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex? 

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours. 

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly. 

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it. 

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now. 

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it. 

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt. 

"Goodnight," he whispers back. 

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that. 

------------------------------

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache. 

But you’re just friends. 

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away. 

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep. 

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt. 

Friends. 

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.  

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer. 

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips. 

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away. 

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words. 

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing. 

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words. 

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you. 

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment. 

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again. 

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses. 

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck. 

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there. 

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later. 

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you. 

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you. 

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum. 

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders. 

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs. 

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans. 

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want. 

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close. 

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course. 

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty. 

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway. 

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently. 

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt. 

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about. 

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further. 

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway. 

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know. 

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words. 

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you. 

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation. 

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating. 

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation. 

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes. 

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet. 

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb. 

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing. 

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter. 

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck. 

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. 

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure. 

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, reader's second gender is omega, so there are mentions of pregnancy, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ prequel to this

♡ GN reader

His eyes are garnet and slim—you can’t make up your mind if they’re judgemental or just assessing. Either would be allowed, of course. The point of the date is for him to decide if you’re sufficient or not.

And yet, you’re the one taking him in. His main is ashen blonde, boyishly spikey and wild—not fine-kempt and slick like you’d pictured. He didn’t have any grey hair either, or stubble, or wrinkles. Though he’s still much bigger and burlier than they are, he can’t be any older than the eldest males back at the institution.

He’s obviously an Alpha, and still, it’s so odd.

“You’re young,” you end up saying.

His nose scrunches. “No younger than you.”

It must have sounded accusatory, even when you only meant to point it out for yourself. You probably ought to have said it silently, inside yourself, and not out loud like you did.

And so you apologize, “I’m sorry, I was—I was just expecting someone older…” You try smiling, but the thought of him actually having been older makes your throat tight, and you swallow thickly instead. “Much older.”

He sighs, looks off to the side instead of at you. His brows tighten—you probably want someone who’s already got a house and a car and a boat on a lake, not to mention a good salary and not the intern pay he’ll be living off of for at least the next year or so. His foot taps beneath the table. You feel it in the floorboards. “You disappointed or somethin’?” he grumbles through grit teeth and a slim frown.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, blruting, “No!” You even jump out of your chair, both hands slamming flat on the table, making the napkin-wrapped cutlery clatter within their confines. 

Quickly, but too late, you realize you’re causing a scene. Cheeks burning, you look around before settling down again—you’re not making a very good first impression so far.

You take a breath, confessing, “I mean, I’m happy,” You place your hands in your lap and then start fiddling with them. “This way, we can be together for a long time…” Your voice is breathy as you let out a somewhat apologetic sigh, smiling some. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare look up to gauge his expression.

You end up laughing nervously in the silence, feeling the joke arise before you're able to dispel it. “I was afraid I was gonna have to be your nurse soon.”

His foot stops tapping. Then he scoffs.

You perk up again, fumbling over your newest mistake, already apologizing a second time so far, “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re just not what I was expecting—I’m a little caught off guard, is all.”

He huffs, then grins. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize.”

You both sit in silence after that. You pick your nails more. All the questions you’ve prepared are useless given his age—he doesn’t have an answer to how many kids he wants from you. Probably. It somehow feels strange asking him when he isn’t in his thirties or forties or early fifties.

You look at him in askance. It really is odd.

“You can ask—if you’re curious,” he sanctions.

You really want to, but you’ve made enough mistakes already. Your teachers wouldn’t be proud if they witnessed you acting so childish and not as the proper little lady they’ve trained you to be. 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You shake your head and look down at your lap.

“Come on, you don’t gotta worry about being rude with me,” he insists.

You bite your lip, feeling fidgety in your chair, peering up at him. “You sure?”

“Hit me.” 

The question leaps from your tongue before you have the mind to regret it. “How can you afford this?”

He leans back in his chair. “I can’t—not yet. My folks are paying.”

You hum—that makes more sense. “They must be nice,” you say.

“They try,” he agrees.

There’s a silence again. You don’t have anything appropriate to ask. You were more prepared to talk when spoken to, to answer his questions about your health and hobbies, all silly things that make you cute and likable, but given he’s your age, none of it seems any interesting. It seems he doesn’t have much to ask, either.

“I was unsure about this,” he declares after a while. “To be honest with you, it was all my mom’s idea. I didn’t ask for it…” With a pause, he picks up the menu that had been lying undisturbed in wait for his decision. “But, she tends to be right about most things. So, I think I’ll take the offer this once.”

He lets you decide without ordering for you. Neither of you decide to drink, even though you’re both old enough. The conversation is awkward, but you giggle a couple of times and he smirks in turn. You hadn’t anticipated it—this feeling. You’d anticipated the nerves and the tension—but not this other thing, this sweet fluttering feeling blossoming in your belly, flirty and fizzy. Is this what they call butterflies?

He’s left asking himself the same question.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[dearsnow]

12:29 AM

- your normally sober husband comes home drunk out of his mind after a party, and you can’t say that he’s any less sweet. (robert “bob” floyd x wife!reader, fluff, honestly one of the cutest things i’ve ever written, ⚠️ obviously heavy themes of alcohol and being drunk, sexual innuendos but nothing graphic)

word count: 1,502

a/n - i haven’t written a fic with a timestamp as the title in… (checks old blog) over three years?!? in any case, i hope you guys like drunk!bobby as much as i do <3 he’s definitely an emotional/clingy drunk imo.

It’s not often that your husband stays out late, and it’s not often that he doesn’t text you while he’s out, but you trust him. He’s not the type to get blackout drunk or come home stumbling through the doorframe. Robert Floyd is a clearheaded and strong man.

Well, he looks neither right now, as he’s supported by Jake and Javy’s arms, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose and a dopey smile brightening his face. Jake looks at you apologetically— as apologetic as he can get for a situation that’s likely his fault. “Sorry, hun.” He huffs, shifting around Bob’s weight. “There were a few too many fruity drinks ordered, and I guess he didn’t realize they were full of alcohol.”

“You guess?” You ask, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your fingers. The two more sober men lead Bob into your bedroom, half-dragging him. They lay him down on your shared bed with a softened thump that has him groaning on top of the sheets. “I can’t believe you guys.”

Bob went out with the rest of the squad for some coworker’s promotion celebration, and he promised to come home perfectly sober, as always. He doesn’t even need to promise, if you’re being honest, because that’s just how he is; the most levelheaded person in the room. He would stay until it was socially acceptable for an acquaintance to leave, then he would head home and help you cook dinner to your favorite old school tunes. You never expected to see him shitfaced at 12:29 AM.

Javy shakes his head as he steps around you, taking Jake for a clean escape. “We tried to warn him. I hope he feels better in the morning, but until then, we’re gonna have to leave him with you.”

You sigh, eyebrows just as pinched as they were before. For the first time ever, you’re scared that Bob is going to die in his sleep, and the thought frustrates you to no end. “Thanks. It’s so great that he’s drunk out of his mind, but I have to give you credit for getting him here in one piece.” Your tone is sarcastic enough to get the two men cringing in shame, but you also know that without them, he might still be at that party.

Jake pats you on the shoulder. “Good luck, soldier. You’ll need it.”

With that, Javy and Jake walk out of your bedroom, past your living room, and out of your house like they couldn’t wait to leave. As you hear them close the door, you look down at your husband.

He’s still conscious, thankfully. His eyes are slightly unfocused, he’s blushing like a madman, and he’s groaning lightly, but he’s not completely gone yet. You brush the damp hair away from his forehead and he whines just a bit.

“Wife.”

You quirk your eyebrow in confusion. “Yes?”

“I… have a wife. Y’ can’t touch me like that.” He mumbles. It feels like he’s looking past you. Despite everything, you feel like laughing.

You adjust his glasses on his face and lean over him a little more, fully in his field of vision. “I am your wife.”

His eyes widen like he’s seeing you for the first time, and he smiles crookedly. He tries to sit up, but only manages to prop himself up on one arm as he takes in the sight of your face. “S’ pretty. You’re really my wife? My girl?” In combination with the slurred words of someone down in the cups, the slight southern accent he took so much time to push away is coming back as he speaks to you.

“Yes.” You confirm, kissing him on the cheek. He somehow smiles even wider and reaches out to touch the apples of your cheeks.

“Love you. I missed you.” He mumbles. “Spent that whole party wonderin’ when I could see you again.” He flops back down onto the springy mattress, throwing his arms up. He moves with the precision of a toddler, his limbs seemingly coated in lead. He almost smacks the glasses off his face as he motions to you with grabby hands.

“I missed you too, honey. Can we get you into your pajamas? I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in jeans and a polo.” As you ask that question, his fingers are already attempting to pull the shirt off of his body. It doesn’t work very well, considering he’s still laying down, but you appreciate the effort. “Sit up, my love.”

He sits up, winking at you heavily. It’s more like a slow blink with how long it takes him to do it. “Can’t wait to get me naked?”

A laugh escapes your mouth, and you smother the rest of your giggles with the heel of your palm as you gaze at his slightly crestfallen face. He’s funny when drunk, apparently, even when he isn’t trying to be. It’s like seeing him completely unhinged with none of his usual, careful filters. “Sure. You need to be in some state of undress to get your pajamas on, anyways.”

His face falls into a slight pout as you help him unbutton the top of his polo and slide it up his chest. He seems to notice how your hands hesitate when meeting the warm, taut skin of his abs, and the pout fades instantly. “Like it?”

“I always do.” You hum. He does have a great body, one that you’ve found to be extraordinarily hot. Strong arms, tight muscles, and yet a gentleness in the way his hands hold yours. Right now, though, it’s a bit of a problem as you’re attempting to get his jeans off. He’s still sitting, and you think you could lift weights for ten years and not be able to pull them out from under him. “Can you stand, Bobby?”

“Gladly.” He sings. You help him stand, supporting a bit of his weight. He seems to find a little bit of his footing as his other arm presses into the wall, allowing the both of you to shimmy his pants down his legs and kick them to some unknown corner of the room.

You gather his neatly folded pajamas, a soft shirt and some plaid flannel pants, and help him put them on. Luckily for you, he’s been revitalized by your touch and is a little more helpful now. He’s still moving awkwardly and shifting around like he’s constantly trying to get his balance straightened out, but it’s better than nothing. It would be hell to get him to do anything other than dress, though, so you settle for just getting him in bed. His dental hygiene routine will have to wait.

You lay him back down after he’s dressed and pull the blankets up to his chin, kissing his forehead gently and tucking his glasses in your dresser drawer. You’re already ready for the night (the perks of thinking he would come home three hours ago), so you slip in bed next to him. He immediately pulls you into his arms, his body comfortingly warm. He’s always run just a little hot, which is amazing on cooler nights like this.

He sighs contentedly before moving to stare directly into your eyes. “Y’know,” he starts, “I can’t sleep without your arms ‘round me, and your legs ‘round me, and you breathing all sweet on my neck. ‘M up all night when I’m deployed, at first anyways. My carrier roommates hate it.”

You shift just enough as to where your body is clutching on to him as tight as possible, and he hums in relief. It’s like the little tension that he was holding dissipated entirely. “I’m sorry, baby. That must be hard.” You soothe.

“Payback gave me his pillow once so I could wrap it in my arms, but it didn’t help. He threatened to ‘come up there n’ cuddle me himself’ if I didn’t stop moving.” He scrunches his eyes closed at the memory. You do your best to suppress another bout of laughter, but he makes it even harder when he shivers like he isn’t covered in three layers of blankets and you.

“Did he ever follow through?” You ask, pressing your lips together to stop from smiling. Bob shakes his head.

“Thank god he didn’t.” He utters. You turn to shove your face into your pillow to muffle your expressions. He just keeps his eyes closed, completely unaware of the fact that you’re losing it next to him.

When you finally come up for air, he is drifting in and out of sleep. “Love ya. G’night.” He whispers. It’s so soft that you almost start laughing again.

“Good night, Bobby. Love you too.” You say, kissing his cheek. You click off the lamp on your bedside table and snuggle deeper into his grasp.

He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. At least he’ll have his wife, breakfast in bed, and an aspirin to take care of him.

Taglist: @seitmai

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[deathbyday]

-'⁠🫧*⁠.⁠✧ MOUTHWASHING ✧.⁠*⁠🫧'⁠ -

P2

“How could we end up here…?”

Daisuke x implied F!Reader

f/c - favorite color

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Written By: DeathByDay

(Also written on Mobile)

————

A FEW WEEKS LATER

You’ve made conversations and friends along the way, which you were surprised by. Anya is hard to read along with Swansea, but she’s more distant than anyone you’ve ever met. Somehow, you two make a good duo nonetheless.

Swansea honestly didn’t like you all that much, but it was obvious he didn’t despise you either. You two normally hung out when it was break time or whenever he wasn’t busy. Usually, Daisuke hung around you two as well.

One reason is because he’s literally Swansea’s intern, and the other reason is because you suspect he might have a teeny tiny little crush on you. It’s probably nothing, though. Other than the fact he always asks hows your day going and makes sure you’re doing well. But that’s what friends do, right?

You laid silently in your bed, the thin blanket covering your body being your only source of warmth. You haven’t been able to fall asleep early, which has been causing you to wake up at 6:35am almost everyday, meaning you had to hear Jimmy complain about you not being awake on time at 6 in the goddamn morning.

You know he’s just trying to look out for you, but not even the captain cares about it that much. Yes, he has mentioned you waking up ‘late’ once or twice, but never full on lectured you about it like Jimmy has.

You groan, sitting up along the headboard. At this point, you’re desperate for a device of some sort. Like a phone or an iPad. You want to get sucked into some video game that’ll make the time pass by so much faster then it is right now. Suddenly, you perk up, realizing Daisuke may have a Gameboy that he brung with him.

You turn your head to the digital clock that sat right beside your bed, the numbers reading 10:36pm. You and the other crew mates weren’t allowed to be out of the sleeping quarters after 9:30, but nobody cares for that rule. Along side that, you knew you wouldn’t be able to rest anytime soon, so what’s the point of just sitting around?

You decide to sneak around the Tulpar and ask Daisuke if you could borrow his Gameboy for the night before returning to your own room. That way nobody would know you were walking around. Then when you see him in the morning, you’ll return the device. It’ll be like nothing even happened!

You set your plan into motion, standing up and heading towards the door. You made sure you don’t like you’re as exhausted as you actually are by covering yourself up with a f/c sweatshirt and pulling the hood over your head, which protected yourself from the cold and kept your eye bags out of sight. You walked outside your room, keeping your steps light.

You passed by Anya’s room, holding your breath as you did so. But you almost let out a gasp as you heard a voice coming from her room that wasn’t hers. You recognized that voice almost immediately. It was Jimmy’s.

You hurried towards Daisuke’s room, a bit too scared to press your ear to the door and listen to what they’re talking about. You ignore the sick feeling in your stomach to turn back, not knowing if it was as serious as what you were thinking. You made a mental note to ask Anya about it soon.

You finally came across Daisuke’s door and gently knocked three times, hoping that he was still awake. Luckily enough, he was. You heard his footsteps get louder before the door opens, revealing the guy you’ve been looking for. You tiredly smile up at him, seeing his confused expression.

“Oh, Y/N! What’s up?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. He stared down at you, waiting for your response. You played with your fingers, suddenly becoming too anxious to ask about his Gameboy. You swallowed the saliva that traveled to the front of your throat, rethinking your actions.

“Daisuke.. you have a Gameboy, right?” You asked, glancing up at him. He nods, possibly figuring out what you were about to ask. “This is kind of a bad time but.. I’m playing on it right now. Do you wanna wait for it? Or would you like to watch me?” Both of your eyes seem to light up at the thought of the two of you giggling like little kids, watching him play on his device.

“I’ll watch you!” You don’t seem as anxious anymore and it’s showing. He widens his door, allowing you to walk in. He shuts it, watching you with a soft gaze as you glance around his room. Like Anya’s, it wasn’t too neat but it wasn’t dirty either. You ultimately assume everyone else’s room is the same.

Just a few minutes later, you found yourself curled up beside the brunette, your hands gripping his clothed arm, the two of you watching him play Tetris. You were surprised at how good he is, knowing you’ve never gotten past your 14,051 highscore. You yawned, breaking the comforting silence between you two.

You subconsciously snuggled closer, feeling your eyelids get heavier each time you shut them. Daisuke chuckles, pausing the game before patting your head playfully. “You getting tired already?” He teases, setting his device down. You grumble, rolling your eyes as you look up at him. “Yeah, yeah.. at least I’m not going to sleep so late.” You retort, sniffling before lying your head on his shoulder.

“Do you think we would get in trouble if I stay here for the night? I mean, I heard Jimmy’s voice in Anya’s room, so it should be fine, right?” You ask, looking up at him with exhaustion. You could honestly pass out any second if you stayed in this position.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about that. Just get some sleep.” He would be lying if he didn’t say his face was flustered by how close you were to him. You immediately obey, wrapping your arms around his waist, your head laying on the side of his chest. You shut your eyes, ignoring how your heart is beating faster.

Daisuke’s right arm wrapped around your figure, his head lying on his pillow. He shuts his eyes, feeling the exhaustion finally catch up to him. The mixture of his soft snores and your breathing comforted the two of you in a way that couldn’t be explained.

You just couldn’t believe you were sleeping in the arms of a friend. But.. could you even call him that now..?

————

Getting in trouble for being in the same bed as your best friend was expected, but you didn’t expect his boss to be the one finding you two. The sad thing is, Swansea didn’t even knock. He just barged in and saw the two of you asleep, arms wrapped around each other and assumed the worst.

Both of you got lectured on how sleeping together was inappropriate. But then, Swansea leaned over the desk and whispered something that surprised you.

“Hey, now I’m not one to judge about that sort of stuff. And honestly, I couldn’t care less what you guys do. As long as you two keep it quiet while I’m trying to sleep, then by all means, go ahead.” He reassured.

You both stared at him in disbelief, not knowing that those were the words that would ever come out of that man’s mouth. You shook your head, brows furrowed upwards. Daisuke’s eyes were wide, cheeks flustered in embarrassment.

“T-..I’m sorry?” You tilted your head, wondering if you even heard him correctly. He shrugged it off as quick as he brought it up, letting you two deal with the new found information. You turned your head towards the blushing male, giving him a soft smile, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“Well, that was something!” You giggle, forcing the embarrassment down your throat. Daisuke nods, his face still beet red. You would tease him, but you know your face is the same color. Swansea motioned for the two of you to get out, and you both quickly did so.

You avoided eye contact with Daisuke as he did the same with you, clearly too scared to bring what just happened up. You both just stand there, not saying anything for a few moments. That was until you finally sighed and became brave enough to speak.

“Daisuke, I-I’m really sorry.. I should’ve never even thought of coming by your room.” You attempt to take blame, the redness in your cheeks calming down as you stared at the ground in shame. After all, it was your fault Swansea found out about the two of you sleeping together. You’re just glad he promised you he wouldn’t tell anyone, especially the captain.

He immediately turned his head towards you, eyes wide as he let what you said sink in. You taking the blame for something that was ultimately his fault? No way! “Y/N, you didn’t do anything wrong!” He shook his head, his face finally turning back to its original color.

“I was the one who let you in my room in the first place. I should’ve been thinking more clearly. Don’t take blame for something that was my fault.” He stated, his expression calm as he spoke. He presses the palm of his hand on your shoulder in attempt to comfort you. You glance up at him, a smile glazing your lips.

“Are you sure? You know I’ll take responsibility if Swansea ever slips up and says something, right?” You question, not wanting him to regret his choice later on. Daisuke gives you a confident nod, making you playfully sigh in defeat.

You giggle, placing your hand on top of his own that laid on your shoulder. You unconsciously step closer to him before wrapping your arms around him, pulling the male into a tight hug.

It took him a few seconds to process what was happening, but he slowly hugged you back, his chin on top of your head. You both stayed there, comforted by the silence that surrounded you two.

“I guess I can’t change your mind, huh?” Your voice was muffled due to your face being buried into his collar. You felt his body shake lightly, a chuckle escaping his throat. “No, you really can’t.” He confirmed, tightening his hold on you. It was like he was trying to protect you from something.

————

You watched from afar as Jimmy, Swansea, Daisuke, and Anya played the famous board game, Sorry!. You sat alone on the rock hard chair, sitting at the lounge table in the middle of the room. You wanted to get closer, yes, but you were still hesitant of being near Jimmy.

He just seems off to you. In a bad way this time. You shake it off, thinking you were just overreacting over a little thing. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy at all and you were making up scenarios. But, it’s always better to be safe then-

“Sorry!” Swansea’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, making you jump as he shouts. He weakly chuckles as Daisuke groans, grabbing his game piece and placing it in another spot.

You light heartedly smile, pushing away the unsettling feelings of Jimmy and focusing on the positive. You really don’t have anything to worry about besides the job, of course. But that was easy. All you had to do was take notes and give reports on what’s happening to whoever would listen.

You drown out the groups laughter and get up from your seat, slipping out of the room unknowingly. The last thing you would want to do is draw attention to yourself. You walked through the skinny halls, wondering what hard material they were made out of. Iron? Possibly. Definitely not wood, though..

You suddenly bump into someone’s chest, causing you to look up at them and immediately apologize. You knew who you bumped into. Captain Curly. You weren’t that dumb. He chuckles deeply before waving you off like a little kid. “It’s alright, nothing to apologize for.” He reassured you, patting your head gently.

You stepped around him, watching over your shoulder as you continued walking to see if he would look back at you or not. He didn’t. All he did was continue along the path you came from like nothing happened. You released a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding.

You just know if you bumped into Jimmy, he would lecture you until midnight. No wonder Captain Curly’s the captain. You would probably end up going crazy if Jimmy wasn’t the second in command, but instead taking his friends position. Just thinking about it sends chills down your spine.

You continued walking until you got to the sleeping quarters. Going into your room, you shut the door behind you and looking at the digital clock. 7:28pm. You realize you should report back to the lounge area, knowing dinner is about to be served. That’s probably where Captain Curly was heading before you bumped into him.

You felt your face heating up, remembering the awkward situation you just had a few minutes ago. You take deep breaths before looking in the mirror beside your door, checking to see if you could see any redness. Luckily enough, you couldn’t.

You flattened down your suit, making sure you couldn’t tell there were any wrinkles before smoothing it down. You took a deep breath in then exhaled, opening your door and finally walking back to where you came from. You weren’t that excited about dinner being served, though. It was usually always the same meal every time, which was soup.

You didn’t know what the ingredients were to making it, and you’d rather not know. It looked like it was made from sewer water. Some days the liquid tasted better than the day before, other days it tasted worse. It was a 50/50 chance.

A few minutes later, you found yourself walking through the door. The quad was finishing up their game. You could tell who was about to win and who wasn’t just by looking at their faces. You turn your head to see Captain Curly laying the bowls down, placing plastic spoons beside them.

You walked up to him, grabbing napkins for the crew. As you did so, you attempted to make small talk. “So, Captain, are you gonna join us for dinner?” You glanced in his direction, setting the cloths down next to the bowls and spoons laid down.

Captain Curly nods before placing the last bowl and spoon down, turning to you. “Yeah, I will be. But not for long, I gotta get back to make sure we aren’t hitting any asteroids.” You hum in realization, forgetting all about that asteroid stuff.

Just last week you all almost crashed the Tulpar into an asteroid. Luckily Captain Curly managed to steer the ship away before you all got smashed. Hopefully that would never happen again. It’s very unlikely that it would, anyway.

“That’s understandable. At least you can be here with us for a little bit!” You tried to make light of the situation, wanting to forget your almost deathly experience.

The quad finished up their game, Daisuke pumping his fists into the air. Swansea and Jimmy had stern looks on their faces, upset by the loss. But Anya looked like she wanted to strangle Daisuke to death. You all sat down, Captain Curly grabbing the pot of soup for you all.

Sitting beside you sat Anya. Jimmy sat on one side of the table, the captain about to sit down at the other. Daisuke sat across from you, Swansea beside him. Your brows creasing as you turned your head towards Anya, who shot daggers in Daisuke’s direction. You place the palm of your hand on her shoulder in attempt to comfort her.

“Intense game?” You ask, glancing towards each of the three brunette males. Jimmy and Swansea nodded while Daisuke gave you a thumbs up, a dorky grin plastered across his lips. It was obvious he was happy he won.

“Time to eat!” Captain Curly announced, setting the pot of soup down in the middle of the table. Everyone took turns scooping the liquid into their bowls, being patient for once. Once everyone finished, you hesitated before dipping your spoon into your own bowl and bringing it to your mouth.

“Thank you, Captain Curly.” Mutters from everyone came after one another before continuing to sip the soup. It didn’t take long for everyone to start to finish their dish, seeing as it was only a liquid to be drank.

As everybody continued finishing up, the captain excused himself to go back and hide in his quarters for the night. He bid you all goodbye before walking out of the room, the automatic doors shutting behind him. Jimmy was the second to go. Then it was Swansea and Daisuke, who ended up finishing at the same time. Lastly, it was just you and Anya.

You decided it was a good time to ask about what you heard last night in her room. You haven’t brung it up to anyone else besides Daisuke, not knowing if she would even want you to mention it or not. So, you didn’t.

“Hey, Anya?” You tilt turn your head her way, a curious expression glazing over your face. She glances at your direction, waiting to see what you had to say. “I, uh.. I heard a man’s voice in your room last night. I think it was Jimmy’s. What’s up with you two?” As soon as that question left your lips, her eyes went wide and her face turned pale.

You immediately perk up, not knowing that it would be such a sensitive topic to her. “Oh! I’m sorry, forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to upset you..” You attempt to reassure her, knowing the damage was already done. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll keep my mouth shut.” You knew you were lying. You literally told Daisuke last night. Of course she didn’t need to know that, though.

She swallowed hard, shaking her head as to tell you it’s alright. “N-No, you don’t need to be sorry. It’s just..” She hesitates, realizing she would just put more weight onto your shoulders if she told you what’s wrong.

“Never mind, you don’t need to worry about me. Him and I are just very close, that’s all.” Anya doesn’t give you a very convincing smile as she speaks, but you knew better than to push her.

You nod along, deciding to leave it up to her if she wants to tell you the truth or not. You knew deep down she was lying, but you don’t see a reason to force the real answer out of her. “You know I’ll always be here for you, right? Even though you’re our nurse and you know about all that depressive stuff, I still wanna make sure you’re okay.”

As you mumble, you leaned over and gave the woman a gentle hug, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. She stayed silent, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She quickly hugged you back, hiding her face in your neck. It doesn’t take a genius to realize she was crying. You stand up, whispering praises into her ears before shushing her.

“It’s okay, shh.. I’m here. You’re safe with me.” You rock her side to side, placing one hand on her head and gently playing with her dark hair. A few moments later she calmed down, her tears drying up on your suit. She continued to hug you, not wanting to let go.

“Jim’s just an asshole. I’m not sure what he’s done to you, but it clearly messed you up.” You state the obvious, curling your fingers in her hair. Anya sniffles, nodding her head in the crook of your neck as a response. “Do you wanna go to bed? I could walk you to your room if you want.” You release her from the hug, your hands gripping her clothed biceps as you stare into her eyes.

“Yeah. T-That would be nice.” She agrees, covering her face with her hands, wiping away the tears from her eyes. You nod, letting go of her arms and guiding one of her hands off her face to hold it. You help her stand, making sure she could stable herself before starting to walk towards the sleeping quarters.

Before you two left, you glanced up at the clock on the wall. 8:34. You let out a sigh, thankful that it hasn’t passed 9 yet. You grip Anya’s hand, your thumb gliding across her knuckles. Before you knew it, you both stood in front of her bedroom door. You turned back, letting her hand go. “I’ll get going now, ya? Sleep well, Anya.”

You grin, giving her one last tight hug before finally walking away. You heard the door open and close, letting you silently know she was safe in the comfort of her room. You didn’t know if Jimmy would go to her room ever again, but you’re praying that he wouldn’t.

You walk down the hall and head towards Daisuke’s room. As long as you don’t get caught by Jimmy, you doubt anyone else would care if you were in there. In all honesty, you missed his arms around you all day. Hopefully you both could end up in that same position tonight.

Or maybe he would be in your arms. Who knows?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

author’s note

MY POOR BABY ANYA😭😭 I had to add at least one moment of reader comforting her, I couldn’t resist. on a completely different note, I’m proud of myself for the ‘take responsibility’ line. even though it wasn’t creative, just let me be happy💔

next chapter will be out in a few days!! hope ya had fun reading! bye for now!! <33

[flwrkid14]

The Batfamily and Their Resident Alley Cat

Tim Drake walked into the Batfamily’s lives the same way an alley cat wanders into someone’s home: scrappy, uninvited, and entirely certain he belonged. And somehow, he stayed.

There’s no formal discussion about it, but everyone just… treats Tim like a cat. Not in a bad way! No, it’s all affectionate, in their weird, batfamily sort of way. They praise him endlessly, the same way someone would coo over a stray that managed to charm its way into a warm house. They show him off too, proudly talk about him to anyone who will listen, like he’s a rare find, even though—to outsiders—he looks about as approachable as a cornered feral. (And to be fair, Tim will scratch if you get too close. He’s been known to bite, too, though usually in a verbal sense.)

The parallels don’t end there. If Tim ever decides you’re safe enough to relax around? To nap on? That’s it, you’re trapped. It’s an unspoken rule. If Tim curls up against you, head resting on your shoulder or his legs slung across your lap, you do not move. No one dares risk waking him up. Not only because he probably hasn’t slept in three days, but also because disturbing Tim in his rare moments of peace is sacrilege. Bruce has postponed meetings. Jason once held in a sneeze so violently it gave him a headache. Damian—Damian—sat perfectly still for over an hour because Tim had nodded off against his side, even though his arm had long since gone numb.

Startling Tim is another no-go. They all learned that the hard way. The first (and last) time Dick snuck up on Tim while he was deep in thought, Tim had reacted on instinct—nearly taking Dick’s eye out with a pencil. Since then, they’ve all adopted a “gentle approach” policy. Announce yourself softly, no sudden movements, and maybe bring a peace offering (read: zesti, to further grow his unfound stash hidden somewhere in the manor).

But beyond the quirks and the care they take around him, there’s a trust in Tim that runs deep. Like a cat, Tim has an uncanny sense for people. If he trusts someone right away, that person is good—no further questions needed. If Tim is skittish, more guarded? They all take note. Tim’s instincts are sharp, and the family has learned to respect them. It’s an unspoken rule: if Tim doesn’t like someone, you’re on thin ice until proven otherwise.

There’s something endearing about it all, really. About the way Tim has carved out his space among them, the way they’ve adjusted their lives to accommodate him without even realizing it. He’s their alley cat—scrappy, fiercely independent, a little rough around the edges, but theirs.

And no matter how sharp his claws might be, no matter how many times he insists he doesn’t need anyone, they’ll always make room for him. Because Tim Drake didn’t just wander into their lives—he chose them. And they’re damn lucky he did.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

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Masterlist

[lechrts]

Hiiiii! i was so obsessed with your lando cooking one but i have another idea kinda where’s its a little similar but reader is his private chef or something ??? Plz i love you’re writing so much 🥰

Stay With Me. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Privatechef!reader

Summary: When he finally musters the courage to talk to his private chef and eventually invite her to stay for dinner.

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer/s: flufffff :3 meet cute ,, ish??? and forced proximity almost (not at all) Just Squint idk

Vera’s Voice! LOVE THIS REQUEST AYYEEE , hope u enjoy!!!! thank u for reading my fics!!! mwaaahhh

Lando never thought he’d end up with a private chef.

The idea sounded unnecessarily extravagant when his management first proposed it. He wasn’t a picky eater, and takeout worked just fine. But after months of rigorous travel, racing every other weekend, and well… his need to somehow always mention the disgusting food pile in his pantry on live streams… his team insisted on the idea.

It wasn’t about luxury, they claimed—it was about nutrition, recovery, and convenience. Lando reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be just another stranger in his house.

And that’s exactly what you were.

The first time you arrived, Lando only caught a glimpse of you—a short, polite nod as you introduced yourself by name.

You didn’t linger. No small talk, no unnecessary pleasantries. You brought bags of fresh groceries, prepared everything with quiet efficiency, and left him with neatly plated meals stored in his fridge.

And this routine went on for weeks.

Lando grew used to hearing the door click open mid-afternoon, a soft shuffle of feet in his kitchen as you unpacked your things.

He kept his distance, a little unsure of how to approach you. You worked so intently that he didn’t want to interrupt, and honestly, he didn’t know what to say.

So, he settled for his usual routine: nodding, mumbling a quick thanks, and letting you go about your work.

But as the weeks passed, he found himself oddly intrigued.

He noticed how precise your movements were—the way you diced vegetables or measured out spices. He caught whiffs of garlic and herbs wafting through the house, making his mouth water.

Once, he saw you pause by the stove to taste a sauce, your face lighting up with the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn���t much, but it was enough to pique his curiosity.

He wanted to know more about you.

It wasn’t until a quiet Tuesday afternoon that Lando finally mustered the courage to do something about it.

You’d just arrived, placing your bags on the kitchen counter and rolling up your sleeves. Lando was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, pretending to be preoccupied.

But he wasn’t working.

He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the keyboard.

Finally, he took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.

“Hey,” He said, voice a little shaky.

You turned, startled. “Oh. Hi.”

Your voice was soft but firm, and your eyes quickly darted back to the chopping board as if you didn’t want to intrude.

Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was, uh, wondering…” He hesitated. “Do you ever get to eat what you make?”

You blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. “Not usually,” You admitted. “I just cook for you.”

“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”

Lando cleared his throat. “Still, you’ve been cooking for me for weeks, and I don’t even know if you think it tastes good.”

You laughed at that, a quiet, melodic sound that made Lando’s chest feel a little lighter. “I taste as I go. You haven’t complained, so I assumed all was fine.”

“It’s more than fine,” He said quickly, then winced, realizing how eager he sounded. “I mean, it’s really good. Like… amazing.”

“Thank you.” Your cheeks flushed a faint pink, glancing back down at the cutting board to hide your sudden blush.

Lando watched you for a moment, then blurted, “Can I help?”

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You want to help?”

“Yeah,” He said, trying to sound casual. “I feel bad just sitting around while you do all the work.”

Your lips twitched, almost as if you were holding back a laugh. “Well that’s technically what I get paid for…so..”

“Well, I don’t mind lending a hand..” He stepped closer.

“Um.. Alright,” You said slowly. “But I don’t think I can trust you near a stove from what your management told me, so how about slicing and dicing?“

“Sounds good.” He flashed a smile, quickly coming to your aid.

And Lando wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help, but you quickly realized he was hopeless in the kitchen.

He now stood next to you, an apron tied loosely around his waist (as he insisted to feel official), struggling to peel a carrot. His grip was awkward, and the peels kept getting stuck in the blade.

“Like this,” You said, stepping closer and wrapping your hand around his to guide him.

Lando froze at the contact, his pulse quickening. Your hand was warm against his, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the soft scent of your vanilla shampoo and the gentle lilt of your voice as you explained the technique.

“There,” You said, releasing his hand. “Try now.”

He nodded, a little dazed, and attempted to mimic your movements. The carrot peeled more smoothly this time, though not without a few mishaps.

“You’re a pro.” You complimented, earning a wide smile from him as he continued.

Lando watched you, his confidence growing with each little laugh he managed to pull from you.

The atmosphere felt easy now, the awkwardness from before fading into something warmer. He grabbed another carrot and set to work, determined to keep up with you.

As the meal came together, the smells filling the kitchen made his stomach growl audibly.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” He admitted.

You flashed him a smile before you mindlessly tidied around the kitchen, thankfully washing dishes as you cooked. You made sure to plate his food, sliding a portion toward him as usual.

But before you could reach for your bag and finish cleaning up, Lando hesitated, leaning against the counter.

“Wait,” He said suddenly.

You paused, glancing at him. “Hm?”

“Stay with me.” Lando said almost too eagerly, quickly catching himself before stuttering. “Like stay for dinner.”

You felt your eyes widen at the offer, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh, I don’t usually—” Your voice started, but he cut you off, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“I insist.” He smiled before shifting on his feet, suddenly shy. “You’re always here, making these amazing meals, but you never eat them. It feels wrong. Like… you deserve to enjoy this too.”

You hesitated.

The idea of sitting down to dinner with him felt… different. But there was something in the way he looked at you—hopeful, genuine—that made it impossible to say no.

“Um.. Okay,” You said softly, nodding as you set your bag back down.

Lando’s face lit up, and he immediately set about pulling plates from the cabinet, his excitement almost contagious.

And it was… nice.

You sat across from each other at the small dining table, sharing the meal you’d just prepared—a hearty steak, (opposed to the salmon you were incredible at making but you were instructed to never prepare him seafood), roasted vegetables, and a side of creamy mash. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, but it was perfect, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from saying so.

“You’re too kind,” You said, your tone teasing.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I don’t know how you make the vegetables taste this good. It’s like magic or something.”

You laughed again, a little less reserved this time. “No magic. Just practice.”

You talked as you ate, the conversation flowing easier than Lando expected. He learned that you’d gone to culinary school, that you loved experimenting with new recipes, and that you preferred baking to cooking.

And to his surprise, you were extremely funny, with a dry sense of humor that caught him off guard.

“I’ll need to try your pastries one day then?” He said with a quirked brow as you shook your head.

“Unfortunately, not on the nutrition plan your management gave me.” You bit down a laugh.

“One cheat day won’t hurt…” He pushed for it.

You sheepishly shrugged. “I’ll consider.” Another laugh escaping your lips as he let out a stupid groan with a roll in his eyes.

And, for the first time, Lando felt like he really saw you—not just as the chef who came and went, but as someone he genuinely wanted to know.

When the meal was finally over, you started to stand, reaching for the dishes, but Lando stopped you.

“I’ll take care of it,” He said.

Your brow furrowed. “But—”

“You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal now.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay… Thanks.”

Soon, you grabbed your bag to leave, Lando walking you to the door, feeling an odd pang of disappointment as you stepped outside.

“Same time tomorrow then?” You asked, glancing back at him.

Lando grinned. “Only if you’re eating with me again.”

Your smile widened, and for the first time, you didn’t look like you were in a hurry to leave.

“Deal,” You tried to hide your excitement.

“Goodnight.” He smiled.

“Goodnight.”

And as you walked off while he closed the door, Lando was already looking forward to tomorrow.

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[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (seven)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

For the first time in years, you wake up peacefully. 

No racing heart, no threats lurking behind your closed eyes.

Just... calm. The type of quiet that lets you sink into the warmth of the blankets without a single worry. You’re so cozy, so perfectly at ease, you almost forget where you are and what led you here.

For a blissful moment, all you know is stillness. But then it hits you—this isn't your bed. No footsteps are stomping down the hall, no harsh voices insulting you through your morning peace. 

You blink your eyes open, and it’s a simple little room. Not much here but a heavy old quilt over you, a plain dresser, a lamp that looks like it's been there forever. A small window where the sun is streaming in, bathing everything in a golden glow. 

It’s almost funny, you realize with a little smile. You ran as far as you could, with no real plan except to escape, and somehow, by some twist of fate, you ended up here.

And then you remember why it feels so familiar. 

It’s Rafe’s. 

Your heart flutters around like it’s waking up for the first time in a while, too. You found him—or maybe he found you. After all those years of wondering what happened to him, your first love, the boy with grease-stained hands and the brightest smile was back.

He still looked at you like he cared, that was a given after what he did for you yesterday, between taking you to the hospital and offering you a place to stay, as if the years hadn’t put a single dent in the way he used to see you.

You’d half-expected him to just...look through you like you were a stranger. But Rafe—well, he’d always been different, hadn't he?

You let out a small, relieved sigh and curl up a little tighter under the quilt, sinking deeper into it, because today, you don’t have to run.

Back then, everything about Rafe felt like some secret only you were lucky enough to know. The scrapes on his knuckles, the stains that never really washed off his clothes, the way he’d sneak you out to the pier after dark to talk under the stars like you were the only two people on earth.

The entire world disappeared when you were with him—the line between Kook and Pogue didn’t mean a thing.

You remember his laugh, this loud carefree sound that would just bubble up, surprising even him. He’d make fun of how out of place you looked on the back of his old bike, but then he’d smile in this crooked, lovestruck way and kiss you so hard it didn’t matter. 

God, you were in so deep, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that he was yours, and you were his, and nothing else could touch that.

Your mind is a mess of memories, all those nights you used to slip out to meet him, sneaking around with this thrill in your chest, like you were getting away with something impossible. 

It all changed so fast.

One night, he was there, laughing with you in bed and calling you "princess" in that teasing way only he could get away with. The next, he was gone. You had no warning, no explanation—just this space where he used to be. Your parents finally admitted what they'd done, talking about him like he was a problem they’d finally got to fix. They had tried to break him, ship him off to some military school hours away, like he was just… trash.

But Rafe had always been too smart for them. He ran instead, left everything he knew behind, including you, before anyone could try to cage him. You didn’t understand it fully at first. You couldn’t.

Before college started, you’d waited at all your old spots, hoping he’d show up, that he’d come to you in the middle of the night, even if it meant climbing in through your bedroom window just to say goodbye.

But he never did, when the days turned into weeks, then months, you realized he’d left for good.

You never let him go, not really.

While everyone else told you to move on, you dug in. You spent so much, countless weekends sneaking off with the cash you'd save, paying people in shady corners of town, anyone who might know where he’d gone. You chased whispers and rumors and stray leads, but none of them ever led you to him. You used to lie awake at night praying he was okay, safe, wondering if he was ever thinking of you the way you still thought of him every single day.

You can’t shake the déjà vu now, lying here in his bed, realizing that somehow, by some freak chance, the universe led you back to him.

You think about yesterday, the look on his face when he saw you in his shop, like he couldn’t believe it was real either. He’d dropped everything, no hesitation. 

You call back to those years without him— you’d try to keep going, but every day was like you were carrying a dead weight no one else could see. Nights were the worst. 

You’d lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying all those stolen moments with him, pieces of a dream you were desperate not to forget. It was like trying to hold water in your hands; no matter how hard you tried, bits of him kept slipping through, fading with time, until you started to wonder if maybe you’d imagined how it felt to be that close to someone.

And God, you tried to let go, eventually.

You told yourself over and over, it was time to stop chasing after someone who’d left without a goodbye, who didn't want to be found.

You even went on dates, pretended you could replace him, like it would be so easy to “find someone else.” But no one else ever remotely compared to him.

No one else ever made you feel seen like that. 

Certainly not Frederic and it's like a stab to your heart to even think about it now.

You’d never planned to be with someone like him. He was handsome, polite when you met him; everyone around you liked him, and your parents might as well have handed you over to him in a silver platter the second he moved to town.

They’d called it “the perfect match”—his family’s money, your family’s reputation. They belived it would keep you distracted, and finally help you forget the boy they’d done everything to erase from your life.

You went along with it.

What choice did you really have? Rafe had been gone for almost three years, and you were supposed to move on, fit into this life they wanted for you. So you played along, smiled through dinner parties and gatherings, told yourself you could settle for this.

He wasn’t cruel, not in the beginning, just possessive. You’d told yourself it was almost flattering, that it meant he cared about you, wanted you to be his in some way.

Until the day he found that old picture, the one you’d kept hidden away in your wallet all those years.

That’s when everything changed and he never looked at you the same after that. Suddenly, each glance, every small thing you did, the little freedom you had was a threat to him. You weren’t allowed to go out without him or talk to anyone he didn’t approve of.

He made you feel like you were nothing but his property, something he could control and shape into whatever he wanted. He tore apart the dainty pieces of your younger self you’d managed to keep, as if any proof of the life you’d had with Rafe was something he needed to crush with his bare hands.

After a while, he didn’t even attempt to hide the anger.

The first time he hit you, you’d been shocked, unable to believe it was happening. He apologized right after, swore it would never happen again, but you knew. 

It was only the beginning.

From that day on, you lived in fear, knowing that any misstep could set him off, that each move you made was a risk. You learned to stay quiet, to keep your head down, to shrink yourself into a pet that wouldn’t provoke him.

Nothing was ever enough.

He’d pick fights out of nowhere, accuse you of things that didn’t make sense, twist everything around until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But you kept that picture.

Even after everything, he’d broken down every bit of strength you had, but you wouldn’t let it go. It was the only piece of Rafe you had, it didn’t matter that it was just a scrap. When Frederic was away doing business, late at night, you’d pull it out and stare at it, trace the edges of Rafe’s smile with your thumb, wishing you’d get to live something as beautiful again.

You’d almost forgotten was being okay felt like, to be somewhere you weren’t afraid to breathe too loud.

You sit up slowly, the quilt sliding off your shoulders as you stretch your arms overhead, your stomach is already growling with anticipation.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you take a micro second to breathe in the peaceful quiet around you, then, you shuffle to the kitchen, still half wondering if it’s happening, if Rafe is really back in your life after all this time. 

As you enter the kitchen, your heart does a little leap at the sight before you. There, resting on the table is a plate piled high with pancakes, golden and fluffy, topped with a pat of melting butter and a drizzle of syrup.

It looks so delicious and so… thoughtful. It’s the kind of breakfast you’d imagined when you were younger, that felt like love poured into every bite. Next to the plate, there’s a note, scribbled in Rafe’s familiar handwriting, the same jagged loops and curls that make you smile like you’re seventeen again.

You pick it up, your fingers brushing over the paper as you read, “had to run to the shop, didn’t want you to wake up hungry. eat these and don't save some for me, okay?”. You tuck the note into your pocket, almost like a talisman, and turn your attention back to the pancakes.

You settle at the table, the chair creaking beneath you, and pick up a fork. The first bite is like heaven—soft and sweet, the syrup running down your chin as you take a big mouthful.

You can’t stop the giggles, remembering those late-night snacks where you’d sneak with him, trying to be quiet so no one would hear. 

He always ended up with more syrup on him than in the bowl.

As you devour the breakfast he made, you envision how he must have stood there in the kitchen, mixing the batter and flipping.

It's fun to picture him humming to himself, the light from the window hitting his dark blonde hair just right, making him look like some sort of guardian angel. The thought sends butterflies fluttering through your body, and after years in the dark, you feel light.

After finishing the last bite you can’t help but smile at the empty plate in front of you. Rafe really outdid himself. You feel a little giddy, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the syrup or the comfort of the food. 

With a little bounce in your step, you push back the chair and head to the sink, rinsing off the plate. You look around the cozy kitchen, taking in the mismatched mugs and the old-fashioned fridge that looks like it’s seen a hundred breakfasts. It feels lived-in and warm, like a home should, despite not being full.

You can picture Rafe here, maybe making his disgusting black coffee, playing music while he reads. You’d love to share that with him, even if it sounds silly.

You wander to the window above the sink, pull back the curtain and peek out.

Outside, the engine noises and clanking tools are a little noisy but better than the yelling you’re used to. You can see him moving around, his familiar silhouette bent over the engine of a car, grease smudged across his forearms, the sun glinting off his skin.

You’re chewing your lip to death while you admire him like he's the last man on earth. Rafe is dressed in a snug white tank top that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric slightly worn and smudged with grease from a long morning in the shop, showcasing his broad shoulders and the beefy muscles of his biceps.

His arms are covered in a light sheen of oil, making him appear even more rugged and, honestly, a little bit scrumptious. He looks so effortlessly beautiful even in the middle of a workday.

His hair is tousled, falling in soft, messy waves that occasionally cover his eyes, and you find yourself wanting to reach up and push it back just so you can see his gorgeous blue eyes fully. 

This is what you’d dreamed about, all those nights, clutching that tiny picture of him to your chest. Just seeing him like this, working hard like he used to be when you’d sneak out to find him.

You feel bad though.

He’d stayed up late with you, sat with you for hours, listening as you poured everything out, even as you broke down, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He held you until you fell asleep in his lap, his arms wrapped around you. And now, here he is, working already, probably exhausted after getting barely any rest.

You move back to his bedroom, scolding yourself for wanting to go out there and warn him to take it easy, but you know him.

He wouldn’t listen. 

And maybe a part of you doesn’t want him to, either, because having him there all night, knowing he was close by, made you feel content.

Rafe never did anything halfway, did he? Even back then, he was so… him, so all-in, with that devotion that used to leave you breathless and a little woozy.

Years later, he’s still giving everything he has to make sure you’re okay, he hasn’t changed at all in the ways that matter.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to savor it, to commit this peace to memory in case you need it again someday. You’re not naïve; you know there are things to figure out, talks that need to happen, but he didn’t leave this time, didn’t slip away in the middle of the night, no hidden messages or unspoken goodbyes. 

He’s right here, where you can see him. 

You're still lost in thought, when you hear the front door open.

You sit up, smoothing out your hair and trying not to seem as flustered as you feel.

Footsteps come down the hall, until Rafe appears in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, one hand braced above his head, looking at you with this little smirk that’s shier than he’d probably ever admit.

There’s a smear of grease on his jaw, and his tank top’s even dirtier than before, he’s been deep in a car engine for hours already.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough, that southern drawl warming you to your toes. “Just came in to, uh… check on ya. Make sure you ate and all.” He nods toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. His eyes move to the empty plate on the table, and he lets out a tiny chuckle. “Guess ya did.”

You can’t help but smile back, a little nervous, and shy. There’s this energy between you—it feels like you’re both walking on eggshells, not quite sure how to talk to each other now that the cards are all on the table. 

“Yeah,” you nod softly, clutching the quilt closer. “They were perfect. Thank you.”

He clears his throat, color creeping up his neck as he shrugs. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand every part of you that’s been ripped apart, searching for the pieces of the girl he used to know, while still seeing the woman you’ve become.

Rafe shuffles his feet, his hand drifting to rub the back of his neck, “Sorry, I should probably clean up,” he mutters, glancing down at his hands. “Lookin’ like a damn grease monkey in here.”

You laugh, and the sound seems to surprise him, making him look up with this sheepish grin that’s just so… him. For a second, no time has passed at all, you’re both still seventeen and completely caught up in each other.

Rafe’s gaze lands on the spot where the blanket’s slipped, showing a faint bruise along your collarbone. His muscles tighten just slightly, and he exhales as he asks, “You feelin’ any better?”

You nod, but he’s already moving closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level, his expression creased with worry. He reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back, second-guessing himself.

“They, uh… they still hurt?” He nods toward the bruises, his eyes darting over them with a pained look, like he feels every mark himself. He starts rambling, “I got some ice packs in the freezer if you need ’em or I could go grab one of those heat pads, I dunno which one’s better, but we can try both if you need. I don’t want you just sittin’ here hurtin’.” He gestures vaguely, tracing every inch of your body with this helpless, guilty look, because if he could take them on himself, he would.

“And, uh… I mean, if you’re achin’ at all, I got some Tylenol in the cabinet—not the strongest stuff, but it might help a little. Or if you need anything else, I can just run out and grab it.” His gaze darts back to your face, and he adds quickly, “Only if you want, though! I know you’re… you’re strong and all, but don’t mean you gotta sit there and hurt, alright?”

You can't stop smiling, watching him try to take care of you in his own awkward, fumbling way. His shoulders are all hunched up, his fingers fidgeting against his jeans, and there’s that endearing tint creeping up his neck again.

“Rafe…” you cut him off, and he stops mid-ramble, his mouth half-open, looking like he just got caught saying too much.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, afraid he might’ve overstepped.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

His fingers curl around yours instantly, holding on like he needs the contact just as much as you do. It’s the smallest thing, just the press of his hand against yours, but after so long of being handled like broken porcelain, it’s overwhelming.

“Really, and I’m—I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you yesterday.”

You hadn’t planned on telling him every detail of your personal hell, but he made it so easy.

You were never the best at thinking while under that gaze, it’s wrapped in old memories and hope, and it scares you just as much as it soothes you. He’s close, the scent of his aftershave and engine grease making you feel dizzy with the memory of each kiss, whisper, every reckless promise you’d both made once upon a time.

Rafe sequeezes your hand tighter, thumb grazing your knuckles. 

"Don’t be sorry. Not for that.” It’s so like him, and it nearly breaks you right there. All that quiet loyalty, he doesn’t even know how much he’s giving, he thinks you deserve all of it without question. “You don’t have to go back, y’know. Not if you don’t want to.”

This is real, and he’s right here, asking you to let him in, to let him be the one who pulls you from the darkness. The hardest part is, you know he would.

He’d fight the whole world if he thought it would keep you safe, if it meant you could stay. It’s terrifying, to even hope that you could have this, have him. 

You cover your mouth, maybe if you squeeze hard enough, you can hold it in, but a choked sob escapes anyway, desperate, in a way that embarrasses you. Your shoulders start to shake, and the tears just keep coming, slipping down your jaw and dripping onto your sweater, his.

You try to wipe them away with the back of your hand, but they keep coming, your breaths are turning into these broken gasps that make you feel exposed.

Rafe’s moving without a word, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pulling you into his lap like he had last night. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to hurt you, and you let yourself fold into him, leaning against his chest, the most familiar place in the world.

He tucks your head under his chin, his fingers cradling the back of your neck, and as your tears soak into his shirt, he leans down, whispering, his breath warm against your forehead.

 “I got you. ‘m right here. Ain’t lettin’ go of you.”

He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t make you feel ashamed for being so sensitive. 

Instead, he brushes his hand up and down your back, whispering quiet reassurances, giving you all the time in the world. He waits until your sobs taper off, left with only the shudders and hiccupping breaths, and even then, he just sits there quietly, letting you be. 

Then, almost like he’s talking to himself, he starts,“So… y’know, been kind of busy these past few years,” he says, glancing away like he’s embarrassed. “Kept up with a lot of late nights in the shop. Got good at fixing engines—real good, actually. Think I could probably fix just about anything, even if it’s been beat up and run-down more times than you’d think possible.”

Rafe’s fingers trace along your arm as he talks, and you know why he’s doing this. He’s looking toward the window, most likely remembering each late night he’s spent there alone.

“Didn’t make much of it at first—just me and Jerry. But folks kept comin’ in, one by one, and eventually, we hired a few guys to help out.” He pauses, swallowing, “Guess it’s sort of a thing now.”

You feel your lips tug up and he must notice because his grip on you relaxes, and he lets out this almost bashful chuckle.

“Got a dog, too,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck like he’s telling you something ridiculous. “Well, he just kinda showed up one day at the shop, but he kept stickin’ around, so I named him Ace. Big, goofy mutt—probably not as tough as he thinks, but he likes to act like he’s protecting the place.” He shakes his head, “You’d like him, I think. He’d probably love you more than he loves me the second you showed up, little traitor. He sleeps downstairs."

“But y’know, no matter how busy it got, or how many things kept changin’… didn’t really feel like home.” He pauses, his hand moving to brush away a stray tear that’s found its way down your cheek, “I thought maybe if I just kept busy enough, I’d stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Thought it’d get easier with time. But…” He trails off, like he’s confessing a secret. “Turns out it didn’t. No matter where I went, or what I did, it was always just there. Missin’ you.”

You can feel the soft rasp of his thumb against your neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” he clicks his tongue, tipping your chin up with a knuckle until your eyes meet his, blue eyes looking at you with a tenderness that almost makes you bawl again. “None of that. I told you, you got nothin’ to be sorry for.” His gaze sweeps across your features, “You been through hell and back. I know that ain’t easy to walk away from, not like that.”

His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek while you ask him, “What if he… what if he finds me?” 

Rafe’s jaw tightens, and there it is—that old, familiar fire lighting up in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d get any time someone even thought about hurting you, he’d rather throw himself in front of a train than let anything happen to you. 

“He’s never gonna touch you again, okay? Not as long as I’m around.” His voice is almost a growl, fierce enough that makes you believe him. “I won’t let him, I swear it.”

You can’t even speak. Your heart feels so full of gratitude, but you manage to force out a, “Thank you, Rafe.”

He pulls the hair back from your face, “You don’t gotta thank me,” he murmurs, “All I ever wanted was for you to be okay. That’s enough for me.”

You look up at him, fingers sweeping against his skin as you ask, “Tell me more? About everything? I feel like I missed so much…”

You attempt to keep your voice from quivering, but there’s this misery in your chest, a deep longing to know the parts of him you hadn’t been there to witness. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, and then he looks down, being reluctant.

“Yeah, uh… there was one time I went to your university,” he confesses, the words coming out hushed, he’s scared he shouldn’t be admitting this. “It was years ago, but… yeah. I went up there to see you.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” The word slips out in disbelief, and you lean in, “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I just… I wanted to see you. Thought maybe I could run into you, or—” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “Maybe I was hopin’ I’d have the guts to actually talk to you. 

Your brain can’t help but conjure up, what it might’ve happened if he’d just walked across campus that day, to you. The two of you in that place.

You picture yourself, sitting on one of those worn benches under the big oak trees that dotted the quad, maybe with a book open on your lap that you weren’t really reading, because all you could think about was him. It wouldn’t have taken much—the way his heavy boots hit the ground, the scent of his cologne. Would you have jumped up and hugged him? Or would you have sat there, staring at him, wondering if you were somehow dreaming it all up?

It’s a fantasy, you know that, but deep down, you wish that had been your reality—the two of you fighting for each other instead of letting the world and distance pull you apart. It hurts like a bitch, thinking of all those lost years, all the things that could’ve been different if you’d both just been a little braver.

“Rafe…” you breath, and there’s so much tangled in that one word.

The years, the heartbreak, the distance—you don’t even know where to begin, and yet, you don’t need to. He looks at you as if he understands every unspoken word like he’s been waiting just as long.

“I didn’t see you.”

“Hey,” he coos, pulling you just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “It’s my fault, I was scared.”

You smile through the fresh tears gathering and he slants his forehead against yours, brushing one away with his thumb, his face close enough that you could count each freckle if you wanted.

“It’s okay."

“I missed you, so much.”

You hadn’t just missed him—you’d missed the way he made you feel.

Brave. Free. No matter what happened, it would be okay as long as he was by your side. He smiles, a little crooked like because he’s not used to hearing it, he feels like the lucky one here.

 “You’ve always been my girl, y’know that? Ain’t nothing gonna change that. Not then, not now, not ever.”

Rafe’s slowly stitching up something inside you didn’t even know was still bleeding. You wonder if he knows that you're still shattered, that you’re not sure how to feel whole again, but you want to try, for him.

The way he talks tells you that he still can see you as the girl he fell in love with and it makes you hopeful that maybe she’s still somewhere inside you, waiting to be found.

Does he feel the same? Does he mean it, all this talk of missing you, of always coming back to you? Or is he just being kind, because he thinks you need to be treated like a wounded animal?

He’s got his own scars, things he’s carried, and he’s been hiding them just as much as you’ve been hiding yours. 

You wonder what he’s not saying, if he’s afraid of hoping for too much, like you are. Perhaps he’s holding you like this because he’s still holding on to that invisible string that’s kept you tied to him all this time. 

You close your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself breathe him in, feel him under your fingertips.

His lips pucker against your temple, “Don’t overthink, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”

But realistically speaking, how long can you run for before the monsters in your nightmares catch up to you?

[neowinestainedress]

SECRET — lee jeno

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄: secret

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lee jeno x fem!reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut, fluff (at the end), established relationship, kink discovery, relationship development

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: jeno has a secret he can’t tell anybody, not even you.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: sub!jeno, dom!reader (it’s their first time reversing roles so they’re both exploring how it feels like), implied masturb*tion, n!pple play, kinda hand-free org*sm/coming untouched, an*l fingering, riding, overstimulation, praise kink, minor degradation, size kink (but reversed??? reader is not bigger than jeno but somehow jeno feels small and likes to feel like that), ch*king, names used for jeno (baby boy, good boy, pup/puppy, pretty boy), names used for reader (ma’am, miss, mommy), big d!ck jeno, there’s nothing wrong with being a sub but jeno has issues because he has to always be strong so it doesn’t feel right for him, count the times I say ‘please’ in this (not my fault jeno is the bestest boy ever), aftercare (and kink discussion)

𝐖𝐂: 10.202k

𝐀/𝐍: a gift for my love @yellowgirllsblog, I converted her to subjenoism so I’m on a mission to let more of you see the light of the day and appreciate sub!jeno more. ps: you will never catch me call twitter ‘x.’ enjoy and if you do, please reblog and leave feedback! love u!

Jeno has a secret.

Once you’ll find out what it is, it won’t seem a big deal, but to him, it is.

It’s so big, so stressful, and so shameful, he can’t even talk to you — his sweet, loving girlfriend — about it.

It’s stupid, really. Deep down Jeno is well aware of how dumb it all sounds, but every time he faces it, it looks like a big mountain he can’t climb — and that will probably crumble on top of him, smashing him on the ground.

Stupid or not, big or small, it haunts him every day. Yes, every day. At first, Jeno thought it was just a temporary thing, something that piqued at his curiosity for fun, but soon enough, he fell down the rabbit hole. Looking back at it now, he probably was buried deep in the rabbit hole since forever but he —and the perception others had of him— did a good job at polishing the place real nice and don’t make him realize where he was.

Jeno accepted he is far gone a while ago, but he still can’t wrap his head around it. How is that possible? How could he, out of all the people, like something like this, be like this.

And that’s why he keeps it to himself, praying that if he doesn’t act on it, if he pushes it out of his mind, it will just leave. He’s strong, and fit, and he pounds into you every night, giving it to you like you want it. He can’t be anything else other than this, nothing but a confident, strong man that can’t be vulnerable.

But it turns out that pushing it out of his mind is not as easy as it seems. Jeno might be weaker than he realizes when he keeps going back at it, sipping on it at small doses, almost as if whatever he is holding in it’s a drug he doesn’t want to get addicted to — not knowing he already is. But for now — and forever, he thinks — this is just a fantasy, he can’t get addicted to something that is not real, to a version of him, no matter how authentic it feels, that can’t come out. But he slips further every day, hiding in your shared bedroom with his laptop or phone when you’re at work and he can have a bit of time to himself, when he stares at the box with your toys and lets time pass by because he doesn’t dare to do the next step, and lastly when he fucks his fist with your used panties and calls your name… or well, how he wishes he could call you.

And then clarity hits him again, making him groan as he rushes to the bathroom on wobbly legs, throwing your stained panties inside and starting the washing machine while he questions himself; why? He feels pathetic; masturbating over you as if he needs to fantasize about you, as if he doesn’t have you every night, and every day, and yet, it’s still not enough, it’s not how he wants you. But he feels guilty, he feels like he won’t be enough if he confessed to you, if he let you know his secret. And most of all, he’s terrified he’ll lose you. This version of him is not the one you picked, is not the one you love. And he’d damn himself forever if he lost you for something so silly.

So, he sighs, takes a deep breath, and then exhales deeply, rubbing his teary eyes before pushing his tired body up from the wall to walk back to your bedroom and fix himself.

Jeno has a secret, and he will take it to his grave.

Your boyfriend has been acting strange for a while now. At first, you figured he was stressed because of work, but now, you don’t think that’s the only reason.

Your brain goes crazy, imagining the worst-case scenario, the top one: he wants to break up with you. So, you start acting strange, too. Panicking, over-analyzing everything, and mostly, bracing yourself for the worst. Every time he starts talking to you with a serious tone, you fear that those words will come out of his lips, especially when before starting the conversation he stares at you for minutes and thinks so loudly you can almost hear his thoughts.

But the worst never comes, this goes on for weeks, and even if your boyfriend does act strange, nothing of his weirdness leads to a breakup, literally nothing can make it plausible, and even your brain gives up keeping you up at night with the fear of you losing him.

Jeno has never been so touchy. His hands are always on your body, any excuse is valid to let his fingers wander on your skin; if he needs to help you pick up something, if he needs to reach for the remote, if he has to leave for work, anything as long as he gets to feel your warm body.

And that doesn’t shock you much, Jeno has always made it clear how much he finds you attractive and how obsessed and in love he is with you and your body, but well, not like this. His fingers seem almost fearful, and so are his lips when he kisses you, and even something about his eyes doesn’t seem quite right. And then there are those unsaid words that you can see pending from his lips, and yet, they never come out. Every phrase Jeno starts is followed by a stutter and a quick shake of the head, other times his cheeks turn bright red as he zones out and you have to shake him out of whatever he is thinking, and then he goes back to act though and shrug it all off as if nothing happened.

You don’t get it, and every time you try to ask if something’s wrong, he acts surprised and tells you everything’s alright. You don’t buy it, but you feel that if something’s annoying him, he will come talk to you when he’s ready, so you leave him alone.

Jeno has a secret, and you have to find out in a way you don’t like.

You don’t like to roam around and stick your nose in things that aren’t yours, honestly, you hate doing so because you would hate if somebody did that with your things.

But you’re bored, laying on your bed, waiting for Jeno to come out of the shower, and your phone is somewhere in the living room, and you’re bored.

Picking up his phone to play some games is not an invasion of privacy, it’s the only thing you do with his phone, and Jeno is fine with it — he even lets you download those ugly, ads-filled, games that pop up in ads of other annoying games, he doesn’t get them, he hates the graphic of most of them, and he doesn’t understand how you can survive so many ads, but it’s fine, anything that makes you happy because you saved the King from drowning, cleaned a hotel room or built a pretty land.   

You would’ve minded your business if it wasn’t for one of those stupid games and ads, causing the app to crash and make you huff.

You’re pissed as you click the left bottom on the bottom of his screen to see all the apps and go back to your game, hoping it won’t die again, you’re so caught up that you almost miss the other window of Twitter and some other apps he used before.

But well, what you see is too shocking to make you go back to the business of your hotel.

You freeze, and a lump forms in your throat as you blink speechless with your mouth wide open. You feel the world could collapse under your feet but then you shake your head.

Dumb asshole, it’s fine. He might be bisexual, he’s not using you as a beard, right?

But you still stare at the video in shock, the only focus is on the naked man with a choker, moaning while the vibrator edges him, and the playful touches on his nipples make his hips rut.

And when Jeno comes out of the shower you’re still dumbfounded. Your eyes look up, and his smile drops as soon as he sees your face, it looks as if you saw a ghost, and he fears something has happened to you, but he barely manages to let out ‘are you ok?’ before you stop him.

“Are you gay?” You ask, nothing of the more rational questions you came up with before passing your lips.

He giggles nervously, eyes skimming you. “What?

You feel a lump in your throat and then reply. “What is this?” you lift the phone, video playing on mute, you can’t bear to hear the moans again. “Why are you watching porn and why are you watching porn focused on men? If you want to try something out you can tell me, but please, tell me I’m not your bearding girlfriend and this wasn’t all a lie.”

“A lie?” Jeno screams, feeling his heart pump hard in his chest. “It’s not and I’m not gay, I might be bi, but I never wanted to question much about it but... Wait, would it make you love me less?”

“No, God, no, but I don’t understand this,” you squeak, voice breaking a bit for the confusion you feel and also because his face dropped even more.

“It’s nothing,” Jeno says, abruptly taking the phone from your hand and closing the tab. His hands are shaking, he can’t believe he’s so fucking stupid, how could he not think about it? He always makes sure to close everything so that you can’t find out.

“Nothing?” You ask, eyes wide and a bit of sarcasm in your tone. “Why are you watching that kind of video...”

“I — I... It’s just something dumb the boys sent me,” he justifies, scratching his neck, but his eyes are everywhere except on yours.

You would believe him if only he wasn’t so evasive with his answers and body language, he’s a nerve wreck, he has to be hiding something. “Is it? Why would they do it?”

“I don’t know, you know they’re dumb,” he says and then pauses, biting his lips nervously before he gathers the courage to speak. “Did you watch it?”

You furrow, mumbling for a few seconds before replying as if it was obvious. “Yes.”

“All?”

“Yes, it’s not that long,” you reply without getting where he wants to go with these questions.  

Jeno nods and bites his lips, strategically avoiding your gaze.

“Jeno...” You call and he hesitantly raises his face. “Are you sure you’re not lying to me? If you like men and only them it’s fine, I would be heartbroken, but I want you to be happy, and I —”

“Stop it! It’s not that,” he snaps, face burning red when your eyes meet and you’re looking at him with curiosity. He feels doomed, you don’t even get it so how can you be into it?

“Oh.” You gasp. “Oh.” It clicks. Your mind replays the video, catching the details you missed, and you get it. He wants those things to be done to him. He doesn’t want a man; he wants you to do that to him.

Jeno stills, fearing the worst from you. “I’m not into it, that video just came up and I was curious,” he tries to save himself but it’s too late.

“No,” you stop him, “you are into it. Don’t lie to me,” your tone drops a bit, and you study his reaction, he trembles, and his face reddens even more. You’ve never seen him so embarrassed and vulnerable in all those years you’ve dated. Jeno, Lee Jeno, blushing bright red and stammering on his words right in front of your eyes. You’re dreaming, that must be it, maybe you have a fantasy you’re not aware of yet and this is your brain poking the thought into you.

But you shake your head, rub your eyes, and he’s still there.

“Jeno?” You call his name again when he gives you his back, quickly trying to find his clothes and make this less embarrassing, considering the only thing covering him is the white towel he put on before. “Look at me,” your voice comes out stern when he doesn’t listen to you and with a big step forward you have him trapped against the wall. Your fingers reach his chin, lifting his face resolutely.

But Jeno still doesn’t reply; you see his Adam’s apple move in his neck and you feel his breath get discontinued, but nothing comes from his mouth.

You have two choices; play the game he wants you to play or have a serious conversation about this. You’d rather go for the last one, you’re not so sure you’d be a master at doing what he wants you to do, but it seems like there’s no room for a decent talk right now.

You cup his chin, squeezing it enough that his lips pout, something he always does to you. His eyes widen, and his hand immediately wraps around your wrist, yet he doesn’t try to push you away.

“Tell me, Nono,” you coo, voice low and teasing, “do you want to be teased like that?”

He shakes his head, quick movements causing some still damp strands of hair to fall on his eyes, “No, no, I don’t.”

You scoff, shaking your head before leaning closer. “Why are you lying to me?”

He mumbles, struggling to talk for the embarrassment and the hold you have on his face. “I’m not,” he cries out.

“Oh, really?” You ask, letting his face go, making him lose his balance now that he can’t hold onto you. “Then you have nothing to hide, right?” He nods, biting his thumb and looking at you like a dog with his tail between his legs. “So, I guess you won’t mind if I took your phone right now, right?”

His eyes widen and his thumb falls from his lips. “Bu-but wh-why?”

You burst out laughing, holding your stomach in an exaggerated mocking move. “Bu-but wh-why?” you taunt him, imitating his high-pitched trembling voice. “Phone, now.”

Jeno’s not sure how to feel. This is what he wanted, right? And you don’t seem… mad. So why does he feel so embarrassed as he grabs the phone and hands it to you?

You smile and then open Twitter. You notice he has two accounts and when you scroll through the likes, the retweets, and more, you’re speechless. Well, now that you have him in front of you, so pliant, shaking, and red in the face, it’s not surprising anymore, but the Jeno you’re used to is not like this.

Men tied up and edged until they whimper and beg to come, rough face sitting, pegging videos, and captions about ‘good boys’ being used as sex toys by their ‘dominant mommy’, are all you see. You sigh and throw the phone on the bed carelessly.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno cries out, falling on his knees right in front of you. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I don’t need that, I swear I don’t, I can still be your usual boyfriend, I’ll fuck you so good, I promise I —”

You shut him up with a kiss, it’s rough and quick, enough to leave him surprised and, momentary, speechless. “Will you stop mumbling no-sense?”

“But I —”

“No, shh,” you say, thumb on his lips to keep him quiet. “Did I say anything? Did I look disappointed?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and he shakes his head. Honestly, he has no idea, he was too worried panicking to actually pay attention to your reaction. “Did I ask you to apologize? Do I look disgusted to you?”

“N-no,” he mumbles, but his eyes are still leaking tears.

“No, exactly,” you reassure. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, wrapping around the long hair at the nape before tugging and yanking his head back. “Now can we be serious and face this or do you want to keep crying at my feet?”

That shouldn’t make his dick twitch in the — now incredibly tight —towel but it does, still, he hopes you didn’t catch it, and nods swiftly.

“Good,” you smile slyly. You saw it, but that’s something you’re going to deal with later. “Stop lying and be honest with me. Do you want me to do this to you?” Your other hand moves down on his neck, creeping on his toned chest until it reaches his hard nipples, and when you brush one, he whimpers. Jeno tries to hide it, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together, but his body is reacting on its own, and it has never been more of an open book.

You never paid his body much attention, always letting him do anything to you, so this is… new, and interesting.

Your fingers play with the other one, rubbing against the sensitive tip and watching him struggle to keep it all in. “Sensitive much, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, head falling down but you tug it back again, making him groan lowly.

“Head up,” you order, leaning down to come face to face, breath fanning against his, “and answer me. Do you like it when I play with your nipples?”

“Yeah — yeah, I like it,” he breathes out, leaning in to kiss your lips but you pull away.

“Ah, ah,” you click your tongue, shaking your head, “not yet, baby boy. You’ve been naughty, keeping important things from me. So now you’re going to earn it, alright?”

Jeno nods faster than he would want to, hips shaking on his heels in excitement like a dog wagging his tail.

You think it’s cute, he’s cute. And you still don’t quite know how to do this, how to be on the other side, but something inside of you makes you feel confident enough to think it’s worth giving a try. You like to be on the receiving end, so you have to give him what you usually like to receive. Also, you’ve encountered femdom content before, even liked it, never explored it much, but this might be fun.

“Words.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You raise a brow at the title, but you like the way it rolls from his lips, and it makes your body react, pussy clenching around nothing and stomach twisting in anticipation.

“Good boy,” you reward him. You love being called a good girl, so you think he’s going to like that too, and he does. His smile grows bigger, cheeks tinting red again, and most importantly, his dick reacts, twitching against the towel.

You think it’s time to set it free, so your hand grabs the hem and pulls the white clothes off him. Jeno whimpers, hands quickly going to cover his hard, throbbing dick — well, trying to, it’s too big to hide anything.

You laugh at his lame attempt, slapping his hands away. “Getting shy now? I’ve seen it and felt it countless times, don’t you agree? Or, I don’t know, have you forgotten? Maybe your brain stops working when you’re… like this,” you finish with a teasing look from his head to his bent knees, rubbing against the hard floor and becoming red.

Jeno shivers, shaking his head, but for some reason, he feels even more embarrassed. He’s not used to being in this position, and all the times he imagined to be here, he didn’t think you would be like this. You’re not much shorter than him, but you are, and now you’re towering over him, your gaze is piercing through his soul, and your voice is sultry like it has never been. He wanted this so badly but even if he fantasized for months, now, he doubts he can take you.

You sigh, rolling your head. “How many times do I have to say it? Words.”

Jeno frowns momentarily, he knows you’re having a ball because usually, he wants you to talk back to him even if he’s fucking the fourth orgasm out of you. But his ‘anger’ doesn’t last. He nods, and then apologizes. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, ma’am. You can see it.”

“Of course, I can,” you say, kneeling to his eye level, “it’s mine.” Two of your fingers brush on his hard cock, tracing the thick vein that run on the side, the one that rub your sensitive walls so good when he’s pounding into you.

He nods quickly, swallowing hard to don’t moan shamelessly, and then stutters on his words. “You-yours. You can do — do whatever you want.”

You smile widely and tilt your head because it’s not a dominant smile. You might like this a lot. You might like this more than you anticipated. There’s something thrilling about having him like this, in your hands, to play with, to tease, to edge, to push to the limit. He’s yours, like always, and yet, in a way he has never been.

“Tell me what you want me to do?” You order, those videos are not enough to give you the green light. You need to hear it from him, a bit because you’re lost on your path, but also because you need to hear him describe those things out loud and beg you to do that to him.

Jeno thinks his face might burn up in a second. Sure, if he ever dared to bring this up to you in a conversation, he would’ve had to explain it to you, but he would’ve been dressed, not hard, and his brain would’ve been functioning. Now he’s none of these things. Yet, he tries.

“I — I want you,” he starts, wetting his lips. but he fails to find the words. You want explicit things, he knows it, he can see it in your eyes burning up with desire, but he wants to be honest first, at least now that he has a bit of rationality left. “I want to be your good boy. I want to — to just give up control for once and let you do everything. I want you to control me, to move me around, to make me feel light, to make me feel like I’m… nothing but not really nothing, I want to…” he gulps, forcing himself to keep eye contact because he wants to be good, but it’s not easy. Nothing happened yet, and he’s already a victim of the electricity that’s running in the air. “I want to don’t think. I want you to fuck my brain out until I forget who I am, I want you to tell me what to do, to order it to me. But I also want to feel safe… taken care of.”

It takes you a while to metabolize everything he told you, especially the last part, and you put a reminder in your brain to discuss that later. But now you kiss him, finally giving him what he craves. You wanted to make him wait a bit longer, but you feel like he needs it. It seems that all of this has been bothering him more than you think, and he needs comfort.

“And I’m going to give it to you, if you trust me,” you say when you pull away, softly caressing his cheek with your other hand.

“I do, I trust you,” he replies, hips rubbing against your hand. You give him a quick, stern look and he stops, smile dropping.

“Get on the bed and you won’t have to hump my hand like a puppy in heat,” you order and he’s quickly — stumbling and almost falling — on his feet, walking to the bed.

Once he’s laying on the bed, you follow him, crawling on top of him, your legs trapping him down. You leave kisses on his neck, and as a response his head rolls back, leaving you more room to paint his skin with bites and kisses. And while he’s distracted with that, your hands reach his nipples. His hips buck up and he whimpers.

He’s so sensitive, you can’t believe you didn’t discover this before.

Your fingers play with his sensitive buds, at first, you just rub your fingers on them, but then you get more adventurous studying his reaction. Jeno likes it when you pinch them between two fingers, it makes him hiss and moan, while his hips grind against you. He also likes it when you roll them, low curses escaping his tortured pink lips.

After a while, you decide to pay attention to his whole chest. You won’t lie, you always loved his tits, but you appreciated them from afar, when they were wrapped under the skintight white shirt he loves to wear, or when they played hide and seek under his loose tank tops. When he fucks you, your hands always wander somewhere else, busy trying to hold onto his arms and back for dear life. But now, your hands caress his skin, cupping them as you try to hide a giggle and stay in your role — you definitely need to work on your dominance — and tease his nipples every now and then.

“Fuck,” Jeno bites his tongue, dick rutting against your body, droplets of white shamelessly dripping from his head, staining his length and abs.

“You’re so sensitive it’s almost pathetic,” you try out, testing the waters. You fear you might trigger him, but instead, he moans louder at your words, throwing his head back more, and his dick throbs. “I’m barely touching you and you’re already a mess. You dreamed this so long, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he whimpers, his hips still grinding against you, desperately chasing for release, but you pull away. “No, please,” his voice breaks and tears swell at the corner of his eyes. Jeno is so fucking pretty like this, you have to fight back the urge to reach for the phone and snap a picture.

“Just relax, and focus on the parts I’m touching,” you say, kissing him to shut his whines down. “Let me take care of you.”

And he would, he does, he wants you to take care of him. If only this wasn’t so embarrassing, whimpering and squirming just from having his nipples played with. He wants to hold it in, he can push back an orgasm, but all his good intentions fly out of the window when your mouth wraps around the left sensitive one and your fingers pinch and twist the other one.

It’s not his fault he’s so sensitive.

“Oh God,” he cries out through gritted teeth, knuckles going white for how hard his hands are clenching around the sheets. Jeno feels dizzy, your mouth sucks harshly on his sensitive spot, quickly moving from one side to the other, never leaving him with no stimulation, your fingers are just as swift at taking the place your lips left. “Please, please, fuck,” he begs, hips stuttering messily, and legs parting as his body jerks with pleasure.

“Be a good boy and come for me,” you mumble against his skin, eyes looking up at his. And that’s the last drop for him; the realization that you saw him — and made him — this weak, even the slight humiliation he feels with it.

Jeno comes undone. Long, whiny moans and whimpers slurring out of his plump lips as his body stills before breaking into violent trembles, it’s powerful and overwhelming, and it makes him cry. Mumbles of your name follow when you don’t stop, fingers and tongue moving quickly on his nipples.

“Please, please, stop,” he cries, trying to push you away, “can’t take it anymore.”

You pull away, snickering as you watch the cum drip down his body. His chest is heaving, and his body is slumped against the headboard.

“Was it good?”

Jeno nods, his movements are slow, and his eyelids are almost close, but he still makes out your face, and smiles shyly. “More,” he begs and then adds, “please. If you want to.”

You smile, he’s so polite. “Are you sure you can take more?”

“Yes, yes, I just — I needed to calm down,” he explains, running a hand through his hair that covered his eyes messily.

“Lay on the bed,” you order before standing up.

He follows your order, feeling his body ache as he gets in position, but it all fades in the background when his gaze falls on your body, watching you move to throw your clothes on the floor.

“So,” you’re on top of him, you got rid of your skirt and top, the only clothes on your body are your — drenched — panties and the bra, “what do you want me to do with you?”

Jeno thought the embarrassing part had passed, but, lord, if he was wrong. Because he’s not prepared in the slightest to ask you what he’s about to ask. You will break up with him, this will be the last straw.

“Pup?” Your voice brings him out of his delirium, and he coughs. “You with me?”

He nods, struggling to find the words. “Please,” he whines, “don’t — don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” You ask, a small frown forms on your forehead while your head lightly bends to the side to look at him. You almost look so innocent and harmless like this, but you’re not. You have all the power and control, and Jeno loves this and hates this at the same time. Maybe all of this is more mental than what he thought in the first place, or maybe he needs to relax, stop worrying so much, and just beg you. Beg you to fuck him, beg you to turn him into a brainless mess in the same way he had done in these past few months: pleading with his face smashed against a pillow to muffle his pathetic moans and his fist wrapped around his cock or his fingers inside of him, fooling himself that was you doing that to him.

“Please, fuck me,” he breaks, eyes panicking and looking around the room before you grab his face with a strong old on his chin.

“Say it again,” you order. Your face is relaxed now and the pout on your lips is rapidly swiped away by a sly smirk.  

“Please, please, fuck me, ma’am?” He asks, eyes softening as he looks into yours. He’s such a good boy, so obedient, so, so good. So, you’re about to give him what he wants, and what you want, grabbing the base of his hardening dick and teasing it against your pussy, moving the crotch of the panties to the side, but he surprises you.

“No,” Jeno cries, voice breaking again, “not like this. Not now.”

You stop, stilling and looking at him, eyes blinking as you try to understand what he means. “Not like this? And how do you want me to fuck you?”

“I — I,” he stutters, flashes of warmth heating his body up again, not that it ever really stopped, to be honest, it just keeps getting worse.

“You — you?” You urge, mocking him, mimicking his voice with a condescending tone.  

He frowns offended — and his dick throbs, but he won’t pay attention to that — but then goes on. “I want your — your fingers.”

“Oh,” you say, a smug grin on your face. “A handjob?” You know what he wants, you know where he wants it, but what you want, is to mess up with him.

“No, no,” he whines, shaking his head, reaching for your hand with his before you slap it away, making him groan in annoyance. “Please.”

“Please and no, are those the words that a good pup says?”

“No, miss, I’m sorry.”

“Good, then use your big boy words and tell me what you want. Details, or I won’t give it to you.”

Jeno swallows, inhaling deeply before confessing. “I want your fingers in my ass, please. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, miss.”

“Oh, now that’s clear,” you say, smiling tenderly and patting his head. He melts under your touch, and you keep a reminder to yourself to head pat him more often. “Good boy, telling me exactly what he needs.”

You get up to grab the lube from the drawer but when you open it, it’s not there. You scowl, scratching your head as you try to remember if you finished it and didn’t buy it again, but you don’t use it that often, so it can’t be.

“Where the hell —” you stop when, turning around, you see the blue bottle peeking from under the bed, you kneel to grab it and see that it’s badly closed. “You fucked yourself before?” You enquire, tilting your head, watching his face flush bright red even more, he tries to avoid your gaze, but you trot to him and force his face on you. “You were so desperate you couldn’t help but fuck yourself with your fingers?”

“I’m — I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to,” he justifies, throat dry and heart beating fast. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, he would’ve waited, he wouldn’t have done that, but he needed that, he was terrible at putting this fantasy behind and he needed a release. But he’s still you’re good boy, right? You’re not mad at him for this?

You scoff, clicking your tongue, crawling on the bed. “You didn’t mean to, sure… fucking yourself behind my back, pff,” you scoff. “Tell me, were you thinking of me? My fingers deep inside of you? My hand wrapped around the base of your cock?” Jeno nods eagerly as you pour lube on your fingertips. “Were you calling my name? Whimpering like the desperate puppy that you are? Calling me ma’am and miss, maybe even mommy when you fuck yourself good enough,” all throughout the talk your fingers slip deep inside of him, making him gasp and hold onto the sheets under him.

“Fuck,” he curses, not expecting you to push two fingers inside with no warning. But the surprise turns into bliss in the beat of an eye. Your fingers are slender, and yes, they’re not as long and thick as his are, but they are yours. And you’re so good at moving them inside of him, curling them up, moving them with a firm rhythm, reaching the bottom, and then pulling out, that he has nothing to complain about. “Feels so good,” he somehow manages to let you know. You think it’s cute, his voice doesn’t sound like the usual, it’s whiny, trembling, and full of desperation. His eyes are watery, and you think the red on his cheeks won’t disappear soon.

Jeno is lost in the pleasure, thinking he has never felt better, he’s almost relaxed, lulling in the sensation that sends sparks down his spine. But you want to give him more and your other hand folds his balls, making him hiss and shaking him out of that haze.

“It’s alright, baby boy,” you reassure him, but he’s not sure. Especially when you spit on his dick, adding to the mess of his cum, and run your hand on his length. He wishes you would keep doing this, but instead, you torture him; while your fingers work him open, your hand focuses on his frenulum, massaging his most sensitive spot until he’s a crying and trembling mess again.

“No, no,” he whines when your lips start kissing his leaking tip. “Sensitive — I’m…” his voice breaks and dies in his throat when your lips wrap around it. He has you everywhere and he’s not used to this. He’s not used to feeling so much and giving so little — in his mind, to give you nothing, but to you, he’s giving you a lot. This vulnerable side of him is much more than anything else. “I — I can touch you, I can —”

You shut him up with a slap on his thigh. “You can lay there and take it,” you say firmly but without stopping your movements.

He nods quickly, lips pressed in a thin line, but the pleasure is so big that his moans and whimpers just rumble in his chest.

“Moan, Jeno,” you call him out. “I want to hear you moan for me.”

“But —”

“But?” You scold, glaring at him and stilling your fingers inside him. “Are you going to talk back to me and tell me what to do?” He shakes his head quickly, mumbling apologizes. “I think so, do you want to be my good boy?”

“Yes, yes, please,” he cries, hips bucking up, at first you think he’s doing that to feel your fingers but he’s just that desperate. He truly acts like a puppy too excited to be your good boy to even think straight, his body moving on its own. If he had a tail, he would wiggle it like crazy.

“You want to be my good pup?” You ask again, your fingers pull out and then push in, dragging a low gasp from his lips.

“Yes, I want to. Want to be your good puppy, please.”

“Then do what I tell you to do,” you remind him, your hands go back to his cock, throbbing on his abs and leaking pre-cum. It’s almost… funny how big he is —body and dick— and how helpless and powerless he looks, begging for attention as if he couldn’t just take it from you, ordering you, fucking you. But he lays there, pathetically drooling on the pillow, while his dick drips on his stomach and his ass clenches around your two fingers.

His sounds are like music to your ears, and the vision in front of your eyes makes your pussy drool more, you can’t believe you’re so turned on when fifteen minutes ago you were almost throwing a tantrum for this. But Jeno looks like the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you wonder if he feels this way when it’s the other way around. All you know is that you’re mesmerized, eyes stuck where your bodies connect, his hole fluttering around you, the lube squelching in and out, and his toned, strong legs spread open just for you. Then they move up, the way his dick is throbbing in your hand and spills pre-cum, his chest rising fast, his hands clenched around the sheets. And his face, his eyes are closed but you know they’re rolled back behind his eyelids, his lips are swollen and dark pink, parted open to fill the room with the most desperate whines, his hair is a mess again, scattered around the pillow and his forehead.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whines, lifting his hips from the mattress when you hit him deeper and your hand starts moving faster on him. “Feels good, feels so good, you’re so good, you’re — you’re perfect, I love you, I love you,” he cries out, head rolled back as he lets the pleasure rush through his body.

You smirk at his words, the desperation and devotion behind his voice making shivers run down your spine. “Are you going to come?” You ask, already knowing the answer, watching him nod quickly. “Yeah? Will you be a good boy and come from my fingers only?” Your hand leaves his dick, eliciting a disappointed noise from him, but his breath gets cut off when you add another finger inside of him.

“Please,” he cries, the stretch of the three fingers making his hips move even more from the mattress, only to stop when your hand, flat on his stomach, keeps him pinned down.

“Stop squirming, or I won’t make you come and keep edging you until you pass out.”

It should be a threat, but it doesn’t even sound so bad to him, but not now, maybe one day, now he wants you, and wants to come as soon as possible. So, his hips still, the nervous twitching passing down to his leg but it’s fine, it doesn’t get in the way.

“Good boy,” you praise, patting his head, and making him smile. “Be even a better boy and come for me.”

You don’t have to tell him twice before his orgasm erupts, his body shakes before stilling completely, spurts of white spilling on his stomach, even reaching the sheets as his cock throbs in release and his hole flutters around your three fingers that are still pumping in and out at a fast speed. Slurs of curses roll from his tongue, and so does your name, while his chest rises fast before his body slumps against the mattress.

“Please, please, stop,” he cries out, feeling overstimulated.

You listen, pulling your fingers out and cleaning them on his thigh before leaning forward to kiss him.

“Want you, mommy, please,” he pleads, tears rolling down his temple while his hands look for the warmth of your body. “Please, fuck me, need to feel you.”

“Calm down,” you say, giggling at his cuteness and eagerness and get rid of your panties, throwing them behind with no care, and then follows the bra.

Jeno feels less embarrassed now that you’re exposed too, and gets lost in your body for a few seconds before he bites back a moan when your warm and wet skin makes contact with him. “I — I can fuck you, I can make you feel good, too,” he promises. “Be your good boy and fu–fuck you well.”

You smile tenderly, teasing him as you grind your hips rubbing your pussy on his dick that’s resting on his stomach. “Oh, I know you can.”

“Please, please,” Jeno cries out more. His dick is incredibly sensitive, it’s painfully aching, begging to be wrapped by something after all this teasing. You barely paid it any attention this whole time. “Let me be your good boy, use me,” his voice breaks and he almost chokes on his words as his pleading eyes stare at you for mercy. “Use my — use my cock as you please. Use me like your toy,” he says, “your good toy.”

It almost breaks your heart; he needs validation so badly and you feel genuinely bad for never noticing this before. You just thought he was always so strong and confident; you didn’t think he needed reassurance so much.

“Here, pup,” you say, sinking into him.

Jeno’s head rolls back, his hands clasping around your waist, but his hold, even if it’s strong, is different from all the other times before.

“Fuck, mommy, feel so good.” The way your warm walls wrap around him send him straight to heaven, you’re wet and fit perfectly around him.

“Yeah, you too, baby. You feel so good,” you curse through gritted teeth. He might be a mess underneath you, whimpering, crying, and begging, but that doesn’t make his cock shrink. Jeno’s big, and you should be used to it by now, but somehow it still feels like it splits you open every time.

“Please, fuck me!” Jeno laments loudly, bouncing his hips against yours, but a stern look from you makes him stop and apologize, “So-sorry, fuck me, please?” This time his voice is soft and polite, a desperate edge but with no eagerness behind — yes, there is, but he tries hard not to show it.

“Oh, fuck,” he screams when you lift your body up and slam back into him. You’re a lazy rider usually, and to be more honest, you’re just never a rider, 90% of the time riding his dick is a punishment to make you work for it, but now… well, you kept your skills well stored in. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he whimpers, hands clenching hard around your waist until his knuckles go white.

“What? You wanted me to fuck you so badly, and now? Bit more than you can chew? Is this too much for you, pretty boy? You can’t take it?”

Jeno shakes his head. “No, no I can, ma’am, I can,” he whimpers, biting his lips harshly.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” you hum in satisfaction. Your hands fall at the sides of his head, your smaller body somehow still hovers over him and makes him feel smaller than ever. Your intense stare pins him to the mattress even more, making him shiver. “Give me your hands,” you order, but Jeno doesn’t listen — he doesn’t even hear, too lost in you to pay attention to your voice. “God,” you huff, rolling your eyes back, “I really have to do everything on my own because you’re just that dumb.” You forcefully grab his wrists, pushing his arms over his head and keeping them locked against the bed.

“No, I’m — I’m sorry, I — I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you weren’t,” you mock, stilling before starting to pick up the pace again, “you weren’t listening ‘cause you can only focus on how good I’m making you feel, right? Stupid, dumb puppy can only think about his pleasure.”

“No, no, please, forgive me,” he begs, tears streaking down his face, and words coming out between gags and moans.  

“Can you fuck back into me? Or are you too fucked out to do that?”

“No, no, I can. I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, miss,” he promises, lifting his hips to meet you halfway, but his body feels so heavy and his brain is mush, unable to send signals to his muscles.

Your head rolls back and your hands wrap tighter around his wrists, you find yourself grinding against him, rubbing your clit every time you bottom all the way down. But Jeno’s thrusts are sloppy and messy, he’s not even that bad when he’s about to come. “Stupid puppy,” you taunt, slapping his ass. “Can’t even fuck me after all the pleasure I gave you.”

Jeno sobs, literally, loud cries coming from the back of his throat making him almost choke, and you’re about to stop everything in worry before you realize that’s not because you went too far — partially, maybe, he’s not really happy to be said he’s bad — but because he’s close again and he loves the way you talk down to him and slap him.

“Are you coming again?” You ask in utter surprise because you can’t believe it.

But he shakes his head, he’s fighting against himself to hold it back, and for the sake of having at least an orgasm too, you stop your movements.

“I won’t — won’t come,” he mumbles, lips quivering. “Can’t you… can’t you just use me?” he wails. “Please, I’m too tired. Just… use me like a…” The last words are a slur lower than a whisper, and his head turned to the side doesn’t help you hearing what he said.

You tilt your head to the side, cupping his chin to force him to look at you. “Repeat loud and clear if you don’t want to regret it.”

Jeno gulps, nodding vigorously, but his voice still shakes, and his cheeks burn red again as he repeats. “Use me like a dildo, please.”

“Oh… so, this is how you want to be good to me?” You ask, grinding your hips against him, the stimulation is bare for you but so much for him that you trigger whines and whimpers out of him.

“But it will feel good, even if I don’t move, you know it,” he tries to reason, pleading with his glossy eyes. “I can eat you out after, or — or now, whatever you please, miss.”

“Whatever I please, uhm?” You ask, grinning.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do whatever you want.”

You smile, caressing his face, smearing the wet mess around before your hand pats his head. “You’re lucky I want you exactly like this, like a toy.” You start fucking him with no warning, and a gasp rips from his vocal cords before he starts moaning again.

His eyes roll back at each of your hard thrusts, and you see his hands itch because he can’t touch you, but you don’t loosen the hold on him. You feel strong, a kind of power you didn’t even know you had in you, and you don’t want this to stop.

Jeno’s entire body trembles when your hand wraps around his neck, squeezing just enough to dim the flow of air in his lungs. It’s hot but unexpected, just like it’s unexpected that he almost comes on the spot.

“Oh, oh,” you hum in delight, the corner of your lips lifting as you stare at him. “You like it…” Jeno tries to deny but you can read his body; you felt his dick throb inside of you, his eyes flicker to you in light panic before rolling in his skull again, and his breath falter. “Don’t deny it, it wouldn’t be the most pathetic thing you get off to,” you mock, making him blush again. “It’s alright, you can be my naughty boy, I won’t judge.”

He can only hum, and now that you look better in his eyes, you see there’s something completely different behind them. He’s in a completely different headspace, and you fear he won’t last much longer.

It’s the same for you, the thrill and adrenaline can only push you so far, you’re not used to this, bouncing your hips harshly on his cock and having control, your thighs are starting to scream, and your brain doesn’t want to pay them attention but you both know you’re both at the finish line for this first time. Not to add, you’re in desperate need of an orgasm.

“Ti-tight,” Jeno gasps when your hold on his neck loosens enough to let him breathe in normally again, just the time that he can take a few breaths before it fastens again, it’s not too tight, it’s your first time, you don’t want to end with him passed out on the floor, but it’s enough to do its job.

“Yeah? Too tight for you? Can’t take it?”

He moves his head randomly, frenetic movements as he moves his lips to talk, useless. Your cunt is sucking away every coherent thought in his mind, the only thing filling his brain: you and the need to release.

“Don’t talk, don’t need it. I know you’re too sensitive, wanted me so much only to shake underneath me because I’m fucking you too well. Can’t even form a coherent thought in that stupid, little brain of yours, can you?”

He shakes his head, tears streaming down, but you kiss them — lick them — away.

“It’s alright, I don’t want you to think. I like it when your brain is empty. Your just my pretty boy, right? Pretty, good boy that let’s mommy fuck him?”

His nods are eager, and without even realizing his tongue lolls out. You pout at the view, patting his head when you let go of his neck, making him breathe. “Good pup. Just look pretty for me.”

“Pre-pretty,” he whimpers before a fucked-out smile paints his face.

“Yes, baby, you are,” you kiss his lips, petting his hair another time.

“Co-come, wanna come, please. Let me — let me come, ma’am,” he cries out when he has enough air in his lungs and sense in his brain. “Be-begging. I’m beg — mmph,” his words die in his mouth and his eyes squeeze tight when you voluntarily squeeze harder around him.

“Begging? Is this how a good boy begs?” You ask, looking at him sternly, not that it lasts long, because when his eyes open into yours, you fold.

“’M sorry, so-sorry,” he apologizes, “please, miss, let me come, let me come inside of you, let me fill you up. You’ll — you’ll feel good, I promise,” his words are all slurred out together, spit drips from his lips down to his chin and neck, and his body is burning up, if it didn’t mean to edge and denying an orgasm to yourself too, you would probably push him farther, curious to see how far he can go. But for now, it’s fine, he’s a good boy, he deserves it, and so do you.

“Please, please, please, ma’am.”

“You’ve been so good, baby. You can come.”

When you give him the green light, his body explodes, his hips even shyly chase the orgasm up against you, fucking back into you lazily. His head rolls back and as soon as your hand sets him free, his hands find your hips, holding them tight, hissing and groaning when you hold yourself up on his chest, nails digging into his skin as your body keeps bouncing up and down, riding your orgasms.

Your body collapses on his, exhausted and boneless just like his, and his arms wrap around it right away while he still sobs and whimpers in the crook of your neck.

“Shh, it’s alright, you’re alright,” you whisper in his ear while your hand caress his hair, wet again but not with water.

“Don’t — don’t pull out,” he whines when you lift your body, “nooo, don’t leave me.”

“I’m here,” you reassure him right away, carrying his body with yours so you lay on the side and can pull him in a hug. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he mumbles, hiding between your chest and neck. “Tha-thank you, mhh, thank you for —” his voice breaks and his sobs get a bit louder as he hides more in your hold.  

“Hey, it’s fine, take your time,” you say, still soothing him with circular movements on his back and soft rubs on his hair.

Jeno wants to talk, he has many things to say, damn, even an explanation to give to you, but he feels his body is heavy, he feels on a cloud, and you are the softness all over him, he feels safe, something he’s not used to feeling. You didn’t get mad at this, you won’t get mad if he falls asleep for a while, right? If he lulls in this sense of comfort and the aftermaths of what happened.

And almost as if you read his mind… “You can sleep if you want,” you say, kissing his forehead gently and rubbing his nape.

And he has no strength to reply as his body falls into a deep sleep.  

When he wakes up, he’s not naked anymore, a big white shirt is around his body, covering just enough so he’s not completely exposed. The mattress is stripped from the dirty sheets and there’s a glass of water on the bedside table, but you’re not next to him.

Jeno almost panics, feeling the post-nut clarity made you run away scared and disgusted, but then the door opens, and you’re there. And it’s the same you he loves deeply. He can breathe again.

“Oh, hi, babe,” you greet with a big smile. You’re holding something in your hands and you’re wearing one of his shirts. “Feeling better?”

Jeno gulps, nodding and smiling at you, words are hard to find.

“Still too fucked out to talk?” You joke, slumping on the bed next to him, handing him the package of his favorite snacks. “Figured you needed some sugar after all that whimpering and squirming.”

“Oh, please, shut up,” he says, hiding his red face behind his hands.

“Hey, you were cute,” you say, grabbing his hands to move them out of the way. “I — I liked it. Did you?”

He nods quickly, okay maybe he’s still a little into that headspace.

You smile and then pout. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about it. I’m always so loud and open about everything I want to try and… it never crossed my mind you might have different needs. I don’t know if you’re hiding anything else, but you can talk to me about everything. I love you and even if I might not be into something I won’t let it be the reason for a break-up, or a fight, or worse, making fun of you,” you say, grabbing his hands. “We can always try and then see the outcome. I mean, all that dominance before was improvisation, I was nervous as fuck too, I just tried to act like you usually do, tell me I was good,” you say, scrunching your face as you wait for his opinion.

Jeno laughs, it’s a genuine laugh, and you can almost see the weight being lifted off his chest. You still feel guilty for not making it feel like you could be a safe place for him, but it’s over now.

“You were really good,” he reassures you. “And… yes, I was a bit afraid of your reaction, but it was also something that had to do with myself. I’m — I’ve always been the strong one since I was a kid and then growing up it also turned into being this big ass man with muscles, so the pressure didn’t help.”

You nod in understanding. It makes you feel a bit less guilty, but you feel like there’s something else. “Is this all?”

“I also always have to be confident, but… I get insecure. I just feel like people are so used to me never making mistakes that they don’t even see my struggles or how hard I work for things, so all my hard work goes unnoticed. But I… I want to be… praised, I want to be told I’m doing good, I want people to tell me they’re proud of me.”

You cup his cheek gently and then kiss his nose, making him giggle. “I’m so proud of you, I tell you that, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do, you’re the only one,” he says, leg bouncing nervously as he tries to find the words. But you’re holding his hand, rubbing circles on his palm and that’s calming him down a bit, or maybe not because he feels like he’s about to cry again.

“Hey,” you caress his chin and then rub your thumb on his cheek, your touch is soft, and his brain shuts off once again. It’s like he’s taking back all the wasted time he had to act tough and don’t melt in your touch. “I’m here, alright? Take your time.”  

Jeno nods, small hums slipping out of his lips before he finds the courage to talk. “I don’t know, sometimes I just… I want to feel small. And I want to be the one getting cuddled and petted, and just taken care of. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love doing that for you, but… I always see you being so carefree when you’re with me and sometimes I get… so, so jealous because you can… you can loosen up, turn your brain off and no one will judge you. But if I do it, if I get… vulnerable in your hands, I don’t know what people will say.”

You caress his cheek before your hand runs in his hair, not only because it’s covering his handsome face again, but also because you learned he likes it a lot, and as expected, he smiles. “Do people need to know?”

He tilts his head and furrows in confusion. “They don’t?”

“I doubt people care about our sexual life, or what we do in our home. So, this can be our secret, at least until you’ll feel comfortable enough to let loose even outside of these walls. If you’ll share this with me, it will be less heavy, right?”

Jeno nods, smiling and pushing back tears.

“Hey, crybaby today, aren’t you? Come here,” you say, pulling him into a hug. He holds you tight, still afraid you might slip from his hold, and breathes deep your scent.

When you pull away, Jeno’s looking into your eyes and you hum to signal him he can talk.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you. Seriously, you made me feel safe and not judged, it means the world to me.”

“It’s the way you make me feel always, I’m glad you could feel that way too. And I proved I can protect you even if I don’t have all your muscles,” you joke, lifting your arm and flexing your not-trained bicep, making him laugh. “But seriously, I would never judge you, and I really love this version of you, so, unleash it more often.”

Jeno smiles widely, his eyes turning up in his usual half-moons, and then he lays on the bed, tapping the space next to him. You beam and crawl next to him, pulling him closer again, his head rests on your chest while your hands caress his hair and you just relax in the silence of the house.

“I love you,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head, his hair tickling you for a second. “And I’ll love every version of you, in any universe.”

Jeno still has a secret, but luckily, he has you to share it with.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @rbf-aceu ; @shiningnono ; @jaeminsbebu | general taglist: @froggyforyoongi , @wingsss45 ; @tddyhyck ; @technologyculturedneo

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