#HE WAS IN FUCKING BR TODAY

[couthbbg]

.

[sludgeguzzler]

Hg. I'm tired

[arminsumi]

. . . Satoru, who doesn't shut up during s★x

► '... yeah, talk like that, all up in my ear when he want that wax, can't even hear when I moan like that!'

+ Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT/18+ ONLY, (primarily) dirty talk, namecalling (baby, sl★t, and one playful instance of 'loser'), br★★ding kink, unprotected s★x, pwp, eludes to facesitting

+ Author's note: been a while since I made some pwp, but I just had a vision of a very verbal Satoru that I needed to express ✌️😗

Satoru's behind you, easing his hips against yours, hands tight on your waist, those blue eyes intently watching the sight of his hard cock disappearing into your tight cunt, savoring the feeling of gliding past your plush lips and pushing up into your guts inch by inch by inch by inch by inch by inch by inch. He's got a cocky, lopsided, downright slappable smile that contorts into an erotic o-shape as he moans in relief — he sounds like he's needed this all day.

And after his first few slutty moans roll out, his mouth doesn't close. He's got a big ego, a big cock and a big mouth and he just doesn't shut up during sex.

He's foul, unfiltered, and unashamed; ".... that greedy little pussy's just swallowing my cock today — yeah, look at you takin' it like you're my personal porn star — huh? Nooo, it's a compliment!" he tops this all off with a smitten kiss, a little bite on your bottom lip, and a sweet "You're just so fucking pretty, makes me curious..." but he trails off, like he just realized now that he can bite his tongue, show a little restraint.

Yeah, that restraint only exists for a short while.

Sweat running down the back of your thighs, Satoru's heavy-hitting thrusts make a sloppy, wet mess between your thighs. While he ruins you like this, he also starts running his mouth, making your head spin deeper into the heat of his intense sex, "Oh baby, take me deeper — fucking take it, yeah, you take that fucking dick... take that nasty fucking dick. J-just let me fuck — your — cunt — dumb — babyyy!" his vocals strain at the end as if your pussy just sucked the breath out of his lungs. He packs his cock as deep into you as he possibly can, cockhead nudging almost too deep inside, only to quickly ease out when you whimper, "Fuck, you good? Sorry, you just feel so fucking good, 'think I'm obsessed with this slutty little hole, 's the only one that can make me this hard. 'Don't stop'? Aw, don't worry... I'm not gonna stop for a while. Yeah, hold your legs back just like that, let me all in, baby."

Honestly, you learned about his breeding kink simply because of Satoru's tendency to blurt things out when he gets too blissed out on sex; "... yeahhh I fucking love you. Keep telling me you love me, 's gonna make me cum so fucking hard — fuck I'm so close, I-I'm so close, I'm gonna cum inside you baby — I'm gonna cum inside you and knock you up — uh-huh, 'gonna nut so fucking deep inside you, you're gonna get pregnant — g-gonna have my babies — oh fuck me, 'm cumming...! Ugh, stay right there and take this fucking nut, baby... fuck... fuck you fucking drained me." he takes a moment to steady his breaths, planting a slap on your ass and staring in silence for a while before he continues, voice softer-toned than earlier, "Hey, still with me, baby? Perk your ass up a little, I wanna watch my cum dribble out. What? That's not perverted... this is art. What are you sighing for? Nah, don't you laugh at me or I'm gonna — fuck you, get on my face, loser, I'm gonna make you cry."

Even outside of the bedroom he still has a nasty word or two just waiting to spill out his mouth — especially the morning after a long, hard night.

His eyes catch on the curve of your hips, he smirks, and he comes up behind you while you're in the kitchen, leans way down and mutters something nasty in your ear just to hear your naughty giggles. "Hey sweet thing, you got a boyfriend? Nah, relax, he doesn't have to know a damn thing..." he asks jokingly, massaging your tiny pussy in his big hands, middle finger dividing your plush lips and rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties — but it all only lasts for a split second of course, he intentionally leaves you wanting more. He'll act dumb if you call him a tease, "Huh? What do you mean 'do something about this'? Did I turn you on? I was just saying good morning, baby, you've got such a dirty little imagination."

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧��! 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

I do not allow the copying/plagiarizing/reposting/translation (etc) of my works. Please don't steal what I've worked hard to create.

[sp4ceboo]

A/N: aaaaaand she's back (i had to get the hard thoughts out before i wrote a full length fic, i'm not sorry)

tw: 18+, smut (afab reader, fingering f recieving, piv sex, praise AND degrading ofc, angry sex, 1 spank, overstim, some dirty dirty talk icl, no protection oh dear), sometimes ken sato is a sad little meow meow but definitely not in this fic, they fuck in the basement but atp emi is on the island dw, tiniest weeniest bit of aftercare at the end

wc: 0.73k

kenji sato is seething.

tonight's game was one of the rare times when the giants had lost, and you can feel his frustration in the urgency with which he touches you, pushing you against the cool glass until your vision is filled with the sea outside, silver glimmers flashing in your eyes as fish dart by.

you can feel his frustration in the tension of his movements as he practically tears your clothes off you, and in the low grunt that sounds from behind you as he roughly yanks off his belt.

most of all, you feel his frustration in the way he runs his calloused hands over your skin, over your curves, grabbing handfuls as if to say this is still mine. i may have lost the game today, but i won this, i won her.

ken presses his hard chest to your back with the same fervor that he presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, tongue and teeth coasting over your skin. the glass is so frigid against your bare breasts that it's almost cutting, but you can't get away; he's right there behind you, raging, burning.

you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it.

there's something addictive in the harsh way he grips your hips, the way he sucks bruising hickeys onto your neck - a promise that he'll fuck you until the loss is no longer on his mind, until all he can think about is your sweet, sweet pussy.

you can't help the pitiful sound that leaves you when he kicks your legs apart, his long fingers giving you less than a second to regain your balance before he's shoving them knuckle deep into your cunt.

'so wet for me, huh?' he asks, and you can hear the lingering venom in his voice. 'such a dirty fucking slut, aren't you? turned on because i'm angry? want me to use you, hm?'

'y - yes, ah, yes i - '

the rest of whatever you were going to say dissolves into a moan, your eyes rolling back as ken pumps his fingers in and out of you fast. you scrabble against the glass for purchase, mouth agape, pleas on your lips. he's unrelenting, giving you so much all at once, giving you no time to adjust, but you know that's how he wants you: floundering, trembling, overwhelmed.

you can feel his fingers curling inside you, cataclysmically so. his thumb is bearing down on your clit, rubbing tight, agonising circles, over and over, and all at once it's enough to send you over and you're shattering into a million pieces, his name a broken cry on your lips.

'that's it,' he croons as you come. 'my good little slut.'

not even a moment later, you feel the nudge of the blunt head of his cock, and you whine, knees weak as you babble at him that you're not ready yet, knees weak as he sheathes himself inside your still spasming cunt. tears come to your eyes then, and his hand cracks down on your ass, your whole body jolting in reply.

'you take what i give you,' he growls in your ear.

'please,' you sob. 'take it out on me.'

at your words, ken groans, low and deep in your ear. you mewl at the drag of his cock against your walls, gasping when he presses your body harder against the icy cold glass, burying himself inside you again and again, his pace punishing.

taking a fistful of your hair, he yanks your head backwards, arching your back more for him as he pounds into you. tears slip down your face as the pleasure turns sharp, overstimulation rubbing your nerves raw as his deft fingers find your clit and set you on fire.

effortlessly, he brings you over the edge again, and you're screaming his name, pussy convulsing around his cock as you writhe in his arms. his thrusts become faster, until you're sure he might break you, and then suddenly he's spilling inside you.

you moan as his strokes finally peter out, resting your sweaty forehead against the glass and going limp. one hand on your waist, supporting you, ken pulls out and scoops you into his arms; you nuzzle into his chest, tucking your head under his chin, and he kisses your hair.

'feeling better now?' you ask.

he laughs. 'of course. you take me so well, baby.'

[dakotalun]

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else. 

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat  a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

[propertyofwicked]

QUIET - LN

max comes home early as lando finds himself in a compromising position with his best friends little sister

-> can be read as standalone of part 2 for first !!

warnings: smut!! MDNI!! bathroom mirror sex, unprotected, somewhat rough but otherwise quite sweet <3

masterlist the playlist

“what if max hears?” the girl asked panicked as lando kissed her roughly, pushing her into the bathroom.

“he’s out, we got time,” he reassured her before kissing down her neck, sucking harshly at the skin of her collar bone as he backed the two of them up against the countertop. her head rolled back granting him more access to her skin. his fingers ran up her skin, toying with the hem of her top before pulling it over her head - he had never been more grateful that she’d foregone wearing a bra today as he watched the way her breasts pulled up with the fabric before dropping back, bouncing slightly.

lando’s lips attached to the skin of her breast, continuing to mark the skin with bruises in his wake, his hand grabbed at the flesh, squeezing at it harshly.

“so perfect,” he mumbled, though y/n was unsure if he was speaking to her, or the nipple that he placed his mouth, running his tongue along it. either way, she let out a breathless moan of his name, her hands reaching to clutch at his curls.

“need you now,” she whined, pulling at his hair for him to rise back to her level, their lips met again, tongues and teeth clashing with the impact.

“so impatient,” he said into her mouth, a hand settled at the base of her neck, squeezing lightly before dropping back to her waist to turn her around. her eyes rolled up, looking at herself in the mirror.

he had her bent over in front of him, ass pushed into his hardening bulge as he fought with the drawstring of her shorts. eventually, he had ridded them both of clothing and was pushing his length into her with little warning - it was slow, but the stretch was unbearable.

“fuck, lan,” she moaned, her head dropping to look at the sink from the feeling.

“eyes on me,” he told her, before setting into a brutal pace as he watched the way her mouth fell open slightly and her eyes fluttered open. her hips bashed against the cold marble of the counter with every thrust, but sensing her discomfort, lando’s hands reached around, settling on the skin of her hips to create a barrier.

lando reached around her to grab her jaw and tip her head back to look at herself in the mirror, the angle causing his cock to hit a deeper spot. he was panting, his voice straining at the feeling of her tightening around him before loosening over and over again.

“you like watching me fuck you?” he asked her, loosening the grip on her jaw to let his rough fingers trail down her body, finally settling on her clit but remaining still allowing his thrusts to push her hips into his fingers.

“more, lan, please,” she whined, watching the way he smirked as she caught on to his teasing.

“so greedy,” he groaned, “so good f’me.”

his fingers ran circles around her clit, their eyes connected through the mirror as she watched herself fall apart around him. y/n felt the familiar waves of pleasure creep up on her, knowing she wouldn’t last much longer. despite knowing he could feel the way her slick coated his length, soaked his fingers and her walls clamped tighter around him, she opened her move to tell him she was close, but in the moment of silence her ears perked up at the sound of a car moving on the driveway. she stayed quiet for a moment, half silenced by the disruption, but mostly by the way lando’s hand pushed her back down, as she arched up into his palm and her cheek rested on the countertop.

“lan, ma- max is home,” she told him, recognising the sound of his footsteps on the gravel and his keychain jingling as he unlocked the front door. though it was pointless, his thrusts remained relentless, pushing deep into her despite his rushed pace - she moaned at the feeling, still trying to push herself up and away at the thought of her brother returning.

“gonna have to be quiet f’me angel - you think you can do that?” he asked her, almost patronisingly. and even though she doubted she could keep quiet as his cock ruined her, she nodded, feeling the way her cheek moved easily against the counter where it lay.

y/n managed to stay quiet for a moment, though lando had accepted max’s unexpected return as a challenge. his hand returned to her clit, using her slick to draw deep circles into the flesh and watching as the pressure on her heat and his cock hitting the same spot repeatedly drove her wild. her eyes had shut tightly, her mouth clamped shut for a moment before her whimpers intensified.

“shush, angel - you don’t want max to walk in and see you bent over the sink for me, do you?” he asked her, albeit knowing she wouldn’t responded. y/n whined quietly at his rough words, her hips rolling back into his slightly - however this was her mistake, as feeling the way lando’s cock hit deeper into her and the way his free hand pressed tightly against her lower stomach had her mouth dropping open, a loud, breathless moan ready to escape.

“or maybe you do?” he teased, loving the way she fell apart around him, struggling to contain herself.

“c-can’t,” she stuttered out.

“that’s ok angel, you want me to help?” he asked her, waiting for her hastened nod, before the hand on her stomach freed itself and pulled at the roots of hair, her entire body lifted with it and fell to rest against his chest. though he wasn’t done yet, the hand freeing her hair moved along her skin teasingly before settling on her face, covering her mouth shut in it’s entirety. his eyes met hers in the mirror, watching as they rolled backwards as he thrust into her. he felt the way she tightened around him again, though this time never letting up her grip around his cock. lando watched as her head rolled back to rest on his shoulder, and felt the way her body started to feel heavy around him.

“you gonna cum for me?” lando asked her quietly, whispering in her ear that his lips rested on, he felt her head nod, the hand over her mouth moving with it, “cum for me angel.”

waves of pleasure took over her entire body, her mind consumed with thoughts about him, and the way he held her body as she shook around him. as she rode out her high, the grip holding her upright slipped, letting her body fall back over to rest on the counter. he thrusted into her a few more times before pulling himself out quickly, grabbing at his length and letting ropes of cum spurt out onto the bare skin of her back as he panted.

their breathing slowed gradually, returning to normal as he cleaned them up.

“you ok?” he asked her, cautious to speak low in case max was nearby, but growing concerned at the way her face seemed void of any thought or feeling.

she nodded at him, still catching her breath as she pulled her top back on, he halted her movement, grabbing at her wrist to force her to stop and raising an eyebrow at her.

“im fine lan,” she told him, a smile finally falling on her lips, “just sore,” she added with a wink before pressing her lips to kiss in a short but sweet kiss.

“Y/N? are you in the bathroom?” max shouted, the two of them tensing before sighing in relief that he was still downstairs.

her fingers moved to open the door, poking her head around it before replying with a quick yeah! why? do you need me for something?

she glanced back at lando, seeing him now clothed and moving his way to wrap his arms around her from behind.

“can you come have a look in the fridge and see what you want for dinner?” max replied, still bellowing up the stairs from where he stood in the kitchen.

“ill be down in a second,” she called back, before turning to face lando whos face wore a dopey smile as he looked down at her, “i suggest you run back to your room now before max catches you.”

“good plan,” he agreed, hands grabbing her face before pressing a series of kisses to her forehead, cheeks and lips and darting off across the hallway. he glanced back at y/n in the bathroom, watching the way she spun around, checking herself from every angle in the mirror he had just brutally fucked her in front of. and as though their thoughts had synced up, lando watched the way her blush rose on her cheeks as she turned to meet his eyes again, the smile still etched on her face.

✧ my inbox is open <3 (even if u just wanna have a chat) ✧

[johnlockdynamic]

mans really hit me with the “my radius for long distance is 5mi” and immediately followed it up with “but [redacted grad school]!!! why am I more happy about this than you!!”

[almostempty]

he knows (lucien x f!reader)

(lucien x f!reader) | wc: 3.2k | other fics | pic from here

UH HEY! I’m just gonna drop this here and scurry away to finish the other lucien one shot that i also started today, ….and then i’ll return to finishing divorced dad rock joel, and responding to all of the lovely people on here–but, like, i really just need this guy in the most emotionally unavailable and fuckable way, i hope one of y'all gets me

tags/warnings/thots: 18+/explicit, smut, toxic ex/fuckboy lucien, sex instead of communicating or processing emotions, angst but we fuckin’ and that’s the whole plot, we hit raw in my fics bc of my imaginary latex aversion or something, crying, biting, dom lucien vibes (? i never know when that’s the right tag), big dash of pls sexy man fuck the feelings away, tell me if there’s something i should add  

– no editing, no thinking, wrote this in a fever dream while staring at one of the new gifs all afternoon, idk his character! I haven’t watched anything! i just saw the chains and the face and let the horny devil in charge of my sole brain cell take the lead, aka he's my barbie, i was trying to challenge myself to just do something short like 1k- but, uhhhh it’s only 3! 

seeking feedback though (as always) so i can improve!! tell me all ur thots pls! 

“I know,” Lucien argues, “but I never meant to hurt you.” 

“I don’t care anymore.” You speak plainly. Small and quiet. Without conviction. Apathetic. Honest. 

“Anymore?” 

“Baby, please.” He looks at you with those stupid round eyes. He’s effortlessly put together like the wrinkles in his silk shirt were approved by a team of stylists to give him a hint of carelessness. Your incessant attraction to an emotionally unavailable man, it pulls you toward him like a bitter fate. Your therapist, Angie, says you need to learn how to find healthy attachment attractive, but if you shudder with disgust at the thought then what’s the point? 

“Just listen to me,” he continues, talking in circles. Apologizing without taking accountability. Explaining away everything. His behaviors, words, decisions. Apparently, he floats through life at the whim of others. Like one of those ugly deep sea creatures, he tempts you like a glowing lure in the dark. Your eyes glaze over, everything shifting out of focus as you dissociate in your living room. No matter how numb you are, he calls to you. 

You aren’t listening to the words. They don’t matter. It doesn’t matter if his tone is sincere or if it’s thick with flattery and empty promises. It’s more basic than that. Simple. The timbre of his voice. Unique to him. Imprinted in the chambers of your heart. A sharp ache spears through you, and something cracks. A fat, hot, tear escapes. With your shoulders drooping, staring at the ground, the tear falls, splashing on the floor. 

When you look up, meeting his eyes, it’s over. Lucien pulls you close, wrapping his heavy arms around your frame, bracing for the crescendo, keeping you steady. Tears stream endlessly, flooding down your cheeks, sticking to your face and his neck as you bury your face into his warm skin. He’s still trying to placate you, speaking nonsense, thinking he can comfort you. Thinking he knows why you’re upset. Thinking he understands you. 

When your therapist asked you to define love you had described it as being understood. Being seen. Being known. Being considered and prioritized. 

Lucien thinks he knows you. Thinks he understands you. Does he think he loves you? 

Following this line of thought hurts. Splitting you open, a raw beating heart, glistening, thumping, full of life, or a meal fresh and hot for a carnivore to tear into with its sharp fangs. Plump muscle, rich and dark, bleeding out, helpless. Snapping back into reality you shake, a violent sob racking your diaphragm as the pads of his fingers massage the back of your neck. Soothing. Coaxing. 

You want it sharper. Rough. Violent. Distracting. Painful. Anything. With wet lashes, swollen eyes, and ragged breath you become fixated. Licking the salty tears from the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, you can feel his muscles and tendons beneath the flesh. So human and alive. He strokes his hand down your spine, attempting to pacify you, but it sparks something lurid and ravenous, instead. 

You graze your teeth along his neck. “What are you doing?” he mutters the question over the top of your head. Maybe he does know you. “What do you need?” He growls, lowly, the hand he traces your spine with trails lower this time. He’s gluttonous and torrid. A hair-trigger to shift from his concern for your pain and the hole in your heart to a sordid desire to mollify you with his fingers and his cock. 

Maybe it’s a perversion, the tangled experience of despair and desire, the duet of anger and arousal, the sick escape using sex to skip over the emotional suffering. But it’s exactly what you want. It’s the root of the fucked up toxicity. Of everything wrong between you. He does know. He does understand. The same heat that flickers in your core sparks in his. 

Voracious and brash. You bite down, sinking your teeth into his neck, igniting a wildfire. An untamable beast. Again and again and again. Biting, sucking, kissing. His skin tender and raw, your lips wet and swollen. You run a hand along the back of his neck, tugging into his hair, anchoring your grip, and pulling a husky groan from his throat. 

“What do you need?” Lucien repeats, this time with a sharper edge. He detaches you from the safety of the crook of his neck. His two hands. Unnecessarily large, warm, and steady brace either side of your jaw, his fingers wrapping behind your neck. He holds you in front of his face. Vulnerable. Messy. Heat radiates from your cheeks. You release a shaky breath. 

“Don’t make me say it.” It’s a whisper. Pleading and demanding at the same time. 

The cocky smirk that spreads on his face is sickening. It makes you want to slap him, to hear the crack of your palm against his cheek. It makes you want to surrender. Soft and pliable, ready to please and earn praise. It makes you want to scream. To bite him so hard you draw blood. To fuck him until he can’t talk. 

You tell him all of it. Exactly what you need, what you want, what you refuse to say. You tell him all through your kiss. The hunger in your lips as you press them to his, the violence on your tongue, the desperate and vulnerable need to be cared for in the soft moans that rise from your chest, from your heart, from the blood in your veins. He chases all of it. The punishment and pleasure. 

He backs you into the kitchen, caging you against the counter like a scene from a movie. Impervious to whatever protest you make as he clears space, blindly sweeping his arm over the counter before lifting you onto it. The edge of the counter digs into your soft thighs, but it doesn’t matter. You’re ready to drown in the vanilla musk and bourbon-spiced scent of him. The bass in his voice that makes your eyes fall shut and your head tip back against the cupboard behind you. The bruising pressure of his grip that he knows you crave. 

“Baby,” he croons. His words are soft and gentle. As if he propped you on the counter to tend to your wounds. But his hands show no mercy. Roughly ridding you of your clothes. Dropping them into a pile on the floor. He’s ruthless with you. In ways you can’t be with yourself. In ways other lovers could never master. Harsh without being cruel. Deliberate without a plan. 

He lets you tug his shirt over his head. Skin to skin the intensity is primal. “Fuck,” is all you can manage to say. The heat is overwhelming, prickling your nerves and sharpening every sensation. Lucien toys with you like it’s his favorite game. Alternating. 

First, palming reverently at the flesh, sweeping his tongue over your hard nipples, and teasing the wet skin with his hot breath. 

You let him make the decisions. Take the lead. You’re done arguing, done thinking, done with the guilt of letting him in the door, done with acting like you’re any better than him. You brace yourself, one palm flat on the counter, the other resting on his shoulder. Taking whatever he gives. 

He switches up. Everything becomes pointed and precise. He sucks marks into your skin on the underside of your breasts. He pinches and flicks the pert bud of your straining nipples. The contact of his fingers, tongue, and teeth sends white-hot jolts of electricity straight to your cunt. He bites down hard enough to make you choke on a moan. Your whine fills the room, twisted with pain and pleasure. 

“You poor thing,” he purrs. Your face is still wet from your tears. But now they’re tears of frustration. “Just a mess.” You reach for his belt, impatient, but he stops you. He’s not done looking. He lifts one of your legs, propping your foot onto the counter and posing you obscenely in front of him. His gaze makes your pussy throb.

He’s torn. 

Studying your face. Everything unsaid in your eyes. The anguish and rage. The acerbic disdain. The nearly imperceptible longing. 

Admiring your sex, spread open for him. Shining with your arousal. Swollen, slick lips so sensitive for him. Your core, fluttering with anticipation, achingly empty without him. 

He holds your chin between his thumb and curled forefinger. His eyes swirl with lust and something you can’t quite place. “You have no idea,” he rasps. “No idea how much it fucking kills me to see you like this. And knowing I’m the reason why.” 

You don’t know if he means it breaks his heart to see the way you suffer or if he means the sight of you dripping on the counter has him so hard it hurts. You don’t know which you’d believe anyway. He’s not hard up to find someone else to torment or to fuck. That thought makes your throat dry. 

“I can’t stay away from you,” he traces his fingers down your soft inner thigh, closer and closer to where you need him. “How could I?” You tip your head to the side, your limbs and head feel heavy, drunk on a cocktail of everything you love and hate about him all at once. 

“Then don’t.” 

Your reply makes him smile again. He’s so handsome when he smiles it’s infuriating. “You could scream at me, kick me out, hate me–but you still let me touch you, you need me to touch you. Why do I love that so much?” 

“You like feeling important.” You let your snarky comment out without thinking. His question was definitely rhetorical. A few emotions flicker across his face before, a dark little smirk curls the corner of his mouth. 

He feeds off of your challenge. “There she is.” 

“I never left,” you snap, frustration spilling over. He laughs, loose and easy. 

“Listen to me,” Lucien says, low and velvety. Subduing you with the tension and proximity. “I know. You want me to use you. Like you’re my toy. Until you can’t keep those beautiful eyes open.”

“Yes.” 

“I know.” He echoes. Then he closes the gap, kissing you with affection. Holding himself back, but you aren’t reserved. You’re greedy; you want it harder. He just said he’d ruin you, why is he being so gentle? He pulls back with something sincere in his eyes. A whimper falls from your lips, pouty and baffled. 

“Gonna fuck you like I’m trying to ruin you, baby.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Sometime soon, hopefully? You don’t snap again, answering with another yes. 

He leans in, breath fanning hot over your ear. “But, we both know that tonight you’re the one using me. Ruining me. I’m your toy.” 

Your breath hitches at that. You mouth I know in response, not even able to whisper it. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He nips your ear lobe and you loose a surprised cry before gasping out his name. 

He’s swift now. Purposeful. Undoing his belt, shoving his pants down and revealing his cock. Reflexively your hips tense and shift. Just looking makes you salivate. He runs his thumb over the bead of precome, drawing it along his length. 

He knows how you want it. His fingers can coax you to an orgasm in no time, but you don’t want that. You want the resistance, the stretch, the dull ache, and intensity as your muscles work to let him in deeper. Nobody makes you feel the way he does. Full. Complete. Mindless. 

It could be pornographic, vulgar, raunchy. The way he pushes your inner thigh further open with one hand while he uses the other to languidly stroke himself. The way he grips himself so tightly like he’s punishing himself. The way his jaw hangs slack and he mutters under his breath about how badly you need him. 

To you, however, it’s a profound admission. A candid confession. The more he goads you the more it solidifies that he’s the one that needs you. That it flows so easily from him because he’s really talking about himself. 

“You say you don’t care anymore, but look at you now, baby.” He shifts closer, at counter height you’re aligned perfectly. He glides the head of his cock up and down the folds of your soaked cunt. You shudder and moan, mesmerized by the sight. 

“It’s almost sad how much you need me, like you can’t breathe without this,” he keeps talking. 

He demands that you watch, as if there was a chance you could stop, as he lines up and sinks into you. You groan in unison. You’re so tight, he draws back out. Repeating the same motion, feeding his cock into you deeper and deeper each time. Your hot, plush walls pulse around him, adjusting. When he finally meets the end of you, he hums, pleased. “You feel that?” 

You bob your head, nodding, agreeing. “Yes.” Your voice is breathy. “Perfect.” You grind against him as if you could take him any deeper, begging him to move with your needy display. It’s wholly overwhelming as is, every nerve within you alight as his cock kicks within you, tensing with the same craving to move. 

He takes your hand in his, nestling your fingers around him. Somehow he feels even larger than he looks, like he shouldn’t be able to fit inside of you, but here you are feeling it and seeing it for yourself. Slowly, Lucien tilts his hips, almost pulling out of you completely before plunging in with force. He keeps up the tantalizing pace, guiding you to touch yourself. He watches your fingers with rapt attention, bracing a hand on your hip to keep you in place as he drives into you with another snap of his hips that edges you closer. 

He gradually speeds up, a master at tempering his desire. Your hip flexor aches as you hold yourself in place but it doesn’t matter. You find your rhythm as he holds steady at a pace that has him landing brutal thrusts that force the words out of your lungs. Soft oh’s and fuck’s pour out of you, under your breath, adding fuel to the fire blazing between you. 

Lucien savors your chanting and the image of you fixed in place, taking him eagerly. Your fingers move with urgency, chasing the release that looms closer and closer. Your mind is blissfully blank, reduced to something animalistic, removed from the burden of your history. “Don’t stop,” you plead, “I’m so close.” 

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you at the same pace, all the way through it. As you contract around him, when everything pulls taut and snaps within you, crying out his name, when it’s too sensitive and you whip your hand away, and as you shudder and breathe deeper and deeper. As the ache in your legs from being spread wide open returns and your ass feels numb where the edge of the counter digs into your flesh. Another tear spills from the corner of your eye, but you can’t say what it’s from anymore. 

When you fidget, he stops moving, letting you readjust. A sheen of sweat glistens all over your chest and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how loud the slick noises between you are. How easy it is to get lost in Lucien's hot and heavy magnetism. You know you were falling apart before he propped you up on the counter, but you’re sure you’re a complete wreck now. 

Lucien pulls out but then leans against you, pinning the length of his cock between you, hot, slick, and messy against your sweat-damp skin. He floods your senses, all you can see, hear, and smell. Caging you in his hand find a possessive hold on you, one wrapped around the back of your neck, one wrapped tight around your thigh as you hitch it around his hip. 

“You feel good?” he asks. You hum in agreement. You do feel good. You know he’s not done yet, and smile wide, still hungry for more. “How good?” he asks and you know there’s something coming next. 

“So good.” You trail a hand between you, drawing a line down his chest and back up to cradle his cheek in your palm. Something about the prickle of his facial hair along your palm feels so natural, domestic, and sweet. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek, nuzzle against his ear, and ask him to take you to bed. But you can’t. You’ll never have that. Instead, you bait him. “I think you’re holding back though, I know you can fuck me harder than that.” 

He scoffs, unamused, blowing a hot puff of air between you. His fingers dig deeper into your thigh, applying the kind of pressure that stirs arousal low in your belly. 

The dark glint in his eye gives you butterflies. “I will, Baby,” his rumbling voice is innately sensual, but the condescension in his tone makes you tingly. You’re so close to him that you can feel his heart beating in his chest, you can feel the same pulse thrumming in his cock, still flush against you as he slants his lower half along yours. He’s all things heavy and firm, strong and sculpted, yet fitting so naturally against you. You need more, wriggling and squirming against him, you can’t contain the restlessness. 

“You know,” he says slowly, drawing your eyes back to his. “You can keep trying to move on, but no one else will ever know you like this. No one else will ever ruin you the way I do. You can tell me you don’t care anymore, but you’ll never let anyone else in the way you let me. They won’t touch that part of you, the one that’s mine—because it’ll always be mine.” 

It trickles through you slowly until your blood feels like it’s boiling. They’re tears of anger now. It’s like a sick double entendre. 

“I know,” your words are steeped in every emotion cascading through you. 

You don’t know if it’s worse that he’s right. That there’s a Lucien-shaped mark imprinted on your heart that will never fade. Or if it’s worse that he doesn’t even know it applies to him just the same. That he always comes back because he’s trying to fill the same void. 

Maybe he does know. Maybe he does know and this is all he can do to make it up to you. 

Maybe that’s why he leads you to your bedroom and lives up to his word. 

Why he fucks you so hard you see stars. Why he doesn’t stop even after he comes deep inside of you with a possessive always gonna be mine. Why he litters your skin with more false promises and confessions. Why he gives you so many orgasms you lose track. 

Maybe that’s why he’s still there when the sun starts to peek through your window. Why he fucks you slowly when you’re too tender and exhausted to take him any harder until you’re floating in limbo between a dream and reality. Why he stays there, just cradling your back into his chest and listening to the rhythm of your breath. 

Maybe he does know. 

PLEASE COME YELL WITH ME ABOUT THIS FICTIONAL GUY BC I NEED HIM IN A SUPER NORMAL WAY or tell me if my writing was incoherent or if you can't relate to the toxic ex that is still the best fuck of your life (cruel and twisted fr)

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

tags for the babes that let me annoy them with my thots <3

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin

[toruro]

— ✧ the cake in the back

pairing. choi seungcheol x reader

description. cheol is a regular at your bakery, and it's all because his son loves the banana bread you make—at least that's what he tells himself. it also doesn't hurt that you're cute. and polite. and totally someone he'd like to fuck.

genre. smut, fluff

tags. rich dilf cheol, bakery owner reader, or4l (f receiving), car s3x, kitchen s3x, pet names (angel), cr3ampi3, aprons ... hehe

w/c. 3.8k+

a/n. IGNORE THE TITLE OKAY I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY. look i know it's corny and i literally am writing this on a whim but happy father's day

"soobin's not with you today?" your voice is cheery and gentle when you greet your regular.

mr. choi smiles and shakes his head. "shocking, i know," he laughs in that deep and velvety tone that has you bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet out of pure giddiness.

"a pleasant surprise," you reply, putting on some gloves as mr. choi approaches the counter. it's near closing, and it's around that time of day where people usually don't come in as much, so you've been alone and just cleaning up the space yourself. "what can i get you, mr. choi?"

the handsome man chuckles, flicking his wrist as he pushes some hair back, the reflective surface of his wrist watch (that you definitely don't want to know the price of because it might just make you pass out) glinting under your bakery's warm lights. "thought i told you to stop calling me that. seungcheol is much better considering ..." he searches for the words for a moment. "... we see each other so regularly," he concludes.

"i've got to maintain some level of professionalism, don't you agree, mr. choi?" you tease. "the regular, i'm assuming? two banana breads?"

"you already know it."

grinning, you nod and pull up a box. "how's soobin? i haven't seen him or you in a while. i'm starting to miss my favorite customer."

"i'm sure soobin would be flattered to hear that. he's doing well, i couldn't bring him today since he's got a swimming class this evening," seungcheol explains, pulling out his wallet that's donned in some brand name that looks so expensive you don't even know how to pronounce it. you move down the counter grab some of the bread which is on your far left, and he walks down on the other side to match you, keeping up the conversation.

"ah yes. he seems to be around that age to start learning. better now than never, honestly. my younger brother didn't learn until he was older and it did not seem easy," you say with a giggle, bringing out the tongs to grab two small loaves.

seungcheol nods in agreement. "that, and i'm planning on taking the two of us on a vacation spot in a few months ... not sure where yet, but soobin's been wanting to go to a beach location for ages," he tells you, and your heart swells.

the image of soobin and seungcheol, goofing around on a beach send a warm feeling through your body. it's also maybe an added plus that there's a flicker in your mind of what seungcheol would look like in nothing but swim trunks, skin shining from the water under the beaming sun, dark hair splayed across his forehead.

you wonder what he's hiding beneath that plain, beige t-shirt of his. his arms are somewhat exposed, and from just the little bit of muscle that peeks out and flexes when he moves around, you think you can safely assume he's got much more going on in the places where your eyes can't reach.

realizing he's still right in front of you, you blink down hard as an attempt to pull yourself back into reality, eyes flickering up at the handsome man in front of you.

"s-sounds fun," you say honestly, packing the bread and handing it to him over the counter. in this moment, seungcheol catches sight of the apron you've got on. it's light pink and hugs your figure so nicely, he can't help but comment on it.

"new apron, huh?"

shyly, you look down and nod. you hadn't expected him to notice. "uh, yeah. my employees got it for me as a birthday gift, actually."

seungcheol furrows his brows as he hands you his card so you can charge him. "it's cute. was your birthday, um, recent?"

you nod casually, tapping at your machine for a second before handing back his card, trying to ignore the way his comment first comment has your stomach flipping and flopping around. "yeah, it was a few days ago."

"i'm sorry, i didn't know," he says sincerely, causing you to frown.

"hey, don't worry about it. it's not something i expect my customers to know and—"

"let me treat you to something," seungcheol says abruptly, cutting you off mid-sentence. he realizes after that it's a bit rude, but something about the way you brush him off as just a customer makes him feel the need to prove you wrong.

"i—i'm sorry?" you ask, and for a moment seungcheol almost mistakes your confusion for apprehension, but then he drinks in the way you look up at him curiously, lips slightly parted, and he relaxes.

"you're closing soon, right? let me ... treat you to something," he repeats. "a coffee or something, if you don't mind."

"oh, i can't possibly impose like that, especially when you've got to pick up soobin and—"

"i wouldn't be offering if you were imposing. he's getting picked up by my friend anyways—his son and soobin are going to have a play date and stuff and—" he's rambling, seungcheol knows that, but he can't seem to care. "basically what i'm saying is you don't have to worry about that. seriously. wait—not that i'm forcing you. you can totally say no, i just ..." he sighs, "don't want you to say no because you think you'll be imposing. 'cause you won't be."

when you smile brightly up at him, eyes glittering and laugh cheery, a wave of relief washes over seungcheol. "i—thank you for the reassurance. i'd love to get coffee, but i do have around twenty more minutes before closing and i still have some stuff i need to clean up and i'm not sure if you—"

"i'll wait." he pauses, then adds, "and help."

you're a bit apprehensive at first—a customer helping you out with closing? but you're quick to learn that once cheol has his mind set on something, it isn't the easiest to pull him away from it—and right now cheol is determined to treat you, as he put it.

the next forty-five minutes is spent with you directing seungcheol around your bakery. he's a surprisingly fast learner and before you know it, all the pastries are loaded in the back, the dishes are cleaned, your floors are swept, and suddenly you find yourself outside of your shop with the doors locked, standing next to seungcheol who watches with you a clouded expression.

"thank you so much for the help," you say bashfully. "you're already taking me—" is it too soon to say he's taking you out? oh well, what's done is done. "—taking me out. isn't this a little too much?" you joke, wiggling your brows.

seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head, pulling his eyes out of his pocket and twirling around the chain around his fingers. fuck, he has really nice fingers—

seungcheol's voice interrupts your thoughts "do you have a car or—"

"i usually take the bus home," you explain, rocking back and forth on your feet. cheol frowns, but doesn't say anything. maybe he can fix that, but that's an thought for another time as he points at his suv, all black from top to bottom, with tinted windows and full black wheels.

there's a silence that envelopes the two of you when you slip into the passenger seat, placing your work bag on the floor. seungcheol is already in the driver's seat, key stuck in but not turning on the engine just yet.

you glance between the sight of your bakery out the window, and back at seungcheol who already has his gaze on you.

"you're going to have to be transparent with me for a second," seungcheol says seriously, locking eyes with you as you shift your body to face him. "and i want to make sure we're on the same page about ..." about whatever is going to go down.

you bite down on your lip, and even though cheol knows you're doing it absentmindedly, he can't help but feel his pants grow tighter at the way it puffs up when your teeth release it.

"i ... i think you know we're on the same page," you reply shyly, shifting a little in your seat to try and make up for the silence.

"you want this?" cheol clarifies, one eyebrow cocked up.

a feeling of pride swelters in his chest when you reply without hesitation, "i do." and then a bit more quietly, you add, "i, uh, have for a while."

now cheol usually likes to tread lightly; he doesn't want to mess around and is great at keeping his dick in his pants but there's just something about the way you look at him so cutely.

you look at him like you know all the nasty things he wants to do to you, and you bat your eyelashes like you don't care—like you'd let him. like you'd take every damn thing he gives you without a single word of complaint, and it's driving him crazy.

again, cheol is great at keeping his foot on the brake, but then you swipe your tongue over your bottom lip and suddenly he's slamming his feet on the accelerator.

wrapping one hand around your neck, he pulls you to smash his lips onto yours. it's a gentle kiss—tentative, as if you're both testing the waters. pressing against each other as your faces tilt, your hands find purchase in his hair when cheol laps at your bottom lip. that's where it all takes off.

the kiss turns from innocent and sweet to sloppy and fast within a matter of moments and suddenly you're grappling at his arms, his hands are searching for your tits, gripping at the flesh and before you know it, you're being thrown to the back.

seungcheol nearly slams your back down onto the seats, your loose shirt riding up your stomach in the process to reveal the lower half of your bra. "fuck," he mutters, low and under his breath in that raspy sort of way that has your clothes feeling too hot and your cunt too empty.

"seungcheol," you moan, unbuttoning your work pants and shoving them off your legs, along with your panties in one go, leaving your wet cunt open and bare. he doesn't take a moment to shuffle back and bring his face down to be level with your core, eyes looking up at you with some kind of mischievous glint that has your stomach churning.

with a bit of hesitance, he places a soft kiss over your clit, watching you carefully to see how you react. when you whine and arch your back against the leather seats, he figures that that reaction is good enough, and this time lets his tongue out, swiping it against the throbbing bad.

"sweet," he murmurs, lips moving down against your folds. the movement and vibrations send sparks through your core and up your spine, and you shudder at the feeling as one hand flies down to grip at his dark hair. "so fuckin' sweet," he repeats before diving his tongue back, swiping it up and down between your folds.

"ah-h-h, seungcheol—fuck," you whimper when he presses the wet muscle flat against your drooling hole, continue to circle around and tease you. fervently, cheol—to put it bluntly—makes out with your cunt. digging his face in between your legs, his nose brushes against your clit when he adjusts his neck to lap and suck against unexplored areas, leaving you mewling into your arm as you try and sit still for him.

there isn't much room in the back, and to be frank, your limbs are in an uncomfy position, and you can only imagine the strain cheol is feeling, bent over and legs in an awkward position when he holds your hips and pulls you closer so he can smother himself in your pussy. he doesn't seem to mind though, lifting his head every few moments to grin up at you with hazy eyes, glossy lips, and a drenched chin, off-handedly commenting something dirty about how nice you taste, how he could live between your legs, how you're driving him fucking insane.

it's the meticulous flicks of his tongue, the deep and guttural words that escape his honeyed lips, and the girth of his fingers when he finally plunges them into your warm cunt that bring you to your edge. it only takes a few rubs and curls against your aching walls before your shaking, crying out his name as you thrust upwards, holding his face down so you can grind against him.

and he whispers the words, "cum angel," so sweetly—a complete contrast to the way his tongue is scooping up all your arousal—and so you cum like you never have before.

fuck my life, you think to yourself as the waves of your orgasm finally hit you. cheol rides you through the high, and he does it good. so good, you're left breathless when he pulls away from your cunt with a dopey smile and feather light kisses all up your thigh and stomach, and then finally your lips.

"my place?" he asks, stroking your cheek gingerly as you blink up at him. and when you nod hazily, he pats you lightly, helping you back to the passenger seat before helping you slip on your panties and pants back on. this time, when cheol gets back into the driver's seat, he places one hand on the steering wheel, the other secure over your still quivering thigh. "relax angel," he murmurs, and you can't help but burn at the gentle words. this can't be the same man who ate you out like you were damn piece of cake just moments earlier.

the drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. if anything, you're fucking enthralled. when he stops at a red light, cheol looks over at you and when your eyes meet you can't help but giggle together until you're cheeky, grinning mess by the time you pull up to his house.

parking in the lavish drive way, cheol tells you to hold on for a second, getting out of the car and making his way to your side, to open the door for you.

"i didn't know that this what you meant by coffee," you giggle, stumbling out next to him and letting him wrap an arm around your waist to help you up the steps to his house. it's a beautiful estate, really, but you aren't too focused on admiring the luxury right now—you're much more interested in what's to come between you and cheol.

and you're about to find out soon enough because as soon as he opens the door, lets you in, and closes it behind you, cheol's hands are all over you. with your eyes closed as you two engage in a hot mess of tongue and teeth and lips, your rocking back and forth in his arms, his legs leading to you to some place you're not really aware of until you feel something hard and cool press against your lower back.

"wear the apron," cheol tells you firmly when he pulls away, pressing you against his cold stone counter. you knit your eyebrows together in confusion, but let your bag that's still on your shoulder drop onto the counter, taking out your apron without hesitation.

it's now that you realize you're in his kitchen. if you weren't in such a ... intimate setting, you would have admired the design, the appliances—all of it. perhaps you'd even wonder what it's like to bake in here, cooking up soobin's favorite banana bread with cheol by your side and—you save those thoughts for another time.

"w-why?" you murmur in response to cheol's request, as you pull the apron out, pulling the pink strap over your head, tying it behind your back as the ache between your legs begins to creep up on you again. cheol's big hands find purchase on your hips again, holding down you down with a firm grip as he turns you around and pushes your back down.

"'cause," he grunts out, and you nearly moan when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and fabric rustling as he shoves his pants and boxers down. it hardly takes a second before his hands are at the hem of your own pants, yanking them down and giving you a moment so you can step out of them.

you wiggle your ass around for a second, turning to look back at cheol with pleading eyes and ask him to just fuck you already, but then he locks a hand under your jaw, cupping the underside of your face and pulling it up so your back arches into his touch. you can feel the angry, hard head of his cock prodding against the plush of your ass and the feeling of him brush against you has you whining.

"patience, angel," he coos, pressing his face next to the shell of your ear and placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head before easing his way through your folds. you can't even see him but you just know he's big—fat length rubbing up and down your folds as he coats himself in your arousal as you whisper incoherent pleas for more.

"cheolie ..." the nickname slips from your lips with out as much as a brainless thought but it has cheol's head rewiring.

"fuck, say that again," he demands, snaking the hand that's not holding your face down your back until it's gripping the cute little bow of your apron.

you hum as you feel him tugging at the fabric, jerking your body backwards and pushing your cunt harder against him, the fat tip brushing against your sensitive clit. "cheolie!" you mewl again, and you're really not expecting the way he jams his cock into you in one go. not that you're complaining of course.

'cause how could you complain when he's stretching you out so nicely? when his cock is so long it's already hitting kissing your cervix and hitting spots inside of you that you didn't even think were possible to reach? when he's so deep that his balls are pressed against your burning core and his pelvis is flush against your ass?

"you feel so good," cheol moans, and you squeeze around him even tighter when you hear the low, gruff words escape his lips. "this pussy was made for me, huh?" he breathes out with a chuckle, as he pulls out halfway before pulling the strings of the apron so your core meets him halfway, slamming his cock back into you.

"oh god," you moan loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try and swivel your hips against his for some added stimulation.

"gonna think abt this every time you wear this, won't you?" cheol grunts, twisting his fingers around the bow in the back so he hold onto it tighter.

the thought runs through your fucked out mind for a moment; you're gonna have to walk into work tomorrow, and if you're wearing the apron, you'll have to sit through the day knowing that you had cheol's cock buried inside of you under this same fabric—if you aren't wearing it, you'll have to come up with an excuse for your lovely employees as to why you're not wearing their precious gift.

which option you're going to go with, though, is swept from your mind when cheol sticks a finger into your mouth and presses down on your tongue as he fucks into you harder.

what a moment, you think. getting railed on the counter of a man who you always thought was out of reach. your insides feel like jelly as his fat cock runs against your walls, veins and curves pressing and dragging through you as heat envelopes you.

and as his thrusts increase in force, you start to realize that cheol is nothing if he is not relentless. just when you think you've whimpered his name so much you think you might lose your voice, he's ramming into you harder, punching the air right out of your lungs as broken moans and squeaks that have him losing his damn mind.

"what a fuckin' angel, creaming me cock so well," he praises, yanking you back and forth at an unforgiving pace to match his calculated thrusts. you feel like you're being thrown around in the best way possible, body throttling every time his hips crash against your ass and cause you to lurch forward and arch your back even more.

and as he goes on, the rub of his cock against you, the press of his balls against your clit, his hand in your mouth and pressing against your jaw—it's all so much and so fast and so good until you're shaking and thrashing in his hold.

"mmf—cheolie, wan' cum," you choke out when you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"yeah? my pretty angel's gon' cum on my cock?"

"yeah-huh," you answer dazedly, body jerking back and forth as his hips snap more haphazardly now, but still hitting that one sweet spot that has your vision going bleary. "can i cum, cheolie?"

and you ask him so fucking sweetly, he can't hold it in anymore, dazedly grunting out something along the lines of, "yeah, angel, cum f'me," before he spills his hot seed inside of you. the sensation of his cum painting your walls white is the final thing you need before joining cheol with your own orgasm, clenching around him so tightly that it has him gripping down on your hips in a way that you know you'll have bruises tomorrow. not that you mind.

how could you, when you just had the most mind blowing orgasm of your life with the hottest guy you've ever met. as you twitch against him, cheol finally pulls himself out and you whimper lowly at the feeling of being empty even though you know you'd probably pass out if you had his dick in you any longer.

gently, cheol strokes your back and caresses the taught muscles, untying the apron that quite literally had you in a chokehold, letting it fall from your figure. "'m sorry," he murmurs into your neck, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, "was i too rough?"

"n-no," you say, face burning when you realize just how croaky and fucked your voice has become. cheol only laughs at you as you dig your face into your hands as you mumble bashfully, "it was ... great." you're slightly embarrassed, yes, but when you catch the look of endearment on cheol's face, you start to think twice.

as you both attempt to even out your breaths, cheol looks down at you panting against the counter, cum spilling out of your fluttering folds. vaguely, he wonders what you'll look like in a bikini in the bahamas. huh, he thinks, maybe he'll have to ask soobin if it's okay to bring an extra certain someone with them on their vacation this summer.

a/n. how i managed to get this out in one day i don't know. the cheol effect i guess. anyways, hope u enjoyed!

tags. @xcynthiaaa @synthetickitsune @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @blinkjunhui @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @marzmeltdown @todorokiskitten (strikethrough could not be tagged)

[lumiolivier]

Our Treasure

Series: One Piece

Chapter: One Shot

Word Count: 2150

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Cross Guild x Reader (YN)

Things were quiet in Mihawk's castle. With the whole Cross Guild there, quiet was very, very concerning. Especially when both their treasure and their clown go missing

a/n: I wanted some Cross Guild shenanigans. Is that so much to ask for?

When things were quiet with the Cross Guild, that was never a good thing.  Although, Mihawk and Crocodile would be lying if they said they didn’t appreciate the quiet.  The two sat in the study in Mihawk’s castle, Mihawk indulging himself in a glass of wine while Crocodile sat back with a fresh cigar.  It took them a moment to realize the quiet in the room.  Or even worse, the emptiness.  Mihawk’s eyes were deep in a glass of red when it dawned on him.

“Crocodile…” he watched as the wine sloshed around in his glass, “it’s quiet.”

“That seems to be the rumor,” Crocodile blew a cloud of smoke out, “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Mihawk shook his head, “But have you seen the treasure today?”

“Not since this morning,” Crocodile shrugged, “Why?”

“Because I haven’t seen our treasure since early this afternoon,” Mihawk told him, “And I don’t know about you, but things are quiet.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Mihawk,” Crocodile let it go, “You’re overthinking.”

“I don’t think I’m overthinking,” Mihawk put the pieces together, “Because it’s quiet, Crocodile.”

“So, what?” Crocodile tapped his ashes on the floor, much to Mihawk’s dismay, “We don’t have Marines on our ass.  The Strawhats are leaving us alone.  As far as I’m concerned, that’s a win in my book.”

“Under any other circumstances, I’d agree with you,” Mihawk admitted, “But…Aren’t we usually a trio?”

“And we haven’t seen the pain in the ass clown either,” Crocodile tipped his hook, to Mihawk, “Hot damn, it’s a good day.”

“And,” Mihawk realized he had to spell it out for him, “We don’t know where the treasure is.”

And that’s when it hit him, “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit is right,” Mihawk scoffed, “Now, am I still overthinking?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Crocodile bit the inside of his cheek.

And Mihawk stared blankly back at him, “Did you even believe that when it came out of your mouth?”

“No.  Not a word.”

“Now,” Mihawk got up from his chair, “What do you think our next plan of action should be?”

Crocodile put out the rest of his cigar in the arm of Mihawk’s chair to join the collection of all the others.  Again, much to Mihawk’s dismay, “We need to find that fucking clown.”

Meanwhile, in a much more secluded corner of Mihawk’s castle, Buggy holed himself up with that precious treasure that the whole Cross Guild wanted kept as safe as possible.  However, Buggy grew jealous.  He didn’t get nearly as much time with it as Crocodile or Mihawk.  And he just wanted some quality time with it, too.  Was that a crime?  Of course, it wasn’t.  He just wanted some time alone with their greatest treasure…You.

“You do know,” Perona floated above you both, “If either Crocodile or Mihawk find you two up here, you’re screwed, right?”

“Ahh…” Buggy brushed her off, “What are they going to do?  It’s me!  They need me.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Perona teased him.

“That’s not nice,” Buggy pouted, sending his foot to chase after her, “Besides, it’s not like I held a gun to your head and forced you up here, right, doll?”

“Of course.” Ever since the Cross Guild found you washed onshore on the beach outside the castle, it was Mihawk who fought to keep you around.  There was something he found strangely interesting about you, but he could never put his finger on it.  Even after being with them for the last six months, he still didn’t know what clicked in his brain to make him want to keep you.  Perhaps it was that pretty face.  Perhaps it was the bite in your voice when you tried to tell him you’d rather die than be forced to collude with pirates.  And yet, those particular pirates…You grew attached.

“That’s the spirit,” Buggy sat down with a big case next to him and a brush in his hand.  And his foot reattached.  You would be his greatest canvas, “You’re just jealous, ghosty.  You wish you were down here with me instead.”

“Please,” Perona rolled her eyes, “I’d much rather go through death several times over than have to deal with you.”

“Ouch,” Buggy clutched his chest, “Hurtful, Perona.  Hurtful.  I do have feelings.”

“And you seem to be under the impression I care about them,” Perona brushed him off.

“Alright,” Buggy pushed your hair out of your face and skimmed for a pallete, “Where were we?”

“We were playing fuck, marry, kill.” You remembered.

“That’s right,” Buggy nodded, “Alright…I got nothing.”

“I got one!” Perona chirped, “Fuck, marry, kill.  Mihawk, Crocodile, Buggy.  Go.”

“Oh, come on, Perona,” you whined, “That’s not fair!”

“Why’s it not fair?” Perona teased you.  Because she knew far too much, “It’s just a simple hypothetical.  I’m sure you can handle that much.”

“And…” You knew this couldn’t end good.  You had fallen in love with each of them for their own different reasons.  To rank them in something even as simple as a hypothetical felt wrong, “This is purely hypothetical?  And won’t make anything weird?”

“Oooh!” Perona sang, “It’s going to be good!”

“Buggy,” you glared in Perona’s direction, “Can you send your foot after her again?”

“Of course, doll,” Buggy sent off his right foot and let it chase after Perona again.

“What the hell, clown?!” Perona ran off from Buggy’s foot, “I didn’t ask for this!”

“Ok,” you decided, “And no hard feelings?”

“Not one,” Buggy promised, “You could do no wrong, doll.  You’re good.”

“Come on, YN,” Perona’s persistence wasn’t exactly your favorite sometimes, but you had gotten used to it.  It was just the way she was, “You’re avoiding the question.”

“It’s alright,” Buggy let it slide, “I think I know which way you’re leaning.  Shut your eyes for me.”

“Alright,” you did as he asked hand braced yourself for what came next.  And it wasn’t just Buggy lining your eyes, “Fuck Crocodile, marry Mihawk, kill Buggy.”

“What the fuck?” Buggy squeaked, “What did I do?”

“Interesting,” Perona laid on her belly, her feet in the air…much like the rest of her, “I’m going to need an explanation.”

“Me, too!” Buggy whined.  You could feel him painting little x’s next to your eyes.  You knew he wouldn’t do anything stupid.  That meant bringing down Mihawk and Crocodile’s combined wrath. And the fist of God was not something Buggy wanted today.

“Alright,” you began, “We’ll start with fucking Crocodile.  Tell me you wouldn’t.”

“He’s definitely not the worst looking creature on the face of this earth,” Perona agreed, “I mean…What that hook do?”

“Take it from someone who’s ridden that ride,” you flashed Perona a mischievous little grin, “That hook do plenty…That cold metal in the right spots…Fuuuuuuuck, it does something for me.”

“Ooh!” Perona clutched her chest, “YN, you kinky little minx.  Just when I think I can’t love you more.”

“And that’s before the main event,” you swooned, “That man makes a horse feel inadequate.  To use the baby’s arm holding an apple analogy doesn’t come close.  And he knows just how to use it.  You get fucked by Crocodile, you don’t forget it.  But getting fucked by Crocodile could also induce amnesia.”

“Fair,” Perona allowed, “Alright.  Marry.  Go.”

“Mihawk,” you went on, “Marry Mihawk.  Hundred percent.  And with Mihawk, it comes down to more than just sex.  Not that I doubt Crocodile’s ability to take care of me, but Mihawk could probably take better care of me than Crocodile.  And the sex between them?  Crocodile is like a once, maybe twice in a lifetime fuck.  Crocodile is the birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day fuck.  Those three times a year and I’m good.  Mihawk?  Mihawk is the most incredible and gentle lover.  And when it comes down to it, sweet, sweet love from Mihawk is going to keep me going longer than a down and dirty fuck from Crocodile.”

“And yet,” Buggy stared you down.  He didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little hurt.  However, it was Buggy.  He knew how to turn it around, “You’ve slept with all three of us and you’re still going to pick the others over me?”

“Sorry, Buggy,” you wrapped your legs around Buggy’s waist, hoping a little grinding in his lap would make things better, “You just got caught up in the crossfire.”

“So,” Buggy wondered, balancing you on his lap, “How would you do it?”

“What?”

“How would you do it, doll?” Buggy asked, pushing your hair out of your face, “You said you’d fuck Hooky, marry Hawkeyes, and kill me.  So, how would you kill me?”

You knew Perona liked to call you a kinky minx, but you knew who the real kinky one was here.  You knew Buggy was into some things.  And that was his business…Until he made it your business.  So, you knew the more details you could put into it, the better, “Hmm…That’s a good question.  It all boils down to if I want to get away with it or not.  Because I could just go the easy, boring route and say I’ll throw you to the sea and let her take you.  But that’s the boring way.”

“And I know,” Buggy cradled your cheek in his palm, “My little doll knows better than that.  If I’m going to go out and at your hand, no less, I better go out spectacularly.”

“Depends,” you thought, “Would you be putting up a fight or would you accept your death execution style?”

“I’d be accepting of my death,” he decided, “Now, what should I be expecting?  Because I’ve always thought an electric chair would be a fun way to go out.  Sparkling until the end.”

“Sparking until the end, silly,” you giggled, your head on his shoulder, “How would I kill you…?  I think I’d start with slow torture.  You on the rack…My knives on your body…”

“Those aren’t going to work, sweetheart,” Buggy teased you.

“Just the skin,” you went on, “I’d leave so many pretty little cuts on you…But then, because I know damn well I can’t cut you up without you reforming, I think I’d be merciful.  A hand on your throat while I ride you until your heart stops.”

“My, my, YN,” Buggy blushed a bit, “You spoil me.  Really?  All that for little ol’ me?  Death by sex?”

“Erotic asphyxiation,” you left a kiss on his cheek, “What a beautiful way to go out.”

“Way to have your cake and eat it too,” Buggy left a little trail of kisses down your neck, “You get to fuck me, then kill me.”

“I kill you by fucking you,” you clarified.

“Alright, before I hurl,” Perona rolled her eyes, “Is that good enough?  Did you get what you wanted?”

“I think so.”

“Wasn’t talking to you, YN,” Perona sighed out, “Are you going to keep standing in the hall, Mihawk, or are you going to come in?”

“Might as well come in,” Mihawk came into the room with Crocodile behind him, “So, this is where you two ran off to.”

“And here I thought we were going to have a quiet day,” Crocodile groaned, “YN, come here…”

“Hey…Croccy…Hawky…” Buggy suddenly got nervous, “We were just having a little fun…”

“I see that,” Crocodile pulled you into his side, “You alright, princess?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Crocodile kissed the top of your head, “Mihawk, go get her cleaned up.  I’ll deal with Buggy.”

“And…And…” Buggy wondered, “How are you going to do that?”

Crocodile grabbed Buggy by his wrist, making sure he couldn’t separate and take off, “Golf clubs.”

“Come on, YN,” Mihawk took you out of the room, “Perona?”

“Yes, Mihawk?” Perona raced to Mihawk’s side, “Did you need something?”

“Were you aware of the clown’s poor life choices?”

“I…” Perona knew she had an ass chewing coming her way, “I might have.  He just wanted to play with her, too, Mihawk.”

“I know,” Mihawk brought you down the hall to his bedroom.  And then, to his bathroom, “Is everything alright, darling?”

“Everything’s fine,” you promised, “It was just Buggy and me talking.  And he wanted to do my makeup a little.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.”

“Alright,” Mihawk sat you on his bathroom counter and started to clean off your face.  He was so methodical about it and careful to not get anything in your eyes.  Those were his favorite, “So…You’d marry me, would you?”

“How much did you hear?” your face immediately went red.

“That I’m a gentle lover,” Mihawk finished up, “And that apparently, Crocodile’s dick could probably demolish a building.”

“It is a battering ram,” you admitted.

“Well,” Mihawk decided, scooping you off the counter, “While Crocodile is out taking Buggy’s head to the back nine, why don’t I show you just how gentle of a lover I can be for you?”

And who were you to argue with that?

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀KEEP ME INTACT ! :

synopsis ! : dolls are such fragile items. their porcelain faces are too easy to crack. but defiance only leads to being taken apart, and put back together by your maker.

now playing ! : glory box — portishead

incl. ! : kento nanami x reader , EXTREME dom nanami, forced sub!reader, master/doll relationship, restricted limbs during interco*rse, br**ding k*nk, slight impact play, oxygen play, hair pulling.

sweat dribbles from kento’s glazed forehead. today was one of Japan’s hottest days in the last decade. fucking global warming. with grace, he unties his tie, leaving it on the nearest doorknob as he soaks in the cool air trapped in his house.

his sweaty body treks aimlessly to the couch, despite you not liking him getting the couch all dirt with his sweat; but who was going to object a working man for his relaxation?

kento closes his eyes, the only noise audible being the air coming from the vents. the house was so peaceful. quiet, clean, cool.

“nngh!” a strangled moan alerts him. his eyes shoot open. he waits for a moment before acting out before he hears it again. “aaa!” this time, more coherent.

no. you knew better. he—he knew you knew better. those sessions you had together after you acted out of line, you should’ve known better. watching your body writhe under him as you beg, plead for mercy as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds, drilling into you.

this girl, he clicks his tongue, taking his tie in his hands for making his way to your shared bedroom.

of course, his eyes did not deceive him. there you were. a wand snug between your legs with your eyes closed shut. your bottom lips was stuck behind your teeth as you let a few noises slip out.

“sweetheart.” he calls to you.

you jump, throwing the wand away while snapping your head towards him. though his face had a soft expression, you knew you had messed up. you had flashbacks of your torture sessions punishments from previous events.

you swallow hard, stuttering over lost words as you try to make an excuse before he crawls on the bed, pulling you closer to the edge by your ankles.

“you already know what’s in store for you, little girl.” he flips you over, pulling your wrists behind you in an X before tying them together. luckily for him, you were already bare. already prepped for him. you were literally glistening. such a beautiful sight for him. he licks his lips as his fingers massage your cl*t.

“so, explain to me what your thinking process was.” he hums. he knew he was making this difficult but he loved seeing you struggle to form a sentence under his touch.

“it’s—aaaa fuck—” you simper, “i was ovulating, kento. it was too much.” you whine, feeling the pad of his thumb prod at your entrance.

you heard the noises of him undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. his thumb rubbing on your hip. his silence was terrifying. you didn’t know what was to happen to you and yet it was exciting. kento was unpredictable. so what was to happen next wouldn’t compare to what he’s already done.

he roughly slide himself in you, snug perfectly in your walls. “fuck.” you breathe it, closing your eyes as you let the familiar sensation sink in.

his first thrust is sharp, setting the tone of the next moments he had with you. “teach you a thing or two about,” he seethes through his teeth, feeling you squeeze on his made him lose his train of thought.

he begins to lose his grip on control, his hips moving sporadically into you. “na-nami!” you shriek as he pulls your hair, forcing your back to arch into a ‘U’. but he doesn’t feel like stopping there. he pulled until your back was pressed against his bare chest. he stuffed his face in the valley of your neck, nipping harshly at what he could. “mine.” he nearly growls.

he pushes you back down on the bed, pulling out and flipping you on your back. “i want you to see me when i breed you.” he fucks himself back into you with more fervor.

your eyes start to loll back, your body nearly going numb.

the feeling of a sharp sting on your cheek brings you back to reality. “watch. me.” he pushes your legs behind your ear, giving him a better angle to hit that spot he just can’t reach yet.

you start to sob when the head of his cock starts hitting your walls a little to hard. “that’s it, princess. take it.” he wipes your tears with the pad of his thumb.

he starts muttering, groaning even louder. he was losing control. before you knew it, the weak band in your stomach snapped, your arousal seeping all over him. “f-fuck. such a beautiful girl.” he mutters, throwing his head back.

the last stroke he made had broke him. he let out curdle moan, his pistoning hips slowly stopping. he lets out a deep breath, his eyes flutter shut before a grin paints on his lips.

“what did we learn today?” he looks down at you, his eyes soft. “that pissing you off gets us things.”

guidelines to request.

[callme-darling]

work tensions

or; you’re a prosecutor working a trial vincent is defending and your colleagues get the feeling there’s some underlying tension between the way you’re at each others throats

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, like genuinely filthy shit, fem reader, hate sex (kinda), sex in the workplace (so like semi-public ig), vincent and y/n are rivals/enemies, this actually somewhat has a plot lmao, hellllaaaaa tension, so much teasing, degradation (he say slut once), cocky vincent, begging if you squint, throat holding/light choking, fingering, no protection, p-in-v, not proofread, friendly ending (bc i’m a big softie)

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY LADIES!!!! hope you enjoy🤍🤍

you were amongst the youngest of the attorneys in the city courthouse. you were fortunate in the opportunities afforded to you, but you also worked your ass off to get where you were today. which is why you, for the life of yourself, can’t understand what the hell you did to earn the contempt of vincent renzi.

from the first time you both stood in the same courtroom, it seemed like his eyes were always set in a hard glare when they saw you. so whose to blame you for reciprocating the hostility? your colleagues usually give you well-intentioned advice to at least talk to him, something you haven’t even done outside of casework. who knows, they’d shrug, maybe it’s just ill-concealed intrigue.

you were young, but you weren’t naive enough to think the esteemed defense attorney didn’t absolutely hate your guts.

some of your colleagues, however, seemed hellbent on taking matters into their own hands after a minor scuffle that left the judge’s office suspended in a tense battle of wills. the case wasn’t even that serious—just a petty case of ‘he-said, she-said’ neighbor dispute. but the simple judge’s meeting quickly fell apart to a dispute that devolved to obviously personal jabs.

when the judge finally had enough, she dismissed both you and vincent from the room with the stern instruction to “talk out whatever issues you two obviously have, and get your shit together”.

you’re on vincent’s heels as he speeds out of the room. as soon as you hear the door click shut behind you, you’re glancing up and down the hallway. vincent runs a hand through his hair, annoyance etched across his features.

“what the hell is your problem?”

you gawk at him, “MY problem?!” you chuckle at his audacity. “you’re the one who started all this-“ you wave your hands in the space between you two like some enigmatic boundary separated you.

his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, and a roll of his eyes had you seeing red. before you had a chance to properly rip his throat out, an older man poked his head out from another room, face stern as he recommended you find somewhere else to continue whatever dispute you deigned important enough to have a tempermental yelling match in the middle of the office.

with a noise that could only be chalked up at pure irritation, vincent began strutting down the hall. you were quick behind him, wordlessly keeping in step with his long strides. you weren’t done with your conversation, and you’ll be damned if you let him walk away now.

you were in an unfamiliar, and rather desolate, wing of the building when he spun around to face you, his face inches from yours as he ducked down slightly to glare into your eyes. “quit following me like a damn dog!”

your eyes widened before a hard scowl settled on your face. “not until you tell me what your problem with me is.” you fume, “ever since i got here, you have had some personal vendetta against me. you’re going to tell me why.”

his jaw clenched as his eyes scanned your face. “your feelings are hurt because i don’t like you, is that what this is?”

you roll your eyes. “that’s bullshit and we both know it. the truth. now.”

“i need a reason to dislike you?”

“you can make one up for all i care, but i’m tired of your attitude fucking with my job.”

he chuckles dryly, “oh, i see. that’s what this is about.”

your brows scrunch together. at your look of confusion, he takes a step closer, breath fanning your face as he whispers through tight lips, “it’s my attitude fucking with your job, hm? that’s what drives me so fucking crazy- you’re so blind.” he rubs a hand over his mouth, taking a breath before his eyes are hard set on you again. “don’t think i don’t see it—the way you’ve charmed our colleagues, how you bat your pretty little eyes at the judges to get your way-“

you cut him off, disbelief dripping from your words. “excuse me?”

he scoffs, “oh don’t be coy.”

“you know what, vincent,” you clench your fists, nails biting into your palms as they shook, “you can fuck right off.”

you go to turn and walk away, but a thought of venom penetrates your mind and you whip right back around, nearly nose-to-nose as you whisper low, “just say you’re threatened by me next time.”

you watch as something akin to rage flash across vincent’s face. he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but his eyes bore into yours with a silent threat that chills your spine. his tone is low, dangerous. the rasp makes the hair along your arms stand on end. “i suggest you choose your next words wisely, y/n.”

maybe it was your stubbornness, or a fleeting air of confidence, but you hold his stare, your own voice quieter but just as menacing. “vincent renzi is threatened by the fresh-faced competition and can’t stand the thought that i may be the better attorney.” were you being childish in taunting him? yes, probably. but the months of tension were reaching critical mass, and whatever thoughts crossed your mind were being said.

what had just slipped through your lips, though, was definitely the wrong thing to have said.

a hand harshly grips your bicep as he drags you to the nearest room. he flicks on one set of lights and slams the door shut. he’s fuming, you note. however, you don’t fully register just how angry he is.

he’s silent for a pregnant moment, the air suffocating as he watches you with an analytical glare, his body seemed almost animalistic in how he stalked towards with with silent strides. you feel a new form of anxiety quicken your breathing.

he’s close now, so close you can smell his day-old cologne like it were freshly applied. his voice is quiet, but it makes you jolt under his intense gaze. “you want to know why i hate you so much?”

you feel as though you’re trapped in a stupor, your mind dizzy with this newfound suspense. you give him a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain firm in this intensity.

you swear you feel his lips just barely ghost over your cheek as he speaks, nearly growling in your ear. “i hate you because you’re so infuriating.” he pauses. “the way you walk around the courtroom like it’s yours to own, how you always make the most nit-picky points. and what pisses me off the most, is how i’m so attracted to you because of it.”

you were holding your breath. you felt your mind reeling as silence settled over the room. only the sound of your own breathing and the blood rushing through your veins reached your ears as you held vincent’s gaze.

his ferocity seemed to have diminished a fraction, but his jaw remained clenched. words escaped your brain as you tried to wrack together some coherent response, anything to quell the heat burning you from the inside out.

when no such words came, you decided ‘to hell with it’.

your eyes flicked to vincent’s lips, rubbed a pretty red from his hands and teeth. then you looked back into his eyes. an exchange that required no voice.

‘do it then,’ you silently dared. do it.

and so, he did.

his palm was warm on your cheek, fingers wrapping around the back of your head as he crashed his lips to yours. the force of the kiss had you stumbling back before vincent’s other hand caught your hip.

impatient. that was the best word to describe the way vincent kissed you. you tasted his lips on yours, body humming as you become acutely aware just who you’re kissing. and the mere thought has your thighs clenching together.

there was no room to speak with the way his mouth trailed down your chin, dipping into the curve of your neck. a shudder rushes through your muscles when you feel his teeth nip at the skin of your throat, eliciting a soft gasp to fall from your kiss-swollen lips.

you can feel the faint press of a grin to your collarbone. he coaxed your legs to walk back a few steps, securing your body between the table and his own.

his breath was warm as he spoke against your shoulder, “tell me to stop.” the featherlight touch of his fingers sent jolts of electricity through you as they skimmed down your arms and over your waist. “tell me you don’t want this, and i’ll let you walk out that door.”

your lungs burned when you finally released your breath. you could feel the heat pooling in your stomach, and the deep octave of his voice was doing little to soothe it. you were surprised by your own voice’s clarity, “shut up and kiss me again.”

you felt his body melt deeper into yours as your palms pulled him in by the side of his neck. you allowed yourself to be more eager, greedier, as your tongue teased his bottom lip.

he pressed his hips firmly against yours, his rasping moan nearly making you whimper in response. he was breathless when he pulled away. the pad of his thumb stroked your bottom lip, his own shining with a mixture of yours and his spit.

“i’m going to ruin you..” he murmured, leaning down again, his lips brushing over yours as his thumb holds your chin in place.

you prop your hand on the table behind you, not trusting your legs to hold you for much longer. your voice is meeker this time as you whisper against his touch, “you can try.”

vincent kisses you with an assured hunger. his touch dominating as he grips your hips, the fabric of your skirt gradually bunching in his hold. you can sense the apprehension in him, his internal battle of morals. your hand cradles the back of his head, nails stroking his scalp as you use your other to guide his hand under your blouse. blue eyes meet yours as you chide, “you don’t have to play nice with me, vincent.” the lull of his name from your lips paired with the way you brought his palm to grope at your chest, he needed no more convincing.

“such a little fuckin’ minx.” he muttered under his breath. your skirt was bunched up to your waist, your panties shoved down your legs. he had your back flat on the tabletop, hips slotted between your thighs as his eyes raked over you.

you could feel yourself slowly dripping onto the table below you, cheeks flushed with both lust and embarrassment.

vincent smirked. seeing you laid out like this, on display for him has his dick twitching in his pants. he appraised your needy pussy, a tentative two fingers teasing your folds as your thighs trembled. he watched how you grew shy, hand hovering over your mouth as you whine at the fleeting touch.

finally, you feel the pair of fingers slide into your soaking cunt. a whimper escapes you when he’s knuckle-deep in your clenching heat, the palm of his hand grazing your clit.

his gaze is attentive as he makes note of every little reaction you have to each stroke of his fingers. he bites his lip as he witnesses your eyes softly roll back when his fingers find the spot that has your chest heaving and hips shuddering. he leans down so his ear is next to your mouth, intent on hearing every single needy little whine he lures from you. he presses his lips to yours when he feels you creep up to your climax. “are you going to come on my hand?” his eyes find yours, half-lidded and glassy, and the sight alone makes him groan as his cock aches.

“is this all it takes to have you all pretty and compliant?” the teasing lilt in his voice only makes your cunt flutter around his fingers. “not so smart now when i have two fingers in this little pussy of yours, hm?”

you swear you felt like you were going to pass out. the combination of his fingers and palm against your pussy, his degrading mocking, and taunting eyes has you keening under him in a newfound desperation as you teetered precariously on the edge. so, so close to being rendered incoherent with only two fingers.

his touch leaves you.

you whine loudly, pouting as you attempt to catch your stolen breath. you move to sit up, but a large firm hand across your collarbones keeps you sprawled on the table. you squirm under his hold. “vincent.. why?” under any other circumstances, the needy pitch of your voice would’ve made you cringe, but your depravity gave you little to care about aside from satisfying your incessant lust right now.

his voice was sickeningly taunting as he cooed down at you, his other hand brushing the hair from your face. “come on, you have to work for it.”

you could feel that familiar animosity sit on your tongue, but you hold it. though, based on the sly smile looking down at you, you got the sense he could feel it too.

“how ‘bout this..” he sighs instead. his eyes trailed over your face, blue irises harboring a certain warmth that had anticipation swirling in your stomach. “if you say a simple, little sentence, i’ll give you what you want.”

you chew on your bottom lip, mulling over what was no doubt a trap. “what would you have me say?”

the way his smile widened had your pussy clenching around nothing, the cold air making you shiver. “i want you to say: ‘only vincent renzi can make my pussy this wet’.

“oh fuck y-“

his hand catches your jaw before you could finish your crude remark. his fingers lightly dig into your cheeks as he comes nose-to-nose with you. his voice is dangerously low but a softness keeps to the edges. “would you rather me leave you here, like this? your pussy is practically weeping.” as if to reinforce his words, a hand lightly slaps against your folds. the wet sound had your face turning a new shade of red, lips pouting as his other hand still holds your face close to his.

you don’t say anything, internally battling with yourself. the tip of vincent’s tongue pokes out to wet his lips, your eyes following the minute movement with bated breaths. then his soft voice buzzes in your ear. “c’mon.. just say how i make you drip like a needy slut. let me hear that pretty voice of yours, the one you like to use so much.”

you felt a whine croak in your throat as the hand between your thighs gave your clit another tap. “i’ll give you three seconds.” his low tone warned.

“three..”

you felt your breath stutter, eyes searching his. there’s no way he’s serious.

“two..”

he wouldn’t actually leave you like this, would he?”

“on-“

“okay.” you cut him off, words rushed as you grip the wrist of the hand holding your face.

he peers down at you expectantly. the corner of his lips upturned slightly, and you hated how attractive it was.

“only vincent can make me this wet..” he’s never seen you so timid and meek than in that moment, something that only added to the building heat of the room.

“now, was that so hard?” he quirked a brow, fingers playing with your aching cunt as he notes the way your slick soaks his palm. “you’ve done your part, so be a good girl and take what i give you, yeah?”

you nod dumbly as his hand drops from your jaw. your body felt like it was buzzing, heart hammering in your chest as you watched him fumble with his pants, pulling his leather belt off with one hand.

he plants a searing kiss to your lips, a trained dominance permeating his movements. you moan against him, hips twitching as his pants brush against your bare core. a hand slides between your bodies to free his leaking cock from his slacks. you swallow any sounds he makes as his hand strokes his dick a few times. “you got to stay quiet. think you can handle that?”

you ignore the obvious taunt, hand on the back of his neck as you pull at the ends of his hair. “just fuck me already, vince.”

he chuckles dryly, but you sense the anticipation crawling under his skin. next time, you’ll be the one making him beg.

a drawn out gasp fills the room as you feel him slowly begin to sink into your tight heat. fuck, you felt dizzy as your cunt pulsed, sucking him in deeper.

you both moan in with quiet sighs when he bottoms out. he starts slow, but eventually finds a rhythm that has you whining with each thrust, your whimpers gradually growing in volume as his thumb toyed with your sore clit. he curses under his breath, a large hand gripping the sides of your throat.

his voice was labored but firm, “you want the entire firm to hear how you sound with my dick in you? be quiet.” he warns again.

you try, you really do. your hand is over your mouth, eyes watering with unshed tears as his pace quickens. your other hand flies to his shoulder, nails biting into his shirt in a silent plea. his voice floats back to you. “but staying quiet was never your strong suit, was it?”

“fuck, oh shit-“ you whimper, eyes screwing shut when you feel the start of your orgasm wrack through you. “vincent, please, oh-“ your eyes fluttered as his grip around your neck tightened a fraction.

“i told you, you would eventually start begging.”

you can barely hear him over the erratic pulsing in your ears. your entire body tenses, cunt clenching around his dick like a vice. he hisses above you, teeth gritted as he watches you come undone.

he pulls out of you, stroking himself a few more times before he’s coming on your pussy and thighs.

you lay on the table, breathing hard as you come down from the orgasmic high. you stare at vincent who’s already watching you, breaths sharing a calming rhythm. when you feel more like yourself, you start to sit up. he hands you a box of tissues, eyes daring to glance at the mess he made on you.

you attempt to straighten your blouse, the collar of which looks as though it had gone through a windstorm. your eyes scan the floor for your panties.

vincent’s palm offers the small ball of satin into your fingers. your gaze catches his as he suppresses a grin. “wouldn’t want to be caught without these, would you?”

you glare at him, though it’s void of the usual hostility. you finish straightening your clothes, blouse retucked into your smoothed-out skirt. you turn back to vincent who’s been put back together for a couple minutes already, leaning against the wall idly.

your mind screamed at you to fill the silence, to say something to settle the oncoming disquiet.

to your surprise, it was vincent who broke the silence first. “who would have thought that this is something you’re into?” his eyes appraised you again. there was no adversity in his jest, only a gentle prodding.

“you can’t say that like you didn’t just fuck me the same.”

he nods, toothy grin starting to crack through his lips. you can see the way his fingers twitch, itching to hold a cigarette between them.

“want a smoke?” you offer, testing the waters.

his eyes catch yours, and he holds your gaze for a moment. then the first genuine, true smile you’ve seen from him is directed at you.

“i’d like that, yes.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): explicit language, suggestive themes, kissing, romantic tension

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Part Six of Ink & Needle

You and Simon come face to face inside Dancing Faun.

Chapter Five // Chapter Seven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

“Ready to go, Bravo?”

Simon shrugs on his coat and glances at the German Shepard. Bravo’s nails clack clack against the floor of the tattoo parlor as he takes a spot next to the door. He sits at attention, ears straight and alert as he clutches his leash in his maw.

They do this every Sunday and Bravo knows the routine.

Sighing, Simon walks up to Bravo and takes the leash. The dog surrenders it easily, but the moment Simon grabs hold, he recoils.

“Christ, Bravo. Need to get that under control, yeah?” Simon shakes the leather leash free of Bravo’s drool.

Bravo makes a pitiful little whine in answer. Simon reaches out to scratch the top of the dog’s head before going to one knee to secure the leash to Bravo’s collar. Getting down is the easy part. It’s the standing again that always aches.

Simon’s bad leg is acting up today. At least, more than usual. It has been months since Simon went to physical therapy, and he might need to start working it back into his schedule if this is going to be his new normal.

Wincing as he pushes off from the floor, Simon wraps the end of the leash around his fist. It’s habit, and more for the sanity of others than himself. Bravo is well-trained. Used to be a bomb dog for one of the many SAS divisions.

During his time on base, Simon would always take time to play fetch with the military dogs. Sometimes they were ones he worked with directly, while others just happened to be on base at the time with their units. Maybe it was Riley’s shadow that always prompted him to do it. He loved that dog, and a little piece of Simon went missing when he died.

Then Bravo came along, and their retirements just happened to fall around the same time.

Simon couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

It’s Sunday. And Sunday is Simon’s day to do whatever the hell he wants.

No work. No computer. No phone. No exercise.

Nothing but him, Bravo, and drinks at Dancing Faun.

Simon isn’t bothered there, and he’s thankful for that. When he first moved to the area, Simon kept ending up in pubs where people his age or a bit younger frequented. He was never left alone at those places. Someone would eventually approach him. Either it was some drunk wanker trying to fight him, or someone wanting him to take them home.

No one bothers Simon at Dancing Faun. Most of the people who come in are much older than Simon, and a good many of the men are veterans themselves. They understand Simon and his need for a bit of solitude. The owner of the pub, Ben, is also good at keeping strangers away.

Maybe it’s the balaclava that attracts them. Maybe it’s the mystery. People are attracted to danger, and while Simon left that life a few years ago, he’s never shaken his violent shadow. Retirement can’t erase the people he’s killed or the enemies he’s put away. That life is sticky. No matter how hard you scrub at it, a residue always remains.

But Dancing Faun is Simon’s one refuge from the whole world. He can drink, think about absolutely fucking nothing, and catch a football or rugby match. Afterwards, he goes home and searches through his contacts for someone willing to have it off for a bit.

It’s just physical. Only flesh. An attempt on his part to fill a vacant hole.

But today, Simon doesn’t need to call anyone, because you’re here. He knows that now without a solitary doubt. When you appeared in the doorway of his shop, Simon truly believed he hallucinated the whole thing.

But he imagined nothing.

You are real and whole and here. Somewhere.

Simon just needs to figure out how to make you come to him. He needs to make it happen.

Exiting through 141 Ink’s front door, Simon secures the deadbolts behind him. Bravo remains at Simon’s side, alert but happy, his tongue hanging out of his open mouth. At the very end of the street on the corner is Dancing Faun.

The outside of the pub is a deep, forest green with gold accents including the sign and lettering. The door is solid black with no window, just a silhouette of a faun holding a pipe. Simon pushes open the door and steps inside, Bravo right on his heels.

It’s still early, and no one is at this pub or any pub at this hour. But Ben always opens a little early just for Simon.

The inside is dimly lit, only a few of the lamps on the wall are actually on. The hanging ones above the bar are on but that’s it. The overcast morning light isn’t helping much. One of the televisions is already on displaying a repeat of a rugby match.

When the door shuts behind Simon, he hears a familiar voice call out to him.

“That you, Simon?”

“It’s me,” he replies, bending down to unlatch the leash from Bravo’s collar. When the latch is released, Bravo pads over to their usual spot at the bar, sitting patiently on the right side of the stool.

Ben appears from around the corner carrying a plate. He’s older than Simon but not by much. The guy has about ten years on him. When Simon takes a seat on his usual stool, Ben sets the plate down in front of Simon, grinning.

It’s a full English with double of everything. While the pub doesn’t consistently serve food, Ben’s wife always makes Simon breakfast every Sunday morning. It’s tradition at this point.

Next to the plate, Ben sets down Simon’s beer and a cup of breakfast tea.

“Saw you on the cover of that magazine. Congrats. It’s deserved.” Ben leans against the bar top as Simon reaches up and removes the balaclava, setting it aside.

Ben doesn’t even blink or flinch. Why would he? Simon isn’t ugly. The few scars on Simon’s face don’t detract from his features. He might hide behind the balaclava but it isn’t because Simon hates himself.

Far from it.

He has a persona to put on. He needs separation between himself and everyone else. The people who meet him and come get tattooed all expect “Ghost” and “Ghost” wears a mask. Ben doesn’t give a shit about “Ghost,” and so Simon goes without when it’s just the two of them.

“Thanks,” replies Simon, taking a sip of tea before deciding what part of his plate he wants to tackle first. “How’s business?”

“Steady. Rent’s going up. As are my bloody taxes.” Ben shakes his head and Simon slices through one of the roasted tomatoes. “Fucking Tories and Labour can’t fucking agree on one bloody fu—” Ben glances up and immediately stops talking. “Sorry.” He holds both hands up in a placating gesture. “No politics on Sunday.”

Simon smirks. “Can I have my tea first?”

Ben drops his hands and leans against the bar top again. “But—and hear me out—if you have friends in the government…” He waves one of his hands around absently to indicate his point.

“I was military. You know this.”

“I’m aware, Simon. I’m only saying—”

“Don’t,” chuckles Simon as he cuts up the sausage on his plate.

Ben waves him off. “I know. But it’s the same bloody thing in the end.”

Simon snorts and grabs his tea. “No politics on Sunday, Ben.”

Ben gives a mocking, half-hearted salute before changing the subject. “Christmas is coming up in a couple months. Heading to the Highlands again?”

Every Christmas, Johnny invites Simon out to the Scottish Highlands to stay with his family. They spend most of their time on the MacTavish farm. It’s quiet out there, and Simon enjoys it.

Simon doesn’t have anyone. His family is gone. In the ground. Johnny knows this which is why he started inviting Simon ever since they first started working together. Gaz has come out a few times, and even Price showed up once for a short hunting trip.

But this year? Simon isn’t sure. You’re here now, but he has no idea for how long. If you’ll be in England for the foreseeable future, would you go with him? Would Johnny be okay with that?

The toast sticks in Simon’s throat and he has to wash it down with the remaining tea.

“That’s the plan,” he replies because it’s the only semi-truthful answer he can give.

Ben nods and taps the top of the counter. There’s a clatter from the direction of the kitchen and Ben sighs, his eyebrows rising slightly in a goodbye as he heads in the direction of the noise.

After that, Ben leaves Simon alone. He cleans the bar and glassware, puttering around Simon as he readies the place. When Simon finishes, Ben takes the plate, and then promptly offers it to Bravo who licks it clean.

The balaclava is back in place once the first wave of customers begins to roll in.

A few come in at a time—all of them old men who know each other. Regulars. Retirees who come in every day. They either scatter about individually or cluster in small groups near a television. Several of them acknowledge Simon with a nod of the head. Two take up spots at the bar.

Simon finishes his second beer and moves on to a third, considering when he’s going to switch over to whiskey. He always does. The door of the pub opens again and Simon takes a long swig of the golden amber liquid in his glass.

“Amelia! Usual spot?” calls out Ben.

The door is not in Simon’s line of sight, but he knows Amelia. She’s one of three women who comes to the pub on Sunday. Ben always puts on American baseball for her. She’s chatty, and has—on occasion—talked Simon’s ear off. But she’s sweet, and he’s never minded the attention. Sometimes, she even brings vegetables from her garden, and Simon always appreciates the gesture when she does.

“You know it, Ben,” replies Amelia.

“Already have it on.” Simon notices Ben’s sudden shift. His shoulders sharpen, back straightening as he watches something. It’s not confusion. Not exactly. Surprise? “And you brought guests.”

Guests. As in, plural. As in, multiple.

“Just the two,” laughs Amelia. “And only one is drinking. This one will need some tea and perhaps something to eat?”

Curious, Simon shifts slightly in the stool, bringing his glass up to his mouth for a drink to hide that interest in who it is that Amelia brought with her.

The first thing he notices is a young woman cradling a pregnant belly. He knows that familiar face. Evelyn. She stopped by his shop yesterday and introduced herself. But that’s not the first time Simon has seen her. She’s your friend, the one you were with at Riot Room. Simon saw her face every time his gaze was on you, and then again when he tore apart Riot Room’s security system in search of you.

Simon still has the old grainy video. He’s watched it so many times with the hope that he’d pick up on something. A clue that might lead you to him again. Three years he’s watched that surveillance feed. Three years and he hasn’t let you go.

Evelyn’s cheeks are rosy from the cold and she grins widely at Ben. Simon escorted her across the street and to The Bird after they chatted for a few minutes. People drive fast on it, which is true, but he was also curious. He thought that if she was around, you would also be around.

When he saw you there in that café, reality started to sink in. But he didn’t say anything. He simply stared like a bloody idiot and then politely excused himself. Simon isn’t shy, but he wouldn’t necessarily call himself bold. It was more like a subtle realization that Simon isn’t crazy, that he didn’t imagine you in the doorway, that these three years have only been preparing him for your return.

Simon’s gaze slides past Evelyn and lands on the woman standing behind her. He freezes, his glass halfway to his mouth.

You see him. And Simon sees you.

You’re here. In this pub. With him.

And you cannot run this time. There is no possibility to bolt without causing a scene. You’ve come to him, and now all Simon needs to do is get you to talk to him. That’s all he really wants. He wants to hear your voice, to find some understanding, to know if this obsession is entirely one-sided.

Simon observes your eyes widening and the soft inhalation as your lips part in surprise. He knows those lips. He’s kissed those lips. Felt them against his skin. They are a brand and those parts of him that know the memory of your mouth heat with desire.

The muscles in his legs are poised for action. They tell him to get up. To go to you. To drag you into his arms and take you away from prying eyes. Because Simon wants answers as much as he wants to revel in your warmth and return to those memories.

He’s been feasting on that old encounter, dishing out little fragments at a time to staunch the hunger but never enough to keep it away. This is his chance. This is his opportunity. Right now. In this place.

Something will happen between the two of you. Simon knows this in his very marrow.

As if suddenly realizing who it is you’re staring at, you quickly glance away from Simon, gaze focused on the back of Evelyn’s head or a point beyond. Simon wants to draw your gaze back to him. He hates that he cannot take action.

Because he will. Simon will take action now that you’re completely in his sights. But he needs to be strategic about it.

Amelia grabs hold of Evelyn’s upper arm and begins guiding the two of you around the pub. The damn woman stops at every table. Speaks to every person. It’s like Amelia is dragging this out on purpose.

Simon does not look away once. You have all his attention, and perhaps you know this. You’re so…ridged, and Simon senses an uneasiness to the way you forcibly smile at every person you meet.

He is so absorbed in your presence that he doesn’t hear Ben calling to him.

“Simon.”

Simon hears his name in the distance. He ignores it, instead watching as you move on to another table.

“Simon.” This time Ben leans into Simon’s line of sight, snapping his fingers.

Simon blinks and then shifts his gaze in Ben’s direction. Ben frowns, and Simon immediately softens his features. He doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know he likely looks irritated.

Ben nods toward the glass. “Want another?”

Simon pushes the empty stein toward him in silent answer. Ben snags it and tucks it away somewhere, grabbing a clean one to fill. When he sets it down on the bar top and Simon reaches for it, Ben draws it out of his reach. “You’re acting funny.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Simon dryly, knowing exactly what Ben is referring to.

Ben snorts and then pushes the newly poured beer in Simon’s direction. Simon takes it and immediately takes a long drink. It doesn’t burn going down, but it’s not soothing either. Simon is on edge. He can feel it, like a venomous snake curled up in a pile of leaves.

Amelia turns and you follow, moving ever closer to him. She comes to a stop at the two men sitting near each other at the bar. Amelia is all smiles, as is Evelyn, but your smile has slipped into a neutral stare that only makes Simon sad. Like before, there is a weariness under your eyes that he longs to rub away.

Is it him? Does the very idea of the two of you coming together again bother you?

Simon immediately dismisses the idea. He noticed the tiredness when you were standing in the doorway of his shop. There is something else going on, something deeper, and Simon wants to know what it is. If he can, he will take it from you if that will ease the burden. That is, if you’ll allow him to.

The conversation between Amelia and the two men ends quickly. She guides you and Eveyln in Simon’s direction, and then you’re right there, in front of him, and Amelia is beaming like she’s just achieved some lofty goal.

“This is Simon,” she says casually, gesturing toward him, but Simon notices the underlying mischievousness to Amelia’s smile. “Runs the tattoo parlor just a few shops down. He’s the only young one we allow around here.”

Amelia’s grin is infectious, the kind that could make anyone smile. But Simon isn’t smiling. He’s too focused on you. He is so goddamn close. Simon could reach out and easily pull you right into his lap.

Amelia pats your shoulder. “I know the two of you know each other, but it’s been a while. How about you two catch up and Evie and I will go enjoy the game.”

Even though Amelia is speaking to you, she’s staring at Simon as she talks.

What are you up to, Amelia?

Her eyebrows rise slightly and Simon understands. She knows about you and Simon, at least to a certain capacity. Why else would she be abandoning you to him?

Evelyn’s grin is just as wide. Her gaze keeps darting between you and Simon with clear hope in the way she clutches her hands together in front of her chest.

“Amelia—” you interject, clearly frazzled.

“Sit,” insists Amelia, quickly ushering Evie away to her usual table in the far corner.

At first, you simply stand there, and Simon believes that you might turn your back on him and walk away. But you don’t. You don’t walk away from him nor do you break eye contact.

Slowly, you sink down on the stool next to him. Your gaze keeps darting across and over his face, like you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Are you trying to remember him? Are you relearning him the way he’s currently relearning you?

“What will it be?” asks Ben, his gaze expectant.

You slightly turn your head in Ben’s direction to address him but you’re too focused on Simon. It’s a victory. A win. Simon knows he’s won in some capacity by how intensely you’re focused in on him.

“I’ll take whatever he’s drinking.” Ben shrugs and grabs a glass, filling it up before sliding it over to you. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Simon notices Ben’s attention shift to him. It’s a silent ask to make sure Simon is fine. That he’s not being bothered. But you’re not a bother, and Simon gives the look no acknowledgment. No one is going to take you away from him.

Never.

Simon sits up straighter, shifting in his stool. He keeps one arm on the bar top, but the other rests against his leg, his hand poised on his knee. Your knee is touching his, and the very tips of his fingers brush against your jeans.

It’s an electric jolt when Simon makes contact. But it’s also his way of pushing a boundary. Will you accept his touch or move out of it?

There is a span of breath, and it is you that speaks first.

“Hello,” you say weakly, brow softening.

Your voice is a remedy, the embrace after a long absence. Simon revels in it, absorbs it into himself, devours the quality of those syllables until it repeats in a pounding rhythm within his brain.

He is happy. He is whole.

“Hello,” replies Simon, and the sultry purr in his voice is unstoppable.

There is no going back. There is no return to how things were. You are all that Simon needs. Forget the shop and all of his responsibilities. You are finally here, not just a dream or memory.

That old encounter is now new and fresh. It is yesterday as much as it is three years ago.

You blink, mouth forming into a smile that stretches toward your ears. It is genuine and soft, and you glance down at your hands in embarrassment, trying to hide from him.

But you’re not allowed to hide from him. Simon wants everything. He wants those delicate lines and your harshness. He wants this smile to be aimed at him, to know that it is he that makes you happy.

When you glance up again, your smile is a bit gentler, but it only makes Simon eager.

“You’re a tattoo artist?” you ask though you already know the answer.

“You sound surprised,” replies Simon.

“Well, yes. I—” You pause, and then try again. “When I met you at Riot Room you seemed…dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” he laughs.

“Yes.”

“And yet you left with me?”

You glance away quickly, and stare at your fingers where they rub at the condensation on your glass. “Dangerous doesn’t mean I didn’t feel safe.”

Dangerous doesn’t mean I didn’t feel safe.

Safe. You felt—feel? —safe with him.

“What is it that you think I did for a living?” asks Simon, amusement creeping into his tone.

“Wasn’t tattoo artist,” you reply softly, lifting the glass for a small sip.

Simon’s index finger moves of its own accord, tracing slow circles over your knee. It feels natural to touch you, and you don’t pull away from him.

“I was military.”

“Was?” you ask, one eyebrow arching in curiosity.

There is so much Simon can say after that. And so much he can’t. Simon considers every possible answer before telling you the truth. “Forced into retirement. Sustained a few permanent injuries in the field.”

You surprise Simon, not because you apologize for something out of your control but because you reach out and take his hand. Squeezing softly, you look him in the eye, and the gaze is so direct that it startles him.

“And I’m sure you were very good at what you did.”

“The best,” replies Simon instantly.

The smile that spreads across your face is beautiful. He wants to capture it, to press his mouth to yours and steal it for himself.

“How long are you here for?” asks Simon, changing the subject.

You shrug. “Not entirely sure. A while.”

“And how long is a while?” Simon needs to know. Will he only have you for a few days or will he have you for weeks? Months?

“I’m supposed to be picking up a visa at the US Embassy next week. It’s being expedited but I still came early. Someone is working very hard behind the scenes to make it happen.”

You don’t elaborate, and Simon isn’t sure if he should push the subject or not. Visas typically last up to six months depending on what kind it is, and that gives him hope.

“So, you’ll be around?” he asks with just the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Yes,” you answer. “I’ll be around.”

Relief floods Simon’s veins. There will be plenty of time with you. He will make the most of it.

“Are you staying with Amelia?” prompts Simon, his gaze quickly shifting to find the woman across the pub. She’s sipping on her beer, but it’s clear that her attention isn’t really on the television.

“I am. The two of you know each other.”

Simon’s gaze returns to your face. “I know everyone who comes in.”

“Self-proclaimed old man, then?” you tease.

Simon grins, chuckles. “That an issue?”

“No,” you laugh softly, and it’s then that Simon realizes you’re still holding onto his hand. Your palm is warm and comforting. It isn’t slack or limp. It is present, clutching his with gentleness.

“Have any availability in your schedule?” The question surprises Simon. “For a tattoo that is.”

Technically, he has zero room in his schedule for the next few months, and will likely be booked out even longer once he starts chipping away at all those goddamn emails in his inbox. But for you? He’ll make room. Fuck everyone else.

“Tell me when and what time and I’ll make it happen.”

“I’ll take you up on that.”

You lick your lips and Simon follows the movement, wanting to lean into that. To taste and remember. But he holds back. There will be a time for him to do so, but not right this second. No matter how badly he wishes for it to be so.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to call you,” you say with an awkward smile and shrug of your shoulders. “Ghost is what you told me at Riot Room but Amelia called you—”

“Simon,” he interjects. “To you, I’m Simon.”

“But Ghost—”

Simon’s hold on your hand tightens. “I know what I said. But Ghost is…a persona. He is separate, and I don’t want to be separate with you.”

“Simon,” you say slowly, rolling his name around on your tongue.

His name sounds so sweet in your mouth. He wants to know all the ways you can say it. How would you say his name when he finally kisses you again? Or when his mouth is on your body and between your legs? What will his name sound like when he’s buried deep inside you? How will his name sound then?

“I like the way you say my name,” he whispers, and the words leave him without second thought.

Your eyes widen. Your lips part. And Simon squeezes your hand again, shifting a little closer to you on the stool.

This place is too public. There are too many eyes on you. Simon needs to take you away. There are questions that still sit heavy in his mind. Things he wants to know.

His thumb runs over the back of your hand. “Will you come with me? Outside? Just for a bit?”

“Simon,” you murmur, and it takes everything in him not to groan with pleasure.

“Please,” and Simon is close to begging.

You glance over your shoulder at Amelia and Evelyn. They aren’t looking this way, and that seems to do it.

“Okay,” you agree, not even asking him where it is he plans on taking you.

Dangerous doesn’t mean I didn’t feel safe.

Simon slides out of his stool, standing, towering over you. Bravo perks up but Simon shakes his head at him. “Stay here, Bravo.” Bravo’s ears droop slightly but the dog puts his head back down.

You stand, too, never taking your eyes off of him. While your gaze is a rush, it’s your hand which still clutches his that makes Simon tingle all over. That is what he clings to, latches on to skin against skin.

He steps back and you step forward. You are following him, moving with him, and Simon’s blood is singing, thrumming with victory, rushing to a place it shouldn’t but is.

When the two of you turn the corner down the hall, Simon tries not to rush. He is eager but fuck—he needs to control himself. This could easily spiral out of his control if he doesn’t reel himself in. It doesn’t matter how much Simon wants you. If you’re not interested, he can’t push for it.

But you’re following him. You’re talking with him. You’re holding his goddamn hand.

He can’t be wrong about this.

The two of you approach the door to the private patio, and Simon almost snaps. There is a small alcove under the stairs. Simon has to control himself, to not push you up against the wall there in the dark, and kiss you until you become soft and compliant in his arms.

Instead, Simon inhales deeply, and pushes open the door to the patio.

It’s small, just a few tables with chairs and a couple of portable heaters. The patio itself is in the alleyway that cuts through the entire street, pushing up against a row of houses and a few businesses. There is a privacy fence that keeps out any potential onlookers. Simon only comes out here to smoke, and while he could go for a cigarette, he’d rather go for you.

Leading you to a bench pressed up against the wall of the building, Simon finds a spot right under one of the heaters. It’s cold out but it’s still fall. The coats are enough but he’s not risking shit. Either the heater will keep you warm or he will.

The two of you sink down onto the bench, and still, you do not let go of his hand. Simon refuses to be first. If you won’t let go, he won’t either.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes as if trying to calm your nerves. Simon cannot hold back what it is he wants to ask.

“Why did you run?”

Your eyes snap open, and you turn toward him. He sees the sorrow, and the battle behind your gaze. You’re finding the words, gathering your thoughts, and Simon silently hopes that you do not try to lie to him.

“At Riot Room?”

He shakes his head. “Not just there. Outside the shop, too.”

You blink. Look away. Glance back. The very bottoms of your eyelids are watery. Simon does not want to be the reason you cry, but you ran from him twice. Bolted. At Riot Room, he was hurt. Devasted. He didn’t understand.

Outside his tattoo parlor, that exit he can dismiss. It’s been three years and you were probably shocked. But that first escape haunts him lays across his skin like a ghost.

“I’m sorry I ran from you,” you whisper.

Simon shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

You glance down at your combined hands, but you’re not saying anything.

“Tell me,” murmurs Simon.

Slowly, Simon lifts his free hand, lightly takes your chin between thumb and forefinger. He guides your head up, moves your gaze back to his face. Once you’re looking at him again, Simon’s thumb travels the line of your jaw.

You lean into the touch. “I…was too close.”

“Too close?” pushes Simon.

“Yes. You felt…I wanted to stay. But I was scared.”

“Of me?”

“No!” you say quickly, your free hand gripping his upper arm, squeezing. “Never. It all felt like more. That it wasn’t just sex between us. That scared me.”

“And what if I wanted it to be more? What if I still want it to be more?” Simon leans in and you do not pull back or shrink away. You also lean forward, and Simon is so close to getting what he wants.

“It’s been three years,” you murmur. “You don’t mean that.”

“Have you not thought about me? Not once? Because I’ve thought of you. Every day.”

Simon let’s go of your hand, only to wrap his arms around your waist. You surrender to him, and Simon changes position on the bench, straddling it, pulling you into his lap. Your legs effortlessly go around him, and your hands cling to the neckline of his shirt.

“Have you thought of me? Tell me the truth,” growls Simon.

You’re so close. Lips just a breath away from touching his.

“Yes,” and when it leaves your throat, Simon hears the gentle break. “Many times. So many times.”

Simon hand travels up from your waist to grab the back of your neck. Your inhale is sweet. Wanton. He can’t have you completely, not at the moment, but he’ll take whatever it is you’re willing to give in this moment.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.

The words barely leave his mouth before you’re closing the distance. Simon answers you with a kiss of his own. There is no hesitant gap, no pause for breath, just you and him and your mouths meeting.

The kisses that follow are not mechanical or stagnant. They are generous and lovely and hungry. Your lips are soft, and Simon’s grip on the back of your neck only strengthens when your hips roll against him.

Your hand on his chest forms a fist, your fingers digging into the front of his shirt. Simon doesn’t care if you tug and pull, if you accidentally rip it. You can have whatever the fuck you want with the way you’re kissing him.

Simon groans low in his throat as his other hand makes passes over your thighs, hips, and lower back. He’s exploring your curves, relearning your body. Nothing has changed, and yet everything has.

His blood is boiling. It is screaming, telling him to take you home, to finish what he started in the green room within the basement at Riot Room. Simon will make you his. You will take every inch of him, beg him repeatedly for more until you lose your voice, and Simon will do it, will keep going until you’re a deliciously perfect puddle in his arms.

Your fist unclenches, trails downward, and stops just above his belt. You’re going to make him fucking feral if you keep touching him like this. Any lower and it’s over. There will be no asking about taking you home.

Simon will simply toss you over his shoulder and go straight there.

Sitting up a bit, you shift in his lap, and that one small movement rubs the one spot blood is rushing to.

Fuck.

He doesn’t want to break the kiss. Simon doesn’t want to pull away, but all of his control is slipping away, melting from him like ice in the sun.

When Simon breaks the kiss, you whimper, and Simon’s answer is to dig his fingers into your thighs, pressing up into you to show you exactly how he wants you.

“Come home with me,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Your lips are swollen and puffy. They’re perfect, and he nips at the bottom one before gently sucking it into his mouth.

“Right now?” you breathe.

Right now? No. The two of you can’t run off together right now. Simon has a fucking tab to pay, even if Ben could give a shit and tell Simon to pay him later. Plus, there is Amelia and Evelyn to think about.

Yes, they pushed you into Simon’s path, but you’re technically here with them. He won’t take you away. Simon is selfish when it comes to you, but he’s already waited three fucking years. What’s a few more hours until you’re back in his arms?

“Tonight.”

You’re shaking your head. Why are you shaking your head?

“I can’t,” you reply and now Simon is the one shaking his head.

“When?” he asks. “When can I see you again?”

Your gaze flicks up and Simon is lost for a moment, only thinking about how wonderful you feel in his lap. It takes him back to Riot Room when you first straddled him on that couch, kissing his lips, touching his body.

His mind wanders further, forming the image of you spread out, facing the mirror.

“Tomorrow? I can stop by in the morning.”

The morning. It’s not enough time with you. What Simon wants is for you to come over tonight. He wants to take you over every surface in his home like he planned on doing three years ago.

But he’ll take whatever you give him. If you can come by tomorrow morning, Simon will cherish it. He will be happy knowing that you want to see him at all.

And while he wishes all of this, there is a hesitant hopefulness in your gaze, like Simon will reject the offer. Are you just as nervous as he is? Are you wanting him as much as he wants you? Do you desire to be close to him in more ways than just your bodies meeting?

Because Simon wants all of you. Every bit.

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

Your smile is sweet. Wholesome. You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him, nearly knocking Simon onto his back.

“Sorry,” you laugh, beginning to pull away.

“No, you don’t. Come back here.” Simon grabs at you, pinning you against his chest, taking your mouth again, deepening the kiss until your lips part for him. His tongue traces the edge of your bottom lip, and yours darts out to meet him.

Simon is lost in you. Lost in your mouth, lips, and tongue. Lost in your touch. Lost in—

“Hate to interrupt!”

You pull back so fast you almost fall off the bench. Simon might not be in the military anymore, but his reflexes are still sharp. He catches you before you topple over.

Evelyn stands in the doorway, one hand over her eyes like she’s just walked in on something she shouldn’t be seeing.

“Amelia paid the tab. We’re leaving.”

“Shit,” you mutter, starting to unravel yourself from the bench.

Simon stands with you, his fingers slipping from yours as you head for the doorway. You glance back and smile, quickly looking between him and Evelyn before darting inside. Evelyn drops her hand and then crosses her arms over her belly, grinning wickedly.

“You’re welcome, Ghost.” She winks and disappears inside, the door shutting softly behind her.

Simon stands there in the autumn cold, his bare fingers lightly touching his lips in memory of you.

He laughs softly, drops his hand, and pulls the balaclava back into place.

Chapter Five // Chapter Seven

taglist:

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[euno11a]

Tattooed Hearts III

Genre: No one to someone Tattoo artist! Jungkook X Reader

Summary: What happened to us? Why did we end up like this? It was only a one time thing. Now it’s ruined us both.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, mentions of hookups, insults, arguing, blood, mentions of period, insecurities

Pt I • Pt II • Pt IV • Pt V • Pt VI • Pt VII • Pt VIII

*** Life really couldn’t get any worse, could it? You were just informed that V wasn’t able to finish up your tattoo today, but luckily, Jungkook was. Due to some confidential issues, V wouldn’t be back for a while and the only other person that fit the style for your tattoo was Jungkook. That’s how you ended up here, sitting in his office, skirt slightly riding up your thighs, waiting for him to enter and finish your tattoo. How ironic that he was the one that started it, and the one to finish it, even though now it had a completely different meaning. A few (long) minutes later, JK walked into his office, looking at you sitting so nicely. “Look who’s back. Couldn’t get enough of me, I see?” He speaks in a cocky tone and it makes you want to punch his handsome face. “Quit acting like you’re special. I’m here to get the tattoo finished. That’s it.” Venom laced your voice, you were not willing to put up with his bullshit today. He shrugged, sitting on the small stool beside the tattooing chair. You pulled down your sweater sleeve to expose the tattoo that needed to be finished, wanting to get out as quickly as possible. Waiting for the familiar prick of the tattoo gun, you closed your eyes and looked away…but it never came. You turned your head to look at Jungkook, wondering why he hadn’t started yet. His tongue was poking the inside of his cheek, why did he have to look hot when doing that? You could feel your pussy throb a little, not being able to deny that you’ve missed him. Jungkook leans his forearms onto his knees, giving you a knowing look, “You gotta take the sweater off. I can’t do anything if you don’t, the gun could get caught on your sweater and pull it.” “That’s fine, just do it now. It’s an old sweater anyways.” There were boundaries, sure you could compliment how hot he was internally, and you could still moan his name when using your vibrator, but there’s no way in hell you’re gonna strip for him. He sighed at your stubbornness, leaning back on the stool, crossing his arms. Those actions made it easier to see his muscles, made it easier to imagine how he could pick you up and fuck himself into you if he wanted…he’d never want you. Look at yourself. It was a one time thing. “You need to take the sweater off, it’s not like I haven’t seen you in a bra before. Just do it, Y/N. I’m not in the mood for your stubborn attitude.” With hesitation, you took off your sweater, placing it beside you. You used your arms to cross over your tummy, god damn it, he’d managed to even make you insecure! A low groan echoed through his office, but he played it off as he stood up to grab black gloves. No words were spoken as he turned on the tattoo gun and began his work. You were screaming internally, why had it hurt so much? Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head to the side trying not to let the pain be evident on your face. Everything was fine, until you felt a gloved hand on your thigh, gently squeezing it to comfort you. You wanted to shove his hand off, but the feeling was comforting in an odd way, so you decided to leave it. You both stayed like that for a while, him getting up every now and again to get or refill an ink container. But when one prick got too much for you, you flinched and pulled away. This made Jungkook stop in his tracks, his eyes meeting yours when he turned off the ink gun. “Too much?” He asked lowly, keeping his hand on your thigh, carefully and slowly moving it up just a little. “I just need a second…” you asked quietly, letting out a shaky breath. His hand kept getting closer and closer to where you really wanted him. No, not wanted, needed. Jungkook stayed still, looking up at you as his gloved hands kept moving up. They reached the hem of your panties, he gently fiddled with it. Reality hit you hard, pulling away and furrowing your brows. Jungkook seemed to be knocked out of some sort of daze, “What?” He asked, clearly oblivious…or maybe he knew just what he was doing.

“This is never going to happen. Not now, not ever.” You spat at him, grabbing your sweater and standing up.  

Jungkook stopped you before you could stand up, “Why not, baby? You’ve fallen for me before, you can do it again.” He leaned in closer, whispering into your ear, “Or maybe I should fuck it back into you…”

Those words went straight to your core, making your panties wet with desire and possibly hate. “You touch me and I’ll break your dick off.” That wasn’t true, maybe you’d suck his dick off, but not break it off.  

He chuckled, a deep and husky laugh. He grabbed your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. Gently kissing your neck, he let his hands wander down to your pussy again. “God, baby, you say you’d break my dick off, yet you’re so wet already. Which one is it?”  

Don’t fall for it, he’ll hurt you again, just like before! But god…sometimes pain felt so good. You moaned at his touch, spreading your legs a little to give him easier access. There was eagerness to his movements, hastily moving your parties to the side, rubbing your slick all over his fingers. His grunts and groan were like music to your ears, you moaned as he rubbed at your clit, the once foreign feeling returning. It was good, too good…this was not good. You pushed him off, your eyes going wide. Jungkook seemed to be confused, watching as you pulled your sweater over your head, moving your panties back into place and walking out of his office. As you walked through the parlour, you saw the woman, the same woman from the last week. God, you’d fallen into the rabbit hole again.  

*** 

Lindsay’s eyes were wide, staring at you like you’d just told her you killed a kid. “You let him do what now?!” She yelled at you, placing down her phone. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking! It happened like there was nothing in the past! God, I’m such an idiot!” You pulled at your hair, pacing around the living room. 

“Oh my god, Y/N! What did I tell you? You need dick! You need to get your mind off of that prick! That’s it, we’re going to the club and you’re gonna find the hottest man there and fuck the shit out of him.” Lindsay seemed so certain about this plan, she grabbed your hand and dragged you to her room.  

Mistakes were meant to be learned from. Once you made them, don’t make them again. But with him, it was inevitable, it was out of your control. You warned yourself before to not deal with the devil because you will get burned, but what happens when the devil is in the form of a muscular, tattooed and hot man? You’ll get burned a thousand times before you learn.

Taglist: @talyaaas-blog @cassies-cookies

[mar-thewriter]

confused connections

dick grayson x f reader

you wake up with your period without dick there and give him a quick call to ask where the painkillers are.

dick finishes a team meeting and hears his girlfriend in pain and panics.

authors note: ok so i truthfully hate the miscommunication trope. but i dont hate it when its used comedically. and this was a funny idea i had on my period. so. have fun. word count: 2.1k tw: blood (put on shoes if ur cleaning up glass), period talk

There were two things that were the worst to wake up to. 1: your cramps hitting you like a truck, and 2: your lovely boyfriend not being here to hold. Both issues amplified one another as you woke up with a groan. Fuck’s sake, this one was rough.

You barely were able to make it to the bathroom when you decided it was going to be a sleep-in-and-bed-rest day. Especially without Dick there to help bring you water or painkillers (or when he rubs that crease in your back with his thumbs in little circles), you wanted to save your energy, so you’d still be able to help yourself without just collapsing.

You knew Dick would be gone today, of course. You’d had a whole conversation about what the Bats are planning and how they’d be spending the next two days strategizing on best moves. It’s not something they necessarily had to be in person for, but it was clear that Bruce made an attempt to keep these meetings in person, both for safety, and for time with his kids. You didn’t want to interfere. Especially with you and Dick finding a place for you two to live together in Blüdhaven, you wanted to let him spend time with his family. He wouldn’t be able to use the excuse of being in Gotham to see you to also see his brothers, so you wanted to respect his space as much as possible.

You made yourself a quick tea, got a cereal bar for some simple breakfast, and a glass of water. You tried to find the painkillers but with the frequency that Dick leaves the bottles scattered around the apartment, you had no clue where he put them last. You could live without it, you were sure. It’d be fine. You’d turn on some old crime show and be out like a light in no time.

It took thirty minutes before it became unbearable. You were half asleep, so close to finally just passing out, when a new wave of cramps hit you like a train. As much as you didn’t want to disturb Dick, you knew that it was either that, searching the whole place while you can barely move, or leaving to buy a new bottle entirely. A quick call couldn’t hurt, you were sure.

You dialed him quickly, setting your phone on speaker on the nightstand. You didn’t bother turning down the TV or even sitting up, face smushed into the side of the pillow. It didn’t take him long to answer.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?” You could hear the smile in his voice, and that alone eased you slightly.

But only for a second. You groaned softly, trying to be a bit quieter as you spoke, “Hi, hun, listen, do you- do you remember where you put the painkillers?”

“The painkillers? Top shelf of the pantry, little basket next to the spare trash bags. Is everything alright?” You could hear the weariness in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine, love, just-“ you were cut off by another soft groan, the loud yelling from the TV drowning out most of the noise. You reached by your phone to grab the remote, reaching around blindly when-

A loud crash took you by shock. You let out a slight gasp, sitting up finally to see your glass of water on the ground, the cup shattered into pieces. Next to it, lay your phone as well. You cursed, reaching a hand out and letting out a slight whine from the stretch as you grabbed your phone.

“Shit. Dick, I’ll have to call you back- I love you,” you hung up, placing your phone back on the nightstand with a groan. This day couldn’t get any worse, could it?

You made your way carefully off the bed, tiptoeing around the bigger chunks of glass you could see. Making it to the kitchen, you grabbed the painkillers and quickly took two, grabbing the broom and a new cup of water (in a plastic cup this time) to set on the nightstand. You made quick work of the glass, sweeping it into the dustpan.

Once you’d walked back to put the broom in the kitchen, you were quickly made aware that you were not as careful stepping around the glass as you’d thought, hissing in pain as you walked back to your room. Thankfully, with your first aid kit and a pair of sterilized tweezers, getting glass out wasn’t the hardest issue to solve. You’d had more than your fair share of pulling glass shards out of Dick that you consider yourself something of an expert.

By the time you’d wrapped your foot, you could feel the painkillers finally start kicking in. You shut your bedroom door, closed all the blinds, and made the room as dark as possible before finally lowering the TV volume. You crawled into bed once more, and it was only a few minutes before you found yourself drifting asleep.

—

“Hey, babe. What’s up?” Dick smiled as he answered your call. He’d only been away from you for a few hours, but god he was already missing you.

The team-strategizing meeting took a lot less time than they’d imagined. Babs and Tim had figured out nearly every detail before the rest of them had even arrived. The mission wasn’t set to start until next week, during which they’d monitor all criminal activity and freight shipping to make sure their information was actually accurate. Since things had gone by so fast, Dick was already planning to surprise you tomorrow morning by showing up early and bringing you a whole batch of Alfred’s cookies. Hearing your voice was just another reminder of getting to see you.

That elation didn’t last long.

“Hi, hun, listen, do you- do you remember where you put the painkillers?”

He could hear the pain in your voice, and he felt panic rising in him quickly. You sounded slightly muffled, and he could hear a slight talking in the background.

“The painkillers? Top shelf of the pantry, little basket next to the spare trash bags. Is everything alright?” You would tell him if something was wrong. He knew you would. But his mind kept running through scenarios. What if there was an intruder holding you at gunpoint? Were you talking in code? Were you even at home? Did you get-

“Yeah, I’m fine, love, just-“ you were cut off by the sound of people yelling, and he heard you groan in pain again. There was more shuffling and commotion before his heart dropped.

A shatter. You gasping. And a thud.

Fuck.

“Shit. Dick, I’ll have to call you back- I love you,” he was about to plead for you to stay on call before you abruptly hung up. He immediately rushed to the Batcave, nearly walking right into Jason on the way.

“Woah, Birdboy, what’s got you in such a rush?”

“It’s my girlfriend. She’s in trouble and she’s hurt. I have to go, now.”

He worked on getting suited up while Jason spoke, “What are we talking here? How bad is she hurt?”

Dick sighed, “I’m not sure. She was asking about painkillers and then some glass shattered and there were people yelling and she hung up.”

Jason nodded, “Alright, I’m coming with you.”

That made Dick pause for a moment. “You’re what?”

“You said people yelling, and she’s already injured. You need the help. I’ll focus on the people; you just get to your girl.”

Dick nodded, pulling his mask on. “I- yeah, fine. Okay. Not the great first meeting I imagined, but- yes.”

Jason pulled his helmet on, “Don’t worry about the semantics. ‘Bout time we met this girl of yours anyway.”

They went to leave, but they were quickly stopped. By Damian. Already suited up. “I overheard you and Todd speaking. I’ll be coming with as well.”

“Fine, let’s just get going. We don’t have time for this.”

All Dick cared about was getting you to safety as fast as possible. And he’d ensure it.

Things were quiet when they made it to your apartment.

“There’s no sign of forced entry. All the blinds are down. Is there any chance she would have let someone into the apartment?” Damian spoke softly.

“It’s unlikely, but they could’ve pushed their way in if she opened the door. Alright, I’ll give the countdown, it seems quiet now, so we’re-“

“There’s no one in the living room. I’m not getting any heat signatures.” Oracle’s voice came through his comm loud and clear.

“I- You too?” Dick sighed, “Thank you, Oracle.” He fished his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the door quietly.

“Honestly, Wing, you have a key to her place, and you still haven’t let us meet her? That’s just cold, man.” Jason shook his head slightly.

“Not the time, baby bat.” Dick huffed, unlocking the door and walking in slowly. He took a moment to survey the apartment. Nothing looked out of place. The kitchen was a bit disheveled, but nothing completely out of place. Everything looked fairly normal.

“Nightwing. There.” Damian pointed, a splotch of red on the floor.

Dick held his breath, eyes following a trail of bloody footprints across the floor, right to the bedroom. There was no time to think. He rushed forward, bursting the door open, Damian and Jason hot on his feet, all three with weapons at the ready.

He heard a loud scream - your scream - and he whipped his head to the sound. Only to see… you. In bed. Perfectly fine.

“D- Nightwing? What the fuck is going on?”

Jason and Damian both relaxed, slumping in response to the lack of present danger.

“I- your call. There’s- the blood, the shatter on the phone, I-?” Dick was… incredibly confused.

“What? Oh, baby, no. I-“ you paused, looking at the two boys behind him.

Dick turned, giving them a slight awkward nod, “Uh, just… give us a second, guys. You too, Oracle.” He heard his comm click off, and Damian and Jason stepped out, shutting the door behind them.

He walked over, taking a good look at you. He gently gripped your arms as you continued speaking.

“I woke up with cramps. That’s why I needed the painkillers. And the shattering was my cup of water I knocked off the nightstand while trying to turn down the TV. I cut my foot on a piece when cleaning it, I didn’t realize I was tracking blood all over, I guess. I’m sorry to scare you.”

“Oh, babe, no, don’t apologize,” he sighed, sitting on the bed to hug you tightly. His hand lightly carded through your hair, kissing the top of your forehead. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I just- I heard the shatter, and you sounded like you were in pain, so…” He sighed, tension leaking from his body.

“It’s alright, love. I should have clarified over the phone.” You chuckled softly, pulling away to give him a warm, loving kiss. “Though maybe I should scare you more often. That was pretty sexy of you.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, lightly cupping your chin, “Was it now?”

“It was,” you hummed, voice getting low, “All hyped up on adrenaline, in that tight little suit. Maybe next date night, I’ll fake a kidnapping.”

“Oh, god. As sexy as I may look, please don’t. I think I might actually destroy half the city by accident.” He laughed, and even just his laugh brought a grin to your face, your laughter joining his.

He smiled at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him. You smiled at him like he made them shine just for you.

“So,” he spoke softly, “I know it’s your time of the month, which I will be staying tonight and ordering your favorite from the shop on the corner. Now, I know you might not be up to socializing too much, but… want to meet two of my brothers?”

You hummed, brushing some hair from his eyes, “The painkillers are doing their job very well, so I’d be happy to. It’s… Jason and Damian, right?”

He nodded. “It is. Sweet of you to remember.”

“Mm, not hard to remember when one of them was a murderous five-year-old and the other literally came back from the dead.”

He laughed, “Yeah, fair. Just be lucky, you got the normal one.”

You chuckled, standing, and holding his hands tightly, “Normal one. Says the boy in blue spandex.”

He laughed, pulling you to him for a kiss, “You love this boy in blue spandex.”

You sighed wistfully, placing a hand on his cheek, “I sure do.”

[sunsetsturniolos]

Could u write a fanfic abt Matt thinking y/n was cheating on Matt and Matt starts a fight and yelling at her (from Matt’s pov) PLEASEEE

scandals - matt sturniolo x fem reader

a/n: thank you for the request love! also soryy for not posting a fic in a while, school’s a bitch 😕

warnings: angstyyy, arguing, mentions of crying, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed any!! 💗

lmk if you want a part 2 💗

enjoyyy

lots of love,

m💌💌💌

matt’s pov:

it had become a habit of mine to buy my girlfriend flowers everytime i saw her, and as much and nick and chris bullied me for it, i didn’t care, she deserved to be spoiled.

i was going over to hang out with her today, making my usual stop to target to pick up the flowers. once i had arrived, i used my spare key to get in.

“baby?” no response.

i made my way to her bedroom, softly knocking before slightly opening the door to peak in.

“hi baby!” y/n spoke.

“hi love,” i responded, kicking my shoes off and sitting on her bed while handing her the flowers.

“oh matt, they’re beautiful, thank you so much.” she smiled, placing her hand in my hair and kissing my cheek.

“i need to use the bathroom, we can put then in water after.” she walked to the bathroom before shutting the door.

her phone was on the bed, pinging like crazy. i picked it up, planning to put it on silent.

josh❤️

i’ll pick you up at seven yeah?

see you tn 💙

what the fuck.

who is josh?

i scrolled further up the chat, multiple imessage games and sweet messages, all ending in hearts or “i love you”.

i can’t believe this, i really thought i could trust her.

i was snapped out of my thoughts when the bathroom door opened.

“sorry i took so long, i started my peri-“

“who the fuck is josh?” she jumped at the angry tone in my voice.

“matt he’s my br-“ she stuttered.

“are you fucking kidding me?! i really thought i could trust you yet here you messaging other guys? did you even mean it when you told me you loved me, because you sure tell that to josh all the time!” i cut her off again, my tone dripping with sarcasm and anger, i can’t believe she would do this to me.

“i hope you and him enjoy your date tonight, because im leaving.” i grabbed the flowers and went to put my shoes on.

“matt he’s my fucking brother! he’s picking me up for a family dinner!” she yelled, tears brimming her waterline. “i can’t believe you wouldn’t trust me, did you really think i would do that to you?!” she cried, rushing out of the room. “baby wait, i didn’t mea-“ i was cut off by the front door slamming.

fuck.

i decided not to bother her, instead getting in my car and going on a drive to clear my head. about an hour or so had passed, and i pull into my driveway and grab my phone.

4 missed calls from nick.

2 missed calls from chris.

7 messages from nick.

nick:

wtf happened with u and y/n?

she just came here crying saying u said she cheated on you?

she would never do something like that

she was really upset

girl you fucked up

mf answer ur phone

ffs matt

oh i fucked up big time.

tags: @sturnioloslurps @lacysturniolo @lewisroscoelove @55sturn @freshloveforthefit @mattsneezing @mattsmunch