#Like not that he wants to but I think that's a little why he's so upset there is he thinks Nikita's dead and Michael's probably going to be

[reignpage]

❀ In which Nanami's wife has baby brain

This pregnancy hasn’t been the easiest. Of course, it hasn’t been terrible, how can it when your husband is Nanami Kento and he’s made it his life’s mission to ease all your aches, worries and fears?

But now that you’re in your third trimester, it’s like everything’s worsened tenfold — your stomach is heavier, your breasts are super sensitive and not in the sexy way anymore, the balls of your feet feel like they’re on fire, and you swear, even though your husband denies it, your hair’s thinner and you somewhat resemble the thing from Lord of the Rings. 

Worst of all though?

Your thought process is much slower these days. It’s so embarrassing. You stutter more, you trail off, get words and phrases mixed up, you can’t follow conversations and it’s like instructions go in one ear and out the other immediately. 

Thankfully you don’t actually interact with many people now that your baby insists on making you anti-social and you spend most of your time at home, in the garden, or just taking long walks which end up at a bakery or the ice cream shop. However, when your husband is a bibliophilic, watch-the news, successful business man, it’s hard not to feel the brunt of your smoother-than-normal brain.

“Hi, sweetheart, are you alright?” 

Startled, you jolt. You’re in the living room, the overhead light on. Kento stands by the doorway, surveying the room for, what you can only assume to be, a threat. He’s wearing his pyjama bottoms, with his glasses off and hair messy whereas you’re wearing a button-up shirt and tie, ready for the day ahead. “I’m getting dressed for work…why aren’t you?”

Nodding like he thought as much, he pads over to you. Soothing hands grip your hips, pulling you into a nice, warm hug. You melt into him. 

“It’s the middle of the night, darling,” he whispers against the top of your head. “And you don’t work anymore, remember? You’re wearing my shirt and my tie too, though I must admit, they look rather good on you so you can keep them, if you’d like.”

Blink. 

Blink.

“Oh God, it’s a Saturday too, isn’t it?”

Kento kisses your forehead. “Yes, love. But it’s okay — calendars can be so confusing these days. Let’s get you back into your pyjamas and into bed, alright? It’s late and you need your sleep.”

“Sorry for waking you, Ken.”

Gaze softening impossibly more, he reassures you, “Don’t be, honey. In fact, you didn’t wake me at all; how did you manage to climb out of bed without me noticing? Has the baby given my darling wife special ninja powers, hmm?”

“No, just cellulite,” you grouch. He laughs and then stops. 

A strange look must have passed in your eyes because then his brows are furrowing, hand rubbing your stomach.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart? You look like you want something. Pickles with melted strawberry ice cream again maybe? We ran out of ice cream but I can get some more.”

Burying your face in between his pecs, your words come out muffled and a little sheepish. “I am hungry but not for pickles. Just the word alone makes me want to throw up now. I want a veggie burger.”

“A veggie burger?”

“Yeah. I think I want to go vegetarian. No, vegan. Go big or go home, right?” 

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, sat on a stool (he forbids you from sitting on top of the counter now because you perched at such a height sends his blood pressure rocketing, apparently), watching him make something for the first time and doing it well, by the looks of it. 

Kento's your rock.

He’s been incredibly patient with you throughout it all — there have been many times where you were probably the most frustrating person to talk to, blowing a fuse over something as little as what the colour of the baby’s room should be or whether potatoes are healthier than tomatoes. He never raises his voice, never argues only attempts to have an educational conversation, and apologises first even when he wasn’t in the wrong at all. 

To your credit, however, you’ve made sure to reward him daily. Often, multiple times a day, and he never fails to thank you.

Soon, your husband watches you stuff your face with little regard for the sauces spreading all over your chin. A comfortable quiet thrum fills the air and despite how late it is, Kento is wide awake and rubbing your thigh, your belly, and your hair; he just can’t keep his hands off you.

He’s got something pulled up on his phone and when you tap a finger on it questioningly, he answers, “Just searching up what a vegan lifestyle entails, darling. We should do it right, no?”

Laughing, you give him a sloppy, ketchup soaked kiss. He returns it right back. “Ken, what on earth are you talking about? Why would we ever go vegan? You can’t have sushi when you’re vegan and that’s the first thing I’m eating when our baby’s out of my body, silly.”

Giving you a gentle, but tired, smile, he nods, somewhat grateful it seems and turns his phone off.

“Alright, you’ll have all the non-vegan sushi your heart desires, love. I’m sorry for even suggesting it.” He stifles his laugh and then stands up. “Are you done with your plate? Okay, let’s get you all bundled up in bed.”

You open your mouth to argue and he puts on his stern face.

“Uh uh, no arguments please, sweetheart. It’s late and you get grumpy when you don’t get enough sleep. Go easy on your poor husband, won’t you? He can’t stand when his darling wife gets all upset with him.”

Sneaky bastard's learnt that you're weak when he pouts and uses the baby voice against you. Grumbling about how unfair it is for him to manipulate a pregnant woman with his charms, he leads you back into bed with a hand on your back.

As soon as your head hits the pillows, you’re knocked out cold, whispering a, 'Good afternoon,' to your husband before you're snoring, prancing around in dream land.

Quietly, he kisses your forehead once more and corrects you, “Good night, my love. And good night, baby. Papa will see you soon.”

[ceilidho]

fig. 3. heart in flames; baptism by fire | John Price x Reader

MASTERLIST · AO3

The universe hasn't seen fit to give Price a mate of his own. He'll have to take matters into his own hands.

or: the forced mating omegaverse au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Omegaverse, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping, Heavy Noncon/Dubcon Elements

His appetite is an arsenal all on its own. 

It’s always been bigger than him, barrel-chested. All consuming. It’s the reason that John is where he is today, always chasing down something larger than himself. Greedy for what he can’t have. Ambitious to a fault. Promotions and titles and commendations and accolades; they’re all wrapped up in his psychology, into whatever it is about him that wants without end. Without satisfaction. 

It’s likely why he ends up being referred to an endocrinologist specializing in hormone disorders in alphas when an overproduction of androstenone turns his ruts violent. Over the years, they’ve been steadily getting worse, even with a partner to help see him through the worst of it, the overproduction of hormones making him a little too mindless, a little too frenzied. 

“It’s not especially common for men your age, if I can be frank,” the doctor tells him, flipping through his chart. “Not uncommon, but low enough that I want to send you for a couple tests just to be safe. You’re still unmated?”

John nods. “That’s right.”

It’s not that the option hasn’t ever presented itself, but the timing has never felt right. Even marriage hadn’t sweetened the deal, and maybe that’s why he’s just north of forty-five and already divorced. The fault lies with him alone; he’s man enough to admit that. Maybe if he’d been more attentive, less likely to disappear for months at a time; if he’d swallowed his reluctance and just bit his omega instead of dragging his feet through his marriage like a prisoner marching to his own doom—maybe things might be different. 

“Any plans to change that?”

“‘Fraid not.”

The truth of the matter is that, though he’s waited a lifetime for that special someone to cross his path, no one has ever come close to smelling right. Even his ex-wife had only come so close—good enough to turn his head, but not enough to keep him. Or maybe he hadn’t been enough to keep her. These days, it’s hard to say which feels more like the truth. 

Sometimes John thinks that it’s simply not in the cards for him. That for whatever reason, destiny or God or the universe or whatever force that decides the fate of all things, has deemed him unfit for the other half of his soul. 

It’s just that it’s been—

It’s been a long time without anyone to call his own.

The doctor scribbles something down in John’s chart. “Alright.”

With his rut coming up in just a few days, the timing couldn’t be better. It sizzles like a low grade fever under his skin. He works up a sweat more easily, even a couple flights of stairs leaving the pits of his shirt dark and damp. There’s a little extra padding around his midsection, a bit more bulk on his arms and thighs; his beard a little thicker than usual, forcing him to trim it twice a day to keep it from growing out of control. Even though it happens every year, it sneaks up on him, the added mass making him a bit lethargic in the weeks before his rut. 

“We won’t have the results in time for your next scheduled rut, but I’d recommend asking a trusted partner to help you out. And wear protection. We have extra mouth guards and other paraphernalia if you need anything.”

John holds up a hand when the doctor goes to open a drawer. “I’ve got plenty at home. Appreciate the advice though. Any medication I should be taking?”

“I don’t want to start you on anything this close to your rut, but maybe after. I’ll have the front desk set up a follow up appointment for you for two weeks from now.”

He nods, making a mental note. 

There are a couple girls he could call up on short notice, but the thought sits like a dull weight in his chest. The decades of casual heats and ruts have left him with little appetite for that sort of thing these days. What he wants—craves really, needs really—is something permanent, something meaningful. John’s been around the block enough to know that he’s looking for something more. 

He’s had good ruts and bad ruts. Ruts spent in the warm embrace of another, filling up a soft, wet hole again and again until his spend leaked down their thighs, lost in a daze of pheromones and heat-slick. Ruts spent entombed in his own frustrated lust, mindlessly rutting into a cum-filled fleshlight to slake a thirst that never ebbs, only flows and rushes over the guardrails, dragging him further under. 

This one might end up falling into the latter category.

“Right, well, thanks for stopping by, John. You have a good rest of your day, alright?”

“Same to you.”

His nostrils burn the second he walks back into the main corridor, which is teeming with activity, children climbing over their parents’ laps and people still waiting to see a doctor slumped over in their chairs. Two interns wheel a bed down the hall, forcing everyone to scoot to the side and cling to the wall to get out of the way. There’s always too many people in the hospital. Too many smells. 

This close to his rut, everything reeks. Congealed sweat and antiseptic; plastic chairs that smell simultaneously of sick and Lysol wipes, confusing his nose. Stale body odour from those in the waiting room on their sixth hour of waiting on loved ones or on an available doctor. It’s a bludgeon to the senses, particularly when they’re more sensitive than usual. 

An elevator takes him down to the first floor, which is even more chaotic than the one John was just on somehow. Patients and doctors spilling out of rooms, announcement after announcement blaring over the intercom, and always—always—the sharp scent of isopropyl, astringent against the inside of his nose. 

“I don’t understand—did she leave?” 

The voice catches him like a fish on a hook on his way towards the main entrance, beadhead soaring through the air and slipping under the surface of the water just as he’s angling to leave. 

When John turns around, you’re standing by the front desk with your chin tucked into your chest. You make a pitiful sight like that, with your lips pursed and your eyebrows pinched, and you hold yourself almost delicately, hands gripping the edge of the desk to stabilize yourself. 

He takes a deep inhale. Though admittedly he’s not close enough to get a good whiff, your scent is muted, likely dampened by the effects of several painkillers and the anesthetic still running through your system. The stench of pain is strong too, which accounts for the way you hold your body and move so gingerly, the brace on your arm a good indication. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. If she’s not here, she must have left. You could try calling her?” the nurse at the front desk says, almost apologetic. “We can’t let you leave without an escort to take you home.”

“Okay, um…” you whisper, and now your scent is pungent with panic, acerbic. “Let me call her and ask her to come back.”

The sound of your voice is stronger now that it’s had time to travel. Again he feels it pinch him like coming out of a dream.

It’s so unremarkable that John nearly carries on down the hall towards the entrance, nothing about the interaction sticking out. 

Something keeps him rooted in place though. Intuition or a sixth sense or finely honed instincts. So instead of leaving, he turns around and walks right back to the front desk, stopping when he’s within arm’s length of you, eyes soaking up the sight of your tensed shoulders.

He doesn’t know the words are going to come out of his mouth until they do. “Lost your way home?” 

When you turn your eyes up to look at him, he feels the breath get knocked out of him. Prettier than anything he’s ever seen, the lure at the end of a fishing line drawing him in. 

And yet, for as pleasant as you smell, it’s nothing dissimilar to the countless omegas John has come across before. It evokes nothing primal—no deep-seated urge to sink his canines into a plump gland and bind you to him. 

You simply smell nice.

It’s difficult to articulate the devastation that courses through him. He’d hoped against hope that it would happen, that someday he would turn a corner and his fated mate would be there, looking at him like what took you so long? But how long can a man be expected to wait? How many years of disappointment can he be expected to weather by himself, his hopes dashed repeatedly? 

In less than a second, he makes a decision. 

One too many times, he’s hoped for fate to intervene and reward him for his patience. It never has. That responsibility must fall on him. 

There’s nothing new about trying to immanentize the eschaton, but John has faith in himself. If fate won’t do what must be done, then he will instead. 

“Excuse me?” you ask. So polite. 

“Heard you talking to the nurse about your ride home; sounds like you’re in a bit of a fix.”

“Yeah, I…um…” You seem torn on whether or not to keep up the conversation, likely finding his attention a bit intrusive, but gentility prevails in the end. Good. He was just starting to like you. “My friend was supposed to drive me home after surgery, but it looks like she might’ve bailed. She’s not answering my texts, but someone else said they saw her leave.”

“Sorry to hear that. Not fair, putting you in a spot like that.”

“I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but…uh…” You laugh, a touch derisively. “This is kind of screwing me over. I’m trying to get another friend to come pick me up, but it’s short notice and most people can’t just call out of work at the drop of a hat.”

There’s a vulnerable note in your voice almost masked by the touch of annoyance in your laugh but still plain for anyone attentive enough to hear. John is nothing but attentive.

“Don’t let her screw you over and get away with it,” he says, positioning himself on your side. “Short of someone dying, there’s no reason she should’ve left you on your own after an operation.”

“You’re probably right,” you murmur, too tired to put up a fight. “It just sucks. I wish she hadn’t told me yes in the first place—I could’ve asked someone else and given them more notice.”

“If you’re looking for a way home, I’d be happy to give you a lift.” John shrugs a shoulder when your lips open, the polite refusal already bubbling up your throat rebuffed by his next words. “I’m headed out now anyway. Just came to get some bloodwork done, nothing serious. Wouldn’t be an imposition at all.”

Your eyebrows pull together, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. 

“I’m not sure if I should be accepting rides from strangers.”

There’s a teasing lilt there, but also an undercurrent that he’s become familiar with over the years. A tempered kind of caution. One that says the words with a smile but prepares to sprint the other way. 

He smiles and holds out his hand. “I’m John.” When you take it, he knows he’s got you. “Not strangers anymore, are we?”

You answer that with a coy shake of your head, giving your name just as readily.

“So, how about it? Can I take you home?” John asks, repeating the invitation. His blood simmers when you take too long to answer.

“Ma’am,” the nurse suddenly interjects from the front desk, taking your attention away from him. It’s surprising how much that displeases him. “Have you gotten in touch with your friend yet or do we have to put you on the list for the drop-off service?”

John can see you warring with the options in your mind, eyes flitting between him and the nurse. 

“Actually, I found a ride home. Can I sign out?”

“Mind if I ask what you were in for?”

The drive to your house is mostly uneventful. He plugs your address into the GPS and hits save when something outside the window catches your attention. 

“It was just a little procedure.” His ensuing silence must make you nervous because you volunteer the reason for your stay after just a few short seconds. “Carpal tunnel release. My job involves a lot of typing, so I couldn’t keep putting it off; can’t wait to go back to living normally.”

He clocked the splint and the bandage around your hand and wrist when he approached you at the hospital, but it’s good to put a label on it. John makes a mental note to look up the post-op protocol for carpal tunnel surgery when the two of you get home. It’ll help him to better understand and address your needs in the coming days and weeks, and what he’ll need to watch out for when his rut finally sets in. 

He’ll clue you in on all of that later when he’s had a chance to explain himself. 

“Shame that your friend didn’t stick around to get you home. Probably still in a bit of pain, aren’t you?”

“Not yet. The painkillers they’ve got me on are really good.”

“Hm. I bet.”

You’re not that loopy despite being on painkillers though. More tired than anything. 

“I probably could’ve planned this better. I didn’t even get groceries before leaving for surgery.”

“You want me to stop and pick you up a couple things?”

He can see you turn to look at him from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve got time. Do you know what you need?”

You rattle off the couple items that you need and John merges into the left lane while listening, heading towards the nearest grocery store. 

He makes you stay in the car while he goes in to pick up a couple things, his number plugged into your phone in case you need him to rush back. The few items you rattle off aren’t sufficient enough for what you’ll need over the coming weeks, so John takes the liberty of purchasing a few extra things. Cured meats, fruit, a box of pastries for breakfast, and a couple frozen microwaveable meals. Baby wipes, lotion, and a multivitamin. All the essentials for a rut. 

There are things back at his place that he’ll need for his rut, but he’ll ask Simon to pick those up whenever he has a chance. It’s why John gave him a spare key after all. 

When he wheels the cart out of the store, he comes around by the back of the car, popping the trunk before you have a chance to see the sheer amount of bags in his cart. There will be a time later to talk you through what’s going to happen. 

“Sorry if my list was complicated,” you apologize when he gets back into the front seat, the cart in the corral. It doesn’t change where things were already heading, but it makes him look at you a bit differently. There’s a sweetness to you, one he hadn’t noticed before. 

He likes it though.

“Wasn’t complicated in the least,” John says, brushing off the apology. “Just took me a while to find everything. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Your eyes crinkle when you smile. “I’m not in any hurry.”

John’s always liked docile things. Sweet, simpering things with nervous eyes and gentle demeanours. 

Moreover—

what isn’t already tamed is his to break. 

You’re a cagey thing as well though. At least, you get cagey when John gets out of the car and follows you up the front stairs on your porch instead of hovering a safe distance away. He keeps the subterfuge up by only carrying in the bags with the things you requested, leaving the rest in his car for now.

“I really appreciate all your help; I should be able to take it from here though,” you tell him at the door, the key still tucked in your hand. Your voice is infused with enough gratitude that a duller man might let it stroke their ego while you slipped inside and out of their grasp.

John smiles instead. “Wouldn’t be doing the right thing if I let you go without making sure you got to bed safe and sound. Open the door, sweetheart.”

He can see the hesitation on your face plain as day. Every instinct telling you not to let a man into your house, much less an alpha. 

But inevitably you let him in.

Good girl.

The house is saturated with your scent. He has to take a deep inhale right off the bat, committing your scent to memory. Without the overwhelming stench of antiseptic and sickness from the hospital, your scent is cleaner, richer. Preserved in amber. 

There’s something faint underlying your lived-in scent though. He can’t quite name it, but it sits on the tip of his tongue like a tune he’s heard before. 

“Mind if I put these away for you?” John asks, lifting the grocery bags in his hands. 

“Oh—yes, thank you. The kitchen’s that way.” You point towards the back of the house.

John carries the bags with just your groceries to the kitchen and unloads everything one by one into the fridge. The meager contents of your fridge speak to a frugal, solitary existence, and suddenly the faint smell permeating through your house has a name. Loneliness. 

A man hasn’t been in here in quite some time, if ever. Every single inch of the house has been scrubbed with your scent, not a trace of any former occupant remaining. No roommate or close friend or boyfriend. 

“Nice place you’ve got,” he comments when he walks back into the living room to find you fiddling around with the cushions on the couch, arranging them to make yourself a cozy spot to lie down.

You look up at the sound of his voice and smile, faintly flattered. “Thank you. I’ve only had it a year, but uh…I’ve been doing my best. Also—thanks again for driving me home. And stopping for groceries.” Your lips go round like you’ve remembered something. “I still have to pay you back by the way. Wait right here.”

“Let me go get the rest from the car first,” John says. 

“There’s more?” you ask, surprised. 

He nods. “I got you a couple extra things—on me. I hope that wasn’t too much of an overstep.”

You chew your lip but ultimately the uncertainty melts from your gaze the longer he stands there waiting for your approval. “…No, that’s…that’s fine. You didn’t have to, but thank you.”

His overstep is just a toe over the lip of the door, but it’s still a foot keeping the door from closing. 

On his way back out to the car, John happens to glance down while passing the table in the entryway and finds, much to his delight, your phone resting casually beside the vanity tray. It sits there like you purposefully left it for him to take. 

If not you, then fate. 

With deft fingers practiced at lifting, he pockets your phone, and then heads back to the car for the rest of the groceries, whistling the whole way there and back. 

You start to look at him a bit differently when he brings in the second round of groceries. The number of bags hanging from his forearms must strike you as odd, too many for what you asked him to pick up. John doesn’t bother making any excuses though. 

He can see your trust wavering, pulled out from the water and left belly up in the air, gasping for breath. It wouldn’t be hard to fix it. It wouldn’t be hard to go about this the right way—leave you with your groceries and pain meds, tuck you into bed before seeing himself out, and then waiting a couple days to ask you out for coffee. To leave now would mend your trust entirely. 

He considers it even, never one for turning down a potential strategy without considering its merit. But his alpha digs its heels in when he contemplates leaving, pushing every inch of its weight into rooting him in place. 

It doesn’t want him to leave; and truth be told, John can’t bear the thought either. 

The little trust you extended evaporates more and more as the minutes tick by and he shows no sign of leaving. You dance around it for a while, cautiously hopeful that he might be inadvertently overstaying his welcome, and John watches your descent into hopelessness from the corner of his eyes. 

It’s only when he helps himself to a snack from the fridge and turns the television on that you break, sweat beading on your upper lip. 

“John, I think maybe you s-should leave.”

The confidence you muster up to even just say that impresses him. It takes a lot out of you though, your body sagging when the words come out of your mouth, so much tension building up in your muscles that it literally weighs you down.

The hand with the remote drifts down to his side. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” John asks. 

“Well, I’ve—I’ve got it from here.” You switch to a more diplomatic tone, likely wary of worsening the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. Aware that you’ve invited him into your house, that your safe space now has another resident. “I don’t need any more help.” 

Though not as close to his rut as he will be in the coming days, the sentiment still makes him bristle. You don’t need any more help. Rich considering you let a strange alpha take you home not half an hour ago. 

He places the remote down and advances on you briskly, all of a sudden, quick enough that you only notice when he’s right in front of you, surprise overriding your fight or flight response. 

John cups the back of your neck with a big hand and tilts your head up until he can see the puffy, virgin mating gland sitting in the crook of your neck. Thumbs it too, ignoring the way your eyes go wide and horrified, and the way you try to wriggle out of his grasp until he tightens his hand around the nape of your neck. 

“Of course you do, sweetheart. Can't have you wandering around like this—wrong person might try to take advantage.”

Fear makes your pupils dilate. It stinks too, the stench wafting off you. A bit of initial unpleasantness is expected though, and understandable. It’ll be a lot to help work you through the worst of it, but it’s nothing he hadn’t already internally committed to. 

“You’re—you’re not going to leave?”

John shakes his head and smiles. 

Smart girl that you are, you don’t jump to screaming and shouting. Not that the urge isn’t there building in your chest, but you know the odds are stacked against you. You’ve already let him in. 

Your breathing picks up though, and your lip trembles. An anxious swallow follows, then another, throat too dry for you to speak. 

“Why?”

“C’mere, sweetheart.” John takes you by the hand, careful to avoid the bandaged one, and pulls you to the couch, where he takes a seat. “We can only have a frank conversation about this if you promise to be polite and wait your turn to speak. Clear?”

Your lips twitch with displeasure but you nod. 

“My rut’s coming up in a week.” He catches you before you spring back up to your feet, yanking you back down by your arm. “No, don’t try to run; this is happening, love. My rut’s coming up and I’m staying here for it, okay?”

“I can stay someplace else,” you offer weakly, voice breaking. 

His smile verges on pitying. “No, sweetheart. You’re staying here with me for it.”

Your scent goes sour. Ammonium sulfide and allicin. His nose would wrinkle if he’d been expecting anything less than your reaction, but you conform, as always, beautifully to his expectations. 

“You can’t…make me go through a rut with you.” Your throat constricts around the word rut. 

“Yes, I can,” he says simply because that’s what it is. Simple.

In a world of people riddled with guilt complexes and victim mentalities, he stands alone. He has no qualms about taking what’s owed to him, or with shaping the world according to the version of it that lives in his head. That’s how history is made. 

He can’t judge others for their nature the same way he can’t fault himself for his. 

“I thought you said you were in the army.”

“I did.”

“Isn’t this…—this is against the law then, isn’t it?”

“You’re thinking of American law, sweetheart.” He doesn’t bring up any similar protection against forced billeting enshrined in English law. Best to not get lost in the weeds. 

There’s a tick in your eyes that betrays you. John readies himself for a chase when your eyes glance over his shoulders towards the door, but you discard that plan as quickly as it entered your brain. Weighing the odds and finding them not in your favour. 

“I have friends,” you blurt out. “Family. People check up on me.”

“That’s fine, love. When they do, you’re gonna tell them that you’re taking a week off to rest and you don’t want anyone coming by in the meantime.” When you don’t respond, clearly thinking something different, irritation flickers in his chest. “Wanna know why you’re going to do that?”

“…Why?”

“‘Cause you know this could go one of two ways. We could either have a nice time together and I’ll be on my way afterwards…or I could bite that little mating gland of yours now and we can take that option off the table.”

There’s no point in telling you that he’s already made up his mind about that part. The allure of hope is too tempting; he has to give you something to latch onto. 

“Do we understand each other?” he asks. 

Your initial hesitation tells him all he needs to know. This won’t be an easy conquest or a city handed over to spare its citizens pain—you won’t hesitate to put up a fight. 

“Okay.” 

John makes himself at home like a fox laying claim to a rabbit’s burrow. 

Siege warfare. A lifetime in the military has made him well versed in poliorcetics. He knows of how the Romans once conquered the city of Fidene by launching false attacks from four different directions at four different times before breaching the city through a long tunnel that passed under its walls, and how Alexander captured the city of Tyre by building a kilometer-long causeway and besieging it for seven months.

Your phone was the first thing to go, confiscated lest you got any funny ideas about calling someone to rescue you. Not that you need rescuing; in the end, you’ll see that this was in your best interests too. The next thing to do is your laptop, tucked away out of reach until you’ve proved yourself to be trustworthy. 

He cuts off all trade routes and replaces them with his own, Simon showing up at the door the following morning with supplies. When you spot a man at the door, you must think saviour before foe, because you pound on the window facing the porch. At least John had the foresight to lock you out of the foyer before he opened the front door.

Simon cocks an eyebrow. “Noisy mouse, ain’t she?”

He shrugs. “She’ll learn. You got everything I asked for?”

“Check ‘n tell me if I missed anything. I ‘aven’t got time to get anything else today, but I can come back tomorrow.”

“Good man, Simon. Give me a minute, alright, lad?”

John gives the bag a cursory check, but just as he thought, Simon didn’t miss anything. He never does. 

Simon helps him install an electronic lock on the front door from the inside before heading off to work and John spends the next ten minutes programming it while you stare through the foyer door helplessly. The back door gets the same treatment later on, effectively rendering you a prisoner in your own house.

Then he takes stock of the property. 

You’ve made yourself a perfectly respectable home. It has all the charm of a simple family home, nothing like his ancestral estate on the Welsh border; there’s something real here, something designed with comfort in mind. You’ll have to live with summering there and wintering here in the city, but he won’t ask you to abandon the life you’ve made for yourself here. The stove’s at least thirty years old—one of those old brands made to last, likely passed down from a family member or bought secondhand. 

But John takes stock of the layout of the house because the longer he’s there, the more his instincts tingle. 

As well-decorated and maintained as your house is, it doesn’t feel ready for a rut. Too many hard edges and wide open spaces. Before humans became accustomed to single domiciles, instinct would’ve made them search far and wide for a burrow or cave comfortable enough to ride out their cycle. 

Like nest building for omegas, den making is inherent to alphas. It’s programmed in his DNA. Even out in the wild, he’d know how to make one—know what materials to look for in the absence of soft pillows and sheets—and feel that same urge to make a space suitable for his mate. 

Everything in its right place.

He starts by pulling the mattress off the bed frame and dragging it to the corner of the room. It makes your room feel like more of a den, a place to hunker down in, and that’s only reinforced when John pulls out every blanket and pillow from your linen closet and drapes them over the mattress. You don’t have blackout curtains, but he solves that by pinning a few sheets up on your blinds until barely any light passes through. 

Preparing for a rut is a little like preparing for a storm. One has to batten down the hatches to ready themselves for the worst of it. He installs locks on the cutlery drawers and stows the knife block away in the highest cabinet, locking that as well. He thinks of the worst case scenarios and plans accordingly. 

You don’t seem to appreciate his efforts though.

“Why are you—” you start and then abruptly stop, swallowing. “Please stop rearranging the furniture.” 

John pauses, putting the couch down gently so as not to damage the floorboards or upset you with any sudden noise. 

“Well, love, I’m not about to let you do all the backbreaking work, now am I?”

That response doesn’t seem to satisfy you, expression still twisted into a scowl. “Neither of us has to do any work. Why are you moving things around in the first place?”

“You really don’t get how these things are done, do you?”

Embarrassment makes you snappy. “No, and I don’t have to because it’s my fucking house either way. Stop moving my furniture.”

His eyes go half-lidded. Anger courses through his veins like floating down a lazy river. John has never liked being told what to do—it’s a personality quirk that’s been both a hindrance and a help to his career, but in his love life, he’s never allowed that sort of thing to fly. The dissolution of his first marriage speaks for itself. 

He lumbers around the couch towards you and you flinch, walking backwards in the opposite direction. He’s quick despite his size though, hand reaching up and cupping the back of your neck before you hit the wall behind you, and all you can do is stare up at him towering over you nervously. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” John murmurs, holding you firmly enough by the back of your neck that you whimper, only one hand able to press against his chest in an effort to push him away. The other you cradle limply against your chest. “Keep running your mouth like that and I might need to find a better way to put it to use. Ever had your mouth knotted?”

Nothing headier than the idea of pushing to the back of his omega’s throat and letting his knot expand until it’s trapped behind your teeth, keeping you locked on his cock until it’s softened enough to pull out. 

He stores the idea away for later. It wouldn’t do to knot your mouth for the first time during his rut when he doesn’t have the wherewithal to take it slow and keep you centred, but it’s an idea he’ll have to return to at a later date. When he has time to sit you on his lap and comfort you after something so intense instead of thinking only of his own urges. 

Rut isn’t a completely mindless state of being. Even in the thrall of his rut, John will still have enough cognizance to make somewhat informed decisions. It would be dangerous if alphas were susceptible to any influence during such a vulnerable period. Anyone could take advantage of someone in that state. 

There are some things that he doesn’t have complete control over. The closer John gets to the onset of his rut, the stronger the urge to scent his territory gets. 

It starts off relatively innocuous. He touches things more. Grips the doorframe when he enters a room and brushes against the wall when he turns a corner. Anything to leave a trace of his scent behind. But as the days progress and the urge to mark what’s his grows to monstrous proportions, the manner in which he chooses to do so shifts in kind. 

“Did you piss in the shower?” you seethe, fists clenched when you storm into the living room where John is seated at the couch watching Casablanca in black and white. 

He grunts. Nods. 

“You could’ve turned the water on to rinse it out,” you hiss. “Or used the toilet.”

“Not the point,” John says. 

“There was a point to pissing in my shower?”

“Never spent a rut with anyone, have you?” That pleases the lazy beast inside of him, but he’s not in any mood to explain himself. That’s what books are for. He prefers to teach through example. 

“What does it matter? That still doesn’t mean you can piss in my shower.” 

He takes a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Then you won’t wanna go around the side of the house.”

The screech gets all tangled up at the back of your throat, only the memory from the last time you sassed him staying your tongue. John can only smile to himself as you storm out of the room.

For all your resistance, he knows you’re not entirely immune to his presence, same as how he can’t shake the gnawing need to bury himself in you as deep as he can get. He’s a prime specimen of alpha—all thick muscle and dark tufts of hair, belly spilling over the top of his jeans and new notch on his belt from the mass he’s tacked on the weeks leading up to his rut. He’s been around the block enough to know his appeal. 

It’s why John doesn’t worry when you hiss and spit. Views the fuss you put up akin to foreplay, a little rough-housing before the situation gets serious. 

There are tells after all. It’s the way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. Furtive glances from the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in your chair when he sits across from you at meal times and spreads his legs wide, knocking his knees against yours. Eyes going hazy and lingering on the bulging muscles of his arms when you watch him move the furniture around in your house. 

He thinks sometimes about dragging you into bed early. Getting it out of the way now and getting you used to his touch before his rut sets in. It would be a kindness, in a way. 

But he relishes getting to see you squirm, the pseudo-heat sinking in day by day and making you more persuasive, less likely to bolt when your hand finally heals. Your instincts will do half the work for him. All he has to do is wait. 

Besides, the greater the effort, the sweeter the reward. 

Midway through the week, when his rut is close enough to be a thorn in his side but not close enough to have earned him the right to refuse to come in, Laswell has him come in for some inane reason. 

John still doesn’t trust you enough to leave you alone though, so he calls Simon and asks him to babysit you for a couple hours. Not a half hour later, the man’s on his doorstep, hands by his sides and expression deadpan. Even out of the service, he’s still a good soldier. 

It’s what makes Simon his favourite sometimes, though he’d never tell a soul. John knows it’s not right to play favourites with his men, but in the privacy of his own mind, he can face reality. 

“I won’t be gone long, sweetheart, but Simon’s gonna watch you while I’m out. You gonna be on your best behaviour for him?”

Your eyes cut to Simon and they look dangerous. Calculating. His lips almost twitch in amusement under his mustache. 

“Sure,” you say instead of arguing. It’s more of a red flag than if you had. 

The five hours he spends away from you are excruciating, and his temper suffers for it. These days, at his own insistence he’s been relegated to something of a desk job, but that still comes with its fair share of responsibility. There are certain strategic meetings that he can’t simply decline to attend, and though the hours pass by fast enough, he can still feel your presence like an itch at the back of his head that he can’t seem to scratch.

When he gets home, the itch finally dissipates.

“How was she?” John asks.

“Biter.” Simon holds up a forearm where your bite mark sits livid red against his pale skin. The imprint is deep, nearly piercing right through flesh near the canines. 

John whistles. “She did a number on you.”

Simon shrugs, unbothered. “Left the door unlocked and she tried to run. Fast on her feet.” Never did have his head on straight, that one. John feels no pity for the omega that’ll be his one day, but he has some sympathy.

He won’t discipline you just yet. That’ll be a project for another day—after you’re mated and hitched—and he can take his time training you. For now it’s enough that you’re still tucked away inside the den, not quick enough to outrun his lieutenant. 

Simon leaves with a few crisp bills folded in his back pocket and John claps his shoulder on the way out. 

The time is coming though. Every day pulls the sun thick off the horizon, the water dragging back from the shore. Soon, there will be a wave.

John knows his rut has started when he wakes up one morning as grumpy as a bear fresh out of hibernation. 

The first thing he hears is the sound of his stomach growling. Food. His first conscious thought. His stomach aches something fierce, like he hasn’t eaten in quite some time, even though John vaguely recalls eating supper the night before (though for the life of him he can’t remember what). 

His mind processes all of the information around him slowly and sluggishly, not in a hurry to make sense of anything. His vision still works perfectly fine, but his brain takes awhile to register what his eyes are seeing. Only base impulses make any sense. He sniffs the air to help guide him towards a food source. 

Something warm-smelling comes slinking out of the bathroom quietly. His head snaps in its direction and it freezes in its tracks. Prey. 

He sniffs again. No, not prey. Something different. 

Standing up feels strange, like he’s out of his body. It’s too big somehow. Heavier than he remembers it being. The thing trembling by the doorway doesn’t move as he lumbers over, smart enough to know not to run. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from chasing it down if it tried to get away, prey or not. 

It flinches when he drops his head, the bridge of his nose brushing against its temple. His scent’s all over this one. He must have come or pissed on it at one point, marking it as his own. His scent clings to its skin, buried deeper than the epidermis. 

It shifts to one foot.

“Don’t…move…” he growls, tensing up. It tenses up too, breathing out short, shaky breaths. 

“J-John?” it says, voice like a bell in his head. It knows his name.

“Hungry,” he says instead of asking how it knows who he is. 

“I…I can make you breakfast.”

He herds it away from the bathroom door instead of answering, staring it down as it walks backwards down the hall and into the room that smells strongest of food. 

The house smells of him only vaguely. It smells mainly of the thing he herds into the kitchen, warm and spicy like cinnamon or cloves. There’s a faint trace of his scent though, as if he’s been here for enough time that it isn’t wholly foreign. His hackles raise at the thought of not being in his own territory though. 

But this must also be his. If you’re his, then your den must, in turn, belong to him. 

You scurry around the kitchen gathering all of the ingredients for breakfast while he stares from his chair, eyes tracking your every move. Part of him waits for you to try and bolt, on edge when you open the fridge and the sound makes his ears twitch. His muscles sit bunched under his skin, ready to pounce and chase. 

When you put the plate down in front of him, you make as if to take a step back, clearly meaning to give him some space. That won’t do. A firm hand on your forearm rectifies that; he pulls you down onto his lap before you’ve had a chance to register what’s happening. 

“Whoa,” you gasp, all turned around. 

The first piece of bacon he tries to pick up slips from his fingers. The next one he manages to pick up goes straight to your lips. “Eat.”

“I’m not—”

“Eat.”

Your cheeks bulge around the mouthful of bacon and eggs when he lifts another bite to your mouth. You chew quickly, swallowing before it’s fully chewed, nervous that his loose hold on his temper might slip. Only after you’ve had a couple filling bites does John allow himself to eat as well.

Some of his sense of self comes back with time. The pieces start coming back together. Your name, where he is, what you’re doing here. It comes back as his belly fills. 

His nature doesn’t allow him to feel pity, but you should at least know what’s ahead of you.

“It’s starting today,” he tells you, breaking the silence. You go stiff in his arms and then swallow the mouthful of food you’d been chewing.

“Today?” you repeat, your voice slightly hoarse. 

“Rut.” 

The word hangs in the air between him and you. John can almost hear your heart start to double in rhythm. 

You nod and whisper, “Okay.” 

The thing behind his eyes stares you down. It watches you chew and swallow your food until there’s nothing left on the plate, until your lips are tacky with grease and you have to suck your teeth to dislodge the trapped bits. 

With his belly full, other needs take precedence. 

It starts with him pressing his nose to the crown of your head, gliding it down to your temple and sucking in lungfuls of your scent the whole way, imbibing your scent. Spicy and musky; still pungent with sweat from the night before since you haven’t had a chance to shower yet, nothing to distract from your true scent. It makes his cock throb against his thigh. 

He drags his nose down your temple to your cheek, nuzzling against the side of your head. Rumbling when you go still, turning your head away from him when he tries to go for your lips, denying him again.

It agitates him. 

“Kiss me,” John growls. Demanding, not asking. 

He pinches your cheeks with his grip and twists your head towards him. The little resistance you offer flickers briefly before being snuffed out when he slots his lips against yours. 

What starts soft turns feverish in a matter of moments. Lips gliding and tongues twisting; the bridge of his nose pressed uncomfortably against yours, the whole kiss a mess of ache and teeth and hungry, greedy need. Spittle drips down your chin and you whine into his mouth when his beard scratches at the sensitive skin around your mouth. 

Need prickles at the base of his spine. For days now, he’s kept his hunger contained when all it wanted was to run rampant. He’s been so good to you—given you days to ready yourself for what was inevitably to come. He never tried to conceal the reason behind his presence in your house.  

And now it’s all coming to a head.

John slides you off his lap and down onto the floor under the table, planting his feet on the ground and lifting his hips to pull his sweats down, letting his cock flop out against his belly, heavy with blood. 

“John, do I have to…?” you whimper, trailing off like even saying it out loud might jinx you. 

“Want your mouth on my knot,” he says bluntly. 

Your eyes are sparkly with tears when he looks down, big and wide and helpless and it somehow just makes him even harder. When you sniffle, a bead of precum dribbles down his shaft. 

“Get it nice and wet,” John grunts, pushing your face into his dick. “It’s going inside you soon enough.”

“Please—” you whisper.

“It can go in dry too,” he warns. 

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth reluctantly, face all scrunched up and petulant, but eventually you do as you’re told. Shy, kittenish licks around the base of his cock, right over his knot. Lazy pleasure ripples up his spine, each drag of your tongue over his soft knot making his vision go blurry and his breath get heavier. Practically panting by the time you kiss a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his knot.

“My hand’s getting tired, sweetheart—mind taking over?” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, letting go of his cock so that it droops, batting your nose on the way down. The affronted look on your face nearly makes him snort. 

Your fingers curl around his cock, lifting it up. It looks brutish in your hand, ruddy and thick, precum leaking from the flushed head and dripping onto your head. If he were a decent man, he’d peel your hand off his cock and replace it with his own, get himself off with a rough, dirty tug instead of leaving that responsibility to you. Spoil you instead with gentle love making, all sweet talk and slow thrusts, decadent, languid kisses pulling your attention away from where it hurts.

But John isn’t a decent man. Not even a good man. 

He lets you lick and kiss it all over until his knot is wet with spit. Every so often your teeth graze his knot, forcing a violent shudder up his spine, and he snarls down at you, teeth bared to get the message across. Don’t push too far. 

He’s indulgent to a point. 

“Suck it too,” he rasps. The hand on the back of your head tightens, angling your face until your lips are stretched around his rapidly filling knot and you have no choice but to gently suck the puffed skin of his knot, your nose pressed against the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. 

His cock aches the longer you kneel there mouthing at his knot. It’d be nice to paint your face with cum—your tongue to start and then your cheeks and chin. A little on your forehead too just to mark you as his. He’s close enough to the edge that it wouldn’t take more than a few well-placed sucks, but his knot is already big enough. Any more and he won’t be able to fit it in you at all, at least not for another hour or so.  

He clamps his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you off, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his knot. “That’s enough.”

You frown, bottom lip jutting out. “You didn’t like it?”

That soothes the tension in his shoulders a little, makes his lips twitch under his mustache. 

“‘Course I liked it, sweetheart.” The weeping tip of his cock is enough evidence of that. 

“Why—why’d you stop me then?”

“I’m gonna come soon, honey, and I’d like the first time to be inside you.”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh.”

It’s a challenge getting you onto your hands and knees after that, divesting you of your clothes too. He very nearly has to wrestle you down to the ground, but exerting even the slightest amount of force makes you instantly acquiesce, likely realizing that you won’t stand a chance fighting him. He shushes you when you choke back a sob, kissing the back of your neck soothingly. 

At least, he hopes it soothes you. 

John runs a hand over your rump and between your legs, finding your center damp and hot to the touch. 

“Well, that’s a bit more inviting,” he says approvingly. “Been wet this whole time, sweetheart?”

You shake your head desperately, shoulders hitching with your quiet sobs. When he dips two fingers into your hole though, it’s soaked. Squelches when he pulls his fingers out and thrusts them back in. 

If he didn’t have more pressing concerns, he’d be tempted to turn over onto his back and tug you down onto his face. That thought lingers for a moment and then takes root. 

“Hold on, love—gotta do this first.”

The mattress springs back when he drops down onto his back. Your back arches when John grabs you by the hips and drags you over his mouth, your knees planted on either side of his head, one higher up than the other from being dragged down the bed. 

“Wait, you never said—” 

The crack across your ass interrupts you. He flexes his hand and then palms that same ass cheek, rubbing over the hurt. If you swear at him, it doesn’t register because his eyes are locked on the slice of heaven between your thighs, transfixed by your dew-slicked lips parting for his gaze.  

“That’s better,” John murmurs, then digs his fingers into your hips and pulls you down onto his face. 

The smell of your sex is drugging, mind-numbing. Musky and warm and fragrant. The hood of your clit is drawn back to expose the swollen bud and it calls to his tongue, a call which he answers in kind, gliding the flat of his tongue over it and smiling to himself when it twitches. 

It satisfies every carnal urge breathing fire and brimstone in the back of his mind. His tongue saws up the seam of your cunt, parting the soft, delicate petals before drawing one into his mouth, humming around the mouthful. The vibrations must feel good because your whole body jolts in his arms. 

When he sucks your clit into his mouth, you nearly wrench yourself right off his face, hands clawing at the bedsheets. Firm hands dig into the flesh of your backside and pull you back down though. 

“Mm…you gonna cum, sweetheart?” he rumbles into your pussy, his words muffled. 

“I—I’m gonna—oh…oh…—” 

Music to his ears. He can tell it’s right around the corner when your breathing goes staccato and your thighs squeeze around his head, forcing him to move one of his hands to keep your legs spread. He can feel your hole clench around his tongue, hips jerking sharply. 

He loves watching a pretty girl come. Loves feeling it on his tongue even more. It doesn’t take much to work you up to it either, likely on a hair trigger since he bolted the doors to your house shut and made himself at home. 

Your upper body collapses onto the bed when you come, hips undulating over his tongue subconsciously, like you can’t help but chase your release. And who is he to deny you when you’ve been such a sweet girl? 

John scoots down the bed to slide out from under you and sits up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing your juices from his mouth to his cheek, drops clinging to the bristles of his beard. Trapped there, he’ll smell it for days. 

Good. Better for him if he can. 

Taking his place behind you again, he reaches down between his legs and lines his cock up with one hand, the other holding your hip steady before pressing in one inch at a time, a smooth, slow glide to the halfway mark. You squeeze him like a vice, pussy all clenched up like a fist, too wound up and stressed to relax enough to take him to the root. Even coming has barely loosened you up. 

He topples over you until his chest is pressed to your back. The skin on your back is sticky with sweat, a tremor running through you and making you shake. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” John murmurs into the side of your head, planting a kiss there for good measure. The skin over your knuckles pulls tight when you fist the sheet beneath you. “Can you relax for me?”

“N-no?” It’s said like a question, like you’re looking to him for reassurance, like you need your alpha to help you relax, to loosen you up. 

It’s why he feels no guilt for the situation that you’re in. Trapped under your alpha, about to take his dick to the root. What would you have done if he hadn’t been around to take you home? Any matter of tragedy could have befallen you. 

“I’ve got you.” Talking both to you and himself. 

There’s nowhere for you to go but further up the bed when John forces the rest of his cock into you, gaining more ground with every thrust. That’s how soldiers make strides in new land, conquering new territory with every advance. Rigor and momentum. 

The flesh of your ass ripples with every thrust, hips clapping against your cheeks. He drives into you with a single minded intensity, grunting through each thrust. Reason falls to the wayside. All that matters is knotting and breeding the omega under him. 

Your cries echo through the bedroom in bright, clean bursts. 

He feels virile, potent; it’s his alpha running hot in his veins and his body thick with muscle and the way you all but disappear underneath him, just a sweet and soft omega for him to use and breed. Back arched just enough to let him sink in as deep as he can get. 

“John—” you wheeze. “T-too deep. It’s—unf, it’s, ah…it’s too deep.”

“Full, honey?” he grunts. 

“Y-yeah,” you respond, whimpering through the word. 

“I know, baby,” he says consolingly, contradicting his own sympathetic tone when his next stroke nudges against the seal of your womb. “Not very nice of me, is it?”

“Noooo,” you moan.

“Yeah, not very nice.” His laugh is breathless, mean. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Coherency is a luxury that slips from his fingers as quickly as it came. Like a shroud falling over him, it cuts him off from everything but what he touches. Even your mating gland is forgotten in his fervour, its siren song going mute against the backdrop of the blood pounding in his ears. 

His knot pops quick. Half a dozen more thrusts in and he feels it thicken and swell until he suddenly can’t pull out. It punches the breath out of him, making him bear down on you, trapping you both on his knot and under his weight. 

“Oh—oh—oh—” you gasp, overwhelmed. 

He hooks his chin over your shoulder and plants his hands on top of yours, twining your fingers together, an intimacy so staggering that he can feel it thrum through your body, your frame trembling underneath him. 

Knot thoroughly plugged inside of you, he can only grind his hips forward, nudging that same tender spot over and over until your pussy draws up nice and tight around him, dragged unwillingly to another orgasm. He sees stars when your channel squeezes around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. 

Overwhelmed, your heart rate spikes and your scent intensifies, permeating the room and lodging itself into the deepest recesses of his being. Your hands claw up the mattress, ripping the sheet off the left corner, and you yelp when you realize that you can’t pull off his knot, truly trapped.

John’s hindbrain interprets your squirming as trying to get away and he reacts instinctively, forcing you down to the mattress until your arms collapse under you and pinning you there with his body. 

“Where d’ya think you’re going?” he growls, mouth pressed to your ear. 

You shudder, walls tensing up around his knot and making him spurt another wad of cum into you. 

“Oh god,” you whisper, grunting softly when he forces more of his weight onto you, the mattress depressing under your combined weight. 

Sticky, tacky skin. Laboured breaths. Dark. Tunnel vision. Everything narrows to a single point. In the crook of your neck, your mating gland pulses. He presses his tongue to your neck and drags it through a trail of salty sweat. 

The vice grip around his knot has him swimming in and out of consciousness, vicious instincts clawing up his throat. It thins the barrier between him and his alpha, one no longer distinct from the other. 

“Are you—are you going to bite me?” you ask through panted breaths. 

His alpha considers it. That’s what he is now, at least. Its consciousness has usurped his, or moulded with his, or risen to the ranks of human. It tilts its head through him though, two beasts sharing a body and an appetite. 

It runs its tongue over its lips. He does the same.

“Not yet.”

Voracious. 

No matter how many times he cums or makes you cum, it’s never enough. 

He still has to rest though. Much to his consternation, the body demands it, so he falls asleep with you resting against his chest or under the crook of his arm with your fist curled over his belly, and wakes to the damp clutch of your centre pressed against his thigh from when you rolled over in the middle of the night. Then wakes you up by grinding your hips down against the hard line of his thigh, sweet talking you through an orgasm that leaves you thick-tongued and cross-eyed.  

Days pass that way. Blunt fingers; rake of tongue. Skimming his mouth over the valley of your tits and down the channel between your legs, gorging himself on the slick dripping from your pulsing hole. Scraped a bit raw from his beard, so he’s careful now; spreads your folds with his fingers before thrusting his tongue all the way in. 

He comes back to himself every now and then, some memories easier to recall than others:

Your cheek smushed against the shower wall, hands clawing at the tile while he drives into you from behind, rivulets of water running down your body. 

The feeling of your throat flexing around his shaft, your eyes watering when your nose nearly grazes his pubes. Pulling you off his cock to let you breathe and leaning down to press his forehead to yours. 

Pinching your cheeks to open your mouth after cumming in order to watch it melt on your tongue. 

Indulging in kisses messier than sex itself, lips going swollen and numb, eyes so masted that they’re barely even open. Each glide of your lips liquid and svelte. 

Always wanting more and more and more. 

Heavy footsteps following you into the kitchen as you scurry around looking for something to eat, wary glances thrown over your shoulder to keep track of him. Always keeping him in your line of sight. Smart girl; clever enough to know not to turn your back to a predator. 

Occasionally, he loses track of you as a person again, thinking of you like an extension of himself instead. Your name disappears into the recesses of his mind, replaced by concepts like omega, mine, pup—

You cover his mouth with your hands to muffle his words and he bites your fingers one by one until you pull them away. 

And it keeps—

going and going and going and going

—thoughts shaking loose from his head, one by one; hours disappearing into thin air, nothing real except the omega on the end of his knot. When it whimpers, his chest puffs out and his breathing goes laboured, his only concrete thought to fill it with more of his cum, make sure that it takes. 

It will, if John gets his way. 

And he always does.

Another season over, this one different from the rest. 

You’re still in bed when he surfaces from his rut, low back cracking and popping when he sits up. His muscles will ache for days after this, the aftermath of any good rut lingering in the body longer than the rut itself. 

John scrubs a hand down his face and cracks his jaw open for a good yawn, stretching everything out. When he looks down by his side, he finds you curled into yourself, cheek resting against the back of your hand, sleeping soundly.

You’re so tuckered out that your toes don’t twitch even when he drags his finger down the line of your back, stopping at your sacrum. The slope of your ass underneath the bed sheet is tempting, inviting him to part your legs and settle himself between them again, but he’s put you through enough over the past few days. 

Later, he’ll want to check between your legs and see how much of his cum is still painted between your thighs. Either way, he’ll have to run you a bath with Epsom salt for you to soak in. 

That’ll have to wait until after breakfast though.

Right on cue though, his stomach growls. No amount of preparation for a rut is ever enough—not once has he ever come out of one feeling refreshed. It’s always aching joints and empty stomachs and bruises where bruises usually shouldn’t be. His age only makes it all the more noticeable. 

His future ruts won’t always be this way. Not when his hormones are tempered by his omega’s corresponding heat. In the future, proximity and cohabitation will align your heat and his rut cycles, making the whole ordeal far more pleasant. One to stabilize the other. You’ll put in for leave at the same time and slip into it quietly, like slipping into a gentle, welcoming stream. 

That’s a thought for another time though. For now, John pulls himself out of bed and saunters towards the bathroom, intent on running a quick shower before fixing himself something to eat. 

He takes a brisk shower under cold water, scrubbing his chest and letting the soap run down his legs for no longer than ten minutes before shutting off the water. It’s a shame that it washes your scent off of him, but he’ll rectify that later when you’re up.  

The smell of bacon frying in the pan permeates the kitchen, the sound of it as emblematic of morning time as birds singing in the trees or the soft sound of the radio on in another room. A cool breeze spills in through the cracked open window. 

It’s nearly time, but not quite. 

He waited because he wanted this to be deliberate. Intentional, as everything he does always is. 

It wouldn’t have been as meaningful in the throes of his rut. Easily chalked up to instinct or error, rather than seen as intended from the very beginning. 

An hour or so later, you start to stir. Though his instincts aren’t as sharp as they were in the midst of his rut, he can still hear the bed creak in the other room. 

The bedroom is bathed in light when he returns. In the center of the bed, you’ve turned over onto your back, the light cascading over you making you look almost angelic. His heart throbs in his chest. 

One day, he might even love you. 

“You awake?” John asks, resting his knee against the edge of the bed and slowly climbing over you. When you blink a couple times and nod, he leans down to draw you into a slow, drugging kiss. 

The taste of your mouth is familiar now; he’s tasted it so many times over the past few days that it’s etched into his memory now. 

“Hm? Yeah,” you sigh, then meet his eyes. You must register something there because you pause, squinting up at him. “Are you… Is it over?”

John nods. It’s easier to just say yes than qualify that the rut hormones haven’t fully left his system yet, still present though in much smaller quantities. He’ll still be quick to anger for the next few days, in no shape to return to work just yet, but eventually his system will flush those lingering traces of rut and he’ll be back to his normal self. 

You smile, relieved. “Okay…that's uh, that’s good. Do you…do you mind if I rest a bit longer before I leave?”

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

He palms the side of your face, brushing the wispy baby hairs out of the way. All his life and he’s never seen something prettier than you. 

“In fact,” John murmurs, canines aching when he runs his tongue over them. “You can stay as long as you’d like.”

You must catch the double meaning in his words because your eyes go sharp. “Huh?”

His eyes flicker down to your neck and it hits you like a battering ram. 

It’s too late though. He gathers your wrists in his palm when you try to bat at his face, immediately going into struggle mode, and pins them down over your head with ease. With his other hand, he holds you by the neck and turns your head to one side, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. 

“John—wait, no, no—waitwaitwait, please—you said—”

Legs kicking out, back nearly arching off the bed, you put every last bit of your fight into trying to throw him off, only for him to force you back down, barely a grunt passing his lips. Then he ducks his head into the crook of your neck.

“John—John, please!”

John bites down. 

Under his teeth, your gland splits. 

The moment of connection is just as divine as he imagined. When your gland breaks under his teeth and your blood oxidizes in his mouth, his world reconfigures itself around this new reality, one where you flow through his veins like blood and swim through his mind like thought. 

He sees now what he missed before. All this time, he’s assumed that fate has railed against him, intent on him remaining alone. 

What he understands now is that—

(you whimper under him and arch up into his body, saliva gurgling in your throat)

—fate has always been on his side. 

After Ragnarok, the earth will once again bob out of the saltwater, dregs of ancestral seafoam lapping at the sides.

(he gnaws at the Yggdrasil’s roots)

In this life, nothing has ever been handed to him because he has needed to fight for it. Of course fate would have taken that into consideration when creating his mate. Baptism by fire. He never would’ve been satisfied with simply being handed his intended mate. He needed to leave the imprint of himself like chiselling into stone. Maker of his own fate.  

When he pulls back, teeth unlatching from your shoulder and blood leaking from the wound, you stare up at him through misty, filmy eyes, tears scorching hot lines down your cheeks. 

He can appreciate the shock this must come as. You thought you’d get off scot-free after all—just a few days of being fucked and knotted and then sent on your way—not kept like bounty from a sacked city. You are a prize though. His hard earned prize. 

His moral compass doesn’t allow him to see this as a pillaging. Not when his actions are led by his heart.

You raise a shaky hand to cover the wound on your shoulder, wincing when your fingers brush the raw skin there, coming back saturated in blood. “You—you bit me.” 

John hums. “It’s alright, sweetheart; it’s over now. Nothing to worry about anymore.”

“You said—you promised you wouldn’t,” you bleat. 

He shakes his head, voice still soft when he responds. “Never said I wouldn’t, sweetheart.”

“You said you’d leave. You promised you’d leave.”

“Aw, honey, you wouldn’t do that to an old man, would you?” He lies down beside you, pulling on your heartstrings like a marionette. Plenty have called him a decent soldier, but no one has ever called him a good person. “Why make me leave when you could have someone in your corner instead?”

Tears like diamonds on your cheeks. You’re the most beautiful creature that John has ever laid eyes on; there’s no wonder why he had to make you his. Had he turned around in that hospital and walked out that door after hearing your voice, life would have been less complicated but it would have been dull, colourless. He would have woken up today with his mind at ease, but his heart would have been empty. 

Now though—

“We’ll be good for each other,” John says, moving his hand over your throat, loose fingers simply resting there. Just enough to feel the thrum of your pulse under his palm. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He feels you swallow beneath his palm. It is easy to see why you might doubt his words.

But in the back of his mind, his alpha purrs, satisfied for once in its life, and when he tightens his fingers around your throat, you go still, all of your trust gathering there in the palm of his hand. He can live with that.

So long as he has you, he can live with anything.

[okaylikeschaewon]

Debauchery: Part 1

~7.5k words, male reader, smut, Part 1 of 3

“You can go first.”

“No please, you first.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Mina please, you’re my senior.”

“Sakura, don’t do that,” Mina groaned with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t make this formal.”

“Fine, but then just call me Kkura,” Sakura smiled, spinning the chair in Mina’s direction.

Mina stepped forward and placed her knees on the chair, leaning forward over the backrest, and pressed her mouth against Sakura’s partially opened lips.

“Oh!” Sakura gasped, taken aback by the kiss. “I…”

“Was that okay? Kkura?” Mina teased, her lips curling up in a gentle smile.

Sakura hesitated, frozen in time for a moment, before answering.

“It… was…” she finally spoke, breathing heavily with each word. “It was just so sudden. I was surprised.”

“Surprised at how much you liked it?”

“No! I mean… I did… but…” Sakura stammered frantically. “You’re still my boss.”

“Was I still your boss last weekend?” Mina teased some more, smiling gleefully.

“Mina! I thought we weren’t going to talk about that?”

“Yeah, but then you just kissed me again out of nowhere,” Mina kept up the taunting. “And you know, the way you just melted against me-”

“I didn’t melt!” Sakura began blushing profusely.

Mina smirked proudly, loving every second of Sakura’s embarrassment.

 “I can’t help but notice how much you’ve been watching me at work lately,” Mina spoke softly, getting off the chair and pushing it to the side slightly to get closer to Sakura. “Speaking of that kiss, did you feel a bit of a spark between us or was that just me?”

Sakura paused for another moment, taking a couple of deep inhales of Mina’s lavender perfume in, closing her eyes for a second before opening them back up and staring Mina in the eyes.

“Yes,” Sakura whispered back, leaning her mouth forward just slightly with pouted lips. “I did.”

“It felt like you wanted more.”

“Wanted more?”

“Do you not?” Mina’s lips curled up into a smirk again as she inched a bit closer to Sakura who still had her lips pouted ever so slightly. “If you want, we could try it again… just to confirm.”

“This is why you invited me over, isn’t it?” Sakura whispered, tilting her head a bit and moving even closer to Mina.

“Maybe it is.”

“Then hurry up and kiss me.”

Mina - almost literally - jumped at the opportunity and pressed her mouth forward against Sakura once more, kissing her deeply and tenderly, gently pressing her tongue into Sakura’s mouth.

“Am I interrupting something?” you chuckled as you entered the room.

“No,” Mina edged back, licking her lips. “Kkura here was just about to show me how good she is at FPS games.”

“I’m really not that good,” Sakura stammered, cheeks bright red.

“Then let’s just say fuck the games for now,” Mina cupped Sakura’s face with both hands and kissed her again.

This time, however, Sakura quickly pulled away. Her eyes were almost as big as her face, beautiful and round, as worry took over and she glanced in your direction.

“Don’t worry so much,” Mina giggled before giving Sakura’s ass a little slap. “You’re not getting in trouble for anything.”

“I don’t understand…” Sakura mumbled, unphased by the slap, eyes darting between Mina and you. “He knows about last weekend?”

“You mean when you kissed me at the work mixer? Or do you mean the part where you ended up taking me to the roof? Yeah, he knows,” Mina laughed at Sakura’s mortified reaction. “Kkura relax, just forget about me being your boss for the night. You had no issue last weekend.”

“Mina told me that same night,” you walked over to the two girls. “You know, you’re not even the first girl she’s messed around with from work.”

“And oh my God you gave me such a good time,” Mina moaned softly before pulling the chair back and forcing Sakura to sit in front of you. “Sit. I think it’s only fair that I give you what you want as a thank you.”

“What I want?” Sakura stammered as she sat down and looked up at you. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you were pretty drunk, but do you not remember what you told me?” Mina asked while leaning over the back of the chair and kissing Sakura on the cheek. “Don’t be shy about it, we both think your little crush on my boyfriend is super cute.”

“Crush? I don’t have…” Sakura’s voice trailed off as she began piecing everything together.

“What do you remember?” you asked as you unbuckled your pants. “From that night, after you ate my girlfriend’s ass, do you remember what you said?”

“Don’t be crass,” Mina slapped your arm, glaring at you. “Ignore him,” Mina turned her attention back to Sakura. “Kkura sweetie, you asked for something pretty specific that night. Do you remember?”

“I take it this was all part of your plan?” Sakura chuckled nervously, her eyes fixated on your unbuttoned belt.

“Maybe,” Mina smiled and kissed Sakura’s cheek again. “Tell me, my sweet Kkura, do you still want to suck his cock?”

Sakura’s body jolted at the comment before she took a moment and began to relax.

“Now who’s being crass?” you chuckled under your breath.

“I assume I said that when I was drunk?” Sakura asked with a newfound calmness before pausing to look you straight in the eyes before continuing her response to Mina’s question. “Right after I ate your ass I bet?”

“That’s right,” you answered for Mina while placing one hand on the back of Sakura’s head and pulling her a bit closer to your crotch. “She told me you’re good with your mouth.”

“Maybe I am,” Sakura smirked, full of confidence now despite her blushed cheeks screaming embarrassment. “Want to find out?”

“Fuck the back-and-forth,” you groaned, pushing your hips forward a bit more. “I’ve been thinking about your sexy little mouth ever since Mina told me you wanted to suck my cock.”

Sakura smiled wide as she began undoing your pants and lowering them to your ankles. As soon as she released your cock from your underwear, it smacked against her face, making her flinch before she opened her mouth with pure desire behind her eyes.

“She’s practically drooling,” Mina laughed while grabbing Sakura’s hair and wrapping it into a makeshift bun. “I told you it was big.”

“Holy fuck,” Sakura mumbled, gripping your cock and stroking the full length slowly, taking her time to appreciate your size.

“Come on,” you moaned, grabbing Sakura’s wrist, guiding your cock towards her lips.

Sakura opened her mouth wide, welcoming your cock as you pushed into her throat. You grabbed her hand and pulled it off your shaft so that you could go deeper, pressing your cock as far down as you could. Once you felt too much resistance, you pulled back out, leaving Sakura gasping for air.

“It’s so fucking big,” Sakura croaked, catching her breath. “I can’t-”

“That’s what you wanted,” Mina giggled before reaching down and lifting up Sakura’s shirt. “Fuck, I love your tits. I'm honestly a bit jealous.”

Sakura moaned gracefully as Mina began playing with her chest, still staring at your cock with her lips slightly parted, waiting for you to make the next move. Her eyes were begging for you, as if she had this hunger that could only be lifted by your cock.

“They’re beautiful alright,” you mumbled, watching your girlfriend playing with Sakura’s tits as you stepped forward again and grabbed Sakura’s head with both hands. “You have no idea how much Mina has been raving about them these last few days.”

Sakura couldn’t respond before you pushed your cock into her mouth again. You didn’t even bother with any caution this time - not that you showed much the first time. Regardless, you pushed your cock forward about halfway into Sakura’s mouth before using your hands to maneuvre her head and fuck her senseless. You could see her body going limp as you went deeper and deeper, thrusting your cock hard while pulling her face into your body.

“You look so fucking good right now,” you moaned, tilting your head back, scrunching up your face.

Sakura continued to struggle on your cock before Mina finally saved her, giving her a chance to breathe by pulling her mouth off your cock. As Sakura gasped for air, Mina turned the chair around and began making out with her. Mina sucked up all of the drool dripping from Sakura’s lips after the face-fucking she just took.

“I could seriously fuck that pretty little face all night, I’d never get bored of it,” you commented casually, stroking back Sakura’s hair behind her ears while Mina moved down and began sucking on her tits. “But my girlfriend has other plans.”

“Oh?” Sakura looked down at Mina who had just released her nipple from her mouth. “And what would that be?”

“You don’t get to ask questions,” Mina hissed softly with an icy undertone that made your cock twitch. “In fact, no more talking either, you’ll just be doing whatever I tell you, okay?”

“Yes boss.”

“‘Boss’,” Mina smirked coyly. “I like that.”

Then, after giving Sakura’s tits a little slap, Mina pressed Sakura’s mouth against your balls. Instinctively, as they entered her mouth, Sakura took hold of your shaft and began stroking you gently - the girl needed no instruction.

“Good girl,” Mina smiled proudly as she began stripping off all her clothes, watching Sakura suck your balls proudly.

Once Mina had fully stripped down, she bent over at her hips and put your cock into her mouth. The view of Mina sucking your cock with Sakura licking your balls nearly made you blow in an instant, yet by some higher power you managed to hold on - at least for now. The two girls worked your cock in unison a bit more before swapping positions. Now Mina, who had dropped down to her knees, was licking your balls while Sakura was sucking your cock.

“You girls are going to make me fucking cum,” you moaned, shutting your eyes tight.

Mina released your balls with a little pop before joining Sakura on your shaft. Sakura, taking Mina’s lead, began licking your shaft up and down, both girls working in tandem to rub their tongues against your cock.

“I’m fucking serious,” you gasped as Sakura started kissing your shaft over and over.

“Then do it,” Mina whispered, her warm breath hitting your tip just the right way before she put it in your mouth.

Mina began working your tip hard, moving down your cock just slightly while applying pressure all around your head, her tongue massaging your frenulum. While she worked the tip, Sakura began licking your balls again, pressing her lips against your taint and kissing it deeply. The girl had no apprehension when it came to getting right up in there, pushing her mouth hard against your balls, licking them side to side.

“Mina…” you moaned as you felt the rush of euphoria shooting through your spine.

That was the last warning she’d get, within the next two or three seconds you felt your cock unloading cum relentlessly into Mina’s mouth. She held her lips tight against your tip, letting you fill her up, and Sakura kept prodding her tongue up against your balls the entire time. After the initial wave, Mina grabbed your cock and started stroking it, getting as much of your cum out as she could.

Once content, she lifted her mouth off your cock, spilling just a little bit on your shaft before she got off her knees and onto her feet again. Then, Mina gently took Sakura’s face in her hands and tilted her head up. Sakura obeyed without even being told and opened her mouth as Mina let a glob of your cum spill out of her lips and directly into Sakura’s mouth.

As soon as the cum landed on Sakura’s tongue, Mina bent down and kissed her, pressing her lips hard against Sakura’s. In a glorious, cum-filled kiss, the two girls began sharing the moment together, basically forgetting all about you as they played with your cum. Once pretty much all of it had moved from Mina’s mouth into Sakura’s, Mina leaned back and gently closed Sakura’s mouth with her hand, encouraging the girl to swallow it all - which she did with ease.

“Good girl,” Mina smiled as she motioned towards your cock. “You missed a spot.”

Without a second thought, Sakura leaned forward and licked the few streaks of cum left on your shaft, swallowing that as well. Then, Mina leaned in close and whispered something into Sakura’s ear. Whatever it was, she thought about it for at most a second before nodding excitedly at Mina.

“Such a good little girl,” Mina smiled, kissing Sakura again before climbing on the desk and sticking her ass up just slightly.

Sakura stood up from the chair and followed her to the desk. Once there, she took a moment to look over her shoulder back at you. While flashing you a smile, she pulled down her pants so that she was also completely nude and then bent over at her hips. While spreading her cheeks and flashing her pussy at you, Sakura pressed her face into Mina’s ass.

“Oh fuck I’ve missed this mouth,” Mina moaned loudly into the room. “Come on babe, give her what she deserves, give it to her good.”

“Gladly,” you muttered, mesmerized by how passionately Sakura was eating your girlfriend’s ass right now.

It was a beautiful scene as Mina’s back arched up, her shoulders flexed, and her head craned down towards the desk. Her legs were spread just enough and her ass was lifted to give Sakura easy access. Part of you was almost jealous of Sakura’s position.

That jealousy really didn’t last long though, not when you had a clear view of Sakura’s tight little pussy glistening before you. The girl was beyond excited, you could clearly see how wet she was. You walked up right behind her, pushing apart her cheeks just a little bit with your hands as you lined your cock up with her folds.

Just as you imagined, she was tight. But oh my God she was wet. Unbelievably. Sakura’s pussy felt fucking amazing right now, like pure heaven on your cock. It must have felt nice for her as well, because you heard a muffled but loud little half shriek half moan escape her lips the moment you pushed your way in. As you started gently thrusting your cock into Sakura’s tight pussy, you could see her back muscles flexing.

Even though you were willing to fuck her face hard earlier, for some reason you felt like being much more gentle with her now as you slowly eased your cock in and out of her pussy. She felt more delicate now - softer, definitely tighter, and just a bit more fragile in your hands. Maybe it was because you could see how amazing she was making Mina feel.

While still thrusting softly, you lightly pressed the back of Sakura’s head deeper into Mina’s ass just to see how she’d react. To your pleasant surprise, Sakura took that little pressure and doubled it herself, pressing her face even deeper into Mina’s ass until Mina began squirming like crazy. Sakura really was an angel.

Mina moaned hard, and you could have sworn you felt Sakura’s pussy tighten up a bit. Now, you decided, it was time to pick up the pace. You grabbed Sakura’s tiny waist and pressed her down against the edge of the desk, bracing her as you started thrusting with more force. You went harder and rougher until Sakura lifted her head out of Mina’s ass and began screaming, her legs shaking, and her knuckles white as they gripped the side of the desk.

“Pretty girl is cumming,” Mina sang gently as she slipped off the desk and watched Sakura with admiration.

Odds were pretty high that she didn’t even hear Mina’s words, as you could definitely feel Sakura cumming against your cock. The way her pussy began squeezing tighter, forcing you to fight just to stay in, it felt fucking unbelievable. Thankfully she was soaked, making it a bit easier to push in.

“Fuck you feel so - damn - good - right now,” you moaned, giving Sakura’s ass a hard slap before grabbing Mina’s arm and pulling her towards you.

“Oh!” Mina gasped with a giggle before immediately stifling it as you kissed her.

With your cock pumping inside Sakura, you kissed Mina hard and passionately, feeling your second orgasm rapidly approaching. Her pussy, even though it was relaxing a bit, was still squeezing your shaft so perfectly, warm and wet, coating your cock like a glove. Sakura was the perfect little fuckdoll for you, pussy designed perfectly to fit your cock.

“I’m going to cum again,” you whispered into Mina’s mouth before kissing her again.

As your lips met once more, you slipped your hand between her legs and began rubbing her wet clit. You toyed with her a bit, making her moan into your mouth, before slipping a finger into her asshole.

“Babe!” Mina gasped, shutting her eyes tight.

At that same moment, Sakura began moaning loudly into the air. Then, as Sakura began screaming, you felt her pussy clamp down even harder on your cock - she was cumming again. Each and every pulse could be felt through your shaft, each little gush of wet, each throb matching your own heat.

While Sakura finished once more on your cock, you pumped her pussy as hard as you could, nearing your own release rapidly. The finger you had in Mina’s ass was swiftly pulled out and the kiss ended as you began focusing everything in your body on fucking Sakura’s pussy.

Then, right before you could cum, you felt her body lose all energy as she began collapsing to the floor. Your cock slipped out of her pussy as she dropped to her knees and turned around. Sakura, face red and coated in sweat, looked up at you with her mouth open and her tits in her palms, pushed up together.

“Cum on me,” Sakura moaned, sticking her tongue out. “All over my body.”

Almost as if on cue, the first spurt of your cum shot forward right onto Sakura’s face. She jerked backwards instinctually as she closed her eyes before holding steady, taking the next two shots right to her face.

Mina, not wanting to be left out, also quickly dropped to her knees and began kissing your balls as the rest of your cum spilled out and began coating Sakura’s tits. You never would have expected so much, but Sakura’s chest was thoroughly coated in white while the last few dribbles of cum spilled on Mina’s cheek as she kissed your balls.

“I’m fucking spent,” you groaned, pulling the chair over and taking a seat.

“I can see that,” Mina giggled as she crawled over to Sakura.

The two girls lay down together and Mina began sucking on Sakura’s tits again, spreading your cum all over.

“That was amazing,” Sakura sighed, her chest heaving up and down as she caught her breath while Mina continued lapping up all the cum from her chest.

“How about we-” Mina began, pausing to kiss Sakura on the lips before continuing, “-head to the bedroom?”

Sakura and you exchanged glances before both of you began laughing.

“Alright, come on,” you got up with a smile and held your hand out for Sakura to take. “We’re not done yet.”

—

It was you who woke up first, when the sun started to peek through the curtains. After carefully removing yourself from the web of intertwined limbs on Mina's bed, you began to look for your clothes. Even though last night felt like a blur, you knew it was all real; Your body, aching with soreness, was ample proof that the night was real - and this wasn’t accounting for the two nude girls you just woke up next to. You were exhausted, but you were also experiencing a glow like no other this morning.

“You’re up early,” Sakura croaked from behind you.

“Morning,” you looked back over your shoulder to see her squinting. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she yawned, stretching her arms towards the roof, not caring at all about her tits being out. “Hey, do you think you could give me a ride home?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, picking up whatever garments you could find off the floor. “When?”

“Now’s fine,” she yawned again, gently lifting Mina’s arms off her and getting off the bed. “Let me just gargle some water or something real quick, my throat is on fire.”

“Sorry again.”

“Idiot,” Sakura chuckled, giving your shoulder a light hit as she walked past you to the bathroom.

Sakura’s figure was truly entrancing, that tiny waist with her gorgeous hips swaying back and forth with each step. Part of you almost wanted to follow her round ass into the bathroom to have another turn with her, even though you had plenty of fun with her last night. Instead, you refrained and turned to Mina.

“Babe,” you called out, giving her a couple of pats on her butt before palming her soft cheek. “I’m going to go drop Sakura off, alright?”

“Mhmm,” she moaned in her half-slumber.

“I’ll be back in a bit, text me if you need anything,” you added, leaning over and kissing her forehead before putting on the rest of your clothes.

—

“Not much of a morning person?” you asked while putting your car into park.

“Sorry?” Sakura asked, confused as she turned to you.

“You didn’t say a word the whole drive.”

“Oh,” Sakura began blushing slightly. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to muster up some courage.”

“Courage?”

“I wanted to ask if…” she hesitated before turning to face you with those beautiful puppy dog eyes. “If you’d like to come up for some breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

“It’s a meal people have in the morning.”

“Sakura,” you burst out laughing. She smiled at you warmly as your laughter subsided. “Well, I mean, I guess I have time.”

“Perfect!” Sakura gushed as she got out of your car. “You like eggs, right?”

“Nah, hate them,” you replied while following Sakura to the elevators.

“Then you can sit there and watch me eat eggs I guess.”

“That sounds good to me,” you smirked at her. “I’ve really grown to enjoy sitting there and watching you swallow.”

“Stop!” Sakura whined as her smile slipped through her feigned annoyance. “My body hasn’t had a night like that in a while.”

“You also sore?”

“Yeah, all over,” Sakura giggled, exiting the elevator in front of you. “Your girlfriend is quite… intense.”

“Not like it’s your first time experiencing her,” you teased as Sakura unlocked the door to her apartment. “Shouldn’t you already know this?”

“That was different, I didn’t really have anything going inside me that night,” Sakura replied casually as she stepped into her kitchen and started the coffee machine. “I spent most of the evening between her legs.”

“Between her cheeks, you mean.”

“Are you ever gonna stop teasing me?” Sakura leaned against her countertop with her arms crossed. “So what if I eat ass?”

“After last night, nope,” you smiled at her. “And it’s not like I’m judging you for it, been there done that.”

She returned the smile, and you both paused to gaze at each other; Sakura was so pretty this morning, even though she just woke up. Mina showed you all of Sakura's social media accounts following the events of last weekend’s gathering. You admitted to Mina that you thought Sakura was absolutely stunning, which is the only reason last night even happened, even though Mina seemed slightly anxious about sharing you with another girl.

“Cream and sugar?” Sakura asked while turning around towards the coffee machine.

“Huh?” you snapped out of your trance. “You want me to cream on your face again?”

“Oh my God,” Sakura sighed with exasperation. “I’m really never living it down.”

“I’m just kidding,” you stepped up right behind Sakura and placed your hands on her hips and whispered into her ear. “But does the coffee really matter?”

“What?”

“Sakura,” you turned her around and pressed her back gently against the counter. “We both know why you asked me to come up, and it’s not for breakfast.”

“That’s a bold assumption,” Sakura replied with an aura of confidence. “Maybe I just wanted some company for breakfast?”

“Maybe, but I also know you don’t eat breakfast.”

“W-What…” she stammered, cheeks turning pink. “How did you-”

“I know a lot about you, Sakura,” you whispered while keeping eye contact. “So, am I right? Did you invite me up for eggs or for something else?”

Sakura hesitated, biting her lower lip and trying to avoid your gaze as her eyes darted around the room. Yet, they always managed to fall right back onto yours.

“Don’t be shy now,” you added gently while pushing her hair behind her ears. “After last night, there’s nothing you need to hide from me anymore.”

“What about Mi-”

“What about her?” you cut her off. “Not that she’d mind, but I won’t tell her anything either way.”

“But-”

“Sakura,” you spoke firmly and placed your hands on the counter around Sakura’s body. “Either you walk over to the stove, or you drop down to your knees, what’s it going to be?”

She hesitated for just a moment before you saw the flame ignite behind her eyes.

“You’re right,” she whispered softly, lifting her hands up to use the hair tie she had on her wrist as she bunched up her hair. “I don’t even have eggs.”

“That’s what I thought,” you smiled as Sakura slowly dropped down to her knees as you started unbuckling your pants. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of my cock.”

“Yeah, just like how you can’t get enough of my mouth,” Sakura replied as she pulled your pants down to your ankles.

“No I can’t,” you muttered under your breath as the sensation of Sakura’s mouth finding your tip again instantly sent waves of pleasure through your body.

With your eyes closed, you placed your hands on Sakura’s head and simply enjoyed letting her suck your cock with full control. You didn’t thrust your hips nor did you push her head, you just existed in the state of bliss that Sakura put you in. Gentle slurps were all you could hear as the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen.

“I love your cock so much,” Sakura gasped as she finally took a breath. She grabbed your shaft with her slender fingers and started stroking you while tilting her head down towards your balls. She gave them a quick kiss before sliding her tongue all the way up your shaft and engulfing your cock once more, bobbing her head up and down your length.

“Fucking hell Sakura,” you moaned softly, pushing your hands against the counter to hold yourself up. “Lemme see those tits again.”

Sakura slowly rose to her feet, her fingers finding your shaft as she leaned in close to you, giving you a couple of gentle strokes as she whispered. “You love my tits, don’t you?” she asked with a sly little smile.

“That’s right,” you replied as your hands landed on her hips, slowly sliding up her shirt. “I had the best sleep ever, laying my face on them.”

“Did you also like cumming all over them?”

“I don’t recall, jog my memory?” you smirked at her as your hands finally found her soft tits.

As you gave her a little squeeze, you leaned forward into her and kissed her on the lips. As soon as you tasted her, you realized despite all the events of last night, this was your first time kissing Sakura. A wave of warmth shot through you, it was hard to explain, it felt both wrong and right at the same time. Before you could think about it and figure out what was going on, Sakura had pulled back and taken your hand, walking you over to her couch.

Sakura, after pushing you onto the couch, began slowly taking off her shirt. She made sure to sway her body side to side, inching the fabric up tediously, exposing her tiny waist inch by inch. It was only once her shirt made it to her chest did she quickly swoop it off her body, sending her tits recoiling into a bounce that felt like it lasted an eternity - almost cartoonishly.

The show wasn’t over yet. You started stroking your cock gently as Sakura turned around, showing off her toned back, and bending at her hips. Slowly, oh so painstakingly slowly, Sakura lowered her pants to her ankles, kicking them away. Then, with just her panties on and nothing else, she took a seat on your lap, pushing your cock between her cheeks.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whispered into her ear as you wrapped your arms around her body and palmed her tits.

“You like my tits that much?” Sakura whispered back, turning her face. “Wanna fuck them?”

Your cock began throbbing - which Sakura definitely felt as evident through her confident little giggles - and you squeezed Sakura’s tits hard between your fingers. There was no need to answer, Sakura already knew, and with an impressive smoothness she slid down your body and onto her knees in front of you.

“Just relax, let me do the work,” Sakura moaned softly as she pushed her tits together around your cock.

She started slowly, moving her tits up and down with her hands, making your entire length disappear between them. Then, once she had a rhythm going, she looked up directly into your eyes and began bouncing her entire body up and down, pushing her tits together hard, making a tight seal around your cock.

It felt like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. It wasn’t tight, but it was unbelievably soft and smooth - it just felt right having your cock between Sakura’s tits. You loved it. The sensation was unreal, you felt like you were getting close but not able to cum, as if Sakura was edging you, it just felt like a steady stream of dopamine straight to your brain. 

This was when you realized you really couldn't cum like this, but it still felt so damn good that you didn’t want it to stop. Sakura, enthusiastic as ever, stopped only to let a glob of spit fall from her lips as lube for your cock. It was hard to tell if she was enjoying this, but she made sure to keep going, doing all the work while you sat there in utter bliss.

Enough was enough, the pressure was becoming too much for you to take. You needed to bust, and all you could think about was Sakura’s sexy little mouth again. The girl must have been able to read your mind, because all it took was a shared glance of understanding before Sakura let go of her tits, letting them bounce down with gravity as you pulled her up to the couch next to you.

Sakura, eager as ever, immediately bent down over your lap and started using her hand and mouth in tandem to suck you off as fast as she could. You reached your hand over and slipped it down the back of Sakura’s panties, palming her ass and squeezing softly as you closed your eyes and focused. WIth your other hand, you lightly pressed down on the back of Sakura’s head as she worked your cock with all her expertise.

“That’s it Sakura, that’s the spot,” you moaned, pushing her head just a bit harder. “Don’t fucking stop, I’m about to cum.”

She heard you, and she obliged. Sakura, without needing your push, throated your cock as hard as she could, going down almost your entire length with each push. At this point, you were so close that you found yourself thrusting your hips up into her mouth right up until you felt yourself about to cum.

Before the final little thrust, you let go of Sakura’s ass and used both hands to push her face down onto your cock as hard as you could, lifting your hips up and shooting your load straight down her throat. Sakura’s entire core was flexed as she steadied herself, taking all of your cum directly to the neck. As you felt yourself starting to relax, the pulsing slowing down, you let go of her head.

Sakura lifted herself up, taking a heavy gasp for air as a flood of white spilled out of her mouth before she immediately went right back down on your cock, sucking it up and down, making a mess all over your shaft. She didn’t care about all the cum coating her lips, she just wanted to suck your cock until it all came out.

“Oh fuck Sakura that feels good,” you cried out, giving her ass a small slap before bringing both hands up behind your head and shutting your eyes tight again, relishing in Sakura’s blowjob.

She kept going until you were completely drained, before she started slowly licking up your shaft, collecting as much of your cum as possible on her tongue. She dropped off the couch right onto her knees and made sure to look up at you, making eye contact as she scooped up all the cum she spilled on your cock.

“You’re such a dirty fucking girl,” you laughed softly, stroking her hair while she worked.

Sakura didn’t even reply, but her lips curled up into a smile as she kept that same enthusiasm, sucking your cock until all of the cum had been swallowed. Only then, after giving your balls one final little kiss and one last lick of your shaft, did Sakura finally stop.

“Done?” you chuckled.

“Done,” she beamed up at you before suddenly getting shy.

“What?”

She paused for a moment as if she needed the courage again before speaking.

“Can I kiss you again?” Sakura asked sheepishly.

“Sakura,” you began whispering a response before having a change of plans.

Instead of answering her directly, you decided to just pull her up to you and press your lips against hers. She seemed a bit nervous at first, but you just ignored it and kept going until eventually you could feel her warm up to you. Her hands began exploring your back, while you did the same with hers, Her legs wrapped around your body as she climbed on top of you in an attempt to have as much skin on skin contact possible, intertwining your bodies together as you kissed.

This went on for longer than you had initially expected. The second either one of you pulled back to take a quick breath, all it took was the tiniest bit of eye contact before you both mutually decided to kiss again. You closed your eyes each time, getting lost in the feeling and the moment that you got to share with this gorgeous girl. Finally, after a lifetime of kissing, your lips parted and didn’t reconnect, leaving Sakura breathing heavily above you.

“Yeah,” you muttered softly.

“Yeah,” Sakura agreed with a smile.

A moment of warmth passed, your bodies still attached, while you both just looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

“You’re not in a rush, are you?” you asked softly.

“No, why?”

“Would you let me…” you began before carefully picking Sakura up and placing her onto her back beneath you. “Could I?”

“You mean like, down there?” Sakura asked, cheeks turning rosey again.

“Yes, down there,” you clarified gently, cupping Sakura’s face in your hand gently. “All the fun we had last night and I never got so much as a taste.”

Sakura bit her lower lip gently before nodding up at you and taking a deep breath. She was tense, and you weren’t entirely sure why, but you were going to at least try relaxing her. You slid down her body gently until your face was between her legs which she had bent upwards, spreading them to make room for you. She lifted up her butt just slightly to help you ease off her panties, which you unhooked from her ankles and tossed across the room.

Her pussy was as gorgeous as ever, looking as tight and wet as you knew it was, but you didn’t rush it. Instead, you pressed your lips against her inner thigh and pressed down softly. This worked, as you could hear her breathing slow down and deepen. You kissed a bit closer. A drop spilled out of her pussy, sliding between her legs, leaving a trail for you to follow.

With some careful maneuvering, you pressed your mouth beneath her pussy and gave her a single lick, sliding your tongue up her skin. She let out a sharp breath, shivers shooting up her spine as your mouth made contact with her pussy for the first time. Maybe it was just the moment - definitely was just the moment - but Sakura had the best tasting pussy you have ever experienced.

“Please just this one, don’t go lower…” Sakura stammered nervously.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” you reassured her. “Just try to relax, if you can.”

Before going forward, you reached up with both hands and grabbed Sakura’s, interlocking your fingers. Next, you gently blew some air against her pussy, feeling her strength as she squeezed down against your fingers. Now, before she could fully relax, you pressed your mouth against her pussy, listening for her soft moan as you began prodding at her clit with your tongue.

“You’re good at this,” Sakura moaned softly, her fingers tensing up between yours. “Really fucking good.”

“I have experience,” you replied cockily when you suddenly felt a tinge of guilt stab you in the heart.

The realization of what you were doing dawned on you all at once. Would Mina actually be okay with you having your face in another girl’s pussy - especially one who she knows has a crush on you? You kinda assumed it didn’t matter after the events of last night, but all of a sudden you weren’t so sure anymore.

“Does that experience tell you to always tease this much?” Sakura whined, rubbing a hand through your hair while her lower body squirmed. “Please, I’m close.”

“Are you?” you replied, deciding to put your concerns on the backburner temporarily, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling you had in your chest and focusing instead of the gorgeous tight little pussy inches away from your mouth.

It was all so confusing, because even though you were feeling guilty, your body just naturally pounced forward and you ended up putting Sakura’s pussy entirely in your mouth with your tongue laying flat against her clit. You pressed down, swaying side to side, loving the gentle tug of your hair with each of Sakura’s little moans.

“Oh yeah, just like that, just like-” Sakura cried out softly, lifting her body up off the cushions. “I’m going to- you’re going to make- fuck- please-”

None of it made any real sense, yet it still made sense - in a way? Fuck it, not like it mattered. What did matter was the two fingers you slipped into Sakura’s pussy, at least that’s what mattered to Sakura in this moment. You curled them up, trying your best to hit the right spots while sucking on her clit. Whatever you were doing, she fucking loved it. Her moans - or rather, screams - were ecstasy in the purest form. Her voice was peaking, making all sorts of noises that every other tenant could probably hear right now.

Then, as Sakura released the loudest cuss of the morning, you felt a massive gush burst out of Sakura’s pussy and right into your mouth. You leaned back, relishing in the sounds Sakura was making right now, while using just your two fingers to force Sakura to squirt a couple more times, not caring at all about the mess she was making on you.

“Stop,” Sakura sobbed, bringing her legs together and grabbing your wrist.

The mixed signals had you smiling as Sakura refused to let you pull out your fingers, all while begging for something. You didn’t know if she wanted you to stop or to keep going anymore, she wasn’t making much sense, but this had to be one of the best orgasms she’s ever had and you weren’t going to be the one to ruin it for her. So, instead, you just continued doing whatever didn’t make sense, all for her.

“Sakura,” you whispered gently as she finally began relaxing. You slipped your fingers out carefully and spread her legs gently, leaning forward to give her pussy - which was beyond drenched at this point - a soft kiss.

“Oh,” she moaned quietly, her eyes shut tight still.

“You good?”

“Fucking amazing,” she sighed, finally opening her eyes to look at you. That’s when she suddenly became overwhelmed with embarrassment and hid her face in her hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“For what?” you sat up, confused.

“I’ve never squirted before, I had no idea-”

“Oh,” you started laughing as you lay down on top of Sakura and moved her hands away. “I don’t give a shit about that, it’s fine.”

“But-”

She couldn’t finish her worry before you silenced her by kissing her softly on the mouth. You could feel she was still on edge, but it only lasted a moment before you felt the shift in her body. She kissed you back, with a passion beyond what you imagined. It was so incredibly tender, as if your lover, but it didn’t last long.

“I can feel your cock,” Sakura smiled up at you.

“Uh,” you hesitated, struggling to think of a line.

“Put it in me.”

Fuck, that was probably the hottest thing she could have ever said in this moment in your mind. The amount of raw horniness coursing through your veins right now made you feel like you were about to explode from the inside. And with that one line, doubt and hesitation was simply not possible right now, your cock was throbbing - almost painfully.

Your mind was all fuzzy as you fumbled around between Sakura’s legs, trying to find her entrance. Eventually, you found yourself in position, and with one swift little push you went all the way until your balls pressed against Sakura’s soft skin. She was so fucking unbelievably wet that it didn’t matter how tight her pussy was - you were able to move with ease.

It took almost no time at all for you to find a nice rhythm - not too fast but not too slow. With your cock pumping into Sakura’s pussy, you tilted yourself forward and gave her another kiss, one she returned without any restraint. You kept it going for as long as you could, your hands sliding up to her chest and gently resting against her tits.

Nothing could have made this moment better, really, so there was almost a bit of sadness when you felt it come to an end so quickly. Of course, that sadness was completely washed away by the insane amount of euphoria you felt as your cock exploded inside Sakura’s pussy. You didn’t even feel it coming, it only took maybe a minute of fucking Sakura for you to cum this time.

The way she kissed you through your entire orgasm felt divine, she didn’t care about how quickly you blew, she just cared about making you feel good. Your cock, slipping in and out of her pussy, kept pulsing and throbbing, shooting an absurd amount of cum into Sakura’s pussy. With a final squeeze of her tits and one final kiss, you sat up and pulled out.

“My God,” you muttered as you watched your cum spill from Sakura’s pussy.

“It’s beautiful,” Sakura sighed, watching as well for a moment before scooping up the cum and spreading it on her chest. “I can’t believe you still had this much in you.”

“I don’t know how it’s even possible,” you replied, finally now as the euphoria wore off feeling a bit embarrassed by how long you lasted.

“That was so fucking amazing,” Sakura smiled at you, almost as if reading your mind once more and noting your insecurity. “You were perfect, in every way, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, you were also amazing,” you leaned forward and kissed her again before she snuggled right up against your body.

“Best breakfast ever,” Sakura whispered quietly.

“I think the coffee might be cold by now.”

“Fuck the coffee.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled while rubbing Sakura’s side. “Alright, I should probably-”

“Five minutes?” she whispered with a vulnerability that made your heartbeat double in pace.

The way she was holding onto your body right now, there was literally no chance you’d deny her. You smiled softly to yourself, one she couldn’t see with her head resting against your chest, and leaned forward to kiss the top of Sakura’s head softly before pulling her tighter into your embrace.

Those five minutes stretched much longer than five minutes, but you didn’t care one bit.

---

A/N:

Well this came out of absolutely nowhere. Backstory, one of my fellow writers did a little writing project and the theme was "unlikely pairings". I know Mina x Sakura isn't the CRAZIEST mix, but it's still somewhat uncommon I think?! Funny enough, I also recently got an Ask about "which two odd pair idols do you think about a lot?" so this was really just all destined to happen.

Anyway, the 3k submission has now turned into a story that will be probably 20k+, so here's Part 1! Part 2 is actually already done (spoilers, there's more Mina), I'll release it in maybe a week to let this marinate a bit. Part 3 maybe a week after that. Each part should be roughly this length, with Part 3 possibly being a bit closer to 10k.

Regarding other projects! I am going to really sit down and get the next Dating Seraphs chapter going, it's well past due at this point. After that we'll see, either Roommates or Twice I think, but I can't say for sure. I don't have an insane amount of time to write at the moment, but I'm still somehow writing quite a bit!

Absolutely love the insane amount of support my community has been showing recently, seriously, you guys are the best. I can believe how supportive everyone is especially when I'm so insanely inconsistent. Feel free to give any feedback you'd like on this piece, or don't, totally up to you! Cheers <3

[heesimp]

Can you write a breeding kink 😳 smut story for stepdad hoon and stepdaughter? Like sunghoon wants to have a baby but the daughter is reluctant. cause she's worried her mom will caught them.. Still sunghoon was able to convince the daughter saying that he doesn't care about her mom anymore

idk why I couldn’t write this better haha but the jay one I’m about to post is so yum

+++++

“Come on, please?”

Sunghoon’s persistent. You’ll give him that. He’s been rubbing his semi hard cock against your ass for the past few hours when you reject him for the umpteenth time. It isn’t that you don’t want to. God, you want to. But what will your mom think?

While your body looking over your assignment as you lean in front of the kitchen counter, Sunghoon’s got you trapped between it and his body. His crotch repeatedly rubs against your covered ass cheeks while you try to ignore it.

“You’ll be such a good mommy,” he whispers against your ear. Sunghoon trails wet kisses down your neck and he smirks when you shiver because of them.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. I want to see my cum take to give us a baby, sweetheart. I want to take care of you so much.” Sunghoon licks a stripe up your neck and you arch your back at the feeling. He uses this opportunity to thrust his hardened dick between your cheeks until you grip the counter.

“B-But my mom will know.”

“I don’t care if she does. I want to put a baby in you. Not her.” He snakes his hands down to your pussy and moans when his fingers touch your wet panties through your shorts. “You’re wet enough for me to put it in.”

It takes little effort for him to pull your shorts and panties down your body before lining up with your hole. His dick stretches you like never before and it’s your first time having sex with him without protection.

“No more condoms,” he moans with an exhale as he slides all the way inside of you. “Just me and my cum.”

“F-Fuck.”

“You’re so tight. I bet none of my cum would leak”

Sunghoon pounds into your wet pussy and the drag feels sensational. He’s already cumming from being inside of you and you can feel the hot cum splattered across your walls, but he doesn’t stop thrusting in and out of you.

[sinofwriting]

Engineer in Law - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,758 Summary: Max and GP are far more close than most race engineers and drivers, which might have to do with the fact that Max is dating his daughter. Note(s): Takes place in 2021. Reader is GP’s daughter. Reader is 21, Max is 23. I don’t know what GP’s wife’s name is IRL but in this fic her name is Sarah. Also, reader is only given one physical descriptor which is that she has GP’s eyes, apologies if (like me) you don’t know have that eye color, but we can imagine and/or wish! This might end up getting a part two.

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“You're happy.”

It’s not something GP normally comments on, Max’s moods. Not unless it’s to make a sarcastic comment about how thrilled he looks to be going to a press event or something of the sort, but Max is beaming like he just won a race. It’s an odd look on the young driver, an unusual one, sadly.

“I asked the girl I was seeing to be my girlfriend, she said yes.” Max’s voice is quiet and GP leans in, his eyebrows going up at the news, at the soft but excited tone the words hold.

He smiles at the younger, reaching forward and clasping him on the shoulder. “That’s fantastic, mate. Want to tell me about her?” It’s a rather stupid question because if Max didn’t want to talk about her, he wouldn’t have said anything. And GP is rather happy to sit here and listen to Max talk about this new girl in his life.

“She’s amazing, GP. I mean really smart, funny, and she never backs down. She always has a response to anything I say. And even if I’m in a bad mood, she doesn’t let me just sulk. She knows exactly how to get a response from me and she knows it. She’ll get this little smirk on her face after I snap back at her and she’s great.”

GP has to stop himself from clearing his throat at how head over heels in love Max looks. It was oddly like looking in a mirror when GP was just four years younger than him and seeing his wife holding their newborn daughter.

“I hope you're not snapping at her too much.” His dad mode is in full force, nearly shuddering as he thinks of his twenty-one year old daughter getting snapped at often by a boyfriend. He further shudders at the reminder she currently has a boyfriend.

“Not like that.” Max reassures. “It’s kind of like us in the simulator.”

GP lets out a laugh.

It wasn’t often he joined Max in the simulator but every time they did, other people would gather around to hear the pair mock argue with each other.

“Well I’m happy to hear she’s keeping you on your toes.”

—

Max is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits for GP to sit down.

“She planned a date.”

GP stills from where he was about to reach for his water.

“Like a whole date. From everything, the food, the drinks, what we watched and it was all stuff I liked and fit in my training plan.”

He watches the younger closely, hearing something off in his voice.

“I thought I missed something. Like an anniversary or something, even though we’ve only been together five months.”

GP eyes shut for a second, rage threatening to overtake him. Max was never treated kindly enough and Max had never really talked about his few previous relationships before and he can’t help but wonder if this is why. Because Max never felt truly happy in them. Always something just wrong, always on the edge.

“She just wanted to do something nice for me. Said it wasn’t fair, I had been planning most of our dates.” Max looks confused, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Y’know, my wife and I trade off.”

Max tilts his head a little.

“I mean, we only do a date about once a month, but we trade off. I did the last one, so tomorrow, she’s planning our date. We used to do the same with vacations, but the whole thing stresses her out a little too much, so I plan them and get the travel plans sorted while she handles looking at things to do and places to go while we are there. It's a partnership, Max. It should be an equal give and take. And that doesn’t mean that it has to be you guys both are giving and taking the same thing equally, you just need to find the balance that works for you. Like you take out the trash, she does the dusting.”

“She has a dust allergy. And we aren’t living together yet.”

GP smiles, coughing to hide his laugh. “Yet, I see. And if she has a dust allergy she needs certain pillowcases and sheets, I’ll send you the ones I bought for my daughter last Christmas.”

“Thank you, GP.”

“I’m always here for you, Max.”

—

“You were out again.”

“Good morning to you as well, dad.” His daughter says, eyebrows raised even as she steps closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek before going to the fridge.

He glances at the clock, slightly miffed to see it is just after eleven am. “Closer to the afternoon.” He comments.

She signs, leaning against the counter, a Red Bull in hand, and he watches as her fingers play with the tab but not open it. It’s a habit he’s never seen from her before. “Dad,” He looks at her face at the sound. “Is me having a boyfriend bothering you that much?”

He softens a little. “No, well, yes. It’s just I don’t know anything about him. All I know is you have a boyfriend and that’s it. I don’t know his name, how old he is, what he does for a living, if he treats you well. And you're spending an awful lot of nights as his and I’ve never met him.”

Her fingers still against the can’s tab. “Is that something you want?”

“Well I’d prefer to meet him before you fully move in with him.” He gives her a look. “But yes, I would. He makes you happy.” It was a hard pill to swallow, the reason for his daughter seeming to be so happy being a boy, but that was the reason.

“Alright, I’ll text him and maybe tomorrow we could do lunch?” She offers.

“I’d like that.”

—

“I’ve been listening to Max talk about our daughter for months.”

Sarah’s lips thin as she struggles not to laugh, running a soothing hand over her husband’s back. “You said it was sweet how he talked about her.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was talking about our daughter then did I?”

His head somehow manages to drop further into his hands. “He talked for thirty minutes straight about her eyes. Her eyes, Sarah. She has MY eyes.”

Sarah can’t help the laugh that spills from her lips. “Well at least it was just her eyes you heard about.”

GP’s face screws up at that remembering the hickey he had seen high on Max’s neck last week and apparently he had some interesting scratch and bite marks as well. Those thankfully he had not seen. “Please, love, put me out of my misery.”

His hands fall into his lap and he presses his face against his wife’s neck, smelling the slightly faded scent of her perfume and her lotion.

“Oh hush.” She says, lightly swatting his shoulder. “It could be much worse. You like Max, you know Max. He’d never hurt our baby.”

GP softens, pressing a kiss to her neck before sitting straight, his back thanking him for it. “No, he wouldn’t. I just,” He sighs. “This is serious for Max and it’s obviously serious for her. She’s never invited a boy around the house that she’s been seeing. When she said lunch, I thought she had booked our usual table.”

“I know. You were all ready to go, wallet and keys in hand.”

“She let me think that as well you know.”

Sarah hums, “I wonder who she got that from.”

He smiles at her. “No clue, love.”

Her eyes give a slight roll and then she’s leaning forward. Brushing their lips together. “Max is good for her and it’s obvious that she is good for Max as well with what you’ve told me. And just think you always joked that Max was like a son. Now it’s just more official.”

“Oh my god, they’re going to get married.”

Sarah laughs at the horror and awe in her husband's voice. “I’d say don’t get ahead of yourself, but you saw exactly what I did at lunch.”

—

“Max, if you talk about my eyes one more time, I’m going to report you to HR.”

Max snickers at the older’s expression. “But, I’m not talking about your eyes.”

“She has my eyes.” GP cuts him off immediately, already knowing his defense. “We have the same exact eyes.” He holds up a finger, silencing Max. “And don’t even think of starting to list the difference between them.”

He kicks a little at the ground, faking a sigh. “Fine. Can we at least talk about you talking in the braking?”

GP sighs, but nods. “Yes, we can talk about it.”

They both fail to notice the Sky Sports camera that had been filming the conversation until much later, when Max is sitting in his driver’s room, chuckling at the broadcast that had just ended and the tweets on his phone.

“Listen to this one, Sky Sports seriously reporting that a female employee is threatening to go to HR because of Max’s comments while playing the video of audio of GP, his MALE race engineer, is seemingly joking about going to HR, is sending me. How is this a serious news source?”

GP snorts, looking at his texts with his daughter. “She just sent me this one, ‘Sky is doing nothing but proving their British bias and stupidity. How much do you think they suck Lewis’ dick for every year now?’ Honestly, they have a point.”

“More than a point.” Max says, tossing his phone to the side. “It’s one thing to say I’m a shit driver that shouldn’t be anywhere near Hamilton, but this? This is ridiculous even for them. They have the footage and audio, aired both, and are saying that it’s a female employee. Vicky is having the time of her life right now, and so are my lawyers.”

“Your lawyers?”

Max shrugs. “They’ll be working with Red Bull’s as well, but this is more than that.”

“It is.” GP agrees. “Sarah was with her when it aired. She was livid.”

“I could tell.” The driver chuckles. “My texts are filled with it. She wants to come to the next race, well, two.”

“Team home race. That’s a statement.”

His cheeks are a little pink. “She wanted to wait for Zandvoort to officially come as my girlfriend, but she wants to be with me for these next two now.”

“It will be nice to see her at both.”

[fallenbratfiction]

mrs. miller ~ husband! joel miller x f!reader

A/N: I choked back a sob thinking of this, but it's just so beautiful 🥹. The full fic is coming this weekend! I came up with this while talking to @heavens-whore, who you should totally check out if you haven't yet. If you couldn't tell I love Pride & Prejudice wayy too much

✧ minors dni with my blog or fics. i am not responsible for your consumption

✧ do not repost, copy, or translate my work   

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Joel was out on the porch, tuning his guitar, the low hum of strings drifting into the night air. Inside, you moved around the quiet kitchen, fixing yourself a late-night cup of Earl Grey.

The screen door creaked softly as you stepped out. You leaned your back against the porch column, hands cupped around your mug, watching him. His fingers picked a slow, gentle melody. You let it wrap around you like a blanket and enjoy it while it lasts.

Joel glanced up at you and smiled as he played for a little longer, then set the guitar aside. He patted his thigh and reached for you.

“C’mere"

You set your mug down on the small table beside him and climbed onto his lap. His arms came around you without hesitation, holding you close against the cool breeze.

“How are you this evenin’, my dear?” he murmured into your hair.

“Very well... only I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘my dear’.”

Joel pulled back slightly, brow furrowed. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s what my father always calls my mother when he’s annoyed about somethin’.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Alright, then. What am I allowed to call you?”

You smiled, fingertips tracing the collar of his flannel. “You can call me baby on weekdays... sweetheart on Sundays... and goddess divine—or angel sent from heaven—but only when you mean it.”

Your voice dropped to a quiet murmur on that last line. You looked up at him, eyes searching his, as if to underline it—mean it, Joel.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you.

Steady. Warm. Quietly undone by you.

As if he was trying to memorize the exact shade of your eyes in this porchlight—how they softened when you were teasing but telling the truth. How they held just the tiniest glint of challenge beneath all that affection.

God he loved you so much.

He didn’t smile. Not yet. Just breathed you in as he reached for your face, his thumb brushed slowly over your jaw. Then finally, his voice—low, gravel-soft, he said:

“I don’t call you ‘baby’ or 'sweetheart' to pass the time. I call you that because I’ve been alone a long damn time, and it’s the only word I got for what this feels like.”

You looked at him—truly looked—and your chest ached a little with how much he meant it. The quiet conviction in his voice

“And what shall I call you when I am crossed?” he asked, voice dipped in playful grit, trying to lighten up the moment enough to make you smile. “Mrs. Miller?”

You tilted your head, lips curling.

“I like Mrs. Miller a lot,” you admitted softly, eyes holding his, “but it has to be something else.”

Joel gave you that look—the one where one brow lifts just slightly, like he’s intrigued and already bracing for whatever clever little thing you’ll say next. “Yeah? Like what?”

You smirked, fingers brushing his chest as you leaned in just a little. “How about ‘my fiercest trouble’?”

Joel let out a slow, gruff laugh. “That sounds about right.”

You smiled. “Or ‘the bane of my peace’?”

He grinned wider now. “Gettin’ dramatic on me.”

“You love it,” you murmured.

He didn’t deny it. Just leaned in close again, brushing his lips over your jaw.

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” he whispered, “long as you keep sittin’ in my lap like this and lettin’ me kiss you stupid.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he was already leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Just wondering… if not when you’re cross, and not on weekdays or Sundays—then when will you call me Mrs. Miller?”

Joel looked at you for a long second. Then his lips tugged into a faint smile, something deep and unreadable in his eyes.

“I say it,” he murmured, “when I’m real damn proud.”

“Proud?” you questioned.

He nodded, eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. When you say something smart, and shut a whole room up. When you laugh like that—like you forgot the world’s gone to shit. When I catch myself thinkin’ how lucky I am that you chose me.” He kissed your forehead, warm and lingering.

“When I can’t believe I get to be the one you come home to.”

He leaned in again, voice almost a whisper now.

“I don’t just throw Mrs. Miller around,” he said. “That’s the name I use when I’m lookin’ at my whole damn world.”

He kissed your forehead, warm and lingering.

“Mrs. Miller…”

Then your nose, soft and slow, like you were delicate porcelain.

“Mrs. Miller…”

Then, finally, your lips—his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb resting just under your ear.

“Mrs. Miller…”

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Stay tuned for the whole fic coming to you this weekend!!

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[nugwon]

daddy issues ── ( 심재윤 )

synopsis — jake works too much, but he loves harder. ── smut (m.), requested ( @riqomi ). dilf!jake x babysitter afab!reader. wc : 2.03k !

warnings — jake’s a few years older, (25). pet names: baby. unprotected sex (don’t be a fool, cover your tool) p.i.v. sex / pwp also. jake’s between the soft and rough dom area, y/n is down bad for her boss, jake’s a consent king, jake as a 3 year old toddler (s/n - son name), breeding (jake’s pull out game : weak.. pussy too good.)

two weeks ago… “s/n has already had a bath, a nice dinner, and his uniform for school tomorrow is out, hanging on his closet door. mr. shim.” you hummed, you’ve been babysitting for jake for a few months now. he was a few years older than you, a perfect mix of sweetness and tenderness. he was a tired hard working man, he had a minimum wage job—working in a corporate office, as an agent. “thank you, y/n seriously i don’t know what i would do without you.

and you? a college dropout who needed extra money until you found a job—but with the way jake pays you… you don’t need another one. “there are leftovers on the counter for you mr. shim, you’ve seemed to have had a long day. it’s my grandma's recipe, you’ll love it.” you assure him, he smiled. thanking you once again before placing your weeks worth of money in your hands.

you should have about five hundred dollars sitting in your palms right now. more than you’d usually give, but jake always threw a little extra on top. “do you think you’ll be available next week?” jake asked, hair messy and voice raspy from a long day of: “thank you for calling lee enterprises how can i help?” — “i was hoping so, we could do your monthly feedback and a dinner.. maybe? i still have to work but.. yeah.”

“are you asking me on a date mr. shim?” you were taken a bit aback, not rejecting it but not clearly understanding it either. did he want the dinner with just you and him or you him and friends.. “i thought we’d keep this a little professional.. yeah?” as he was still your boss you don’t think dinner is smart… not yet. “i’ll be available to work though… just text me dates. goodnight.” you smiled, walking away—now you just rejected a man on a date. and hopefully, his heart was bigger than his ego.

over the next few weeks, jake made it his mission to have at least a 10 minute long conversation with him every night. learning you, understanding your personality and your humor. what makes you sad, happy and what gives you the ick. he was feeling you, and he’s not sure how. or why.

“hear me out,” he walks into his kitchen. “we could take s/n to a baseball game? i’m inviting you because my friends are busy with their partners or working.. and s/n likes you y/n.” — “i’ll have to think about it mr. shim.” you chuckled while taking a drink of your water.

“jake is my name. you can call me jake. mr. shim is for when we’re working… and you’re not working.” hear made you laugh a bit—he was funny. flirty and you indeed felt something towards him. you’d finally started staying late, sometimes he’d bring takeout and you’d eat it together. brushing knees accidentally when sitting with each other. jake’s eyes always lingered. he could be staring at you, your lips. you nose… shamelessly your chest, thighs… ass. he was in love with your ass.

one night, he asks you to stay for dinner. real dinner. he cooks, a little clumsy but endearing, and you help, bumping shoulders and exchanging soft glances. also taking a few drinks… glasses of wine. a/n was upstairs sleeping, and your job was done. at first, you hesitated, drinking with your boss? but now. he made you feel comfortable like you were at home.

and now, today you’d decided to stay, longer than you ever had. it was around two in the morning and you and jake were up all night having conversations. he was so easy to talk to… you found yourself curled up on the couch, looking over and laughing at him as he talked about the most embarrassing thing to happen to him. “okay. it’s not that funny. i did think it was going to eat me..” he frowns playfully. “what about you? the most embarrassing thing you’ve done or had done to you.”

you were a bit tipsy, sipping on the wine jake poured for you an hour previous. “well.” you laughed nervously, not sure if you should spill it. “i have daddy issues, and every guy i’ve ever met has noticed that about me. it’s embarrassing because i always get left in the end… i kissed a guy once and he said i kissed like ive been hurt too many times… HUMBLED ME.” you covered your face, laughing now because it’s funny but back then—broke you .

jake only laughs a little, setting his own glass down. “i don’t see daddy issues, i see that you’re trying though.” he admits, “how about i kiss you, and let me see if i can taste it on your lips.” as much as you wanted to believe he was joking, he was not. you only looked at him, head tilting in disbelief. “do you think that’s appropriate, mr. shim?” 

“i thought you clocked out of babysitter duties, five hours ago? i’m not your boss right now, i’m a friend. a friend willing to help you learn the truth.” he nodded his head. you don’t know why that was so attractive, how he looked at you—how he protected you but was assertive with his attitude. he was honest… and we can all admit that he’s a handsome.. attractive man. who just so happens to be a father. an active father figure, it was so hot to you.

“okay. you have a point,” you say your drink down, moving closer to jake—practically crawling to him. you looked at his lips before looking into his eyes. jake placed his hands on your waist, pulling you to sit in his lap. right where he wanted you. it was unspoken—the attraction you both had to each other.

your lips finally touched. warm and synced almost instantly—like you were made to be right here. it was soft at first, then it got more intense. showing signs you both wanted each other. jake mutters against your lips. “you can tell me when to stop you know.” oh but you didn’t want to stop, and neither did he. 

jake’s hands slide down to your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave marks, pulling you closer until you’re straddling him fully. he groans into your mouth when you roll your hips against him, slow and teasing, feeling how hard he already is through his sweats. “fuck, y/n.” he mutters, voice wrecked, dragging his mouth down your neck. “been thinking about this all year.. every time i see you… you’re driving me fucking crazy.” 

you whimper when he nips at your skin, grinding down harder, your hands fumbling to push his shirt up. you need to feel him — all of him — need to get as close as you possibly can. he picks up on that, taking his shirt off before taking yours and tossing it away. “beautiful.” he looked at your chest, kissing and sucking at your skin. leaving only a few marks. 

you couldn’t believe what you were doing, how this could affect the both of you in the long run. “look at me,” he whispered, kissing up your neck and then your lips again. you hadn’t told him to stop, even if you did tell him—you didn’t want to. looking at him, it’s like he put a spell on you. your whole body relaxing under his touch. you hadn’t even realized he’d laid you down. 

“can i take your clothes off?” he asked softly next to your ear, settling himself between your legs. once you agreed, he wasted no time stripping you down. kissing over your skin with lust. “fuck you look so good…” he murmured. stripping himself next, moving his hand down to rub your core—feeling how you were already dripping wet and the sweet sounds embedding itself into his brain. “excited?” 

you shut your eyes in minor embarrassment, biting your lips as his finger worked its way around your clit. slow and sensual feelings shooting through your clit up to your chest. jake slipped a finger inside, then another. “so wet, warm. you smell good… it’s like you're reeling me in.” he chuckled, leaning over your body and brushing his tip along your slit. “ready?” 

“ready,” you said against his lips. without wasting any more time, jake slid into you—his own eyes squeezing shut. he’d been working so much he forgot what pussy felt like. “holy shit—.” you were so tight, maybe too tight for him. he had to work his way through it. there was no way he was passing up another night alone with you. 

your soft moans helped him through it, grabbing ahold of his shoulders. it took him a minute but he thrusted—in and out of you. slowly at first, making sure he felt how deep your velvet walls were. how stretched he’d gotten you. he was huge, and you could feel him everywhere.. it was quickly becoming an addiction. “fuck.. right there.” you moaned. 

he kissed you, deeply. like he was done playing nice. hands sliding up your sides and holding you down to the couch. keeping you exactly where he wanted you. the shift in his energy… the tension rebuilding in the air. he was ready to break. “you made it so hard to keep my hands to myself.” he sits up, holding your legs in place while rutting deeper into you. 

“always sitting there looking so good.. no matter what you wore. i always had to rub one out after you left.” he admits, his moans slipping through his words. “your body screamed at me to touch it.. take it. and sitting here. so easy. that just let me know that you wanted it as bad as i did baby.” 

the way he was talking, the way your cunt squelched with each thrust. it was driving him insane—he was so focused on it. on the sound—making you feel good and praying for the best outcome of it all. “look at you, falling apart beneath me..” was it even possible for him to get even harder? you felt it.. all of it. “fuck i’m so close..” you moaned, his free hand coming up to your neck, squeezing it and applying pressure. 

your tummy did a thing, like butterflies. you wanted it, you needed it. “fuck.. fuck me harder.” you covered your mouth, holding back as you started to get louder. but jake uncovered it, “let it out. let me hear you fall apart, tell me how good it feels. nobody can fuck you the way i do.” jake’s words were ripping you apart. into pieces, “that’s it..” 

your moans slipped, uncontrollably. you wish you could put into words how good it felt but he was rocking your world. it was too much, too good and your whimpers from the contact. told him he was doing an amazing job. he pulled out, earning a whine from you before slamming back into you. “so fucking desperate to cum..” he was mesmerized by you. 

everything he was doing, words couldn’t form in your mouth. only sounds and squeaks. even your eyes were rolling back—he moved his hands. watching how you rolled your hips up, matching his pace. “don’t stop, please.. please don’t stop.” you ran your hands down his chest. loving every second of it. “even your beg is so pretty.” 

“you’re gonna cum like this baby?” you nod, ready to release it whenever he was ready for you too. it was his world, you were enamored in it. his breath got shaky, thrust getting sloppier—louder. harder. “then let’s cum together.” his voice was dark, low—almost dangerous. your legs were shaking, you couldn’t hold it, clenching around him—uncontrollably. 

and then he growls, deep and rough, lips brushing yours as he says, “then do it. come for me. now.” and you do—hard, trembling, a mess in his hands as the pleasure crashes over you like a wave too big to fight. he holds you through it, grounding you, watching you unravel with a smug, look. jake spilled himself into you, practically claiming you as his. he was possessive over you already, and he couldn’t let anyone else have you. ever again. 

taglist ; @yoursjaeyun

[kitkatscabinet]

"THE WAYNE SIBLINGS READ THIRST TWEETS"

requested by anon

summary: the internet is horny for you, your brothers suffer for it.

pairings: platonic! dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x batsis! reader

A/N: 18+, on account of horny twitter users ;)

You and your brothers are lined up in a semi-circle, Dick, you, Jason then Tim, each of you sporting different expressions as the cameras begin rolling.

You and Dick are cheerful mirrors of each other, while Jason and Tim look like they'd rather be anywhere but here as the four of you settle into place.

"So today we're going to have you reading thirst tweets, but the twist is, they're all about your sister." The producer says from out of frame. Abruptly, your brother's moods swing violently.

"No!" Dick cheers, the blinding smile plastered across his face never even twitching.

Jason's frown has evolved from "mildly disgruntled" to "about to start shooting people."

Tim, meanwhile, appears to have stopped working altogether. "Timmers?" You giggle, waving a hand across his face.

"Ew... I mean, people find you attractive?" He scrunches up his nose, and your face turns murderous.

"RIGHT! Listen here you little - " you lean across Jason to strangle your little brother when a giggle from somewhere on set reminds you where you are, and you paste on a practised grin.

"I can see why Damian wasn't invited now."

"None of us should have been invited, this shouldn't be happening." Tim mumbled with a thousand yard stare.

Relishing in his stress, you quickly pull a piece of paper from the oversized thirst jug, staring directly at Tim as you read. "Bruce Wayne's daughter could smack me across the face with a brick and I’d say ‘thank you, mommy’"

Tim dry heaves, face a little green.

"Damn, now I can never use that in bed again." Jason grumbles, causing Dick to spit out his water as Tim gags once more.

"You're disgusting." He kicks Jason as you hum in consideration.

"I don't know, I think I could get behind it."

"Never speak again, actually." Tim fires back.

"Well, if you liked that, then you'll love this one: Sit on my face, I'll pay you, anything! please, SIT ON MY FACE! SIT ON MY-” Dick, who's only just recovered from his previous near death experience starts choking again, making you hit his back a little harder than strictly necessary.

Jason starts attempting to take the jug off your hands, but you quickly dance out of the way, "Oh look, this one's not even that bad." Your brothers look sceptical, but they don't stop you, "She's so fine, I'd kill a man just to breathe the same air as her."

"What is with people and committing crimes?" Jason seems genuinely concerned. How chronically offline of him.

"I attract a very passionate demographic." You shrug.

"You attract future convicts," Dick mutters in devastation.

A shit eating grin covers your face as you read the next one, having lulled them into a false sense of security.

"Need her to pull on my hair like a leash as she fucks me into next week with the strap." Dick wails, falling sideways off the chair like a fainting Victorian woman.

"Hmm, you want the pink or the green one, baby?" you smile seductively at the camera.

"That's it! You're done, you're done!" Jason lunges for you at the same time as Dick, your older brother getting the jug whilst you're hauled over Jason's shoulder.

You shriek, but you refused to be deterred, unfolding one of the papers you'd managed to grab before Dick attempted to thwart your fun. "Not to be dramatic, but if Jason’s sister looked me in the eye and said ‘kneel’, I’d hit the floor so fast I’d break my - hey."

Tim pulls the paper from your hands, staring at it like it killed his puppy. "Why are you encouraging this?" Tim gestures accusingly at the Buzzfeed staff members laughing behind the cameras, before he does a double take at the twitter handle.

"Wait... This is from Roy's Twitter account!" Tim yells, whirling on Jason like he's personally responsible for all of his grievances.

"There's one here from Conner too," You clear your throat, holding the paper far above Tim's head with your superior height courtesy of Jason's unwilling help, "I’d treat you right. You ever want someone to make you cum till you forget your own name, hit me up babe."

Your brothers scream, and you’re having so much fun that you only mildly worry about Conner’s safety in the near future.

(You wonder if you’ll have time to take him up on his offer before his inevitable funeral.)

The video ends with a message flashing across the screen: "Several of the tweets submitted came from Wally West's Twitter account. Some were deemed too explicit to share."

[rafesangelita]

…DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🐈‍⬛⊹♡

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER first met each other over drinks at the country club bar, both of them seemingly washing away their problems with premium alcohol. she hadn’t noticed him at all until the bartender brought her a drink that she didn’t pay for. “courtesy of mr. cameron.” she looked up to see that the only man seated not too far away from her was already staring at her over his own glass. attractive, slightly intimidating and cold looking, and the cherry on top— obviously loaded with money, it didn’t take long for bitchy!kook!reader to come to the conclusion that this ‘mr. cameron’ was exactly her type. swallowing her pride, she made her way over, her hand brushing his thigh as she settled in to the seat next to him. “i could understand why i’ve decided to spend my friday night here all by myself, but you? it’s not making sense to me.”

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who end up staying at the country club past closing time, both of them talking nonstop as they drunkenly laid out their dirty laundry to each other, neither of them sparing a single detail from their conversation. dilf!rafe finds out bitchy!kook!reader’s parents make him look like he’s dad of the year despite him having a really hard time balancing his work and home life. rafe tells her that he’s been divorced for almost a year now, his kids having decided to leave tanneyhill with their mother when things got really messy. “what guts me is that my kids wanted to stay with me first. they gave me a chance and they watched their mom leave for the mainland in tears, and i still couldn’t be there for them the way they needed. i basically live at work, and once they picked up on that, there was no going back.”

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who come to the realization that they fit each other like puzzle pieces. bitchy!kook!reader— having never been part of a family, craving the attention of an authoritive figure, and rafe— seeing that she’s so much younger than him and wanting to redeem himself for not being the dad that he wishes he could be. the two of them end up back at rafe’s place that very night where it doesn’t take dilf!rafe a lot of time to figure bitchy!kook!reader out. seeing that she has never had anyone tell her no, let alone discipline her, he finds himself correcting her attitude and bratty tendencies by fucking it right out of her. he’s not letting up on her until he see’s tears rolling down her cheeks and the only thing she could say is a pathetic ‘sorry!’ every time he thrusts into her.

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who develop an interesting relationship dynamic, both of them filling each other’s voids in the most perverted ways. making her cum until she was nothing but a blabbering mess, dilf!rafe never failed to pound her in until she was set straight. “you wanna stomp in your little heels and roll your eyes at me like i’m one of your girlfriends? i don’t think so. you don’t get to do whatever the fuck you want when you’re inside my house. you follow my rules when you’re under my roof, do you understand that?” of course, bitchy!kook!reader nodded without hesitation, her defiant demeanor melting away into nothing as rafe worked her body like no one else knew how to. dilf!rafe always comforted her after he was done ‘punishing’ her, her trembling form being enveloped by his big arms as her heart fluttered in her chest at the closeness and intimacy of it all.

DILF!RAFE X BITCHY!KOOK!READER who often find themselves arguing about bitchy!kook!reader’s irresponsible decisions to party on the weekends until she’s calling rafe for help, her heels clicking against the pavement as she struggles to stay upright on her feet. while rafe tries his best to keep in mind that she’s still young and living her life, he can’t help but to lecture her all the way back to his place. “i can’t stop you from having your fun, but at least be responsible about it. the thought of you standing out there all disoriented just doesn’t sit well with me.” he grumbles, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip on the steering wheel. while bitchy!kook!reader knows she should be receptive towards rafe’s words, she’s instead smiling at him as she rests her feet on his lap. “thank you for caring about me.”

[usedpidemo]

Cherry ((G)I-dle Minnie)

For you, nothing compares to seeing your favorite artist live, doing what they love the most.

For Minnie, nothing compares to the continued echo of a roaring crowd screaming her name.

But when it’s all said and done, nothing compares to the sound of her one and only fan shouting her name while he’s giving every last inch into her.

—————

Checking your phone, you see the posts on social media. While everyone else is still inside that stadium, Minnie is nowhere to be found, disappearing right after her 30 minute set, no-showing the arbitrary farewell walk around to the fans. Not that everyone cares or will give her heat for her sudden absence, but her presence leaves quite a noticeable hole in the venue.

Judging by how she’s opening the door to her hotel room, you can guess as to where she’s gone. 

Looking through your recorded footage, her eyes kept a steady track on you, as if she personally singled you out. Giving you flirty winks, subtle flying kisses in your direction, smiling at you even as she hosts the rest of the audience between transitions—the signs were there all along. You were caught up in the moment of her performance to properly notice.

That, and your intrusive handmade banner is quite easy for her to notice.

Speaking of—Minnie’s been holding your banner the entire ride back, finally setting it aside on the dining table. With every glance at your simple ‘I love you’ message, her gummy smile only widens. It’s heartwarming to see your effort be rewarded in quite the grandiose manner. A simple acknowledgement would have been enough—a simple heart, a wave, a general glance in your direction, anything.

You never expected to share a ride back to her hotel before she personally guided you inside her personal place.

She always points out how cute your handwriting is. That you went out of your way to write in Thai, even if it's evidently using Google Translate, saying that she’ll keep it in her place in appreciation. 

And so, you have to address the elephant in the room:

“Why me?” you ask, as your gaze wanders around her hotel room, quite simple in design and only meant for simple overnight stays. You can see the venue you were in minutes ago from the large window, a lifetime away thanks to the nighttime traffic. 

“Because I saw it!” Minnie replies, grinning, falling into her usual idol posture like muscle memory. Hands folded together, classy, even if her still-worn stage outfit says otherwise. Casually flaunting off her tight figure and toned little belly just for you. It’s hypnotic. “Flew in from far away just to see me perform here? You’re committed.”

“I mean—you haven’t performed in my country in years,” you remark, bitter at the thought. One of your driving motivations is to at least see her if the worst happened. Fortunately, they’re here to stay a little longer. Nevertheless, your patience was far past its breaking point, and you had to take matters into your own hands. “You have no idea how long I waited for you to come back.”

Minnie frowns, apologetic and empathetic over your plight. “Sorry. We want to reach out and perform everywhere, but—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it all the time, no need to remind me,” you interrupt, unwilling to hear the same rote excuse for the umpteenth time. Of course it’s the company’s fault, and not you for living in an unprofitable market for international artists to perform. “But that doesn’t matter now. If you ever go and tour, I’ll try flying out here again, like I did just for you.”

Almost immediately, her downcast expression shifts into a look of joy. “Aw. I hope it doesn’t mean you’re going broke for us. It’s not worth it.”

“Of course not,” is your reply, as if you anticipated this exact response. “I wouldn’t even think about going on this trip if I knew I’d be eating cup noodles for the next month.”

“Sounds fun,” Minnie jests, approaching you and brushing loose strands of your hair covering your forehead. Cupping a hand on your cheek, she whispers against your other cheek, her breath hot: “I’ll pay for whatever you need. Flight tickets, hotel accommodation, transportation—name it and I got you covered.”

“Everything’s been accounted for, but I appreciate the thought,” you remark, your eyes following hers. Staring into each other’s gaze intently, her warmth and sincerity in full bloom, you’re falling deeper in love with her. “I—I just didn’t think this would ever happen.”

“No one does,” is her remark, tone sensual, pulling your head closer against hers. “Now I want to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

Her breath tickles your ear, sending chills down your spine. “What’s your favorite song I did tonight?”

You pause, give her a subtle smile, which she immediately reads. Like she already has a clue.

“I think you already know the answer.”

She breathes against your skin in the shape of a chuckle and a smirk. The song begins to play moments later, courtesy of her own phone.

Minnie quietly mouths the lyrics in your ear, and you can’t help but lean closer to get a feel of her lips kissing your skin. You sense the ripple of her waist against yours, a gentle rustle of her shrinking skirt. You engross yourself in the moment that you don’t notice her hands dragging you with her in the direction of the living room couch.

Pushing you onto the sofa right as the second line hits, Minnie continues mouthing the words to her own song effortlessly, dancing before you so sexily knowing she’d never try on stage in a million years, even with their group’s more risque concepts. Her eyes demand every bit of your attention—not that you had anything else in mind but her. 

A private performance, meant only for you. Turning her hotel room into a club, you’d be throwing what little money you have for her if you had anything left. 

And by God, she loves it. Relishing how whipped you are for her. Doesn’t matter if it’s one or thousands, she lives for the attention and praise.

As the chorus hits, Minnie drops to the floor, stomach down ass up, kicking her heels up in the air, her stare remaining fixated at you all throughout. Rehearsed and practiced, yet looking so natural. You can only watch in awe, wondering how long she’s been waiting for the opportunity, how many times she’s done this before to others, and how the stars perfectly aligned for you to have this personalized moment.

It’s torturing you right now that you can’t reach out and touch her, even if you wanted to.

Picking herself off the floor, she saunters toward you, your nerves tensing with every moment, every step forward. Fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your pants, it’s all purposeful how she moves: every sway of her hips, her hands running down her svelte figure, the twirl when she’s standing right between your legs, flaunting her petite ass peeking through her skirt before squatting down in front of you, an arm’s reach away.

The lyrics perfectly describe the situation: 

“Oh no, here we go. Watch me shake it low.”

It’s like she’s daring you to take her and make her yours.

Her ass lingers far longer than what you can perceive. No matter how desperate you are, you can’t bring yourself to move a muscle, do anything but admire and watch helplessly even as Minnie offers herself to you on a silver platter. Not for lack of trying; your mind can’t handle what’s happening right now.

She looks over shoulder with a wicked grin, as if this isn’t the first time she’s left someone victimized with her deliberate teasing.

As if that wasn’t enough, when she spins around to face you, she drags your hands off your pants, replacing them with her own. Leaning forward, her hot breath reacquainting with your skin, followed by the faintest of air kisses. Slowly but surely, she clambers onto your lap, creating unbearable heat between your legs. 

There’s no denying it now. 

Instinctively, your hands find purchase on her ass, squeezing them hard, drawing a moan out of her. Minnie responds in kind, rolling her head back, grinding her hips on your lap, fanning the flames. Her tummy right in your face, you bend forward and kiss her, tracing a path up to her crop top, resting between her chest. Her fingers find their way around your neck, inching herself closer to you till you can hardly breathe.

“Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do this,” she sighs, breaking herself free from the immersion of her own performance. Glancing down to find your face between her bra, she pulls on your face, drawing your gaze to meet hers. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” you huff, returning to kiss her bra. “But I’ve got a feeling this wasn’t the first time.”

Minnie laughs. “No shit.”

“Just you, or do the others—”

“You already know,” she interrupts, cupping your chin and redirecting your eyes back on her, shutting you up. “Now can we go back to the moment?”

Without another word, she leans down and meets you for a passionate kiss. Eyes closed, letting your feelings do all the talking. At that moment, you’re not fan and idol, but two lovers finding solace in each other’s arms. The only break is when she pulls back to lift your shirt over your head before you’re passionately making out to her own song again.  

She doesn’t even bring up the fact that your hands have been on her ass the whole time. If anything, with every squeeze, she moans softly into your mouth, making music.

But you can’t stay like this for long. Not when you’re both close to reaching your natural climax.

Breaking off the kiss for a second time, Miinie takes a moment to admire you, smiling. Her face, flushed with crimson and lust, keeps you in place while she silently unhooks her top, slipping it off her shoulders before tossing it to the floor and joining your shirt.

Before she tries to kiss you again, the sudden music stoppage snaps both your attention. 

“Ah, fuck me,” Minnie whines, quickly climbing off your lap to reach for the phone on the other side of the living room, buzzing loudly as she races to shut it down as quickly as possible. Giving you a proper look at her half-naked body while she hurriedly mashes buttons on her screen, you’re imagining that’s what she normally looks like in the mornings. 

“Well tell them I felt nauseous and had to rush to the hospital,” she says while clicking her tongue seemingly giving instructions to someone over the phone. When her eyes find yours, she grins cheekily, playing off the situation as nothing but a minor inconvenience. “No one’s gonna find out, surely.”

Like you weren’t casually singled out by staff, escorted out of the venue and riding inside one of the artist’s cars before being told to wait inside for a good 30 minutes before you could finally get out. Under any other context, this would have been a kidnapping case.

“Just give them the usual statement,” she whines, annoyed that she’s getting calls at such an unfortunate time. “I did my set, no? That should be enough. No one’s gonna care by tomorrow,” she adds, before cutting the call and the music picks up where it left off.

“Sorry you had to hear all that.” Minnie sighs as she casually lets her skirt fall to the floor, leaving her in only underwear as she saunters back to you. “I probably should have listened when they said this wasn’t a solo concert.”

To save her from further embarrassment, you remain quiet, but your face can’t hide your amusement watching it unfold in real time. One way or another, you’ll never look at her the same way again.

“Gosh, I gotta ask Yuqi how she does it,” she huffs, setting down her phone on the living room table. “Anyway, where were we?”

You don’t know exactly how to respond, nor do you have the answer to her question. And yet you have an idea as to where this is gonna end.

—————

The song continues to play on loop in the background as Minnie guides you to the bedroom, hand in tow, skirt lost somewhere on the living room floor, before falling onto the bed belly first, spreading her legs wide and baring her holes for display. Showing her pussy to you, she is wet and leaking. 

“Fucking use me,” she huffs, looking over her shoulder, voice raspy, losing herself to her most feral desires. “I know you want this as much as I want it.”

“Fuck, Minnie, I—” Not even your half-assed attempt at reluctance stops you from unraveling with her; it’s  laughably unconvincing. Lining your erect cock against her aching core, drawing a prolonged whine from her needy lips, her passionate sigh makes you shiver in anticipation. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You wouldn’t be positioning yourself behind me if you didn’t,” she remarks, pointing a finger toward your cock. “And that thing wanted me the moment I climbed onto your lap.”

She’d plunge your cock straight into her needy cunt if she could.

Instead, she reaches for the tip, gives it a gentle flick, causing your breaths to go haywire. Sparking a fire within you, Minnie only has one purpose in mind: to set you ablaze. You see it in her inviting smile—her eyes—drawing her fingers back, daring you to finish what she started.

Plunging into her cunt without hesitation, Minnie’s cry of pain and pleasure immediately fills the room and beyond. Obscene, obnoxious, you’re making a statement to everyone that you’re gonna fuck her—hard.

Fingers clamped on the headrest, and then onto the pillow, hanging on for dear life. Her muscles tensing and her hips bucking against yours. All while you’re still trying to adjust inside her; you haven’t moved a muscle since entering her. The only thought permeating your mind is how goddamn tight she feels around you.

The idea of unloading everything into her right then and there floats around your mind, but you begin dragging your cock out, now lathered in sheen and slick, before pushing back into her invigorating heat. 

And fuck, Minnie takes every inch effortlessly. Letting you take charge, giving you free reign over her body. With every stroke, every thrust deeper, she fucking screams. Doesn’t matter that you’re leaving gaping imprints on her skin or that you’re hammering into her with reckless abandon, she only cares about the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her veins.

Like a man possessed, you’re throwing your all into her, pounding her balls deep like your life depends on it, like this is your one and only chance—which it may as well be. 

“So incredible—can’t believe you’re letting me do this—” you rasp, pumping into her so hard the bed begins to quake. Both your hands rest on her svelte waist, wrapped like a vice as you deliver one devastating stroke after another. You can only imagine how she looks, but you get a sense that it’s pornographic and salacious.

“It’s been so long—” she whines, her voice cracking and jumping with every word in response to your thrusts. Her own fingers are gripped to the pillows, lifting her head to keep herself loud and clear, like she isn’t making quite the commotion this late at night. “So goddamn big—oh fuck—more—”

With her ass bouncing and rippling with each thrust, you’re left in a state of trance. God, she looks so good with your cock impaled in her pussy, with cum leaking and dripping from her holes. Accompanied by the filthy sounds of flesh slapping flesh, there’s no better sight for your dizzy, tired eyes. It only serves to spur you on, to keep you moving—as if you need any more motivation.

Giving her no respite, maintaining quite the chokehold you have on her, you lean forward against her ear, and your erratic breaths—your little vibrations—sends her into upper heaven. You haven’t uttered a single word, yet your looming presence drives her crazy.

“Pull on it, baby. Please—” Minnie cries, pertaining to her hair, barely held together by a loosened tie and prayers.

As much as you want to say anything back, the vice grip she has on you is just as strong, if not stronger. So intoxicatingly tight, gathering your thoughts into something coherent proves to be an immense struggle. It gets to a point where you don’t know who’s truly in control here.

And seeing as you’re doing exactly that—pulling on her hair as you kiss the helix of her ear, unable to keep up with her tempo—you sense the end is coming. And fast.

Still, there’s no relenting. She feels too good to slow down for even a moment, fearing that if you do, this unreal bliss is lost forever. So you hold on, redirecting all your focus on everything else about her body: exploring her back, lifting her on her fours, twisting her body in your hands—anything to keep your mind off the idea that you’re falling apart. 

Your unrelenting pace supersedes every effort you’re making. It’s a relief that Minnie is fucked beyond coherence right now, losing herself in her own ecstasy. Nevertheless, you’re mentally counting down the little time you have left.

“Almost, Minnie—” you coo into her neck, rolling her on her side, lifting her helpless figure, squeezing on her breast. Fighting with the dying remains of your resolve to keep the fire alive before it fans out, Minnie looks absolutely drained, her body pushed far beyond its limit. “I’m so close—”

“Inside—” she barely manages to whine, palming your back, pulling you into a warm embrace, unwilling to accept any other outcome. Eyes completely shut, just letting pleasure freely flow in and out of her veins, rolling her hips up as you thrust into her, your grip on reality collapsing in real time. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna—”

Her voice goes high, breaks her train of thought as you sense her crumble underneath you, her climax hitting at the apex. The heat of her walls suffocating, putting you in an inescapable chokehold, her legs wrapping around yours—the intention is clear: you’re gonna stay there, cum inside, and lay it all on her. 

It’s only right that your own orgasm follows. 

Holding her through your own end, every second an eternity in itself, as you bury yourself balls deep, letting Minnie milk you for all your worth. Shuddering as your bodies intertwine as one, bracing as every spurt of cum you give her with hits with the same level of impact as the previous burst, like fireworks exploding. Can’t make out a clear visual as your vision goes blurry, so you take solace in her arms as the pulse in your loins gradually dies.

Until the only thing you can hear is each other’s heartbeats.

Minnie’s a delicate treasure, one of one. Despite fucking her into shreds mere moments ago, you can’t go out like this: pressing your weight on her, dangerously close to passing out under the afterglow of your own orgasm.

Fortunately, Minnie sees the scene differently, smiling: “Wow.” 

She’s roaming her hands down your arms, warily glancing at the aftermath between your legs. A fresh puddle has formed on the sheets, now stained beyond repair. “That’s—a lot more than I thought,” she remarks, laughing at herself.

“That’s what you do to me,” you say, brushing her hair side, softly kissing her. As you try to pull back, Minnie sinks further, keeping your lips locked a few more precious moments longer. 

You need to take a breather; blink a few times to let everything sink in: that she’s the one who made the advance. Every single opportunity.

And as the mood slowly dies, as both of you stare into each other’s eyes, uncertain of what happens now, her phone rings loudly in the background again.

You give her this look, as if to say: ‘Seriously? In this ungodly hour?’ To which Minnie merely smirks before rolling out of bed. As if this was expected. Hell, she looks surprised that it didn’t happen mid-climax.

Limping out of the bedroom, making a strong case not to fly out tomorrow, even though she won’t have activities for the next few days. Learning from earlier, she hides herself out away from your view before she returns with her phone in hand, throwing it right in your direction, falling short of landing on your face.

“Not this time,” she remarks, wagging her finger, reading your mind. “And for the record, they completely bought it.”

You can only laugh and shrug as Minnie climbs onto your lap, falling into your arms. —————

(A/N: Kind of a quick one, apologies, not really much time to write filth when you're almost graduating. Currently stuck in thesis hell with only a few weeks left before the semester ends, so please bear with me a bit longer. A few months into 2025 and Blind Eyes Red is still one of my favorite K-pop songs released so far, who knew the lyrics were horny as fuck? That made the rest of the idea a lot simpler. Thank you for reading!)

[chilipowder9]

I'm not comfortable sharing many details, but a conservative transman actually helped me on my gender journey to a point (stick with me, read the entire post, I don't piss on the poor)

he helped me realize that maybe I don't want to be a man, maybe I don't want to fully transition to Completely Male Man Testosterone Balls Guy Boy Man, and even though that snapped me back into forcing myself back into the female mold (that I disagree with regardless of gender but that's another post entirely) it led me to have longer to think about what specifically felt wrong about it all

it gave me real pause, it gave me time to think and process instead of my instinct of "everything wrong. change everything. become man. problem gone" when I know I wouldn't be alive if I had tried to transition to fully male, I would have similar problems with dysphoria that I do now, and would ultimately be worse off because where I really want to end up with my body is easier done with a "clean slate" so to speak

he also made me realize how much of this is literally "surely the jaguars won't eat MY face" because like I said in the beginning "conservative transman." he doesn't associate with transgenderism anymore, he calls himself a transsexual only, specifically because he believes that separates him from being a transman, he genuinely believes that it's okay that conservatives are now cracking down so hard that even the "good transgenders" are going to be hurt, because he thinks we brought it on ourselves

because some people really were predatory, as happens in any group, and happened to claim the trans group, regardless of actually being trans or not (I generally choose to believe so with very few exceptions), he blames us for it all, not taking into account the fact that predators exist in all groups of people in roughly the same exact rates (please feel free to correct me, this is an uneducated guess) so frankly that's a fucked up assumption to make

because some people really did freak out at small little things that really could have been handled either better or later, when bigger issues were already tackled, he blames us for it all, not taking into account that it was probably that whoever was being filmed had a bad day, and that the number of trans people really behaving like that at all, but especially on the regular are pretty damn small

after all this time, and after almost ten years of feeling affirmed by this man, and I feel genuinely betrayed that he's laughing, giddy about detransition threats, laughing about what happened in the UK, bragging about things his generation fought for being lost (he's like 60 something)

I don't honestly know why I wrote all this, but I feel like I'd be doing a disservice by just deleting it and forgetting about it, plus my hands are sore from typing so fuck you I'm not making that ache in vain, thank you for reading and sorry if I said anything shitty, I was given the language of alt-right fascists and it's currently still a struggle to balance that with modern language without sounding like a genuine idiot

If you actually take the threat of forced detransition seriously, then you should recognize "Conservative transphobes don't want to kill transmascs, they just want to detransition them" for the callous and out-of-touch statement that it is.

"Ugh, you're actually lucky they don't want to kill you, they just want to permanently cut you off from gender-affirming care, rape you, trap you in marriage and pregnancy, and force you to live the rest of your life as their property."

Wow, I feel so blessed.

[maskedbyghost]

Okay but I think it would be so fun for the roles to be flipped for once. A man flirts with out possessive reader and simon absolutely loses it. Tells her she belongs to him, maybe leaves a big ole lovebite on her neck. Ugh I need him

Alright, this one’s for all of you who wanted Simon to be just as possessive as the reader. I didn’t hold back here, did I? Hope this hits the spot! Let me know your thoughts in the comments, ly byee!

You were just going through the aisles, minding your own business, when it happened. You barely noticed at first, just some guy hanging around, trying to offer you help with a box of cereal. You smiled politely, not thinking much of it, but when you glanced over at Simon to tell him something, you saw his jaw tighten, his grip on the cart getting a little too hard. He didn’t say anything, but you knew that look. You’d seen it before, but never directed at you.

You didn’t really care when the guy leaned a little too close, standing too near you while you picked out what you needed. You knew Simon was behind you, just a few steps away, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching, his eyes boring into the back of your head. The guy didn’t know it, but he was already in the danger zone.

The worst part? The guy was talking to you like he owned the place. Smiling too much, leaning into your space, trying to keep the conversation going like you were the one who wanted it. You saw Simon shift, his eyes narrowing, and you didn’t need to be looking directly at him to know that his patience was running out.

When you caught his eye again, he didn’t look mad, not exactly. He looked… frustrated. Frustrated in a way that you didn’t quite understand, at least not yet. You hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of Simon’s jealousy before, but you were starting to get it now. He didn’t want to share you, not even a little, and it made him uncomfortable in a way you hadn’t expected.

Before you could say anything, Simon was there. He didn’t make a scene, didn’t grab the guy by the collar or push him away. He didn’t even address him directly. All he did was slide his hand around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, just enough for the guy to see the way Simon looked at you, possessive and silent, his presence like a barrier.

But the guy didn’t get it. He tried to keep talking to you, but Simon wasn’t having it. Not once did he raise his voice; not once did he look at the guy. He simply turned his head and said one word, flat and cold: “Mine.”

You weren’t even sure if the guy heard him or not, but you saw his expression falter, a little unsure now. He stepped back, hands raised like he was trying to say ‘hey, no harm done,’ but the damage had already been done in Simon’s mind. That was the first time you realized just how much Simon hated the idea of anyone even thinking they had the right to get too close to you.

As the guy walked away, Simon didn’t let go of you. He just kept you right there, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. His voice was low, just for you, but you heard every word. “Don’t know why I have to share you with the world,” he muttered, almost to himself, like he was angry at the universe itself. “They get the privilege of seeing you, but they won’t ever touch what’s mine.”

The words made you pause for a second, something heavy settling in your chest. “You’re not mad at me,” you said, almost a question. You were used to being the one who got possessive, who got territorial, but now… it was Simon. And it was different.

“No,” he muttered, his voice low, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness behind it. “I’m not pissed at you.” He sounded almost… conflicted, like he was trying to get across something without making it seem like a big deal, but his anger was still there, simmering. “It’s just… I fucking hate the way everyone else gets to see you. I hate that I can’t keep you all to myself.”

Your heart raced, a little thrill running through you at the thought of Simon—normally so in control—suddenly feeling like he had to fight for you. You liked it. You liked that he couldn’t hide it, that this was the first time you’d ever seen Simon struggle with the fact that other people even noticed you. You could feel it in the way he kept you close, his hand tight around your waist, like he didn’t want to let go.

He wasn’t done, though. His voice came again, this time with a rough edge to it. “Every time someone thinks they can get too close to you, it just makes me want to remind them that you’re mine. And when I see you talking to someone like that…” He trailed off, his lips curling into a snarl. “I fucking lose it.”

You were too busy soaking it all in to answer at first, too caught up in the way his words made you feel. You weren’t used to him like this, so out of control, and you had to admit that part of you thrived on it. You were always the one getting possessive, but now, for the first time, it was his turn.

The tension between you both was thick, so thick you almost didn’t notice when he started pulling you toward the exit. You only realized what was happening when you were outside, the cool air biting at your skin, and Simon was already pushing you up against the side of the building, eyes wild with that possessive hunger you’d seen a hundred times before.

“Simon,” you breathed, but he wasn’t listening. He was too busy claiming you, lips crashing into yours, hands rough on your neck. He pulled you close, body pressed tight against yours, and you could feel all the anger in his kiss.

He didn’t stop kissing you and didn’t stop his hands from roaming your body. He was marking you, claiming you in a way that sent shivers down your spine. When he pulled back just enough to drag his teeth across your neck, you bit back a gasp, and that’s when he spoke again, voice low and dangerous.

“You think anyone else could ever have you like I do?” His voice was rough, filled with jealousy, but there was a dark satisfaction in it, too. He kissed you again, rougher this time, like he was trying to erase every trace of anyone else from your skin. “You’re not theirs to want. You’re mine in ways no one will ever understand.”

The words struck something deep inside of you. You could feel the weight of them, the truth in them, and your chest tightened as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing hard against yours.

His hands roamed down your body again, finding that spot where your skin seemed to burn just for him. "No one will ever touch you the way I do. No one will ever make you feel like this. They can’t. They won’t."

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in his hoodie as your body pressed against his even harder. "Simon, you—"

He cut you off with another deep kiss, his lips fierce and demanding. “You’re not just mine,” he murmured against your mouth, his breath ragged, “You belong to me. In every way that matters. And no one will ever be allowed to take that from me.”

His grip on you tightened, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, forcing your face upwards to meet his gaze. “Every time someone thinks they can just walk up to you, I’m going to remind them,” he snarled, his voice a dark promise. “You’re mine. And I’ll make damn sure no one gets the chance to look at you, touch you, or speak to you like that again. They’ll all learn the hard way that you don’t belong to anyone but me.”

Your heart raced, blood rushing in your ears. This wasn’t just possessiveness anymore—it was something deeper, darker. And for the first time, you felt the intensity of Simon’s own jealousy, something you hadn’t fully experienced before.

“Simon,” you whispered, trying to catch your breath, “I’m yours, you don’t have to—”

“No,” he growled, cutting you off, “I don’t have to do anything. But I will. And every single person who dares think they can come close to you will be reminded exactly who the hell you belong to.” He kissed you again, his lips pressing hard against yours, claiming you, his hands tight on your hips, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was shallow, and his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. His fingers were tracing the line of your jaw as if he wanted to memorize every detail of your face. “I don’t share, sweetheart,” he whispered. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened with desire, the intensity of his words sinking into you. The way he spoke—like he was ready to fight for you, to own you in the most raw, primal way—made your heart race. You gripped him tighter, breathless with how much you wanted him.

"Fuck," you whispered, your voice heavy with understanding, "now I get it... why you get hard every time I show my possessive side." You smirked, feeling that rush of heat at the back of your neck. "You're just as insane as me, aren't you?"

Simon’s gaze darkened even more, if that was even possible. His lips curled into a grin, predatory and wild, his grip tightening on you. “You’re damn right I am.” He leaned in close, his voice a harsh whisper against your ear. “And that’s why no one else will ever have you like this. Not now, not ever.”

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @bunnyxiis

[tommyssupercoolblog]

OKAY!!! So um how the story goes is two women are arguing over who's the mom of this baby, so king Solomon tells them that they should fucking CUT THE BABY IN HALF so both women get a piece of the corpse baby?????? And one of the women, for some FUCKING REASON, is like "yeah sounds good to me" which is. What the fuck I don't think that's. At all how this would really go down but okay. And the other one is like "don't hurt him she can have him as long as he isn't cut in half" and king Solomon is like "ah yes that must mean YOU are the real mother who birthed this baby because all mothers love their children. What the fuck are abusive parents, never heard of em!!!!" And gives the baby.

Like you can read it as "children should be raised by those who have their best interests at heart" or whatever but he very much does stress that this woman must also be the birth mom. Like. How do you know that and why does it matter when the other lady wanted him fucking dead just to own him.

The Bible is full of fucked up stories like this and it sucks ass that little kids have to sit down and hear about the guy who was trampled to death by his own horses and his corpse was eaten by dogs or that time everyone's firstborn son was MURDERED by God to punish the KING even though the citizens couldn't control his actions

Shout out to the next generation of yuri warriors

[softaestluv]

Hellou, I have a req for Simon! I was thinking about Simon x reader/character on a thermal bath/spa day; doing unholy things in the water late at night, Simon manhandling the character doesn’t want to get out of the water or something

If you don’t do requests right now or don’t feel up for it no worries!

Rest. De-compress. Relaxation.

All words Simon Riley isn’t familiar with, strangers— enemies even.

But it’s something you keep insisting the more he comes home with tight shoulders and knotted muscles. Denies the pain until he’s walking with a limp and a hunched back, stifling a wince every time he stands up.

It’s supposed to be therapeutic, a spa day for the both of you, make sure the masseuse works all the weighted boulders off his back. A thermal bath after meant to ease all of Simon’s aches and pains, soothe his overworked body with heated water.

Except it’s not exactly going as planned. Maybe you should’ve seen this coming when you read online that nudity was an option.

You opt to wear a bathing suit, cover your most intimate parts, but Simon strips naked without hesitation, been taking group showers in the military for years now he explained— ‘ts nothin to me, love.

It’s fine. That’s fine.

You can ignore the way his cock hangs, heavy and thick when the water hides it, ignore the way it makes your mouth water pathetically.

You can’t ignore the way he becomes incredibly handsy under the water. Meaty paws pull you closer to his frame, thighs pressed against each other. Keeps one hand splayed over your stomach, thumb brushing over your sternum.

When you look up at him warily, his eyes are closed, leaning against the back of the bath’s wall, manspreading, and taking measured breaths. It’s one of the rare occurrences when he looks relaxed, calm, so you let it happen, don’t push his hand away because maybe he just wants to feel you close and safe in his loosened state.

But a brush becomes a grip, squeezing your plush hips and the tops of your thighs. It makes you squirm, fidgeting slightly in his grasps, trying your best to blame the heat in your cheeks and the fire lapping in your core on the warm water and not his greedy touch.

A squeak echoes off the walls when he outright engulfs one of your breasts, kneading the flesh through your bathing suit top. You’re incredibly thankful no one else is in the room.

“Simon!” You hiss.

He just opens his eyes into a squint, tilting his head tauntingly at you like he doesn’t know why you’re reacting, “Hhmm?”

You turn away, swatting his hand with a weak grumble of annoyance under your breath. He lets his hand fall back to your hip, drawing circles in your back instead. That’s fine, you can settle with that.

But his other hand finds the knot of your bathing suit top, pulls the tie loose. You gasp, arms flying to keep the material banded over your chest.

“Simon!” You snarl again, turning to glare at him.

He sits nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders like he hadn’t just untied your bikini top, “Come on, doll, ‘ts a spa.”

“And nudity is optional.” You retort, trying your best to tie the strings behind your back again.

“You expect me to be on my best behavior when you’re wearin’ this little thing? Teasin’ me, aren’t you pet?”

He reaches up to help, pushing your hands away to tie it himself, except when you finally let go, hand the strings over to him, he only loosens the knot on your neck. Your bikini top falling into the water, leaving your breasts bare and exposed.

Another gasp slips from your throat, sloshing in the water in attempt to cover your chest, but he blocks your wrists, spreading your thigh over his knee.

“Simon! What are you doing! Let me go,” You whisper-shout, the water around you forming rivets in your protest.

“This was your idea, love,” He lilts, leaning close so his words brush against your ear, cupping both breasts in his palms, “Wouldn’t stop complainin’ that I needed to relax. Just tryna listen to you, after all. Don’t you want t’help me release some tension?”

“I do, but- ah Simon,” You whimper, fingers wrapping around his forearm when he rolls your beaded nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, “That’s not what I meant by releasing tension.”

“Be good f’me and help me out.” His voice is smooth, but his tone is demanding, touch abrasive on your skin.

“I will, baby,” You whine, shuddering when one hands slides down your stomach, to tease the seams of your bikini bottoms, “Whatever you want, just not here. What if someone walks in.”

His lips press down your neck, stamping claiming pecks and nips against the curve of your throat as he unties the strings on your hips, “They’ll enjoy the show, trust me, you look real pretty stretched around my cock.”

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 13

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You score tickets to a Penguins game for Michael’s birthday — but you have more than one way to celebrate in mind.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I can’t always answer all of your lovely comments or reblogs, but thank you all so much!! I appreciate all the interactions you guys give this series💜

I’m sorry this wasn’t out yesterday! I got a migraine at work and then it just wouldn’t go away all day. It proceeded to stick around for a good chunk of this morning as well lol

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, violence at a hockey game, birthday blowjob (oral, m! receiving), pet names (sweetheart, honey)

not beta read

How you had been able to save enough money to afford the tickets really was beyond you. When Michael picked up your utility bill, you put the money you would have spent and put it into savings. You were then able to buy the tickets for the Penguins vs. Predators game at the PPG Paints Arena after saving for nearly two months.

“So…your birthday is coming up.” You ventured one night, rubbing a thumb into your palm.

He half groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “Don’t remind me.”

“So that’s a no to your gift then?”

His interest piqued, looking back over at you, eyebrow raised. “You got me something?”

You pulled the card out of your bag, “It’s a little early…but you’ll understand why in a moment.”

The card was quaint, with your sprawled handwriting with his name on the front. You hadn’t gotten physical tickets, so the inside of the card was empty, except for the heartfelt little note you had written. Then at the bottom was: you are now two Penguins vs. Predators tickets richer!

Michael read over the note a few more times, before looking back up at you and blinking. He brought a hand to the back of your head and pulled you in for a kiss.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, still holding onto you.

“I wanted to.” You smiled and gave him a quick peck. “Not sure if you want to take Jack, or Jake maybe, but I wanted to give you enough notice in case you needed to take time.”

He scoffed like he was offended, “I’m taking you.”

Your smile grew, “Yeah?”

“Of course I’m gonna take you, sweetheart.” He said, kissing you again. “This was really nice of you, thank you.”

Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry I couldn’t do more. Once I’m a CPA—”

“None of that. This is a great gift and I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

You nodded, taking in his genuine smile.

“I would like you to meet them. Jack and Jake, I mean. And a few other people from the hospital, in a more official manner than showing up for stitches.”

You smiled at him, but anxiety filled your chest at the thought. Jake was his surrogate step-son, and had been in Michael’s life since he was just a kid — you worried over the fact that you were much closer to Jake’s age. You wondered if he was the judgmental sort. And Jack. From everything you had heard about him, he was not likely to sugarcoat anything — if he didn’t like you, you’d know about it.

“I’d like to meet them.” You said, twisting your hands together.

As if sensing your unease, he kissed the side of your head. “They’ll love you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to put all those rumors to rest.” You smirked, thinking back to how everyone hovered both times you had been at the hospital.

He chuckled, “All the people who need to know do now.”

Your face heated, thinking that you had done the same.

You swung your legs into his lap and cuddled close to him, “Good, I did too.”

—

The trek to Saturday was a busy one, hardly having time for each other. When Michael was working, you were studying, and when you were working, he was trying to occupy himself with mundane chores. By Wednesday night, he had showed up on your doorstep with takeout and a smile. You had thrown the door open and crashed your lips together, giggling and saying, “I missed you.”

You found a Penguins t-shirt in the back of your closet to wear for the occasion, slipping on a simple pair of jeans and your favorite sneakers.

You arrived at Michael's apartment with coffee and bagels — set to spend the majority of your day there while you waited for gametime. You lounged around and watched shitty tv reruns, and it was a welcomed lazy few hours for the both of you. Stolen kisses that left you wanting more, and soft touches that made you want to throw your plans out the window.

You ate dinner at a bar near the arena, excitement brewing at being to your first hockey game.

“I don’t wanna jinx it, so I’m just going to hope we have an enjoyable game.” You said, sipping your drink.

Michael chuckled, “Cheers to that.”

The arena was not overly packed, but it felt crowded navigating through the halls and to your seats. You had paid for decent seats, in the last row of the first floor, on one corner near the home bench.

Michael kissed you softly, “These are great seats.”

You beamed at him, and intertwined your fingers. He brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.

At puck drop, you traded conversation over predictions, and hoots and hollers at your favorite players. You laughed and held onto each other when the other team got too close to scoring. You cheered when the Penguins scored their first goal, standing with your hands in the air. You held your breath every time a fight broke out, squeezing Michael’s hand. And you enjoyed the way he knew the game well enough to make calls before the referee’s did — announcing “icing!” or “offside!” before the whistle blew.

During the first intermission, you went together to get a beer before heading back to your seats. The crowd around you was rowdy, but not uncomfortably so. You were enjoying the atmosphere.

Second period came with a few idiotic calls from the referee’s, but also another point for the Penguins. You cheered loud enough you feared you would lose your voice, and Michael watched you affectionately.

In the second intermission, you wandered off to get cheesy fries while Michael got another beer, and you met back at your seats. You were bouncing on your heels in excitement, though did not dare to utter the W word, in fear of jinxing it.

During the third period, the Penguins scored another goal toward the latter half.

“This has been the best game,” You laughed, munching on a cheese fry.

Michael pulled you in close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He kissed your head.

By the time the buzzer sounded, the Penguins had won in a 3-0 shutout game against the Predators. You gave a relieved laugh, as you had been standing on your feet for the last minute of the game when the Predators had gotten too close. On your way out, you asked a random couple to take your picture.

You added the photo to your favorites on your way out, taking in Michael’s smile, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his other hand in his pocket. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach.

You looked over to him with the widest smile, admiring how handsome he was.

“Something on my face?”

“No,” you said, heat blooming in your cheeks. “Can’t a girl take in the view?”

He grinned softly, making his smile lines crinkle. He brought a hand to cradle your face, rubbing a thumb across your cheek. His eyes flickered between your eyes, and your heart started racing. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, leaning down to kiss you instead.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, wanting to savor it for as long as you could.

When you returned to his apartment, adrenaline filled your senses, suddenly having the urge to get on your knees for him — half desperate to taste him, half addicted to the sounds he made when he was enjoying himself.

“It’s late…you should stay over.” Michael said in his dim living room, the one side table lamp being the only thing illuminating the room.

“I didn’t bring anything.” You said, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“I’ve got plenty of things that’ll fit.”

Your smile widened into a grin, heart racing at the thought of wearing his clothes. You pulled him down for a kiss, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth. His tongue entered your mouth and you hummed against him.

Something bubbled in your stomach at the feeling of him getting hard, and your thoughts spiraled downward. You moved a hand to the waist of his jeans, pulling at the button until it unbuttoned. Michael’s breathing hitched, bringing both hands to either side of your head and kissing you fiercely.

As the zipper lowered, so did you, getting onto your knees and looking up at him.

He stared down at you, shoulders moving up and down with his breathing, face half shadowed. Though his brown eyes pooled desire low in your belly.

You pulled down his jeans to his knees, running your hand over his length through his boxers, watching as his eyes flickered closed. When you pulled them down, he opened them again, looking down at you with half concealed desire.

“You don’t have to—” he choked on his words when you grabbed hold of him, your hot breath on his tip.

You wet your lips, “I really really want to.”

He cursed lowly, running a hand through his hair, “Fuck, okay, honey.”

You licked tentatively along the head, and you noticed how his stomach quickly clenched and unclenched. Your smile was hard to hide. You took him into your mouth, tongue swirling along the tip before you descended deeper.

Michael let out a low groan from the back of his throat, head pointing up at the ceiling. HIs hand found the back of your head, not pushing, but simply holding you.

You took him until his cock hit the back of your throat and tears quickly gathered. You set a slow pace, using your hand to pick up the slack closer to his base, unable to take the full thing into your mouth. You moved your other hand to cup his balls and he moaned.

Your pussy pulsed at the sound of it, feeling yourself grow wet. You looked up at him through your lashes, and he was watching you intently, eyebrows drawn in.

“So beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck.”

You hummed around him at his words, and his apartment was filled with the sound of his quiet moans and grunts while you unraveled him. You took him deeply again, trying not to gag, flattening your tongue to apply pressure upwards while you hallowed out your cheeks.

“If you keep that up—fuck—I’m going to come down that pretty throat of yours.” He warned, though his voice sounded wrecked.

You looked up at him and didn’t stop, easily saying that that was exactly what you wanted.

He let out a few pants, one hand going to his neck, while his body tensed. You could feel that he was trying not to thrust into your wanting mouth. You ran a finger over his balls still in your hand and picked up your pace.

Michael came with a low groan, eyes squeezing shut, and you took it all. You swallowed his spend until he was twitching from overstimulation. You let go with a wet pop, which made him jolt. He quickly pulled you up in a kiss.

“Yeah, I need you in my clothes right now.”

You met his eyes, noses touching, and you smirked. “You gonna make me, handsome?”

A sly smile grew as he pulled up his pants, “I can certainly do that.”

He chased you into his room, your laugh echoing off the walls.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

three parts to go + the epilogue😭

[the-witty-pen-name]

Not Just a Neighbor (1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: When Simon is home from deployment, all he wants to do is sleep, but noise from the apartment next door keeps him tossing and turning- his cute new neighbor's puppy.

Request submitted by anon. Thank you for your request!

Warnings: 18+ MNDI; eventual smut; language; mostly fluff; mentions of PTSD & anxiety

Series Masterlist

He hadn’t been home in months. The drag of his boots got heavier and heavier the closer he got to the front door of his flat. His eyes were heavy and his body was so goddamn sore. All he could think about was getting in his own bed, and he was looking forward to the best night's sleep since he can’t remember when. 

When he gets home, he leaves his duffel by the door with a thud and kicks of his boots. His feet sink into the carpet and he can’t even begin to describe how good it feels to be home. His muscles begin to untense and he’s not moving as rigidly as he was moments ago. 

He desperately wanted a hot shower, and that was his first stop. The water pressure in his building was nothing to write home about, but god did it beat the terrible showers with no pressure on base. The hot water did wonders for his aching muscles. He was beginning to slip back into a normal routine quite quickly. 

He couldn’t wait to fall asleep in his own bed. An actual bed with a plush mattress and pillows that don’t deflect immediately. He’s craving sleep so badly. He steps out of the shower and throws on a pair of his sweatpants. He collapses on his bed instantly, not even bothering to get under the covers. He stretches out on his stomach and he’s feeling the pull of sleep just about to take over him. 

Noise from the other side of his bedroom wall kept him from fully losing himself to sleep. It wasn’t like him, being so used to sleeping wherever on deployment, sounds never bothered him when he tried to sleep. He knew the apartment next to his wouldn’t have stayed vacant forever and perhaps he'd just been spoiled the last time he was home and it was vacant. He tried his best to ignore it. 

Was that a fucking dog? 

After a few attempts of tossing and turning, he was getting sick of this. He could barely stand it. He was so close to sleep and yet, it was like he got a second wind as he got up and headed out into the hallway to give this new neighbor a piece of his mind. He knocks on the door, and he hears another bark from the other side. He’s ready to lay into whoever is on the other side of the door, to cuss them out for not being able to control their dog while others are trying to sleep. 

Everything he intended to say goes out the window when you open your door. 

You’re so pretty.

Pretty eyes, pretty smile with soft cheeks… is that a dimple? Plush skin that looks so soft to the touch. So absolutely fucking beautiful that you make his mouth go dry. He’s completely forgotten why he came over here when you look at him with those eyes and that little head tilt. He should say something. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin the conversation much to his relief. “Sarge is sick. I’m assuming you heard him barking.” 

“S-Sarge?” 

You nod, apologetically, but he can’t even remember why you’re apologizing until he hears a little yip from behind you. A little dachshund peers at him from behind your legs. It’s clearly a puppy, a really young one at that sporting an obnoxiously large cone for his little body. 

“I’m so sorry, like I explained in the note he’s a rescue..” 

“Note?” 

You left him a note? Something you wrote to him is in his possession and that knowledge makes his stomach flip. He glanced over to his door, and now he finally notices a yellow envelope taped to the front. He steps over and pulls it away. 

“I didn’t see this,” he says, tearing it open. 

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor Sarge. I’m a four month old dachshund. I have PTSD and I’m adjusting to my new home. I’ve recently been adopted and am trying to learn to be a good neighbor. We appreciate your understanding as I’m still in training. Please have a coffee on my mom as a thank you for your patience and support.” 

There’s a gift card attached to the coffee shop next door and he realizes a few other doors have that note as well. You got a small gift card for everyone in this hallway? He feels like an ass now. 

“I didn’t see this,” he explains, dumbly. “Sorry, I just got home from deployment- I’m so tired I must’ve missed it. Thank you for this.” 

You reiterate, overly apologetic, that you’ll do your best to keep the puppy quiet but he can’t even find any ounce of him that cares about that anymore. He can't even focus on what you’re saying, as much as he’s trying, because watching your lips is too distracting. 

As you’re trying to apologize, Sarge makes his way over, waddling from the weight of his cone and he rests his body against Ghost, taking a seat on his foot. God, how could he have ever been upset before? 

“Oh,” you say surprised, cutting yourself off. You look at Sarge, completely baffled. You look back to Simon. “He’s usually afraid of men.” 

Somehow your dog, notorious for barking and cowering in fear at the sight of any man, declared your neighbor- your tall, bulky and intimidating neighbor- safe. Your eyes widen in surprise, but also you can’t help the wide grin that expands across your face. 

“This is huge for him, you have no idea,” you gush. Your excitement makes his heart swell. Your dog likes him, your dog chose him. He wonders if this means maybe if he’s lucky he’ll have a chance with you. He can only hope. 

“Come on, baby,” you say, bending over to pick up the puppy in your arms. Simon quickly shifts his attention to the wall because he definitely wasn’t staring at the subtle way your tank top exposed your cleavage when you bent over. “I’m so sorry again, I promise I’ll do my best to keep him quiet,” you say, moving to close your door. “I hope you’re able to get some rest, you deserve it,” you smile, closing the door with your foot since Sarge was bundled in your arms. 

Simon is left dumbfounded, staring at your closed door for a few moments before he can even shake it off and return to his own apartment. He keeps your note clutched tightly in his hand, reading it over and over, practically tracing the slopes of your pretty handwriting.