#THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for getting me this far

[ghouljams]

Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

Rating: E (MDNI) Words: ~11k Tags: Ghost x f!Reader, Dirtbag!Ghost, strangers -> ???, groping, non-con kissing, coerced consent, oral (F!Receiving), fingering, squirting, piv sex, kidnapping? Summary: A stranger online promises he'll make your parents' Christmas hell, and you're eager to take him up on the offer. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.

<Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

[casual encounters]

“I am a 35 year old former SAS operator with no A levels, tattoos, and a motorcycle. I can play anywhere from 30 to 40 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and I work late nights at my mate’s bar. If you’d like to have me pretend to be in a long term serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request:

Openly hit on female guests while you act like you don’t notice

Start instigative discussions about religion and/or politics

Propose to you in front of everyone

Talk at length about my time in the army including what it felt like to kill a man(good or bad your choice)

Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on(don’t drink much these days, but I know the drill)

Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

Only pay I want is the free meal and the entertainment.”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

*

RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?” 

To:SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From:URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Is this offer still open?

*

RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

From: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

Depends how far you want me to travel.

-S

*

RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Any chance you’re in the XXXXX area? I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk details.

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

From: SASRiley@xxxxxxx.xx

Close enough for a free meal. I’m in XXXX

-S

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Let’s meet at Gallery Eats. Also can you send me an ID or something so I know what you look like?

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

[attachment] [attachment]

Know you birds get jumpy, send it out to your little friends. 

Tuesday 15:30

See you there 

-S

*

He’s already at the shop when you get there, scrolling through his phone with his legs spread wide under the little wooden table, a full-face motorcycle helmet taking up more than half of the tiny tabletop.

You hadn’t realized how big the guy would be. Even sitting down he’s massive. You’d bet money he’s over six foot, and he easily eclipses the little cafe chair he’s settled in. His craigslist ad wasn’t lying when it said “tattoos.” The guy’s arms are covered in swirling black ink, and you follow the line of it up to the dark collar of his shirt where it peaks out to creep up his neck. He’s perfect. Your folks will hate him.

Dark eyes meet yours and a smirk creeps over his face, it tugs at a thin scar bisecting his lips.

He stands, and you bee-line for him.

“Thank god you look like your picture.” You huff, settling your bag on the chair across from him.

“That any way ta greet your man?” He grunts, holding a hand out. “Simon.”

You take his hand with a smile, and feel thick fingers wrap around your own. You glance down at the dark seal on the back of his hand, the carefully inked numbers already fading with age spelling out “141.” 

“So,” He smiles, leaning so far back in his seat that the chair tips, “How mad are we talkin’?”

*

It turns out Simon’s motorcycle isn’t his only mode of transportation. You roll up to your parents house in a half-wrapped muscle car that Simon claims he’s been “working on” and you can almost smell the distaste radiating off of your folks when they peak through the front window. Simon makes a big show of ignoring you while you try to get the oddly shaped Christmas gifts out of the trunk, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone while you struggle. Finally your parents decide to wander out onto their front step, and your father stalks over to take the bulkier gifts from you while Simon eyes him.

You grin at him, already pleased with his grumbling and glaring at Simon. Simon, for his part, offers a, “Sure it ain’t too heavy old man?” That makes a vein on your father’s temple throb angrily. He ambles after you and your father, and makes a show of giving your mom a once over.

“Sweetheart!” Your mother grimace-smiles at you, “Who is this?”

“This is Simon,” You sigh, leaning against Simon with a dopey smile, “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” Your mother grits her teeth, “You didn’t say you were bringing a guest.”

“Oh I know, but you can pull up a chair, right?” You gasp, “We’re not messing up your table are we?”

Your mother’s eye twitches. You know her well enough to know she’s already thinking about people bumping elbows at an overcrowded table. You can almost hear your little cousins complain about the lack of space. You also know she’ll never admit her annoyance in front of a guest.

“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, “The more the merrier.” She turns to Simon. “It’s nice to meet you Simon.”

Simon finally takes his cue, tossing his ashy cigarette onto the stone walkway with a flick of his fingers. He exhales nearly into your mother’s face before seemingly remembering last minute that, that’s rude.

“Nice to meet you,” His eyes flick down to your mother’s chest, “Can see where the bird gets ‘er tits from.”

You could scream with laughter the way your mother’s lips tighten into a thin line and her brows twitch down ever so slightly, the picture of barely contained shock and disgust. You can feel your father fuming on the other side of you.

“Why don’t we put presents down?” You chirp, trying to play at oblivious while Simon leers at your mother. She does her best to subtly cross her arms and tug the neck of her sweater closed. “Simon, do you have a hand to help dad?”

“Course, sweet’eart.” He hums, leaning to kiss your temple. A sweet gesture if he didn’t grab a handful of your ass at the same time, angled precisely so you’re sure your dad can see. “Christ you got a fat ass,” He mumbles, his voice low and graveled as he squeezes you again. You feel your cheeks heat in spite of yourself. It’s all pretend, all things you’ve talked about, but that doesn’t stop your body from reacting. His big hand lingers, fingers dragging over your ass as he pushes past your parents into the house. Uninvited.

You ignore your mother’s pointed look under the pretense of juggling presents, pushing into the house after your fake boyfriend.

Simon unceremoniously snatches the gifts from your father as soon as he’s in the house, haphazardly tossing the boxes under the tree while you carefully place your own presents, seemingly ignorant of your boyfriend’s lack of care.

“So how was the drive?” Your dad asks, trying to find something to talk about.

“Bloody awful,” Simon butts in before you can answer, he jerks his head in your direction, “‘ad to listen to the bird’s music the ‘ole time.”

“I thought you liked my music,” You pout.

“When tha fuck ‘ave I ever said that?” He snaps at you. You stifle the flinch and watch Simon’s brows draw down ever so slightly.

When you’d gone through all the details for this he’d told you to try and temper your flinching, assured you that you didn’t need to be scared of him, that if you were dating he’d never lay a hand on you. That didn’t stop his quick, harsh, response from startling you. At least the small crease in his brow made you think he didn’t enjoy the reaction.

“When we first met.” You smile, playing it off. 

“And you believed that?” Simon huffs, “Can’t believe I’m the first one to grab ya off the street with ‘ow gullible ya are.”

You blink at him, and turn to hastily cover for him to your dad.

“A consensual grabbing.” You assure him.

“Think I’m still deaf in my right ear from ‘ow loud ya screamed.” Simon grumbles, digging a finger into his ear as if to demonstrate his hearing loss. You feel your cheeks heat reflexively. Even fictional it’s embarrassing to imagine that you might have met a long term serious boyfriend in a kidnapping attempt.

Nevermind that the idea of someone like Simon grabbing you off the street is a major plot point in some of your favorite videos. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, a difficult task with Simon’s fingers grazing your ass.

“It was a prank.” You continue covering.

“Bet actually.” Simon corrects in an attempt to make things worse. “Seein’ ‘oo could take the prettiest bird ‘ome.” He nudges your dad as if he’s bringing him in on the joke, “Should’ve seen ‘ow much this one struggled, should’ve known she’d be an ‘andful.”

“Your friends sound-” Your dad swallows whatever distaste boils behind his tongue in an effort to keep the peace, “interesting.”

“Served together.” Simon sniffs.

“Oh!” Your father seems to brighten at this new information.

“Lost a lot of good men, but kept all the worst, eh bird?” Simon tosses a smile your way. The playful grin lights up his face, tugs at his scars in a way that’s far too charming. 

“Where did you serve?” Your father asks, too eager for war talk.

“Went where I was needed.” Simon grunts. It’s an end to the conversation. You can see your father trying to think of where to go from there, if he should push for a different answer or ask about if Simon enjoyed his time in the service. He settles on exactly what you’re sure Simon was hoping for.

“So what do you do now?”

You almost brace yourself for his answer, and you’re glad for the added tension in your shoulders because it stops you from barking out a laugh.

“Beside fuckin’ the bird?” He doesn’t get another word out before your father growls out a loud.

“Alright-” that your mother cuts off with her well timed, if sudden entrance.

“Your aunt is on her way,” She informs you, “She’s excited to meet your boyfriend.”

“You got a lot of people comin’ ta this thing?” Simon asks, as if you hadn’t given him a full guest list.

“Just a few,” Your mother smiles, “my sister lives nearby so she’ll be bringing her boys.”

“Would’ve been nice ta know there were brats comin’ ta this thing,” Simon gives you a look and you pout.

“I told you this was a family thing.” You remind him.

“Didn’t know ya had so much family,” He sniffs, “Brother isn’t comin’ ta this too is ‘e?”

You have to stop yourself from grinning at the family landmine Simon so perfectly walked into.

“Henry doesn’t come to family functions anymore,” Your mother tells him curtly.

“Heard ‘e got tired of havin’ you scare off ‘is girls,” Simon grins, “thought you’d be a bigger bitch.” You choke. You mother’s gaze whips to you and you carefully go about adjusting the presents under the tree just so you don’t have to look at her. 

“Well I don’t know where you heard that,” The high note in your mother’s voice betrays her, the faux-calmness barely covering the boiling anger that’s starting to show, “but it’s not true.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar,” Simon’s voice takes an icy note in response and you glance over your shoulder to watch him roll his shoulders back. You can see the way his musculature moves even under his jumper. The threat is palpable, and also completely inappropriate for the situation.

He’s good at this.

It’s your father’s turn to diffuse the situation.

“You a footie fan?” He asks, because he’s ass at calming your mother (or anyone else) down. You can practically feel Simon’s attention shift, like the air in the room has to adjust to the pressure he exerts.

“City.” Simon huffs. You dad grins, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. Playful ribbing that somehow always ends in a screaming match.

“Manchester boy, eh? Ya find it hard losin’ to Liverpool all the time or do ya get used to it?” Your father jokes. The question hangs dead in the air. Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, so still it scares even you, and you know it’s just an act.

“You like chewin’ your food?” Simon asks, his voice so deathly calm that you grab his arm with  a laugh and pull at him.

“He’s just kidding Simon,” You placate, trying to pull your --wow this guy’s bicep is huge-- fake boyfriend away, “Right dad?”

“Oh come on,” You father tosses your way with a shake of his head, “I can handle a Manc-” He snorts and turns to Simon “-at least better than their players handle the ball.”

Simon flexes under your hands, and you physically can’t restrain him from shaking you off to stalk over to your dad. 

“Simon please,” You plead, you don’t even have to act, the way he grabs your father by the shirt collar you all but leap to wrap your arms around his waist and try to pull him back, “not again!”

“Again!” Your mother yelps as your father holds his hands up, eyes wide with fear.

“It was a joke,” Your father assures Simon.

“Fuckin’ better be.” Simon relents, releasing his hold on your father and turning those dark eyes to you.

“Look’t you grabbin’ me,” He grabs you before you can let him go, your muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. He holds your face with the same hand that had held your father, squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.“Real cute, thinkin’ you could ‘old me back.” Your stomach flips. “Taught you better’n that didn’ I? You want somethin’ you gotta ask, yeah?”

“I don’-” You try to shake yourself back to your senses and Simon squeezes you a little tighter, “Please let go.” Embarrassment settles hot in your stomach at the spark of… something in Simon’s eyes.

“There’s my girl,” He smiles, “Now give us a kiss love.”

You feel your stomach drop out, and you’re sure it shows on your face. Simon raises a brow. Your tongue feels too big in your dry mouth. You swallow and glance at your parents.

“I thought you said no PDA,” You try. This wasn’t in the brief.

“Just on the cheek then,” His smile is absolutely devilish, you wonder where he learned it, “Wouldn’t want ta embarrass you in front of your folks.” Your mother scoffs. Simon turns to glare at her and you rush a quick peck on his cheek just to get it over with.

His stubble is sharp where it pokes against your lips, but his skin is surprisingly soft. You almost hesitate pulling away. Your skin already feels hot with the humiliation of kissing a veritable stranger whose only goal is to antagonize your parents for the evening, so you don’t waste time with the action.

You’re saved by your aunt opening the front door with a loud, excited:

“Happy Christmas!”

Before she freezes in the doorway. Your cousins rush in, seemingly unaware of the tension and you take the opportunity to pull out of Simon’s grip.

“Is this a bad time?” Your aunt asks as tactfully as she can given the energy in the house.

“It’s a great time,” Simon answers for the crowd with a smile. Your mother throws an alarmed look your way and does her best to plaster on something less emotional for her sister.

“I thought you were gonna help with the presents,” Your uncle calls from behind your aunt, who immediately turns to help him get the boxes in. You see her vaguely gesture at the house through the crack between the door and the frame and wonder just what she’s trying to convey. 

This holiday is already off to a terrible start. Which is great. But you can’t shake the feeling that it’s going… worse than you’d initially thought it would.

“When are we eating?” One of your cousins asks, you turn to see the teen, Jack, staring at you. You suppose you’re the only adult that ever really gives any of them the time of day, makes sense he’d ask you.

“Uh,” you blink, trying to come up with a decent answer for him, “probably soon.”

“I wanna open presents,” One of the little ones whines.

“You gotta wait,” Jack tells him. 

“Ok!” Your aunt announces as she comes back inside, now holding gifts, “Looks like you’ve already started the party!”

“Haven’t even started drinking yet,” Simon assures her. Your uncle joins the fray, shuffling past you to set his gifts under the tree as well.

“You drink.” Your mother clarifies with a smile, she’s hiding the horror well.

“I’m the life of the party love,” He tosses your mom a wink and turns to look around. You assume for the liquor.

“What do you drink?” Your uncle asks, good natured as usual. That’ll change.

“Bourbon.” Simon hums, “But I’ll take a beer if that’s all ya got.”

“Sure there’s somethin’ around here somewhere.” Your uncle meanders over to your parent’s short liquor cabinet and starts rifling through the bottles. Your mother shoots you a look that practically begs you to stop him.

“Do you need something mom?” You ask, oblivious.

“It’s just a little early to start drinking, don't you think?” She asks, a leading question. You know what she’s trying to do.

“You sayin’ I can’t get a drink?” Simon asks.

“Let the man have a drink,” You uncle cajoles, “It’s a holiday!”

Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t comment on the glass your uncle pours for Simon, but she does retreat to the kitchen with your aunt in toe. You’re almost tempted to follow them and see what they’re saying. Maybe you could throw some fuel on the fire. Simon throws an arm around your shoulders before you can move, holding you against his side to keep you in place. You glance up at him, he doesn’t look at you. 

You tug your phone from your pocket for something to do, trying to look busy and uninterested in the chaos Simon is sowing, when it’s all you can think about. He manages a normal conversation with your little cousins, going through introductions like a regular person, even commenting on the shirt Jack is wearing. You glance at it and just know that was a fight with his mother. Looks like it’s based off some horror movie, blood dripping off a knife held aloft by a masked figure. Not very Christmas-y.

You can almost hear the argument that must have taken place when he’d put it on.

Simon must be smart enough to figure that out because he’s really hyping up the teen over the shirt. Talking about the movie and complaining about how his mom sounds like a bitch. Your cousin blinks at the swear before you see a grin split his face.

“Fuck yeah, is aunty letting us swear now?” Jack asks, too excited to contain it.

“The fuck is she the queen of England?” Simon laughs, turning to you, “Your mum’s not lettin’ ‘em swear?” You shrug.

“She says it isn’t ‘proper’.” Jack rolls his eyes.

“Fuck proper.” Simon snorts. He shoots you a look as he sips his drink. You’re sure Jack will be cussing the rest of the evening with Simon to back him up. Your mom’s gonna love that.

Your aunt comes out of the kitchen and grabs her husband to whisper in his ear. Your uncle glances at Simon and makes a confused face. One of the younger ones runs up to them and loudly asks:

“What’s fuck mean?” 

Simon averts his gaze and you feel his shoulders shake with restrained laughter. You have to hold it in yourself, the glare your aunt sends Simon’s way is too funny. The kid was bound to hear it from his brother eventually. Really, Simon is saving the teen from being grounded with that one.

Your mom comes sweeping into the living room just in time to save Simon from getting an earful. Your aunt’s glare transfers to her before she can fix her face. Your mother’s lips pucker, an unpleasant understanding that something is happening crossing her eyes. She ignores it, much like every other unpleasant thing you’ve witnessed with her, in favor of normalcy.

“Dinner is ready!” She announces.

“That was fast,” You blink, usually she spends more time milling about and waiting for people to finish a few cocktails.

“Well,” She smiles at Simon, “I thought I’d speed things up so nobody misses any other christmases.”

“Got nowhere to be.” He informs her.

“Oh I’m sure you’re mother would-”

“Mum’s dead.” Simon sniffs.

“Then your fath-”

“If the bastard was still alive I’d kill ‘im myself.” Simon smiles at her over the rim of his glass before knocking back the rest of the bourbon and pouring himself another two fingers, “You got me all night if I want.”

Your mothers lips pucker again, the slightest hint of distaste in her expression before she manages a smile.

“We’re glad to have you.” She offers. You expect she’ll still try to force you out early. “Dinner?”

“Bloody starvin’.” Simon grunts, pushing past her towards the kitchen.

Your uncle is already serving himself from the various pans laden with food. Your father isn’t far behind him, eyeing the roast like a man starved.

You grab one of the Christmas patterned plates and hold it out to Simon, letting him queue behind your father. He glances around and you watch his eyes land on your cousins hovering nearby.

“Adults serve first,” You whisper to Simon when he steps back from the line for food to let the kids cut in front. It’s a quiet motion that presses him into you, he glances back like he might give you an apology before he makes eye contact with your aunt and loops his arm around you instead. 

“What?” He asks loudly, “Your mum tryin’ ta starve the poor buggers or somethin’?” You blink at him. He raises a brow. “No heart under those tits, eh?”

Your aunt gasps and he gives her a once over. You keep your eyes on your little cousins as they happily load up their plates with turkey and mashed potatoes. One of the older boys smothers his whole plate in gravy and honestly, you can’t blame him.

“Can’t be jealous, ya clearly got the better ass.” Simon tells your aunt as you scooch around him to get your own plate. He catches you around the middle and pulls you back, curling over you. He tips your head back with a hand on your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to dimple the skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. You barely hear him over the roll of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks blaze with heat, and you clench your thighs together tight at the way he glowers down at you.

“I’m gonna make you a plate,” You tell him, he pinches your cheek and lets you free.

“Good girl,” He tells you, “Got ‘er well trained don’t I?” He jokes to your aunt, who you can feel radiating anger behind you.

You don’t really know what he likes, but Simon is a big guy so you get him a bit of everything, loading up his plate like you do this every day. It’s probably too much food, but part of you sort of likes the idea that he’s eating what you “made” for him. You hand him the full plate and he smiles, you turn back to grab your own food --you must still be nervous from having his hand at your throat-- and he smacks your ass. You bite back the yelp that threatens to break free. The sharp sting of pain spreads through you like wildfire, blossoming over your skin even through your skirt.

You quickly pile food onto your plate, hoping your aunt takes your speedy exit as one of embarrassment and not one of- well a different sort of embarrassment.

You manage to squeeze into the seat next to Simon, feeling his thick thigh press against yours like a warm anchor. Your mother gives him a dirty look as he reaches to fool with one of the candles in the middle of the table. You’re sure she heard his loud announcement that she doesn’t care about her nephews. His other hand settles on your leg under the table and you stiffen. Thick callused fingers grip your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with something you desperately want to call reassurance. He knows no one can see that, right?

You watch the rest of your family fill the table, your little cousins already picking at their food, stuffing salad leaves into their mouths and pretending not to lick the gravy off their fingers. You wait for everyone to take their seats before you pick up your fork and your aunt shoots you a look.

“I’d like to-” your aunt starts only to be cut off by your fake-boyfriend.

“I want ta make an announcement.” Simon tells the table loudly, the conversation goes dead, your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, begging for anything but an announcement. You think she might bend her fork with how tight she grips it watching Simon shove his chair back to drop to one knee. You clasp a hand over your mouth, doing your best to play the part of shocked girlfriend, despite having planned this. 

“Simon!” You squeal as he tugs a black ring box from his pocket.

“Lemme talk baby,” Simon hushes you and you shut your mouth quickly, “I know it’s only been a couple a months-” the look in your mother’s eyes could kill an elephant, “-but I’m mad fer ya, an’ I know birds like you get off market quick so if I wanna keep that ass to myself I bloody well better get ya tied down.” Your mother gasps.

“Shut ya gob, I’m tryin’ ta propose.” He snaps at her, and she leans back like she’s been struck. Simon turns back to you, and you feel a rush of heat drip between your legs at the look in his eyes. This guy should be on TV with how good an actor he is.

“Will you marry me?” He finally gets out and you nod.

“Of course I will!” You fling yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His big hands find your waist and squeeze. You pull away to take the ring box and he nearly pulls you out of your chair, only to push you back into it as he kisses you.

Your eyes go wide and you struggle to keep your hands on him when all you want to do is lurch away. Not a good look on an excited and newly ringed up girlfriend.

But the way he kisses you makes your stomach churn. His lips cover yours and almost as quickly as you get used to the feeling his tongue is trying to force its way into your mouth. You rush to close your eyes only to feel his tongue, thankfully, retreat. And be replaced by his teeth, biting your lip hard enough to bruise, prying your lips apart to slip his tongue in and lick your teeth. 

Your head swims, your eyes rolling at the way his hands grope and squeeze you, tagging every soft scrap they can find while he attempts to devour you. He does something with his tongue, twists it against yours to tickle the roof of your mouth, and you make a noise without meaning to. It’s all you can do to remember to clumsily slide your lips against his. You’re not sure you make a pretty picture when he pulls away, his spit trailing off your slick, swollen, lips. You suppose this evening isn’t really about painting a pretty picture.

It makes you squirm to feel his big thumb swipe over your lower lip, dragging the poor thing down to see your teeth. 

A chill racks your body as his eyes follow the motion of his thumb.

Your father loudly clears his throat. Your mother looks mortified. Your little cousins are covering their eyes while the teen pointedly looks at his phone.

Simon rubs the ring on your finger, pressing the metal back and forth against your skin. When the fuck did he put that on you?

“I’d like to say Grace,” Your aunt tries to wrestle the evening back into familiar territory as Simon sets you back in your chair. 

Your family bows their heads and you smack your knee on the underside of the table as you jump, unprepared for how high Simon’s hand settles on your thigh. You don’t even hear whatever prayer your aunt is saying with the way the blood rushes in your ears at the wide splay of Simon’s fingers. So. Close. 

You settle your hand on his and try to push him back to safe ground.

Jesus this guy is strong. Pain in your-

“Everything okay over there?” Your uncle asks. You must have looked like you were struggling more than you thought you were. 

“Fine,” You tell him, even though things are decidedly not fine and Simon won’t move his hand, “Just fussing with the ring.”

“Oh yes,” Your aunt holds her hand out across the table, “let’s see it.”

You hesitate before taking your hand off Simon’s. He doesn’t move, seemingly settled with where he’s settled. You hold your hand out for her to grab, let her turn your hand this way and that. Simon had told you he’d grab a ring, so you haven’t actually seen it yet. It’s pretty. A nice pear cut diamond with a trinity of what looks like pearls on either side. You wonder where he got it, you’re just glad it looks less fake than costume jewelry usually does.

“How nice,” Your mother coos, it sounds even less sincere than her compliments usually do.

You’re thankful you don’t need to do much talking at dinner. Simon more than makes up for you. He talks at length about how “mint” your friends are --he’s never met them-- and how his mates are begging for a go with you. He explains to your teen cousin, at length, how his violent video games could be worse, after your aunt bemoans the fact he’s been playing war sims. He makes no move to censor himself, actually from the few conversations you’ve had with him, you think he’s swearing more than he usually does. He even manages to start an argument with your father about “taking the gloves off” during combat.

“Different once you’re in active combat,” He explains like he’s talking to your father, “You do what you have to, keepin’ your ‘ands clean isn’t exactly front of your mind.”

You glace across the table at Jack, the teen looks completely invested in whatever Simon is saying. You can almost hear the look your aunt has fixed you with, you’re sure you’ll get a call later about your fiance “encouraging him to get himself killed.” 

“Oh please,” Your father blusters, “if that were the case the royal service would be under investigation. We’d see it on the BBC: Special Air Service members torture civilians. What a load of horse-” Your mother coughs and your father shuts his mouth.

“Got plenty of men like me givin’ orders,” Simon digs into his pocket to pull his cigarettes, stopping with his teeth around the filter of one when your mother coughs loudly. He shoves them back into his pocket with a grumbled swear. “Like I told ya earlier, ‘s not the good men that come back.”

“You’re so cool,” Jack tells Simon with wide eyes. Your aunt smacks his arm with the back of her hand, reprimanding. Simon’s eyes narrow.

He watches your aunt the rest of dinner. The conversation drifts as plates are emptied. You attempt to stand to help clear the table, and Simon holds you in your chair. Your mother putters around the table with your aunt, you smile and thank them. You’re almost done. Then you can go home and wait for the flood of texts/calls from your mom.

You can just imagine the way she’ll try to convince you to break off your (fake)engagement. You’ll wait a few weeks before spinning up some story about Simon cheating on you. Your family will be so grateful Simon’s gone they won’t ask any questions.

“Does anyone want pudding or are we going straight to-”

“Presents!” Your youngest cousin cuts your mom off, rushing  to the tree as soon as his plate is cleared. Your aunt grabs him and brings him back to the table only for him to run over again. She manages to pull a gift from his little hands, and bring him screaming back to the table. You wince at the sharp sound, the fat tears rolling down the kid’s chubby cheeks, crying about opening presents. Your aunt reminds him shortly that there’s still dessert to get through. It barely makes a dent in the tears. The kid pulls at his mom’s grip, screaming and kicking. 

Simon’s hand on your thigh tippens its grip. 

You know, you know. It’s never fun sitting around with a kid throwing a tantrum, but you’re sure your aunt will handle it-

There’s a sharp crack as your aunt spanks the kid. Hard.

Simon shoots up from his seat.

Your little cousin’s tears turn to sniffles and a wobbly lip as his mom gives him a hissed warning. 

Your hands shake as Simon stalks around the table to grab your aunt’s hand.

“The one thing you’re not gonna fuckin’ do,” He tells her in a low warning tone, “is hit your fuckin’ kid in front of me.”

It’s so different from the anger he’d had with your father over football. You know that, that was acting, but this… It radiates off of Simon like a miasma, dark seething hatred, anger like you’ve never seen. Your aunt looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are wide and scared, her hand still holding your cousin’s arm squeezes tighter, like the child is her only lifeline. 

“Ow!” The kid whines, the sniffles starting again in full, “Mum that hurts.” 

Simon cocks his head, his own grip tightening.

“Let ‘im go,” Simon presses, his anger as cold as death, “Or I’ll break your arm.”

“Simon,” You don’t know what you’re hoping your voice will add to this, not even sure what you should do, all you know is that you brought Simon into this house which makes him your responsibility.

“He’s alright,” Your aunt tries to assure Simon, “aren’t you sweetie?”

“Mum!” Your cousin whines again. Your aunt lets go of his arm like it’s burned her.

“Now apologize.” Simon demands. Your aunt nods sharply and swallows.

“Mum’s sorry baby,” She directs the comment at your cousin but her eyes are fixed on Simon, watching him like a rabbit watches a wolf. “It was just a little spank.” You think the pleading justification makes it worse with the way Simon’s eye twitches. 

“I ever catch you hittin’ ‘im again-” Your aunt’s eyes dart to you, to the fake rock on your finger, “-and it won’t just be your arm I break.”

Your glance to your mother for- God you don’t even know, help? Maybe? She glares at you like this is your fault. Fair enough. Your uncle seems quicker on the uptake.

“Maybe we take Christmas to go,” He chimes in, “Grab the kid’s gifts, since they seem tired.”

Your mother grabs hold of this lifeline as quickly as she can wrap her head around it.

“Absolutely!” She hurries to the tree to start sorting out gifts, “Oh I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausted, we all know fits are just fits, right Simon?”

“I look like I’m throwin’ a fuckin’ fit?” Simon asks her, his voice still cold.

“You know I’m pretty tired too,” Your aunt agrees.

“I’m not.” Jack chimes in.

“Yes, you are.” His mom hisses.

“And it looks like snow,” Your uncle adds, “so we should go.”

You hardly get a word in before your cousins are rushed out the door, no hug or forced familiarity from your aunt as she and your uncle juggle presents and strapping kids into car seats.

Simon takes one of the armchairs in the living room amidst the chaos, dangling his glass with his fingers on the rim as he glowers at your aunt. Your attempt to help them gather presents is stopped by Simon pulling you down into his lap. You stiffen reflexively to try and leverage some of your weight off of him, and he pulls you to lean against his chest. 

Maybe it’s good you don’t say good-bye. You’re not sure anything you could say would sound sincere with the way you’re perched on your fake fiance. You’ll definitely be hearing about this later.

You’ve never seen anyone in your family leave that fast. Your mother must blame you for this social faux pas with the way she glares at you. She’s not even trying to hide it, seemingly having deemed Simon as unworthy of her usual polite routine. She stops just short of yelling at you in front of him. Must be too afraid of what he’ll do to her if he’s willing to break your aunt’s arm over her kid.

You’re not sure when you lost control of the evening, but you’re ready to go. Your aunt’s exit should be your exit too. You even open your mouth to tell your mother it’s been a lovely evening.

Simon beat you to it.

“Let’s open presents.” You’d almost call it an order with how edged his voice is.

“We don’t have any for you,” Your mother attempts, “it wouldn’t be fair to open them now.”

“Don’t need a present,” Simon assures her, “Bird’ll gimme somethin’ later.” Your mother’s eye twitches. Simon’s hand slides over your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently at the sensitive, clothed, skin. Your nerves must be on high alert to feel his touch so acutely. He gestures with his glass at the tree. “Go’an,” He orders again.

The tension in Simon’s form slowly seeps out of him as your parents shuffle presents out from under the tree. His body, which had previously seemed poised to leap at the slightest provocation, relaxes back against the chair as your mother hands you a present. She smiles at you warmly, almost pitying, when you thank her. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh, possessive in a way that feels too close to reality. 

“Oh wait,” You tell your mother as she pulls one of the gifts you brought from the pile. You slip from Simon’s lap, and for some reason he lets you, bent at the waist to point to a different box. His hand slides over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum and you have to stop the tremor in your voice as your blood rushes south. “That one first,” You smile, “otherwise this one won’t make sense.”

The normalcy of it is more welcome than you’d thought. Somehow your usual family Christmas doesn’t seem as tense or fraught with conversational landmines now that Simon’s intruded. If nothing else you suppose he’s given you that. It’s certainly easier talking to your parents when they keep casting nervous glances at Simon to make sure this is an appropriate line of conversation. 

Simon, for his part, does little except keep you in his lap as you tear into the paper wrapped boxes. Occasionally his hand moves from your thigh to squeeze your stomach, or your side, as if he’s checking that you’re still all there. It’s not exactly casual, and the heat that builds between your legs as he drags his callused fingers across your stomach makes you want to squirm back into his chest, just to try and escape the ticklish feeling.

You try to focus on the gifts, drumming up the appropriate amount of excitement to look grateful while all of your attention is on the spread of Simon’s fingers. His hand splays wide against you and you try to trace the outline of it, distract yourself from how big his hand is. 

But distracting yourself from the spread of his hand directs you towards the spread of his legs, to the firm muscle of his thick thighs, to the slight softness of his stomach when your back starts to hurt and you lean against him with less stiff of a spine. Your eyes drift to the window as your mother coos over the knitting supplies and class pass to her favorite craft store. It’s so dark out, the sun already disappeared behind the horizon and the streetlights are doing their best to shine even when the night dims them. You’re already tired.

Your phone buzzes and you check it with a glance.

It’s a weather alert.

You scramble off Simon’s lap only to be dragged back into it.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” He asks, his hands grip your sides, fingers just brushing the edge of your bra. You can’t deal with the way being pulled like this makes your head swim. Fuck, maybe he could just grab you off the street and- NO.

“Simon,” You push at his hands, “problem.” 

“No problem love,” He hums. Lips brush the shell of your ear and you stiffen as heat blooms over your cheeks, “‘Cept you gettin’ up oll the time.” “It’s snowing.” You insist, still pushing at his hands.

Your father looks at you with confusion and glances out the window. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark out. You’re suddenly hit with a grim understanding of why the street lamps seem so dim. Your dad walks to the front door and tugs it open only to be pushed by the gust of cold wind and snow that rushes into the house.

The wind is positively howling.

Your father muscles the door shut and your mother nervously clicks on the TV to check the weather. She doesn’t even help your dad brush all the snow off him, worrying her lip as her eyes fix to the screen. 

“Not gonna be able to drive home in that,” Your father grimaces. Your mother shoots him a look before skirting her eyes around you to watch Simon. You can almost feel his smile.

“You wouldn’t mind us stayin’ ‘ere would ya?”

You flip on the lights in your childhood bedroom. Simon looms behind you. Reasonably you understand why he insisted on staying, even why he insisted on sharing a room. As far as your parents know you’re happily engaged, and as far as you could tell there was a blizzard raging outside. Honestly you’ve never seen anything like it, and if you didn’t know any better you might have blamed Simon for it. 

You have never in your life been more aware of another person’s presence. 

“In you go love,” Simon tells you, pressing you forwards with a hand on the small of your back. You stumble into your room and turn in time to watch Simon close the door. He bends down to unlace his boots and you manage to kick off your shoes in the time it takes him to straighten again. Now that you’re alone you feel on edge. All the casual friendly airs that Simon had been putting on when you’d met him before have done nothing to prepare you for the weight of his full attention. You’re only too happy when he turns to survey the room.

“I can take the floor,” You inform him, already gathering the spare blankets and pillows your mom had set on your twin bed. 

“Sit down,” Simon orders, your ass hits the side of your mattress so fast you haven’t even registered the command before you’ve followed it, “You’re takin’ the bed.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. You suppose it could almost be called kind of him to give you the bed.

“Sorry,” You tell him quietly, mindful of your parents in the next room.

“What’re you actin’ sorry for,” He huffs, “Sweet bird like you doesn’t mind sharin’, does she? Besides,” He knocks your knees apart with a big booted foot, “I still gotta get paid.”

You stare up at him, confusion plain on your face. 

“I thought you just wanted the meal.”

“Meal’s not finished, is it?” He tells you, “Never got dessert.”

“Wha-”

“Take your fuckin’ pants off.” His tone is clipped, short, and deep. It sinks into your skin, prickling goosebumps everywhere he’d touched earlier. Which feels like it must have been, well, everywhere. 

You should say “no.” Literally nothing about this man has given you any indication that he’s someone you should want to get undressed for, and he’s spent the better part of the day tormenting your family. Granted you did ask him to do that, and honestly his efforts do land squarely in the “pros” category, but he’s a little too good at playing a dirt-bag. And this? This just seals the deal on that particular observation.

So you should say “no.”

But the way his big hands had grabbed you, the way his tongue had wound against yours, the way he looks down at you now, hungry, makes you desperately want to do whatever he asks you to. 

“My parents are in the next room,” You whisper, glancing back at the wall that separates the two rooms.

“Who gives a shit?” Simon snorts, “Don’t ‘appy couples celebrate their engagement?” Your eyes flick down to his trousers, the implications aren’t lost on you. He must catch you looking because his hand grabs your hair and tips your head back. “Trust me birdy, I’m tryin’ ta be nice, but if ya wanna choke on it…”

You race to get your trousers open, fingers shaking as you push them down. You don’t need to see his cock to make some leaps of logic that it’s just as big as the rest of him, and if he’s offering you the choice between his mouth on you, and your mouth on him-

Simon leans forward and unceremoniously shoves his hand into your panties, your trousers barely down your thighs. Your train of thought comes to a full halt as big fingers stroke through your folds.

“Atta girl,” He hums, “much ‘appier like this, aren’t ya?” He tugs his fingers free, spreads them in front of your face with a pitying pout at the way your slick glistens on his skin. “Least your cunt knows what’s good for it.”

He pushes your head back, tossing it towards the bed as he releases your hair. Your back hits the mattress and you have to work to keep from hitting your head on the wall. Simon’s fingers find the hem of your panties and drag them down your thighs, catching your trousers to discard the lot on the floor. 

You snap your legs shut against the chill of the room and he growls. 

“None of that now,” He advises, prying your legs apart. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, his gaze fixed on the wet mess between them. The way he stands over you makes him feel massive, makes the way he leans over you feel looming. 

His hands slide over your ticklish inner thighs and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from you. You doubt Simon would appreciate your laughter, might even think you’re laughing at him. Again your eyes dart to the hard length straining against his trousers as his thumbs spread your folds.

“Pretty,” He says it so plainly, casually, like he’s judging a toy. It blazes through you, lighting up your nerves and making you shiver. Any other protests you might have had die on your tongue as Simon drops to his knees. 

Seeing him between your legs makes your stomach clench, makes your cunt pulse with desire. One of his thumbs rubs up and down the seam of your cunt while the other keeps you half-spread. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit, the pressure makes your hips squirm, makes you ache for more stimulation. The pressure stops, and his thumb traces its way back to holding you open.

He spits.

You flinch when it hits your spread folds, body vibrating with embarrassed heat as it slides over you. Simon’s eyes follow it the whole way down, and his tongue drags it back up.

Simon’s tongue cards through your folds, warm and wet, and he groans low in his throat. It’s positively sinful the way he pulls his tongue slow and flat over you, like he’s trying to savor the taste. You snap your hand over your mouth, stifling the soft whimper that the attention brings to your lips. 

Simon’s eyes flick to your face and he makes a frustrated noise. You feel his teeth touch your skin just before he bites you. You yelp at the sharp pain, your hand shooting from your mouth to his head in an attempt to push him away. Simon tips his head back to bite at the meat of your palm, his teeth digging into the firm flesh before his tongue licks over it. There’s a sharpness to his teeth, chipped edges that scrape at your skin and ache before he soothes them. 

You don’t want him to bite you again.

You don’t think you do.

Do you?

His tongue rolls over your palm, wetting the dry skin with spit and slick. His mouth has a heady sheen to it that makes you want to drag your tongue over his lips, to clean up the light prickle of his beard with your own mouth.

“No sense lettin’ you breath if you’re not gonna scream for me,” Simon informs you. Your face has never felt hotter than when his teeth scrape down your palm to tease your pulse. You’re too enraptured by the way he moves to let spit drip off his tongue and onto your clit to really register what he said.

His tongue rubs against your clit, working the firm bud back and forth before letting his tongue roll over it. Each hot swipe sends a new shudder of heat and pleasure through your body. You whimper, your wet hand tangling its fingers in his short cropped hair just to feel him shake his head like a dog. 

It’s filthy the way he drags his lips over your folds, sucking and slurping at you like he’s trying to be loud. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, prickly and sharp next to the warm wet mouth that sucks at your clit. His tongue keeps twisting over it, keeping it sensitive and tingling before he’s ducking down to fuck the slick muscle into your hole. Simon moves his tongue against the entrance to your cunt like he’s hoping to stretch out the hole with it, circling around the delicate outer edge before pressing inside, over and over until your brain feels like it’ll melt out of your ears. 

Then that wet heat is dragged up to your clit, circled and sucked, licked in broad strokes that wiggle against you just so he can hear the way your voice pitches up in pleasure.

He turns his head to wipe his mouth against your thigh, lips parting to lick a long stripe before he sinks his teeth into the meat of it and sucks. Your own lips close tight around the whimper the dull pain of it pulls from you. 

He muscles your leg up against his shoulder, his arm moving to find a comfortable angle as he hooks his thumb in your fluttering cunt. You blink at the intrusion, the thick digit may as well be two of your own fingers the way he pulls at your entrance and stretches you open. That isn’t what steals your focus from his mouth though, what tugs at you is the way his other thick fingers rub over your ass, spreading your slick and attempting to soften the hole into something pliant.

He’s grabbed your hips to roll you onto your stomach before you can raise a protest to the searching fingers, big strong hands dragging your hips up so your knees settle on the edge of the bed as he stands. It forces your face into the quilts, muffling the noise of surprise that the motion shakes out of you. Again you find protests on your lips, you hadn’t even come, and again they’re snuffed by his fingers.

Two of them push into your cunt and you moan low in your throat at the burning stretch that they provide. Your hips rock back into them, your stomach fluttering with need as more heat courses through you. His fingers crook and he thrusts them down into your cunt, hitting some throbbing tightness that makes you cry out.

Simon makes a low cooing noise in the back of his throat and his fingers stroke against your walls. You turn your head to rest your cheek against the bed, your lips pouting and your lashes fluttering as he gives you just long enough to suck in a breath before his fingers are pressing against that soft aching spot again. Your eyes roll, your breath caught tight in your throat at the thrum of pleasure that tightens like burning heat in your aching cunt.

His fingers pump faster and faster into your cunt, and you cry out, your hips wiggling and your fingers gripping at the quilt. The wet squelching noise that comes from his fingers fucking into you makes an embarrassed heat rush over your skin, and you burry your face in the blankets just to gasp out your moans. Your mouth hangs open, drool dripping off your tongue as your breath stops in your throat. The tight heat between your legs feels like it’s winding its way all the way up through your diaphragm. Your muscles are tensed so tight you think you might snap, and you let out a low moan as your breath finally shakes free. You suck in air between sobs, each punch of his fingers into your cunt pushing a new noise free of your lips.

The wet noises just get wetter.

And then something inside you snaps. Your stomach clenches tight and your cunt follows, spasming around Simon’s fingers as they pump in and out of you. Stars dance across your vision and you bite the quilts to stop from screaming. Something trickles out of you and he rewards your orgasm with a throaty chuckle.

He pulls his fingers from you and rubs soaked fingers over your ass before he’s trying to push one inside.

“Been eyein’ this ass all night.” He hums.

The firm pressure hurts the harder he presses, and you whimper out a sniffled reproach to the feeling, a soft “hurts” that you’re sure will fall on deaf ears. Simon stops, pulls his finger back and slicks it in your cunt again, the feeling of his fingers twisting against your soft spot making your eyes roll. It hurts, an overworked burn that makes you whimper for an entirely different reason.

He pulls his thick fingers from your cunt and you feel the tip of one teasing your ass again. It’s barely a pressure when his finger tries your ass again, and he lets out a slow breath as you’re filled.

“Just sunk right in,” He tells you, pumping his finger in and out, the drag of heat has your lashes fluttering, your head spinning at the deep pressure that makes your cunt clench, “Isn’t that pretty.”

His thumb catches your cunt again, tugging at the slick hole. The click of his belt and rustle of fabric clues you in to what comes next.

That doesn’t mean you’re prepared for how big his cock feels nudging at your entrance. A chill runs over your skin, goosebumps raising to meet the air where your jumper has slid down your back. The blunt head of his cock presses against your hole, and you arch your back into the feeling, desperate to find the right angle for it to slip in. 

Simon doesn’t seem as eager. He pushes into you slowly, lets you feel the way you burn and stretch around him, lets you feel every centimeter of that big cock. You feel tight, even as wet as you are, you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your cunt is hot and tingling, and your clit throbs with the need to be touched. 

You feel his hips press against your ass, and he grinds into you. Another wave of goosebumps rushes over you at the deep ache he pushes into. You squeeze your eyes shut just to stop the way they keep trying to roll back in your head.

Simon pulls back, and you can almost feel the drag of his head against your walls. He grinds the tip against the soft spot near your entrance before punching his cock back into you. You make a choked noise before your throat seems to open and a flood of moans and pleas flows from you. Each push of his cock into you pitches your voice up and you moan in desperate panting sounds.

You ache. You’ve never felt so full. He hasn’t taken his finger from your ass, instead he presses it down to try and feel his own cock stretching out your walls. You shove a hand between your legs to try and stroke your clit only to feel the stretch of your skin around his fat cock. You’re so wet that your fingers slip over your folds, uncoordinated, and you can’t get a good angle. You open your mouth but can’t find the words to ask for what you need.

One of his thrusts pushes you up the bed and your hand moves immediately to push against the wall with a ‘thump.’ 

“Simon,” You whine, “Simon.”

His free hand pets up your spine, bunching your jumper up under your armpits to unhook your bra, before finding its way to your hair. He curls his fingers and finds a tight grip near your scalp. The bite of pain makes you want to push back into him. The deep pressure, the slight sting, from your ass makes your body stutter, your brain crashing into itself.

Oh God.

“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, the fingers gripping your hair tight pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes opened just enough to focus on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Wouldn't've responded to my ad if there was.” 

You reach back to claw at his thigh and find it still, painfully, clothed. A burst of humiliation shoots through you at the thought that Simon hasn’t even bothered to get undressed. 

“Stupid thing, really could’ve just grabbed ya off the street.” He mumbles, there’s a touch of fondness to his voice, a smile that doesn’t feel appropriate for the way he fucks into you. Like he’s trying to teach you a lesson.

The only thing you’re learning is that Simon’s cock hits something deep and needy inside of you. The finger in your ass starts to pull out and you scream. Simon groans as you tighten around him, your cunt desperate to keep his cock inside. You’re buzzing with your orgasm, settled right at the edge with nothing to push you over the edge. There’s too much stimulation. His cock pistoning into you and his finger starting to tug at your ass. You’re still sore from his fingers but you can’t stop yourself from clenching tight around him.

“Mad fer it,” Simon chuckles, “tell me what ya need bird.”

“Clit- clit,” You stutter out, still barely able to keep the words straight in your head. 

“Louder love,” He teases, “don’t think I heard ya.”

“Please,” You sob, your moans still tearing from your chest on each thrust, “touch my clit.”

He drops your head back down onto the bed, and you muffle your noise with the quilt clenched between your teeth. His finger pulls from your ass and you scream your pleasure into the bed. It’s so hot, your ass burning with something that isn’t entirely painful. It just makes your clit pulse harder. 

Simon’s fingers find their way between your legs and he pinches your clit between them. One roll of the tight bud between them has your legs shaking. The second has tears brimming at your lash line and your mouth hanging open as you flutter and drip on Simon’s cock. You tense and release around him, your orgasm crashing into you like a train. Waves of it rush through you, shaking your muscles loose until you’re laid like a doll against the bed. Your skin is burning and you ache,

And Simon keeps fucking you.

The smack of his hips against yours fills the room, his breath heavy and his fingers now tight on your waist. You push back into his thrusts and it makes stars dance across your vision. That deep aching part of you makes everything draw tight again. 

Simon’s thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his fingers grip you so tight it hurts. You scream for him again, his hard thrusts pushing you to the edge a third time. The blistering heat of his come hits your overworked cunt and you moan. 

“Too much,” You whine. Everything is sore when he pulls out. You don’t think you can move.

Your knees slip off the edge of the bed and you just lay there.

Simon rolls you back onto your back, and manhandles you into laying on the bed properly. 

You sit up just enough to tug your jumper off and toss your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Simon ditches his shirt and you sleepily take in the cut musculature of his chest as he wanders to turn off the light.

You pass out before he ever gets his pants off.

*

Your parents have already gathered the presents from last night by the front door when you wander downstairs in the morning. Your father doesn’t look at you, but your mother positively glowers. You try not to think about how loud you’d been last night.

Simon’s had his hands on you since you woke up. His fingers splay wide on the small of your back, as your parents attempt to rush you out the door. 

You’re settled in Simon’s car, driving down the street when you finally let the laughter take over. You giggle and snort, pressing your fingers against your mouth to try and stem the flow of them. But really, what can you do? Despite being forced to spend the night putting a dent in your plans it’s worked out perfectly. Your parents won’t be asking about you getting a boyfriend any time soon.

If you’re lucky your mom will never ask you about your relationship status again, even when you “break up” with Simon.

You’re still giggling, glowing with happiness at a successfully executed plan, when you try to pull the ring off your finger.

Something sharp digs into your skin and you yelp in pain. 

“What the fuck?” You question, whimpering when you pull harder and it only sends the sharp bit further into your skin. You raise your hand to look at the ring, and find a sharp tooth just under the diamond, clearly a feature not a bug. Still you glance at Simon. “I think this ring is defective,” You tell him, “It keeps stabbing me.”

Simon hums, turning right down a street. 

“Then stop tryin’ ta take it off.” He advises. You twist the ring around your finger, trying to find  a way to work it off.

“I can’t get it off,” You grunt in annoyance.

“Not suppose ta,” Simon tells you plainly, taking another turn, “That’s how bein’ engaged works.”

Something squirms in your stomach.

“We’re not engaged.” You remind him.

“Wearing my ring,” He reminds you, like he’s explaining it to a child, “said ‘yes’ to my proposal-” A smile splits his face, predatory in a way that makes you press your legs together, “-probably still buzzin’ for my cock too. Sounds engaged to me.”

You balk, your mouth hung open as you gape at him. Is he insane?

Simon doesn’t even look at you, just reaches to the side and presses against the underside of your chin with gentle, firm fingers, closing your mouth. Then he leans past you to open the glove compartment and tug a crumple of papers out onto your lap.

“If ya get bored you can look over those.” He tells you, flicking on his signal to hop on the highway.

You glance down at the mess of papers settled on your thighs, a mass of text and fine print that your eyes can’t focus on because they’re so shaken by the two poised at the top:

“Marriage License.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics

[entitled-fangirl]

How to liven a marriage.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

SMUT SMUT SMUT SO MUCH SMUT

Summary: Cregan and the reader's marriage is dull, purely for duty. When the reader finds a book in the Winterfell library depicting just how pleasureful a man and wife's sex life can be, she takes it upon herself to introduce such a thing.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, making out, washing bruises (from a battle), riding, studying the scientific parts of a vagina, foreplay, etc

A/n: based on a reallllly good ask. I think this is my longest fic and I have no regrets. Except that I haven't proofread it yet. That's a later problem.

Masterlist

.......................................................

She felt her stomach drop to her feet when she saw the drawings in the book. Her cheeks became a flushed red, completely embarrassed to have stumbled on something so… private. She shut the book with a thud and cringed at the loud sound that echoed in the library.

She heaved the book back onto the shelf and brushed off her skirt, as if trying to completely brush off the experience itself.

Once she had pulled herself together, she decided she'd had enough of the library. Enough scavenging and prodding at the books. Especially one like that.

Be even so, she felt herself stop halfway to the door.

She was a married woman. The act of sex itself is no crime to a married woman. Nor studying various positions of it. 

It felt dirty to do so. Very wrong. Like her old Septa would appear and scold her ardently over it.

But her Septa wasn't there.

No one was there.

Just her and the book.

…

Cregan was sure to arrive within the fortnight. 

She wished to be happy about all of it. The return of her husband was good. It had been a tough few weeks to rule without him. After all, she was still new to the North.

But she couldn't find it in her.

Cregan was harsh and cold. Never happy, never caring. Duty and honor. How the words were stamped across their foreheads.

They had married out of duty, and that is all they had of one another. They were awkward and lacked the eagerness to spend time with one another. 

She had heard stories of great marriages of love that whisked away all problems and only left a man, a wife, and their love. That was not this marriage.

So the return of Cregan meant the return of a duty that she had started to dislike: Their attempts to conceive. She knew once she gave him a few sons, they would be rid of the need to conceive, but that day was far away.

And Cregan surely drew closer to Winterfell.

…

Perhaps the book- Forget about the book, she told herself. A proud man like him would never agree to look at such a thing.

Her fingers grazed over one of the drawings as she read the contents next to it. It was confusing to try and follow such a strange topic, but still she tried.

Women may experience intense pleasure of their own. It is most easy to start at the clitoris. It is located above the vaginal opening. A gentle circled rubbed at the area w

"What are you reading, my lady?"

She slammed the book shut with a thud and a gasp, her head snapping to the side to see Winterfell's maester standing with a curious expression. She held a hand over her chest. "Do not sneak up on a woman."

"Forgive me, my lady. I thought myself being rather loud in my steps." He gave her a chuckle. "It seems I was wrong."

Her shock was turning to embarrassment as she tried to slide the book further behind her back on the table that she leaned again. "You're forgiven, just go."

"Ah, I've come for a reason," he countered. "News of Lord Stark's return is at hand. He should be here by sunset tomorrow, gods willing."

She nodded, trying desperately to get him back out. "Right. How fortunate. Thank you. You may go."

"My lady, if I may," he continued. "You look rather flushed. Are you feeling ill?"

"NO!" She cringed at her outburst. "No, I'm quite well, thank you."

The maester gave her a strange look. He clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to push it. "Right. If you need anything, only say the word." He dipped his head and hurried off, closing the door behind him.

Her entire body relaxed at his leaving. She ran a hand over her face in an attempt to physically remove the heat from her cheeks.

She had been so close to getting caught with this.

Too close.

When she was sure there weren't footsteps in the corridor, she turned back, opening the book once more and reading further.

It gave her an idea.

She grabbed the book, carrying it to Cregan's desk and setting the heavy thing down. Her fingers sprawled over the page once again, careful to not continue the tear that went down the side. She slowly sat down as she continued to read.

A gentle circled rubbed at the area will increase pleasure during the act of sex.

She looked over her shoulder to check one last time before her hands began to bring her skirt up. The fabric was quickly pooled around her stomach and her legs were exposed. Her right hand shook as it brushed the small piece of fabric still guarding her most intimate parts from the cold air.

But the most important part of a female's genitalia to understand is the vagina. Located between the clitoris and the anus lies the vagina. Though different in looks, all women's perform quite alike.

Her breath caught as she gained her last bit of bravery, and her fingers pushed the fabric to the side. The cold air made her hiss, as did the coldness to her fingertips.

The labia majora protects the vagina from foreign particles, the labia minora after that. 

Her fingers explore the very area, the cold digits skimping past the skin until she knew her middle finger grazed the inside of her vagina. 

She should have known the territory well. It was her own body and still she found herself unsure of where everything laid.

And above all else, she felt filthy for it. This was for her husband, not her own gain. Her own pleasure has nothing to do with making an heir. But she wouldn't stop now.

Her eyes grazed over the page again as she pushed her middle finger deep inside her. It caught once or twice, the lack of moisture causing a small discomfort. But once her second knuckle disappeared into her, she recalled the feeling. 

She remembered this now: the feeling of something inside of her. Though, this was one finger and nowhere near as intruding as her husband's cock. And only then did she begin to understand how a man could fall apart from this feeling. Her walls seemed to not want her finger to part from her. She pumped it in and out a few times before daring to turn the page with her left hand.

…

Cregan returned as promised, with the sun beginning to set behind him- though it was covered with the thick clouds of the North. 

Standing on the stairs to the castle was his wife. He had long awaited to return home. To continue his duties to her? No. But home meant warmth and small comforts and he would take that every day he could.

He dismounted his horse and took slow steps to her. He forced a small smile, more for the sake of everyone else than the two of them. "My lady."

She gave a polite nod of her head when he grew close. "You've returned safely."

"I have." His gaze wandered around the area in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

"I… I've missed you," she muttered.

His eyes looked to her and his brows pulled together. "Have you?"

"Well…" She looked down at her shoes. Was that even true? She didn't miss him. Not really. Well, she did in a way. Waiting to talk about the book. "Well, I found myself wanting to be with you as soon as I could." She swallowed and looked up at him. "Would that be considered missing you?"

" 'Being with me,' " he repeated as he thought it over. He squinted in contemplation before trying to clarify. "As in speaking with me or… other things?"

Her face flushed and her eyes looked right back down to the ground. 

He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. His tongue ran along his teeth before clicking as he came to a conclusion in his mind. "An hour. My chambers."

It was a soft command. He never ordered her around. And if she chose to voice an opinion ever, she knew he'd consider it. He was a forceful man, but not like that. 

But when she made no motion against it, he chuckled. One of his hands came up to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "An hour. I'll even wash for you first." He pressed an emotionless kiss to her lips and stepped away, grabbing his horse's reins and beginning to speak to one of the other men.

An hour. That felt like too long to sit with her thoughts. But she'd manage. Somehow.

…

An hour later, she opened the door with her heart beating wildly. 

But upon seeing what laid inside, it died down.

Cregan laid in the large copper tub, his head laid back against the rim as he bathed: fast asleep.

She leaned on the door and studied him for a while. How easily the rough man became just as soft as anyone else. He seemed… at peace for once. That large crease that always laid between his brows was gone as he softly snored.

It's hard to make an heir like this. But he'd journeyed so far, and something like sex seemed dumb when he needed rest this badly.

She stepped in and closed the door behind her, careful not to make a heavy sound. Her steps were quiet and careful, quickly guiding her to him and now she kneeled at his side. 

Her fingers dipped into the water. It was beginning to grow cold.

And judging by the light pruning of his fingers, he'd been there for a while.

Cregan often took his baths alone. He always refused the help of servants, even his wife, rather wishing to have this as his alone time.

She grabbed the cloth that lay over the side- unused, judging by its dryness, and dipped it in, beginning to lightly trail it over his chest. 

She took the time to study every scar across him. There were many and she had no doubt that he'd won each battle they belonged to. She had seen him sparring- she knew how formidable she was with a sword in his hand.

The water ran down his chest and dripped into the tub again. The sounds echoed in his room. Each seemed loud compared to the utter silence of the air.

She moved to the other side of the tub and cleaned him, now noticing the deep cut on his shoulder. Deep purple and green bruising laid around it. It looked quite painful. When she ran the cloth over it, he hissed and his eyes finally opened.

He took in the room, a sharp gaze that would make most men fearful. Once they set on her and he completely came to, they softened slightly. She saw the way they flickered from her eyes to the cloth in her hand. She waited for him to inevitably shoo her from the room.

"Has it been an hour?" He quietly asked. "I apologize. How rude of me." He pulled the rag from her hand. "And I've made you feel as if you have to clean me to make up for time lost that I now owe you. Well, sit and I will hurriedly finish, wife."

His words and movements caught her off guard. She was unsure what to say. 

"Go on," he motioned with a hand. "Sit and wait for me. Like you so patiently have."

"No," she finally countered. "Y- your shoulder. It looks painful. Let me."

Her hand grabbed for the rag, brushing his. The two seemingly froze in the moment. Cregan's deep eyes stared up at hers, as if taking her in for the first time. Finally, he shook his head. "It won't take long."

"I know. So, let me," she argued again.

He looked down to their hands, their fingers touching just barely. Slowly, his grip loosened and she was able to slip the cloth from him.

Silently, she took the acceptance and began to wash him again. She took extra care around the bruises now. When the cloth ran over them, the fingers of her other hand followed and paused. "Does it hurt?" She softly asked.

Cregan's eyes were glued to the water now, his fingers dipping in and out and watching the droplets fall back into the tub. "They always do."

"It didn't go well, I take it?"

He held water in his palm, cupped carefully as he studied it. "It went very well."

"This is very well?"

He tilted his hand and let the water escape down his arm with a sigh. His head tilted and he finally looked at her with a firm gaze. "The Wall is harsh. Even on its best days."

Having him stare at her so deeply made her chest flutter and she suddenly imagined how he might look at her while doing things from the book in the library. 

She dared a thought, bringing a hand up to his cheek. He watched her carefully. To think that she did this of affection was a ridiculous one. He must have something on his face.

But when her palm rested there, on his cheek, he began to think differently. It brought a strange feeling to his stomach.

Her hand rested there for a while and the two were unmoving. But when she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, he pulled his head away.

Her fingers pulled to her palm as she accepted the rejection and blinked away all thoughts. "Lean forward," she gently commanded.

He raised no fuss, pulling himself forward with a small groan. No doubt his muscles protested with each movement.

She focused now, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his back flexed and contracted each time he moved. 

The cloth ran across his back and few times, and he eventually sighed at the feeling. Her hand somehow applied just enough pressure to his aching back. And when she noticed and focused just above his shoulder blades, he let out an audible groan.

"Tense, Lord Stark?" She almost teased.

He didn't catch the teasing part though, too relaxed in this state. He only nodded and prayed that she'd continue.

She abandoned the cloth and began to fully massage his shoulders with her hands. It put the powerful man in a relaxed trance, and not one he cared to come out of anytime soon.

"I've been thinking," she spoke. "Well, do you think that… " she hesitated. "That maybe… maybe there's more to conceiving a child than… what we've been doing?"

There was a silence. It was suffocating and she was sure that she'd said the wrong thing. She would have swore he hadn't heard her, but the sudden tension in his back said so.

Finally, his head turned just a bit, revealing half of his face to her and he barely looked over his shoulder. "I think," he drew out, "you've been reading."

Oh. So he knew of the book.

She pulled away, as if burned and began to wring her hands as her nerves took over. "It was there… and… And I only thought… maybe-"

He laid back again the tub again to look at her. "Is that something you want?" He calmly asked.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to speak an answer. 

"Wife," he voiced a little sharper. "I asked you a question."

She forced herself to take a deep breath. "Yes."

The corner of his lips tugged up and leaned his head back against the rim as before, closing his eyes. "So be it."

"W-" she stopped herself before creating any problems she didn't need. He'd agreed, and that was that.

With her confused presence, he opened his eyes and lulled his head to the side. "I'll apologize again for taking our time." His hand came out of the water to her, mimicking the way she had cupped his cheek early. "But after the feast?" His thumb ran over her lips, catching and pulling down her bottom lip. "You are mine to have."

…

She remembered something in the book about this. Foreplay, she recalled. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog and seeing the way it would drool in anticipation. 

Like quick glances, small touches, things that would signal to a partner that you wished to engage in sexual activities. 

Doing such things during a feast felt scandalous. But it filled her heart with a fire that she knew was traveling between her legs as well.

She had started it, brushing her hand with his as they ate. Then wiped at a bit of wine that had dripped down his chin. Then even daring to brush a hand across this thigh.

But that was earlier. Now, across the room from each other, she took other tactics. 

When she wasn't looking at whoever she spoke to, she looked at Cregan. Her eyes would wander from his face to his feet, a long gaze that took its time, and enjoyed every moment of it. And he was quick to notice it. When she was caught and his eyes were on her, she quickly looked away in mock embarrassment.

It worked wonderfully.

The rest of the evening, she felt his eyes on her and when she'd look back, he'd have a look that said he was ready to devore her whole. She felt her core almost drip with the adrenaline rushing through her.

Now, to act on it.

She caught his gaze again, keeping it and taking slow steps to the high table, hoping he'd get the hint to follow her. 

And perceptive he was.

She stood in front of her chair and reached down to her cup when his chest warmed her back. His hand reached over hers and seized her chalice as his voice spoke lowly in her ear. "Bid them goodnight. We are retiring."

She craned her neck to try to look at him. "We are the hosts-"

"-two minutes, and I'll carry you myself if I must."

His warmth disappeared, and he set her cup back down to the table.

A wide grin came to her lips.

…

The moment the door to his chamber closed, he pushed her against the wall. His lips chased her with a heat like she was the air he needed to breathe. His hands pulled at the fabric on her shoulders, so eager to undress and ravish her.

Her hands did the same, pulling at the strings of her doublet. But it was hard to do so through Cregan's heavy hands tugging her this way and that. 

Soon enough, cold air rose goosebumps across her skin. Cregan paused, only for a moment, letting his eyes wander over her. And for the first time, lust was evident in his pupils.

His lips consumed hers once more, his tongue delving past her teeth to hurriedly explore. His hands and hers both pulled at his clothes. 

With his chest bare, he deemed that enough for now. He picked her up and took her to the bed, dropping them both to it and holding himself above her with one hand. His lips moved to her neck now, sucking at the skin. And her small hitch of breath encouraged him.

Soon he pulled away and stood at the foot of the bed, pulling down his trousers and throwing off his boots. His eyes never strayed from her body. How beautiful she was. Now he really noticed.

His hands found her ankles. He pulled her down to the edge of the bed.

She began to notice how he'd began to go back into their routine from before.

He stepped between her legs and propped her hips up a bit, lining his cock with her cunt and beginning to force his way in.

Her jaw clenched and her nose inhaled sharply. She was never used to that first push. 

Her mind wandered to the night before with the book. She had went on to get three fingers in and without pain. She knew it was possible to avoid this if they went slowly. And the pleasure she had felt yesterday was inexplainable.

"Cr-Cregan," she panted out.

His eyes snapped up to hers. They never spoke during this. There was never anything to talk about. 

"I want to… to do it differently," she managed out.

He pulled out from her, holding her legs steady as he gave her a questioning gaze. "What did you read in that thing?" He finally asked.

"I want… I want to be… above," she tried to explain. "You lay down and I… I will do the work."

He was hesitant, understandably so, but he was hard enough now that he didn't quite care how it happened. He just needed a release.

So he laid himself on the bed, his eyes almost bulging out with the way she straddled him so confidently. 

She brushed against his manhood, and he couldn't take it anymore. His hands gripped her hips tightly as he tried to take back control. But her own hands pulled his away. She gave him a look that warned him to let her try it.

She sunk down onto him this time. The pressure was there, but it was different. More bearable this time. And at her own pace, she took her time to adjust to him until his pelvis met hers. 

Cregan's eyes were closed in bliss, and she took that as a sign to continue. She pulled her hips up and sunk back down, and a whine left her mouth without realizing it. It felt… good. Sex with Cregan felt good.

His hands trailed back up to her hips, more gentle this time. He guided her hips in a back and forth motion and a sinful moan escaped from him.

She continued it as he wanted, leaning down to brace herself on his chest. With this new motion, she could find a little pressure to her clit, and it brought a whole new wave of pleasure.

The motions quickened as the two began to explore the idea that maybe… just maybe… they liked this.

If their moans had any indication.

She felt a tightening in her lower stomach, something she remembered from yesterday. She wondered if Cregan could feel it from inside.

And he could. It created a resistance that had him almost drooling with how well it felt. How good she made him feel.

"Let me fill you," he voiced in a beg. It hadn't intended to come out that way, but it did. Cregan was begging.

"I w~" the words caught in her throat. "I want you to fill me," she managed. "Give me a child, Cre~"

The words died altogether on her lips as her orgasm washed over her. The one from her fingers yesterday was nothing compared to this. She felt it throughout her body like spring that had finally snapped. 

Cregan's eyes were open and wide at the feeling of her cunt around him now, spasming with the aftermath of her orgasm. It felt amazing, and he had cursed himself for never discovering it before.

And now that he had, he wouldn't forget it. 

Her cunt milked him for all he had, and he happily gave it to her, releasing himself with a heavy groan.

The two slumped on the bed, Cregan's arms wrapped around his wife's frame. Neither were eager to move from their positions, not even as he softened inside of her or the liquid ran down her thighs.

Before, Cregan had held her up and made her keep it in. 

Now? He didn't care. He could always just fill her again.

He'd do anything to see the way her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over again. 

"Thank you," she breathed against his neck.

There was a comfortable silence from him. Then finally, "I'll have that book read within the fortnight."

..........................................

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[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

There's something terrorising your town.

The chickens are turning up dead, torn apart with their feathers and blood clumped together all over the yard. The pigs spend every full moon squealing and running around their pens like they can smell a predator in the air. The hunters say there's strange tracks out in the deep woods, tracks bigger than any wolf they've ever seen.

And there's scratches on your door - deep, gouged out claw marks like something wants to dig its way into your house.

You try not to get worked up about it.

It's probably just a fox or a coyote, right? Everyone knows they steal a chicken now and then. And you've seen the six-packs of beer your dad takes when he goes hunting. Dog tracks look pretty damn big when you're drunk and it's dark out, don't they?

You try not to get worked up about it, but every full moon you double check your locks.

You're squinting at the local paper when your best friend comes up behind you and slings his arm across your shoulders. He plucks the paper out of your hand and scoffs at the headline.

"Chickens found dead at McKinnly farm? No one should be surprised by that. Old McKinnly doesn't even have the coop properly fenced in."

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

He balls the paper up and tosses it into the dustbin with a smooth overhead throw.

"You are now. C'mon y/n, don't tell me you're buying into all this werewolf business too?"

Your best friend towers over you, every inch of him well bred, football star muscle. You have to crane your neck to properly glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just sensational nonsense."

"Oh yeah? So you ain't scared of a big bad wolf breaking into your bedroom one night?"

It's your turn to scoff. "That's a pervert, not a wolf. How's a wolf even supposed to open a window?"

The school bell rings before he can give you an answer.

He groans. "I've got extra practice again tonight. Will you come watch me? We can get pizza after."

You grin. "Breaking News! Star quarterback needs his favourite cheerleader around to make life bearable."

He flicks your forehead. "Damn right I do. So whatcha say?"

"Sure. Someone's gotta be around to keep you on your toes."

It's only when he's long out of sight that you remember - you're one night away from the full moon.

He destroys his team mates at practice. When he's pounding down the field, head down and his fingers curled like claws around the ball, he almost looks inhuman.

After practice, he catches you before you can scramble away and rubs his sweaty face all over you.

"Ewwww." You shove him at him unsuccessfully. "You do that every time! It's so gross!"

"Gotta be faster than that squirt," he laughs.

By the time he's done in the locker room, you've already ordered pizza for the both of you.

You head up to the overlook, his old Mustang growling down the highway.

The overlook is exactly what it sounds like - a hill high over town with a great view of the twinkling streets far below. It's a clear night, and the almost full moon casts a silvery shadow over everything.

He slings his arm across the back of your seat and complains when you pick the olives off your side of the pizza.

"God, I hope your taste in men is better than your taste in pizza."

"My taste in men and pizza are equally questionable, thank you very much."

He laughs, "At least you're self aware. Speaking of guys, I know Murrey from Algebra asked you to prom, and Dave from Homeroom."

You groan. "How did you even hear about that?"

"I've got ears like a wolf." He turns to face you. "What did you tell them?"

"I said no. You and I go together every year."

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

You offer him some of your discarded olives and he bites them straight out of your fingers.

"Y'know, lots of girls were awfully disappointed you didn't ask them. When are you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, mister star quarterback?"

He leans down and ruffles your hair. "I got you in my life, don't I? That's plenty."

Eventually, his arm finds it's way to your shoulder, and he pulls you against his side. He's warmer than you and when you curl up against him, he smirks and says that's what you get for being hopelessly under dressed.

There's an old love song on the radio and you fall asleep with your hand knotted in his jacket.

He drives home extra slow and when he shakes you awake, his hands linger on your waist.

You rub your eyes groggily. "Goodnight mister wolf."

You're already halfway up the driveway before he replies, his voice too soft to hear.

"Goodnight little lamb."

On the night of the full moon, you wake up to a cloudy sky and your dog scratching at your bedroom door to be let out.

You struggle into your slippers and mutter about better toilet training. When you open the back door, he slips past your legs and shoots off into the trees. Yawning, you rest your elbows on the porch railing and try not to fall asleep.

It's only when you hear him yelping that you come awake fully.

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

The street lights reach all the way to the edge of your lawn but the trees beyond are black dark. You make you way down carefully, your sense of unease growing with every whistle he ignores.

Your dad left his old wind up torch near the shed and you grab it. It whirs to life with a dull flicker.

Cruiser is whimpering louder now. You follow the sound of it, ducking under branches and trying not to slip in your flimsy slippers.

The clouds clear and for a minute or two, the forest is bright enough that you barely need the torch. You find Crusier backed up against a tree, his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores you when you call him, staring out into the dark and whining like you've never heard before.

"What's wrong boy? What's out there?"

You can't help the fear you feel. Your dog is hard to scare and you've never seen him this frightened.

Twigs snap in the gloom and you swing your torch around wildly. You try and tell yourself that it might be a deer, wandering in from the deep forest. But all you can think about is the local paper.

"Chickens torn apart. Vet suspects large wolf on the prowl."

But it can't be here, right? You're practically on the main road. You reach down and grab Cruiser's collar, your heart racing. The dog barely acknowledges you when you tug on it.

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

You try and whisper, but your voice comes out high and nervous. His whimper changes into a low growl that vibrates through his collar.

That's when the moon comes out again. And you see the werewolf.

It's coat is dark and thick, and it's crouched halfway behind a tree. Less than twenty feet away.

How the hell did it get so close without you hearing it?! Adrenaline slams into you and your heart skips into overdrive. You turn on your heel and run.

The funny thing about adrenaline is the way your own body takes control. You duck under branches before your conscious mind even realises they're there. You run faster than you ever thought possible, trees streaking by in black blurs.

You hear footsteps behind you but you can't tell if it's Cruiser or the wolf. You don't bother checking. You just keep your head down and sprint like the Devil is on your heels. Hell, he might be.

The werewolf catches you just as you break out of the tree-line. It slams into you from the side and sends you sprawling.

As you scramble to your knees, you get your first good look at the terror of the town. It's bigger than any wolf you've ever seen. Closer to the size of a small grizzly, with the thick fur to match. It's down on all fours, but it's forelegs are unusually long. It's paws are strangely misshapen and for a second, they look almost like hands. It's body feels more ape than wolf.

Oh, but it's teeth are all canine. All sharp, curving fangs, shining with spit.

It sniffs the air and with a start you realise that you're bleeding. Your palms are sliced up from trying to cushion your fall. Blood, you think numbly. Blood is supposed to make carnivores more aggressive. Whett their appetite.

Staring up at its drooling maw and narrowed eyes, you find it hard to believe anything could be more bloodthirsty.

It lunges for your throat and if it weren't for Cruiser, you'd be dead.

The dog shoots out from the forest, barking loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. He jumps at the creature's back, sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle where neck and shoulder meet.

The werewolf roars.

It reaches up and tears Cruiser off with one nasty yank. Your dog thuds into the ground with an ugly cracking sound.

You scream - half terror and half rage. Cruiser is trying to stand, but can't manage it. One paw hangs uselessly. Oh, your poor, brave dog.

You act without thinking.

You lunge forward and punch straight at the werewolf's nose. It's hard and wet, and your fist keeps going even after contact. His teeth leave shallow cuts on your knuckles.

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

It backs away a few steps before lowering it's head and snarling. It gears up for another pounce.

That's when your daddy shoots it. The blast from his shotgun knocks the werewolf right out of the air.

It crashes down and scrambles to its feet. Its head swings wildly between you and your father. It growls one final time before turning on its heel and bounding into the trees.

How the hell could it even stand after a blast like that? You shudder, your eyes fixed on the trees.

You can hear your dad on the phone, frantically reporting to the Sheriff's office. You sink to your knees next to Cruiser. He draws his eyes up to yours and whines.

"My brave boy..." You stroke his head with the back of your hand and accidentally stain his fur with blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

He cranes his neck and licks the tears off your cheek. Just like when he was a puppy. You laugh, high and hysterical. And once you start, you can't stop.

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

You can't sleep at all after that. And when the Deputies question you, it takes almost all night. They don't believe you entirely, but the tracks their dogs pick up are strange enough to garner a few nervous looks.

You're on the porch, clutching a warm drink and watching the sunrise, when your best friend finds you.

He sweeps you up in a crushing hug, his cheek pressed firmly against your hair.

"Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard."

You pull away, confused. He cups your face in his hand and gently twists it left and right, scanning for any cuts or bruises.

"What? Who told you?"

He cooks his head. "You did. A few minutes ago."

Did you? You don't remember calling him. But you're tired and frightened. Maybe you just can't remember everything.

He sits you down on the porch swing and carefully inspects your palms while you tell him what happened.

"It wasn't a wolf. You believe me right? I saw it clear as day."

"You were pumped up on adrenaline and fighting for your life. You can't be sure what you saw." He sighs, "Maybe it was a wolf or maybe it was a bear or maybe it was some exotic animal that we've never heard about. But really y/n, it sure as hell wasn't a werewolf."

"Yeah... but..."

In the daylight, werewolves and horror feel silly. Illogical. You aren't a kid anymore, you shouldn't be letting your imagination run wild. There's definitely a reasonable explanation.

But every time you think about it, the more sure you feel. That creature was nothing normal or logical at all. It was wrong. Anatomy all out of proportion, eyes too bright and aware, the smell of it more like human sweat than dog musk.

No, you didn't imagine any of it. It wasn't a wolf at all.

"How's Cruiser doing?"

You take a sip of your drink and try not to cry. "Not good. The emergency vet came by and rushed him to surgery. Multiple broken bones they say, maybe some internal bleeding."

He sucks in a breath. "Oh y/n, I'm so sorry."

He opens his arms and you curl up against him gratefully. His letterman jacket is soft against your skin and the smell of him envelopes you.

"I still remember the day you got him for me," you say.

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

"He was such a runt back then. All eyes and big floppy ears. When you pulled him out of your jacket, I didn't realise he was a puppy. I thought you got me some weird stuffed teddy."

He laughs. "I tried putting a bow on him y'know. But he kept tryna bite my fingers off."

You laugh too. "I could never figure out why he didn't like you."

"Jealousy I say. Didn't want me to steal you away."

You punch his arm, smiling. "You're the only guy who'll compete with a dog for my attention."

"If that's what it takes. Put a leash on me right now if you want."

You scoff and curl up closer against him. "I would but they don't come in your size big guy."

You're too tired to notice the bruise on your best friend's nose, or the way he flinches when you touch his side. For a little while, you make the awful mistake of forgetting about the beast.

Prom comes faster then you expect. Your dress gets measured and tailored and steamed. You spend days practicing different hair styles. Cruiser limps around behind you, whining for treats like he wasn't touch and go just a month ago. The moon grows thin and then round again.

When you pull up at your best friend's house, his parents are on their way to a party of their own. His mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says you look stunning and to not forget the keys when you leave.

You laugh and wave them off and almost forget about the full moon streaming through the trees.

The house is quiet and you make your way to his room, your heels hanging from your fingers.

"Hey princess!" You knock on his door. "Are you ready yet? I'm coming in!"

You open the door to an empty room, his tux still on its hanger.

"Oh. My. God. How are you still not done?"

You can hear the shower running and you pound at the door. "We're gonna be late! I swear I'm going to kill you when you get out of there."

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

You try the handle and the door swings open a crack. Steam billows out and you slap a hand over your eyes before you can see anything too revealing.

"Hurry it up! We're gonna miss all the good songs if you don't get dressed soon. Do you really wanna slow dance to something Mr Jared the gym teacher picks out?"

You hear the slap of footsteps on wet tile and breath a sigh of relief. "Did all that football practice knock your ears outta wack? I've been yelling at you since I got here."

Something growls, low and deep.

Your eyes shoot open and you step back. But you're still too slow to react and the werewolf leaps at you. Its heavier than a man and you tumble to the floor together, its paws pinning you down by the shoulders.

Its snout is right in front of your face, almost touching your nose. Lips curl away from awfully long fangs.

It growls almost like a man, almost like it's saying, "Mine."

You scream, kicking and tossing and failing to get away. It's claws prick holes in the satin of your dress and draw little beads of blood.

You scream your best friend's name, terrified that the beast got him too. You're going to die, you think desperately, you're going to die and your poor mother won't even be able to refund your prom dress. If you weren't screaming, you might have laughed.

But the monster doesn't kill you.

Instead, it licks the tears off your cheek. Just like Cruiser did a month ago. It growls again, but the sound is lighter. Pleased almost.

You grow still, confused and terrified of provoking it. Your best friend's room is cluttered with football gear - trophies and jerseys and signed helmets. The moon shines dully off all of it. And you're in the very centre, with a monster pinning you to the ground.

The moon dips behind a cloud and the werewolf changes right before your eyes. Hair and snout receding, his eyes darkening from wolf amber to warm brown.

It's only his teeth that stay the same. All sharp points that peak through his lips.

Your best friend is on top of you, totally naked and still warm from the shower.

"I didn't want to hurt you y/n, I swear."

His voice is lower somehow, like the wolf's growl is just under the surface.

You're too shocked to move. Too shocked to scream. This must be a dream. It's too surreal to be real.

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "I wanted to tell you. But it would have sounded crazy. I grow claws and teeth on the full moon? I heal faster than I used to? I can smell when you're ovulating and when you're on your period?"

He pulls back and tilts his head. "When we were kids, we promised we wouldn't keep secrets. And now you know."

"You...you were outside my house that night."

He laughs. "I'm outside your house every night dummy. That was just the night you caught me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head the way he always does when you say something dumb. "To keep you safe. To keep other animals away from you. To protect you, like I said I would."

His hands slip from your shoulders to your waist. "But now you know."

He grins, his teeth awfully sharp. "Now I can make you just like me."

He holds you down and kisses you and nips at your neck hard enough to draw blood. And when the clouds clear from the moon, you feel your teeth start to lengthen.

Something is terrorising your town. And you should have know better than to cross its path.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

omg can u do a small drabble where we’re arguing w toji and whenever we ask him a question he just reply’s with “no maam” or “yes maam” i need these so bad.

Yes Mam

Tags: Toji x fem!Reader, drabble, very slight angst, more fluff and crack than anything lol

An: Hiii! Thanks for your submission! I hope you don’t mind, but I added some period comfort throughout lol.

It had been a bad day.

It was the first and most brutal day of your period, and everything had been going wrong so far.

“Toji Fushiguro!” You shouted as your bottom touched the bitter cold toilet water. With no toilet seat to catch you, you had fallen right inside the bowl.

Your husband had a bad habit of leaving it up in the mornings. He was groggy when waking up, and he would forget to put the seat back down for you. When he was awake, he’d make a conscious effort to put it down so you wouldn’t fall in.

You were usually cautious enough to check before sitting down, but today you were in a rush and in too much of a pained headspace to think about checking. Thus, you had fallen right inside the golden throne with your knees to your chest and your bottom all cold and wet.

“Mam?” Toji replied as he peaked his head into the bathroom. His face contorted into the tightest expression to fight back a laugh. He knew that if he laughed at you right now, your mood would he sour for the rest of the day.

“You left the goddamn toilet seat up!” You whined, trying your best to let out a frustrated growl. Toji found you to be more cute than intimidating.

“I’m sorry, babydoll. Come here. Let me help you.” He said as he walked into the bathroom, extending his arm out to you as a peace offering.

You shook your head, deciding to get yourself up. You didn’t want peace. You needed retribution for his cosmic sin!

Toji watched as you climbed out of the toilet bowl. His lips were still pressed in a thin line. He could not even crack a smile right now.

“Did you even take out the trash like I asked?” You asked with a pointed gaze. Now, it was time to see what other misdeeds Toji had committed.

“Yes mam.” He replied as his gaze softened. He knew you were having a rough time and needed to vent out some frustrations. Too bad for you, Toji had been working around the house since he got out of bed this morning.

“What about the dishes-?”

“Washed and put away, mam.”

“…Okay… what about that leaky faucet? Did you get it fixed?”

“Yes mam.”

“Oh… uh.. What about the light bill?”

“Paid it this morning, mam.”

“Stop calling me that.” You finally snapped with a small pout. You were interrogating him like his mother, and he was responding to you as if you were his mom. It was weird and unsettling. “I’m doll or baby or some weird mixture of both — not mam.” Your lips curled into a pout that had Toji finally giving you his lopsided grin.

“C’mere, dollface.” He grunted as you got back decent and walked over to him, leaning into his embrace. He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. “I got it, okay? You go relax in bed for the day. I know ya ain’t feeling good.”

You melted under his touch and caring tone. Toji didn’t seem like the type to be so gentle and patient, but it came easy when it was with you. He adored you, and he felt this innate desire to just provide and take care of you.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured weakly into his chest, and Toji rubbed soothing circles into your back.

“I know. It’s okay.” He assured you quietly before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. He already had you a little spot prepared with your favorite blanket, a heating pad, pain medicine, and a cup of water.

Once he got you settled in, he handed you your nintendo switch and dimmed the lights. “Text me if ya need me, doll. I’m going out to try to fix that tire pressure sensor in your car.” He informed.

“Okay..” You replied in a shaky tone. Your eyes were full of tears. No one had ever taken care of you like Toji does. He’s truly set an unattainable standard for anyone else to reach.

“Don’t cry.” Toji laughed as he brushed the tears away from your cheeks. Your hormones must be affecting you like crazy to make you go from seething to crying within a minute.

“I love you, Toji.” You said, nuzzling your face into his arm.

“I love you too, mam.” He replied with a small kiss to your cheek and a head pat. You shot him a small glare from that dreadful nickname he has developed.

Toji quickly fled the room before your hormones could shift again.

[hmusunoo]

DIET PEPSI | K.TH

SYNOPSIS 》 Homework, exams, parents expecting the world from you and more, you just wanted a break. Better yet, you needed one. And who better than getting the resident campus bad boy plug Taehyun to help you out with that.

PAIRINGS 》 plug!taehyun x goody two shoes fem!reader

WARNINGS 》 plug taehyun, drug use, reader is really awkward and innocent she know's nothing about drugs, brief mentions of overbearing parents, unprotected sex, dry humping, car sex, corruption kink, loss of virginity, taehyun is a little bit of an asshole, cowgirl, slight hair pulling, not really proof read.

WORD CNT 》 6.3k

LIBRARY & BOOKSHELVES

You sit at your desk, the glare of your laptop screen searing into your eyes as you attempt to focus on yet another problem set. The numbers blur together, taunting you with their complexity. To your right, your history textbook lies open, mocking you with its dense paragraphs of information you’re supposed to have memorized by tomorrow. The clock ticks steadily in the background, a relentless reminder that time is slipping away. Your parents’ voices echo in your mind, a cacophony of expectations. "You have to be the best. We’re counting on you."Their words are like invisible weights, pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe.  

You don’t remember the last time you felt truly free. Even when you’re not studying, the guilt lingers. Shouldn’t you be doing more? Shouldn’t you be better? The questions swirl in your head, their answers always out of reach.And so, you sit there, the cursor blinking impatiently on your half-written essay, while your stomach churns from too much coffee and too little sleep. The thought hits you suddenly: This isn’t sustainable. You lean back in your chair and close your eyes, but the words and numbers are still there, painted on the insides of your eyelids.

You need to breathe. You need to escape.

The idea comes to you like a whisper, soft but insistent. Remembering what Sakura told you earlier in the day, about the one guy in school you never thought to talk to before. Kang Taehyun. He was no good, he was what everyone around town and campus called a waste of space. You had half a mind to text Sakura asking for his number. The thought feels almost rebellious. You didn’t know a single thing about weed or how to smoke it. All you knew was that he was the one person around here you could get it from. 

Would he even sell it to you? You didn't know, but you were going to try. You grab your phone before you can second-guess yourself. You sent her a quick tentative text swelling with anxiety at the questions you knew awaited you. 

It seemed your anxiety was for nothing though, as a short and sweet text from Sakura popped up on your screen not even a minute later: ‘I knew you’d cave (; here 999-000-3456’. You knew as soon as you saw her you'd be bombarded with a multitude of questions but for now you will be thankful for the solace she gave you. 

You didn't know the proper etiquette of ordering? Weed, so you didn't think it would be best to call Taehyun. You decided a simple text would do just fine. 

You: hi, how much for weed? It’s Y/n L/n btw. 

Taehyun: wtf? 

You: Sorry, can I buy some weed from you? 

Taehyun: i dont sell that. You have the wrong number. 

You: what? My friend Sakura gave me your number. She said you would have something to help me. 

Taehyun: Are you a fucking cop or something? 

You: No???

Taehyun: Whatever. if you're serious, meet me at lakeland park in 15 minutes. If I see any weird shit I'm leaving. 

Lakeland park was nearly a fifteen minute walk from you. He was giving you no time to overthink it instead grabbing you coat in a rush and bolting out the door. You pull your coat tighter around you as the wind bites at your cheeks. A fifteen minute walk isn’t far, but on a cold, dark night like this, every step feels heavier, the shadows stretching longer. Your breath clouds in the air as you walk, the rhythmic crunch of your boots on the frost-covered pavement the only

sound accompanying you. You’re not the kind of girl who sneaks out at night, let alone to meet someone like Kang Taehyun. He’s reckless, arrogant, always in trouble, the kind of boy your parents warned you about since middle school. But tonight, the weight of the day of every perfect grade, every strained smile, every pesky exam and desk filled with homework has crushed you into doing something reckless. Something that doesn’t feel like you. The park looms ahead, its iron gates blackened and wet with the mist that clings to the air. You hesitate at the entrance, fingers curling around the cold metal. It’s not too late to turn back, you tell yourself. But that same voice whispers that turning back means retreating to the suffocating predictability of your world. Straight-A student. Perfect daughter. Reliable friend. You just couldn't do that, you needed this. Bad. 

The park is deserted. The streetlights cast pale orange pools of light onto the pathways, but the spaces in between seem darker than they should. You clutch your phone in your pocket, your thumb hovering over the power button. Just in case.

The sound of a car engine idling pulls your attention to the far side of the park. There, parked near the frozen pond, is Taehyun's car. Its headlights are off, but the faint glow of the dashboard light outlines his silhouette. You almost stop in your tracks as he leans out of the driver’s side window, his dark hair tousled, an annoyed look on his face. 

“Didn’t think you were serious” He said as you walked up to the car. “Get in.” 

You hesitate, your hand brushing the cold handle of the passenger door. Pulling it open before you could allow yourself to overthink it. “I was told you could help me.” The inside of the car is warmer than you expected, the faint scent of marijuana smoke and leather wrapping around you. 

Taehyun shrugs a bored expression on his face as he leaned his head against the leather seat. His stance made you nervous. You could feel words bubbling up inside of you waiting to jumble out in a heap just like you always did in awkward silences like this. “I Just have a lot of stuff going on with school and my parents and-” 

Taehyun snorts, his amusement cutting sharper now as he interrupts the beginning of your rambles. “Well, don’t expect a medal or anything.” He leans back in his seat, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night. What do you want? How much?” 

“I have twenty dollars..” You trailed off your voice smaller now. 

Taehyun sent you a curt nod reaching down to the glove department between the two of you. He pulled out a bag filled with a green substance, assuming it was the weed. “Here.” He tossed the bag down in your lap lazily. You picked it up in your hands inspecting it with keen eyes. 

“Do..do i just eat it?” You asked him as you began to open the top of the baggie. 

“What?” He asked leaning forward, the nonchalant expression he once held was gone, now a look of shock in its place. “No. You smoke it.” 

“Oh.” Was the only response you could muster up. A red sheen coating your cheeks with embarrassment. “I-i don't know how.”

Taehyun laughs sharp and cold. “Little miss perfect has never smoked before what a fucking shocker.” His tone had a sarcastic lit to it. One that made your stomach churn with uneasiness. 

“I’m not a junkie.” You spit out at him. “I just need help with some stress.” 

“Are you implying that I'm a junkie?” His asked with raised eyebrows and an expression that spelled ‘i dare you to say that i am’

“N-no” You stuttered “I’m just making a statement about myself.” 

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, but Taehyun doesn’t let up. “What’s next, huh? Gonna jay-walk across the street on your way home? Or maybe—and this is a real stretch—you’ll leave your dishes in the sink overnight.” He grins, wide and mocking. “Oh no, the horror.” 

Your face burns, but you refuse to look away. “I’m not as boring as you think.”

“Sure you’re not,” he says, dragging the words out. He sends you a smirk. “Let me guess—late night study sessions? Babysitting? Volunteer work at the animal shelter?” 

You cross your arms, your nails digging into your sleeves. “I came here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and it’s adorable,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re like a puppy trying to bark. Cute, but not exactly convincing.” 

The jab stings more than you’d like to admit, but you steel yourself. “At least I’m trying to do something different.” 

“Oh, you’re different, all right,” Taehyun shoots back, his grin widening. “Most people would’ve bailed by now. But not you. You’re too stubborn to realize when you’re in over your head.” You fiddled with the baggie still in your hand “I mean look at you, you thought you had to eat the fucking bud.”  

You glare at him, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why do you even care? If I’m so ‘adorable,’ why not just drive off and leave me here? No one is forcing you to sell to me ” 

Taehyun shrugs, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful—but no less infuriating. “Maybe I’m bored. Or maybe watching you squirm is more fun than anything else I’ve got going on tonight.” 

“Whatever.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. 

“So now that we've established that you do indeed smoke the weed and don't eat it. I’ll take that twenty and be on my way now-” 

“Can you teach me how to smoke it?” The words fell from your lips like spit fire before you could even think about them. 

“Seriously.” Taehyun sent you a deadpanned look. “Do I need to like, hold your hand while we're at it?” 

“Well no..” You trailed “I’ve just never done it before..” 

“I can tell,” He said, annoyed. “Whatever I have got nothing better to do.” 

He reached back into the saame glove department that he got the weed baggie from, pulling out a small pack of papers in his fingers. 

“These are wraps” He explained handing you the wraps. “We’ll put the weed into it before we smoke it.” 

“You're going to smoke with me?” You asked Taehyun, mulling the wraps in your hand as you carefully analyzed them. 

“Yeah, im not doing this shit for nothing do i look like a fucking teacher to you.” He snapped. Taehyun reached his hand out, yanking the baggie of weed out of your hands and although he did it with minimal force the action still shook you. He really was such a stark contrast to who you were. He was rough, arrogant and cocky. You were shy, timid and very inexperienced in everything he was comfortable with. This was a recipe for disaster. 

Taehyun continued by showing you how to ground up the weed then stuff it into the little paper carefully. You watched as his lips poked out, licking the paper to seal the week inside. Really, it shouldn't be something you're finding hot but you do. 

“This is a blunt” He explained. You watched him with careful calculation soaking in everything he said to you. The blunt dangles lazily between his fingers, the faint ember glowing like a tiny, taunting beacon in the dim light of the parking lot. He’s leaning against his beat-up car, all leather jacket and sharp jawline, looking like he stepped out of a 90s music video. You tried to steer the thoughts away. Just mere minutes ago you were rolling your eyes at him for poking fun at you, now in the dim light of the overhead dash coupled with the hues of the park street lamps you had thought he looked..well, beautiful. 

“Alright, princess,” Taehyun says, his tone as sharp as the smirk tugging at his lips. “You begged me to teach you, so here you go.” 

And there you were back to rolling your eyes. “I wasn’t begging,” you snap, your arms crossing defensively over your chest. You know your voice sounds weak even as you say it, and his smirk deepens, like he’s already won some unspoken argument. The nerves for what you were about to do finally really creeping in on you. 

“Sure, sure,” he drawls, handing you the blunt like it’s some kind of sacred ritual. “Just don’t go crying to your choir group when you cough up a lung.” You take it with more confidence than you feel, holding it between your fingers the way he does, even though you’re certain it doesn’t look half as natural. You leaned slightly forward in your seat, over the glove department that was between the two of you. 

For a quick fleeting second you could have sworn you saw his eyes flicker downwards catching the flesh of your exposed skin. You wore a hoodie half zipped down to reveal your black tank top with tiny little lace on the top. Your cleavage was slightly visible at this angle and he surely noticed it. 

“Now, put it in your mouth,” he instructs, deadpan, and you glare at him because you can hear the barely contained laughter in his voice. 

“Do you always have to be this crude?” you mutter, but you follow his instructions anyway, the filter feeling foreign and dry against your lips. His eyes flicker over you, quick but deliberate, before he leans closer. You freeze, the scent of leather and marijuana smoke filling your senses as he reaches up to flick his lighter. The flame catches, small and precise, and his hand shields it as he tilts it toward you. 

“Breathe in—gently,” he says, his voice softer now, almost serious, though you swear there’s a hint of amusement dancing on his face. You inhale, maybe too sharply, because the burn hits the back of your throat like fire, and you’re coughing almost immediately, doubling over as your eyes water. 

He barks out a laugh, loud and shameless, but there’s something about the way his hand hovers just shy of your back, like he’s deciding whether or not to steady you. “I told you to go easy,” he says, shaking his head. “What, you thought you were gonna look cool on the first try?” 

“I hate you,” you choke out, still coughing, and he grins like you’ve just made his night.

“Cute.” He mutters. “That’s cute.” he says, and for a second, you think you catch something softer in his expression—like he’s a little proud of you for trying. 

You straighten up, glaring at him through watery eyes. “Let’s go again,” you say, more determined than ever. 

He raises an eyebrow, surprised but impressed. “Look at you, all rebellious now,” Taehyun teases, taking the blunt from your hands, putting it to his lips and effortlessly inhaling. You wish you could say it wasn’t so erotic looking, the way his lips envelop the blunt, sucking in and then blowing out like he's done it a million times over. Because well, he has. He looks over at you again, eyelids narrowly heavy. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, though, like he’s seeing you differently. But before you can dwell on it, he’s all smirks and sarcasm again, holding out the blunt with a mock bow. “Alright, princess. Round two.” 

And as you fumble your way through another attempt, you can’t help but notice the way his expression turned darker, almost lustful as he watched you bring the blunt back to your lips tentatively.

The second drag is smoother. Not by much, but enough that you don’t hack up your lungs again. It still burns on the way down, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue, but there’s something else now—a strange kind of lightness creeping into your chest, like you’re not quite tethered to the ground.  “See?” Taehyun says, his voice smug. “Not so hard, is it?” 

You roll your eyes, but the edges of the world are starting to blur, the space inside the car feeling smaller and softer all at once. “It’s weird,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “But… kinda nice?” 

Taehyun chuckles, resting one arm over the back of his seat as he watches you. “Yeah, it’ll do that. Just wait. You’re gonna feel like your brain’s floating soon.”And he’s right. A few minutes later, the buzzing in your chest has spread to your head, leaving you light and a little disoriented. You can’t stop yourself from giggling, the sound spilling out before you can catch it. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, arching a brow. He took the blunt from your hands, taking a drag from it. The smoke flew out of his lips in ‘O’s’ like some kind of party trick. 

Unfamiliar heat pooled in your belly at the sight, your thighs fidgeting in your seat. “I don’t know,” you say, leaning your head back against the seat. “Everything feels… floaty. Like I’m a balloon or something.” Your eyes felt heavy as you stared at him with a dopey smile on your face. The softness of the lights from the overhead light casted down on his face like a glowing frame of his face. It was a beautifully confusing feeling this way. You had found yourself wanting something from him you've never had before, something way worse and more irreversible than smoking for the first time. 

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re high as hell,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. A sharp keen to his eyes as they darken at the sight of you, leaning back against the seat, head turned towards him. Your glassy eyes staring up at him doe eyed.  

Your gaze lingered on the way his fingers tap absently against the steering wheel. “You’re not as much of an asshole as you act, you know,” you say, your voice unfiltered and soft. 

His head snaps toward you, his eyes narrowing. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You act all tough,” you say, shrugging. “But you’re still here. Putting up with me. Teaching me. You could’ve just told me to screw off.” 

“If I recall, I did do that when you texted me.” Taehyun says slowly, his speech becoming slightly slurred. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. His gaze flickers over you, like he’s trying to decide if you’re messing with him or not. Then he shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle, the sound sending a bolt of electricity through you and straight to your core. It was an unfamiliar feeling for you. You had never felt such intense heat and want for someone. You didn't know whether to blame the weed or your hazy mind, either way you weren't sure you minded. 

“Guess the high’s getting to you,” he says, but his voice has softened, the sharp edges dulled. His own lust lingered heavily in the compactness of the car. You are both hyper aware of the shift in the dynamic of the car. You smile lazily, sinking further into the seat. The hum of the moment feels bigger than either of you, like the space between you has shifted somehow. He handed the blunt back to you but with a shake of your head you refused it, already feeling relaxed. Your body is like jelly as you slumped against the seat of the car. 

You tilt your head to look at him, his profile is sharp in the dim light, the amber glow of the lighter from earlier still dancing in your mind. “Why are you staring?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. 

“I’m not,” you lie, even though you can feel the weight of your own gaze on him. 

“Yeah, you are,” he says, leaning back slightly in his seat, his fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel. “What’s going on in that good little head of yours, huh?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words get stuck somewhere in your throat. The buzz in your chest has spread, making everything feel too big and too small all at once. You shift in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are to him, how the scent of smoke and leather clings to the air between you. “I don’t know,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches you with that same unreadable expression. And then, like the space between you is pulling him in, he leans forward, just a fraction—enough to make your breath catch. “You’re high,” he says, almost like he’s reminding himself. “That’s all this is.” His breath fanned against your lips close enough that even a mere inch forward your lips would be touching. 

You shake your head, though the movement feels sluggish. “It’s not just that,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. 

Taehyun’s hand twitches where it rests on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he looks almost unsure, like he’s teetering on the edge of something he can’t pull back from. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t want this.” 

“I do,” you insist, your gaze locking with his. The pull between you feels magnetic now, impossible to ignore. The heat in your belly felt like fire only being fueled by the constant darkening of his eyes and his pure adultured need for you. You may be inexperienced and naive but you were stupid, he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. 

He lets out a low, almost defeated sigh, his fingers running through his messy hair. “You’re gonna regret this Tomorrow.” But he doesn’t move away. 

You lean forward first, closing the already minimal space between you. It’s tentative, the barest brush of your lips against his, and for a moment, you think he’s going to pull back. But then he doesn’t. 

Taehyun’s lips press against yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing the waters. There’s a hesitance in the way his hand hovers near your cheek, as though he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you. But when you don’t pull away—when you lean into him instead—he seems to let go of whatever was holding him back. 

The kiss deepens, his hand finally coming to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing against your skin. There’s nothing rushed about it, no desperation, just a quiet intensity that sends your heart racing. You don’t know if it’s the blunt, the high, or him, but the world outside the car has completely disappeared. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in this strange, unspoken pull that you can’t quite explain. 

“You’re gonna blame this on the high,” he murmurs with a groan. “If we don’t stop, I don't know how far it will go, princess.” 

You shake your head, your eyes still closed. “Don’t stop.” for a moment, neither of you says anything, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you like a blanket. 

He doesn’t move away. If anything, he’s closer now, his hand sliding from your jaw to cup the side of your neck. His thumb brushes just under your ear, and the touch sends a shiver skimming down your spine. “How far have you gone before?” 

You shake your head “Nothing further than kissing.” 

He pulls back a small look of bewilderment on his face “Are you sure about this?” 

You nod, disconnecting yourself for a second to look at him, although your mind was hazy nothing about the decision to go further with Taehyun was, you were sure you wanted this. “Yes” You spoke with a surge of confidence. “I want this, so bad.” 

Taehyun reconnects your lips in a messy entanglement of lips and teeth, his hands grabbing at your waist to pull you closer to him even in the confines of his car. “Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. It’s not a demand—it’s a plea, barely restrained, like he’s fighting himself and losing.

You don’t tell him to stop. You can’t. Instead, your hands find their way to him, one resting on his shoulder, the other fisting the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll pull away if you let go. “I’m not going to,” you whisper, and your voice shakes, but not with fear. 

He kisses you again, harder this time, like he’s been holding himself back and can’t anymore. There’s nothing hesitant about it now—his lips press firmly against yours, and you meet him with the same urgency, like you’ve both been waiting for this moment longer than either of you is willing to admit. 

Taehyun’s free hand slides to your waist, gripping you just hard enough to make your breath hitch. The space between you feels nonexistent, every inch of him pressing into you in a way that’s both overwhelming and addictive. You’re not thinking anymore—not about where you are, not about how this started, not about the million ways this could go wrong. All you know is the way his hands feel against you, the way his lips move like he’s memorizing the shape of yours, the way your entire body feels like it’s on fire. 

You tug at his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. Taehyun’s fingers dig into your waist, grounding you even as the world feels like it’s spinning out of control. The high from the weed makes your skin a buzz and your mind spin. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Taehyun mutters against your lips, his voice rough and raw, like the confession slipped out without his permission.It makes you want him even more. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of emotion you can’t put into words into the way your lips move against his. Your hips raise slightly, searching for some semblance of friction. 

The small space of the car feels suffocating now, the air thick and heavy as his hand slides up your side, brushing just beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. His touch is searing, leaving trails of heat in its wake, and you arch into him instinctively, a soft sound escaping your lips.

“Careful,” Taehyun murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, but there’s something else there, too—a flicker of restraint, like he’s holding himself together by a thread. “You don’t know what you’re starting.” 

“Maybe I do,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your heart pounds in your chest. He had you craving something you had never indulged in before, something you knew you would miss as soon as it ended. 

For a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to read your mind, to figure out if you mean it. Whatever he sees in your expression seems to be enough, because his lips crash into yours again, his hands gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He grabbed at your sweater, unzipping it until your frilly tank top was revealed underneath. When his lips leave yours, they trail along your jaw, slow and deliberate. 

The feeling of his lips sends a shiver down your spine, and you tilt your head instinctively, giving him more access.“God, you’re dangerous,” he mutters against your skin, his voice rough and almost reverent. His hands move up the expanse of your body and torso cupping your breasts in his hands. A gasp leaves your lip, a chill crawling up your spine. 

“These fucking tits.” Taehyun growled. “How has no man ever touched these before?” Your chest heaved as explored the entirety of your upper body, cradling your breasts in his hands. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and the high from the weed feels distant now, overshadowed by the way he’s making you feel. Every nerve in your body is alive, hyper-aware of his every touch, every breath, every unspoken word.

“Take this off.” He growls his lips ghosting over your collarbone as he tugged at your tank top in his big hands. You met his hands at the hem of your tank top, lifting it in one fail swoop over your head. Your top half is now completely bare and out in the open for his eyes to see. 

You didn't think his eyes could darken anymore then they already have but to now avail his irises became nearly black pools of desire. Your heart was thumping hard in your chest as your breath left you in harsh pants. He made quick work of running his hands to his grey sweatpants, yanking them down just enough to pull himself out of his boxers. His cock spring free, the rip red and angry. 

Your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. He smirked at you with a knowing look. “Cute.” He muttered. “You never seen a dick before or something.” You could tell he meant it as a joke but one single look at your expression made him realize just how little experience you’ve had. 

“I..” You trailed “I haven’t.” Your face was flush red from the embarrassment of your admittance, you hadn't even really watched porn. Seeing a dick was so obscure to you, so unheard of. 

“Come here.” Taehyun softly said as he held his hand out for you to take. You lifted your legs to gently maneuver your body over the center console of the car. The sudden movement coupled with the high that was still lingering had you feeling a bit dizzy. 

You sat on Taehyun’s lap. His hard cock now resting against your thigh. Awkwardly and out of instinct you lifted your arms to cover your breasts that were now smack dab in his face. A man’s dream you thought to yourself. 

“No, don’t do that princess.” He took a hold of your arms gently in his hands pulling them back until they were at your sides. “Don’t hide.” He toyed with the hem of your shorts and he brought his other hand to your hips, gently guiding your hips to rock back and forth against his cock. 

A gasp fell from your lips at the movement. He started slowly rocking your hips steadily against his to create just the perfect amount of friction. Your clit throb in your shorts wishing you were completely bare against him. 

“That feel good?” He asked you with a grit to his teeth trying his hardest to keep his groans at bay. You nodded dumbly, a whimper falling from your lips as you continued to allow him to guide your hips against his. 

“I..i think i need more.” Your voice was airy, a sigh that sounded a lot like a moan slipped from your lips. “More, please.” 

“Hm.” He hummed grabbing ahold of your hips with both of his hands, his grip tighter than it had been all night. “Pretty little princess wants more huh?” He was teasing you, rocking your hips faster against him. 

“Y-yes!” You squealed, as a foreign feeling twisted in your stomach, the intensity knocking you forward trying to steady yourself on his chest. 

The sudden stop of your hips had you whining as Taehyun roughly gripped your hips in his hands stopping your movements. “The first time you cum will be with my cock buried deep inside of you. Not from you grinding on it like a needy little whore, do you hear me?” 

“Taehy-” You began to whine. 

“Do.you.hear.me?” He asked again tougher this time as he snaked his hand up your neck to the nape grabbing a fist full of your hair in his hands yanking your face to be level with his. 

“Yes!” You repeated for the second time tonight. “Want your cock..” 

“Good girl.” Taehyun let go of your hair soothing the spot with his palm. “Let's get these shorts off now, yeah?” You nodded with a hum as you lifted yourself off his lap to give Taehyun easy access to slide your shorts and panties down at the same time. 

“Are you going ok?” He ran his hands up and down your sides soothingly. 

“I am” You reassured him. You bent your face down to meet his lips in a short kiss as you pulled away Taehyun smirked, chasing your lips with his own, causing a giggle to leave you. 

His hand reached down, carefully circling your heat with his fingers. “You're so wet.” He hissed, dipping a finger slightly inside your awaiting core. Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him toy with your pussy lip and clit delicately. Your legs slightly shook from the touch of him. 

“I think you’re ready.” He nodded more to himself than you. “You think you’re ready baby?” The pet name caught you off guard stunting your ability to answer so instead you nod. 

“I need your words.” He said, more harsh than you expected. 

“I’m ready.”  You confirmed. His hands found your hips once again, lifting you up until the tip of his dick was lined up at your entrance. The knot in your stomach tightened as the reality of what was about to happen set in. You were really about to lose your virginity. Here in a car, in the middle of the night to a boy you had just officially tonight. The thought excited you? It was so purely unlike you that you couldn’t wait to do it. 

Taehyun helped guide you down on his length, the stretch of him burning as you slowly moved down inch by inch on his cock. “Oh.” You squeaked, using Taehyun’s shoulder as leverage. “Oh-” You said again. The one syllable seems like the only word you could even begin to utter. 

“Careful.” Taehyun grit the words out. “That’s it.” 

The feeling of him inside you had tears pricking your eyes as the intensity of the moment took over. 

“Stay still princess” Taehyun’s voice was soft as he gave you instructions on how to take him, talking you through it. You sat still on his lap as his cock was not fully satiated inside of you. The feeling was odd..a good odd. You felt full, entirely consumed by him. The dead of night surrounding you adds onto the ambience. 

“Move whenever you want sweetheart, you're in charge.” The heat of his hands on your bare skin coupled with the heat in the car and the weed lingering in your veins gave you the boost of confidence you needed to lift yourself up and slam yourself back down on his cock. Carefully at first, testing the waters. Taehyun’s grunt of pleasure only adds to the fire growing inside of you. You needed to make him feel good, it was now the most important part of this. 

“Fuck” He grunted as he leaned his head back against the seat heavily lidded eyes looking up at you as you bounced atop him. The pleasure was creeping up on you, the burn now a dull feeling easily forgotten about. “Keep doing that.” 

His praise served as a catalyst for you to keep moving your hips up and down on his cock. Your thighs shaking at the overwhelming pleasure and the workout you were receiving. 

“So good.” You whimpered out, the only sounds around you were the ones of the constant smacking of your ass against his lap and the moans you let slip from your mouth uncontrollably. 

“Good girl.” Taehyun babbled, resetting his arms behind his head, watching you. “That’s a good fucking girl, fucking that cock for the very first time.” 

“Am i doing good?” You chased his praise almost as fast as you chased your impending orgasm, the heat pooling in the bottom of your belly like the fire getting ready to boil over and explode. 

“Yeah baby, you're doing so good. Keep bouncing on my cock. Just like that.” Soft mews left your lips reaching your fingers out to drag down Taehyun’s clothed chest. 

“Can I help you out?” Taehyun pants desperately pawing at your hips. “If it hurts, let me know, I'll stop right away.” 

“Ok.” You whimpered pathetically. You'd allow him to do anything to you right now just as long as you continued to feel as good as you were. His hands gripped your hands tightly in his hands before shooting his hips up with one single snap. 

A gasp of surprise left your lips as he reached angles you didn't even know was possible. 

“Holy-” You breathed out “Fuck, fuck.” 

Taehyun’s hips snapped up drilling his cock into your weeping hole over and over. His balls lewdly slapping the underside of your ass. “I’m close.” He hissed, not letting up on his thrusts. 

“M-me too, I think.” You winced at the mixture of pain and pleasure consuming you. The feeling that bubbled up inside of you waiting to explode like a ticking time bomb. 

“This tight fucking pussy wont ket me go.” Taehyun’s words sent you flying towards your orgasm, becoming a mess of yourself on top of him. He followed suit not longer after pushing his hips inside of you a few more times before stilling himself. 

“Fuck.” He huffed rubbing the sides of your thighs as rested your head against his chest trying to catch your breath. 

“Are you ok?” He asked with a slightly worried tone. 

“So good.” You said raising your head to look at him. “Thank you” 

“For the sex?” He quirked an arrogant brow at you, a laugh bubbling in his chest. 

“Well, yes and the weed, and teaching me how to smoke it and-”

“Ok, ok” He laughed. “No need to thank me so much.” 

“But I do.” You said with sincerity. “You helped me alot tonight.” 

“I can always do it again..” He trailed off with a slightly nervous tone in his voice. 

“Is this a drug dealer's way off asking me out after taking my weed and literal virginity in his car?” You joked, sending him a goofy grin. He shrugged in an attempt at being nonchalant despite his best efforts. 

“Is this the goody two shoes princess saying yes?” His tone was just as goofy and airy as the both of you felt. 

“It is.” You smiled at him. “Yes, a thousand times over.” 

“Eager are we?” Taehyun jokes. You laughed, hitting his chest lightly. “Shut up and fuck me again Taehyun.” 

“Don't have to ask me twice.” 

taglist. @st1llm0nster , @blossommi , @beomiracles, @kkamismom12 , @izzyy-stuff , @biteyoubiteme , @hyukascampfire , @thetxtdevil

[gothcsz]

December | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 6 of Unscripted Desire | ~16k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Your winter getaway with Javier.

Tags: alternating pov, javi is having an identity crisis, established relationship, fluff (i cringe), romance (still cringing), smut (no longer cringing), jealous!javi, oh no the triple frontier boys are here, oral (m&f), p in v sex, once again: javi is clipped, filming a sex tape, dirty porn talk, hot tub sex, pussy/dick pronouns, javi puts you in a headlock (i've been influenced by all the headlock fics also stream headlock by imogen heap), breath control play, squirting, clit stimulation, no use of y/n, reader has some vague physical descriptions (mid-sized, curvy, hair that can have fingers run through), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thx.

A/N: happy holidays ❄️ i wanted to do something fun for the season and to thank everyone who has supported this story so far! i love you guys 🩵 as always, thank you @persephone-girl for reading over bits of this and being my emotional support hehe

You’ve barely shut the door when a loud, frustrated “Fuck!” echoes through your apartment, followed by the unmistakable clatter of things hitting the floor. Your brows knit together as you toss your keys into the bowl by the entrance and hang your bag on the back of a kitchen chair.

The sight waiting for you confirms your suspicions: your very hot, very frustrated boyfriend is pacing in the middle of the room, his broad shoulders tight with tension. Scattered across the coffee table and floor around him are puzzle pieces.

“Javi,” you say, crossing your arms as you take in the scene. “What’s going on?”

He stops mid-stride, scowling down at the pieces as though they’ve personally insulted him. “The fucking puzzle is broken,” he gestures angrily toward the mess.

You blink at him, biting back a grin. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point. You have to put it back together.” Your voice lilts with playful teasing, hoping to lighten the mood he is in.

He shoots you a look that’s equal parts annoyed and sheepish. Stepping forward, you place yourself squarely in his path, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He’s got no choice but to halt his pacing, and after a moment, his arms drop heavily around you. You can feel the frustration draining out of him like air from a balloon.

“Estoy volviéndome loco, nena.” His chest rises and falls in a heavy exhale, hands instinctively finding their place on your lower back. 

You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. It’s hard not to get lost in his good looks—those dark, soulful eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls perfectly so, no matter how much he’s been raking his fingers through it.

He could be pissed at the entire world, and he’d still be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He told you he was done with porn, and he meant it. It didn’t happen all at once, he stuck to solo work until he lost the passion for it entirely before finally cutting ties with his agent and declaring himself “retired.”

The checks will keep coming, sure, but they aren’t a permanent safety net. That left your boyfriend at a crossroads, staring down the daunting question of what came next.

“Fuck, I don’t know. What else am I even good at?”

Now, Pornstar Javier Peña is just… Javi. Without the glitz and veneer of his former life, he’s a bit of a mess, honestly. A hot mess, sure, but a mess all the same.

He spends most of his days drifting between your apartment and his place, and more often than not, it’s your bed he ends up in. Sometimes he’s sprawled on the couch, lazily surfing through the channels, other times he’s fast asleep, limbs tangled in your sheets, his brow furrowed even while dreaming.

It’s like he’s waiting for the pieces of himself to fall into place but has no idea where to start.

You have, actually, tried helping him find new interests, with mixed results.

Cooking classes? A bust—too many rules and timers for someone who likes to work off instinct. Hiking? Not his thing, and you’d barely made it halfway up the trail before he declared he needed a cold beer and a hot shower. Pottery seemed promising for about five minutes before a poorly shaped bowl sent him muttering a string of Spanish curses under his breath and he quit then and there.

It’s not that he’s… bad at these things, necessarily, but none of them feel true to him.

“Baby, you’re not going to figure out who you are overnight. It takes time,” you murmur, tilting your head up to press a kiss to the tip of his chin, the roughness of his stubble brushing against your lips.

He grumbles. “I’m impatient.”

“I noticed,” you tease, a giggle slipping out as your hands sneak under his shirt. Your fingers trail along his ribs, stroking the warm, solid muscle there. The quiet hum of satisfaction you let out isn’t for his benefit—it’s for you. He feels so damn good under your touch, like he was built to be admired.

Javier shifts slightly, straightening up as if your hands have hit a reset button on his mood. “How was your day?”

You started a new job with the camera crew on an actual film set, and it’s a sweet gig, the opportunity kind of landing in your lap out of nowhere. Someone you knew from college reached out, and the pay was too good to pass up, even if the work itself wasn’t all that different from what you’ve done on porn sets.

Less dicks and tits, but the same technical work. When you’re not on set, you’re still clinging to the comfort of your shifts at Lucky’s. 

You shrug lightly, nuzzling into him. “Same as always. Nothing too exciting. But I’m glad I don’t have to work the bar tonight. Maybe I can help you with that puzzle.” You tease.

“Or…” His tone shifts so quickly it’s almost dizzying—warm and doting one second, low and sinful the next. His hands drift south, firmly gripping your ass and giving it a harsh squeeze

“Or?” you repeat, your arousal flaring.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

In no time, you find yourself naked and sprawled against the coffee table, the surface pressing into your back while scattered puzzle pieces stick to your damp skin. But none of that matters—not when Javier is between your legs, his broad shoulders holding you open like a prize only he gets to claim.

His mouth is buried in your pussy, wet and eager tongue moving with a purpose that has your thighs trembling. He laps at you expertly, each flick and thrust inside your cunt dragging whimpers out of you, your body singing under his touch.

Javier groans, the sound vibrating against your pussy. “You taste so,” kiss, “fucking,” lick, “good,” suck. Your back arches and you sob his name loudly, eyes fluttering close at how good he is at eating you out.

No matter how many times he does it, he somehow manages to surpass the time before. Men like Javier are a rare thing, and you’re annoyed at yourself for not succumbing to him earlier. You just had to prove a fucking point.

He pulls back just enough to lick and bite at your inner thigh, trying to control himself from devouring you whole, before diving back in. His hands keep you pinned to the edge of the table as you shake uncontrollably in his grasp.

Every obscene noise he makes is matched by the wet, filthy sounds of his tongue working you over and you feel the pressure winding tighter and tighter. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling as you gasp his name, and the pleased growl he gives in response sends you careening over.

He doesn’t stop, not until your body shudders and you’re left panting, your limbs heavy and boneless. When he finally lifts his head, mustache damp and lips glistening, he’s looking at you with that satisfied smirk you’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

“Fuck, I could stay down here for hours.” His voice tapers off into a groan and he doesn’t wait for a reply before pressing soft kisses along your drenched folds, letting his teeth scrape ever so lightly against your sensitive flesh. Then his tongue, broad and sinful, drags a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“You could… if you wanted to,” you pant, your voice barely above a whisper as your body gears up for even more pleasure. You pull him closer, grinding your hips against his face, feeling the delicious pressure of his nose pressing against your swollen nub.

Javier lets you take what you need, his large hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady while his tongue thrusts back inside, exploring every fluttering inch. His curved nose rubs against your clit with each motion, sending you into a fucking frenzy.

You’re shameless, unabashedly humping his face, chasing the high only he can give you. And he loves it—thrives on it—his tongue relentless as it maps out every curve and crevice of your pussy. The slick, creamy mess makes it easier for you to move, his grunts and your mewling cries swirling together.

“Javi, I want to come on your cock—oh fuck!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and his answer is a wicked nip of his teeth against your labia, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You will, nena,” he murmurs, his voice slurred with lust as he adjusts your legs, planting your feet at the edge of the table. He spreads you open obscenely, his dark eyes gleaming as he takes in the sight of your wet pussy laid bare for him. “But first, you’re gonna come all over my tongue again. Puta madre, you’re so fucking hot.”

His tongue flicks over your pearl rapidly and your back arches off the table as euphoria courses through you. You glance down, locking eyes with him, and the pruriency in his gaze sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Javier, oh shit!” You’re left helpless against the onslaught of his mouth, gushing all over his handsome face as he keens in satisfaction.

You collapse back against the table, your body spent and your mind still buzzing. Javier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning smugly down at you, his girthy cock hanging heavy between you, droplets of precum squirting from the slit and drizzling down the heated shaft.

Pros of dating a pornstar: He can fuck. Cons of dating a pornstar: He can fuck.

It’s like being in a constant state of delicious ruin, where your needs—both romantic and sexual—are met in ways you never thought possible.

But damn, this man knows how to wear you the fuck out.

Sometimes he gets a little too ambitious. Twisting, bending, and pulling you into positions that make you pause and remind him, between panting breaths, that you’re not as flexible as the women he’s been with before.

“Practice makes perfect, baby,” he always says with that infuriatingly charming grin, right before fucking you so thoroughly that you forget how to breathe.

This time is no different. Javier hovers over you with the kind of dominance that makes your pussy clench, his strong hands gripping your body like he owns it.

Somehow, he’s managed to maneuver you on the awkward height of the coffee table, one leg slung over his broad shoulder while keeping your opposite thigh spread wide.

Then, with a sharp thrust, his fat cock splits you open, stretching your pussy in a way that’s so brutally perfect.

The force of it knocks a loud yelp from your lips, your forearms press against the table for balance. You can’t look away from where your bodies meet, watching in filthy fascination as your sticky folds swallow him whole and spit him back out, his cock glistening with the rich evidence of how turned on you are.

“My fucking god,” he growls, words laden with desperation, “you feel better than you fucking taste.” He spits the words out, literally, a thick bead of saliva falling from his lips to land on your cunt.

Without missing a beat, his thumb moves to your clit, pressing down and swirling in tight circles.

The pressure makes your entire body tense, a strained cry of his name tearing from your throat.

Your tits bounce wildly with every rough thrust, and his dark eyes flicker between the hypnotic sway of your breasts and the lewd sight of your pussy stretched tight around his dick.

Your mouth hangs open, brows furrowed as helpless sounds spill out while his cock punches deep into that one spot that has colorful dots blotching your vision. Your toes curl as the overwhelming feeling builds, your body on the verge of complete surrender.

“Right there, baby—oh fuck me, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You sound wrecked, like you’ve been possessed by the pleasure he’s giving you. Your back falls flat against the table again, your hands reaching up to squeeze your tits, pulling at your nipples as you let him use your cunt however he wants. 

He deserves it.

Loose curls fall over his face, making him look so sexy while he fucks into you with everything he’s got. His tongue pokes out in concentration, his fingertips dimpling the plush skin of your thighs as he holds you steady. The poor coffee table groans beneath the brutal rhythm, creaking with every hard snap of his hips.

It doesn’t take much more—your body seizes up as you come hard, the orgasm crashing through you so violently that you’re certain you’re going to pass out. Your pussy clamps down around his shaft, milking him for everything he’s worth.

“Fuck, take it,” he groans, his pace faltering as he spills inside you, thick ropes of cum filling your pussy until you swear you can feel it gurgling in your throat. The vicious, overwhelming sensation makes you shudder, your body twitching as his weight settles against you, his cock still buried deep inside your quivering walls.

You feel pulverized, your body humming in content, but all you can think is: God, this man could fuck me to death, and I’d die happy.

Immediately, your calf seizes, the muscle knotting painfully as a piercing cry slices through your throat. Your body jerks involuntarily, hands pressing against Javier’s chest to push him off you.

“Shit, stop— cramp!” you gasp.

Javier freezes, his face instantly morphing from focused lust to deep concern. He pulls out of you carefully, hissing at the feeling, his touch tender as he lowers your trembling leg from his shoulder. “Where? Here?” He’s already massaging the rigid knot in your calf with his strong, calloused hands.

“Yeah—fuck, ow! Right there.” Another pang shoots through you, and you wince, clutching at the edge of the coffee table for stability. “I keep telling you I’m not fit for—ahh, ow!—your crazy-ass positions.”

He huffs a little laugh, though his hands never stop their steady kneading. “It wasn’t that crazy,” he mutters defensively, but one warning glare from you is enough to shut him up.

Once the cramp begins to ease, your body relaxes against the table with a long sigh. Javier’s touch softens, his thumbs now sweeping soothing circles over your calf. He leans down and presses a kiss to the tender muscle, murmuring, “Sorry, nena. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your heart swells at his care, and you can’t help but grin as he kisses his way up your body. His lips trace a slow, reverent path—your pelvis, the softness of your belly, the suppleness of each breast, the hollow of your throat. By the time his mouth meets yours, your annoyance is completely forgotten, replaced by a lazy, bubbling affection.

This is the first real kiss he’s given you since you got home, and it’s the kind that melts you from the inside out. You hum against his lips, your tongue tracing the curve of his mouth, savoring the way he tastes like sex and something inherently Javi.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both sit there for a moment, naked and tangled together, his cum still slick between your thighs and smearing against the surface of the table.

“I’ll try to be more considerate next time,” he says, almost teasingly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “You better, or I’ll start vetoing these gymnastic stunts of yours.”

He chuckles, his eyes dropping briefly to where his cum is trickling from you. A rueful grin spreads across his face as he reaches for the shirt he’d discarded earlier and uses it to clean the mess between your legs.

The simple domesticity of the act makes your chest ache in the best way.

As he finishes, you stretch your arms over your head, your muscles still warm and loose despite the cramp. “I need a shower, some real food... and maybe another round later.”

“Only maybe?” He raises an eyebrow, his dimpled, teasing smile returning.

You hum thoughtfully, your gaze tracing the defined line of his jaw as your finger follows. “If you think sex is gonna be a distraction from the mess in your head, think again.”

“It’s the best distraction,” he mutters. “Would rather make my girl feel good than deal with everything else.”

“And while I’m flattered, baby, it’s not the healthiest thing you can do.”

His expression falters, the cockiness slipping away like a mask being gently peeled back. “I’m fuckin’ terrible at this. Always have been,” he mutters, his hands roaming your body as if touching you might patch together all that’s unraveling inside him.

His palms are warm and firm, one cupping your breast in a gentle squeeze, the other sliding down to rest at your hip.

He kneads and caresses you, almost like you’re the one who needs the comfort instead of him. “I’ve spent so much time doing what I thought people wanted from me. Now I don’t even know what I want.”

“There’s no rush to figure it out, you know. No one’s expecting you to and I promise you’re not the only person that feels this way.”

“Feels like I’ve got nothin’ to show for myself, though. Just a pile of bullshit and a broken puzzle.”

You sit up, drawing his focus to you as your hands grip his toned biceps to steady yourself. “Hey.” Your voice is soft but insistent. “You’ve got more than you think. And I happen to like this version of you—even if he’s a grump.”

A faint smirk breaks through the inner struggle that clouds in his eyes. “Yeah? Even when I’m bein’ a lazy ass?”

“Even then,” you tease, grinning back at him.

His gaze lingers, drinking you in with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. You’re weightless, floating in the way only Javi can make you feel when he kisses you like this.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

“It’s always nice to be reminded.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, his teeth catching your lower lip in a gentle bite before he finally lets you go. He stands, offering you his hand to pull you to your feet.

As you wobbly get up, a few puzzle pieces that had clung to your skin fall to the floor, catching both your attention. Javi chuckles, a little more relaxed than before. “Should’ve cleaned those up before spreading you open like that.”

“I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”

He turns you gently so he can pluck off the remaining pieces, his hand lingering to deliver a playful slap to your ass which makes you giggle.

“You know,” you say after a beat, glancing at him, “this puzzle thing could be good for you. Builds patience.”

He arches a brow, skepticism written all over his face. “Once again, that isn’t exactly my strong suit, cariño.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Your grin is infectious as you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “But maybe that’s what you need right now. Something slow. Something that’s just for you. And something that isn’t…” You trail off, eyes darting to the box abandoned on the couch. “A hideous horse puzzle. God, Javi, what even is this? I’d be pissed trying to put it together too.”

A scoff escapes him, sharp and playful, his brown eyes narrowing as he straightens. “First of all, it’s vintage,” he says, the mock defense in his tone making you laugh.

“Vintage? That’s not an excuse.” You’re already stepping back when you see the shift in his stance, the way his hand twitches toward you. “Don’t even think about it.”

But it’s too late. His fingers dart out in an attempt to pinch your side, and you squeal, darting out of reach. The sound of your laughter fills the room, loud and unrestrained as you scramble to keep distance between the two of you. He’s, unsurprisingly, quicker, his footsteps closing behind as he chases you down the hallway.

Just as you reach the bathroom door, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his naked body. You’re both breathless, his warm breath fanning against your ear as he holds you close. “Gotcha.”

Your heart pounds, your laughter subsiding into soft, breathy chuckles as you twist to face him. The sparkle in his eyes is undeniable and you let him walk you backwards into the bathroom with the intention of piping you down again before finally letting you shower.

The late afternoon light filters through the half-closed blinds, casting warm, golden stripes across Javier’s bedroom. You’re sprawled on his bed, your legs stretched out, absently flipping through a magazine. 

The quiet creak of the bedroom door catches your attention, and your eyes lift to meet his.

He leans against the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His white t-shirt clings to his torso in a way that makes your thighs rub together, the fabric stretched taut over his solid build. There’s a small grin on his lips as he watches you.

“Hey,” he drawls, finally pushing off the door and crossing the room.

“Hi.”

Without hesitation, he climbs onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you. He crawls toward you, settling his head on your lap and nuzzling against your stomach. You can’t help but laugh softly, moving the magazine out of his way and onto the bedside table.

“You’re comfortable,” you tease, your fingers threading through his thick hair, twisting a few strands absently around your finger.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest. “Can’t help it. I’ve got the best pillow.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Can I help you?”

He opens one eye, peering up at you with a smirk. “I have a gift for you.”

Your brows lift, curious. “A gift?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mutters against your skin, peppering your jawline with lazy, affectionate kisses. The bristle of his mustache has goosebumps curling over your skin. “Tis the season.” He punctuates the sentiment with a playful nip at your neck, making you squeal softly before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he tugs gently at your hand and coaxes you off the bed.

You let him guide you into the kitchen, your bare feet padding against the cool floor. He pulls out a barstool, gesturing for you to sit as he reaches for something on the counter. With a small flourish, he places a travel magazine in front of you, flipping it open to a glossy spread.

Your eyes land on the page, and your breath catches. The images are of a stunning ski resort, nestled in snow-dusted mountains with cozy lodge interiors and breathtaking views of the slopes.

“You didn’t…” you whisper, your voice caught between disbelief and excitement.

His lips tug into a wolfish smile, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches the realization dawn on your face.

“You didn’t!” you exclaim, jumping up from the stool and throwing your arms around his neck.

Your momentum nearly topples him, but he steadies the both of you with a low chuckle.

You’d mentioned it what feels like ages ago—a casual, offhand story about that ill-fated trip to the mountains with your college friends.

Everything about it had gone wrong. The busted gear, the unexpected blizzard—but through all the chaos, you’d confessed how badly you still wanted to cross skiing off your bucket list.

And Javier remembered. Not just the story, but the way your eyes had lit up despite the unfortunate circumstances. Now here he is, ready to give you that second chance—the best do-over of all time, with him.

“I had to,” he murmurs by your ear. “Spending a week on a winter retreat with you seems a lot more fun than going home this year.”

You don’t press about his family, knowing it’s a tricky subject. Instead, you let the moment settle, your heart swelling with gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

“You’re the best,” you say between a flurry of kisses, peppering his face until his deep chuckle vibrates against your palms. His eyes crinkle at the corners, happiness radiating from him as he gazes down at you.

“The best for you,” he replies softly. “You deserve this, nena. Workin’ so hard all the time… I just wanted to give you somethin’ special.”

You shake your head, grinning so hard it hurts your cheeks. “Do you know how impossible it’s going to be to top this?”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t get my man a gift?” You’re already racking your brain for ideas. It has to be something meaningful—something that feels right for him, not just a wallet or some cologne.

He pulls you onto his lap when he sits on the barstool, going over the details. 

Everything’s covered, he explains—all you have to do is pack and show your pretty ass up. Your excitement bubbles over at the thought, visions of cozy lodge nights and snowy adventures filling your mind.

“Guess I need to go shopping,” you say, already making mental plans to call Connie for help picking out the perfect wardrobe.

Javi chuckles, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Just don’t forget to pack a swimsuit.”

“A swimsuit? For a ski trip?”

He grins, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hot tubs, nena. Trust me, I plan on having a lot of fun with you while we’re away.”

The resort feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. It’s only been a few days, and you’re already dreading your departure.

Javier really hadn’t held back, booking a private cabin with sweeping views of the snow-kissed mountain horizon.

A real Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room, next to the fireplace, its lights twinkling softly against the glassy expanse of the giant windows that line the walls.

Despite the openness, the space feels warm and intimate, like it was made just for the two of you.

And then there’s the hot tub. Nestled in the patio area overlooking the gorgeous scenery, it practically beckons you to defile it, steam curling up against the chilled glass. 

You’ve been biding your time, waiting for the right moment to unveil the gift you have for him. It’s actually kind of genius and the perfect way to help pull him out of his post-porn funk. 

For now, though, you’re content to let the days unfold naturally, filled with skiing lessons, childish snowball fights outside your cabin, and lots of great sex.

The lift sways gently as it carries you and Javier up the mountain, the cool air biting at your cheeks, though you barely notice.

Your attention drifts to him, as it often does—his profile sharp and striking against the backdrop of the rising sun. The golden light casts a glow over the snowy peaks, painting the scene in colors too beautiful to let slip away.

You shift closer to him, the insulated fabric of your jacket brushing against his as you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder. His arm instinctively drapes across your lap, steadying you, his gloved hand giving your thigh a light squeeze.

“Take a picture with me,” your voice is eager, breaking the quiet hum of the lift.

Javier turns his head, a brow quirked beneath the edge of his snow goggles. “Now? On this thing?”

“Yes, now.” You’re already moving to pull the small camera out of your pocket. “The view is perfect, and I want to remember this.”

He chuckles, leaning back slightly to give you space to situate the camera. “Alright, but if you drop it, don’t start bitching at me.”

You roll your eyes, holding the camera up and adjusting the angle to capture the two of you against the sprawling mountains bathed in warm hues, making the snow sparkle. 

You make sure to move both of your goggles so they’re resting atop of your head, your faces on full display.

Javier tilts his head closer to yours, his hand slipping to your waist to pull you snug against him.

“Smile,” you say, though you know it’s unnecessary—he’s already grinning, that playful smirk you’ve come to adore on his pouty pink lips.

The camera clicks as you take a few photos. Smiling, him kissing your cheek, and you quickly check the screen once you’re finished, heart warming at the sight of the two of you.

“See? Perfect.” You declare, showing him the pictures.

He glances at them, mirroring the same doting expression you’d just made. “You make ‘em look perfect, nenita.”

As the lift continues to ascend, you find yourself watching him more than the scenery. 

It’s hard not to marvel at the layers to this man who had once driven you up the wall. You think back to when you first met him—how easily you’d pegged him as cocky and self-centered, someone who wore his charm like a defense mechanism.

It feels surreal now, knowing how wrong you were. Javier wasn’t just the confident pornstar that could command a room with just a look or a smile. He was thoughtful, protective, and deeply giving in ways that made your heart stutter. You can’t fathom how someone like his ex would ever think about cheating on him.

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’ve gone quiet until he glances down at you, brows knitting slightly.

“What’s on your mind, cariño?”

“You really surprise me, you know that?”

His expression shifts, the teasing edge softening into something more earnest. “Surprise you how?”

“I thought I had you all figured out when we first met.”

His mustache twitches as he bites back a knowing grin. “In your defense, I didn’t let you see more than that.” 

“Yeah, I know...” You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “But I couldn’t have been more wrong. You’re… so much more than I gave you credit for.”

He’s quiet for a second, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Guess I should thank you for giving me a chance to prove you wrong.”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, nose scrunching as the hairs of his mustache tickle you. “You’ve done more than just prove me wrong, Javi.”

The lift jerks slightly as it approaches the landing, but neither of you move right away. The world feels quieter here, suspended between earth and sky, just the two of you and the golden light.

“You’re going to make me fall for you talkin’ like that.”

You feel warmth spreading in your chest at his words, wondering if it’s too soon to start catching feelings like this.

You smile against his mouth, not saying anything yet not needing to, before pulling back to move your face covering up and adjust your goggles back over your eyes in preparation to go down the snowy hill.

Your shoulders ache slightly from today’s falls, but it’s the kind of soreness that feels good—earned, but nevertheless annoying. Like now, as you pick yourself up from yet another fall, calling it quits.

“You held out a lot longer than I expected.” Javier teases, his voice muffled by his face covering but still carrying that low, raspy timbre that makes your stomach flutter.

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re glad he can’t see the smile tugging at your lips.

You take him in—bundled up in his blue snow suit, goggles perched perfectly in place, his broad shoulders and confident stance somehow still exuding that effortless magnetism he carries everywhere.

Even out here, in the freezing cold, with his face obscured, he manages to look unfairly sexy.

Something about him always pulls you in. Maybe it’s the way his energy feels like gravity, anchoring you to every little thing he does. Or maybe it’s how even the simplest acts—like standing on a snowy hillside—become more vivid, more fun, more everything with him.

Your boots crunch through the snow, the skis clumsy but manageable. He’s watching you, his stance casual, hands resting on his poles as if he’s been doing this his whole life.

He had picked up on this activity much quicker than you. The instructor even called him a natural—but you’re certain she was only saying that because she was attracted to him… which, honestly, fair.

“This is your thing,” he says as you approach. “You’re the one who wanted to cross this off your little list. I’m just here for moral support... and to check you out in that suit.”

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling again as you try to grab the poles you’d dropped when you fell over. “You can barely see anything in this suit,” you shoot back, gesturing to the thick layers of waterproof fabric that make you feel more like a marshmallow than a person.

“Baby,” he drawls, stepping closer, “I could make out those tits and that ass under anything.”

You shake your head, warmth blooming across your cheeks. “You’re such a fucking flirt,” you say, though your voice softens as his gloved hand reaches out to pull you to him.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs, leaning just close enough that you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes through the reflective goggles.

“Here I am.”

You’re back at the general area where you’d first gotten your ski gear, adjusting your snow boots while Javier deals with returning your equipment. 

The air is warm inside the lodge, a stark contrast to the crisp chill outside, and the hum of other skiers and snowboarders unwinding after their runs fills the space.

You’re so focused on fastening a particularly stubborn buckle that the sound of your name catches you off guard.

Your head snaps up, brows furrowing, and there he is. Frankie.

He’s making his way toward you, his strides familiar, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and that lazy, warm smile plastered on his face like it hasn’t been forever since you last saw him.

Your surprise must show because his grin widens slightly as he stops in front of the bench you’re sitting on.

“Frankie, wow, hey.” Your voice is polite, if a little flat.

He wastes no time, dropping down onto the bench beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sudden weight makes it creak, and though you subtly shift a little away, he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Small world.” He’s looking at you with an easy kind of interest, eyes warm and familiar. You have a type. “Didn’t know you were into skiing, hermosa. How have you been?”

Your stomach does a little flip at the damn nickname but you keep your expression neutral, returning your focus to lacing your second boot. “Great, actually. I’m trying it for the first time. Been taking lessons since we got here.”

His brow lifts, amused. “And how’s that going for you?”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you tug off your gloves. “I’ve wiped out more times than I’d care to admit.”

He chuckles, stripping off his own gloves, clearly in no rush.

“So what brings you here?” The question feels innocent enough.

“Trip with the guys,” he answers, nodding his head in the direction of a group near a counter. You glance over and sure enough, you see the familiar faces from his circle, all caught up in their own conversation.

“Sounds fun,” you offer, “How’s Elliana? Not too happy her daddy’s missing Christmas, I’m sure.” You smile teasingly, meaning no harm, but the flicker of something on his face makes you pause. His jaw tenses ever so slightly, and the way he drops his gaze feels telling.

“She’s great. Actually, on a trip of her own with her mom and her... uh, new boyfriend.”

You catch the faint cringe he tries to hide as the explanation comes tumbling out. Your chest tightens in an uncomfortable way, not out of sympathy for him, exactly, but more at the reminder of why you two had split up to begin with.

Looks like his effort to “work things out” hadn’t exactly panned out.

“Good for her,” you reply softly, though the exchange feels a little awkward now, like neither of you knows quite where to steer the conversation.

Frankie opens his mouth to say something else, maybe an apology for oversharing or another attempt at small talk, but before he can, you catch a glimpse of Javier weaving through the crowd.

Your heart lifts instantly, as if the room somehow brightens at the sight of him. His tall frame stands out, eyes scanning the lodge, clearly searching for you.

You don’t give Frankie the chance to drag things out any further.

You quickly gather your things, standing as casually as you can. “I have to get going,” you announce, shouldering your bag. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Frankie.”

He hesitates before he gives you a small nod. “For sure. You too, hermosa. See you around.”

You give him a brief wave before turning and making your way to Javier, your boots thudding lightly against the floor.

His face lights up when he spots you, his gloved hand resting gently on your lower back once he pulls you to him.

“You all set?” he asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The simple affection melts away whatever oddness you felt lingering from your run-in with Frankie.

“Yeah,” you reply, glancing up at him. He looks so effortlessly attractive, his cheeks pink from the cold and brown hair tousled from being under his hat. “I’m ready to get all cozy by the fire.” You purr the words a little, blinking up at him, and it works like a charm.

That sweet smile of his shifts into something sultry, and you don’t miss the way his fingers curl slightly against your back.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” His voice slipping into that seductive, honeyed tone that makes you wish you could fuck a voice. “Lead the way, nena.”

The cocktail table feels like your personal island amidst the ebb and flow of the crowd, the muted hum of holiday music weaving through the air. Warmth blooms across your cheeks from the drinks you’ve nursed through the night, and the haze only amplifies the rich sound of Javier’s laughter.

His hand rests on your lower back, fingertips brushing over the smooth, exposed skin where your dress dips low. The heat of his touch sears into you, enticing enough to have you arching into him.

You giggle as he leans in closer, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers something puckishly suggestive. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not makin’ it back to the cabin without me pulling this dress off you.”

Your thighs press together instinctively and you bite down on your lip, tilting your head to look up at him, your eyes swimming with the shared heat between you. “Don’t tempt me into letting you do it,” your words are a bit slurred from the alcohol, saturated with desire.

“Oh, I’m not looking to tempt you,” he murmurs, his hand sliding an inch lower. “I’m promising you.”

Your stomach flips, and the idea of staying out any longer feels suddenly impossible, the phantom touch of his hands and lips on you eclipsing all reason.

If there wasn’t an audience, you know you’d already be on your knees with four inches in your mouth, trying to fit the other four like the needy little thing he reduces you to when he gets you all horny.

“Sit tight, nena,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your lips. “Gotta hit the restroom. When I’m back, we’ll settle up and get out of here.”

You nod, though your brain barely processes the words as your eyes follow him weaving through the throng of people, his presence polarizing even in his absence. 

As you sip the last of your drink, your gaze shifts to the large windows lining the restaurant. 

Even at night, the resort resembles something out of a postcard. The twinkling holiday lights outside illuminating the snow in festive tones. You let yourself sink into the magic of it all, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your glass, a serene moment settling over you—until it’s promptly shattered.

“Look who it is,” a voice cuts through the ambient noise, pulling your attention.

Your head turns, and there’s Frankie, his easy grin and brown eyes locked on you. He’s not alone, three more figures flank him—Santi, Benny, and Will, each wearing varying degrees of amusement on their faces. The sight of them, clearly under the influence and rowdy, throws you a little.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Frankie quips, his voice carrying that raspy drawl you once found charming.

Your eyes narrow, your posture stiffening. “You keep finding me, wouldn’t necessarily call that meeting,” you acknowledge curtly, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“Once he told us you were here, we couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello,” Benny adds, his grin wolfish as he scans you from head to toe, and you can practically feel his gaze lingering on the dip of your dress. “We miss having you around.”

You know these men. You spent enough time with them while dating Frankie to be able to place them all.

Santi, the smooth-talking charmer who always seems a little too pleased with himself. Benny, the loud, lovable wildcard who you’re sure has never taken anything seriously in his life. And Will, the quiet one with a piercing gaze that could unnerve anyone who wasn’t used to it.

They’re a reminder of why you usually avoid military men. Sure, they’re hot as hell, their confidence and strength undeniably attractive. But beneath that lies a mess of issues—trauma, control, and a certain recklessness that always seems to spill over into their romantic lives.

Frankie had been no different, but he’d wormed his way past your better judgment with that soft charm and rough-around-the-edges allure. And it didn’t hurt that he was real fucking good at eating pussy.

Not as good as Javier, though.

You take a step back, your hand reflexively resting on the edge of the table as though to steady yourself. Their presence feels suffocating, a sharp contrast to the cozy, all consuming warmth you’d just shared with Javi.

“That’s nice of you, but my boyfriend should be back any minute now...”

There’s a beat of silence as your words hang in the air, they exchange looks and you watch Frankie’s expression flicker—something almost smug crossing his features before it’s masked by a crooked smile. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Benny lets out a low whistle, leaning his forearms against the table top. “Didn’t think anyone could tame Fish’s girl.”

“Tame?” You shoot him a glare. “I’m not a fucking animal and certainly not his girl. Not for a while now. So you can all fuck off.”

They laugh at you and that only fires you up even more. Frankie slaps his hand on Benny’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Ease up man, she doesn’t take any shit.”

Benny cocks his head, his eyes gleaming with drunken amusement. “Which I think is hot. Definitely wouldn’t have fumbled you like this asshole did. And you do porn?” Another low whistle and you swear your eye twitches.

Before you can respond, Santi jumps in, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “No, no,” he says, shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Camera woman. Not actually a pornstar. Though,” he adds, now his turn to fuck you with his eyes, “I think you’d be a lot better in front of the camera, hermosa.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. You can’t stay in this conversation any longer. 

Santi raises his hands in false defense, his grin never faltering. Meanwhile, Will leans over to whisper something into his brother’s ear, and you catch the shift in Benny’s expression as he gives you a once-over, his gaze laced with something that makes your skin crawl.

You grip the glass in your hand tighter, seriously contemplating how much damage it could do.

“Things serious with your new man?” Frankie replaces Will across from you and you roll your eyes.

The audacity. “Yes,” you say through gritted teeth. “Very.” You lean forward slightly, your voice dropping into a cutting tone. “If I were you, I’d leave before he gets back… or before I shove the stem of this glass down your throat.”

Their laughter rises again, whistling and being overly obnoxious about your reply, but you ignore it, your focus razor-sharp on your ex.

“We had our time together, Frankie, and you decided to cut it short by going back to the mother of your child. Whatever, fine, shit happens, but now you’re acting like a real jerk. All of you are and I have no interest in continuing whatever the fuck this is, so, leave.”

You can tell your words hit their mark. Frankie has always respected your no-nonsense attitude, but being on the receiving end clearly doesn’t sit well with him. 

Just as you turn to remove yourself from this stifling mess altogether, Javier reappears.

Javier doesn’t expect to come back and find four men crowding you, their broad shoulders and cocky stances cutting into your space like they own it. The sight stops him cold, but only for a second. Then his back straightens, his jaw locking tight as something territorial flares in his chest.

One of them catches his eye immediately—the scruffy, stray-dog-looking motherfucker he’d recognize anywhere.

That damn Malibu shoot, the tipping point for all the change that came after. The memory of Frankie all over you, the obnoxious flirting, how you had played into it.

Then you left Robbie’s crew and he made his move, securing you as his girlfriend, getting exactly what he wanted.

Javier had no right to feel possessive when it happened, even though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to do something about it. Sure, you shared moments that left him restless and aching for more, but it wasn’t enough to stake a claim, no matter how badly he wanted to, and you were so adamant about not wanting anything to do with him.

So, he’d done the only thing he could—told himself to get over it and buried the jealousy under layers of maintained indifference.

But now? Now you’re his girl. The first real, healthy relationship he’s had since Lorraine, and there’s no way in hell he’s holding back about anything when it comes to you. Especially not when Frankie and his action-movie crew are standing there, eyeing you like you’re some trophy to win.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice cuts through the noise of their conversation, sharp and unyielding as he closes the distance.

He’s met with four pairs of eyes—two amused, one indifferent, and Frankie’s, which narrow slightly in recognition. Javier keeps his focus steady, his gaze hard as he takes them in.

His confidence has grown over the years, forged by his experiences and the praise from the industry. Yet, there’s still that lingering thread of insecurity that twists in his gut as he watches Frankie make his indifference clear.

“We were just catching up. Saying hello,” Frankie answers almost too casually, but his eyes gleam with something else—a challenge.

Javier doesn’t flinch. Instead, he steps closer to you, his hand finding your waist. “Looks like you’ve said it. Time to move on.”

Beside Frankie, one of the men grins as if he’s enjoying the show. “Easy, man,” he says, his tone teasing. “We’re just being friendly.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, a muscle in his cheek jumping as his grip on you tightens slightly. “Friendly looks more like crowding someone who doesn’t want to talk to you.”

While you’ve never gone into detail about what you had with Frankie, the updates Javier had gotten from Steve are enough to stir doubts. Words like satisfied are currently resurfacing to make him question things he knows aren’t true.

These men are something he isn’t. And even though you’re together now, there’s a small, irrational part of him that wonders if one day you’ll realize he isn’t what you want.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he does, with everything he’s got. But being cheated on leaves wounds that never fully close, scars that ache at the worst times. And seeing Frankie standing there, beaming like he still has a chance, stirs something primal in Javier.

“No need to get territorial, Peña. We were just having a little fun. Besides…” He trails off, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Javier. “She can handle herself.”

Javier’s blood boils, his free hand twitching at his side. It would take so little—a single punch to wipe that smug look off his face. But then your hand is on his chest, soft and grounding.

“It’s fine. I was just telling them to leave.” 

Frankie’s gaze lingers on you in a look he recognizes all too well because he looks at you in the same goddamn way, and that has his vision tunneling.

“No harm done,” He steps back with exaggerated nonchalance. But then he throws one last barb over at you. “We’ll catch up some other time, hermosa.”

Javier doesn’t think, words slipping out before he can stop them. “No, the fuck you won’t. In fact, if I see any of you bother her again, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

For a moment it looks like things might escalate. But one of the other men—blonde, with a calmer air about him—steps in.

“Alright, boys,” he says, reaching out to pull his friend back. “Let’s not make a scene.”

Frankie hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he relents with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever.”

Javier watches them retreat, his heart still pounding, until they’re out of sight. Only then does he let his shoulders drop slightly.

“Hey,” you say gently, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “You okay?”

“I didn’t like that one fucking bit,” he mutters, his voice rough.

Your smile is gentle, reassuring, and you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek which melts him immediately. “They don’t matter,” you whisper, your lips brushing his skin. “You’re the only one I care about.”

The words ease the last of the tension, and Javier lets out a breath, pulling you close. “Damn right,” his tone softens as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Let’s get out of here,” you suggest, a small mischievous smile on your face, “Your gift is waiting for you back at the cabin.”

It’s as if the entire confrontation is forgotten at your words and he becomes intrigued immediately. “Oh yeah? Then what the fuck are we doin’ still standing here. Let’s go.”

“Are your eyes closed?”

Javier leans against the armrest of the couch, his lips curving into a small smile as your voice carries from the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting slightly, his eyes obediently shut.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“No.” He chuckles, the deep, easy sound rumbling from his chest.

There’s the faint shuffle of movement, and then he feels you—the subtle electricity that always seems to spark when you’re near.

His hands are cupped in front of him as instructed, his curiosity piqued. He has no idea what you’ve planned, no inkling of what’s coming.

Honestly, he can’t believe you actually got him anything. The trip itself has been more than enough—a week of unfiltered joy, amazing sex, and waking up to you in his arms. If that isn’t a gift in itself, then what is?

Then you’re standing in front of him, placing something in his hands. He feels the cool weight of it, the texture of smooth plastic beneath his fingertips.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Javier’s eyes flutter open, immediately drawn to the object cradled in his palms. It’s a handheld camcorder, a glossy red ribbon tied around it like the finishing touch on a present. His brows knit together in brief confusion, but before he can ask, you fill in the blanks.

“I want us to make a tape together, Javi.”

Your words hit him like a freight train. No, they hit his cock like a freight train, and the damn thing stirs to life before his brain even fully registers the meaning.

“You naughty little thing,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always gets a rise out of you.

You bite your lip, a playful giggle escaping. “I figured it’d be something fun for us,” you say, stepping closer until he can smell the faint traces of your perfume. “Plus… I really like how you fuck on camera. Not that it’s any different from what we do, but…”

You trail off with a small, breathy moan that makes Javier’s restraint snap. He sets the camera carefully on the couch before pulling you closer, his hands gripping the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric in his fists as he pulls you between his knees.

“But…?” he prompts, his lips finding the curve of your neck. He kisses, nips, and licks, each touch of his mouth drawing little gasps from you. You taste divine, every inch of you always does.

“But it’s different,” you breathe, your fingers digging into his biceps as his teeth graze your skin. “I want to experience what all those other stars do when shooting a scene with you.”

His lips crash against yours, the kiss heated and possessive. He can taste the remnants of the cocktails you had at dinner, but more than that, he tastes you.

The memory of those old sets pales in comparison to the thought of filming with you.

“I’m all yours, nena,” he growls against your lips, his hands slipping lower to slap your ass then gripping onto the flesh. “This is a brilliant fucking idea. I’ve been telling you how hot you’d look on camera. How do you want to do this?”

Your smile is roguish, your confidence intoxicating. “I want us to take turns filming... directing… Wanna get some good shots of me sucking your cock.”

Your hand trails down his arm, skimming over the muscles there, then lower to pinch his hip before you palm his erection through his pants, his hips jerking involuntarily as he grunts.

“And I definitely need footage of that tongue of yours working my pussy,” you add, your tone sultry. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go. I want to start in the hot tub.”

Javier swears under his breath, his head tilting back slightly as your touch sends a fresh wave of desire through him. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice thick with need.

You smile, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away, leaving him half-dazed and completely aroused. “Get changed and take the camera outside. I’ll join you once I put on my costume.”

“Costume?” His brows arch in curiosity as his eyes track your retreating form.

“Costume might be pushing it. It’s something to set the tone for the amateur vibe I want this to have. Even if we know what we’re doing.”

“Whatever you want,” he’s so desperate to take you, “I’m going to tear you the fuck up.”

You blow him a kiss, your giddiness as palpable as his. 

Javier watches you disappear into the bedroom, letting out a long breath as he stands and moves to his bag which you had purposefully, he realizes, brought out before leaving for dinner.

He pulls out his swim trunks, quickly changing and grabbing the camera again. He can’t help the simper pulling at his lips as he removes the ribbon and flits through the settings, familiarizing himself with it.

Javier slides open the patio door, the soft scrape of the glass breaking the stillness of the night. A cool breeze rushes in, sharp against his skin, but it’s a refreshing contrast to the heat coursing through his veins.

The glow of the string lights overhead reflects off the rippling water of the hot tub. They frame the scene perfectly, tiny stars encircling what already feels like a secluded slice of paradise.

He steps out onto the wooden deck, the chill biting at his bare chest and legs. A small shiver runs through him, but it’s chased away the moment he dips into the steaming water. The heat rises to meet him, coiling around him like an inviting embrace.

Javier lowers himself deeper into the tub, the warmth spreading instantly, soothing muscles. The jets hum to life with the press of a button, sending gentle ripples across the surface. Another tap, and the colorful lights beneath the water bloom, shifting from deep blue to vivid green, then a lurid red.

He leans back against the edge, one arm stretched casually along the rim, the other cradling the camcorder.

The setting is perfect—intimate, cozy, and alive with the kind of cinematic allure that’s been a part of his life for so long. Only this time, it’s personal. This time, it’s with you.

“Alright, I’m coming out,” your voice calls from inside, and Javier’s pulse spikes as if his body already knows it’s about to be wrecked. 

He shifts in the water, the tent in his briefs straining beneath the surface. His fingers move automatically, adjusting his grip on the camcorder, raising it to eye level, his thumb brushing over the small record button.

“Ready whenever you are,” he says, his voice a little lower, raspier.  

Through the steamy glass, he tracks your shadowy movements, catching fleeting glimpses of red that tease him to the point of madness.

The condensation and reflections blur the details, but it only adds to the attraction. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs, a primal drumbeat that matches the ache in his cock.  

And then you step out, framed by the sliding door like a vision he couldn’t conjure even in his wildest fantasies.  

“Fuck me.”

The red bikini bottoms sit high on your hips, the delicate ties framing your curves like artwork. That vivid, sinful shade of red makes your skin seem to glow, the contrast leaving him weak.

In one hand is a bottle of champagne, the other holding two flutes, and his tongue pokes against his cheek at how festive you’re being.

He zooms in with the camera, starting at your legs then capturing every dip and swell of your thighs, the plushness he knows so well.

The lens follows up, slowly drinking in the soft curve of your stomach, lingering over the way your tits press against the satin ribbon wrapped around them like a present he’s dying to open. The bow tied between your cleavage looks precarious, like it might unravel at the slightest tug.

The silky fabric is no match for the chill in the air, your hardened nipples poking through in a way that makes his tongue twitch in his mouth at the thought of flitting it over the stiffened peaks. 

But then his gaze—and the lens—finds your face, and it’s game over. Your lips are parted, plump and glistening as you lick them, the slight haze in your eyes a telltale sign of the alcohol still swimming in your veins. Your lashes frame your eyes perfectly, their sparkle teasing him as if daring him to lose control.  

His mind is already racing ahead, imagining the way those lips will part as you take his cock into his mouth, the way your head will tilt back when he suckles at your clit, or how your eyes will roll into your skull when he’s buried deep inside your tight cunt.

“You look so fucking good. Shit,” he breathes, his voice shaky. The camcorder threatens to tremble in his hand as he refocuses on you, watching you strike playful poses against the doorframe, snowflakes getting caught in your hair.

Each one is more tantalizing than the last, and when you bend over to show him your sweet ass, he zooms in on how the red fabric outlines your pussy.

“Thank you,” you purr, your voice smooth and syrupy as you turn and saunter toward the tub, setting the drink and glasses aside. You exaggerate the sway of your hips, fully aware of the effect you have on him, and it’s almost too much.

He’s never had a woman make him feel this way.

Javier keeps the camera trained on you, his years of expertise blending seamlessly with his overwhelming desire to immortalize this moment.

The way the light dances off your skin, the ripple against your flesh as you move sensually, your smile—it’s all so perfectly you.

For a moment, he forgets the camera is even there. Every inch of you seems made for him, like a custom design he never dreamed he’d be lucky enough to have.

When you finally join him, stepping into the steaming water, his restraint frays to a thread. He’s gripping the camcorder like it’s the only thing keeping him from lunging at you.

“You’re teasing me, baby,” he rasps as he films you lowering yourself into the tub.  

“I know,” you reply with a flirty smile. “But don’t you love it?”  

“Too much,” he shifts his legs to relieve some of the pressure at his crotch, though it’s futile. He’s already undone, and the night’s only just begun. 

“Keep posing, like you did by the door,” Javier instructs while his dark eyes remain fixed on you, not the viewfinder. Capturing this for later is one thing, but experiencing it now is something he wants seared into his memory for the rest of his life.

“Flirt with the camera using those beautiful eyes, nena.”

You bite your lip, your lashes lowering as you tilt your head, blinking slowly at the lens. You know exactly what to do, and he guesses this comes from watching the other stars do it on set.

The result is undeniably erotic. Knowing that you’ve never done it before like this, yet exude such natural talent, makes the moment infinitely hotter.

The water kisses your skin, glistening under the string lights and making every curve gleam like a jewel. You shift your weight, cocking your hip, arching your back—it’s fluid, seductive. Droplets of water run over your tits and how badly does he want to reach out and lick at them.

He will, he just wants to get enough footage of just you being so damn sexy.

You move with languid grace, tilting your head just so, and then giggling as you reach for the champagne. The sound is rousing, making his cock twitch.

You curl your finger, beckoning him closer, and he obeys without hesitation, the camera steady in his hands as he floats toward you. 

You pour the golden liquid into your glass, bringing it to your lips with a playful flick of your tongue along the rim, a teasing preview of what’s to come.

When you tilt your head back, letting the bubbly glide past your lips, your throat moves with every swallow and he makes sure to let the shot linger there, fixated.

“Mmm,” the sound is a decadent hum that has his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Tastes so good.”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he growls, his large hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushes over your cheek, warm and damp under his touch, before sinking his fingers into the soft skin. “Look at how gorgeous my girl is.”

He angles your face toward the camera, showing you off like a precious work of art. You go pliant under his touch, your eyes locking on the lens as you bring the glass to your lips again, deliberately spilling the champagne, letting it cascade over your jaw and his waiting fingers, trickling down his wrist in a sticky, sparkling trail.

“Oops,” you say, your tone dripping with false innocence. Lowering your head, your tongue darts out, tracing the line of champagne from his pulse point up to his fingers.

You take the tip of his finger into your mouth, sucking lightly, swirling your tongue around the pad before releasing it with a wet, lingering kiss.

“Dios mío,” Javier groans, his hips shifting as his swollen cock brushes against your thigh. The soft gasp that escapes you only feeds his need. “Pretty and dirty. A real fuckin’ star.”

His hand trails lower, abandoning your face to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the damp fabric before tugging at it, unraveling it completely. 

The cool air kisses your skin just before his touch follows, warm and possessive. He doesn’t ask—Javier never does when it comes to adoring you; he just takes, knowing how much you love it.

Especially when he plays with your tits.

You shake them playfully, the soft, bouncing motion making him snarl, the sound rumbling low in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hand kneading your flesh, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he pinches it just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips.

His eyes flicker to the viewfinder, ensuring the camera catches every detail as he lavishes attention on you, pinching and rolling your puckered tips between his fingers until you’re squirming against him.

“Give me the camera,” you breathe through soft whimpers, reaching for it. He hands it over without a second thought, his hands lingering on yours as he relinquishes the device. 

The power shifts, and you waste no time, pointing the lens at him. “Suck on my tits, Javi,” you coo, each word laced with seduction, and his reaction is immediate.

He pulls you against him, your bodies slick with the heat and bubbles of the water, his hard cock pressing insistently between your thighs. His mouth finds your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you whine.

Your free hand tangles in his damp hair, guiding his head and angling his face for the camera as he lavishes attention on you. The viewfinder captures everything: the way his lips move, how his tongue circles your areola, the glistening trail of water droplets and his spit on your skin.

His mouth moves to your other breast to do the same, sucking harder this time.

“So good, baby,” your voice trembles with pleasure. “You’re so good to me.”

He chuckles low against your chest, relishing in your praise and how he’s able to make you react.

His large hands slide up, cupping your breasts as he pushes them together, burying his face between them and motorboating you. The deep, playful groan he lets out makes you laugh breathlessly behind the camera.

“Pass me the champagne,” Javi murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You loosen your hold on his hair, reaching for the bottle. The moment it’s in his hands, he tilts it back for a quick swig, the liquid catching the light as it drips from the corner of his mouth.

He pours a generous stream over your chest, the cool champagne trickling down the valley of your breasts. His tongue is quick to chase it, licking and sucking every drop, his movements rougher now, hungrier.

You adjust the camera, your arm stretched out to capture the way his mouth trails up to your neck, nipping and kissing as if he can’t get enough.

The wet, desperate sounds of your kisses fill the air, drowning out the gentle hum of the hot tub jets.

It’s messy, all tongue and teeth, as if he’s trying to consume you entirely.

Javier takes the camera back without breaking the kiss, adjusting the angle to film the way your lips move against his. His free hand grips your waist, guiding the both of you backward until his body presses against the tub’s edge. 

Snowflakes drift in on the breeze, clinging to your hair and his, melting instantly against your heated skin.

“You gonna be a good girl and show the camera how much you love my cock? How good you are at taking him down your throat?” he asks, his voice thick with lust, his lips brushing against your ear.

He zooms in on how your mouth parts in an eager smile.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding with unrestrained excitement.

Javier lifts himself onto the tub’s edge, the chill in the air biting at his skin, but he doesn't care, not with the way his excitement overrides any of his discomfort. His legs remain submerged, spreading wide to give you space.

You move between them, the warm water lapping at your waist as your hands trail up his legs, your fingers kneading the firm muscle.

“I’ll make it extra good for you today, baby,” you promise, and he knows you mean every word.

He lifts his hips up to help you pull down his trunks, his erection bobbing free from its constraints. Javier hisses as the cool air hits him, but it’s quickly soothed when you wrap your fingers around his shaft and he groans, your softer touch feeling like fucking heaven.

You stroke him a few times, and the visual of you jerking his cock while the bubbles from the jets flutter around your bod has him tightening his grip on the camera.

“You’re everything,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, snow falling lightly around you.

But he means it. Every damn word. And as he watches you, he knows—he wouldn’t change a single thing about what got you here.

Not the fights, not the doubts, not the messy way you two stumbled into this, because every moment led to this one.

And this? This is fucking perfect.

You hum, looking up at him through your lashes, giving the camera a flirty wink before your tongue darts out to kitten lick at his weeping tip, his skin flushed a devious red.

You start slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of his spongy head, swirling around it and tasting the saltiness of the precum that beads at the slit. He sucks in a sharp breath, his free hand tangling in your hair to guide you closer.

“So fucking perfect.”

Your eyes twinkle at the praise, taking him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth. The camera captures every second—his cock disappearing into your mouth, the way your cheeks hollow as you suck, the slick sounds of your efforts filling the air.

Javier’s hips jerk, unable to hold still as you bob your head, your tongue working him over. Drool slips from the corners of your lips, mixing with the water from the tub as you take him as deep as you can, gagging, the messy display making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice breaking. “You’re so goddamn good at this.”

You moan around him, the vibration making his grip in your hair tighten. You pull back to catch your breath, your hand stroking him while your tongue laves attention along the underside of his shaft, tracing every pulsating vein.

“Messy little thing,” he murmurs, the camera focusing on the spit shining his cock, dripping from your chin as you smile wickedly up at him.

“I like it messy,” you reply, your voice a foxy, hoarse purr before you take him back into your mouth, sucking harder, faster, the wet, obscene sounds driving him closer to finishing.

The camera feels heavier in his hand as he adjusts the focus, trying to capture every detail of this moment, but his heart beats faster when he realizes the truth: no recording, no photo, nothing tangible could ever truly do justice to what he feels right now. It’s more than physical. It’s more than lust.

It’s her. She’s it. She’s everything.

As if reading his mind, your gaze flicks up to meet his, and you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth.

He exhales a shaky breath, barely holding on to his composure when you release him with an audible pop and trail your tongue down his length. The hand pumping him doesn’t slow, but your mouth finds his inner thigh then his balls, licking and biting just enough to make his leg tense under you.

“Where do you want to come, Javi?” Your voice is a soft, breathy rasp, and his whole body reacts to the sound of it. Your hand moves faster, and he’s unable to form an answer before you stop abruptly, making him curse under his breath.

“In my hand?” Your grip tightens around his cock.

“Goddammit,” his frustration turns to a low, guttural noise when you lower your mouth and tap the tip of his cock against your tongue.

“Or on my tongue?” The slick glide of your lips as you tease him is pure torture, but you’re not done. You push your chest forward, letting his dick slap against the humps of your tits.

“Maybe all over these?” Your voice is sweet, almost playful, but your intentions are anything but. The sight of his cock glistening against your skin, the jiggle of your flesh under his weight, makes his vision blur for a second.

“Or are you going to hold it in and fill my pussy?”

The way you say it, so casually filthy, sends a jolt of arousal through him. He bites down hard on his lip, every muscle in his body tightening. You’ve always had a mouth on you, but this—this is something else entirely.

Your confidence, the way you’ve grown into yourself since being with him, sends a surge of pride through his chest. 

“Baby, I’m going to fuck you so full of my cum you’ll be tasting it for fucking weeks.”

Your breathless giggle is music to his ears, and when you lean in to kiss his cock, licking over the tip, his control shatters.

“C’mere,” he sneers, pulling you up into a heated kiss. His mouth is desperate, his teeth scraping against your lips. He adjusts, submerging himself back into the water, being mindful of the device, and pulling your back flush against his chest.

He angles the lens to capture the way your bodies press together, the steam from the water curling around you both. The viewfinder is flipped and shows your damp hair sticking to your face, his lips dragging over the curve of your neck.

“Look at how good we look,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his hand palms your breast, squeezing roughly.

A smile splits your face, drunk on the taste of his cock and the alcohol. Slowly, you shift on your toes, bending forward just enough to tease him with the curve of your ass, playfully wiggling it as you rub his cock between your cheeks.

“Come fuck me, Javi.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, bringing the camera lower to capture the way the bubbles skim over the curve of your body. He smacks each cheek, the sound sharp against the steady hum of the jets, and you huff, arching even more.

When he pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms, letting the fabric fall away, he curses under his breath. “Mierda,” he hisses, his hand kneading your supple flesh before gripping the base of his cock and slapping it against your skin. 

He can’t help but grin as he shows off for the camera.

When he slides himself along your slick folds, he groans, feeling how wet you are for him. “Damn, suckin’ me off gets you this turned on, nena?” he asks, breathless.

You let out a needy whimper, nodding as your hips push back against him.

He doesn’t make you wait, sinking into you with a grunt that’s half your name and half prayer. The way your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, makes him swear under his breath as he sets a rhythm that sends water spilling over the edge of the tub.

“Oh, Javi, oh fuck!” Your voice is loud, shameless, and he loves every filthy syllable of it.

“You like that, huh?” he growls, slowing his thrusts to drag his cock out of you torturously slow, the tight suction of your pussy making him grit his teeth.

“Gorgeous fucking pussy doesn’t want to let me go,” he mutters, angling the camera to capture the way your body takes him so perfectly, the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you echoing around you.

He licks his lips, the phantom taste of your tangy sweetness haunting them, and the thought of you spread out while he loses himself in eating you out burns through him like fire.

The way you whimper in protest when he pulls out is enough to make him consider sinking back into your tight, sopping heat, but he reins himself in. Instead, his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the chilled night air.

“None of that. Let’s move this party inside. I need to taste you.”

You bite your lip, shivering from the combination of his words and the cold air biting at your damp skin. 

Both of you are dripping water as you climb out of the hot tub, the biting chill of the night air wraps around you, sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

Javier notices, of course he does, and he drags his hands over your arms, a fleeting attempt at warming you before snagging the nearest towel.

“C’mere, nena,” he mutters, pulling you close. The towel is large, but his hands are clumsy as he rubs it over your body. The motion is both tender and hurried, his fingers lingering on the curves of your hips, your nice tits, and the slick heat between your thighs. “Can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?”

You giggle, your teeth chattering as you take the camera from him as he brings you inside. You stumble over the threshold, recording every imperfect second.

The contrast between the icy air outside and the inviting heat of the cabin is immediate, the crackling fireplace casting a golden glow across the room.

Javier wastes no time, pulling you toward the plush rug in front of the flames. You lay on your back, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend.

He’s a masterpiece carved by desire, every part of him sculpted to make you ache.

You handle the camera in your hands, the viewfinder framing Javier like the sex god that he is. You’re practically purring as the lens lingers on his thighs and how they flex subtly when he shifts his weight.

The camera pans higher and you feel that insistent heartbeat at your pussy.

His cock stands heavy and proud, the firelight casting shadows along his delicious length and girth. He’s gorgeous—thick veins trailing up velvety skin, the head angry and eager to punch into your cunt, his balls heavy with the load he’s already promised to fill you full of.

Continuing your digital ascent, you capture the sharp planes of his torso, his golden-brown skin glowing in the warmth of the flames. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths.

Finally, you settle the shot on his lips, looking plush under that sexy ass mustache. They have ruined you time and time again with words, kisses, and the way they dote on every part of you.

“He’s so fucking good at using those.” You whisper to the camera.

“You done admiring?” He asks with playful arrogance, as if he hadn’t been absolutely eating up every reaction you had given to the body he’s sculpted into a living, breathing fantasy

“Never.”

He leans down to kiss you, sticky precum brushing against your lower stomach. Slyly, he takes the device from your hands, now his turn to marvel at you.

His lips part slightly as he looks at you, the flames illuminating every curve and dip of your body, painting you in shades of gold and amber.

“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks heated under his gaze. Javier adjusts the angle, zooming in on the way your thighs press together, craving him again.

“Spread your legs for me, nena.”

You hesitate, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze, but he makes it impossible to deny him when he looks at you like this.

Slowly, you part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully.

“Goddamn,” Javier growls, his free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his calloused fingers trailing to where you’re still sticky with arousal from how he’d taken you outside. He uses his thumb to spread open one of your pussy lips, revealing your pretty cunt to the camera, his thumb pressing down on your clit, smearing your juices around.

“You know how perfect you are?” he asks, his voice low as he sets the camera down at the perfect angle to capture what he’s about to do next. “Every fucking inch of you drives me crazy.”

Javier leans over you, his lips trailing down your neck to the hollow between your breasts. His hands spread you open further, his breath hot against your skin as he settles himself between your thighs.

You shudder as his lips press against your inner thigh, sinewy fingers keeping you spread open so the camera gets a good view of his tongue doing what it does best between your legs.

The fire crackles beside you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he begins to devour you, his tongue and lips coaxing soft moans and gasps from your lips.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body. He pulls back briefly, some of your slick clinging to his lips, just long enough to grab the camera again, angling it to capture your flushed face and the way your body arches toward him before handing it over to you.

You almost drop it from how fucking lightheaded he’s left you, but manage to hold onto it, doing your best to record this handsome man going down on you.

“No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

The possessiveness in Javier’s voice is laced with an edge of jealousy, a dark fire stoked by earlier moments that now claw their way back into his mind. Flashes of other men crowding you, eyeing what’s his, swirl in his thoughts, blending with images of you and Frankie tangled in your sheets. 

The thought ignites a growl deep in his chest. His fingers grip your thigh harder, nails biting into your skin as he buries his face between your legs with renewed intensity. 

His tongue swirls and flicks over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen nub with a pressure that makes your toes curl.

He’s punishing those images, driving them out by proving how thoroughly you belong to him.

“Just you, Javi, no one else,” you gasp, your back arching off the plush rug. With one hand on the device, your other lets its fingers twist into his thick brown hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt against your slick heat.

The vibrations ripple through you, sending you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering with anticipation.

You’re close—he feels it in the way your thighs shake, the way your breath stutters. Determined to pull you over the edge, he buries his face deeper, his nose nudging your clit as he shakes his head back and forth.

The scratch of his mustache against your tender flesh only intensifies your pleasure, and when his lips seal around your swollen clit and he sucks harshly, it shatters you.

“Oh my God, Javier!” you scream, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you, the camera shaking violently in your hand. The heat of the nearby flames amplifies your euphoria, sweat beading on your skin.

“Pussy tastes so fuckin’ delicious,” his voice is muffled but heavy with want. Javier has always loved going down on women, but there’s something about you—your taste, your scent, the way your body responds to him—that drives him wild. 

His cock thrums painfully, desperate for relief. He’s grinding against the rug without even realizing it, his need to claim you consuming every thought.

Even as your thighs twitch in the aftermath of your orgasm, he laps up every drop, greedy for more, his tongue sweeping over your oversensitive flesh until you’re gasping and squirming beneath him. Only then does he pull away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence.

Taking the camera again, he points it at you, capturing the sight of you sprawled across the rug, utterly spent. Your chest rises and falls, your eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks, gingerly yet smugly satisfied.

“Mhm,” you hum, stretching languidly under his touch. “Just need a minute.”

He strokes your face, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips and you kiss the rough pad softly. 

Wordlessly, he adjusts the lens, zooming in on your face, capturing the blissed-out expression that is all his doing. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does, bending down, his lips brushing yours in a smoldering liplock.

“Such a good kisser, Javi.” You chase after his mouth when he pulls away, bringing your hands up to cradle his face to keep your lips on his. He lets you, lost in the feeling in the same way you are, that poor camera idly recording the blur of your moving heads.

When he does finally pull back, he moves with purpose, setting up the camera on the coffee table, his fingers steady despite the heat thrumming through his veins.

He flips the viewfinder to showcase the two of you, positioning it to capture the perfect scene: the crackling fireplace, the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, the snow-kissed mountains visible through the frosted window, bathed in the silver moonlight.

The setup is a masterpiece, the kind of shot you’d call pure art. You’ve teased him about this before—how his talent for making things look so effortlessly beautiful extends even to his most smutty creations.

When Javier returns to you, his breath hitches. You’re stretched out on the rug, naked as the day you were born, your skin kissed by the soft illumination of the Christmas lights. You look up at him with a cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten and his cock throb.

“Hey, baby,” you say, your voice teasing yet soft, inviting him closer.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, his own lips shifting into a smile that mirrors yours.

He lowers himself to you again, cradling your jaw as if you’re the most delicate, precious thing he’s ever touched. “You havin’ fun?”

“So much,” you reply with a laugh that’s pure music to his ears. Your teeth catch his lower lip playfully, and your hand sneaks down between you, wrapping around his pulsating cock. The sound he lets out vibrates against your lips, and the look in his eyes is molten.

“Now fuck me full, Javi,” you whisper, your words bold and needy, a demand he’s more than eager to fulfill.

His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you up and shifting your body until you’re perfectly centered in the shot.

You look like a vision, his personal angel.

Javier kneels behind you, his strong hands gripping your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin just hard enough to leave marks he’ll admire later.

His cock teases your entrance, the slick head gliding over your swollen clit, and you mewl, your body quivering with anticipation. He watches, mesmerized, as you arch your back for him, offering yourself up completely.

Slowly, he sinks into you, savoring the way your walls envelop him, the tightness making him hiss through his teeth.

His grip tightens as he thrusts deeper, the stretch and fullness making you sob. The sound shoots straight to his cock, and he growls low in his throat, his hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt.

Your cries rise in pitch as he sets a brutal rhythm, each powerful thrust sending your tits bouncing uncontrollably. 

Javier leans back slightly, angling his body just so, ensuring the camera captures every detail—the way your pussy clenches and drips around his cock and how obscene the sounds of your bodies joining echo in the cabin.

His nose skims the side of your neck, his breath hot against your damp skin. He bites down gently, soothing the sting with his tongue, before whispering filthy promises into your ear, each word making you tighten around him.

“You were made for me,” he declares, “This tight pussy, fuck, no one else gets to feel how perfect she is. Just me. All mine.”

Something about being inside you triggers this untamed passion in him, an insatiable desire that no amount of good fucking can quench.

He’s relentless, taking and taking, chasing the pleasure that only you can give him. The thought of you creaming all over his cock, screaming his name, and begging for more while teetering on the edge of oblivion has him thrusting harder, deeper.

No one else has ever felt like this—like home and sin wrapped into one. Fucking you is better than anything he’s ever known.

It doesn’t even have to be elaborate or kinky—though he certainly doesn’t mind. He loves it all, from nights like this to the slow, sleepy mornings when he wakes you by sliding his cock into your warm, welcoming body, loving the way you melt against him with soft sighs.

Now, though, it’s anything but slow. His hips piston up into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, and you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice rough in your ear as his pace falters momentarily.

You’re too lost in the haze of bliss to respond right away, your whimpers spilling from your lips in broken waves. Javier slows, grinding into you, letting the friction bring you back to him.

“I said, do you trust me?” he repeats, his tone firmer.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, your voice a breathy plea as your pussy clenches around him.

A dark, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “I’m gonna put you in a headlock, baby. Keep you right where I want you while I tear this pretty pussy up like I promised.”

You mewl, the sound making his cock twitch inside you. He nips at your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. 

“If it’s too much, tap me three times, okay?” His voice softens slightly, a thread of tenderness weaving through the raw desire.

You nod eagerly, your voice trembling as you beg, “Please, Javi.”

When you turn your head to look at him, the vulnerability and trust in your eyes make his heart clench. Fuck, I love her.

Without another word, he surges forward to kiss you messily, his lips claiming yours as he loops a strong arm around your neck. The position pulls you flush against his chest, your back arching as he adjusts his knees, locking you into place.

“I’ll start slow, get that pussy purring,” he teases, his breath hot against your ear.

His cock drags against your walls, unhurried, and you shiver as he finds that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Right there,” you gasp, your voice hitching as your body tightens around him.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he groans, his arm tightening just enough to make your head swim in the most delicious way.

With a growl, he picks up his pace, pounding into you with enough force to get your body jolting against his. The rug beneath you rubs raw at your knees, each wet slap of his cock driving into your soaked pussy sending ripples of heat through your core.

Javier watches the way your body reacts to him from the viewfinder across the way. “That’s it, nena,” he clenches his teeth, his own release building as he claims you over and over again. His large fingers move from your hips down to toy with your clit. “Take it all. Take every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your hands shoot up to grip Javier’s arm, manicured nails biting into his flesh and leaving streaks of angry red lines down the muscled curve. The sting only fuels him, a feral satisfaction curling in his chest as you claw desperately for purchase.

Drool slips from the corner of your lips, pooling in the crease of his elbow, and he can’t help but smile smugly at the camera, his ego swelling alongside his cock. He’s unraveling you, making you fall apart so completely that you’re losing control—going stupid for his cock.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, drowning out the crackling fire. You’re soaking him, your pussy so wet that the coarse hairs at the base of his cock are drenched, shining with your mixed juices.

He tightens his grip around your throat, your voice reduced to breathy, incoherent gasps. The pressure is perfect, the lack of air sending your senses spiraling as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, fingers relentless against your puffy clit.

It’s enough to coax your submission further, and he feels your slick walls start to quake around him. Your pussy flutters, gripping him so tightly it takes everything in him not to lose control right then.

“I—” You try to speak, but your words dissolve into an unintelligible cry as your orgasm slaps you right in the face.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Javier growls, his voice low and rough. He drives into you harder, faster, the head of his cock hitting that devastatingly deep spot that only he has been able to touch. Your eyes roll back, your cunt clenching him like a vice.

Your body trembles on the edge of euphoria and exhaustion. You lift your hand to tap out, but before you can, his own climax barrels through him like an angry bull.

His hips snap wildly as he spills into you. Hot spurts of cum fill you, thick and endless, his curses mixing with your cries as your body trembles uncontrollably.

The second he loosens his hold on your throat, air rushes back into your lungs, and with it comes a blinding, second wave of pleasure.

“Ah—fuck me!” you yelp, your body spasming as an intense pressure bursts inside you. Liquid heat sprays out of your pussy, soaking his lap and the carpet beneath you.

You fall forward, about to collapse, but Javier catches you, holding you close for a moment, his own body shaking as he fights to catch his breath.

The sticky warmth of your release and his cum pooling between your thighs has him grinning like a devil. “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he pants, pulling out slowly, hissing at the tight drag of your walls around him.

Gently, he lowers you forward, your cheek pressing against the soft carpet. He goes to caress you, but your body twitches, still caught in the aftershocks, and you let out a weak, incoherent whimper.

“Too much. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.”

He laughs, a low, heady sound, still lightheaded from his own climax. “Whatever you say,” he mutters, reaching for the camera. He adjusts the viewfinder, pointing it at your wrecked body bent over in front of the fireplace.

“C’mon, nena,” he coaxes. “Roll over for me. Gotta get a good shot of my cum dripping out of this perfect pussy.”

His vulgar words make your clit tingle but you know you can’t go for another round right now. Or any time soon, really.

With a soft huff, you roll onto your back, spreading your legs wide despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Tears of pleasure still cloud your vision as you gaze up at him, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

The camera captures everything—your swollen, glistening folds, the obscene trail of his cum trickling from your hole, evidence of how thoroughly he’s claimed you.

A lewd gurgling sound fills the air as the thick, creamy fluid bubbles out of you, sliding down to smear across your puckered entrance.

Javier is transfixed, his cock twitching despite his exhaustion. The urge to stuff his spend back into you with his fingers is almost overwhelming, but he reels it in. You’ve tapped out, and he respects your limits.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs, his voice reverent as he watches. “Blow a kiss to the camera, baby.”

You smile weakly, giggling through your exhaustion. Licking your lips slowly, you pucker up and blow a kiss toward the lens, finishing with a playful, fucked-out wink.

The action is pure lust and sweetness combined, and he lets out a satisfied hum before finally stopping the recording.

“My girl, you did so well,” Javier murmurs, his voice soft and full of admiration. His praise seeps into your skin like balm, soothing you with the warmth of his presence.

He reaches for the couch pillows and the throw blanket, crafting a cozy nest right there on the floor by the fire. 

He doesn’t care that you’re both sticky with sweat and the remnants of your passion— all he cares about is making you comfortable.

Feeling the fog of pleasure begin to lift, you roll onto your side, your body aching in the best way possible, reaching for him instinctively.

Javi doesn’t hesitate; he scoops you up with ease, settling you on his chest. Your head rests between his pecs, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His calloused fingers trail up and down your naked back, a calming rhythm that lulls you into serenity.

“I can’t believe I squirted,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. “Isn’t that…you know…piss? Shouldn’t we be in the shower right now?”

The question pulls a laugh from deep within him, a sound so rich and full that it vibrates through his chest and onto your cheek. “Eh,” he says, shrugging lazily. “Doesn’t really matter. What I do know is that I’m so damn proud of you, baby. I know the tape is goin’ to be fuckin’ gold.” His tone drips with adoration, each word laced with pride.

“But if it makes you feel better, we can always get back in the tub.”

You hum in response, nuzzling into the curve of his chest and letting your lips wander, pressing soft kisses over his golden skin. “That sounds really good, actually,” you murmur, your voice still laced with a dreamy haze. “But I don’t think I can walk.”

He lets out another laugh, his arms tightening around you. “I can carry you,” he offers, ever the gentleman, even now.

“Or,” you counter with a playful grin, trailing kisses up to his collarbone and then his jaw, “we could stay here, take a quick power nap by the fire, and then…” You pause, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I can ride you.”

Javier groans, the sound low and full of mock exasperation. “You’re definitely trying to kill me.”

Your laughter mingles with his as you capture his lips in a kiss, slow and unhurried. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined by the warmth of the fire. His hands cradle your face as yours slide into his hair, fingers weaving through the dark strands.

The kiss deepens, turning languid and exploratory, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

With you in his arms, he feels whole, like every piece of you was made to fit into his. Time seems to stretch and stop, the crackling fire and the soft hum of your breaths the only soundtrack to your moment.

Here, in his embrace, you’re not just his lover; you’re his everything.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @thundermartini . @auteurdelabre . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @yourmommycallsmemommy . @larascorneroftheworld . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @lunatiquess . @myownwholewildworld . @pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch . @xxbadchoicexx . @lumpatto . @haylee-e . @guelyury . @doblasftcisco . @ashhlsstuff . @kluvspedro . @goodvibesonly421 .

[bitchlessdino]

with great certainty (m)

Pairing: Prince!soonyoung x reincarnated stranger!Fem!reader Genre: fantasy, isekai (reincarnation in another world), fluff, smut Word count: 1.5k  rating: R tags: Royal AU, commoner!reader, yearning, fingering, light dirty talking Summary: Love was bounded by books, at least that's what Soonyoung believed learning about love only through books, but after meeting you he realized love had none. Love has no bounds. Not even for him, a prince. author note: thank you @gyuswhore and @highvern for betareading for me and SURPRISE @etherealyoungk I'M YOUR SECRET SANTA . And thank you @camandemstudios for hosting this event! i really hope you enjoy it skye because i had a great time writing it and i tried getting really creative as possibly with the word limit we had. Happy holidays and Merry Christmas, stay warm wherever you are I hope you're have the best holiday and an even better New Year <3

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae

Soonyoung was meant for great things and that included the crown of his country. He came from a long line of Kwons, a centuries old lineage that transcended wars, famine, and anarchy. The youngest of two, the eldest and only son, and the direct heir to the throne of a patriarchal monarch. It was his destiny and everything that he's been taught has led up to this moment.

But he realized the crown meant nothing when he met you—an anomaly in his once perfect world. You came in with your strange clothing and foreign customs like you were from another world, and he was starting to think you were with how much you tried convincing him. 

You told him you don’t belong here. That you were brought here by mistake, somehow reborn in a world far different than your own. He could imagine how disorienting it must’ve been if you were telling the truth but what he did understand was that you were confused. So, suddenly, he took you in, something he never planned for.

He housed you, clothed you, fed you, taught you the proper mannerisms of his land, but what he didn’t expect to do was fall madly in love with you. Someone who wasn’t even a loyal subject, let alone royalty like his advisors wanted him to marry. 

He didn’t even think it was possible, but the emotions he felt; the jealousy, the fondness, the warmth. It all resembled what he read in love stories. The kind of love he’d envisioned having one day, that he hoped to have even as King. A true, real, unconditional love.

And although he was sure that’s what it had to be, he couldn’t be too sure.

He dragged you somewhere far, far away from his palace, but not without your playful protest. Somewhere no one would suspect they’d be. Where they could be themselves. Where he could be honest. And being Prince, let alone King, wasn’t something that mattered.

“What is it, Your Highness?” you asked with a breathless laugh, heart racing from chasing after him in the middle of nowhere.

“Somewhere private, just for us,” he vaguely answered, his grin baring in mischief.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you entered an empty cottage, furnished with the bare necessities. “Why? What are you planning?”

He sat you on a dining chair, taking one beside you. “I want to know about your world. Please, indulge me.”

You weren’t sure where to start, maybe with the fact that magic and dragons didn't exist like they did here, only concepts of them. And the jobs that the people had—the jobs you had were less labor inducing compared to here, yet less rewarding. There were things you missed and some you didn’t.

You sighed, feeling yourself get lost in your words, thinking you’ve gone off the rails rambling. You rested your hand against his that laid flat on his thigh. “I’m not good at explaining things, sorry.”

He shook his head reassuringly. “That’s quite alright. I rather enjoy hearing you talk.”

A soft smile graced your features. “You’re too kind to me, your Highness.”

“I’m to be king one day,” he proudly reasoned, puffing out his chest, “Being kind is second nature.”

You grinned, shaking your head at him amused, used to his grandeur gestures and expressions as time passed and Soonyoung couldn’t help but stare. “If I may be honest.” He accepted your hand, thumbing over your knuckles. “I had other intentions.”

“Other intentions? What kind?”

His eyes flitted towards yours, a fervent heat growing behind them as they scanned over your features. He raised a hand to bring a single strand of hair behind your ear, letting it linger on your neck. The sensation pebbled your skin and you parted your lips, eyes fluttering back at him anticipatingly as he leaned closer. He tasted your subtle savor of nectar and berries, humming in utter delight, feeling you melt against his lips effortlessly.

He muffled your moan under his lips and swiftly reeled you to straddle his lap, the fabric of your clothes spilling around his sides. He took your skirt and bunched them up in fists, caressing your smooth thighs that wrapped around him delectably. Shallow breaths escaped his lungs—followed by the fervor of relief—crushed by the tension of your body that felt like heaven’s clouds in his hands.

Your arms looped around his neck, the fire in your chest burning brighter than all your days having met Soonyoung, and you feared this one would be harder to extinguish. Mustering up the courage that barely bustled inside you to match his pace, you clung to his fervid torso radiating through his garments that were far too thin for any cold weather—still, burdened by the circumstances. 

The thought of possible consequences crossed your mind just briefly, even in the sweet bliss of the prince's tender kiss, you trembled against his touch at the thought of what could go terribly wrong if you proceeded any further.

Soonyoung could sense your hesitancy and gently parted from you, the tip of his nose tickling against yours delicately that you audibly gasped. “What’s wrong?” he asked in quiet concern.

“Your Highness—“

“Soonyoung, please call me Soonyoung.”

You melted into a smile of realization. “I don’t think I ever learned your name. It’s pretty—but, are you sure this is something you want to do? With me that is?”

“My dear…” Soonyoung beckoned you closer, hand against the nape of your neck, his lips ghosting against yours. “If I am certain of anything, your lips felt as if they were made to make contact with mine because nothing has ever felt so right until this very moment.”

“But,” you interrupted, through your heavy-lidded gaze. “You’re going to be King one day…and I don’t belong in this world,” you whispered devastatingly, anguish coloring your tone.

“But you belong with me,” he breathed confidently.

He reconnected your lips, his hand falling down your back to tug and loosen the ribbon of your corset, pouring your bosoms out of their restraints before he pressed his body against yours to catch their spillage, reveling in their warmth. “With great certainty, you my love, belong with me. Just as much as I belong with you.”

You clasped your hand over his cool cheek, finding him naturally nuzzling against your palm, his eyes narrowing back at you in a spell of adoration.  “How is it you are so certain?” 

Sooonyoung pressed his lips against your cheek, “I’ve laid my eyes on many beautiful sights in my Kingdom—,” then against your collarbone, feeling his presence linger down your neck like a hot fiery trail, “—I’ve marveled at oceans, mountains, mysterious creatures, princesses, and queens…”

Then like his gaze, his lips fell to the fullness of your breasts, kissing around their plush weight until his eyes flitted back up to meet your gaze. “Yet, nothing and no one dare stand in comparison to the enchanting enigma in front of me.”

“Y-you find me enchanting?”

“Incredibly so.”

You started to relax, hands finding themselves teasing the hem of his shirt before crawling underneath, lifting it slightly to see the sliver of his sweltering abdomen. “That’s surreal coming from you…Soonyoung.”

He hummed, finding purchase around your hips as his face buried his chin between the valleys of your chest. “Say my name again.”

“Soonyoung…”

He sighed deeply, his smile caressing your jaw before your lips joined together once more, “The Heavens seemed to have lost an angel.”

You found it easier to succumb to your urges, entangling your bodies until articles of clothing found their fates on the ground. Although doubt clouded their actions before, they wouldn’t now, not if the prince had anything to say about it. 

It was funny. Soonyoung’s hands were trained to command armies, write laws, and lead his country to their brightest possible future. Yet, here they were slipping down your undergarments, digits sinfully tracing over the aching core that fluttered at his touch.

Your stomach tensed as his fingers dipped deeper in experimentation, his eyes glazed over your expression in both interest and caution. “How’s that?” He softly asked.

“Good,” you responded, even quieter.

His fingers pushed in deeper, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your sensitive bud, and a wave of shock ran up your spine, having you shift your thighs to find his growing arousal that caused a tent in his pants. “S-shit.”

“My lady,” Soonyoung chuckled, a devilish grin gracing on his Highness’s angelic face. “That’s quite the dirty mouth you have there. Do you think a soon-to-be King would approve of such a thing?”

Despite his words, he showed no signs of stopping, watching you become a moaning mess undone merely by his fingers as you rolled your hips against his unfaltering erection. 

He was meant to have you. He felt it. He knew it. He saw it. He foretold it. Nothing could tell him otherwise.

Not even the crown.

[luffyshamefulmistress]

When Luffy gets injured protecting you ((T ^ T) pt3

Luffy is different after Zoro’s warnings, Reader is oblivious and grows uneasy part2(^^)

#fluff #luffyxreader #forbidden love #pining #jealous

reader is still nonchalant baddie all the way ^ - ^

kinda long <3700 words 😪

a/n -> im so happy my work has been resonating with you guys so much, i feel so seen sharing my love for luffy with others! (>m<) So thank u all for all the support so far!

Romance within the crew won’t end well.

Luffy’s mind relentlessly drifted back to those words over and over again while he waltzed through the bustling village at the new island they stopped by. But it’s not romance if I just care for a Nakama, right?

His carefree whistling causes heads to turn while he copes with his humming to sort out the discording thoughts within him. Something about you hurting your leg that day, about the way you always put his safety before yours, it triggered a protective instinct in him he himself knew was different from the kind he gave to his nakamas.

But he would never show that, no. He knew Zoro was right, deep down. It was taking him apart, acting this way, putting up this front, but he knew.

He sniffs around curiously, nose scrunching a little to catch a whiff of juicy meat around the corner, to which his arm stretches automatically, launching himself in its direction.

His teeth gnash into the meat hungrily, juicy seasoning dripping down his chin as he devours it happily, grinning, finally gaining a moment of reprieve from his tumultuous thoughts of you, his eyes closed as he enjoys his food bought with what little Berry Nami had given him.

You were just around the corner, wearing new black jewelry you’d bought from around the bustling village, limping around in your freshly healed leg. The gleam of your new black accessories were what caught Luffy’s attention, his eyes snapping to your form as you browsed the shops, steps slow and careful as you look around in curiosity.

Immediately, Luffy is before you, meat in hand, looking down at you with his curious childlike expression of confusion.

“I thought I told the others to keep you on the ship, (__).” He blinks, eyes finally trailing down your figure to see the new additions on your form, gaze lingering on the way the black necklace you wore fit snugly around your neck, your pretty little tendons straining softly as you raise your head to look at him.

“Your leg hasn’t fully healed yet.” His eyes wander to your leg you’d been limping a little with.

“Oh, is that why they tried so hard to convince me not to come?” Used to his sudden appearances, you muse nonchalantly, tilting your head in thought, not catching the way Luffy’s gaze wandered over you, your own gaze fixed on the meaty juices that ran down his chin, heart fluttering beneath your cool demeanor. “You should’ve known I’d find a way out, Captain.”

You’d easily slipped out the Merry while the others went out for some fun when Zoro had fallen asleep as usual while guarding on the ship.

Luffy frowns a little, his gaze snapping back to your eyes, pouting in that cute, innocent manner of his. “Chopper made it clear not to let you strain your leg.” He drops down to a squat, eyes popping out the sockets comically as he peers at your nearly-healed leg, frowning. “It’s not fully healed yet.”

You cant hold back a slight huff of amusement watching him, and can’t help but squat down before him as well, peering into his deep brown eyes as you restrain your heart from fluttering too much at the proximity of him, to the point his sea-scent was wafting all over you again.

“If I could walk all the way here, I’d say I’ve healed quite well, Captain.” You say coolly, watching him closely.

Luffy, however, leaned even closer, scrutinizing your expression in concentration to detect any lies, teeth ripping out a large piece of meat from the bone in his hand, munching on it thoughtfully, his tongue flying out to slurp at the residue juice on his lips.

“Yet I’m sure Chopper said not to strain yourself...” He mumbles thoughtfully, voice low and protective, and his eyes flash softly when your cheeks flush with heat, mistaking it for your discomfort. Suddenly he seems to realize just how close he was to you, how the only thing between you both was the bone of meat in his hands, and he can’t stop the words that rang in his mind for the umpteenth time: Romance within the crew won’t end well.

Quickly, he shakes his head, the juices of his meat mixed with his hungry drool sloppily flying around adorably as he abruptly stands up, risking a large hand to pull you up with him, rough rubber fingers wrapping around your smaller one firmly and gently, muscles flexing as he tugs your body effortlessly off the ground to press right against him.

You’re used to this; his firm grabbing but gentle touches he seemed to offer to everyone in your own delusion. So when he suddenly steps back, his hand slipping off yours the moment you’re steady on your feet, and his body blatantly kept a foot’s distance from you, your mind flashes immediately with an automatic warning light.

Was he … avoiding you right now?

“Let’s go back to the Merry, (__).” Luffy’s words are slightly strained as he blinks at you, gnashing his teeth into the meat once more. “Captain’s orders.” He adds casually through a mouthful of meat.

You sigh, recognizing that protective tone once again, barely registering your inner annoyance with it with the way he was acting right now. You take a step towards him, your expression giving away nothing, cool and nonchalant.

“I don’t want to.”

“I said, Captain’s orders, (__).” Luffy takes a step back, munching softly, casually watching you between bites.

“I said I don’t want to.” You step forward, not missing the way his tongue licked where the juices dripped off the meat, cheeks flushing with heat again despite your nonchalant expression.

“You’re still hurt, (__).” Luffy’s voice grows a little low and raspy when he starts to get a little serious. He takes yet another step back.

You frown. What’s he trying to do? Why’s he running away? His words are contradicting his actions. Take you back to the Merry? Shouldn’t his rubber arms be wrapped securely around your waist, picking you up and pressing you against his body protectively to Gum-Gum fly you both back to the Merry? Your steps grow pushy as you back him up against a wall, chin tilted up in soft distaste as you watch him calmly.

Luffy’s eyes don’t waver from yours, licking his lips casually, the bustle and rush of the villagers granting you both some semblance of anonymity amongst the crowds of people.

“What are you in such a hurry for, Captain?” You ask lowly, eye squinting just a bit in irritation at his avoidance of your presence until you’d forced yourself on him.

Luffy just feigns ignorance, peering down at you slowly.

“To get you back to the Merry.” You don’t notice the way his fingers twitch softly at his sides, tapping restlessly against the stone walls of the village, the other hand gripping the bone meat tighter.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not going anywhere unless you force me to.” You reply boldly, no nuance in your words, just a pure, blatant challenge. “I’m not so weak that a mere leg injury will hold me back from having fun on a new island.” You don’t understand what made you behave this way, pressing into his body even more. You just didn’t understand why he was running away from you all of a sudden, when usually you’re the most coolheaded, nonchalant baddie on the ship.

Luffy finally grits his teeth at your dismissive words, lowering his gaze. His free hand clenches stiffly at his side when you press further onto him. “You’re still hurt, (__).” His tone is warning now. He seemed to be either extremely fixated on getting you back to resting your leg, or he was restraining himself; something you couldn’t grasp just yet.

“Then you’ll have to force me, Captain.” You reply casually, unbothered, as you push down the fluttering in your chest at the way he was gazing down at you, and the way his heat left your form as you stepped away with a stride. You spin on your heel to saunter away rebelliously, your cool demeanor cracking only with the slight limp in your leg. Your heart clenched painfully at the thought of Luffy losing his touchiness with you; it was the only way you could cope with knowing the fact he’d never be yours as long as he was your Captain. You knew you were being stubborn, and your leg really was beginning to ache from strain despite the days of recovery. Though you’d never expected the voice of a familiar gentleman calling out your name lovingly, causing your head to turn quickly to the voice, seeing Sanji’s heart eyes popping out comically, the sudden movement pushing you off balance, you limping leg tripping over yourself clumsily, as you begin to fall forwards, completely caught off-guard amidst the banter with Luffy and Sanji’s sudden appearance.

“(__)-swaaannnn~~!!”

Familiar rubber hands, roughly calloused but gentle, ghost over your midrift like a wandering breeze before you feel more skilled digits grasping your waist reverently; Sanji.

“Caught you, love.” Sanji’s smooth voice rolls off near your ear, his gentlemanly charm emanating as you’re lifted back upright with a tug of his arms, scarred fingers firm on your waist to keep you steady on your feet. Your head turns to see him grinning down at you with his cigarette hanging out his lips casually.

“Ah, Sanji. Thank you.” You straighten yourself quickly, frowning softly in slight confusion at the ghosting feeling of rubber hands right before Sanji’s scarred fingers, while Luffy is right by your side again, devoid of any of the avoidance he performed earlier.

“Luffy, why didn’t you catch her?” Sanji scolds comically, his hand tightening protectively on your waist, forwning at Luffy in disapproval. “She was about to fall! Her leg isn’t fully healed yet.”

“That’s why we need to get her back to the Merry.” Luffy comments agreeably, completely ignoring his scolding. Though his eyes, dark and steady, were rather focused on Sanji’s fingers gripping at your supple flesh at your waist, digging into you gently while you steadied yourself, finally letting go the moment you brush it off you nonchalantly.

“I said I wanted to stay for a while longer exploring the island, Captain.” You say sternly, brushing you clothes down a little, watching him steadily.

“I’m not going anywhere unless you force me.” You say again with slight annoyance. You realized that breeze was him, coming to help save you from your little clumsy moment, but you realized he had instead retracted his hand, allowing Sanji to hold you instead. He really was avoiding you. Did you do something wrong? You can’t help but think negatively, immediately masking your uneasiness with that usual cold snarky attitude of yours to cover your internal turmoil.

Luffy watches you with stern, dark eyes, his body unconsciously shifting closer to you, but Sanji doesn’t have whatever conflict is brewing within Luffy, stepping forwards and reaching down, his arms scooping you into his chest bridal style, your feet sweeping off the feet smoothly, as he grins down at you with heart eyes.

“I’ll take you back then, (__)-swannn~.” He grips you close to him, eyes glued to you, unaware of the smoldering gaze Luffy gave him, his hands clenching his jaw and his fists, an expression of pure serious coldness emanating off in an intimidating aura all of the sudden at seeing Sanji’s hands on you.

“Put her down, Sanji.” Luffy’s voice cuts through the air.

Sanji quirks a curled brow. What’s this? He observes Luffy’s gaze a moment. Protective? No. At this point, it’s rather possessive. He can’t believe it, his goofy, charming childlike captain could have a gaze like this?

Sanji smirks. “Come get her then.”

Luffy’s eyes flash with something you couldn’t recognize, your eyes following his movements as Sanji rushes off with you in his arms, Luffy right on his tail. You couldn’t understand it. He was so against touching you just moments ago, he wouldn’t even hold you, he wouldn’t even let you get too close. So what is this burning look he’s giving Sanji and you, this heart-wrenching expression of need and desire, your insides pooling with heat at the confusion and utter disbelief of such an expression on your Captain’s beautiful face. You’re flushing with heat, unabel to take your eyes off of his gaze as Sanji chuckles heartily at the new revelation, using his powerful legs to jump from roof to roof, while Luffy chases after, limbs stretching effortlessly to grab onto roof corners and launch himself at the two of you, his jaw clenched tight around the juicy piece of meat he has yet to finish, gaze hardened on you, your hands helplessly clinging onto Sanji’s neck for support, in a vulnerable state with your injured leg, your fingers sliding into his blond hair.

You didn’t want to feel so flustered anymore. You can’t look away from his dark gaze, it’s making you so uncharacteristically nervous you just want Sanji to put you down already, so that Luffy would stop looking at you with those eyes. So you do the only thing you think will make Sanji stop.

“Sanji, you make me feel like a princess, running away with me in your arms like this.” You say into his ear, hugging yourself closer to him to lean up to his ear, eyes fixed on Luffy’s, neither of you able to tear your gazes away, oblivious to the other’s inner turmoil.

And while Sanji freezes on the top of a roof, his feet skidding to a halt, mouth agape in shock, hearts pouring out of his eyes and his entire being, cigarette dropping out his gaping mouth, Luffy’s eyes widen hearing your words. Yes. He heard them.

And then you scream.

Hair flying behind you when you’re entire body is smoothly snatched out of Sanji’s arms, and all you can see for a moment is the shocked faces of the villagers looking up into the air, your eyes wide as you take in the sheer height you were at, the walls looming down below as your vision begins to fade away into the familiar nest of raven black hair, the overwhelming scent of the wild seas engulfing your senses, you eyes catching only a glimpse of Luffy’s heated gaze forward, as the both of you fly through the skies, strong muscles supporting your legs and your back as you scream in panic at the sheer reckless nature of this entire ordeal, hands clinging desperately to Luffy’s broad back.

Luffy’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head, pressing your face gently into the crook of his neck so you won’t have to witness how high above you both are, and also just to prevent you from noticing his gaze. You breathe into him, breathing his scent, clinging onto him, confused, panicked, and tired all at once.

He runs away from your touch one moment, and the next, he’s doing something like this? What the hell? But little do you know, he’s in a greater conflict within.

Romance within the crew won’t end well.

But how come his heart pounds furiously each time you call for him in that nonchalant tone of indifference?

How come just a smile from you makes him grin wider than ever?

How come his head rings in alert when his rubbery arms around your waist? When his hand finds your waist? When you look up at him all nonchalant, the slight tint of red in you cheeks always so cautiously revealed at certain moments?

How come he can’t seem to keep his cool when he sees you get hurt, being held by another man even if it's one of his precious Nakamas?

How come he can’t keep his damn hands off of you, how come it physically hurts to restrain himself?

How come his heart burned with envy at hearing your words to Sanji?

How come all he could think, feel, and see, was red?

How come?

How come…?

Romance within the crew won’t end well. This damn sentence, echoing like a mantra in his mind, like a relentless metronome - it’ll be the death of him. Luffy’s mind buzzes in a cacophony of emotions and desperate desires as he struggles to restrain himself.

Touch her. Stay away. Be close to her. Keep your distance. Hold her. You’ll ruin everything.

Luffy’s hand slams harshly onto the surface of a wall on the Merry as you both land, denting the wood as his hand allows your form to slide back to a standing position, giving you no time to react as his fingers grasp your flesh, pulling you close to his chest as he pants in exhaustion into your ear, head dipped low, down into you, shoulder hunched and caging you into the wall.

You can only see the strength of his neck muscles as he breathes and exhales heavily, exhausted with the conflict within him, as you feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours so clearly that you can't help but flush with heat once more, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“You like that cook?” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, voice raspy with strain, fingers clenching into a fist against the wall, as he steps closer against you, crowding you against the wall.

You can’t even breathe right now. He’s making your heart flutter so uncontrollably you’re afraid he’ll hear it, so you will it with all your might to stop beating if it means he won’t hear.

“Hm? Answer me, (__).” Luffy’s voice demands, crowding you further against the wall, your form pressed intimately against his, your vision blocked with his messy nest of a raven strands, senses overwhelmed with his sea scent, and your injured leg begins to wobble unsteadily at the rush of emotions within you. Luffy’s grasp on the flesh of your waist is the only thing holding you up right now, and he tightens his hold on you, your bodies molding into each other’s.

“What do you mean-” You manage to mumble out before he cuts you off, slamming his fist against the wall.

“A princess, hm? Sanji-kun makes you feel like a princess, does he? Hm?” He practically growls into your ear, and it’s all you can do to not shiver at the unexpected tone, and you can’t even think, can’t even realize the way he’s acting right now. You could only focus on his warmth, his body, his hair, scent, voice, his entire presence swarming you right now, struggling to find an answer.

“I only said that so he’d stop running back to the Merry, Captain.” You rasp hoarsely, unable to think straight.

“Did you?” He asks breathily, his words tickling your neck now as he can’t seem to hold himself back anymore, his teeth gritting harshly as he tries to reign himself in.

“I just wanted to explore the island a moment longer.” Your voice is strained, the tickle of his words making you try to lean away.

His rubbery arms unconsciously stretch and wrap more around your waist more protectively, as he tries not to do something he’ll regret, his mouth opening and closing, lips grazing the skin of your neck ever so slightly, voice low.

“ ‘m sorry, did I cross a line-” You start to say softly, confused, and worried you’d perhaps edged him on too much earlier into touching you, that maybe he had gotten mad over it, before he’s cutting you off with a surprisingly soft, vulnerable tone.

“I-I don’t like it when you-” He begins, voice quiet and muffled with the crook of your neck, pausing mid-sentence when he hears the boisterous laughter of Zoro, Sanji and Nami coming back up the deck. He immediately shifts, stepping quickly with his hand firm on your hip, over to the other side of the wall to hide the both of you from them, his chest pressed close to you, his form engulfing yours as he embraces you like you’ll disappear.

“Just don’t…” He breathes deeply into your neck, risking a ghost of a bite over the area your neck and shoulder meet, not allowing actual contact, his teeth clacking with the chain of the new necklace you bought, before pausing and straightening as he takes a careful step away from you. The heat and strength of his body leaving yours as he watches you with a heated gaze, an eye covered with the rim of his straw-hat as he backs away carefully.

“...Don’t say things like that again.” He murmurs lowly, quiet, his head turning to avoid your gaze. You watch him with tingly nerves, caught off-guard with his sudden retreat, and before you can say anything else, Luffy’s casual smile returns, as if nothing had happened.

“You’re an important nakama, afterall, (__).” A nakama, is it? That’s all you are to him? Your own disappointment makes you bristle in both irritation and exasperation. What exactly had you expected? He has never once expressed any romantic interest in you, so you just stare at his kind, smiling eyes, his pretty nose scrunched in his charming toothy grin, and his demeanor not showing a speck of the hunger before when he’d devoured your form with his gaze alone.

Sanji’s voice calls the both of you over for food; seems he knew you were both there, but hadn’t bothered to digress. And Luffy is grinning wider, beckoning you come as he rubber bazookas over to the kitchen, yelling carefreely, “Let’s eat, (__)!!”

It’s all you can do for now to stand there, trying to calm your racing heart. The way he’d looked at you, called for your name, the ghost of a bite over your neck, and the sheer proximity of him before you erupted the fire within you you’d been dying trying to keep hidden since the moment you realized your affections for him.

I can’t hide them anymore.

You start to panic. Could he tell? Did he see the way you flushed red? He knows, doesn’t he?

Groaning, you muster a call back, “Coming.” before simply throwing up your nonchalant demeanor once again, unsure how you’ll face him again like usual, but one thing was for sure.

Your secret was finally out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

gosh I acc don’t know how to end things off I suck at endings pls tell me if I literally ruined the whole thing with this tua ending for the sake of their pining!!! 😔😔 I’m acc crashing out reading it again tell me if it sucks pls ISTGG😩

But next part they’ll probably have to deal with their pining FR. (￣∀￣)

[puckstories]

Don’t Stop | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Oral sex (M+F receiving), cursing, use of the term 'good girl', situationship, low-key dropped the ball on reader hating Jack (sorry), overuse of the words 'trembling' and 'teasing' (sorry lol), edited only once

Summary; Part two to Arrogant, which can be found HERE

Word Count; 8.3k

Author’s note; I hate this unfortunately, but I spent a bit of time on it, and I really want to get it out of my drafts, so here it is. Keep in mind, I'm still new to writing smut, but I hope you like it at least a little bit. Also, the ending is kind of abrupt, sorry. Writing for Jack doesn't come as naturally as writing for Quinn does, but if you have any Jack requests, feel free to send them through my inbox. Thank you all so much for all the support, I hit 100 followers this morning! Should I do a celly, or should I wait until I hit a higher milestone? -Honey

His hands grip your ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he effortlessly lifts you, pulling your body against his. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, locking in place as he straightens up, holding you securely. His lips are still on yours, hungry and demanding, the taste of him lingering as he begins to carry you toward the stairs.

With each step he takes, you can feel the flex of his muscles beneath you, the way his body moves with an easy strength that sends a thrill rushing through you. But the second he starts ascending the stairs, the thought of being dropped flashes through your mind, and you pull away from his lips, breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"Don’t drop me," you warn, your gaze narrowing at him.

Jack pulls back just enough to glance down at you, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as a smirk curls on his lips. He lets out a low chuckle, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hide the grin that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Relax, princess," he mutters, the nickname rolling off his tongue with that infuriating mix of affection and mischief that only Jack can pull off.

You roll your eyes at the word, heat flooding your cheeks. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?" You huff, irritated at the way he says the word—"princess"—with that unserious, almost mocking tone always sends a strange flutter through your chest, even if you pretend to hate it.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. "Yeah, well," he says, his voice low, bordering on exasperation. "you say a lot of things." His grip on you tightens, and the effortless confidence in his movements makes it clear he’s far from concerned about dropping you.

He reaches the top of the stairs, his pace quickening as he makes his way down the hall. By the time he pushes the door open with his foot, the air between you feels charged, every touch sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. The second you cross the threshold into your room, Jack wastes no time. He walks straight to the bed and drops you onto the mattress—not roughly, but with enough force to make you bounce slightly against the plush comforter.

A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you land, but it’s cut short when Jack is suddenly hovering over you, climbing onto the bed with a swift, predatory grace. His knees sink into the mattress on either side of your hips, caging you in beneath him. The intensity in his gaze shifts, his playful smirk softening into something darker, something laced with the undeniable tension that’s been building since the moment his hands found your body.

You can feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes, the way his breath brushes against your skin as he leans down, his face inches from yours. His eyes flicker over your features, taking in the way your lips part slightly, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

"See?" he murmurs, his voice a rasp, rough around the edges. "Told you I wouldn’t drop you."

You roll your eyes, but it’s mostly for show. The truth is, your heart is racing, your pulse thudding in your ears, and your body is already aching for his touch. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his eyes darken with desire as he hovers over you, and it makes your breath hitch. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you—at least, not yet.

"Wow," you quip, your voice laced with sarcasm even as your chest rises and falls more quickly, "you did something right for once." The smirk on your lips is teasing, but it’s your way of holding on to some semblance of control, even though you can feel it slipping with every passing second.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your jab, but there’s something dangerous in the way his lips twitch into a smirk of his own. Without another word, he presses his body against yours, the full weight of him pinning you to the bed, his warmth seeping into your skin. The intensity of the moment sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching as you feel every inch of him against you—hard, unyielding, and incredibly close.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, filled with an edge that makes your stomach flip. "You’ve got a bad mouth on you." His eyes bore into yours, and the heat in his gaze makes your skin flush. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he adds, "Might need to shove something in it to make you be quiet."

His words send a shiver down your spine, the rough edge to his tone making you gasp softly, despite your best efforts to remain defiant. His breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing your skin just enough to make you want more, even as his hands trail possessively down your sides, claiming you.

"Fuck you," you hiss, though the words come out breathless, your bravado faltering just slightly as his body presses harder against yours. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as heat pools low in your stomach, your body already reacting to the promise in his words, the tension between you winding tighter and tighter.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, his lips curling into a grin that’s all arrogance and confidence. "Oh, I’m sure you’d like that," he replies, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. His hips grind against yours for emphasis, his body so close now that you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through the thin fabric of your clothes, teasing you with what’s to come.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing the small gasp that threatens to escape your throat. He’s so infuriatingly smug, and yet, the way his body moves against yours, the way his hands grip your hips with just the right amount of pressure, it’s enough to make you dizzy with want.

"You’re not as tough as you think, princess," he continues, his voice a dangerous mix of teasing and desire, his lips moving from your ear to your neck, where he begins to trail slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool air of the room, making you shiver beneath him.

His words are like gasoline to the fire burning inside you, and despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface, you can’t deny how much you want him—how much you’ve been aching for him to touch you. But you’re not about to let him know that. Not yet.

"Don’t call me that," you snap, though the bite in your voice falters when he sucks lightly at a spot on your neck that makes your knees go weak. His lips pull away just long enough for you to catch the flash of mischief in his eyes, a look that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"Make me stop," he challenges, his tone almost daring you, like he knows you won’t—like he knows that despite your words, your body is already giving him all the permission he needs.

You want to retort, want to snap back with some smart remark, but before you can find the words, his lips crash down on yours. It’s a kiss that’s full of intensity, raw and hungry, leaving no room for anything else. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a demanding urgency that makes your head spin.

You groan against his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the strands with a mixture of frustration and need. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue and heat, as if neither of you can get enough, as if all the tension between you is finally snapping, and you’re both powerless to stop it.

His hips grind harder against yours, his body practically caging you in beneath him, and it’s almost too much—the pressure, the heat, the way every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. You tug at his hair harder, pulling him away from your lips just long enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze.

"Still want me to stop?" he breathes, his forehead resting against yours, his voice rough and strained with the same tension that’s running through your veins.

You meet his eyes, your defiance flickering just beneath the surface, even as your body betrays you with the way it arches into his touch. "Shut up," you whisper, though the breathless tone of your voice takes all the bite out of the words.

He grins, utterly satisfied with himself as he leans back to pull off his shirt, his muscles rippling beneath the skin in that infuriating way that makes your stomach flip no matter how much you try to ignore it. The moment his shirt hits the floor, your eyes involuntarily trail down his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, and before you can stop yourself, you roll your eyes—hard.

His grin only widens at your reaction, his amusement practically dripping off him as he stands there, all confidence. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how much his body affects you, even if you refuse to admit it. And God, he loves it—loves pushing you, teasing you, knowing you’re fighting yourself every step of the way.

"See something you like?" he teases, voice just dripping with that irritating cockiness that makes your blood boil. His eyes gleam with mischief, his lips curling up in a way that dares you to react, dares you to admit what’s already painfully obvious to him—that despite how much he drives you crazy, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

You let out an exaggerated scoff, forcing your gaze away from his infuriatingly perfect body. Your arms cross over your chest in a gesture meant to convey annoyance, but all it really does is give you something to hold on to as the heat of desire coils low in your belly. It’s maddening—how easily he can get under your skin, how effortlessly he can flip your emotions from anger to... this.

"You wish," you snap, your voice laced with irritation, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, that insufferable smirk never leaving his face as he leans back down, closing the distance between you. His presence feels overwhelming, the heat of his body, the sheer size of him towering over you. You can feel his breath against your skin, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine even though you’re determined not to show it.

"Really?" he murmurs, his voice low, dripping with that maddening confidence. "Because I think you’re lying." His eyes flicker over your face, watching your reaction with that smug intensity that makes you want to slap him—or kiss him. Maybe both.

You huff, your jaw tightening as you refuse to meet his gaze, even though you can feel the weight of it, feel him practically daring you to look at him. "I’m not lying," you bite out, but the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

"Uh-huh," he drawls, his hand coming down to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. The touch is light, almost gentle, but it sends a bolt of electricity through you that you feel all the way down to your core. "Why do you keep lying to yourself, princess?" he says, his voice a low murmur now, the teasing laced with something darker, more intense. His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second, before locking back onto yours with that infuriating mix of amusement and desire. "I can feel how much you want me. You’re terrible at hiding it."

"Stop. Calling. Me. That." you snap, trying to regain some sense of control. But it’s hard to focus on anything but how close he is, the heat radiating off him, the way your body seems to hum with awareness of every inch between you.

He laughs again, a deep, rich sound that makes your frustration flare. "You keep saying that," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "But we both know you love it."

You clench your jaw, your nails digging into your palms as you fight to maintain the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast. His hand moves lower, grazing your arm, his touch light but purposeful, and you can feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s what infuriates you the most.

"Tell me to stop," he says, his voice soft now, almost a challenge. His lips hover just a breath away from yours, so close you can feel the warmth of him, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to give in. "Go ahead. Tell me to stop."

Your heart is pounding, your breath shallow as the tension between you reaches a boiling point. You should tell him to stop. You should shove him away, wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, and storm out of the room. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "I hate you," you whisper, your voice shaking with the force of your frustration, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

But instead of being hurt, or even fazed, his grin only widens, his eyes gleaming with victory. "No, you don’t," he whispers back, his lips brushing against yours, the touch feather-light but enough to send a wave of heat crashing through you.

His lips press against yours, hot and insistent, as he pins you deeper into the mattress, his weight settling over you like a blanket of heat. The kiss is all-consuming, stealing your breath and scattering your thoughts, but you can’t help the way your body responds—how your hands instinctively clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You hate how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he tears down your defenses with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

His hands are already moving, sliding beneath the hem of your pajama shirt, the cool air meeting your bare skin for a brief moment before his fingers find you. The second his hands make contact, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, igniting another fire low in your stomach. He doesn’t hesitate, his palms warm and firm as they trail upward, sending goosebumps racing along your skin as they push the fabric higher, higher—until he reaches your breasts.

He cups them, his hands squeezing gently at first, his touch confident, possessive. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he deepens the kiss, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You try to hold back a whimper, but it escapes anyway, much to his satisfaction. He groans softly in response, the sound reverberating through you, adding fuel to that fire already building inside you.

Your frustration bubbles up again, a part of you hating how easily he affects you, how he always seems to get what he wants without even trying. But your body isn’t listening to your mind anymore—your heart is racing, and your breath comes out in short, needy gasps as his hands continue their exploration. His thumbs graze over your nipples, and your entire body jerks in response, a gasp spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with that familiar teasing glint. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Already falling apart, and I’ve barely even touched you."

"Shut up," you manage to hiss, though your voice betrays you—too breathless, too shaky to sound convincing. You try to glare at him, but the way his fingers are kneading your breasts, the way he’s rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, makes it impossible to focus. The pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, and you feel your control slipping with every flick of his fingers, every press of his hands.

He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying how much he’s getting under your skin—both literally and figuratively. "Your wish is my command," he says, his tone full of that infuriating cockiness that makes your blood boil. He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses as they move lower, teasing, grazing your skin with his teeth just enough to send a shiver running down your spine.

His lips trail down your stomach, each kiss soft and unhurried. His breath is hot against you, and every brush of his lips feels like a tease, leaving you trembling with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. You don't want him to know how much he's getting to you, but your body betrays you with every little shiver and breathless gasp that escapes your lips.

He pauses when he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts, his lips just hovering above the fabric. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to arch up into his touch, determined to maintain some semblance of control, even as desire coils tightly in your core.

"Hips up, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, the nickname rolling off his tongue without a care in the world.

You let out grumble, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. The complaint lacks any real bite, especially since, despite the irritation burning through you, you're already lifting your hips, obeying his instruction without hesitation.

The second your hips rise, even the slightest bit, his hands are already on you—his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging at them. You let out a sharp breath as the cool air hits your now-exposed skin, the sudden contrast sending a shiver racing through your body.

He pulls the fabric down your legs slowly, dragging the moment out just to torment you. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, that intense, smug gaze that makes your pulse race and your skin flush with anger. Once the shorts and panties are off, he carelessly flings them somewhere behind him—he doesn't even bother to look where they land. His attention is entirely on you now, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight before him.

He whistles softly, a low, appreciative sound that makes your cheeks burn with both embarrassment and desire. You want to tell him to shut up, to wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but you can't seem to form the words. Not when his eyes are locked on your glistening core, his lips parted slightly in awe, like he's seeing you for the first time-even though you've been here before, countless times.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes darkening with lust as they travel slowly up and down your body, lingering on the slickness between your thighs. “You’re already so wet for me.”

You press your lips together, trying to stifle the embarrassed moan that threatens to spill out, but you can’t stop the way your hips twitch, your body betraying you once again. The throbbing between your legs grows more insistent, more urgent, and you hate that he knows exactly how much power he has over you.

“Such a good girl, even when you’re pretending to hate me,” he adds, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance. His hands slide up the insides of your thighs, the heat of his touch leaving a burning trail on your skin, making you ache for more.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of defiance you have left. “Asshole,” you snap, but your voice comes out shaky, breathless, and it only seems to make him grin wider.

His fingers brush just shy of where you want him most, deliberately avoiding your slick heat, keeping you on edge. You hate how easily he can work you up, how he seems to know your body better than you do. And you hate that, despite everything, you want him to touch you. You want him to stop teasing and give you what you’re aching for, even if admitting that would mean admitting defeat.

But he’s not done yet. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward again, his breath hot against your thigh, his lips hovering just an inch from your slick skin. He’s close—so close you can feel the heat of him, the anticipation driving you wild, making your whole body hum with need.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he murmurs, sending shivers down your spine. His lips brush lightly against your skin as he speaks, and it’s enough to make your toes curl in frustration.

You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to give in, refusing to let him win. But it’s getting harder. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, every muscle tensing with the overwhelming desire pulsing through you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, slicker, the arousal practically dripping from you—and he knows it. He’s watching you closely, waiting for you to break.

His fingers slide dangerously close again, brushing the edges of your folds, and you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. Your hips jerk up, your body begging for more, even though you’re trying so hard to resist. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers, “Tell me, princess.”

You open your mouth to snap at him, to throw some biting remark his way, but instead, what comes out is a soft, breathless, “Please.”

His smirk grows even wider, and the satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he murmurs.

And then, finally—finally—his mouth is on you.

The moment his lips connect with your slick, aching core, a sharp breath catches in your throat, and your body jerks involuntarily, every muscle tensing as the pleasure surges through you. Your bottom lip is caught painfully between your teeth, your desperate attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape. It’s almost unbearable, the way his mouth works against you—hot, firm, and utterly devastating.

He grins against you, and you can feel the smug satisfaction in the curve of his lips as they press against your most sensitive flesh. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how hard you’re fighting to keep yourself in check. It drives you crazy that he gets off on it, that he takes so much pleasure in teasing you like this, in watching you struggle to maintain even a shred of control.

His breath is hot and heavy against your skin, sending shivers racing up your spine, and before you can gather your bearings, his tongue dips out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe against your folds.

It’s maddening—the way he takes his time, dragging his tongue slowly, purposefully, from your entrance up to your clit, as if savoring every inch of you. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your toes curling in response as heat blooms low in your stomach. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building with every excruciatingly slow movement of his tongue.

A muffled whimper slips past your lips, despite your best efforts to keep quiet, and his tongue pauses for just a second. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your core, making your thighs tremble.

“You’re trying so hard,” he murmurs, his voice teasing as his lips brush lightly against your sensitive skin. “But I can feel it,” His breath fans over your folds, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “How much you want to fall apart.”

You can feel your resolve slipping with every word, your body betraying you with every twitch, every soft whimper. It’s embarrassing, how easily he can unravel you, how his touch, his mouth, his voice, all seem to have complete control over you, even when you’re fighting with everything you have to hold on to some semblance of composure.

Your hands clutch the sheets beneath you, fingers twisting in the fabric as his tongue dips lower again, swirling slowly around your entrance, teasing you, making your hips twitch in response. He’s dragging this out—drawing you closer to the edge but never giving you quite enough to send you over. It’s infuriating, but it’s intoxicating all at once.

You manage to breathe out a shaky, “Just—” but before you can finish, his tongue flicks up again, brushing against your clit in the lightest, most maddening touch you’ve ever felt.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and your back arches off the bed, your hips instinctively bucking toward him, desperate for more. Your body is betraying you in every possible way, and it only seems to fuel him, his movements becoming bolder, more confident.

“Just what?” he murmurs against you, his voice dripping with amusement. His tongue moves in slow, lazy circles now, brushing over your clit with just enough pressure.

“Jack—” you try again, but the words die in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your mind is spinning, a haze of want and frustration clouding your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the delicious torment of his mouth against you.

You bite down on your lip harder, trying to keep yourself from begging, but it’s useless. You can feel yourself falling apart under his touch, your control slipping away, bit by bit, with every swirl of his tongue.

“I can stop,” he offers, though you can hear the tilt in his voice. You know he’s just toying with you, enjoying the power he holds over you. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as his tongue flicks over your clit again, the touch just enough to make your body tremble with need.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you manage to gasp, your voice a ragged mix of frustration and desperation. Your body is on fire, every nerve alight with sensation, and the thought of him stopping now, of leaving you teetering on the edge like this, is unbearable.

He chuckles again, clearly pleased with your response. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs.

Casually—almost too casually—he moves a free hand down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. It’s infuriating how effortless he makes it seem, as if he isn’t already driving you wild, as if your body isn’t already on fire from the way his mouth is working you over. You’re trying to calm yourself down, catch your breath, when he pulls his mouth away from your core, just enough to make you feel the sudden, almost unbearable emptiness.

The cool air hits your slick skin, making you gasp, but before you can even think to complain, his hand is already there. His fingers hover just shy of your entrance, brushing against your folds with an aggrevating slowness that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. You bite your lip hard, trying to keep yourself grounded, trying to hold on to the last bit of control you have left—but it’s slipping, fast.

And then, without warning, he pushes a finger inside you.

A loud, desperate cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body arching off the bed as the sudden intrusion sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. The sound is raw, uncontrollable, and it only seems to spur him on. You can feel his grin against your inner thigh, smug and satisfied, as his finger sinks deeper into you, curling just enough to make your whole body light up.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice full of that familiar, cocky arrogance that makes you want to scream and kiss him at the same time. His finger begins to move in and out of you, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Let me hear you.”

His words only make the heat pooling in your stomach burn hotter, the sensation of his finger working in and out of you too much and not enough all at once. You can’t help it—every movement of his hand makes another moan slip past your lips, makes your hips buck helplessly against him, your body chasing the pleasure he’s so expertly building inside you. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, how to make you unravel with nothing but the touch of his fingers, and you hate it.

He thrusts his finger in again, a little harder this time, and a strangled cry escapes you, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you for dear life. Your head falls back against the pillow, your mouth falling open as you gasp for breath, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue flicking out to swirl around your clit just as he thrusts his finger in deeper. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together is lethal—his finger curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your vision blur, while his tongue works circles over your swollen clit, sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

“Fuck—” you manage to gasp, your voice shaking as the tension inside you builds to a near-breaking point. Your hips grind up toward him, desperate for more, your body moving instinctively as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable.

His finger starts moving faster now, thrusting in and out with a steady, relentless rhythm, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. His tongue is merciless, flicking and circling over your clit in perfect time with his thrusts, and you can’t hold back the moans anymore. You’re beyond caring how loud you are, beyond caring about anything other than the way he’s making you feel.

He slips a second finger inside you, the stretch making your thighs tremble, and you let out a strangled moan, your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your body reacts on instinct. The added pressure, the feeling of his fingers thrusting deeper, curling and pumping inside you—it’s almost too much. Your hips buck wildly, your body overwhelmed with the intensity of it all, and you’re not sure how much longer you can last.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your core, “Close, aren’t you, princess?”

You nod frantically, unable to form words, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building to a breaking point, every thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commands, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. His fingers curl inside you again, pressing against that sweet spot with devastating precision, and it’s all you need.

With a loud cry, your body shatters beneath him, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath as the pleasure crashes over you in wave after wave. Your thighs tremble violently, your back arching off the bed as your entire body convulses with the force of it. His fingers keep thrusting, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left a quivering, breathless mess.

When the last of the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against the bed, completely spent, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He pulls his fingers out of you gently, his touch lingering just long enough to ride you through your climax. His mouth leaves your core, and when you glance down at him, you see him grinning up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“Taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice full of satisfaction as his tongue swipes across the tips of his fingers. He sits back on his heels, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating mix of arrogance and desire. “So fucking perfect when you fall apart for me.”

You manage to muster enough strength to roll your eyes at him, though the effort is half-hearted at best. Your body is hot, your legs weak, and despite your frustration, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. Because as much as he infuriates you, as much as you hate his smug, teasing arrogance... fuck, does his tongue feel good.

Your attention is pulled back to him the moment you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. The metallic click echoes in the room, and your breath hitches, your pulse quickening as your eyes dart down to him. The sight before you makes your mouth go dry, only for heat to pool low in your stomach as a new wave of desire surges through you.

He’s standing there, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light, and now his pants are sliding down his legs, leaving him in nothing but a pair of snug boxers that cling to his hips. Your gaze locks onto the outline of his cock, already straining against the fabric, and you can’t help but feel your breath catch in your throat, your body reacting instantly to the sight. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, instinctively, as if preparing for what’s to come.

A hunger blooms in your chest—sharp, sudden—and even though you’ve just been wrecked by the intense climax he pulled out of you, your body is already responding to him again, aching for more. It's embarrassing, really.

He watches you, blue eyes of his trailing over your body with that familiar intensity that sends a shudder down your spine. His gaze lingers on your chest, and it’s then that you realize your arms are itching to move, to shed the last barrier of clothing that separates you from him. Your nightshirt suddenly feels too constricting, too hot, and without hesitation, you tug it over your head, tossing it aside in one quick motion.

You’re bare before him now, and the cool air against your flushed skin only heightens the feeling of being utterly exposed to him—but instead of fear, it sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you. You can see the way his jaw clenches slightly, his eyes darkening as they take in the sight of you, and the raw desire in his gaze makes heat flare through your entire body. His eyes flick down to your breasts, lingering there for a moment, and the way he looks at you makes your nipples harden all over again, your body responding to his gaze as if he’s physically touching you.

He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes. The way his gaze trails down your body, the heat of it making your skin tingle, tells you everything you need to know about what’s going through his mind. He’s savoring this moment, drinking you in like you’re something he can’t get enough of, and the hunger in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re so focused on his eyes that you almost don’t notice when his hands move to the waistband of his boxers. But the second he begins to slide them down, your attention snaps to the motion, your mouth going dry as the last of his clothing hits the floor. He steps out of his boxers with that same casual confidence, and your gaze locks onto him—fully, completely bare—and suddenly it feels like every nerve in your body is on fire again.

You can’t help it. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips in anticipation as your eyes drink him in. He’s hard, thick, his cock jutting out proudly in front of him, and the sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through you. Your body clenches in response, the ache between your legs growing more intense, and despite the fact that you just climaxed, your body is already craving more. You feel a new rush of slickness between your thighs, the anticipation building with every passing second as you watch him step closer, the tension in the room thickening with every heartbeat.

He notices, of course—he always does. He sees the way your body reacts to him, the way your thighs press together, trying to alleviate some of the ache, the way your tongue wets your lips in anticipation. His eyes flicker with that familiar cocky glint, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he steps closer to the bed, closing the distance between you.

"Someone’s eager," he murmurs, teasing, as he comes to stand next to you by the bed. He reaches out, his hand brushing a piece of hair out of your face, his touch featherlight but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. "Greedy, greedy girl..."

Without a word, he grabs your hand—not roughly, but with enough force to let you know exactly what he wants. His touch is firm, guiding you with an unspoken command as he pulls you gently off the bed. Your legs tremble as you rise, but instead of standing, you feel the soft give of the carpet beneath your knees as you sink down in front of him, your body instinctively following his lead.

He takes his place on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide. Without breaking eye contact, he wraps his hand around his length, lazily stroking himself. Your eyes drop to his hand, watching as he moves nonchalantly, as though he has all the time in the world. You swallow hard, your mouth watering at the sight of him, your body responding to the intensity of the moment. His fingers slide over the smooth, rigid flesh, and you can see the slight glisten of pre-cum at the tip as his grip tightens, making your pulse race even faster.

You don’t wait for his permission—you don’t need it. Your hands reach out, eager but steady, and you gently take his cock from him, your fingers wrapping around him with a sense of ownership. His breath hitches slightly at the change in contact, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as he watches your every move.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the look on his face—the hunger, the way his jaw clenches in anticipation—sends a wave of confidence rushing through you. You hold his gaze as you lean forward, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, the tip of your tongue brushing against the corners of your mouth in preparation. His breath comes out in a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling in a way that lets you know you have him where you want him.

Casually, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching the way it glistens in the dim light of the room. The saliva drips down, mixing with the bead of pre-cum already there, and your hand moves instinctively, spreading the moisture along his cock, making each stroke smoother, slicker. The wet sound of your hand sliding over him fills the air, and his body tenses under your touch. You feel him grow harder in your hand, his muscles tightening as he leans back slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress for support. His eyes are half-lidded now, his gaze heavy as he watches you work over him, the lazy strokes of your hand building a steady rhythm.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges, the first word he’s spoken since pulling you to your knees. There’s something unfiltered in the way he says it, like he can barely keep the desire out of his voice. His head tips back just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths as he fights to maintain the upper hand.

You can’t help but smirk, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the way his body is responding to you, at the way he’s losing that unshakable control he’s so good at maintaining. You know you have him now, and the knowledge makes you bolder. Without breaking the rhythm of your hand, you lower your mouth to him, your tongue darting out to swirl over the tip, tasting him. The salty taste of pre-cum meets your tongue, and you hum softly in response, the sound vibrating in your chest as you take him further into your mouth. His sharp inhale fills the room, and you feel his body tense under your touch, his hands gripping the mattress tighter, his knuckles white.

"Good girl," he breathes, the words slipping out in a low, almost involuntary growl. His fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury them in your hair and guide you to move faster, harder, but he holds back—for now.

You feel the power shift between you, the balance of control subtly tilting in your favor as you wrap your lips around him, your tongue swirling over his head before sliding further down. His hips jerk up just slightly, his body instinctively chasing the heat of your mouth, and the low groan that escapes him makes your whole body thrum with satisfaction.

You bob your head, slowly at first, taking your time, savoring the feeling of him filling your mouth. Your hand works in tandem with your lips, stroking the base of his length while your mouth moves over the rest, each movement deliberate, slow, teasing. You can feel him trembling slightly beneath you, his restraint slipping as his breath becomes more ragged, more uneven.

"Fuck," he mutters again, his voice tighter this time, strained with the effort of holding back. His hands finally move from the edge of the bed, one of them tangling in your hair, the other resting on your shoulder, his fingers flexing against your skin as he fights to keep from thrusting up into your mouth.

"Don’t stop," he grits out, his voice rough, desperate. His hand tightens in your hair, just enough to guide you, to push you a little deeper.

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a jolt of pleasure straight up his spine. The soft, needy noise you make seems to unravel him, his grip tightening in your hair as you continue the steady motion of bobbing your head along his cock. The weight of him in your mouth, the taste of him on your tongue—it all builds into a dizzying sense of control and desire that fuels you to push even further.

He’s not forcing, but guiding, applying just enough pressure to help you take him in deeper, pushing you down on his length. Your lips stretch wider as you take him further, the sensation of being filled making your core throb with heat.

You adjust easily to his lead, and the soft sound of his breath hitching above you tells you how much he loves it. A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, and the sound sends a rush of excitement through you. He’s losing control—because of you. And you can feel it, in the way his body tenses, in the slight tremor in his fingers as they flex against your scalp.

Your free hand moves down between his legs, the motion slow as your fingers brush lightly against his balls. You can feel how tight and full they are, and the heat radiating from his skin makes your fingers tingle as you cup him gently in your hand. His reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his hips jerking slightly upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as your fingers squeeze him lightly.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word drawn out, his voice thick with lust. His hips buck slightly again, just enough to let you know how much he’s struggling to keep control. His head tips back, the cords in his neck straining as he fights to maintain the upper hand, but you can tell he’s losing it, bit by bit.

You hum again around him, your fingers stroking and massaging his balls in time with the bobbing of your head. Each time you take him deeper, your throat tightens around him, the soft gagging sounds mixing with the wet, slick noise of your mouth working over him, filling the room with the raw, intimate sounds of pleasure. Your hand continues to stroke gently, massaging him as your mouth moves faster, deeper, the pace building as you sense him drawing closer to the edge.

The way his hands grip your hair tighter, the way his breathing becomes ragged—all of it tells you how close he is, how much he’s holding back. The control you have over him right now sends a thrill coursing through your veins, and it only makes you want to push him further, to make him fall apart completely in your hands.

His groans grow louder, more desperate, and you can feel his hips rocking upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth with every thrust. The sensation of him filling your throat, of the slight sting of your gag reflex, only spurs you on, your hand squeezing his balls a little firmer as you take him even deeper, your lips pressing against the base of his cock with each motion.

His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his fingers flexing against your scalp, his grip tightening as he guides your head down, pushing you to take him as deep as you can. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your hand, his whole body coiling with the intensity of his impending release. The tension between you is electric, thick and heavy in the air, and you know he’s on the verge of losing it—his control fraying with every stroke of your hand, every movement of your mouth.

"God, you’re—" he starts, his voice tight and strained, but the words are cut off by a low, guttural moan as his body shudders under your touch. He pulls you down harder on his length, his hips rocking up into your mouth with more urgency now, the slow, teasing pace you’d set earlier completely forgotten. His hands guide you faster, harder, as if he can’t get enough, as if he’s chasing that final, explosive release that’s just within reach.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper, harder, as your hand continues to squeeze and massage his balls, your fingers pressing into the sensitive skin with just the right amount of pressure. The combination of your mouth and hand working in perfect rhythm is driving him wild, and you can feel him trembling beneath you.

"Shit—just like that," he groans. His head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut as he surrenders to the pleasure, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding on for just a little longer. "Don’t stop," he grits out, his hips bucking upward again, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as his grip on your hair tightens even further.

And you don’t stop. You keep going, faster, your mouth moving in time with his ragged breaths, your hand continuing to massage him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. You can feel him tensing, his body shaking with the intensity of it all, and you know it’s only a matter of seconds before he breaks.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, his body shudders violently, his hips jerking up as he finally comes undone in your mouth. His release is sudden and overwhelming, his cock twitching as he spills hot and thick down your throat. You take him as deep as you can, swallowing around him as his body convulses, his fingers gripping your hair tightly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

A long, broken groan escapes his lips, his entire body trembling as he surrenders to the pleasure. You keep your lips wrapped around him, your hand still gently massaging him, coaxing every last drop from him as he shudders beneath you. His hips rock gently against your mouth, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he finally starts to come down from the high.

When the last of the tremors finally subside, you pull back slowly, your lips slipping off his length with a soft, wet pop. His chest is heaving, his breath still uneven, and his eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you, his gaze hazy with the remnants of pleasure. His hands loosen in your hair, sliding down to rest gently on your shoulders, his touch soft now, almost reverent.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. His head tips back, and he lets out a long, slow exhale, his body relaxing as the tension finally leaves him. "That was... incredible."

You smirk up at him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips, your body still brimming with the satisfaction of knowing you made him come undone like that. “I know."

Two can play that game, asshole.

[jobean12-blog]

You come home and see that babe got you a present. What's in the box?

The Perfect Gift

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 700 (exactly hehe)

Summary: Living in Jackson has given you as close to a normal life as you can get in the post apocalyptic world and Joel just makes it that much better.

Author's Note: Thank you my sweet Cia for sending such lovely thoughts my way! I was doing some yoga this morning and this idea hit me. I appreciate you always thinking of me! I hope you're having the best week and happiest holidays! HUGS and LOVE! ❤️Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: Soft and sweet fluff

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The world outside is muffled in a hush, every sound softened by the blanket of sparkling, cold snow. But inside, there’s only warmth.

A strong arm rests against the curve of your waist and calloused fingertips trace idle shapes on your soft skin. The steady rhythm of his breath is warm along your neck before his lips press delicate kisses down to your bare shoulder.

“Mornin’ darlin’,” he whispers, his voice still deep and rumbly with sleep.

You turn over, burying your face in his chest and mumbling, “good morning.”

He pulls you closer and kisses the top of your head.

“Ready to get up?” he chuckles.

“Is it still snowing?” you ask, keeping your face hidden.

He stirs slightly and after a short pause, quietly answers with a “yes.”

“Let’s stay in bed.”

“What about your present?” he murmurs.

At the mention of a gift, you blink open your eyes and reluctantly drag yourself from his warmth to meet his gaze.

“Gift?”

He nods with a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. You run your fingers through his mussed hair, twirling a stray curl around your fingers before softly kissing him.

“Ok. I can get up for that.”

“I thought so,” he grins with a wink.

He starts to move but you cling to his biceps. “But I don’t want you to leave,” you pout.

“I don’t have to go far,” he says and sits up to reach into the small makeshift nightstand next to the bed.

He pulls out a package, wrapped simply in brown paper with some twine holding it together. He suddenly looks nervous, his expression wide eyed with worry and your eyebrows draw in.

“Joel?”

Without blinking he stares at you and sets it in your lap.

You give him one last curious glance and pull at the string. The paper opens and out falls one of his flannels, your favorite one.

Your face lights up in a smile and you hug it to your chest, letting the sheet fall from your shoulders, revealing more of your naked skin.

He reaches out to touch you. “Do you like it? I know it’s nothing new, but I know how much you love wearing them. Now this one is officially yours.”

Pressing the soft fabric to your chest you bring the collar to your nose with a deep inhale.

Sighing softly, you whisper, “it’s perfect Joel. I love it!”  

You throw yourself into his arms and he helps you put it on, slowly and carefully closing each button but not without brushing his knuckles along your skin, sending a shiver of goosebumps down your spine.

“There,” he says, looking you over. “My perfectly wrapped present.”

You giggle and run your hands down the front. As you do you feel something hard in the front pocket. You stop and look up to find Joel smiling softly.

“Find something else?”

When you reach into the pocket your fingers close around something small and cool and then you pull out your hand in your palm rests a simple gold band.

Your eyes widen and you suck in a gasp.

He takes it from your hand and grabs your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.

“Darlin’,” he starts, his voice gruff with emotion. “I was so lost before. But now that I have you, I need you. Not in the ways to survive, but in the ways that make life worth living. I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever…that is, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

The tears fall freely down your cheeks, and you manage a “yes,” just before your arms wind around his neck and you pepper him with kisses. He takes the ring and with a gentleness that makes your breath catch he slips it onto your left ring finger.

“I love you.”

Your words are a whisper, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips to kiss across your knuckles, then your palm and finally your wrist before your hand opens to cradle his cheek.

“I love you more,” he answers, closing his eyes.

[mrsmnsn]

I Got My Love To Keep Me Warm🎄✨❣️

summary: It’s your first time spending the holidays with your boyfriend and his uncle and it’s nothing but the perfect Christmas.

warnings: guys it is only a very fluffy christmas special, i hope you enjoy it. the reader and eddie are dating btw (if that counts:))

wc: 1.8k

Happy Christmas :)

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You woke up with a freezing foot pressing against your own feet. You squint and hear a giggle from the boy next to you. “I’m going to put my cold hands on your butt Eddie, get off.” You said with a grumpy tone and still waking up.

“No you won’t, cause if you do i’ll put my cold hands on your boobs. I’ll have to take my revenge.” He teases you but still places his hand on your cheek and smile at you like the sweet guy he is. “I’m sorry that i woke you up like that i couldn’t resist-“ You playfully push his hand and his face making him grab you tight into a hug, a way to keep you still. “I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to help me with some chores today, all christmas chores… What do you say?”

You open your eyes but you only see Eddie’s neck since he’s pressing his cheek on your forehead while he hugs you tight. “Christmas chores? Tell me more” Eddie knew you were going to be intrigued, you had that christmas spirit, always excited for ‘the most beautiful time of the year’.

“Well, my uncle is going to a christmas tree farm because, even though we don’t have a lot of money to put up with a big tree, Wayne have a friend from his old days that works in one of those farms and got a nice price on a nice tree.” As Eddie explained you got up on your elbows to listen to his story carefully. “So, while he goes there to pick up our tree, you can come get the ornaments with me so we can decorate later and also go to the grocery store to buy some ingredients for those recipes you wanted to make.”

You’re smiling without even noticing. Now you really woke up and were ready for everything. “That’s great Eds, of course i’ll go with you! You just described a perfect day!” Eddie also was smiling without even noticing now. He loved when you got all excited about the things you truly loved.

So you two got dressed and went on your little Christmas adventure. First you take the ornaments in the self storage Wayne keeps the things that don’t fit in the trailer (he recently got to pay the rent thanks to Eddie’s help and his hard-earned money), and they made the place look bigger. You took the two medium boxes and went to the grocery store that wasn’t that far away. The place was crowded, of course it would be, there were only two days left until Christmas.

“Do we really have to get those ingredients?” Eddie said looking at the big line of people inside the store. It was probably going to take a bit more than thirty minutes.

“We don’t have to, but without them i can’t make those desserts.” You replied a bit annoyed that everyone got the same idea as you. “But come on, it’s gonna be worth it i promise!” You pull Eddie into the store.

————��———————————————————————

When you got home, it was already afternoon. Wayne was already outside the trailer with the tree, cutting some twigs that expanded way too much. “Hey you two, what took you so long? Was it too hard to find the boxes?”

“Wayne you’re not gonna believe what happened there!” Eddie got out the van and started to tell the story excitedly. “I mean, we took only ten minutes to find the boxes, the real fun was in the market. The place was crowded, we started to get the missing ingredients when a lady tried to-“

“EDDIE! I told you… I told you not to say anything to your uncle.” You tried to mumble to him and your cheeks got red with embarrassment.

“What happened?” Wayne asked a bit concerned for the discrepancy in your reaction and Eddie’s.

“I’m sorry mr. Munson I- I was just… There was just a bit of a hustle in there because another woman tried to take the last container of cinnamon powder that was already in my hand and that was the most important ingredient in the recipes i wanted to make. So I got a bit carried away and-“

“She put the woman in her place, it was metal!” Eddie interrupted you and you cover your face with your hands.

“Eddie don’t be that dramatic, i was rude, yes, but only you and the lady heard what i said. I tried not to be too scandalous. At least she heard me and went her own way.” You got so stressed, the only thing you wanted to do is go back to your plans on making your christmas chores.

“I probably helped you scare her away. I gave her my bad guy look.” Eddie made that face again and you couldn’t help but fall into laughter. He was happy that he could pull a smile on your face after so much stress.

“That’s a story huh. It’s fine, just be careful with those type of ladies here in town, they not very nice.” He said giving you a small grin. Before Eddie could take you inside he stopped you again. “And hun’, you can quit the whole mr thing, you can call me Wayne, a’ right?” And you just replied with a grin and nod.

After that you just got back to your plans. You called your mom to let her know you were fine. Your family was spending Christmas at your grandparents house and you asked them if this year, you could spend the holidays with your boyfriend and his uncle. Miraculously they said yes. Now you were here, spending your first Christmas with Eddie (and also the first time you spent more than three days together) and you couldn’t be more excited. Everyday was being better than the one before.

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In the next day, the tree was all pretty and colorful on the little corner of their living room. You spent the day making dinner (a tradition of theirs, a simple dish, mac n’ cheese, which you also offered to make) and the classic desserts, the gingerbread cookies and your cinnamon rolls. Of course, the moment you started to bake, Eddie offered to help. So it’s been like this the whole day, you trying to teach Eddie how to cook. You could only laugh in each five seconds.

“Stop laughing you dork, help me!” Eddie said laughing his ass off too. He was trying his best and, it wasn’t so bad, it was just funny.

“Come on Eds, do it as i said.” You contain yourself and take his hand, helping him mix all the ingredients together. You could feel his heavy sight on you. “You have to concentrate.”

“I’m trying.” He recomposed himself and started to mix again. “You’re not helping though.”

“What? What am i doing?”

“Besides of laughing at my face at every five seconds…” You giggle at him “You’re way to pretty with your hair up like that, wearing my shirt and with flour all over your face.”

“What?” You run your hand on your face and it was actually dirty. Eddie was laughing at you, so you take your time to tell him how pretty he was. You take a bit of flour and throw it at him. He stoped, too stunned to speak and then open a mischievous grin. That meant ‘run’.

Regretting instantly, because Eddie always takes those jokes very seriously, you start running around.

“Wait, Eddie wait! Don’t turn the room into a mess.”

“You started it. It’s just life babe, when you do something, there’s a consequence.” He’s laughing too and you run outside, avoiding the possible big mess inside the trailer. But when you open the door you’re surprised by the cold breeze and the snow falling down.

You just stop to look around and up the sky to feel the snow on your skin. It was really really cold, but it was amazing. You feel Eddie behind you, remember what you were playing before, but his hands were free and were wrapping around your growing cold body. It felt like you just stood there for a second, but maybe you were there for a little longer.

“Isn’t it amazing?” You speak and your chin trembles. Eddie turns you to him so he could embrace you into a warm hug. “You’re so warm. And you’re smelling like gingerbread cookies.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” He chuckled

“It is. You smell like home.”

After that, You finish all your chores, take a very warm and needed shower and you stay our little christmas together. You three have dinner first and now, voted by Eddie and Wayne, you should come spend every christmas with them because it was the best mac n’ cheese they’ve ever eaten. You talk about things from your year, the ups and downs, your favorite moments, all that while you prepared the goodies to watch a classic christmas movie, something that Eddie came up with. One of his favorite things to do if he was honest, he used to do that on halloween but he brought that tradition to christmas too, to add a bit more to your special night together.

If they ask you, it was a perfect christmas day. You loved every second of it, specially because you got to spend your favorite holiday with your favorite person. By the middle of the movie you were sleeping on Eddie’s lap. When he realized, he felt something inside him, a warm feeling contrasting with the cold weather that he was growing accustomed to more and more and he could never get tired of it. While looking at you, a million thoughts passed through his head but the main thing was, he was sure that he never wanted to let you go. He loved you to much to even think about it.

“What’s on your mind kiddo?” Wayne asked as if he was reading his mind. He was actually, but he was reading his expressions, full of love looking down at your sleeping body.

“Nothing…. Just think i really got lucky. There’s no way i would get her without a bit of luck.” He tried to make a joke up that uncomfortable moment he got caught.

“I think that she’s the one Ed. And I mean it.” Wayne said bringing Eddie’s attention to him. “It’s pretty obvious to anyone who’s out watching you guys as i did the last couple of days. The way she treats you like you just gave the world to her, the way she looks at you like you’re her prince. It’s special Eddie and it doesn’t happen twice. You know it.”

Eddie is stunned. He didn’t disagree with what his uncle said, but to have someone telling him that you’re feeling the same way he is, that it is visible…. it really caught him. He was overwhelmed even. To have his feelings reciprocated in the same intensity.

“I think so too Wayne.” Eddie turned back to look at you. “Shes my girl. Shes the one.”

[loveesiren]

𝖤𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍 (𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾)

Rafe Cameron x Reader

a/n: here is the third and perhaps final part? of Emergency Contact. I am open to the idea of writing more for this if you guys have some ideas you want to share with me! Otherwise, thank you so much for enjoying this mini series! I loved writing it and I can't wait to write more for Rafe <3 (Also, please lmk if tags aren't working!)

synopsis: Y/N has always been close to the Cameron family, practically a part of it after years of friendship. Beneath the surface, unspoken feelings simmer between her and Rafe, but neither of them can muster the courage to admit it. When Y/N finally decides to move on, setting her sights on a new man, he’s forced to confront the truth: losing her might cost him more than he ever realized.

warnings: language, angst, drug use (cocaine), alcohol, mention of rehab

wc: 4k+

The days that followed were a blur of beer, late-night adventures, and laughter with the Pogues. You told yourself you were over it, that you didn’t need Rafe’s attitude bringing you down. JJ had become a constant in your life, his arm draped over your shoulder more often than not. However, you still felt an empty hole in your chest.

You supposed you and JJ were a thing now, though you hadn’t put a label on it. He liked showing you off, and you didn’t mind the attention—especially when his lips trailed down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You let him explore your body, but you always stopped things before they went too far.

JJ didn’t say much about it, but you could tell he was frustrated. Still, he didn’t push you, which you appreciated.

A few nights later, you were sprawled across the couch with the Pogues, laughing as Sarah flailed her arms during a particularly dramatic game of charades. Her phone buzzed rapidly on the table beside you, but she didn’t notice.

“Sarah!” you called, grabbing her phone. “Your dad is blowing up your phone!”

The carefree energy in the room shifted as Sarah snatched her phone from your hands. Her brows furrowed as she read through the missed calls and texts. “Shit…” she muttered, worry creeping into her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Kiara asked, the concern spreading to everyone else.

“My dad can’t get in touch with Rafe,” Sarah said, her tone uneasy. “He’s out of town and freaking out.”

“Is Rafe okay?” you asked, your stomach twisting with sudden anxiety.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sarah said quickly, but her eyes darted to the screen again. You could tell she wasn’t being entirely honest. “I just need to check on him. I’ll be back soon.” She grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

You sat there, staring at the spot where Sarah had been. Pulling out your phone, you opened your text thread with Rafe. It had been five days since you’d last heard from him.

Are you okay? you typed, hesitating for only a second before hitting send.

The screen remained blank, no reply. With a heavy sigh, you tucked your phone back into your pocket and turned back to the group.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” JJ said softly, brushing your hair aside to kiss your cheek. He pulled you closer, offering comfort, but it didn’t reach the pit of unease growing in your chest.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, trying to believe him. But your mind was elsewhere.

All you could think about was Rafe.

-

“Rafe?” Sarah’s voice echoed through the house as she stepped inside. The space was dark and suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music coming from down the hall. She reached for the light switch, illuminating the chaos around her—Rafe’s belongings strewn across the house like an abandoned battleground.

As she moved into the kitchen, her stomach twisted. Empty liquor bottles were tipped over on the island, surrounded by half-smoked joints and cigarette butts. She frowned, fighting the wave of dread rising in her chest.

“Rafe?” she called out again, louder this time, as she ventured deeper into the house. Her sandals crunched against the sticky floor. The music grew louder as she approached the master bedroom, the sound of heavy metal shaking the walls. It was a genre so foreign to Rafe that it made her pause.

Reaching for the handle, Sarah opened the door slowly, peeking inside. The sight before her made her heart drop.

Rafe sat slumped over his dresser, shirtless, his jeans undone and his hair disheveled. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels stood beside him, its sticky contents dripping down the side. He sniffed at the surface of the dresser, the residue of white powder glaring under the dim light.

“Rafe…” Sarah whispered, stepping in to lower the volume on the stereo. The silence that followed was heavy. “I thought you quit,” she said, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. Seeing him like this—broken, lost, a shadow of the brother she thought she’d gotten back—was almost unbearable.

Rafe didn’t look at her. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. “Why’d you do it, Sarah?” he asked, his voice hoarse and low.

“D-Do what?” she stammered, blinking back tears.

He didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on organizing another line of cocaine with unsteady hands.

“Dad’s worried,” she said, trying to keep her composure. “He told me to check on you. Rafe, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this? Y/N said you’d been acting weird, but I—”

“Y/N…” he interrupted bitterly, spitting out your name like it burned his tongue. “That’s the problem, Sarah.”

Sarah froze, her stomach tightening as Rafe finally turned to look at her. His bloodshot eyes were sunken, the pain etched deep into his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Why’d you hook Y/n up with JJ?” He asked, his voice breaking. “You knew—” He inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself. “You knew I fucking liked her, Sarah! You knew I…”

He trailed off, choking on his words.

Sarah’s lip quivered as she stared at him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“You know I love her,” Rafe admitted, his voice barely audible as he crumbled to the floor. His back hit the edge of the bed, and he buried his face in his hands. The weight of those words hung heavy in the air. For so long, he’d buried the truth, but now it was out, raw and unfiltered.

Sarah knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms. “Rafe…” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You never told me…”

Rafe shook his head, his body trembling as he sobbed. “It doesn’t matter. She’s with him now,” he said, his voice cracking. “I ruined everything. I treated her like shit, Sarah. She’s never going to forgive me. Never.”

Sarah held him tighter, her heart breaking for him. She didn’t know what to say, so she just let him cry. His sobs eventually softened, the exhaustion of the past few days finally catching up to him.

She helped him into bed, pulling the covers over him as he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep. His breathing evened out, the rise and fall of his chest steadying. Sarah lingered for a moment, watching her brother in the dim light. He looked so fragile, so unlike the Rafe she grew up with.

Once she was certain he was asleep, she quietly left the room, leaving the door cracked open behind her. She pulled out her phone and dialed Ward, holding it to her ear as she began to clean up the kitchen.

“Yeah, he’s okay now,” she said, responding to Ward’s worried question. “I’m letting him sleep it off. I’ll get rid of the drugs and clean up the place, but… he’s not okay, Dad. He’s really not.” Her voice broke, but she steadied herself, wiping away a tear.

Ward’s response was short but decisive. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

Hanging up, Sarah continued to clean, throwing away bottles and sweeping up the debris of her brother’s downward spiral. She was scrubbing the counter when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with your photo, your name glowing brightly.

Sarah hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone. She sighed deeply before answering. “Hey…” she said softly, already knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

You glanced at JJ, passed out on the couch across the room. His frustration earlier had been palpable—trying and failing to get you to sleep with him yet again. But how could you? Your mind was elsewhere, consumed with worry for Rafe. JJ had finally given up and flopped down, his snores starting almost instantly.

You scoffed, clutching your phone tighter in your hand. If JJ truly cared about you, he wouldn’t be pressuring you when you were clearly preoccupied. He wouldn’t be making this about himself. The analog clock on the wall read 2:13 a.m., and each unanswered ring on the phone made your anxiety climb higher.

Finally, Sarah’s soft voice came through. “Hey…”

“Sarah!” you exclaimed, standing up abruptly. “What’s going on? Is Rafe okay?”

There was a long pause, and her hesitation made your stomach drop. “Uhm…” Her voice cracked, and you knew.

“Sarah, what is it?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Yes and no,” she finally said. “He… he relapsed.”

The weight of those words hit you like a freight train. You sank back down into the chair as tears blurred your vision. “Fuck…” you whispered, your voice breaking. You wiped at your face, but the tears kept coming. “I knew something was wrong. I tried, Sarah. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he just—”

“Y/N,” Sarah interrupted, her voice urgent but soft. “Can you just come over? I think he needs you right now.”

Her words stopped you in your tracks. “Me? Why would he need me?”

“Please,” she pleaded, ignoring your question.

You didn’t need to hear more. “I’m on my way,” you said, grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

When you arrived at Rafe’s house, the dim light spilling out from the kitchen was the only sign of life. You stumbled inside to find Sarah sweeping up broken glass, the remnants of Rafe’s spiral.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice breathless.

“He’s sleeping,” Sarah replied, her tone weary. She leaned against the counter and set the broom aside. “My dad’s flying back in the morning.”

You hesitated, watching her carefully. “Do you know what happened? Why does he… why does he need me?”

Sarah sighed deeply, dropping onto one of the barstools at the island. “I think I might’ve messed up,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. “Rafe… he…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“He what, Sarah?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin. “Just say it!”

Sarah’s gaze shot up to meet yours, her voice breaking as she blurted out, “He loves you, okay?!”

Your heart stopped. The air left the room. “What?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Sarah softened, guilt etched across her face. “He loves you, Y/N. And I didn’t know… I didn’t know how much. I thought it was just some crush. He never made a move, so I figured he didn’t care. I thought setting you up with JJ would be fun, but I-” She sighed, her words tumbling over each other.

“Sarah, stop,” you said, cutting her off. She was spiraling, and you could barely keep up with her frantic explanations. “It’s not your fault.”

The room fell silent, and her words hung heavy in the air. Rafe loved you. He always had. And you—stupid, oblivious you—had missed it.

Sarah studied you for a moment, her tear-filled eyes softening. “Do you love him?” she asked quietly.

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Her lips curved into a brief, sad smile as she wiped at her own tears. “Go to him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when my dad gets back. He’ll probably send him off to rehab again, but… he needs you right now.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, your heart hammering in your chest as you stood. Sarah returned to her cleaning, giving you the space you needed.

Rafe’s bedroom door creaked softly as you pushed it open, slipping inside. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Your gaze landed on him, sprawled across the bed. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the confident and composed Rafe you’d always known. His chest rose and fell steadily, his lips slightly parted. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and his hair was a disheveled mess.

Your heart ached as you stepped closer. You could see the toll the past few days had taken on him—the flushed cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint tremor in his hand even as he slept.

Carefully, you slid into bed beside him, your weight barely shifting the mattress. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His grip tightened instinctively, and you smiled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I love you, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, you let yourself say the words out loud.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Your eyes fluttered open to the early morning sun peeking through the blinds. The air was heavy, a mix of stale whiskey and regret clinging to the room. You turned your head slightly, finding Rafe curled into you. For someone usually so imposing, he looked impossibly small, trembling as the aftershocks of withdrawal rippled through his body.

“Rafe?” you whispered, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. His cheek was flushed under your palm, warm and slick with sweat.

“It’s freezing…” he mumbled, though his skin burned with fever.

You frowned, heart aching at the sight of him. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower,” you murmured gently.

Helping him out of bed proved to be a challenge. He groaned as you maneuvered him upright, his body heavy and uncoordinated, but you were determined. Once you were in the bathroom you carefully peeled his jeans off, leaving him in his boxers, before guiding him toward the shower.

The sound of the water rushing into the tub filled the space. You adjusted the temperature until it was lukewarm—cool enough to help his fever but not cold enough to make him shiver. As soon as Rafe stepped under the spray, he slumped to the floor of the tub with a heavy groan, his knees drawn up, arms resting limply on them.

You perched on the closed toilet lid, keeping an eye on him. He looked utterly spent, the water coursing over his fevered skin, plastering his messy hair to his forehead. You pulled out your phone to find a text from Sarah.

Dad’s flight is delayed. Won’t make it until tonight.

You exhaled in quiet relief. At least you had more time to be here with Rafe before Ward arrived and took over.

Can you bring me a liquid IV? I’ve got him in the shower, you texted back.

Minutes later, there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. You opened it just enough to see Sarah holding a glass. She handed it to you, her brows furrowed with worry. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s coming down,” you said, taking the glass from her. “He’s got a bit of a fever, but I think he’ll be okay.”

Sarah bit her lip but nodded. “Okay… I’ll make some breakfast,” she said quietly.

“Thanks, Sarah. We’ll be out soon,” you assured her, closing the door again.

You turned back to Rafe, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the shower floor. His shoulders were hunched, the water cascading down his back. Slowly, you crouched by the tub and opened the shower door.

“Rafey,” you coaxed gently, holding the glass out. “I need you to drink this. It’ll help, okay?”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, glassy and tired, but he obediently took the glass with trembling hands. You guided it to his lips, helping him sip slowly. It took a few minutes, but he managed to finish it, and you set the empty glass aside with a soft smile.

“Good job,” you said softly, brushing your fingers against his damp hair.

Rafe’s voice broke through the quiet. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he rasped.

You shook your head, crouching closer. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I fucked up,” he sighed, his head dipping forward.

“No, Rafe, I did.” You bit your lip, your voice trembling as you confessed. “I should’ve told you a long time ago… that I love you.”

His head snapped up, his bloodshot blue eyes locking onto yours. “You what?” His voice cracked, almost disbelieving.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “I love you, Rafe. And I’m so sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve been there for you…”

Rafe stared at you, his body frozen as your words sank in. Every chaotic thought in his mind came to a halt, silenced by the sheer weight of your confession. Before either of you could second-guess the moment, he reached out, his strong hand pulling you into the shower with him.

“Rafe—!” you gasped as the water soaked through your clothes, but your protest died on your lips as his mouth found yours.

The kiss was soft yet desperate, his lips trembling against yours, the weight of unspoken years pouring into the moment. It took you a second to process what was happening, but then you melted into him, snaking an arm around his neck and tangling your fingers in his damp hair.

Every problem, every heartache, every unanswered question disappeared as his hands slid up your back, anchoring you to him. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself forget the world outside.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless. His blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. Your mascara ran in streaks down your cheeks, and strands of wet hair clung to your face, but none of it mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled through your tears, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “I love you too, Rafe.”

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not Ward, not Sarah, not the mistakes or the pain. Just you and Rafe, tangled together, the water washing away everything but the promise of a new beginning.

You and Sarah spent the day nursing Rafe back to health. Between making sure he ate and keeping him hydrated, most of your time was spent curled up with him on the couch. He gravitated toward your warmth, his head resting on your shoulder as Adventure Time played softly on the TV. His apologies spilled out at regular intervals, at least once every thirty minutes, as though they were on a timer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair, offering a soft smile. “Rafey, it’s okay. We’ve already forgiven you.”

Sarah chimed in from the kitchen, “She’s right. We just want you to focus on getting better.”

But no matter how much reassurance you both gave him, Rafe couldn’t seem to forgive himself. His relapse haunted him—forcing his dad to cut a business trip short, the anger he’d unleashed on you, the guilt over falling back into old habits. He swore up and down he’d never touch cocaine again, especially now that he had you, but addiction wasn’t that simple. You knew the moment Ward arrived, he would take charge of the situation.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room as you snuggled deeper into Rafe’s arms. Between soft kisses and whispered promises of a future together, you tried to savor the quiet moments. In the kitchen, Sarah hummed softly as she worked on dinner, the smell of roasted potatoes and chicken wafting through the house.

Then, the front door slammed open. The calm shattered as Ward’s heavy footsteps echoed through the house.

“Where is he?” Ward’s voice boomed, sharp with frustration and worry.

Sarah stepped into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “On the couch with Y/N,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to you and Rafe.

Rafe tensed beside you. You placed a comforting hand on his chest, but he was already pushing the blanket off and rising to his feet.

“Hey, Dad,” he said softly, his voice thick with shame.

Ward’s expression was a mixture of relief and disappointment as his eyes scanned his son. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled Rafe into a firm embrace. Rafe stiffened at first but then melted into it, his head dropping to Ward’s shoulder.

“Let’s go talk,” Ward said gruffly, his hand gripping Rafe’s shoulder as he guided him toward the master bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you and Sarah in heavy silence. You sat down at the kitchen island, pulling Rafe’s blanket around your shoulders, the lingering warmth proving to be a poor substitute for him.

“Ward’s going to send him away, isn’t he?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah sighed as she plated some food and slid it in front of you. “Probably,” she admitted, sitting across from you with her own plate. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

You frowned. “Why are you apologizing?” you asked, absentmindedly poking at a roasted potato.

Sarah hesitated before speaking. “I should’ve known you two were in love. How could I have been so blind? If I hadn’t pushed JJ on you, maybe none of this would’ve happened. This is all my fault.”

You shook your head and reached across the table to take her hands. “Sarah, this isn’t your fault. It’s not your job to play matchmaker. Maybe Rafe and I just ignored what was right in front of us for too long.”

She gave you a small, sheepish smile. “So… you don’t really like JJ?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “JJ’s fine. Kind of a dick though. There’s no connection there. Not like what I feel for Rafe.”

Sarah grinned, her eyes brightening a little. “Maybe one day we’ll be sisters,” she teased.

You chuckled. “Let’s get through tonight first.”

The bedroom door creaked open, and both of you turned as Ward made his way into the kitchen. His expression was firm but calm. “I’m taking him to treatment first thing in the morning,” he announced.

Your heart clenched, but you nodded, understanding. This was what Rafe needed, even if it hurt to let him go.

Ward glanced between you and Sarah before his features softened slightly. “Sarah, why don’t you and I spend the night at Tanneyhill? Give Rafe and Y/N some time alone.”

Sarah smiled and hugged you tightly before gathering her things. “Thank you, Mr. C,” you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

He gave you a small nod. “Call if you need anything,” he said before ushering Sarah out the door.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what would likely be one of the hardest nights of your life. With the house quiet again, you made your way down the hall to Rafe’s bedroom.

You knocked softly before opening the door. Rafe was already in bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, but when he saw you, a small smile tugged at his lips. He patted the space beside him, inviting you to lay with him.

Climbing into bed, you turned to face him, resting your head on his chest. “How are you feeling?” you asked gently.

“Better. A lot better,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. His smile faltered, replaced by a frown. “But my dad’s not going to let me off easy.”

“It’s okay, Rafey,” you reassured him, lacing your fingers with his. “Take the time you need to get better. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He turned his head to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt. “You promise?”

You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Cross my heart.”

A genuine smile broke across his face, something that was rare to find in Rafe Cameron. Holding him close, you let the rhythm of his breathing lull you into a sense of calm. Whatever came next, you’d face it together.

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[holylulusworld]

Gap Filler (1)

Summary: Lack of communication leads to fallout.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, Walter being a douche, break-up, mentions of break-ups

A/N: A short drabble miniseries.

Rachel is back. She wants to try again. You repeat every single word Walter said to you again and again until he grabs you by your arms to shake you.

“Why now? I thought we were fine, and the next step was to… You trail off and shake your head as you try to fathom that Walter is about to end what you built.

Until a few moments ago, you believed Walter and you were going steady. You spent the last thirteen months believing he felt the same way. Last week, you overheard a conversation and believed he was going to ask you to move in with him.

You got your hopes high only to look at your shattered heart lying on the ground. Literally—you dropped the cake in the shape of a heart you baked for Walter.

“You need to calm down,” Walter huffs. “Fuck, I thought this was only a colleague-with-benefits kind of arrangement! I never wanted this to go on for so long. I should’ve ended things much sooner.”

“Colleagues with benefits kind of—what?” Your eyes widen and you gape up at Walter. This can’t be real. While you were in a relationship, Walter only wanted to have sex.

“We both got tipsy at that party, and things happened,” Walter continues, shattering your heart. “I thought you knew what this was, Y/N.”

“Walter, we were dating for thirteen months! This is not a one-time thing or shit. You bought me flowers for Valentine’s Day, and we made plans for Christmas and the future!”

“You made plans,” he says, a little too harsh. You flinch and immediately push against his chest to get him off you. “I never said I’d join you on your planned activities.”

“Activities…” You sniffle. “I planned Christmas for us, and you call it activities? We were together for thirteen months, and you call it a one-night stand.”

“Christ, Y/N! After Rachel left, I was down. You were all too willing to fill the gap she left.”

You visibly flinch at his words. “I was a gap filler,” you murmur more to yourself than Walter. All the time you spent together meant so much to you, and Walter simply wanted to get off and fill a gap. “A gap filler…”

Walter watches you step back and shake your head as he reaches out for you. Tears run down your cheeks, but you couldn’t care less. The man you love with all your heart reduced you to a body he could use to stuff with his cock. “Wow, I don’t think any other guy ever hurt me as much as you did.”

You chuckle humorlessly as he tries to talk you into sitting down and talking things out.

“Go ahead,” you stubbornly say. “Get back together with the woman leaving you for a job. A job, Walter! She didn’t even have the decency to tell you to your face. She broke up with you via voicemail.” You snicker as his face falls. “She must be so in love with you!”

Turning on your heels, you don’t look back. If you do, you’ll break down and cry.

“We are going to miss you,” your supervisor says. You got the offer for a better position weeks ago but didn’t answer. Believing that your relationship with Walter is developing, you didn’t think about the better position. Moving far away from the man you love wasn’t an option.

“I must go,” you repeat the mantra you practiced for over a week. Avoiding getting anywhere near Walter helped too. “The offer was too good.”

You lie; your supervisor can see it in your eyes. She has known you for years and heard that Rachel will return to your department at the beginning of the next year.

She’s one of the few people knowing about your relationship with Walter and assumes your goodbye has something to do with her return. “You’ll always have your place here if you decide to come back.”

“I know, and thank you for it,” you say, voice saddening. You loved working with your team. Walter made it impossible for you to stay and live your life unbothered by his blooming relationship with his ex.

“Is this an early Christmas party?” Walter gruffly asks your supervisor. She organized a farewell party for you. You took the rest of the year off to pack up your life and leave town to start anew somewhere far away from Walter.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” She replies, anger in her eyes. “Y/N is leaving. She took the job offer and quit. A shame. She was one of our best technicians. I wonder what made her change her mind. She already refused to take the job offer.”

She walks off, smirking as Walter frantically runs his fingers through his hair. He believed you took the job offer months ago. His face falls as he watches you stand in a corner, shying away from everyone once again. Just like in the beginning, before he made a move.

His gaze fixated on you, he ignores everyone else who is staring at him. Walter wrings his hands, wondering if he should talk to you. The decision is taken from him when you walk out of the room without looking back. You’re done here and don’t want anyone else to pity you.

Walter searches for any trace of you at your office. He opens drawers, huffing as there is nothing left of you. He sits on your chair and frowns deeply.

For weeks, he was hurting. Walter believed you wanted to leave him, just like Rachel before you, for a job. He did the only thing to prevent his heart from breaking. Walter broke your heart first.

Now that he found out the truth, he feels like a monster. He looks at the trash can under your desk, filled with the remnants of your work here.

Walter fishes a plastic stick out of the trash can, immediately sucking in a breath as his eyes drop to the word on the test. “Pregnant…”

Tags in reblog.

[yaniluvs]

the way it used to be ⠀日 : surprising your old friend whom you spent your whole childhood with.

𓍯 idol!chan ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）0.8k── ༯ DRABBLE, fluff, childhood bsfs, reminiscing, platonic, short, very demure very cutesy, req. by anon . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ hihi <3 another request fulfilled! youth mv is coming in a few minutes, railway is 3 days away, christmas eve is tomorrow! everything's going so quick. well, enough of my yap!! thanks to anon for the request, hope you like it! comments, requests, asks, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the studio hummed softly with the rhythm of creation. neon lights bathed the room in a faint blue hue, illuminating scattered notepads, empty coffee cups, and tangled wires. chris sat hunched over the mixer, his headphones cocooning him in a world of melody and beats. his fingers danced across the keyboard, and his lips moved silently to lyrics only he could hear.

the door creaked open, but he didn’t notice at first. not until a voice, familiar and warm like a memory, broke through his concentration.

“still drowning in wires and caffeine, i see.”

chris's head snapped up, his eyes widening as they landed on her. she stood there, arms crossed with a smirk playing on her lips, her figure outlined by the hallway light. y/n. his childhood best friend. the one he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“y/n?” he exclaimed, pulling off his headphones and rising to his feet so quickly the chair nearly toppled. “what are you doing here?”

“surprising you, obviously,” she replied, stepping into the room. “thought you might’ve forgotten me with how busy you are, bangchan.”

“forget you?” chris shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “impossible. you just stopped answering my texts!”

“oh, sure, blame me,” she teased, rolling her eyes before pulling him into a quick hug. “you’ve been busy saving the world with your music. i figured you didn’t need little ol’ me bothering you.”

“y/n, you’re ridiculous,” he laughed, though his voice softened with genuine fondness. “i could never be too busy for you. plus how'd you even find me here- and how did they let you in?”

“it took me a few calls with hannah to get to your little lair here, call me a stalker, but here i am. and as far as the security is concerned, felix helped.”

she laughed, glancing around the room. “this place screams ‘chris’ it’s chaotic, intense, and somehow cozy all at once.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “yeah, it’s a mess. you caught me in the middle of a session.”

“am i interrupting genius at work?”

“not genius, just me,” he quipped, leaning against the desk.

“but since you’re here, let’s catch up. it’s been too long.”

“chop chop, i've got coffees and chips, just like before.”

minutes later, they were strolling along the quiet streets. the city lights shimmered like stars brought to earth, casting reflections on the river they walked beside. the chill of the night nipped at their cheeks, but the warmth of shared laughter kept them moving.

“so,” y/n began, nudging him playfully. “remember when we tried to start a band in high school?”

he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “please don’t remind me. we were terrible.”

“terrible?” y/n gasped, dramatically, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “we were iconic. with our small studio at your place, my guitar, your vocals and oh so dear macbook. ”

“if anything, we were trendsetters.” she said dramatically, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

the two dissolved into laughter, the kind that made their sides ache. the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the echo of their voices and the gentle ripple of the river.

they found a spot by the water’s edge, sitting side by side on a bench. the moon hung high above them, casting silver light across their faces.

“it’s crazy, isn’t it?” y/n said softly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “how much has changed.”

“yeah,” he murmured, resting his elbows on his knees. “feels like another lifetime sometimes.”

they fell into a comfortable silence, the kind only lifelong friends could share. the memories of childhood seemed to hover between them—lazy afternoons, endless chatter, and dreams that felt too big for their small hands to hold.

“you’ve done it, though,” y/n said suddenly, turning to him. “you’ve made those dreams come true.”

“i guess,” chris replied, his voice tinged with humility. “but it’s not the same without having people like you around.”

y/n’s smile softened. “you’re still you, though. the same chris who spent hours perfecting a two-minute song. the same chris who stayed up with me when i was scared of the dark.”

“and you’re still the same y/n who annoyed the hell out of me,” chan said, nudging her shoulder. “oh, AND the one who always believed in you, when you were busy being sappy with berry!” she countered.

they looked at each other, and for a moment, the weight of time lifted. they weren’t idol and friend, or two people living vastly different lives. they were just chris and y/n—two kids who had grown up but never apart.

as the night deepened, their laughter and stories carried on, intertwining with the wind. by the time they walked back to the studio, they felt lighter, as if they’d bottled a piece of the past to keep with them always.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[jiraisupportgroup]

Important Update:

It has been brought to my attention by several people that there was / is a blog that is impersonating me and posting very hateful & harmful things aimed at the jiraiblr community. This blog had a username very similar to this one (jiraiisupportgroup and then jiiraisupportgroup both with double “i”s at different points in the username) they copied my profile picture, header image, blog description, pinned post(?), and even went as far as to copy anonymous asks I have been sent and send them to themselves to reply to to create confusion and trick people into thinking that blog was me.

In light of this I want to make a few things clear:

- This blog is a side blog. It cannot follow you, it cannot like posts, and it cannot send asks. All of those things would instead link to my main blog. If any blog that looks like this one ever follows you, likes one of your posts, or sends you an ask please block them immediately.

- If this blog does get terminated for whatever reason, any back-up blogs to replace this one will be made as another side blog. So please know this warning to block any blog that looks like this one if they follow you, like one of your posts, or send you an ask will never change.

- In the event that this blog is ever terminated, the first few posts of any replacement blog will be proof that it is actually me. What this details I am not entire sure of at this exact moment, and likely will not share to avoid the case of another disgusting copy-cat.

I want to give so much thanks to @bpdgrrrl1312 @bl0odied-kittypaw @criminaldoenjangjjigae @twistedsweetheart @sakiyaki-sashimi @oneeyawn @jiraikasa-kun as well as any others I may have missed (and all the anons who contacted me) for bringing this first of all to my attention, but more importantly to everyone’s attention. Thank you all so much for spreading awareness about this impersonator, and for helping distance myself from the horrible horrible things this person was saying.

As far as I can tell at the moment it appears that the blog is deleted? (Can anyone help me confirm?) But I will keep an eye and ear out to make sure, and update everyone if they pop up again. Thank you all so much for reporting this blog while I was not online for the night T-T not only for myself but also for the jiraiblr community as a whole.

It really hurts my heart and sickens me to know that someone impersonated my blog to spew hatred and vitriol. I did not get to see a majority of the things the blog did post (I saw screenshots of maybe 2 or 3 of the posts), so I can’t even imagine what else they were saying (especially to get banned so quickly because tumblr typically does not ban accounts very fast).

If this blog targeted you or even if you had the misfortune of seeing this blog, I am so deeply sorry. Please know that no matter what this person may have said you are loved, you are important, you are valid, and you deserve to be safe and feel welcome. I truly believe that, and I am so sorry that anyone tried to make you feel otherwise.

I am sending all of you so much love and as much support as I can ♡ I know many of us are stressed going into holiday season and this whole situation did not help with that. From what I can gather you all handled it quite well and for that I am so so appreciative. ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ love all of you so much and I am sending everyone the warmest wishes and happiest days I possibly can ♡ ♡ ♡

[eroscomet]

Picking Up Pieces That Aren't Yours

Chapter three- Closer

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Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warning: Explicit, Warning 18+ content, swearing, fingering (Tara receiving), kissing.

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: Hey, lovelies, needed to update this real bad. BEAR WITH ME YALL, this is my first like smut that I have basically officially put out there. I hope you guys enjoy it and honestly, I was very nervous to post this update but I have left you guys starved of this story for too long. Making this chapter was a rollercoaster of emotions for me, I did not know that writing smut could be so bashful or even sheepish, but it really was. Good news as well, Make it Right will have an update soon! Very nervous to put this chapter out there but it was going to happen sooner or later. By the way, for future reference, this will be a g!p reader. Just letting you guys know that. Thank you so much for all the support and this one's for you guys!

Proof read.

Minors DNI

╰┈➤ Series Masterlist

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Your head felt like it had been reeling since the moment that you and Tara were back in contact. You felt wrong for allowing her to get the better of you when she had been somewhat intoxicated. The guilt was practically eating at you because not only had you hooked up with her, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Throughout each of your classes, every time you tried to force yourself to focus on the teacher's words or even the work in front of you, all you could think about was that night.

Your mind was plagued by all that the shorter girl had become under your touch. It felt selfish to have done such a thing and still think of her this way afterwards. No matter how long you tried to shove every image of the girl that night, heat pooled in your lower stomach. It was undeniable. Yet, every time that you had been around the girl from then on, you felt the care for her far stronger than any lust. It was easy to create a fantasy of her but when it came down to it, face to face, all you could do was want to protect her and care for her any way that you could.

“You stare a lot.” Tara said with a hum, she hadn’t even been looking up. She was instead focused on the textbook in front of her, still she felt your eyes on her.

“Ah, sorry..” You replied bashfully as you let out a small breath. Part of you wondered if she had even remembered that night. Maybe she had been angry that when she woke up, you hadn’t been there.

The thing was that when you had woken up the next morning after that night, the more you stared at her peacefully sleeping face, the more guilty you felt for having let yourself lose control. You’d spent an hour that morning, wondering what you should do before having finally settled on leaving some water bottles on her nightstand as well as some pain-killers to take when she’d wake up to a headache she would be bound to have. You didn’t know whether she’d remember, so you left a simple note saying that you had taken care of her the previous night.

“I wasn’t saying that I was bothered by it,” Tara said as her eyes flicked up to where you were sitting in front of her.

“Oh..” Was all you could think to muster up in reply. Should you ask if she remembered? Should you wait until she brings it up? You didn’t want to be a dick and make her think that she was a simple hookup and that was all.

An awkward silence fell upon the both of you as the two of you continued to study. That was until the silence was broken by Tara.

“So…” She began as she scribbled some notes into her notebook, her eyes pried away from yours at all cost, “Do you remember-”

“Yes.” You replied, not even knowing if she was asking what you were thinking she was asking. Her eyebrow had momentarily shot up at the quick reply.

“You didn’t even let me finish.” She said with a light laugh, “Unless, something’s on your mind?”

“Uh,” Your throat suddenly felt dry as you tried to think of the right words to use, “What happened a couple of nights ago..?”

“Hm.”

Her reply seemed too dry. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it? Maybe she was in fact angry at you for having left?

“What?”

“I just..thought you didn’t remember, that’s all.”

“Of course, I do.” Your reply felt pathetic to your own ears. It left you feeling as if you were desperate. Despite your inner thoughts, a small smile played on her lips.

A silence fell upon the both of you before you had spoken up again, “I’m sorry for leaving that morning. I didn’t know if you’d want to.. I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know if you’d want to remember what had happened.”

“I’ve always thought of you too sweet, that’s why I felt a bit suspicious of it.”

“I’m not the type to do that, I promise. I just thought it was more on your end… I was confused, you know? Confused if you think it's a one-time mistake.”

“Doesn’t have to be. I mean, I don’t think it was a mistake. I’m sort of…glad it was you.”

You felt your heart almost beat out of your chest at the revelation that you hadn’t thought about. It felt like what you had heard was a part of another restless dream where Tara felt the same way about you. For a moment, you were stuck in your thoughts as you contemplated whether or not this was a dream or a joke. That was until you felt your pencil being taken from your hand as you turned your head to look over at the girl, you were sure that now you had somehow died and been sent to heaven.

The look in her eyes, she was close enough for you to count every freckle that adorned her cheeks perfectly. The way her lips had slightly twitched as if she were about to speak but instead decided not to. The two of you spent a moment staring at each other, your face drawing impossibly closer to hers. The feeling of her breath mingling against your own, her eyes darted down at your lips allowed your mind to begin wandering places. Taking action to one of those many thoughts as you shut your eyes and leaned forward into a kiss.

After feeling Tara returning your kiss, you hummed into the kiss, leaning into the touch of her hand on your cheek. You felt weak, weaker than you ever had. It felt almost helpless the way that your mind couldn’t draw any other thought but the dark haired girl kissing you. Kissing you as if she wanted you just as badly as you wanted her. Your hands felt limp, futile to every attempt of moving them to not seem awkward. It felt as if Tara had been reading your mind because her hands had grabbed yours and guided them under her shirt.

“Wait-” You managed to mutter breathlessly as you pulled away from the kiss, “Are you sure about this?”

“Still as caring as ever. Gosh, yes, L/N, I’m sure.” Tara replied with a breathless laugh, slightly shaking her head. “Must you always be so good?”

A soft smile on your lips as you felt her own on yours once again before you could’ve replied to her words. You returned the now hungrier kiss.

“There’s nothing wrong with being good.” You had mumbled against her lips as you continued to kiss her.

She hadn’t replied this time, her hands simply guiding yours further up her shirt and to the curve of her clothed breast. Your fingers had toyed with the hem of her bra, a small whine came from her in response. Her hands moving away from yours and up your own shirt, feeling out the planes of your skin. Her fingers felt persistent, whereas your own took their time and were more gentle. Unaware of the girl’s growing impatience, your hand moved to the back of her bra, carefully unclasping it. 

It had now hung loosely to her skin under her shirt, you took this as your chance to gently allow your thumbs to focus on the buds of her nipples. Immediately receiving a reaction from the girl, a soft whimper against your lips that felt all too sweet. Your mind had temporarily fled to the thought that someone else had too been in this position. You felt your gut slightly twist before pushing away the thought and allowing yourself to at least enjoy this while you can. While she had graced you with the opportunity to do so.

Your nimble fingers were quick against her buds, her breathing becoming ragged. Her mouth felt hot and wet, a reflection of your own as the kiss came to an end. Her eyes were fluttered shut as she allowed soft sighs to escape her, enjoying your touch. You’d seen and felt her back arch slightly with twitches into your touch. Her own hands had paused under your shirt, seemingly had lost its focus and purpose she’d once had with the touch. Quickly, one of your hands had left from under her shirt, moving to your lips where your tongue darted out to wet them before returning it to her nipple.

Tara’s head slightly tipped back at the newfound sensation you’d given her, your other hand moving down her abdomen to the hem of her sweatpants. You knew better than to tease the girl but you couldn’t help yourself, your fingers gently pressing against her clit over the fabric. The soft gasp that left Tara’s lips and the expression on her face made you want to examine every expression and sound she’d offer you with every touch you gave her.

“Don’t tease. Please.” She had breathed out ever-so-softly. Who were you to go against what she wanted? You wanted nothing but to please the girl of your dreams.

You were quick as you had carelessly pushed aside her notebook and text book that was on her desk. Swiftly lifting the shorter girl onto the desk, she lifted her hips slightly, giving you access to pull her sweats down. Your eyes were trained on her as you disregarded her sweatpants onto her bed. One of your hands pushed apart her legs as the other pulled aside her panties, not caring to remove them. You could hear every sweet sigh and soft whimper that escaped her mouth at your every touch, and it drove you completely insane.

A finger swiped through her folds, feeling the wet mess that she had become. You felt a surge of pride and a want– no, a need to give Tara everything she wanted. You allowed two fingers to delve past her folds and into pussy, a soft groan leaving your own lips at the tightness. A guttural moan leaving her, you watched as her head tipped back against the wall. Your fingers were quick, pumping to her every moan and obvious need with the way her hips had begun to buck against your hand. Your thumb pressing circles into her clit as your fingers continue to pump, your other hand raising her shirt to focus on her breasts as well.

With another lick of your fingers, you toyed and played with the bud of her nipple. You wanted to give her all the pleasure you knew she was deserving of. Your lips finding hers as you pulled her into a kiss, muffling her kisses that she now let out into your mouth. With the quickened pace of your fingers from each hand, you took note that it was getting harder for the girl to keep up with the kiss. You pulled away and immediately began working on peppering kisses against her neck, trying and finding her sweet spot. Your teeth grazed her neck as your mouth began to suck on the sensitive part of her neck. 

You felt her back arching into you and her body buzzing and writhing with pleasure from your touch. Taking note of how Tara was getting closer by the way her moans and breath fell relentlessly from her lips.

“Close-” She managed to say, pairing with a broken moan which only pushed you to quicken your pace.

“Shit, shit, shit- I’m cumming!” Tara’s voice cried out as she shut her eyes tightly, her body uncontrollably shaking under your touch.

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 A few minutes later and the two of you were sitting together at her dining room table eating pizza which you had ordered Tara.

“A true gentlewoman.” She said with a hum before

taking a bite of her pizza.

“Aftercare is important.” You replied with a small shrug as you took a bite of your own pizza.

“So, you're saying that you’ll stay longer?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Is that even a question?”

“Maybe you're right. I'll stay then.”

After the two of you had finished eating, you made your way back over to her room. Now, your arms wrapped around the shorter girl who buried her face into your chest. All felt calm, a stark contrast of what had happened about an hour or two earlier. You felt yourself wanting to stay in this moment, in the safety of the bubble you two created in her room. Tara was slowly falling asleep, you took it upon yourself to further soothe the girl by rubbing her back gently and pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. 

“Thank you for this.” She mumbled softly against your chest, slightly muffled.

“You don’t have to thank me, Tar.”

“Tar. I always liked when you called me that.”

“I'll forever call you that if you want me to.”

“I’d like that.”

You itched to ask the girl what all of this meant. What your relationship was like now. Is it friends? More than that, friends with benefits? Maybe…it could be something more than that as well, lovers? You pushed down the thoughts and the itch to ask, wanting to not ruin this perfect bubble the two of you have created.

“Tell me something. Anything.” Tara murmured softly

“You're soft.” It was the first thing that came to mind and the first thing that fled your mouth. A small light laugh had escaped Tara’s lips.

“What’s funny?” You asked curiously.

“It’s just that… I'm not sure I've ever been called or described that way.”

“Glad to be the first, and it’s true.”

“You're sweet.” Her words made a soft smile creep onto your face.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Oh, you're just a flatterer.”

“Can we not flatter each other?”

“I suppose so.”

“Sleep, you're tired.” Your eyes scanned the girl’s face, she was obviously a bit drained. A hand came up to gently caress her face as the other one continued to rub her back. Which had lulled her further into a sleepy state, she only nodded at your words. For the entire time that you stayed at her apartment, you held her and whispered sweet nothings that you knew she couldn’t hear in her sleep, but whispered them anyway.

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A/N: I'M NERVOUS BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED. Again, thank you for all the support and also look around for Make it Right chapter three coming out as well. Bear with me and this, this is my first smut published. However, I had to get it out of the way for upcoming chapters. Thank you all so much for everything, bye lovelies!