#WHATS HE DOING LOOKING SO WIDE LIKE THAT?!?!?

[madamechrissy]

Lead It Southbound

Pairings - Pornstar! Satoru x F! reader x OF Star! Nanami

Warnings - ridiculously filthy mmkay, cum swallowing (m and f) oral (m and f recieiving) anal, double penetration, a TON of jealousy, possessive as fuck Satoru, yearning and pining Nanami, they're competitive you're their little toy, filming porn, double creampies, porn without plot, they're both so obsessed with you

This is so filthy, an alt universe with reader from Baby You're a Star, with secret Onlyfans star Nanami and Pornstar Satoru. It's not part of the story! But more a WHAT IF situation, where Nanami and Satoru shared you on camera WC- 4.5k

Nanami Kento is gripping your hips, dragging your slick cunt against his face, while Satoru Gojo is kissing your lips, gripping your chin with his slender fingers so tightly, while your cries fill the room and echo, mixing with the squelching of your cunt.

You can't even fathom how you got here

When Nanami’s long tongue flicks up to your clit, you gasp out, whining into Satoru's mouth, tasting the sweetness of his lips, only for him to pull back and pout them then, dilated blue eyes glaring under snowy lashes.

"You better not like that more than my mouth," he huffs, scowling even deeper as Nanami's tongue flicks right on your clit, and he's gripping your chin tighter, all while you're struggling not to scream, already knowing how mad he is. "You don't, do you?"

"Mnh! N-Nanami!" is your weak response, as you can't hear him, body convulsing with Nanami groaning against you, vibrating right on your clit. He's pressing his cock against the mattress, leaking pre while tasting you on his tongue, coating his tastebuds as you grip his sandy blond locks. Nanami's been dreaming of tasting you, so he doesn't miss a single drop from your soppy hole. "Ah!" You cry out again, pretty breasts heaving up and down with your breaths while his tongue dances against your sensitive cunt.

"My turn," Satoru says, glaring down at you again. But Nanami chuckles softly, unmoving, simply slipping a thick digit in your cunt while his sandy blond hair falls over his brow, sweating from the exertion of lapping at you. He raises a thin brow, eyeing Satoru with a devious smirk. Nanami seemed like a gentleman, but he certainly ate pussy like a fiend. "I'll eat her pussy way better than you."

"Huh," Nanami drags his fingers down your waist and hips, pressing kisses up your body. "Doubt that."

Nanami can't help but suck your tiny clit into his mouth again instead of listening, moaning as your cunt gushes down his mouth and even his chin, dripping down his neck as you tug at his hair, and Satoru kisses your lips. "Focus on me," he whispers, and you look up at him, fading in and out, forgetting this is streaming right now. "Off her."

Nanami relents, scowling at Satoru now, yanking you by your chin with his rougher fingers, while Satoru shoves your thighs up, lips glossy as he licks them, salivating at the sight of your pretty pussy spread wide. Kento is kissing you with your sweet arousal all over his tongue, hands drifting to your breasts and twisting a nipple. Satoru slips two long fingers in your cunt then, stretching you out, you feel every ridge of his fingers in your gummy walls when he curls them up and hits just your spot, making you scream out, which earns Nanami's scowl at him.

"My fingers are longer, sorry. Oh, look she loves them." Satoru says with a wicked smirk, curling them again, your cunt drools down his fingers as the pressure hits your tummy, when Nanami wraps a hand around your throat, thumb over your pulse point.

"Mine are thicker, aren't they darling?" Your answer is just a weak whimper, cunt pulsing around Satoru's fingers then, while the two of them scowl at each other but endlessly kiss and bite and suck on your delicate skin.

"She likes mine better, don't you sweets?" Satoru murmurs, while you blink his pretty face into focus, when Satoru laps his long tongue over your slit and hits your twitchy little clit finally, eliciting a loud whine from you that makes Nanami furious.

Satoru and Nanami do not want to share you, even for the camera, even to make bank off it, no they're so greedy, and they both want your pretty pussy to themselves. But for just a moment they work together, Nanami pinching your nipples and gently choking you with a firm grim. Satoru is holding up your hood, long pink tongue slipping into your aching hole. All you can do is grasp at them both, blond hair and silvery locks in your hands, whining out and arching your back as you lose oxygen, making your ears ring.

"That's it darling, make as much noise as you want," Nanami murmurs, while Satoru's stupidly long fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes you blind while the insane stream, full of both of their fans, captures it all, captures you cumming and drenching Satoru's pretty face in it.

All their worship, Satoru's desperate and hungry kisses, Nanami's bites and huffs overwhelm you as he releases your throat now, they move you like you're nothing, their little toy to play with, a toy neither wants to share. Satoru is constantly making sure your eyes are on him, constantly biting you to get your attention when it travels to Nanami's hazel gaze.

"I'm fucking her first," Satoru murmurs huskily, while you're on your hands and knees, fingers gripping the soft silk sheets as Satoru grabs your hips, Nanami chuckles then.

"Gonna stretch her out a bit for me?"

"My cock is way bigger, tell him baby," Satoru bends over you, pulling your hair gently, while the ring lights glow against the three of you, casting shadows of you all along the wall, you're about to have a cock in your mouth and your cunt, something you never thought you'd do. But it's heady, addictive, the shit they're talking only making you more eager to please. "How good do I feel?"

"S'good, Satoru..." You whine out, when his tip leaking as he presses into your cunt, smacking your ass and gripping your hips bruising. You know Satoru's cock, you know how full he stuffs you, how good it feels. The camera knows him fucking you, but Nanami's cock makes you swallow nervously as it's revealed, thick and so heavy it just hangs there. "Oh!"

"Don't get so excited, brat." Satoru smacks your ass again, grinning as he watches his handprints, before shoving his cock deep in one stroke, making you scream out, back arching, while Nanami gently strokes your cheek, chuckling deeply.

"Do you want it in your mouth, love?" you nod eagerly, tongue out and mouth wide, earning the precum to leak out of his reddened tip, while Satoru hisses, feeling you clench for him. "Say please, like a good girl-"

"Oh hell no, she won't say please, psh," he pulls your hair, making your face pull back from the thick, veiny cock, while Satoru's long cock strokes deep and hard, bruising your cervix. "She only says that to me, isn't that right?"

"She can be a good girl for me, she wants to be." Nanami cups your face with two hands, tip brushing precum like a gloss, while you're stuffed so full, looking up at him under your lashes. His heart races at how pretty you are, the only thing that would make this better is if Satoru wasn't here.

He gets it, you're his - for now.

Your tongue slips up his tip while Satoru grips both of your wrists behind you, pinning them and arching your back more for a brutal thrust. "Stop talking shit and caressing her Nanami," he whispers, before whining out as he feels your cunt gripping him like a vise. "It's a shoot, don't get too clingy."

Nanami ignores Satoru completely, opening your mouth with his thumb, pressing it down on your tongue, you suck on his thumb, making Nanami even more sensitive, fuck he's thought of this for so long, even the idiot behind you wasn't ruining it. "Go ahead, darling, tell me what you want."

"Let me suck you, please - ow!" You glare back at Satoru as he smacks your ass hard, slap stinging, and he just grins, before Nanami grips you by your throat, sliding his cock inside your hot mouth, groaning when he feels it enwrapping him. "Mmm..."

"That's it, sweet girl, you're so perfect," Nanami murmurs, feeling the bulge in your throat as you suck him down, while Satoru slams hard into your cunt, tugging at your waist tightly, as if to make sure you don't forget you're his, and that this is for a shoot, but Nanami's just staring at you, murmuring a mix of sweetness and filth that has you breathless, along with Satoru's perfect strokes, knowing just how to roll his hips to make you fall apart.

"Cum for me, sweetheart, huh? Be a good girl," Satoru murmurs, reaching up to spread your cheeks, spitting a sticky, bubbly trail from his mouth to your ass, slipping just his thumb in as Nanami shoves his cock deep, gagging you, while you cum so hard you can't thing, drooling out of your mouth and your cunt while the two men begin to lose themselves, moaning as they fuck your holes.

You didn't add getting spitroasted by two of the most popular Onlyfans stars there were to your bucketlist, you also didn't plan on being Nanami Kento's first debut of his actual face either. But here you are, glasses fogged up, wearing nothing but a pretty glittery body chain, that Satoru uses to tug tighter along your body, while you're twitching, a mess between their huge cocks, their hungry gazes and greedy grips.

The stream is going wild, but none of you seem to remember, the competition ever going as Satoru laughs, beads of sweat dripping down his face onto your spine. "I make her cum so good, don't think you could hit that spot, Nanami."

"Oh, you're right, I'll stretch her out more, it's good you warmed her up for me." His mean little smile is met with him pulling his cock out of your mouth with a suctioned pop, while Satoru scoffs, fucking into you harder. The smacks are echoing in the room as he tugs, bringing you to your knees now, while Nanami kisses his own precum off you, messy and sloppy, his hands possessive on your waist. "You want me to stretch your perfect little cunt, don't you darling?"

"She wants more of my cock, don't you sweets?" Satoru turns your face, tongue devouring your mouth, you gasp when Nanami lifts you up and plants you the opposite direction, now facing Satoru, who's kissing you desperate, whining out when you stroke his cock, slick with your arousal and his precum, he's lost in how gorgeous you look like this, covered in marks, tears in your eyes as he gently takes off your glasses for you. "You good baby?"

"Y-yes, just intense," your whisper doesn't go unnoticed by Nanami, who brushes your hair back, slipping a hand down your spine soothingly, as he presses little kisses on your shoulder blades, and Satoru is standing, his pretty, perfect cock bouncing just slightly, while you lap yourself off him. "Mmm, Toru..."

"You sure you're ready for this, baby?" Satoru murmurs softly, snowy lashes lowered, despite them being filthy, and competitive, they're both attentive to you right now.

"I can eat you out again if you're not ready, I could do it all night, love." Nanami's words make you melt, biting your lip as you look back at him, when Satoru turns your face back to face his glossy cock.

"You won't get to all night, Nanami."

"You're so threatened, you good, Gojo?" Nanami and Satoru scowl over you, and you can't help but giggle, shaking your head at them.

"I'm ready for it," your soft answer draws both their attention, and soon Kento's thick cock presses into you, thank god you were prepared from Satoru - who's longer, and just a little thinner, but how Nanami feels burns in the best way, your moan is drowned out by Satoru's cock, as he shoves in deep right with him. Your thighs shake as he inches in slow, letting you adjust, while he groans out behind you, huge hands gripping your hips.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," Nanami can't stop his groan, while Satoru cries out as your tongue hits the base of his cock, fucking your tight throat while Nanami slips in and out of your cunt, slapping his heavy cock on your ass and moaning as he watches the precum decorate your skin, before easing back in, exhaling. "Feel so good, fuck..."

"Doesn't she?" Satoru smiles, lovingly gripping that chain, pressing it up around your throat, the metal digging in while he thrusts his narrow hips, and Nanami bottoms out, making you tremble as you try to take him, his tip pressing into a sore cervix. Your hands cling to Satoru's thighs, looking up at his pretty blue eyes while he wrecks your esophogus, caressing you with his free hand. Nanami thrusts sharply then, balls slapping against you, making your eyes roll back. "Fuck, look at you," he murmurs, watching as you fall apart.

The comments and tips are insane, fans watching Nanami Kento fuck for the first time and with the Satoru Gojo and his favorite co-star, what they don't know is how long and how badly Nanami's wanted you. Craved you, and fuck you're better than he could have pictured, wetter, the snuggest fucking fit for his girth, and when he reaches around to find your clit, bending over you, rough pads of his fingers moving in circles, your tummy clenches. You feel it, an orgasm about to hit hard, while the two men fuck into you, Satoru gripping your face in place while your tongue slips across the ridge of his cock before slipping into your throat.

The stream is a mix of women dying to be you right now, and men dying to be inside of you, a heady mix while Nanami makes you cum all over his cock, squirting down the bed, earning his surprised, pleased groan. Satoru's eyes flutter shut as you do, feeling your throat close on his cock as you're choking on him, muffling all your moans while you soak the sheets with all your cum.

"Look, you're cumming so much, for me aren't you?" Satoru glares again over your body, bent over on all fours for them.

"It's because she loves feeling me down her throat, isn't that right baby?"

You're expected to talk!?

There's no talking as you're dripping down Nanami's cock and fingers, slobbering all over Satoru's length, entire body shaking while your nails press into the pale skin on Satoru's strong thighs, feeling the force of Nanami's thrust.

"God, you're making such a mess, love," Nanami's words are followed by him sucking your juices off his thick digits, easing back and slipping out, you feel so empty for just a moment, until Satoru's flipped it all around, he's letting you kiss and ride Nanami's cock, his hands slipping up your waist, while Satoru is sinking two fingers in your other hole again, stretching you out, while you're riding him, moreso he is holding you up, shoving his cock up inside, skin slapping while Satoru wraps an arm around your waist, lips against your ear, tickling your skin.

"Mine," Satoru murmurs in your ear, sinking those fingers so deep while Nanami slams you down his length, fucking mean up into you while you're gasping for a breath, feeling so full. "All mine, hmm?"

His words are quiet, you're nodding weakly, on another video you two had shared your girl friend, Jenna, and Satoru and her had competed on just who could eat your pussy better - but this competition was beyond what you were comprehending. When Satoru has his fingers curling in your puckered little hole, and it feels so good, rubbing against where Nanami's veiny cock was pressing, feeling their eyes and hands all over your body, now covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Riding cock so perfect, fucking look at you, baby." Satoru urges you on, you're crying out weakly, head falling back against his collar bone, while he sinks his teeth into your neck. Nanami wants your attention, however, thrusting up deep enough to knock your head forward, and your dilated eyes look at him, intoxicated and perfect.

"You're doing so good for me," Nanami whispers, finding your clit as Satoru grips your breasts that bounce gently as you ride Nanami, the sensations of being touched everywhere making you listless and weak, you weren't putting in any movements for the camera, no the two men moved you, up and down, gliding on Nanami's cock, as Satoru presses on your other hole, splitting you apart so good you're trembling trying to take them both.

"God, your ass is so tight, fuck baby," Satoru's whining as he stretches out your tight ass inch by inch, being so careful with you, while you lay forward on Nanami, kissing him again, feeling the pressure of both of them in both your holes, so intense you can barely make any of those sexy moans, just gasping. "You good, sweets?"

"Are you all right, love?" Nanami and Satoru ask at the same time, scowling at each other even now, as you breathlessly whine out, nodding.

"S'good, it's... you're both so big I..."

The stream is losing it collectively at the Double Penetration scene in front of them, getting a view of Satoru stretching your ass inch by inch, while Nanami thrusts up into your cunt, moaning and tugging you back down, kissing you again. You whine out into his lips, just to have your hair pulled, Satoru fucking his long, thick cock further in your ass, so much pressure as their cocks rub between your thin layer separating them, stretching and filling you to the brim. "Ah!"

"Look at me," Satoru kisses you again, cupping your face, sliding out of your ass that's so lubed up with his spit, shoving in deeper until you scream, and he has a devious white grin. "Good girl, got your attention, huh?"

You nod weakly, when Nanami shoves his cock fully in, until you're close to cumming again, while he works your clit in methodical circles, earning your weak, lidded gaze, Nanami can't stop looking at your fucked out face, feeling your cunt soaking and milking him. Only, Satoru needs to look at your face too, to watch your mouth part in that slutty O, when he spits right inside your mouth, murmuring - 'swallow, pretty'

Nanami keeps dragging you down on him, while Satoru yanks you up, both fucking in tandem, Satoru's hands on your waist, Nanami's on your ass, spreading you even wider for Satoru's cock. They're whispering, murmuring, fucking wet and loud, smacks and squelching echoing for the camera, their moans husky - mixed with Satoru's whimpers he can't control.

"God, baby, wanna fill you up here, c-can I?" Gone is notorious Pornstar Satoru, replaced is whiny, needy Satoru, the boyish pout as he begs to cum in you there, you heat up to the touch, flustered and blushing, your hair falling across your face, which he brushes back. You try to find the energy to answer, to speak, while the pleasure is overwhelming and blinding.

"Y-yes, if you want to, Toru," your whisper ends him, he moans, biting your shoulder, tearing the skin and leaving his mark, while Nanami slips a hand up between your breasts, going to choke you only for Satoru's hand to slip around your throat, under your chin, until both of their hands wrap your throat, sucking the last bit of oxygen from your lungs, making you feel fucking high as they both bottom out at once and you're about to fall off the edge.

You weakly cling to Satoru's arms with one hand, the other on Nanami's thick, muscled chest, feeling the strength as the two huge, strong men fuck you and choke you, the chains falling against your skin, scraping softly, leaving marks as you're pressed between them.

"Wanna fill your perfect pussy so full." Nanami's words barely register, but Satoru scowls at him.

"Nuh uh." Nanami scowls back, while they loosen their grip, giving you just a breath before their cocks move out and back in, different timing, in and out, in and out, so fucking good you're shuddering, blinded by pleasure, you can't remember your own fucking name until they're both whispering it.

"Lemme cum inside her, fuck... double creampie - you know f-for the cameras..." now Nanami's voice is desperate, you swear you hear him whimper. Satoru scoffs, slamming his length hard inside you, making you jolt, while he's pulsing, so close he can't take it.

"Baby, only if you push all his cum out after," you nod weakly at Satoru's whisper, and he pulls out his entire length, only to shove it all back in, so deep you feel him everywhere, while Nanami eyes the bulge of his cock in your stomach, feeling so feral and possessive.

"Want my cum inside you, love? Look, already fucking filling you up," his husky depraved whisper is nothing like you thought he would be, gentlemanly sweet Nanami at work - and here he is now, palm flat on the bulge his cock is making, pressing against your soft tummy as he throbs in your gummy walls, fluttering around him. "Then say please-"

"She sure won't, she'll only beg for me, tell him pookie," Satoru whispers, how the man is cute with nine fucking inches stuck up your little hole, you can't compute. You just whine, whispering his name, earning his satisfied smirk. But, Nanami isn't quite done yet, picking your hips up and slamming his cock deep, groaning as he grips you, making you clench Satoru's cock harder, until he feels himself ready to bust. "F-fuck, baby..."

"God, you feel so - f-fuck..." Nanami's leaned up and sitting now, kissing up one side of your neck, gripping one breast, while Satoru bites the other side of your neck, groaning as he grips your other breasts. They're squeezing you, pulsing inside you so deep, while you weakly rock your hips, orgasm ripping through your entire body, you're trembling and shaking as it hits, blinded and floating when the two men can't take how good your orgasm feels, both busting at the same fucking time.

They're groaning and gripping you so tightly you can barely breathe, you feel Nanami's thick, girthy cock pouring inside your sore, slutty little cunt, while Satoru's painting your other hole full, hot spurts filling you so intimately, while he possessively bites your neck again, while white ropes pump you full, you're leaking it right down Nanami and Satoru's cock as the pull out, and you almost collapse if not for the two of them catching you.

"Darling, are you okay?" Nanami murmurs, brushing your cheek back carefully, like he hadn't meanly been pumping his length inside you, you nod weakly, while Satoru eases out of you with a hiss, turning your body toward him.

"Baby, you feel good?" You nod again, swallowing with a dry throat while he exhales, pressing a heated kiss on your lips. "You good doing this shot? We don't have to."

"I'm good, j-just... how do I push it out?" You whisper, they both chuckle a bit, earning your own glare. "Don't you two Pros make fun of me for not knowing!"

"No, you're just cute. C'mere." Satoru bends you over the bed, Nanami gently presses a little kiss on your head, murmuring in your ear now.

"Just press a bit, here," he whispers, pressing on your lower tummy with his big hand. You moan softly, nodding, Satoru's on his knees, sinking into the plush carpet as he gets the perfect angle, hands gripping your ass and lifting it, showcasing the white creamy cum oozing from both your beat up holes.

"Fucking look at all of it, you took so much baby." Satoru murmurs, toying with his own cum that's dripping from your hole, while Nanami keeps sneaking kisses while Satoru is focused, your little giggle makes him realize, ending the stream and standing. "Excuse me, no more. Ah- ah." He smacks at Nanami's hand, reaching for your pussy again.

"How'd we do, Toru?" You ask softly, while Nanami eases you up, brushing your hair back and just staring at you with those hazel, lidded eyes, lips parted while Satoru peers at the numbers, whistling softly.

"Holy fuck. Look." You peer and your eyes go wide, it's more than even Satoru and you make, but Nanami doesn't bother looking at it, he's too enraptured with his cum leaking from your pretty pussy, fingering the sticky substance slowly. You squeak a bit at it, Satoru sets the phone down, shoving at the big hulk of a man lapping his own cum off his finger. "Stream is over, Nanami."

"Shouldn't we help clean her up, Gojo?" Nanami flicks his tongue on your overstimulated clit, tasting the mix of you and moaning.

Satoru sighs then. "Bend over, sweetheart."

Satoru's words surprise you, soon you're being eaten out by both of them, lapping their own cum out of your holes off camera, messy and fucking filthy, cum dripping out of their mouths as they moan, while you're pushing more of their cum, rocking back and forth on their mouths, gripping each of their napes of their neck and fucking their faces.

"What about something... off set?" Nanami whispers, teeth nipping your clit, Satoru moans, cock ready to go again, feeling your body tremble between the two of them. "If you want, darling."

"Your choice, baby." Your hips jerk as Satoru touches you, your thighs trembling.

"Yes, please," You kiss the cum off Nanami's lips, before kissing Satoru, cum swapping between the three of your mouths, before their fingers are both inside your sore little cunt at once, the money wracks up as the threesome goes wild, but the two men clearly aren't done fighting for who can make you cum harder, and you can't complain as you're dazed, fucked out and drooling on both of them.

Satoru is sure he's won, but Nanami thinks he just might have a chance with you, when you're squirting all over him again, he could swear he made you cum more than Satoru, but he'll keep it to himself.

For now.

Hope you enjoyed the fucking filth ahahah <3

perm tagsss- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[norristeria]

Catching Strays ! LN04

SUMMARY 𝄡 There's a stray child in the McLaren garage, and of course, Lando is the one who has to deal with it.

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Single Mother! FemReader

TAGS 𝄡 Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 1k.

NOTE 𝄡 The cutest thing I've ever written ( yet ). This drabble is about another pairing I had in mind... <33

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Something tugged at Lando’s race suit.

Amid the paddock frenzy, that subtle touch⏤so gentle he first thought he’d imagined it⏤startled him enough to abandon his pre-race ritual.

He looked down.

And found himself nose-to-nose with a pair of big amber eyes.

Lando blinked.

The child blinked back.

“What the—?” he murmured before crouching to her level. “What are you doing here, muppet? Where are your parents?”

She let go of his leg, stuffed her fist into her mouth—long enough for drool to glisten down her chin and wrist—and dropped onto the ground with a soft oomph.

She smacked her lips a few times—undoubtedly mimicking someone—and then clapped her hands, giggling.

“Mama!”

Lando cast a desperate glance around him, but the engineers and mechanics paid him no mind, wholly absorbed in their final adjustments to the car.

“I don’t know where your mama is.”

He ran a hand through his curls as stress began to rise. The girl looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, only fuelling the tsunami building in his chest.

Of course it had to happen to him.

“Well... what am I supposed to do with you now?”

For a fleeting moment, he considered calling Oscar, who was probably still holed up in his room, but the Aussie driver was just as hopeless in situations like this—if not worse. His mother’s face flashed through his mind, and he suppressed a shiver at the thought of her scolding him.

That’s when he noticed it.

Tucked between the girl’s overalls and t-shirt, a lanyard.

Carefully, Lando pulled it free and let out a sigh of relief when he saw the pass. He flipped it over, softened momentarily at the ID photo, and read the name printed in bold.

“Apolline L/N? Well, at least we know you're not a paddock intruder, muppet.”

She giggled as if she understood him, then tipped forward—still figuring out her balance, clearly. Lando caught her before she hit the ground, muttering a quiet thanks for his fast reflexes.

As he resumed reading, he absentmindedly rubbed her back. Shaken by her near tumble, she had settled her head against his chest, sucking on her thumb.

Apolline L/N VIP ACCESS A guest of: SCUDERIA FERRARI

“Well, I guess your mama’s probably over at Ferrari. What do you say, Apolline?” He leaned back to meet her gaze. “Shall we go for a walk?”

He stood, a child in his arms and tiny fingers clinging to his fireproofs.

Together, they set off.

Eyes lingered on the duo as they passed by. Whispers soon followed. What was Lando Norris doing with a small girl in his arms? Was that his sister? His daughter from a past fling?

He could already imagine the headlines, always eager to twist the narrative. Watching warily as a cameraman aimed his lens at them, he tucked Apolline's head into his neck and tightened his embrace before quickening his pace.

He passed Williams, then Mercedes—ignoring George’s raised eyebrow—and finally stopped in front of the red garage.

The usual Monaco frenzy took on a different flavour here. Lando could almost taste the tension soaked into every inch of the garage.

Ferrari wasn’t swept up in Monaco mania, no; they were drowning in Chaos.

A Charles in full race gear paced, his phone pressed to his ear, while a flustered Alexandra—so far removed from her usual elegance—tried to comfort a woman in tears.

Her sobs drowned out the frantic conversations of the team, whose faces all wore the same expression: that of pure dread.

In his arms, Apolline began to wriggle.

“Mama!”

At the sound, the woman spun around. She tore herself from Alexandra’s arms and ran to Lando.

The latter remained frozen as he took in the woman before him. His eyes darted between her sparkling gaze and her intoxicating mouth. They would have travelled further down—drawn to the delicious lines of her figure in that dress—had she not spoken, brows furrowed.

“May I have my daughter back?”

Her French accent nearly made him faint.

“What? Your daughter… Oh—uh—yeah! Of course!” he stammered. “She’s yours. Right. Obviously.”

Clumsily, he transferred Apolline into her mother’s arms. She hugged the girl tightly before setting her down and checking her over.

“Mon ange! You scared me to death! Don't ever do that again. If you want to go wandering, we’ll go together. Understood?”

The little girl just laughed, unfazed by the turmoil she’d caused, and dashed off into the garage. Lando watched her wrap herself around Alexandra’s legs, and then—

Vanilla.

Lando instinctively hugged the woman back. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in the sweet scent as his hands tightened on her back.

“Thank you,” she whispered with the kind of gratitude only a mother could convey.

When she stepped back, Lando was already mourning the warmth of her body against his. Flushing, he rubbed the back of his neck to chase the thought away and shrugged.

Control yourself, she has a child.

“It’s nothing. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Still. It means a lot.”

She offered her hand.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Lando.”

Alexandra called her over. Y/N gave him a small, apologetic smile—one that did something strange to his chest—and turned to walk away, tossing a final “thank you” over her shoulder.

Lando stayed there, a little dazed.

A throat cleared, breaking the spell.

Fred Vasseur stood in front of him with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. Only then did Lando realize half the garage was staring at him.

Knowing he had overstayed his welcome, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the McLaren garage—but not without grabbing Charles by the collar. The Monegasque struggled against his hold before freezing as Lando leaned in and whispered:

“Give me Y/N’s number, or I’m crashing into you at turn one, constructors’ championship be damned.”

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Seven Heavenly Virtues

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, nsfw, noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, yandere, harsh language, sexual exploitation, age gap, bondage, vomiting/forced/emeto, implied piss-drinking, zero holes safe, misogyny, weight-loss, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Humility is a filthy rich businessman. 

You’re a pretty little young thing on his contract—silly signature keeping you prisoner like a leash.

Yeah, you thought being a sugarbaby was going to be a glamorous gig. But he makes it anything but, keeping you in his penthouse dressed like a peasant girl in only an old-fashioned chemise you have to handwash with a washboard, only allowing you baths in a tin tub with all but freezing cold water you have to gather yourself by the bucket.

You wait on him hand and foot. Like a maid, back in the 1800s. You make his bed, clean his bathroom, serve him food, and eat the scraps he tosses on the floor for you, licking the marble clean like a dog.

He’s into extreme subjugation with a kink of utterly humiliating you, fetishizing watching you clean his house and iron his shirts despite having actual maids who already do that sort of thing. 

He’s a freak. 

Honestly, you thought his senior age was going to keep him mild and mannered and more than happy with some short, sweet vanilla sex. You’d be long gone ages ago if it weren’t for the binding contract you’d signed back when the two of you hadn’t even started the arrangement and you thought the worst thing he would ever ask for was anal.

You really should have read the fine print. But alas, here you are… kissing his boots with only yourself to blame. And you mean that in a literal sense.

“That’s a good girl. Lick it clean. Earn it,” he groans from above.

You try to block it out the best you can. Keeping your eyes closed, you envision it’s anything else. The only issue is that you’ve yet to find anything that has the same leathery texture as a dress shoe. 

At least he isn’t stomping on your head, though he might as well be—the way he’s stomping on your pride like a spent cigarette and all but grinding it into nothing, no embers left.

“Mmh, that’s enough for now, com’ere,” he says after a while. “On the bed.”

You really wish that were better. But far from it.

“Look at you—groveling for coin—offering your body to a man twice your age.” He tuts his tongue at you where you lie before him, thighs spread, presenting yourself in the missionary position he loves so much, giving vanilla sex a bad name. 

“Not a shred of pride left in you, is there? Just a humble little slut ready to take everything and anything this old man gives her.” He feels the smooth inside of your thighs with both hands, stroking and feeling you up like putty with an ugly smile on his face. 

“Open your mouth for me, baby,” he demands while leaning forward. 

And you obey, already knowing what to expect but having no legal stance to disobey despite desperately wanting to. Eyes closed while rolling your tongue out like a welcome mat.

The disgust ignites goosebumps across your body, spreading instantly like wildfire in a dry field—bone-dry despite the blob of spit he’d dropped on your tongue.

“Drink up.” He’s gleeful as he watches you swallow and downright delighted when raising his brow, asking, “What do we say?”

What pride you have left, you swallow to make space for the words. “Thank you, master.”

“What a good girl,” he praises, now with his hands at the meeting point. “Spreading your legs so wide, showing me your pussy.” 

His thumb is crass, pushing your slumbering clit like a button. You’re quite certain he likes you dry. In fact, you’re sure he prefers it. Or else he’d put his drool to better use instead of making you swallow it.

“Such a pretty thing—and you’re giving it all to me just for some spare change?” he cooes—playing a game, using your pussy instead of a gameboard. “What a poor baby—needing to whore herself for a living.”

The slaps makes blood rush to your cunt, followed by unwilling wetness. And again, all you can say is, “Thank you, master.”

And that’s how it goes. Him, going in raw with his viagra-spiked cock and a fist wrapped tightly around your throat, slapping your perky titties while they bounce as he abuses your womb—uncaring if you cum, only caring for how hard you squeeze and milk him.

Your eyes roll back, trying to let your mind take you anywhere else. But at least you’ll be rich by the end of your contract, you think.

You desperately need it—now more than before. 

You know? To pay for all the therapy you’re going to need.

♡ BNHA – Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ AOT – Erwin, Zeke

Patience is your therapist. 

You’d been a real wreck. Not really an alcoholic but more or less—a destructive whore, at least.

Something about getting old had you feeling a little crazy, making you act like a teenager discovering booze and sex as if for the first time. Blacked out after yet another day of ill choices, you'd been rolling around in bed and wallowing in the sickness, when you felt a sharp and sudden sting. Rushing to the bathroom, chanting curses out loud, you'd turned around before the mirror and found a pair of angel wings tattooed on your lower back.

And it was in the following moment that you finally decided it was high time you sought professional help.

Best decision of your life. Hands-down. You’d always been skeptical about therapy, but he’s really made you turn over a new leaf. You regret ever having waited. What’s not to like? Having a nice older gentleman listen to all your issues and troubles, giving his sage advice in turn, always warmly thanking you for showing up and telling you how he hopes to see you the same time next week. 

He’s like a father. Teaching you self-respect, how not to invite random men back home from the club, keeping you from falling off track, going weeks and months now without a single drunken night full of stupid decisions, he’s even helped you with cutting off toxic friends without any lingering feelings of guilt haunting you.

For the first time in a very long time, you finally feel your age—still young and free, but ready to let the wild part rest, fully prepared to live your life responsibly as an adult should. 

He listens to you ramble, telling him you feel like a new person, thanking him for all his help, saying that he’s cured you. And all he does is smile—that kind old smile you’ve put all your trust in. 

He really has fixed you, hasn’t he? Polished you like a dirty dime he’d picked out of the gutter. Looking like a sloppy whore he’d found in the worst part of downtown, now sitting there all pretty like a good god-fearing girl.

You were a real handful. He’s had to be very patient. And now, all that patience has finally borne fruit. He never once doubted it would—those who wait never wait in vain.

“I’ve been saving up for this. Haven’t cum once since we started seeing each other,” he groans, hands tangled in your hair, holding your face steady while your arms and hands twist to be freed, using all the air in your lungs to scream—but to no use. Nothing ever leaves these soundproof walls. It’s all confidential. 

“Be a good girl now and relax your throat, this pretty face of yours isn't going to fuck itself. And I’ve got two big balls' worth stored up all for you,” he hums, sending his cock through the ring-gag he’s fixed between your teeth, paying your throaty wails no mind, liking how they strum his length as he props your mouth like a pacifier, watching the fearful tears trail down from your terror-wide eyes, nose leaking above the pretty circle of your widely-stretched lips. 

He only smiles as his cockhead presses up against the back. 

“Gonna give you a nice big reward for finally completing your sessions—so be sure to swallow every drop once it comes.”

You try to pull your hands free for dear life, but the white straitjacket is a contraption meant for the most volatile of patients, not mild-issued muggles such as you. And so he abuses your throat to his heart’s content while you struggle—hacking away at your uvula and enjoying the tight way you gag around him until he finally stills up, throwing his head back and blowing his load right onto your tongue with a loudly enjoyed “Fuck yes!”

It's thicker than you’ve experienced before, and there's a lot. A whole mouthful and more—so much it’s spilling down the side of your chin, running the same path as the drool before it.

“There's more, baby,” he insists in a last-gasp voice, slowly rubbing your face into his crotch. “Wait for it… Get every last drop.”

You sob with his cock in your mouth—his pulsing tip pressed up against the inner-wall of your cheek, making it bulge on the outside, feeling the rest of his load pump out onto your taste-buds, making you retch. And still, he keeps gyrating against your face, slowly, savoring it, wiping himself against the wet, welcoming bed of your tongue, letting it tease the last of him out.

Then he sighs, full-chested and pleased, before backing up and tilting your head up.

“Swallow,” he orders, looking into your open-ring mouth and the pretty white he’d just dumped inside it. Keeping you still with a firm grip around your jaw when you try to shake and spit to the best of your ability. 

His gritty fingertips are rough against the softness of your cheeks, pinching them hollow while he sighs, “I’m a very patient man, sweetheart, I can stand here all day with my cock in your face if that’s what it takes. ‘Cause sooner or later, one way or the other, you are gonna take your medicine like a good girl.”

You refuse. But after a small while, you fear it’ll take the wrong pipe as you feel it starting to trickle down your throat on its own, and you cave. Swallowing harshly—open-mouth and all.

And he grins. “Good girl.” Giving your jaw a jiggle while leering down at you.

“Next is your yellow medicine.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Kenjaku ♡ BLLK – Aiku

Diligence is your personal trainer. 

He’s uber professional, not letting you give up or rest before you’ve completed your goals for the day, and always making sure you stretch properly after. 

You didn't know things were weird. You thought it was normal. How could you have known? You’ve never had a personal trainer before. So what if his bulge squeezed tightly against your mound? It’s not exactly avoidable in this position, and he’s only helping you stretch, right? What’s the harm? You wouldn’t exactly be able to get into this position on your own, now would you? Folded flat, knees by your head, feet behind it, thighs on par with your spine. Never, not even in a million years, would you ever be able to manage!

“Get off!” you squeak—all air pushed out of you. “This is not–”

Okay—that's what you were going to say, but the word is robbed. Trampled by the guy squatting above you—using your own bike shorts and panties against you, having pulled them down to your ankles and wrapped the crotch around the back of your neck—keeping you fixed in the odd position all to his liking.

“I don’t think so, baby. I’ve put in the work,” he gruffs. “And now I'm gonna reap what I sowed and get my dick’s-worth out’a this tight little pussy of yours—give it a good workout just like I did the rest of you, train it to take cock like a champ. Then we’ll see about rewarding it with a little clit-rub—if you’re a good girl, that is.”

He pulls himself out of his sweats while you flail around like a flibbed bug that’s had all its legs ripped off—achieving nothing except exhaustion as he taps your bared pussy with the thick curve of his cock, fucking himself through the chub of your gathered lips for a moment before pressing through them, bullying your hole open with his fat tip—not even savoring it with going slow, but pile-driving himself ball’s deep on the first thrust. 

And even then, when buried from stem to stern, he only whistles at the tightness for a fleeting moment, offering but a breathy chuckle. Holding your thighs in a squeeze while all but sitting on top of you as he starts to pound you fast and utter fucking silly—ball’s slapping your ass while you cunt starts spitting, making noises that have you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head trying to block it out.

“No slacking now, squeeze me with all you got!” he encourages strictly despite the way you refuse, treating it the same way he does when you try to weasel out of doing all your reps. “I wanna feel this pretty little muscle of yours work for it!”

You can’t control it, but you do exactly as he says. Struggling for air in the pressed position—only able to wheeze out moans like a squeaky toy. Feeling him pound your guts—almost like there’s someone kicking you in the stomach. There isn’t much left for you to do but tighten up every core muscle.

“That’s what I thought—sex is the best trainin’ for girls like you,” he laughs with rust. “It’s only natural. Men put in the work, and bitches put out to repay ‘em.” 

Free of air and all sensible thinking, you can only dumbly nod in agreement while he continues to jeer from above, “Lucky you, huh? Allowed to lounge around all day—just a lazy little stay-at-home slut.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Shido

Temperance is your health trainer.

He keeps you on track, telling you when and what to eat and when and how to work off the calories. You don’t know why you hired him exactly... Suppose you just wanted to know what it would be like, as well as a little curious about the results. 

And sure enough, you are losing weight—but holy hell if it isn’t the worst you’ve felt about yourself ever. You’re hungry all the time, and none of your clothes fit anymore. You just wear baggy stuff and feel miserable all day long.

So you decide to quit. You’re going to call and tell him tomorrow. But for tonight, you’re going to enjoy a big tub of Ben & Jerry's to your heart's content, and nothing and no one is going to stop you. And tomorrow, you’re not even going to bother beating yourself up about it.

Or… at least, that’s what you thought…

But it turns out he’d planned a surprise visit.

“You indulged. And now we gotta take out the trash.” His voice is cold and sharp, laced with a certain anger, joined by a streak of sadism as his fingers claw into your cheeks, holding you steady while forcing the digits of his other hand into your mouth, clawing the tips down your throat where he curls them harshly into your tongue.

“Don’t struggle,” is all he says to your screaming, having tied your wrist behind your back with one of your knee-high fuzzy socks—those you wear when you want to cuddle up and get all cozy by yourself—now being used to keep you on your knees before the couch, where he’d caught you red-handed like a pig rolling around in its own filth.

You throw up violently. All melted ice cream with bits of cookie-dough still intact.

“That’s it, come on now—everything must out–” he drawls through gritted teeth, holding you in a tough grip to keep you from fighting as you start coughing and retching around his sticky fingers that don’t stop their pursuit but continue to bury themselves as deep as they can reach down your gullet, as if he wants to reach all the way down into your stomach and start hand-shoveling. “Every last crumb of junk until there’s nothing left.”

You only notice the raging bulge in his pants once you’re done, once every last drop of stomach acid is spent, and you’re left hollow on the inside. That’s when you notice it—how horribly hard it all had made him.

“I thought I could be lenient…” he clicks his tongue. “But I see now, I was wrong.” 

He breaths heavily as he starts pulling you away from the mess—nasty grip in your hair—dragging you across the floor, down the hallway, towards the ajar door at the very end—the one that gives a sneak peek at your bed.

“I should have gone with my instincts from the get-go,” he states. “A girl like you should be on a strict diet of cum and nothing else. So, you better make it a habit of swallowing every drop.” 

There’s a raspy laugh—halfway unhinged, halfway deadfast.

“I don’t think it’ll be too hard for a glutton like you.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Overhaul, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Daichi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Erwin ♡ WB – Umemiya

Chastity is your crazy cult leader.

A middle-aged madman who happens to be obsessed with preserving your virginity.

He’s sick with it—utterly unhinged. Concealing your pussy behind black tape, two strips marking a cross upon your entrance—or, your purity, as he likes to call it—cooing at you about how cute it is, how it needs to be preserved.

He doesn’t kiss you, either. 

And the restriction makes him so hard—fucking his meat through those pretty pious lips, feeding you his cum when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet. It makes him all feverish from head to toe. 

“Don’t worry,” he’ll say, vowing, “I’ll protect your virginity until the day I die, I promise.”

It only makes you shudder and sob. All but begging him to take your pussy instead when he starts prepping your ass with rough fingers.

He just shakes his head and mollycoddles you, “No, no, no, sweetie—your precious virginity is something to cherish, not something for you to throw away.”

You keep begging as he eases into you, softly bouncing you on his lap, balls-deep in your tight ass, fucking you leisurely whilst cuddling your bound body—a hand holding your cunt, cupping it over the tape, giving it a few soft strokes every then and there—as if consoling it for being denied.

“I know, I know, baby—it’s so overwhelming, isn’t it? You want cock in your sweet pussy so bad,” he all but mocks your whining, rubbing one of your nipples between his fingers—twisting, pinching, and pulling—making you squirm, wanting to rub your thighs together so bad, but not allowed to. 

“Don’t worry, I’m here to keep you pure, baby. I’ll never let anything corrupt your sacred little virgin gem.”

You all but grind against his hand, but he keeps the touch so light it only serves to make you wish for more. The tape all but peels off on its own like a wet bandage from how slick you get. Pussy all chubby with need, desperate to be touched—but cruelly ignored.

He sighs sternly, “Such a needy little virgin.” Clicking his tongue, he huffs again. “Look at the mess you’re making.”

Your cunt drips down his balls where he’s busy stuffing your ass, filling it up with cum from the sight of how wrecked you look—pussy throbbing with need, all glossy and begging to be sated. 

He only smiles, ball’s spent and satisfied, cock softening as he shakes his head at you.

“I’ll have to wash you extra thoroughly tonight.”

He carries you bridal-style, then washes you without even touching it, only with a soft stream of cold water rinsing all the arousal off—like he’s watering a plant—making the waste of pussy juice run down the drain.

And then he fixes a nice snug chastity belt around you—to keep your grubby hands away from playing with yourself.

“Poor thing—I know it’s torture,” he coos, watching you cry for some relief, trying to rub yourself against his thigh. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

The smile on his lips is all but a sneer as he kisses your forehead, hugging you close and rocking with you as if to comfort you.

“Nothing is ever ruining your sweet virginity.”

No, no, nothing at all. It’s all for him to admire—his greatest, most sacred possession. If anything were to happen to it, it would be nothing short of a travesty—he’d be livid with grief.

So you could only regret it when he walks in on you after coming home one day, only to find it butchered…

It’s like stepping into a crime scene. 

Your chastity belt has somehow been pried off and thrown aside, discarded like unwanted trash.

Your precious nightgown has been done the same injustice, lying in a torn heap just shy of the bed.

Then there’s you—lying in a puddle of your own undoing, high off of bliss with three fingers savaging your poor, sweet virgin pussy—every jerk off your hips furthering your fall from grace.

That’s when he realizes… he’s been treating you like something sacred for so long… when really, all this time you’ve been nothing but a filthy whore.

That’s right… a slut who’s only good for being a dirty hole he’s going to bury all his sin inside—like a dumpster. 

And since you brought it all on yourself, you’re not allowed to regret it now. A whore should be used several times every single day by her master—so much she should never be able to leave the bed again.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kenjaku ♡ AOT – Erwin ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya

Gratitude is your traditional husband.

And you’re his sweet and pretty stay-at-home wife. 

You wake up and make the bed in the morning, air out the house, beat the carpets, do the laundry, and tidy up room after room—it’s never much when you do it every day—after which you take a long shower where you do all sorts of maintenance, go to your wardrobe and pick out a flowy dress, apply a modest amount of makeup before the mirror, and do your hair up all nicely. 

And then you get started on making dinner, frilly white apron tied together behind your back in a pretty bow, priding yourself on making everything from scratch.

While it simmers and cooks, you clean up and make sure everything’s perfectly splendid for when he comes home. Setting the dinner table with candles and flowers you went out and picked while tilling the garden earlier, then fixing his plate, so that everything’s ready and waiting for him when he comes through the door.

You greet him with a smile and a hug, and a soft “Welcome home~” 

And he in turn smiles lazily and says “Thank you, sweetheart—something smells good, ” and kisses you on the cheek, giving your ass a firm squeeze before lowering his voice into a rusty rumble, “Almost as good as you look.” 

You only giggle, asking, “Really?” Feeling flush and ticklish in his hands as they continue to roam freely, up and down your thin dress, burying his face in the dip of your neck and inhaling your fresh scent. 

“Mh, good enough to eat.”

You take his hungry kisses with an open mouth, letting his tongue make a home down your throat and only moaning sweetly in return. And when he finally parts, you use what breath you have to ask, “After dinner?” 

It would be such waste if the food got cold after all.

He groans, squeezing you tightly against his body, letting you feel the firm bump, before sighing with rust and conceding, “Not a second after.”

The two of you take your seats on either side of the table, then hold hands in the middle. Eyes closed, he begins like usual, “I’m grateful for my beautiful home, the delicious food we’re about to eat, and my loving wife, who makes me the luckiest man in the world.”

And then you, “I’m grateful for my beautiful life and my amazing husband who makes it all possible.”

Then you eat. You ask him about his day, and he answers in detail, and you listen as if his office antiques are your obsession. And after dinner, you take the dishes while he goes to get himself washed up.

You’re all smiles when he returns, ready to make his every desire come true—right there on the cleared table if that’s what he wants.

“I have something for you,” he says. “Close your eyes and turn around.”

You do as suggested, spinning around with your back to him. He takes off your old pearl necklace and replaces it with something light and cold. You turn back around, holding the pretty diamonds in your hand while looking down with them in your reflection.

“Do you like it?” he asks, calm smile on his lips, watching you with love and something darker you never dare put a name to.

You only beam, bright enough for none of it to matter, jumping into his arms while squealing, “I love it!”

He hugs you back, like before, molding you against him, chin on your shoulder and voice at your ear, “Aren’t I good to you?”

“Yes, the best,” you agree.

“Yeah? Show me. Take off everything except your new gift.”

Of course you do, obeying so prettily, like it’s your favorite thing to do, stripping yourself down until you’re just a pretty pin-up doll in a nudie magazine he’d bring with him into war.

“God, I love you, my pretty housewife,” he chants when he has you up against the wall, greedy hands gripping your ass, propping you up to take him as he fucks the moans off your soft lips. “Prettiest in the world and all mine, ain’t that right?”

You nod sweetly, breathing in his exhale like it’s your very life-essence.

“Yeah? You belong to me?” he moans, mouth finding your ear, nibbling on it before sucking your neck full of teeth marks that have you nodding faster. 

“Mh, say it,” he growls under his breath, all raggedy and hot. “Let me hear your pretty voice.”

“I belong to you,” you gasp, “Yours–all yours.”

He grins against your throat, “That’s right. ” 

Hips stilling, he makes sure he’s all the way inside you, spilling his worth right at the mouth of your womb and feeding it all his worth.

“There’s nothing else you want...”

Mumbling into your wet skin, sore from his endless attention.

“You just wanna be my happy housewife forever…”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, younger Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku

Charity is a goodwill worker. 

You’re such a skittish little thing—he can’t bear the thought of leaving you to fend for yourself out in the streets all alone with all those ruthless thugs. You’ll be eaten alive! No, he just has to take you in—he’s got more than enough space—no payment required. Trust him, just seeing you get out of those filthy rags is more than enough.

Oh, and aren’t you a sight for sore eyes when you’re cleaned up all nicely? All soft skin in your birthday suit while he lathers you up in expensive lotion.

You may squirm now, but you’ll thank him later on. He just needs to teach you first. Come time, you’ll learn to like eating out of his hand. He might have wrangled you in from the streets like some sort of wildling, but you’ll be a housebroken pet for him soon enough, you’ll see. You’ll love all his soft touches so much you’ll moan for him in the sweetest gratitude.

“Poor baby… you’ve probably never been in a soft bed like this before, huh?” he hums when he has you down on his Egyptian sheets, tied up with silken rope—so that you don’t hurt yourself.

“Please, please, please don’t, please,” you whimper and squirm as he crawls on top of you, terrified out of your sweet mind where you lie, spread open like a starfish that’s had its arms pinned down with nail and hammer. 

“You don’t have to beg me, darling—I’ll give you everything I have and more,” he only croons while pumping your pretty freshly-shaven pussy on three of his thick fingers, making sure you’re all wet and ready for the next thing.

“No, no, no, please–” you whine, sobbing, trying desperately at twisting and hiding, but kept right where he wants you as he lifts his heavy cock between your thighs, kissing and licking your wet slit with his tip before finding purchase at your entrance.

“No—” you croak as he starts easing inside, treading your pretty cunt over his length like a condom bought three sizes too small. Fitting him all snug with a sting that makes your breath erratic, looking down at it as if you expect to be split in two.

He pushes his palm down on the bulge when he’s buried to the hilt.  

“There we go, all seven inches,” he hums, roosting inside you without letting up, keeping you propped full while feeling you squeeze him tight like a vice.

“Ah, please, pull it out, pull it out!” you shriek, wiggling your hips, wanting to escape higher up the bed, but kept in place by the leashes holding your feet tied to each bedpost.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over and licking up the pained tears running down your cheek. “I'm not forgetting about your little clitty.”

Next to you, resting heavy in the bed, was a big black wand with a power cord plugged into the wall. You’d never seen anything like it before—it looked more equipped to be a power tool than something belonging in a bed.

You’re convinced he’s planning on drilling a hole through you when he picks it up and turns it on, buzzing loudly and spinning full circles around itself.

“No, please!”

He brings it down right above where he has you stuffed, pressing it against your clit, merrily kneading the pearl to his heart’s content with the viscous vibrations—paying your protests no mind.

“Ah, no, please! Please turn it off!” you wail while shaking, immediately taken by a vivid toe-curling climax, looking like he’s exorcising a demon out of you with the way you lay there spasming and drooling.

“Yeah, you like that? Your pretty pussy’s hugging me so sweetly, so, so good–”

He only hums as your voice reaches highs he bets you didn’t even know you were capable of. Watching your chest arch off the bed and your hands wring themselves silly. Only beginning to roll his hips back and forth, fucking your pussy while it makes a mess everywhere.

“Aww, you’ve been neglected for so long, haven’t you, baby?” he babies, “I can feel it—so touch-starved you’ve already wet yourself.”

He smiles and turns up the power on the toy while he says it, making your clit go both numb and haywire under the attack. It isn’t long before your lower belly twists in desperation yet again, making you pant as it unravels.

“That’s it, baby, let go for me,” he encourages, watching you tense up and shiver, feeling your pussy throttle him tightly. “Such a sweet girl. Go on, cum as much as you want. I’ll take good care of you from now on—you won’t ever go without again”

Once more, he turns up the power and send you into another thrashing seizure, making you think you’re going to die—panting and drooling and sweating, feverish and delirious, moaning around his salty fingers as he messages your tongue and fucks you with slow abandon.

“I’ll give you everything you deserve,” he smiles, watching you all but lose your mind. “And more.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Gojo, oldman Yuuta ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Isagi, Aiku ♡ AOT – Erwin, Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ DEADLY SINS ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[enhani-ki]

enhypen as your "stressed" boss

warning(s): very suggestive content, cursing, etc.

when your job is to make your boss' life easier but he gets hard to you instead...

HEESEUNG ─── ★

"do me a favor?" heeseung asked, lifting his necktie between two fingers like it was a dead thing. "fix this again… i swear these things come alive at night."

you exhaled slowly, not even dignifying that with a response. he didn't even bother standing up. he just stayed leaned back in his chair like he was doing you a favor by being seated.

heeseung's legs were spread open just enough for you to stand between them. his shirt sleeves were rolled up, the two buttons were left undone... it's enough to draw eyes, or maybe just to suggest something.

apparently, none of his past secretaries ever lasted more than two months. some said they quit, others claimed they were transferred, and according to office gossip, he couldn't even make it through the first week without anyone crossing a lineーyou could see why.

people believed what they wanted, but you've been working for him over a year now and had never actually fucked your boss like everyone said you had.

though, sometimes… you kind of wish the rumors were true.

your fingers started moving automatically. you looped the fabric, tightened the knot, and smoothed his collar… you could probably do this in your sleep by now.

"don't look so serious," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "pretend you love doing this for me."

you glanced at the guy who was already looking up at you. "love is a strong word, boss," you muttered before resting your hands on his shoulders, "but i ca—"

the door swung open suddenly, making both of you jump in surprise. the intern's eyes went wide, stammering, "i—i—i'll just come back!" like they just walked in on a porn set, before slamming the door shut.

you stepped back instantly, running a hand down your face with a sigh. "great. that's gonna be all over the building before lunch," you said, making him chuckle again.

"heeseung," you said sternly. he actually preferred it when you used his name like that—just casual and familiar, even if you only say it when it was just the two of you. "you really need to learn how to tie your own damn tie."

he whined, "i don't want toooo."

JAY ─── ★

you're sitting on the edge of his bed, legs swinging slightly, doing everything in your power not to look anywhere inappropriate while your boss buckled his belt in front of you.

this was the third time this week that jay had been late to work. he kept oversleeping, ignoring calls, blaming traffic and accidents that never even happened.

you've seen this version of him before, back when he lost all his motivation and nearly quit. this time, you weren't letting it get that far.

you let yourself into his apartment, pushed open the heavy blackout curtains, dragged him half-asleep out of bed, and make sure he gets to office in time.

"thanks for coming to get me," he muttered. his voice was still raspy from sleep, running a hand through his messy hair. "my alarm's been… off lately."

you reached for a pillow without thinking. you hugged it tightly to your chest, burying your face in the soft fabric, trying to hide the heat creeping up your cheeks.

jay smirked, catching the way you refused to look at him before shamelessly staring at your bare legs that's still swinging awkwardly above his floor. "you always get this shy?" he laughed, tugging the tank top down over his torso with a little stretch.

"just fucking hurry!" you muttered angrily into the pillow.

he chuckled again, shaking his head at his cute assistant while grabbing his keys from the nightstand. "you can wait in the living room next time if you don't want to see me naked again."

you peeked, "and let you fall back asleep? no way."

JAKE ─── ★

jake has been side eyeing you. he cleared his throat butー "don't even say it," you muttered before he could even speak.

he crossed his arms, eyebrows raising. "say what?"

"that you need another coffee... i know i'm your assistant but honestly, you look like shit."

"oh, wow..." his mouth fell open, amused. "you always look sexy whenever you scold me, you know that?"

"yes."

he blinked, taken aback by your bluntness—then snorted, shaking his head with a grin as he leaned back in his chair. "...then be careful. i'm ten seconds away from dragging your ass over here."

you rolled your eyes, unfazed. "you say that like it's a threat."

jake spun slowly in his chair, eyeing you with a grin before biting his lip. "come here... let me touch something that doesn't make me want to scream."

SUNGHOON ─── ★

you knocked once before stepping in, sunghoon didn't even look up. he was seating behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie already discarded somewhere across the room. his hair is a mess from running his hands through it too many times.

he looked pissed. "about the meeting..." you started carefully, "i already sent the corrected draft."

"okay..." he replied, eyes still locked on his screen. "i think i'm going to have a fucking aneurysm."

you hesitated. "…are you?"

sunghoon looked at you like, seriously? before smirking, "depends. are you planning on doing that thing again...?"

you smiled a little. "depends. are you going to give me a few vacation leaves after?"

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, finally letting out a breath. "yes. and i'm going with you too."

you raised a brow. "oh? as my boss?"

"no... as someone even worse, baby."

SUNOO ─── ★

sunoo was laying across the couch, resting his head perfectly in your lap while wearing a soft, hydrating face mask on his face.

his hand traced circles on your knees while you ran your fingers through his soft hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. "you're too good at this..." sunoo murmured. "you trying to make me lose my mind?"

“i thought you already lost it?"

he smiled faintly. "which one do you think's doing it? the scalp massage or your attention?"

you chuckled, "which one do you like more?"

"hmm…" he hummed again, giving your knee a playful squeeze. "both. mostly your attention." he was about to close his eye but then he suddenly raised his brow, lips quirking. "why do you always touch your boss like this when you're off the clock though??"

"are you okay? you're the one on my lap."

sunoo smiled, closing his eyes. "sorry but you can't report me at my own house," he teased, then continued, "i can say whatever i want."

your hand slid in his chest. "i might start saying things back." you said, making sunoo sat up without any warning, signature eye started dropping through his ridiculous face mask.

"start talking."

JUNGWON ─── ★

"what are you looking at?" jungwon said without even turning his head as he could feel your eyes on him.

he hasn't spoke much since he walked in. he just buried himself behind his screen. you blinked, looking down at your desk like you hadn't been caught staring. "no—nothing."

he finally stood up, brushing past you slowly to grab a pen. you gulped, his height always did something inside you whenever he got too close.

he sighed through his nose before loosening his tie.

truth was, he hadn't been able to focus for the past hour because of you. and the way you bit your pen while choosing from the series of his pictures, making his brain short-circuit.

he really was trying to be good today.

you stood and walked over, leaning slightly over his desk to drop off a file. jungwon's fist clenched lightly on the desk as his eyes lowered right to the edge of the table, where your hip was angled just slightly in his direction. oh, it'd be so easy if you just drop to your knees now—

you tilted your head. "boss... you okay?"

he nodded eagerly. "yeah. yeah—just stressed." he said before looking up at you again, looking so innocent even though his tongue was pressing into his cheek, legs bouncing uncontrollably under the desk.

"...it's making me think of things i probably shouldn't about my assistant."

you blinked, confused. "whaーwhat?"

jungwon cleared his throat and quickly looked away, cheeks growing faint pink in embarrassment. "ignore that. i didn't say anything."

he avoided your eyes, rubbing the back of his neck... feeling how tight his pants suddenly felt.

NI-KI ─── ★

you tapped your foot impatiently as ni-ki walked past you in nothing but a towel and toothbrush hanging from his lips.

he pointed vaguely toward the bathroom, eyes half-lidded, and mumbling something incoherent before disappearing behind the door.

you checked the time as thirty minutes passed. why the fuck he was moving like a sloth?

"ni-ki?" you called, knocking on the bathroom door but there's no answer. you frowned before pushing it open, and just as you suspected, he's not there. the shower hasn't even been turned on.

"ni-ki!" you stormed into his bedroom—only to find him curled up on his bed, hugging his pillow like a baby. ni-ki groaned, cracking one eye open. "ughh, the fuck you so loud for?"

you marched over and shook his body, "we're gonna be late!"

and instead of getting up, he just reached out and pulled you into the bed like a goddamn trap. he locked you in his arms and buried his face into your neck. "let me borrow you real quick," he mumbled, his breath felt warm against your skin.

"ni-kiー" you struggled, squirming in his hold.

"shhh," he shushed you, tightening his grip with a little smirk, "you keep calling my name like that, i'll make sure you'll moan it out the next."

a/n: random ahh fic. posted this with round with my baby - reader x ni-ki

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

[disneyprincemuke]

the math homework problem * fem!driver

the rookie needs help with some math homework to stay in the scene and there is only one person around here who could help him

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, kimi antonelli x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver

notes: whoa noelle actually remembered rocky's existence? that's crazy

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

“math homework?” george raises an eyebrow as he looks down at his rookie. “you’re still in school?”

kimi presses his lips together, nodding. he drops his head and avoids the older driver’s judgemental gaze. “yeah. do you think you can help me later on?” he asks softly. he scratches the back of his neck and looks up. “come on. please?”

george blinks. “mate.”

the back of the truck is starting to get crowded, drivers like max and oscar hopping on as they engage in conversation. kimi notices this and takes a step closer to george, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

he’d been so caught up with his first race weekend that he’d completely forgotten about his math homework.

“i’m serious,” kimi frowns. “it’s the only condition i had to fulfil to be able to drive in f1 this year.”

george is barely a graduate himself — why is his rookie asking for his help, exactly? george appreciates that his rookie thinks so highly of him. however, it’s just the wrong person to depend on academically. “finish your homework every weekend?”

“yeah, and keep my grades decent,” kimi admits through gritted teeth, “and i can’t do that if i’m barely keeping up with my math homework.”

george purses his lips. surely, there’s someone here that could help with said math homework. but who, exactly? he lifts his head and scans the back of the bus, thinking… and thinking…

“max!” george calls out, before he quickly beckons the dutch over to where he is. “i’ve got a question.”

max exchanges a worried stare with oscar as they cut their conversation short, before he walks over to george. “i swear if you called me over to show your rookie a fight-”

“kimi needs help with his math homework.”

kimi sighs, dropping his head low in embarrassment. sure, he is the youngest on the grid. but not more people need to know about his struggles with math.

“ah, mate,” max hisses as he shakes his head. “i’m not your guy for that.”

he turns around and beckons oscar over to where they stand. “oscar, we need your help.”

oscar hums curiously as he sips on his water bottle. “sure, what is it?”

“math homework,” george simply says as he points at the younger driver now pulling his jacket up to cover his flushed cheeks.

the smile on oscar’s face drops. “you’re still in school?”

“yes, i am. thank you for pointing that out,” kimi grimaces. “seriously? surrounded by 3 men who can’t help me with math homework?”

the longer they surround him, the harder he finds it to believe that not one person amongst them can offer him any aid. it’s just high school math. it might even be easier if they gave him a simple ‘no’.

“i used to get suspended for skipping homework for races,” oscar frowns. “i’m sorry, i’m not your guy for said math homework.”

“math homework?” logan pops up behind oscar, tilting his head. “that’s easy-”

“he will bring your average down,” oscar mutters.

logan rolls his eyes. “not me,” logan grins. he puffs his chest. “i know just the person who can help you with that.”

“sure, let’s let more people know that i’m bad at math!” kimi feigns a cheer, pumping his fists into the air. “should we get the media involved so they can tell the whole world too?”

“no,” logan scoffs, waving off the younger driver’s concerns. “trust me.”

oscar purses his lips and tilts his head. “i doubt you should trust-”

logan puts a hand up to silence oscar. he grins at kimi. “seriously. trust me.”

“oh, come on,” max calls out as he throws his hands in the air. “you can’t say no to this, can you?”

she folds her arms over her chest and nods, a wide smile on her face. “yes, i can.” she turns on her heel and starts to walk away. “watch as i do exactly that.”

kimi starts to get worried. he turns to logan, standing next to him, with a frown.

he is so going to get suspended for a weekend for not doing his homework. and god, it was the only condition for him to start racing so early, too.

he couldn’t even comply with that?

logan pats his back as he rushes forward, blocking off the young girl from straying too far from them. “he’ll buy you ice cream.”

“what?” kimi cried incredulously, arms in the air in despair. “i-”

max shakes his head, cutting kimi off. “do you want your math help or not?” kimi nods. “then be quiet.”

she raises an eyebrow as she keeps her sceptical stare on logan. “udders?”

“he’s a rookie, mate,” oscar finally steps forward, joining logan at his position. “he can’t afford to import ice cream just for you.”

she shrugs. “that’s too bad.”

she starts to walk off again. frankly, she would have helped for free. but with the past couple of weeks she’s been having, she is simply not in the mood to interact with anyone. much less relive the traumas of math homework as a full-grown adult.

it’s just not in the list of things that she wants to do this year.

“you don’t wanna see a good driver benched over homework, do you?” max tries to chase for her, grabbing her arm to gently yank her back. “come on.”

she looks over her shoulder and glances at the teen, awkwardly standing with his hands by his side. “maybe i do.”

“i did not think that would backfire at all,” max mutters under his breath. he takes a step back and sighs.

george nods, “completely understandable. have a good day, mate.”

oscar drops his head and hands in disbelief. has his best friend grown to be so cold over the winter break they spent apart?

“he’ll get you pepsi,” max calls out in a desperate attempt to get the rookie his much-needed help. the girl turns around and presses her lips together. “any soda you want.”

kimi nods frantically, a small smile spreading his lips. “any drink you want.”

she lets a moment pass. she turns around and faces kimi, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “fine. meet me at my garage later with a can of ice-cold pepsi.” she narrows her eyes and turns to start walking off once again. “i will turn you away if it’s not ice-cold.”

kimi turns to the group of older drivers. “where the hell am i going to get that?”

“i’ve got you, mate.”

— bonus

sebastian sighs, walking into the garage. he lifts his gaze from the ground and tilts his head at the sight: his driver is rocking back and forth on her seat, looking intensely at a piece of paper with a pen between her teeth.

he glances at the matt, sitting next to her, who shrugs in return.

“what are you doing, rocky?” sebastian calls out as he approaches her, eyes squinting as he tries to decipher what she’s doing. “is that-”

“kimi’s homework,” she mutters as she promptly writes something down on the paper.

sebastian gasps and opens his mouth to scold her. she waves her hand in the air to dismiss his concerns. “i’m helping solve it so i can teach him later. i’m not doing it for him.”

he audibly sighs. “okay. remember you’re paid to be a driver, not a tutor.”

“it could start to be my side hustle. you know,” she grimaces, "if the driving thing doesn't work out this year."

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[nezuscribe]

hmmm thinking about being in love with gojo satoru ever since you were children.

so undeniably and uncouthly in love with him that it was a wonder he never found out. that nobody really found out, for that matter.

you met on the playground, after you fell off the monkey bars and he helped pick you up. it’s been you, him and the little boy he introduced a few days later, geto, since then.

you love the way he smiles, the way his lips crinkle up in a sort of smug pout whenever somebody has the honor of making him laugh. you love the way he brings you food even when you don’t ask for it, love the way he makes you giggle by telling stupid stories. you’re in love with his eyes and pink cheeks. you love everything about him and everything you don’t know about him.

which is why it makes it so much harder when you find out he’s in love with somebody else.

you introduced your trio to a friend you made in college your freshman year, suki. she was in your political ideologies class and you really found yourself liking her and thought the guys would like her too.

if only you knew how much.

you knew it from the moment gojo saw her that he fell head over heels. you couldn’t blame him, suki was the epitome of perfection. she was so smart and kind, and her beauty was one that made heads turn. you weren’t jealous of her, never, but a longing and angst filled your chest when you realized that the boy you’d been in love with for fourteen years was never really yours.

so as college continued and your group continued to expand, you decided to put it on hold. it really would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine if not for a simple drunken error one night.

you found yourself giggling with suki, explaining to her all about your childhood crush on one of the boys and she drunkenly giggled back saying how much she finds them utterly annoying.

to your horror, gojo overheard, but perhaps even worse misconstrued your words entirely.

he pulled you aside after that, a plan already devised as he hushed you and your clammy palms down.

“i heard what you said to suki,” he explained hurriedly, your eyes wide as saucers as he continued quickly, “you’ve got a thing for geto, right?”

you swallow.

a friend. he thinks the friend you’re in love with is geto.

you look at him, but he takes that as a silent agreement.

“you know i want suki, i know you want geto. i have a brilliant idea that will help us both out.” his smile is radiant, you wish it wasn’t.

“…what?” your mouth is so dry you feel like if a match were tricked on your tongue it would start a fire.

“we pretend we’re dating!” gojo exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing.

you felt your heart drop.

“we make them so jealous of us that they try to get what we have,” his blue eyes were shimmering with joy while yours were shinning with tears, “and when they do, we’ll split apart and reap the soils!”

you blink.

“deal?” he asks, face brimming with an expression you’d never seen before. you try not to let his hold on your arms sway your judgement, or his idea tempt you into anything you know you’d regret, but there’s no use.

you’ve never been good at controlling your heart from influencing your brain.

you nod slowly, licking your chapped lips.

“deal.”

[malsmind]

“𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞.”

contains ➛ ★ unprotected sex ★ dirty talk ★ pet names ★ big dick!matt ★ dom!matt ★ creampie ★

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

word count: 1.8k

you’d been pushing him all week. the eye rolls. the biting little comments. the short, clipped responses. acting like every word out of his mouth was a burden. he’d let most of it slide—at first. just threw you a look every now and then, that tight-lipped glance that meant cut it out. sometimes with a hand at the small of your back, sometimes with a muttered “fix the attitude.” but tonight? yeah. tonight was the last fucking straw. because you’d done it again—in front of everyone. you’d spent the entire dinner brushing him off, arms crossed, giving him one-word answers like you weren’t sitting beside the man who’d die for you. and he’d warned you, low in your ear as his hand slid around your waist:

“fix the attitude before i do it for you.”

but you didn’t listen. so the second the door shut behind you both back home, it was over. you barely got two steps inside before your back hit the wall with a quiet thud, matt pressed flush against you, both hands braced at either side of your head, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grind.

“you done?” he asked, voice low, rough.

you blinked up at him, half defiant, half breathless. “with what?”

his head tilted, tongue pressing into his cheek.

“don’t play stupid,” he muttered, voice tightening. “you know exactly what.”

his eyes dragged over your face, down to the lips you kept pursing in annoyance all night, then back up again.

“week straight of attitude. talkin’ to me like you don’t even wanna be near me. and then tonight?” his hand slammed flat against the wall beside your head, making your breath hitch. “you think you can embarrass me in front of everyone and i’ll just take it?”

you swallowed hard, heat crawling down your spine.

“what, you gonna yell at me now?” you mumbled, trying to keep the bite in your voice.

but matt just scoffed, dark and humorless, his hand dropping to your hip, gripping it hard enough to make you squirm.

“no,” he said, leaning in close, lips brushing your ear. “not gonna yell.”

he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“gonna fuck that attitude outta ya.”

your breath hitched. he dragged you away from the wall with one hand locked around your wrist, leading you to the bedroom like he was sick of wasting time, like he’d already decided exactly how this was gonna go down. when he shoved you onto the bed, it wasn’t rough—just firm. controlled.

“on your back.”

you hesitated for half a second too long and got a warning look that made your stomach twist. you laid back. matt stood at the edge of the bed, shirt pulled off in one smooth motion, belt unbuckled slow just to make a point.

“you wanna act like a brat, baby?” he muttered, climbing over you, eyes locked on yours. “fine.”

he kissed you hard, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, swallowing the little gasp you let out. “but don’t think for a second you get to run this.”

you barely managed a nod before he was dragging your clothes off, tossing them carelessly to the floor. his hands were rougher than usual—still careful, still him—but full of frustrated tension, like he’d been holding back for too long. and once he was inside you, there was no mistaking it—this wasn’t slow or sweet. he was deliberate. deep, punishing strokes that made your thighs shake, your fingers scramble for something to hold on to.

“still mad at me?” he growled into your neck, hips snapping forward so hard your back arched.

you whimpered, shaking your head, breathless.

“didn’t catch that, baby.”

“n-no,” you gasped.

his lips brushed your jaw. “you gonna keep talkin’ to me like you don’t need me?”

you couldn’t even answer. his rhythm didn’t slow—not until you were trembling beneath him, hands fisting in the sheets, eyes wide and watery.

only then did his mouth soften against your skin, kisses trailing down to your shoulder, his hips easing slightly as he murmured, “there she is. my girl.”

you barely managed a breath.

“next time,” he muttered, voice still rough but steadier now, “you got a problem? use your words.”

you nodded, dazed. he kissed you again, gentler now.

“that’s what i thought.”

you could’ve just laid there. breathless, aching, legs still shaking from how he’d just handled you. you could’ve let the tension melt away, softened under the way matt hovered over you like he wasn’t still pulsing inside you, like he didn’t still have all that fire smoldering behind his eyes. but you didn’t.

you looked up at him—smirk tugging at your lips, voice hoarse—and said, “you done being dramatic?”

matt blinked. a beat. then his jaw set.

“you think i’m bein’ dramatic?” he asked slowly, one eyebrow twitching.

you nodded, eyes glinting with something daring. “mhmm.”

his palm came up to cup your throat—not tight, not dangerous, just enough to ground you in the sharp shift of mood. you knew that look. you loved that look.

“alright,” he muttered, pulling out just to flip you over in one smooth motion. you gasped, barely catching your breath before he gripped your hips, dragging you up onto your knees.

“since you got so much attitude left—lemme take care of it proper.”

you tried to shoot back another snarky comment, but the second he sank back into you, deep and unrelenting, the words died in your throat.

“mhhh, got nothin’ to say now?” he growled, thrusts hard, rhythm brutal. “all that mouth, and now you can’t even talk?”

your hands scrambled forward, clawing at the sheets, your voice caught between a moan and a cry. he was big—he always felt big—but right now, he was everywhere, knocking every breath, every sound, every thought straight out of your body.

“go on, say something else smart,” he taunted, hand coming down hard on your ass, a smack that made your thighs tremble. “or you finally learnin’?”

you gasped, tried to say his name—tried to sass him again, even if your voice shook. but he leaned over your back, chest flush against you, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to hold you down while he fucked you through it.

“nah, baby. you wanted this,” he murmured low against your ear, still relentless. “you wanted to push me. so don’t go gettin’ quiet on me now.”

your knees were giving out, voice cracking, body wrung out and twitching under him. still, you tried. one last push.

“m-maybe if you weren’t so easy to piss off—”

he cut you off with a sharp thrust that made your vision white out.

“what was that?” he snapped, hand curling around your waist to slam into you harder, deeper. “say it again.”

you choked on a moan, body jerking.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought.”

he didn’t stop—pace brutal, control firm, hand gripping your hips like he owned you. it didn’t take long before your cocky defiance fell apart completely, reduced to gasps and broken whimpers, your head turned into the mattress as your body trembled. and finally, when you couldn’t take another second, when your pride cracked like glass under the weight of him, you sobbed it out,

“m’sorry—i’m sorry, matt, i swear—”

his rhythm slowed just enough to let the words land, breath heavy behind you.

“yeah?” he muttered, voice dark and breathless. “you done with the fuckin’ attitude now?”

“yes—yes, promise—i swear—”

“exactly.” his grip tightened. “you don’t fuckin’ talk back at me. not like this. y’got it?”

you nodded frantically, tears hot in your eyes.

“good,” he whispered. and then he kissed your shoulder—soft, sudden. the only softness he gave you.

but it was enough. because you trusted him. and he knew exactly where the line was—and how to pull you back once he’d walked you right up to it. matt’s grip softened just enough for you to breathe. his pace remained relentless, but there was something different now. something deeper. the power in his hands, the way his body leaned into yours, wasn’t about punishment anymore. it was about something heavier—something that tethered you to him in ways words couldn’t explain. you were shaking. your muscles ached, and every inch of you felt alive, stretched, and full of him in the most overwhelming way. you couldn’t quite catch your breath, your chest rising and falling with every thrust that was filling you so completely. you were in that sweet space between surrender and craving—where everything was just a little bit too much, and yet you needed more.

“matt,” you gasped, voice barely more than a whisper, broken and desperate. he heard it, though. he always heard you. always knew when you were on the edge.

his hand slid up your back, pressing you further into the bed, keeping you grounded as his hips surged forward again, rough but calculated. his size was a consuming force, but he used it with purpose, each movement deliberate, forcing your body to adjust, stretch, give in to him.

“y’feel that?” he breathed into your ear, his voice strained with effort but still commanding. “feel how fucking big i am inside you?”

you nodded your head, biting down on your lip to suppress the cries threatening to break free. your body was overwhelmed, but in the best possible way, and the pressure was building—slow and steady, until it was unbearable.

“say it,” he muttered, breath hot against your skin. “tell me how much you love this fuckin’ cock.”

you barely managed the words through the tightness in your throat. “i love it—fuck—matt. s’ so f-fuckin’ good”

he groaned, his thrusts deepening, the rhythm relentless, pushing you toward that final edge.

“good girl,” he muttered. “good fucking girl.”

it wasn’t long after that—when the world went white, and your body tensed as the release hit. everything tightened, your back arching off the bed, your breath catching in a final, desperate gasp as you finally let go. matt followed right after, his own release spilling deep inside you, the tension in his body unraveling as he collapsed over you. he wasn’t gentle as he settled into the bed beside you, both of you panting heavily, slick with sweat, bodies tangled together. for a moment, neither of you moved. the only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized breathing.

finally, matt spoke, voice softer now but still carrying that possessive edge. “you good?”

you let out a breathless laugh, your chest still rising and falling unevenly. “yeah. definitely good.”

he smiled, a small, satisfied curl of his lips. his hand found yours, squeezing gently. “good. i ain’t gonna be so nice next time. swear to god you need to fix that fuckin’ moody shit.”

and in that moment, all the tension, the teasing, the power play—everything—melted away. you were left with nothing but the feeling of him, still close, still real, holding you through the aftermath.

© 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

lace divider by @kodaswrld

[bywons]

PRETTY ON YOU ꣑୧ hot things they do

𝗔𝗖𝗧𝖵────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1O11 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ✿ 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 贅沢 ／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOG4KISS

LEE HEESEUNG is cheerful most of the time. you can’t get to sway his mood even when you steal his favourite ramen packets and poke his cheeks a little too harsh. he finds it all cute and lets you experiment all that's going on in your mischievous mind on him. he just loves you so much. however, he doesn’t like it when you get too close to one of his friends, laughing a bit too loud. heeseung’s voice drops low when he is serious with you, his usual innocence gone as he easily cages you between his tall figure when he snakes his arm around your waist and back. his grip is gentle, but firm enough to remind you—he’s not playing. his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “don’t test me, baby.” his gaze holds a promise you can’t ignore.

PARK JONGSEONG loves to compliment you at every chance he gets. he loves when you try to hide your giggle when he calls you a princess, how you shove your face in his chest when he showers sweet words on your hard work. jay loves the feeling of this quiet dominance, tha only he can make you flushed. but jay has a bad habit of calling you a ‘good girl’ to see you malfunction. “how was work today?” jay smiles, pulling you onto his lap. “just know that i’m getting that promotion,” you giggle. “that’s my good girl,” jay murmurs, voice like silk as he presses a kiss just below your jaw. you pause—heartbeat skipping—and he feels your reaction, grinning smugly against your skin. his hands rest firmly on your hips, grounding you while his praise leaves you dizzy. “knew you could do it.”

SIM JAEYUN always wants you close to him, whenever you are not, jake whines and pouts until you notice it and come closer. he loves sharing body heat with you— hugging you close from behind, placing his hand on your thighs or simply guiding you by the small of your back. but when you are within arms reach, jake hooks his fingers through the loops of your jeans and pulls you closer with a lazy grin. his eyes drag over you like he’s starving, gaze flicking from your lips to your waist as he tugs you flush against him. “there you are,” he murmurs, voice low, fingers tightening slightly on the loops. your breath hitches when his other hand trails slowly up your spine, settling at the nape of your neck. “why were you so far, huh?” he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you know i hate that.”

PARK SUNGHOON doesn’t mean to do it so often, he doesn’t mean to look so in charge when he knows he melts beneath your touch. but as soon as he sinks on the couch after a tiring day of work, sunghoon manspreads like it’s his birthright. long legs spread wide, head tilted back, one arm slung over the backrest. it's not intentional, but that's what he'd say. his sharp eyes flick up when he notices you staring. “something on your mind?” he smirks with amusement, head tilting sideways. but when he doesn’t get an answer from you, he curls his hand inwards and pats on his thigh, “come sit,” he sighs. and when you do, sunghoon just smiles lazily and guides your head closer to his chest like you belong there, and starts to caress your hair like a much needed ritual. “i love you” he murmurs against your hair, “stay.”

KIM SUNOO is determined to be your favourite listener. he drops anything either important or trivial, just to listen to your honey voice. sunoo doesn’t like any distractions in between— it falters your pace which makes you wonder if he even is listening to you, and he likes to leave no space for doubt. sunoo gently pushes the stray strands of hair away from your face whenever they fall over when you are talking, his fingers brushing over your bottom lip. he hums softly when he sees your face flushing, stuttering in your words. “keep going,” he whispers, his voice soft as his hand settles on your jaw. sunoo presses a kiss against your forehead, “why’d you stop? i love hearing you talk.”

YANG JUNGWON always has to make sure you never have any difficulties, at least around him. he makes sure to remember all your favourites when out at a cafe, and urges you to wear comfortable clothes around, whatever is best for you. but the moment he sees you wincing, looking down at your heels, he knows you need his care again. after all, he doesn't like to see you in trouble, jungwon kneels in front of you without hesitation, undoing the straps of your heels. “why didn’t you tell me they hurt?” he asks softly, when they’re off, he rubs your feet gently, his thumbs pressing where it aches. “next time,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a look that leaves no room for argument, “you tell me. i’ll carry you if i have to.” and with that, he slips off his own shoes and offers them to you, because your comfort will always come before his.

NISHIMURA RIKI never fails to tease you about your height. the difference between you two is endlessly amusing to him—he’s always resting his chin on your head, using you as his personal armrest, or ruffling your hair just to hear you whine. “so tiny,” he grins, every time. but when you lean in to whisper something, needing privacy, riki bends down to your level with slow intention. his lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “what is it, shortie?” his voice is low, teasing—but his eyes, locked on yours, are darker, more intense. you hesitate, suddenly aware of how close he is, and that faint smirk on his lips only grows. “you wanna say something?” he asks, pulling you against his chest with ease, voice barely above a whisper. “or want me to get closer?” and god, he means it—every word dripping with love.

스루 ܃ not a favorite one, but i still hope you pretties love it 💗

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[salem-s]

FINAL ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, flufffffffff, angst if you squint, smmmmmuuuutt (unprotected...everything so don't take after them please). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 13k. legit do not say anything. this was originally 4k words but i obviously couldn't let that happen for the last chapter. so. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. please see the note at the end of the chapter!! ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER the only exception by paramore

Rafe swears he hears pounding on his door.

He takes an ear bud out, trying to discern if the noise was real or a part of the song he’s currently listening to. After a moment’s silence, he moves to put the bud back in but one, two beats later, the knocks sound again, confirming someone is at his door so late into the night.

Irritation bubbles in his chest.

Rafe’s been at these stupid memorization cards for what feels like hours, getting nowhere close to being ready for his eight a.m. exam. His mind has – obviously – been elsewhere for the betterment of a week, and he'd be lying if he said the attempt in drowning himself in work has properly distracted him from the events of last week.

Spoiler alert: it hasn't, and it's only getting worse.

Especially now, as the handwriting on the paper started giving him a headache hours ago, so he begrudgingly put on his glasses that he refuses to let see the light of day. The specks, unfortunately, do assist in not making the letters blur together, especially when he’s so tired that his gaze falls in and out of focus.

However, he hates them so goddamn much that it only worsens his already sour mood.

But now they aren’t the only annoyance of his night.

The fact that someone is ferociously pounding on his door only augments his headache, his frustration, and his precariously bubbling temper. He glances at the time, nearing two in the morning, angry that someone has the audacity to not only interrupt his studying, but probably everyone’s sleep on his floor, careless to rhyme or reason or simple ethics. 

He wastes no time standing so quick his chair nearly falls over, stomping over, a long list of curses and horrific things to say are on the tip of his tongue, ready to viscerally berate this person until next Tuesday.

Rafe whips the door open. “The fuck is the–”

His words die in his throat when he sees you.

The air is momentarily knocked from his lungs.

Your hair and makeup are done, as if you've just come from somewhere, adorned in one of his favorite tank tops on you and jeans that hug you too tight to be anything holy. You peer up at him with wide eyes at his harsh words, hugging your basically bare frame in a feeble attempt to warm yourself from wherever you just came from.

God, you look beautiful.

He knows he’s supposed to be mad at you and giving you space and all that, but all of that fades in an instant when he notices your arms coated in goosebumps and your teeth slightly chattering.

Something ugly brews in his chest, discomforted by the thought of you bracing the cold all by yourself. Where is your jacket?

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he grumbles, ushering you into his room without a second thought.

In an attempt to regain his cool, he frowns to keep up with his indifferent demeanor since he's supposed to be cordial and all, even though the mere thought of attempting small talk with you settles a kettlebell in the pit of his stomach. His heart aches looking at you, because you're simply a walking reminder of how he fucked it all up, said the wrong things and came on too strong with poor timing, a reminder of what he could've had if he was a little more patient, more calculated, less stupid in his endeavors.

Because the past week has been absolute torture for him.

He learned very quickly that almost everything around him reminds him of you: books with an aged spine and annotations adorning the wrinkled pages, simple parts of nature that resemble the color of your eyes, strangers hugging, the mere smell of eucalyptus, everything all at once. The day he got back, he went to the liquor store with Elliot in an attempt to distract himself, but it proved fruitless when he found himself wandering idly in the wine aisle, frozen in place when he found the same bottle that you snagged two of after that grueling dinner with your family.

From that point on, Rafe really only stayed in his room unless it was absolutely necessary to leave.

But it seems as though even the confinements of his room don't provide the solace he's been desperately seeking, as the knowledge of how your room shares a wall with his has been plaguing his conscience. There have been countless times where he's debated saying fuck it, knocking on your door, and begging on his knees to have you in his life again, but he knows he can't do that.

He needs to let you come to him, to not bombard you as he has before. That was what scared you off, his forwardness, so he's vowed to keep cool, keep a distance, and keep quiet as much as he can to give you the space you need.

So, he knows he needs to remain stoic, indifferent, guarded.

Reminding himself of this, Rafe hands you a hoodie off the back of his chair. “Did you lose your key again?”

The sound of his voice is so nice to hear, so refreshing, and you nearly sigh as you hug the hoodie close to your body before pulling it over your head, relishing in the way it smells like him, in its warmth as if he was just wearing it moments ago. Pathetically, you nearly sigh at how it feels adorning your body.

“I left my purse at Elliot’s,” you whisper, hugging your body. “Since when have you had glasses?”

Rafe freezes, forgetting he had them on. 

Ignoring his pink cheeks and ignoring your question, he moves on, putting his guard back up.

Quickly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, so he reels it in. “Uh, it’s late. I have an exam.”

You frown at the considerable distance he’s put between you, but part of you really can't blame him since you were the one who orchestrated the falling out.

“I won’t…I won’t take too long. I just need to know if…” You trail off.

How on earth are you going to go about this? Especially when his stare is so piercing, as if he's looking right through your body and into your soul, brows pinched in what you assume is irritation at your stammering.

“Know what?” he drawls out.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping to try and find the words. You shiver as you recover from the chilly walk, but also at his stare that you can’t quite make out the meaning behind. Is he mad? Irritated? Relieved to see you? You hate how you can’t tell.

But you take a deep breath.

You know how he feels about you, you know all of it, despite this front he’s wearing right now. If Elliot can confirm it, it must be true. 

And as if you needed the extra push, your gaze drifts slightly beyond him, fixated on his desk and noticing the sprawl of papers, his computer open to an online textbook, and notecards that have almost perfect handwriting etched onto them. What gets you, though, are the five almost professional looking photo prints laid out side by side across the top of his desk.

All of you.

You in the distance teetering your balance on a particularly precarious rock in your private cove. You walking up the dirt path to your nonna's cottage with the mountains behind you. You holding a hand up in an attempt to block the lens as your body adorns a hideous dress you only showed him for shits and giggles. You leaning forward to do your mascara in a tiny mirror hanging on the wall, wearing the perfect beaded dress. And, finally, you sitting alone in the garden chair in your nonna's yard, the moonlight hue behind you as you read your book, unknowing to his presence from the kitchen.

Just above his desk, just hovering over the photos, is his ceramic fish hanging on the wall, one of his only pieces of decor in his entire room.

Rafe follows your gaze with confusion, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what you're looking at, what you discovered. Instantly, he frowns as he side steps just enough to block your view of the photos, of the fish. But the damage has already been done, and your breath hitches as you immediately get the confirmation you need to open your heart up.

All of a sudden, you're blurting it out. 

“Elliot told me what you said to him.” The lack of clarification has Rafe raising a brow, to which you add, “About what happened with Yara.”

Rafe’s breath hitches. 

“Is it true?” Your voice is so small that it doesn’t sound like you. 

“Which part?”

“All of it.” You take a cautious step closer, the tequila running through your bloodstream giving you the confidence. 

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes trail down your body in calculation, gears working overtime in his head as he soaks in your words, the sliver of desperation coating your tone, the way you're playing with the hem of his hoodie, your brows etched in slight worry as you anticipate his response.

Then, it clicks with him, eyes slightly widening at the realization. The reasoning behind your acute coldness towards him wasn’t out of unrequited feelings, but rather the latter.

You cared too much, felt too much. 

The thought gives him whiplash. You must've seen him and Yara in that godforsaken closet and gotten the complete wrong impression on the matter. His heart fucking lurches at your wordless confession, and no wonder you were so apprehensive about his words, about his intentions, and pushed him away at every single opportunity that presented itself because of a stupid miscommunication, because of her stupid actions.

“Is that why you were upset?” He takes it further and steps closer. “At your nonna’s, you said you were upset about something that made you tell your mom about us. You saw us? In the closet?”

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Is that why?”

You can’t speak, not while he’s practically caging you in, standing so broad and tall in front of you that it renders you speechless. He faintly smells of shampoo, an intoxicating scent, and you can almost see yourself in the reflection of his thinly wired glasses, only shielding his bright blue eyes through shiny glass. His hoodie swallows you whole, and you're grateful for the extra layer that feels like it’s warding off the vulnerability you're reeking of.

All you can manage is a small nod. 

Rafe clenches his jaw, and a part of you fears you've said the wrong thing. 

But then his eyes immediately soften as he brings a hand up to hover over your jaw, almost in muscle memory, as if he's been paining him to not do so, to not touch you.

For fuck's sake, he almost looks relieved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You nearly snort at the simplicity. For a number of reasons, really, but the biggest one comes first.

“I was embarrassed. I thought you didn’t mean what you said in the ballroom.”

Your voice is so quiet that you almost think he doesn’t hear it, especially when he gives no reaction for a few seconds.

Then his palm is pressing harder, fully allowing himself to touch you. And, god, you can't help but lean into the embrace with a long sigh through your nose, not breaking eye contact with him as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, over the wound that’s practically all healed with little to no remnants of the disaster that occurred in that bathroom all that time ago. 

A flicker of pain etches over his face at the reminder of the cut, of what your own mother did, but then his eyes trail back up to meet yours, now glossing with certainty.

“Nothing happened with Yara,” he reassures firmly. 

You nod, sure of yourself now. “I know.”

“All I could think about was you.”

You can’t breathe. 

Cautiously, Rafe leans down to test the waters, and once you make no move to pull away from his touch, he indulges in his endeavors to brush his lips against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“About your pretty smile.” He pulls back to move to your other cheek. “Your pretty laugh.” To your forehead. “About how being with someone else made me sick.”

The air escapes your lungs. 

“I meant what I said.” Rafe pulls back so he can meet your eye, a flicker of worry glossing over his pretty eyes, but nonetheless filled with determination. “Every word.”

You can’t help your second nature and let a sliver of panic let up. 

“I thought you didn’t want to date in college.”

The excuse is meek, you know that, he knows that. It’s a last ditch effort for him to truly understand what he’s getting himself into. 

But he's serious. Not a fraction of uncertainty glosses over his pretty features, or give you any shroud of doubt that he didn't mean what he said on that ballroom floor. With the firmness of his palm against your burning skin, the narrowed yet softness gaze in his blue eyes, and the way his other fingers on his other hand twitch in your direction tell you all that you need to know: that he's fucking missed you as much as you've missed him.

And – normally – that thought would scare you and send you running for the hills with a heartbeat too erratic and a mind too gone, but now it only solidifies you, grounds you, keeps you tethered to the boy standing in front of you. He's handing you a proverbial knife and hoping you don't stab him with it, and you have once before, but now you don't dream of letting it happen again.

“I didn’t,” he confirms cautiously. “Not until you showed me what it could be like.”

If it’s possible, you lean further into his touch, frowning in your overwhelming blossom of emotions. The thought of being wanted by someone settles a foreign feeling in your gut, wavering between pride and uncertainty. 

“I want you, too,” you whisper, nearly sighing at how he visibly relaxes at your words, but your voice remains shy. “But I’m scared.”

Rafe pinches his brows in the slightest at your tone. “Of what, baby?”

The words die in your throat.

The list is endless, really, piling with a million excuses that only grow by the second. Where can you begin? How the idea of someone wanting more than just your body is evidently unheard of? How the concept of more implies putting up with the ugly parts of life, the parts you push deep down and never let see the light of day?

Your hands find his unoccupied one, holding onto your lifeline as if it'll fucking kill you if you let go. 

“I don’t know how to be more than just…a body.”

That makes him frown. Immediately. 

Despite it, you continue.

"All my life, I've just been..." You try and find the right words, avoiding his eyes and looking down at your connected hands instead at the weight of your upcoming words. "I've never been wanted, or yearned for, or anyone's first choice. It's really hard for me to believe that someone...that you...would want me..."

Rafe reels.

Have you really thought this entire time that he’s only here for the sex? That that’s all you're good for? All you're worthy of being loved for? 

How can you not see how much more you are? How much you mean to him? Don't you know that you occupy his mind at every waking moment? That you're the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the morning to the last thing he sees at night, and how he shuts his eyes when he’s alone and pretends you're right there beside him, holding his hand or scratching his back or playing with his hair.

Don't you know how much he loves you?

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmurs gently before leaning forward, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug that makes you oof against his chest, getting pulled taut against him. “How can you say that? How can you even think–? When I can’t even–” He grips you tighter. “Fuck.”

Your confusion is through the roof at his desperation. “Rafe, are you–”

“Do you even know how much you mean to me?”

That silences you. 

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says in a wrangled breath. “Ever. I don’t know how to trust people. I don’t like to and I don’t know how. But with you, it’s never felt easier.”

A large hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and your heart lurches when you can feel a slight tremble. 

Especially when he murmurs your name so quietly, so ardently, that you can't help but just listen.

“You’re so much more than a body.” Rafe’s voice is quiet yet firm and it makes you fumble at the sincerity. “You’re smart. You remember things better than anyone I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’re actually sweet. You take care of things and people you deeply appreciate. I’ve never seen someone so delicately handle a ceramic fish before.”

You shakily chuckle against his chest. 

“And the thought of not being around you anymore really scared me. And even if you...didn't feel the same," he says low, "I wouldn't have minded, as long as I could be in the same room or exist in the same friend group, it wouldn't...matter. As long as I could still see you.” 

Rafe finally relents on his grip, pulling back a fraction and taking his hand to gently grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him and face the ferocity of his words, as if they didn't just fucking crush you in a way you've never felt before. 

“I liked being with you.” His stare is piercing. “Existing together. Doing all of it.”

You hum. On instinct, you reach up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Rafe’s heart pounds. “Tell me,” he says, voice dripping in desperation. “Tell me it was real to you.”

You nod instantly. “It was real. All of it.”

He sucks in a breath at the verity, and goes to say something else but you don't let him, instead pulling him down to kiss him. 

And, god, it’s exhilarating. 

All of your fears, all of your doubts, all of your uncertainties that plagues yours and his heart, mind, soul all fly out of the window. You can finally lean into one another without the steel weights cursing your shoulders or the cage locking in your hearts. The kiss is a wordless promise, an oath, a safety net. 

His hands are everywhere instantly: arms, waist, face. Not an inch goes unnoticed as he finally, finally can touch you again, feel you again, hear you again. Your hands trail up to the nape of his neck, holding yourself here in his arms as if to remind yourself this is real and happening. He’s here, right here, and he’s not going anywhere, nor is he letting you go anywhere. 

As much as it scares you, the tension in your shoulders slowly release. 

You slowly back him up until his knees hit his desk chair, Rafe taking the hint and sitting down and wasting no time to pull you into his lap. It's muscle memory at this point, molding yourself onto his body. You both sigh at the sensation of the familiarity.

Straddling him, you place your hands on his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt as his hands trail up and down your side, settling under your – his – hoodie and skimpy tank top to feel the ridges of your ribcage, a connection he's been yearning to make ever since his hands left your body last. His palms are hot against your icy skin, sending a plethora of goosebumps up your spine.

Rafe simply stares at you, watching you admire the planes and grooves of his shoulder muscles, his biceps, anything you can get your hands on to make up for lost time spent pining in silence.

When you finally meet his eye, you shyly smile when you notice him already shamelessly looking right back at you. 

One of your hands cradles his jaw, fingers gently skimming over the lenses of his glasses. “I like these.”

Rafe groans, rolling his eyes and darting his gaze away. “I hate them.” 

“Why?” You nudge his cheek to force him to look at you. “I think they make you look handsome.”

“They make me look stupid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. They're glasses."

"Still stupid."

"You should wear them more often,” you demand lightly.

Rafe frowns. “No.”

“Well, don’t they help you see?”

“Obviously, but–”

You smile, and he’s having trouble focusing. “Then case closed.”

His lips twitch. “Sweet girl,” Rafe warns.

There’s no backbone to it. 

“Don’t sweet girl me,” you warn right back at him. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Instead he cocks his head to the side with a teasing smile.

“Are you really that interested in my optical choices or is this your sweet little way of getting in my pants?”

You snort. “We both know I don’t have to be sweet to get into your pants.”

Rafe laughs boyishly and you love the sound. But he’s still avoiding your question. 

“Answer.”

“Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he huffs playfully, “I didn't really have to bring them. I only need them when I’m reading or writing a lot. My eyes get tired.”

You pout endearingly. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard–”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” You lean forward and press a slow chaste kiss on his lips. 

Of course, he can’t even fathom pulling away and mmrphs low into your mouth, leaning up to chase your lips again for another kiss when you lean back. You hum at his neediness, but giving in anyway and slightly parting your lips to give him all the access he wants.

Rafe wastes no time in doing so, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck to guide your movements as he lazily makes out with you as if he has all the time in the world to do so. The warmth of his mouth, his body, his palm nearly make you melt in your very spot, a wave of relief washing over you.

You decide that you love this spot right here on his lap. Your favorite seat. Your throne. 

When you happily hum again, Rafe kisses you harder, squeezes a little harder. 

“God,” he mumbles against your lips, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The possessiveness makes your stomach pool with pride. All his. All yours. No one else's but each other's.

You can’t help but tease him. “I don’t remember you asking me officially.”

“You’re still mine.”

And Rafe kisses you again. Harder. A mark of his words. 

“Say it,” he demands quietly against your lips. 

And you just fucking beam. “I’m yours.” Your fingers splay through his hair. “All yours, Rafey.”

Scoffing, he turns his head away as you chuckle at his reddening cheeks, peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw, lips, anywhere available for you to coat in markings of you, you, you.

“Stop calling me that,” Rafe murmurs, but loses all the edge in his tone because the feeling of you pressing your lips all over him sends his mind for a loop.

You simply hum. “No. You have so many names for me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you like those.” 

“Who says I do?”

“Be so fucking for real.”

The laugh that escapes your mouth is loud and boisterous, probably waking up someone on your floor. But Rafe can care less because the sound is music to his ears, despite you jesting at his expense. Shit, you can make fun of him all you want if this is how you're gonna react, smiling and sitting pretty in his lap whilst drowning in his clothes, kissing him like he hung the stars himself. 

You playfully slap his shoulder. “Whatever. But I’m still going to call you–”

“No.”

“Yes. When you’re least expecting it.”

Rafe hums low, a warning.

Shrugging, you suppress a smile. “What? I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Shut up.” Then, softer. “C’mere.”

You laugh incredulously. “I’m already here.”

You nearly have the gall to laugh again when he ever-so-slightly pouts, but it all dies in your throat when he’s tugging you impossibly closer, resting your face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and broad on your back. It takes you one, two seconds to register his actions, and you find yourself melting at the notion of Rafe Cameron hugging you.

It feels so achingly familiar that you can’t help but sigh in contentment, letting your eyes shut for a few moments as you feel his chest heave in and out with his low syncopated breaths. 

Your heart lurches at the action, pressing yourself impossibly tight against him in fear he's going to disappear if you inch back even in the slightest. He takes a particularly deep breath, one of relief almost, your chests brushing together even closer than before. It makes you hum, pressing another kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

You speak before you register it. "Thank you."

His hands gently rub up and down your back. "For what, baby?"

"For..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "For not running."

Your words make him frown, and he eases you back so he can look you in the eye, confusion glosses over his features as one of his hands reaches up to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him when you turn your head away in embarrassment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Gonna take a cavalry to get rid of me."

A smile twitches at the end of your lips.

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, letting it linger there for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes, but before he can do anything else, you're already leaning in and severing the distance.

Rafe's large hand holds you in place, reciprocating your kiss with more fervor than before that makes his breath hitch. Your hips barely – just barely – move in tandem with his that has his hand gripping your waist, stopping your moments immediately.

You lean back at his sudden apprehension, almost shy. "What?"

"Don't- Don't do that," he answers meekly.

Of course, you've never been one to listen.

You roll your hips again.

His other hand leaves your face to grab your waist, both of his palms and all of his fingers digging deep into your flesh to cease your movements. His face is uncharacteristically scrunched in pain at the reluctancy of initiating what he's been dreaming about since the last time you had him.

You notice immediately. "What's wrong?"

Rafe's eyes dart between yours, sucking in a breath as he looks at you. "I don't want to hurt you again."

The words confuse you. Tilting your head to the side, you try and rack your brain on where this sudden approach is coming from, where the sudden apprehension stems from. The expression on his face tells you that he's holding back, he's pained, haunted by something you can't conjecture.

"You haven't hurt me," you tell him earnestly, a little confused, but one-hundred percent honest.

He furrows his brows. "...The day of the wedding?"

What?

You only look at him in befuddlement, mind trailing off when you replay the course of events of the day in your head. The only thing that would pertain to his words was when he fucked you deep and rough that morning because you asked him to. It had felt good. Too good. It was when you realized you were in too deep and it scared the shit out of you.

"Rafe," you say slowly, "what are you talking about?"

He looks pained even repeating it. "You cried. After we..." He shakes the thought away. "There were teardrops on your pillow."

The confession makes your heart skip.

That's why he was so weird with you for the entire day? Why he kept himself at an arm's length and could barely look you in the eye when you lounged together on the beach? Because he thought he'd hurt you? Made you cry? When you were upset for the complete opposite reason?

You frown at his anecdote, hurt that he's had to carry this miscommunicated guilt with him for a week, unknowing to the real reason, and under the complete wrong impression of your feelings.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching up to cradle each side of his face tenderly.

"That wasn't because of you," you whisper ardently, almost pained that he's been thinking that the whole time. "Not at all."

But Rafe doesn't seem to believe that. "I was too hard."

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head to emphasize your point. "No, you were too gentle."

That makes him furrow his brows.

At his silence, you continue with a deep breath.

"I thought that if I asked for it rough, it would let me get over my feelings for you, to remind me that it had to just be sex." Your voice is impossibly quiet yet firm. "But you didn't treat me like another fuck, you made sure I had what I needed, said all of these beautiful things, treated me impossibly gentle afterward."

The pad of your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.

"I cried because I was scared," you admit gently. "Not of you. Never of you. But of my feelings. You didn't make it easy for me to try and stop liking you."

A smile twitches at the end of his lips.

"So," he says quietly after a moment, "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head earnestly to confirm. "No. I'm sorry that I let you believe that you did."

His eyes blink, soaking in the weight of your words with a slow nod, the gears in his head turning as he gradually lets himself understand that it wasn't his hands that orchestrated your tears. He didn't hurt you. You are fine.

"You're okay," Rafe drawls out cautiously. "Right?"

Your nod is immediate. "Yes. Always with you."

That seems to make the tension in his shoulders release bit by bit, relaxing under your touch and allowing himself to believe you, believe that it wasn't what he thought it was, believe that he didn't hurt you.

"Okay?" You ask gently, confirming that he understands what you're saying.

Now he does, nodding against your touch and letting his hands experimentally skim your waist, easing up on his grip, and letting them venture over the smoothness of your skin. He waits a beat for you to pull back, to tell him to stop, but you don't.

Instead, you press yourself down onto him, making his breath catch.

It's out of clarity, certainty, especially when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his lips, a confirmation of your truth. He leans up to chase your mouth, and he's successful when you close the distance, allowing his tongue access to your mouth as teeth clashes against teeth, a wave of passion emerging like a tidal wave at the notion that he didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters against your lips when you roll your hips once more. "You're going to fucking kill me. I swear."

Experimentally, he grips your waist and moves you back and forth against his already hardening dick, and when you don't pull back or voice your discomfort, he allows himself a deep exhale, allows himself to soak into the moment, allows himself to enjoy the feel of you, you, you.

"I missed you," you nearly whisper before you can stop it, the vulnerability feeling foreign on your tongue. "Missed this."

Rafe groans against your lips. "Me too, baby." He kisses you again as you moan quietly into his mouth as he continues guiding your movements against him. "Let me show you, mhm?"

Anticipation pools in your stomach, blossoming in your gut and sending warmth down to where your body touches his.

You're barely nodding before his hands venture down to your ass, holding you taut against him as he stands, your grip tightening around his neck like a koala and wrapping your legs around his middle. In seconds, your back hits the mattress, his knee is slotting between your thighs, and his lips are on yours again.

It's so familiar, so achingly familiar that you cannot believe you went so long without it, without him.

You arch into his chest, bodies molding together as puzzle pieces connect. A hand flies to his hair, tugging the strands gently that makes him omit a low groan into your mouth, one hand shamelessly groping one of your breasts under his hoodie and the other bracing himself over your body, barely hovering.

Rafe pulls back just slightly, a flicker of irritation coating his pretty face as he leans up to take his glasses off, ones that have slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to annoy him.

But you react before you realize it.

"Wait," you say, leaning up a tad for emphasis, a hand coming up to cradle his face and gingerly skim the metal as he freezes. "Keep them on."

A teasing smile twitches at his lips. "Seriously?"

You sheepishly nod, biting your lip.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, amused gaze darting between your eyes at the request.

"Please?" You add sweetly.

The scoff that leaves his mouth makes you suppress a grin, knowing how that one word makes him feel and using it to your advantage. He shakes his head in disbelief at you, but his faux irritation proves to be fruitless as a smirk can't help but grow on his lips.

"Can't say no to that, hm, sweet girl?" He murmurs, half in playfulness and the other half in adoration.

You shake your head slowly at him, your grin fading into something shy, as if asking for what you want proved to be difficult.

But he wouldn't dream of denying you that. Ever. Especially when you asked so nicely, so sweetly, just for him. Who is he to say no? Hell, you could've asked him for a car in that same tone and he wouldn't hesitate to ask what color, make, and model.

So Rafe indulges your request, pushing the glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and leaning down to connect your lips for the umpteenth time, nearly grinning when you let out a satisfied mmrph at him letting you get what you want. His hands are everywhere they can reach, groping and mapping out the curves of your body and nearly moaning at the softness of your skin.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmurs against your lips, sending a shockwave down your spine as his thumb brushes over your nipple. "All mine."

"Yours," you whisper sultry, needy, desperately, nearly bucking up into him.

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sound of it, pushing the hem of your – his – hoodie to reveal your chest, and you sit up to aide him in taking it off. The act is deliberately thorough, as his calloused palms smooth over your skin, gingerly pushing it up over your head. Your tank top is next. Then, your bra. Then your jeans. Before you know it, you're almost completely nude, simply left in your light blue underwear and exposed in the cool air of his room.

All he can do is stare at your bareness, letting out an appreciative hum as one hand grabs a breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple that causes you to sigh deeply, eyes raking from your stomach, to your chest, and eventually back up to your face, where you peer up at him in anticipation. His hand gropes you meaningfully, as if he's studying the feel of the swell in his palm, relishing in your warmth.

"You're so beautiful," Rafe admires gently, almost to himself, before leaning down and taking the other breast in his mouth.

The words make your heart skip a beat, but you shove down the feeling as you arch into his mouth that licks and bites and sucks against the soft skin, a hand in his hair to keep yourself grounded, keep yourself tethered to him. No inch of your chest goes unnoticed, untouched, ignored.

Rafe is thorough in his appreciation, and as lovely as it is, you're growing impatient with need as you writhe underneath him.

"Want you," you whine under your breath, not like he can hear you anyway as it comes out as an incoherent babble, but figuring it's better than saying his name over and over like a mantra, but it proves fruitless when he albeit hums. "Rafe?"

"Yes, baby?" He asks lazily in between kisses as if he has all the time in the world.

"I want... I..."

He etches lower and lower on your body until his mouth is ghosting over your clothed cunt, a low hum emitted from his mouth as he presses a kiss against the wet patch on your underwear, greedily inhaling and exhaling hot breath that makes you squirm. By the looks of it, he's pleased at the sight of you eager for him, ready for him, squirming for him.

Instead of responding, he licks and sucks against the cotton of your panties, against the spot he knows makes you crumble all the same. You moan raggedly, almost embarrassed at the volume given the fact that you've just started, given that he's doing this over your clothes.

"Words," Rafe mumbles teasingly, the baritone of his voice vibrating your core with such fervor that it makes your back arch and your fingers grip a little harder in his hair. "What d'ya want, hm?"

"You," you manage to say, breathless and writhing. "Need you."

His nimble fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down achingly slow until they're fully off, discarded somewhere carelessly as he resumes his position between your legs, taking in the sight of you: so pretty looking down at him, cunt glistening with need, face flush with anticipation.

One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as his mouth ghosts over your core.

"You have me," is all he says before closing the distance.

You moan at the contact, as his tongue plunges deep where you need him and his nose brushes against your clit. The taste of you has him groaning into your heat, the rumble causing your eyes to roll back at the sensation. The sound is obscene, especially when he eats like a starved man, like he's been depraved of his favorite meal, like he's ravenous.

"Taste so good, princess," he practically moans into your heat.

It's almost unbearable. You've been so worked up this past week at the thought of him, the thought of never being able to make things right, the thought of losing something you can't help but love. The wave of relief that washes over you only augments your pleasure, because your worries dissipate and you allow yourself to enjoy this, enjoy him, enjoy what he can give you.

One of his hands venture up your body to grab a breast, as if he can't allow his hands to be unoccupied, to not feel and dote on you with every fiber of his being. The added pleasure makes your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you whisper so quietly that it's barely audible.

Your other hand covers his, gripping the back of his hand and squeezing tight to wordlessly reciprocate your want, your need, your appreciation.

His other hand comes to aide his mouth, maneuvering his body so he can both use his fingers as they glide in with ease, and his tongue that can't bear to separate just yet. It makes you whine so beautifully that his hips stutter forward against the mattress, groaning low into your cunt at the sudden sensation.

As Rafe sucks and laps and fingers you so brazenly, you let out a ragged breath at the plethora of pleasantries, suddenly hit with how nice everything feels, how the combination of his mouth, plunging fingers, and the hand fondling your breast start the familiar coil bubbling in your core.

"Fuck," you curse at the intensity, and how quickly it builds. "Please, I-I-"

Your hips writhe under his touch as you let out a particularly broken whine, chest heaving as you get closer and closer to your release.

"I know, baby," he murmurs low, almost strained.

Gasping, you momentarily lose breath at the speed of it, gripping his hand that's on your breast tighter, affirming how quickly you're approaching your high with your body language, one that he seems to understand quite well, something he's come to know better than a lot of other things in life. He's well versed in your tendencies, a pride he wears with his chest.

"Rafe," you whine as your orgasm comes closer, and closer, and closer. "I'm-"

You don't finish the sentence, and you don't even hear if he responds, because your orgasm hits you so quickly, so blindly, that your back arches off the mattress, a tidal wave of ecstasy flooding your veins and searing hot in your core. Your heartbeat is up to your ears, and he could be saying the secrets to the universe and you'd simply have no idea. It's pulsating, inebriating, because you don't hide behind a curtain of shame of how much you need him, not anymore, and that makes the release tenfold.

Despite your writhing hips, Rafe is able to lap up every drop, groaning deep into your cunt at the taste of you, of how nice you feel against his fingers, against his tongue, how pretty you sound as you let him hear you louder than ever.

Lazily, he licks and sucks you through the aftershock, nearly grinning at how your thighs tremble against his head and your ragged breaths ease from the intensity. Your thumb rubs absentminded circles on his hand, a gesture so fucking sweet that he reciprocates by placing a chaste kiss against your cunt, eyeing it for a moment as a brief goodbye before he sighs a hot breath against it.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your body while turning his palm in your hand to gingerly lace his fingers through yours, squeezing once, twice, three times until his mouth is against your neck, sucking that sweet spot that makes you shiver.

You practically shake underneath him, still attempting to return to planet earth.

Rafe's nose nudges your jaw. "You okay?"

You exhale a noise that you think is affirmation, but frankly you're still trying to screw your head on straight after hearing your heartbeat in your ears, shuddering under his grounding touch that sends electricity through your already amplified veins.

"Yes," you start breathlessly, "I-I've just been– my brain– I couldn't... I need to..."

Rafe's face is suddenly inches from yours, practically beaming down at your incoherent babbling with a knowing glance, one that affirms just how nice he fucks you (your words, not his, as you've so graciously told him once). It's proving true now, as he takes in the sight of your gazed expression and bleary eyes, chest swelling with pride.

Watching you attempt to figure out your words all breathless and pouty, he can't help but let his gloating simmer into something more affectionate, something softer that he seems to only reserve for you. It's fascinating to see you like this, completely unguarded and fucked out and beautiful, nonetheless.

"Couldn't what?" He eggs on, heart blooming at the state of you.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter absentmindedly as you slip your hand out of his to paw at his chest, still recovering from the dizziness of your brain, movements sluggish as you reach down for the tent in his sweatpants while your eyesight slowly returns to normal. "C'mere, I–"

"Easy," he drawls out amusingly, taking the trembling hand that reaches for his dick and lacing his fingers through yours instead. "You're shaking."

You blink through your frustration, your vision returning (almost). "I'm not– I– You're being withholding."

His grin is impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, sweet girl." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'll give you another, just catch your breath, yeah?"

Your struggle is obvious, and your desperation even more, because you've missed him so fucking bad and all you want to do is feel him irrevocably, completely, ardently. The realization is pathetic, you know, but you figure that you're past the point of being shy, especially with him, who has seen you at your all.

You frown, spluttering, utterly flustered at his nonchalance, especially when his unoccupied hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, running the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth. "Wh– No, I don't want another, I want–"

"You don't want another?"

Groaning, you flush under his piercing stare. "No, I– Ugh, Rafe. I want you."

"Me?" Rafe repeats in faux surprise, brows raised playfully. "Could've just asked."

You roll your eyes so hard it only makes you a little more dizzy, trying really hard to appear angry but it goes nowhere when a hint of a smile ghosts your lips. And it only grows when he leans in, placing a long, chaste kiss on you, and you melt into it when you taste yourself, lungs wound tight. You figure you can breathe later.

He notices immediately, pulling back with a boyish chuckle that makes your chest feel funny. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Do it again," you mumble shyly, eyelids heavy with desire. "Please."

And he does. Immediately.

You albeit whine into his mouth as he reciprocates the noise at the sound of it, squeezing your hand once more and the gesture nearly kills you as you practically pout into his mouth at the sweetness of it. With your mind airy and lungs breathless, all you can think about is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, how he kisses you, how he touches you, how his voice sounds reverberated against your body.

It's incriminatingly intoxicating to be surrounded by him in all of your senses: his hand laced in your own, his breathy whimpers against your lips when your hand trails to the hem of his shirt to brush against his bare abdomen, teasing the waistline of his sweats. You're caught in a whirlwind of him, drowning in his scent and caged in by his arms.

You realize quickly, as you've noted before, that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He pulls back, and you're about to protest until you see he's moving to take his shirt off in one swift motion, sick of the cotton barrier between your chests. As he begins to take his sweats and boxers off, you sit up, idly waiting for him as you tuck your legs underneath you. The sight of his cock hard and aching, dripping pre-cum off the tip, has you shamelessly staring, as you let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Rafe notices your change in position, patiently waiting all pretty and breathless and brazenly looking at his dick, and he can't help but tilt his head and stare at you with an amused gleam in his eye.

When he makes no effort to move, your eyes travel back up to meet his to see that they're already staring at you, a piercing gaze that has you biting your lip at the notion of being caught.

"What?" He asks teasingly, searching your face for any indicator of what you want.

But you're apparently good with your words now, or at least better than before.

"Wanna ride you."

The sentence makes Rafe scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head at you as he runs a hand through his hair, practically in awe of you, of your words, of how good you're being for him tonight, how you're starting to ask for things. It makes his chest swell with pride, proud that you feel comfortable enough around him to start voicing your needs, your wants, things that he'll give to you in less than a heartbeat.

Nonetheless, once he's learned how to use his brain again, he leans forward, turning his body so he's sitting up against the headboard and extending an arm for you almost immediately.

Which you graciously take, gripping his forearm as you crawl onto his lap, sucking in a breath when his dick is the only thing in between your two stomachs. You can't help but stare down at it, bringing a hand to grip his length like you've been dreaming about for days, letting out a deep sigh that makes your hot breath fan over his tip.

Rafe lets out a low moan, gripping your hips impossibly tight as he watches you spread the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb, spreading it down his length and jerking him off at a painfully slow pace that nearly has his hips bucking at the sensation of it. The sight of your hand wrapped around him nearly makes his brain shut off, dumbifying him to the point where all he can do is pathetically whine as you hold his dignity in the palm of your hand.

A particular tight squeeze makes him tense underneath you, eyes screwing shut for a moment to compose himself as one of his hands leaves your hips to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movements altogether.

Your head whips up, pouting. "What?"

Rafe just shakes his head, almost pained as he can't even get the words out.

But you understand him, and you pout. "But I want to."

"Sweet girl."

You hum, looking back down as you feel his hand push your wrist down, down, down until, with some adjusting, his cock is sliding in between your folds.

The sensation makes you both moan shamelessly, your lashes fluttering as your eyes roll shut. Your stomach pools in warmth for the anticipation, especially when your hips rock back and forth against him to coat his cock with the remnants of your previous orgasm, mixing it with the pre-cum that you graciously spread on him. The feeling, almost on command, makes him practically shudder underneath you.

Rafe whines out a curse, and if you weren't so light-headed you'd think he's begging. "Feel so nice already, making me go crazy."

Frankly, the stubborn part of you wants to elongate this as much as possible, but as you feel your prior orgasm practically dripping onto his length, it's clear that you're in no position to withhold him from experiencing the same euphoria. All you want to do is give back what he did for you, how he made you feel, to wordlessly tell him how much you appreciate him, yearn for him, want him to be taken care of.

With shaky hands, you guide his cock to your entrance, not wasting another second before you're slowly sinking down onto his length.

"Shit," he murmurs shakily against your lips, his grip iron tight on your hips – borderline, your ass – as he feels you lower inch by inch. "Oh my fucking god, holy fuck. Taking me so goddamn well."

It isn't until you feel him fully bottom out when you're letting out a ragged breath, one that you were unaware you were holding at the intensity of the feeling, of the stretch, of how much more you can feel him in this position, his cock hitting places unknown as you still on his lap, soaking in the moment of simply being full of him, relishing in the notion of how nice it is to be in your favorite spot.

Your arms sling around his neck, draped over his shoulders to impossibly taut yourself to his chest as you place a chaste kiss on his lips, one that he can't even reciprocate because he's still sharply breathing, still not over how well you're taking him and how perfect you feel around him. It's, understandably, making his brain all fuzzy, and all he can try and concentrate on is not coming in this given moment.

So, no, he doesn't kiss you back. He can't.

Instead, he shakily exhales against your lips, gently shaking his head when you cheshire-cat grin at him, attempting to roll your hips in retaliation but his grip on your hips is iron. Part of you relishes in the marks you're going to wake up to, imprinted by him, and greedily want to and move again to get him to dig deeper, to be able to feel the reminders of him in the morning.

You try. He holds you still even harder.

"Just- Fuck," Rafe groans. "Gimme a minute, wanna feel you."

You pout, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the simplicity of his words, yet find yourself obeying. Leaning back a fraction, you take a moment to take a selfish peek at him: blue eyes blown black with lust, hair falling onto his forehead in messy waves that you brush back gingerly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose that you fix silently, lips parted and swollen from all the activity he's been engaging in with them.

He looks unequivocally fucked out. You assume you look equally as such.

Without thinking, your arms retract from their position around his neck, slithering up the sides of his neck and letting your hands cradle each side of his jaw, holding his face in place as your thumbs absentmindedly trace circles, squares, triangles on the soft skin. You simply stare at him, admire him, wait for him to give you the green light to continue moving.

And Rafe doesn't think he's ever been held like this before.

It does something irreversible in his chest, a pang of an unknown emotion jolting through his skin like electricity as he simply sits under your touch, teetering between wanting to explode with admiration and shutting down altogether to sulk in the feeling. He's sure you have no idea what you're doing to him, and whether you mean to or not, he's sure there's nothing better on the planet than this, than the feel of you wrapped around him, holding him, grounding him.

His hands move up and down your spine, tracing vertebrae bone by bone in a delicacy he never knew he possessed. As his heart pounds in his chest, his mind morphs to mush, and the only thing he can conjecture is that he is, irrevocably, yours for the rest of his life. There's frankly no doubt about it, and the thought makes his lashes flutter shut to truly soak in the physicality of it all.

He feels you place a feather-light kiss on his lips, and before you can pull back to continue to give him the moment to gather himself, he's chasing the kiss and closing the distance again.

This time, Rafe's the one moaning into your mouth, especially as you accidentally shift your hips when kissing him back. At the slight movement, his impatience is suddenly through the roof as his hands venture down to your ass, slowly starting to guide your motions up and down, back and forth, taking him in ways that has his eyes rolling back.

Your thighs aide his movements for about a minute, but soon begin to tremble as your bounces get needier, kisses become breathless, sighs turn into whimpers. Calloused palms roam the entirety of your body, groping and rolling the flesh of your ass in tandem with your movements, slithering up your ribcage to squeeze and suck on your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies connect to press a firm thumb on your clit.

That right there makes you whine so gutturally deep where his hips unexpectedly jerk into you, his cock – somehow – burying deeper inside you to a spot unreached before.

Rafe moans your name like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows.

It makes your brain fuzzy, as your neediness takes over and your conscience is on autopilot. You say something, but it comes out like an incoherent babble, something insignificant and probably pertaining to how good he feels, as you continue to shift your hips up and down to take his full length, lift up to where his tip barely pokes out, only to sink back down onto him again. Over, and over, and over.

Your arms sling back over his shoulders, lazily linking behind his neck as one of his hands snakes around your back to pull you impossibly closer while the other works your clit, thumb pressing on it so firmly that you momentarily see stars at the ferocity of it all. Nails scratching the smooth skin of his back, you almost break skin at the attempt to pull him closer, as the need for more, more, more stems from the coil beginning to rumble in your stomach.

"Rafe," you gasp, sucking in a breath as you feel the familiar sensation bubbling. "Feel so full, feels so good."

"You feel like a dream," he mumbles shakily against your lips, hips jerking up into you as you recognize that he must be close. "Never gonna– fuck. Can't believe you were– and I was– oh my god, oh m– You feel so fucking nice– I'm gonna–"

Your chest is light, core on fire. "Something's– I feel– I–"

For a second, your eyes roll back as a searing hot sensation floods your lower half, and you momentarily only see white as you feel your body practically give out and lean forward onto his, gasping into the crevice of his neck as his hips slam into you from underneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulder blades as firmly as you can muster with your little-to-no strength in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Your whines are loud and straight pornographic at the branding fire feeling in your cunt.

Did you just come?

Given the heat overwhelming your core and the bundle of nerves shooting electricity through your veins, you think you just did. With your heartbeat in your ears, the sound of Rafe's shameless moans feel like they're underwater as you're practically putty in his grasp, both of his arms bear-wrapped around you as he thruuuuusts up into you with such intensity, such fervor, that you think he just came, too.

Spots blur your vision as you moan into the hot skin of his neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, only now feeling the hot spurts of his cum gushing into you with every upwards thrust of his, and you can't deny how fucking good it feels to be full of him – to be really full of him – as the sensation is burning hot and tempestuous and everything you've needed.

Your chest heaves at the intensity, clawing at his upper back for some sort of leverage that you're not sure will do anything to aide your limp body. His hips grind up into your core, and once you gain some sort of semblance back from practically passing out from the orgasm he just gave you, you realize he's been speaking the entire time.

You happen to catch the tail end of his words.

"–ve you, I fucking– I– fuck-" Rafe whines, and the sound vibrates your lips that are pressed against his vocal cord. "It's like you're made for me, feel so fucking nice, so pretty on top of me, I– fuck. How could I– When you–? With the–? Oh my god, oh my fucking god."

All you can respond with is a low moan, overstimulated as you come down from your earth-shattering orgasm as he fucks himself using you through his, his cum leaking out of you and spilling down your thighs and onto his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, breathless at how much you both came at the same time.

His bucking gradually ceases, becoming less and less grandiose and eventually settling in stillness as his chest heaves against yours. You register his hands trailing up and down your back soothingly, lips pressed to your hairline and placing chaste kisses with sweet nothings riddled between them. Your eyes flutter shut, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck that makes goosebumps adorn his arms.

The two of you sit like this for a minute, mentally coming down from the daze your simultaneous orgasms put you through. Once your vision returns to normal (i.e. you're no longer seeing stars every time you open your eyes to try and look at him), you gently press the palm of your hands to his shoulders, pushing yourself up off his chest to sit up and find some semblance of independence.

Your brain is foggy, no doubt, as you hazardously sway as you blink at him, heart racing as you discover he's already looking at you.

"Holy shit," you murmur, dazed and fighting exhaustion.

He exhales shakily. "I know."

You manage a wry smile. "That was-"

"I know," he repeats bashfully, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to push his glasses further up his nose, letting your fingers dwell on the metal sides before bringing it down to cup his jaw. It's as if you're a ghost in your own body, feeling airy and light yet wrecked all the same, shaking as if you've been left in the freezing cold with no amenities, shaking as if he just gave you the best orgasm you've ever had.

Noticing your frailness, you laugh in a self deprecating way. "I think I passed out."

Rafe exhales a shaky chuckle, one of disbelief, as a hand travels up to the side of your neck, keeping your head in place from all the swaying. Though a flicker of concern coats over his eyes at the hazy smile you're flashing him, eyes blinking ferociously as if they're regaining sight.

It makes him frown. "Did you? Are you okay?"

You nod, lazy yet immediate. "Uhm, did you hear me? I think our neighbors are gonna kill us."

A boyish laugh escapes his lips, and he lets himself ease into the fact that you're fine, you're smiling, you're gazing at him like he hung the goddamn stars himself.

His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of your eye, one that you didn't know you had, humming low and sure as his eyes rake over the features of your pretty face. Now, you're left in the stilled silence of your own doing, basking in the aftermath of your actions, of the words that led you to this point. Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability, knowing it's more than sex, knowing that what you're feeling right now – the gravitational pull towards him – is reciprocated, especially as his gaze softens. It's replaced by something deeper, more raw, cut open for you to do what you please.

The intensity of his stare makes your breath hitch, and, despite literally what just occurred, a wave of shyness overcomes you, averting your gaze down to his chest.

But in your bottom peripheral, you catch a glimpse of the fucking mess.

Your eyes widen, looking down to where your bodies connect. "Oh my god."

His gaze follows lazily, glancing at the sight with nonchalance for his soaked bedsheets, suppressing a shit eating grin as he continues to see small amounts of cum still dripping out of you, as if there's an endless supply of it inside you, continuously adding to the plethora of a mess on his (freshly washed, by the way) bedsheets.

You blink stupidly, attempting to fathom the sheer amount of mere sex all over your lower bodies, all over the sheets, some of it even grazing his abdomen. How did that even get there? How could the two of you produce that much? And – oh, god – is it ever going to come out of his sheets? Fuck, is it leaking through?

But he has no qualm with the matter, and instead beams at the fact.

"That was all you, sweet girl," he teases with a hand skimming the faint bruises starting to form on your hip. "You came so hard. You squir-"

Your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

Your face scrunches up in embarrassment at the word, because you fucking hate the term, and frankly assumed it was a myth for the longest time since you've never done it before, nor have any of your friends. Yet your heart thumps at the possibility that – most of – this mess is from you.

No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Because if it is, he is never, ever going to let you live it down, and you can count on that for a fact.

Eyeing him quickly and feeling your face flush as he stares right at you, eyes twinkling with amusement, you remove your hand from his mouth and ring your fingers together, looking back down to the sheets with a dismissive scoff.

"I did not," you argue meekly because, frankly, you have no idea if you did or not. You don't even know what that was. "This is all yours."

Rafe's grin is blinding, teasing, fucking proud. "You totally did. Went everywhere, baby."

Face flushing, you groan and throw your hands up to cover your face, hating how hot your skin feels at his laugh and complete nonchalance over the matter.

"Fuck," you murmur as you take in the sight of it. "Are you serious? But I didn't– I don't even– How could I–?"

Instead of answering, he whistles low. "Holy shit, you really did pass out, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as guilt riddles your chest for ruining his sheets. Expensive ones, at that. You're assuming it has a crazy thread-count imported from god-knows-where, as he's the person to get the best of the best of material things as long as he has the means to obtain them. You've always liked sleeping in his room on the random occurrence it would happen, partly because his bed is always so damn comfortable, the sheets definitely having something to do with it.

"I'll wash them" you offer quietly, slight panic settling in now that you're – somewhat – back to normal and coherent enough to register that this is a problem. "I'll buy you new ones-"

But, of course, Rafe simply shakes his head, pressing his palms against your spine to lure you closer, letting the words die in your throat as he tugs you against his lips. He kisses you slow yet meaningful, a wordless promise that he's not mad about something like this, he's not even concerned, barely letting his beaming smile falter at the thought of having to clean it up. He's only thinking about you, you, you.

"No need," he murmurs against your mouth, still fucking grinning. "I'm framing and putting this shit on my wall."

You groan at his words, cheeks unabashedly hot.

"Gonna time-stamp it and everything," he adds just to be a prick. "Wave it around like a flag, and shit."

You want the ground to swallow you whole. "Stop."

"Wear it like armor."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're hot. I mean it, baby. I'm gonna get you to do that every time."

"Rafe."

"What?" He says incredulously as if it isn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. "You can't expect me not to go crazy over that, hm?"

You only shake your head at him, but you suppose if the roles were reversed, you'd definitely feel an inclination to drawl out the teasing to a T. After all, riling him up is one of your favorite past-times, as riling you up actually might be his number one.

Eventually, you secede. Especially when he threatens you with another orgasm.

After he cleans you up and delicately dresses you in his own clothes, with wobbly legs you attempt to help him strip the sheets (even though all he told you to do is sit at his desk and look pretty, which you wholeheartedly refused to do) and replace them with his spare set. In an effort to get your shit together, you use the communal restroom to wash up, taking one of his spare toothbrushes – because of course he has one – and using it. He goes into the restroom across the hall, stating he was bored of being alone, to freshen himself up.

When you return to his room with him hot on your tail, you slither back onto the clean sheets and settle under them as if you were made to lay there.

Getting comfortable, you quietly watch him resume his tasks of the night: organizing his notes, taking off his glasses and leaving them askew – to your utter dismay – as his shirt and sweatpants follow, leaving him in boxers, and finally turning off his desk lamp as he navigates through the dark and and climbs into bed beside you. 

It’s muscle memory the way you puzzle-piece your way into each other’s arms. Rafe tugs you impossibly close, placing a chaste kiss on your hairline as your hands splay across his bare chest, nearly sighing in relief at the familiarity. It's unfathomably inviting, it's cloud nine, it's home.

When he starts to twirl your hair with his nimble fingers, you sigh again.

“Tired?” Rafe murmurs gently. 

All you do is nod against his neck, placing a ginger kiss on his vocal cord.

He hums at your sweet gesture, nearly melting at the implication. “Okay, sweet girl. Go to sleep. I'll be up early tomorrow but you can sleep in, m'kay?”

Tomorrow. Early morning. Notes. Glasses.

Fuck. Exam.

Your eyes flutter open as you remember his night before you arrived, all the papers scattered on his desk, the reason he was wearing those godforsaken glasses in the first place, the open textbook on his computer, the entire reason he was up so late in the first place.

A kettlebell settles in your gut.

“Wait.” Rafe hums lazily in response. “What about your exam?”

With a chuckle, he nuzzles into your hair, unbothered.

“Baby, if I don’t know it by now, there’s no use.”

Part of you feels guilty. Guilty about plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a week and – no doubt – pulling his focus from his studies and all of the important shit going on in his life. Guilty about arriving at his door in the middle of the night and – again – pulling his concentration from what he needs to pay attention to in order to get the marks he needs to pass.

Guilty about everything you've put him through, him, Rafe, your Rafe, who's been so patient with you in your journey of self discovery or whatever bullshit.

“I can help,” you offer weakly, as he rubs soothing up and down your back. “I’m a good teacher.”

Rafe chuckles quietly and you nearly frown, unsure of his nonchalance. 

“Best teacher I know,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and baritone and it practically lulls you to sleep. 

Your eyes are already closed. “Let me help. Please.”

“Very sweet of you. Go to sleep.”

“‘M really smart. You said so.”

“I did.”

You yawn. “What’s the class?”

Rafe doesn’t answer for a minute, and you soon believe he falls asleep. But then, quietly, “Art history.”

Your heart flutters. “I know about that.”

A warm hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m sure you do, baby.” Then, it cradles the back of your head in brazen laziness. “Sleep.”

His voice emulates a lullaby, low and alluring and smooth. Impossibly, you nuzzle closer to him with a stupid smile on your face. Grinning against his neck, you press the lightest kiss you can muster as your hands gently skim over the hills and divots of his chest, grounding yourself, a reminder that this is real. He’s here, right here, holding you, reciprocating your love, your want, your need. 

“Stop smiling,” he says above you, but his tone is far from authoritative. Instead it’s softer, as if he’s suppressing a smile as well. “I can feel it.”

You squirm when he pinches your side, reciprocating the act and attempting to tickle him, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest.

Suddenly, Rafe grabs your wrists lightning fast and pins them high over your head, the motion forcing you on your back as he hovers over you. Despite the darkness, you can feel his face inches from yours, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep,” you challenge. 

Rafe snorts. “You’re being a brat.”

Ah, that word. That sort of behavior has gotten you in trouble before, and the thought of annoying him makes you grin even harder. 

“Rafey, that’s hardly nice.”

The guttural groan he lets out makes you laugh quite unattractively, letting out an oof when he collapses against your body and therefore crushing you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent against your soft skin that feels like a million pin pricks to each nerve.

His hand leaves your wrists and slowly drags down your arm, settling on the top of your ribcage just under the swell of your breast, lazily rubbing his thumb over the grooves and curves of the bone with little to no shame whatsoever. 

The act gives you goosebumps. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Go to bed.”

You hum, kneading your fingers through his hair and smiling when he lets out a content sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Rafe practically clings to you, breathing in your scent and unabashedly nestling into your embrace. Your fingers through his hair feel so achingly familiar, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until now. He feels your lips gently press on the crown of his head, his heart skipping a beat as he involuntarily lets out another sigh, a wordless thank you for trusting him, believing in him, and – most importantly – letting yourself have this. Trusting him. Trusting yourself.

Exhaustion seeps through his pores, eyelids heavily shutting as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, deeper against your body. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp and back quickly lure him to sleep, so gentle and adorning that he’s so close to–

"Hey."

"Sweet girl, I said go to bed."

You pause for a moment, elongated the silence in the darkness as he can practically hear you thinking. After a second, he frowns as he just now analyzed your tone, which was far from teasing.

He's about to prompt you to continue when you shift slightly above him, and his heart fucking melts when he feels your lips press a kiss against his hairline.

"Those photographs are beautiful."

Despite the complete darkness, and despite the fact that even if the light was on, you wouldn't be able to see his face anyway given his position, his face flushes hot.

Because you weren't really supposed to see those. They'd been the final prints he submitted for his photography class, tasked to photograph the pleasantries of life that may emulate beauty in everyday life. And, to him, he wanted you as his everyday muse since you already occupy almost every waking thought of his.

Rafe sat on the prompt for the entire semester, never once finding a muse meaningful enough to him to make him feel like he could complete the assignment. However, once Lorenza had given him the camera, the task seemed like the easiest thing he's ever done. Plus, you made it pretty simple. You emulated effortless beauty. All day. Everyday.

"I had a pretty model," is all he responds with.

And your thanks is translated enough when you press another kiss to his forehead, ticking his soft skin with your gentle breaths, and all he can think is sweet, sweet, sweet girl. It's concerning, really, how he really only thinks of you. He thinks of you when he wakes up, when he sees something funny, when he's scribbling down notes, when he goes to sleep.

So. Yeah. You are his everyday beauty. By a longshot.

He continues to think of your pretty, of how warm you feel pressed against him, how sweet you smell. He remembers how you looked in the moonlight, the candlelight, under the Sicilian sun with a glisten he could swoon over. It lulls him to sleep. Simply the image of you, you, y–

“Rafe?”

Rafe’s pulled from his slumber, barely lifting a finger and humming in response. He can’t even open his eyes, bloodshot and tired from all the studying. 

“Do you want me to come home with you for Christmas?”

Out of all the things he expected you to say, that has to be the last topic on the list. 

All exhaustion comes to a halt as his eyes blearily blink open, unsure if he’s heard you right, as the question is so out of left field that he doubts you actually said what he thinks you said. Despite his head feeling like a million pounds, he manages to lift it so he’s looking at you in the darkness.

Rafe can just make out the outline of your face. “What?”

He hates how small his voice is. 

But your fingers continue to massage his scalp and he feels you shrug underneath him.

“I dunno, I was thinking I could do for you what you did for me." Your voice is impossibly shy, almost as if you didn't mean to bring it up but now there's no going back. "Provide some moral support, I don’t know. Just a thought.”

Yes, he wants to scream. Of course he wants you to. 

It would make life incredibly easier, not to mention he’d get to spend more time with your undivided attention and shower you in a ridiculous amount of appreciation now that you're officially his. He can show you off to his friends and family and flaunt you around, shamelessly hold you and kiss you and not have to feel the slightest bit guilty about it. 

He'd tell you to bring that beaded dress he bought you, take you out to dinner on the mainland and fuck you for the whole island to hear. There's no doubt he's going to buy you anything under the sun that you express interest in, shower you with the kind of love you've been aching for for so long. He'd have to be assertive, though, because you're exactly the girl his sisters will immediately love, and there's no way he's going to be able to share you.

Rafe needs to relax.

Instead of saying all of that, he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to Lorenza’s?”

“No,” you respond quietly. “I was supposed to go home so she’s already going on a trip with her girlfriends. But now I'm just...” You take a breath. "No, I'm not."

He frowns at the idea of you spending Christmas alone, because there’s absolutely no way you're going to go home and face your family again, and the long haul across the Atlantic feels like a chore after just recovering from doing so. 

“You can say no,” you murmur playfully. “I have a sublet lined up for the month.”

That makes Rafe scoff. “You’re not doing that.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he commands. “You’ll spend it with me.”

Suddenly you clear your throat, almost shyly. “I didn’t mean to, like, invite myself. You seriously can say no–”

Rafe is sitting up before he knows it, leaning on an elbow and finding your jaw with his other hand to navigate through the darkness, and kissing you firmly enough to let it do all the talking for him. 

You mmrph in surprise into his mouth, effectively shutting you up and assumingely shutting down any doubts you have about the entire idea. Rafe kisses you certainly yet deliberately slow, as if to reassure you of his answer, that you don't have to stress about being too much, especially around him. In fact, he wants you to be too much, yourself, unapologetically you. He craves it, utterly deprived every second you're acting shy as if he wouldn't give you anything you asked for.

Pulling away, Rafe resumes his previous position and lowers onto your body, his original position. His lips find the soft skin of your neck and place a kiss there, sucking ever so slightly to emphasize his point, to stake his claim, to wash away your doubts. 

“I want you to stay with me,” he murmurs quietly. “Okay?”

You hum shyly. “Okay.”

Rafe runs his hands over your ribcage. “I need you to know something, though."

"Yeah?"

Your tone is so fucking sweet that it makes his upcoming words difficult, understanding you can completely hold your own against a family full of narcissists yet wanting to shield you from it all anyway. He wants to hide you away from it all, but he knows you're tough, you're strong, you're too kind for your own good.

"My dad probably won’t be the friendliest.” Rafe figures that's the nicer term for Ward. "He'll be charming and inviting when you first meet him, but behind closed doors..."

He trails off, not necessarily wanting to get into the specifics of his father's tendencies right now with you, laying pretty beside him and body exhausted with earlier passion. To subject you to this all over again, it makes his chest pull, knowing that his father will probably say or do something to remind you of the obscenities of your own family, to remind you of the darkness that shrouded you a week ago.

Before he can continue, you gently massage his scalp. "I understand. I'll be alright."

It makes him nearly swoon. "You're too sweet for your own good, hm? You can be mean to him if you want."

You laugh and he swears he's never heard a prettier sound.

"I'm not doing that."

"If I asked you nicely?"

Chuckling again, your nails rake down to the nape of his neck and back up to his scalp, making him sigh low into the confinements of your hold. But it's much more than physicality, it's almost a promise, reaffirming your stance and wordlessly convincing him that you have his back. Now and always.

"Still no," you murmur, and by the tone of it he swears you're smiling. "You're the one who said I'm incapable of being evil."

Rafe snorts. "I did."

You hum happily, content with 'winning' the conversation as you continue to massage absentmindedly. "Besides, I’m great with parents.”

This conversation feels all too familiar, full circle, echoing his words that he spoke to you all the time ago when your mother stormed into your dorm room, the catalyst for all of this, the start of the spiral to where you lay now with limbs entangled and hearts out in the open.

Shaking his head slightly and allowing himself to shut his eyes, Rafe murmurs in agreement, almost tauntingly.

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Then, quieter, “Sleep.”

The words are like a command, and despite every effort to not do so, you find yourself babbling something incoherently, words soon dying in your throat as you fall asleep, but not without being lulled by the sound of his syncopated breaths, and that, somehow, his hand has found yours in the darkness, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gentle enough for it to be a long lasting reminder: he's here, and he's not going anywhere.

You let yourself succumb to that. You let yourself deserve it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni

notes holy shit???????? i have a few (more like a hundred) things to say. legit where do I begin.

thank you for 900 followers FIRST OF ALL i only started posting laaaaaate march (practically april) so this is absolutely incredible, thank you for all the support it's been so overwhelming in the best way. half of the comments genuinely make me lol and the other half make me legit spiral bc huh???? you like my stuff??? anyway.

for those who have sent me inbox messages: I SEE YOU!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! I HAVE NOT IGNORED YOU!!! i'm gonna try to get around to answering them but trust i see y'all!!!!

on the topic of inbox messages, a few of you have been asking about if i'm open to blurbs, and i 100% am. i cannot guarantee i will be able to answer all of them (i started a full-time job??? crazy) but i would love to try and provide that.

okay i think that's it from me. again. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT i'm legit sad this is ending but, again, im open to blurbs about them so TRUST this def won't be the last time we read about them. GODSPEED!

[iamasaddie]

AN HONEST MISTAKE

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s. word count: 6,2k

a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2

Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.

You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun. 

On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping. 

And that was when you saw him.

Joel M., 39 Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.

God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.

Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”

He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.

You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.

[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we? [You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful. [Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package. [Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin? [You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date? [Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.

Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs. 

You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.

[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?

You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.

So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.

August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive. 

You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less. 

Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true. 

You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.

A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.

The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location. 

From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.

You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.

When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”

The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.

“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?” 

You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you. 

“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“

“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”

“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?” 

“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”

Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing? 

“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”

Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.

“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately. 

He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.

Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.

“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell. 

You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions. 

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation. 

He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table. 

Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.

“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.

“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”

“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained. 

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.

“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”

Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him. 

You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.

You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.

He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.

Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.

“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.” 

Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly. 

“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”

You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here

intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.

“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”

“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”

“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”

In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.

He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.

When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.

There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.

“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.

“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his

and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.

“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.

“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.

“Do you like old stuff?” 

“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke. 

You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.

His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“I think I know just the thing.”

Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.

His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?

Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.

Maybe tomorrow, honey, Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older So much older, mama, I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying

Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome. 

“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.

“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”

“What if I’m not playing?”

You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”

There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.

He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.

You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”

You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen

before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal. 

You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.

“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.

“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.

“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”

It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it

there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you. 

He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit. 

“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”

It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You

stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle. 

“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.” 

You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point. 

“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.” 

You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair. 

“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”

Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.

“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.

He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.

“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you’re a mess. Beautiful.”

You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.

“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”

You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.

Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.

“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.

“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.

“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”

You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.

His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue. 

Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue. 

The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.

“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”

With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.

Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.

“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.

Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.

“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”

Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.” 

He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.

You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

[botanicsoul]

Knock Next Time

Timeskip | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

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Room: dark. Door: locked—he swore he locked it. Clothes: everywhere.

His hands were under your thighs, spreading them wider on the couch, his hips grinding against yours, both of you breathing hard and fast, lost in each other, your hands buried in his hair while his mouth was on your neck, moving lower, hungrier, rougher.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, gasping when his hips rolled against yours. “God, you feel so—”

Click.

Door opens.

“Yo, Bakugou! Have you seen my—”

Silence.

Eye contact.

Chaos.

Denki stood frozen in the apartment doorway. Bag in hand. Keys still dangling from his fingers. And eyes locked on the absolutely-naked, very-much-mid-fuck position happening on the shared living room couch.

Bakugou didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then—death.

“DENKI, I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU.”

“OH MY GOD—OH MY GOD—”

“WHY DID YOU COME HERE?!”

“DUDE WE SHARE THIS APARTMENT!!” Denki screeched, flinging his hands over his eyes. “I SIT THERE, MAN! I EAT CHIPS THERE!”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE FOR THE DAY?!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE THERAPY IS?!”

You were desperately trying to cover yourself with a throw pillow that covered nothing, blinking in humiliation as Bakugou lunged for his hoodie and yanked it down over your body while simultaneously launching a remote control at Denki’s face.

“You don’t KNOCK, you don’t TEXT, you don’t even say you’re COMING BACK—WHAT THE FUCK, DUNCE FACE?!”

“I WAS GONE FOR TWO HOURS—I CAME BACK FOR MY PHONE CHARGER BECAUSE I FORGOT IT!!”

“WHICH IS TWO HOURS TOO SHORT AND FUCK YOUR PHONE YOU CAN CHARGE THE BITCH YOURSELF!”

Denki shrieked as a second throw pillow flew past his head and slammed the door shut. You and Katsuki sat there panting, tangled together, his hands clenched into fists like he was going to physically hunt Denki down.

You burst out laughing.

He whipped his head toward you. “The fuck is so funny?!”

You wheezed, pressing your face to his neck. “The look on his face. You could’ve cooked an egg on it.”

“He saw your tits,” he muttered, voice like gravel.

“Oh my god,” you teased, cupping his cheek. “Is the big bad Dynamight getting all possessive?”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered darkly, already reaching for his phone.

You snatched it before he could text a death threat. “How about round two instead?”

His red eyes flicked to yours. Heat—instant. Rage softened into that lazy, smug smirk you knew way too well.

“Yeah,” he said, dragging you back into his lap. “He’s already traumatized. Might as well make it worth it.”

——

It was a few days after that incident, and you were both still trying to ignore what had happened.

Denki, of course, made it his very own mission to ruin your lives the moment you showed up at dinner that night. With a wide grin and the most ridiculous level of enthusiasm, he leaned toward you both, his voice way too loud.

“So, how was the private time, huh? Did you guys, uh—” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Finish what you started?”

Bakugou nearly shot up from the table, his fist clenched, ready to beat Denki’s face in.

“I WILL END YOU, YOU DENSE BASTARD—DON’T FUCKIN’ TALK TO HER.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess we’ll just have to be more careful next time.”

Denki threw his hands up. “All I’m saying is… that was way more than I bargained for.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou growled, glaring at him with murder in his eyes. “Well, you better learn how to knock. Next time, i’ll shove that charger straight up your ass.”

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[kxsagi]

Hii! Now that your requests are open I had an idea of what if we were being surprisingly touchy? Like we alr are lmao but hugging him from behind but slipping our fingers under his shirt to rest on his bare skin? I feel like the casual touchy, almost possessiveness would make them uncharacteristically shy and fluster lol, love ur stuff!

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐚, 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

a/n: thank you so so so much! this is me as a gf literally

and montell fish the man you are

he was the first concert i ever went to and hearing hotel live made me float (title reference)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he’s used to you being affectionate, but nothing this intimate. 

one minute he’s pouring protein powder into a bottle like a gym rat, and the next you’re hugging him from behind, arms slipping under his shirt like you own him. 

your hands are cold and he jumps. 

“hey, what are you doing??” 

absolutely red in the ears. stammers. chokes on air. he’s malfunctioning like a victorian man who was shown a woman’s ankle. 

“m-my skin’s sweaty… you’re gonna catch something???” 

as if you’ll get contagious soccer disease. 

but he secretly likes it. he’ll never admit it, but his heart does backflips when you do this in public. 

your hands under his hoodie? yeah, good luck shaking him off for the next hour because he’s holding onto your wrists and leaning into you now. 

itoshi rin

do not let this man fool you. 

he looks calm, sure. but inside? the mental equivalent of a fire alarm. 

you sneak up while he’s brushing his teeth or standing at the fridge, arms curling around his waist and fingers slipping up under his shirt to rest on his back. 

he stiffens like a cat. 

“what the hell are you doing?” voice low, trying to sound annoyed. 

but his ears are pink and he hasn’t moved an inch to push you off. 

actually, he slightly leans into your touch, even if he grumbles, “you’re clingy.” 

but when you stop doing it one day to mess with him, he literally corners you. 

“… you didn’t touch me today. something wrong?” 

rin.exe can’t function without your casual affection anymore. you’ve ruined him. congrats. 

itoshi sae

honestly, he touches you all the time. hand on thigh, hand on the back of your neck, fingers on your waist. 

but you? getting all possessive and slipping your fingers under his shirt? 

oh. oh. 

that shuts him up real fast. 

like he was mid-sentence, sipping coffee, and then you snuck behind him on the couch and did that. 

“huh?” 

brain rebooting. 

“your hands are warm,” he mutters, staring ahead blankly, trying not to flinch. 

visibly loses the ability to use words for like a minute. 

and then gets annoyingly smug about it. “you’re obsessed with me, huh?” 

(yes. and you show it by keeping your hand on his back like he’s yours.) 

nagi seishiro

you think he’d be chill, right? wrong. 

you sneak up on him while he’s gaming and just rest your fingers under his hoodie while hugging him close. 

his spine straightens. game controller drops. 

“… uhh.” 

for once, he’s not sleepy or lazy. he’s wide awake like someone hit a defibrillator on his soul. 

“that’s kinda… intense,” he mutters, flustered and unsure where to look. 

doesn’t stop you though. 

in fact, the next time, he lifts his hoodie a little so you can slide your hand in easier. 

(he thinks he’s subtle. he is not.) 

clingy nagi unlocked. he now lays on you just so you’ll touch him like that again. 

mikage reo

he’s dramatic about it. 

you hug him from behind and slide your fingers against his skin and this man gasps. 

“baby?? scandalous behavior?? in broad daylight??” 

flails but never actually escapes your grip. 

very red in the face, probably giggles, and you’re like “are you blushing?” 

“NO?? i just wasn’t ready for that???” 

loves it more than his entire bank account. 

next day, he walks around with crop tops or mesh hoodies. 

“just making it easier for you, angel.” 

secretly gets possessive, too. if anyone else hugs you, he’s immediately behind you like, “sorry, her hands are full.” 

kaiser michael

oh you wanna play possessive games? he’s the king. 

or at least he thought he was. 

until you casually hug him from behind while he’s doing his skincare routine and slide your hands under his silk robe like you own him. 

he short circuits. the serum bottle drops. 

“liebling? what do you think you’re doing?” 

fumbles. stutters. glares at his own reflection because his face is visibly RED. 

tries to act smug after five seconds. 

“you can’t keep doing that unless you plan to marry me.” 

starts leaving his robe more open just to see if you’ll do it again. 

he tells everyone you’re obsessed with him, but he’s the one texting “you forgot to touch me today 😕”

shidou ryusei

okay so you do it once. hug him from behind, fingers resting just under his shirt on his skin. 

and now he thinks it’s a game. 

turns into a menace. 

“ooooh ~ babe’s getting handsy ~ should we just skip to second base?” 

you: “ryu, i’m just touching your back.” 

“exactly. second base.” 

but then you catch him off guard. mid-conversation. in front of his teammates. and just casually do it. 

he pauses. jaw clenched. eyes wide. 

"… you’re dangerous." 

turns feral, clings to you like a backpack the whole day. 

if anyone else tries to talk to you: “sorry, can’t hear you over how in love we are. she’s literally touching my soul right now.” 

bachira meguru

he’s always clinging to you. hanging off your back. leaning his full weight on you. wrapping his arms around your waist like a baby koala. 

but when you sneak up behind him, all quiet and deliberate, and slip your hands under his shirt while hugging him? 

he squeaks. 

“EH?!! heeEEYY?!” 

looks over his shoulder like a deer caught mid-dance. 

“you’re touchier than me now, huh? wow, she’s evolving!!” 

fully turns into a cat. headbutts you. grabs your wrists and holds them against his stomach so you can’t pull away. 

“your hands are warm. you’re not allowed to stop. ever. this is mine now.” 

and then he just stands there swaying back and forth like it’s a comfort position. 

if you don’t do it one day, he dramatically goes: “you don’t love me anymore 😔” while fake crying into your shoulder. 

(real talk though, he feels safe when you touch him like that. like someone’s got him.) 

ness alexis

he’s clingy. everyone knows that. he also loves attention and being adored. 

but you? you’re a different kind of chaos. 

he’s walking through the hallway, humming to himself, maybe practicing a soccer spin with an invisible ball, and then BAM. your arms around his waist, fingers slipping up under his tight little training top. 

he SHRIEKS. 

“WHA?! h-hands?? whose hands?? OH. it’s you.” 

tries to act mad about it. turns around with a fake scowl. 

“you could’ve WARNED me! you can’t just… slip your fingers under my shirt like that!! what if someone SAW?!” 

but his face is literally glowing red. he’s so flustered he’s flapping his hands around like a startled chicken. looks like he’s about to combust… but also doesn’t move away. 

if anything, he leans back into your touch like a traitor to his own ego. 

later, you catch him casually stretching with his shirt riding up and he definitely gives you a side glance like: “my stomach’s right here. if you must.” 

turns into an absolute gremlin if you don’t do it for a day. 

“you didn’t touch me today. do you hate me now? has kaiser replaced me??” 

cue you hugging him and putting your hands right under his shirt again. 

he gasps like a princess and melts. 

“o-oh… okay… you’re forgiven…” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Task force member reader! who has genuinely no idea that Ghost has a crush on her, and the other members know it and to annoy Ghost they just like to make him jealous like, getting closer to reader, hugging her, taking her away when she’s talking with him and she just doesn’t realize(just like me fr) until he explodes and nsfw

Reader is oblivious but sweet. Tough on the field but pretty blind when it comes to romance—especially subtle stuff. She just thinks Ghost is stoic and weird, not secretly pining.

Ghost, the poor man, is at his absolute limit. Gruff and brooding, but every time someone else gets too close to you, his jaw tightens and he starts radiating murderous energy. He tries to play it cool… until he can’t.

Soap is the ringleader of the teasing. Every chance he gets, he’ll casually throw an arm around you, drag you away mid-conversation with Ghost like, “C’mon, love, I need your help over here,” just to watch Ghost seethe. Soap knows exactly what he's doing and he enjoys every second of it.

Gaz is more subtle, but still in on it. He’s the one who’ll step in all friendly like, offer to "show you something cool" just as Ghost is about to say something to you. He'll also give Ghost these sly looks like, "Say something, man," while still keeping up the act.

Price just tries to stay out of the childishness, but can’t help but smirk every time Ghost clenches his fists. Price has definitely muttered under his breath once or twice, "For fuck’s sake, just tell her, Ghost."

You had no idea what was going on. Not at first.

Ghost had always been intense, but lately? Lately it was like he was about to explode every time you so much as stood next to someone else. And the others—Soap, Gaz, even Price sometimes—they’d been acting weird, too. Touchier, clingier, always pulling you away mid-conversation with Ghost.

Like right now.

You were standing beside Ghost, going over the next infiltration plan. His voice was low, that deep Manchester rumble that was kind of nice when you weren’t straining to hear over gunfire.

He was saying something about vantage points when—

"Oi! There’s my favorite girl!" Soap's thick Scottish brogue cut through the air as his arm landed heavy across your shoulders.

You blinked. "Hi, Johnny."

Ghost's jaw tightened so hard you could almost hear his teeth grind.

"I need you for somethin’, love. C’mere, help me sort this scope out, yeah?" Soap didn't even wait for your answer, steering you away like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Behind you, you missed the way Ghost's fists curled tight at his sides. Missed the way his entire body went rigid, like a bomb primed to go off.

Gaz passed him with a snort, clapping him on the arm. "You’re gonna pop a vessel if you keep bottling it up, mate."

Ghost said nothing. He just stared as Soap led you over to the table and leaned in closer than necessary, pretending to adjust something on the rifle laid out there.

"So I was thinkin'," Soap went on, voice dropping just enough to be smug. "After this mission, maybe we could hit the pub—"

"Johnny."

Ghost's voice cracked through the room like a thunderclap.

Everything stilled. Even Price, who’d been nursing his tea in the corner, lifted a brow.

Soap grinned but didn’t move. "Yeah, Lieutenant?"

Ghost took one step forward. Slow. Deliberate. Like a predator who’d finally decided he was done playing.

"Back. Off."

His voice was a snarl now, low and dangerous.

Soap raised his hands, still smiling like this was the funniest shit he'd seen all week. "Easy now, big guy. Just borrowin’ her for a minute."

"Now."

Your eyes went wide. "Ghost—what—"

He rounded on you next, and you swore for a second he looked… wild. Barely holding it together.

"For fuck’s sake, do you really not get it?"

The room was dead quiet. Even Soap had the sense to step back now.

Your mouth opened. Closed. "Get… what?"

Ghost’s chest was heaving under his plate carrier. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to grab you, but didn’t trust himself to.

"Every time they touch you—every time they drag you away—I want to rip their fuckin’ heads off. And they know it. They’ve known for weeks. They’re doin’ it on purpose."

Your brain stuttered. "Wait—"

"I like you, alright? I want you. And they think it’s fuckin’ hilarious to get in my way."

It hit you all at once like a freight train. The weird tension. The way Soap and Gaz kept hovering. Ghost’s clenched fists and dead-eyed stares every time you so much as laughed at one of their jokes.

"Oh," you breathed.

Soap coughed into his fist to hide his grin. "Finally."

Price muttered from the corner, "Bout bloody time."

You just stood there, blinking at Ghost like you’d never seen him before. Your face burned. "Oh."

Ghost’s eyes softened just a fraction at your realization. His voice, still rough, dropped lower.

"Yeah. Oh."

You found him outside. Back behind the barracks where the floodlights didn’t quite reach, shadows swallowing him up like he belonged to them.

"Ghost."

His head turned slightly at your voice, but he didn’t move. His posture was stiff, hands flexing at his sides like he was still wound too tight. Like he didn’t trust himself to turn around and face you.

You swallowed, heart hammering. "You can’t just say shit like that and then disappear."

His laugh was low and bitter. "Didn’t think you wanted me around after that little scene. Figured I embarrassed myself enough for one day."

You stepped closer. Close enough now that you could see the tension in his shoulders, the faint glow of his eyes behind the mask in the dark.

"You didn’t embarrass yourself." Your voice was quieter now. "You scared the shit out of me, yeah. But…"

You hesitated. The air between you practically crackled.

He finally turned, squaring up with you. "But what?" His voice was rough, strained like he was clinging to the last shreds of control. "Say it, love. Don’t fuckin’ dance around it."

Your stomach flipped. You were close enough now that you could feel the heat rolling off his body, see the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast.

"How long?" you asked, voice barely a whisper. "How long have you felt like this?"

His jaw clenched. "Too fuckin’ long."

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

And then he stepped in—so close his chest nearly brushed yours, looming over you like he was daring you to push him back.

"Every time they touched you… every time you smiled at them… felt like it was tearing me apart. Because it should’ve been me."

Your breath hitched. "Ghost—"

"Say my name."

His voice dipped, dark and dangerous.

Your lips parted, and for once, you said it without hesitation. "Simon."

His control snapped.

One rough, gloved hand grabbed your arm, yanking you flush against him, while the other tangled in the back of your hair—gentle and brutal all at once.

Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, messy and desperate. Teeth clashing, breath ragged, all that pent-up frustration and jealousy spilling over at once.

You fisted your hands in the front of his shirt, dragging him impossibly closer like you wanted to climb inside his skin.

"Fuck—" he groaned against your lips, voice wrecked. "You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted this."

"Show me then," you breathed, tugging at his mask until he growled and shoved it up just enough to kiss you again—deeper this time, filthier.

His hands were everywhere now—gripping your hips like he wanted to leave bruises, mouth hot and insistent as he backed you against the wall of the barracks.

Your head spun. All that tension, all those stolen glances and clenched fists, finally boiling over into something raw and electric.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were panting. His forehead pressed to yours, his grip still bruising on your waist.

"Mine," he rasped. "No more games. No more letting them touch you like that. You’re fuckin’ mine now."

Your pulse thundered in your ears. "Yeah. Yours."

He kissed you again like he was sealing the promise.

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Mother's Day

Dad! Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Chan makes sure Mother's Day is great! Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, creampie, fingering, oral (both receiving), pet names, bit of a breeding kink, tooth rotting fluff. A/N: Mother's Day is not my favorite holiday, however I did enjoy writing this. Thinking of all those who struggle on days like today. You aren't alone! Comment if you'd like to be apart of my taglist. Sweet nonnie, i hope this is what you wanted! Requests are OPEN- just bare with me.

Chan woke up early in the morning, making sure Hwan didn’t wake you, he got him to help him in the kitchen for a sweet breakfast in bed, pancakes, orange juice, and bacon. Chan smiles as your son places the fruit on the pancakes making a smiley face of chocolate chips and strawberries Hwan cut himself with his little kid friendly strawberry cutter.

“Do you think she wants whip cream?” Chan asks and your sons eyes light up.

“Yeah!” He shouts and your son smiles reaching for the can. Chan helps him make a nose for your pancakes. Then tips up the can filling his mouth with some. Hwan opens his automatically and Chan smirks with a playful eyeroll as he puts some of the whip cream into his son’s mouth.

“Mmmm, yummy!” He says with a mouthful making Chan laugh.

“Let’s go see if she’s up!” Hwan hops down running down to your room.

Chan grabs the tray, and the homemade card Hwan had made the night before, and follows after him.

You’re sound asleep when you feel a tiny weight bounce onto the bed.

“Eomma!” He shouts, “Happy Mother’s Day!” he squeals and jumps on top of you. You groan lightly as you get acclimated to the room. You smile at your sweet boy just before seeing Chan walk in, a sheepish smile on his face and a tray full of food.

“What’s this?” you ask eyeing your son.

“Breakfast!” Hwan cheers.

“Look, I even cut the strawberries all by myself!” Hwan’s smile is proud and you hug him to your side.

“You did excellent! I’m so proud of you!”

Chan sets the food down in front of you, and you look up at him longingly.

“To the best Eomma in the world. I love you- Hwan” You note the drawing of your little family on the front of the card and you can’t control the wide smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you pull your son to your side and kiss the top of his head. He smiles, a light blush painting his cheeks. Chan smiles as the two of you.

“Happy Mother’s Day, baby,” he kisses your lips quickly before he’s tries to shoo himself and Hwan out.

“I wanna stay,” he pouts.

“That’s fine, baby. You and Daddy can both stay.” Chan bites a back smile. Calling him daddy was definitely something you knew you could do to tease him. He comes over sitting beside you, your son nestled between the two you.

“Can we watch Bluey?” Your son asks and you hand him the remote.

“Buddy, we watch Bluey all the time, what about one of Eomma’s shows?” You smirk waving your hand.

“I don’t mind Bluey.” You say. The smile on your son’s face is brighter than the sun.

-

The rest of the day Chan makes sure you’re pampered. Promptly after breakfast he takes the dishes and washes them, before coming back to inform you he booked you a nail appointment at your favorite salon- manicure and pedicure.

“You know how to spoil a girl,” you tease as you kiss him goodbye.

“I wanna go too,” Hwan starts to pout and you kiss his forehead.

“Baby I’ll be back soon, besides, there’s nothing for you to do there but sit and be bored.” You smile down at him despite the sadden look on his face.

“What if I let you help me with a special surprise for Eomma?” Chan asks and this gets his attention quickly.

“OK!” he runs back to his dad, letting you leave peacefully.

“Christopher Bahng what do you have planned?” You smirk before he just smiles at you.

“You’ll see.”

-

Coming home from the nail place, and the delicious lunch Chan practically paid for, you come to a clean house.

You gasp, the sight completely unexpected. Laundry done and folded, dishes clean and put away, the floor clean, clutter and trash free.

Spotless.

“Chan, this place looks amazing,” you put your hand to your chest as he walks out of the bedroom.

“Thank you,” he smiles at you.

“I have another surprise for you.” He smiles.

“Where’s Hwan?”

“Napping,” he chuckles, “Running the vacuum tuckered him out.” He informs you. You can feel the nervous excited anticipation fill your veins.

“Come on, he pulls you to the bedroom, opening the door for you to see a familiar dress. You gasp, it’s the one you mentioned two months ago in passing while out shopping together.

“Chris, you- you remembered?” You turn to him, a knowing smile on his face.

“Of course I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful it would look on you.” He says before kissing your shoulder.

“And you’re wearing it tonight.” He smiles.

“Tonight?” He nods, wordless.

-

You and Chan are in the bedroom getting dressed, your little boy Hwan sitting on the bed watching Bluey. You cast a glance to Chan in the mirror of your vanity only to find him already staring-smirking- at you. You blush under his gaze, heartrate slowly accelerating. The dress fit like a glove, and Chan couldn’t take his eyes off you. You’re even more beautiful in it than he could have imagined.

“What time are you going to be home?” He asks.

“Late, so make sure you listen to grandma and grandpa, ok?”

“Meaning he’ll be up when we get home and hyped up on sugar,” Chan smirks and you give him a half smile.

“It’ll be fine.” You whisper to him.

There’s a knock at your door, and Chan answers it as you finish your make up.

“Halmeoni!” He squeals when he hear’s Chan’s mother in the kitchen. His little legs carry him out of the room as fast as they can. You chuckle as you finish the blush on your cheeks before closing the compact and standing up. You look over your outfit one last time before sighing and nodding once to yourself.

“You ready to,” Chan stops as he see’s the reflection of you in the mirror.

“On second thought,” he charms as he puts his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, “Let’s cancel dinner,” he says lowly with a kiss to the side of your neck, “And go straight to desert. All tastey,” he hums, “and sweet,” another kiss just below your ear, “and wet.” His lips brush your ear and you shiver a slight blush appearing under your make up clad face.

“No, we are not skipping dinner,” you chuckle as you rest in his arms. His arms are what eternity must feel like, strong, safe, and exactly where you’re meant to be.

-

The two of you say goodbye to Hwan and arrive at the restaurant, the place feeling warm and intimate.

Chan had requested a private booth for the two of you in the corner of the building.

“This is so beautiful,” you smile as you notice the bouquet of red roses on the table. You smile at him and kiss his cheek before smelling the beautiful flowers.

“Baby, thank you,” you smile as your heart swells in your chest.

“Only the best for my girl,” he smiles as he watches you dote over the flowers, the petals smooth as silk against your fingertips.

Both of you order, Chan sparing no expense. Your favorite meal, fancy champagne, even a live violinist playing soft music for you in the corner.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” He smiles as he takes your hand. You couldn’t be happier. The dinner is perfect, something out of a fairytale.

-

“So, change of plans,” Chan says as he opens the car door for you.

“Hmm?” You answer, a quirked brow prominently displayed on your face.

“Hwan’s staying the night at my parent’s place.” You smirk at him and nod your head.

“So, you know what that means?” You smile at him and he turns his face slightly with his brow raised.

“We get to be in bed by 10!” You sigh in relief as Chan smiles, a small laugh escaping him.

-

Pulling up to the house, your breath hitches, the sidewalk is lined with candles and flowers, all the way up the steps to the front door.

You look over to your man who’s doing everything he can to act casual.

“Christopher,” you say barely above a whisper but he doesn’t pay you any attention- not yet.

He opens your car door taking your hand, kissing the back of it making eye contact as he does, and leads you inside. He puts your roses on the counter while you take in the sight before you; candles light the living room just enough to see, the faint golden glow romantic and sweet, and he leads you to the bedroom. Entering the room, candles are littered throughout it, rose petals on the floor, the bed made, but ready to be destroyed. You gasp as the intimate atmosphere causes goosebumps to be pulled onto your skin.

“Better than an early bedtime, right?” Chan whispers in your ear and you instinctively lean into his touch, his arms coming around your waist, lips attaching to your neck in soft, sensual kisses.

“Come on, there’s more,” he smirks as he places one final kiss below your ear. He unzips your dress slowly and you let it fall to the floor. He grabs you a blanket and has you lay on the bed on your stomach.

He grabs the oils, ridding himself of his shirt, and changing his pants so he doesn’t ruin his nice ones. You feel the mattress dip beneath you.

“Happy Mother’s Day to me,” you mumble, staring at his defined chest and abs. He chuckles squirting some of the oil into his hands.

“Lay back and relax, baby girl. I’ve got you.” He smiles as you lay your head down on your arms. His hands start to massage your back, slowly applying pressure first to your neck, then down your shoulders. Soft moans and gasps escaping you. His thumbs applying the right pressure to your shoulders.

“Mmm, feels good,” you encourage as he moves down your thighs. The amount of non-sexual pleasure causes heat to pool between your legs; a slight tinge of embarrassment hits you as you realize you’re getting off to this. You hide your face to hide the blush as you feel Chan start to massage your feet, your moans unable to be stopped.

Chan bites his lip, the noises are turning him on more than he expected, but tonight was about you, what you wanted to happen and if sex wasn’t apart of the deal, he would be ok with that. But if it was, he’d be elated all the same.

He notices your body arch into his touch as he comes back up, massaging in the back of your thighs again and he smirks, testing the waters, he dips his hand dangerously close to bare core. The tiniest whimper escapes you as his fingers brush your folds and your ass lifts slightly up into the air, causing the blanket to slide down onto your back some, exposing you to him. Chan takes a deep breath, his pants becoming tighter by the minute.

His hands move away from your core, massaging your back once more, his hands dipping down to your sides, briefly ghosting over the side of your breast.

“Chan,” you whine quietly.

“Yes, my love?” His voice drips with a cockiness you’re all too familiar with. All you do is whimper in response.

“Use your words, dear, I don’t know what a whimper means,” he mocks.

He knows.

All too well.

Your hips lift off the bed again. He looks down at you.

“Touch,” you breathe out, your mind already trying to go.

“All ready losing it and I haven’t even touched you properly.” He chuckles to himself. All you can do is slide your ass up into the air more, creating a beautiful arch, one that Chan quietly releases a groan at. He wipes his hands of the oil, coming up behind you, your folds already wet.

“Please,” you whine as you feel his hands go to either of your thighs. His fingers spread you open, his tongue teases you at first, tasting your arousal and he moans at the salty sweet taste.

“So good,” he whispers to himself before diving in, tongue circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes flutter closed as your mouth drops open, a moan leaving your throat.

“Fuck,” you whisper as your rest your forehead against the mattress. His tongue circles and flicks, pleasure building in your body with every little bit of stimulation. He sticks his tongue into your entrance, and you push back onto his face as you pant.

“Chris, I’m- oh fuck,” you gasp as he goes back to your growing clit, replacing his tongue with his finger. Your walls clench around his finger, squelching already audible from how wet you are. Normally you would hate hearing it, but tonight, you’re so relaxed and pleased you don’t have it in you to care.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” you squeeze your eyes tighter as he curls his finger down, directly stimulating your sweet spot as his tongue continues mercilessly circling your clit.

He can feel how close you are, how your cunt keeps sucking his fingers in and how you’re trying desperately to rock your hips against him. His tongue moves hard and fast, adding a second finger to your tight pussy as he hits it harder, sending shockwaves through your body as your orgasm builds more and more.

“Fuck, Chris I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as your muscles are locking up, heart rate speeds up and your breathing becomes desperate pants.

“Come on, cum for me baby. Let me taste you,” he tells you. That’s all it takes, your walls clamp down around his fingers, your face twists in pleasure as your body shakes and toes curl; your orgasm wrecking you.

Chris moans against you as he cleans you up, tasting your juices on his tongue.

“So fucking good for me,” he praises as he places kisses on your lower back, kneading your ass just a little. He allows you a second to come back to earth before helping you roll over.

“More,” you grab at him, pulling him down so your lips finally meet in a hot, messy- slightly salty- kiss. Teeth knocking ever so slightly, tongues gliding against one another, both of you tasting the other and exploring your mouths. For a brief moment you go back to when you were younger, a memory of a similar make out session happening on his couch, one that was interrupted by his parents coming home. You smile against his mouth at the flashback. Two young innocent kids, little did you know the future that laid before you.

“That good huh?” he pants against your lips. You moan in response, hands going from his neck to his broad shoulders, down his chest.

“Lay back,” you whisper to him and he obliges. You watch him lay down, his eyes are on your chest, your breasts bouncing ever so slightly as you position yourself, chest to chest. You kiss him once, before moving down to his jawline, a hand running up and down his taut stomach, soft moans escaping you as the passion in you continues to burn bright.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” you whisper into his ear.

“Wanna taste you, feel you, own you.”

This earns a straight up whimper from him as his hips lift into the air at your words.

“I’m yours, baby.” He breathes out, eyes closed and head slightly turned giving you better access to neck. His hand finds its way into your hair, cradling it your head.

You kiss down his chest, your freshly manicured hands touching his sensitive nipples, making him shudder before you gently lap at each one, his head tipping in back in pleasure. You glance down at his crotch, noticing a damp spot where the head of his cock should be. You softly groan at the sight, but decide to take your time, worshiping his body. You leave open mouthed kisses down his stomach, taking your time, tracing a few of his muscles with your tongue on your way down.

The feeling of your wet tongue on his skin makes him gasp, goosebumps popping up on his skin. He grinds his hips against the air, desperate for friction.

“M on fire,” he whimpers out as you place kisses along his happy trail, just above his waist band. Your index finger playfully runs up the bulge in his pants, and he hisses at the contact, a slight twitch being seen underneath the clothing. You grin as you place one last kiss to his pelvis before sliding his pants off, his cock springing free.

“Oh god,” you whisper as you see how hard he is. You squeeze your thighs together, the feeling of his cock like a ghost in your hole. You tease his slit, earning a groan from him, smearing the precum over his shaft as his head tips back, a growl coming from his throat.

“Fuck, please, I want your mouth,” he pants. You take a moment to really drink in the image, his body is putty in your hands, yours to use and play with, his eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging open, muscles tense under your touch.

You wrap your lips around him, Chan having to do everything he can to not buck his hips up into you. He watches you slowly sink down, then back up, sucking his cock like it’s going out of style.

“Ah,” he gasps, panting, hand finding its way to the back of your head, not to push or even guide, but to ground himself. To keep him from losing all control right now. The way your cheeks hollow out feel like heaven, the way his cock almost touches the back of your throat is euphoric, and you can feel how the twitches inside your mouth.

“Baby- ah fuck - baby, s-stop.” He pleads breathlessly. You oblige immediately, looking up at him to see if he’s ok.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He laughs breathlessly and pulls you up to him, flipping you on your back.

“No, you’re perfect, jus wanna be inside you when I cum. Fill you up all nice and pretty.” He murmurs, practically babbling at his point with how bad he wants to please and fill you. He lines himself up at your entrance.

“Could make you a mommy again, yeah? See you filled up with me, all swollen and beautiful,” he moans at the thought.

“Shh, Chris, Chris,” he’s so far gone when he looks at you, you can see the way he snaps back.

“’m sorry,” he mumbles before kissing your lips as he slides in. You gasp, the motion unexpected, and he takes his time to explore your mouth once more.

“Fuck,” you choke out. He stays still for a moment, bracing himself on one hand besides your head, the other stroking your cheek.

“What do you think though, about having another someday?” You look up at him, his eyes communicating he isn’t kidding.

“Someday, yeah.” Your hand cups his cheek, his brown eyes sparkle ever so slightly against the candle light. He dips his head down, capturing your lips as he slowly rocks his hips into yours; both of you moaning at how good it feels to be connected as one.

“Fuck, go faster,” you plead as your lips separate, but your foreheads stay together, both covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Ah, fuck,” he moans, dropping his head to your shoulder, placing kisses and a few love bites every now and again. Your chests are pressed together, bodies rocking together at the movement of his hips. Your legs wrap around his torso, heels slightly digging into his back.

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear. You’re holding onto his shoulder’s, nails beginning to bite into the flesh underneath.

“Ah,” he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry,” you whimper and he shakes his head bringing his face back to yours.

“No, no feels good,” he screws his eyes shut as he feels it again, a low growl leaving him.

“I love you too,” you whisper and he brings his forehead back down to yours again.

His thrusts are sloppier now; he brings a hand down between you and furiously rubs circles on your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, keep going, keep going, keep -oh shit,” your body starts to tense, nails scratching at his back, leaving behind thin red lines.

“Come on baby, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” he pants. That sends you over the edge, a loud cry echoes in the room as your body locks up, Chan fucking you through it, helping you ride the wave of your toe-curling orgasm. Chan’s hits as the after shocks hit you, his face buried in your neck as he cries out, sloppily pumping into you as you feel it warmth between your legs.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers as he stills, his orgasm just as intense and heavy. His heart thuds against his chest as he takes a moment to come back to reality, the aftershocks wearing off. He places a single longing kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out and laying down beside you. You look at each other, you share pink dusted cheeks, sweaty bodies and you’re totally fucked out.

“You are the most amazing woman,” he breathes as he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world. You smile and lean over kissing his forehead. He grabs a wash cloth, dampens it with warm water and starts to clean you up, murmuring apologies as the cloth swipes across your sensitive center as gasps along with hip jerks flow from you.

The two of you crawl under the covers, snuggling each other, limbs tangled.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, the sound of the now apparent rain beating against the window for background noise.

“For what?” He mumbles.

“For an amazing day, for being an amazing dad and just everything you do for us,” You look up at him nostalgically, thankfully, and smile. He cups your cheek with his left hand.

“I’d do anything for you, y/n.” he whispers before placing a kiss on your forehead. Chan watches as you slowly fall asleep, quietly getting up blowing out each candle, saving the clean up for the morning before you have to go pick up your son.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader

Please do not repost my work

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

[callsign-swan]

Alone Together

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

Warnings: Slight thunderbolts spoilers

The last few years had been... content.

Everybody thought she disappeared, off the grid once her dad died. Some people tried to look; Happy, Pepper, some guy she was sure she knew but couldn't remember.

They didn't find her, she made sure of that. Wiped her name from every record, lived off of the small fortune her father had left her.

She wasn't a great engineer like her father, didn't spend her time making useful stuff like he did. She still made stuff, it just wasn't useful.

Spare parts, the basement was full of them. Scraps her father disregarded, that he didn't need. She was desperately trying to turn the scraps into something useful, but it wasn’t that easy.

So far, she'd built a computer. Well, she more rebuilt an old computer and used scrap metal to hide the wires. It was one of her proudest accomplishments.

Nobody knew she was in the basement. But it didn’t matter, since the old Avengers Tower had been vacant. If someone bought, she would have known.

(No, she didn't know that the tower had been bought. She didn't know that Valentina was moving in).

All of her details were still in the tower system; it was easy enough to hack into the intercom. She didn't do much with it, isolated it to the basement to play her music while she worked.

It was hard, trying to live up to greatness. It was even harder knowing you'll never be able to achieve it.

Rarely did she travel to other floors. If she did, she would have known about Valentina. If she did, she would have been arrested on the spot.

No daddy to bail her out this time. And Pepper wouldn't bother, she thought.

Maybe if she knew, she would have stayed in the basement, gathered up her things and moved out. She wouldn't have gotten in the elevator to get parts out of the floor. Parts her dad used to make machines to take off the Iron Man suite the second he stepped into the building.

Stepping into the elevator with an empty box in her hand and a screwdriver in her pocket, she pressed the necessary button. The doors slid closed and she began travelling up.

So many floors, but it took no time at all. That was her dad's doing. This entire place was her dad's doing. (Maybe that's why she couldn't leave it behind).

The elevator doors should have slid open to reveal nothing. An empty floor, exactly how the Avengers had left it. The bar her dad left nearly fully stocked before they moved to the compound.

But that wasn't the sight that greeted her.

People in the tower. There shouldn't have been people in the tower. Oh, she had fucked up.

They were mid fight, that much was obvious. The blonde guy in the ridiculous suit held Bucky's fist in his hand like he wasn't fighting a super soldier with a vibranium arm.

But the fight had stopped as everybody in the room stared at her. Goldilocks, discount Steve Rogers, blonde bombshell, soviet santa, mystery person and Bucky.

"You've got to be kidding me."

It was Bucky that said it, pulling his fist out of Goldilock's grip. In the moment of confusion, Goldilocks let him go, his gaze on her.

She resisted the urge to step back into the elevator. "I..." But she couldn't find the words. "What're you doing in my house?"

"Your house?"

She hadn't noticed the woman until now. Dark hair, grey in the front so pretty that it looked silver. Definitely dyed, but it looked good.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I bought this property and you are trespassing."

Her eyes went wide, grip on her empty cardboard box growing tighter. "Oh," she said, the air in the room becoming uncomfortable. But then she furrowed her brows. "Really? Because I've been living here for a while."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "How long- You know what? I don't care." She snapped her fingers. "Sentry."

Suddenly, she was moving through the air. Not of her own volition, she had no sort of power. In less than seconds, she was in front of Goldilocks, his fingers wrapping around her neck.

In her struggle, she gripped his wrist, tried to get out of his grip. But he was impossibly, terrifyingly strong.

There was something in his blue gaze that was soft. Suddenly, he let go of her. Her feet hit the floor and he stepped away from her. "Sorry, I... you don't deserve this," he mumbled.

Her hand found her own neck. He didn't have her in a strong grip, but it still hurt so damn much.

But she couldn't stop staring at him. Sentry. She had no doubt he had the potential to look terrifying, but he didn't in that moment. Regret shined in his blue eyes.

A hand grabbed her, pulling her back. She, along with Bucky, Discount Steve Rogers, Mystery Person, Blonde Bombshell, and Soviet Santa, ran towards the elevator.

They squeezed in and travelled down.

"What the fuck?" Bucky called as he pulled her out of the building. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She pulled her hand out of Bucky's grip. "I've been living here, Barnes," she called back, shoving her hands into her pockets. The screwdriver still sat there, the cardboard box back in the tower.

"Why aren't you with Pepper?"

A scoff left her lips, sounding more like a child than the adult she actually was. But that was one of the reasons she was in the tower in the first place, because she was sick of everyone treating her like a kid.

She released a breath and looked back towards the tower. "What the hell was that?" She asked, completely changing the subject.

Bucky let her. He didn't have it in himself to argue. But he wasn't going to answer her.

"That was Bob," came a new voice.

Her eyebrows went up. "Bob?"

"Bob."

She swallowed thickly. "What the hell is Bob?"

***

The New Avengers.

The name had her stomach rolling. The world didn't need the Avengers, did it? The only reason they'd needed the New Avengers was Valentina's own doing.

But here they were, in the Avengers - no - Watchtower. Bucky let her stay. He gave her conditions to her stay, but he didn't kick her out, didn't drag her kicking and screaming back to Pepper.

As long as she pulled her weight. As long as she worked, did the necessary repairs when they were needed. Sure, she was nothing like her father, but she had her own skills.

Bob was just Bob. Hair now brown, soft sweaters, books. No more blonde hair, no more shadow monster man (yes, she knew Sentry is more than that, but that was her way of referring to it. That was of referring to it sometimes pulled a smile from Bob).

No super soldier serum, no specialised training, no... whatever Ava was. Sure, he had incredibly strong powers, but they were safely tucked away and Bob was happy.

The two didn't immediately find themselves drawn to each other. She was curious, sure, but Bob didn't remember. He didn't have the answers for her.

But they found themselves left behind during missions. There was nothing wrong with that - how were they supposed to help the team?

The first few times, they kept to themselves. She didn't mind the isolation, that was how she lives when the tower was empty. But she watched Bob. Just what he was doing, how he entertained himself. His life had been full of tragedy, just like hers had been. Individual tragedies, but it made her curious about him.

On the teams third mission, their third time alone in the Watchtower together, she sat beside Bob.

"Whatcha reading?" She asked as she toed off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her body.

Bob showed her the cover of his book, his finger slipped between the pages.

She patted her thighs, her fingers drumming against her skin. "Is it good?" She asked and Bob gave a nod.

Bob was a quiet guy. She'd learnt this through their limited interactions. But he wasn't usually this quiet. He at least had an answer for her.

So, she kept talking.

"You know, I lived here as a kid," she mumbled, laying back. Everything was different now it was the Watchtower. The bar her father so lovingly put in place was gone (but that was definitely a good thing).

Bob closed his book. "You're Tony Starks kid, right?" Her asked, one leg folded beneath the other, the other hanging off the edge of the sofa.

She gave a nod. "Yeah, grew up around the first round of Avengers," she mumbled.

Turning his head slightly, Bob let his hand rest in his wrist. He'd had a haircut since everything happened, him and Yelena in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. His hair was still a little bit wild, but it suited him.

"Why'd you live in the basement?"

Not the question she was expecting, but she didn't shy away from it. "Spent a lot of time in there as a kid," she answered. "Just felt right being in there."

It was more than that, clearly more than that, but Bob didn't pry.

He stood up. "Hungry?" He asked, watching as her eyebrows went up.

"You cook?" She couldn't help but ask.

Bob went to nod, but he stopped himself. "How hard can it be?" He tried, releasing a breath that suggested he didn't think it was going to be very easy at all.

She pushed herself up from the sofa. "I'll help," she said and went to follow him into the kitchen.

But Bob didn't move. "You cook?" He parroted.

A grin came across her face. "How hard can it be?"

Turns out, pretty fucking hard. Neither of them knew what they were cooking, and that was the first issue. The both of them were just pulling things out of the fridge and trying to decide what to do with it.

Chicken in a pan (plain and neither of them quite knew how to flavour it), spaghetti in boiling water (neither of them knew what to do for sauce), and a garlic bread pizza in the oven (the only promising part of the meal).

Bob pulled salt from the cupboard and seasoned the spaghetti.

"Fuck," she suddenly cried, fridge door open.

Bob raised his head, eyes wide as he looked at her. "What?" He asked, panicking slightly.

"This is John's boring chicken," she said, pushing the fridge door shut. Like she could hide the evidence if she just shut the fridge door.

"Shit," Bob replied as he turned it in the pan (one side finally looked cooked, but both of them knew not to trust it. Just a few more minutes and they'd check the inside).

"He's gonna kill us."

Bob nodded. "We're gonna die."

But then, they laughed. "If John really does try and kill us, you gotta protect me, okay?" She muttered, stirring the spaghetti in the boiling water. "All I got is this." She pulled the screwdriver from her pocket. She was never seen without it now.

"I'll protect you," he assured her, "I'll keep you safe."

Fear of John Walker was a great foundation for a friendship, as it turned out.

part one maybe?