#WHERE IS MAN DOOR HAND HOOK CAR DOOR

[canisalbus]

ASS MAN VASCO?????

.

[frobby]

Lets all name fanfics that formulatively changed our lives

Ill go first: there's this haikyuu kenhina fanfic where Kenma works at CVS and every time I see a CVS I think 'Kenma work there'

[scary-grace]

ghost au zombie high school au eldritch video game au pacific rim au canon divergence au seven deadly sins au phone sex au — [I am forcibly removed from the Shigaraki x reader tag]

[heavencasteel420]

WIP Wednesday

From Tomorrow's a Long Way Off:

“Why would they give a hook hand to a mental patient, anyway?” she asked Jonathan and Steve. Steve scrunched up his eyebrows, but Jonathan didn’t miss a beat. “They wouldn’t,” he said, with an earnestness that would’ve made her laugh if her brain had been in one piece. Then he turned a bloody-toothed grin on Steve. “And I’d know, right?” “Oh, my God,” Steve said on a sigh. “You both have brain damage. Look.”  He held up his index finger. “One,” Jonathan said promptly. Steve groaned. “No, dumbass, follow my finger with your eyes,” he said, with no venom. “I’m trying to see if you have a concussion.” “Oh,” Jonathan said. He watched Steve’s finger move back and forth. Robin wasn’t sure what Steve was looking for, so she examined his face for signs of alarm or dismay. Instead, his face broke out into a smile. “You’re fine,” he said. “Good thing, too. When I tell people I was there the night Jonathan Byers went Rocky on a couple of seniors, I don’t wanna have to end the story with ‘and he died in his sleep that very night.’ Brings the whole thing down, you know?”

[mrs-mikko-rantanen]

I got Hook

here's a random word generator--whatever word it gives you is now the thing you are the deity of

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

Just some thoughts of you and Toji sharing a hotel room with Shiu when you go on a trip. There are two beds, you and Toji share one, and Shiu gets the other one to his mopey self, because his wife won't be there until the next day. He gets to warm the bed up on his own and he hates every minute of it, because one: he's third wheeling you and Toji, and two: you and Toji act as if he's not there when it's time to go to sleep.

"Why aren't you sleeping, pretty girl? Do I need to go down there and put you to sleep or what?" Toji murmurs.

You giggle, quietly. "Maybe. I do get pretty tired after you make me cum."

"Yeah, you do," he says, proudly. "You wet, right now, mama?" Toji asks, already unknotting the drawstrings of your shorts.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" You say, your voice too soft for what you're inviting him to do. Still, Toji bites and leans in to kiss you as his hand slides down the front of your shorts and beneath your panties. His hand meets your pelvis and continues its downward path, until his fingertips reach the messiness of your slick-ridden cunt. He teases you with barely there flicks of his fingers to your clit.

Shiu's eyes widen the slightest bit, before his eyebrows furrow. He swears he just heard a moan coming from the bundle of blankets on the right side of the room.

"Stop touching each other," he says, irritation heavy in his tone. "Jesus," he grumbles. The one time he didn't bring his headphones, the one time his wife isn't there to let him do the same things to her, that Toji is doing to you. And you both just continue to ignore him.

Your hand comes down to palm at the prominent bulge in Toji's boxers. You can feel his clothed cock twitching in your hand after every gentle squeeze you offer to the thick length.

"Fuck, don't tease me like that, doll. Touch it." His body jerks slightly when you slide your hand down his boxers and wrap it around his sticky length. "Shit, your hands are freezing," he whispers, hissing at the coldness that meets his warm skin.

"You want me to keep going or not?" You ask, teasingly, not stopping the movement of your hand as you wait for him to respond.

"Nah, nah, you're getting warmer. Keep going."

You both think you're doing so well at muffling each other's sounds of pleasure with deep kisses, but the sounds of heavier breathing and constantly rustling sheets in the otherwise steady room, are a dead giveaway to your indecent acts. Shiu has to choose between suffering by being uncomfortably hot with the blanket bundled around his head to shut out the sounds, or being comfortable and suffering with the clear sounds of your sexual antics.

"Shh," Toji hushes, when you let out a little whimper. "Just keep kissing me."

Despite how intense the sensations are, you both keep going. Toji's fingers don't stop rubbing your clit, and your hand doesn't stop gliding up and down his cock. You're both treating the act of sharing a bed as you usually do when you're alone, despite the poor man trying to sleep one bed over.

It takes hearing an uncontained high pitched gasp for Shiu to kick off his blanket and jump out of bed with a grumble. He grabs his car keys off the table and puts on his slippers, directing himself towards the door. "Going to the store. You two better be done by the time I come back."

The second the heavy door shuts, clothes are being pulled at through impatient, all consuming kisses. It gets to the point where you actually have to slow down to get them off, because you aren't making any progress, but once it's all discarded of, absolutely no time is wasted. Your legs find refuge hooked over Toji's shoulders, and his hands home to your hips and your waist. You both freely make as much noise as you want as you indulge in each other like you really are home alone. Minutes unknowingly turned into an hour and after four intense orgasms, you've tired each other out. Toji gets out of bed to grab a towel to clean you and himself up, and once the cleanup process is done, both of you fall asleep, soundly.

Shiu comes back half an hour after you both fell asleep. He's empty handed, looking a little more disheveled than when he left the room, because "going to the store" was code for sitting in his car and having phone sex with his wife. He tip toes further into the room to see if you and Toji are sleeping, and when he sees the way Toji is spooning you with his face pressed to the nape of your neck, and the way your hand rests on the arm he has slinged around your waist, he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle.

"Rabbits."

[springintosummerxx]

⊹₊ i don't want you like a best friend ₊⊹

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op81 x childhood best friend! reader

song: dress by taylor swift

warnings: suggestive, sexual themes, angsty, mutual pining

word count: 1.8 k

masterlist

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our secret moments in your crowded room, they got no idea about me and you

oscar finds you the same way he always does: he feels where his heart tugs, deep and familiar, and when he looks up, there you are.

you look at him a, half a second after his eyes land on you. because you know, you always do.

you squint, a little tipsy, dress ruffled. he relishes in the way you smile at him, that special one with your teeth showing, pretty lips stretched pink on your face.

he studies the way your cheeks plump, under the dim light of the party.

his stomach swoops when you shrug, strap slipping off of one delicate shoulder. he flushed pink when he realizes he wants to bite the smooth skin there.

weird.

you cock your head.

he nods, and you lope over to him, very ungracefully.

he wraps one arm around your waist, the same way he's done since parties in high school.

the two of you bid your friends goodbye.

charles kisses the side of your face, and then alexandra too, smiling her own farewell.

you wave to the rest, and let oscar practically carry you out the door.

later, when he tucks you into bed and curls his body protectively around yours, he hears you murmur something.

"i love you, oscar."

he swallows, those four words that have pained him to hear for the past three months lodging something thick and unknown in his throat.

"yeah, sweetheart. i love you too." he manages to grit out, despite how desperately he wants-

he needs you to want, to love him the same way he needs you like he needs to breath, like a car needs an engine.

he tries to think of a comparison to how he loves you, but he can't.

because he's never loved anyone, anything like this before.

that thought scares him, but he holds onto you as you drift to sleep anyways.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

oscar has never been violent.

his sisters have always taken advantage of this when they all fought as kids, but he has never, ever hit them back.

the one time he ate the last cookie in your fridge when you guys were 11, he'd let you tackle him to the hardware floor of the kitchen, laying there until you relented and made him promise to make you more.

but he wants to right hook the sleazy finance bro that has been eyeing you up all night.

you'd forced (batted your lashes twice and he'd caved) him to come out and celebrate his maiden win, to distract him from mclaren's shit-show of a strategy.

the dress you're wearing, tight, short and black was very distracting. alex, with her sharp brown eyes has already caught him looking at your ass twice.

he'd danced with you, watched your drinks like a security guard while you danced with alex, kika and rebecca, and waited outside of the bathroom for you.

he'd left for like thirty seconds (5 minutes, the line was long) to get drinks, and this asshole had already claimed the seat next to yours.

which was his. it was always his. he made sure of that.

in every room, every country.

"excuse me," his tone not a bit excuseful, "you are in my seat."

the guy turns, and he realizes with a start that he's handsome.

like how lando and charles are handsome, charmingly roguish.

he could never be like that; he's too awkward, too quiet.

for the first time since he was a teenage, oscar feels insecure.

it's a disgusting feeling, sticky like the spicy marg he's holding for you, clinging to his skin and eyes.

"oh, sorry" the guy says, moving, "didn't know she had a boyfriend. my bad."

his eyes widened, then, recognizing oscar.

"oh, shit. oh, man-"

you roll your eyes, plucking the drink out of oscar's hand, sipping.

when the guy finally leaves, you frown at him.

"you scared him off," you pout, and oscar suppresses the urge he's had to kiss you again, "he was like, okay looking."

"sweetheart, that should not be your standard," he snorts.

you stare at him, eyes a little glassy, and then you do something that makes him choke on his own drink.

you cup his face, fingers smoothing over the moles on his face.

"no one can compare," you murmur, "you're the prettiest, oscar."

his heart explodes, right in that club in hungary.

into a thousand little pieces, each of them attaching to you.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

say my name and everything just stops

"oscar, baby! you did it, you did it again!" you cry into the speaker phone, your voice crackled and broken because of all the miles and time difference, but that's okay.

oscar holds you, carefully cradled and remembered in his heart, no matter where he goes.

"yeah, sweetheart," he laughs, "i know."

"i hate you! how are you this calm? hold on, hattie wants the phone."

he chatters with his sisters, his mom. but when the phone is handed back to you, you whisper his name, the same way you do in his dreams.

reverent and adoring, your tone giving him too much hope that maybe one day you would love him the same way he loves you.

"oscar," you murmur, and it reminds him of that night in the club in monaco, "i'm so proud of you. you've worked so hard."

he wants to cry a little. desperately, he wants you here.

but when you say his name, everything just stops.

he sits in his hotel room, time irrelevant outside of this long distance phone call.

oscar relishes in your voice, and closes eyes and pretends that you're waiting at home for him, as his.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i don't want you like a best friend, only bought this dress so you could take it off

"-and his arms, alex! i want him to like, choke me out," you giggle, "i think i want him to use me as a chew toy. sorry, sorry, tmi."

oscar is rounding the corner of his kitchen, and stops in his tracks when he hears you.

he feels the exact moment his chest tightens, so much that it's hard to inhale, and the beer he had earlier with lando swirls in his stomach.

"you're seeing someone?" he blurts out. alex gawks at the two of you, oscar with what he's sure is a painfully twisted expression, and you, who is turning red from embarrasment.

"i'll leave you two. it's been a long night, charles and leo are probably..." she doesn't even finish the sentence in her slightly accented english, before darting out, slipping a hand on your shoulder as she goes.

you're still wearing the pale yellow sundress from tonight, after the 2024 season finish dinner the grid had hosted.

you look ethereal, tanned and glowing.

he wants to kick himself, for not saying anything.

for not offering his undying affections.

it's too late now, but he has to try.

you are meant to be together, he knows that.

all his friends, shit, all of your combined friends know that (and tell both of you so, too), and your families have been waiting with baited breath for this to happen.

"i love you!" he nearly yells.

you yelp in response, eyes wide with shock.

"oscar-"

"no, sweetheart, please, let me-let..." he can't talk, but you nod, as he crosses the kitchen to scoop your hands into his.

he kisses them, each fingertip, each knuckle. he prays that another man hasn't held you, not like this.

he feels you gasp, but he only tugs you closer.

"i have loved you, since we were teenagers. and i've been a coward, i think. because i was selfish and i need you, every moment of every day, and i didn't tell you." he confesses, and your hands press against the thump of his heartbeat.

"i will be everything you want," he promises, "please, just give me one chance. i'm going to do right by you, i swear. i'll win championships and i'll provide, and when you're ready, i'll get a ring and a big house and we can have kids. if you want. or just a dog." he's rambling, and then he realizes that your eyes are teary.

"i wasn't going to say anything," he repeats, "but you were talking about someone else, wearing that dress, and i-"

"i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

"i don't want you like a best friend," you cup his face, sliding into his hair, twisting until he sighs, from the pressure on his neck, and your words.

"i love you too, oscar."

he shakes his head, huffing out a shaky breath.

"say that again," he demands.

you do, and he scoops you over his shoulder, nearly sprinting to his bedroom.

that night, while he slowly took of your dress and more, he whispered "i love you" into your skin more times than you could count.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

when oscar wakes, he does so with a shit-eating grin on his face.

last night, he fucked you deep into the mattress, you bodies intertwined the same way your souls have always been. he'd made you come 3 times, and then again when he took you in the shower.

it's like you were made for each other, every single scientific reasoning for attraction etched into your cells.

he frowns, realizing you're not in bed with him.

then you slip back into the room, wearing only his t-shirt, holding a plate of eggs and toast.

his mouth waters at the sight of you (not the eggs, but later you'll swear you heard his stomach grumble).

"hi, baby." you smile happily, squinted eyes and stretched pink lips.

he takes the plate and sets it down, pulling you back down to cuddle.

"hungry?" you ask.

"for you?" he presses his front to the bare swell of your ass, "always."

"oh no, i've created a monster," you laugh, turning in his arms, lips pressing to his.

he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding to lick, hot and heavy into your mouth, stealing your breath the same way you stole his heart at age 14.

"incorrect, you've unleashed me," he mutters into your jaw as his fingers pulled up his shirt from your morning-warm body.

you giggle and let him, and oscar thanks his lucky stars that you are finally his, the same way he's been yours since he could remember.

[ashwhowrites]

I’m so happy you’re back!!!

Inspired by that thigh clenching breeding kink post with Steve… girl. So so good. 🤤 I beg for one with Eddie if you would be so kind?

Same basic premise. Reader and Eddie are dating. She sees Eddie interacting with a toddler and some kids in the trailer park, playing with them etc etc. Tells him he’s going to be a great dad. Eddie laughs it off and without thinking says something self deprecating about no one wanting to have a kid with trailertrash. Reader doesn’t like that at all and is like excuse me? You are not trash and I would be proud to let everyone know I’m pregnant with Eddie Munson’s baby. And man oh man eddie goes feral.

Thank you for the Steve one in the first place. Holy hell. 🔥 And thank you in advance if you do decide to write this as well. ❤️❤️

You're welcome!! I'm glad you enjoyed it ;) I hope you enjoy this one as well. Thank you for requesting ❤️

Dad mode

As Y/N watched Eddie play trucks with a little boy in the sandbox she realized she's never seen Eddie interact with a younger kid. She was so used to high schoolers hanging around but not a kid under five.

And it was a damn shame because it was the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Eddie's smile was kiddish as he crashed the small truck into the side of the sandbox. The little boy giggled, following Eddie's actions as he crashed the car.

"Issac! It's time to go, baby," the mom said as she came over. She smiled down at Eddie, "thank you for playing with him."

Eddie smiled and gave her a gentlemen's nod as he stood up. He dusted off his jeans and walked over to where Y/N stood with a dazed smile.

"What?" Eddie asked, hooking his arm around her waist as he walked them to the van.

"You are going to be the best dad ever," Y/N said as she softly pushed Eddie against the car door. She fixed his jacket collar as she smiled. "That little boy loved you."

Eddie scoffed to cover the butterflies flying in his stomach. "Yeah, trailer trash makes great dads. Have you met mine?" Eddie joked, she never met him and neither had Eddie.

Y/N's eyes saddened and her arms scooped around Eddie's neck, softly rubbing his head. "You're not trailer trash. You take care of everyone. The way you are with Dustin? My gosh, it makes me wish I was pregnant with a little version of you. Kids love you because you are great."

Eddie appreciated the heartwarming speech but he was stuck on how tight his jeans got when she said pregnant with his kid. How easily it flies off the tongue and how badly he wanted it to be true. His moves were quick, turning them around as he pressed her against the door. His body smashed against hers, the slight tent in his jeans rubbing against her.

His hand gripped her jaw, smirking as he looked down at her. She could already see the gears turning in his head.

"Are you saying I could be fucking you raw by now?" She was embarrassed by how easily she fell apart in one sentence. Her legs clenched and a whimper left her throat. Eddie mockingly chuckled, his eyes a new shade of black. "You wanna fuck around and get pregnant from a man like me? What does that say about you?" He whispered

"Says I want you to fuck me. Are you man enough to do it, Daddy?" She said with a smile. She loved the way his chest purred. He unlocked the van and yanked her arm, he opened the back of it throwing her in. He slammed the doors shut, locking the bar.

"Wait! Eddie this is a public park!"

Eddie was already taking off his shirt, tossing it to the side as he grabbed her ankles. She fought to do the right thing as he stripped off her pants. "Eddie!" She hissed.

"You imagine me breeding you when I hangout with Dustin and suddenly public sex is too far?" He teased, a sexy smirk on his face as he yanked her soaked panties off. "Because if you say stop," he said, shuffling to his stomach as he placed his head between her thighs, "I'll stop."

Her mouth dropped open as his tongue licked up her folds. If they got caught, they'd be facing cops. But the way his tongue danced around her cunt made her not care.

"But we both know you won't say it," he said against her lips.

She sighed, locking her ankles around his neck as her hands bunched in his hair. She moaned as he softly bit her clit, then moved to suck it.

She rocked her hips at his pace, feeling incredible as he ate her out. She had no regrets about what she asked for, he was devouring her like a starved man. Eddie softly rubbed himself against the carpet of the van, moaning at the relief as he continued to eat her cunt, loudly as her wetness began to spread.

She could see the night sky creeping in through the windows, the streetlight turned on above them, illuminating their bodies. Y/N blindly searched for the pillow they left back here, because this wasn't the first time he was tongue-deep inside of her in this van.

She shoved it under her head, enjoying the extra support as her back arched. Eddie could stay between her legs for days, she was addictive.

Even though the feeling of his tongue was incredible, it wasn't what she needed.

"Eddie, pleaseeeee," she begged, unhooking her ankles. She softly pushed his head.

He groaned but listened, moving up her body to slam his lips against hers. She moaned as she tasted herself, her hands feeling his naked chest. Her fingertips teased the top of his jeans, begging them to come off.

"What you want baby?" He asked, sitting back on his knees. "This?" She followed his movements as his hand unbuttoned his jeans. She drooled at the teasing sight, his boxers in view.

"Quit teasing," she moaned, rubbing her thighs together.

He laughed, "Why? It seems like you love it," he said as he shoved two fingers inside of her. "Oh yeah, you're soaked." She cried out when he curved his fingers forward before he slid out.

"Please, daddy?"

Eddie felt all the hair on his back stand up straight. It was like that name snapped him into action. She whimpered in heat as he stripped himself bare.

She loved the sight of his pasty white skin, his dark body hair, and his thin hips. "That's it, daddy. Come fuck a baby in me," her legs spread open as she waited for him.

He placed a hand on her hip, using the other to guide himself inside of her. "Oh fuck," he moaned. He was instantly in love with the feeling of entering her with no barrier. He could feel just how soft and wet she was, the feeling of her walls wrapped around him.

She loved the feeling too. She felt every vein in his cock, gasping as he pushed himself all the way in. She knew it would feel good, but she couldn't believe just how good it was.

"I'm never using a condom again," he moaned. His hair stuck to his sweaty skin as he fucked her. Both hands squeezed her hips, leaning down to press his lips against hers.

She practically purred in his mouth, happily wrapping her legs around him to push him deeper. She clawed at his skin like he wasn't close enough. Doing anything she could to keep his body right against hers. Her brain was fuzzy as his tongue swirled in her mouth and his balls slapped her cunt. Every thrust was deep, removing himself to slide right back in. He couldn't get over the feeling of her squeezing him as he entered.

His left hand moved up to fist her hair as he kissed her harder, his right hand sliding down their bodies. She gasped into the kiss as his pointer finger teasingly circled her clit. The feeling jolted her body up to hit his. She felt like she could barely keep up from the kiss, his cock inside her and the feeling on her clit.

She gasped for air when he pulled back, just to attack her neck. It was clear the van started rocking from his fast movements, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the feeling of his warm cock sliding against her.

"Oh my God," she choked, her hands moving into his hair as she felt the need to hold on to something. She loved how sweaty they were, how rough and desperate it was. Knowing they couldn't make it another step without tearing each other's clothes off.

"You feel so good, baby," he moaned. He gripped her hips as he moved backward until he was sitting. Her now on top of him as she begins to ride him. Both shivered at the new position.

She tried to keep up with his pace, bouncing on his cock until her body went numb. He bucked his hips, slamming her down on him over and over. Their skin slapped each other as she rode him, crying his name as she tried to hold herself up.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, naked chest to chest. She was panting in his ear, the sound edging him on.

"Getting tired? Can't handle Daddy, can you?"

She rolled her eyes at his comment. She bit down on his neck, her revenge but it seemed to turn him on even more. She refused to let him win, she gathered all the strength she had left as she shoved him down.

He looked at her, curious but damn excited, as his back hit the van's carpet. She adjusted herself to balance as she sunk down on him. He hissed as she wrapped around him again. Every touch was pushing him closer.

She moaned loudly as she chased her own orgasm, knowing the sight alone would make him explode. She kept her eyes on him as she moved a hand down to her clit. She moved her hips faster as she sped up the touch on her clit, already seconds away.

"Don't ever test me," she smirked breathlessly as she went faster. Eddie reached forward and gripped her thighs as he felt his release.

"Fuck that's it, fuck keep going," he moaned, "milk me, baby. Drain me for everything I have. You've earned it," his dirty words encouraged her as she rubbed herself faster.

"I'm going to cum," she whined. Eddie sat up, holding her against him as his hands gripped her ass.

"That's it, gorgeous. Be a good girl for Daddy and cum all over me," he encouraged. She panted into his neck as she felt herself snap, her thighs shaking as she came all over him. "I love you so much. You feel so fucking good."

"Oh Daddy it feels so good," she moaned, trying her best to continue to ride him as her orgasm washed through her.

"Yeah? Your tight pussy wrapped around me is driving me insane. You want to be filled up huh? Want me to breed your little pussy?"

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as he moved her on her back, starting to fuck her again. Her cunt didn't have time to recover, aching as his cock drilled her.

"I've got so much cum to fill you up, sweetheart," he said as he threw her legs over his shoulders. "Greedy cunt is squeezing me so tight, trying to unload my balls huh? Taking what you want."

She smirked at his words, knowing she wanted nothing more than for him to cum inside of her.

She gasped as his hand wrapped around her neck. "Tell me you want it. Tell me how much you want my cum."

"Please, Daddy. I want all of it. I want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me and make me yours," she moaned through the grip on her neck. "I want it so bad."

Eddie felt his orgasm building, fucking her harder as he looked down at her. "I'm gonna give it all to you, sweetheart. All my cum, painting your walls and fucking you deep," he said through his panted breaths. He gave everything he had his last few thrusts, moaning as he felt the first spurts of his cum.

"Oh fuck!" She groaned in bliss as she felt his hot cum filling her. A feeling she knew she'd never forget. "More, please more," she begged. Eddie bit harshly on his lip as he fucked all his cum inside of her, brain melting as he soaked in her cunt milking him. He dropped her legs, allowing them to hit the floor.

"Fuck your pussy is milking me dry" he choked out, giving his final thrusts before his body collapsed next to hers.

She was fucked out, her hair sticking to her as she tried to catch her breath. Eddie panted next to her, the biggest smile on his face as he looked at her.

"What?" She asked as she closed her eyes. The windows were so fogged that Eddie couldn't see out of them.

"Can you go again?"

Her eyes snapped open as she looked at him. "Can you?" She laughed, "that was some fucking orgasm."

Eddie rolled back on top of her, kissing all over her face. "It doesn't take me long to reload, baby," he winked.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[desire-mona]

we need to talk right now about that fucking porno mag right now because where DID he get that actually??? and also why were the tits just. so big.

top 10 richard cameron moments i guess

man door hand hook car door

him being second to join the new dead poets society right after charlie when neil asks whos in

i love the clarinet

his and charlies relationship is really something like cameron really was following charlie everywhere the whole time acting like he didn't want to (he did) (i'm totally not reading too much into everything he does for a tumblr post (i am))

he really was just trying to keep all the poets safe like i know he did the wrong thing in the end but like. he joined the poets knowing how dangerous it was and the whole time he was pointing out the things that could go wrong and warning them about specific things and they all told him he could just not join and he did anyway and maybe i'm just reading too much into it but like. he could've stayed home. and he didn't.

when keating was whispering "carpe diem" to them and he looked at keating like wtf are you doing cause honestly he was right for that

him graphing dr. j. evans pritchard's graph with a ruler

when knox was talking about chris and he was like. damn that sucks. let me help you with trig.

"where did you get that???" about the magazine charlie brings "what are you guys doing????" about neil and todd running around their dorm

the walking exercise what keating had to say about how he was overthinking how to walk cause that was relatable

[lostinlovingrevery]

It's Been A Long Drive

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

You need a nap, he needs some stress relief

A/N: so sleepy but all I could think about was this fic. Id let logan do it whenever, where ever 😗 also this pic??? Lawd have mercy

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI thaaaaanks :), somnophilia, pre- established consent, unprotected piv, car sex, creampie

His chewed on the end of the smokey cigar, rolling it between his teeth with his tongue.

His stature was rigid, tense. He leaned against the Chrysler, still running to keep the AC going and fight off the dry desert heat.

One foot crossed over the other, it tapped against the broken and sandy concrete. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants, fists clenching and unclenching.

Normally some fresh air, and a good smoke helps ease the anxiety in his body. The stress that has been the last few days though is too much. He needed something more, a release- something to get his energy out. Being cooped up, driving for hours and days, it made even his old tired body pent up.

He looked over the dry landscape of where he pulled over. Stretch of road that went on for miles. There wasn't much around except for sand, dirt, more sand, and a few dusty and dry looking plants. A car hasn't passed by the entire time he's been smoking.

He discarded the butt of the cigar, stomping it out with his boot before walking to the back of the limo. He opened the door and peeked inside, a fresh wave of cool air blasting his face- it calmed his nerves just a little bit.

You were asleep on the floor, looking like an angel the way you were curled up using his jacket as a pillow.

A quiet groan escaped him as he kneeled onto the floor and climbed in, quietly closing the door behind him, and hitting the lock button on his keyfob in his pocket.

He clambered over to you, carefully turning you onto your back. A small sleepy groan escaped you and he smiled to himself.

So damn cute you were, and more. A saint to put up with him the way you have been the last few days. He tries to watch his tone, his words, but sometimes the aches and pains become too much- but you understood it, you understood him.

He maintains you deserve better, but you maintain that he was that, the best.

Carefully he pulled ofd your shoes, then he began to tug down your pants. He slipped them off your ankles and discarding them to the side. Then pulled off your panties.

He brought them to his nose, taking a deep inhale of the cloth. A loud groan escaped him, as he felt his cock twitching inside the confines of his pants. The smell of you was always enough to make him feel drunk.

You stirred, and he shut his mouth realizing how loud he was. He wasn't ashamed at that, always took the chance to make sure you know how good you were maaking him feel- he didn't want to wake you though.

Awhile ago, you both made a deal. Due to your wild schedules, you didn't get to see each as often as he wished you could. With him as a driver, and you waitressing, the both trying to make enough to support the four of you at the smelting plant- it led little time for more intimate activities for you two.

The deal, was that even if the other is asleep, you could come in and...have a little fun.

Fuck, it still turns him on thinking about that conversation. You were the one to bring it up- becoming so needy for him you wanted him to fuck you at any chance. Not that he blamed you- he's jerked himself off alone in the limo countlesss times to your nudes and the memory lf your previous sexual encounters.

He eagerly agreed, and the next time he came home to you asleep- he consummated that deal. You've used it too. It heightens his mood everytime he's woken up to you desperately riding his cock.

Now was just many of sleepy unions between you both. His hands hooked under your knees and spread you open, baring your sweet pussy to him. He could see it glistening- wondering if you were having dirty dreams, or maybe your body just sensed he was there.

You came back here to take a nap long before he had pulled over. The long car drives had made you sleepy, and neither of you got decent sleep in the last motel you stayed at. The bed was filthy, scratchy, and lumpy- leading to a night of tossing and turning for the both of you.

He brushed two fingers into your folds, collecting your wetness on them, before bringing it up to his lips and quietly moaning at your taste.

Eating you out would be fun- but his cock had not stopped throbbing painfully and he knew he needed to bury himself in you soon as possible.

He sucked his fingers clean before pulling them out, bringing them down to your now puffy cunt. Carefully he plunged one finger into your hole, pumping slowly in and out of you- and adding another, scissoring you open.

A small gasp escaped you and he looked up to read your expression. You were still asleep, just turning your head to the side, your hands had climbed up above your head, holding into his jacket.

He smirked, arrogant about the fact that he makes you completely undone even in a semi- conscious state.

He stretched you open his fingers, your arousal coating his palm as he pumped them in and out of you a few more times. He used his other hand to clumsily unbuckle himself.

He tugged his pants and briefs down his thighs, his thick cock jumping out, pre-cum beading at the slit. Hissing at the feeling of cold air surrounding his cock, he removed his fingers from your clenching hole and used your arousal to coat his cock. He then settled himself between your legs.

He slid his cock through your wet folds, mouth falling open at the feeling of your sweet pussy and wasting no more time to push the tip inside.

A small moan escaped you as he pushed himself deeper, your thighs spreading farther, your hands clenched into his jacket.

He leaned over you, bracing his arms on either side of your head. He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, before he slowly pulls out to the tip, and thrusts back inside.

A grunt escapes him, eyes falling shut at the feeling of your warm cunt caressing around his cock. He started rutting into you, careful of his speed- too fast and you'll wake up.

Each rut brought him closer and closer to the edge. He watched your mouth fall open, brows creasing together in concentration while your eyes remained closed- still deep asleep. He knows because you were clenching him so damn tight.

He sat up, slowing his pace to watch his cock slide in and out of you slowly. His mouth falls open and he pushed up his shirt to give himself a better view of your messy union. Your creamy arousal coated him, covering him base to tip as he pulls out- and pushes himself back inside, hypnotized by the way your cunt greedily sucks him in.

"So fucking perfect darling..." he mumbles, even knowing you were still asleep and wouldn't hear him. "Always taking my cock so well...."

He pulled you further up onto his lap, your legs hooked around his thighs. He began thrusting faster into you- angling himself to hit that spot inside you that makes you scream when you're awake.

A loud moan escaped you, hips thrusting upwards against him. He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing fast circles to bring you closer to your peek.

Your body tensed with your back arches, pussy clenching around him as your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Your hands practically ripped and pulled at his jacket as he fucked your through your unconscious orgasm.

One last thrust and he finished inside you, grabbing your hips and slamming inside as ropes of cum shot out of him in twitchy spurts. Breathy whines escaped him with each rope shot inside you. Finally falling forward when he finished with his head resting on your chest. Relief flooded him, the stress and tension held out has been shot out inside you.

When the tremors of his coitus subsided, he lifted his head up to be greeted by your sleepy smile.

"Hi."

"Hey sleepyhead." His voice cooed, raspy and deep.

You giggled at the comment, as if his cock was softening inside you at that moment.

"Didn't mean to wake ya."

"No? With that earth shattering orgasm you gave me?" You grinned. A small chuckle escaped him, and he leaned forward to catch you in a kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, into his hair as you shared a passionate kiss. "Not that I'm complaining...but you could've woken me up this time."

"Didn't want you to miss out on your beauty sleep." He hums. You giggled again.

"Well..." Your hands fell down to his button-up shirt, fiddling with the buttons and slowly undoing each one. "Now that I am up, how about a second round?"

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part iii)

FALSE EQUILIBRIUM—A balance that was never truly balanced.

summary: Joel’s delicate attachment to Leela and baby Maya deepens along with—her resistance, his denial, and the slow, inevitable way he’s always finding his way back to them. As they navigate a freak accident, Ellie sees it. He does too. Almost.

a/n: ah-woohooooo more of Joel being a thickheaded numpty, so enjoy! I would love to hear all your unhinged, lovely thoughts!

It had been a quiet few weeks for Joel.

Not the kind of quiet he liked—the stillness of early mornings, with the wind rustling the trees and a guitar strumming in his hands. No, this was the one that came after a storm, when the air was dense with the scent of rain and the world felt... upside down. Unsettled. The kind of quiet where the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to pick through the wreckage.

The kind of quiet that made a man think too much. It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating.

Since that night in the car, since he’d seen her unravel in real time, the tacit MO had changed. On more welcome news, Mal had stopped coming around. No thanks to him, of course.

Joel saw him through the window the first morning he returned to Leela's place. Mal was coming up the path with the same easy stride, hands in his pockets like he had a right to be there. God, just once, he wanted to knock the teeth off that goddamned kid.

Joel set down his hammer and exhaled through his nose. Bless Tommy for leaving the fun part to him. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped out onto the porch before the kid could even knock. The heavy door groaned on its hinges behind him, and he let it.

Mal spotted him and gave a lazy wave, stepping forward. “Hey, man. I’m just here to—”

Joel shifted in front of him. Not aggressive. Just there. An immense wall of quiet warning.

Mal stopped short, blinking up at him.

Joel wasn’t even trying to stand taller, but he didn’t need to. He just crossed his arms over his chest, let his shoulders square out naturally, let his stance say everything. He wasn’t fucking moving.

The kid hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh—is there a problem?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Joel said, voice even.

Mal frowned. “What?”

“I said, whatever it is, I got it.”

There was a pause. A moment where Joel could see the gears turning in Mal’s head, where the kid was piecing things together a little too slow for his liking.

“Okay, but Tommy said—”

“Yeah, well.” Joel leaned forward, just enough to be felt. Watched Mal’s jaw tighten, and watched him shift back on instinct. “Not anymore.”

That finally landed. Mal thankfully rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced past Joel, toward the house, then back, brows knitting together, trying to make sense of what was going on. What he'd done wrong.

"Uh... do you want help, at least?" he offered, cautious.

Joel let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh—if you could call it that. There was nothing warm in it. "You run along now."

Mal lingered for another second, like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. And like a kid being told off, he tucked his tail and left.

Joel didn’t bother to watch him go. Just turned on his heel, grabbed the door, and went back inside. “Fuckin' pest,” he grumbled under his breath.

The house was quiet—only the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of careful, steady footsteps.

He looked up and saw Leela was making her way down, one hand carefully bracing against the railing. She was in sweats and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled into a low-hanging bun. There was something different about her face today—sharper, cleaner, blanker maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing her in a better light now.

She caught him staring. "Was that Mal?"

Joel simply lied, "No."

She pressed her lips together. Not quite disappointment, not quite relief. Something in between. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Maybe later.”

Joel hooked a thumb through the loop of his tool belt, retrieving the hammer he’d slung there. He looped it through the air once, catching the handle in his palm.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a busy guy,” he said, keeping his voice light as he crossed her on the staircase. “Lotsa shit to fix around town.”

More importantly, Leela didn’t ask why or how. Soon enough, she stopped looking for Mal. Didn’t even question when Joel started showing up every day instead with his old tool belt slung over his shoulder, standing at her door like it was the most unassuming thing in the world. She just looked at him—one glance, one unreadable flicker of those dark, tired eyes—and then moved on like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t there at all. Stiffing him, essentially.

And Joel knew that kind of distance. This gaping rupture, widened between people when something sore and hideous had been exposed. When someone had seen too much; known too much. Leela knew she’d overstepped, and now she was pulling back.

Joel knew that feeling. He’d done it plenty himself. That instinct to retreat, to pull the shutters down, to make yourself small. Hell, he’d lived it. Had become it.

So he let it happen. He let her pretend again. Didn't push, didn't say anything.

He simply worked.

The nursery was coming together, slowly but surely. The new pendant lights were fixed, casting warm pools of gold over the room. The shelves stood straighter, stocked with whatever Maria had been sneaking in—baby books, folded blankets, onesies, a small range of wooden toys. And the old fuchsia rug he’d found in Leela’s storage? It tied the whole damn thing together, like a relic of a forgotten life, all lived-in and warm for the baby girl.

Joel stood in the centre of it all, Maya cradled in his arms, rocking slightly on his heels. Not that she could appreciate any of this yet. A safe space of her own.

He had never been the kind of man who cooed at babies either. Hadn’t been that way when Sarah was small, hadn’t been that way in the years since. There was something about them—so soft, so fragile—that made him cautious, like he had to hold back, keep himself in check.

Maya made it easier.

"Hi," he whispered to her after her naps. "Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? You hungry? C'mere."

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerised by the slow shift of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder, her head barely still on her little shoulders. Her fingers curled absently in his collar, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

She’d been a fussy one lately—tired, restless, wanting to be held more often than not. Lonely, always so lonely. And with a mama like Leela, who drifted too easily and got lost too deep in her own head, Joel figured it wasn’t a bad idea to show her around. Give her something new to look at.

“What do you think, baby girl?” he murmured, drawing her closer, his palm smoothing down her tiny back. “Did I do okay or what?”

Maya blinked up at him, her whole body stilling for a second before she let out a soft, breathy coo.

Joel grinned. “Yeah?” he chuckled. “That a yes?”

She wiggled in his hold, that gummy little smile coming alive, kicking lightly against his ribs, and Joel felt himself exhale—deep, easy, something loosening inside him. She liked it. The nursery. The lights. Him. Maybe none of it mattered in that little head of hers, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t fussing. She was looking at him like she trusted him, and God help him, but he wanted to deserve that.

He took her toward the shelves, kneeling carefully with her in one arm, balancing his weight as he pointed to the row of paint cans. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick a colour. What’s it gonna be, huh?” He tilted them slightly, exposing the faded labels. “We got white. Some kinda blue. Green.”

Maya reacted immediately, tiny fist stretching out, fingers grazing toward the muted green.

Joel huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? That your favourite?”

Her fingers brushed the side of the can, fascinated by the cool metal, a quiet coo slipping from her lips.

Joel hesitated. Just for a second. Then he gave in—because how the hell could he not?

Slowly, almost like he was afraid to spook her, he shifted her a little higher against his chest. Lowered his head. Pressed a kiss to the soft crown of her head.

She was warm. Fuzzy. Still had that darling baby smell—something between powder and milk and fresh laundry, it damn near knocked the air out of him. He let himself linger, just a little longer than he probably should’ve, breathing her in.

Maya stirred—not in protest, but with this soft, excited little kick of her legs against his ribs, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Joel exhaled, slow. Felt something in him loosen. Snap, maybe. In a quiet kind of way. Before he could think better of it, he kissed her again—this time on the side of her head. Then once more, near her temple. Another just above her ear. Until he started to feel like it was not enough.

She wriggled in delight, mouth wide, gums flashing in a big, open grin, her whole face scrunching like she could feel it all sinking in.

Joel huffed—half a laugh, half a breath. Shook his head, kissed her once more.

“Yeah,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I got you.”

And maybe—maybe she already knew that he really fucking loved her. Knew it the way babies just do sometimes. That he was solid. That his arms weren’t going anywhere. That he’d never let her drop.

A rustle at the doorway made him glance up from a kiss. Leela stood there, her hand lightly braced against the frame, watching him.

Joel was caught off guard, leaning away from Maya a bit, settling her lower against his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low. “Just uh, givin’ her the lay of the land.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. She only flashed a tight, fleeting smile before stepping forward, arms extending toward Maya. “You wanna take a bath with mama?”

Maya twisted in his hold, cooing eagerly now, small hands reaching for her mother. Even after everything, her mother was still her favourite person.

Joel let her go, careful as he passed her over to Leela. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and he ignored the way it lingered, how her fingers barely curled in his before she took Maya into her arms.

“She’s been good,” Joel muttered.

Leela nodded, running a gentle palm over Maya’s back. “There’s lunch downstairs if you’re hungry.”

Joel studied her for a beat, his fingers brushing idly against his tool belt. “…Did you eat something?”

She hesitated. Too long. Then nodded slowly.

He didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded back, watching as she turned on her heel, shifting Maya closer against her shoulder. She left him with another tight, fleeting smile before disappearing down the hall.

Joel breathed out a sigh, glancing back at the half-finished room. Maya’s soft, content coos still lingered in the air. The green paint sat on the shelf, waiting.

And for some damn reason, he felt lonelier than he had in a long, long time.

It had taken him eleven days. Too long for a man like him. But he hadn’t rushed at all. He should’ve, but he didn’t. Had he been the same old Joel—good ol’ Texas Joel—this would’ve been a job done in a heartbeat. A blink, and he’d be out of her way. He wouldn’t have noticed things. Wouldn’t have lingered like a moron.

Maybe it was because of the way Leela barely spoke to him anymore. Or that she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she checked on his progress in clipped words and hums, wouldn’t even glance his way when she passed Maya to him like clockwork, a silent, wordless thing between them.

Maybe because when she leaves him standing at the porch at the end of the day, the door closing shut in his face, it didn’t feel like closing a chapter. It felt like a fucking wall going up.

Joel found her in the kitchen that evening, standing by the counter, wrist-deep in soapy water. It was late, Maya was snoozing her little head off upstairs, the house dim except for the overhead light humming low above them.

She didn’t stagger when he entered, didn’t look at him either. Just kept scrubbing the hell out of a plate, though he was pretty sure it was already clean. He dawdled near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He should’ve left. Should’ve let the silence settle. But he couldn't just leave it alone.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Y’know, you got a dishwasher. It's half the effort,” he pointed out.

Leela gave a small huff. “Electricity’s scarce.”

Joel snorted. “So is water, darlin’.”

She finally glanced at him, just a flicker, then back to the sink.

He tapped his fingers against the counter, searching for something—anything—to keep her in this moment with him. “Made good progress today,” he said. “Maya... she tried to turn on her side. Can't get the angle right, y'know. The nursery; well, I just need to fix up that dresser and—”

“Look, thank you. But I’m really tired, Joel.”

She said it without looking at him, her voice level, no bite to it. Just a statement. A locked door. He should’ve expected it, should’ve shrugged it off and moved on. Instead, something about the words, directed at him, sat wrong inside him. All that hurt-people-hurt-people-drivel that Maria used to say came back to bite him in the ass.

He hesitated, shifting his weight onto his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I should get going.”

She said nothing. Just shut off the faucet, dried her hands on a towel, and walked past him, close enough that the damp heat of her skin lingered for half a second longer than it should have. And despite fighting the urge to glance back at her as she left the room, he watched her disappear down the hall.

Joel stood outside her door for a long moment, which he had conscientiously locked, staring at the chipped paint of the doorframe, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked to the porch swing. It swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Was it juvenile to think maybe she’d prefer his company? Was it fucking brainless of him to crave somewhere to belong? A purpose? Was he meant to die alone in a strange house and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles? Maybe. Probably. But hell if he didn’t wish it anyway.

Joel didn’t want to admit it—not directly, not even to himself—but he wanted to talk to her. Not about anything in particular. Not about that night in the Maranello, or how her little, breathy laugh was possibly the best thing to hear after those roars and clicks of the world beyond, or why she’d started looking at him instead of through him.

He just wanted something. Because before, there had been something. It wasn’t like talking to most people, where you had to pick your words apart before they even left your mouth, where you had to navigate bullshit small talk or forced pleasantries. With Leela, it had been... easy. Unspoken. A warm kind of quiet, the kind where he didn’t have to think too much, where he could just be.

He'll admit it, just this once—he liked that about her. He liked that a moment didn’t have to be forced. That he didn’t have to overthink, that they had a rhythm, a delicate system between them, one that made sense even if neither of them ever put words to it.

But now?

Now, she barely looked at him. Nowadays, when she passed Maya to him, it wasn’t with that soft, knowing ease or a friendly grin, no matter how tired it had been—it was mechanical, transactional, like handing over a set of keys. Like a reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he didn’t know what to call that. Didn’t like the way it made his instincts turn over, uneasy, in his chest.

All that lingering had finally paid off, and Joel had found his way in. He wasn’t going to show it, of course—wasn’t gonna give himself away like some fool—but damn if he wasn’t relieved.

After days of unending cold shoulders, after all that stiff distance, this was the first real opening he’d gotten. An excuse. A way to talk to her without forcing it.

He had been fixing a flickering wall lamp that had been bugging him for some time now, in the second-floor hallway, standing on a step stool when—

CRASH.

The whole house plunged into darkness. The light he’d been working on blinked out, along with the rest of them, and then—a groan. A pained, breathy, hitched groan from below. His entire body tensed before his brain caught up.

Then came the wailing. Maya.

Joel’s heart stammered, caught between two instincts. The damn near gutting sound of the baby girl's frightened cries and that groan—that voice—he'd distinctly heard from the basement.

Fuck. His feet moved before his mind did. He leapt off the stool, tools cluttering to the floor, ignoring the protesting ache in his knees as he tore down the hall to Maya’s room. She was red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, fists curled as she screamed, trembling from the shock.

"Hey, hey, Maya," Joel hushed, scooping her up into his arms, and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, sweetheart. Right here. I got you."

He shushed her, palm stroking warm circles over her back, bouncing her lightly in his arms. His heartbeat was loud, hammering in his ears, drowning everything out but the damn groan still hanging in his mind.

Leela.

She was down there, in that cursed basement, alone. And that sound had been awful.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips to Maya’s head before pulling back. More for himself rather than her.

“I'm right here, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” His voice was controlled—but his hands weren’t. His grip on her was a little too tight. They quivered a little.

Maya sniffled, her cries quieting just enough to slow his pulse, and he took that as his chance. Keeping her tucked to his chest, he made his way down the stairs, nearly flying, boots thudding against the wood.

His breath hitched as he reached the basement door. “Hey, you down here?” he called, shoving it open with his shoulder, jogging down to the dim space below.

Then he saw her.

Leela was slumped against the wall, it was obvious that she had been tossed into it, her silhouette barely lit by the glare of an emergency lamp in the corner. She was gripping her shoulder fiercely, rubbing it like she was trying to erase the pain. Her fingers dug in hard.

The remnants of her little "science project" upgrade lay scattered around her. Loose wires, metal scraps, a circuit board still humming with life. The main plug socket was connected. Was she fucking stupid? There was a baby upstairs, and she was ready to risk her home for that dumbass machine.

And her face—Fuck. She had gone pale. Eyes squeezed shut. Her chest rose and fell like she was working through an intense wave of pain.

“Christ.” The word came out more like a breath than anything. Joel took a step forward, but when his eyes landed on the tangled wires, something burned under his ribs.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out rougher than intended, fear clawing at his throat, disguising itself as frustration.

Leela’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could kneel down beside her. “Just a bit of bruising. Maya first.”

Joel clenched his jaw.

She was right. Damn it, he hated that she was right. Maya, now hiccupping soft little breaths against his chest, was the priority.

“Right,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was clear. He cast her one last look, making sure she was still upright, still breathing normal, before turning back up the stairs.

It took ten whole minutes to get Maya settled, and that was a miracle in itself. He'd resorted to pleading under his breath, but she had continued to watch him, eyes wide, refusing to let sleep take her like she knew something was wrong. She was perceptive. Just like her mother.

Finally, finally, her little lashes fluttered shut, her tiny hand still gripping onto his shirt.

Joel exhaled, relief going awash his tension. “Good girl,” he murmured, before unfurling her fingers from his collar, brushing a kiss over them and laying her back down.

Then he was sprinting again. Back down the stairs, faster than he should have been, hand gripping the railing tight.

Leela hadn’t moved much. She was still slumped against the basement wall, her breaths deep and restrained—like she was trying to breathe the pain away.

Joel came down to a crouch by her feet. “Hey.”

“I'm fine, Joel, really,” she assured quietly.

Though, he could tell she was pissed at herself. She hated being like this—vulnerable, hurting, unable to brush it off and acting like it didn’t happen. But Joel saw it. He saw her. How she'd tilted her head against the wall, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Leela truly was fine. Bruised, rattled—but fine.

Joel had checked her over once more, ensuring nothing was broken, no serious harm done, and he had to force himself to believe her when she said she’d be okay.

But her hands. Oh, Christ. The dim glow of the emergency lamp cast a dull shine over her skin, and that’s when he noticed—the raw, reddened patches along her fingertips. The unmistakable burn marks where the electricity must’ve bit into her.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply through his nose, scraping a hand down his beard as he stared at her fingers.

She must’ve seen the look on his face because she tucked her hands close to her stomach like she could make them disappear. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. She wasn’t wrong. And that made something in him burn even hotter.

“C’mon,” he muttered, nodding toward the stairs. “Up.”

Leela hesitated, but the way he stood—the way he waited—made it clear he wasn’t asking. So she sighed and pushed herself upright, and Joel stayed close, arms extended safely around her, watching the way she moved, the way her body reacted.

She didn’t stumble. Didn’t wobble. That was good. No concussion or broken bones. A knot in his chest loosened instantly.

Once they made it back upstairs, Joel had her sit at the kitchen table, lit up from the sunshine filtering through from the afternoon sun. He set a bowl of warm water down in front of her, the steam curling into the space between them. He grabbed a small tin of ointment after a bit of rustling through the cabinets, then a roll of gauze, then paused, eyes flicking to her.

She was watching him. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Joel breathed out, slow and even, then came back over, pulling a chair beside her. He reached for her wrist, gently, carefully, lifting her hands into his own. A silent ask. Permission. Lesson learned from the last time he'd touched her.

Leela tensed for half a second before sighing, letting him take them.

She was trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt. Like it was fine. But as soon as he dipped her fingertips into the warm water, she sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened just a little. He tried to squeeze everything he had felt these past few days into a single word—“Sorry.”

He worked, taking it slow, gently swiping away the dust and grime, watching the way her skin flinched under the heat. His thumbs moved gradually, steadily, like he was afraid to make it worse.

“Y’gotta be more careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Damn wires ain’t worth all this. Remember, you’ve got someone countin’ on you.”

Leela let out a soft, tired laugh. “I didn’t know I had a nanny now.”

Joel shot her a look. “You don’t. You got me.”

She blinked at that.

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. Instead, she let him work, let him take care of her, and trusted his instincts, and that felt like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge just yet.

Once her hands were cleaned, he dried them carefully, mindful of the more sensitive spots, before smoothing ointment over each burnt fingertip.

Leela twitched. “Ow.”

Joel grunted. “Ain’t gonna feel good, but it’ll keep it from blisterin’ too bad.”

He finished wrapping the gauze around her fingers, slow and precise, making sure they weren’t too tight. Leela stared down at her hands when he was done, flexing her fingers slightly, testing the bandages like she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Three fingers on each hand.

Joel blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the house.

It was quiet. Too damn quiet. God, he hated this. That unnatural kind, where something had been cut short too suddenly—like the whole place had been stunned into silence. The shot-out lights overhead blinked weakly before finally dying out for good, leaving nothing but the cold creeping in from every corner.

It was already moulding in. The draft slithered through the cracks in the windows, curling around his ankles, and sinking into the wood beneath his feet. The thermostat had shut off along with the rest of the power, which meant no heat. Not with how damn cold it got out here. Jesus, he'd forgotten to tuck some extra layers around Maya.

His eyes swept the room. A busted power grid. A rattled woman nursing bruises. A two-month-old baby upstairs who didn’t know a damn thing about survival, who didn’t understand that warmth wasn’t something she could just take for granted.

And this woman—this stubborn, frustrating woman—was already trying to stand up like she hadn’t just been thrown into a wall.

"I'll go check it out. Don't worry, Joel, I know what to do," Leela offered, pushing herself up.

Joel shot out a hand, firm, stopping her before she could get any further.

"You ain't fixin’ shit, you hear me?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, but hell if he cared. "Sit your damn ass down. You're stayin' at my place till I get this sorted."

The prospect did not sit well with her. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the window like she was already searching for another solution.

She shook her head. "I can't—"

"That's not an option."

She looked at him then, her brows drawing together. And he knew what she saw—knew she saw that hard-set determination in his face, the part of him that had already made up his mind.

What she didn’t see—what he’d never let her see—was the way his chest was burning with something too tight, too damn close to fear.

Because he’d walked into cold houses before. Knew what happened when the temperature dropped too low. Had seen bodies frozen stiff in the middle of the night, curled up as if that had been enough to keep them warm. Had seen what happened when people thought they could tough it out. He'd rather never see or smell that ever again.

Now, Leela thought she could tough it out. But he wasn’t about to let her gamble with a baby’s warmth just to prove a damn point. And if she thought this was some kind of negotiation, she was dead wrong. Because he wasn’t giving her a choice.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, softening the edges just enough so he wasn’t barking orders at her like some kind of drill sergeant.

“Just for a while,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Till I can fix whatever the hell you fucked up down there.”

Leela didn’t answer right away, lips pressing into a thin line. But she wasn’t stupid.

She glanced up toward the stairs, toward where Maya was still sleeping. Then back at him. Joel could see the exact moment she gave in. Her shoulders slumped as she relented.

He nodded, standing up, already running through what needed to be done. “Good. I'll go bundle up the kid.”

X

Joel hasn't exactly planned to have company. Ever.

Maria and Tommy showed up sometimes. Ellie, too—though not without complaint. She claimed the place smelled like old people and swore visiting would tank her cool factor. But even when they came around, he never let them stay too long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before he was ushering them out the door with a gruff, Alright, get on, and some excuse about needing to be up early. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having people around. It was just—his place wasn’t made for that. He hadn’t made it for that.

It was single floor, nice and compact. He slept on the pullout couch in the living room. Not because he didn’t have that one really sweet bedroom, but because it was easier nowadays—closer to the door, closer to the window that faced the big white house across the street. His sink was a mess of dishes from last night, crusted over and rotting in the stale air. His cabinets weren’t stocked with food so much as they were with whiskey and coffee.

He came home. He ate. He slept. He woke up. Showered. Left. That was it. That was his life. It was enough and to spare.

So when Leela and Maya showed up at his front door, he wasn’t prepared. Not in the slightest.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, then.”

Leela ducked inside first, shaking the cold from her coat, eyes flicking around the place as if she were already judging him for it. And maybe she was. Hell, Joel sure as shit would. Because this—this eyesore—was how she was gonna see him. As some tired, deadbeat old man who hadn’t even tried.

Maya stirred against her chest, her little hands fisting in the collar of Leela’s coat.

Joel cleared his throat and reached for her automatically. He needed his calm here. “C’mere, baby girl.”

She squealed at the sound of his voice, squirming, her small fingers flexing, gripping the fabric of his flannel before she finally settled against him, warm and soft. Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, a strange kind of tightness unwinding from his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for something.

“She can stay with me,” Leela said softly, slipping out of her coat.

Joel shook his head. “Nah, you get some rest. You’re takin’ the room down the hall.”

Leela blinked, surprised. “And you?”

Joel busied himself with Maya, playing catch and release with her tiny fists, letting her grab onto his finger before slipping it away. “I’ll be fine. Got the couch.”

She frowned. “But you’ve got that bad back.”

Joel sighed, jaw twitching. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for noticin’.”

Leela’s mouth quirked slightly, just a little, but enough that it softened something in her expression. “You should take the bed, Joel.”

He hummed, shaking his head, shifting Maya a little higher against his chest. “You just shot into a wall and burned yourself, darlin’. I think you’re entitled to a bed.”

She tilted her head at him, her brow pinching together like she was trying to figure something out.

Joel stared back, more stubborn than apprehensive, his grip tightening just a fraction around Maya’s small body.

He wasn’t sure what it was, that look of hers. But damn if it didn’t make him feel like he was seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like she was really looking at him—not the grumpy bastard everyone in Jackson thought he was, not the fixer, not the old guy sleeping his way through life—but him.

Joel shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “Look, you’re takin’ the bed, that’s that. Maya can sleep next to you, so she’ll be closer if you need to feed her later.”

Leela was still staring at him, quiet for a long beat.

Then, eventually, she sighed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like that little something Joel had wanted. Like an inch of the cold between them had finally cracked, letting some warmth in.

Look, of course, Joel had always known his house was too damn small. He just hadn’t felt it until now.

There was no privacy to be had, not really. The pullout couch in the living room faced the bedroom door, left cracked open just enough for him to see the gentle rise and fall of Maya’s little body curled against where Leela would sleep later. The bathroom was the only one in the house, meaning if she needed it in the middle of the night, she’d have to walk past him to get there.

Not much space. Not much distance.

So when he heard the soft shuffle of her feet against the wood floor, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have to look up from the guitar in his hands to know she’d wandered further inside, drawn toward the small corner of the living room where he kept his workspace.

It was a cramped setup—a shabby studio table shoved against the wall, two half-finished guitars resting on stands nearby. He’d only just started working on them, but it gave his hands something to do, something to create.

Leela’s fingers grazed over the unfinished wood, her touch featherlight. “I didn’t know you were this talented. A luthier.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Layin’ it on a bit thick.”

She ignored him, curiosity guiding her hands as she thumbed over the strings. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, not a real note, just a sound. She tilted her head, listening.

“Would you make one for me when you have time to spare?” she asked, glancing up. “I’d love to learn.”

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain.

Leela’s eyes found it too easily, drawn in like a moth to an old light. He almost wished he'd hid it away.

The picture that had survived time and death, sat on the corner shelf, tucked between a coil of guitar strings and a worn-out rag, the frame dull with dust he never bothered to wipe away. The glass was cracked, a thin vein running through the top left corner, but it didn’t matter. The image was still there. She was still there.

Sarah, grinning wide, her curls bouncing as she leaned into him, arms slung around his shoulders. Joel remembered that day. He’d taken her out to some shitty little carnival on the edge of town, and let her sucker him into one of those rigged ring toss games. She’d won a stuffed bear—cheated, more like, because the booth worker had taken pity on her—and held onto it the whole night like it was the greatest thing in the world.

She looked happy. They looked happy.

And it hit him—like it always did, like it always would—how long it had been since he’d last heard her voice. Since she’d called him 'Dad!' in that exasperated, teasing way of hers. Since she’d looked at him like he was the safest place she’d ever known.

Leela didn’t say anything. She didn’t even reach for it, didn’t let her gaze linger too long. Just acknowledged it, felt it, then moved past it, like she understood that some ghosts weren’t meant to be disturbed. Let them rest.

Joel swallowed. It wasn’t often that someone gave him that kind of space—left his past untouched, let him sit with it without trying to crack it open.

She leaned back against the edge of the desk, brushing her fingers through her hair again—one of those little habits of hers, nervous and absentminded. The strands were overgrown, frayed at the ends, and he knew she probably didn’t have the time to fix it, or maybe just didn’t care enough to. He should tell Maria to give her a trim.

But, she wasn’t wearing that pearl-buttoned nightdress tonight. This one was blue, like the sky in summer. Smooth. Loose-fitting. The frilled sleeves barely touched her shoulders, and it wasn’t anything special, not really, but—he liked it. That colour looked pretty on her skin.

The thought relaxed in his chest like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch.

Leela watched her fingers trail absently over the wood grain of the desk. “I owe you an apology, Joel,” she murmured, quieter now.

Joel listened and didn’t speak, just let the words settle between them.

“For how I’ve been treating you.” She swallowed, gaze flicking up to him, uncertain. “You’ve only ever helped me, and you're so good with Maya. I know it wasn’t fair of me to just… shut you out.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, jaw tensing, lips parting slightly before pressing shut again. There was something she wanted to say like it was dislodged deep, festering, in her chest.

“That night in the car…” She took a breath like it might help balance her. It didn’t. “It wasn't you. I had—before Maya, I was—there was—”

Joel knew that look. The way her throat bobbed, her fingers curling against the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto. Holding herself together. He didn’t let her unravel, just not tonight.

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to explain.”

Leela blinked at him, studying his face, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. So he shrugged, forcing a small, easy grin.

“Perks of havin’ me around. I don’t care for the details.”

A small breath of laughter escaped her. Real, unguarded, softening the edges of her face. He loved to see it on her. “That's a relief.”

Joel leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his knee, the dull ache settling in from the long day.

His voice was lower when he spoke. “It’s just nice to be there, y’know?” He wasn’t good at this—saying shit like this—but it began to get easier with her. “With Maya. And you. There's more purpose than just shooting things beyond the barricade.”

Something flickered across Leela’s face.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

Joel’s chest pulled tight.

He looked at her. And he thought about that damn oak door, how she never locked it, how he’d always given her hell for it in his head. And how, for the first time, it didn’t feel like carelessness.

It felt like trust. Not in this boring town of survivors. But in the neighbour across the street who'd ferreted his way into their lives.

Leela took a slow breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “So, you don’t have to come around just to fix things next time.”

Her voice was softer now. And then—something else. A small, almost shy laugh slipped past her lips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say this next part out loud.

“Come to eat. To talk. To see Maya.” A beat. “And me.”

Joel felt it then—the shift. It wasn’t big, wasn’t some grand, earth-shaking thing. But it was there. He felt it.

"Maya loves you so much."

Joel glanced at her, unable to hold back the sympathy. He should’ve just let it sit. Should’ve just nodded, grunted something, and let the conversation move on. But instead, he said, low, “That bothering you?”

Leela hesitated, but only for a second. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Joel stayed quiet, watching her.

She let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “It’s just... I don’t feel like her mother. Not really.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the strain underneath, the sharp edge of something she didn’t want to say aloud. “I do everything I’m supposed to. Feed her. Hold her. Change her. But it’s just... a list to get through.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I thought it would be different. I know it's such an awful thing to say.”

Joel felt that like a punch to the gut. He knew what she meant. Knew how goddamn isolating it could be—to go through the motions, do the right thing, and still feel like you’re on the outside looking in.

“She’s yours, darlin',” he said after a moment. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—at making sense of feelings, at giving comfort. He was trying. “That’s what matters. Sometimes it's not a magic switch, you can't just flip it on and feel it. Sometimes, you grow to love someone. Over time, energy, effort.”

Leela scoffed, quiet, barely there. “That all it takes?”

“No,” Joel admitted. “But it’s good enough.”

She finally looked at him then, something cautious in her expression, something raw. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to say anything else. Just let the silence stretch, easy and open, not asking for more than she was willing to give.

Leela swallowed, nodding slightly, like she was tucking the words away, considering them.

The space between them, once weighed down by hesitation, by careful sidesteps and unspoken rules, felt… lighter. Like the tension that had settled into the cracks between their words was finally easing, letting some warmth slip through.

His throat worked around something unspoken, and he rolled his shoulders back, shifting from feet to feet, like he could physically shake whatever the hell was loose inside him. The words that wanted to come didn’t.

Instead, he settled on something simpler. Something safer.

“You should get some rest.”

Leela’s gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded, flashing a grin. “Sure,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel held her gaze for a moment longer. His fingers flexed at his sides, a familiar itch settling in his chest, the kind that always came when he stood in doorways when someone was walking away and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow or stay put.

He watched her retreat into the room, disappear behind the cracked door, and stand there for a moment before finally turning away.

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

X

While on the road, Joel had spent years sleeping in places that barely counted as beds. Hard ground. Rusted truck seats. Creaking, sagging mattresses in abandoned buildings where one wrong turn meant waking up dead. Even now, safe inside these walls, inside this town where people thought fences and routine were enough to keep the bad out, behind homes with locked doors—well, should have locked doors—he never truly slept deep.

Always on alert. Always half-ready. Even in the comfort of a home he could call his.

Joel lay on the couch, stiff as the thing itself, staring into the rough fabric. He wasn’t asleep—he never really was—but he kept his back turned anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, a courtesy or some form of privacy in a house too damn small to actually have any.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the warmth of the fire to ebb. Long enough to hear the wind pick up outside, rattling at the windows. Long enough to wonder if Leela had finally managed to fall asleep.

He exhaled through his nose and, without really thinking about it, rolled over onto his side, eyes shifting toward the bedroom.

Leela was out cold.

Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, but strands had escaped, curling softly against her cheek. One hand dangled into the mattress as if she’d fallen asleep patting Maya and never quite finished. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, deep and steady, her body given over to exhaustion.

Joel frowned as his eyes drifted lower. The blanket had slipped, barely covering her waist, her legs left bare to the chill of the night. One knee peeked out, the curve of it catching the dim, murky light of the bedside lamp. He felt his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing at his side. Wasn’t she cold?

But then his eyes landed on the baby in front of her, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased right out of him.

Maya was not asleep. Flat on her back, legs kicking sharp, barbed movements, her tiny fingers flexing in the air, opening and closing like she was trying to grab something invisible. Every so often, she let out a soft little coo, her breath light, testing, careful not to wake her mother.

Joel squinted. Lifted his head a little. Maybe she was just shifting in her sleep.

Nope, the kid was fully awake. Big, round eyes blinking up at the ceiling, mouth open in a little round ‘o’ of discovery, her hands reaching for her own damn feet, like she’d only just realized they were attached to her.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He could just leave her be. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t fussing. She'd fall asleep on her own.

But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

Ignoring the slow, persistent cramp in his back, he shifted, pressing his hands into the pullout and pushing himself upright. His knees popped when he stood, and he winced, rolling his shoulders as he made his way into the bedroom. The floor groaned under his feet, but Leela didn’t stir. She was too far gone, too lost to the bruises and the exhaustion pressing her under.

Maya, on the other hand—beamed up at him, wiggling harder, completely unbothered by the late hour, her tiny hands batting at the air.

Joel sighed through his nose and crouched down beside the bed. He held up a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh,” he murmured like she had any damn understanding of the concept.

Her fists continued to flail, little feet kicking the air, and he sighed, leaning down to scoop her up. She fit into his arms easily, the way she always did—small and naming the nook to herself, all warm skin and bundled sleepiness. Sleep fired right out of his system.

“You're gonna wake your poor mama,” he whispered to her.

Shifting Maya against his chest, he glanced at Leela again. She hadn’t moved a muscle, fast asleep. But the blanket had slipped low, barely covering her waist, her arms left uncovered to the cold.

Joel hesitated for only a second before leaning over, taking the edge of the comforter and tucking it around her, careful not to wake her. The fabric pooled at her shoulder, and she sighed quietly in her sleep, sinking into the warmth of the bed, but not waking.

Good. She was finally catching up on sleep. When was the last time he'd seen that girl rest? Never. She'd always woken up the earliest, wandering between her papers and blackboards in the living room.

Maya let out a content little hum against his shoulder, and Joel blew out a breath, stepping back out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room. He wasn’t going to bother putting her back on the bed. She was too awake for that.

Instead, he plunged back onto the couch, settling into the cushions and adjusting her against his chest. She curled into him easily, her featherlight weight pressing against his ribs. She hummed again, a soft, breathy little thing, and then—one of her fists landed against his sternum with a dull thump.

Joel huffed, peering down at her. “You tryin’ to knock the wind outta me, trouble?”

Maya lifted her head to blink up again, dark eyes round and glassy in the dim light, looking like she had something important to say. Then her fist lifted again, this time smacking more of a lazy pat than anything with real intent.

He narrowed a playful glare on her, shifting her a little higher against him. He poked at her cheek. “We got some problems, or is this just your way of lettin’ me know you’re still awake?”

She didn’t answer—fucking obviously—but she did something close to it. Her mouth rounded in a small, exaggerated ooh, and her fingers fumbled against his shirt before one of them caught onto his.

Joel felt the soft, clumsy pull of her grip, then the unmistakable wet warmth of her mouth closing around the tip of his finger.

He grimaced, but not in any real discomfort. “Great, there you go. You're lucky you're so beautiful.”

Maya suckled lazily, brows furrowing like she was concentrating really hard on the task, and Joel exhaled, letting her gnaw as much as she wanted.

Joel stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, careful circles against her back.

She was a happier baby now. Not screaming. Not crying as much. Just there. Comfortable and safe.

He swallowed against the feeling mashing against his ribs. His jaw unclenched, let his head fall back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. And he let out the longest breath known to man.

It had been years—years since he’d felt this weight, this warmth, this need pressed against him. It was a different life, a different world, but somehow, it wasn’t. His body still knew this, still remembered the rhythm of it, the quiet intimacy of a baby trusting him enough to just be here, curled up against his chest, with no fear, no hesitation.

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Loved this.

He wasn’t thinking about the past. No, he wasn’t. But if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted him.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a fight as his hand instinctively curled around Maya’s small back, protective, ready. His other hand curled into a loose fist at his thigh.

The door eased open with a quiet creak, and a familiar silhouette stepped inside.

Ellie.

“Joel?” she whispered, peering at him in confusion.

Joel just stared at her. Not because she was here—she was always stopping by when she damn well pleased—but because for the first time in his life, he was the one who forgot to lock the damn door.

Maya shifted against his chest, making a soft noise, her tiny fingers still curled around his. Joel gave her a small, reassuring bounce as if she’d needed one.

Ellie, meanwhile, was still standing there, taking in the sight of him on the couch, a whole baby in his arms, and the bedroom door cracked open just enough to hint at the woman asleep inside. The pretty neighbour that had Joel all riled up.

Her eyebrows lifted and mouth twitched as she crossed her arms. “This isn’t a hostage situation, right? Am I an accomplice now?”

Joel sent her a flat look. “Whatever gave that away?”

Ellie then continued to stare at him and at Maya.

It was the kind of look Joel had gotten used to over the years, the one where she tried to figure out if she was hallucinating. Because she’d seen Joel Miller do a lot of things—wrangle Clickers, nurse a cold one, fix up a rifle—but sitting on his couch, cradling a whole-ass baby like that? It was a new one. Like unlocking a new character in a video game.

Her lips pressed together, eyes still flicking between him and the kid, and then—she snorted.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, shaking her head, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. “I wish I had a camera to capture this gold.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, get on with it.”

Grinning, Ellie plopped herself down beside him, the whole couch shaking, immediately leaning in close to peer at Maya. Almost as if she was the first infant she'd seen in her life.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice going all high-pitched and ridiculous. “Hiiii.”

Maya blinked at her, unmoving, her fists curled safely in her mouth, her tiny brows furrowing as if she were trying to figure out just who the hell this new person was.

Ellie wiggled a finger in front of her. “Here. Go on, grab it.”

Maya did not. She just kept staring, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, utterly mystified by the sudden intrusion.

Joel huffed. “Guess she ain’t impressed.”

“Guess she’s got taste, you dick,” Ellie shot back. Then, her face softened, a little smirk curling her lips. “She’s fucking adorable. Look at those eyes, damn.” Joel barely had time to process the warmth that spread through his chest before Ellie tacked on, “So, definitely not yours.”

His scoff came out before he could stop it. “Oh, real funny, kid.”

Ellie chuckled, finally settling back against the couch, still watching Maya like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “How come they’re here?”

Joel didn’t go into the details, never liked to. About Leela’s bruises, about how she’d been too damn stubborn for her own good, about how he’d practically had to drag her in here to sleep in his bed.

Instead, he just muttered, “Blackout. Gonna head back in the morning and check it out.”

Ellie hummed like she knew there was more to it but didn’t feel like prying.

For a while, they just sat there in silence, and Joel simply let himself watch. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. The cold pressed against the windows, creeping in through the cracks, but in here, it was warm—quiet, steady. Both in him and around him.

Ellie leaned in closer, her breath puffing softly against Maya’s round little cheek as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face. “What about this? You like this?” she murmured, tapping her tiny nose, and making a series of stupid clicking sounds.

Maya blinked, floored by this, her wide eyes tracking Ellie’s every move like she was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.

It took another few moments, but then—finally—Maya’s tiny fingers reached out, wrapping shyly around Ellie’s outstretched one. Not tight, not possessive, just curious. Testing.

Joel felt that feeling again, twisting deep in his ribs, imperceptive and calm and unnameable. He could get used to that feeling. It plugged every scar, physical and mental, until his shoulders felt ten times lighter.

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

And for the first time in a long time, that muddle just… settled. It was late, too late in life for this kind of thing. But hell, cut him some slack.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring into the last of the fire, watching as the embers pulsed and flickered, struggling to stay alive. His hand absently smoothed over Maya’s back, following the slow rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the tiny weight of her against his chest. She was still. Not fussing. Just there.

Ellie shifted beside him, stretching her legs out, resting her arms against her knees. She wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence. She just sat there, watching him in that way of hers, like she saw more than she let on.

“So,” she finally said, voice casual. “How’re things between you and…?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just flicked her chin toward the bedroom.

Leela was still dead to the world, sunk into the kind of sleep that didn’t let you turn over, didn’t let you dream. Her hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, fingers curled loosely against the mattress. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself rest like that, without one ear open for some threat, without her body coiled tight, waiting for the next hang-up.

Joel looked away. He shifted slightly, adjusting Maya, keeping his voice even. “There’s nothing between us.”

Ellie hummed like she wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, no shit.” She stretched her arms behind her head, smirking. “She’s way out of your league.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head. “No argument here.”

He didn’t need Ellie to tell him that. He was thickheaded, but he wasn't blind. Leela was… Leela. Stunning in that exotic way, compassionate as a human, insanely intelligent. And him? What was he exactly, a cut-throat? A fighter? A relentless fucking human who just refused to die? Twenty years ago, a woman like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less a second glance. A girl like her, back in the world before, would’ve had a whole life ahead of her, a whole set of possibilities. Not this. Not him.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been. Maybe that’s why this didn’t make any sense.

He tensed his grip on Maya and felt the way she instinctively burrowed against him, curling her little fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She cooed again, watching his mouth move to form words.

He could be something for her. If Leela wanted it, he could carve out a space in Maya's life, be her constant, be her safety net. Hell, be this baby girl's father. He would compromise in a blink. That was different. That was right.

But having Leela herself? That was something else entirely. That was dangerous. That was selfish. There were too many ways it could go wrong. Too many ways it would end badly.

Not because of him, or her, or anything either of them did—just because that was the way life went. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing anymore. Wasn’t built for it. He was too damn old, too set in his ways. And even if she—somehow—wanted this, wanted him, what then? How long until he fucked it up? How long until he lost it?

The way he always did.

He swallowed hard. “I’m too old for her,” he managed to mutter.

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You're fucking kidding. The world ended. There is no standard. And you still care about what, an age gap? Brownie points? Jesus, Joel. You've been through too much to care.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just kept his gaze on the fire, jaw tight.

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about how it looked or what people would say. Hell, no one would care. He wouldn't care. They were past that kind of bullshit.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still impossible.

Because Joel knew himself. He knew what it was like to want something real, to care about someone so much it hollowed you out from the inside. And he knew how fast it could all go to hell.

It was about the fact that she still had so much time. That she could still find someone real, someone better. That she deserved more than a haunted, greying man, who could barely sleep through the night, combing through his days, who lived waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And she deserved better than a man too tired, too worn down by life, to give her more than what little he had left.

Ellie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Y’know…” she started, then stopped.

Joel glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly.

She didn’t go on right away. Just drummed her fingers against her knee, staring into the fire, her face unreadable. For once, she wasn’t running her mouth, wasn’t making a joke to cut through whatever was settling between them. She was thinking. That alone put him on edge.

Finally, she said, “It’s different. These last few weeks. Even Tommy sees it.”

Joel frowned, not at the words themselves, but at the way she said them—slow, cautious, like she wasn’t just talking to him but trying to make sense of it for herself.

Ellie had always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he wanted. But this—this was different.

She flitted her gaze toward the bedroom, where Leela was still out cold, her body barely stirring under the blankets. Then to Maya, curled up against him, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt, her soft weight pressed into his chest. Finally, she looked back at him.

She didn’t spell it out. Didn’t need to.

Joel swallowed, shifting slightly where he sat, adjusting Maya’s weight in his arms. His hand smoothed down her back, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced toward the bedroom too, toward Leela, who hadn’t moved an inch. Yes, it was different.

But Ellie wasn’t done. She hesitated, rolling something over in her head before finally letting it out.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Joel’s breath caught.

Ellie had always been his reason for waking up in the morning, the one thing keeping him tethered to whatever life he had left. And she knew that. Knew it in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought with tooth and claw to prove she didn’t need him to keep her standing. That he had his own life. But now, sitting there, she wasn’t mocking, wasn’t teasing. She was just… saying it. And she was goddamn right.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just pushing forward because he had to, wasn’t just surviving out of habit. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

He had something to come back to. Something steady. Something small and warm and his, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it yet.

He looked down at Maya, at her tiny, trusting weight in his arms, at the way she twitched slightly in her sleep, lips parting around a breath. His hand smoothed over her back again.

Ellie saw the moment it clicked. The way his face shifted, just slightly. She smirked, satisfied. And that her good work here was done.

Then, just like that, she clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well,” she said, voice slipping back into that familiar teasing lilt, “guess I’ll let you get back to your hostage situation.”

Joel rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch as Maya nuzzled against his chest. The kid was out cold now, her little fist still tangled in his shirt.

Ellie was already heading for the door when she threw out in a whisper, “Oh—almost forgot. Maria asked me to tell you to bring your girl by the dam sometime this week.” She smirked, holding up air quotes. “Said she’d like ‘inventor insight.’”

His expression deadpanned. “Maria ain’t letting her go anywhere near machines.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Ooh-kay. Controlling much?”

Joel gave her a warning look. “Ellie.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll just tell her myself.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already seeing how that would go. If Leela knew Maria was interested, she’d want to help. She’d go, eager to prove herself, eager to be useful. And then she’d get herself hurt again, pushing past whatever limits she had, just like she always did. That wasn’t happening.

“She’s stayin’ away,” he muttered. “She’ll go, then want to help. Overdo it. Get herself hurt or worse.” He gave Ellie a pointed look. “Better not.”

Ellie let out a sharp laugh, all evil intent. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing between you two?”

“Ellie,” he hissed, too fast, too sharp—just as Maya stirred slightly against his chest, her little face scrunching. He froze, holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d wake.

Ellie’s smirk was damn near insufferable.

“Denial,” she sang out, drawing out the word like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Joel sent her a flat look.

Ellie just wiggled her fingers in a wave and made for the door once more. “Night, old man.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet house, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Joel exhaled slowly, his hand smoothing absently over Maya’s back again.

Denial. Maybe. He wasn't ruling it out yet.

X

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[nanaslutt]

Lol I just keep thinking about perv!geto taking her on a proper date for once lmao

PervyRoomate!Geto x reader

note: i have a running series of perv!geto u can find here // but you can read this w/ out context :3

Contains: fem reader, sex toys, exhibitionism, sexual tension, teasing, possessive!Suguru, fingering, car shenanigans, humiliation, degradation, praise, an unhealthy amount of dirty talk, Suguru has a big dick, nipple play, panty stealing, talk of masturbation, belly bulge if you squint, creampie,

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

A knock was rapped on your wooden door, interrupting a very important part of the drama you were currently watching. "What?" You yelled from your bed, not taking your eyes off the messy breakup scene in front of you. Your door squeaked open to reveal a handsome Suguru, looking too dressed up at 3pm on a Friday. He wasn't adorned in anything particularly fancy, but you weren't really used to seeing him in anything other than grey joggers and some band t-shirt.

You gave him a quick one over, admiring the black slacks that fit his thighs too well, the white button-up shirt he had tucked into them, and a like-new looking belt that was half on, as his fingers made quick work to thread the prong through the belt hole. "What are you doing? I told you I was taking you out tonight." He said, raising his eyebrows. It's not that you looked bad, but you weren't exactly ready for five-star cuisine in your booty shorts and tank top. "Riiight.. are you ready to go? or?" You asked, looking around the room in confusion before your eyes landed on his.

When he finished looping the belt through the buckle, he crossed his arms and leaned against his doorframe, smirking at you. "Get that disgusting look off your face," you cringed at him, pushing your laptop aside as you pulled your body up to sit crisscross on your bed. "I'm not taking you to McDonalds baby." He laughed, confusing you even more. "Okayy.. so where are we going?" you asked. You fully expected him to name some sit-down diner that was one or two marks fancier than a Mcdonald's, but you weren't expecting him to name the most expensive and highly rated restaurant in town.

Your mouth fell agape as you stood watching the dark-haired man in the doorway laugh at you. "Don't take offense to this, but you're not exactly the most wealthy person I know." You said, still looking at him in disbelief. "If Gojo asked me out to this place, sure, that might sound a little more realis-" "Don't talk about that idiot taking you out in front of me." Geto interrupted, uncrossing his legs as he shoved his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes, giving you a smile that did little to cover up his animosity.

Ever since you and Geto had started fucking around pretty regularly, you have noticed a change in his demeanor whenever Gojo would hit on you. It wasn't like it was anything new, Gojo has been hitting on you for years, for as long as Geto has been bringing him around, you think. Before you and Suguru started hooking up, whenever Gojo would flirt with you he would brush the white-haired man off for the most part, maybe give him a scoff or incredulous look if his attempt at a pickup line was really that horrid on the ears.

Recently though, whenever Gojo tried to hit on you, or his touch would linger a little longer than it should, Geto was quick to intervene. Putting himself between the two of you physically, or butting into the conversation to shut down his attempts. Geto knew you weren't interested in Gojo in the slightest, but he couldn't help but feel that greed-eyed monster of jealousy bubble up inside him whenever you laughed a little too hard at his jokes, or in this case, brought him up in conversation unprovoked.

"Sorry~ Didnt realize he was such a sore subject for you.." You teased, "Unriquitted love, maybe?" He knew you were trying to push his buttons, but you weren't far off. Just not in the way you were thinking, because he sure as hell wasn't interested in Gojo like that either. He sighed, before gripping something in his pocket and pulling it out of his pants, keeping it concealed in his fist.

"Anyways, I don't even know what I would wear to this place!" You said exasperated, glancing over to rake your eyes through your closet to see if anything caught your eye. Without making a sound, Geto slipped out of the room and quickly returned with a dark red bag, tossing it into your lap and landing it perfectly between your crossed legs. You peeked inside the bag and saw some sort of black fabric, you crunched your eyebrows together, looking back up at him. "Wear that." He said, his smirk returning to his face.

Your lips dropped open slightly, a small gap being created between your lips. "Sugu.. If you robbed a bank you know I would never tell anyone.. right?" You said, all too seriously. The man burst out in laughter, "Fuck! I'm not as broke as you think!" He spoke through his laughter, holding his hand over his chest. "Just got a raise at work is all, couldn't think of a better way to spend my first fat check." He crossed his arms again, keeping the one fist balled up as he did so.

"Oh shit, congratulations Sugu! I'm actually not a great liar so I probably would've told someone about the whole robbing a bank thing." You said, clicking your tongue, "Sorry." He giggled at your words, rolling his eyes. "Oh, I know." He spoke, watching your face beam as you pulled out the beautiful black dress he bought you. "Oh yeah, bought just the thing to wear with that too." He smiled in faux innocence, unballing his fist he dangled a pair of skimpy, black lace panties in front of him.

They weren't just any panties though, you could see on the crotch of those panties that would be pressed against your cunt, a flat teardrop-shaped silicone vibrator adorned the fabric. Your jaw really dropped now as you stared at the piece in disbelief. He wasn't really expecting you to wear remote-controlled panties in the fanciest restaurant in town, right? "Pretty, huh?" His voice filled the room when you didn't react. "You never change, huh?" You sighed, holding your hand out in front of you as he tossed the panties over to where you sat.

A big part of you thought this was a horrible idea, knowing how sensitive you are, but another, less rational part of you couldn't help but get excited at the thought of Suguru having full control of getting you off with a little remote control in his pocket, while the two of you dined in the fanciest atmosphere you had yet to immerse yourself in. "Pervert." You said, looking up at him under your lashes as you stretched the panties between your fingers, admiring how well made they were.

Suguru giggled, walking over to the bed you sat on, his knees bumping into the mattress as he reached out and took the panties away from you. "Hey-" "Need some help putting them on?" He asked, twirling them around on his finger. You scoffed, "Suguru, why would I need help putting on a pair of panties, just-" You tried and failed to snatch them back from his hands as he yanked them out of your reach. "You sure?" He said, continuing to twirl them as he started to back out of the room with a mischievous grin on his face. You threw your hand up in the air in defeat, giving him a 'what the hell' look before he closed the door behind him on the way out.

"How am I supposed to wear them tonight if you just kidnapped them!!" You yelled through the door, hearing his footsteps descend further away from you. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself off of your comfortable mattress and began getting ready for the night ahead of you.

--

Smoothing out your dress in the mirror, you turned your body around and checked out your own ass in the mirror, and lord was it an ass to behold. It's like Suguru had taken your measurements in the middle of the night to make sure this dress absolutely fitted your figure in the most flattering way; honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he did. You absolutely wouldn't be mad that's for sure. You had done up your hair and face and adorned your feet with the nicest pair of black heels you owned. You looked absolutely perfect to the unknowing eye.. the only thing missing? Your panties. The absence of something hugging you down there made you feel a little vulnerable, but otherwise, you felt perfect.

After a quick one-over to make sure everything was as it should be on your figure, you stepped out of your room, shutting off the lights and closing the door as you left. Your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you made your way into the living room, where Geto had splayed himself out on your shared couch. His big thighs spread wide on the cushions, his arms spread out behind him on the back of the couch. He looked edible; the way his pecs were pressed tightly against his shirt from how he was stretching his arms apart made you want to pounce on him and play with his massive chest; who was the pervert now?

Right when you finished checking the man out, he noticed your presence, tilting his head to the side, his eyes doubled in size, his eyebrows raising to make room for them. He let his head fall back on the couch, a grin spreading across his face as he raked his eyes over your body before his eyes settled on yours, giving you a whistle. "Yeah, I chose the right dress, you look fucking edible." He complimented, licking his bottom lip before he briefly took it into his mouth.

"Wait till you see my ass." You teased, placing your hand on your hip and tipping your head at him. "Oh yeah?" Geto raised an eyebrow challengingly. Tipping his chin down he stood from his spot on the couch, heavy steps walking over to where you stood in the entrance of the living room. He stuck his hand out to you, signaling for you to grab it. "Give me a spin baby," Geto whispered into the quiet room, the tv playing some unimportant show in the background as you placed your hand in his. He lifted your arm, slowly spinning you around, making sure to get a good look at your ass in the dress.

He whisted again, "Oh yeah~ fucking perfect." He said, spinning you back around to face him again as he released your hand and fished for something in his pocket. "Only missing one thing~" He said, raising his eyebrows at you knowingly. "Yeah, gimmie that shit, feels weird with nothing down there." You said, holding your hand out to him. "Nuh-uh," He said, tsking at you. You scrunched your eyebrows at him in annoyance. Though he didn't give you much time to pout as he dropped on one knee, opening up the leg holes of the panties for you to step in as his eyes watched your expression from the floor.

You felt your face heat up, this position was so intimate it flustered you. "H-huh?" was the only thing you could muster. "C'mon, we gotta get going if we wanna make out reservation on time." He cooed, nodding his head at you. "Do I just-" You started, raising your heel-clad foot from the floor as you poked it into the hole of the panties. "Mhm.. and here I thought you said you didn't need any help putting your panties on?" He teased, washing away some of your embarrassment as it was replaced with irritation.

You kept quiet, stepping into the other hole of the panties and letting him slide the material up your body teasingly. He rose from his position on the floor, standing in front of you in his entirety as he kept his eyes on his hands, where he was moving the cloth up your body. The dress was being bunched up to your mid-thigh, and would soon rest on your hips the higher he dragged the panties up. Once he saw your cunt come into view, the panties only centimeters from touching your throbbing clit, he gazed back up into your eyes, watching your reaction closely.

You swallowed whatever saliva was still in your day mouth, keeping your eyes on his. He watched your eyes flutter, your nose sucking in a breath as he pulled the panties up to your hips, the cold silicone being pressed against your cunt and creating a delicious friction between your legs. Smirking, Suguru slid your dress back down your thighs and smoothed it out before placing his hands on the small of your waist and caressing the skin there. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling yourself throb between your legs with the added pressure and the intensity in which he was staring at you.

"How's that feel?" He said, sliding his hands up and down the sides of your body before sliding his hands to your ass and gripping the fat there, simultaneously pressing your body closer to his, his knee sliding between yours and making the dress wrinkle at the bottom. "Feels good." You nod. Geto tilted his head down, looking between your lips and eyes as one of his hands left your waist to dig in his pockets, out of your view. "Yeah?" He said, licking his lips. "Let's just make sure everything is in working order before we go, yeah?" He whispered agaisnt your lips, neither of you daring to close the distance.

The tension was thick in the air when you nodded, the man in front of you mimicking your nod, whispering a quiet yeah. Your breath hitched in your throat, your legs wobbling slightly when you felt the soft vibration tickle against your clit. Geto's jaw dropped as he watched your reaction to the toy buzzing against your sensitive bud. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before closing completely when he upped the intensity of the vibrations. "It hittin' the right spot?" He asked, leaning in to whisper against your neck when you tipped it back.

"You let him pull your body tighter against his own, his knee pressing against the toy against your cunt, increasing the feeling as you let your jaw drop, moaning quietly into the air as he left soft, barely-there kisses against your throat. "Y-yes, it's on the right spot." You confirmed. Your legs felt like jello at the stimulation combined with how palpable the tension filling the room was. "Vibrating on 'ur little clit?" You knew he knew how much his voice turned you on, and fuck was it turning you on. "Yes," you whimpered breathily, squeezing your thighs around his larger one between your legs.

"Bet it feels so good." He said, biting your neck gently before pulling away to look at your face, expression painted with lust. You just gave him a nod, gasping as you started to rock yourself on his thigh. "Oh~ Horny girll~" He teased, pulling his body back to watch you hump slowly along his toned thigh. Just when you were falling into a rhythm, the buzzing stopped. When you cracked your eyes open to scold him, you were met with a cocky-looking Geto, smiling mischievously at you. You sighed, realizing how the rest of the night was going to go.

"Oh my, look at the time!" He said dramatically, holding the expensive watch Gojo got him for his most recent birthday out in front of him. "There are no batteries in that watch, Suguru." You call him out, deadpanning. "I'm all-knowing, I don't need a watch to tell me we're going to be late if we don't leave now." He said, patting your ass before he pulled away, you instantly missed the pressure his knee brought between your thighs.

--

The ride to the restaurant was short but dreadful. He had kept his warm hand on your thigh the entire time, rubbing his thumb teasingly against the inside of your leg, slowly rubbing higher and higher, making you think he was going to touch you, but he ultimately pulled away. You kept waiting to feel the vibration against your clit, but it never came. You just throbbed pathetically with no relief in sight during the ten-or-so-minute drive, although your increased arousal made it feel like hours.

He patted his hand on your thigh when he parked the car, turning his head to look at your hot and bothered face, giving you a charming smile before killing the engine and sliding out of his driver's seat, ordering you not to move before he shut the door. Your roommate popped open your door, holding his hand out for you to help you out of the car. "Such a gentleman." You said, half sarcastically. He smirked, closing the door behind you. He felt his heard skip a beat when you laced your arm with his as the two of you made a short stroll towards the establishment.

Even the outside of the building called you poor in twenty different languages. It was lit up beautifully, the tinted windows giving you a little peek at the rich interior of the building. "You nervous?" He asked as the two of you approached the door. "A little, I've never been somewhere so fancy before." You replied honestly. "Yeah? Just stay close to me, all you gotta do is stay on my arm and look pretty." He cooed.

Geto's confidant demeanor made you hot in the face and other places. You felt like a trophy he was showing off to the world, his confidence rubbing off on you as the two of you walked into the establishment. You approached the man in the front, dressed in a full suit, taking reservation names before you were seated. Geto didn't miss the way the blonde young man blushed as he gave you a one-over, admiring your body before clearing his throat and asking Geto for the name on the reservation. You were too busy looking around the establishment to notice the man's glances, but you did feel Geto's arm squeeze tighter around yours.

"R-right this way." He said, bowing his arm in front of him before starting a trail to the semi-secluded table he would bring you to. The lights hanging above the tables were dim and elegant, it felt strangely warm and comfortable, making you relax your shoulders. "I think our host has a little crush on you~" Geto whispered into your ear, making you jolt out of your daze. "H-huh?" You said, looking up at the dark-haired man in confusion. "You really are so oblivious." He said, giggling, "Someone might try to eat you up one day, you should be more aware." His word irritated you for some reason, but then again, everything he did irritated you.

"Asshole, I'm self-aware. Not everyone is a pervert like you." You spat, averting your gaze to the back of the host boy as you continued your pace to the table. "You'd be surprised." Was the last thing Geto said before the host stopped in front of you, raising his arm out to the table, signaling the two of you to sit. "Thank you." You said to the host, your eye contact making the young man blush as he nodded and said a quick, "My pleasure." before leaving.

"Oh, he's so into you." Geto giggled, sliding into the booth. The seating he gave you looked to be the most beautiful in the restaurant. He had sat you in the corner of the room, a beautiful vintage-looking red light hung between the two of you, the window immediately to your left giving you a view of the Holiday-esc decorated street, twinkling with white lights and garland. You ignored his comment, taking in the scenery as you relaxed into the comfortable cushion, almost forgetting about the toy hiding inside your panties.

"It's so beautiful, Suguru." You said. He fully expected you to curse him out for the comment about the host, so when he received this response instead he was quite taken aback. At that moment he felt his heart race in his chest, but simultaneously a feeling of sadness crept over him. He wished he could afford to take you to places like this more often. Maybe if you were with someone like Satoru, you would get to experience this more. "Suguru?" You called out to him, tilting your head at his far away look.

"Sorry," He replied, being snapped out of his stupor, looking back to you. You looked so beautiful under the dim glow of the red-tinted lights, he wanted to lean across the table and take your lips against his. "It is beautiful." He agreed. You still felt like something was off, but his mood didn't seem odd enough to ruin the night, so you let it be for now. "What made you want to take me here?" You asked, glancing through the wine menu in front of you. He smirked at you, "What, you don't like it? I thought it was beautiful." He teased.

You kicked his shin gently under the table. "Don't be dumb, of course I like it. I've just never been to a place with a set menu before.. and I don't think you have either." You smiled at him. "I've been to a place like this with Satoru before, just once, It seemed like somewhere you deserve to be taken." He answered honestly, grabbing the wine menu to look at himself when you slid it across the wite tablecloth. His words made you blush, you silently thanked the owner of the restaurant for choosing the red lights, it was saving you the embarrassment of Geto pointing out your flushed face.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you know I love this just as much as when you take me to get McDonald's you know." You giggled. You were sure if anyone around you had heard the comparison of this establishment to a place light McDonalds, their heads might screw off in astonishment. Your words eased the self consciousness in his chest, only you would say something like that. "Plus, I might start acting spoiled if I don't be careful about coming to places like this." You giggled, making him smile.

"What if I want you to be spoiled?" He responded, his tone making you squeeze your thighs together under the table. "You spoil me enough, Suguru." You respond, your sultry voice uttering his name made his pants feel tight. The mood was quickly shifting from romantic to a more lust-filled one. "Yeah?" He responded, slipping his hand into his pant pocket to find the remote connected to the panties, just rubbing his thumb around the button. You nodded, poking his shin with the tip of your heel under the table, your flirty ministrations being hidden by the long white tablecloth.

"How so?" He asked, tilting his head as he pressed the on button of the vibrator, sending a dull vibration against your clit. He watched your eyes flutter at the stimulation, humming out a "hmm?" when he did so. "You're spoiling me r-right now. Always thinking of ways to make me f-feel good." You replied, taking deep breaths to ensure a whine wouldn't slip out. "Am I?" He replied, leaning back against the booth, upping the vibration with the remote in his pants as he watched you jerk forward.

"Suguru-" You wined quietly, biting your lip as you squeezed your thighs together. "Feel good when you cross your legs, baby?" He whispered, leaning his forearms on the table as he tried to look at your expression from your head tipped forward, eyes shut at the intensity. You didn't know how he knew you were crossing your legs, but you nodded in response anyway. "The waiter is coming baby, pull yourself together." He whispered before sitting back, averting his gaze from you as he watched a new man approach your table. You grit your teeth in irritation, if he really wanted you to 'pull yourself together' he would stop the toy.

You swallowed hard, trying to take steady deep breaths into your lungs, smiling at the nice-looking waiter as he approached the table. "What do you want to drink, honey~" He cooed, egging you on by using the ridiculous pet name. The moment you opened your mouth to speak, he upped the vibration twice, making your body jerk forward. Of course, the waiter just had to ask if you were alright. "Yeah, you alright?" Geto chimed in, hiding his smile with faux concern on his face. You waved your hands in front of yourself, "Hiccups." You said, trying to muster up a smile as you glared at the dark-haired man across the table from you.

"Ill order, we'll take the-" Geto's voice faded out as he interacted with the waitor as you bit your tongue, your stomach clenching at each vibration, feeling yourself drip into the panties. You placed your elbow on the table when the man walked away, squeezing your eyes shut you covered your mouth, moans occasionally being muffled against your hand. "Fuck, that was so hot." Geto laughed, feeling himself twitch in his pants. You looked up at him once you cracked your eyes open again, eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure as your thighs squeezed tightly against one another.

"I'll give you a break." He said, reaching into his pocket he switched off the remote, making your muscles unclench as your hand fell from your mouth, gasping as quietly as you could into the air. Geto pulled the tablecloth over his lap so he could grope himself over his pants without anyone seeing him act so indecently. You had no smart remarks left in your brain, you weren't sure if Geto knew how close you had just been to cumming in front of the waitor, but with how breathless he looked you thought he might've had some idea.

You were the one with a toy pressed against your most sensitive spot right now, but just from seeing your reactions alone, Geto was feeling all hot and bothered. Every time you inhaled sharply or your body jerked, he felt his cock leak into his boxers. "Is this okay?" He asked, continuing to rub his cock slowly, giving himself some sort of relief. You nodded, your expression very obviously coated in lust.

"Good, this shit is making me so hard you know that?" He confessed, looking into your eyes. You forced a smile through the arousal, "Maybe next time, you should be the one with a vibrator on your cock." You teased, making him laugh through a groan. "Yeah, might have to let me borrow those panties when you're done here." You clenched your thighs together at the thought of a big strong Suguru with dainty panties pressed against his hard cock, undoubtedly most of his length would be poking out through the top of the panties, and that just fueled your arousal even more.

"Suguru." You wined, covering your mouth once more, he tilted his head at you, feeling you run your leg up his shin, teasing higher and higher as you stroked your heel-clad foot on his thigh, making him hiss in a breath, abandoning the hand on his cock and placing it on the cushion next to him. "Turn it on." You said from behind your hand, looking into his eyes with half-lidded ones. The way you were getting so into this made his face feel hot, his cock twitching under his pants when he felt the tip of your heel press softly against his balls.

He listened to your instruction, switching the vibration on once more, you sucked in a breath, continuing to rub your foot against his crotch. "So naughty." He giggled through his arousal, watching you swallow hard at how good the vibration felt. "Your wine," A voice came out of nowhere, catching the two of you off guard as the waitor seemed to appear out of thin air, filling your glass with the red liquid before repeating the same to Geto. Your heart was racing out of your chest, quickly you snapped out of whatever horny trance you had been in, retracting your foot from Geto's crotch you crossed your legs once more.

Geto smiled at you as you watched the waitor pour the wine, feeling the throbbing in his pants intensify with the loss of your foot on his cock. "Came to your senses?" Geto giggled, switching off the vibrator so you could relax once more. You blushed, embarrassed about how shameless you had just been. You had almost completely forgotten you were in public. "You make me lose them." You said, the vein on your forehead popping out at his audacity. He laughed, reaching over the table to take your hand in his, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand.

You welcomed the feeling, feeling your irritation wash away. "Sorry, truly, didn't mean to embarrass you, sweetheart." He said, smiling more authentically at your face, still screwed in annoyance. You sighed, his charm melting away your annoyance, "It's fine, dude came outta fuckin' nowhere." You complained, pouting. Geto laughed, "I didn't notice him either, sneaky bastard." His shared animosity made you laugh, easing your nerves as the two of you fell into a comfortable conversation.

The rest of the dinner had gone smoothly, the two of you almost completely forgetting about the vibrating panties as you immersed yourself in the conversation, that was until the desert was brought out. Vanilla ice cream and some fancy-looking dessert next to it, looking too pretty to eat. The both of you thanked the waiter, plastering smiles on your faces until he walked out of view. "Suguru I cant do it." "Fuck I'm so glad you said something, I need to take my belt off before I explode.. and it's not for the reason it normally is when I'm with you." He said seriously, making you laugh.

"This place is so expensive though, I feel bad just leaving this here untouched." You said, raking your eyes over the dessert. "Don't force yourself." He said, rubbing his hand over his bloated tummy. There had been 5 courses, they weren't relatively big alone, but after eating so many little dishes you were feeling like you were at your limit. They had all brought flavors you had never tasted before and never thought you would taste, so you couldn't help but think the same would be true about this desert, you didn't want to miss out.

"If you feed me I think I can do it." You teased, sticking your tongue out for the man in front of you. "Fuck." He laughed, feeling his now semi-hard cock twitch to life in his pants. "Might need to take my belt off for that other reason soon." Geto huffed out a laugh, making you giggle with your tongue out as he scooped some of the vanilla ice cream onto the spoon. "Ahhh~" He said, making you repeat the noise as he placed the spoon in your mouth and focused on your plush-looking lips that wrapped around the spoon and licked the cold cream off the spoon.

He pulled it back, sliding the spoon upwards to make sure you swallowed up everything. When he pulled it away, he noticed some of the white liquid smear against your bottom lip, his cock twitched with interest at how similar it looked to another white substance he frequently saw on your lips. Wordlessly he reached across the table and wiped his thumb against your lip, collecting the white liquid and bringing it back to his own mouth, licking it off.

You felt your heart speed up, a pulse could be felt between your legs as you watched him take his own thumb into his mouth and suck sensually, all while keeping his eyes locked onto yours, before popping it out of his mouth. "Sweet." He said. You felt your lip quiver, taking in a shaky breath you whispered. "Get the check." The man stood without another word, opening his wallet, he slapped a couple twenties onto the white cloth before tucking it back into his pants and grabbing your hand, dragging you out of the booth. "Pre-paid." He said, holding the small of your waist as he led the two of you to the entrance of the restaurant.

You looked down at Geto's slacks as the two of you made quick work to exit. The bulge in his pants was very evident to anyone with a pair of working eyes, glancing up at his face he seemed like he couldn't care less as he kept his sights on the trail in front of him. The two of you walked right past the young blonde man who had led you to your table. The man's face turned a deep shade of crimson when Geto grabbed a handful of your ass and looked back to wink at the boy, undoubtably his own pants had tented at the shameless display of Geto's claim on you.

The cold air felt relieving once the two of you made it outside, easing the burning heat your cheeks were experiencing. "I wanted to treat you like a lady tonight but you make me lose control when I'm around you, know that?" He confessed, keeping his eyes glued in front of him as his car came into view. "Were the vibrating panties part of you treating me like a lady?" You teased, looking up at him. "Maybe not, saw them in the window of some sex shop on the way home last night." He said, finally reaching the car. He gave your ass one last squeeze before he opened the door for you and helped you inside.

"Cant help it, just wanna slut you out every chance I get." He said, winking at you before he shut the door softly, leaving you flustered as you crossed your hands in your lap, waiting for him to enter the car. You gasped when you felt the vibration start up suddenly, moments later Geto's door popped open and he slid inside, keeping the car off as he shut the door behind him. Leaning into your face, he placed his hand on the side of your soft cheek, "Cmere baby." He whispered before he connected your lips together.

You moaned against his lips, his other hand coming to rub against your clothed cunt, pressing the vibrator harder against you. He was panting into the kiss, the exchange was filled with teeth and tongue as he devoured you with his lips. Your hands came up to wrap around his wrist that held your face, making him hum against your lips. Your moans into the kiss increased in volume as he frantically rubbed back and forth against the vibrator, simultaneously making the silicone rub your clit, creating a heavenly feeling.

"Want you to cum right here in my car before we leave, need to see you cum." Geto panted against your lips, making you wine. He was throbbing in his pants, there was nothing he needed more in this moment than to see you fall apart on his fingers and the vibrator he got you, wearing the dress he bought you. You moaned into the kiss, tangling your tongue with his as you felt your orgasm creep up on you alarmingly fast. You dug your nails into his wrist, arching your back your legs spread themselves apart instinctually as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

"Sug-uru- Sugu-" You moaned his name breathlessly against his lips, he knew you were about to cum. He kept the same pace and pressure against you as your hips started bucking into his hand to get yourself there. "Take it baby- take it cmon-" He whispered against your lips. He moved his kisses to the side of your mouth and cheek when you became unable to kiss him back, your jaw going slack as the dam broke and you came hard against the vibrator.

His hand gripped your thigh hard, his nails digging into the fat as he moaned with you as you came. He felt lightheaded watching your body jerk and spasm in his hold. "Yeah, that's my girl~ good fucking girl~" He praised, continuing to rub your clit as he worked you through the last shocks of your orgasm. Once you came down from your high and your brain started functioning regularly again, you registered his words in your head. 'my girl' the words echoed over and over in your head.

Surely those words were only uttered from the heat of the moment, but it sure as hell sounded nice rolling off his tongue. You pushed his hand away in overstimulation as the vibration continued, making you twitch against the car seats. "Sorry baby, I got you." He whispered, pulling away from your face he reached into his pocket and switched the vibrator off. "I feel better now." He said, making you come to your senses as you giggled. "You?" You said incredulously. "It makes me feel good to make you cum, you should know that by now." He said honestly.

You believed his words wholeheartedly. His cock was still rock hard and twitching in his pants but he did look more relieved than he did when he first pulled you into the car. His breath had evened out too. "Want me to suck you off while you drive us home?" You asked, glancing between his hard-on poking through his pants and his handsome face. He laughed, "Such a vulgar mouth you have, roomie." He teased, grabbing your face he squshed your cheeks together, shaking your head back and forth. "I plan to fuck you nice and good when we get home if that sounds okay with you, so I can wait."

You nodded frantically, he didn't have to look over at you to know your answer, your head shaking his arm with the intensity with which you nodded. "You're so sweet, yknow that?" He said, his words catching you off guard. "Why are you bein' so sappy? Got a crush on me?" You joked, not expecting the silence that followed as he released your face as started the car, signaling before he pulled out into the dark street, heading for your shared apartment.

You looked over to Geto's face and noticed a light blush dusting his cheeks every time he drove under a streetlight, illuminating his features. You suddenly felt very self-conscious, your own cheeks heating up the longer he took to respond. "Oh." You said, turning your body to face the street as you gazed out through the window. "I'm not asking you to like me back sweet cheeks, just keep hanging out with me and I'll survive." He said.

Your heart was racing, you felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. It made sense that he liked you, the two of you had been living together for years, you spent more time with him more than anyone else you knew, and you had been hooking up for a couple of months now, it made sense that he had feelings for you. It's not like his feelings weren't reciprocated, you started noticing your heart pick up around him a couple months ago, right after the two of you started hooking up.

You had chalked it up to being arousal or lust, noticing how the strange feeling became stronger when he touched you or spoke to you. You realized quickly that this was not just lust, you were in fact very in love with your roommate. He did look like he had been chiseled by the gods themselves, and he had a lovely (for the most part) personality to match, he was funny, he cared about your well-being, he took care of you when you were sick, cuddled with you, gave you the dick of your life- he was everything you could've ever wanted and more.

"Can you say something though, you're making me feel embarrassed." His voice broke through the deafening silence, breaking you out of your stupor. You didn't realize the two of you had already been driving for so long, your apartment coming into view as he pulled into the parking spot in front of your building. Say something, say something, this is your chance, say something idiot just- Geto was internally panicking, he regretted leaving his answer so ambiguous, he should've just said "Of course not~" When you asked if he liked you, fuck he was such an idiot, he just ruined your relationship he was sure of it.

Surely you wouldn't feel comfortable living in the same house with someone who was in love with you, of course, that would be uncomfortable, fuck. Was it too late to say he was joking? Shit. Maybe you would move out, god- he felt sick, he wanted to get out of the car and run away, excape this awkward atmosphere, and just-

Your lips were on his, you were kissing him, you had your hands on his thighs and you were kissing him. "Sorry." You pulled away. "I- I'm not good with this kinda stuff but I had to do something." He registered your voice speak to him. "I uh- I like you too." You blushed, looking at the scenery outside the car, counting the tiles on your building, anything to avoid his eyes. "I almost jumped out of the window, never do that shit again." He said, sighing the heaviest sigh one man has ever sighed.

You burst out into laughter, "Sorry, wasn't exactly expecting you to confess your love when I was harmlessly teasing you~" You said, squinting your eyes at him. He swallowed hard, your hands on his thighs suddenly burning with an indescribable heat against his skin. "Can I take you inside and fuck you now? Think I might die If I don't get inside you soon." he whispered into the silent car.

--

Your back slammed into the door of your apartment, muffled moans and breaths mingling between the two of you as Geto wrappped a large arm around your waist to keep you pressed against his body, his other digging in his pocket to fish out the key and get the two of you inside. "Geto-" You moaned against his lips, "Hurry." You don't think you've ever felt this hot and bothered in your life. You frantically unbuttoned his shirt, his bare chest being exposed to the open air as you made quick work of his belt while he blindly inserted the key into the door and twisted it open.

The two of you almost crashed to the ground when the door opened behind you, stumbling inside Geto slammed the door shut and locked it behind you, working his hands on the back of your dress he uncliped the hook at the top and slid the garment in one swipe off of your body, leaving you clad in just the panties. "No bra?" He breathed against your lips, feeling his hand come into contact with nothing but your skin when he instinctively went to unclasp your bra. "Thought we might end up like this~" You whispered agaisnt his lips, yanking his belt through the loops of his pants and throwing it somewhere in the room.

He lifted you from under your thighs, kissing and biting your neck frantically as he walked you to the familiar path to his room. You pressed the back of his neck agaisnt you, tangling your hands in his long hair while he kicked open his door and took long strides to the bed, throwing you down on it, making you bounce against his mattress. Geto breathed heavily, unbuttoning his pants with one hand he crawled onto the bed, slotting himself between your thighs and welcoming yours that wrapped around his as he slid his pants off in the process, leaving the both of you only clad in your undergarments.

He placed one hand on your neck and pressed you into the bed, his lips chasing yours as he kissed you needily. You made a sound of discomfort against his lips, feeling something rough on your lower back. You pulled away from the kiss briefly to reach under your back and move whatever was irritating your skin. You didn't expect to pull out a pair of your panties, stiffer than you remember them being, from behind your back, more importantly, you didn't expect to see them in Geto's bed.

"Geto I am right here," you said, deadpanning, holding the cum soaked panties to the side of you. He smiled, taking the panties from your hand he tucked them under his pillow, "You wouldn't get it~" He said, tipping your head to the side he dropped his head to your neck, moving his hand out of the way a bit so he could leave hickeys on your skin. You gasped, "N-no I don't, why keep stealing my p-panties and cumming on them when you can walk ten feet down the hall and fuck me?" You asked, your breath picking up when he kissed a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

"It's the thrill." He says, biting your neck before soothing over the same spot with his tongue, easing the sting. "Sneaking around and stealing your panties-" kiss "when you have no idea," kiss "Gets me off so hard." He explains. "You're s-such a pervert." You whine, and yet feel yourself clench around nothing at his words. "That shit too." He says, gripping your naked tighter in his hold. "Love when you tell me how nasty I am, keep doing it." He instructs, moving his lips down to take your nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

"Fuck- Suguru-" You moan, bucking your hips up into his, simultaneously wrapping your legs around him tighter. "Tell me, baby, tell me how dirty I am." He speaks, the words coming out muffled around your nipple, the vibration of his words tingling through your hardened bud and making you drip between your thighs. "Y-you're such a filthy pervert S-suguru." You say, immediately getting a loud groan of approval from him, his hips humping into your own, the bulge in his pants being rubbed just right against your clit.

"Yeah?" He moans, releasing your nipple with a lewd pop as he switches to the other one, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it, feeling it harden in his mouth. "Yeah, baby- s-so nasty stealin' my panties and makin' a m-mess all over them." He groans, his hips pressing themselves harder into your panty-clad pussy. "Bet you pretend 'ur fucking my cunt huh-?" You tease, feeling his hand slide down between your legs and move the panties to the side of your pussy so he could rub his boxer-covered dick between your naked folds.

He moans out a, "mhm-" against your nipple, pulling down his boxers just enough to free his dick as he rubs his length between your folds, his wet tip bumping into your clit as he does so. "Do you w-wrap the around y-our cock o-or-" You were cut off by his fat tip pressing against the entrance of your pussy, not pushing in, just keeping pressure against the twitching hole as he nibbled on your nipple, giving it one last suck before pulling away.

"Sometimes I'll lick the part where your pussy goes 'n taste you," He starts, peppering kisses across the expanse of your chest. "Fuck.." You moan, feeling your face grow hot at his words. "Sometimes I'll hold them up to my nose 'n smell you, use 'em to jerk off-" You pressed your hand over his mouth, breathing heavily at his shameless explanation. "You really are disgusting." You said, feeling yourself clench around nothing.

Suguru released a shaky breath, feeling a tingle shoot up his spine at your mean words before he thrust his cock into your pussy in one thrust, groaning at how tight you felt around him, the sound coming out muffled from your hand pressed against his mouth. "Ohmygod-" You whined, your hand dropping from his lips and falling against the sheets to your side as you gripped the cloth between your fingers tightly.

Suguru leaned back, pulling your thighs over his larger ones and sitting on his calves, he immediately started up a brutal pace inside you, fucking his cock into you as he used one hand to hold your panties to the side, getting a perfect view of your cunt swallowing up his dick. "Your pussy is eating up my dick like it's the tastiest thing in the world~" Geto cooed, bringing the pad of his thumb to rub circles agaisnt your little clit, poking out argrilly from under the hood.

"Fuck- S-Suguru!" You moaned, thrashing your head from side to side against his pillows. "God I love how dumb you get from my dick baby~ You like it this much? Huh?" He asked, emphasizing his words with rough thrusts as he picked up his ministrations on your clit. "Yes, baby- Fuck- Fuck I love it-" You babbled, forcing yourself to peel your eyes open to watch him fuck you properly. "Yeah you do- Fuck, you're so fucking tight-" He groaned, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back as he fucked his cock into you mercilessly, drilling his fat tip straight into your g-spot.

"Can feel myself leakin' all inside your cunt-" He drops his chin to watch your sloppy cunt drip your arousal around him, "She's fuckin' milking me-" He laughs through a groan. Geto was normally talkative in bed, but he seemed to be even more aroused, you guessed it had something to do with the confession that happened earlier in the car. "Suguru- you're splitting me open-" You moan, bringing one of your hands to press down on your lower tummy, feeling his cock beat your walls from the inside of you.

He giggled, bringing one of his hands to press down over yours, making you feel it even more. "Yeah? You feel me deep in there baby? I'm all up in 'ur fuckin' guts." He laughed, pistoning his hips into yours. Your face was all screwed up in pleasure, your hips wiggling against his as you felt your orgasm build up quickly inside you. "Fuck- yes- Suguru Im gonna cum- t-think I-m gonna squirt-" You say, noticing how the ball in your stomach felt a little different than normal.

Suguru had made you squirt before, and you never got used to it. It felt so intense, and on top of that, it was so fucking embarrassing. Suguru didn't seem to think so, it always made him so fucking dizzy when he made you squirt. "Yeah? Gonna squirt for me when I cum inside you?" He cooed, his thrusts starting to lose their rhythm as he felt his balls tighten with his impending orgasm. "Yes, Sugu please- please cum inside me- mark me as y-yours-" You wined, looking into his deep eyes as you spoke.

"Fuckkk, wanna be mine?" He groaned, biting his lip as he felt his cock twitch with his orgasm approaching alarmingly fast. "Yes- make me yours!" You cried, throwing your head back as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Your cunt constricted around Geto's massive cock, your squirt spraying onto his abdomen, wetting his skin and boxers he had pulled down to pull his cock out. "Ohfuck-" He moaned gritting his teeth. "Give it to me- milk this fucking c-cock-" He moaned, his jaw falling open as he felt his cum travel up his cock.

You continued to convulse on his cock as he fucked you through your orgasm and into his own. "Gonna make you mine gonna- f-fuckfuck-" He cut himself off, pressing down hard on your stomach as his hips stilled against you feeling the first rope of his cum spill inside your cunt. His eyes rolled back in his head, bringing his hips back, he fucked each and every rope of his hot cum as deep as he could into your cunt, pressing his balls flush against your ass as he spilled the last of his seed into you.

You bit your lip, trying to stay sane as he twitched through the last bit of his high, overstimulating you when his cock moved a little too much inside you. "Godddd-" He groaned, pulling his cock out as the both of you hissed in oversensitivity. His cum immediately follows his cock and drips out of your hole, spilling down the crack of your ass. "So pretty, you did so fucking good for me baby." He praised, pulling your pussy lips apart to watch his cum slide out of you.

"My," huff "eyes are up here." you breathed out with a smirk, making him huff out a laugh. "Feelin' jealous?" He teased, tucking his soaked cock back into his boxers before he leaned his massive frame over you, embracing the feeling of your legs wrapping around his waist as he cradles your face in his hands, looking between your plush lips and eyes before pressing his mouth to yours softly and pulling back. "You feelin' okay? I went kinda hard." He smiled apologetically.

Your own hands came up to hold his sweats face, brushing his bangs out of his face. "I'm a little sore, but I think I'll survive." You said, before looking away and pondering, bringing your eyes back to his after a brief intermission with yourself. "Unless you'll baby me more if I say no, in which case, no, I'm feeling absolutely wrecked." your dramatics made him laugh. You took the opportunity to place kisses all over the expanse of his face as he laughed wholeheartedly.

Once his giggles died down a more serious look took over his features. "I didn't just say all that shit in the heat of the moment by the way." Geto spoke, rubbing your cheeks, "About makin' you mine." He elaborated. "Good." You answered, leaning your head up to press your lips together again. "Wanna be my girlfriend?" He asked properly. You pushed him off of you, switching your positions as you crawled on top of him, his hands finding their way to your tits as he massaged them in his hands.

"Depends how well you fuck me during round two~" You tease, wiggling your hips down against his semi-hard cock, steadily growing under the heat of your cunt. "Sounds like you might be my wife in about ten minutes." He challenges, making you burst into a fit of giggles as he sat up and wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug, attacking your shoulders with kisses.

[rememberwren]

Threshold

Simon asks you to take his virginity, just not in so many words. Or any words at all, really. 5.7 k

cw: virgin!Simon, PIV, oral sex f and m receiving, stop and start sex, lack of communication (typical Simon), poor writing, soft!Simon, hints at past trauma, contraception.

-

A Ghost shaped shadow falls over the table. Your eyes lift to find him standing there, the neck of his beer bottle held loosely in his hand. His mask is drawn down below his chin, revealing to you one of your favorite parts of him: his mouth. Simon has a pretty mouth, scarred though it is. Maybe you have such an affinity for it because it is so often hidden away from your sight, or maybe it’s what that mouth is capable of, being just as likely to crack a poor dad joke as it is to cut a grown man to the bone with just a few words. 

He takes the seat across from you, the screeching of the chair on the floor lost to the ambient sounds of the pub. The others are playing pool (Gaz is taking all of them to task), and the place is packed with bodies, a cacophony of voices and laughter. Feeling overstimulated, you had sequestered yourself away to this little corner hoping to catch your breath and tether yourself back to the earth instead of spending the rest of the night in a dissociated haze. 

The sight of Ghost is like a light slap to the cheek, rousing you from your stupor. Lights burn brighter. Sounds are sharper. If you wrack your brain you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve ever been singled out by Ghost, so you know whatever is about to happen is out of the ordinary. Leaning in, you lace your fingers together on the table top and nearly have to shout to be heard as you say: “What can I do for you, Ghost?” 

“We should hook up,” he says. Then he takes a long drink from his bottle, eyes sharp and dark where they are narrowed in on you over the top. A sniper’s eyes. 

“What?” you shout back, positive that you have misheard him. 

He shrugs. He won’t repeat himself. 

“Me—and you?”

He raises his brows, looking around the empty table as if to ask, Who else?

“Why?”

He takes another drink, and you see him mulling over his potential answers this time, sucking on his teeth as he thinks. What you wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in his head. He’s got you on tenterhooks, leaning forward onto your elbows, fingers absently (anxiously) playing with a condensation ring left by someone else’s drink earlier in the night. 

Finally, he says, “Why not?”

-

His hand rests low on your back as the two of you say goodbye to the others. You see the downright thunderstruck looks Gaz and Soap throw at each other at your announcement that Ghost is driving you home, but the deeper meaning hardly registers. Who cares if everyone knows that you’re taking Ghost home to fuck him? You’re both adults; you need no one’s permission. Still, as soon as you are outside, you press your palms to your heated cheeks, wondering how you will be able to face any of them in the future. 

“You driving?” you ask him. 

He lifts his hand, showing you the keys in his palm. He doesn’t open the car door for you—not that you had really expected him to. It isn’t as if this is a date. It’s just two adults hooking up.

Inside, he shifts the vents towards you and turns on the heat, soothing the goosebumps that had begun to bloom on your arms. He waits until you’ve buckled your seatbelt before backing out and onto the street. It’s only then that you remember what Soap says about Ghost’s driving. You wish you had a second seatbelt. 

“So what brought all this on?” you ask, feeling remarkably shy in the passenger seat. You’re beginning to sober up from your drinks at the pub, not that you had ever been that drunk to begin with. Maybe this was a mistake. You’re already suffering from nerves, and you haven’t even gotten back to your apartment yet. How were you supposed to fuck Ghost without looking like a fawn, your knees knocking together coltishly, nauseous from anxiety? 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits. 

Alright. Downright digestible news. Before tonight, you wouldn’t have even considered you and Ghost friends, necessarily. More like friend-adjacent, thanks to your mutual friendship with Johnny. It’s good to know that apparently you had caught his eye somehow, even if it was by being the only woman among a male-dominated group of friends. 

You can’t leave it alone. “But why?” 

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” he asks, like he’s not a person, like he’s only ever heard about what it’s like to be one from a friend of a friend. “They think about fucking each other. Don’t you think about fucking me?” 

Your mouth goes dry. You do. You think about fucking Ghost a lot than one might expect for how few minimal interactions you’ve had. Being perfectly honest, tonight is sort of becoming a dream come true. You’d had an attraction for Ghost ever since you’d met him, even before he’d taken the mask off and you’d seen that he has such a pretty face underneath. 

You’d be willing to examine under a microscope your affection for aloof, seemingly unaffected men on a different day.

Ghost looks at you, trying to interpret your silence, the car swerving slowly into the other lane. You make a sound remarkably close to a screech and reach out to adjust the wheel, but he adjusts it before you do, batting your hand away softly. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, eyes firmly on the road now. “I’ll just drop you off.” 

“No, I want to,” you say. “It’s just—it’s been a while for me. I want to, though.” 

Ghost casts you a doubtful glance. He pulls into your apartment complex’s parking lot and the two of you head up together. True to form, you feel his eyes taking in all the new sights: the man behind the desk who doesn’t even look up as you both enter, the elevator that was last inspected two years ago, the proximity to the neighboring apartments.

After you unlock the door but before he crosses the threshold, he reaches up and runs his hand along the top of the doorframe—and easily pulls away your spare key. For a moment he holds it between you both, staring. He seems nearly as surprised as you are by his own actions. Reaching out, he sets it down on the end table just beyond the entry and says: “You couldn’t find a better hiding place for that?” 

“Goddamnit, Ghost,” you whine, slipping off your shoes. “You’re not here to assess my, my security measures. You’re here to fuck me. Will you get in?”

He comes in and makes a circle of the living space, his steps silent in a way you’ve never been able to replicate, not even here in your own living space. You cross your arms, wondering what he’s thinking. Does he think you a slob? A terrible interior designer? You told yourself that you didn’t care. The space was yours, and yours alone, and you liked it well enough. He could survive being in it for one night.

“What’s the verdict?” you ask after the silence stretches too thin. 

“It’s nice,” he says. Then he amends, or perhaps adds: “It’s you.” 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Do you…want a drink?”’ 

“No,” he says, taking off his jacket and resting it on the arm of the couch. “Want you to c’mere.” 

Your feet obey before your mind even thinks to question it, padding across the living room in your socks until you stand in front of where he has seated himself on your frayed, careworn loveseat. He looks up at you, eyes dark and all-seeing. His hands find your hips, testing the width of them, and he makes you feel like something small, something precious, something to be cradled in the palm of his hand like a gem or jewel.

“Sit down,” he says. So you sit beside him, close enough to breathe in his clean scent. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “As soon as you say you’ll let me.” 

“I’ll let you.” 

His lips are soft as they look, mouth warm and insistent as he coaxes you to part your lips and taste him—as if you need the incentive. He tastes like Price’s whiskey that he had sipped at the bar, like he would settle warm in your belly and everywhere else. His hand relaxes his hold on your chin, choosing instead to cup your jaw, suffusing warmth throughout your cheek. 

It turns into the longest makeout session you’ve had since you were a teenager. You kiss until your jaw aches, until your lips are raw, until you’re throbbing between your legs. Each time you try to move things along, Ghost gently deflects your advances, seeming content to kiss you for ages. If this is how he fucks, it will be an all night affair. 

“Ghost please,” you mutter against his mouth when you feel liable to burst, when he won’t even let you slip a hand beneath his t-shirt. 

“Here,” he mutters, hauling you onto his lap. That’s headed in the right direction. Your thighs spread obscenely wide to accommodate him, lowering yourself until you feel that hard line beneath his jeans. Instinct has you lining yourself up until you can rub off against him, a choked sound rising up in the back of your throat at the blissful friction. 

He sighs into your mouth, a trembling little exhale of air, his hands finding your hips and pinning you in place. Pulling back, he mutters: “None of that.” 

“Why not?” you pant. “Feels good.” 

“I’m trying not to embarrass myself. Work with me.”

The two of you move to the bedroom. You stand on legs that are already shaking, stripping clothes off along as you go: socks here, leggings there. The typical anxious thoughts have just started spiraling in your head—what underwear are you wearing? Have you shaved recently enough? Is the light flattering? When did you last change the sheets?—when Ghost catches you, looping his forearm around your waist and pulling you back against his firm chest. 

“I wanted to undress you,” he says against the nape of your neck. 

“I can put the clothes back on if you like.” 

“Think I’ll just do the rest myself, if it’s all the same to you.” 

His hands are remarkably gentle for his line of work as he helps you out of your shirt, your arms lifting obligingly to help him. The light from the lamp in the corner is actually quite flattering, casting shadows across you both in a way that is artful. His fingertips, calloused but careful, trace up the lengths of your arms and around to your back. 

He fumbles a little with the clasp of your bra. 

“I hate those things,” you breathe once he finally gets it figured out, coaxing the straps off your shoulders. 

“Me too,” he says in that dry, bland way that you’ve come to associate with his humor.

All that’s left are your panties. He presses you back onto the bedspread and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, peeling them off your thighs. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he is quick to wedge himself between them, thumbs finding the creases where your thighs meet your pelvis and stroking the sensitive skin until you don’t know whether to laugh from being tickled or cry from being teased. 

“Fuckin’ pretty, aren’t you?” he murmurs, eyes on your pussy. Maybe he’s talking to it and not to you. “Want to get my mouth on you. Can I?” 

God, how long has it been since you’ve gotten head? You nod, near frantic. Even if he’s no good, some effort will be better than nothing. Besides, a part of you has high hopes for Ghost as a lover; so far he has been thorough and careful, both points in his favor. He leans up and kisses you again, your nipples brushing against his t-shirt, reminding you that you are naked while he is still entirely dressed. He seems content, and as desperate as you are to see him naked, you’re even more desperate not to break this blissful little soap bubble you both have somehow managed to find yourselves in. 

Nudging your head up and to the side with the tip of his nose, he trails his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin and searching for your most sensitive spots. When he finds them, he drags his teeth against them softly until your heels are digging into the bed beneath you, hips up and searching for any kind of friction, even if you have to rub yourself against his jeans to find it. 

Ghost continues down over the plains of your chest, teasing first one nipple and then the other with his mouth and his hands, testing the heft of your breasts in his huge palms. He explores your body with an admirable single-mindedness, not the perfunctory, half-hearted way some of your past lovers had. His eyes are never far from your own, categorizing your reactions; for what purpose, you aren’t sure. 

After kissing a line right over your navel, he grips your thighs in his hands and spreads you wide. That close to your cunt, he must be able to smell how desperate you are, must be able to see the way it drips from you. He ghosts a thumb along your slit, turns it towards himself until your slick catches on the light. That thumb disappears into his mouth, and it takes all your breath and all your thoughts with it. His hum of approval vibrates against your calves which are pressed to either side of his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

You nod, unable to trust your voice. 

He leans down and kisses your folds, chaste and sweet as he might have kissed your mouth. He uses the fingers of one hand to spread you open, and there is a rush of warmth as he lets the saliva pool on his tongue and then flood against your sex, leaning down to chase it with his mouth. 

He is all merciful tongue and lips, no hint of teeth as he licks and sucks at that hidden knot of flesh at the top of your sex. He barely pays your entrance any attention—which is fine by you, honestly, his tongue is direly needed elsewhere—but shifts an arm free to sling it over your pelvis, palm resting over your mons, thumb pulling back that hood that seeks to keep your most sensitive parts hidden from him. 

Your hands grip fistfuls of your bedspread, unsure if he’s willing to let you touch his hair. The noises—gasps and whines and choked groans—coming out of your mouth would have your soul leaving your body if only you could hear them over the sound of blood rushing through your ears. 

He’s strong, fighting against your natural urges to clamp your thighs shut around his head. Instead he presses you open wider, leaving no where for you to run to or hide as the pleasure in your pelvis blossoms, swells into some sweet fruit that bursts all over his tongue, your back arching into a neat bow. 

You find out then that Ghost eats pussy the same way he kisses. He seems content to lap you clean and continue sucking at your swollen flesh, and even though you don’t think you could cum again, it still feels good. You melt into the mattress, boneless. Against your better judgement, your hand finds his hair, tucking back the longest strands that just begin to tickle the tops of his ears.  

His mouth stutters against you at the touch, losing its easy rhythm. He pulls back until he is out of your reach. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, throat raw. Your hand falls to rest on your soft belly, feeling exhausted.

“You can touch. Just don’t pull. I don’t—“ he stops, like he is searching for the right words. “—I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Not at all?” 

“No.” 

“Me neither. Would you kiss me again?” 

His only answer is to shift upwards so that he can meet your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, still confined in his jeans, brushes against your thighs. One of your hands wanders down his firm chest, down his belly, til you can map the shape of his erection with your fingers. His biceps tense around you where he braces himself on the bed to keep from putting his weight on you, head dropping til his forehead rests against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

“You should get undressed,” you remind him. 

He lets out a breath through his nose that sounds suspiciously like a sigh, leaning back onto his haunches to tug his shirt off over his head. You stare, awed. He’s so thick, all over: muscles hidden beneath a nice layer of soft padding, chest hair broken up by the odd scar here or there. You reach out toward his belt but he stops you. 

“I can do it,” he says. He stands and strips himself naked in one fell swoop, like ripping off a bandaid. He’s thick here too, just as you had suspected: thighs and cock included. Already you can feel the phantom stretch of him between your legs and in your jaw. It burns away the last bits of sleepiness your orgasm had given you. 

Throughout your perusal, he stands still, at attention, mouth turned downward in its most comfortable frown, meeting your eyes with an almost obstinate persistence. You kneel up and crawl to the edge of the bed, letting your legs dangle off of it. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Alright,” he says. 

You start at his shoulders, tracing over the broad width of them. Everything about him displays his strength. Even his scars, which some might consider signs of failure, only showed his persistence for survival. You ran your hands across his pecs, pausing to toy with one pale, pink nipple, so soft beneath your fingers. With each breath he takes, his abs are thrown into sharp relief. 

“God, Ghost,” you mutter, tracing a line down to his cock. 

“I know,” he says dully, though what he knows, you’re unsure of. “Condom’s in my pants.”

“We don’t need one.”

“I don’t want any surprises.”

“You won’t get any. Here.” You take his hand and guide it to your upper arm where your implant sits just beneath the surface of your skin. He flinches, unsure what he is touching. “It’s my contraception.”

“That’s horrifying,” he mutters. 

“Do what I do—don’t think of it.” 

“Right.”

You shift backwards up into the bed, thighs falling open invitingly. Instead of filling the space between them, he lays next to you, rolling you til you both face each other. 

He runs his calloused palm up the length of your leg and grips your thigh, tugging it up and over his hip until you are spread open for him. There’s a question in his eyes, a slowness to his movement that gives you ample time to deny him this if you don’t want it—but you do. God you do. You ache for it—for him. 

He reaches down and slips two fingers into you, easy as anything in your wet, relaxed state. The fullness is divine, even more so when he decides you’re ready for that third finger, the one that stretches your entrance and makes you hiss a breath through your teeth. 

Ghost doesn’t even fuck you with them, just leaves you stuffed full of his fingers while he kisses you more. He waits until you’re the one shifting and thrusting against his touch before pulling out and wiping your wetness across your tender folds. 

He grips his cock, guides it to your entrance. Hesitates. 

“Please,” you mutter, face flushed with heat, hoping he doesn’t want you to beg. You’ll debase yourself, but it will be painful. 

Whether or not it was your word he was waiting for, he slips inside you, a near-unbearable fullness and pressure that has you burying your face in his chest. His own breaths are stuttered, shallow as he sinks as deep into you as your body will allow and no deeper. Once he’s inside you, he seems to relax, like some great race has been run, some threshold has been crossed and now he can rest. 

“Let me know when I can move,” he says, running his hand up and down the length of your back, down over the curve of your ass. 

“Not yet,” you beg. “Feels like you’re in my fucking throat. Jesus, Ghost.” 

His cock twitches. You both suck in a breath. 

“Don’t say that shit,” he mutters, breathless, fingers digging grooves into the soft flesh of your hips. “Lean back. I want to look at you.”

You uncurl yourself away from his chest, tilting your chin up towards him. The last twinges of pain in your cunt have receded until all that lasts is that ceaseless fullness. He moves at last, laying down his arm so you can rest your head on his bicep. Only then are you aware of how painfully intimate this position is. There is nowhere to turn away to, nowhere to hide. You’ve had sex with partners less intimate than this. 

“You can move,” you assure him, hoping for a distraction. 

He takes a breath so deep his chest brushes your own. The pace he sets is downright agonizingly slow, less thrusting and more of a solid grind against you that has you a shivering mess in his arms. There’s little chance you could cum at this pace, but it feels good, and all of it is strangely secondary to him. 

There’s a look in his eyes. You don’t understand it. Is it tenderness? Genuine affection? Gratitude? You’ve never had sex with this much eye contact before, never felt like breaking that gaze could take you out of the hazy headspace you’re in. Ghost finds your hand and grips it—doesn’t lace your fingers together but instead holds them like a tiny bundle of sticks in his giant hand.

He rests his forehead against your own. His eyes fall shut for just a moment, and it gives you the freedom to examine his features freely: the low brow, the curve of his nose, the pink scars tinged pale purple in the low light. You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time. You feel like you’re the first person to ever see him. 

That strange thought starts a domino effect in your mind, sets off a chain reaction, slides a dozen puzzle pieces into a Ghost shaped puzzle and all at once it hits you. 

“Ghost—stop.” 

He stills, eyes opening. Reverses, withdrawing from inside you. “What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you assure him. “But—I’m sorry. You’ve done this before, right?” 

He doesn’t respond. He’s meeting your eyes, but he has that obstinate, pained look again, like he’d rather be looking straight at the sun. 

Your voice pitches upward with a hint of panic. “Ghost??”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, rolling onto his back, cock slipping free and leaving you feeling bereft. The mattress dips, making you sway toward him. You shift away.  “What gave me away?”

“Oh my god. You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Bloody wish,” he mutters, arm thrown over his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The fuck would I tell you for?” He sounds genuinely baffled. 

“So I could—I don’t know! So I could have known!” 

“Didn’t want you to fucking know,” he says, letting his arm down so that he can glare at you fiercely. At the sight of you huddled at the other side of the bed, naked, arms wrapped around yourself, the fury seems to melt out of him. His shoulders sag. He palms at his eyes briefly, like a headache is brewing.

“Fucked it,” he mutters to himself, going for his jeans and sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. “Fucked it all.” 

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily, though it does feel a little fucked. Suddenly you realize that your chance to fuck Ghost is slipping through your fingers like so much sand. What had started as a dream come true was turning into a nightmare, and you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him leave. Not like this. 

At your words, he tosses you a look, and how a human can fit so much skepticism in a single expression is beyond your belief.

“Really. I just wish I’d known so I could have been better for you.” You don’t realize the truth of the statement until you say it. The last thing you wanted was for him to look back on this moment with disappointment. 

He shakes his head and mutters: “You’re mad.” 

“We could still—you know.” 

He stops, jeans halfway pulled up his thick thighs. “What, fuck?”

You find a loose thread on your bedspread and twist it around your finger, shrugging. Aiming for cool and missing by a mile. 

“You want to.” 

“Well, yeah.” You abandon the thread, feeling too exposed. Tucking your legs up toward your chest, you wrap your arms around yourself. “Like you said in the car. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“About fucking me.”

“Are these questions?” you ask, face warm. “Yes, I think about it. Thought about it. I have thoughts.” 

His lips twitch, a ghost of a smile, gone before you can imagine what a full-fledged grin would even begin to look like. “You’re serious.”

“Really serious,” you offer, sensing that he might be coming back around to the idea himself. Though you’re no vixen, you let your body unfold just to watch the way his eyes drop to look you over. You never knew eyes could be hungry. “Pants off? Please?”

He’s still and quiet for several long moments, but at length he shoves them back down his thighs, naked once more. He’s only half hard, but no less intimidating in this state. You eagerly shift to the edge of the bed and off, back down onto your knees in front of him, palms against his thighs. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, aware that this is one of your most flattering angles. 

“Go on,” he says. He sounds doubtful. You are too, unsure if you can find the same rhythm you both had going before. Unsure if you want to, now that you know him better. 

You take one of his hands and coax it into cupping your cheek, then slide it back and up into your hair. “Don’t pull. No pain, right?” 

Something hard in his expression softens marginally. His fingertips scratch gently at your scalp, a silent praise as he agrees: “No pain.”

Leaning forward, you nuzzle at his cock. It is velvety soft against your cheek. His scent here is more concentrated, masculine and warm. Above you, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

How much you enjoy giving head usually directly depends on your partner, and Ghost is brilliant to suck off. Some might find him stoic or unaffected, but his expressions are just understated. When you place an open mouthed kiss against his shaft, his fingers twitch in your hair. When you take the tip past your lips to rest heavily against your tongue, he lets out a shaky exhale. By the time he’s nudging the back of your throat while you work the excess inches of his cock in your fist, he is grunting in between in sharp breaths. You find yourself becoming hyper attuned to his reactions until each minuscule motion feels exaggerated to your brain. A twitch becomes a caress. A sigh a moan.  

“I’ll cum in your mouth if you don’t stop,” he grits out. 

You pull off, jaw aching, lips slick. “I’d rather you came inside me.” 

He pulls you to your feet and kisses you. All the kisses tonight, and this one has been the most honest, the most needful, the most raw. Had he never even kissed anyone before tonight? you wonder. It’s hard to believe that the answer might be yes. The way he kisses melts your brain, fizzles your thoughts. 

“Ghost,” you breathe when he gives you a moment to come up for air, his mouth dipping low to your collarbone where he sucks softly. 

“You know my name,” he says, mouth against your skin. “Use it.”

Simon. You have to say it in your mind first to get used to it. Simon. Simon. Then he finds one of those sensitive spots in the crook of your neck and you are whispering it, voice trembling more than you’d like: “Simon.” 

“I like the way you say it,” he admits. “You’ve got a pretty mouth.”

“So do you.” 

He snorts softly, shaking his head, like you have said something very silly. 

“Up.” He grips your waist and helps you up onto the bed. You scoot back, making room for him between your thighs, and he fills the space so fucking snugly. His cock nudges at your sex and reminds you of how you ache all anew. 

This time when he slips inside you, it punches a sound out of you that is remarkably close to a whine, your toes curling. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you gasp, hands scrabbling for purchase against his broad shoulders, careful not to scratch him. 

His head drops, forehead resting against your own, eyes shut. “Fuck’s right. Not a chance I’ll last after being in your mouth.”

“Wait for me,” you choke out, working one hand between you both until your fingers can find your clit. The angle isn’t the best, not with him so close, but it’s made up for by how blissfully full you are, by how Simon’s arms are trembling where he holds himself up above you. Briefly you let your fingers take a side trip, teasing his cock where he stretches you open, and Simon groans. Fuck, it goes right to your head. It makes you feel like you could walk on water. 

You find his mouth and kiss him, kiss him til your head is light with lack of air, kiss him til your thighs are shaking with how close you are from your own expert touch. 

“Fuck me, now, fuck me please,” you beg into his mouth.

He draws back until just the thick head sits inside you, giving your fingers room to work for a moment before he thrusts back in slow and smooth, pinning your fingers against your clit and that simple pressure—it’s enough. Your body bows against him, choked sounds lost against his mouth as he swallows them whole, fucking you so softly through the peak of your pleasure. 

Simon stiffens not a handful of moments later, cock twitching inside you. The burst of warmth is pleasant, making you shiver. He drops down til his chest presses against your own, careful not to crush you with his weight. 

“Don’t pull out yet.” 

His softening cock twitches inside you. All he says is: “Alright.” 

You hum, warm and sated. Sleepy. “You sleeping over?”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he murmurs, lips against your shoulder. 

“But the walk of shame is a valuable part of the experience.”

“‘M not ashamed of fucking you,” he says. 

You’re strangely touched. “Me neither.”

“Did you fake it?” he wonders.

“I’m no good at faking,” you admit. He leans up so his eyes can scan your face, looking for any hint of deception. Whatever he finds must satisfy his curiosity because he lowers his head back to rest against your shoulder. 

He rolls you both onto your sides, and his soft cock slips free with a rush of seed. You make an unhappy sound in the back of your throat. Afterward is always your least favorite part, when you feel so empty.

Simon hushes you as he slips from the bed. “Bathroom,” he tells you. 

“Through there.”

“Not for me, for you.”

“Why?” you whine, tired and petulant. 

“Because pissing afterward is a valuable part of the experience for you. Can you walk, or did I break you?” 

When you don’t answer, he grips one of your ankles and pulls you toward the end of the bed. You shriek, rolling onto your belly, but it’s no use. Looping his arm around your waist, he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes, which is patently untrue. 

“Are you going to watch me go, too?” you ask. 

“Kinky,” he says, already disappearing into the other room. 

By the time you clean yourself up and take care of any “valuable post-sex experiences”, Simon has dressed himself. His clothes are gone from the floor in your bedroom. You can’t help but feel disappointed; a part of you really had been hoping he’d stay.  Slipping on your panties and a clean shirt, you chase after him hoping he hasn’t left only to find him toying with your spare key at your door. 

The way he reaches for your hand and draws you to him soothes some of the ache of seeing out. He thumbs your pulse and says: “I have to be ready to leave for work at a moment’s notice or I’d stay.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re lying,” he says, pressing his thumb more firmly against your wrist. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll know. Do you want tonight to happen again?” 

“Are you seriously copping a feel of my pulse to see if I’m being truthful?”

“Evading the question,” he says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Thanks anyway, for tonight. I’ll see myself out.”

“Yes! Alright, yes. Of course I do.” 

His mouth quirks upwards, his grin a little crooked thanks to the scar, but no less precious. His thumb strokes softly. “I don’t need your pulse to tell when you’re lying. I just like to feel it racing when you look at me.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. How embarrassing is that? 

“Next time, I’ll stay,” he promises. “Alright? Repeat it back to me.” 

“Next time you’ll stay.” 

“Next time,” he murmurs softly, turning away. He takes the stairs.  

[vunblr]

Tangled (#1)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. I don't know if there will be eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: About 7.1k.

note: The Cecaelia is a mythical creature that's half-man, half-octopus, and that was the winning result of the poll about what kind of creature would be merman!Bucky. So yeah.

The cottage looked even smaller in person. Nestled at the cliff's edge, with wild grass growing tall around it and the sea stretching endlessly beyond, it felt like it had been left there by the wind itself, forgotten when the summer tourists had packed up and gone.

She stepped out of the car, and the sharp tang of salt air rushed into her lungs when she took a deep breath. The doctor’s words echoed in her head, as they had for weeks now. "Sea air will do wanders with you. Get away from the city, and spend time outside. Let your lungs remember how to work without fighting for every breath."

It hadn’t been a hard decision, not really. When she’d called her cousin asking if the cottage was free, he’d been surprised but quick to offer it. “No one rents off-season,” he had said. “But if you don’t mind the quiet, it’s yours for as long as you want. Just keep an eye on the place. Cheap rent if you can manage that.”

She could. And she wanted the quiet.

The cottage itself was weathered, with paint peeling from the shutters, but it held a kind of charm. She smiled to herself, already imagining mornings spent with tea in hand, sitting on the porch, watching the sea.

In the back of her car, her yarn and crochet hooks were packed in baskets, along with pieces she could finish and post to her shop, small comforts for strangers who would never know how much she needed this place as much as they might need her work.

The door creaked as it opened, and she stepped inside, greeted by the scent of wood and sea salt that had seeped into the walls. It wasn’t perfect -there would be work to do to make it feel like home- but for now, it was enough.

She left her bag by the door, moving to open the back window that faced the cliffs. The wind rushed in immediately, lifting the thin curtains and filling the small room with the sounds of the ocean.

Leaning on the windowsill, she breathed in deep again, closing her eyes for a moment.

----

She left the unpacking for later. The sunlight, pale and golden as it dipped lower in the sky, felt too precious to waste. After days of grey city skies, it was strange and wonderful to see light glinting off the water like scattered glass.

Pulling on a scarf against the wind, she made her way down the narrow path that led from the cottage to the shore, boots crunching against damp stones. The beach was more rock than sand, dark stones slick with seawater, and the waves hissing between them in restless motion. She took her time, picking her way carefully over the uneven ground, pausing here and there to admire small tide pools that shimmered like glass bowls filled with fragments of sky.

Further down, the cliffs rose higher, jagged and dark against the softening sky. Tucked into the rock face was a cave, half-hidden in shadow. She felt a pull toward it, something about the way the waves crashed near its mouth, and the water slid back in swirling foam made her want to go closer. But the tide was too high, waves rushing to the edge of the mouth and spilling out in bursts of white spray.

She sighed, a little disappointed, and found a flat rock to sit on, far enough from the water’s reach but close enough to feel the mist on her cheeks. Pulling her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them and watched the horizon where the sky met the sea, silver and darkening.

She didn’t notice the way the water stirred beyond the rocks.

From the shadows of the cave, he watched.

Blue eyes, sharp and narrowed, fixed on the figure that had dared to step onto his shore. A female human, wrapped in thick clothes, clearly not afraid of being so close to the water. His gaze followed her movements, the careful way she sat, her eyes distant as if searching for something in the waves.

The sea shifted around him, dark tentacles stirring the foam as he rose slightly from the depths, blending with the shadows. The skin below his waist was marked in deep stormy colors: blues that bled into blacks, silvers that caught the light when he moved, like flashes of lightning underwater. His long dark hair clung wet to his shoulders, the strands caught in the shifting current.

His left arm was marked in heavy black ink, curling patterns that wound around the muscles like chains and waves, telling stories in lines and symbols only the ocean would ever understand.

He was used to people coming close in the summer, loud and careless, splashing in the water, never looking beyond what they wanted to see. But this one was different. She was quiet. Still.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid closer to the rocks, letting the water conceal most of his form, moving his lower half with smooth, effortless strength beneath the waves. The great, coiled limbs of his true body remained hidden for now, shifting like shadows below.

His gaze darkened as he watched her. What was she doing there? Why now, when the cold months were setting in and no other humans dared to linger?

His jaw clenched as he sank a little deeper into the water, watching her as the sun dipped lower and painted the sky in bruised purples and oranges. He would wait. Watch. And if she meant harm to his waters, to his shore, he would know. But still, he couldn't help the way his eyes lingered when the wind caught her hair, or the way her small smile seemed soft and tired, as if she carried some invisible weight.

She came back.

The next day and the one after.

By the third sunrise, Bucky had already realized, with a sinking weight in his chest, that the human woman wasn’t just passing through. No, she returned, making her way down the narrow path from the cliffs, wrapped in her layers of soft clothes and her hair tousled by the wind. She walked the shore like she belonged there, like it wasn’t his.

It bothered him.

From the shadows of the rocks, half-submerged in the dark water, he watched her settle on the same stone each day, legs folded neatly beneath her as she sat with her back to the wind. Like clockwork, she always carried a bundle under her arm -sometimes a basket, sometimes a cloth bag- and inside were her strange tools.

At first, he'd tense every time she pulled them out. Metal glinting in the light, sharp and delicate. His eyes would narrow, watching the quick, precise movements of her fingers as she worked the thread -or was it wire?- into something he couldn't quite understand.

Was she weaving traps? Humans were clever like that, dressing danger in the shape of something pretty. His teeth would clench as he lingered close enough to see but far enough that the sea still wrapped him in its shield. Some days, he’d hover beneath the surface, letting the swell of the waves rise and fall over him, tentacles coiled and ready, just watching. Other days, when curiosity won out over caution, he'd pull himself closer to the rocks, blending with the dark stone, his body hidden in the foam, only sharp blue eyes peering from the shadowed cracks.

He couldn't understand her.

The tools -those thin, pointed things that glinted in the sun- moved quickly in her hands, pulling and twisting strands of colored thread into shapes. He watched her lips move sometimes, as if she were speaking to herself or singing under her breath, her voice too soft to carry over the waves.

What are you doing, human?

Some days, she worked with blues and greys that matched the ocean. Other days, softer colors: pale pinks, sandy creams, as if she were plucking the colors from the sunset and tying them into her thread.

His mind turned over the possibilities, dark and sharp as broken shells.

Offerings, maybe. Humans used to throw things into the sea, begging the water for favors. Had she come to his shore to offer something? And if so, to whom?

What was it like, to sit under the open sky, making something delicate with hands that didn’t know the weight of chains?

What did a human like her have to craft for?

He knew humans were dangerous. They made weapons and poison. They took and broke and never gave back to the sea. But watching her, with her small, careful motions and calm presence, Bucky couldn’t make her fit into the same mold.

Still, he kept his distance.

And watched.

She was a mystery, and Bucky had always known better than to trust a pretty mystery.

----

The sky was heavy that day, thick with clouds that churned low over the sea like a living thing, pressing the wind harder against the cliffs. The waves crashed louder, salt spray carried far beyond the rocks, and even the birds had gone quiet, hunkering down somewhere safer than the open air.

Still, she came.

Bucky saw her before she even reached the stones, her figure bent slightly against the wind, with a scarf whipped loose around her shoulders as she picked her way carefully across the slick path. He stayed hidden in the cave’s shadows, narrowing his eyes as he watched her approach, bracing himself as another gust sent the water lashing high against the rocks.

Foolish human. She had no business being here in this weather.

And yet, there she was, basket under her arm, as though her stubbornness could make the storm back down.

She didn’t stay long; that, at least, he could appreciate. The wind tugged mercilessly at her hair, whipping strands across her face, and even from his distance, he could see her frown as she tried to focus on her work. The little metal tools caught flashes of dull light, as she wrestled with thread that kept trying to fly away.

More than once, she nearly dropped the whole thing, muttering curses under her breath that the wind carried just out of his hearing.

Should’ve stayed home, Bucky thought darkly, though part of him -a part he didn’t want to examine too closely- felt a flicker of something like amusement at her stubbornness.

Eventually, even she had to admit defeat.

With a sharp breath, she shoved the tangled project and tools back into her basket, fighting to keep everything from slipping out as the wind ripped around her. Bucky watched as she stood, holding the basket close with one hand and pulling her scarf tighter with the other.

She turned to leave, but the basket’s lid wasn’t secure.

He caught the movement first, a small square of soft color, pale blue and cream, clinging to the edge until a sharp gust of wind tore it free.

The little piece of her work tumbled up into the air like a bird struggling against the gale, flipping and twisting wildly. She didn’t notice, too focused on her path back up to the cliffs, already moving away.

Bucky’s sharp gaze tracked the square as it flew, carried higher for a moment before the wind turned and dropped it like a wounded thing onto the rocks.

He slid closer, and the sea hissed against the shore as his dark form rose from the waves, blending with the churning water. His tentacles shifted beneath, curling and uncoiling lazily as he moved through the foam toward where the thing had landed.

For a moment, he didn’t touch it, only looked, tilting his head slightly as he studied the object. It was soft and tiny, patterned carefully in shifting stitches, with the center shaped like a seashell.

A seashell.

His brows drew together, a flicker of confusion sliding through his chest.

Was it… for him? An offering? A message?

His tattooed arm reached out, brushing the yarn with his wet fingers as if it might dissolve under his touch. He picked it up, holding it between his fingers, and turning it over. The colors were soft, like the sea on a calm morning, so unlike the stormy waters around them now.

He stared after her retreating figure, now nearly lost to the rising mist that curled along the cliffs. His fingers closed around the little square, and his chest twisted with something sharp and unfamiliar. Without thinking, he slipped back into the water, keeping the square safe in his palm as he sank below the waves, carrying it into the deep.

----

The cave had been his refuge for years now.

A place carved by time and water, jagged and vast beneath the cliffs, a labyrinth of dark stone and shifting pools. The ocean lived and breathed in its chambers, rushing in with the tides to flood the lower passages, pulling back to leave slick rock and pools deep enough for him to slide through.

Most humans never saw more than the yawning mouth of the cave, and even then, they gave it a wide berth, spooked by the way the waves churned and roared in its depths. But Bucky had made it home.

It wasn’t much. Dark. Cold. Safe.

Except now, it wasn’t just his.

He surfaced silently in one of the upper chambers, where the water only reached his hips before sloping into the damp rock. High above, a narrow shaft split the stone, letting pale daylight pour down like a spotlight. Even on cloudy days, it was enough to see by.

Holding the little square carefully between tattooed fingers, he studied it again as if it might reveal something new, some hidden meaning in its soft, woven loops.

It shouldn’t be here.

Nothing soft ever survived this place.

The sea that pounded the rocks outside was as ruthless as the men who’d once dragged him from it. His world was made of sharp edges and dark water. Things that survived here were hard, broken, and dangerous.

Not like this.

His lip curled slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was at himself or the thing he couldn’t quite let go of.

He moved to the far side of the chamber where a heavy rock shelf jutted from the wall, slick with salt but high enough to stay dry when the tide rolled in. Above it, close to the light from the chimney, an old, rusted hook still hung from a crack in the rock, a leftover from some shipwrecked fishing gear he'd dragged in long ago.

He didn’t think much before reaching for a coil of fishing line he scavenged from the sea, along with other things lost by sailors who would never know what had become of them.

With careful fingers, he tied the little square to the line, knotting it securely, and hung it from the hook so it swayed gently in the faint breeze that slipped down through the shaft.

It turned slowly, spinning on the line, and its pale threads caught what little light filtered in, soft and fragile in a world of darkness.

Bucky leaned back in the water, resting his arms on the rocks behind him, watching it move. Something about how it danced, as if defying the cold stone and salt-heavy air, set his teeth on edge.

Why did she make things like that?

Was she offering pieces of herself to the sea? To him?

His gaze darkened as he thought of her again, sitting on his rock, unaware of the way she was watched, studied like a puzzle that didn’t fit. His eyes flicked to the square once more, to the soft seashell design at its center.

It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t take it down.

Instead, he stayed there for a long time, watching it turn and twist in the pale shaft of light.

----

The next morning, she sat on the couch, sorting through her project basket with a small frown tugging at her lips. The afghan was coming together beautifully, a tapestry of ocean blues, soft foamy whites, and sandy golds, all made of tiny, careful stitches. But something was off. She counted again, lips moving silently as her finger trailed over each square laid out in neat rows.

Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…

She paused.

No, it wasn’t right.

She was sure she’d finished all the seashell tiles. It had been the last thing she worked on by the shore before the stormy weather rolled in. But now… she was one short.

Her brow furrowed deeper. Had she miscounted?

She rubbed her forehead, letting out a soft breath. Maybe she’d dropped one and didn’t notice. The wind had been fierce that day, tugging at everything: her hair, her scarf, her work, like impatient fingers.

Glancing out the window, where the sea glinted pale in the afternoon sun, she chewed her lip. She didn’t have enough yarn to do another. So, with a resigned sigh, she grabbed her bag and slipped on her jacket.

Maybe the little shop uptown still had that particular shade of blue left.

----

The bell over the shop door chimed as she stepped inside, bringing with her a breath of sea air. The shop was small, crammed with yarns of every color, stacked high on wooden shelves that smelled faintly of cedar and wool.

Behind the counter, an older woman -probably in her seventies, but with sharp eyes and quick hands- looked up from where she was rolling skeins into neat cakes.

“Well, well,” the woman said with a curious smile. “Don’t get many young folks around this time of year. Let me guess, lost a mitten?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, nothing like that. I just… moved to the cottage down by the cliffs. I need some blue yarn.”

The woman’s brows rose. “The cottage? Arthur’s place?”

She nodded. “He’s my cousin. Said I could stay off-season. I needed… a change of air, for my lungs.”

The woman’s gaze softened a little at that, but there was something else too, a flicker of something sharper in her eyes.

“Been walking the shore, have you?”

She smiled faintly. “Almost every day. It’s good for my health. And it’s… peaceful out there.”

The old woman’s fingers stilled on the yarn, and her gaze grew more serious. “You stay away from that cave, girl.”

The sudden shift in tone made her blink. “Oh? Is it dangerous? Flooding or… rocks falling?” She had wondered, more than once, about exploring inside; its dark mouth always tugged at her attention from afar.

But the old woman just shook her head slowly, pressing her lips on a thin line. “No. It’s not the rocks you should worry about.”

Her stomach gave a small flip, though she wasn’t sure why. “What then?” she asked, her voice lighter than she felt. “Ghost stories?”

The woman didn’t smile.

“Some folks say there’s something in there. Something that don’t take kindly to strangers.”

There was a long pause between them, filled only by the soft creak of the shop’s wooden floor as the wind rattled outside.

She gave a small laugh. “Well… I’ll be careful. No caves. Just sitting by the rocks, I promise.”

The woman watched her a moment longer, then reached to pluck a skein from the shelf, soft blue with the faintest shimmer of white, like sea foam.

“Here. This the color you’re needing?”

Relieved for the change of subject, she smiled. “Perfect, thank you.” Still, as she paid and stepped back out into the gray afternoon, the woman’s words clung to her mind like salt spray on her skin.

Something in there.

Superstitions. Nothing more.

----

She came earlier this time.

The sun was still high, cutting thin shafts of light across the rocky shore. The sea was calm for once, lapping lazily at the stones, though she could already see the tide creeping in, filling the gaps between the rocks like liquid glass.

Her backpack -her new companion for carrying everything- hung from one shoulder as she picked her way down the worn path, scanning the ground with a slight wrinkle of concentration between her brows. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find.

Maybe -if she let herself hope- the missing square would be there, caught between some stones or tangled in a patch of seaweed. It wasn’t likely. The wind had been fierce that day. More than likely, it was long gone, carried off to sea.

She wandered close to the cliffside, scanning the rocks and little pools left behind by the waves. Empty. Just rocks, water, and shells.

Eventually, her path curved nearer to the cave.

She paused when she reached it, its dark mouth yawning wide before her eyes. The tide had already crept in enough to flood the entrance, and the seawater glimmered like oil in the shadows, rising and falling with a deep, constant rhythm.

She stood there for a moment, resting her weight on one leg, with her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she gazed into the darkness.

The woman’s words floated back to her, “Something in there.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped her lips. "Right. Some kind of sea monster," she murmured to herself, glancing at the waves as they lapped at the rocks. Townfolk and their stories. She guessed every place had its own Nessie to keep tourists from wandering too far. Still, her eyes lingered on the shadows inside the cave.

Not that she believed in monsters.

She found a smooth rock nearby, flatter and more comfortable than her usual perch, and sat down slowly. For a while, she didn’t even reach for her yarn.

She just sat there, watching the sea. Noting how the light broke on the water, how the wind stirred small ripples that chased each other toward shore. It was peaceful, quiet.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

Maybe it was how the waves broke oddly sometimes, like something moved beneath them. Or how the shadows seemed deeper at the cave’s edge.

Out of the corner of her eye, something shifted, a ripple where there shouldn’t have been one, a shape half-blurred by the surf.

Her head snapped around.

Nothing. Just rocks and waves, sunlight flashing silver on the water. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and rubbed her arms, shaking her head at herself. “Get a grip,” she muttered. “You’re gonna start seeing ghosts next.”

She wasn’t afraid; it felt more like a prickle at the back of her neck, like the feeling of being watched. She shivered despite herself and finally dug in her backpack, pulling out her yarn and hook.

Hands busy and occupied mind, maybe that would help.

And as her fingers worked the stitches, her eyes kept flicking now and then to the cave’s dark mouth, half expecting to see something -or someone- looking back at her.

----

Bucky stilled. He’d been resting half-submerged, lulled by the steady rise and fall of the tide against the rocks, when her footsteps crunched over the shore. The sound pulled him from the quiet calm of the water.

His eyes narrowed when he saw her wandering closer than usual, with a backpack slung over her shoulder, scanning the rocks like she was searching for something.

Closer.

Too close.

He stayed motionless as she approached the mouth of the cave, tilting her head slightly as he observed her, cool and calculating. So, she wasn’t content to sit on the same sun-warmed rock as always. No, now she was pressing into his territory, almost stepping at his doorstep.

Something in him bristled at that.

One thing was for her to perch at a distance, near enough to watch but far enough to ignore if he wanted. But here? Where he lived, where he slept? His jaw clenched, and his arms flexed subtly in the water. His blue gaze followed every move she made. What was she thinking, wandering so close to something she didn’t understand?

He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

She didn’t look dangerous, sitting there on the rock, folding herself into a soft curve against the sharp lines of the shore. But he knew better than to trust first glances. They never looked dangerous until it was too late.

Still, she didn’t carry herself like a hunter.

His gaze slid over her form, watching as she sat and stared out to sea, with her hands resting idle, for once. Something about the way she observed the water made his chest twist with something strange and tight, curiosity, maybe.

And then, her head turned.

He stiffened as her eyes swept toward the cave, sharp and searching.

Instinct surged up fast and cold.

No.

Before her gaze could settle, he shifted, and his skin rippled as the pigments in his body flared and blended, dark blues and stormy grays swirling into a perfect mimicry of the wet stone and shadows around him.

Camouflaged, he watched as her stare paused a second longer -too long- before she finally looked away, sighing softly.

Bucky exhaled, though the movement barely stirred the water around him. He kept his skin blended to the rocks. What was he supposed to do with her?

She didn’t seem dangerous. But danger didn’t always wear a sharp smile and bloodstained hands, sometimes, it came wrapped in soft eyes and gentle fingers. They had taught him long ago that humans, even the fragile-looking ones, could destroy a life without a second thought.

Still, she hadn’t tried to harm anything. Not yet.

His eyes flicked toward her bag as if he could see through it to the soft squares she wove. His fingers twitched faintly in the water.

He didn’t like her so close to the cave, but he wasn’t ready to drive her away either. So, for now, he would watch -hidden and silent- and wait.

Wait to see if she would prove herself a threat.

Or something else.

----

It was nearly sunset the next day when she came back. The wind had picked up again, sharp and salty, tugging at her hair as she made her way down to the rocks -his rocks- like she belonged there.

He should have grown used to her by now.

But today, she wasn’t carrying her usual stuff. No soft blues or pale greens in her arms, no ocean-colored threads to match the shore.

Instead, she carried something bright.

She sat down with a small sigh, tucking her legs beneath her, and pulled out a tangled mess of reds and oranges that caught the dying sunlight and burned in her hands.

His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t like her other work.

The colors were sharp, like warning signals in nature, like the poison coral and venomous anemones lurking under rocks.

He crept a little closer, careful not to disturb the water’s surface, watching as her fingers worked the thread, pulling and twisting, weaving patterns that made no sense to him.

A net?

The thought came unbidden, and he bristled at it. Was she making something to trap fish? Or… something larger, like him?

But even as his suspicion spiraled, he looked again, and his sharp gaze caught the way the fibers slipped through her hands, soft, pliable, delicate.

No.

No one would use something that fine and fragile to catch fish. His eyes lingered on the trailing end of the project, long, thin, and useless for holding anything.

Not a net, then.

But that didn’t ease his mind. If not for catching, then for binding? Some kind of restraint?

The thought set his muscles on edge. His arms tensed, and the tips of his dark tendrils stirred faintly beneath the surface.

And then she started humming.

Low, soft, like a tune half-forgotten, not loud enough to be a song, but enough for his sharp ears to catch.

He froze.

Was it… a spell?

His gaze darkened, trying to focus on the way her lips moved, though she didn’t speak any words. Just the soft melody, drifting on the wind, as her fingers worked and pulled the red and orange threads. Humans were strange creatures, and he knew enough to fear the things they could do with words and symbols.

Maybe she was weaving magic into that thread, binding spells, summoning songs. He had seen it before, felt it before.

Still, she didn’t look like a witch.

His eyes traced her face, calm and focused, with her brows slightly furrowed as she worked. There didn’t seem to be malice there, no sharp glances cast toward the water. But appearances were deceiving.

His gaze dropped again to the burning colors slipping through her fingers, and something in him twisted.

The questions tangled tighter in his chest, and he found himself slightly leaning forward, drawn to the movement of her hands and tools, to the colors, to her voice.

His eyes stayed locked on her until the sun slipped fully behind the waves, and she finally stood to leave, carefully folding the half-finished piece and tucking it away.

As she walked back up the path, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the shore one last time, and for a breathless moment, Bucky wondered if she could feel him there, watching.

----

The rain had finally stopped.

Three days of relentless downpour had left the shore wild and restless, and the waves were breaking hard against the rocks, spraying foam high into the air. The sky still hung heavy with clouds, but at least the water no longer poured from it.

Bucky had spent those days deep inside the flooded parts of the cave, watching the storm churn from the shadows. Alone.

Not that he minded.

Or so he told himself.

But as the days dragged on, he became restless. Irritable. He kept glancing toward the cave entrance, expecting -hoping- to see her figure appear between the rocks.

But she never came.

And he hated how that bothered him.

So when the skies cleared and, late in the afternoon, she finally made her way down to the shore again, he felt something loosen in his chest, though he wouldn't name it.

From his usual hiding spot, half in the water, half behind a jut of rock, he watched her settle down, pulling her yarn and hook from her bag with the kind of familiar movements that made him… oddly content.

Maybe he'd gotten too used to her presence. To the soft sound of her humming and the rhythm of her hands working threads into strange patterns.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t as careful today.

Maybe that’s why, when he leaned a little too far forward in the water just to get a better look at what colors she brought this time, the sunlight caught him at a wrong angle.

Whatever the reason, he was sloppy.

Her eyes snapped toward him. And he froze.

She furrowed her brows, tilting her head as she stared directly at him. Not the vague searching glances of before. No, this time she saw him.

His heart hammered in his chest, and his pulse was loud in his ears.

She seemed confused, narrowing her eyes slightly as they traveled over his form, and Bucky realized with a jolt that to her, he probably looked like… well, like a man.

A man swimming in the cold autumn sea.

Without a suit.

Without reason.

Her gaze flicked over the rocks, then back to him, as if wondering where the hell he had come from because there was no easy way down from town, and she'd have seen anyone arriving from the path.

Still, instead of looking frightened, she just blinked at him, hesitated for a breath, and then lifted her hand in a casual wave.

A simple, almost amused gesture.

Hi, weird stranger.

He had faced hunters, poachers, and worse. Humans who would sooner try to catch him than greet him. But here she was, waving at him like he was just another odd townie swimming where he shouldn’t.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

And then, as if realizing he’d already messed up by letting her see him, he dipped slightly lower into the water, letting only his head remain above the surface, but didn't turn away.

She watched him for a moment longer, waiting maybe for a response, before shrugging to herself and returning to her work, pulling out a soft teal yarn this time.

Still, Bucky didn’t stop watching. His mind twisted over and over on what had just happened.

She had seen him.

Seen him.

And instead of running, instead of panicking, she'd waved.

What kind of human sat on the edge of danger and smiled into it?

He sank a little deeper into the water, his blue eyes never leaving her, as she began to hum again, soft and low.

Something about her was wrong.

----

She tried to focus on her work, crocheting the teal yarn on autopilot, but her eyes kept darting -against her will- to the corner of her vision, where he was.

Still there.

Still watching.

At first, she’d thought he was just some local oddball,  and God knew, every small town had at least a handful of those, but the longer she sat, the more her nervousness grew.

Who just stared at someone like that?

She shot another glance his way, careful not to turn her head fully.

Yup. Still there.

Still looking like he had nothing better to do than burn holes on her with his eyes.

Her fingers slowed. Okay. So maybe the old woman at the shop hadn’t been warning her about some spooky town legend. Maybe she’d been trying to warn her about him. Some town creep who liked to lurk around the cave and watch women from the water.

She frowned, looping the yarn tighter than necessary.

But if that were the case, wouldn’t the clerk have just said so? Something like “oh, by the way, steer clear of the guy who haunts the shore like a creep”?

Instead, she’d talked about danger in vague, almost superstitious terms. Like people did when they talked about ghosts or monsters.

Not flesh-and-blood men.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up her spine. Her fingers worked faster now, as if the act of crocheting could anchor her, steady her nerves. But her mind wouldn’t stop racing.

He didn’t look like some frail old hermit squatting in a cave.

No, he looked… fit. Broad-shouldered, all sharp angles and lean muscle, with dark hair slicked back by the sea water and something almost wild in the way he watched her. And handsome. Very handsome.

Wasn’t he cold?

It wasn’t summer out here. Even under the pale sun, the wind still bit, carrying the ocean’s chill. And there he was, bare, like it was nothing. She swallowed, slowing her fingers slightly as her thoughts tangled worse than her yarn.

Maybe he’s training? she tried to reason. Some kind of triathlete or swimmer. That would explain…

But her gaze flicked to him again, and this time, she caught the way his eyes followed the motion of her hands. Focused. Intense. Like a predator watching something small and unaware.

The back of her neck prickled.

Yeah, if this was training, it was training for something she didn’t want to be part of.

Still, she forced herself to stay put. She wasn’t going to let some weirdo scare her off from her favorite spot. But if tomorrow he was there, she might have to think about going somewhere else.

Or maybe ask around -casually- if anyone knew who the hell this guy was. Her hook slipped on a stitch, and she cursed under her breath. With a sharp sigh, she set the half-finished square in her lap and stared at the waves, refusing to let herself look at him again.

----

After a while observing her, he noticed she wasn’t as relaxed as moments ago, wasn’t humming under her breath or pausing now and then to watch the waves.

No, she kept glancing toward him. Not directly, but in those small, sharp ways people do when they know they're being watched.

Damn it.

He should’ve known better.

Should’ve realized when she saw him, when she waved at him like some clueless land dweller, that he should’ve backed off, and stayed out of sight for a while.

But no.

Instead, some part of him -the part that had gotten used to her presence, to the strange comfort of hearing her voice carried over the wind- had watched perhaps too much.

And now she was nervous.

He saw it in the way her shoulders tensed every time she shifted. In the way her fingers fumbled slightly, like her mind wasn’t really on what she was doing.

And worse, she was pretending he wasn’t there.

Why?

That worried him as he sank lower in the water, frustration twisting in his chest.

Why pretend? Why act like he wasn’t there when she clearly knew?

Was it some human game? Was she trying to ignore him to bait him into coming closer, or was she just scared and trying not to show it?

He scowled, flexing his claws against the rock. He didn’t want her to be afraid.

Or did he?

Wouldn’t that be better? If she feared him, maybe she’d stop coming here. His gaze drifted to the backpack at her side, the threads spilling out like a tangle of seaweed, as her hands worked almost feverishly.

What was she thinking?

Was she wondering if he was dangerous or if he would attack her?

Good.

She should wonder.

Because he wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot.

Still…

He ducked lower when she shifted, watching from behind a curtain of sea foam, blending his skin into the dark rock, but the damage was done. She knew.

And now that he’d seen that flicker of unease in her eyes, something ugly and cold twisted in his gut.

Why do you care? he snarled at himself. She was just another human. Just another threat.

But no matter how much he repeated it, his eyes stayed locked on her soft and tense form and the way her hands moved faster as if to drown out her thoughts.

Bucky let out a low hiss under his breath, more at himself than anything else.

He should leave.

He should let her be.

But he didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

And when she finally stood to leave, gathering her things and casting one last glance over her shoulder -wary, searching- he sank deeper into the waves, watching her go with a storm churning in his chest.

----

The first thing she did when she came home was head straight for the shower. The warm water rolled down her back, washing away the salt clinging to her skin and the tension from the strange encounter by the shore. She stayed under the spray longer than necessary, trying to shake the image of that man watching her with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

Once she was dry and wrapped in her softest clothes, she settled into the small nook by the window, with her laptop perched on her knees, and opened her shop’s page. There were a few new notifications: a sold pattern, a message from a customer asking about shipping times, and an inquiry about custom work.

She starting to reply to the messages when her phone buzzed suddenly, making her jump.

Arthur.

She huffed out a breath and picked up.

“Hey,” she greeted, leaning back against the cushions.

“Hey, you!” her cousin’s familiar voice filled the line. “Just wanted to check in. How’s the place? Are you settling alright?”

She smiled a little. “Yeah, it’s perfect, Arthur. Exactly what I needed the air’s doing wonders already.”

“That’s good to hear.” He paused, and she could almost picture him leaning on something, probably a counter or desk at his job. “You’re not getting too lonely, right? I know it’s kinda dead out of season.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, glancing out the window at the gray sky, a reminder of the past days of rain. “Besides, I needed the quiet.”

There was a pause. She bit her lip, debating with herself, before blurting out, “Hey, listen… you wouldn’t happen to know if anyone in town trains for water sports, do you?”

Arthur blinked; she could hear it in the silence that followed her words. “What?”

She shifted, tucking one leg under herself. “I mean, like… open water swimming, or diving, or whatever. I saw someone today. Down by the rocks near the cave.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“You sure? Maybe it was just a seal or something? You said the weather was rough.”

She sighed with irritation. “Arthur, I believe I still know how to differentiate between a grown-ass man and a fucking seal, thank you very much.”

“Alright, alright,” he said quickly, but she could hear the edge of worry in his voice now. “It’s just… no one goes swimming there this time of year, or at any season, really. Is not exactly a place for casual swimmers.”

“Well, this guy didn’t seem to care,” she muttered.

Arthur was quiet again. Then, more serious, he added, “Look, just… don’t go back to that area, okay? Stick closer to the cottage. There’s plenty of shore to walk on the other side, yeah?”

She hesitated, flicking her gaze toward her backpack near the door, still full from today.

“Yeah,” she finally said, though the word tasted like a lie. “Probably won’t go back.”

Arthur sighed, clearly relieved. “Good. You know how towns are. You don’t wanna get mixed up with some weirdo. Just… be careful.”

“I will,” she promised, softer this time.

But as soon as the call ended and she set her phone down, she leaned back and stared out the window again.

Probably won’t go back, she had said.

Yeah, right.

She hated walking near the parts of the beach where people gathered. The ones who stayed all year round, the teens with their loud music and bonfires.

She liked her quiet spot.

And if that strange man -or whatever he was- showed up again…

Well.

She’d figure it out.

Maybe.

Probably.

She reached for her yarn backpack with a sigh, pulling out another project to keep her hands busy. But her mind stayed restless, wandering back to the man with sharp blue eyes and the way the sea seemed to ripple around him.

Taglist: @civilbucky

Next chapter

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[darlingdaisyfarm]

♡.ᐟ his hands know you better than you do ˚⋆

a/n: sorry if this is self-indulgent but i just needed to write something where Ford fucks the stress and depression out of me. honestly, wouldn’t mind if Stan did too. this started as princess treatment but derailed into filth, but whatever

tags: Ford x reader, princess treatment, mostly nsfw, soft Ford, praise kink, worshipping, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingerfucking actually lots of fingerfucking because Fords fingers deserve their own category, petnames, dumbification

there’s something tragic about the way you struggle with the clasp of your necklace, standing in front of the mirror with your fingers fumbling at the tiny silver hook. it's such a small thing, but frustration gnaws at you nonetheless. and Ford is always here to wash that feeling away. you feel his warm hands, six fingers sweeping your own aside, “allow me, please.”

he stands behind you as he secures the chain at your nape, admiring his sweetheart in the mirror. his fingers linger, pressing lightly against the fragile dip where your spine begins.

“there. perfect.”

Ford is always fixing things. adjusting the strap of your dress, tugging your coat tighter around your shoulders when the wind picks up, brushing stray lashes from your cheek with the soft drag of his thumb. he notices. he always notices.

there is a gravity to the way Ford Pines touches you, like the sea is pulled to the moon. six fingers softly grazing over your cheek as if you are precious, at if you're some rare, undocumented star he has been searching for his entire life. nothing has ever captivated him like you.

it's the little details that ruin you. when he pulls your gloves off finger by finger in the winter. when he cups your jaw in the middle of a conversation, just to tip your chin up and look at his sweetheart properly, murmuring about how your eyes catch the light just so.

when he says “there you go, sweetheart” whenever he helps you into a coat, a car, a chair. and you bite your lip when you catch the envious glances of other girls.

his hands, oh, his hands. meant for research, for careful sketches of interdimensional maps, for scrawled notes in the margins of mysteries unsolved and yet, they belong to you now.

Ford always pulls you closer in crowds, putting his firm hand at the small of your back because he needs to make sure his sweetheart is safe and near

if your feet ache, if your delicate ankles are too sore from those pretty little shoes, he’ll sweep you into his arms without a second thought. he grumbles though, muttering something about you being reckless for wearing those ridiculous shoes, but you know it's just because he cares.

you poor, delicate thing. you look so lovely when you’re tired like this, slumped on the edge of the bed with your heels kicked off haphazardly, body aching from a long day. too much effort, too much weight carried on your dainty little shoulders. but don’t worry, Ford will take care of you.

he kneels before you, a man who has spent decades chasing the unknown, kneeling at your feet like a man finally bowing before the only mystery he never wants to solve. calloused hands reach for your ankle, undoing the delicate strap of your shoe, fingers tracing the curve of your instep. and you sigh when you feel his warm lips pressing against the skin just above your ankle.

“you look so tired, my dear, please let me take care of you.”

his hands travel higher, peeling off the layers of the day, undressing you carefully and that feels almost ceremonial. fingers working at the zipper of your dress, pushing it from your shoulders, watching as the fabric pools around you. his breath is warm when he leans in against the curve of your thigh, kissing, kissing, kissing, an exploration, a devotion.

your hands never open doors, never carry bags heavier than a dainty purse. Ford notices everything. if your lipstick smudges after a kiss, he’s already smoothing his thumb over your lower lip. if your hands are cold, his are already cupping them, rubbing warmth into your skin, bringing your fingers to his mouth to breathe warm air over them.

in a moment of hesitation you'll always hear “don’t trouble yourself with that, love. let me handle it.”

you struggle with your hair and Ford is already reaching for the brush, pulling you between his knees as he gently, meticulously combs through the strands, what makes shivers bloom down your spine.

because Ford's sweetheart should never struggle, not when he can do something about it.

but that treatment does not stop at the threshold of the bedroom.

always kissing your wrist like a proper gentleman before pinning them down and making you sob.

when you straddle Ford's lap, rocking against him with slow, teasing rolls of your hips, he doesn’t stop you, only leans back, watching you.

“mmh, you’re making quite the mess of me, sweetheart.”

you know his hands have built machine leading to other worlds and dimensions, but now, they exist for you.

and in bed they are worshipful. you dont have to work for pleasure, you receive it. his pleasure is your pleasure.

you melt when his big hands hold you steady, guiding you against the hard press of his cock, letting you take what you want. if you decide to ride him, he always settles his hands on your hips, just because he wants to be close to you.

but oh, he likes to give, too.

you are his subject, his obsession, the one thing in all the dimensions that he has deemed worthy of true complete devotion.

you cum first, always, that's his rule. even while he’s making love to you, even when he’s right there on the edge. you'll always hear him groaning “cum for me, love,” and he means now.

fingers, fingers, fingers, obsessed with them, using them on you, making you cum on them.

because damn, he needs to make sure you’re ruined and twitching before he fucks his own release into you.

“look at you. dripping all over my hand. such a pretty little thing”

and thats a fact. his fingers always come first. they have to. he’d never think of fucking you without it, not when your little pussy flutters just from the slow push of his long digits inside. two first, then three, stretching, pressing, working until you’re soaking and weak.

Ford fingers you so often and naturally, that you start to think it’s just second nature to him. you’re sitting on his lap, buried in one of his oversized sweaters and his hand is already under it, teasing at the waistband of your panties, rubbing soft circles over your sensitive clit. or you’re in bed, drowsy and half-asleep and Ford is already between your thighs, lazily sliding two fingers inside you, curling them deep as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

“just relax, sweetheart, let me take care of you.”

Ford never rushes. six fingers, six places to hold, touch and tease. one teasing your nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. another smoothing over your hip, keeping you still. but the two buried inside you work you open, coaxing wet little sounds from your lips, stroking that soft, aching spot deep inside.

his voice is always deep and soothing, even when his cock is aching, even when he’s watching your slick drip down his wrist. Ford is patient. determined. he won’t fuck you until you’re trembling, begging, nearly crying for it.

“that’s it, love. such a sensitive little thing.”

your nipples, he just adores them, rolling them between his fingers, sucking them slow, teasing, making your back arch so pretty, your fingers digging into his hair as he kisses, licks, bites, its never enough.

“so soft. you’re beautiful like this. love you so much.”

yeah, Ford knows you love his fingers because you always run your mouth about them, without even realising. you’ll watch him turn a page in his journal and murmur “ohh your hands are so strong, Ford.” or when you trace your fingertip along the veins of his knuckles and hum, “beautiful, so big.” you say it without a thought, praising him for nothing, really

and Ford never comments, never says a damn thing, but he burns with the knowledge that you have no idea what you do to him

so later, when his thick cock stuffing you up, filling every little space, fucking you open, that’s when he gets his little revenge.

“Ford, w-wait—“ you gasp when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you aching and empty when you were so damn close, in response you feel Ford rubbing his broad palm down your belly, down between your thighs. “shh, just for a second, just let me. here we go,” its two first, then three, pressing inside, stroking that spot that makes your body jolt.

Ford kisses your neck. “this little pussy loves my fingers more than anything, doesn't she?” fuck, you do, you can’t help it. you whimper, nodding so fast it makes him grin. “so go on, starlight. cum for them.”

there's nothing he loves more than making you cum around his fingers.

Ford, although quite awkward, insists you sit on his face and you know his mouth was made for worship when you perched prettily on him. greedy hands gripping your thighs, trying to keep you there forever. six fingers press into your flesh, keeping you open and spread, keeping you exactly where he wants you with your thighs trembling around his head.

his tongue moves with purpose, slowly lapping at your pussy like he has all the time in the world. you tilt your head back when he sucks your little clit into his warm mouth, moans against you like he's the one getting fucked, groans deep and filthy when you grab his hair.

“you taste divine, darling.”

Ford loves to press his forehead to yours when he bottoms out deep, stretching you good enough that you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck. he kisses your lips, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, memorising every inch of you, letting you feel every inch of him, holding himself still so you can adjust.

and Ford hates making you cry, he swears he does. but god, if he doesn’t love the way your little tears stain his lips when he devours your mouth with kisses.

“i know, darling, i know,” as his thumb catches the first tear that spills, swipes it up, brings it to his lips like he’s starving for it. “look at my pretty girl, getting all teary for me.”

he can’t help it. his hands tighten as he ruts faster into you.

It's his guilty pleasure but damn, Ford adores it when you get dumb for him, too far gone to even think as he fucks into you so deep, the bed creaking. your knees trembling where they hook over his hips.

“sweetheart, still with me?” he’s got your wrists pinned, forehead to forehead, mouth brushing yours as he drinks up every little sound.

“fuh—Ford, too much—c-can’t—“

he’s not even touching you anymore, just watching how your lashes flutter and your mouth stays open, how your chest rises and falls in rapid helpless gasps. you can’t think straight. he’s hitting too deep, ruining you too slow and that feels too good.

“you can take it. just let me make you feel good.” he cups your face, wipes the mess off your cheek.

but Ford loves it when you use him too, when you ride him, rolling your hips in teasing circles, grinding down just to hear him groan. Ford always lets you take what you need.

and when you collapse against his chest, tired, trembling, whining softly into his neck about how good he feels, he fucks up into you, slow and sweet, holding you close, cradling you.

“i’ve got you, baby, i’ve got you. let me love you.”

ever the gentleman, Ford always asks you where you want his cum.

“tell me, princess. where do you want it? inside? on your pretty stomach? your soft thighs? tell me, sweetheart. let me give it to you. im so close.“

it. . . doesn't really matter that he wants it inside you, that he needs to fill you up, keep you full and watch it drip from your spent little cunt. no. the most important thing is what his beloved wants.

even afterwards, Ford doesn’t roll away, but stays pressed against you, holds you through it all. whispers soft things against your temple, kisses your fingertips, your shoulders, your belly as he thanks you for letting him ruin you.

because princess treatment doesn’t end when the sex does. Ford cleans you up gently, tugs you against his scarred chest, runs his six fingers through your hair until you fall asleep, safe in his arms.

“there, there, sweetheart. took me so well. so proud of you. just rest. i’ve got you.” and here you are, worshipped, fucked, adored

[jamminvroomvroom]

adrenaline, baby.

ln x wife!reader

ahahaha i couldn’t help myself. wrote this at godspeed (20 mins) and i’m not even sorry. not my finest work but i could not care less this is peak brainrot (waving at you @lavenderlando). feral is the only word on my mind at this time. gg lando.

warnings: listen it’s porn with minimal plot. minors dni i am so serious!! 18+, smut, fluff, breeding kink, implied overstimulation, mentions of pregnancy, marriage, it’s just unhinged idk

your back couldn’t have hit the bed soon enough, touch starved bodies moulding into the cloud-like mattress. you’d waited all weekend to get him on top of you, and now that the stress of the race weekend had melted away, you’d been able to put the do not disturb sign to good use.

lando’s adrenaline rush had sent him feral.

he hadn’t stopped touching you since he’d been able to, practically dragging you through the mexican paddock, into the car, through the door of your hotel suite. he’d attended to his race duties and now lando had a wife to attend to.

six months of married bliss meant one thing: a lot of sex in a lot of places. you didn’t know how to keep you hands off of one another, proud of yourselves for making it behind closed doors this time. it meant you could take your time, that he could take you apart just how he liked to, and that’s what he did.

“c’mon, baby. need you nice and ready for me.” lando muttered into your neck, punctuating his words with a kiss below your ear. he had two fingers working in and out of you, curling deliciously against your walls. “did all of those overtakes, and then i did them again. now, m’gonna make you come for me again and again.”

he was a man, possessed.

a strangled cry tore from the back of your throat, zero regard for the neighbouring rooms as you fell apart, spasming into the white bed linen. lando didn’t stop, fucking you through the waves of pleasure until tears pricked your eyes and you were squirming away from him.

there wasn’t a second to recover, his curls tickling your thighs as he slotted between your legs, tongue lapping up the mess he’d just made. your ears were ringing, eyes squeezed shut, thrashing hard before your body dissolved completely under his touch. you couldn’t figure out where the pleasure started and where it ended, all you knew was that your second orgasm was approaching faster than lando has made up all those race positions.

“oh my god.” you repeated over and over like a prayer, blindly tipping over the edge, his tongue stroking your clit while his fingers coaxed you to your second release.

“i’m not done with you, baby. gonna fill you up again, just like you keep asking me to.” lando groaned, scaling up your body. you shuddered at his words, your body set on fire. it was a sort of given, at this point, that you were trying. or, to put it more accurately, not not trying. it did something to you, the idea of him letting loose, not a single barrier between your intertwined bodies, and he loved it as much as you did.

a litter of soothing kisses were placed up your throat, before he reached your lips, his own slotting over yours. it was messy, passionate, quiet whimpers being traded between you as he found his rightful place between your parted thighs. your legs were hooked over his hips, pulling him in, the tip of his cock painting over your folds. and then he was inside of you, slick bodies at one, and a switch in him flipped.

lando went deep, rocking into you like it was the last time. it definitely wouldn’t be. he could have left an imprint of your body in the mattress, holding you down as he ruined you. it was desperate, new urges unlocked in him since you’d started this new venture in the bedroom, no limits. you couldn’t keep up with him, letting him do all the work, just how he liked it. and you fucking loved it.

all you could do was clamp down on him, a beautiful mess at his mercy, his name chanted into the room. everything was hazy, nothing, there was only him and you. you arched into him, clawing at the bronzed, glowing skin of his lean back, eyes rolling in your skull at the way his muscles felt as they tensed under your touch.

“one more for me, baby, one more for now and i’ll give you what you want. gonna make me a daddy?” lando’s breath fanned your face as he spoke, watching with a smirk at the way you absolutely lost it.

you were sobbing when you came, the aftershocks continued by the way you felt him reach his own release. white heat pricked your skin and you collapsed even further into the bed, wrecked beneath him. you were grinning lazily, panting hard, eyes shut from the exhaustion. lando kissed away the tear tracks, residing inside you as you both came down from the high.

the air changed drastically, softer, intimate. he found your lips again, gentle this time, affectionate pecks reviving you.

“you okay, my love?” lando whispered. you breathed a laugh.

“you’re too good to me.” your voice was raspy, your vocal chords shot from a weekend of screaming his name in every possible context. “proud of you, honey.”

lando hummed softly, grateful for your praise. he scanned your face, an angelic glow gracing your features. his beautiful wife.

“gonna get you cleaned up.” he went to roll off of you, but your legs tightened around his waist.

“not yet. wanna stay like this for a minute.” your voice was laced with sleep, and lando couldn’t help but smile.

“this might have been the time, y’know.” lando’s words came out excitedly, unable to contain his delight at the idea of having a family. your family.

“and even if it wasn’t, i don’t mind the free practice.” you teased, but the giddy feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something, and so did the test you took four weeks later.

-

idk what came over me idk what happened lol. bye.