#You Just Can't Beat A Guy With A Double Face

[spirit-of-anime]

Double Face Niha Kanawanai

[fushitoru]

ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! a gojo satoru fic/drabble

cw: gojo x reader, established relationship, fluff LOLLL, gojo being a pathetic loser for his gf, use of baby, babe, reader referred to as gf and wears makeup, gojo being jealous, crack, based off this (instagram link)

"Ranking types of hugs I'd be comfortable with another guy giving my girlfriend." Satoru squints at the scene, reading out the caption on the TikTok as he watches the guy on the screen, long ass spider legs laid out on the couch while waiting for you to get ready. Curiously, he clicks on the filter without fully watching the video and starts filming to generate the different types of hugs.

"A back hug." The curious smile on his face slowly fades away as a grimace takes place as he gains the thousand yard stare. "Nine. Okay, not at a good start so far—"

He groans, face scrunching in pain as he exhales out at what he sees on the screen: slow dance hug. Then, he imagines you, a man's hand on your waist and you smiling just like those stupid fucking drawings at someone who's not him—"Ten. Oh my fucking god."

Clutching the lower half of his face, he looks concentrated as he waits for the shuffler to give him some less painful option, groaning in pain once again, looking back at the scene, and then groaning again. "One armed hug," he strains out, blindly reaching for the lowest number he could rank it as.

The filter shuffles yet again, and he's almost in tears, groaning immediately on instinct but then doubling back at his screen. "Polite hug." He contemplates it. "Okay, a two, not so bad, not so—"

A pause. "A classic hug." He stares at the screen like it just betrayed him, until he decides it's not so bad. Reluctantly, he ranks it at three.

Then, he waits for the filter to give him another painful vision, and it delivers. "A slow catcher hug—oh my godddd." Satoru is shaking his head, eyes teary as he groans loudly at the though of you jumping up to another man, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in for a hug. If someone was listening to him, it would seem like he was dying with the way he was covering his mouth, shaking his head, and exclaiming "what the fuck"'s as he stared at his phone screen in sheer shock.

Unfortunately for you, you were within earshot, blending in your blush and doing finishing touches as you heard Satoru's shrieks coming in from the living room. He seemed to be on the edge of tears, and worriedly, you set down your brush and rushed to where his sobs were coming from.

And there he was: in fetal position, phone on the floor as he shook his head as if in shock. "Baby," you hurried to him, grabbing his face so you could figure out what was making him so distressed.

He didn't seem to be injured as he meets your eyes, upset. "I can't do this bruh," he laments while turning to be on his back and rubbing his eyes. You just look at him confused.

"Do what?"

He turns, and pauses. Scans you in your champagne dress for the fancy place he was taking you and the way you did your makeup so sultry. It's just for him, but after the events of that Tiktok—that's now stopped filming—all he feels is petty jealousy because other guys can see you like this.

Out of nowhere, he declares, "I can fight."

You blink. "What?"

"I can fight," he repeats, nodding emphatically as if trying to convince himself. Then, after a beat: "Why do I have such a pretty girlfriend?" He groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Baby, why do you look so good right now?"

While he does this, you inspect him for any signs of injuries or things that could've caused him this much distress. Finding none and used to his theatrics, you sigh and pat his cheek. "I’m going to finish getting ready," you say, deciding he’s not in mortal peril after all.

As you return to your vanity, Satoru calls after you, still sulking. "Just so you know, I ranked the polite hug at two. Because I love you. And I can fight."

"Good to know, Satoru."

a/n lowk spiderman!gojo coded. i love writing fluff i would lowk want to write this for nanami i feel like he would slowly grow more and more jealous LMAOAO

[lucidfairies]

LET'S PLAY

pairing: ghostface!Abby x reader x ghostface!Ellie

synopsis: you've always been afraid of scary movies, but when abby recreates one of her favorites with some help from her best friend... lets just say you face your fears.

warnings: fear kink (?), threesome, pussy eating, strap usage, gendered pet names, double penetration + anal [r! receiving], face riding [e! + r! receiving], scissoring [a + e], very brief gendered talk ("but my sweet girl can take it, can't she?"), unrealistic squirting

wc: 2k

a/n: hi guys! to be fully transparent with you guys, I've been extremely busy over the last couple of weeks and have no chance to write. on top of that I'm extremely under the weather right now, so this is the only Halloween shot I have written. 😭😭 I'm really sorry that it worked out this way, maybe I can finish and post the others later on!

it was halloween. finally halloween. and the conditions were perfect. the dark night sky was filled with grey clouds that stuck out from the moonlight, fog had been gathering all day, so that once trick or treating started for the little kids and partying started for the older kids, it was just right. you had different plans on your mind, though. tonight it would be just you and Abby, with movies, popcorn, and definitely some costumes.

in all honesty, halloween scared you in the slightest. the movies that Abby often wanted to watch were gruesome, and you wound up with your hands over your eyes, merely listening to the shrieks and stabbings. abby loved it, though, so you found it in your heart to get over it.

that fear, however, resurrected itself when the clock passed eleven, knowing she was supposed to be home at nine-thirty. you had texted her a number of times at this point, even called her, with no response. it was more than strange; in all the years you and abby had been together, she had never, ever missed a halloween.

at a certain point you sighed and got off the couch, accepting that she apparently just wasn't coming home. you went down to your room, changing and laying down to sleep. you tossed and turned, not used to a bed without her body in it. after a while, you laid on your back with a huff, grabbing your phone to text her again.

before you could press send, you heard an aggressive jingle of the lock on the front door. it didn't stop, and you were slammed with the feeling that someone was trying to to get in. someone was trying to to get in. a bat hid behind your door, and you ran over to grab it before leaving your bedroom. you looked over your shoulder, into every room, but you didn't see anything. the kitchen was dark once you walked into it, and as you went to flick the lights on, you felt a strong hand on your hip that pulled you back, covering your mouth with their other hand.

the bat was ripped from your hands by a second person, and you screamed, but the hand covering your mouth was gloved and masked the sound. you could feel the captors heart beating and their chest rise and fall.

“sorry I'm late,”

it was abby. abby who followed you through your house and abby whose hand was over your mouth. the lights flicked on and you were faced with a different person, dressed in a ghost face mask and it's matching rags. you pushed out of abby's grip and turned to face her, realizing that she also had a mask on.

“what the fuck abby?” you quietly shrieked. “what was that? you scared me.” the light caught the knife in her hand, and suddenly a pit developed in your stomach. it was fear, flat, undoubtable, fear. “why do you have a knife?” she walked towards you slowly until your back was against the wall.

“don't worry baby, we're just gonna play,” her large body encased you. “you remember ellie, don't you sweet girl?” you nodded slowly, tears welling up in your tear ducts. “my poor baby, don't cry, we're gonna be real nice to you.” when she said that, you finally came to the realization as to what was happening. this is why abby loves the scary movies. she likes the control; the fear. you relaxed. “do you trust me, pretty girl?” you looked at her through the mask and nodded slowly. “do you trust me to not hurt you?” you nodded again.

“let's play then, baby.”

that's how you ended up here, on your back, with ellie on your face and abby between your legs. ellie had a hand in your hair, forcing you to look up at her while you ate her out. she was grinding down on your tongue, chanting your name as she chest rose and fell quickly. she had definitely already come, but she was using you to get off.

abby, however, had a strap buried deep in your cunt. you two hadn't used a strap before, you didn't even know where she got it, all you knew and could think about was how much she was filling you. the mask was still covering her face, but you almost got off to it. she had your legs pushed up to your chest, drilling her hips into your ass over and over, going even after your orgasm had lit up your body.

finally she let up, but you knew you weren’t even close to done. ellie got off your face and they both looked at each other, as if they were coming to a conclusion by just looking at each other, then they both looked over at you. abby discarded her mask and tossed it into the pile of clothes, loosening the harness from her hips and throwing it along with everything else. “get up,” ellie said, replacing you as you stood up. “sit on my face, sweets. face abby like the pretty thing you are.” the position was weird, but somehow it worked. you were backwards on ellie’s face, but her skilled tongue still managed to find everything you needed just right.

abby lifted ellie’s leg up, shifting herself between her lifted leg and her dripping center, rolling her hips down until they were both moaning. with the hand that wasn’t keeping ellie’s leg steady, abby grabbed you by the throat and brought your lips to hers, moaning into your mouth as your tongues met. ellie was so good at eating pussy, you almost didn’t want to pick between her and abby. maybe tonight meant that you could have both of them whenever you wanted.

ellie fucked you with her tongue while her thumb found your clit, spreading your wetness and her saliva over it and rubbing in rhythmic, slow circles. you were all but pushing all your weight onto abby, who was still riding ellie’s pussy. now, though, her head was back, neck exposed. you regained your headspace slightly, just enough to run your lips along her neck and suck. your lips traveled to her tits, marking her in a way you hadn’t before.

you stopped as soon as you felt your orgasm building quickly, instead opting for your previous option of grabbing her for support. it seemed as if you both were in the same boat, because her face scrunched up in focus, like it did every time she came. your head was on her shoulder as you came, whimpering at just how good it felt. ellie didn’t let a drop miss her tongue.

abby stood up, and you zoned in on how both of their pussies were covered in each other’s cum. your pupils were wide, your mouth was basically hanging open with drool. abby looked at you and chuckled. “wanna clean me up, sweetheart?” you got up from the bed and kneeled in front of her, assuming that’s what she wanted you to do, and waited for her to spread her legs. she leaned against the wall and propped her leg up on your shoulder, letting you lap at her until everything was gone. it tasted so good, so much like abby with a hint of ellie. it was the perfect blend.

though you wanted to lick up ellie too, she had already cleaned off with a bed sheet. “I have one more thing to try, if you’re up for it, baby.” you nodded profusely, and both girls looked at each other with a smirk. “get on the edge of the bed in doggy.” you did as told, putting your knees on the edge of the bed and arching your back so that your face was in the comforter. “good girl,” abby cooed, reaching down to pick up her harness and clip it on again. ellie also pulled one out from the jumble of clothes, and you wondered where hers was going to go. in the bedside drawer, abby pulled out a small bottle of lube, which she must have snuck in at some point earlier in the day to prepare.

earlier, when all of this started, you didn’t need lube, so you couldn’t understand what that was for. until both girls walked behind you. you felt the tip of one of their straps rubbing against your ass and you leaped forward, ill prepared. “this is gonna be a big stretch, baby, but my sweet girl can take it, can’t she?” you hummed at abby’s words, sucking in a harsh breath as her strap entered a new place. it was certainly different, but it felt so good. it was just the stretch you wanted, and it got even better when you felt ellie running the tip of her strap up and down your folds.

when ellie pushed her strap into you along with abby’s, the earth froze. “fuck, babe, look at your slut,” from what you could see, they were both admiring the way your stretched for them. You weren’t going to deny that it hurt a little, but with the way they were looking at you and the way ellie kept hitting exactly where you needed to plus the stretch of both of them, it made up for the slight discomfort.

once they gained a rhythm, you had them railing you at the same time, strokes hard and fast, with ellie’s large, skinny hands wrapped around your waist to keep you up. your hands grasped the bedsheets tightly, listening to your body as you neared closer and closer to finishing. there was another feeling building, one you hadn’t felt before, but you made an effort to ignore it. The closer you got, the noisier you became, moaning and grunting with every thrust until you were twitching on the edge of release.

the weird feeling that you were ignoring came back hard and fast, sitting somewhere strange in your bladder. it was like the urge to pee, but with some form of pleasure to it. they pulled it out of you with their harshness, making you squirt hard as you finished. you rolled your hips back at how strong your orgasm was, tears running down your face and creating a pool on the comforter.

you felt strangely empty as they both pulled out, unclipping both of their harnesses yet again and tossing them. “you did such a good job angel. let’s get cleaned up.” you all showered together, then abby surprised you with matching pajamas. ellie was packing up her stuff and you frowned.

“stay,” you said, and she looked up at you and smiled. “we can watch a movie. you can leave in the morning. don’t drive home in the dark.” she sat her backpack down and climbed into bed with the both of you. abby rolled over to grab the remote and turned on scream, just for the irony.

taglist: @inukastan1 @elliecoochieeater @pepperflakess @hastasupern0va @jazzys19 @purring4elliewilliams @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @lonelyfooryouonly @heyimrye (if your not tagged it said your account did not exist, I apologize)

[tragedy-machine]

Happy New Year, guys!

today's payneland idea is Crystal telling Edwin "you don't have to worry about making Charles uncomfortable now (after the confession), have you noticed how clingy he is with you? He'd let you do just about anything"

And Edwin, ever the scientist, wants to test that theory a bit, so for the first experiment he stands just that 🤏 much closer to Charles and patiently waits if his friend says anything, but all he gets is the usual heart eyes and a "what's up, mate?", so Edwin thinks "huh" and decides to continue the tests Then, although it feels daring, almost too much, Edwin starts initiating more touches between them, like pats on the arm and such and, peculiarly, Charles takes it well, very well even, because somehow the grin he gives Edwin is even wider than usual

When their usual reading time arrives, instead of putting Charles' feet in his lap, Edwin suggests Charles lays his head there today and Charles freezes for a second, almost making Edwin worry he went too far, but then Charles all but launches himself onto the couch with a bright smile

(Edwin also weaves his fingers through Charles' hair during the second iteration of this idea of course, can't introduce too many variables in one experiment after all)

Then, instead of just saying "well done, Charles", his eyes hold Charles' and he adds "you really know how to handle X" and Charles can't break away from the eye contact even if he tried, he's absolutely enchanted and arrested by the warmth exploding inside him at the soft intensity of the moment and praise

Next experiment is touching Charles' face, Edwin waits for the right occasion and it comes when Charles makes a tiny mistake during a case, he couldn't have helped it really, but he still beats himself up over it, and Edwin knows now that Charles responds really well to touch, so he cups Charles' upset face in his palm and tells him that it wasn't his fault, that he did the best he could, and Edwin watches in real time as Charles' already wet-looking eyes become even more liquid, as he puts more of his head's weight into Edwin's hand, and Edwin adores the squishy and open way he looks now, so trusting and vulnerable in Edwin's hands

Edwin looks at all his notes, double and triple checks the results and almost can't believe it, because they all point to somehow Charles becoming happier, instead of uncomfortable, since he's started it, but that's odd isn't it?

Maybe being so lovey-dovey with Charles has altered Edwin's brain or something, because the next time they hug (they do more of that lately), without even thinking about it, Edwin's lips plant a small kiss to Charles' temple and he panics, because that's crossing a line, isn't it? He's never planned on kissing Charles, that's too far! But before he can spiral, Charles sighs happily, sinking into their embrace more heavily and says "Ever since you- um, I just. I really like this. You know. Us. I feel proper loved, thanks to you, mate. And I hope I make you feel that way too."

(Charles had to stop himself from saying "ever since you started loving on me", because it felt a bit much lol)

[luvergirl777]

Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 

--- 

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 

“Stop calling him that?” 

“Calling who what?” 

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 

“Dean-“ 

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 

“What?! It is not-” 

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 

--- 

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 

“Washing your dirty ass car.” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!” 

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 

“Is that a problem?” 

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 

“To you, of course.” 

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 

“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 

“No, no you do not.” 

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.

[theonottsbxtch]

THE OTHER GUY PT.4 | FC43

part one | part two | part three |

an: only a couple more to go out! lmk if there is anything in particular you'd like to see and if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 34,244 others

city boy summer, can't keep the hoes away

*tap to load more comments*

logansargeant: you are not a city boy

ynpiastri: or am i?

oscarpiastri: i, for the record am happily taken and will not engage in this tomfoolery

ynpiastri: @/lilyznimer i will pay you double what he's paying you to date him if you break up with him

userone: girl we all know franco is there too.

When you’d woken up this morning, the last thing you’d expected was a pounding at your door. It couldn’t have been housekeeping because you had it scheduled for 3 p.m., and it couldn’t have been a crazy fan because you made sure never to post near your door, ever. So when you opened it and were attacked by a flurry of blonde hair, your heart dropped. As per usual, whenever you saw the blonde mess, you knew your sheepish brother wasn’t far behind.

It was a welcome surprise, though. While you were enjoying the peace of the resort, it had been a while since you’d seen Logan or Oscar.

After catching up over breakfast and hearing their latest stories from home, you all had agreed to spend the day at the beach. The morning had been light and easy, filled with laughter and jokes, mocking how Oscar couldn’t tan and how Logan always managed to find an American flag, no matter what country he was in.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” Logan said, nudging you with his elbow. He grinned, a knowing look in his eyes as he adjusted his sunglasses. “What’s on your mind?”

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing, just thinking.”

Oscar, who was stretched out beside you with his arms behind his head, let out a chuckle. “Thinking about what?” Tilting his head to the side, he gave you a teasing glance. “You’ve been acting weird since you got here last week.”

There was no escaping it now. Of course it was going to be noticeable that you’d been quieter, but that was because the thoughts swirling around in your head weren't exactly ones you were ready to share. Still, you couldn’t ignore the topic forever.

“I don’t know,” you started, the words slow and careful. “I guess… I’ve stopped looking at him with so much hatred.” The words were out before you could even clarify who he was.

It felt strange admitting it out loud. You’d spent so long disliking him—publicly, even. But now? After spending more time here, after getting to know him in ways you hadn’t expected… things had changed.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?” He leaned in, clearly intrigued.

Glancing out at the ocean, you avoided eye contact with either man. “Yeah.”

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, and you almost regretted your words. Staying quiet for a beat longer, he sighed. “You know, he never did anything wrong.”

Turning around to face him, surprised, you lifted your sunglasses to look at him properly.

“He fought his way into the sport the same way I did,” Logan continued, his tone firm but not harsh. “You can’t hate him for something he can’t control.”

You felt your chest tighten. He was right. Deep down, you’d always known that. Franco didn’t choose to replace Logan—it wasn’t personal. He was just doing what any of them would do. Fighting for a place in a sport where nothing is guaranteed.

“I know,” you admitted softly. “It’s just… hard. I wanted to blame someone.”

Oscar sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “We get it. But honestly, you’ve got to let it go. Holding on to that anger—it’s not going to do you any good.”

For a second, you wanted to laugh because you couldn’t recall the last time in your life Oscar and Logan had agreed on something.

Just as you were about to say something else, you noticed movement in the distance. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him— Franco —walking along the shore. His head turned in your direction, and when his eyes met yours, he lifted his hand in a casual wave.

At first you thought he may be waving to Oscar, but when a shy smile graced his lips your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t not doing it for show, not trying to get under your skin. It was just a wave. Simple, friendly.

Before you could think too much about it, you waved back. And then, almost without realising it, a small smile tugs at your lips.

Both Oscar and Logan caught the interaction and raised an eyebrow, though Oscar didn’t say a word. Logan nudged you again, his voice teasing. “Well, look at that.”

You rolled your eyes at him but can’t help feeling a little lighter. Maybe you really were wrong about him. Maybe there’s more to him than the guy who replaced Logan.

You were still thinking about that smile when Logan gave you a sly nudge. “So… are you going to talk to him?”

Your head whipped around to his eyes wide. “What? No! Absolutely not.”

Oscar laughed, clearly enjoying your sudden panic. “Why not? You’ve already smiled at him, waved and everything. Just go over there and talk to the guy. It’s not like he’s some stranger.”

You shook your head, feeling your face heat up. “It’s not that easy! I can’t just walk up to him like it’s nothing.”

“Oh, come on,” Logan said,  rolling his eyes playfully. “You’ve been trash-talking him for months, and now you’re scared to ask him out for a drink? Seriously?”

Opening your mouth to protest, your face flushed as no words came out. You were flustered, and they both knew it.

Oscar sat up, shrugging nonchalantly. “What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? So what. But I don’t think he will.”

You glanced back towards where Franco was standing, now leaning against the railing, gazing out at the ocean. He looked relaxed, completely unaware of the internal chaos you were going through just a few feet away.

Your heart was pounding, and you felt a nervous knot in your stomach. “I can’t just… I mean, what would I even say?”

Logan gave you an encouraging smile. “Just be yourself. Ask him if he wants to grab a drink tonight. You’ve already softened up to him, right? This is your chance.”

You hesitated, glancing between Oscar and Logan, who both gave you looks that said go on, you’ve got this.

Finally, you exhale, standing up and wiping the sand off your legs. “Fine. I’ll do it. But if this goes horribly wrong, it’s your fault.”

Oscar grinned at you. “We’ll take full responsibility. Now go.”

With your heart still racing, you took a deep breath and started walking across the sand toward him. Each step feeling heavier than the last, your mind racing with all the things you could say—or worse, all the ways this could go wrong. But you were already halfway there, and there was no turning back now.

When you were just a few feet away, he noticed you approaching and turned around, his expression shifting from casual surprise to something more… interested. You could see it in his eyes, the way they lit up as you stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” you managed to say, hoping you didn’t sound as nervous as you felt.

“Hola,” he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I wasn’t expecting you to come over.”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling shy. Why did this feel so much harder than anything else you’d ever done? “Yeah, well… Oscar and Logan kind of persuaded me. They said I should talk to you.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What about?”

Your mind went blank for a second, “I was, uh… wondering if you’d want to grab a drink with me tonight.”

The words came out in a rush, and you immediately felt your cheeks flush, but you managed to hold his gaze. You couldn’t believe you just said that. Your heart was thumping so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Franco didn’t answer right away, but the smile on his face grew wider. “You’re asking me out?”

You nodded, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah. If you’re free, I mean. It’s fine if you’re not, I understand.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the cocky driver you’d seen in interviews was gone. In its place was  just a guy—surprised, maybe even flattered.

“I’d love to,” he said, his voice steady. “How about I pick you up around 8?”

Blinking, you took a minute to comprehend what he’d just said, relief and excitement flooding you all at once. “Really? Yeah, that works.”

“Great.” His smile was warm, and suddenly, the tension you were feeling melted away. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You nodded, still trying to process that you’d actually gone through with it—and that he had said yes.

“See you tonight,” you echo, then turn to walk back to Oscar and Logan before remembering he didn’t have your room number. “Uh, room 438.”

Franco nodded in your direction, “Room 438.”

ynpiastri

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, francolapinto and 31,487 others

fit check, kind of nervous guys (📸 @logansargeant)

*tap to load more comments*

userone: FRANCO IN THE LIKES 🤭

usertwo: oh my god i want her

oscarpiastri: scared for what? i thought you were city boy summering rn

ynpiastri: @/lilyznimer PLEASE BREAK UP WITH THIS NERD

userthree: just seen franco in the hall of the same resort, looks quite dapper if you ask me

logansargeant: this isn't very city boy summer of you

ynpiastri: eat dirt 😍😍

userfour: franyn?

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @isaadore @iamred-iamyellow @justheretoreadthxxs @obxstiles @how-what-why-huh @raizelchrysanderoctavius @sainzzreputaticn @xxx-betty @dukeofjjune @dejavuontrack @littlegrapejuice @mxdi0

[v6quewrlds]

NSFW A-Z, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x high school sweetheart!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀8.8k.

summary⠀⁎⠀nsfw a to z with justin.

author's note⠀⁎⠀had an idea for a fic with justin & a high school sweetheart reader and it spiraled into this. a mixture of blurbs & headcanons. might revisit this pairing again. warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, third person [she/her], somewhat dom!justin vibes?, unprotected sex, creampie, discussion of masturbation, size kink bc duh, oral sex, dry humping.

A = Aftercare

It's never just one round with Justin. His stamina, much like his performance on the football field, is unrivaled. She can't help but feel a mix of exhaustion and pride as she lies beside him, both of them panting and sweaty. His arms, muscular and warm, wrap around her, pulling her into his embrace. He kisses her forehead tenderly, a gesture that feels both familiar and reassuring. In the quiet that follows her passionate escapade, his hands rub slow circles into her back, his thumb tracing the outline of her spine as if mapping the contours of her soul.

He was always just a little more still after they were tangled in their sheets, his heartbeat a comforting drum in her ear as she lay against his chest. She felt the gentle rise and fall of his breath, the steady rhythm lulling her into a state of pure contentment. His skin was a warm blanket, the scent of their combined sweat and the faint musk of their love a heady perfume that she breathed in deeply. She knew that Justin took pride in his aftercare, ensuring that they stayed warm and felt loved.

The two of them would lay together for a while, their bodies slowly cooling, their breathing returning to normal. Justin's hand would drift down to her waist, his fingers tracing the soft curves of her body. Her favorite part was when he'd lowly whisper any and everything that came to mind, sharing his thoughts as if he were reading from a diary that only she had access to. It was their little post-coital ritual, a time where no words were too intimate, no secrets too dark.

B = Body Part

Justin adjusted his dry fit shirt, blue eyes scrutinizing how the fabric stretched over his torso in the mirror. He rolled his shoulders back, watching as his shoulders broadened and his chest puffed forward with a breath. He ran a hand through his freshly trimmed, dirty blonde hair, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he turned his attention to find a Nike cap to complete the look.

She glanced over at him, parting her straightened hair down the middle to pull it into the neatest ponytail she could manage. With a stifled laugh, she shook her head at his vanity, but the love in her gaze was undeniable. She knew Justin's favorite body part of his were his shoulders. They were broad and strong, a testament to the countless hours he spent in the gym, sculpting his body to perfection. He'd flex for her often, joking about how they could double as a shelf. It was his way of showing off without being too obvious, and she found it utterly adorable.

"What?" Justin's eyes flicked to hers, catching her stare, the smirk on his face growing wider. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "You got something to say?"

She released a small chuckle, the sound like a warm breeze through a quiet room. "Just admiring the shelves," she teased, her voice light and playful.

Justin shot her a look of mock indignation before his eyes softened, a knowing smile playing across his lips. "What could you possibly like more than these bad boys?" He smiled, rolling her shoulder back dramatically.

She pretended to think, tapping her chin with a manicured finger. "Hmm, let me see," she said, her voice thick with playfulness. She stepped closer to him, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet. Reaching up, she gently touched his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. "I think I might have to go with these guys," she murmured, pressing her hands flat against his pecs and giving them a little squeeze.

Justin's eyes widened in feigned surprise, and he grabbed her wrists, playfully holding them away from his chest. "Woah, don't go getting any ideas," he said, though the heat in his gaze told her he didn't mind the attention at all.

She giggled, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "But seriously," she continued, "I love your smile. It was the first thing I noticed about you after I got over the height shock."

Justin couldn't hold back said smile from her comment, his cheek dimpling slightly as his cheeks began to flush pink. He leaned down, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Thank you, baby," he whispered, his voice a low rumble.

"What about me? What's your favorite part of me?" She asked, her voice a soft purr as she stepped closer, the warmth of their bodies mingling, her arms slinking around his slender waist.

Justin paused for a moment, his eyes scanning her face as if conflicting. "The PG answer would be your eyes," he said, his voice low and sincere. "They're like warm chocolate, inviting and filled with so much depth. But if we're being totally honest here..."

She felt a thrill of anticipation run through her as he trailed off, her pulse quickening. She knew where this was going and she liked it, a lot.

"The not-so-PG answer?" she prodded him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of mischief.

Justin leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Don't act like you don't know," he whispered, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

She bit her bottom lip, her fingers pressing circles into his lower back as she felt the heat of his words. She knew exactly what he meant, but she enjoyed the thrill of seeing him speak the dirty thoughts she knew he had. "Oh, I know," she murmured back, her voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. "But I just love it when you say it out loud."

Justin chuckled, his hands moving down to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing teasingly over her nipples. "Well, if you insist," he said, his voice thick with desire. "The not-so-PG answer, your boobs. They're perfect, babe. So soft, but firm, and the way they fit in my hands..."

"Justin," she admonished, though her voice was breathless, giving away her true feelings. He chuckled, his grip on her tightening for a moment before releasing her.

C = Cum

Justin Herbert is a freak. That's what she thinks as she watches him get dressed, his body moving with the grace of an athlete, his shoulders flexing as he pulls on a clean, white t-shirt. She can't help but stare at his crotch, the outline of his semi-erect cock still visible through the fabric of his sweatpants. She bites her lip, remembering the feel of him inside her. His sticky cum warming her insides as she remains perched on their bed, thighs pressed together to keep it from dripping out.

Her eyes drift down to her own body, the way her chocolate skin glows in the soft light of their bedroom. Her breasts are full and sensitive, nipples still hard from the attention they've received. She runs her fingers over them and a shiver runs down her spine. Justin catches her in the act and raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he finishes lacing up his sneakers.

It's a strange, primal feeling, one she's never really been able to put into words, but it's something she's grown to love. The way he takes her so thoroughly, so completely, until he can't hold back anymore and releases himself inside her. It's like a declaration of ownership, a silent promise that she's his and he's hers. It's messy and raw, but it's also incredibly intimate.

"Should keep you warm 'till I get back, yeah?" Justin winked, he was always so casual about it, but she knew it was his way of showing he wasn't ashamed, that this was just a part of their love.

She nodded, tilting her head up as he hand reached down to cup her cheek, thumb tracing her plump bottom lip. "I'll miss you," she murmured, her voice thick with desire and a hint of sadness.

"I'll be quick, baby," Justin promised, planting one last kiss on her lips before he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. She watched him go, the feeling of his touch still lingering on her cheek where he'd touched her. She felt a pang of something, a yearning that made her stomach clench.

D = Dirty Secret

There wasn't much Justin wouldn't do to keep her happy, to keep her smiling and humming with satisfaction, but he had his own little secret, something that even in their most intimate moments he kept hidden. He had a bit of a voyeuristic streak. It didn't manifest often, and never in a way that would make her uncomfortable, but every once in a while, when she thought he was out of the room or busy with something else, he'd catch a glimpse of her in the shower or getting dressed and he couldn't help but watch. It was the way she moved, the way her body flowed like water, naturally and unabashedly.

E = Experience

Being each other's firsts for almost everything intimate, she and Justin had grown together in experience, exploring every inch of each other's bodies with the excitement of new lovers and the patience of old souls reunited. They'd stumbled through clumsy moments and laughed at awkward attempts, but with each encounter, they learned more about what the other liked, what made their hearts race, and what made them moan in ecstasy.

It took them a decent amount of time to work up the courage to talk about what they liked and what they didn't in the bedroom. But once they did, the floodgates opened, and they discovered a whole new level of intimacy. Justin was a quick learner, always eager to please her. He studied her responses like he was memorizing a complex playbook, making mental notes of what made her breath hitch and her eyes roll back.

F = Favorite Position

"Fuck," she moaned under her breath as she felt the familiar warmth spreading from her core. Her back was pressed firmly against Justin's broad chest as they lay on their sides, his lips pressing lazy kisses along her neck and shoulder. She whimpered as his cock nudged against that sweet spot, the friction from his movements causing delicious shivers to dance along her spine. "Gonna cum," she breathed out, her voice barely audible as she attempted to refrain from screaming out her pleasure.

Justin's grin was wicked as one hand held her open for him. His large hands gripping her thigh, his cock slipping in and out of her with a steady rhythm that had her toes curling and her nails digging into the bed. This was his favorite position, spooning her from behind. It was intimate, yet dominating. He could feel every inch of her, every shiver and tremble, every gasp and moan. It was like he was reading her body like a book, each sound and movement a page telling him how close she was to the edge.

G = Goofy

She tried to stifle a giggle as Justin's teeth nipped at the inside of her thighs. He knew she was ticklish, and the action was entirely intentional. "Justin," she breathed, half in protest, half in pleasure. He just chuckled against her skin, biting the sensitive skin again she erupted into a fit of giggles.

"You're so bad," she murmured, her voice a mix of reprimand and arousal.

"Shh, just relax," he whispered back, his voice teasing as he continued to explore her body with his mouth, his teeth grazing her skin.

H = Hair

Whether it was the hair on his head or in other places, during the season, Justin held very little space in his brain for anything other than football, her, and food. His blonde hair was often a messy halo around his head, the result of countless hours under the helmet and even more under the shower. But she didn't mind. She liked the way it fell into his eyes, the way it felt against her fingertips as she'd run her hands through it while they cuddled after a game.

And when it came to other regions, Justin's grooming habits were meticulous, much to her delight. He kept himself well-trimmed and clean, a courtesy that she appreciated more than he knew. She figured it was the locker room environment that forced him to pay attention to such details, but she liked to think it was just one of the many ways he made sure she stayed happy.

I = Intimacy

Her nails dug into Justin's biceps as he drove his hips into hers, their bodies moving in perfect sync. Sweat-slicked skin, their breathing ragged, the air heavy with the scent of their passion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as he pressed his forehead against hers. Blue eyes searched brown, looking for any sign that she was ready. When he found it, that little spark of pleasure in her gaze, he thrust harder, pushing them both closer to the edge.

Their noses nudged against each other, moans spilling into each other's open mouths as the intimacy between them grew, swelling like the crescendo of a symphony. Her eyes fluttered shut, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Justin's teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. His tongue traced the line of her jaw, lapping at the salty taste of her sweat, and she shivered in response, her body arching back to give him better access.

"Mm," she moaned, her voice a sweet hum of pleasure that danced around the room. She felt Justin's cock thicken inside her, his grip tightening around her right thigh as he increased his pace. Her hands found his hair, her fingers curling into the soft strands. She pulled his head back, exposing his neck to her eager mouth. He tasted like salt and sweat, a heady mix that sent a thrill down her spine. She lightly bit at his Adam's apple, core fluttering as he moaned in response.

Justin's eyes rolled back, his pupils blown wide as her teeth grazed his neck. He could feel the orgasm building, his balls tightening as her walls began to spasm around him. His tongue traced the shell of her ear, whispering sweet nothings that only added to the crescendo of pleasure building between them. He knew just how much she liked it when he talked dirty, but he also knew when to pull back and let the quiet moments speak louder than any words.

They were both experienced enough to know when the other was close, and she could feel the tension in Justin's body as he held back, waiting for her. She didn't need to say anything; her grip on his hair, the way her hips met his thrusts, told him everything he needed to know. He felt her pussy tighten around his cock, her breaths hitching in that telltale pattern that signaled she was about to come. And when she did, it was like a dam had broken. Her nails dug into his skin, her back arching off the bed as a keening cry tore from her throat.

Justin followed her over the edge, his orgasm hitting like a wave, strong and all-consuming. He groaned, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he pumped his seed deep inside her. The sensation of her body contracting around his was heavenly, and he held on, savoring the feeling as it washed over him.

J = Jack Off

Neither of them are big on masturbation, not when they have each other. But when they're apart, like when Justin's on the road, she finds herself with more than just idle hands. Her fingers trace the outline of her clit, the memory of his touch guiding her movements. She imagines it's him, his rough palms and skilled fingers working her over until she's begging for more.

Justin rarely had time to indulge in solo play during the season. Between the constant physical exertion and his demanding schedule, his body was usually too exhausted to crave additional release. But on those rare occasions when the need struck him, he found solace in his own hand. He'd stroke himself slowly, remembering the way her tight grip felt around his length, her soft moans echoing in his mind. He'd close his eyes and think of her face, the way her eyes rolled back and she struggled to catch her breath when she climaxed. It was never the same as the real thing, but it helped to ease the ache of being apart.

Despite being more than comfortable with each other's bodies, they had only talked about their masturbation habits once or twice in college. Phone sex had, similarly, only happened once, a desperate attempt to bridge the distance between them when Justin had been at a summer training camp. It had ended with both of them feeling more frustrated than satisfied, the phone call quality too poor to make it worth the effort.

K = Kink

Being 6'6", it was inevitable that Justin had developed a size kink. The power dynamics that came with his towering frame and her comparable smaller one had become a subtle but significant part of their sex life. He enjoyed making her feel small and delicate, his hands spanning her waist as he picked her up with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. She, in turn, loved the feeling of being utterly consumed by him, his size a constant reminder of his dominance in the most caring of ways.

There was something about putting all her trust in him, letting him do as he pleased, that made her feel both vulnerable and incredibly powerful. It was a thrill that never got old, and it was one of their unspoken kinks. She liked it when Justin took control, when he pinned her down and drew the sweetest sounds from her lips. It was like he was claiming her all over again, every single time they were together.

L = Location

Privacy had always been the most important thing to Justin. With his celebrity status, any slip-up could lead to a PR nightmare. In public, any hint of temptation was swiftly dismissed, a quick peck on the cheek or a squeeze of the hand was all he allowed himself. But in the confines of their sprawling Brentwood home, the walls of their master suite were witness to their uninhibited passion.

Their favorite spot was the large four-poster bed with the soft, white linens that looked almost virgin in their pristine state. But once they began to move together, the sheets would be a tangled mess of sweat and desire, stained with the evidence of their love. The room was spacious, with large windows that looked out over the sprawling backyard, but they rarely drew the curtains, preferring the dim light of the setting sun to play across their skin as they lost themselves in each other's embrace.

On occasion, she and Justin indulged in their more adventurous side, pushing the boundaries of their comfort zones and getting carried away in the hot tub on their secluded patio. The jets of water caressed their bodies, creating a gentle, rhythmic pulsing that mimicked the throbbing between their legs. The night sky above them was a blanket of stars, twinkling down like a silent audience to their passionate display.

Other times, they would spill into the living room, eagerly pulling at each other's clothes as the fireplace crackled in the background, the flickering light casting shadows across their entwined limbs. The plush couch would creak under their weight as Justin took her from behind, her moans muffled by the cushion as she buried her face into the fabric. He'd whisper filthy things into her ear, his breath hot and heavy as he pushed into her, the friction driving them both wild.

The rarest of locations was the kitchen island. It was usually reserved for quick kisses and midnight snacks, but every so often it became the stage for a passionate encounter neither of them had planned. She had been up late, working on a particularly difficult assignment, and Justin had stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. She'd looked up from her laptop, bleary-eyed and frustrated, and their eyes had met over the gleaming countertop.

Without a word, Justin had set the glass down and crossed the room, his cock already hardening as he approached her. He'd hoisted her up onto the cold marble, the shock of the cold sending a delicious shiver through her body. He kissed her hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his hands found her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh. She moaned into his mouth, her legs wrapping around his waist as he ground against her.

Within minutes, the kitchen counter had become a battlefield of passion, her laptop shoved aside as they gave in to the animalistic urgency that had overtaken them. The scent of their desire mingled with the faint lingering aroma of dinner, and the cool marble a welcome counterpart to the heat of their bodies. Justin's hands roamed her curves, tracing her waist before sliding under her shirt to cup her breasts. He palmed them greedily, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting gasps that were swallowed by his hungry kisses.

M = Motivation

She stood eagerly along the sidelines, neck straining as she attempted to catch a glimpse of Justin, hoping to give him a good luck kiss before he took the field. The air was electric with excitement and anticipation, the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant aroma of stadium food wafting through the air. Despite the roar of the crowd, she felt a sudden sense of peace, her heart fluttering in her chest as her eyes locked with his. His grin was infectious, white helmet in hand as his long legs carried him towards her.

She felt a rush of warmth spread through her as Justin's gaze met hers, his blue eyes piercing through the chaos. She knew that look, the one that said he took note of her choice of attire. The oversized '10' jersey fell large over her frame, falling to her mid-thigh, black biker shorts peeking out from underneath, revealing her brown, moisturized legs. It was a tease she knew he appreciated, and she bit her bottom lip in a playful challenge.

Justin stepped closer, his matching jersey clinging to his chest, and whispered, "Love what you're wearing, baby," his voice filled with mischief. His hand slid down her side, grazing the fabric of her shorts before giving her a gentle pat on the ass. It was a simple gesture, but it was all the motivation she needed to feel a flood of arousal between her legs. She knew what he was thinking, what he wanted.

"Kiss?" She whispered against his ear, her breath hot and sweet. She knew he would never go for it but she always asked anyway, shamefully hoping to break him down one day.

"Can't risk it," he murmured back, his voice thick with regret. "But I'll make it up to you tonight, I promise."

Her face warmed at the promise, her heart racing in anticipation. She nodded, whispering, "Go kick some ass, 10." With one last smile, he pulled away, the pads of his fingers leaving a tingling imprint on her skin.

Wins were always sweeter with her waiting for him. After the game, showered and dressed in his street clothes, Justin felt a new kind of energy coursing through his veins. The adrenaline from the win mixed with the anticipation of what awaited him at home.

N = No

Justin had always drawn a hard line when it came to what he was comfortable doing in public. He knew all too well the consequences of a misstep. Living in Los Angeles, there was always someone with a camera lurking, ready to capture the most intimate of moments. So he was firm in his stance that certain acts were strictly reserved for the privacy of their home. She was lucky if he did anything more than hold her hand or give her a peck on the cheek in public, even when the desire to devour her whole was practically eating him alive.

Even around their families, she and Justin remained relatively chaste. Exchanging quick pecks when they thought no one was watching, their thighs pressed together when he pulled her chair closer to his at the dinner table. It wasn't that they were shy or embarrassed, but rather they enjoyed keeping some things just for them. The secret glances, the knowing smirks, it was their silent love language that spoke volumes without a single word.

In private, Justin's hardest no was anything that didn't include her consent. He'd always made it clear that their relationship was built on trust, respect, and open communication. While he had his kinks and fantasies, he knew that pushing her boundaries without her full consent was a betrayal of the love they shared. He'd seen the way some of his teammates treated their partners, the casual disregard for boundaries that often left the women feeling used rather than loved. He was determined never to be that kind of man, out of respect for her and her comfort.

That line included any form of degradation. He recognized that being married to a professional athlete came with a certain level of scrutiny and pressure, and he wasn't about to add to that by treating her poorly in any way, especially in their intimate moments.

O = Oral

Gun to his head, Justin wouldn't be able to choose. He adored giving her head, worshipping at the altar of her pussy like it was the holy grail. Her taste was an intoxicant, the sweetness of her arousal a potent elixir that he never tired of. His tongue slithered over her folds, delving into her depths with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Her legs would shake, her back arching off the bed as he worked her over, her moans guiding him like a siren's call to a sailor lost at sea.

He would spend the rest of his life between her thighs if she'd let him. He always took his time, savoring the moment, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess. She would try to push him away, her body too sensitive, but he knew better. He'd hold her down, his strong hands anchoring her to the bed, and continue to lick and nip and suck as if starved.

On the other hand, he quietly craved the feeling of her mouth around him, the way her eyes would lock onto his as she took him in deeper. She had a way of making him feel like a king with every swipe of her tongue, every gentle suck. She was meticulous, eager to learn what made him moan, what made his toes curl, and what would make him come undone. And when she finally took him all the way in, her throat tight and hot, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Deep moans would dissolve into hitched breaths and curses as she worked him over, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. The sight was almost too much for him to handle—his beautiful, shy wife, on her knees, her mouth full of his cock. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, introverted woman he knew her to be in the outside world, but here, in the sanctuary of their bedroom, she was a goddess of passion, unleashing a side of herself that only he got to see.

It drove him wild, that secret power she had over him. The way she could bring him to his knees with just a look or a touch. His head would fall back, the veins in his neck standing out as he chased his climax, his eyes rolling back in his head. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched him lose control.

P = Pace

She felt the heat between her legs build as she squirmed on the counter, her pussy aching to be filled. She braced herself against the cool marble, her thighs falling open as Justin's hand trailed up her leg, teasing her inner thigh. The anticipation was unbearable, a delicious torment that made her whimper for more.

"Needy little thing," Justin murmured, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of her wanton display. "Pussy's begging for it, isn't she?"

"Yes," she breathed, her voice trembling. She was already so wet, she could feel the slickness of her arousal coating her thighs. Her cotton shorts were a flimsy barrier that she desperately wished would disappear.

Justin's hand slid under the hem of her shorts, his fingers finding their way to her clit with undeterred precision. He began to rub her in tight, firm, fast circles as he leaned in to kiss her again. The contrast of his roughness and the gentle caress of his lips was like a lightning strike to her core, making her quiver and gasp. She could feel the muscles in her thighs tense, the pressure building as he teased her closer and closer to the edge.

The kitchen light bounced off his silver wedding band, a stark contrast to his tanned skin as he slid his hand into her shorts. She gripped the counter harder, her stomach tensing. His thumb circled her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to keep her on the precipice of orgasm. His other hand wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place as his kiss grew more demanding.

Justin's hand slid down, his middle finger pushing into her wetness. Her legs quivered as he began to pump in and out of her, setting a pace that was both maddening and exquisite. She could feel herself getting wetter, her juices coating his digit. The sound of their kisses and her muffled moans filled the kitchen, the only noises in the otherwise quiet house.

Q = Quickie

During the season, their sex life practically survived on quickies. With Justin's demanding schedule and her work commitments, moments alone were scarce, making their stolen encounters even hotter. They'd often find themselves in the shower, the warm water cascading down their bodies as they kissed with an urgency that only came from knowing they had to be quick.

Justin would pin her against the tiles, his hand squeezing her ass as he slid into her, the steam rising around them like a curtain of passion. She would wrap her legs around his waist, her nails digging into his back as they moved together, the water making their skin slick and their movements more intense. The rush of pleasure was always worth it, even if it left them both panting and wanting more.

Quickies were a guilty pleasure for her, a chance to get her fill of Justin when time was not on their side. She liked the urgency, the way their bodies collided with no preamble, no time for shyness or self-consciousness. It was raw, primal, and incredibly satisfying, leaving her feeling both relieved and famished for the next time they could be together.

They would try to get their fill whenever possible. After a particularly intense game, in the morning before the world woke up, in the middle of the night when insomnia struck, and in the afternoon when they should be trying to nap.

The offseason was the direct opposite. They could go over a week without feeling the urge to jump each other's bones at every opportunity. It was a natural ebb and flow to their relationship, a chance to catch their breath and enjoy the quiet moments together. When they did have sex, it was usually slow and sensual, a chance to reconnect after the chaotic season.

Rounds stretched into a marathon of passion as she and Justin lost themselves in each other. Her nails dug into his back as she met every thrust with eager hips. Their bodies moved in a symphony of desire, the only music the slap of skin and the wet sounds of their union.

R = Risk

"How many times do you think you could come?" She asked, the question leaving her lips in a casual fashion as they lay entangled together in between crisp white sheets. Justin was still half-asleep as the sun began to peek through the windows of their bedroom.

Justin's eyes snapped open, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "Is that a challenge?" he murmured, his voice still gruff from sleep.

"Now you pay attention?" She teased, her voice a low purr as she traced her fingers through his hairline, feeling the softness of the strands between her digits.

Justin's grin grew wider. "Always do, baby," he said, his hand snaking down to her waist, giving it a firm squeeze. "But I'm guessing you've got something in mind?"

"I think you've got two max." She said, her voice dripping with confidence. "You're always a little out of it after the first. But we can test it?"

Justin's eyes sparked with a competitive fire. "You're on," he murmured, rolling them over so that she was straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips.

S = Stamina

Justin lasts unfathomably long. It's a trait that she both adores and is slightly envious of. She can rarely match his energy, often coming twice before he even considers announcing his own release. But she tries, oh how she tries. There's something about watching him, feeling him, that makes her want to push him to his limits. It's a silent competition they've had since they were younger and inexperienced, each eager to outdo the other, to give the most pleasure.

He's like a well-oiled machine in bed, his body moving with precision and strength that mirrors his performance on the field. But it's not just his stamina that amazes her, it's his ability to keep her on the edge, to read her body like a book, to know exactly when to push her over.

Justin's stamina wasn't just physical, it was mental too. He could keep going for hours, bringing her to the brink and pulling her back, only to do it again and again until she was begging him to let her come. He thrived on her reactions, the way her eyes would roll back, the way she'd bite her lip and arch her back, her nails digging into his skin.

T = Toys

It's just not his thing. She has a vibrator, a small pink device that she enjoys when he's out of town. It's not something they talk about often, but the unspoken understanding is there. They respect each other's needs and privacy. On more than one occasion, she's caught him staring blankly at the small, harmless toy tucked into her nightstand drawer, eyes squinted at his competition.

When they're together, toys are never part of the equation. Justin's hands, mouth, and cock are more than enough for her. Plus, the idea of sharing her with anything else makes him possessive in a way that's both thrilling and a little intimidating. He's not a toy person—her body was more than enough for him.

U = Unfair

She was perched in Justin's lap, sitting pretty in her favorite seat. His blue eyes were hidden from view as he released shallow breaths through his nose, trying his best to keep his hands to himself. It was a game they often played, one that usually ended with her skipping away with a self-satisfied hum and Justin glaring at her with a mix of love and annoyance.

Her hips rocked into his clothed erection, soft moans escaping her lips as she smiled with a wicked grin. There was too much fabric between them for Justin's taste, but he knew better than to push it. She had a way of teasing him that made him crazy with need, and he wasn't about to ruin the moment by rushing her.

"You're such a tease," he murmured, his voice strained as his cock grew harder against her.

"Poor baby," she pouted with a mocking tone, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the power of it made her feel alive. "I'm literally sitting on your dick. What more could you possibly need from me?"

Justin's jaw clenched as he fought the urge to rip her shorts off. "You know what I want," he said, his voice low and gruff.

She leaned in, her breath hot against his neck. "Do I?" she whispered, her teeth grazing his skin. "Tell me, baby."

"Sweetheart," Justin warned, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily. Her hands pressed against his chest, using him as leverage to grind herself down on him. He could feel her warmth even through the fabric, the friction building a delicious ache.

"Mm?" she hummed, feigned innocence playing across her features as she leaned in for a playful, fleeting pull of his bottom lip. "Do you want me to stop?"

Justin groaned, his hands gripping at the sheets. "Fuck no," he managed to get out, his voice a desperate rasp. He watched as she pulled her shorts off, discarding the flimsy material to reveal her glistening pussy. He felt the heat radiate off of her, his own need making his vision swim. "Please, baby..."

"Hmm?" She straddled him again, her pussy pressing into his covered erection, her essence leaving a damp spot on the fabric of his boxers. "Tell me what you want, J."

Justin's eyes darkened with lust. "I want you to sit on it," he ground out, his voice tight with need. "Take my cock, baby. Wanna make you feel so good."

"Sweet boy, is that what you want?" She whispered. She slid her hand down his stomach, her fingers tracing the outline of his shaft through his boxers. He watched, breath held, as she hooked her thumb into the waistband and pulled it down, freeing him. His cock sprang up, eager and demanding, and she licked her lips as she took it in her hand.

V = Volume

The advantage of refraining from any public escapades was that they never had to worry about volume. In the quiet of their master suite, Her moans could fill the room without a care. With the door locked and the world outside oblivious to their passion, they could be as loud as they liked.

Justin is undoubtedly a grunter and a moaner. He's not shy about it, and she loves it. His noises are like a symphony to her ears, each one telling her exactly how good she's making him feel. It turns her on, makes her want to push him even further, to elicit more of those deep, guttural sounds.

The grunts are more common when he's driving into her deep, folding her in half with the power of his thrusts. The grunts start off low and slow, building up like the crescendo of a rock anthem before peaking and subsiding into a series of staccato moans as he hits his rhythm.

His moans were more common when she was on top. The visual of her full breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips, her eyes glazed over with pleasure, was too much for him to handle quietly. When she leaned back, taking him in deep, her ass bouncing in his hands, he'd let out a low groan that resonated in his chest. It was a sound that seemed to echo through the room, a declaration of his need and a plea for her to keep going.

Regardless of position, he was a talker. Justin had a knack for whispering sweet nothings and dirty somethings that never failed to make her wetter. He'd praise her, tell her how good she felt, how tight she was, how much he loved her. It was a verbal foreplay that could make her come on its own. But when they were at the height of passion, the words turned into incoherent sounds of pleasure.

She was primarily a moaner, her voice rising and falling in a symphony of pleasure that was music to Justin's ears. Her sounds grew more intense as he took her closer to the edge, her breath hitching as she whispered his name in a plea for more.

When she came, it was always with a whined curse that melted into a breathless moan. Her walls tightening around him as she threw her head back, her nails leaving half-moon imprints on his shoulders. Justin's eyes rolled back, his own release a heartbeat away as he watched her fall apart.

W = Wild Card

It was one of those nights where the tension between them was palpable, the kind that made the air thick and charged. They had both had a long week, and the stress of their separate worlds weighed heavy on their shoulders. She had just come home from a particularly grueling day at work, her mind racing with numbers and algorithms that seemed to follow her into the bedroom.

Justin looked up from his iPad, the concern in his eyes unmistakable. He knew that look on her face—the one that meant she needed a good, hard fuck to clear her head. He set the device aside and stood up, his cock already twitching at the thought. "You okay?"

She looked over at him, her eyes heavy-lidded with need. "Just stress," she murmured, her voice tight. She was seated at the desk in the corner of their bedroom, glasses perched adorably on her nose, bright laptop screen casting a soft glow across her cheeks.

Justin could see the exhaustion etched into her features, the way she sat hunched over her work. He knew she'd been working overtime, trying to meet an impossible deadline while he was away at training camp. "Take a break, baby," he said softly, walking over to her.

"Can't," she murmured, not looking up. "Need to finish this."

But Justin had other plans. He stepped behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders to massage the tense muscles. She leaned into his touch with a sigh, her eyes slipping closed as his thumbs dug into her neck.

"Let me help you, hmm?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. His hands slid down her chest, cupping her breasts over her shirt, and her eyes shot open in surprise. She looked up at him through her glasses, a small smile playing on her lips. "Come to bed, babe."

With a nod, she saved her work and allowed him to lead her to the king-sized monstrosity that was their bed. He gently helped her onto it, his hands moving to her waist to pull her to sit on his thighs. He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth, tasting the mint of her toothpaste and the sweetness of her tongue.

His hands roamed up her torso, caressing her breasts before moving to her back to unbutton her shirt. She felt the fabric slide off her shoulders, the cool air of the air-conditioned room kissing her skin. She shivered as Justin's hands found her bra clasp and released her breasts. He cupped them, his thumbs teasing her nipples into tight peaks before his mouth followed.

She moaned softly as she ground her hips down onto him, feeling him throb with desire. He was always so hard for her, and she loved the power that came with knowing she could do this to him—make him ache and beg.

Justin's hands slid up her thighs, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, making her squirm. His touch was featherlight, but it sent shockwaves through her body. He knew her so well, knew exactly how to make her crazy with want.

"Fuck, I'm so wet," she chuckled, her hips moving of their own accord. "How do you do this to me?"

Justin's smile grew wider, his hand moving to her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "It was in my vows," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. "To love, honor, and drive you crazy."

With a giggle, she leaned back, allowing him to pull her shorts and underwear off in one fluid motion. She straddled him, her naked body pressing into his, and the heat of his skin was like a brand against her own. His cock was thick and hard, nestled between her thighs, and she could feel the slickness of her desire coating it.

Justin's hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her as if it was the first time. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His tongue danced over her skin, tasting her, marking her as his. Her breath hitched as his teeth grazed her earlobe, her eyes rolling back at the sensation.

"Gonna clear that stress right out of you," Justin murmured, his voice thick with desire. He reached between them, his hand wrapping around his shaft to guide it to her entrance. Her breath hitched as he pushed into her, his length filling her completely, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

Their eyes locked as they moved together, the rhythm slow and deliberate. Every inch of him was a sweet torture, a delicious reminder of why they loved each other so fiercely. Her hips began to roll in a steady, mesmerizing pattern, her nails digging into his shoulders. She could feel the beginnings of an orgasm, a slow build that seemed to coil in her belly.

Justin's hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, setting a pace that was driving him wild. His eyes were dark with lust, his teeth clenched as he watched her ride him, her breasts bobbing with each movement. "Talk to me, baby," he urged, his voice a gruff whisper. "Tell me how it feels."

She leaned back, her palms pressing into his thighs as she took him in deeper. "It feels...like - fuck," she managed, her voice breathy as she lost her train of thought. "I can't think straight, J."

Justin's smile grew wolfish. "Good," he murmured, his hips meeting hers in a punishing rhythm. "That's exactly what I want." He reached up, wrapping his hand around her throat, the gesture gentle but firm. Her eyes fluttered closed, moaning as her hips stuttered against his.

Their bodies moved in a silent conversation, speaking of love and need and a desire so deep it was almost painful. Justin felt the tension coil tighter and tighter in his stomach, his balls drawing up with the promise of release. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her pussy fluttering in anticipation.

"Gonna paint your pretty walls, baby," Justin growled, his grip on her throat tightening as he watched her pussy swallow him whole. The thought of coming inside her was almost too much to bear. He'd been fantasizing about this all week, about filling her up and watching her come apart on his cock.

Her eyes snapped open, her pupils blown wide. "Please," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I need it. Need your cum, please."

Justin groaned, his grip tightening before he let go of her throat, his thumb tracing a gentle line down her neck. "Fuck, babe," he breathed, his own need spiraling out of control. He watched as she leaned back, her fingers finding her clit, her movements frantic as she worked herself closer to the edge.

Her back arched, her eyes screwed shut, and Justin knew she was close. He reached up, his hand joining hers, his thumb pressing into her clit. The sound of their joined moans was the sweetest music, and he could feel her body tightening around him, her orgasm approaching.

He slammed into her one last time, his own release crashing over him like a wave. Cum spurted from his cock, filling her up, just as he had promised. Her walls clamped down on him, milking him for every drop as she came with a keening cry.

Justin's grip on her hips loosened as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting heavily. She slumped forward, her forehead resting against his chest as she tried to catch her breath. "Goddamn," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

She giggled, the sound muffled by his skin. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to... I just needed..."

"Shh," Justin soothed, his hands stroking her back. "You never have to apologize for that, baby." He kissed her forehead, his heart still racing. "I know you needed some stress relief. I'm just happy to be the one to give it to you."

She leaned into his embrace, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her. She loved how he always knew exactly what she needed, even when she couldn't put it into words. His gentle touch was soothing, grounding her in the present moment.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes still closed. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner. The cool air brushed against her sweat-slicked skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

X = X-ray

He's 6'6" and it's really pretty.

Y = Yearning

Between the two of them, her sex drive was the more insatiable of the two. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of erotic thoughts and desires, a constant throb of yearning that only Justin seemed to truly understand. She craved the intimacy of his touch, the way he could make her feel seen and desired. Her body responded to him on a primal level, a hunger that was never fully sated.

That's not to say that Justin didn't have his own moments of intense need. But it was different for him. His job was physical, demanding, and often left him drained. Yet when he saw her, his body responded with an eagerness that surprised him every time. It was like his body had a reserve just for her, a spring of desire that filled him up again the moment she was near.

Z = Zzz

It depends on the intensity of their session. Sometimes, they'd collapse into a heap of tangled limbs, panting and sweaty, and sleep would claim them almost instantly. Other times, particularly after one of their more explosive encounters, they'd lie in the aftermath, their bodies humming with satisfaction as they talked into the early hours of the morning.

Tonight, however, it was a quickie. The kind that left them both breathless and smiling, but with enough energy to spare for a little pillow talk. Justin's arms were wrapped around her waist, his chest rising and falling in time with her own. His cock was still hard, but he knew better than to push for another round—not yet.

"I missed this," she murmured, her voice sleepy as she snuggled closer to him. "Miss seeing you happy."

Justin's heart squeezed at her words. He knew she'd been worried about him, especially with the season amping up. The pressure was immense, and it was a relief to find solace in her arms. "Missed you too," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm always happy with you."

"I know, but I miss seeing that smile," she said, her voice still a little breathless. She leaned back to look at him, her brown eyes searching his blue ones. "You worry me sometimes." She admitted, her hand tracing his jawline.

Justin's smile grew soft, and he leaned into her touch. "I'm okay, sweetheart. Promise. I've got you to come home to," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth to her chest. "That's all the happiness I need."

[artbiter]

wolf in sheep's clothing

art donaldson/reader nsfw summary: art falls for you first yet patrick gets the fortune of having you. what else is art supposed to do but play dirty? tags: stanford!art, stanford reader too, art is a borderline homewrecker, art donaldson is a SNAKE, patrick gets cucked right under his nose </3, oral, slight body worship, TBH idk note: hi this is my first time writing ff since .. 2021 .. and this is definitely a diff style from the ao3-approach i usually take to writing but please enjoy i really like art donaldson i really like challengers and i really like art taking what he wants (and i really like mike faist in blonde curls)

art donaldson is not a homewrecker, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for his chance with you.

he first meets you at one of his games, eyes flitting over the crowd and panting hard after a rather close singles win, before his gaze is magnetically drawn to your pretty face in the bleachers. smiling with your friends, you look so happy to just be watching this game, and when you make eye contact with art you wave excitedly like he's a celebrity, and whisper to your friends after he salutes back with a grin, trying to catch the breath your gorgeous smile has knocked out of him.

he wants to find you so bad after, and so he does. your friends are tennis groupies, hanging behind to flirt with any guy with a racket in hand, but you're just there for moral support. he chases after you just before you leave, just to say hi. an innocuous greeting and thanks for your support. and he sees how jealous your friends are that you tag along once with them and immediately get picked up by art freaking donaldson, but you seem to be oblivious, beaming at him and clasping your hands to your chest. you tell him he was great out there, that you've never "gotten" tennis but that you can feel he's a pro anyway. you part ways and he can't stop thinking about you.

when he tells patrick that he's met the prettiest girl he's ever seen at one of his matches, patrick thinks it's endearing and the epitome of dumb puppy love.

"did you even get her name? or were you just drooling over her?"

"nah, that would've been weird... right? oh shit, should i have? i was trying to be normal about it, i don't know." art beats himself up for not even picking up on your name in conversation, and resolves to seek out your identity and ask you out.

so when he finally has the fortune of seeing you again at a party, he's heartbroken when you smile and wave to patrick in tow.

"patrick!" you laugh and bound up to the pair. "didn't take you as a stanford party type of guy."

"i'm a plus one tonight. lucky i ran into you, huh?" patrick is eye-fucking you and doesn't even try to hide it, and art feels like doubling over in pure grief.

patrick notices but says nothing, only introducing you to art. "yeah, i'm here with my buddy art." he slaps art on the back lightly and art finds out that you and patrick met at another party before this. he remembers you from patrick's anecdotes over lunch, where patrick wouldn't shut up about the hottest chick he's ever seen who wouldn't go home with him, but has been texting ever since.

some other girl, presumably one of your friends, attaches herself to art's arm for the rest of the night, but he can't bring himself to notice or care when patrick kisses you and you lean into it.

patrick got to you first, and art hates himself for it. he won't admit it, but he feels the resentment festering inside of him as soon as patrick announces it's official.

the next best course of action for art is to play the best friend role, obviously. except like the unassuming snake art is, he's going to be your best friend, too.

he's your puppy, waiting on your beck and call — whatever you need, he's got it. your bio homework is impossible? sure, you can copy his. you got no sleep last night? he has your regular order from your favorite café committed to memory. patrick's being such a bad boyfriend? oh, tell him all about it.

"he's so inconsiderate," you whine, slumping over your pillow. "can you believe he forgot our six months? and when i brought it up, he didn't even say sorry. he was just, like, 'i didn't know we were still in high school.' i wanted to die, art, really."

art clicks his tongue in sympathy, criss-crossed on your dorm floor and nodding along to your laments. "no, he's definitely wrong here. i'm sorry he forgot something so important." for good measure, he adds in, "guys should be looking out for their girlfriends all the time. i'd be celebrating monthly anniversaries if i had a girl."

"ugh, right? i thought so, too." you flop back onto your bed, turning your head to gaze at art. he thinks you're so beautiful like this, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, bare faced with tears tinging your eyes. "you're a good guy. i don't know why you don't just date."

he doesn't want to date anyone if it isn't you, but he doesn't say this.

art watches you and patrick continue for another few rocky months, marked by arguments spawned from patrick's chronic nonchalance and your sensitivity to his perceived lack of care. and art gets the full report from both sides; patrick tells him all the time about how he's really trying to make you happy and support you, but he doesn't see why you value such small things. and you cry to art, sobbing that patrick never takes you out anymore if it isn't to fuck, that patrick is too friendly to other girls. art thinks to himself that patrick doesn't deserve you, but he rubs small circles on your back and reassures you that you need to do what's right for yourself.

(he's elated when you don't remove yourself from his touch.)

when you finally break it off with patrick, he hears it from his best friend first.

"dude, she dumped me." patrick's voice buzzes over the phone. "not gonna lie, i saw this one coming. but i thought i was doing good, seriously. fuck, what am i gonna do?"

"i'm sorry, man," art sympathizes before he hears a knock on his door. "yeah, it really does suck. take a breather for a few days. i'm sorry, but i really have to go right now." he peeks into the peephole and sees you standing outside. "let's talk more later?"

patrick is still rambling on the other end, but art hangs up and opens the door for you to immediately come spilling.

"art, i broke up with him. i really couldn't do it anymore." you tell art more things he already knows, like that you liked patrick a lot but you were just uncompatible in the end, and that you wished he listened. as always, art feeds into you, agreeing with your every word. something deep inside art tells him it's wrong to coax his best friend's girlfriend into breaking up with him, and that he's messed up for offering you his support when patrick technically should come first. but when you look up at art through wet eyelashes, sniffling and yearning for comfort, who is he to deny you?

art cups your face gently and presses his lips to yours. he doesn't miss how your eyes widen, but you don't jerk away. his heart pounds in his chest as he holds the small of your back with one hand while the other caresses your cheek. you smell so clean and warm, and your lips are so soft art wonders how patrick could ever give you up without a fight. it solidifies art's need for you, that if patrick won't make you happy, he will.

when you pull away from him, you're breathless, voice barely above a whisper. "art, i don't think we should—"

he can't contain himself from kissing your neck, relishing the soft, smooth expanse, inhaling your scent so deep into his lungs he finds it oxygen. "tell me you don't want this." he laps at your jaw, sucking light bruises onto the sides of your throat. "tell me you don't want me to treat you the way you should be, and i'll stop."

you moan his name involuntarily, and art takes it as the green light to carry you to his bed and kisses back up to your lips. "i'm sorry," he murmurs into your skin. "i'm sorry. i want you so bad."

"then show me," you sigh softly, hands rooting themselves into his blonde curls as his tongue probes your mouth.

like you even had to ask.

tugging down your sweatpants and feeling like coming just as the sight of your underwear, art immediately tears it off of you. he latches himself to your cunt, already weeping, and he looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. "already so wet for me, baby?"

"mmf..." your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tighten their grip as you push his head forward, and he obliges.

he licks wide stripes, feeling you convulse and twitch every time his tongue comes in contact with your clit. his dick throbs in his pants just from eating you out.

"you taste so sweet. fuck, you're delicious," he pants, making out with your pussy like it's your lips. "don't know how i survived this long without you."

you buck your hips up into his mouth, mewling and spasming as he suckles and licks at just the right places. your cunt is soaked, but neither of you can tell whether it's from your arousal or how much art is slobbering over your pussy. "right there," you squeak out, a hot wave washing over your body as you cum on art's face.

and fuck, art almosts busts on the spot with you. his mouth doesn't cease, swirling patterns all over your vulva, grazing over your clit, dipping his tongue inside of you as you lock your legs around his head desperately.

"too much, too much!" you feebly try to pull his head up from your cunt, but he's so addicted to your taste he barely notices how sensitive you are now, how your clit twitches and aches for a break.

art can only laugh softly as he pulls himself back up to you, kissing you gently as his hands roam underneath your shirt and to your bra clasp.

"mm, you're so good," you gasp into art's mouth as his kiss becomes sloppier. "so good to me, art."

"it's what you deserve," he mumbles back, unhooking your bra and clumsily pulling your shirt off so your tits spill free. and even art is admired by his own self-restraint, just staring at your perfect body on display for him. he's been dreaming of this day for months now, jerking himself off late at night to thoughts of you sucking his cock, to pictures of you smiling on his phone, to the memory of your voice the day he met you. it's so wrong of him to fuck his best friend's ex fresh after the split, but why do you feel so right beneath him? "i've been waiting for this," he whispers into your neck. "been wanting to show you how much i want you. want to make you feel good. want to treat you so much better."

"fuck me, art, please," you beg him, relenting and palming at his boxers. you're so fucking easy, letting him touch you like this and being compliant as he undresses you, kisses you all over, shrugs his boxers off as you help him position his cock right at your entrance. it's not your fault that art has been nothing but kind and gentle to you. it's not your fault that he's been flirting with you since day 1, and now all his desires have culminated into head of a lifetime. and art finally has what he wants now: you.

and even when he barely pushes the tip in, he wants to cum inside of you so badly he feels dizzy. "so fucking tight, i'm gonna cum, gonna cum right now," he gasps in your ear as he unsheathes himself, stretching your warm, tight hole. "so perfect, holy shit. fucking made for me, baby, you feel so—" he can't stop himself from rutting into you, and he just about comes undone when he hears his name tumble from your lips in pained moans. it takes all the self-control in the world for art to not pour himself into your wet heat right now.

"slow down, art, fuck, you're so big," you sob, clawing at his back. he wishes he could fuck you nice and slow, the way he always envisioned his first time with you would be. he'd fantasized about nights with you full of languid strokes, making you scream his name with calculated, intentional thrusts straight to the spongy patch buried within you. but art is just a humble man, and when your walls, silky and warm, are choking his dick, he can't resist fucking into you like a jackhammer. you cry, moaning uncontrollably as your hands clutch tightly at him, letting his cock ruin you.

art's head goes fuzzy, and all he knows now is your pussy trying to milk him dry and that he can't say anything coherent besides strings of guttural moans telling you how warm, how tight, how good you feel on his dick, how your sweet cunt was made for him, how beautiful you look and sound at his mercy, how he wants you to be his so bad and that he'll do anything for you to be his. that his only regret is not claiming you first.

you keep crooning in his ear, honeyed moans that intoxicate him dizzier and dizzier as you tell him that he can have you. with a few more stutters of his hips, and a convulsing squeeze from your walls onto his cock, his head falls into the crook of your neck as he pulls out and shoots ropes all over your stomach, right as you cry out his name uncontrllably, heaving beneath him. a low, resounding grunt rips from his throat while his seed paints your abdomen, and he feels you shiver upon the warmth touching your skin.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes again like the gentleman he is. his breath still heaves at an uneven rhythm, staggering as he attempts to regain his composure, but every time his eyes fall upon you it feels like he wants to go for round 2. "i'll clean you up, pretty girl. you were so perfect." he presses his forehead to yours, sweaty and damp, and whispers, "you were made for me."

some sick sense of pride fills art from head to toe as your body trembles in an attempt to catch your breath, your hair disheveled and lips puffy, patches of skin blooming pink and red from art essentially making out with every inch of your body. and you blush when you catch him staring, covering your face and murmuring for him to come back to bed.

he did this to you. he made you such a picturesque image of ruined perfection, splayed out on his bed and stained with his cum, pleading for his embrace.

patrick would have to pry you from his cold, dead hands.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

yoga

words: 1.2k

warnings: sexual assault!! (not from rafe), established relationship, brief violence but its nothing more serious than a shove, rafe is a bit grumpy at first but hes a softie for his girl

“can't believe you're dragging me to this dumb shit.” rafe grumbles, both yoga mats tucked under his arm.

“oh come on, it's an intermediate class! it'll probably be challenging.” you enter into the room, spotting a good place for your mats near the back of the room as you navigate through the people who arrived even earlier than you.

“besides.” you hum. “it's good to stretch those big muscles of yours.” you poke rafes bicep with a sly smile on your face, getting on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

rafe grumbles something under his breath, but the frown is gone from his lips as he lays out your mat and then his.

you both sit, arranging your other workout supplies, only one large water bottle shared between the two of you, rafe insists there's no need to bring two, liking when you're at the gym and have to come over to him to take a drink.

“people take their shoes off?” rafes face scrunches up as he looks around the room.

you can't help but giggle. “you don't have to if you don't want to, baby.”

“yeah, im definitely not.” rafe resists the urge to leave, call it quits on this class. he looks at you, reminding himself who he's doing this shit for.

“ive never taken this guy's class before, you know i always go to ashleys on tuesdays and thursdays.” you keep your voice lowered as the instructor walks into the room, greeting a few people before heading to the speakers to get the music for the class setup.

“yeah, i like ashley better than this guy.” rafe is extra thankful he agreed when you dragged him away from his weights. something about this guy already irks rafe.

you roll your eyes at rafe, chuckling softly.

“alright, hello everyone.” the instructor says, stepping to his mat at the front of the class. “i see some new faces so let me introduce myself. im christopher and this is intermediate yoga. if at any point a pose is too difficult for you, feel free to modify or drop into child's pose…”

he continues with his normal speal that you tune out, favoring to watch rafe in the reflection of the mirror, admiring your boyfriends handsome features.

“shit.” you mutter under your breath, too distracted to realize that the class had started as you quickly get into the first warm up poses.

the class flows naturally into the harder moves, the instructor walking around the room on occasion to double check no one is extending themselves too far or arching their back improperly when they're not supposed to.

you move into downward dog upon his instruction, your eyes flickering over to rafe as his shirt falls down his torso slightly, revealing his muscled abs.

you yell when a pair of hands suddenly grab your hips, pulling you a couple inches backwards.

“just correcting your form, dear.” christopher says.

you swallow harshly, feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment at being so distracted and shouting out.

“you okay?” rafe asks, not caring that the instructor is still standing just a few feet away.

“yeah.” you quickly nod. you know rafe is probably resisting the urge to beat the shit out of him for touching you, not realizing it's quite normal in these classes, although ashley always asks your permission beforehand.

“now lower yourself onto your stomach.” the instructor comes to stand behind you again, so you make sure you're doing everything properly with the highest level of fluidity you can.

“and now spread your legs. sit back into your heels and lower your belly button to the earth. arms extend forward for wide childs pose.”

you can practically feel the instructors eyes still on you, and you know from the way rafes head is lifted that he's paying very close attention to his movements.

he leans down next to you and places his hands on your thighs, going to adjust your pose again, but you gasp when his hands don't slide to your hips and instead onto your butt.

rafe is onto his feet in a flash. “get your fucking hands off her.”

he doesn't wait for the instructor to react, pulling him off of you and pushing him into the wall. you flip to sit, as everyone else in the room does to watch the scene unfold.

“i was just correcting her form!” he quickly defends himself.

“as if.” rafe scoffs. “you were fucking groping her ass. get the fuck out of here and i never want to see you at this gym again, consider yourself fired.”

“fired?” christopher shrieks. he's not a small man, but he looks pewny next to rafe. “you can't fire me!”

“would you rather me call the police on you?” rafe grunts. “i prefer to handle shit on my own but if that's what you want…”

“you can't prove anything.” christopher says.

“i… i saw it too.” a woman next to you stands up, coming to your defense even though she doesn't look 100% sure about it.

“and he touched me inappropriately the other week.” another woman stands up. “i thought i was just being sensitive but if he's doing this to other women…”

the rest of the class nods in agreement, clearly this is a pattern with this creep.

“now get the fuck out.” rafe shoves christopher away. “and never touch another person without their permission ever again.”

everyone's eyes are on christopher as he leaves, fleeing in obvious fear.

“baby-” rafe drops down onto his knees, both his hands cupping your face. “are you okay?”

“i-” you bottom lip quivers before tears run down your cheeks. rafe moves quickly, scooping you into his lap and holding you tightly against him, letting your emotions run their course.

he watches as the other women and couple spread out guys collect their mats, understanding they aren't getting a full class today before they head out of the room.

“im so sorry, baby.” rafe coos softly. “he'll never touch you again. i won't let anyone hurt you.”

you sniffle into his shirt, grappling with what just happened. you tilt your head up to look at rafe, needing to see the softness in his eyes.

“i love you.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you.” you tell him, moving quickly to press your lips together in an actual kiss, letting yourself find comfort in his mouth.

you pull away with a content sigh, wiping your face with your palms before you slide out of rafes arms. “im… im okay.” you say honestly, glad nothing further happened. “thanks to you.”

“come on.” rafe stands. “let's get our mats and get out of here. ice cream?”

“mhm.” you nod, knowing rafe is going to be doting over you for the rest of the week, keeping an even closer eye on you than usual.

you walk out of the yoga room and down the hallway into the lobby, seeing the crowd of people with mats tucked under their arm taking to the director of the gym.

“there he is!” the woman who spoke out about his inappropriate touching says. “there's our hero!”

you smile at rafe. your hero.

sfw taglist: @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight @ethanthequeefqueen @ladyinbl00d

[familyvideostevie]

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?" 

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell. 

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says.  "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain. 

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on. 

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch." 

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[vanteguccir]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMrxNHaFP/

write Y/N doing that with Chris and put Matt's and Nick's reaction 🙏🏻

── ୨୧ !　a small blurb where you send a dirty text to Chris while he's filming with his brothers

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

The kitchen was filled with the familiar buzz of cameras as Chris, Matt, and Nick sat around the wooden table, enthusiastically recording their latest YouTube video, Trying and Rating Bad Baby Food. Their lively banter and contagious laughter echoed through the room, creating a warm, vibrant atmosphere. Y/N was lounging comfortably on the grey couch, half-watching them and half-scrolling through her phone.

She chuckled at their antics, her gaze occasionally drifting over to her boyfriend, who was in the middle of a heated debate with Matt over the best baby food. Chris's enthusiasm and energy were infectious, making her smile every time he spoke.

As she continued to scroll, she stumbled upon a TikTok trend where girlfriends sent dirty texts to their boyfriends while they were with other people. The reactions were hilarious and varied, and she couldn't resist the temptation to try it out herself. A mischievous smile spread across her face as she opened her messages and began typing a particularly steamy text to Chris.

"Hey babe, can't stop thinking about how you made me cum non-stop last night... can't wait for you to do it again. Maybe even better this time, yeah?"

She hit send and bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle. Chris's phone, which was sitting on the table between him and Nick, chimed with the notification.

Chris glanced at his phone momentarily, a hint of curiosity crossing his face, but he continued his argument with Matt without picking it up. Nick, however, caught sight of the text that popped up on the screen. His eyes widened, and he let out an exaggerated scream, causing both Chris and Matt to turn their heads in his direction.

"Chris!" Nick exclaimed, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh my god, Chris! You might want to check that."

Chris frowned, reaching for his phone, and as he read the text, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. He looked up at Y/N, who was now watching him with a playful smirk, clearly enjoying his reaction.

"Y/N!" Chris called out, half-laughing, half-shy. "What the hell, babe?"

Matt, clueless about the contents of the text, leaned over to Nick, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen.

"What's it say?"

Nick, still laughing and now dramatically fanning himself, shook his head.

"Oh, Matt, you don't want to know! This is X-rated stuff!"

Y/N burst into laughter on the couch, doubling over as Chris tried to compose himself, his face still flushed.

"Just a small surprise, honey." She teased, winking at him.

Matt finally managed to grab Chris's phone from Nick's hand and took a quick look before recoiling in disgust.

"Oh, gross, dude! Keep that private!"

Chris, now thoroughly enjoying the situation, leaned back in his chair with a smirk.

"Hey, it's not my fault you guys don't get laid." He said, laughing loudly.

Nick continued his dramatic antics, pretending to swoon.

"Oh, the scandal! The sheer indecency!" He exclaimed, making Matt groan even louder.

"Can we please get back to the video?" Matt pleaded, still looking horrified. "I did not need to know that much about your sex life, Chris."

Y/N watched them with a satisfied grin, enjoying the playful chaos she had unleashed. She loved seeing Chris like this, his usual confident self still shining through even when he was the butt of the joke.

As the recording continued, she caught his eye, and he gave her a look that promised payback later, making her heart skip a beat.

[sanospet]

✩ MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IM YOURS AGAIN ✩

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 - 𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘎𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘒𝘐 𝘛𝘖𝘔𝘜𝘙𝘈 𝘟 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦 : gummy walls tightening around the thick of his shaft, tomura's brows knitting together as the coil nestling at the pit of his stomach slowly came undone, hips staggering, painting your warmth with his pearly seed, inscribing the story of your shared love on your walls like a parietal painting.

warnings and notes!

18+ . mdni . smut . angst . hurt comfort . quirkless au . fluffy ending . after care . detailed descriptions of SA . mentions of a knife . reader held at knifepoint . reader has a breakdown . heavy suggestions of reader struggling with SH . detailed fight scene (tomura beats someone’s ass) . deeply insecure reader . they’re both just trying to navigate their way through complex emotions . a whole lot of guilt and self-blaming . soft dom tomura . passionate sex . codependency . requited clinginess . praise praise praise . tomura just being a sweetheart, honestly . pet names (“baby”, “my love”, “princess”) . gender neutral reader . afab reader . reader’s sex is mentioned . proofread though there still may be some spelling mistakes, enjoy <33

authors note:

this fic is super self indulgent, i am the reader, the reader is, indeed, me, lol. it took me much longer than usual to complete, and in turn it is probably one of my longest fics yet, lol. but im happy with how it turned out, i literally daydreamed (basically me writing/directing a movie in my brain, im not sure if that’s the right term…but i do it quite frequently) this fic for like 6 hours straight from start to finish the other day and it kept replaying in my mind like a movie ever since. i needed to get it out and written down, and i wanted to do it justice, so here it is. i hope you enjoy it, and i hope i explained the complexity of their emotions and the turmoil they faced well. thanks for reading <33

(+1000 aura points to you if you caught my shrek reference)

- linus

"you can't be serious..." the question was drawled as tomura gave your outfit a once over, a slight quirk in his brow, earning a pout in response.

"what's wrong with it ?" you whined, feet shifting beneath you as you twirled, "isn't it cute ?" a sweet smile dawning your glossy lips.

tomura's eyes softened, "it is," he confirmed, "very very cute, too cute, even," gaze resting on your upper thighs, raking over the length of them in the reflection before shifting to where your skirt cut off at the back, just beneath the curve of your ass.

sighing softly with a troubled expression, "look, i wouldn't mind you wearing this if i were coming along with you, but you're seriously thinking of going out in that all alone ? to a party, no less...you'll be getting all sorts of unwanted attention from the weirdos plaguing that place."

your hands fiddled with the silver chain, attempting to clasp it behind your neck as you spoke, "tomura, in all my years of living, you're the only guy that's given me the time of day, let alone a double-take," the reality of it set a pang in your chest as you let out a soft, awkward laugh, "i'll be nothing but a fly on the wall at this party, i highly doubt anyone will try anything."

soft snowy locks swaying with a shake of his head, tomura rose from his perch on the armchair, gently shifting your hair to your front, hands replacing your own, "well you'll do it for my peace of mind, won't you ?" gaze meeting yours in the reflection, hand smoothing over the skin of your back, "if you pick out the perfect piece, i suppose." a small smirk rested on your features, tomura reading the playful glint in your eyes.

tomura sifted through the hangers, pulling out a long, brown, flowy skirt, "it's a party, tomura, not a church." shaking his head at your remark, "no, no, look," he took place behind you, laying the fabric against you, "pretty, no ?" eyes shifting from the skirt to your unimpressed ones in the reflection, "tomura..." cutting you off with an exasperated tutt, "fine, fine."

returning to his previous endeavour, "it's like you dress for the summer all year round," he mentioned, flicking through the plethora of mini skirts and dresses before him "fashion knows no weather." you replied, earning a laugh in response.

pulling out a pair of flare jeans, with hope filled eyes, "what about these ?" you shrugged, "it's a skirt kind of day" amused by your reply , "only you would come up with something like that, god, you're impossible."

"oh," you chirped, kneeling down "how about i wear some tights instead ? compromise ?" he hummed as you pulled open the drawer, "let's see them first," sifting through the load, you landed on two that would match your colour scheme, "yeah, well fishnets wont exactly help your cause," he remarked, "don't you have any of those normal ones ?" fingers combing through his locks as he watched.

"and threaten to ruin my ensemble ?" gasping, "not a chance." holding up both pairs as the man observed "pick your poison, tomura~" you joked a slight melody stringing the words together as tomura rolled his eyes, "these will do," seizing the fabric from your grip, he knelt on one knee as you rose, pulling the lace over your legs before taking place behind you, arms wrapped around your waist.

"i can change if you really want me to..." offering a faltering smile, guilt crept in for pushing back so hard, but tomura insisted, "i can take on anyone who dares touching you," setting a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder, "and i don't think i ever really want to go through your closet again, anyway," and you giggle at that.

"you remember the rules, yeah ?" he asks, earning an eager nod in return, "recite them."

"don't get too drunk," you held up a finger, "don't accept drinks from anyone, and guard my own," adding another finger, "keep my location on at all times, text you throughout the night and..." you grew quiet, "don't wander off too far from your friends" he piped in and you nodded, "but what if they're like…making out with someone ?" you questioned, "watch them." he shrugged, "ew, pervert." tutting, softly nudging your elbow into him and he laughed.

the air felt cold and void when he broke your embrace, the clock's incessant ticking toward your departure doing nothing to aid your growing anxiety about your separation with tomura for the night.

"are you sure you can't come with me ?" voice pleading as you trailed close behind him to the kitchen, "i wasn't invited, love." he swallowed thickly as the words left his cracked lips.

he wanted nothing more than to accompany you, the thought of being parted for so long having glass shards set in his stomach, tearing him to shreds from the inside out. yet he pushed for your lonesome attendance, with the thought of you spending time and having a ball with the friends you adored so.

"im sure they'll let you in regardless," brows upturned, eyes soon to be wet with tears, "besides, i don't think security will be that tight, anyway..." placing an opened bottle of ukon no chikara in your hand, he lifted it to your lips, tipping it as you swallowed.

"you know i'm just a phone call way, baby," he smiled, "and i can come and pick you up at anytime.”

placing the small, empty bottle on the counter, "well you don't have to stay up if you're not coming along," you couldn't help the pout that formed, saturating your murmured words, "i could catch a ride with my friend or something."

raising your gaze with a hooked finger beneath your chin, "you know i can't fall sleep without you, love, and i'm pretty sure i need to be awake to answer your messages," thumb shifting to gently stroke your cheek, "and i love your friends, truly, i do, but there's no way i'm letting them drive you home when they're drunk."

"i could get a taxi..." his brows furrowed at that, "and im sure they'd be just as bad as the creeps at the party, love."

nodding at the words, shifting to the balls of your feet, noses brushing together with a smile, your lips meeting in a gentle touch. his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he deepened it, tongue pushing past your lips, the subtle taste of your cherry flavoured lipgloss accompanying it.

"i'll miss you," parting, your breath fanning against his lips as you spoke, "i'll miss you too," he smiled softly.

"do you have everything you need ?" you hummed, moving to grab your small bag from the counter, handing it to him to look over, "and do you really need three lip products ?" he questioned through a breathy laugh as you plucked the lip gloss from his grasp, using the aid of your compact mirror to reapply it. "lip shades are like mood rings, tomura, they change with my emotions."

phone screen lighting up with a message, "she's here already ?" he questioned, failing to suppress the disappointment in his tone, earning a nod as he placed the device in your bag, following you to the front door as you slipped on your shoes.

turning to him, "how do i look ?" clammy hands smoothing over the fabric of your skirt, he neared you, tucking your hair behind your ear, "perfect," he smiled, eyes raking over your appearance, "absolutely perfect."

                               ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

the music seemed to permeate through your eardrums, rattling in your head and you could feel the thumping of the bass in your chest as it played, the alcohol mellowing it out just enough for it to be enjoyable. your body felt loose as you  swayed to the melodies, singing along amongst the crowd of perspiring bodies.

your friends had split as the party drew on, dotting around the oversized living area, hidden in corners and splayed on the leather couches at the centre of it all, preoccupied with their newfound love interests for the night, though you lingered near them.

as your buzz began to subside and the itch for another drink began to set in, your head spun, eyes scanning for a friend of yours to accompany you to fetch one, ruling out the few who had made their way to the second floor in hopes of finding an empty room, dwindling the group to just two, both who seemed to still be busy with the acts of exploring their dates bodies, your defeated sigh was unheard over the music as your feet shifted toward the kitchen.

the ceiling was just as tall as the ones you'd seen prior, the room almost soundproof as you closed the door behind you, warm lighting illuminating the dark oak of the cabinets and the hefty island that stood tall in the middle of it, housing a mix of opened half drunken bottles, crushed solo cups and beer cans as well as your bag.

the bright blue cooler almost shone in contrast, juxtaposed by the mahogany in which it rested upon and you reached in for another cider, before aiming to head out.

bumping harshly into the chest of another, you stumbled back, feeling a tight grip on your wrist and the deep, slightly slurry voice that followed "my bad, are you alright ?" speech failing you, an eager nod was all you could manage, your gaze searing into his tight grip.

finger hooking under your chin, a large smirk growing as he gave you a once over, "well, what's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone at a party like this, hm ?" words laced in excitement, "your friends ditch you or something ? did you lose your way ?"

breath hitching, his touch soldering, blazing your skin, your mind fell numb, heart rate only rising as you attempted to voice back, "i..." the lump forming in your throat swallowed your sound, "i came to get a drink," you pushed, voice low, his gaze moving to the cider in your hand, as you pulled your confined wrist from his grip, "excuse me." head hung, you took a step to leave, the searing cuffs of his calloused hands forming its assault once more on your upper arm, grip bruising.

"oh, c'mon, don't deny a guy so harshly," tone grating, whining almost "we can have some fun of our own." his voice deepened, slowly twisting your arm in his grasp, forcing you to meet him once more as you turned, the only solution to stop the growing discomfort and pain blossoming as you suppressed a cry, the can falling to the ground at the harsh tug.

"l-let me go!" yanking your arm toward you in order to free yourself, he only followed, chest slamming against yours, "eager, aren't we ?" he smirked.

stomach churning, the taste of copper sat heavy on your tongue as he placed a hand on your hip, his grip all but crushing. pushing your lower back against the island, his head dipping into the curve of your neck, "stop!" the attempted yell was more of a chirp, "i have a boyfriend!"

riled and raged, the man pulled back with an irritated sigh, lazily glancing around the empty space, "i don't see him," mocking bitterly.

the words set the fiery pit in your stomach ablaze as you continued "he's on his way," you convinced, "just a few minutes until he arrives."

"well i guess that earns us a few minutes to get this over with," you continued your aggressive attempt to break free, soon stilling as the sensation of a cold and sharp object made its presence pushed up against your exposed stomach, "wouldn't you agree ?" lips grazing against your ear as he spoke, laughing softly, pulling back at your silence with a smile, "god, you're so much hotter once you shut the fuck up." he sighed, eyes raking over your face, observing.

your breathing shallowed, almost diminishing completely as your face paled, his lips moving lazily against the soft flesh of your neck. animalistic groans almost reverberating on your smooth skin, teeth grazing harshly as he nibbled, his eyes shut tight. fingers inching up your thighs, crawling beneath your skirt, goosebumps rising in the trail of his vulgar touch.

the growing pit of repulsion and guilt in your stomach threatened to force up the drinks you'd had, and as your eyes glazed over, thoughts of tomura flooding your brain, the sensation of a sprouting rose deep in your heart followed, its unforgiving thorns shredding the pumping organ in its wake.

"s-stop..." you forced through a shaky breath, "please...you don't have to do this," pleading, he continued on, teeth grazing against you harshly, earning a pained whimper, "t-there are so many people here, there's gotta be someone who would jump at the chance to sleep with you tonight..." meeting you once more, eyes lidded, filled with need, the sight sending jagged shards of terror down your straightened spine, "you think ?" you nodded eagerly, "cute, but, the thing is i want to sleep with you tonight, so they're a little out of luck, aren't they ?" smirking, words filled with mockery and snark, as he looked toward the clock, "seems like your boyfriend is running a little late," tracing the flat edge of the cold weapon against the dip of your waist, "let's make the most of it, shall we ?" he whispered.

palms turning white, he gripped the glazed wooden slab tight with one hand as he rocked his hips into yours at a vigorous yet sloppy pace, the edged surface of the island bruising your lower back, his breath fanning against your ear as soft moans escaped his parted lips, head hung low.

"alastair, you in here ?" door swinging open, tufts of golden hair and amber eyes coming into view, "oh—" cutting his words short at the sight before him, analysing your position with a studied gaze, the man before you, alastair, shielding the weapon from the golden man's sight as he raised his head, "uh, we're about to play beer pong, wanna join ?" the two pairs of eyes now trained on you, "if you're not already busy, that is."

alastair hummed, face inching closer to yours, lips grazing your cheek as you turned away, "i'll be right there." sighing, turning your gaze toward him once more with a harsh grip on your chin, "next time, sweetheart ?" he willed, pushing off the counter as he pocketed the blade with a grin, setting a few taps to your cheek "next time." he replied to himself, turning to join his friend as he stumbled through the tall door.

your body remained stagnant in his wake for a while, unmoving as the cold air rushing in through the opened window coated your skin. willing yourself to move, to run, to scream, to vomit to do anything but let that scene replay in your mind for the nth time, or to think about tomura...both only causing a putrid cocktail of rage, guilt and disgust with yourself to build in your veins.

the reflection of the bathroom mirror met you after suffering the treacherous trail of making your way through the drunken, sex filled halls of the winding home you were seemingly trapped within.

a gut wrenching scream was kept locked in the back of your throat as your hands moved, vigorously rubbing and scratching against your neck and shoulders, soap and water trailing down your skin, soaking your clothing as tears crept down your face, falling into your teeth gritted mouth, breathing ragged and irregular as you worked with such force, hyperventilating.

shaky hands steadied with a firm grip on the sink, vision cloudy, tears falling with a blink, your reflection soon came back into focus. skin rubbed raw, rosy, irritated, makeup smeared, eyes wet and red, a chesty cry ripping through your throat at the sight.

you were disgusting, defiled, tainted, no amount of scrubbing and scouring could reverse the damage that had been inflicted upon you.

bag illuminating as your phone shone bright, a message coming into view as you peaked in.

tomura.

culpability gnawed at you from the inside, crawling up and into your lungs with its jagged claws, piercing gaping holes through your chest, guilt and remorse nestling in the pit of your stomach, the scorching craving for agony and torment setting in.

you deserved it, after all.

you betrayed him, had been disloyal to the overwhelming love you shared, and hadn't done enough to stop it all.

'i could've fucking tried harder' the thought was deafening, echoing in your brain and you could almost hear it, 'should've taken my chances of being stabbed than just standing there like a fucking statue and letting him have his way with me…’

heart clouded, encompassed by the grim emotions, compressed by the pressure of it all, you let out a jagged sigh, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of thoughts completely. collecting yourself to the best of your abilities, you tapped lightly at your makeup with your powder brush, intending to save it to no avail, mascara having left streaky trails, moving onto your messy hair with a tut before smoothing out your clothing and making your way downstairs.

"hey," your friend mouthed from across the main room, waving you over as you pushed past the crowd, "we're thinking about calling it a night and..." bright smile faltering, concern dawning as she took in your appearance under the dim lighting, "have you been crying ? are you okay ? what's wrong ?" hand moving to rest gently on your arm, the pad of her thumb offering strokes, "im alright," your hoarse voice pushed, "do you want me to drive you home ?" she whispered, almost worried as if her volume would shatter you completely, "i, um," you bit back, fearful that the utterance of his name aloud would set your throat ablaze, "t-tomura's c-coming to um, pick me up..." wincing at the words.

"alright, but um, i'm here if you need to talk, you know that, right ?" she spoke softly, brows upturned, eyes overflowing with worry, and you forced a smile, "i know," nodding, "thank you."

arms interlocked with hers, you finally escaped the, now seemingly claustrophobic, confines of the oversized home. offering your friend a farewell, waving to the others, you slowly made your way to tomura's parked car, his shadowy figure leaning against it.

the soles of your shoes scraping against the asphalt as you dragged your feet to continue your trek closer to him, the intense loathing, you'd been all but consumed by, threatening to take over as he waited with outstretched arms, a warm smile dawning his face.

falling into him, your body relaxing upon contact, a shuddery breath escaped your lips as the comforting scent of his cologne filled your head, arms wrapping around him despite the turmoil in your brain.

"you missed me that much, yeah ?" he let out a gentle laugh, your eyes falling shut as the melody vibrated through his chest, slightly straining as they filled with tears once more at the sound of him, despair twisting your stomach in a harsh pinch.

"_____?" words dripping in concern as he hooked a finger beneath your chin, chest tightening at the sight of you. eye whites more of a crimson shade, veiny and dried out, your neck looking more like his own, hair tousled and unkept, clothes home patches of water as it stuck to your skin, the makeup you'd perfected now streaky with canals of dried tears.

letting out a manually steadied breath, he aimed to suppress his swiftly accelerating anger in a soft veil, "what happened ?" tomura's undivided attention had your face wet once more, rivers pouring from your eyes, hiccuping as you could barely form words, apologies spilling from your lips as he guided you into the car, hoping for more privacy and peace as you explained.

"it's all my fault," you pushed as your breathing steadied once more, "i shouldn't have..." shaking your head as tears continued, voice breaking, "i-i shouldn’t have l-let him..." the car fell silent, save for the unsteady puffs of air falling from your lips. tomura's jaw clenching at the mention of another, he knew where this was going and a sloppy cocktail of guilt, fiery fury and rage coursed through him.

tomura gently urging you to continue, you obliged, albeit through choked sobs and hiccups, hands interlaced, his thumb stroking over the back of yours, aiming to give you some sort of solace as you struggled, despite the ire festering within him. breath hitching, he swallowed thickly at the mention of the weapon you were held up toward, eyes frantically flying over your being, hands moving to inspect for any injuries, "i wasn't cut or anything," you explained, "he just h-held it up to me and i was scared so i..." the words stopped at the back of your throat, the confession stinging your throat,"um, i...i stopped fighting" gaze falling beyond the window, looking at tomura only causing an eruption of pain within you, "...im so sorry."

letting out a serrated exhale, "do you remember what he looks like ?" earning a slow nod in response, gaze lifting toward the house as alastair's infamous figure came into view. "are you going to h-hurt him ?" you questioned through sniffled gasps of air, tomura following the object of your glare, eyes landing on the tall man, "he'll be lucky if i don't fucking kill him." he breathed, turning to you, "stay in the car."

tomura's gait was that of a soldier, marching toward the man without a word, a heavy mist of enmity encompassing his being, trailing after him as his boots scraped harshly against the asphalt, echoing amongst the chatty drunken party-goers during his trek. slowly garnering attention from them as he shrugged off his jacket, before he raised a tight fist, slamming it down onto alastair's face with vigor, the man almost kissing the ground as tomura pulled his fist away, ready for another blow.

"what the fuck ?!" alastair slurred, mind spinning, the stench of alcohol coming off him in wafts as the weighty sole of tomura's boot crashed into his nose, before retracting and slamming into the man's ribs. falling to his knees, alastair trapped between them, tomura's world fell silent.

tomura wanted to break the man before him, tear his limbs from his body with his teeth and leave him strung up to be eaten by wild animals, to burn him alive and savour his tormented shrieks. tomura wanted to disintegrate him, dust him by a single touch, into nothing but a pathetic pile of grim ashes, to have him slip away between his fingers, to be forgotten, to drift away in the wind.

tomura's punches were mechanic, automatic, rhythmic as he moved, dealing continuous blows of the same force, and the packed crowd that had formed around him were hushed, gawking, the only sound echoing through the night being that of dull hits and cracking bones.

"....im tomura!"

his unforgiving assault continued, heart pumping liquid ivy, adrenaline coursing through his veins like a drug, eyes glazed over, void of light, face expressionless as your screams slowly permeated his trance.

"you're gonna kill him, tomura!" pleading, eyes bloodshot, slightly hesitating to touch him,"that's enough...please..." reaching for his raised fist, shaky hands enclosing around them, "let's go home..."

the cacophony of overlapping sirens sliced through the air like bullets as the crowd clamoured, scattering like flies, yet your stagnant positions remained. tomura's gaze raking over your tired eyes and puffy face, heart clenching. hands tightly woven together, you rose as a duet, crisp air lacing over his bloodied knuckles, nipping at your tear stained cheeks as you made your way to his car once more, settling into the warmed seats.

tomura was the first to break the otherwise wordless journey home, "he could've killed you." the statement was harsh, piercing, "i wouldn't know what to do if you were to die," focused on the road, tomura's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he let out an uncomfortable laugh, "i mean, i can barely sleep without you, let alone live without you..." trailing off, "...i think i'd be better off joining you.”

the sentiment was not lost on you, you knew he meant it, deeply at that, yet it pained you to no end. his words feeling like an open wound exposed to the elements, heart continuing to bleed for you in the wake of your betrayal.

you'd never experienced such life altering love in all your years, something so dizzying, intoxicating and intense, something so real and raw and beautiful, something you could almost...touch, something you didn't deserve.

tomura was the best thing that had ever happened to you, by far and...he now sat beside you solemn, hands bloodied and bruised, heart torn, trust broken, betrayed and trampled upon by the one he treasured most in this parasitic world.

clothing rustling against the leather seat as you shifted uncomfortably, "why didn't you call me ?" he questioned through a small sigh, tired words laced with defeat, disappointment. "...i wasn't in my right mind," you spoke, voice hoarse, eyes trained on your fingers placed in your lap, fiddling with a loosened thread of your skirt. "i was in a daze and i was frantic and i went to...wash him off of me in the bathroom right after and," speech pace speeding as you explained, "i was so fucking overwhelmed by everything and that's when i got your message and by the time i went downstairs you were already there and...now we're here..." exhaling softly through a shaky breath, "and i'm so sorry..."

the soft blow of the car heating was all you could hear, as tomura's mind spiralled, fingers reaching for his deck, putting the cigarette to his lips, lighting it. "you broke our agreement." it was a statement more than anything, just a voicing of his conflicting thoughts, expressed through a sigh after a long drag, yet you replied, "i know…im sorry”

                              ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

knees buried in the soft carpeted floor, you tipped the rubbing alcohol onto the cotton, gently pushing it up against tomura's knuckles as you finished cleaning him up, barely earning a hiss from the man. eyes searching your face from his position above, observing the wrinkles in your forehead due to your furrowed brows, "what's on your mind, love ?"

stilling your movements, gaze lifting to meet his, white hair falling forward as he looked down at you, almost curtaining the rubies held within his eyes. words clogging, gulping harshly, breaking the stare for a moment before locking it in again, with the help of his hooked finger beneath your chin, a shaky breath escaping your parted lips, "c'mon, what's up ?"

"hurt me...p-please" begging, glassy eyed, voice breaking. tomura's tone remained calm at your pleads, almost as if he were expecting such a request, "why would you want me to do that ?"

eyes straining once more as tears threatened to well, speech quickening, "i...i betrayed you and i broke your trust and i let that guy touch me and i could've done more to stop it and i could've fought harder and i didn't tell you right after and—" vision clouding your eyelashes failed you as tears began to trail down your face again, chest rising and falling faster as you spoke, eyes darting around the place, "i— your pretty hands are scarred now because of me and...and...i deserve it."

nodding firmly at your own words, finally raising your gaze to meet his own, pleading, "please, take your frustrations out on me...it would make you feel better." eyes squinting, "it would make you feel better." he corrected, "it would." you confirmed.

rising from his perch on the sofa, extending a hand out to you, leading you to your joint chambers, tomura's lips met yours in a gentle embrace and as he moved to deepen it, you pulled away, eyes wide "w-what are you doing ?" confusion knitting your brows together.

"i forgive you," he stated firmly, "i think your guilt is punishment enough," tucking your loose hairs behind your ears, shifting your tendrils from your face, his hand rested on your cheek, thumbing it softly, "this...all of it, it wasn't your fault, you had no choice," he spoke, tone assertive yet tender, "you just need to forgive yourself now, yeah ? it's gonna be okay," setting a soft kiss on your lips, resting his forehead to yours "we're okay, we're together again like always, yeah ? just you and me, it'll be okay." the words were whispered, like a secret only to be shared between the two of you, something special to treasure as a pair.

leaning into him, crashing your lips together once more, you couldn't help the tears that fell, hoping to seal the taste of him in your soul, meld into him completely as his hand found the small of your back, pulling you in closer as he breathed you.

pulling away, "is this truly what you want right now?" he questioned, searching your face for any signs of discomfort, coming up empty as you nodded eagerly, whispering, pleading, begging, "make me feel like im yours again, tomura."

hovering over your nude laying form on the cushioned bed, clothes collectively discarded on the hardwood, safe for your undergarments, his lips met your cheek, trailing down your jaw slowly, slowly before meeting your neck. pushing his pillowy lips against your sensitive skin, mellow actions growing eager gradually as he continued, teeth softly grazing your skin as he sucked, making a mark, branding you as his own.

shame shrouded tomura's being, hanging heavy like a thunderous cloud, striking him in his core. his culpability was discernible in his mind, his constant turn-downs of your unofficial invitation gnawing at his insides. his presence all that would've been needed to prevent such a situation from taking place, to prevent such trauma, such pain, yet he withdrew the opportunity, and it haunted him like a vengeful ghost.

soft mewls fell from you as he worked, the nausea you'd associated with the actions earlier that night being reborn anew at the touch of your lover. hands gripping his arm, hips rutting, as he toyed with your most sensitive part through the fabric of your underwear.

finger hooking into the band, hand slipping underneath, finally making contact, a gasp falling from your lips at the act, tomura continued, sharp intakes of breath soon switching to a whines as he did so. drawing circles on your blossoming core, pulling away, he admired the flowery imprints he’d created on your neck as they deepened in shade.

lips meeting yours once more, finally slipping a digit into your warmth, taking the opportunity of your opened mouth to slip his tongue in as you moaned, slowly pumping you before doubling the dosage. lacing your hands into his hair, brows furrowing as tomura swallowed your tunes, meeting you with his own, kiss growing desperate as your hand found his clothed cock, slipping beneath the fabric, intending to alleviate the tension as you stroked, earning shaky groans from the man.

parting to hurriedly free yourselves from the threaded pieces of fabric, you met again, lips interlocked, his thumb pressed to the length of his cock, leisurely dragging it between your folds, as he rutted against you.

the strain was native as tomura slowly buried the head of his cock into your core, yet you couldn't help the need to paw at his shoulders, face contorting at the width and he gripped your wrist, "you can take it, princess," whispering, lips grazing yours as he spoke, inching deeper, soon bottoming out, "there we go."

stilling as you adjusted, tomura's mind itched for friction yet he remained stagnant as your lips crashed with fervour, treasuring the complete feeling of being slotted together once more, like missing pieces of a jigsaw, your core carved, his cock sculpted to couple.

his motions were slow at first, tender, pulling out at a grating pace before filling you once more, your hips moving to meet his, yet they harshened as he continued, pelvis soon snapping into yours, coarse strokes pummelling against that gentle pocket of nerves deep within you, leaving you in a choked daze. bodies rocking in tune with the bed springs, tomura's head buried in the crook of your neck, groans slipping into your ears, aiding the tightening knot nestling in your core as his thumb drew circles between your folds.

raising his head to meet your gaze, flushed cheeked and glossy lipped, heavy lidded eyes harbouring a fountain of lust, and you were enraptured by the view, his cologne almost permeating off him at the short proximity, intoxicatingly so.

mind dizzying as he observed your features, wanting to savour the expressions he pulled from you, clenching around him unwillingly at the sight, eyes squeezing shut in shame as your cheeks rosed, a smirk dawning his face in return, "you're taking me so well, baby." his voice raspy, a whine slipping from your lips, "such a good girl for me, aren't you ?" nodding eagerly at the question, "anything for you, master." through whimpers, and tomura smiled at the words, knowing you met it, all too deeply.

panting softly, the knot in your stomach tightening harshly as you squeezed around tomura once more, "can i—" cut off by a moan, hands fisting the fabric of the sheets, "cum on my cock, princess." back arching off the bed at the vulgar words with a mewl, tomura slipped his hand beneath, holding you, pumping you through your bliss, relishing in the way your muscles tensed, the way your eyes fell shut and the lazy open mouthed smile that rested on your lips.

"t-thank you," you pushed through a whine as the sensitivity set in, tomura's actions persisting as he chased his own high, pace becoming languid and jagged as it neared. hand flying to grip his wrist as he began to pull out, "w-wait..." pleading, "c-can you uh...inside..." cheeks burning as you spoke, voice timid, quiet.

tomura's brow quirking at the request, his silence only making you feel the need to explain further, "t-the love bites aren't enough..." you pushed, "i...i want to feel you from the inside..." eyes searching his face as you trailed off, a smile forming on his lips as he obliged, settling back in with the gentle words, "anything for you, my love." you smiled shyly in turn, knowing he meant it, all too deeply.

gummy walls tightening around the thick of his shaft, tomura's brows knitting together as the coil nestling at the pit of his stomach slowly came undone, hips staggering, painting your warmth with his pearly seed, inscribing the story of your shared love on your walls like a parietal painting.

                              ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

the rushing water pooled at your feet, head tipped back as tomura's sudsy digits massaged your scalp gently, eyes falling shut as he moved the shower head over the length of your hair, keeping the soap from trailing down your face before raking conditioner through your locks with tender care, repeating.

your fingers moved through snowy locks as tomura reached for the shampoo bottle, taking a whiff, "it smells so…sweet," he commented, "one of the reasons i like it so much," you shrugged, "is it any good ?" he questioned, "you'll see for yourself when we're done," humming, he sniffed it once more, "i like it" slight confusion lacing your brows, "how so ? you haven't even seen the results yet," earning a shrug, "it smells like you," the words forming a sweet ball of golden light to glow within your chest, a smile dawning your face, "besides, your hair is always super soft anyway."

dried and clothed, tomura fingers combed through his hair in the reflection, "woah…" he spoke, "see ? this is why i keep telling you to quit buying the cheap stuff," gently poking a finger into his arm with a smile, he shrugged, "eh, it gets the job done but this...this is some fancy shit." laughing at his choice of wording, "yeah, sure it is, tomura." sarcasm laced within the words, earning a playful squinted glare in the reflection from the other. 

"do you wanna do a face mask with me ?" holding up a small pot in one hand and a sealed packet in the other as tomura splashed water on his soapy features, patting his clean face dry as you continued, "a clay mask is drying and would probably irritate the areas around your lips and eyes but i think a sheet mask should be okay."

"and if it does irritate my skin ?" you squint, pointing as you talk, "it’s moisturising, so i have high hopes that it won't..." smiling as you trailed off, he shrugged, "sure then, go ahead."

perched at the edge of the bathtub, you took place between his knees, his hands placed on the backs of your thighs as you laid the serum doused sheet on his features, tugging it into place. entranced by your focus, tomura's heart swelling as his eyes raked over the soft lines of your face, the wet tendrils sticking to your forehead, the gentle curl of your pretty lashes and the plump lips he so dearly wanted to kiss again, "there we go." you piped, breaking tomura's daze, his eyes shifting to the mirror, "i look terrifying," he laughed, "you don't," you retort, "and don't laugh, you'll shift the placement of the mask," shrugging, arms held in surrender "whatever you say."

he observed intently as you swiped the clay on your face, "now we both look terrifying," you laughed, earning a tut, "no, you, you look cute." giggling at the words, "well, you think i look cute in anything." shrugging, "my point exactly."

tomura's chest warmed as you gently pressed the serum into his skin, the dried mask discarded on the counter not too long ago, fingers setting soft pats against the scarred flesh, careful not to agitate the wounds, "you haven't been scratching as much recently," you spoke, gaze dipping to his neck, reaching for the moisturiser you'd put on moments prior, gently massaging it into his skin, "the urge comes in waves sometimes," he shrugged, "still, im proud of you," a gentle smile gracing your lips as you uttered the words, tomura mirroring it, "all done!" you beamed, tomura pulling you down, setting a soft kiss to your lips, "now you're done." he corrected.

you soon found your tired bodies interlinked within fresh silk sheets, your head on tomura's chest as his fingers smoothed over your hair, the nostalgic cartoon playing in the background on the tv becoming white noise as your heavy lids fluttered shut, drifting into a hearty slumber within the safe confines of the arms of your lover.

[gainercontent]

Eli's Thanksgiving Feast

Eli had been dreading this moment for weeks. After three months of dining hall food, late-night pizza, and chugging beers, he knew the consequences of college life were starting to show. The freshman 15. Everyone talked about it, but no one really prepared him for how quickly it could sneak up on you.

When he pulled in the driveway and saw his two older brothers tossing a frisbee in the front yard of their house, he could already see the smirks on their faces.

"Damn, Eli, you look like you’ve been hitting the dining hall more than the library," his brother Noah said, giving him a teasing once-over.

"Seriously, can't even hide it now," Micah, the middle brother, added, a laugh bubbling in his voice. He reached out to give Eli a pat on the back, but the gesture turned into a playful poke in the stomach. "You sure you're still fit to play ultimate, or are you just here for the Thanksgiving stuffing now?"

Eli tried to laugh it off, but deep down, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He had always been the skinny one growing up, the one who could eat whatever he wanted without worrying about his weight. But college had thrown him off balance—dorm food, late-night study sessions, and the absence of his mom’s homemade cooking. It didn’t take long before he found himself snacking on pizza rolls at 2 a.m. or grabbing a double cheeseburger between classes. And now, it showed.

"You guys are ridiculous," Eli muttered, trying to change the subject. "It’s just a few pounds."

"No kidding. It's not like you can just wish it away, bro," Noah teased.

"Don’t worry, we’ll help get you back in shape… after dinner," Micah added with a smirk.

Later, at the dinner table, the teasing reached new heights. Their mom had outdone herself this year, as usual. The kitchen was filled with the familiar smell of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, Mac and cheese, cranberry sauce, and—of course—her famous stuffing. It was the kind of meal that made Eli’s mouth water just from the smell.

"Sit down, Eli," his mom called, placing a massive plate of food in front of him. "I know you’re starving after your long drive."

"I’m not that hungry, Mom," Eli protested, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

"No, no," Noah chimed in, grinning. "You’ve gotta eat it all, Eli. You need the fuel. We don’t want you looking like you’re gonna float away after dinner."

Eli shot him a glare but sat down, his stomach already rumbling at the sight of all that food. Micah was already halfway through his first plate, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth with reckless abandon.

"Come on, little brother," Micah teased. "You’re not gonna let me beat you, are you?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "I’m not racing you guys."

But as the meal went on, Noah and Micah’s constant badgering wore him down.

"No way you can eat all that," Noah challenged, smirking at Eli. "Come on, show us what you've got."

"Yeah, we dare you," Micah added. "Five plates. You know you want to."

With each bite, Eli found himself getting fuller and fuller. But the challenge was too tempting to ignore. He loaded up his plate with mashed potatoes, a giant scoop of stuffing, turkey, green beans, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. His brothers cheered him on, making exaggerated comments as he shoveled it all in, their voices getting louder the more he ate.

By the time he finished his first plate, the edges of his stomach were beginning to protest. He was full, but his brothers egged him on, urging him to keep going.

"Come on, one more plate. You can do it!" Micah shouted.

Noah chimed in. "You know the rule—no one's allowed to leave the table until they’ve finished five plates."

The competitive fire in Eli flared. He couldn’t back down. Not now. So, he loaded up a second plate, then a third. He felt the strain in his stomach with each passing bite, the tightness in his waistband beginning to feel like a constant reminder of how much he was stuffing in. But his brothers kept making comments, kept laughing, and it pushed him forward. He kept eating.

By the time he reached plate number five, Eli felt like his body was about to give up. His stomach felt like a bloated balloon, full and aching. The tightness of his jeans was becoming unbearable, and he let out an involuntary, loud burp that echoed through the room.

"Uh-oh, bro," Noah said with a grin. "Sounds like someone’s gonna pop."

Eli’s face flushed crimson, and his hand instinctively went to his waistband. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuttoned his jeans, letting out another long, audible burp as he tried to ease the pressure.

Micah leaned back in his chair, his grin practically splitting his face. "Dude, you seriously ate five plates. I’m impressed, but you might need a stretcher to get off that chair."

Eli laughed weakly, clutching his stomach. "I think I might just sleep here," he groaned. "Can’t move."

"Ah, don’t be a wimp," Noah said. "There’s still dessert."

Eli’s eyes widened. Dessert. He had completely forgotten. His mom had already brought out a spread of pies—pumpkin, apple, pecan, and chocolate cream.

"You guys are insane," Eli muttered, but when Noah placed a huge slice of pumpkin pie in front of him, he couldn’t say no. His stomach might have been on the brink of revolt, but dessert was a whole other beast.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze of discomfort. Eli could barely look at the food in front of him, but he forced down a few bites of pie. By the time dessert was over, he felt completely stuffed. His pants were barely holding on, and each breath felt like a labor.

Eli slumped in his chair, a hand pressed firmly against his bloated stomach. He had lost the battle—not only had he eaten way too much, but he’d also been completely outdone by his brothers’ teasing.

But despite the discomfort, there was something oddly satisfying about the whole experience. Sure, he was stuffed to the point of misery, but he had done it. He had survived five plates, countless teasing remarks, and endless jokes.

As the night wound down, his brothers gave him one last, affectionate jab.

"You’re gonna need a week to recover from that," Micah said, ruffling Eli’s hair.

"Probably a month," Noah added with a chuckle.

Eli just smiled weakly and groaned. "I think I’ll just sleep until Christmas."

And, for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

[witherby]

Absolutely loving the littlest wayne au 😍😍😍😍. Your most recent post made me think. Damien is relieved that mouse doesn't decided to join the bats, but I'd love to know how the other react when mouse reject the robin title.

Keep up the great work seriously you're super talented✨️.

Thank you so much for saying that! I appreciate it!

Bruce and Damian are relieved. He's getting older, and Gotham still needs protectors right now, but the city is getting better. Slowly and steadily, he hasn't needed to patrol every single night anymore. Gothamites are learning to defend themselves. Rogues are dwindling. Not only are you not particularly needed to defend the city, Bruce wants you to enjoy your life without the burden of that responsibility weighing down your shoulders. Maybe, one day, he'll be able to retire and do the same.

Bruce was going to stop recruiting Robins after Tim, truth be told, but Damian was raised with the League of Assassins and needed a more pacifistic outlet for all that rage that blossomed under Ra's Al Ghul, so he almost had no choice but to pass the mantle down again. Your disinterest doesn't offend him, it brings him peace.

Tim, briefly, considers it a waste of potential. You have the ability to control darkness and shadows. The bats operate exclusively in the night. Are you joking? Why wouldn't you want to protect the city with that? A couple weeks later, though, he comes around when he gets home from a days-long mission and wishes he had the time to just lie in bed and decompress for the foreseeable future. He thinks about his lack of free time, and about how he's always thinking about casework, and updating his suit, and picking up his next round of antibiotics because Damian's grandfather took his fucking spleen, and realizes he really doesn't want you doing all of that. It's bad enough you're keeping the secret of your family's double lives as they run around in spandex beating up criminals. You don't need to live a complicated double life of your own, and he doesn't want you to.

Dick is confused. He loves being Nightwing! He defends the citizens of Gotham and Blüdhaven when they can't defend themselves. Saving lives gives him a great sense of fulfillment. (It's the Parentification making him think he's only lovable if he's useful, actually, but 🤫) Dick will try to convince you to give the vigilantism a shot, just in a small supporting role for a bank heist or something, but if you put your foot down and insist you aren't interested in crime fighting, he kinda becomes a fish out of water. You don't want your big bro to be your superhero mentor? You're just his baby sibling and that's it? What are you guys supposed to find in common, now? How does he remain lovable to you if you aren't partners in the field?

He'll come around, but you gotta give him some time. Having a civilian sibling is going to do him a surprising amount of good.

Jason was rooting on you not becoming a Robin. He was prepared to do anything and everything to talk you out of it, including kidnapping you and taking you to his apartment in Crime Alley if need be so your other family members can't influence your decision. He doesn't want you to collect scars like trading cards. He doesn't want you learning how to apply a field tourniquet to avoid bleeding out from a gunshot wound. He doesn't want you getting a deeper glimpse of Gotham's rotted underbelly than you absolutely have to. He doesn't want you to die saving a city that takes and takes and takes and very rarely gives back. You are worth more than what you can do for others, and he was gearing up to talk that lesson into you until he was blue in the face.

So I'd like you to picture him just sagging in his seat, thanking a god he doesn't believe in that you're already unwilling to join their seemingly neverending crusade. Then he's gonna sit back up and ask if you wanna go play video games or something.

[marvelouslizzie]

You're Stuck with Me - Co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: When you find out your boyfriend's cheating on you with his best friend, you immediately tell Bucky Barnes about the affair and propose revenge sex.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.9K

Warnings: 18+ smut, cheating, revenge fuck, language, oral sex (female receiving), protected and unprotected sex, praise and degradation mix, pet names, teasing, no mention of y/n

A/n: We are getting a little out of our comfort zone with this story. I hope you will enjoy it.

Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's an amazing writer. You should definitely check her Bucky Barnes stories.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, finishing your bottle of sparkling water. "I don't want you to cry and regret it after."

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” You sound so confident that even you are surprised. “It’s just sex.”

"Just sex." He repeats with his eyebrows raised. "You never seemed to me like the type of girl who would go for just sex, doll."

“Maybe you should’ve paid a little more attention. You would’ve realized you might have the wrong kind of impression.”

"Oh, really?" He leans in amused. "Big words."

“They're not. You just aren’t used to talking to me.”

"You're telling me you're not a commitment girl?" He presses the matter, not believing you even a little. You two might not be friends, but he figured out what type of person you are.

“I’m just saying I won’t regret having sex with you. The rest is your assumption.”

His gaze immediately drops to your chest. "You trust my skills that much?"

You roll your eyes. “Do you have to be this arrogant all the time?”

"Do you have to be a brat all the time?" He doesn't wait for your response, though, as he continues. "Oh wait, you can't help it. Totally in your nature."

“So women who don't stroke your ego are brats? Maybe I just don’t care that much about you. Did you consider that?” There’s a hint of anger in your voice but nothing more. He always manages to challenge you and push your buttons. “Maybe you aren’t the only one who didn’t like those double dates. Get off your high horse.” You add without missing a beat. You realized how bored and uninterested he was then. No matter what topic you were bringing up, he wasn’t open. That’s one of the reasons why you believe he thinks he’s better than anyone.

"Fuck." He shakes his head. "You and that mouth of yours. Do you see me going around and calling women brats?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Those dates were absolutely horrible. Your little boy toy is the biggest loser I've ever met."

“You seem like a guy who would do that. You are not? Ops, wrong assumption I guess.” You make a fake I am sorry face. “He’s not my boy toy but I agree, he’s a big loser.”

He smiles when you finish your sentence, so satisfied. "Why do you enjoy pushing me so much? Does it turn you on?"

“How am I pushing you? Do you think this is pushing?” You don’t budge.

"What is it then?"

“I know you don’t like me and I am just giving you back that same energy.” You tell him the truth. That’s what you always do: you give the same energy people give you. If they are kind, you are kinder. If they are assholes, you are a bigger asshole.

Bucky snorts, running a hand through his hair. "Where was this attitude hidden around him?"

You breathe out loudly, not hiding how bored you are. “Are we gonna talk all night or are we gonna do this?”

He smiles in a way you never saw him smile before he leans in even more, invading your space. "It's been that long, huh?"

You make a face. “You can’t tell me sex with her was great. I saw their little sex tapes.” You can’t deny what he’s just said, but you can deflect.

He gives you the most surprised face. "What?"

“You heard me. If it had been a while for me, then it must have been even longer for you.”

"Indeed." His voice doesn't betray any emotion.

“Then stop belittling me. We both have been having bad sex and we both got cheated on. You aren’t better than me.”

"When did I say that, woman?"

“You always act like you are better than everyone.”

"That's just your assumption." He paraphrases you with the biggest smile on his face

“Prove me wrong then.”

And he does, looking at you for a couple of seconds. When you don't move, he finally grabs you by your chin and kisses you. He's not hesitant or testing, he's literally trying to claim your mouth as he wants to deepen the kiss by licking your bottom lip. When you finally give him access, his hand goes to the back of your neck, the contrast between his soft touch and his passionate way of kissing making you moan.

"Your mouth…"

“What about it?” You ask while still looking at his lips.

He kisses you again, like he's starved, his hand pulling your hair a little more. He tastes like some fresh toothpaste and a little chocolate.

"So sweet, yet so bratty."

“Do you have a thing for brats for something?” You pull him by his collar and kiss him again. He might be an asshole, but he knows how to kiss.

"Maybe just for a special brat."

“What does that mean?” You stop and look into his eyes.

He lets go of your hair and lowers his hands to your waist. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tap me anywhere if you can't talk and I'll stop. Get it?"

“Yeah. Same goes for you. Any lines you don’t wanna cross?”

"Just don't call me by someone else's name." He sighs.

“Fine by me. Don’t use any pet names you used for your ex.”

"I wouldn’t dream of it. What else?" He smirks.

“No degrading.”

"So no my little whore?”

“That doesn’t sound like degrading to me but another rule: Don’t say things you don’t mean. I don’t like that heat-of-the-moment bullshit.”

He seems to like your rules. "God, how did you date that asshole for 5 months?"

“I was just giving that so-called nice guy a chance and it got me here. How did you date that bitch for 8 months?”

"Woah. Bitch? Never heard you referring to a woman like this."

“I never liked her.” You shrug. And she cheated on him. So why not?

"Why?"

“I don’t know. I always thought she was full of herself. Always looking down at people.”

"Like me." He stares at you. "I understand."

“Not like that. She always talks badly about people. Most of the time, behind their backs. She always looks for a way to steal the spotlight. I actually wondered what you saw in her.”

"I won't talk about a woman badly, especially my ex, but I guess we just want to give people a chance."

“That woman cheated on you. With someone she called her best friend after you two decided to move in together. Maybe longer. But sure, make me feel bad about calling her a bitch.”

Bucky seems to think about it for a few seconds. You appreciate his non-talking shit about my ex policy, but in this case? Not deserved. They cheated on you for months. They could have chosen to break up, but they didn't want that. They pretended they are just friends, proposed double dates, lied and hid, and made promises. Your relationships weren't working perfectly well, your sex lives seem very shitty and probably there were signs about this affair, but you cannot blame yourself or Bucky for not seeing them. You deserved the truth. You just can't believe you two are actually in this situation. Giving the wrong people a chance… never again for sure.

"You're right. This is such a fucking shitty thing. I mean, at least fucking break up with me. God, we kissed them, fucked them after they were with each other." He makes a disgusted face.

“So we practically fucked each other already, you know?” You make a joke, trying to change the mood a little. It really is fucked up.

"They didn't see us having sex though." He shakes his head. "They managed to make the lamest sex tapes in history."

“Yeah, I am still traumatized by her fake moans.”

"Fake?" He snorts.

“Yeah, I know how sex is with him. No way those moans are real.”

"Maybe they are. Maybe she enjoys it. She likes him so much they decided this fucking shitty sex is worth it." He leans in and kisses you again suddenly and you don't understand if he's angry because he regrets being with her and getting cheated on or he regrets being betrayed because he wants her so much. You know they fought a lot from your soon-to-be ex, but 8 months are something after all.

You kiss him back nonetheless, enjoying the way his lips and tongue feel. You don't remember the last time you've been kissed this good. If you've ever been with someone like this… he's basically eating you with his mouth.

“It won’t take long for her to regret it. Talking from experience,” you say while kissing him back. You wanna know if he wants her back or not. Not that it matters. You are just curious. Maybe he wants to make her jealous.

"What she wants doesn't matter anymore, doll." He strokes your hair when he stops kissing you so you can take a deep breath. "You called me arrogant, right?"

“Yeah?” You answer hesitantly.

"Do arrogant people ever let themselves be humiliated?" He pauses. "I don't want something like this. Someone like this. I have absolutely no desire to keep a person who does this. I am a patient person, I try to work things out, but this? Never in a fucking million years. Nothing about this relationship was right, I suppose. What about you?"

“I don’t care about him anymore.” Your response comes immediately. You were completely done with him the moment you found out about their affair. There’s no turning back. It was like a switch. That’s why you are here with Bucky. “I tried so hard to make it work, thinking relationships are hard and we gotta put some effort to make it work. All bullshit. I’m done with him. I’m done with lowering my standards. Done with 5-minute sex, and ‘you turn me on so much, I can’t help it’ excuses. There’s no going back for me.”

You see his little smirk and can't help but touch his face. He is really one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

"I never liked him, and you know it. That small dick energy is unbearable. I think he'd have a heart attack if he even heard us. Can you imagine?"

“I… actually can.” You can envision how that would hurt him and his insufferable ego. “God, she would hate me so much.” You smile.

"Oh, she would. She's always been jealous of you anyway."

“And he hates that you don’t even have to be nice to make people like you. Now he would have an extra reason.”

"Fuck, doll." You feel his thumb on your neck and you shiver. "I'm gonna sound crazy, but wouldn't make you feel satisfied if indeed they heard us?"

You blink, trying to understand his offer. That actually would actually give you pleasure… knowing that he suffers just like you did. You also notice the pet name he uses. You never heard him use it with his (ex) girlfriend, so he’s keeping his promise. “I’d… really like that.”

"Yeah?" He leaves a kiss on the corner of your mouth. "A voice message?"

“Sounds better than actually calling.” You turn your face a little and kiss him on the lips.

"Look at you, you ignored me for months." He bites your bottom lip lightly.

“It wasn’t like you were friendly.”

Does he even hear you?

He takes you in his arms. "Bedroom?"

“Bedroom.” You wrap your legs around his torso in agreement as he leads the way.

"Left?"

“Yeah, hurry up.”

He opens the door with his elbow, then doesn't bother to close it as he lets you down. His hands find your blouse and you hear the ripping sound before you can raise your arms.

You’re surprised but not bothered. Truth be told, you find that very hot. But you still unclip your bra.

“Fucking hell.” He manages to whisper before he leans in and grabs your breasts, his tongue licking all the way down from your neck to your nipple.

You tug on his T-shirt and try to take it off while he’s busy exploring your body.

"You hid these from me."

“Not specifically from you. Move your hands up so I can take this off.”

"From who then?" He frowns and lets go for a second so you can take it off.

“From everyone, of course.”

"God, I wanna come all over them. So pretty.”

“Maybe you should make a mental list. Come on her tits. Come inside her mouth. Come inside her pussy.”

His eyes glow, and you giggle. "Who said I didn't?"

“You did?” You sound impressed. “Wanna share?”

"Wanna share my come? Sure." His fingers find your zipper and you gasp when he takes your pants off from one try.

“Oh, you are filthier than I thought.” You say to cover your surprise.

"You thought about how filthy I am?"

“You think I didn’t consider how this would be before offering a revenge fuck?”

"When?" He takes ahold of your underwear, and you're unsure if he wants to rip it off or simply take it off.

“I just told you.”

"I thought…" He blushes, realizing he misunderstood. It's an asshole move to assume that while you were with that prick, the thought of him like this has even passed your mind. "Forget it."

“No, no, tell me.” You pull him closer by his belt. “Let’s get rid of these.”

"Did you ever think about me before today?" He helps you take off his pants while finally getting rid of your panties.

“What if I did? Does it make me a terrible person?”

"Terrible." He nods, letting the pieces of your underwear drop on the floor along with his boxers and pants before he steps out of them. "So terrible." He kisses you, his hands on your hips, bringing you closer to his cock. You didn't even have proper time to look at him. "The worst."

“I knew it.” You play along. “What about you?”

"I thought about this mouth a lot."

“Just my mouth?” You nudge him by moving your hips up.

"Thought about fucking you in the bathroom."

“When?” Did he really want to fuck you before? He never looked at you twice or at least that’s what you thought.

"A few weeks ago… we… the office. You were with your little group. They were smoking and you wore that fucking lipstick that just blew my mind away. I didn't intend to. You didn't even notice me." He kisses you again but doesn't deepen it.

Everything he said takes you by surprise. You didn’t think that he ever paid attention to you, let alone notice your lipstick and get turned on by it.

“I noticed you, but I thought you were bored. You had a grumpy look on your face most of the time. I liked your blue shirt, though. It makes your eyes pop.”

He moans. Is it so easy to make him moan? you wonder.

"I'm always grumpy and arrogant, of course."

“You don’t seem that grumpy and arrogant right now.” You gently bite his neck and then soothe the spot with your tongue.

"Fucking hell, woman." You feel him grabbing your ass. "Tell me you have a condom."

“In that drawer.” You point to it casually. “But just so you know, I’m on the pills.”

He nods, contemplating for a little while before helping you get on bed and taking a condom from your nightstand.

You don’t question why he chooses to reach for it, yet you can’t help but wonder how it would be like to feel him without any barrier. Your mouth waters at the sight of his naked body.

Maybe, maybe you should let him fuck your mouth, too. Why not?

He quickly puts the condom on and before he can climb on bed, he looks at you. "What you said earlier about the voice message, do you still stand by it?"

You realize you actually forgot about them or why you are doing this for a second. “Yeah. I want them to suffer.”

"Good." He takes his pants from the floor and finds his phone quickly. You didn't even realize he had it when you undressed him.

“So what are we doing exactly? Recording a small part and sending it?”

"Ihm." He nods. "Want that asshole to hear what your real moans sound like." He finally sits on the bed and you spread your legs further apart.

“Only my moans?” You ask while he positions himself.

"No video," he says immediately, and you giggle. That wasn’t your question, but it’s okay. You wonder if he’s being possessive with you already or it's something else.

“I meant what about your moans.”

He smiles. "Yeah, of course, but I'm not a loud person." He drops the phone close to your shoulder. "You, on the other hand… I bet you're a fucking screamer."

“I guess we'll find out. Is it recording already?”

"No, uhm, can you… The code is 0478."

“Let’s start and then we can record when it gets really loud.” You try to sound normal, but you are surprised he's just told you his passcode.

"You sure? We can trim it. I don't want to interrupt you."

"Don't worry. I'm good at multitasking." You give him a smile. "But if you wanna record the whole thing, so you can get off to it later, just say that." You can’t help but tease him a little.

"No, no, it's alright. I just want you to feel good, okay?" He smiles, his hands making their way to your thighs.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry about that." You pull him closer by wrapping your legs around his body. As he pushes inside, you start to forget what you were talking about before.

"Oh, fuck me." He groans when he sees the shape of your mouth. Such a perfect O. You feel so good and he's not even halfway inside you. "You're so wet."

"I can do that." You cheekily respond. "But we would need to change the position." You ignore his second comment.

He kisses you as if he needs to taste you again to be able to breathe, his tongue quickly finding yours once you open your mouth. Your hand gets into his hair at the same time he properly gets inside you.

You moan at the fullness. You haven't felt this stretched for so long, but it doesn't hurt. It just makes you crave more.

"Such a brat when you only needed a good cock." You know he's intentionally teasing you, so you try to find a good response.

"We'll see how good it is."

"Brat." He repeats again and moves his hands to your breast. His thrusts are not constant as he tries to test what you like.

"Put your mouth on them already." You know he wants to. He has been looking at them since he stepped inside your apartment. And you want him to do it, too. The thought itself makes you moan.

"Are you ordering me?"

"Depends. Yes, if you like that. No, if you don't."

He takes a handful of your breast in his mouth in response, not only your nipple, his thrusts getting slower, but a little deeper at the same time. The sound of his tongue licking on your skin makes you close your eyes.

The way he sucks your nipple makes you think he likes taking orders. What a great turn of events, you think.

He switches to the other one quickly, giving it the same treatment, while keeping the pace.

"Do you like it?"

“Yeah, yeah.” You quickly respond. “I love it.”

"Faster?"

“Yep, faster.” You gently push his head onto your breast again, loving the double stimulation.

He moans excitedly as he resumes licking and playing with your breasts, carefully trying to leave a hickey around your nipple. "These are mine now."

He doesn’t mean that, does he? Must be the heat of the moment, but you agreed on not doing that. So you decide to remind him. “Don’t say things you don’t actually mean, remember?”

"I didn't forget, brat. Did you?"

He bites on your nipple, gently, but you still feel it.

“So you actually mean that?” You really want to know, so you ignore the fact that he called you a brat again.

"Mean what?" He leaves a kiss on your nipple to soothe any possible pain. "That these are mine?"

“Yeah.” You sound impatient. Why is he acting clueless now?

"They are, they belong to me. So does your bratty mouth." He kisses you shortly.

You can’t deny how his words turn you on even more.

"I imagined fucking you in a bathroom that day at the office." He groans. "So terrible of me, right? Imagining you with come dripping out of you, down to your thighs as you go back to work. Months of petty silence solved."

“If I'd known my silence bothered you that much, I would have been even more silent until it drove you crazy enough to do something about it.” You move your hips up to match his rhythm. “I just thought you just preferred not speaking to me because you didn’t like me.”

"I would have screwed everything up and fucked you, you understand?" He looks you in the eye, making it clear he is honest. "I would have become a horrible person, but not even that thought would have made me reconsider."

“Yet you didn’t do anything, did you? You never acted on it. You were just a grumpy man with terrible thoughts.” You just want him to know he’s not a horrible person, yet you can’t help but tease him a little at the same time.

"And you just needed the cock of that grumpy man with terrible thoughts, huh?" His thrusts are so much faster now. You wonder: how the fuck does he expect you to answer?

All you can do is whine and moan because somehow he manages to hit all the right places.

"My little cock whore." He groans. "Mine, okay? Just like I am yours."

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You can’t help but react. You find it so hot you can barely stay still. The way he talks during sex… They would really die if they heard you two. That makes you remember… You were supposed to hit the record button.

"Just Bucky. Or James."

“Where the fuck is your phone, Bucky?” You ask while trying to find it without actually looking.

He's confused for a split second, but then he remembers what you agreed on. "To your right."

You finally find the phone and unlock it quickly before dropping it without any care as soon as it starts to record.

"Oh, doll, you're too wet for me. So good." The sound of your skin slapping and the whimpers are so loud. You can’t contain yourself even if you try.

“Faster, please,” you say without thinking. It feels like you are already close. You don’t care if you have to beg for it.

"So greedy." He cries out when he feels your hands on his ass, pulling him deeper inside you.

“Fuckk. That feels good!” You moan loudly and arch your back.

"Holy shit."

He suddenly stops, making you open your eyes and giving him an accusatory look, but then you notice the phone in his hands. Oh, you forgot about it for a second and you have no idea why.

"Are you sending it?"

"Ihm." He doesn't just lock his phone after he is done. He freaking turns it off, surprising you. “I don’t want any interruptions. Want to fuck you in peace.”

You just pull him into another kiss, more passionate this time. You feel his right hand on your tummy, tickling you a little, before stopping down, above your clit.

“You close?” You ask him to make sure because you surely are.

"I'm trying not to come," he says honestly.

“Oh, you can. I’m close, too. I just need it a little faster.” His hand on your clit already makes you realize it won’t take much for you to fall apart.

He pulls back, taking his cock almost completely out, and the emptiness makes you whine. Then he thrusts with full force, making you moan so loudly that you can’t recognize your own voice.

"Fuck, look at you. And those sounds…" He brings his thumb to your lips. "Come on, be a good girl and show me how your pretty little mouth would take my cock. The one that's inside your pussy right now, ready to come for you."

“Such a filthy mouth.” You say while moaning. “Come with me so I can take that cock inside my mouth and show you what it can do.”

"God, come, baby. Please come." He is begging you at this point. His voice is so desperate and soft.

His neediness, the way he says those words finally pushes you off the edge.

“Oh god.” You try to breathe as the orgasm takes over your body, making you shake. Your mouth opens, letting out the most unfiltered moan you've ever heard from yourself. It is pure pleasure with no thoughts, no worries. Your heart and your head are on fire, begging for more. You want this feeling to last as long as possible.

He comes shortly after you, but you don't realize it until you hear his loud groan vibrating against your chest. His hips and ass cheeks are trembling under your touch as he seems lost in his world for a few seconds. You run your fingers through his hair, waiting for him to come down from his high.

“Oh god, baby." You feel his breath on your wet skin and you sigh. "Can I live here forever?"

“That good?” You can’t help but ask. He can feel your smile without looking at you.

He looks up. "Ihm. What about you?"

“Wanna get your ego stroked?” You ask genuinely. “Promise that you’re not gonna use it against me.”

He kisses your throat. "I don't make such promises, woman."

“Then you won’t get to hear it.” You expose your throat more while talking.

"What if I eat the truth out of you?"

“Eat the truth out of me?”

"Ihm. You know… when you're under sex spell, you become truthful."

“You are welcome to try.” There’s no way you are gonna turn down another orgasm like this one.

"Perfect." He leaves another kiss on the valley between your breasts and sighs. "Have to take this off first," he says, taking his cock out with a small hiss before standing up near the bed, watching you. "Where can I throw this away?"

“There’s a trashcan in the bathroom.” You point at it while getting more comfortable on the bed.

"Be right back."

You feel something cold on your back and realize it’s his phone. You put it on the nightstand, thinking about how he turned his phone off in the middle of the sex. You make a mental note to ask him to send you that voice message later, so you can remember how good the sex felt.

He comes back with your small semi-wet towel and watches you carefully. "Look, I meant what I said about eating the truth out of you, but only if you are okay with it. I won't ask again. I could always just leave, you know? No big deal." But you can see in his face it would be a big deal. Maybe he likes your company. The sex is amazing.

“Do you wanna leave, Bucky?” You already know his answer.

"No, I don't."

“Then come here and do whatever you wanna do.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. You watch him drop to his knees and, at the same time, drag you closer to the edge of the bed as quickly as he can. You let out a surprised gasp, but it turns into a whole moan when he lifts your legs on his shoulders and starts licking you from your entrance to your clit.

“Fuck, you weren’t joking.”

He acknowledges your words by playing with his tongue around your clit. You move your hips slowly, up and down, just to create a little more friction. Your greed grows while you watch him eagerly lick every bit of your pussy.

You don't expect to feel his fingers at your entrance all of the sudden as you're focused on his tongue. And you especially don't expect him to curl two of his fingers and get them inside you at once. No warnings.

“Oh fuck, yes!” You find yourself grabbing his hair, just needing something to hold on to.

And he moans, buckling his hips in the air at the slight pain. The pace of his fingers matches his tongue, but it's not enough.

“Add the third finger.” You sound desperately close.

He is surprised, you can sense it, but he quickly does what you say, his tongue eagerly toying with your clit faster than before.

“I’m so close!” You warn.

He stops licking for a little and you try to move your hips to meet his mouth. What the fuck is he doing? No time for edging.

"What were you gonna say, doll? What did you think it would stroke my ego?"

“What?” You raise on your elbows, looking like a mess. “Really?”

"If you want my tongue, you give me an answer."

“You are unbelievable!” You sound so betrayed.

"I warned you not to cry, doll."

You really want to keep that thought to yourself, but the ache between your legs doesn’t care about your pride. “I can’t believe you are doing this right now.”

He gives you a small smile, and you see him leaning in again. You think you won, getting more comfortable, ready to come soon, but he only licks you twice, teasingly, and lets your clit go.

"Do what?"

You whine loudly. The feeling of his tongue lingers on your clit. “You wanna play dirty?” Maybe you can’t win this fight, but it doesn’t mean you can’t win others. “Fine.” You sit up a little, looking into his eyes. “It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Happy now?”

"Delighted. Now was it so hard? You get a reward for being my good and honest girl."

“Yeah, whatever.” You roll your eyes.

"Fucking brat," you hear him whisper right before his tongue finds your clit again, finally licking it in circles properly. He starts to move his fingers, too, and even though they are obviously not even close to the thickness of his cock, they feel incredible.

But you are too annoyed now, at the same time. A part of you just wants to hold back and not give him the pleasure of hearing you come. So he tries harder. You hear him whimpering as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it. And you swallow a moan while your legs are trembling.

"Come on, baby." His fingers move faster, too. "Let it go."

Your whole body starts to shake uncontrollably, but you keep your moans to yourself, pressing your lips together tightly just out of spite. You can see he hates it, but he doesn't stop until you finish coming. And it feels amazing, but you are sure it would have been even better if you had let yourself enjoy it freely.

He sighs into your clit and leaves a kiss there before he stands up. "You're mad."

“No shit, Sherlock.”

"Ah, doll. Nothing can tame that mouth."

“More like actions and consequences. I wasn’t ready to share that, but you forced me to say it for an orgasm, so that’s what you get. An orgasm. Nothing more, nothing less.”

"Forced?" His face shows concern as he sits next to you. "That wasn’t my intention. The last thing I want is to make you feel trapped.” He seems like he’s confused. He looks around and meets your gaze again. “Do you want me to leave?"

“If you wanna leave, just leave, but if that wasn’t really your intention, you can start with apologizing.”

"I am sorry," he immediately says, taking your hands into his. "I was just trying to… be silly I guess."

“You wanted your ego stroked, I get it. We both need it after what happened, but… I don’t know. I just felt exposed.”

"I'm sorry." He kisses your cheek. "I might be a grumpy arrogant son of a bitch, but forcing…"

You start to tear up, hearing him say sorry this quickly. Fucking relationship trauma.

"Oh god, baby, I am sorry, I didn't…" he tries to wipe your tears with his thumbs. "I'm a jackass, but I swear I wasn't trying to force you. I thought it was just a game. My bad."

“No, no. This is on me. Sorry.” You try to take a deep breath. “He just never said sorry no matter how hurt I was. He always had an excuse. This is just… trauma I guess.”

"What a fucking douchebag. I can fuck him up really good, you know?" He suggests. "Just say the words."

“He’s probably already fucked up by the fact that we are fucking.” That thought cheers you up a little.

"His face deserves it, too." Bucky puffs and kisses your wet cheeks. "To be honest, this whole should I leave question comes from my relationship trauma, too. So you’re not alone. She either wanted me to leave or she left every fucking time we disagreed on something. She once threw my shoes out of the window just so I'd go. I don't know why we kept trying…"

“Oh.” You finally understand why he keeps offering to leave. It isn't about you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you were just trying to get out when things get hard.”

"Don't be sorry. I prefer to talk on the spot, to be honest. Letting everything out is healthier. Don't "

“Or take a break whenever it’s needed. Doesn’t mean you have to leave though.”

"Yeah! Exactly."

You laugh a little. You never realized how similar you two are. Today is changing your perspective completely. “Your apology is accepted by the way, but under one condition.”

"What is that?'

“Tell me something about yourself that you don’t want me to know.”

He thinks for a second. "My breath smells like death in the morning. I can make your plants die if you let me."

You shake your head, amused. “That’s not good enough. Everyone’s breath smells bad in the morning.”

"What do you wanna know then?"

“Something on the same level of having your best orgasm.”

"I think you broke me."

“What?”

"You broke me." He repeats as if that is an explanation.

“In what way?”

He kisses you just as desperately as he did in the kitchen, as if this is the first time he kisses you and he can't ever get enough. "I want you for more than one time, do you understand?"

“Oh. Well… That can be arranged.”

"Yeah?" He drags you by your hips, placing you on top of his thighs.

“I would actually like that.”

He kisses you some more, letting his hands wander all over your body, stopping especially on your neck and breasts.

"You like it rough, don't you? Not complaining about me ripping your clothes off, loving the bites." He pulls your hair, just to prove his point in case you deny. You moan.

“Yeah, apparently you like it rough, too.” You don’t deny. Why would you?

"Of course I do, brat." He then turns you around suddenly. "All fours, please."

“Since you asked so nicely,” You stop for the dramatic effect and say as sarcastically as possible: “Boss.”

"Wanna make me your boss?"

“You are already acting like one.” You stand on all fours, pushing your ass back while lowering your head.

"Fuck! You're such a sight, you know?" Bucky's eyes don't leave your body.

“Am I?”

"I wanna look at you like this all day long."

You look at him amused. “I’m afraid I don’t have that much patience.”

You notice him shaking his head. "Of course."

“It’s rude to make me wait like this, you know?”

"Sorry, just wanted to remember this." Bucky feels a little bad for the thoughts he has. He mentally took a picture of you cause he can't ask this from you, right? You're not a couple, and even if you were, it doesn't mean exchanging or keeping photos like this would be okay.

His hips touch your ass as he positions himself at your entrance. "Any limits that come to your mind? I won't ask again."

“We already decided on the rules. I don’t think there’s anything besides them.”

"I'm not gonna hold back this time." Not completely… he grabs a handful of your hair as he thrusts inside you. "I'm gonna pound the fuck out of you and you're gonna take it like a good little girl, understand?"

“I understand. You won’t stop until I say stop.”

"Jesus Christ." He moans halfway inside you at the feel of your extra wet pussy. He feels out of breath just by standing still. "How…"

“Oh, fuck.” You nearly choke. It feels unbelievably good. This position is doing wonders.

"I didn't think-" he says, but at the same time doesn't move an inch. "Fuck, it feels too good, this pussy is driving me crazy. You are driving me crazy." He grips your hair harder without warning and starts to thrusts properly inside you, making sure to squeeze your left breast with his free. The sounds of your wet skin slapping make him curse under his breath.

“You didn’t think what?” You sound out of breath already.

"I cannot fuck you with condoms again." Technically he can, but he doesn’t want to.

You smile widely. “Why is that?”

"Because I am completely fucked."

“You like it that much?”

"Like it?" He puffs, unamused, and starts to finally pound you the way he imagined a few weeks ago. Maybe even harder.

“Oh, fuck!” Yep, he’s right. You are fucked, too.

"You might need to fix me very often, you know?" He drops his hand from your hair just to properly grab your hips. You can barely keep your position like this, his thrusts are so deep.

“Fix you?”

"Yeah. Fix my cock." Oh, that’s what he means.

“We can fix each other then.”

"Ihm." He doesn't say much after this, too focused on kissing your back and keeping the pace at the same time. He's ready to come any minute.

“Harder, Bucky. Please!” You need to come. Really desperately.

"How much harder?" He thrusts a little harder. "More or like this?"

“As hard as you can.”

He doesn't disagree with you, but you know he's holding back even when he pushes harder. And harder. And harder.

"I'm gonna come," he manages to moan. "Fuck I'm gonna come inside you, gonna make a mess. Tell me you… t-tell me you want my come."

“I want your come, Bucky, please. p Please, come with me!” You are already shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck." That's all you get from him before he's coming, his fingers digging so hard into your skin that you moan again, dizzy from your orgasm.

He keeps moving, making a mess, indeed. It’s already dripping out, you can feel it.

"I came so much." You hear him say suddenly through fogginess.

You smile, resting your head on the bed still, feeling unable to move.

"Not gonna say anything?"

“I died and went to heaven.” You murmur. The orgasm is still running through your veins, making you twitch here and there.

"I've been in heaven for a while."

You finally turn around and look at him. “It was so fucking good.”

"No words." He slowly gets out of you and you notice how happy he is, not taking his eyes off your pussy. "It's gonna start dripping… all over your thighs and sheets. What a nice mark." He even brings a finger to your entrance and pushes back some come.

“Do you have a breeding kink or something?” You smile while asking.

"A breeding kink?"

“Yeah, do you know what it is?”

"Something to do with my come inside you?" He teases. His confusion seems to fade away.

“Yeah, and getting me pregnant.”

He groans, closing his eyes.

“They do that pushing the come back inside thing most of the time.”

"I guess I have a breeding kink." He smiles, accepting it instantly, and finally closes the gap to kiss you. "You might not get rid of me now."

“I knew it!” You point at him with your finger. “I wasn’t gonna get rid of you anyways.”

"Wanna keep me as your boy toy?"

“You wanna be my boy toy?” Your whole face lights up.

"You look quite excited."

“I never had a boy toy before.”

"No?" He shakes his head. "Time to change that. And as your boy toy, I should always make sure you're having a good time." He surprises you by spreading your legs again.

“No, no, no, no. It’s my turn.”

Bucky shakes his head. "Need to get you clean, and then we can do whatever you want, alright?"

“You are really something else.” You sound amazed.

He smirks. "And you're stuck with me. You're all mine now."

You don't get to say anything anymore as you feel his tongue at your entrance. So you just grab his hair, closing your eyes, your exes long forgotten.

“And you are all mine.”

[iktomi-toni]

Lighter x reader headcannons + drabble

Ugh I can't get this man out of my head after doing his quest !!!!!

No TW just lots of flirting and mutual pining, gender neutral reader but lightly implied to be fem leaning and shorter than Lighter. I wrote this at 2am, this was wayyy longer than I intended it to be but that's just what Lighter does to me I guess. I did my best to proofread but was tired so please excuse any spelling/ grammar errors.

• Lighter is SUUUCH a flirt. If you're not dating he's definitely flirting with you, winking at you from behind his sunglasses, smirking at you from a distance, anything to see that cute little smile and blush on your pretty little face.

• if you're dating the flirting doesn't stop, like ever. He heard the phrase 'never stop dating your partner' and seriously took it to heart.

• if your relationship isn't quite couple status but you're comfortable with each other his flirting is a little more relaxed. The occasional arm over the shoulder, flexing his muscles through his jacket to show off for you, offering to help anytime you're in need.

• also he is SUCH a cheesy romantic, he definitely watching romance movies for fun and occasionally uses some of the moves from movies on you when the opportunity arises. Bring you a small bouquet of roses, boxes of chocolates, hand written notes, letting you wear his jacket when it gets old. He'd totally court you old fashioned style.

One day you're in Blazewood double checking the contents of your bag as you prepare for a trip to the city when you accidentally bump into Lighter, walking face first into his tight leather jacket you prepare to profusely apologize and ask for forgiveness when you look up and realize who it was. You blush slightly when he looks down at you, "You okay there? Seem a little preoccupied." With his signature smirk and a subtle flex of his muscles he turned to face you.

"Oh! Yeah.. yeah I'm okay! Just was making sure I have everything I need before I head out." You smiled at him, a gentle rosie hue spreading across your cheeks as you looked at him. "Where you heading? I can give you a ride if you'd like." He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you walked together and talked. "I was just going to head into the city to run some errands, maybe grab some souvenirs for everyone while I'm there since us from Blazewood don't tend to leave very often."

The way he held you close felt so warm and safe, the way he towered over you in a protective manner all while maintaining that same flirtatious, comfortable energy when he spoke only served to make the red tint across your face all the brighter and your heart beat even faster. You weren't entirely sure if he truly felt romantic feelings for you or if he was naturally casually a romantic but it's no like you were complaining, he was obviously very handsome and also extremely kind and loyal so there was no real harm in this little charade.

He ruffled your hair gently and grinned at you with that shiny, award winning smile, "I like that idea, how about I take you there, you can show me 'round the city while we're out, hm?" Smiling and nodding in response, you fixed your hair with a gentle huff, making sure your bag was secured over your shoulder as you both walked towards his bike. "Sure! I'd really appreciate that, thank you!" He passed you a helmet as he straddled his bike waiting for you to get on behind him. Secretly he only offered to give you a ride just so he could feel your arms wrapped around him, though he'd never admit it to your face.

After a peaceful ride from The Outer Ring you guys had finally made it to New Eridu, letting go of Lighter's waist you took off his helmet with a deep breath and flattened out your hair as you hopped off the back of the bike.

Lighter can't deny that he felt a twinge of disappointment when he felt your arms leave his body, he loved the feeling of warmth that came when your body pressed up against his back and now he felt cold when that warmth had left him but he was good at hiding it, all things considered.

"So, where we heading first?" He pushed up his sunglasses and with a flick of his head he simultaneously brushed his hair back a bit, looking at you expectantly. "Well first I figured we could grab a coffee then heading to 141 Convenience and JC Pharmacy. Oh and i also wanted to pick up a new movie from the video store on sixth street!"

You two walked and talked as you sipped your coffees and shopped, picking up a few souvenirs and movie before stopping to say hi to Belle and Wise and Random Play, as you two had left the video store you turned to Lighter, "Hey why don't we get some noodles at General Chop's place! Wise says they're the best noodles around!"

After a very tasty very filling meal at General Chop's it was starting to dark so it was getting to be time to head back to Blazewood so you both headed back to lumina Square where Lighter's bike was located and began to head home. The journey back home was even more beautiful and peaceful than the ride there. With the sun setting on the horizon you could see the desert cliffs and the many hollows in the distance as you guys Lighter from behind for stability on the bike, this was a moment you knew you would always cherish. Soon you ride into Blazewood and pulled up to your residence, with a small melancholy sigh you unwrapped yourself from Lighter and stood up, removing his helmet and handing it back to him you smiled and thanked him for the ride and the company on your trip, he turned off his bike and put it in park, placing his helmet on the seat he stood up and smiled at you before taking a deep breath. "I'm always happy to help you out with whatever you need, maybe we can take another trip together sometime, only maybe we could call it a date instead?" He was grateful it had gotten dark so you couldn't see the growing blush on his face, he's not sure where he got the nerve to ask you or but spending so much time with you today made him realize exactly how much he enjoyed your company and he didn't want the day to end. "I'd love that, Lighter. " looking at the smile on your face and the way you looked at him he almost couldn't help it when he leaned down and kissed you. He was gentle about it, cupping your cheek with his right hand and holding your hip softly with his left, you dropped your bags and wrapped you arms around his neck leaning into the kiss. It was soft and careful, as if he was worried he'd do something wrong or hurt you it he got too excited.

Pulling away breathlessly and still holding onto you he smiled, feeling content and very satisfied with his today's city trip has turned out