#and I feel like there's something here to dig out

[onlypinkslut]

warning 18+

mean cop!toji x soft, naïve civilian reader🚨

cw: dubcon, coercion, manipulation, uniform/power play, oral, creampie, spanking, cumplay, naive reader, crying, gaslighting, corruption kink fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, public indecency, corruption kink, virginity loss implied, praise + degradation, cumplay, spanking, creampie, authority abuse, naive reader, trauma response behavio

officer fushiguro says it’s protocol. you’re dumb, soft, and scared of jail so you do what he says…🎀

you didn’t even want to go out tonight. you had said it, twice. but he pouted, and whined, and said you never went anywhere fun anymore. so you nodded, said fine, and let him pick your dress too short, something glittery and tight that you didn’t feel like tugging down all night. you didn’t even drink. you hated the way alcohol burned. you hated the smoke. you hated how loud it got when his friends showed up and how nobody cared that you wanted to go home. it was past one when he disappeared with someone upstairs, and you sat on the couch like an afterthought, knees together, watching girls you didn’t know pour shots into each other’s mouths like it meant something. your phone kept dying. your boyfriend kept not texting. and eventually you left. walked out without saying anything. found your way to the street, where it was quieter, colder, worse.

the deeper you walked, the less the air felt safe. the pavement was cracked, wet in places you didn’t want to know the reason for. your heels clicked too loud. your dress felt tighter now. your arms were crossed tight over your chest, hands gripping your elbows, trying to look like you weren’t scared even though your lip was trembling. you didn’t belong here. you knew that. the women on the corner knew it too. one of them muttered something when you passed, eyes dragging up and down your body with something between pity and contempt. you didn’t answer. just kept walking faster, your head low, pretending you weren’t afraid of the man across the street following a little too closely. someone yelled something, then glass shattered near a closed storefront. you flinched. you weren’t sure if you were crying yet. your hands were gripping your skirt now, knuckles white, nails digging into your thigh through the fabric.

and then the siren.

short, sharp, close. red and blue light swept across the building walls like a blade. the sound scattered everything. the man who had been walking behind you disappeared into the shadows. the women slipped behind doors. someone ran. and before you could even process it, someone bumped into your shoulder hard and you lost your footing. your knees hit the ground first. then your hands. then your breath.

you didn’t even have time to push yourself up before the car door slammed shut. heavy boots clicked across the pavement toward you, and when you looked up, he was already standing there. towering. silent. watching.

he didn’t speak at first. just looked down at you like you were a mess on the sidewalk. his shoulders were broad beneath the dark uniform, his sleeves stretched around his forearms, chest outlined hard beneath his vest. his belt was heavy with equipment. flashlight, cuffs, something metal that clinked when he stepped closer. his watch glinted under the flickering streetlight. silver. thick. his face was hard to read. older. handsome in a way that made your stomach tighten. his expression didn’t soften when you pushed yourself up off the ground and stood with shaky legs. your knees stung. your voice cracked when you tried to say something.

i’m not.. i was just walking. i got lost. i’m trying to go home.

he didn’t say anything. just dragged his gaze down your body slow and unimpressed. your arms wrapped tighter around yourself as you tried to cover your chest, conscious now of how exposed your dress felt. how tight it was. how warm your skin was getting even though the air was cold.

you know where you are right now miss?

his voice was low. rough. not angry just firm. indifferent. you shook your head.

you think it’s normal for a girl like you to be out here dressed like that at two a.m.?

your throat tightened. you tried to explain again. my boyfriend— he was supposed to pick me up. i didn’t mean to..

he cut you off. save it. i’ve heard every version of that story. i’m not interested in excuses.

you felt yourself shrinking, jaw trembling. your eyes burned. you looked at his badge without meaning to, then back up at his face.

you carrying anything? drugs? weapons?

no, you shook your head fast. no sir. nothing. i swear.

he sighed like he didn’t believe you. like you were wasting his time.

then i’ll have to search you. just procedure.

you opened your mouth but nothing came out. your head nodded before your body could decide if it was okay. your fingers were still gripping your skirt, but your arms dropped slightly when he stepped behind you and touched your elbow.

turn around. hands on the hood.

your legs felt like jelly as you moved, placing your palms flat on the cold surface of his cruiser. the metal was smooth and dirty. you stared down at the dusty reflection of your face in the windshield, breath fogging the glass, and tried to slow your heartbeat. you could feel him behind you. too close. not touching yet. just standing there.

you shouldn’t be out here.

his voice was closer now. slower. you nodded. i’m sorry.

you’re not sorry. you’re dumb. and lucky it was me who pulled up.

his hand touched your side. gloved. big. it moved over your waist, not soft but not rough. deliberate. up, across your ribs. stopped just below your chest. then again, from the other side. your mouth parted slightly. his hand brushed higher. paused. then he cupped you palm flat against your breast through your dress, fingers curling beneath it slightly, weighty and slow.

he stayed like that. not moving. just holding. your breath caught in your throat. he didn’t say anything for a moment.

girls like you think they’re safe because they’re pretty.

he let go. shifted his hand lower. across your stomach now. thumb brushing under the fabric slightly like he was checking for something tucked in your waistband.

you’re shaking.

you swallowed hard. it’s cold.

it’s not cold.

he pressed in closer, chest against your back. the bulk of him was overwhelming. you could smell him now clean sweat, deodorant, the leather of his belt. something warm. something masculine.

he reached down again. touched your thigh. higher. then higher. your hands tensed against the hood.

stop moving. just checking.

you nodded. yes sir.

his hand dragged between your thighs slow. not forceful. but there was no hesitation. the edge of his glove brushed just under your dress, fingertips grazing the seam of your underwear. he didn’t pull back. didn’t stop. just lingered there.

you’re a good girl, aren’t you?

you nodded again. barely breathed. yes sir.

then let me do my job.

his fingers pressed in.

you stay bent over the hood like he told you, arms locked straight, fingers curling against the cold metal as he moves behind you. you feel him step closer. feel the warmth of him. the pressure in the air. his hand smooths up your inner thigh again, and then it pauses. you can’t see his face, but his voice cuts low near your ear.

gloves make it hard to feel anything properly. need to make sure you’re not hiding anything where i can’t see.

you blink slowly, still frozen in place. what do you mean… hiding what?

he doesn’t answer right away. just removes the gloves with a calmness that makes your stomach twist. the sound of leather slipping off his hands feels louder than it should. the silence after is worse.

contraband. blades. pills. you’d be surprised where people hide things. mind spreading for me a little bit?

his tone is dry. like he’s asking something ordinary. you hesitate, glancing over your shoulder with wide eyes. but you said you didn’t find anything on me…

he’s already crouching behind you, large hands gripping your thighs now. steady. serious. his breath brushes against the back of your leg.

you wanna go to jail tonight?

your voice breaks. no… i didn’t do anything wrong.

then listen. you said yourself you’re innocent. i’m giving you a chance to prove it. so unless you want this to go differently, i need you to spread your legs and let me do my job.

your knees tremble. you part them slowly, swallowing hard as your body obeys before your head finishes deciding. the hem of your skirt rides up when you shift, exposing more of your thighs. he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t move away. you feel his hands return bare now, warm and rough, one on your thigh, the other climbing higher.

you shouldn’t be wearing something like this out here. you think this looks safe?

you stammer. it was just for the party… my boyfriend said it looked—

he cuts you off with a low laugh that doesn’t reach his mouth. your boyfriend’s not here, is he?

you shake your head.

exactly. i am. and you’re lucky for that.

his fingers slip higher, palm cupping under your skirt. his thumb brushes across your inner thigh, slow. you feel your cheeks burn.

i just… i thought those women were standing there waiting for a ride or something. they looked cold. i didn’t know they were— like, you know, working girls…

his hand pauses.

you really that clueless?

your voice is barely audible. i thought they were waiting for someone. they had makeup and heels like me…

he exhales through his nose like you just proved a point he already made in his head. you don’t even flinch when he places his palm flush against the seat of your panties, his other hand pressing lightly on your back to keep you still.

this is exactly why girls like you end up in squad cars. you think your boyfriend’s gonna save you. you think someone’s gonna help. you walk around like this, stand on the wrong sidewalk, and act shocked when shit happens. you don’t get it, do you?

you try to explain, your words tumbling fast. no— i wasn’t— i wasn’t looking for anyone. i just wanted to go home. i don’t even do drugs. i don’t smoke. i don’t even drink like that—

i didn’t ask what you do. i’m telling you what you look like.

he grabs your wrist now, not rough, but firm enough to pin it gently against the car. your pulse beats under his fingers. you’re breathing faster. he leans in again, voice closer to your ear.

you want people to believe you’re not like them? then cooperate. lift your skirt.

what?

lift it.

you hesitate. he doesn’t repeat himself. just waits. calm. steady. his hand presses lower against your hips.

unless you want me to do it for you.

you bite your lip. your fingers move on instinct. you reach back slowly, bunching the fabric of your skirt up your hips until you feel the cold air hit the backs of your thighs. he watches every movement like he’s measuring your obedience, your delay, how far you’ll go before you say no.

that’s better.

his hand returns, this time bare against your ass. he palms it once, slow. full. then lets his hand glide down again. his fingers trail under the edge of your panties. he doesn’t rush. doesn’t speak. just slides the fabric aside like it’s standard protocol.

you start to tremble. but you say nothing.

he presses two fingers against your folds warm, ungloved. he doesn’t move yet. just rests them there. your breath hitches.

you clench your fists on the hood. you whisper, am i in trouble?

his hand moves again. just a little. enough.

not yet.

his other hand reaches around your side, palm dragging upward, catching under your top until he cups your tit directly. no glove. no barrier. just his thumb brushing your nipple slowly, like he’s assessing the weight, the texture. your thighs shake again. your lip is tucked between your teeth.

you let him. you think maybe this is part of it.

you say softly, i didn’t think a cop would… like, need to check that area.

he exhales again, steady. his voice smooth. patient.

you need to trust that i know what i’m doing. i’m trained. i have the authority. i don’t get off-duty at two a.m. to argue with girls who don’t know what neighborhood they’re standing in. now keep still. unless you want to go to jail for obstruction.

you go quiet. his fingers slip lower.

his bare hand drags under your skirt again, slower now. no gloves. no barrier between your skin and his knuckles. you feel the callouses at the base of his fingers first. you flinch slightly when the edge of his thumb grazes your hip bone, but you don’t move. you keep your hands planted flat on the hood like he told you, knees trembling under the weight of the silence.

he’s breathing evenly. not fast. not heavy. just there. controlled. looming behind you with that low, rhythmic sound of breath coming through his nose as his hand pushes your underwear to the side without asking.

you whisper it before you can stop yourself. i thought you had gloves for this…

his voice is immediate and firm, but not unkind. no tension. no heat.

and you think gloves let me feel through fabric? you want me to miss something tucked under the skin? that how confident you are in your search?

you shake your head fast. no. sorry. i just didn’t know. i didn’t mean—

he cuts you off. it’s not your job to know. that’s what i’m here for. you’re not trained. you’re not certified. i am.

your mouth stays open like you’re waiting for another word. like you’re trying to keep up. his fingers don’t pause. they move gently under your underwear now, gliding down through the soft warmth between your legs like it’s nothing more than a place to check. nothing more than a procedure.

his other hand comes up around your side. not rough. not groping. he places it slowly over your breast, heavy and measured, letting his palm mold to the shape of it like he’s weighing something. his thumb brushes across the front of your bra once. he hums faintly through his nose.

your throat tightens again. your eyes burn. you’re biting back tears now, more from confusion than fear. your voice is small when you ask, but isn’t it your job to stop people from… like, doing bad stuff?

his thumb brushes over your nipple again, slower this time.

i am stopping it. you’re not cuffed, are you? you’re not face-down in a cell. i’m giving you a chance to show you’re not a threat.

you swallow. you feel your knees wobble again. he moves behind you, closer, like a shadow folding in.

his hand presses lightly between your shoulder blades, guiding your chest down lower.

just a bit more. legs apart. i can’t feel everything properly like this.

you hesitate. your hands shift against the hood. your thighs part again, further this time, your skirt sliding higher with the movement. your panties pull tight between your legs. he doesn’t help you adjust them. just keeps his fingers moving against the edge of your thigh like he’s checking for seams, creases, something suspicious.

you can’t help it. your voice comes again, small and confused.

do you check all girls like this?

his answer comes quickly, with no pause.

only the ones who wander into danger and don’t know how to get out.

he says it like a warning. like a favor.

your hands are shaking now. you press your cheek to your arm, eyes fluttering shut. his palm is under your underwear, moving lower. his other hand grips your tit harder this time still slow, still calm, but heavier.

he’s not rushing.

he’s thorough.

he exhales faintly as his middle finger glides between your folds, dragging once, knuckle-deep, slow like it’s measured against a checklist. the pressure isn’t sharp. it’s not even heavy. just there. invasive and deliberate and too calm to be flinched away from.

i’m not hiding anything.

he hums again. we’ll see.

you try to breathe out. your voice is shaking. i didn’t even want to go out tonight. i didn’t think this would happen.

he says nothing.

his hand pushes further.

you whimper a little without meaning to.

he says, lower your voice.

you nod.

i don’t like making arrests. i don’t like paperwork. i’d rather you just cooperate. you don’t want to go in, do you?

you whisper fast. no. please no.

then keep still. skirt up. legs open. let me finish.

his fingers slip further between your folds. slow. pulsing. like he’s listening for your response through your body.

his thumb brushes the seam of your pussy.

he’s not breathing faster.

he’s not making a sound.

he’s not doing anything he hasn’t told you is part of his job.

and you believe him.

because he hasn’t yelled.

because he’s not angry.

because he smells like clean uniform and his badge reflects light and he’s saying it like he’s helping.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the fog on the hood glass smears under your cheek.

you were already shaking, but now your chest is hitching and stuttering as you try not to sob. his fingers haven’t moved away. they’re still between your thighs, gloved only in warmth, resting too heavy against the part of you that feels wrong to expose, but you’re exposed anyway. your cheeks are wet now. you blink fast and try to speak, try to explain yourself again, but it’s all falling apart in your throat.

i didn’t do anything i swear—i didn’t know—i thought the bus would come—

you’re making this harder than it has to be.

his voice cuts through your panic like the edge of a rulebook. cold. official. steady. not cruel. just done. the way a man speaks when he’s tired of being doubted. his fingers glide up through your folds again, then back down, then up again, each motion slower, flatter, dragging along the soft part like he’s not even trying to make you react. just pressing for the shape of something hidden. like it’s medical. like it’s justified.

you’re wasting my time.

your lip quivers. he’s not yelling. that makes it worse. your knees buckle again and you push back against the cruiser for balance, your eyes clenching shut.

you know what. we might have to put you in tonight.

your head lifts, fast. you turn toward him, wide-eyed and blinking through the blur in your lashes, your voice catching.

no—no please i can’t—please don’t take me to jail i swear i didn’t do anything i didn’t even drink—

your chest shakes as you cry harder, your arms trembling now from holding yourself up against the car. you can barely breathe. the air feels thick. sharp. your thighs are still spread and your panties still tugged aside and he hasn’t moved his hand.

you think this is how innocent people act?

your lip breaks. your voice is cracked. i didn’t even want to be out tonight my mom’s gonna kill me i just wanted to go home i don’t even do drugs i swear—

he clicks his tongue and moves his hand again two thick fingers pressing inward, rubbing harder now, sliding up and flattening with more pressure. your breath hiccups out of you, a shaky sob tumbling into the night air. he sighs like he’s annoyed. disappointed.

this is what happens when you lie. when you make shit difficult. now i gotta make sure you’re really clean. and you’re wasting my fucking time.

you shake your head. no i’m not lying i promise please i promise you can check anything just don’t take me—

he scoffs again. his voice is closer to your ear now, heavy and dry.

check anything? you know what i’m checking?

his fingers tap directly over your pussy now. two slow, deliberate slaps right against your folds. you jolt, your breath catching. he doesn’t pull away. just rubs over the same spot again, tapping lightly. then harder. then pausing to press, like he’s thinking.

you’re not even listening. you don’t know the law. you don’t know what you’re talking about.

you nod fast, eyes wide, throat dry. your voice comes out like a whisper.

i’ll listen. please i’m listening i swear—

he turns his body more toward you now, looming. standing so close behind you that his legs box yours in. you tilt your head to the side, still crying, still trying to see him.

then listen carefully.

he taps your pussy again. once. then again. his fingers spread the lips slightly with each motion.

i am legally allowed to detain and search anyone found in a known criminal zone. and i’m allowed to escalate the search if there’s suspicion of possession. now tell me. is this a criminal zone?

you’re crying harder now, nodding quickly, the street spinning behind your wet lashes. yes—

and were you found alone. no ID. no phone. no money. dressed like this.

yes.

he presses his fingers in again. more pressure this time. they push apart your folds, pressing into the plush, slippery heat until you sob again, shoulders jerking. he doesn’t stop.

so if i choose to arrest you, i’m within my rights.

you hiccup. please don’t.

you think crying’s gonna change it?

no. no i just—i just don’t wanna get in trouble i don’t want my mom to know i—

then stop whining and do what you’re told.

he pulls his hand away slowly. not all the way. just enough to make you look up. and when you do, he’s staring down at you, unreadable.

pull your panties down.

you hesitate.

he says it again, slower.

pull them down. now.

you reach back with trembling fingers, dragging the fabric down your thighs, trying to keep yourself covered with one hand, but it’s impossible. you’re exposed now. vulnerable. soft and sticky and wet with a shame you don’t even understand yet.

his fingers return. he cups you fully. his palm smooths against your cunt with weight and ownership.

you tell him again through tears that you don’t do drugs. you didn’t even want to be at the party. you thought he was going to help you.

and he nods.

i am helping you. that’s why you’re still out here. that’s why i haven’t written you up. but you keep making this harder. and now i have to be sure.

his hand slides lower again.

and you still believe him.

you started crying too early. that’s what told him exactly what kind of girl you were. the kind who doesn’t understand what’s happening until it’s halfway done. the kind who breaks before she’s even touched. he liked that. not because he was cruel not openly but because it made everything easier. cleaner. quieter.

you’re still leaning on the cruiser, barely holding yourself up. your panties are crooked from how fast you pulled them back up, and your skirt’s still rucked around your hips. you haven’t noticed. you’re too busy falling apart. your hands are shaking, and your voice is a wet hiccup in your throat. you’re trying to breathe like you’re drowning.

he watches the way your shoulders tremble and the way your thighs press together like you think that’ll make a difference now. it won’t. your body gave you away. he didn’t even have to touch you long to feel it warm, soft, slick where you shouldn’t be. and still, you’re here, rubbing your palms together like you want to pray. like that’ll get you out of this.

so he pauses.

backs away two steps, slowly, and grabs the radio from his belt.

he doesn’t turn it on.

doesn’t have to.

he lifts it to his mouth, presses the side, lets it beep for show. doesn’t speak yet. glances at you. your head lifts like a dog hearing its name through a storm.

he speaks into it flatly.

yeah, i’ve got her here. description matches.

…yep. near the corner.

dress, skirt, red around the eyes. nervous.

real soft.

no, not cuffed yet.

he tilts his head slightly like he’s thinking. then sighs.

…alright. copy that. if the warrant’s cleared, i’ll transport her.

he puts it back slowly. precise. lets the click of it slotting into place feel louder than it is.

when he turns to you again, your expression’s already cracked open. wide wet eyes. lips trembling. your chest rising too fast. like your ribs are about to burst open.

you whisper it like it’s the only thing you remember how to say.

no—no please—

he doesn’t answer. he just looks at you. like he’s thinking. like he doesn’t want this either.

he sighs again.

i didn’t wanna do it this way.

you shake your head. fast. sloppy.

i didn’t mean to—

i didn’t know this street—

i was just trying to go home—

my boyfriend left—

i didn’t know the area—

please please please don’t—

he steps forward and grabs you by the upper arm. not rough. but firm. final. pulls you off the cruiser slowly. you stumble into his chest and he catches you like that’s what this was for all along.

you’re small.

barely up to his collar.

he wraps one arm around your back and places his other hand on the back of your head, flattening your face to his chest. your cheek presses to the edge of his vest. your nose bumps his badge. and still you keep crying. like holding onto him is safe. like you’re not already in the trap.

his palm moves up through your hair once. slow. deliberate.

shh.

he doesn’t need to say more. you’re already folding. melting into him like he’s warmth and shelter and not the man who had his fingers inside you three minutes ago. he can feel it now your sobs soaking through his shirt, your fists clenched weakly near his waist, like you think holding on will stop him from letting go. like that would even help.

you start talking again. all stammer and panic.

my mom—

she’s gonna kill me—

i’ve never been arrested—

please i’ll do anything i can’t—

his hand cups your skull like it’s delicate. thumb strokes once against the side of your temple. he lets the silence stretch.

then finally, he speaks low, into your hair.

there might be another option.

you freeze. your fingers twitch.

he waits.

you lift your head, face red, mascara streaked, mouth wet from crying. you look like you want to believe him.

he pretends to hesitate.

not technically protocol. but in cases like this, low-level nonviolent offense, no priors… there’s occasionally room for discretion.

you nod fast. desperate.

like what?

he watches your face closely.

alternative sentencing.

he lets the words settle. you blink.

you don’t get it yet.

he continues.

no court record. no cell. no official booking. but a physical response in place of incarceration. immediate. non-lethal. signed off on site.

you just blink more.

what’s… what’s that mean?

he leans closer.

you’re still within reach of jail. this is me giving you a chance. there’s paperwork if you agree. i record it. we do it here. it’s done. you walk away.

you’re quiet now. your voice is thin.

but what’s the response?

he looks at you.

he lets his eyes drop once. slow. measured.

then back to yours.

corporal retribution.

your lip quivers again. your mouth opens. you want to ask something dumb. something childish.

he sees it. already knows it.

he cuts in before you can say it.

it means you’re punished physically. by a superior. in proportion to the assumed charge. no jail. just correction. on-site.

you say nothing.

he lets his hand settle on your back again. strokes it once.

you look up at him like he might change his mind if you breathe wrong.

he doesn’t.

this is your only out.

your silence is still a yes.

he reaches for his belt.

he lets you cry in his arms until the worst of it dies down until your throat is too sore to keep sobbing and your body’s too tired to tremble. you’re soft now. moldable. not calm, not composed, just cracked in the right places. that’s when he tells you he needs to bring you into the cruiser. it’ll be safer. easier. paperwork’s in the console. you nod before he’s finished speaking. of course you do.

the door shuts behind you with a heavy thump that makes you flinch. you’re sitting in the passenger seat now, skirt still rumpled, eyes wide and wet, lashes stuck together from crying. your legs are pressed tight, your hands sitting folded in your lap like a child waiting to be told what happens next. the streetlights outside are dim and orange. the cruiser smells like leather and metal and him. it’s quiet.

he opens the driver side and slides in beside you, seat creaking under his weight. shuts the door. locks it. the central click makes your fingers twitch.

you look over, nervously.

he doesn’t meet your eyes.

just sits there. silent. both hands resting heavy on

you glance at him. lips shaking.

you’re still crying when he unbuckles his belt, slow and steady like he’s undoing the weight of responsibility itself. the clink of the metal fills the car like it means something official, something irreversible. his zipper follows, dragged down with care, and then his hips shift, the pressure in his seat tilting just slightly. you flinch when you hear the sound of fabric parting. you don’t dare look at first. your throat closes. your hands are twisting into your skirt again. you’re already apologizing softly like maybe your voice can reverse time. but it doesn’t stop him. his cock is out now. thick and flushed and heavy across his thigh, veined with tension and the kind of slow, dangerous bloodrush that has nothing to do with justice. he doesn’t touch it yet. just leaves it there between you like evidence.

he sighs like this pains him, like your crying is a burden, like this was never his choice. says this isn’t what i wanted. says i don’t like doing it this way. says you left me no choice. and you’re nodding now through your tears like a girl being comforted after being punished, like this is still salvageable if you listen. he keeps his voice low, calm, clipped like radio speech. says it’s policy. says the alternative sentencing clause requires full cooperation. says it’s your own actions that led here. says all he needs is proof that you’re willing to comply. you keep saying you’re sorry. that you didn’t know. that you didn’t think walking down that street would make you bad. you say you just wanted to go home. you say your mom would kill you. and every word makes him harder.

he lets you lean in slow. doesn’t rush. doesn’t coax. just sits there with his knees wide and cock heavy against his leg while you crawl forward like you’re not sure what the next step is. your fingers tremble on his thigh. you glance up with wet lashes like maybe he’ll stop you. he doesn’t. you ask if this is part of it. your lip quivers when you say it. is this really how it works. he tells you yes. tells you that once it’s completed you’ll be logged as processed. your eyes drop to his lap again and you’re breathing faster. your hand touches the base of him like you’re touching something you’re not supposed to see. and then, with your voice barely there, you ask if you’re supposed to use your mouth.

he rests his arm against the door. says that’s how we verify full submission. says it clean. like you’re being trained. like you’re learning how to be good under the law. you nod and say ok. you’re still crying, but you nod.

you take him slow at first. your lips part but your mouth’s not ready for how thick he is, how heavy. your jaw stretches. your head tilts. he watches the way you try not to gag, your brows knitting together as you breathe through your nose, one of your hands gripping the edge of the seat like you’re steadying yourself. you whisper i’m sorry again, like the tears in your throat are interfering with your ability to suck him properly. he hushes you, hand pressing down against your scalp gently. not guiding. not shoving. just holding you there like it’s comfort. says quiet now. let’s not make this worse.

your mouth sinks lower. your tongue flattens under the weight of him. your lips close tighter. your breath comes out wet around the base of his cock. he exhales slow and steady, not groaning, not praising just acknowledging the service like it’s nothing more than a necessary step. says you’re doing fine. says this is almost done. says the state appreciates your cooperation. your mascara is smeared across your cheeks, your nose is running, your soft mouth is drooling around him and you’re still trying to please him like it means you might still go home after this. he says don’t make me report noncompliance. you shake your head fast and gag deeper, sucking harder like that’ll prove something.

he watches your throat tighten around the head of his cock. watches your lashes flutter, your tears drip off your chin. you look up at him again, your voice cracking as you pull back slightly, lips red and spit-slicked, asking if this is enough. he says keep going. says this part has to be continuous. says if you stop too soon we have to start over. you’re crying again. you don’t know how long you’ve been doing it. he cups the back of your head again, says that’s it, says that’s what i need, keep your mouth full. you’re gagging now. your lips bruised, your mouth raw, and you’re still trying to swallow him like it’s your civic duty.

he groans once. low. finally. just as you sink to the base and start choking.

and he says good.

you swallow without thinking, because he told you to. your throat burns and your eyes water and you still can’t tell if it’s relief or shame that makes your shoulders sag. your mouth is sticky and your nose is running, and all you can hear is the sound of your own breath, shallow and tight, as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. you blink up at him like you don’t know what’s left.

can i go now? your voice is wrecked. soft. hopeful.

he exhales, calm, like it hurts him to say it. not yet.

your body stiffens. your lashes flutter. your fingers twitch in your lap like they’re trying to make themselves useful.

why? i… i thought that was—

that was part one, he says, voice low, even. visual cooperation. external.

you stare. your lip moves.

he doesn’t look at you right away. just sits back against the seat and wraps his hand around the base of his cock again, dragging slow strokes up the shaft with fingers wet from your spit. he sighs, eyes lidded.

we’ve got a clause for physical response. when there’s no record or charge but suspicion still stands. it’s listed under immediate deterrence.

your eyes widen a little. your knees press together.

what’s that mean?

he strokes himself once, eyes flicking to your face.

it means we respond to the misconduct in the moment. physical behavior, physical consequence. something to lock the lesson in.

you go quiet. your voice is a whisper.

like… a punishment?

he hums. not quite. you’re not being processed. just adjusted.

you look down again, throat closing.

i didn’t mean to do anything. i’m sorry. i didn’t know it was illegal to even be there i thought i was just walking home—

yeah, he says, soft and steady. yeah, i know. you’re young. it’s nothing. but we still need to do it.

you blink, cheeks burning. you want to cover your face, but your hands stay still. you don’t even know what you’re asking when you say it, voice barely audible.

do i have to take anything off?

he looks at you like it hurts him to answer. like he wishes he could say no.

just from the waist down. quick. over my lap.

your lip trembles. your eyes sting again.

i’m sorry, you whisper.

he reaches out and pats your head with his free hand, palm heavy, his thumb brushing your temple like he’s comforting you for something that was never going to be kind.

don’t cry now. it’s better this than cuffs. s’procedure. you’re doing fine.

he keeps stroking himself while you cry in silence again. you nod. your hands are already reaching under your skirt, trembling as you push your panties down your thighs. he watches the way you fold. the way you shrink. the way you climb across the cruiser bench on your hands and knees like a girl with no clue what her own body means. he keeps his tone low, firm, clear.

need you still. just like that. bare, yeah. there we go.

his cock is thick in his hand again, flushed and wet and twitching as he watches you settle across his lap, stomach to thigh, your ass bare and soft and exposed in his lap. your breathing is shaky. your cheeks are hot. he grips the base of himself tighter, slow strokes dragging under his palm as he shifts your hips into place.

this’ll go fast, he says, thumb dragging over the tip. just a few. then we’re done.

your voice is already cracking.

it’s gonna hurt?

he sighs.

not if you stay still.

he keeps stroking while you hide your face in your arms and press your thighs together, already bracing. he leans over you. lines you up. voice steady.

this is just the system correcting you. nothing personal.

he lifts his hand.

his hand rests heavy on your lower back, broad and bare, pressing you down with the kind of weight that keeps people still in a fight. you’re not fighting. you’re shaking, bent over his lap, your chest against the sticky vinyl of the seat, your arms folded under your chin and your bare ass exposed to the cold of the car and the heat of his gaze. your panties are around your knees. your skirt’s bunched at your waist. and you’re already crying again.

he strokes himself with one hand, slow and steady, the sound slick and deliberate, dragging the head of his cock through his fist as he adjusts the angle of your hips. he doesn’t moan. he doesn’t breathe hard. he just watches you.

stay still, he murmurs low, his palm dragging up the back of your thigh like he’s checking a hamstring. just a few. light. nothing to cry about.

you hiccup softly, your face hot, your arms trembling. but you nod. you trust him.

the first strike lands with a flat crack that echoes too loud in the cruiser. your body jolts. your voice breaks.

ah—

his hand doesn’t linger. doesn’t rub. just lifts again, steady. you shift, thighs tightening, but you stay. you whisper a quiet, wet sorry under your breath, and he pretends to soothe you.

it’s fine, he says. it’s not about that. this is for policy. not punishment.

you nod again. you want to be good. you don’t know how else to leave.

the second slap lands lower. meatier. your skin warms under his palm immediately. he squeezes once before lifting his hand again. not hard. just handling.

this is what we do when people break protocol. when they don’t know better.

you sniffle, voice shaking.

i didn’t mean to break anything—

i know, he says. that’s why we’re doing it this way. i didn’t want to process you. this is easier. quieter. you don’t go into the system.

your lip trembles. you nod again, face buried into your arms.

thank you.

his cock pulses in his hand when you say it. he strokes it harder, watching the soft bounce of your ass across his lap, the faint red blooming beneath his palm. your thighs are starting to part slightly. you don’t notice.

you shift and whimper again when the third strike lands. it stings deeper this time. you make a soft sound. not pain exactly more like embarrassment. shame. something crumpling in your chest.

his breath tightens.

he shifts his hips slightly and presses his cock to your hip now, still stroking himself as he lands the next one, this time slower. heavier.

ahh—

you flinch, but you stay. he rubs your lower back once. thumb grazing your spine. voice calm.

you’re taking it well. it’s almost done.

you nod again. you believe him.

your voice is barely audible.

can i go after?

he hums.

mm. if the response looks sufficient. if i feel like you understand.

you whisper a shaky okay. you apologize again.

he strokes himself harder.

yeah. i know. you’re sorry. you’re soft. that’s all it is.

his hand drags down again. another slap. sharper this time. you jolt. his cock presses closer.

you’re learning, huh?

you nod quickly.

his other hand leaves your back and smooths over your ass, fingers spreading your cheeks slightly, just enough to feel the heat where he struck you. he runs two fingers over the crease, slow.

he sighs.

procedure says contact’s supposed to be skin to skin. you’re lucky i’m going easy.

you squirm. your voice barely there.

thank you.

he grits his teeth and strokes himself faster now, breathing quiet through his nose, watching your trembling thighs, the wet between your legs now clear under the cruiser light.

you’re lucky i stopped when i did outside. you wouldn’t be standing right now.

you don’t answer. you just breathe in quick, shallow gasps, trying not to cry again.

his hand spreads you wider. his cock drags along the underside of your hip now, heavy and hot.

you don’t even know what you’re doing to yourself, he murmurs, voice low against your ear. don’t even realize you’re dripping.

you blink. your thighs squeeze. your body tenses.

no i’m not—

he chuckles once, short and dry.

that’s not up for debate. it’s on my seat.

you hide your face deeper. whisper another sorry. your voice cracks like glass.

he strokes himself faster. drags his hand back to your ass. lands the next strike sharper, lower. you jerk. you choke on your breath.

one more, he says. for the record.

your body is limp now. soft across his lap. exposed. ruined.

you nod.

go ahead sir..

he does.

your ass is still warm from the last strike when he moves again, rubbing over the sore spots gently, his other hand still wrapped around the base of his cock like he hasn’t even felt a thing yet. he’s quiet for a moment, just watching your body fold across his lap, the wet spot smeared against the leather seat, the way your thighs twitch with every shift of your hips. you think maybe it’s done now. maybe that was the last step. maybe you passed. you blink tears from your lashes and start to lift your head, breathless, whispering again if it’s over.

he hums low and shifts under you, adjusting his belt, his cock still out, hard and pulsing against your leg.

just one more thing

you pause. blink. you look back over your shoulder slightly, dazed.

what thing?

his hand moves to your jaw. thumb brushes the side of your mouth, stroking your lips slowly like he’s calming you, like you’re a little girl with sugar on her face. he sighs.

just need to make sure you didn’t take anything. pills. powder. residue. we check by taste if there’s suspicion.

you shake your head quickly, wide-eyed.

i didn’t take anything i swear i don’t do that i’ve never even—

he cuts in with a softer voice, still rubbing your cheek with his thumb, pressing into your bottom lip.

i know you’re innocent. i can see that. doesn’t mean we skip procedure.

you blink again, lips parting as he presses his thumb into your mouth. his other hand moves slower over his cock. he shifts you onto his lap, adjusting your hips as he turns you to straddle him. your legs spread across his thighs now, your skirt up, your ass bare, panties dangling around your knees. your eyes are wide and wet, and your chest is rising fast. he strokes your back once. then leans forward.

open your mouth. just relax.

you do. because he tells you to.

his mouth meets yours. and at first it’s just breath. his nose brushing yours. his hand on your waist. but then it changes. his tongue slips in, thick and slow, warm and deep and curling over yours like he’s tasting something sweet, something he wants to lap up. you whimper against his mouth. you’re not kissing back, not really. you’re just letting it happen, letting his lips move against yours and his tongue explore your mouth like it’s part of the check. part of the law. he groans into you. slow. steady. his hand cups your tit now, thumb rolling over your nipple, stroking until it’s hard under your shirt.

you moan. soft. shaky. ashamed.

he breaks the kiss slowly, a string of spit connecting your mouths. your eyes flutter. your lips stay parted.

he blinks down at you, his voice low and calm.

hmm.

your breath catches.

what?

he strokes his cock again. presses the tip against your thigh.

might’ve tasted something off.

you freeze.

what—no i swear i didn’t i don’t take anything ever i promise—

his hand lifts your chin again.

then let’s double check. sometimes it’s subtle. second pass catches it.

you’re shaking.

do you want me to—

he cuts you off, voice smooth.

just stay still. hold on. grip me so you don’t fall.

you blink, confused. grip you?

he nods. points to his cock. calm.

i’m big. and you’re soft. if you lean too far you’ll slide. just hold it. with both hands.

you reach for it slowly. your fingers curl around the thick shaft, unsure, soft. your palms feel hot. the skin is heavy, twitching under your grip.

like this?

he groans softly.

yeah. just like that. don’t let go.

he kisses you again. deeper this time. his hand grabs your ass, rolling your hips against his lap. you moan into his mouth, tongue flicking against his as he strokes his cock through your hands. his other hand cups your tit again, rubbing the nipple under your shirt until you shudder. he breathes into your mouth. licks your tongue. hums low in approval.

you taste clean.

he keeps kissing you. grinding. his cock pulsing between your fingers. and you keep holding on, eyes closed, trusting every word like it’s law.

he kisses you again like he’s trying to taste your breath for a second opinion. slow, thick licks inside your mouth, his tongue heavy, deliberate, too warm. his palm cups your ass now, rocking your hips gently back and forth over his lap, your bare cunt dragging slow over the length of his cock like he’s lining you up without ever saying it. the head of it catches between your thighs every time he shifts, thick and twitching against your pussy, your slick already smearing across his shaft and your fingers. you’re still holding it both hands wrapped around the base like it’s a handle, trying to keep your balance. you don’t even notice how sticky your knuckles are getting.

his mouth breaks from yours and you’re gasping. dazed. lips swollen. he looks down at you, his voice low, thick, flat.

don’t let go.

your eyes flick up, dazed.

why.

he groans quietly, cock twitching between your hands.

because it’s big, sweetheart. and hard. and if you let go while i’m checking, you’ll fall forward and knock your teeth. keep it steady so i can inspect everything properly.

you nod fast, embarrassed, fingers tightening around his length. he grinds you down against it, slow, rocking your hips gently so your pussy lips slide up the shaft like it’s part of the inspection. you gasp again. his eyes don’t leave your face.

just need to feel the whole response. pelvic tension, hip reflex. it’s all logged

you blink fast

i didn’t know hips were part of—

everything’s part of it. this whole unit moves with you. if we don’t check your body’s involuntary responses, we can’t confirm compliance.

you look down, unsure. he presses the head of his cock harder between your lips now, the thick tip dragging through your folds like he’s wiping it across your cunt on purpose. you whimper.

i didn’t mean to make it complicated. i just wanted to—

he cuts you off, kissing you again hard, tongue pressing past your lips while his hand squeezes your tit, palm dragging over your nipple until it pebbles against his thumb

you did make it complicated. you lied to me. about the street. about why you were there. about your boyfriend. now we’re here!

you shake your head fast

i didn’t lie i just—

he grinds harder, cock slipping between your folds while your hands slide up the length, struggling to keep hold

then what. you just ended up here. dressed like that. standing with known sex workers. your phone dead. no wallet. and you think that makes you look clean?

you start crying again, soft and breathless.

i didn’t know that was the kind of street i thought they were just waiting for the bus.

he hums against your mouth. not mean. just disappointed.

you didn’t think. and that’s the problem. now i’m stuck cleaning it up

you nod quickly, ashamed. his cock pulses between your hands

and i’m stuck doing this, cause the policy says once bodily contact occurs, full procedural frictional response must be documented. that means hips. that means pelvic rhythm. that means tongue. that means compliance by pressure

you blink hard. he kisses you again while you’re still processing. your hips grind forward because he’s moving you. your thighs part wider. your mouth opens again. his hand slips back into your hair and he breathes into you

don’t let go. not unless you want me to reset the form

you shake your head quickly. keep holding. both hands gripping his cock like it’s the only solid thing inside this lie.

i won’t. i swear i won’t

you’re pressed down harder now. the head of his cock sliding along your clit, your slick soaking both your thighs and the front of his pants. he pretends not to notice.

everything’s being recorded. every reaction. every movement

you moan again into his mouth, breathless, trying not to move but moving anyway. he hums again, low, stroking your back with one hand while the other palms your ass

i need you still. i need you obedient. this is almost done

you nod again. tears slipping again.

thank you.. sir.

he strokes his cock up through your hands again, your grip struggling to stay firm as he rocks your hips faster.

no. you’re lucky.

he kisses you again. deeper. hungrier. his tongue curled into yours like he’s dragging answers from your throat

say you’re lucky.

your lips part.

i’m lucky..

he smiles into your mouth. keeps rolling your hips over his cock like it’s the final phase

damn right you are.

your hands are slipping on him now slick from how soaked you are, from the drag of his cock between your folds, from how heavy he feels under your grip. your thighs are shaking over his lap, bare and parted, pussy dragging up and down his length like you’re humping a weapon, and he just watches. calm. his chest rising slow under his vest, the same badge glinting at your cheek as he presses his lips to yours again, thick and wet, licking into your mouth while he speaks.

we’ve got to finish the response exam.

your voice comes out muffled against his tongue

what’s that mean?

he keeps kissing you. lets your mouth drown in his. his hand cups your ass again, spreading you wider, adjusting your hips until the head of his cock notches perfectly between your folds. he groans into your mouth when he feels how soft you are, how wet. he rocks you forward until the blunt tip presses tight against your entrance, not pushing in yet, just there. heavy. waiting.

he pulls back. your spit connects in a thin string that drips onto your thigh.

he breathes. still stroking himself, still holding you in place.

full depth contact. we check for any obstruction. internal heat. resistance. contraction.

your lip trembles. your voice breaks again.

i didn’t take anything i swear..

he nods slowly.

then you’ve got nothing to worry about.

you flinch slightly when he drags the head down, smearing your slick wide with his cock like he’s preparing you for something medical. his voice is lower now. firmer.

put it in. sit on it

you blink fast, face burning

i— i don’t know how.. sir.

he grabs the base, points it up, thick and hot and pulsing in his fist.

just lower yourself. breathe. you’re the one confirming compliance

you stare at it. thick. swollen. flushed. your thighs tremble harder.

he lifts your hips.

i’ll guide it. you keep it steady.

your hands slide back around the base. your fingers curl tight. he holds you above it, cockhead dragging along your pussy lips again. you gasp when the tip slips just barely inside thick pressure, stretching, more than anything you’ve felt before.

your voice cracks again.

wait— it’s too big i—

he hushes you, kisses you again while pushing you down slow. his hands guide your hips as he rocks you lower. the head pops in. you gasp into his mouth. he groans.

keep going. full depth. that’s policy

you choke on your own breath. his cock stretches you open inch by inch, the weight of him forcing your body down over him while your cunt tightens and spasms, trying to take it all. you grip him tighter. try not to fall.

he groans low. strokes your hair as your hips settle lower.

that’s it. fuck. yeah. just like that. fully seated. full record.

your eyes flutter. your mouth’s open. you whimper

it hurts.

he nods. breathes slow.

yeah. that’s how we know it’s real

you look up at him like you want to cry again. like you want to ask how long this part takes. but his hands are already gripping your ass, rolling you forward, your clit dragging against his pelvis while his cock twitches deep inside you.

we’ve got to do six rotations. pelvic rhythm. internal friction confirmation. then you’re cleared.

you whisper it like prayer

six.

his mouth is already back on yours. his tongue heavy. messy. wet. he kisses you while he lifts you up again. the drag of his cock pulling out makes your whole body shake.

one.

you whimper.

he drops you back down.

two

he starts stroking himself with your body, slow, thick thrusts that keep you seated fully each time. your arms wrap around his neck without thinking. your hands slide up over his collar. he kisses you again, slower now, like he’s soothing you. your pussy spasming with every grind, the stretch making your stomach clench.

three.

you choke on a sob. say please without knowing why.

he growls it against your lips

don’t stop now. you’re doing so well

he lifts you again. thrusts deeper. your moan is broken now. higher. like a girl being pulled apart for the first time.

four.

his hands spread your ass wider. you’re leaking down his shaft now. he hums.

compliance’s good. tight. warm. clear

you can’t even respond. your brain is swimming.

five.

you look up at him, lips swollen, tears stuck in your lashes, your mouth open as he kisses you again, cock buried to the hilt.

he says it soft against your mouth.

last one, baby. then you’re safe.

he slams you down one final time

six.

he’s so deep in you now you can’t speak without gasping, and every bounce on his cock feels messier than the last. your thighs are shaking as he rocks you forward harder, faster, gripping your waist like he’s guiding a ride he’s already memorized. your slick is all over his lap. the seat’s soaked. your mouth’s open, dumb and drooling as you pant into his chest. you’re gripping his shoulders now, your eyes glossy, brain blanking out with each thick push inside. your body’s given up trying to hold back.

he groans into your hair, voice low and gravelly against your ear as he fucks up into you.

good girl. just like that. such a good civilian. fucking perfect response rate. fuck—

your eyes flutter. your cunt clenches. you start bouncing on him harder like you’re chasing it, like praise is oxygen and you’ve been suffocating for weeks.

he grabs your tits in both hands. slaps them together. hard. bounces them in his palms, grunting when they jiggle back at him, flushed and wet with sweat. your nipples hard, your chest heaving.

such a good girl, he growls. fucking good slutty civilian pussy. warm and tight and dumb just like you.

your voice cracks on a giggle, still crying, still riding, lip pouty, snot in your throat.

you called me baby.. sir..

he grabs your ass in both hands, spreads you wide, pounding up into you faster now, slapping his cock against your deepest spot while the seat rocks beneath you.

because you got a cute face and you’re always whining. baby suits you better than your real name.

you pout harder, blinking up at him, cunt squeezing him tighter as you bounce.

oh…

you nod. pouty. obedient.

m’kay..

he laughs under his breath, breathless.

yeah. ok is right. fucking baby’s soaking me.

he slaps your ass once. then again. bounces it hard in his hand and watches the ripple.

goddamn. you hear this?

his cock slaps deep inside again. the sound is obscene. wet. sloppy.

you whimper.

you needed this. you needed to get used. needed to feel it. needed someone to make you dumb.

you nod fast. dumb. grateful. crying.

yeah i did… i needed it sir..—

he’s groaning now. hand gripping your jaw as he stares up at you, fucking faster, rougher, your tits bouncing with every thrust as you ride him

say it again.

i needed it.

you say it again, giggling, moaning, smiling.

i needed it so bad. i’m sorry i lied i needed it i swear.

he growls.

good fucking girl.

his hips lift. his stomach clenches. and then he cums deep inside you, thick and hot and loud, groaning through his teeth as your name leaves his mouth half-spoken, half-grunted. your pussy clamps down, milking him, and he holds you there, buries it all inside, makes you take it until it leaks out around his cock.

you blink, dazed. panting. still twitching on top of him.

you look down.

are you gonna get in trouble now?

he breathes hard, sweat dripping down his temple.

you kidding? you just gave the best fucking compliance report of the year.

he lifts you slightly. you gasp when his cock slips out, warm cum leaking down your thighs, sticky and heavy.

he watches it drip.

then spreads your ass apart wider with both hands.

hold still. still inspecting.

he scoops his fingers through your slit. pushes two of them back inside slow, his cum squishing back in, pushing deep, massaging your sore pussy walls with thick fingers as your breath stutters.

can’t have any evidence slipping out before transport. tampering with discharge is a felony.

you blink again. throat tight. you nod.

sorry. i didn’t mean to—

he kisses your shoulder. fucks his fingers deeper. presses them in until the base of his palm meets your cunt again.

shhh. baby’s just doing her part.

he looks at your ruined body. your ass stretched open. your thighs wet. his cum spilling from your cunt.

fucking perfect civic performance.

your thighs are twitching as he pulls his fingers out, cum dripping down his knuckles, a string of it catching between your folds and the base of your ass. you try to move, but your legs are too weak and his hand is still on your lower back, pressing you gently forward until your chest rests against his. your breath hiccups once. you’re dazed. glassy-eyed. your hair’s stuck to your cheeks with tears and sweat. and you’re still trying to blink up at him like maybe you passed. like maybe this time it’s over.

he exhales through his nose, slow and steady, fingers sticky as he reaches for the compartment under the dash. pulls out a folded packet of tissues. wipes his hands first. then your thighs. your pussy. not roughly like he’s drying you off after a bath. like it’s kindness.

you don’t flinch. you watch him work with soft, dumb eyes.

he lifts your panties gently. smooths them back over your hips. pats them once like he’s proud of you for keeping still. tucks your skirt back down over your ass, adjusting it neatly so it doesn’t wrinkle. you don’t speak. you’re still catching your breath, your pussy sore and full and raw. he kisses your temple as he zips up his pants. clips his belt back together. smooths his shirt like nothing ever happened.

you sit in the seat quietly. blinking. soft.

he reaches into the console and pulls out a blank form. rips the top half off. writes something on it with a thick black pen.

folds it. presses it into your hand.

you look down at the paper. confused.

what is it, sir?

he fastens the last button of his shirt. eyes forward now. clean voice again.

contact sheet. goes in your personal record. if you have any doubts. or think something’s wrong with your next check.

you unfold it.

his name’s not written anywhere. just a number. ten digits. nothing else.

you look at him again, mouth open slightly.

can i go now?

he finally looks back at you. his eyes are soft again.

you already did.

his hand rests on your thigh once more. not heavy. just enough to leave warmth behind.

stay out of trouble.

you nod. fast. still trying to prove you learned something.

thank you, sir.

he opens the door.

you stumble out slowly. panties wet, thighs sticky, fingers curled tight around the paper like it’s proof you’re safe now. like it’s not a leash.

he watches you walk away.

watches your skirt sway over your still-red ass.

watches you turn the corner, the number still clenched in your hand.

just in case you forget how the law works next time.

(*≧∀≦*)thank you for reading, seriously. this one was so filthy and wrong in all the ways i love, and the fact that you’re here with me at the end yeah. that means everything. thank you for trusting me to take you somewhere dark. thank you for wanting more.

onlypinkslut

[majestyeverlasting]

Would you do a inexperienced reader x joel? For your requests😊

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing joel miller x female reader

summary you stay the night at joel’s because it gets harder to leave every time [no outbreak, fluff, smut, wc 3.5k] 

a/n really enjoyed writing this request! there's something about a man who's mature, and attentive, and knows what he's doing...

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Stay. The request repeats in Joel’s head like a broken record, but never weakens or distorts. It teeters on the tip of his tongue, but he has yet to utter the word out loud. It persists as he sees you to the front door and watches you step into your shoes to mark the end of another memorable night. One that made him realize he very well may be in love. 

Part of him always feared he wouldn’t be able to recognize the feeling when it arose, that it’d slip between his fingers before he could curl them and hold on tight. But Joel knew it was love because it had gotten to the point where even your laughter knocked him off his feet. He was so attuned to your happiness that he clung to every iteration. 

A small smile settles on your face as you meet his gaze, purse on your shoulder, ready to go. Joel rubs the back of his neck, but he’s not nervous. He knows what he wants to ask, and the raw energy of that desire buzzes beneath his skin. 

“Feels like you just got here,” he laments as he lowers his arm. If that were true, the moon and stars wouldn’t be visible in the night sky. 

You nod despite the fact that you’d eaten dinner with your knee against his, talked through a movie tucked into his side, let yourself relish the comfort of being in his home. These days, it feels like yours too. 

“You make it harder to leave every time,” you admit. It’s a light dig.

Joel tilts his head just enough for you to notice. “Do I now?” 

You nod thoughtfully. “You treat me really well,” you say. “Really, really well.” That hadn’t been the case with everybody who entered into your life. Perhaps you’d already expressed that to him in a million different ways, but the emphasis doesn’t feel wrong on a night like this. 

You’ve never had a relationship as steady and constant as what you have now with Joel. The sincerity of  your words warms a proud part of him. 

“I’m happy to,” he says. “You know that, don’t ya?” 

That’s what terrified and delighted him—the ease of it all. Maybe things would be different if it felt like a chore. 

“I know.” 

A smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he steps closer. “Also reckon you know I gotta steal one last good night kiss.” 

Butterflies burst to life in your stomach when Joel cups your cheek and presses his soft lips to yours. He pulls away much too soon, and you’ve never felt the lingering ache of want quite like this. The feeling weaves itself between the bones of your ribcage. 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, hopeful. “Would you wanna stay the night?” 

A lump forms in your throat. You hadn’t brought any extra clothes or toiletries. And you’d left the light on above your stove to ensure you didn't come home to a dark apartment. Even then, the response to Joel’s question is a reverberating yes in your mind. It’s the only answer that makes sense when you’ve been unsure about so many decisions in this life. 

“If you’ll have me.”  

He kisses you in place of an answer, large hands kneading your waist like you’re his tether to Earth. A small sound rises up your throat when his tongue runs over your lower lip in a light, almost ticklish sweep. 

Joel pulls away, eyes searching yours. 

“M’sorry,” you breathe shyly. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “I like hearin’ ya.” 

The new warmth that spreads through you is deeper, unfamiliar, more consuming. Joel has never been one to refrain from dishing compliments or a well-timed remark. Now something different burns beneath the gruffness of his voice. 

“Wish I heard you more sometimes,” he continues. “You’re my little church mouse.” There’s a disarming glimmer in his eyes.

You pout as a smile threatens to break through. “No I’m not.” 

You could be loud if you needed to be. Joel had the singular ability to hear you even when you hadn’t said a word. You never had to vie for his attention or assert yourself for fear of going unheard. 

As a stillness settles between you, he slips his thumbs beneath your shirt to brush your stomach. He smirks when you look down at his hands to escape his gaze. 

A pleasant flame has kindled within you.  

“Might as well get comfy again since you’re stayin’,” he says, then amends, “Since you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

You huff a laugh and look up at Joel again. He’s handsome in the dim light of the foyer. A few strands of silvering hair fall onto his forehead. His dark eyes bear that same intensity that always drew you in instead of away. This time, it’s you who raises a hand to his face. Your fingertips run over his prickly scruff, and his eyelashes flutter when you run a finger down the slope of his nose. 

That indescribable tug within you hasn’t faded away 

“Like what you see?” Joel asks, voice low, partly teasing. 

He doesn’t move for fear you’ll pull away. You trace the dip of his Cupid’s bow, and when you go lower, he puckers his lips against your finger in a delicate kiss. Your gentle touch and heavy eyelids have made more warmth kindle low in Joel’s belly. It’s your thoughtfulness that does it for him. You’ve never been quick to rush into anything. You always think, then think some more, and he can see that’s what’s happening now. 

“I’ve always liked what I’ve seen,” you finally say. 

“Well, there’s a whole lot more of me.” He presses in. “We can take this upstairs if you’d like.” 

“Alright,” you murmur, lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Joel offers his hand. It nearly engulfs yours as he leads you towards the staircase. 

•••

In his bedroom, his lips find yours in an fervent kiss, hands firm where they grasp along your sides. You’re so dizzy, you lose track of everything except Joel. Reality rushes in when you begin to fall backwards. 

After your back hits the mattress, Joel’s plush lips trail a line to your jaw and down your throat. His body is solid above yours, but you don’t feel the brunt of his weight. Your hands shakily comb through his disheveled hair as your heart hammers in your ears. It feels like you’re a live wire and he’s the water making you spark. 

When he stands, leaving you lying there, the rise and fall of your chest is embarrassingly pronounced. You watch with hooded eyes as he pulls off his shirt. Wispy hair is splayed across his chest, and a darker line of it leads down from his navel. He’s broad and rugged. 

“Told you there was more,” he drawls with a smile in his voice. 

You’ve never wanted another person as more as you want Joel now. But you can’t help but be aware of the fact that you’re out of your depth. Aside from what you’ve gathered vicariously, this is new. You don’t have half the courage you imagined you would. 

You manage to push yourself upright on shaky arms. That’s when Joel notices the look in your eyes. 

“I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” his brows furrow with worry. “M’sorry.”

You swallow and shake your head. “I’m just a little nervous.” 

“Nerves are okay,” he assures. “Long as you want this.”

“I do,” you promise. 

Joel studies you to be sure. “I want you real bad, but the world’ll keep turning if we don’t have sex tonight.” 

There’s something about his shamelessness and directness that makes you want him even more. 

“Don’t wanna screw this up.” You exhale a self-deprecating laugh, and Joel purses his lips. Then the deeper truth comes out, “Want it to be good for you.”  

Joel scrubs at his scruff with a husky chuckle. “Got me all wound up, so I’d say you’re off to a helluva start,” he says, then his gaze softens. “It’s already good for me.” 

His words give you enough courage to lift your shirt over your head. Your bra is trimmed with lace, and the crotch of his jeans grows tighter. You’re so beautiful that sometimes he can’t believe it—mind and body. 

You still his hands as he begins to unbuckle his belt. 

“May I?” The way you blink up at him makes him curse under his breath. 

You pull his belt free from the loops when you’re done. After popping the button and dragging the zipper down, Joel goes weak in the knees when you peer up at him with a sweet, shy smile. Then his breath catches when you lean forward to kiss the pudge of his belly. You bite your lower lip as he pushes his pants down and kicks them to the side. 

The bulge between his muscular thighs is prominent through his gray boxer briefs. It swells as you unexpectedly unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor. 

“Christ, sweetheart,” he groans, palming himself. 

With his free hand, he gingerly cups one of your breasts and runs his thumb over your pebbled nipple. The sensitivity makes you jolt. 

“Wanna scoot up the bed for me?” 

You move before the full sentence has left Joel’s mouth, a little braver now. The mattress dips as he crawls overtop of you. It all happens so fast. His lips find the pulse point of your neck, then descend along your sternum in a line of kisses. He strays off course to pepper some over the supple skin of your breasts, then even lower. Your hips shift as he kisses your stomach. 

With deft fingers, he undoes your shorts and helps you shuck them to the floor. Joel guides your knees to a propped position, then lays between your legs like he belongs there. The muscles of your thighs twitch with the threat of closing as his finger teases along the seam of your panties. 

“Joel…” you say his name because you’re not sure what else to say and it feels like you’re on fire. 

“Just admiring,” he assures, stilling. “You doing okay? Just say the word.” 

The thought of this ending pains you. “Please don’t stop.” 

Joel hides his knowing smile in the hot kiss he presses beneath your bellybutton, then over the top of your mound, then over the damp fabric where you ache for him. An unsteady breath leaves you when he hooks both index fingers beneath your waistband and stares into your eyes so deeply you want to hide. 

“How ‘bout we get these outta the way...” 

Joel is nothing short of careful and attentive as he drags the fabric down your legs. Upon resettling between them, he kisses your inner thighs, noting the way your muscles jump. He’s so close, the fan of his breath feels cool where your arousal has gathered.

“So here’s the deal,” he starts in a low timbre that makes you clench around nothing. “I’m really good with my hands… amongst other things.” He pauses to trace the crease of your thigh. He’s surprised his own voice doesn’t waver at the sight of you glistening for him, because of him. “Just gotta let me know when something’s workin’ for you and we’ll be aces.” 

It’s a miracle you don’t melt straight through the mattress. 

“Okay.” It’s your quietest response all night. 

“Okay,” he parrots with a glimmer in his eyes. 

You’ve never been this turned on in your life. This hot. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” you admit in a murmur.  

The thicker, dazed quality of your voice makes Joel kick up in his boxers. As his lips twitch in amusement, he fights the urge to take you right this second. 

“Guess we’ll pray for the best then.” 

The world freezes when the pad of his middle finger finds your clit and begins to rub firm circles. When your brows pinch together, he trails it downwards through your slick entrance as it flutters in want. 

He ventures back to your swollen bud to work a steady pace. The pleasant tension within your core roots even deeper than before, snaking and expanding. Holding your breath and tensing your muscles seems to make it swell faster. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Joel soothes. “It’ll feel better on the tail end if you do.” 

You’re too worried he’ll stop not to listen. 

“There ya go,” he praises. “Think I’m ready for a taste.” 

There’s no further preamble before he presses a feathery kiss to your clit. At your jolt, he suckles it into his mouth and feels out your reactions. Your fingers immediately curl into his taupe sheets, but that’s not enough, so you bury them in Joel’s hair to scratch against his scalp. The stimulation paired with the warmth of his mouth grows to be so much that your thighs involuntarily close around his head. His stubble prickles against your velvety skin. 

The vibrations of Joel’s hum remind you that he’s a real person down there, and you force your legs back open with what’s left of your coherency. He rewards you by running the flat of his tongue from your opening to your clit. Electricity prickles beneath your skin as you arch off the bed to chase him. 

This time, he sucks your clit into his mouth with more pressure than before and you lose yourself in the sensation. 

Before long, he lifts up and replaces his mouth with his finger. 

“Feelin’ good?” His question comes as you cant up into his touch with a quivery breath. “What’s my baby want more of?” 

You whimper because, as impossible as it seems, he hasn’t done anything you don’t prefer. You want more of everything—whatever he’s willing to give. If he does happen to fall off the mark, you’re certain he’ll find it again before you even say a word. 

Joel is gracious enough not to make you spell it out. He takes it upon himself to draw an orgasm so strong and concentrated out of you, that all you can do is shut your eyes and surrender to the swell as he sees you through. 

Your eyes flutter open just as he shuffles back off the bed to push his boxers down. His cock lifts towards his stomach in a smooth, impressive swing. Traversing veins are strained along the length of him and his mushroom tip is flushed in a testament to his need. Dark, wispy curls surround his base. 

A fresh surge of eagerness and anticipation warms you down to your toes. Joel smiles shyly when your eyes flit up to his, and it’s the first time all night he’s looked a little self-conscious. You’re the first person he’s bared himself to in quite some time. 

Words escape you as he crawls back over your frame. He braces one hand beside your shoulder and uses the other to give himself a few tugs to ease the ache. You’re beautiful beneath him, all wide-eyed and longing. 

His stomach clenches when you reach out to replace his hand, tentative and careful as if he’ll break. You give him a couple strokes, and even though there’s a bit more friction than he would normally prefer, it feels good because it’s you. He’s rigid in the palm of your hand, throbbing in dull pulses. You’re not sure if gorgeous is the appropriate word, but it’s the only one you can think of. 

“I’ve been missing out,” you lilt after working up the courage. 

Joel flushes as he laughs, those lovely crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. He lowers to kiss you, then guides the tip of his arousal to your cunt. The beady pearl of his wants mixes with the glide of you, and you frown when he stops to reach towards the nightstand drawer. 

As he resumes his position, you realize he’d grabbed a condom. He rips the packet open with his teeth and promptly rolls the rubber down himself. 

“Think m’gonna pass out if I don’t get inside you soon,” he says, eyes searching yours to check in. Even in his brazenness, there’s a familiar honeyed quality to his voice that sets you at ease. 

You laugh even as a small spell of apprehension returns. Joel notices, and refuses to let the levity dissipate so you don’t fall back into your head. 

“Is that funny?” he asks in feigned offense. “You’re the one who’s got all the goddamn blood in my head rushing south.” 

He playfully pinches at your waist and a breathless giggle stutters out of you as you squirm. When you helplessly look up at him, Joel smooths a hand over your skin as fondness settles in his dark eyes. 

“Hey. Remember what I said?” he asks as he lines himself up between your thighs. “Just say the word.” 

The sensation of him pressed hot and heavy against your entrance has cleared everything from your mind except desire. 

“I’m okay.” An encouraging smile pulls at your lips. “Just need you really bad, Joel.” 

Hearing his name makes him twitch as he runs himself through your folds. 

“M’right here, baby.” He notches at your entrance. “Deep breaths for me, okay?” 

A dull ache thrums through you as Joel eases into your warmth. You whine after the thickness of his tip has breached. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “Just like that.”

All you can do is hum airily and watch where he disappears within you.

“Feels like heaven already,” he compliments. “Keep breathing, we’re getting there.” 

Tears prick in your eyes because the stretch is new, and beautiful, and overwhelming. That soft, focused look in his eyes only adds fuel to the fire because pleasure and eagerness burn just beneath. You never realized how harrowing it was to be wanted so intensely. For the longest time, you wondered if it was possible for someone to feel such a way about you, and here Joel was in the flesh. 

“Know there’s a lot of me,” he grits. “Doing so well…”

When he bottoms out, both of you sigh in relief. It feels like you’re floating even though you’re pinned beneath his strong frame. Warmth radiates from his skin. 

“Oh—god,” you breathe. 

Joel chuckles as he eases out of you, “Close.” He thumbs a circle around your clit. 

The initial pressure subsides as Joel begins to thrust, biceps flexing as he shudders with pleasure. He takes it slow and steady, each drag more intoxicating than the last. His reach deepens as he lowers himself onto his forearms and you hook your ankles around the backs of his thighs. Stroke after stroke, he hits that spongy spot within you just right. Joel can hardly believe how snug and warm you are. 

“You’re in trouble,” he rasps. 

“W-why?” you whimper. 

“I’m never gonna get my fill of this.” 

You paw at his biceps and shoulders, not exactly sure how or where to touch him to ground yourself. Scratching your nails down his back earns a satisfied growl, and when you dig your fingernails into the meat of his backside, he gives a pointed thrust that makes you bite back a cry. 

“Lemme hear those pretty sounds, mouse.” 

You’re unable to help the next breathy moan that escapes you. 

“You’re perfect,” The moment has you so blinded that’s all you can see him as—his cock included. 

It’s a broken confession.

Joel dots a few lazy kisses over the apple of your cheek, then touches his forehead to yours. It’s almost too much—his wrecked grunts, the graze of his chest, the sound of skin meeting skin where he stretches open the most tender part of you. 

It is too much.

“I’m gonna—” your breath catches in your throat. “Joel.” 

“Let go for me, babygirl,” he coaxes. “Lemme have it.” 

The tension embedded within you winds undone in an instant. Pleasure radiates as your walls contract around him in strong, rhythmic pulses. In another life, where he wasn’t completely gone and taken by you, Joel would’ve been able to hold out. But he’s only a man. 

A gasp escapes you as he gives one last deep thrust. His balls draw up as the insistent tug low in his gut drives him to spill into the condom, stomach tensing with each relentless spurt. You rub his back as he rides it out with a shudder. You’re achy, but more than content to shiver through the aftershocks. The two of you stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s closeness, the haze. Still joined as one. 

Something in the air shifts, the gravity of it all finally pressing in. 

Joel looks spent and satiated as he lifts up to meet your gaze. “You okay?” he wipes the tear off your cheek. The way you look at him suggests you’re expecting him to answer for you. As if you’ll be whatever he says. 

“You’re okay,” Joel decides, kissing your forehead. 

You weakly cup his cheek and guide him to kiss you. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

Your chest flutters. “I love you too.” 

All Joel can think about as he reluctantly slips out of your heat is that he’s glad you stayed. When he begins to soothingly massage your thighs, you’re almost certain you’ll never want to leave again. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Please know that you’re feedback means the world to me. I love reading your thoughts and it makes writing for you guys all the more worth it. Likes, comments, and reblogs greatly appreciated. ♡

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[foularcadebanana]

You sat there, waiting for your friends to show up at any moment. And as you sat there, contemplating, and waiting, you admitted to yourself how stupid you had been. You had been preoccupied with thoughts, or rather a feeling, of missing something. You had forgotten something, there was something you were supposed to be doing today, but for the life of you, you could not seem to remember what it was.

You willed yourself to remember, despite your ass stinging. You were sitting on a rickety, old chair that had cracks going down the middle. They kept pinching you, which made sitting in one place for this long almost impossible, painful even. The anti-magic cuffs were old too, and rusty, and they kept digging into your skin uncomfortably, and again, painfully. It wasn't even the pain that got to you, it was the incovenience of the pieces of furniture and weapon they had used. They simply irritated you, itched at something deep inside you.

Where were your friends? Why were they not here already? You should have been rescued by now. A sudden explosion caught your attention, screams of terror. You felt a bit of sympathy for your kidnappers. They were clearly running this operation on a low budget, probably out of funding from their sponsors if the chair and cuffs were any indication. The room they were keeping you trapped in was not any better. Mold crept up the corners of the floors and the walls. Yes, you did feel sorry for the kidnappers. And yet... Yet.

The door to your room was ripped off of its hinges and pushed by an unseen force. You blinked your eyes to clear them of the debris and dust, and saw a familiar face in front of you. Your villain's. You frowned. What was she doing here? You thought for a moment, and then-

Oh. Shit! You realised what you had forgotten.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, gritting her teeth.

OH SHIT! "I can explain," you said. Even though it was already too late. The damage was already done. You had forgotten.

"I cannot believe that you were about to miss your own daughter's recital!" she said as she got behind you. She broke your cuffs with a single swipe of her wrist. "This is why I divorced you."

You stood up, relieved that you could finally get off of the pinchy, creaky chair. But then you heard your villain's words. You frowned deeper, rubbing your wrists. "I thought you wanted the divorce because you found out about my true identity. Because you were mad that I had lied to you for so long, that I had kept lying to you for so long."

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "That was just to convince you, my dear. Now let us leave before we are late to our daughter's recital...again." With that, she turned her back to you and walked out of the room. You folllowed her out, just like she knew you would.

Getting kidnapped as a superhero is rather embarrassing, but at least you were certain that your friends would rescue you. Which is why it came as a massive shock to you to see one of your villains bust the door of you cell open and unlock your restraints.

[ariestrxsh]

sub!bsf!matt x bsf!reader

✧˚ · .⭒ content warning: smut, risky, doing stuff with the door open, size kink, handjob, praise, dirty talk, mentions of unprotected sex

✧˚ · .⭒ summary: you could tell matt had something on his mind, and he knew you weren't going to drop it until he told you. after he admitted to having a wet dream about you and divulged all the dirty details, you decide to make his wildest dreams come true.

gif by @/vxnitra

dividers by @/witchrealms

album concept inspired by @/delilahsturniolo and @/y2kstarr

[ click to return to track list ]

Love To Dream

Matt had always had a crush on you. Despite the fact that you'd been close friends for years, he couldn't help how attracted he was to you. He'd always wanted you in this position, and he wasn't even sure how he got you here, but God, was he glad he had.

"Please. Don't stop," the words flowed from Matt's lips, his hands fixed on your waist as you glanced back at him over your shoulder from your bent over position. You threw your hips back, thrusting his cock deeper into your heat, another moan spilling from him. His hands wandered to your ass, squeezing your plush skin and admiring the curve of your spine as you arched your back.

"Come on, Matt. Fuck me harder," you begged, batting your lashes at him as you peered back at him. He nodded, jerking his hips forward and beginning to piston himself into you at a rougher pace. "Please. Harder."

He started to pant, drilling into you as hard as he could and bottoming out. He could feel you squeezing around him, sucking him in as you threw your head back and let out a stream of satisfied moans. "Matt, I'm gonna cum all over that big cock of yours," you told him a breathy voice.

Matt gripped your hips tighter, watching your ass ripple every time he thrusted into you. "Please," he whimpered through his ragged breaths.

He could feel you throbbing around him as you came undone. Your body shook violently beneath him as you finished, throwing yourself back onto him amd coating his cock in your juices. His pace never faltered, fucking you through your intense climax, the moans pouring from your lips like music to his ears.

He could feel his own orgasm approaching, digging his fingertips into your soft skin. Matt buried his length all the way inside of you and pumped you full, your name slipping through his lips as he came. "Fuck," he muttered as he emptied himself into you, filling you to the hilt.

He pulled out, watching his cum spill out of you and onto the sheets. You peered back at him over your shoulder again with heavy eyelids and a smile on your face. "Wow, Matt. You're amazing. Why have we never done that sooner?" You lustfully asked, still trying to call your breath back to you.

Suddenly, the scene fell away, and Matt's thoughts were permeated by the sunshine pouring in through his bedroom window. He found himself tangled in his sheets, straddling one of his pillows and mindlessly grinding against it.

It took him a few minutes to realize that he'd been dreaming.

Instead of having mind-blowing sex with you, he was making love to his bedding, his cheeks turning pink when it dawned on him that he'd even finished. He peered down at the wet spot on the front of his flannel pajama pants.

It just felt so real.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing he could crawl back inside of his dream, pick up where he left off, and fuck you in every position imaginable.

He glanced over at his phone to check the time, realizing that afternoon was already beginning to approach. Matt's stomach flipped, and his heart started to pound when he peered down and saw your name pop up on his screen. "Hey Matt. I'm booooreddd. Can I come over?"

He'd seen that you sent the text almost an hour prior. He quickly tapped away on his keyboard, hoping you hadn't found something else to do with your time. "Sure. Just gotta shower. Come by whenever."

Matt headed to the bathroom to clean up, stripping off his clothes and stuffing them into his hamper, trying to dispose of the evidence. He ran the water, turning the knob to hot, and stood under the showerhead, trying to wash the filthy thoughts of you from his mind before you showed up on his doorstep.

By the time you did arrive, Matt had already changed into a fresh set of clothes, swapped out his cum-stained sheets, and thrown them in the wash.

You let yourself in like you always did. You pushed open the front door and made your way upstairs to Matt's bedroom. He was replacing his pillowcase when you materialized in his doorway.

"Hey," he greeted you, his eyes sweeping over your body and recalling how it had looked in his dream last night. His cock twitched at the memory. When he dragged his stare back up to yours, he found it hard to look you in the eye. He certainly couldn't do it without blushing.

"What's up? You seem off," You narrowed your gaze, immediately feeling the shift in his energy.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "I just had a weird dream." He sat down on his mattress at the foot of his bed, inviting you to join him by patting the empty spot to his left.

"A weird dream? Like a wet dream?" You joked, taking him up on his offer and plopping down beside him. He glanced over, looking at you wide-eyed.

"W-what makes you say that?" He stammered his way through his sentence. Matt had always been incredibly bad at lying, and you could immediately tell by the look on his face that you'd hit the nail on the head.

"Oh, my god! You had a sex dream!" You practically announced, and Matt immediately turned to you and immediately covered your mouth with his hand.

"Jesus. You know Nick and Chris are home, don't you?" Matt hissed, listening for any indication that either of his brothers were awake. You smirked against his palm, dying to get more information out of him. He finally uncovered your mouth once he assessed that no one had heard you, but you weren't about to let this go.

"Who was your sex dream about?" You wondered in a low, quiet voice, searching Matt's face for answers and biting down on your lip as you anticipated the details.

"Don't worry about it," he curbed your question, his face growing hot under your scrutiny.

"Come on. I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything." You reached up and ruffled Matt's brown hair that was still a bit damp from his shower. He cracked a smile, glancing down at his half-hard cock and praying you couldn't tell he was getting turned on all over again.

"I-I can't. Not this," he shook his head. You batted your lashes and pouted.

"Please tell me. You don't have to be embarrassed. It's not like you can control your dreams."

Matt let out a heavy sigh, bringing his gaze back up to you. He was afraid that you'd think he was disgusting and perverted if you knew he had gotten off to you in his sleep, but he also knew you weren't going to drop it until he told you.

"Fine," he timidly muttered. "It was about you."

"About me?" You asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow. He nodded in embarrassment. "Well, now you have to tell me what happened in it." You wet your lips staring at Matt's waiting for him to divulge all the naughty details to you.

"Wh-why the hell would I tell you that?" He stuttered.

"Come on. What position were we in?" You wondered, scooting closer to Matt, who was so flustered by this dream he'd had about you, and it only made you more curious.

"Was I riding you?" You wondered, tilting your head to the side and waiting for a reaction. Matt quietly shook his head, his lip curling into a timid smile. You thought for a moment, your mind buzzing with all the different positions he could have imagined the two of you in.

"Doggy?" You guessed, smirking. Matt's eyes flickered over at yours. He didn't confirm nor deny it. He just sat there silently.

"Doggy, huh? That's hot," you giggled, placing your hand on his knee. He glanced down at your fingers that were now crawling across his lap and gently brushing against his cock through his jeans. "Is that your favorite position?"

He pinned his eye brows together, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, a soft moan unfurling from them. "Mhmm." He was so responsive to your touch. The way his body reacted to your teasing lit a fire deep within you, desire burning in your loins.

"Wow. You're turned on just thinking about it, aren't you?" You chuckled, teasing him through his clothes. "Did you cum in your pants?" You asked in a lustful voice, starting to fiddle with his button and his zipper. He nodded, lifting his hips as you tugged his waistband down to his mid-thigh.

"Where did you cum in your dream? On my ass? On my face?" You cooed, giving him a sweet smile. He shook his head.

"No, I came inside you," Matt whimpered as you started to take his cock out of his boxers. You could feel how wet you were getting as you pictured his dream.

"Is that so?" You taunted him, slowly wrapping your fingers around his thickness but keeping your hand completely still.

"Mhmm," he hummed, swallowing hard as he peered down at the way you gently gripped him.

"You must have liked your dream, hmm?" You purred. "Did my pussy feel so good wrapped around your nice, big cock?" He shuddered at your words, slowly nodding.

You leaned over, and Matt watched as you purrsed your lips and spit on the tip of his cock, your drool slowly running down the sides. He gasped and widened his eyes as you started to massage your saliva into his most sensitive spot using the pads of your fingers. He started to harden even more under your touch.

"Oh, my god, look at that big cock of yours," you whispered as it started to grow, his breath hitching in his throat at the way you said it just like you did in his dream. "It practically has its own heartbeat." You bit down on your lip as you started to stroke it, feeling it throb in your fist. His breathing shallowed, and his hazy bedroom eyes stared back at you.

"Am I still dreaming?" He asked aloud.

You softly chuckled and shook your head. "God, I hope not, because this is so much fun," you told him with a devious smile.

Pretty moans poured from his lips as you massaged his length, coaxing a shiny, clear liquid from his slit. You moved your hand up and down, watching him react to your touch.

You stilled your movements to see what he would do next. He was so desperate to get off again that he started driving his cock up into your fist over and over again, his hips bucking wildly.

"Please. I'm so close." His whimpers, his erratic breathing, and the soft, wet sounds of him fucking your hand filled the room. His gaze wandered up towards the door, realizing the two of you hadn't shut it before you got carried away. "W-wait. We should close the door," Matt quietly suggested.

You glanced over, letting out a soft giggle. "Do you really want me to stop to get up and close the door?" You asked.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. It just felt so good. He didn't want you to stop. "No," he softly murmured.

"Okay, then you better finish real quietly for me, hmm?" You cooed, tightening your grip around his hard cock, feeling it writhe against you. High on adrenaline, knowing his brothers could walk past his room at any moment, he nodded, assuring you he'd be as quiet as he could.

"Please. Don't stop," he whispered, overwhelmed by the tight feeling in his stomach that threatened to snap at any moment. He tried to stifle his moans, but he couldn't hold back them all.

His chest was heaving, his palms were sweating, and his body was trembling. He was seconds away from letting go. His eyes rolled back, and he squirmed beneath you in pure ecstasy.

"That's it. Finish for me, sweet boy. Make that pretty cock bust all over my hand," you softly encouraged him, your gaze fixed on his swollen tip.

Your words sent him over the edge. Pleasure rippled through him as he came unraveled, hot, thick, ropes of pearly white gushing from his slit and flowing over onto your knuckles.

He continued pistoning his cock into your grip through his orgasm, the movement of his hips slowing as a wave of tranquility and satisfaction washed over him. He was panting and looking at you through his heavily-lidded, dreamy blue eyes.

"Oh, my god," he whispered, the aftershocks coursing through him. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, trying to compose himself as best as he could.

You leaned over, your lips grazing his ear as you softly spoke. "After you recover, you're gonna have to show me exactly what happened in that dream of yours."

[bullet-prooflove]

Dr Daddy & The Short King: Jack Abbot x Reader x Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

Tagging: @kmc1989 @daydreamsareallineed @starstruckunknown-princess @sillymuffintrashflap @thedamnqueenofhell

Summary: Jack confronts you about the transfer at your fire station.

Companion piece to:

Together - Jack comes home to find Robby in the kitchen and you sleeping the morning away.

Pretty Girl - Jack and Robby spend a little quality time with their pretty girl.

Shift Work - Robby knows you've got something on your mind.

“Your short king is here.” That’s what Emil tells you when he pops his head into your office with Jack in tow. You sigh as you glance up at the clock above your desk because Jack, he’s supposed to be asleep right now, resting up for his shift tonight.

“Short king? Jack asks quizzically as he steps inside your 6x9 office, pulling the glass door shut behind him.

“It means you’re silver fox with big dick energy.” You inform him, twisting in your chair as he takes a seat on the edge of your neatly made bed. He hooks his good foot around the pillar of your wheelie chair, dragging you into his proximity. “They call Robby Dr Daddy.”

“What do they call you?” Jack asks as he pulls you into his lap. Your thighs part straddling his hips, your hand reaching up to draw the blinds closed blocking out the outside world.

“Lieutenant.” You answer with a smile.

“And they’re good to you here?” He asks you, his palm coming to rest on the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing over that scar you have tucked underneath the hinge of your jaw. “They don’t make fun of you for being with me and Robby?”

“Fuck no.” You respond jerking your thumb towards the canteen where you can hear a rowdy game of gummy bear poker going on. “Eighty percent of these assholes wish they were me. The other twenty percent’s dicks haven’t worked since the 90s.”

Jack barks out a laugh, rubbing his grizzled cheek up along the column of your throat. Your fingertips comb through his curls, grasping them lightly as you tip his head back so that his whiskey eyes meet yours. “Did Robby snitch on me about the transfer? Is that why you think I’m being bullied?”

Jack’s breathing hitches, his fingers curling into your PFD t-shirt, bunching the fabric. You can feel him hardening against you and it does a little something, knowing how needy and desperate this man is for you.

“Jack.” You tut. “Do I have to punish you right here in my firehouse or can we save it for later when Robby’s available to play?”

The edges of his mouth tip up into a dry smile because it’s been a while since you’ve got a little dommy with him.

“You gotta do what you gotta do honey.” He says in that gravelly tone of his. “But before we start breaking out the whips and chains maybe you wanna give me the low down on why you wanna move out of this place and into one of the most conservative firehouses this side of the river, a place that we both know is going to make your life beyond miserable.”

“Ohh my short king’s been digging around getting intel.” You say, grinding down against his cock and he bites his lower lip to supress the low moan that rises up in his throat. “I can’t decide if that turns me on or pisses me off.”

This is what happens when you don’t feel like you can't talk to him. You deflect, try to divert the attention elsewhere because you don’t know how to cope with the emotional distance between the two of you. Robby, he never let’s that happen but Jack, he’s become complacent trying to figure his own shit out with this shift problem, he hadn’t really factored in how his lack of communication regarding the matter would be affecting you.

His arm encircles your waist before he shifts positions, trapping you underneath him.  His fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands to the mattress as he fixes you with a stern stare.

“Anna.” He says firmly, his voice a rough whisper.  “You don’t need to put on this big girl front with me right now. I get that you have a hard time communicating but we need to have a real conversation about something that’s going to effect all of us. Robby doesn’t want to see you unhappy and I don’t want to see you unhappy and this bullshit with the other firehouse, it’s going to make you unhappy-”

“Jack.” You say softly as he nuzzles his face against the hollow of your throat. “I know that you’re not happy. You think you can hide it from me but I see it and I know it’s because we’re not connecting the way that we did before I took the job here…”

You sigh, your cheek coming to rest against his, your breath ghosting in is ear. “I’m just scared that right now this threesome is in danger of going back to a twosome. You and Robby are one of the best thing that have ever happened to me and I know I’m fucking it up…”

“You aren’t fucking it up.” He promises you, planting featherlight kisses all over your pretty features. “Me and Robby, we love you so damn much and that doesn’t change just because the two of us are out of sync.”

“If I don’t transfer then we don’t get back into sync.” You tell him frankly as his palm cradles your face, guiding your gaze towards his. “There’s not really another option-”

“There is.” Jack assures you as his whiskey eyes drink you in. “One of the other attendings at the hospital is going through a divorce, he wants weekends off so he can spend them with his kids. If I do his weekends after we go to the cabin then my days off will pair with yours, I’ll have to take over his residents but Shen and Ellis are pretty good kids from what I’ve seen.”

“You’d do that?” You ask him. “Switch up your days, take up some extra responsibility, just so you can be with me?”

It galls him that you haven’t experienced that level of dedication before, that it’s such a foreign concept that you. You don’t seem to understand that Jack, he’d fight to spend time with you, the same way he’d fight to do the same for Robby.

“If trading shifts and training a couple of newbies gets me a few more nights with you then it is worth every second.” He tells you, palm smoothing away the hair that’s come loose from your ponytail. “You are a priority in my life Anna, the same way that Robby is. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you both which is why you need to promise me you aren’t going to go through with the transfer.”

Your mouth captures his and his tongue traces over the seam of your lips until you yield to him, your entire form relaxing into his.  He cradles your face between his palms as he kisses you like you were meant to be kissed, like you’re something precious, something to be loved, to be cherished.

“Promise me.” He mumbles, his fingertips untucking your t-shirt allowing his hands to roam underneath it. “Promise me and I’ll fuck you so good in this bed, you’ll be dreaming of me every night you spend in here.”

His palm kneads your breast through your sports bra, his thumb tracing over the pert nipple as his hips rock against yours.

“Jack…” You breathe and he thrusts harder so you can feel him demanding and urgent in the confines of the denim. “Fuck Jack I-”

You’re interrupted by the sound of the bells coming to life, the first alarm hollering through the entire building summoning you for duty. You groan as he rolls off you, springing to your feet like a cat as you tuck in your shirt.

“Anna.” He prompts, propping his head up on his arm. “I never got that promise.”

“No transfer.” You tell him, glancing over your shoulder as you yank open the door. “I’ll stay here, right where I belong.”

Love Jack x Robby x Reader? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[killinkiwi]

Will You Love Me Too? - Oneshot

Summary: You were meant to be a fan, someone who supported from the sidelines and cheered them on. You were a nobody, nothing special. So why were you being targeted by a demon lord?

Content Warning: Lowkey Horror, Fluff, Bad Language Words, Smut

Happy Birthday to the Queen @kinsuim ! Here is a little gift to you and world, smut with a tinge of horror and fluff. All with our Saja King - Abs.

Enjoy!

The delicate silence of the night was broken by your confession. You and Abby, a demon you'd grown to care for sat upon Namsan tower - not inside, but rather on top of it with your backs against the metal. It was quite the fall down were you to somehow slip, but he would always catch you. 

-

"I love you."

He always was there for you when you fell. 

-

It was cliché, the way you popped into his life and you into his. You were a fan of Saja Boys (Baby was your bias much to Abs’ chagrin) and met them at a fan meet. He thought you were adorable, all red in the face and stuttering. You were a hot mess, trying so hard to keep it cool in front of such attractive male specimens. He had given you a shaded drawing of his abs, signed with a heart. You damn near fainted. It was all around the perfect meet up.

Until you got attacked in the hallway by a lower-class demon. 

You were wandering around a strangely empty hall one of the awkward staff members pointed you down. Once the fan meet had ended, the crowd dispersing, you figured you'd go to the bathroom before taking the bus home. After asking the staff where the nearest restroom was, you marched down the hallway they pointed at but there was not a restroom in sight. In fact, there was no one in sight either. It was eerily quiet and strangely dim lighting. 

You let out a scream as you felt something sharp cut into your calf and yank it out from underneath you, your front slamming into the tile flooring. Dazed but panicked, you quickly scrambled to look behind you and saw a scraggly blue hand, dark claws digging into your tender flesh which drew blood to the surface. Grabbing onto you was something out a horror movie – gnashing teeth bared into a smile, pale yellow eyes glaring at you, loose clothes you recognized to be from the very staff member you asked help from earlier. The skin of its body was sagging, splotches of blue and pale white skin clashing as its illusion wore off, raised circular patterns rising to the surface. Its limbs were bent at awkward angles, standing like a dog behind you, yet looking humanoid.

You could feel your heart and breathing stop as you stared back at it with insurmountable fear

“Hungryyyy,” it rasped, voice dry and cracked. “So hungry.”

A loud series of screams poured from your throat, locked muscles finally springing into action as you began to kick rapidly at its’ face. The jagged claws scraped your skin as it fell back, inhuman screeches erupting out of it as your foot connected with a sickening crunch to the sagging skin in the middle of its’ face.

You scrambled to get up – but your leg felt numb, making it impossible to stand whatsoever. You quickly resorted to dragging yourself backwards across the floor, movements feeling slow like when you’re in a dream. You could only watch in fear as the demon writhed in pain from your kick.

“Help! Please! Someone help me!” You cried out as loud as you could, but your tongue felt heavy and the words came out more garbled than anything.

The creature released another screech, black blood oozing like sludge from the center of its’ disheveled face. Uneven eyes locked onto you once more, eyes slitted with hatred, before it began scuttling after you on all fours.

Your arms went out from underneath you then, head slamming into the concrete once more as the breath left your body. The tears brimming your eyes began to freely fall, sobs wracking your body. You couldn’t move.

Laughing.

The creature was laughing as it crawled over you, slowly and with purpose. The joints in its’ neck cracked as it looked down at you, enjoying the way it could taste your fear and hear how your heart pounded in terror. Your tears meant nothing to it.

This was how you die.

It opened up its’ jaw, the maw unnaturally wide and overly full of teeth – both human and canine in nature. A long, sharp tongue fell from its’ throat, drool dripping from it and on to your shirt. There was an unnatural pull in your chest where the spittle landed, almost like your heart was burning through your ribcage in an attempt to escape your body.

You suddenly couldn’t breathe, your vision began to fade, something blue flashing through your eyes as it went towards the creature’s black throat…

Another flash – purple and pink. The pull in your chest suddenly gone, but it felt like you were drowning still. Everything felt muffled, slowed in molasses.

You felt the ground vibrate as crashes rang through the hall, dust and wall coating the air. Through ringing ears, you could hear the screeches of the creature paired with something tearing. A splash of something wet sizzled against your freezing skin, the taste of putrid rot filling your senses. Then there was silence…

Suffocation.

Warm golden eyes.

A clawed hand cradling the back of your head.

Jagged patterns, dark purple and sharp.

Smooth lavender skin, marred with black droplets.

Plump lips parted, sharp canines on display.

“Breathe.”

Air filled your lungs.

Darkness.

-

When you came back to life, you were in an unfamiliar space. The bed was small, sheets clean but somewhat scratchy. The pillow had no cover, not the most comfortable to your pounding head. The room itself looked almost untouched – as if someone had put basic furniture in and never came back.

The world beyond the curtain-less windows was pitch black, no light or moon in sight. How long have you been out?

Shit, the creature!

You quickly sat up, stomach churning and vision swimming at the speed of your movements. Your heart raced as you surveyed your area, looking for the humanoid creature as if it was waiting for you to wake up to finish you off.

Nothing.

You let out the breath you were holding before you descended into a coughing fit, chest painfully constructing as you couldn’t fill your lungs with air again. Tears sprang to your eyes as you clutched the unfamiliar shirt in your hands – everything hurt.

As your watery eyes adjusted to the sudden optical intrusion, you felt your breath catch for a whole new reason.

Your head snapped in the direction of the bedroom door, the only light coming from the gap at the bottom disturbed as something approached.

A series of hushed voices were heard from the other side momentarily before it swung open, the light blinding you momentarily.

Why the fuck were the Saja Boys crowding the doorway?

Were you dead?

Jinu, the leader of the band, stepped inside the room first with a bottle of water in hand. He was cautious, like when someone approaches a wild animal caught in a trap. He was trying to appear placating but all you felt was fear and confusion as he slowly held the water bottle out to you.

“Here,” he said gently. “It’s water.”

You limply took the bottle, letting it fall to your lap without so much as touching it. You didn’t say anything, eyes darting between him and the doorway crowded with the remaining members. There was a certain pink-haired, muscle member who kept catching eye as you surveyed the members.

“I am sure you have questions,” Jinu said kindly, catching your attention again. “And that is perfectly understandable. We will answer them all in time, we just want you to rest up first, so you don’t get any worse.”

Your throat stung as you rasped out, “What happened? Where am I?”

Before the raven-haired vocalist could speak, your bias of the group interjected. “You died.”

“What?!” You yelped, coughs once again wracking your body as your heart raced harder.

“Baby!” Jinu snapped, eyes flaring in anger before softening at your flinching body. “I’m sorry – that’s not – it’s not exactly right, but…” he trailed off, your coughs becoming harsher as your breathing failed.

You were struggling to turn the bottle cap, clammy hands unable to grip the textured top to open it. You nearly threw it out of frustration when tan hands suddenly took it from, easily snapping the cap off before gently putting the bottle to your lips. Your parched lips opened, letting the lukewarm water run down your sore throat and easing the burn in your chest.

“There you go,” a deep voice spoke, “Breathe.”

“Breathe.”

You pulled away from the bottle suddenly, water slightly spilling down your chin and chest as you looked up at the member hand-feeding you. Dark pink hair covered stormy brown eyes, a troubled frown twisting at his chiseled features at your sudden action.

Abby.

“You were there,” you croaked. “You were there when that thing attacked me. Why? What was that thing? What happened?”

The muscled-man looked even more troubled at your question, clenched jaw ticking as you interrogated him. Abby looked at Jinu who gave him a slight nod, letting him know he would take over again.

“You were attacked by a Mimic, a type of demon that wears the skin of others to isolate prey with tricks and trust,” Jinu explained, sitting on a chair next to the bed. “It directed you down that hall because no one was supposed to be there – it was meant to be out of order you could say. It tried to take your soul- “

You cut him off with incredulous laughter. “I am sorry – what? You expect me to believe this shit?”

“How else do you explain it then?” Romance, one of the flirtiest members of the group interjected, suddenly holding a cup of hot tea out to you. His tone wasn’t kind, but not necessarily rude either. “You asked for answers, we are giving them to you whether you truly believe it or not.”

You silently took the steeping cup of tea – the brew looking rather inviting.

“Thank you, Rom,” Jinu turned back to you. “Unfortunately, Y/N, this is the truth I can give you because it what it is – the truth.”

“So,” you whispered, staring at the steam of hot tea, “It tried to steal my soul? What happened? What do you mean I died?” You looked up, looking between Abs and then at Baby. “Did I actually die?”

“Technically yes, but also no,” Jinu looked troubled, choosing his words carefully. “You were paralyzed by the venom, creating a disconnect between your soul and your heart. Your soul was taken from you almost entirely; your very life was being devoured by the Mimic. Your heart stopped. You would have truly been lost if…”

You felt your eyes tearing up once again, your throat closing up with panic at Jinu’s words.

“If Abby hadn’t heard you screaming, the Mimic would have devoured you entirely.”

You looked up at the idol standing still at the end of the bed, arms crossed over his broad chest and brows pinched in a frown.

“How did you stop it without getting hurt too?” You managed to choke out.

Suddenly the room got uncomfortable, moreso than it already was. An icy unease took over the group, each one silently communicating with the other. Before anyone could say anything, Abby broke the awkward tension.

“I am a demon too.”

A flash of pink hair passed your dying vision, warm golden eyes frantically searching your muddled ones. There was panic written on his pattern-marred skin, the dark hues contrasting against his pale undertone. Clawed hands gently held the back of your head and cheek, parting your icy lips and lowering his lips to yours…

Breathing your very soul back into your heart.

“Breathe.”

-

It took weeks for you to become semi-functioning. You stayed at their shared dorm, the small room apparently for décor as none of them slept really. They were more than happy to accommodate you, feeling guilty for your state.

You were plagued with nightmares, frail body always feeling icy until Romance brought you a cup of hot tea. He had grown on you, keeping his flirting to a minimum although it would slip out occasionally. You once had burnt your tongue on the tea and exclaimed it was hot, his immediate response being, “Not as hot as you.”

He was apparently a skilled tea sommelier – his past hidden otherwise. Regardless, you were thankful to the demon.

Demon…

The entire band was composed of demons, but they refused to steal souls anymore. It was a hard transition, but they admitted they feed off the energy of the fans during concerts. That was when you left their concert, you felt euphorically exhausted. This was the only way they could escape the clutches of Hell’s King, Gwi Ma.

If they relied on souls, they would be tethered to him forever. Energy was hard to fill on for demons, the only ones to succeed being Incubus and Succubus. However, a gorgeous boy band with millions of fans gathering together? That energy kept them more than fed.

However, because of their betrayal Gwi Ma sent scouts to kill fans off. Usually, the boys could spot them before any harm occurred, but this time…

It took you a week before you began to ease up around them. It wasn’t because you blamed them, but because you feared their very nature. You were originally convinced they would lull you into a false sense of security before snatching your soul.

Yet they were nothing but chivalrous.

Jinu would answer any questions you had regarding demons. He was the eldest in the group with a library of wisdom but held a youthful nature that made you question his demon hood. Who actually says “tee hee” unironically?

Baby and Mystery would occasionally check in on, Baby doing the talking while Mystery listened. When you asked, Baby just bluntly stated, “He traded his voice for a siren’s song and beauty. His song and features are beyond any of ours, but he can’t really talk.” Heartbreaking, but he seemed content in his position as a vocalist.

All of them visited you throughout the days, all except the one you truly wanted to see.

Abby had kept you at arm’s length for weeks after the initial conversation. Anytime you asked, no one answered why, stating he would come around but promising you had not offended him in any way.

But nonetheless, you hated his avoidance.

After a particularly disturbing nightmare you decided to step out of the room for a bit of fresh air. The sharp visions of claws digging into your chest and your blue life force swallowed before your paralyzed state played in your mind. It was hard to overcome it still.

You padded through the dark living room, the guys all at a late-night rehearsal in the studio downstairs. They were demons but even they need to practice apparently.

You stopped when movement flashed on the balcony, your heart stopped at the startling movement, petrified that something was coming to finish the job while you were alone unprotected. Only it was not some malicious demon standing on the balcony, drooling to capture your soul.

Your heart soothed at the sight of Abby standing on the balcony outside of the living room, shifting on his feet as he looked at the city lights.

Now was your chance.

You quietly walked to the glass door, sliding it open with gentle touch to not startle the demon too much. He didn’t even flinch, clearly knowing you were there.

“You should be resting,” his voiced, trying to avoid a conversation.

You weren’t letting that slide.

“All I do is rest, I am fine,” you fired back quickly before getting to the point. “Why do you keep avoiding me?”

His chocolate eyes met yours, nearly black under the moonlight on the balcony. Before he could say a word, you continued, “I am sorry if I offended you or upset you in any way. I would like to talk to you, or at the very least thank you for saving me.”

He was silent once more, looking out at the city once again. An agonizing moment slid past before you let out a sigh, turning to go back inside. No point in staying out here if he didn’t want to ta-

“Your soul, I tasted it.”

You froze, back turned to him.

“When I killed the Mimic, tore it apart, I had to take your soul so it wouldn’t burn out. If I grabbed it, I would have smothered it, so I did the only thing I could think of…” Your heart raced as you felt him behind you, his breath suddenly ghosting your ear. “It tasted sinful.”

You whipped around to face him, his eyes golden like the night he saved you.

“I haven’t tasted a mortal soul in years,” He explained, voice rugged with hunger. “It took everything in me to not devour it.”

You instinctively touched your lips, remembering the way he gently inhaled your life back into your body.

A frown fell to your brow – Gwi Ma. Jinu explained how he would feed into their shame, causing them to fall deeper into despair and seek refuge in their demon forms. Gwi Ma pretended to give them solace from that shame he brought, as long as they did his bidding.

He looked away, a slight snarl on his lips. “It is hard to taste an old addiction and not want another taste. It is a shame I cannot get out of my head, and I hear him whispering again.”

Your hand hovered over his back, unsure if you should touch. “So don’t listen to him,” you whispered gently.

He scoffed, “It isn’t eas- “

He paused as your hand came in contact with his toned back.

“Don’t listen to him,” you spoke softly once more. “Because you should listen to me.”

He turned to look at you once again, gold eyes fizzling between gold and brown as they met your unwavering ones. He remained silent, giving you the cue to keep talking.

“You tasted my soul, but you gave it back. You overcame that want, your nature, him – and saved my life, saved my soul,” you stated firmly but still gentle. “You aren’t what he says you are, you are strong in so many regards beyond your physical strength. He cannot tell you otherwise, not when I am proof of it.”

By the end of your mini rant, his eyes we brown again, and he suddenly looked exhausted, like a truly broken man.

You were taken aback when tears welled in his eyes as he stared at you, and without hesitation you hugged him. It took a moment, but he wrapped his strong arms around you, muscles squeezing you tightly but in a protective manner.

“Thank you, Abby,” you whispered. “My soul is safe because of you.”

-

You lost your job.

After weeks of no contact, multiple wellness checkups, and notices – they let you go due to failure to comply. It was to be expected; you weren’t necessarily surprised at the termination letter you received in the mail when you returned back to your small apartment, more bitter because how fucked the world was.

Nearly died and then get further punished for it? Kind of fucked up.

Thankfully, the demon boy band was more than happy to provide you with employment. Although Baby would not admit, the entire group enjoyed having you around. It was refreshing to be themselves around someone who knew what they were and did not find it abhorrent. You always spend time with them, explaining humans’ quirks and they explained demon culture to you. You traveled on tour with them, becoming their favorite little human.

And you get paid to be their ‘assistant’?

Win-win.

All the while you and Abby became inseparable.

When the nightmares plagued you, you sought him out. He would appear in a flash of purple, his warmth heating the ice that would cover your soul. He would cuddle you, gently tickling your skin and soothing you with gentle nothings.  

When Gwi Ma whispered, you were there to drown out the demon lord’s words. You would hold his hand and draw your own patterns on him with a purple marker. “Your patterns are not a sign of shame; they tell me about how you overcame hell.”

You shared parts of your childhood, him snickering at the embarrassing antics you would perform and then cooing at the photos you showed of your kid self. “You were so cute… what happened?”

He told you about before he became a demon – a farmer’s son with a talented voice. He would sing while he tended to the crops and livestock. At the markets, his strong stature and seductive voice attracted many people to his family’s stall. His family did well with his help for years, until the plague and famine destroyed his village and subsequently the farm.

A drought destroyed the village farms, nothing grew and the livestock perished. A plague followed quickly, destroying the already weakened village. His mother fell ill, hunger and sickness taking her life before they could do anything to save her.

He fell to shame, Gwi Ma promising him a way out if Abby followed him.

And so, he did.

You sobbed when he told you that, wrapping yourself around him to comfort him as well as mourning him. He held you tightly, tears falling alongside yours. It felt relieving to finally tell someone and not feel ashamed.

It felt healing.

-

Tonight was no different from many you shared before. You had awoken suddenly due the nightmares. They happened infrequently now, but when they did happen you still felt shaken to the core.

You would always need Abby.

He came when you called his name, appearing in your room with that signature flash of purple. He held you for a moment, stroking your hair as you cuddled into his strong chest. It was your safe space. You never wanted to leave his arms.

You had fallen in love with him.

You suggested that you two could go look at Seoul from the top of the Namsan tower. It was a spot where you could see the city lights but also the stars in the sky. The glow of the twinkling sets brought an ease into your soul, warming the chill that plagued it.

He warped you up to the top of the tower, the spot precariously dangerous but you trusted him with your life.

You trusted him with your soul.

And here you were, bearing it to him once more.

The delicate silence shattered as your confession rang between you two.

“I love you.”

There was no hesitation, only pure emotion in your voice. Truthfully, you did not mean to blurt it out like that, but it just spilled out suddenly.

His head snapped in your direction, fuchsia hair flowing the breeze to expose his wide eyes. “You what?” 

You locked eyes with his, heart stuttering in your chest at the fear of rejection but repeated yourself no less confident.

“I love you, Abby. Every part of you and your soul.”

He stared at you with an unreadable expression, not a hint of an emotion on his face.

You felt your cheeks warm with rejected embarrassment. Perhaps you should have kept your mouth shut, because now you have ruined everything. Before you could try to save the situation – or jump off the tower – he cupped your face with his hand, gentle as always.

His lips descended upon yours.

The kiss was warm, heat exploding inside your soul. It was not the steamiest kiss, but it sparked every neuron in your body, and you feel like you could combust.

When you parted, you were both breathless and the silence was heavy. His lidded eyes were golden, not with hunger but with the very emotion you hoped he would feel too.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You felt tears of relief and love well up in your eyes, laughing as they spilled over and he momentarily panicked thinking he messed up.

You kissed him again, the motion more intense but the emotions conveyed, nonetheless. He held you tightly, fingers tangling into the hair at the base of your neck while the other hand lay on your waist, keeping you steady on the tower edge.

He would always catch you if you fell.

Because he would fall right beside you.

When you parted again, you breathlessly commanded, “Take us home.”

-

You barely warped into your bedroom before the demon descended upon you once again. His lips found yours once more, hand cupping your jaw as he tilted your head up to meet him. He had waited centuries for you, and he refused to wait a second longer.

Gentle kisses began to morph deeper, mouths parting to allow one another further access to exploring the other. Tongues entwined as passion rose further to the surface of your souls, the need to love each other in an expressive manner following closely behind.

You part momentarily to help him practically rip the sweatshirt he wore off, tossing it in the corner somewhere before his lips met yours once more. Your hands wandering his body, lightly scratching his chest and abs, secretly mapping every groove and dipping of the muscles. He growled, literally, at the sensation you brought him. He felt more feral the more he kissed you, drunk on your touch and love.

You loved him.

He broke the kiss once more, this time gently lifting the bottom of your shirt to silently ask if this was okay.

You responded by lifting your arms, prompting him to fully remove the long-sleeve shirt. Gods above and below, you were stunning.

You both quickly met lips once more, the desperation for one another growing by the second. It was apparent you both wanted – no – needed this. You needed this love, and you needed the other to know how deep this love was.

You trailed your hands once more down his front, reaching the hem of his sweatpants. You played with the edge of the band before dipping your hand inside, forcing a gasp from him as you grasped his cock firmly.

Fuck, he was huge.

“Y/N,” he moaned at your mere touch. “Babygirl, please, please let me love you. I need to make love to you, please.”

His begging was not submissive in any means, but a proclamation of his desire and need to show it – who were you to deny him?

You were quickly splayed out on the bed, both of now pants-less – however while you still wore undergarments, he stood before you naked ang glorious. His cock was erect, brushing against his lower abdomen and twitching at your wanton gaze.

How was he going to fit?

Before you could dwell on his girth and length, he was suddenly kneeling on the ground in front of you and your bare lower half. You leaned up on your forearms, giving him an inquisitive look only to be knocked breathless at the way he stared back at you.

His eyes were molten gold.

He held eye contact as he began, raising one of your legs over his muscular shoulder, kissing along the calf and up to your inner thigh. Your chest heaved as he teased his lips along your skin, so close to where you needed him but not quite touching. A teasing touch at most as his tongue poked out to run along the inner skin of your thigh.

He pressed one more kiss against your thigh before suddenly pressing his tongue against your underwear-clad core. The unexpected emotion had a whimpering moan fall free from your lips, eyes partially closing at the motion.

A growl rumbled in his chest at your noises, desperate to have you make more.

He pulled back, your moan of protest short-lived as he pulled your underwear down your legs, clawed fingers leaving light scratches as they went.

Your core was now bare for him, glistening and beckoning him to taste.

Without hesitation he dove in, tongue pressing against your opening to spread you across his palette – an animalistic moan tearing out his throat. Fuck tasting sinful, you tasted divine.

Your hips rose off the bed, bucking into his mouth as he began to eat you out with ferocious starvation.  You felt his clawed fingertips dig into the skin of your thighs, not enough to draw blood but enough that the possessive pain registered as pleasure in your muddled mind.

After tasting your flowing juices, his tongue made quick work against your clit, a moan screaming from your throat as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He was quickly driving you to the edge, hurtling toward the precipice of ultimate pleasure as your climax approached.

Your fingers carded through the colorful locks on his head, pressing deeper into his tongue in desperate need. He squeezed tighter, digging the clawed tips deeper into your hips as he sucked on your clit and lapped at you like you were his last meal before dying.

A meal worthy of death.

Your eyes squeezed shut and legs snapped against his head, hot white flooding your vision as you reached that peak of pleasure, gasps and moans tearing from your throat as he worked you through it. He continued to lick only departing when your grip loosened on his hair and legs started to shake from overstimulation.

Your vision returned right as he stood, his long tongue licking you off his lips and chin with adamant desire. He would eat you daily if you let him – or even if you didn’t, he would.

“Please,” you moaned, needing him once more. “Please love me.”

He crawled over your body, sliding you up further on the bed as he did. He brought you into a passionate kiss, tongues battling once more. He released your lips, canines lightly pulling on your bottom lip before fully pulling away.

“I already love you, Y/N. Let me show you.”

He lifted your thigh over his hip as he positioned himself against your entrance, tip teasing the opening. You made eye contact once more, golden eyes reading yours for any hesitation – there was none, only love and reassurance for him, letting him know you wanted this with absolute certainty.

You gently grabbed his face, ensuring he held eye contact with you, as you spoke softly, “Since the day you saved me, my soul has been yours and I give it you willingly.”

His eyes widened once more, the love shining within the golden pools at such a proclamation.

You truly loved him, and he loved you just as truly.

He slid in with gentle motions, your walls stretching as his wide girth began to spear you open. It took several motions of him pushing in before he was fully seated within you – the breath fully knocked out of you both.

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed as you simmered in the heat that formed between your bodies. You enjoyed it for what it was in the moment, hands gently exploring one another’s body and lips gently connecting.

After a moment, he pulled away to look at you.

No words were spoken, yet you understood each other perfectly. Your souls were bared to one another, nothing but undying, unconditional love and acceptance.

The tempo was not hurried, neither one of you hurrying to finish. His strokes were strong, yet the pace slow – each thrust jolting a light a moan from you and against his lips. His hands found yours, entwining fingers with yours as he pinned them above your heads, the strength of his movements never ceasing.

This was not just about finding pleasure, it was about the peace and solace you found in one another. This was not just carnal passion but loving each other for the faults and shames each one held. This was love in its rawest form.

“I love you,” whispered countless times. Kisses and light bites exchanged, sweat building, hearts and souls syncing.  

With a final kiss, he finished inside you, guttural moans blessing your ears as he did.

It was enough to trigger your second orgasm of the night; your body fully pressed into his as you shook and walls rapidly tightened around him.

You settled into each other’s arms, no urgency to move away and rather basked in the moment. No words were needed as the notion was felt.

This was love.

-

[yunjiluvr]

puppy megan — nsfw thoughts!

first time writing thoughts and not a full fic teehee (but it’s lowkey a fic kinda)

g!p puppy!megan, soft dom f!reader, unprotected sex, tiny bit of size kink, stomach bulge, knotting, creampie, meg refers to reader as ‘mommy’

puppy!megan is the type to whine for her owner not to leave and sit by the door all day waiting for them to come home :( imagine coming home from a long and exhausting day at work to see your puppy waiting for you at the front door🥺 her tail wagging at mach speed, the little tags on her peach-colored collar jingling as she jumps up to hug you before you even fully make it through the door.

“hii mei mei~ have you been good today?”

and of course she has. megan’s always a good girl and rarely misbehaves. she has acted out maybe once or twice, but she quickly learned her lesson after you punished her. she absolutely hates being punished. she needs you to tell her 24/7 how good she is, not say she’s a bad girl😣 bc she’s not!

puppy!megan is always more than happy to help you relax or relieve stress and use her however you like. yes i am adding onto the pillow princess megan agenda😼 so it’s no surprise that she gladly lets you push her down to the couch and have your way with her~

whispering “who’s my good girl?” while riding her on the couch, the title making her tail thump against the cushions <3 silly little thing would go “me me me!” before turning back into a whiny mess. you would tell megan to be a good pup and not touch, trying to teach the girl self control, and of course she’s your good girl so she keeps her hands to herself!!! she’s def a waist grabber so she has to focus hard so her hands don’t fly to your hips out of habit.

lightly tugging on her collar so she’s looking up at you>>> puppy!megan would look up at you with the softest puppy eyes everrr, ears twitching, tail inconsistently wagging and all. will whine out little pleas just to try and coax you to allow her hands on you. she just wants to feel you! she seems like the type to let out little gasps and whines, maybe a groan here and there. and her eyes will roll back bc her cock just isn’t meant to fit in such a tight space and it feels too good ☹️

puppy!megan will get whinier and start panting when her climax approaches. she would beg to touch you, or for you to at least do something, like rub those spots behind her ears that makes her brain go all fuzzy :(( and after you finally give her permission to touch, megan’s big hands are running all over your body, groping and squeezing as much as she can at once. the greedy pup bouncing you up and down her thick cock just to see the bulge in your tummy :( her dull claws will dig at your sides as she mumbles pleas to breed you and make you hers all over again

you will 100% find her mouth on your neck or tits, drooling all over the smooth skin, leaving little bites and marks to claim you as hers. and as soon as you say something like, “aww mei mei you poor little thing. cum for me, pup~” her brain is short circuiting and she’s immediately burying her knot deep inside you, hugging you tightly while her hips buck up into the warmth. if you rub that spot behind her fluffy ears, she’ll cum 10x harder :((( n that’s when she’ll be loud. moaning into your chest as her thighs shake and she paints your walls white while whining “mommyyy” <33

your puppy will never disappoint you. she’ll always be at your service no matter what, and in return she needs you to call her the goodest girl ever and give her lots of treats😤

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

i’ll come back later and add to this if i think of anything else :]

[emilys-bangs]

tying you to me | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, flirty emily, fluff, mentions of needles and blood (emily donates blood), no use of yn

Summary: For the second time, you and Emily Prentiss cross paths. Can you fend off her flirtations when she's fully lucid?

Word count: 1.7k

Part one | emt!reader masterlist

It takes a second for you to recognize the woman in the chair. 

Her posture is relaxed and easy, dark hair pulled away from her face, giving you a clear view of her straight nose and plush mouth as she types away on her phone. Something vaguely itches at the corners of your memory, but you can’t properly grab on to anything. You don’t fixate on it as you make a beeline for her; working with as many people as you do, it’s not unusual for a face to pop up more than once. 

You place your kit on the table at her elbow and she looks up, fingers stilling on her phone. 

Immediately you know. It’s her eyes that send you tumbling back to a frigid winter night, thick lashes and rich, dark irises so brown they’re almost black.

She’s the one from the crash. The flirty brunette and her boss, who called her…

“Emily.” She says with a grin, clearly remembering you. Her phone screen promptly goes black as you steal her attention, her now undoubtedly sharper gaze swallowing you whole from head to toe. It’s hardly a quick scan; she takes her time with you, unabashed as her eyes rove, pockets of heat bursting where she lingers too long. “Fancy seeing you here.” She tilts her head, doe-like and coy.

“I work here, Agent Prentiss.” The name comes like a flash, surprising you as it spills out.

Her eyes shimmer. The same charming dimples press into her cheeks, bright white teeth flashing under the clinical light.

“You remember. I’m flattered.”

She’s a magnetic pole, all clean and washed of blood, hair shiny, words steady without the slippery coating of a pain-hazed slur. Her mouth curves with genuine delight and you feel yourself slipping, falling yet again into her honeyed trap.

God. You’ve always been weak when it comes to pretty flirts.

You clear your throat and sit yourself on the short stool next to her chair. “First time donating?”

“No, sweetheart. First time having such a pretty EMT do it, though.” Her eyes burn holes into your face as you snap your gloves on, the sting on your wrists doing nothing to distract you from the way you flush under your uniform. “I didn’t know you guys did that.”

You busy yourself with grabbing a tourniquet and tying it around her arm. “Not all of us do.”

“Just the smart ones?”

Your mouth twitches.

Emily chuckles to herself, soft and low. A nervous swirl rushes through your lower belly, absolutely nothing to do with the needle at your side and everything to do with the smooth curve of her bicep. 

Focus. You aren’t just patching her up like last time. You’re poking a needle into her pale, soft skin—and, with the places your head is going, more than likely to nick a vein or tear her arteries to shreds.

Your spine stiffens even as you feel her looking, your shoulders setting back. “Is that painful?” You nod at the tourniquet. “Too tight?”

“No.” Emily hums. “You’re attentive.”

Too attentive. For, right now, all the wrong reasons. It’s impossible to ignore the way her white muscle tank hugs her torso, clinging to curves you hadn’t seen before. In an attempt to escape her eyes, you latch on to the jut of a collarbone, the dusting of freckles, swells of toned muscle and raven hair curling along her shoulder, her loose ponytail swaying with each turn of her head.

At least she got that one right.

You pointedly ignore her comment and search the crook of her elbow for a vein, gently prodding with your finger until you find it. Here Emily stays silent, though the heft of her gaze doesn’t lessen as you rip open an alcohol wipe and sterilize her skin.

Throwing the pad away, you assemble your needle as the alcohol dries. “Any allergies or phobias? Have you ever fainted during previous injections or blood draws?”

A small groove digs between her brows. “Once, but it was a long time ago. I hadn’t eaten properly.”

“And you have now?”

Her smile returns, strangely soft. “Yes.” She murmurs.

Needle in your palm, you gently tilt her elbow toward you. You look up in time to find a quick breath inflating her chest, gone by the time you blink.

“Nervous, queasy?” You ask, thumb pressing into her elbow.

She shakes her head once. “I’m in good hands.” Those dark eyes bore into yours, unflinching.

“You are. Take a deep breath for me.” You murmur, taking a shallow one of your own before inserting the needle in. “Make a fist and hold it.”

Emily follows your instructions. Her blood flows dark and steady into a tube, pooling in the container as your heart drums a quick beat of relief. It doesn’t matter that your hands are steady, your knowledge sound; the doubt always lingers, only dissipating from the back of your mind when the wine-dark stream pools into a tube. 

When it fills up, you shake it and switch it for the second one, then the third, then fix the bag in place. Most patients, queasy, close their eyes. Emily doesn’t. You know through the heat on your neck and a few too-quick glances back up at her face. She may be feeling it, though, because she’s momentarily quiet, head tilted back.

Cutting off strips of tape with your teeth, you secure the needle to her arm and tell her not to move it.

“Okay,” she drawls, unbothered by the drip of her blood into the rapidly filling bag, “what time do you get off?”

You blink. The echo of her voice immediately plays in your head, coyly asking for your number, pupils blown and hair bloody. A slickness coats your hands, sending you back to the ambulance though your feet are firmly planted on the floor.

“Late.” You blurt out, nothing else.

Emily’s teeth dig into her lower lip, a dimple curving as you release her tourniquet. You don’t know what flusters you more, the velvet shade of her mouth or the shadowy half moon in her cheek.

“I mean—six.” You fidget with the rubber. “My shift’s over at six.”

Why’d you repeat that? You barely smother a cringe and stand, chin ducking toward the table at your side.

“I came looking for you.” She says. She shifts in her chair, tilting her head to meet your eyes. “They said you were gone.”

She came looking.

Jesus.

“We got a call.” You pack up your kit, disposing of the spare wrappers and plastics. “It’s, uh—it gets busy a lot. ER, you know. How were you, by the way?” You suddenly blurt out, remembering. “How was your concussion?

“It was hardly that.” Emily smiles. “Just a little knock, I was fine. My wrist was sprained, though.” She idly waves it, then tucks her long bangs behind her ear. They brush her earlobes, charmingly mussed against her near picturesque pony.

You glance down at the nearly full bag. “You got lucky,” you say, “it could’ve been a lot worse. Was your boss okay?”

“Hotch?” She grins. The breath is stolen from your lungs. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about him, you could lob a grenade at him and he’d somehow still turn out okay. Intense work ethic, that guy.” Another soft laugh, this one taking no care to be gentle with your heart. You swallow down the rise in your pulse, eyes dipping down again to the bag.

Full. Thank god.

You gently peel off the tape and take the needle out. Emily is putting pressure on the gauze before you tell her to, her fingers briefly pressing down on yours. At the touch, your eyes flick up.

“What about you?” She asks quietly.

Your brows tick upward. “What about me?”

“Are you particularly…moral when it comes to certain workplace rules?” You chew on the inside of your cheek as you dispose of your tools and strip off your gloves. “Say, would you be opposed to taking my number?”

You have to give it to her, she’s bold. Bold and beautiful and a distraction you don’t need right now. Simply looking at her drains too much of your time, seconds stacking into minutes as her honeyed voice slips past your ears and curls there, a memory you know you’ll revisit over and over again like you have before.

But she’s here a second time and, really, what are the odds? You don’t like the word fate, and although Emily Prentiss seems to be the type to wring the universe into doing her bidding, you doubt she tracked you down somehow and conveniently managed to show up right at your shift. It was a long shot last time, but now it seems different to your delusion addled brain.

You don’t need distractions, you tell yourself.

But it’s been too long since you’ve let yourself give in to the temptation.

You lift the gauze, your bare skin grazing hers, a touch of cold seeping into your fingertips. “You want me to that bad?” You say softly, replacing it and securing it with tape, your eyes locking on hers when you’re done. 

They really are marvelous eyes. Nothing like you’ve ever seen before, bitter darkness honeyed by the sweetness of her gaze. Bambi, you think to yourself, barely even ashamed because it fits.

Emily swallows. “If you don’t mind it,” she says, all blatant flirtation suddenly gone. “I’d like to get to know you.” She’s self assured, her confidence quiet even in the face of your less than promising reaction. She’ll probably leave without a fuss if you said no, her dignity and her smile intact, yours just unraveling on the floor at the swish of her ponytail.

But you don’t want to say no.

“I don’t mind it,” you say finally, ignoring the distant ringing of alarm bells as you grab the bag holding her blood. Her eyes brighten but you notice, as you move back, she’s paler than she was. You hold out a hand. “Why don’t you sit in the observation area, I’ll get you a snack and we can talk about it.”

Cold hand in yours, heat flaring under your skin at her smile, you take her to the couches and know you’re fucked.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic @wlwoceaneyes @yoyo-w @upsidedowndanvers @wittygutsy @emilyprentissmylove

[the-librarby]

HOME EARLY II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI

Simon knows what’s good for his wife before she does, which is why when he tells her to sit on it, she sits on it whether she likes it or not.

.･:★ I sat on this idea for too fucking long, work got in the way and derailed my thought process so, here it is, the final installation.

Part I

No one warned you how purely uncomfortable pregnancy was. Besides the noticeable shift in your belly swelling— the aches, pains, and amount of times you need to pee throughout the day is becoming unbearable. Your breasts feel sensitive to the point you’ve even banned Simon from touching them at times, something he mourns each day.

Everyday tasks are getting more difficult when you need to take frequent breaks from standing, thankfully your husband has picked up a lot of the slack without a word.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” you moan from your seat at the dining table.

“I know, love,” Simon replies on autopilot as he cleans up the dishes, it’s not the first time you’ve blamed him.

“Can you go through the rest of this for me?” You plead.

“Would if I could, love,” he smiles, turning on the kitchen sink tap.

You clasp your hands over your swollen belly and cross your ankles over each other as you watch him clean, “You would?” You muse, “Fat tits and all?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Part of the package, so yes, tits and all.”

A sigh leaves your lips as you sink deeper into your chair, the wooden back is digging uncomfortably into your spine but you’re too lazy to move. The kitchen is peaceful as you watch Simon scrub at the dishes you promised to get to later, the soap seems to cling to his forearms not wanting to let go, his arms looked good in that old t-shirt of his which is more more tighter on him than when you wear it around the house. Did washing the dishes make him more attractive? You squinted in thought, must be pregnancy brain making your hormones run haywire.

With an exhaustive huff you stand to your feet and walk over to the sink, grabbing the hanging tea towel off the over door on your way. Simon watches you curiously and shakes his head, but you grab a plate off the drying rack before he can dismiss you.

“I’ve got it,” you assure, “Not bedridden Si, I can move around,”

“Shouldn’t have to move around,” he mutters, hauling another dish out of the sink and onto the rack, “S’what I’m here for.”

You grin as you out the plate back in its cabinet above you. Simon was insistent that you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, if it weren’t endearing to hear how much he cared about your wellbeing, you would have lost your mind by now. You step up behind him and snake your arms in between his and drag them up his chest until both hands settle around his pecs, squeezing them softly between your fingers.

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna have to take responsibility,” you mumble coyly, pressing against him as much as your body will allow. You reach up and press a kiss against the back of his neck.

You can’t see it but you can hear the smirk in his amused tone as he looks over his shoulder, “You making a move on me, sweetheart?”

You laugh at how bluntly he called your game, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw, “Is it working for you?”

He chuckles and looks away, reaching to turn off the tap, “You’re lucky we’re already married,”

You scoff, offended by his insult, “Are you saying my charms are weaker now?”

“I’m saying,” he dries his hands before turning around to face you, inches apart and separated only by your protruding belly, “You don’t have to put on an act to have me,”

“Putting in effort isn’t an act, Simon,” you reply, holding onto his arms as he reaches out to caress your sides, “Are you saying you wouldn’t put on an act for me if you wanted to get in my pants?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Get in your pants?” He repeats, “What am I, a teenager?”

You slap his arm, “You know what I mean,”

He sighs, “What are you really asking? I’d always put in effort for you,” he squeezes your hip softly, “You’re my wife,”

The split second pause you take to respond is enough to make him worry. He curls his finger and uses the knuckle to knock your chin upwards until you’re looking at him, “What’s wrong?”

“Am I a chore to you?” You blurt out, diverting your attention down to the details of his t-shirt. It’s blue colour has darkened patches from the water that splashed onto him while cleaning, “You’ve picked up so much slack since this pregnancy…”

His hands are still cradling your hips, thumb gently rubbing circles in reassurance while you collect your thoughts. You take a deep breath and sigh, “I don’t want sex to be another responsibility you feel like you have to take on,”

He sighs roughly, “Look at me,” you peek up at him through your eyelashes, his gaze leaves no room for misinterpretation, “When have I ever acted like fucking you is a chore?”

You bite your lip and remain silent, in the back of your mind you can rationalise you’re just being sensitive but the paranoia eats away at you.

He crouches down until he meets your lowered gaze, “Do you realise how hard it has been for me to hold back?”

You stare at him through parted lips, the sound of a pin dropping could be heard through the silence of the kitchen. Simon doesn’t elaborate just to ensure you get it through your thick head that he finds you incredibly desirable— even more so now with how your body is filling out, a selfish part of him wants to keep you pregnant forever if it means he gets to take care of you like this.

Before pregnancy you were very independent, sure you loved showering him in affection and were a doting partner, but nothing compares to how dependent you are on him now. The sheer need and reliance you have on your husband to support you through this curls in his gut and feeds his self-assurance.

Gradually, his hands trail up your sides until the sides of his thumbs support the outline of your breasts. You breathe in sharply at the immediate pricks of sensitivity shoot through your chest at the slight pressure.

Simon pauses instantly, leaving his fingers wrapped around the side of your ribs and chest, "I have watched these shirts of yours get impossibly tighter each day," he comments calmly, "And I have kept my hands to myself,” his eyes catch yours staring,” Because you want me to,”

“So it’s my fault?” You shoot back defensively, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. It was stupid to bring this up, and you just want to end it now before you ask something else that you’ll regret the answer to.

“Stop deflecting,” he grunts, tugging you closer until he secures his arms around your waist, giving you nothing to do other than hold his arms to keep yourself upright. Even with no space between the two of you, you still try to lean as far out as you can in defiance.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” he continues, “Are you listening to me?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest when his arms won’t give way, “I’ve heard enough,” you mumble, pointedly looking away, “I’m a terrible wife because I won’t let you touch me,”

“Now you’re just talking bullshit,” he calls frankly, “Come with me.”

He takes your hand in his and walks down past the living room straight into the bedroom. It’s clean and taken care of just like the rest of the house under your husband’s control. You try not to dwell on the thoughts of uselessness festering in your mind as Simon seats himself onto the edge of the bed, taking you down with him by gently guiding you into straddling his lap.

A hand rests on your belly protectively as you shift to get comfortable—it’s getting increasingly harder to sit like this as you swell— Simon waits patiently for you to still, his eyes watching cautiously in case you lose balance.

In the safety of the bedroom Simon watches as your shoulders slowly unwind. It’s silent as he rubs his hands up and down your forearms which hang loosely in your lap, eyes refusing to meet each other as understanding tries to piece itself together.

“You know I love you, right?”

The earnestly makes your heart ache and clench your eyes shut. You moan pitifully and knock your forehead against his shoulder, “Don’t say that,”

Simon frowns and tries to look down at you but you stay stubbornly glued to him, “Don’t say I love you?”

You moan again and shake your head, digging further into his shoulder. He sits there silently with a bemused smile on his face, he knows you’re finding it hard to stay upset with him—you could never stay mad for that long. So he waits another minute letting you sit in the last vestiges of your simmered annoyance before speaking again.

“Can I show you then?” He asks, wondering.

You raise your head just to look at him questioningly, “Show me what? That you love me?”

He nods at your clarification, smug smile on his face. It cracks an unwillingly upward tug of your lips, “And you say my lines are weak,”

He shrugs, “You know my actions speak louder than my words love, been that way since day one,”

You hum in agreeance, curious where his mind is leading, “Go on then.”

Simon reclines back until he’s laying flat on the mattress, his legs are still propped up in order to keep you seated on his lap but he makes no further move other than gesturing you to crawl forward with the curl on his fingers.

You crawl forward until you’re seated on his lower stomach but he keeps urging you to move. Cautiously you stop once you reach high on his chest, your knees are knocking into his armpits and forcing you to either stop or readjust—you choose to stop because this is getting ridiculous, you have no idea what he’s trying to communicate, he just keeps gesturing you to move forward.

“What do you want?” You finally ask, looking down at him with hands perched flat against the mattress either side of his head for balance.

His hands reach out to wrap around your outer thighs, from this position he has a full view of the indecent way your leggings crease against your crotch. He inches his thumb forward until it rubs across the stitched seam, causing your breath to hitch, the soft sensation feels so nice you would have missed what he said if you weren’t crouched so close to his face.

“Want you to sit on it,” he demands, gazing up at you.

You immediately try to shuffle away, shaking your head, “No way, Simon,” you reply, “I thought I was heavy before pregnancy, and I am much more heavy now, I’m not going to sit anywhere—”

He rolls his eyes, tuning out your rant in favour of ripping a hole until he has a good view of your underwear. You gasp and lift one hand to slap his away, “Fucking—stop! I’m not doing this.” your complaints fall on deaf ears as he brute forces his arms under your thighs, grabbing you by your rear and shoving you up until you’ve got no other choice but to hover over his face.

Your arms wobble as you kneel over him, for a moment you think you can stay like this out of spite until he gets this ridiculous idea out of his head, but it hard to hold yourself up and he knows it. He gazes up at you with a lazy smirk, perfectly content and waiting below you— you’ll have to come down at some point. Is what he’s thinking.

“You want this to not feel like a chore?” He asks, reminding you of your previous statement, “Then let me do what I want,”

You whine, “Does it have to be like this?” You ask pitifully, already turned on despite your embarrassment, “I will squash you Simon, and not in a sexy way,”

He pats your ass playfully with one hand while the other reaches over for your underwear, “Countin’ on it sweetheart.” he rumbles, hooking his thumb in and pulling the dampening fabric to the side.

Anxiously you lower yourself until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your folds, his nose just nudges the edge of your mound and it’s enough to set your thighs on fire. The burn of straining yourself makes you tense up but you refuse to lower yourself any further.

The first probe of your husband’s tongue against your clit has your thighs closing in with a soft curse. Simon rests one hand flat against your ass while the other keeps your panties hooked aside as he flattens his tongue in a wide swipe upwards. It feels good at this angle, you hate to admit it because you’re still feeling reservations about your weight, but Simon has completely shut off—eyes closed and grip tensing as he gets reacquainted with your sweet spots. It had been so long since he was able to take his time and just map you out.

The soft sounds filter out like a leaking tap, once you start you can’t stop. Your hips twitch forward minutely when his tongue flicks at just right angle, causing you to remember how your thighs are starting to get sore from tensing so much. When you look down, Simon is already gazing up at you through hooded eyes, his hair is swept off his forehead and looking like he’d rather be nowhere else with your thighs closing in around his head.

“Fucks sake,” you huff, “I’m too pregnant for this,”

Simon hums beneath you before tilting his chin up so you can hear him, “‘cause yer’ bein’ a fuckin’ idiot,” he scoffs, momentarily letting your underwear snap back in place as he lets go.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, trying to hold your tongue but you can’t, “You try feeling like this Simon,” you snap, “Honestly, I don’t care how strong you think you are, breaking your jaw does not sound the least bit sexy to me—stop looking at me like that and stop seriously considering it!”

You can feel the way he chuckles with the rise and fall of his chest, “It would be an honour to be sent to emergency with an unhinged jaw because my pregnant wife had the ride of ‘er life,”

You shake your head with a frown, “This is not a joke, I’m genuinely worried,” your complaint bounces off Simon’s head as he tugs your panties to the side again. But you continue your rant nonetheless, “How would I even begin to explain that? You can’t lie to the paramedics Si, I would have to give details, you can’t do this to me.”

When he’s had enough of your stalling, he takes matters into his own hands and forcibly seats you by tugging you flush against his mouth. Your thighs spread to accomodate the drop, and his anchored grip on your thighs drives your knees down into the mattress.

“Wait,” you pant, wriggling desperately in his grip, “Wait—Simon, stop, I’ll hurt—” his lips circle around your clit and suck softly, effectively cutting off the rest of your sentence.

“Fuck,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting your thighs fall further apart so you can press even closer, “You play fucking dirty.”

Simon pats your ass affectionately at your comment and flattens his tongue once again, drawing wide from hole to clit. Your thighs are tingling from finally having your weight shifted, and his tongue moves with skilled efforts as he circles and sucks against your clit until you’re seeing stars. When that pleasured numbness starts to build your hips twitch forwards to chase it, you hold your breath and wait for some kind of pained groan but when it doesn’t come you sigh in relief.

With renewed confidence—and reckless abandonment at the onslaught of pleasure—you press your palm against your husband’s forehead and grip his hair hard as you drive your hips back and forth against his mouth until he settles against that one spot that has you moaning.

He lets his jaw go slack as you take control, riding against his tongue and grinding down against his nose until his mouth covered in your slickness. When your thrusts become more frantic he takes ahold of your ass and sucks hard against your clit until your sobbing and clenching your thighs around his head, shoving his head closer by your grip as you ride out the trembling pleasure.

You’re panting above him, boneless in your after glow and momentarily forgetting where—or who, you’re sitting on. When your thoughts decide to organise themselves you quickly dislodge yourself from Simon’s mouth and sit back on his chest. He takes in large gulps of air, self satisfied and glowing himself as he lets his arms fall back against the mattress like he’s the one who just came.

You purse your lips together at the wetness you’ve left behind on his lower face, slightly mortified about how you took advantage in the end, but Simon is just silently glad you finished before he managed to come in his shorts.

He lifts a hand and cups his own jaw, opening and closing it slightly as he feels around, “Think it’s intact,” he notes, “Wasn’t sure in the end with the way you were ridin’ me like a horse,”

You huff and slap his shoulder, “You were fucking asking for it,”

He nods with a smirk, “That I was love.” He instantly concedes.

Gently you climb off him and lay down on your back, the air is cool on your inner thighs with the gaping hole in your leggings. Simon lays down for a moment longer, your trail your gaze down slowly until you see the tent in his shorts, satisfaction curls in your gut that he’s still rock hard—serves him right for not listening to your anxieties. You watch him lazily as he rises, he kneels in front of you and presses his hands against your knees which are propped up. You can feel the outline of his cock against your shin as he looks down at you smugly.

“Worth it?” He asks.

You lift your foot and stroke it up and down his thigh, “Well worth it, thank you.”

He hums, leaning forward to kiss you softly. It’s a strain as his chest presses against your knees and pushes them against your stomach, but he’s utterly gentle in his descent and quick to lift himself back up before it becomes painful. Wordlessly he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your leggings and underwear, pulling them off in one go and letting them fall out of sight.

You’re about to warn him that you can’t go another round as he pulls his shorts beneath his balls, cock slapping against his abdomen as his shirt joins your pants on the floor. However, you shut up when instead of prying your legs apart he pushes them together, and slings your knees over his right shoulder.

“What are you—” he spits into his hand and gives his cock a stroke, you watch curiously as his arm pumps up and down before resuming to his holding place on your outer thigh.

His intentions start to clear when you feel his cock poke at the seam between your thighs until it breaks through. It’s a wet slide with his saliva as he leisurely pumps in and out, he grunts at the way your plush thighs envelop him, it won’t take him long to blow if he keeps thinking about the way you were riding him earlier.

“Give ‘em a squeeze love,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your thighs and fucking into them more rigorously, you clench your thighs together as much as you can and watch enraptured by the way the head of his cock peaks through on each forward thrust.

“Feel nice?” You ask, breath punched out of you as his thighs slap against yours.

“Unbelievable,” he replies, “Wish I could keep you like this forever,”

You raise an eyebrow, “On my back or pregnant?”

He huffs, “Fuckin’ both,” he grunts, looking down at you from over the bridge of his nose, “I’d invent new ways to fuck you if it meant you’d stay like this.”

You reach down for the hem of your shirt and awkwardly hike it over your head, Simon pauses so you can take it off fully but quickly resumes once it’s gone. His eyes are glued to your tits as they bounce with each thrust, your nipples are pointed and sensitive, he knows this but reaches down to pinch one anyway.

You twist and arch your back at the overwhelming tingling that erupts underneath his fingertips, gritting your teeth as you bare your way through it. Simon watches, captivated by the newfound sensitivity his touch brings, he could sit for hours playing with your tits just to see how much he could make you squirm if you’d let him.

But he eases off eventually, giving you momentary relief as he wraps his arms around your thighs again as he thrusts forward. Your thighs are becoming more slimy with the way he drips between them, you can’t help but throb as you watch him slowly unwind and get closer to the edge.

“Could get used to this,” you sigh, gently taking hold of your own chest and lightly rubbing your nipples with your forefingers, “I’d stay pregnant if it meant never lifting a finger again,”

Simon zones in on the way your fingers massage your tits, it makes his cock twitch and leak even more, “Mm never,” he agrees, “I’d do it all,”

You smile coyly, “Such a good husband,” you coo, using your thumbs to pinch your nipples, “Bet you’d let me use that cock like a toy, huh? All for your wife, right?”

He groans and delivers a particularly hard thrust at your words, “Fuckin’ hell.” he grunts.

You cross your ankles over each other and squeeze your thighs harder, Simon exhales roughly and resorts to rutting between them desperately.

“C’mon baby,” you murmur, “Need you to come now, come on.”

Simon drives one last thrust forward and stills. You can feel the wetness spill in between and trickle down to your cunt. He breathes deeply and rests his forehead against your legs as he collects himself.

“Worth it?” You ask, amused.

“You need to stop tempting me with idea of keeping you pregnant, it’s fucking with my head,” he groans.

You laugh and reach forward to stroke his forearm still wrapped around your legs, “But you have the best reactions to the thought of it,”

He looks at you through hooded eyes, “Your gonna eat your words when I take you up on it one day.”

You roll your eyes, happy to play with fire for now.

[formulafanfics13]

could i request something really rough of lando having his way with the reader in the middle of a party in his house (she's the only girl there) while all his friends watch? just something filthy.

Party Trick - LN4 🔥

Masterlist

SUMMARY the only girl at an all-male private party hosted by Lando Norris. Teasing turns into a full public display of dominance and intimacy — Lando makes the reader give him a blowjob and then fucks her in front of his friends, asserting complete possession. No one intervenes. Everyone watches.

WARNINGS Explicit sexual content, public sex, degradation kink, possessiveness, dominance, power play, voyeurism, exhibitionism, choking (non-violent), crying during sex (from pleasure), rough sex, spanking, unprotected sex, messy oral.

You’re the only girl at the party. Not by accident. It’s a private thing. Just Lando’s boys. His closest circle. A few drivers. Some old friends from school. The type who know everything and still never ask questions.

You’re in his lap when it starts. Short skirt. No bra. No panties. Just his hoodie. The music’s low. The drinks are flowing. The lights are soft. There’s smoke in the air.

He’s been teasing you for hours. Fingers on your thigh. Palming your ass. Whispering things in your ear like, “You like being the only one, don’t you?” and “Bet they’re all wondering what you taste like.”

You don’t answer. You just squirm. Press your thighs together. Grip his wrist under the table.

His voice is low when he says it. Measured. “Get on your knees.”

Your breath catches. The room doesn’t go silent. But a few conversations lull. Heads turn.

You move slowly. Slip off his lap. Onto the rug. Kneel between his legs. No one says anything. But every eye is on you.

Lando leans back on the couch. Spreads his thighs. “Show them how good you are for me.”

You undo his jeans. Pull his cock out. Already hard. Already dripping. You take him into your mouth without a word.

Carlos swears under his breath across the room.

Lando groans. One hand in your hair. “Fuck. Look at her.”

You suck him slow. Deep. Messy. Drool on your chin. His tip hitting the back of your throat while your fingers dig into his thighs. He pushes your head down. Harder. “That’s it. Take it all. You wanted to be the only girl here. Be useful.”

You moan around him.

Max laughs. Not cruel. Just shocked.

“Jesus,” Oscar mutters. “She’s fucking good.”

Lando smirks. Doesn’t look at them. Keeps his eyes on you. “Look at me,” he says.

You do. Eyes glassy. Mouth full.

He fucks your throat a little. Not fast. Just enough to make you choke. Make your mascara run. Then he pulls you up. Manhandles you into his lap.

He lifts the hoodie. Everyone sees. Your bare chest. Your soaked thighs. The slick between your legs catching the light. He doesn’t wait. Pushes you down onto him. You cry out. Hands on his shoulders. He’s so deep, so full, splitting you open with no warning.

“Lando-fuck-”

“You take me so well,” he grits out. “All these eyes on you and you’re soaking. You like this, don’t you?”

You nod. Tears already slipping down your cheeks. He bounces you on his cock. Rough. Fast. The sound of skin slapping. Of moans. Of stunned silence around the room.

No one leaves.

They just watch.

Some adjust their pants. Some shift uncomfortably. But no one looks away.

And Lando?

He’s loving it.

“You hear them?” he growls against your throat. “You feel their eyes? They’d all fucking beg for this.”

He slaps your ass. Hard.

You whimper. Clench around him.

“But they can’t have it,” he spits. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you sob. “Only yours.”

He fucks up into you harder. His grip bruising.

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock. Let them see how pretty you are when you fall apart.”

You do. Loud. Unfiltered. Soaking his jeans. Nails dragging down his chest. Head thrown back.

He follows. Buries himself deep. Comes with a growl and a moan of your name. You collapse on him. Shaking. The room is silent now.

Until George, whispers, “Holy fuck.”

Someone else claps. Slowly.

Lando kisses your shoulder. Smiling like the devil.

You don’t even open your eyes. Just breathe. Full. Raw. Owned. Someone gets up to pour another drink. The party moves on. But no one forgets.

[m4mmonthebest]

So just found your blog and i absolutely love it <3 Imnso insane for these objects ahkdjdj anyway hot take i think Cam and Dorian are size queens. Cam just loves being filled ;)

GRRRR R ARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

(AMAB Cam, AMAB reader.)

Okay so let's start with Cam. As I've said before he's kinda made to be filled in a way. I think he would be super cocky, thinking he can handle any size. Once you pull out your cock (or a toy, let's go with cock) he smiles but visibly gulps. You can see a sweat drop slowly rolling from his forehead.

"Hah. G-go ahead. See if that phases me. Could barely fill me anyway."

He's wrong. God he's so wrong. Just half of you in has him panting.

"F-fuck you're not fully in- fuck-"

He grips whatever is closest to him like his life depends on it. On this occasion it's yourself. He latches onto your back, nails digging deep. You keep pushing, his mouth hangs, eyebrows deeply furrowed, you can hear him making small noises, you're not sure if they're from pleasure or pain. Probably both.

"A-Ah...a-ah fuck-fuck you-"

You move out and you can feel the air leaving his lungs. He makes a choked out noise, between a cry, sob and a moan.

"A-Ah!!!"

When you start fucking him like you mean it he's a stuttering blabbering mess. Every type of noise comes out of him, noises he probably would never want anyone to hear. You're just too damn big. He fucking loves it. It hurts so good.

Tears begin to form on his eyes and he begins to chuckle, legs tremble with every pound, he grabs you tightly and bites your neck hard enough to draw blood. His moans are whiny, like when you laugh too much and you're out of breath and it hurts so much to laugh but the situation is too damn funny.

"Hah! Hah! F-fuck I love you! Please please ugh please hah ha- fuck!! Fuck... Ngh!"

You're relentless, he can barely let a moan out before he comes hard, painting your stomach. You can tell how much he feels it, his legs shake wildly, whole body spasming as he holds onto you for dear life. He screams , a guttural scream. If you didn't know better you'd be worried, but you just laugh.

It takes a while for him to stop shaking, he pants wildly, and when you pull out he moans. He clenches on nothing, ass agape dripping your seed.

"You handled me, good job."

He looks proud of himself, chuckling. He whines. The pain is catching up to him. He reaches his arms out to you, eyes closed and face flushed red, you can still see the tears glistening on his skin.

"You want cuddles?"

"D-don't make me say it..."

"Hm. Just because you took me so well."

----------

(How do you write British people help)

(AMAB Dorian, AMAB Reader)

Trap Dorian is very excited to see you. You would ask if he had something in his pants but that is clearly a dick.

"Hey love... here for some friendly fun?"

You grab onto his waist, pressing him up to your body. You're a bit taller than him. He likes that a lot.

"Hm. I'd love to."

Ever since you've started to date Dorian you've noticed how he blushes when you brush past him. You never wanted to break boundaries, as he is a dedicated man to his job, but you felt like he wanted more. Longer touches. Rougher touches.

Your fingers travel through his body, lingering on his tattoos and resting on his pecs. You gently massage his nipples as your tongue plays with his own.

He moans loudly and dirty, you can feel desperation on the kiss, like he wants to eat you whole. Or maybe he wants you to do that to him.

He feels your hardness through your pants and can't help but gasp, looking down at it.

"Fuck you're big."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Not at all."

You can feel hearts popping out of his words, your mouth catches onto his as you manhandle him to the floor. You grope his ass roughly through his pants, he bites your lip as a reply.

Foreplay is quick, both of you want to get to the point, which is your cock up his ass.

As you stroke your dick he readies himself, two fingers already making its way inside of him. You can hear him moan as he gives you a show. His voice is low and soft but there's a hint of neediness in it. You're sure that if you told him to keep fingering himself and to come just from his fingers he would do it without complaining.

Your cock rests on his taint and he can't help but swallow hard.

"Mighty thing you got there..."

"Think it will fit all in?"

"Only one way to know love...."

The fingers come out, and you make sure to tease the man as much as possible. He takes the teasing, not without hitting you with the cutest puppy eyes he is able to. Fuck. How can a grown man be so cute?

When your cock slowly makes its way inside of him he growls. You kiss his forehead, he seems impatient though as he forces more inches of you onto his body. You moan out loud, louder than you intend to do which earns you a chuckle from the man below.

"F-fuck that feels nice, love how you feel- ngh inside of me."

You let him adjust to the size, one of his hands teases his cock slowly, painfully so. He seems to have made his mind up, he'll come by your cock only.

Your movements at first are slow, he's a big man, so he takes the fullness surprisingly well. Not without its fair share of whines and breathy moans.

"Good boy Dorian..."

He clenches hard around you, cock twitching wildly at the words. He looks at you with pleading eyes as he bites his lip softly. Sounds escape his mouth, they make you even harder, although for some reason you're filled with affection for Dorian. The way he looks at you, he's asking for it.

You caress his face with both hands, face hovering over his, lips barely touching. You can feel his breath on you. You're hitting his right spots, you can tell by the high pitched moans you're dragging out of him.

"You like that...? When I call you a good boy? My....good boy?"

He lets a whine unbecoming of a serious man like him. He tries to look away but you don't let him.

"Y-yes ah! Please- oh - please call me- call me that..."

One of your hands is busy running your fingers through his hair, sticky sweat on the strands, while the other makes sure his face feels loved. You kiss him tenderly. He moans indecently.

"You're always doing such a good job....such a good job for me....keeping me protected. Let me make you feel good. Okay puppy?"

You didn't think it would happen that fast and just because of your words (although it wasn't just your words. You were going at quite a fast pace, hitting his prostate in all the right ways) but he comes undone with a loud dragged out moan. His back bends, and you decide to kiss him as he rides his high.

You continue pounding onto him, although a bit slower, you feel it inside you, the desire to cum. But something catches you off guard, you see Dorian looking to the side with a bit of a sad expression.

"Are you okay Dorian?"

You think about stopping but he latches his strong legs onto you, not letting you pull out.

"N-No. Keep going. Come in me, please ..."

You'll talk about it later, his begging face doesn't let you say no to it. You adjust your speed so you're again at the bring of release. And with one kiss filled with affection, you spill your seed inside. You can feel him gripping you tighter, arms hugging you close to him.

You stay like that for a couple of minutes. You pamper his face with kisses, which he lets you happily. Although you can tell something is nagging him.

"...will you tell me what's going on?"

"... It's... It's silly really."

You gently rest a hand on his face, he melts under your touch.

"It's not silly if it's making you upset. Did-did I do something wrong?"

He looks taken aback.

"What? No. Not at all. It - It was me."

"But you didn't do anything...?"

"I..." He tried to avert your gaze but you follow his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

"I just. Um. Didn't like coming first."

You take a bit of time to process it, which just makes him try and break from your embrace.

"N-No wait Dorian. You didn't do anything wrong! I told you I wanted to please you, didn't I?"

He looks down.

"Aren't...aren't I made to serve you?"

"Oh Dorian..."

You hug him tightly, you're glad you're a bit stronger than him, because you're able to make him lay in bed again. He didn't fight, part of him was telling him that he messed up.

"I love you, you know that?"

"...I love you too."

"You're not made to serve me. I know you always want me to be content...which is what I want you to be too. Making you feel good ... makes ME feel good. Okay?"

He looks into your eyes, and he can tell you're being truthful. He begins to blush, more than he wishes to, and you can't help but think he's the cutest person in the world. Your lips meet his, and he embraces you again.

You stay a while like that, you can't tell how much time.

You'll make Dorian realize he should also let himself be pampered from time to time.

[cherrywriterrr]

attention

rafe cameron x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni | party setting, tension, light humiliation??, obsession, possessiveness, smut, public bathroom, mirror smut, possessive behavior, oral (f receiving), light choking, overstimulation, filthy talk, unprotected(wrapt that d before pls), riding, spit, filthy talk, overstimulation, cocky!rafe, obsessed!rafe

based on this request

a/n->sorry i changed it a lil bit hope u don’t mind and sorry that it’s so late but i took a break🫢🫢

the music is loud, but not loud enough to drown out your irritation. you’re standing in the corner of the room, clutching your drink, wearing that dress he picked out. the one he said would make him lose his mind.

and yet, here he is. talking to some random guy near the kitchen, barely glancing your way.

he's been ignoring you all night. not on purpose, maybe. but you didn't come here to be alone.

so you try calling his name. once. then again. and again. nothing.

he doesn't even look at you. you glance down at the heel of your boot, then at the table leg behind you. and then, ever so innocently, you back into it.

a light knock to your shin. it doesn't hurt. not really. but that doesn't stop you from gasping. "ah- Rafe…”

you moan his name like it like it's the only thing you know how to say. dragging out the vowels, letting your voice slip into something warm and breathy. sweet. sinful.

and it works. his head snaps around so fast it makes your stomach flip. he doesn't say anything, doesn't blink just stares.

eyes locked on you, jaw tight. because he knows. he knows that wasn't real. he knows you're playing dirty.

and that's the moment you see it — the subtle twitch of his fingers, the slow inhale through his nose.

he's pissed. he's turned on. both. and he's walking toward you now. steady. your heart races, but you don't move. not until he grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, his grip just shy of bruising.

"you think that's funny?" he growls, voice low enough that only you can hear it.

you smirk. "you weren't listening." his thumb drags over your bottom lip. "i'm listening now."

you shrug. innocent. teasing. "maybe i wanted you to look at me."

his mouth twitches - not quite a smile, not quite a warning. "you want attention, baby?" his hand slides down your throat, wrapping lightly around it. "you got it."

you barely have time to respond before he's dragging you down the hallway, past half-drunk strangers and cracked doors, until he finds a bathroom and slams the door shut behind you. his body is on yours instantly, pressing you up against the wall, hand already slipping under your dress.

"say it again," he breathes into your neck. you swallow, feeling his fingers hook around the band of your panties.

"say my name the way you did out there." you hesitate, breath catching. "Rafe—" his hand tightens on your thigh. "nah. not like that." his lips brush your ear, voice dark and dripping with lust. "say it like you want everyone in that fuckin' house to know who owns you."

you smile, wicked and breathless. "Rafe..." you moan it again louder this time.

and just like that, he loses control

he's rough with you in that way that tells you he missed you. like he's mad. but not at you— just at the way you made him feel. your laugh. your legs. your voice.

his fingers dig into your waist as he yanks you back up, knuckles white around your wrist, dragging you to the counter with a singular focus in his eyes.

no lock on the door. he doesn't care.

you're barely standing before he's spinning you to face the mirror, pushing your palms down against the sink, lips brushing your ear.

"look at you," he mutters, hips pressing into yours from behind. "moaning my name in a room full of people like you don't care who hears it."

you blink at your reflection - flushed cheeks, parted lips, pupils blown wide.

"maybe i don't," you whisper.

he exhales sharply. "you're such a fuckin' brat."

he yanks your dress up with one hand, the other curling around your throat from behind, forcing you to meet your own gaze. "you're mine.fucking mine, no one else gets to hear those sounds from you baby."

he drops to his knees before you can say a word.

you gasp, one hand flying to the wall as he shoves your panties to the side and buries his mouth between your thighs.

no teasing. no warning. just devouring. like he's starved. like he's trying to remind you exactly who you belong to with his tongue, his lips, the groan vibrating through his throat when he feels how wet you already are.

you choke out his name again, half a whine, half a warning. "Rafe—!"

his nails dig into the backs of your thighs."yeah, baby?" his voice is wrecked. wet. smug. "say it louder."

your head drops back. legs start to shake. the bathroom door swings open for a second - some guy takes one look and backs out real fast.

you try to close your legs, but Rafe just growls, keeps going, licking you through it, tongue lazy now just to humiliate you.

"bathroom's still open," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, lips slick and pink. "let 'em all hear how needy you get for me."

you whimper his name again. he moans.

and when you finally fall apart, breathy and broken and clenching the edge of the sink, he smiles against your skin — eyes glazed, fingers tightening on your hips like he never wants to let go.

"that's it, baby," he breathes, standing back up, mouth shining with you.

his voice is rough with pride. possession. "next time you want my attention….. just say the word."

he licks his bottom lip slow, eyes locked on your reflection. "...or don't. i kinda like when you make me come take it."

your legs are barely steady when he lifts you onto the counter. dress bunched around your hips. panties still off. thighs sticky. his mouth on your neck now, kissing the mess he made like he's proud of it.

and he is. he grins against your skin, tugging the neckline of your dress down to suck a mark between your tits.

"bet you think that was enough, huh?" his voice drips. teasing. dark.

you nod, breathless. "it was-fuck, it was more than-"

"nah." he bites your collarbone. not hard. possessive. "you wanted attention so bad, baby? take it."

he reaches down, unzips his jeans, and pulls his cock out like it's nothing - like this is normal - like someone could walk in again and he still wouldn't stop.

you glance toward the open door. "Rafe-"

"look in the mirror."

his tone cuts sharp.

you do. and god, the image. your dress hiked up, lipstick smeared, pupils blown wide. his hand wrapped around himself, leaking, hard, thick.

he taps the tip of his cock against your clit. "get on," he tells you, voice like gravel.

you blink. "what?" he smirks. "ride it."

you hesitate a second too long, and that smug fucker spits on his hand, jerks himself once, then grabs your hips and drags you forward.

"you wanted to act like a slut in front of everyone?" he breathes, lining himself up. "act like one now."

he sinks in slow, so slow that you feel every fucking vein. making you feel every inch until you're gasping, grabbing his shoulders for balance.

"Fuck, Rafe-"

"you're so tight," he groans, bottoming out.

"dripping for me like you knew i was gonna fuck you dumb."

your head drops to his shoulder, but he pulls your chin up, forcing you to look back behind, in the mirror again.

"nope. you watch."

he grips your hips and lets you 'ride' him - slow at first, then harder, faster, guiding your movement with both hands until you're bouncing on him, tits jiggling, lip caught between your teeth. pushing back onto him.

every slap of skin on skin echoes through the bathroom. the sink rattles beneath you. the mirror fogs.

you moan his name again and he growls.

"say it louder."

"Rafe-"

he snaps his hips up into you, cock hitting that spot that makes your thighs tremble. "yeah, that's it. fuckin' scream it."

his hand wraps lightly around your throat. "let everyone know who's making you fall apart in here."

your body's on fire. overstimulated. your climax's already building again.

and he knows. he can feel it. feel the way you clench around him like you don't want to let go.

"gonna come for me?" he pants, nose brushing yours. "on my cock, like a good little attention whore?"

you nod. "please, please-"

"then do it." he kisses you hard, wet, teeth, tongue. and that's all it takes. you shatter.

and he knows. he can feel it. feel the way you clench around him like you don't want to let go.

"gonna come for me?" he pants, nose brushing yours. "on my cock, like a good little attention whore?"

you nod. "please, please-"

"then do it." he kisses you hard, wet, teeth, tongue. and that's all it takes. you shatter.

you cry out his name, body shaking, legs locking around him as you fall apart on him, mouth open, breath stuttering.

he follows seconds later, groaning your name into your shoulder as he fucks up into you one last time, burying himself deep.

and for a moment, it's silent. heavy breathing. sticky skin. then he tilts your chin again, makes you meet his eyes. smirks.

"next time you want my attention, baby?" he presses a kiss to your collarbone, cock still buried inside you. "just fucking ask."

masterlist taglist

tags-> @rafesbabygirlx @qversazex @viqtoria @rafescloudie @devoutedlover @iconiccolo @alphabetically-deranged @sc05 @t0x1cfaerie @k4yr14 @purplerose291 @mrspuffdriving @silkylovey @babygoddam @alphabetically-deranged @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lolasangelz @glitterylightkingdom @mayanqueenxx @deeninadream @iwumrndb

[oikawaisincrisis]

Built on sandcastles ~ D.S.

Pairing: Daichi Sawamura x Suga’s sister!Reader

Summary: He’s always been your brother’s best friend, he’s always been there from sandcastles to high-school crushes. But somewhere along the way, he became so much more.

CW (content warning): Reader is Suga’s little sister (a year younger than him and Daichi), jealous Daichi, very slightly angst, mutual pining, mentions of a physical fight, not much more this is 99% tooth rotting fluff.

AN: Hi guys! So here’s the second instalment on the childhood series I talked about making on my last Atsumu work. Since Daichi is going last on my medieval AU masterlist (a crime in my opinion) I thought about making this to post something for me and the other 5 Daichi’s fans out there! 🫵🏻 English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

Sandcastles (Ages 4 and 5)

The playground was loud with the kind of wild, half-screamed laughter only kids could get away with. Metal clanged, sneakers pounded on the concrete, and a ball thudded against the fence before bouncing away unnoticed. You sat by yourself in the sandbox, a little island of quiet in a world moving too fast around you.

Sugawara’s friends were over again, he was already in first grade, and that made him cool. Too cool, apparently, to let his baby sister join their soccer game. You didn’t mind, not really. You were only four, and four-year-olds were apparently not old enough to keep up.

So you dug into the dry sand with your tiny plastic shovel, determined not to cry even though your throat felt tight. You’d been trying to build a castle, but it kept falling apart, slumping into sad piles like your mood.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

The voice made you look up. A boy with round cheeks, sun-warmed skin, and messy dark hair stood just outside the sandbox, a soccer ball tucked under one arm. You blinked at him. He wasn’t your brother, but you’d seen him around. He was always with Koushi.

“I’m not.” You said, lips wobbling even though you were trying to sound tough.

He tilted his head. “You kind of are.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re mean.”

“I’m Daichi.” He corrected instead, then stepped into the sandbox like he belonged there. “Can I help?”

You stared at him for a long second, then nodded slowly. His smile was wide and toothy, and you didn’t know it yet, but that smile would become one of your favorite things in the world.

“I’m building a castle.” You explained seriously, gesturing to the sad pile in front of you.

Daichi sat cross-legged beside you and squinted down at it. “It looks more like a mountain.”

You pouted.

“Okay, okay! Castle. Right.” He started scooping up handfuls of sand and packing them into lumpy towers. They were terrible, worse than yours and he kept knocking them over with his elbows. But he made you laugh.

When he managed to accidentally collapse one of your towers for the third time, he dropped his chin into his hands and sighed dramatically. “I’m really bad at this.”

“You’re terrible.” You agreed through a giggle, and that only made him grin harder.

“You know what would make it better?” He asked suddenly. “A moat. Castles always have moats.”

Together, you spent the next twenty minutes digging a crooked, shallow circle around your “castle” Daichi got sand in his socks and down the back of his shirt. You both ended up dirty and sun-warmed and happy.

When Koushi came running over to tell Daichi you were going home soon, you felt a little pang in your chest.

“Bye!” You said, waving your sandy hand.

“Bye!” He said, then paused. “You build really good castles.”

Your face lit up.

That was the very first time Daichi Sawamura made your heart feel a little bit bigger.

——————————————————————————

Skinned knees (ages 6 and 7)

“TAG! You’re it!”

“No fair, I wasn’t ready!”

Daichi bolted across the grass, arms pumping, sneakers kicking up dirt. He was fast, always had been, but the older kids had longer legs, and that meant he had to try harder to keep up. He liked that. It made him feel strong. Grown-up.

Until, of course, he didn’t see the root sticking up in the grass. His foot caught. His body pitched forward, and he hit the ground hard.

“DAICHI!” Koushi yelled.

“I’m fine!” He called back instantly, sitting up fast even though his knees burned and stung. His palms were scraped too, small pebbles sticking to the torn skin. It hurt.

But boys didn’t cry, right?

Still, his lip was trembling a little as he brushed at his knee. There was blood. Not a lot, but enough to make his stomach feel weird. He looked up and saw Sugawara running toward him, panic written all over his face.

And then he saw you, a small blur of pink and pigtails breaking into a run across the grass, your little shoes thudding hard. Daichi quickly looked down again.

“Daichi!” You called, breathless by the time you dropped to your knees beside him. “You’re bleeding!”

“‘M okay.” He mumbled.

But you were already digging into the tiny pink Hello Kitty pouch you carried everywhere. Out came a tissue, slightly crumpled but clean, and a bandaid decorated with sparkly stars.

You dabbed carefully at his knee, tongue peeking out in concentration. “You’re not okay.” You said matter-of-factly. “But it’s okay to cry, you know.”

He looked at you, wide-eyed.

“You’re allowed to cry.” You repeated gently, and then, without warning, you blew softly on his scraped knee.

Daichi blinked fast. He didn’t cry, not really, but his shoulders dropped, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit.

You peeled the bandaid and smoothed it over the cut with gentle fingers.

“There!” You said beaming up at him. “All better.”

And he looked at you like you’d just fixed the world.

——————————————————————————

The recital (ages 10 and 11)

Your heart was beating too fast.

You stood just off-stage, fingers twitching with nerves. The recital hall was bigger than you remembered. The polished black piano sat center stage like a challenge, and the rows of folding chairs were filled with strangers. Parents. Teachers. Judges.

Not your parents, though.

They wanted to come. They really did. But Koushi had a fever over 102, and your mom couldn’t leave his side. Your dad stayed too, and though you told them it was okay, your voice had cracked on the word.

You knew it wasn’t their fault but your stomach still twisted with disappointment as your name was called.

The walk to the piano felt miles long. You sat on the bench, placed your hands on the keys, and took a shaky breath.

You started to play. The first few notes were hesitant, your fingers stumbling, but muscle memory took over. You got lost in the melody, pouring your heart into the piece you’d practiced for weeks. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. When the final note faded, there was polite applause.

You stood, bowed, and left the stage with your hands trembling. Your throat burned. You weren’t going to cry, not here, not in front of everyone but it was close.

You stepped out into the hallway, wiping at your eyes before they could spill over.

“Hey.”

You jumped.

Daichi stood there, awkward in a button-up shirt that didn’t fit him quite right and jeans a little too long. His hair was combed for once. He held a crumpled bouquet of flowers, yellow daisies and baby’s breath tied together with a string.

Your mouth dropped open. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Koushi said you had your recital. Your parents couldn’t come, so I… figured someone should.”

Your hands curled around the bouquet automatically. “You came?”

“I was a little late.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I saw the whole thing. You were amazing.”

You blinked fast. “I messed up at the start.”

“But you kept going. And you didn’t run offstage crying or throw the piano stool or anything. So, yeah. Amazing.”

You laughed, half-choked and half-sniffled. “That’s a bit dumb.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “But I brought flowers.”

You stared at the yellow petals, heart warm and aching. The hallway was quiet now, just the two of you. You didn’t say anything for a moment. “Thank you.”

Daichi looked at you, softer than usual. “Anytime.”

And somehow you knew he meant it.

——————————————————————————

Fever (ages 11 and 12)

It was supposed to be just a quick errand.

Koushi was stuck finishing an assignment, and Daichi had come home from the overnight school camp sick, like really sick. Fever, sore throat, barely-talking kind of sick. His mom called in to say he’d be home for at least two days. And with the teachers sending over homework, someone had to drop it off.

So, Koushi looked at you. "Please?"

You grumbled a little, but truthfully? You didn’t mind.

You arrived at the Sawamuras’ place after school, your backpack heavier than usual and the plastic folder of assignments crumpling slightly in your grip. Daichi’s mom answered the door, soft-eyed and frazzled, thanking you a little too many times as she let you in.

“He’s upstairs.” She said. “Been sleeping most of the day, but maybe hearing a friend’s voice will help.”

You didn’t correct her. You weren’t sure what to call it friendship didn’t feel like enough anymore. But it was easier that way. Koushi surely was Daichi’s friend but you weren’t exactly sure what you were to him.

Daichi’s room was warm and dim when you pushed the door open gently.

He looked… awful. His face was flushed, dark hair stuck to his forehead, mouth slightly parted as he breathed raggedly through a stuffed-up nose. A cold cloth lay half-slid off his head, and the blanket was tangled around his legs.

You set your bag down quietly and crossed over to the bed. “Hey.” You whispered. “It’s me.”

No response.

You bit your lip, then climbed into the chair by his bedside. You picked up the fallen cloth and stood to re-wet it from the bowl on the nightstand, wringing it out and gently placing it back across his forehead.

Still nothing.

You sighed, then leaned your chin into your hand and began to talk. About school. About your teachers. About how Koushi nearly got detention for talking back to the gym coach. You told him about the vending machine that swallowed your money and about how your lunch had tasted weird but not bad, and how the clouds looked like mashed potatoes that day.

At some point, you looked down and realized he’d turned his face slightly toward your voice.

You reached for his hand. It was warm too warm, but he didn’t let go.

You stayed there, fingers wrapped around his and words spilling quietly into the air. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Daichi muttered something under his breath.

You froze.

“What was that?”

He twitched slightly. A soft, strained sound left him. “...’m sorry…”

You frowned, leaning closer. “Daichi?”

His eyes stayed closed, breath shallow. Then, barely above a whisper,your name. Just your name, drifting out like an anchor in a fever dream. Your heart climbed right into your throat.

“I’m here.” You whispered back instinctively. “I’ve got you.”

He didn’t reply again. But his hand never let go and you swore he held on tighter for a moment.

——————————————————————————

The quiet thread (quiet moments over the years)

You weren’t quite sure when it started to feel like something more.

There wasn’t a single moment, but a series of them, threaded together like tiny lights on a string, warm and blinking and easy to miss unless you really looked.

At his matches, you were always in the front row. Screaming his name when he served, clapping until your palms stung. You learned the game slowly, enough to keep up. Enough to see the way his eyes found you first when he landed a good spike. Always you.

At movie nights with the team, he always saved you a seat. Never said it outright, but it was always there, the spot beside him, the bowl of popcorn between you, the way he’d tilt the box of juice toward you first before taking one himself.

Once, Nishinoya tried to take your usual seat as a joke. Daichi didn’t even say anything, just gave him a look. That was all it took.

Noya grinned. “Okay, okay, got it. ‘Princess’ seat.’”

You rolled your eyes.

Daichi didn’t say a word.

But he smiled when you sat beside him anyway.

On rainy days, he’d offer his umbrella before you could ask. “You can give it back tomorrow.” He’d say, rubbing the back of his neck while the rain soaked his shoulders. You gave it back the next day every time. And somehow… it always smelled like him after.

When your cat died, he walked three blocks to your house even though it was a school night. Said he brought homework from Koushi but he never opened the folder. He just sat with you, quiet, legs crossed on your bedroom floor as you cried. When he finally left that night, your pillow smelled like his hoodie.

There was nothing romantic about it. Not yet. It wasn’t flirting. It was more. It was trust, built soft and slow. It was knowing that you could fall asleep in the middle of a movie night and wake up with a blanket over your shoulders and Daichi’s jacket folded beneath your head. It was brushing hands accidentally in the popcorn bowl and not pulling away. It was watching him laugh and not knowing why it made your chest ache.

It was all the things neither of you had words for. Not yet, but something was coming.

And somewhere in the space between childhood and whatever came next, the two of you had become each other’s safest place.

——————————————————————————

What it feels like (ages 15 and 16)

You never knew that watching someone get confessed to could hurt.

It was spring, and the hallways smelled like too many flowers and teenage hope. First-years were already rushing to get their chocolates ready for Valentine’s Day, and second-years were just starting to get bold with handwritten letters and awkward hallway meetups.

Daichi was tall and broad-shouldered by then Captain material, dependable and easy to talk to, with a smile that made even the teachers melt.

You saw it happen again and again: a girl standing with her hands clenched around a ribbon-tied box, red-cheeked and trembling. And Daichi, polite as ever, bowing his head with that apologetic smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“I’m really sorry. Thank you, though.”

And the girl would wilt a little, whisper it was okay, then rush away.

He never accepted. Not once.

And you didn’t know why it twisted your stomach the way it did. Why your heart sped up every time someone even looked at him like that. Why you caught yourself searching his face for a reaction he never gave. Why part of you felt strangely relieved when he turned them all down.

It made no sense. He wasn’t yours. He never had been. Still, every time he smiled at someone else, even just to say “no”, something inside you clenched like a fist.

You didn’t have a word for it back then. But it lived in you, quiet and constant. A dull, aching gravity.

——————————————————————————

The fight (ages 16 and 17)

It started with a name you’d gotten tired of hearing. Kento Takagi. He was a second-year, he was tall, annoying, way too smug. The first time he asked you out, you were polite. The second time, you were firm.

The third time, you ignored him completely. By the sixth time, you were one deep breath away from shoving your school shoe directly into his face.

You were standing just outside the school gates, trying to pack your books into your bag, when he approached again. “Come on, just one date.” He said, reaching for your wrist when you turned away. “You’re not even giving me a chance-”

“Let go.” You snapped.

That’s when you heard the sharp voice from behind you.

“She said let go.”

You turned. Sugawara got there first, stepping between you and Kento like a calm wall of sunshine and thinly veiled menace. “You’ve asked her enough times. She’s not interested. Take the hint.”

You could’ve hugged him.

But it was Daichi who arrived seconds later, face unreadable, steps deliberate.

Kento scoffed. “Seriously? You’ve got two bodyguards now?”

And that was when he grabbed your arm again. That was his mistake.

Daichi shoved between you before you could react, his hand closing around Kento’s wrist like steel. “Are you deaf?” His voice low and cold, “She told you to let go.”

Kento sneered. “What’s it to you? You her boyfriend or something?”

It happened too fast. Daichi’s fist swung clean and hard - crack - straight into Kento’s jaw. The other boy stumbled backward, clutching his face, spitting curses and blood.

“DAICHI!” Sugawara shouted.

Your heart dropped. “What- ?!”

And then the teachers were there, and everything blurred, raised voices, hands pulling them apart, Kento wailing about “assault” and Daichi just standing there, jaw clenched, breathing hard, knuckles bleeding.

——————————————————————————

The walk home (later that day)

Daichi got detention. Of course he did.

One week. After school. Report filed, parents notified.

You waited for him anyway.

You sat on the stone steps just outside the gym, watching the sun dip low behind the school roof. You weren’t sure if he’d even want you there after what happened, but your legs stayed glued to the steps.

He came out just as the light started to fade.

“Hey.” You said.

He paused. “You waited?”

“Duh.” You muttered, standing. “Who else is gonna yell at you for punching a guy like an idiot?”

A smile tugged at his mouth, tired and faint. He didn’t say anything else.

You walked side by side in silence for a while, the wind tugging at your sleeves, leaves skittering across the sidewalk. His hand hovered just a few inches from yours, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of it.

You didn’t move away.

When you finally reached your street, you caught the way he flexed his fingers, bruised and red, still split at the knuckles.

“Come here.” You said quietly, turning into your driveway instead. “Let me clean that.”

He didn’t argue. You sat him down at the kitchen counter and pulled out the first aid box. He sat obediently, arm resting on the table, watching as you opened the kit with practiced hands.

The light in the kitchen was soft, gold and humming. You dipped a cotton ball into antiseptic, glancing at him before pressing it gently to the raw skin. “This is probably going to sting.”

“I’ve had worse.” He muttered.

You didn’t ask when. You didn’t like thinking about him getting hurt. You worked slowly, carefully, dabbing at the scrapes and cuts, the silence between you thick with things unsaid.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said finally, voice too soft. “I could’ve handled it.”

Daichi didn’t look away from you. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

Your chest tightened. “Still…”

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t care if I got detention. I’d do it again.”

Your fingers paused over the edge of a bandage. The weight of the moment pressed between you. You wrapped the gauze slowly, smoothing it flat over his knuckles. Your hands lingered on his, thumbs grazing gently across his skin.

He wasn’t looking away. Neither were you. You could feel his breath, short and uneven. His hand turned slightly, palm brushing yours.

“Daichi…” You whispered.

His eyes dropped to your lips. Your heart stopped. He leaned in-

-and then pulled back, sharp and sudden.

His chair scraped softly against the tile. “Thanks.” He said, voice too stiff. “For… patching me up.”

You sat frozen, heart pounding, mouth still parted like a question. He didn’t look at you again as he stood to leave.

And just like that, the moment passed, too big, too heavy, too much for two people still pretending they didn’t already belong to each other.

——————————————————————————

Realization (ages 16 and 17)

You didn’t realize it all at once.

It crept in slowly, quietly, like a song you’d heard too many times to really hear until one day, it cracked you wide open.

It was in the way he laughed, full and real, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flutter.

It was the way he always noticed when something was off. The way he handed you your favorite drink without being asked. The way he texted you before every exam: You’ve got this. I believe in you.

It was the way he looked at you after matches, chest still heaving, sweat dripping down his temple but his eyes always found you in the crowd first. Always you.

It was in the small things. Because that’s where Daichi always lived.

And one night, alone in your room, scrolling through the blurry picture Suga had taken of you and Daichi at the last team festival, him smiling wide, your cheeks flushed from laughing too hard, you felt it all at once.

You loved him.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It just was. And it hurt. Because he had never said anything. He had pulled away from you that night with bruised knuckles and trembling silence. And despite everything you thought you saw in his eyes, he had never crossed the line.

Not once.

So maybe… he really did just see you as Koushi’s little sister. Someone he’d always protected. Someone who had always been around. Familiar. Comfortable.

You told yourself it was fine. That you understood. But the ache in your chest said otherwise.

——————————————————————————

The confession (and it’s not his)

His name was Riku Yamamoto.

He was sweet. Polite. Sat next to you in art class and smelled like peppermint and clean laundry. He made you laugh with his bad puns, and once stayed behind to help you carry paints back to the storage room.

And then one day, after class, heart in his hands, he confessed.

You blinked at him for a long second. “Wait, me?”

Riku flushed. “Yeah. I know it’s kind of sudden, and you probably don’t see me that way, but I just… I thought I’d try. One date. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitated. Then you said yes. Not because you didn’t love Daichi. But because he didn’t love you back and, maybe, if someone else looked at you like that, like you were the one they’d been hoping for, maybe it would be enough to forget the feeling of being invisible to the only boy who had ever mattered.

Daichi didn’t find out from you. He found out from Koushi.

It was after practice, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, everyone sprawled out in the gym, sweat and laughter hanging thick in the air. Koushi was chatting absentmindedly about weekend plans, tossing his water bottle from hand to hand.

“Yeah, I think [Y/N]’s got a date with that Yamamoto kid.” He said casually, wiping his forehead.

Daichi froze. “What?”

Koushi looked up. “Huh? Oh, Riku. You know, from Class 2-C? She said he asked her out and she figured, why not.”

The air shifted. Daichi’s grip on his towel tightened.

“Oh.” He said, flat and hollow.

Koushi paused, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Daichi lied. “Fine.”

But he wasn’t. Something cold and sick settled deep in his chest, and it didn’t move.

You didn’t hear from him for two days. No texts. No calls. Not even a glance when you passed in the hallway. At first, you thought you were imagining it. But by the second day, your chest was too tight to ignore it anymore.

You cornered him after practice, outside the locker room, where the hallway was dim and empty.

“Daichi.” You said, breathless. “Why are you avoiding me?”

He turned, slowly, sweat still clinging to his hairline. “I’m not.”

“You are. You haven’t talked to me in two days.”

He shrugged, expression unreadable. “Been busy.”

“With what? Pretending I don’t exist?”

He flinched,just barely, but you caught it.

“You’re mad.” You said. “Why?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then what is it?”

He looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!” Your voice cracked. “Just say it, Daichi! If you’re upset, then say it! Why have you been avoiding me since Koushi told you that I was going on a date?!”

And then it hit like thunder, loud and raw, shoving out of him before he could stop it. “Because I- ”

But he stopped.

Your breath hitched. “Because you what?”

Daichi stared at you, chest rising and falling. And then- Nothing. Silence. He looked down, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.

You laughed, bitter and broken. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

He reached for you instinctively. “Wait- ”

You stepped back. “No.” You said. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to get jealous and act like you care and then say nothing.”

Tears stung your eyes.

“I’ve spent years loving you, Daichi.” You whispered. “And I thought… maybe you felt something too. But you never said anything. You just left me hanging. And now I finally say yes to someone else, and now you care?”

He looked shattered.

You shook your head, blinking hard. “I’m not doing this anymore.” You said as you turned and walked away.

Daichi stood frozen in the hallway long after you were gone, gutted and ghost-silent, realizing too late that maybe the biggest mistake he’d ever made was thinking silence would keep you safe.

——————————————————————————

The fallout (ages 16 and 17)

Daichi was a mess.

He went through practice like a ghost, movements tight, eyes distant. He forgot to bring his lunch two days in a row. He barely spoke unless someone asked him a direct question. When he did speak, it was flat, empty, like someone else had taken up residence in his chest.

He still couldn’t believe it. He’d hurt you. You, the one person he’d sworn to never hurt. And he’d done it not with his fists, not with his voice, but with his silence. It was almost worse.

“Okay, I’ve had enough.” Sugawara said, finally slamming his bento box down during lunch break.

Daichi blinked across the bench. “Huh?”

“You’re miserable. [Y/N]’s miserable. Everyone within a 10-meter radius of you two is miserable. And I’m tired of being the only emotionally functioning person in this hellhole.”

“I- ” Daichi started.

“No. Shut up and listen to me.”

Sugawara leaned forward, voice dropping low, expression dead serious.

“I’ve known you my whole life. You’ve been my best friend since we were basically in diapers. And I knew. I knew you were in love with her before you did.”

Daichi stared, color draining from his face.

“You used to look at her like she was the whole damn world. Still do, honestly. But the second someone else looked at her that way? You freaked. You got scared. And instead of saying something, you broke her heart.”

Daichi swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to- ”

“I know.” Sugawara said gently. “That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

Then Suga sighed, raking a hand through his hair before adding with brutal softness, “You’re my best friend, Daichi. I trust you. But if you make her cry again…” He leaned in, all warmth gone. “I’ll make sure you never have kids.”

Daichi choked. “Jesus- ”

“I mean it.”

“I know, that’s what makes it worse.”

“Now go fix it.” Suga said, softening again. “Before someone else does.”

——————————————————————————

Not him

Riku was kind. He held your hand when you let him. He smiled when he looked at you. He paid attention. He didn’t try to be anything other than himself. He was… safe

But he wasn’t Daichi. He didn’t notice the way you only ever half-laughed. He didn’t know that you hated sour candy but kept a pack in your bag because Daichi liked it.

He didn’t know that the piano pieces you played the most were the ones Daichi had once said made him feel like flying.

And it wasn’t fair to either of you.

So one quiet afternoon after class, you sat on the bleachers behind the school and looked at Riku’s warm, patient face and whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled, sad but understanding. “I figured.”

“No hard feelings?”

He shook his head. “You don’t forget someone like him. I wouldn’t want to compete with that either.”

You laughed, choked and wet and when he hugged you goodbye, you didn’t cry. Because the only person who could make you cry like that… was the one who already had.

——————————————————————————

The doorstep

It was three days after you ended things with Riku when the knock came at your door. You opened it and froze.

Daichi stood there on your porch, rain misting through his hair, his hoodie clinging slightly to his shoulders like he’d run here even though the walk wasn’t far.

His eyes were wide. Nervous. He looked wrecked.

“Hey….” He said, breathless. “Can I… talk to you?”

You nodded, heart pounding. He stepped in, water dripping from his sleeves. He didn’t sit. Just stood there, shifting like he couldn’t figure out how to stand still.

“I heard you broke up with Riku.”

You blinked. “How- ?”

“Suga.” He admitted. Of course.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “If you came to say I shouldn’t have- ”

“No.” He said immediately, almost desperately. “No. That’s not why I came.” He inhaled like it hurt. “I came because I should’ve said something. A long time ago. And I’m scared if I don’t say it now, I’ll never get another chance.”

You froze. He looked at you then, all soft vulnerability and breaking open.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was eight and you made me those stupid flower crowns at the park.” He said, voice cracking. “I didn’t even know what that meant back then, I just knew that when you smiled at me, I felt like the sun was coming up inside my chest.”

Your breath caught.

“You’ve always been more than just Suga’s little sister to me. You’ve been my best friend, my safe place, my home. And I was an idiot for thinking that staying quiet was somehow protecting you. I thought if I kept things the same, if I stayed in that ‘safe’ space, you’d never leave. But I hurt you instead.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.

He shifted, eyes wide and panicked. “I- I don’t know if you can forgive me. I get it if you’re done. I just- ” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just had to tell you. Because I meant it. Every time I looked at you I couldn’t pull my eyes away because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I didn’t know how to say it then, but I do now, and- ”

“Daichi.” You whispered.

He froze mid-ramble. “What- ?”

“Just shut up.” You stepped forward and kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Certain. And he melted.

Your hands slid up to cup his jaw, his cheeks cold from the rain. His fingers trembled as they touched your waist, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you smiled.

“Welcome home.” You whispered.

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a sob at once and held you like he’d never let go again.

Later that night, curled up beside him on the couch, the soft glow of the TV washing over your skin, Daichi whispered. “I was so scared you’d moved on.”

“I tried.” You murmured into his shoulder. “Didn’t work.”

He chuckled. “Good.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “What about Suga?”

“I already got the threat.” He said, deadpan. “Something about not having kids?”

You grinned. “Sounds like him.”

Daichi leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Worth it.”

You sighed into his chest. It had taken you years but you were here now. No more almosts. No more silence. Just the two of you, finally.

—————————————————————————

When Suga finds out

The moment you told Koushi, you were terrified. Not because you thought he’d be mad. You knew your brother, he’d probably suspected it for years.

But because Daichi, the captain of Karasuno’s volleyball team, defender of justice and protector of your heart, had gone completely pale.

“Okay, okay.” You whispered, gripping his hand. “He’s not going to kill you.”

“I don’t know.” Daichi muttered. “He did threaten to neuter me.”

“Okay, valid.”

So naturally, when you finally told him one evening after dinner, it went exactly as expected and also, somehow, worse.

You sat him down in the living room. Daichi looked like he was preparing for a firing squad. You reached for his hand and took a deep breath.

“Koushi.” You said gently. “We have something to tell you.”

He blinked.

Daichi cleared his throat. “I… I’m dating your sister.”

A beat. Koushi saw the opportunity of his life and he was going to milk it. His eyes narrowed, slowly, like a cat sensing prey.

“My best friend.” He said. “My lifelong best friend.”

Daichi nodded, bracing. “Yes.”

“My sister.” Koushi added. “Who I have known since she was a literal embryo.”

“Correct.”

He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Betrayal. My blood. My captain. You’ve conspired under my very nose!”

“Oh my god.” You groaned. “Koushi, please.”

“I leave you two alone for five seconds and suddenly there’s hand holding in my house? Kissing under my roof?”

Daichi was already hiding behind a throw pillow. But then Koushi dropped the act, grinning so wide it made your eyes sting.

“Took you long enough.” He said, eyes kind. “God. You’ve been making heart eyes at each other since grade school.”

You blinked. “You’re not… mad?”

“Please.” He scoffed. “You think I’d have let just anyone get close to you like that? I’ve been waiting for you idiots to figure it out.”

You exhaled, relief slumping your shoulders.

Then he added with a smirk, “But I swear, if I walk in on you making out, I will bleach my eyeballs.”

He did in in fact, end up walking in on you making out.

To be fair, you thought he was out with the team. And Daichi thought the coast was clear.

So when he kissed you against the kitchen counter, slow and thorough you tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he whispered something that made your knees weak-

“OH MY GOD- ”

You both leapt apart like guilty teenagers caught red-handed.

Koushi’s face was scarlet. “I eat there! The counter!”

Daichi was already halfway behind the fridge door.

You covered your face. “Koushi, we weren’t- ”

“You had your tongue in his soul, [Y/N]!”

“Koushi!”

Daichi wheezed. “I’m sorry-”

“You’re dead to me, Sawamura! Dead!”

——————————————————————————

Graduation day (ages 17 and 18)

Karasuno’s gym was buzzing with laughter and soft music, the crowd a sea of uniforms and proud parents. You were practically vibrating with excitement, your camera hanging from your neck, phone fully charged.

You spotted them immediately.

Daichi, sharp in his black gakuran, shoulders broad, smile wide and Koushi, looking radiant as ever, waving his arms dramatically from a distance.

You ran toward them and threw your arms around Daichi first, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “You did it!”

He laughed, wrapping you up tight. “We did it.”

You pulled back only to be immediately seized by your brother.

“Betrayed.” Koushi said, loud and overdramatic. “I’m also graduating, and yet you run to him first? My own kin? Have you no shame?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “You’ll live.”

“Will I?”

“You got three flower bouquets, and I saw someone slip you their number.”

“Okay, I’ll live.”

Daichi chuckled, eyes fond as he watched the two of you bicker. Then he slipped his hand into yours, just like he always had. Only now, it meant something.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. You didn’t say it, but he felt it anyway. I’m proud of you.

That night, you sat together on the roof of Daichi’s house, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the stars just starting to peek out. He was quiet beside you, his hand warm over yours.

“So….” You said softly. “What now?”

He smiled. “Police academy starts in a few weeks.”

You nodded. “You’re going to be amazing.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve got one more year.” You said. “And then… music school, maybe. I want to teach. Or compose. Maybe both.”

He looked at you like the stars were in your skin.

“I’ll be cheering for you.” He said.

You glanced sideways. “Long-distance okay with you?”

“Only if you promise to send me songs.” He said. “And let me visit you on weekends.”

“Deal.”

You were quiet for a while, the breeze soft around you.

Then Daichi added, voice barely above a whisper. “I want a future with you, you know.”

You looked at him, heart stuttering.

“Not just dating. I mean… life. You. Me. Someday.” He kissed your temple. “I already wasted years of our lives because I was too scared to say something, I plan on spending the rest with you.”

Your throat tightened.

“Good.” You whispered, squeezing his hand. “Because I do too.”

He leaned in, kissed you slow and sweet and everything, the years of near misses, quiet heartbreak, ache and waiting,clicked into place.

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[laserbobcat]

OMG the whining is OFF the roof with this one! Call the wambulance. Waaaaaa everyone loves trod: Yes it's one of the oldest and biggest cotl fics, it's extremely well written, full of wonderfully fleshed out characters, and loved for many, many good reasons. "Favoritism" means injustice, every bit of attention this AU gets is 100% deserved.

Waaaaaa I'm sick of too much suffocating fanart: Bruh seriously? Suffocating? You're in a fandom full of cool fanart that people put their heart into, for you to enjoy, and you're complaining? Insane. It's extremely insulting to me as an artist. I never see enough art of the things I like. Oh but I guess it's because:

Waaaaaa art takes attention away from my writing: Just. Ok let's break this one down. 1) Humans are visual creatures, images will always, always get more attention than writing, in any and all context. That's why corporations ruin the view everywhere with ads billboards. And don't shame people who don't like to read. 2) All fandoms for visual media, like video games or anime for example, work even more like this. It's always harder to get attention for your writing, compared to book fandoms. See point above. It's a harsh reality a lot of good and passionate writers face everyday without throwing a public tantrum about it. Deal with it. 3) Attention? Are you pitching art vs writing because you're frustrated about your numbers? Seriously? Are you implying that writers who also make art cheat or something? Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, they enjoy doing both? Because this is all hobbies and passion and not an engagement contest? The entitlement is insane. Have you even considered for a second that maybe your writing, sorry, isn't good? Have you tried taking feedbacks and trying to improve? Because the fic writers and readers I know will dig deep into AO3 until they're read everything they can. Do you even value the few people who take interest in your work? Will they only matter when there's a certain number of them?

Waaaaaa the algorithm hates me: Nah buddy, algorithms hate all biological organisms without distinction. You know how you counter that? Community. By engaging sincerely with people you like, you create networks naturally, for example you could make an artist friend who could draw for your fic in exchange for some writing from you. It happens a lot, collabs are common. Not with that attitude though, salt doesn't make friendships. Might be that your personality drives positive people away from you and you blame the algorithm.

"All art is art. Please show it the love it deserves, and don’t toss aside a story just because there aren’t visuals accompany it." Don't you dare get up on a soapbox, with an anon mask, and pretend to preach love for writing as a disguise for your bitterness. You're not spreading a positive message for writers, you're tearing down an artist in particular because of you personal frustration with the amount of attention you, personally, apparently don't get. "No hate but-" it is. Whining is one thing, but here you pointed your finger at someone who is wildly liked because they're a great artist and writer, and a very positive and supportive person who shares a lot with other people in this fandom, (they also openly share their huge anxiety about trod being successful) and shamed them. You blamed someone (while pretending you're not doing it) for creating stuff they love because you feel it's taking attention away from you. You did all of that without taking anyone's feelings into consideration. What did you think, that because someone's work is popular, they can't be touched by hurtful words? Do you think numbers and notes protect people's feelings like a shield? That they make insecurity and anxiety vanish? Is that why you're so desperate you don't get enough? You should be ashamed of your behavior. Change it. Be a better person. You will never get the human connection you seek with this win/lose, attention seeking, lack mentality. Only more feelings of emptiness.

Before I start this, I love TROD. Fantastic fanfiction, beautiful art, wonderful story. Absolutely no hate to the AU or the creator because I love both.

This fandom also loves TROD… and nothing but TROD. The favoritism is getting really annoying. I’m sick of looking for fic recs just to see TROD every other comment. It’s like being recommended Percy Jackson over and over. Everyone’s read it, everyone loves it. PLEASE recommend something else.

Tied with that: please share fics that don’t have art. This fandom (and every fandom but especially this one) has such a suffocating preference for fanart and I’m sick of it. You can be a wonderful artist but a learning writer and gets loads of attention, but if it’s the opposite? If you’re an incredible writer who can just sorta draw? Good luck getting noticed for your talents. Doesn’t help that Ao3 doesn’t have an algorithm but art-based platforms do and will, by default, flush out all the pure writing content/creators.

All art is art. Please show it the love it deserves, and don’t toss aside a story just because there aren’t visuals accompany it.

.

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 20

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5.5k+

Note: i had one too many ginger beers whilst writing this so sorry if it is straight ass, i suck so bad at smut so i make its as stupidly introspective as i can lmaoooooo

18+ only, MDNI

content warnings: blowjob, face fucking sorta, cum swallowing, cunnilingus, overstimulation sorta, unprotected sex, p in v sex, toxic almost?. if I'm missing any let me know <33

While this scene is entirely consensual, it is a fictional depiction and not intended as a realistic or ideal model for sexual experiences—especially a first time with a partner. The emotional dynamics, lack of detailed communication, and intensity reflect these specific characters and the context of their story, not necessarily what healthy intimacy should look like. Please read mindfully, and take care of yourself.

xxx

George's shirt comes off first. I barely notice how — just the quick sound of fabric sliding, breath catching, and suddenly my hands are on his skin.

Warm. Solid. Both familiar and completely new.

I’m running my palms across his chest, tracing the rise and fall of his breath, the way his muscles tense and relax beneath my fingers. Each ridge and curve feels new, electric—like I’m discovering a map I never knew existed.

My fingertips press into the warmth of his skin, memorizing the roughness where a few days’ stubble grows, the smoothness of his collarbone, the steady beat of his heart beneath it all.

There’s a tremble in my hands, like they’re scared to stop moving, scared that if I pause, this moment will slip away—like I’m holding onto something fragile and wild.

I want to remember how his chest feels under my hands—the way it moves against mine, strong but not unyielding, steady but alive.

Then my dress is unzipped, the zipper sliding down before I even notice. It pools around my hips, soft and heavy, like a quiet surrender.

He doesn’t hesitate—his hands move quickly, but not careless. There’s a rough urgency in the way he touches me, like he’s trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers.

I want to slow everything down, to taste this moment longer, but it’s moving too fast, faster than I can catch my breath.

The cool air brushes my skin as the dress falls away, leaving me near exposed beneath his searching hands.

My heart races, caught between wanting to freeze time and the pull of all this heat between us.

Everything is happening so fast, too fast for my brain to keep up.

His hands move over me urgently, but not rough—like he’s desperate to hold onto this moment, to hold onto me before it slips away. There’s a frantic need behind every movement, a kind of breathless urgency that makes my skin tingle.

His fingers dig in just enough to ground me, but there’s a trembling beneath his touch, like he’s trying to make this real, to prove to himself that I’m here—that I’m his.

It’s almost like he’s afraid if he slows down, if he lets go for even a second, everything we’ve built up will shatter, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

His hands don’t roam carelessly; they’re precise, needy—finding every curve, every line, as if committing it to memory.

The heat in his touch spreads through me, sparking a fire I can’t quite explain. It’s more than desire—it’s something raw, vulnerable, a silent plea wordless but loud.

My breath stutters, my thoughts scatter, and my heart pounds so loudly it drowns everything else out.

There’s no careful rhythm here. It’s messy and raw—skin pressing against skin, gasps tangled with kisses. And quick. God, so quick.

I want to slow down, to savour every second, to trace the shape of him with my hands and lips like it’s something sacred. But he’s moving too fast, like he’s racing against a clock only he can hear.

Every touch feels urgent, like he’s trying to cram a lifetime of feeling into this one night, and there’s no time to pause or catch my breath.

I want to pull him close and hold him steady, but his hands are already moving, exploring, searching, desperate not to let go.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once—this rush, this fire—but part of me aches for something slower, softer, something that lasts beyond the quick bursts of heat.

Yet even as I crave that, I can’t help but get lost in the chaos, in the way his hurried kisses set my skin alight, and how despite the mess and haste, it still feels real.

I don’t think — I just follow.

I let myself fall into it.

George exhales against my jaw like the air’s been knocked out of him, and I feel it in my bones. Like maybe I’m not the only one coming undone.

We move without thinking, without speaking. A mess of hands and soft gasps, limbs tangling as if we’ve done this before in another life — or dreamed it so many times it’s muscle memory by now.

I can’t stop touching him. Not because it’s perfect — it’s not — but because it’s real. It’s his stupid laugh breathless against my collarbone. It’s the way he fumbles with my bra and mutters, “Bloody hell,” like it’s a puzzle he’s determined to solve. It’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m something sacred.

My heart is pounding like it’s trying to climb out of my chest. Every nerve feels lit from the inside, too much and not enough at the same time.

He pauses only once.

Our foreheads rest together, his breathing ragged.

We break apart just enough for our foreheads to touch. My lips are swollen, wet, and I can still taste him. His thumb is resting at the corner of my mouth like he’s not ready to let go of the moment either. I keep my eyes closed. I know if I open them, if I look at him, I’ll start asking myself all the wrong questions.

This is the only pause I’ll allow myself tonight. One second to feel everything—how my chest aches, how my skin hums where he touched me, how badly I want to forget everything outside this room.

Because if I think too long, I’ll remember that he once said no. That I once cried myself to sleep over him. That he was my friend before anything else.

But his hand slides to my neck, his fingers in my hair, and he’s looking at me like maybe he’s scared too. Maybe this means something to him.

I don’t ask. I lean in again, and this time, I don’t stop.

We’re tangled up on the couch, skin pressed against skin, breath ragged and heavy. But something in me snaps—this isn’t the place. Not the first time. I'm not starting my life with George Clarke in his fucking living room.

I pull back just enough to catch his gaze, my voice shaky but firm. “Not here. Not the first time.”

He blinks, like he hadn’t thought about it, and then his hand is at my waist, steadying me.

I’m still sitting on his lap, heart hammering like it’s about to burst. His hands are steady on my hips, grounding me even as everything inside me spins. Without a word, he shifts slightly, muscles tensing, and then he’s gently pulling me up with him.

My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he pulls me up, his arms steadying us both. The sudden movement makes my head spin, but the heat between us stays fierce, a wildfire that won’t be tamed.

He sets me down gently, my dress slipping from me without a sound, pooling softly on the floor. Without hesitation, he takes my hand and leads me toward his bedroom.

The walk there is quick, almost breathless—like we’re racing toward something we both desperately want but he can’t quite slow down enough to savour. There’s a clumsy urgency in every step, the air thick with anticipation and something unspoken hanging between us.

And when the door closes behind us, it feels like the world shrinks to just the two of us—finally somewhere we can let everything fall into place.

I’ve been in this room a million times before, but never like this. It’s so dark I can barely make out the shapes around us, but that only sharpens every other sense—the way his breath catches when I move closer, the heat radiating from his skin, the steady thump of his heart under my palm.

In this darkness, everything else fades away. It’s just us. Just now.

His hands are everywhere again. Not frantic, just greedy. Like he’s been starving for this and didn’t even know it until now.

He pulls off his trousers in one careless motion, half-tossing them aside like he’s too caught up in the moment to care where they land. His focus is all on me—like nothing else exists right now.

His mouth finds my neck and I swear my knees go.

There’s no pause. No question. No are you sure?

George isn’t thinking. He's barely breathing.

He’s all instinct. All heat. All want.

And I'm sure as hell not going to stop him.

It’s nothing like how it was with Will.

I know it's crazy to be thinking about that right now, but it's where my mind goes.

Will was different, slow, reverent.

Soft hands, softer words.

Is this okay? Do you want to stop? Tell me what you need.

He treated my body like a secret — something delicate, something sacred.

But George is fire. Raw, reckless , urgent

Where will was careful, George is chaos.

George doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait.

He touches like he already knows the map of me, like he's spent years memorising it through laughter and late-night talks and all the ways we never touched.

He’s not gentle. Not exactly.

But he’s not rough either.

It’s… urgent. Hungry. Like he’s been holding this in for so long that now, with nothing left in the way, he can’t help but fall straight through it.

George sits on the edge of his bed and leans back, supporting himself on his forearms like he’s posing for a photo he doesn’t know is being taken. He looks delicious like this—like something I should feel guilty for wanting, but don’t.\

I think. I can’t see shit, but I can imagine it.

I fumble in the dark, knocking something off his nightstand (a charger? probably), and twist the little knob on his lamp. Warm yellow light spills across the room, and there he is—exactly as I imagined, only worse. Better. Unfair.

The lamplight clings to the curve of his chest, catches on the sharp line of his jaw, glows in the hollow of his throat. His cheeks are flushed, lips still parted, and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look almost black. He hasn’t moved. He’s just watching me.

I suddenly forget how to stand still. My skin prickles under his gaze like I’m being undone molecule by molecule.

I straddle him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. It forces him upright, catches him off guard in the best way. His hands fly to my waist like instinct, grounding me, steadying himself.

"Jesus," he mutters, barely louder than a breath, like I’ve knocked the wind out of him.

Good.

I'm making George Clarkey flustered.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, searching for something—I don't know what. Permission? Doubt? I don't give him time to ask. I tilt my hips just enough to feel the line of his body beneath mine, and his fingers tighten on my skin.

His hands settle at my hips like he’s always known where they belong. Like this is familiar, even though it isn’t. Not yet.

I can feel his heart pounding through his chest, or maybe it’s mine. Doesn’t matter. We’re pressed together now, and whatever line we’d been walking before—we’ve stepped over it. Boldly. Quietly. With no way back.

I can feel how hard he is through both of our underwear. I buck towards him, trying to get some, any, kind of release. He mumbles a groan into the crook of my neck, so I do it again. His grip on me tightens, and he shifts his legs to be further apart.

I can really feel him now. Holy fuck.

George leans back on his forearms again, forcing me to come down with him. I kiss his just behind his ear, down his neck, down his torso.

George leans back onto his forearms again, his body unfolding beneath mine, and the shift brings me with him. I follow without thinking, like the gravity between us is stronger than anything else right now.

I dip my head, brushing my lips just behind his ear. He sucks in a breath—sharp, shaky. That sound goes straight through me.

My mouth trails down his neck, slow, unhurried, like I’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe I do. Maybe I just want to pretend I do. His skin is warm and impossibly soft, and I can feel his pulse thudding beneath it, fast and heavy.

He smells like his shampoo and clean sheets and something that’s just... him. Something I didn’t know I missed until I was this close again.

I press kisses lower, across the hollow of his throat, down his chest. He lets out this quiet noise, like he’s trying not to let it slip out.

I don’t say anything. I don’t tease him, even though that’s what we do. Not now.

I keep going—down his torso, kissing every inch I can find in the low amber light. He’s letting me. Letting me map him with my mouth, trace every bit I used to only imagine.

I reach too far, following the line of his body, and suddenly I’m not on the bed anymore. My knees hit the floor with a dull thud, and something underneath me gives a quiet, suspicious crack.

I freeze for half a second.

Then I glance down—some half-dead power strip tangled with a rogue sock and what might be the cap of a deodorant stick. I shove it aside with one hand, careless.

Couldn’t care less.

If I’ve broken something, that’s on him. His floor is a war zone. I’m practically performing in a minefield.

But none of it matters. Not when he’s still above me on the bed, watching me with that stunned, hungry look, like I’ve knocked the breath out of him again.

I press a hand to his knee, grounding myself, and let my other trail slowly back up his thigh. Everything in me is still buzzing. Steady, unrelenting.

God, I’ve wanted this—him—for so long I don’t know where that want ends and I begin.

I reach for his waistband, and I look at him for permission. He gives me a nod, and I spring him free. Holy shit.

I'm kneeling on georges floor, eye level with his cock.

I steady myself, one hand on his thick thigh, the other on his hip. I swirl my tounge around his tip, catching all of his precum already leaking out of him.

He sucks in a breath—a sharp, involuntary sound—and it’s heavenly.

Not because it’s loud. It’s not. It’s quiet, almost swallowed. But it’s real, torn from somewhere deep in him, and it hits me low and hard, like I’ve just been given proof of something I was afraid to believe.

He wants this. Wants me.

That sound echoes in my head, louder than any words he could say.

I glance up without meaning to. His head is tilted back, throat exposed, mouth parted. His fingers are digging into the bedding now, like he’s trying to anchor himself to something solid.

I am something solid. Right now, I am.

I take as much of him as I can, gagging on the last inch I just can't take. He sits up again, his hands gathering all of my hair in a makeshift ponytail and pressing the last inch down my throat.

"Fuck yes, baby, you can take it."

Him calling me baby makes the throb in me throb harder. I freeze for a heartbeat, caught off guard by how something so simple can unravel me all over again.

It’s not just the word—it’s him. The way it slips out like it was meant to be said, like I’m the only person in the world who could wear that name tonight.

My breath hitches, my heart races, and suddenly everything inside me tightens—like a knot that’s been waiting to be tied.

I want to say something back, something that shows him how much that word lands inside me, but I'm full of him.

He’s looking at me with those eyes—those fucking eyes—and it’s like they’re burning right through my skin, setting every nerve on fire. I can feel the heat pooling low in my stomach, spreading up, catching in my throat.

I’m hopelessly, irrevocably his.

He starts to move, guiding my head up and down his length. His grip on my ponytail deliciously tight.

"Fuck, Y/N"

I hum softly at his words, a low, teasing sound that vibrates around him.

He bucks his hips the feeling, and then the words spill out again—slow, deliberate, like they’re slipping from his lips without him even meaning to.

I continue, being louder now, urging him without saying a thing.

Again.

And again.

He's moving quickly now, his dick hitting the back of my throat over and over. My mouth is full of saliva, I can feel it dripping down my face.

His grip falters, and he lets me take control of him again. I hollow my cheeks around him, and he lets out a strangled sound.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he says, voice rough, like every syllable is loaded with something he’s been holding back.

His hands move to either side of my jaw, loose but sure, framing my face like he’s memorizing every inch.

I don’t pull away. I continue moving along him, dipping my tongue into his slit. My breath catching on the sharp edge of his words.

"I'm gonna - fuck" he tries to pull away, out from me, but I push myself back down him. "Holy shit, Y/N".

He finishes, his hands cupping my face. His dick twitches in my mouth, and hot, thick ropes of cum stream down my throat. He leans forward, removes himself from my mouth, and swipes some mess off of my face with his thumb.

We sit like that for a second—me kneeling, him looking down at me. His eyes are still hungry, intense, like he’s trying to burn through the space between us with nothing more than a glance.

The air is thick with everything unsaid, every heavy breath hanging between us, each one a reminder of how we’ve crossed some invisible line. He’s slightly wet with sweat, chest rising and falling with each laborious breath, his skin flushed from the heat of the moment.

He kisses my forehead, quick, like muscle memory, and pulls me up to him. There’s no hesitation in his movements—just the steady, natural rhythm of two people who’ve been circling each other for too long.

His hands find the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the quiet urgency in his touch.

I let him guide me, sliding closer, until I can feel the solid press of his chest against mine. I look up, catching his eyes, and in them—there’s something soft, something tender just beneath all the hunger.

I'm on my back now, the cool sheets beneath me only making the heat of his body feel more intense. His hands roam with purpose, tracing the lines of my skin like he's discovering me all over again, his touch light but firm.

His lips find my neck, placing wet hot kisses along the sensitive skin there. I feel the heat of them before he touches me, it feels like he's melting into my skin. My spine arches instinctively, my breath catching as he kisses lower, moving with a fast, deliberate rhythm.

I let out a soft gasp as he kisses below my navel, his touch is firm on my sides, and holds a quiet intensity. I want to feel him, to let him take his goddamn time, because right now, it feels like I'm the only thing that matters.

My hands fly to his hair, holding him closer, wanting more of the warmth and closeness, to slow him down and let us just be in this moment.

But I'm completely lost in him - his presence filling every part of me.

With a swift movement, my underwear is discarded on his messy floor. "Spread for me, baby," he cooed, softly. I didn’t not expect this from him.

Holy fuck.

I let out a strangled cry to his words, the sound escaping me before I can stop it. It’s not a gasp, not a simple sigh—it's raw, something deeper, a noise that comes from somewhere inside, too tangled with everything I’m feeling to contain.

His eyes flick to mine, that hunger still there, but now mixed with something softer, something more vulnerable. He knows what he’s doing, knows the effect he has on me, and that thought makes the heat surge higher, like a fire igniting something I didn’t realize was still soldering.

He licks one firm, deliberate, stripe of the length of me.

His hands are hooked behind my thighs, massaging, digging in with a force that makes my breath hitch. The sensation is sharp, almost painful in the best way. It’s like he's claiming the moment, claiming me.

I know there will be nail marks in the morning. Deep, raw reminders of how desperate we were. But right now, that thought only fuels the heat running through me, pooling in the pit of my stomach.

His hands are as firm as his tongue, unrelenting. Like he's marking me in places only I will know, and I can't help but let out another strangled gasp.

My body is responding to him in ways I can't control. My skin is burning, ,my muscles tightening and trembling beneath him.

He shifts, burying a finger deep inside, moving with sharp, purposeful, intensity.

"Fuck, right there," I say to him. "Fuck, George."

He groans, and kisses my thighs. "Say my name again." He's lapping me up now, constant, unrelenting.

Like he asks, I say his name again and again, each time more frantic, more desperate. My voice cracks as I do, like the name is being pulled out of me.

It's not a name anymore, it’s a plea, a confession, a sound that wraps around everything were doing, everything were feeling.

His grip on my thighs tighten, somehow. The heat of his tongue against me makes it harder to think, harder to do anything but breath him in.

I feel alive. It's almost overwhelming. Every inch of me is on fire, electrified, and all I can do is keep saying his name.

Soft, breathless, on repeat.

I can't hold back anymore. The noises I made before was just the tip of the iceberg, the tension inside me too much to keep locked away. My body betrays me with its instinctive reaction—sensitive, trembling beneath his touch, each movement making the coil inside me tighten.

I grip his arms, pulling him closer, desperate for the contact, desperate to feel more. But even as I tug him in, I can’t find the words to explain what’s happening. How everything is shifting, how I’m losing myself in this moment—how I want to be lost.

"Come for me Y/N," he says, breathless. "Make a mess on me."

The tight spring that has been coiling in my stomach finally springs free. My orgasm sending shockwaves of fire throughout my body. The earth has faltered on its axis, and I want to just melt into the bed, into his hair, into his scent.

He's kissing me again, and I can taste myself on his swollen lips.

George Clarke just gave me an orgasm.

A very good one at that.

I can feel him against my stomach, surprised that he's hard again.

"George," I breath out, trying to catch my breath, "I don’t think I can - "

"yes you can baby, so good for me". He purrs. He sits up, pulling me close to him, swinging my legs over his thighs, lining himself up with me.

He looks at me for permission, devotion in his eyes, as though he’s asking for something deeper than just my body. I can see it there, in the way he searches my face, in the way his breath stutters, waiting for my answer. The heat between us is almost unbearable, but there’s something else in his gaze—something that goes beyond the physical.

It’s vulnerability. It’s trust. It’s the unspoken question of whether we’re both ready for whatever this is, for what’s between us, beyond all the quiet moments and the tension we’ve been dancing around for so long.

I hold his gaze, feeling the weight of everything we’ve been through, everything that’s led us here, and in that instant, I know what I want. I’m not afraid of what comes next—not anymore. His devotion, raw and unguarded, wraps around me, pulling me in closer.

I nod, the movement slow but certain. He doesn’t need any more words. He knows, just as I do, that this moment is everything.

I brace myself on him, steadying my hands on his chest. He sinks himself into me, and I move my hands to his biceps, digging my fingers into them, feeling every inch of him.

The stretch is unreal. He is so big.

It steals all the air from the room. My toes curl, the burn insatiable. He bottoms out , and I grip the bed sheets, shifting slightly, trying to adjust to him.

His hips are flush against mine, he's reaching parts of me I didn’t know existed.

“Say my name, baby,” he breathes, his lips barely brushing my skin.

I don’t even hesitate. “Holy fuck, George.”

The words come out raw and urgent, like they’ve been waiting inside me all this time. His grip tightens on my hips, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. The heat of him, the fire in his eyes—it’s overwhelming in the best way, and I don’t want it to stop.

He holds my gaze, that fierce look softening just enough to make me feel like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

He smirks, and starts to move. Slowly at first, letting me get used to him, and then he sets his brutal pace.

He makes a low, guttural noise, something raw and primal that sends a shiver down my spine. His hair is stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and the sight of him—completely lost in this moment—only makes me want him more. His body is slick with heat, every muscle flexing as he moves against me, the steady rhythm pushing us both closer to the edge.

It’s unreal. Truly unreal. The way he moves, the way he touches me—it’s overstimulating in the best, most dizzying way. Every thrust, every movement of his hands against my skin feels like it’s too much, like I can’t process it all at once, but I don’t want it to stop.

It’s fantastic. The kind of thing you’ve imagined, dreamt about, but never thought you’d feel this intensely. The heat, the pressure, the sound of our breathing, tangled together. It feels like every part of me is alive, more alive than I ever thought possible.

He hoists one of my legs up to his shoulder, reaching even further into me. It's almost too much.

"George, please." I cry out. It's pathetic, almost a sob.

"I'm close baby, hold on."

He wasn’t lying, he finishes a moment later, making a mess of my stomach.

He stays hoisted up for a minute, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. His eyes are drinking me in, tracing every inch of me, and the intensity of it almost makes me dizzy. It’s like he can’t look away, like every part of him is memorizing the moment, and it’s almost intoxicating—the way he watches me, like he’s both captivated and consumed by me at the same time.

I feel exposed, too exposed, like all my thoughts and fears are laid bare under the weight of his gaze. The heat is suffocating, and for a second, I can’t breathe, can’t think. I go to cover my face, my hands moving instinctively, not out of shame, but because the intensity of it all is almost too much to bear. It feels too real, too raw, and I’m not sure if I can take it—this feeling of being completely seen, completely wanted.

But his hand is quick, stopping me before I can hide, gently pulling my hands away from my face. His eyes soften, just a little, and I can’t look away from him, even if I want to.

He pulls away, and for a moment, it feels like everything slows down—like the world is catching its breath, too. He’s still breathing hard, his chest heaving as he stands up. I’m left feeling a little unsteady, the heat of the moment still pulsing through me, but now there’s this quiet distance between us.

Without saying anything, he moves to the dresser, grabs a towel from the edge, and tosses it over his shoulder. I watch as he heads to the bathroom, the sound of the door closing softly behind him, and I take a moment to gather myself. It’s strange, how suddenly everything feels quieter. The noise of the last few minutes—of us, of everything—settles into a thick, comfortable silence.

When he returns, he’s wearing fresh boxers, the simple black fabric hugging his waist in a way that still makes my stomach flip. He doesn’t say anything at first, but there’s something in the way he moves—slow, deliberate—that makes me feel like we’re both just trying to find our footing again.

He steps closer again, and his hands are surprisingly gentle as he starts to clean me up. There’s nothing rushed about it. No pressure, no urgency. Just slow, deliberate movements, as though he’s taking his time to make sure I’m okay. The towel is warm against my skin, soft as it moves across me, and I can’t help but feel a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability under his touch.

Then, he holds out a shirt for me, a soft, loose one, and I slip into it without hesitation. The fabric is warm from him, from his body, and I don’t want to admit how comforting it feels, how right it feels to be wrapped in something that’s so clearly his.

He sits back on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, still slick with sweat, looking at me with an intensity that doesn’t quite leave, even as the moment shifts into something softer.

He collapses next to me with a soft, relieved sigh, and I feel the bed dip under his weight. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding, and I drink him in—his chest rising and falling with each breath, his body warm against mine, the steady rhythm of him grounding me in the moment.

He mumbles something against my neck, his voice muffled but somehow still clear enough to send a shiver through me. The words are too soft to catch, but it doesn’t matter. They hang in the air, just another thread of connection between us. I don’t need to know exactly what he said, just that it’s him, and that feels like enough.

I can’t help but giggle softly, a sound so light and carefree that it feels almost out of place with everything we’ve just shared, but it’s there, bubbling up from me. The way he makes me feel—like I’m floating, weightless, but also completely here—it’s almost too much, and I can’t hold it back.

We haven’t said a word in like, fifteen minutes. It’s strange, how comfortable it feels. There’s no awkwardness, no need to fill the silence with anything. We don’t need words right now. Just the quiet hum of his presence beside me, the warmth of his skin against mine, and the soft sound of our breathing filling the space.

He leans over and turns off the lamp, the soft click of it fading into the quiet of the room. The darkness wraps around us like a blanket, cozy and intimate, and I can feel the change in the air as everything slows, settles. He pulls me close, his arm sliding around my waist, tugging me against him until we’re pressed together, my head resting against his chest.

The warmth of him surrounds me, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear, and I feel the tension from earlier melt away. There’s no rush, no expectation, just the quiet comfort of being with someone who feels as real and grounded as I do in this moment. I can hear him breathe, slow and steady, his body relaxed, and it feels like a lullaby.

His fingers brush through my hair, light and absent-minded, as if he’s already drifting off, and it doesn’t take long before I can feel his muscles soften, his breath deepen. The last thing I hear from him is a soft murmur—something I can’t make out—and then, just like that, he’s asleep.

I stay awake for a while, listening to him, letting myself settle into the rhythm of his breathing, letting everything fade into the background. The world outside is gone, and it’s just us, here, in this small space, where nothing else matters.

I curl into him, the weight of everything finally sinking in as I drift off—I just slept with George Clarke.

The thought lingers in the dark, a quiet whisper of disbelief, but I don't need to say it out loud. It's already real.

xxx

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @mellucyx @capnjosh

[livesincerely]

Later, Buck will swear up and down that this all could’ve been avoided if Eddie had just opened his mouth at any point and actually said something.

“It was pretty fucking obvious, tonto,” Eddie grumbles, an arm slung over Buck’s waist and his nose nestled against the curve of his throat⁠—where it’s been for the majority of the last thirty-six hours. “You’re just oblivious.”

“You know what would've cleared things up for me? Using your words.”

“You know what else would’ve cleared things up? Using your eyes.”

But anyway, Buck’s just arrived at the firehouse for his upcoming shift and the knowledge that Eddie’s out for the next few days already has him feeling off—like an itch between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite reach.

He’s really not looking forward to whichever floater he’s stuck with this time. The last guy that’d come in couldn’t coil his ropes or roll a hose for love or money, and he’d spent most of the shift cleaning up after him. 

The woman before him smelt so strongly of eucalyptus that it’d made his eyes water like crazy. He’d had to ask Bobby to talk to her about reapplying her scent blockers⁠—a request she’d taken weirdly personally for whatever reason, which definitely hadn’t made things awkward at all.

So, it’s a genuine surprise and delight to find Eddie sitting in the locker room when he walks in, already dressed in his uniform.

“Hey!” Buck greets, feeling himself perk up like a freshly-watered plant. “What’re you doing here? Doesn’t your leave start today?”

“It was supposed to,” Eddie says, double knotting the laces on his boots. He’s forgone the gel today, a swoopy piece of hair falling over his forehead, and when he leans down Buck catches the faintest whiff of something delicious.

Something mouthwatering.

Buck’s heart jolts in his chest. 

“Whittler’s partner went into labor just after midnight,” Eddie continues, “and Ginsburg’s still in Cabo until Tuesday, so Bobby asked if I could push it back a day.”

“Bad luck,” Buck sympathizes, digging through his locker. He’s almost positive he’s got a spare uniform shirt folded up in here somewhere… yep, there it is. He muffles a yawn against the back of his hand, then tugs the t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. “You gonna be okay out there? I know how you get.”

He senses more than sees the face Eddie makes at that.

“It is what it is,” he says. “Thankfully I’d already made arrangements for Chris—he’s at Pepa’s until it’s over, and Carla’s helping coordinate his schedule. I’ve got some supplies left over from last time, but if I can’t make it to the store before it hits, I’ll just get groceries delivered.”

Now it’s Buck’s turn to make a face. 

“No, you won’t, don’t lie,” he chides, buttoning up his shirt and tucking it in, then tightening his belt into place. “Text me a list later, I’ll drop off some stuff for you.”

Eddie huffs out a breath. “I’m pretty sure I can handle an Instacart order, Buck.”

“You can but you won’t,” Buck counters. “Pre-rut Eddie gets territorial when the mailman comes by, don’t pretend like you’re gonna eat food delivered by a stranger.”

The lie might⁠—might⁠—have worked on one of the others, but Buck’s seen enough episodes of the overprotective-and-finicky-Eddie-Diaz-show to know better. It’s honestly kind of adorable how worked up he gets: all grouchy and growly but refusing to admit it, stomping around with that little furrow between his brows. And god forbid someone ring the doorbell⁠; convincing him to stop patrolling the entryway and sit back down is a multi-step saga that usually involves several food-related bribes.

But despite being caught, Eddie refuses to yield. “It’s really not that big of a deal⁠—”

“Exactly,” Buck agrees. “I can be in and out in less than an hour.”

“Buck.”

“Eddie.” Buck glances over his shoulder and fixes him with his sternest look. “Stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

Eddie’s expression shifts. His nostrils flare and his spine straightens, his hands flexing almost unconsciously where they rest on his knees. “Fine,” he says.

Then, like he just can’t help himself, “Are you sure you don’t⁠—”

“Ah, ah!” Buck holds up a hand. “Just say, ‘Thank you, Buck.’”

“...Thank you, Buck,” Eddie rasps.

“That’s more like it,” Buck says, but even to his own ears it only sounds hopelessly fond. He fastens his nametag to his chest, does one last spot check on his hair, and shuts his locker with a clack. “Maybe if you’re really nice to me, I’ll even swing by that place over on Lawrence with those egg rolls you love⁠—”

And anything else he’d been about to say is lost because when Buck turns around, it’s to find Eddie standing right behind him. Like, literally right behind him⁠, a fierce glint in those warm brown eyes.

Before he can do anything other than blink stupidly at him, Eddie pushes him up against the wall of lockers: a full body press, chest to hip to thigh. He nuzzles in close, rubbing a stubbled cheek all over Buck’s throat.

“E-Eddie?” Buck stammers, his voice cracking right down the middle. His skin buzzes with static—like someone’s overloaded the circuit breaker for his heart, pulses of electricity surging through his veins. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into Buck’s from where they’re pressed together, oh god. “Take a wild guess.”

“Are you scent marking me?”

“Pre-rut Eddie gets territorial,” Eddie echoes, curling a hand around Buck’s hip. “You said it, not me. What makes you think you’re an exception to the rule?”

“Um.” Buck has no idea what’s going on right now. Unsure of what else to do with his hands, he ends up placing them gingerly on Eddie’s shoulders. “I’m… not?”

“Exactly,” Eddie says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement. He cranes up until he can tuck himself into the space under Buck’s jaw and inhales with a deep, contented sigh. “Why aren’t you wearing your blockers? I could smell you coming the moment you walked into the vehicle bay.”

“I am wearing blockers,” Buck tells him, trying hard not to do something utterly mortifying like whimper or beg or pass the fuck out. Every one of his instincts has flipped into overdrive, screaming at him to bare his throat to the attention, his head swimming with yes, yes, good, please, alpha, yes. “And, uh, actually, did you know that an alpha’s olfactory senses can become up to eighty percent stronger in the three days leading up to their rut? It’s to help them stay in tune with the needs of their pack and mate throughout their cycle.”

“Yeah,” Eddie muses, and he reaches up and undoes the top two buttons on Buck’s shirt, pulling his collar open and nosing at the newly-exposed skin. Buck chokes back a whine by the skin of his teeth, his knees threatening to buckle out from underneath him. “That tracks.”

He nuzzles even closer, then continues, “God knows I need every advantage I can get⁠—keeping you is a full-time job.”

“You mean, um⁠—” Buck’s mouth has gone blisteringly dry. “You mean k-keeping up with me?”

He can feel the sharp curve of Eddie’s smirk against his throat. 

“That too,” he says, and one hand slides up to cup the back of his head, the blunt of his nails just barely scratching at his scalp, and it’s a miracle Buck doesn’t melt into a puddle of goo right there.

He just smells so good. Eddie’s scent is all dark cocoa and warm spices, rich and fragrant with just the right hint of sweetness⁠—like the most decadent of desserts, a guilty-pleasure on steroids, undercut with that burnt-ember-sizzle of his oncoming rut. 

Buck’s stomach clenches tight and, unable to resist, he tips his head down and noses greedily at his temple, breathing him in. He wants to drown in that scent, wants to wrap it around himself like a weighted blanket, a suit of armor, a second skin, wants it to saturate every inch of him, want to wear it like it’s his own⁠— 

The alarm rings out, shocking him back to his senses like a splash of ice water down his back. There’s at least twenty more minutes before the start of their shift so this call isn’t theirs, thank fuck, but it’s a dose of reality that Buck clings to with an almost desperate strength.

Work. They’re at work. 

This isn’t⁠— Eddie’s in pre-rut, he reminds himself sternly. He’s willingly come in for a shift when he should be holed up at home, and if he needs a little extra contact to ground himself in the meantime, then that’s fine, actually. Buck’s happy to provide. In fact, it’s probably his duty as Eddie’s best friend to step up in his time of need.

And if goosebumps have erupted down both his arms, a white-hot thread of yearning stretched taut between his lungs and tied over his heart in a neat little bow… Well, that’s for him to know.

Eddie makes a huffy, dissatisfied noise against his neck and slowly pulls away. “Guess we should get out there.” 

Buck doesn’t even try to straighten up yet⁠—there’s no way that’ll end in anything but embarrassment. 

“Was that… Did you get what you needed?”

Eddie gives him a long once over. His eyes are doing this intense, searching smoulder that’s doing terrible things to Buck’s blood pressure.

“It’ll do for now.”

Jesus.

“Well, uh—“ Buck wrestles his vocal chords into a poor approximation of nonchalant, hoping he doesn’t look as dazed as he feels. “You know where to find me. If you, um… yep.”

And he finishes with a double thumbs up because he’s an idiot.

Eddie’s expression softens like he finds Buck’s behavior charming rather than spastic, his eyes crinkling fondly at the corners.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, squeezing Buck’s shoulder, his thumb finding its usual spot against the notch of his collarbone. “The others are up in the loft; I think Bobby mentioned something about muffins.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, he reaches over and rebuttons Buck’s shirt collar⁠ for him, straightening the stand and gently tugging the wings back into place—casual as anything. Like that’s just something they do now. 

Great. Noted.

Noted and underlined.

“Okay,” Buck says, blinking rapidly. He’s pretty sure he should have more questions, but his thoughts are too scattered to piece any of them together. “I love muffins.”

Eddie laughs⁠—more of a breath than a proper noise. Buck wants to taste the shape of his smile. “Yeah, I know you do.”

And somehow, naively, Buck thinks that’s the end of it.