#and even at home I have not been getting that

[maskedbyghost]

Hear me out, possessive reader plays a prank, or maybe to see how it would work out and starts acting wayyy less possessive, to the point of being a normal partner..

I NEED SI REACTION

Anon, I love your fucking mind. I had the best time writing this, literally giggling and kicking my feet while imagining Simon spiraling because his crazy girl went "normal mode" on him and he couldn’t handle it for even a second. BASED ON THIS IDEA

You barely looked at him when the waitress called him handsome.

You just smiled to yourself and kept sipping your drink, didn’t glare at her, didn’t grab his hand and lace your fingers through his, didn’t scoot closer in your seat or wrap your arms around him like you used to, and Simon sat there blinking at you like he’d just been slapped across the face.

And then when you walked past a group of girls at the grocery store and one of them giggled and said something about his arms, you didn’t even flinch, didn’t even frown, didn’t even murmur something low and territorial under your breath the way you always did, and Simon actually almost tripped over the cart trying to get a reaction out of you, heart hammering so hard.

You used to get pissed if he so much as looked at another woman too long, used to give him that smug little smirk when you caught someone staring at him, used to lean into him and press your mouth to his ear and mutter "mine" so dark and low that it left him shivering for hours, and now? Now you were just... chill.

Way too chill.

He caught himself thinking insane things like maybe you were losing interest, maybe you were getting ready to leave, maybe you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you, maybe you were pulling away slow and silent to make it easier when you walked out for good, and by the time you got home, Simon’s brain was working overtime, replaying every interaction, every glance, every smile you had given that wasn’t just for him, every time you hadn't touched him when you should have.

You didn’t steal his hoodie when he tossed it on the couch.

You didn’t scroll through his phone and make snarky comments about the girls who liked his photos.

You didn’t pull into his lap when he sat down to watch TV.

You didn’t tell him to shower because he "smelled like other people," which he always secretly loved, even though he rolled his eyes and grumbled about it every time.

You just... existed next to him.

Detached.

Simon sat there on the couch while you scrolled on your phone, completely casual, legs tucked under you, not touching him at all, and he was spiraling so badly he almost convinced himself he could physically see the relationship disintegrating in real time, piece by miserable piece.

He thought about asking if you still loved him.

He thought about proposing on the spot just to lock you down before you could change your mind.

He thought about texting Johnny and asking him if it was normal to feel like your entire world was slipping out from under you because your girlfriend wasn’t being a possessive lunatic for five seconds.

Finally, when you stood up and stretched and said, "I'm gonna head to bed" without even glancing at him, without even saying goodnight or trying to drag him with you, Simon couldn’t take it anymore.

He launched off the couch and followed you, heart pounding like he was about to get left behind at the airport or something, stomach twisted into a knot.

You climbed into bed and flipped onto your side, facing away from him like it was nothing, like you hadn’t spent months curling around him like a vine the second he lay down.

He just stood there at the foot of the bed, breathing way too hard for a normal human being, feeling an honest-to-God panic attack brewing in his chest.

"Love," he said, his voice way shakier than he wanted it to be.

You didn’t even roll over. "Hmm?"

He swallowed hard, hands fisting at his sides. "You don’t want me anymore."

You snorted. Actually snorted. "What are you talking about?"

Simon clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. "You—you’re not even—you didn’t get mad when that girl flirted with me. You didn’t steal my hoodie. You didn’t call me yours even once. You’re acting like we’re—" his voice cracked and he cursed under his breath, "—like we’re normal."

You turned slowly, propping yourself up on your elbow, and the look you gave him was so infuriatingly calm he almost burst into tears on the spot.

"You mean," you said, so evenly it made his eye twitch, "like a normal girlfriend who trusts her boyfriend?"

He stared at you, chest heaving, entire body screaming at him that something was wrong.

"You’re gonna leave me," he said, absolutely sure of it, absolutely certain this was the beginning of the end.

You blinked at him for a second, like you were trying very hard not to laugh in his stupid, panicking face, and then you moved so fast he barely had time to react—you were grabbing him by the front of his shirt, hauling him down onto the bed, straddling his hips, and pinning him there with your thighs as your hands locked around his neck, firm but not tight, just enough to make him shut up and listen.

"Listen to me, you stupid, beautiful man," you said, voice low and furious in that way that made every nerve in his body light up, "you need me just as much as I need you. You belong to me. You hear me? You are fucking mine. I’m not going anywhere; I’m never fucking leaving you. I don't want normal; I want you wrapped around my fucking finger where you belong. Don’t ever doubt that again."

You leaned in closer, your nose brushing his, your hands still gripping his neck just enough to keep him pinned under you, and you added, your voice dropping even lower, smug and wicked, "And maybe I wanted you to lose your fucking mind for a bit. Wanted you to see how much you love it when I’m unhinged about you."

Simon just exhaled like he’d been punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time, his whole body sagging against the bed.

He groaned, almost whining, burying his face against your chest with a muffled, desperate, "Fuckin’ hell, don’t ever do that to me again, you psycho."

But his arms were wrapping around you like steel, holding you so tight, and when you laughed and tugged his hair gently, he actually sighed in relief, like his whole world had finally clicked back into place.

"You’re crazy," he muttered again, not even trying to sound annoyed, his voice almost grateful.

"You love it," you said against his hair, grinning wide enough your cheeks hurt.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice raw and low and real, "yeah, I fuckin’ do. I need you crazy. Need you to ruin me a little. Keep me yours."

You kissed the side of his head, smug and sweet and savage all at once, and Simon just kept breathing you in, letting that awful gnawing terror bleed out of him one slow second at a time until there was nothing left but you, your hands, your voice, your body wrapped around him like armor, pulling him deeper, anchoring him exactly where he belonged.

And he was fine, better than fine actually, and exactly where he needed to be.

-----------------------------------------------

i can't even explain how much i love this idea...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[reignpage]

❀ In which Nanami is put to the test by his insatiable, pregnant wife

Kento’s libido has always paled in comparison to his wife’s. That isn’t to say he can’t keep up or doesn’t, far from it. You may start the fun, but it’s he who ends it with you drooling, limp, and buzzing behind the eyes, barely able to even mumble a ‘thank you.’ 

It’s probably more apt to say that his libido only awakens when yours does, whether it’s from your light touches, the mischievous glint in your eyes, or low, sultry whispers in his ears — everything you do and say sparks his sexual spirit. You even joke that he’s wife-sexual and he doesn’t argue against that. 

But these days, he’s starting to question whether there are limits to his appetite and whether you have any at all. 

Now washing the dishes always ends up with your soft, protruding belly pressed against his back and your arms roving his front. You muse about how amazing his muscles look from the back, how broad his shoulders are, and how his hips seem to be getting narrower and narrower (it’s impossible, of course, but you're adamant). With his hands still sudsy, he knows he can’t sate your desire with his fingers alone, so he gets down on his knees, keeps his eyes on yours, and tastes you on his tongue until you tap out. 

Returning home from work comes with surprises too, usually involving his wife on her knees wearing nothing but the ring he kisses every morning and every night. Driving anywhere, for example, involves some heavy petting during traffic or, when you cannot possibly wait any longer, parking somewhere obscured and having a quick and steamy romp in the backseat. 

Or two. 

Up till now, he’s managed rather well; every needs you have are met and expeditiously, even before you were pregnant and especially so now that you are. But, when he wakes up, dazed, confused and with his cock being sucked and slobbered on, he’s met with your adorably round eyes and shiny, swollen lips wrapped around his equally swollen and plump cock, as he pulls the covers away. 

“Oh, s-sweetheart. It’s late. Did you get -hah- antsy again?”

You nod, cheeks hallowed to slurp on the bubbling pre-cum at his tip. He groans, head thrown back and blond hair spilling all over his pillows. His darling wife isn't the greatest in the kitchen or reading the room, but good God, are you amazing at bringing him to his knees? 

Inspirational, really. 

Cooing, he brushes your hair out of your face and sends a shaky smile your way. “F-feeling empty, my love? Lonely? Come up here, sweetheart. Let Ken take care of you.”

A pout graces those lips he loves so much when you nuzzle his palm.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Kenny. I really tried to hold back, I swear! It’s just like a craving, y’know?”

He’s got you straddling his lap soon, your huge shirt framing your larger-than-normal body, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, and nipples pebbled under the thin material — you look nothing short of the embodiment of temptation, the paragon of seduction.

“What did I say before? Hmm?” A thumb begins rubbing circles over your clit, concealed behind soaked cotton and it squelches under his touch. You’re both breathless, moving slowly, gently, lovingly in the dark like you have a million times before and will a million times after. “You can always come to me for your needs. I’d resent myself if I ever made you feel embarrassed or alone in this pregnancy. Every high and low, we face it together, remember?”

Growing more and more hungry, you find yourself no longer grinding down on his hand; instead, you’re gripping his length between your pussy lips, sharing in the wetness and seeking to hear more of his low groans as if it fuels you. “Ngh, Ken, I know. You’ve been so good t-to me; I just feel bad asking for more when you’ve —fuck, I’m gonna cum!— g-given me everything.”

These days you're more sensitive than usual and it's maddening trying to go easy on your poor cunt when his eyes are rolling back and his cock seems to have grown a mind of its own as it pounds your clamping, sloppy inside. Overstimulation is a common theme now and it's a bother to hide the twitch of his lips when you cry from your fifth orgasm in an hour with the end nowhere in sight. He never thought he'd like to see tears trail down your cheeks but this pregnancy's rewiring everything in your bodies.

“Have I not done a good enough job of making sure you know —that’s it, sweetheart, grind down on me, ah, s-such a good girl —e-everything that’s mine is yours?”

Gasping and whining, you admit, “Yes! Yes, you have.”

“And how m-many times—“ He groans, voice deepening into a growl, sounding almost angry that you need yet another reminder of your place in his life. “— have I told you that you don’t need to -hah- a-ask? That you can t-take from me whatever you like, whenever you like.”

Sweat is beading down your body, thicker thighs pushing through the ache from grinding down on his cock. His huge hands, safe and warm, are pulling you down. Kento’s perceptive eyes see the way they quiver with your feeble attempt to keep most of your weight off of him, but what you don’t know is that he can take it. That he doesn’t mind. That he craves your complete and utter reliance on him. 

“All the time!”

Needlessly worried about the growing heaviness of your body, he takes every opportunity to remind you that he doesn't work out for aesthetics. All that he does is intended to make you happy and he knows how much you love the burliness of his body, the strength in every limb, every muscle, and every flex. Sometimes, he puts on a show just to watch you press your thighs together.

“Then please act like it,” he hisses. “Please, just use me without hesitation. Fuck, d-don’t even bother with pretences. Just slide my —God, you’re so wet, s-sweetheart— s-slide my cock inside you and ride me till you cum. Until you’ve had enough.”

Your husband is close, too. His abs, sharp and well-defined, are tensing up, and the veins in his arms are popping with the effort to keep from cumming all over your sopping cunt before your cum drips down his balls. It’s crude, vulgar, downright shameful, he knows that. But you have a gift; you can drive him to insanity, to the very edge of reason, of self-control, dangling him right where you want him, sweating and babbling about another baby before you even had your first one, and then you pull him back to safety, and he returns as your husband and not your walking sex toy. 

"I wish you would just touch m-me without worry, my love. I hate to see you dig your nails into your own skin —your lovely, beautiful skin, so pretty and hnngh! all for me— b-because you're trying to hold back."

Mewling and clawing his clammy chest, you promise, "I will! I'll just take what I w-want. I'll k-kiss you and touch you and fuck you when I need to, 'kay, K-ken? Even when you're busy!"

"N-never too busy for you, darling."

Spasms wrack your body as he growls out, more to himself than to anyone else, "Never."

When you slump onto his body, shaking and mouthing adorations into the blond splattering of hair on his chest, he doesn’t even care that his orgasm was stifled. He can only rub your back reassuringly as he begins worrying about the pressure you’re applying on your belly. 

You laugh. “This pregnancy has changed you, Ken. You're just as bad as me, sometimes. Maybe your hormones are going crazy, too.”

He kisses your head, eyes crinkling at the corners and cock throbbing under your stomach from the sweet scent of you filling the air. “It’s only made me bolder, honey. More honest. Now, have you had enough, love? Should we get you back on your side of the bed? The doctors said you need as much sleep as possible and we have a big day tomorrow with our crib shopping, remember?”

Grinning ear to ear, you sit up again.

Kento recognises that glint in your eyes and he sighs. He's in for a long night.

“Are you insane? The night is still young, Kenny honey, and we need practice for baby number two, remember?”

Hooking your panties to the side for you, a chuckle leaves his lips, which he licks subconsciously, eyes drawn to the shiny lips slowly but expertly engulfing his cock, inch by inch. 

“I have a feeling we won’t be stopping at baby two tonight, darling.”

[count-on-mi]

Mommy's little boy (Momo)

Momo has a mature female body that makes me mouth-watering, her big round breasts, firm buttocks and plump thighs all make my heart flutter.

As soon as I saw Momo, my young rod became hard as a rock. When I got home, I couldn't help but masturbate to Momo's body many times to quench my thirst.

During my youth, Momo became the object of my most obsessive masturbation. Her physical charms were like an aphrodisiac that I couldn't resist. I knew every detail of her body by heart, and I could even visualize her naked body according to my fantasies.

Her pink labia and the tips of her breasts must be very colorful, there must be a place of ecstasy between her legs, and the aroma of her whole body is enough to make people go crazy for her ... These thoughts often make my blood boil and keep me up at night.

My infatuation with Momo is growing, but it's getting deeper and deeper. Whenever Heechul calls and invites me to his house, I will be there as soon as possible.

Today I came to Momo's house again, but unfortunately, Heechul happened to be out of town and Momo was the only one home.

“It's a shame, but since you're here, why don't you stay for dinner?” Momo warmly invited me.

I was delighted, this was just what I wanted. It would be my dream to have dinner alone with Momo. "Really? That would be great! Thank you for the invitation." I said hurriedly, unable to hide my joy.

Momo took me to the dining table and started to make dinner. She was wearing loose loungewear, and her breasts stood up high, with two pink protrusions peeking out. I looked at her breasts greedily, my eyes lingering on those two pink spots.

The table was filled with colorful and delicious food, but I didn't know what to eat, all I could think of was how to get Momo into my arms to kiss and lick her.

After dinner, Momo offered to clean the kitchen, and I volunteered to help with the dishes. We stood at the sink, Momo bending over the faucet to rinse the dishes, her soft loungewear clinging to her body, emphasizing the curves of her figure.

I couldn't help but breathe heavily, and the part in my pants was stirring. If I could push Momo down in front of the kitchen cabinet right now, spread her legs and penetrate her hard… Just imagining that image made me so excited that I could hardly contain myself.

I couldn't hold back any longer, so I hurriedly washed the dishes and ran straight to the restroom with the excuse. The moment I closed the door, I couldn't wait to free my lower body.

At a glance, the laundry basket contained Momo's freshly removed clothes, the most prominent of which was the black lace bra and panties that she had worn. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hardly breathe, this was the treasure I had been longing for!

Carefully picking up Momo's underwear, I pressed my nose close and inhaled the rich fragrance. Oh my god, is this the smell of Momo's private parts? Such a strong scent, it made me feel like I was melting inside.

Then I turned to Momo's bra and rubbed one of the thin pieces of fabric over the tip of my nose. I could still feel Momo's soft and creamy skin through the thin material, and I was so turned on that my soul was trembling.

Back to the black panties that I craved the most, imprinted with traces of Momo's bodily fluids, emitted a faintly fishy-sweet scent. I hooked my finger onto the small piece of fabric and licked it gently on my tongue, the flavor made my rod swell to the extreme, bouncing up and down uncontrollably.

After tasting Momo's lingerie, I began to frantically stroke my swollen cock. With my right hand, I stroked the root of my dick, and with my left hand, I cupped and stroked the sensitive crown of my dick. Momo's naked body was all I could think about, and I was fantasizing about her riding on top of me.

"Momo... I want to penetrate... I want to fuck you... I'm going to penetrate your pussy with my cock..." I murmured, as if that would satisfy my desire.

Momo's pussy must have been hot and wet, wrapped tightly around my cock. She'd keep wiggling her ass to satisfy me, and she'd even let out a tantalizing gasp, asking me to fuck her even harder. This sight brought me closer and closer to orgasm, and my movements became faster and harder.

Finally, after a series of intense strokes, I shot my thick semen onto Momo's panties, the sticky white cum instantly soaked through the black fabric, glistening lustfully in the light. I was so immersed in this intense sexual pleasure that I almost lost consciousness ...... Until Momo's voice came from outside the door. “What are you doing in there, why don't you come out for so long?”

Hearing Momo calling me from outside, I realized how bold and unhinged my behavior was. I hurriedly grabbed the black panties that were covered with my turbidity and tried to put them back into the laundry basket. But my action was too big and Momo heard the sound of clothes rubbing together and she opened the door to check the situation.

She opened the door to see what was going on. I was at a loss for words, throwing Momo's panties back into the hamper in a frenzy, fearing that she might notice something strange. “Why are you taking so long to wash your hands?"

I was trying to find an excuse, "Nothing... My stomach just not feeling so well. Auntie Momo, what do you want to see me about?"

"It's raining outside, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the rain stops before you can go home, right? Do you want to stay over?" Momo said with concern.

Anticipation rose in my heart, but I was worried that Momo would find out what was going on. I could only pretend to be embarrassed, and declined, "But that's not a good idea... What if it disturbs your rest?"

"It's okay, my husband is away on a business trip anyway and Heechul just texted me he is not coming back today, so I'm the only one at home. Don't worry, you can stay and sleep here." Momo smiled and patted me on the shoulder, signaling me not to worry anymore.

Now I was really relieved, Momo said that I should stay and sleep here, does that mean that I will have the whole night to be alone with her? My mind was already thinking about what I would do to her on the bed.

Momo insisted that I stay the night, and I was happy to do so, though I put on a grudging face. After we cleaned up the house together, Momo suggested that we go to the couch and watch some TV to relax.

“Yeah, I was just about to come over and talk to you.” I said as I followed Momo into the living room and sat down next to her.

Momo was only wearing a flimsy loungewear, the two snowy peaks in front of her chest were slightly undulating with her breathing, and the shape of her pink nipples could be seen vaguely. I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts, and my mind began to fantasize about those erotic scenes again.

Momo noticed my gaze and a hint of embarrassment flashed across her face, but she quickly adjusted and continued to chat with me as if nothing had happened. Even so, I was so captured by the seductive scent of her body that I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying.

My attention was focused on Momo's bouncing peaks, and I wanted to reach out and knead them, to feel their softness and elasticity; or to kiss them, to suck the red spots into my mouth. I was on the verge of losing my mind, and I couldn't hold back the urge to jump on Momo and kiss and caress her.

Luckily Momo didn't notice my perverted thoughts, we just chatted casually while I just admired her charming and sexy body. Soon I realized that I was already hard and had to adjust my sitting position frequently to try to hide it. The feeling of repression was just too much.

Momo and I chatted on the sofa for a long time before she finally got up and suggested going back to her room to rest. This was the moment I was waiting for. I nodded my head in agreement, eager to find a place to continue my "activities".

“Then I'll go back to the bedroom and take a shower first, you can organize your things and get ready for bed.” Momo said as she walked towards the stairs, her plump hips swaying from side to side as she walked, it was extremely seductive.

As I watched Momo's silhouette disappear on the second floor, I immediately ran to the kitchen and took out Momo's freshly washed underwear, intending to go to the restroom to give vent to my desire once more. However, just as I was about to take action, Momo's voice called out to me from downstairs:

"Wait a minute! Which room are you going to sleep in? Do you want to sleep with Auntie Momo?"

I didn't react at first and asked, "Isn't you sleeping by yourself? Why do you want me to share the room with you?"

“Haha, because there might be thunder at night, Auntie Momo is afraid of the dark and thunder, so I want you to stay with Auntie Momo and chat with me.” Momo said with a smile.

My brain stopped running for a few seconds. Oh my god! That's an invitation to go to her room and do whatever she wants! My heart started to pound, and I blushed. But on the surface, I had to put on a difficult face and say no: "It's... It's not good, is it? "

"No, you can sleep with Auntie Momo at ease." Momo said as she walked over to me and took my hand, and without a second thought, she took me to her bedroom .......

Momo pulled me into her bedroom, the room was filled with a faint aroma of lavender, and the quilt on the bed had already been lifted up to a corner waiting for me to fall asleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing how to look, on the one hand, I was overjoyed to be able to spend the night with Momo, but on the other hand, I was nervous that I would be discovered.

Momo seems to see my hesitation, smiled and comforted me: "Do not be too formal, just like usual at home. I'm going to take a shower and change my clothes first."

After she said that, she turned around and left the bedroom, leaving behind a room full of scents that made me think about it. After about twenty minutes, Momo came in, wrapped in a pink silk robe. This robe was much more revealing than the two pieces of loungewear she wore before - the V-neck of the upper body was almost open to the waist, exposing a large area of smooth and tender skin, Momo's pair of rounded and full peaks were also outlined in a particularly attractive way; while the lower half of the body's high-cut was directly to the root of the thighs, and as long as the slightest movement could be seen inside the panties and the snow-white legs. The lower half of the body was even high-cut directly to the base of the thighs, and if she moved a little, I could see the underwear inside and the snow-white curves of the legs.

Seeing Momo dressed like this, my lower body immediately reacted physiologically and quickly became engorged with blood and stood up. I hurriedly turned my back to Momo, trying to cover up the embarrassment. But just sniffing the fragrance of Momo's body and imagining her half-naked body, my rod was already so excited that it hurts. I can't control my strong desire to possess her.

Momo seemed to notice the abnormality in my body and laughed softly, "What's wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?"

I was so shocked that I almost jumped up. It turned out to be Momo who walked behind me, gently wrapped her hands around my waist, and pressed a pair of plump and elastic breasts tightly against my back.

"Aunt Momo, why are you...? I'm fine, I'm just a bit hot..." I was stunned by the sudden embrace, and for a moment I didn't know what to say.

"Really? But you look so flushed." Momo's voice was soft and sweet as she breathed in my ear, her flirtatious tone making my heart pound.

I felt Momo's body getting closer and closer, and those two soft and elastic objects were rubbing my back gently with her breath, stimulating my whole body to be tingling. I couldn't help but let out a low gasp, and my rod became even harder.

"Aunt Momo, I... I didn't mean that... I, I just..." I didn't know how to explain the current situation, so I had to stammer.

"It's okay, I just want to know if you don't mind Auntie Momo holding you to sleep? You look like comfortable~" Momo deliberately slowed down her speech and smiled warmly. One of her hands was still rubbing my abdomen, occasionally skimming over my crotch, causing me to shiver.

This demon! This is clearly deliberately provoking me, to see if I can lose control so easily.  I couldn't help but grit my teeth, but I didn't dare to show it, for fear of being found out what I was really up to. I could only maintain a calm expression, trying to resist the urge to grab and rub Momo's breasts.

I gradually could not restrain my inner impulses, slowly turned around to face Momo, hands also smoothly surrounded her slender waist, Momo sensed my change, then increased the force to hold me tightly into the embrace.

Her breasts were pressed against my body through the thin fabric, undulating and rubbing against me as she breathed. The feeling was so erotic that my heart rate shot up and my body temperature rose. I looked down at Momo, only a few centimeters between us, and the sound of each other's breathing was clearly audible. Momo's black hair fell on my shoulders, and the fire burning in the bottom of her eyes seemed to be about to set me on fire as well.

My sanity is gradually collapsing, the fire of desire inside my body is burning. I stretched my neck and tentatively put my lips on Momo's, feeling the heat of her lips and the seduction of her slightly open lips. Surprisingly, Momo didn't stop me but instead cooperated by probing her soft tongue into my mouth and entwining it fiercely with mine.

"Mmm... Aunt Momo..."

“Don't talk...” Momo gasped and stopped my next words, deepening the kiss. Her arms wrapped around me a little tighter, and my whole body was locked around her as if she was trying to devour me. We are letting each other's juices flow in exchange.

Our tongues were intertwined like two greedy vipers, twisting and biting each other. I greedily sucked the sweet juices from Momo's mouth, wanting to swallow them whole. We kissed louder and louder, saliva spilling out of the corners of our mouths and wetting the messy marks on our faces. My body was trembling with passion, and my penis was throbbing with excitement as it was pressed against her soft belly.

Momo suddenly let go of my lips and looked up at me. Then she leaned down and kissed me again while her long fingers peeled off her thin robe. I saw two pink and rounded buds suddenly exposed in the air, they were like two cherry blossoms in full bloom, delicately colored. I couldn't help but move forward and took a bite of one of the stamen-like buds, sucking greedily.

“Ah...” Momo let out a delicate sigh, and then twisted her waist, so that her lower body and my erect penis rubbed more closely together. At the same time, she crossed her legs on both sides of me, preventing me from escaping her control. I felt that my desire was about to be aroused to the limit by her, and my penis involuntarily twitched a few times, and a hot stream of water dripped out along the column ......

"Aunt Momo... I, I can't help it..." I murmured in her ear, but Momo just accelerated the swaying of her body, leaving me to struggle underneath her.

After hearing my words, Momo did change her position. She gently pushed me away from her and lay down on her side, and I followed suit, crouching on one side of her shoulders and neck. As I continued to lick the red cherry that was already covered in saliva, I watched her start to undo my pants. Soon, my pants were off, and my hot cock popped out, Momo's hand wrapped around it and stroked it up and down.

“Hiss...” I couldn't help but suck in a breath, it was too good. Her technique was skillful and gentle, from time to time, she used her fingertips to gently scrape across the coronary groove, giving me a tingling and unbearable stimulation. Soon there was a stream of cloudy white mucus overflowing from the tips, and when she saw it, she was even more excited, she increased her speed and vigorously stroked it.

I couldn't stand this extreme pleasure and hurriedly grabbed her wrist to stop. However, this action made her even more excited, and she even held my palm and clasped her fingers together, not giving me a chance to get out of her control. I had no choice but to let her set fire to all parts of my sensitive body, feeling like I was about to lose control and surrender at any moment.

Just as I was on the verge of collapse, Momo suddenly let go of my hand, raised one of her thighs across my belly, and then held my sinewy member, letting it fall into her body little by little.

I was already on the verge of orgasm, and with the hot, wet squeeze of Momo's pussy, I finally reached my peak the moment she entered. I gripped the bed sheet tightly and ejaculated stream after stream of thick cum against her depths.

"Uhh... Ah... Why did you cum so fast..." Momo lets out a sigh of satisfaction, but also in a slightly surprised tone. She slowly withdrew from me, looking at my glans hung with freshly gushed goo and what seemed to be more ready seed.

“You're still a virgin, aren't you?” Momo asked. I froze for a moment, not knowing how to answer. Her expression became very complicated, like she was a little distressed but with a hint of amusement." I knew it... You just did that with my underwear in the bathroom... What a perverted child... "

She paused, a feminine smile on her face, "My husband hasn't touched me in a long time either... It's a good idea to grab a young boy like you to take care of my needs," she said, crawling back underneath me, swallowing my parting in one bite, and starting a new round of teasing.

"Whoo.... ...Aunt Momo... Wait..." I was surprised by her sudden attack, and I almost lost my sanity, "What do you mean by that...? What do you mean..."

Before I could get an answer to my question, Momo had already used her extraordinary lip and tongue skills again. Her flexible and soft tongue licked around my erection, and occasionally she went deeper into my mouth and kissed the mouth of the bell. I could only feel the urges in my lower body getting stronger and stronger, and soon I was back in the groove.

"Auntie Momo... I want you..." I eagerly begged for pleasure, and Momo willingly lay down on the bed, spreading her legs, presenting her wet and pink petals in front of my eyes.

My breath caught in my throat, and my reasoning collapsed as I gripped my pestle and mortar tightly in both hands and leaned in towards Momo's private parts. The head of my cock rubbed against her swollen, sensitive clitoris, eliciting convulsions and low gasps.

"But... I don't have a condom..." I knew I should have pulled back before it was too late, but my body's desire had already won out over my reasoning.

"It's okay... You can cum in... Auntie Momo won't get pregnant here...I am safe today." Momo called out softly, cupping my face in her hands and staring at me with longing eyes. I couldn't resist this invitation, and slowly inserted my rod into Momo's already muddy pussy...

"Ah... ...Aunt Momo... I'm cumming..." I gritted my teeth and pushed in deeply, only to feel the warmth and tightness inside, wrapping my shaft layer by layer. Momo's whole body was trembling, and her mouth also let out a joyful and delicate chant.

“Uh...” I hummed out softly, Aunt Momo's pussy wasn't as tight as it should have been, but the abundance of water made me feel incredibly warm and melted. I couldn't help but speed up my pumping, and with each stroke I could clearly feel the head of my tortoise tracing the folds of her body, bringing unspeakable tingling and pleasure.

"So big... So hard... You're so powerful for such a small boy... It's even bigger than my husband's..." Momo gasped softly, her hips twisting to meet my thrusts. Her words made me feel a tinge of pride and made the connection between our war even tighter. I grabbed Momo's slim waist and thrust harder, Momo let out intermittent, soft moans that were like an aphrodisiac in my ears.

I moved my hands to Momo's long thighs, spreading them even wider, and then leaned down and pressed Momo's torso. The sensation of our skin sent shivers down my spine, and at the same time I rammed into Momo's deepest parts with increased force. The sound of clashing flesh was especially loud in the quiet night, Momo was gradually captured by my attack, her eyes were misty as she intertwined her fingers with mine.

My lips were roaming on one side of Momo's breasts, greedily savoring the light milky scent she gave off. Momo, on the other hand, always turned her head sideways and let out a heavy breathing sound, my double attack seemed to bring her great pleasure. The sheet under my crotch was already wet with Momo's continuous flow of nectar, and my rod would always be wrapped in a ripple of tidal waves as it traveled through it.

"Hmm... Y/N... Faster... Mmmm..." Momo couldn't stop urging me on, while her legs were wide open to meet my more intense thrusts. Her breasts are also bouncing up and down under my violent movements, and the two red cherries are rolling on my chest, bringing some tingling." Got it..." I sped up the frequency of my thrusts and felt Momo's body jerk at one point, a few short gasps following. She seemed to be a little disoriented by the top of my movements, frowning and biting her lower lip, even her toes curled up tightly.

I quickly stopped my movements and looked at Momo with concern, fearing that I might hurt her, but she quickly shook her head, a satisfied look on her face, "No... Y/N... You go on... Auntie Momo likes it..." As she said that, Momo opened her arms and took me into her arms, letting me lie between her breasts as if I were a child. Encouraged, I immediately went into another round of attack, filling the room with the sounds of pounding flesh and my proud Momo's moans. ......

Just as I increased my thrusts, Momo's expression suddenly became painful. Immediately afterward, her lower body clamped and a warm stream of water gushed out from the depths, drowning my entire penis in it. I immediately raised my body and pulled out my penis, and at the same time, a transparent jet of water shot out from Momo's honey pot, not only wetting my lower body, but even landing a few drops on my body." This... Is this... An orgasm...?" I watched in confusion as this happened, only to feel Auntie Momo's lower body spewing nectar like an open faucet. Momo's body didn't relax until more than ten seconds later, and her two soft breasts were swaying slightly with her trembling breath. Momo's cheeks were flushed, and she looked like she was enjoying the extreme pleasure she had just experienced.

After a while, Momo slowly stood up, pressed me down on the bed, and then gently stroked my already swollen part a few times. She then lowered herself to the ground, opened her red lips and swallowed the entire shaft, Momo's face was extremely charming, like an obsessed woman trying to please her lover. As the warm, moist walls of her mouth rubbed against the penis, there was a watery sound, and a stream of clear mucus overflowed from the tip of the penis, connecting it to Momo's red lips. Moving from my pussy to Momo's mouth, two very different sensations intertwined, causing me approaching orgasm, and I had to grit my teeth and restrain myself." Auntie Momo... I'm going to..." I mumbled, and Momo took hold of my cock, then left my wet tip and leaned in for a deep kiss. We were like a couple in love, kissing each other like crazy.

At this time Momo held my penis and rubbed it outside her petals a few times, then slowly sank down until the whole rod disappeared all the way into her tight private parts.

"Good... So big..." Another praise escaped from her mouth, Momo's walls seemed to have become even tighter due to the intense orgasm she had just had, almost completely wrapping up my penis without leaving a single gap.

"Me too... It's very comfortable, Auntie Momo..." Momo's face was still flushed. Then she started to push her waist, moving her lower body back and forth on my cock. My rod was stirring back and forth inside her hot and wet honey tunnel, rubbing against her sensitive inner walls.

Momo shook her long hair in delight, the sensation of being filled with a cock was too good to be true. I could not help but get even more excited as I looked at her happy face from my supine position. It was unbelievable to be able to fuck such a gorgeous wife and have her voluntarily gallivanting on top of me. I grabbed Momo's huge peaks with both hands and kneaded them, her gasps became more and more ragged, and her private tunnel was tightening without her realizing it. A kind of magical attraction was constantly reaching my penis from inside her body.

After about five minutes of this position, Momo suddenly lay on top of me, her long legs changed to a kneeling position, and she tightly wrapped them around my waist.

Momo then pressed her red lips onto mine, her soft and slippery tongue sliding in and out of my mouth. At the same time, she began to thrust vigorously, each time pressing the center of her womb hard against my cock.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud and clear, Momo had no intention of slowing down at all, like a pile driver she was thrusting fiercely in and out, and my prick gradually developed a tingling sensation.

"Auntie Momo... I'm about to cum..." I couldn't help but beg for mercy, but Momo didn't budge, instead she sped up the frequency. Each heavy drop brought a sharp shock of pleasure to my penis, bringing me to the brink of an explosion.

"Auntie Momo... ...Auntie Momo... I want to...!" After a few minutes of rapid strokes, I finally reached the ultimate moment when my penis exploded with thick essence. At the same time, Momo's womb bites down on my tip, pouring down warm cum. Momo locked me in the deepest part of the canal, the hot liquid instantly filled the entire canal, the sensitive walls of the flesh felt an unprecedented burning pleasure . Momo was panting on top of me, her huge breasts squeezing my chest and trembling, and the only sound left in the room was the breathing of the two of us.

Momo stood up, straightened her appearance and left the room slowly. She went in the direction of the restroom and didn't come back for a long time. I got tired of waiting, so I rolled out of bed and went to the restroom to look for her. The lights in the hall were dim, and only the bathroom light was on. I cautiously walked over.

I saw Momo standing in front of the mirror with her head down washing her face. I followed her figure and noticed that Momo's private part between her legs was slightly red and swollen, with some white mucus coming out of it.

I think that should be the marks left by me before, I smiled in understanding. Momo was shocked and looked up at me through the mirror.

"Y/N? Do you want to go to the toilet too?" Momo asked. "Yes... I want to go to the...' toilet'." As I said that, I had already taken hold of my dick and slowly pushed it into Momo's vagina.

"Hmm... So quick... Again... Mmm..." Through the reflection of the mirror, I could see Momo's blush quickly creeping up on her cheeks again, and her pair of full breasts trembled slightly as she breathed.

I gripped Momo's hips with both hands and moved them forward and backward in time with Momo's rhythm, and Momo immediately lifted her ass up to make it easier for me to pump.

The sound of my body hitting Momo’s became louder and louder. The sight of my cock entering Momo's pussy was too exciting, plus the love juices that Momo's lower body was constantly secreting made my cock become slippery and shiny.

"Y/N... Hmm... Auntie Momo still has to work tomorrow... Uh..." Momo spoke intermittently, and from the mirror, I could see that her expression was already immersed in lust, making it difficult for her to extricate herself, her eyes were streaming, her cheeks were crimson, and her ample breasts were undulating restlessly. All of this was firmly controlled by my penis.

“I'll pick up the pace then, Auntie Momo...” As I said that, I sank my fingers deep into Momo’s ass cheeks and began to thrust with all my might. There was a lot of intense “popping” sounds, and a few of them even reached the womb opening, causing Momo to gasp a few times. Accompanied by the “plopping” sound of water, there are constantly spilling out from the place of coitus  " No... I can't make that sound again..." Momo hurriedly covered her mouth, desperately trying to restrain the winks that were spilling out from her throat.

The standing doggy position brought a very different feeling from the previous position, while looking at Momo's desperate expression in the mirror and her breasts swaying back and forth, at the same time, feeling my cock expanding a bit more. "Uhh... Ah... It's too deep... Y/N..." Momo's body trembled a few times, she knew that I had broken through the cervix and entered the deepest part, she couldn't help but gasp out. In the mirror, she seemed to see the same sight, and more ecstasy and longing welled up under her eyes. "Mmm... Y/N's cock is too powerful... Auntie Momo can't stand it anymore..." Momo twisted her waist impatiently, trying to get more pleasure. But my fingers had already clamped down on her waistline, preventing any possibility of escape. Momo's belly bulged slightly, as if she was harboring a tiny life. I couldn't help but increase my pressure, each stroke was a powerful one, pushing the head of the turtle to its deepest point, Momo's mind was almost on the verge of losing control, her nails were embedded in her palms, tears were coming out of her eyes, but she couldn't stop her mouth from letting out petulant whimpers and gasps.

As my cock moved in and out of Momo's vagina, a stream of tingling electricity gradually accumulated in my mind. I pinched Momo's waist and used all my strength to send my penis to the deepest part. “Aunt Momo!” After a roar, my tips burst into the uterus, countless hot white cum shot into Momo's most private place. Momo's body lightly trembled for a moment, then gasped violently.

After about a minute, I reluctantly withdrew my cock. After three good sex sessions, Momo's lower body had already been filled with my essence, so even at this point I couldn't stop ejaculating, and a large amount of milky white color still flowed out from Momo's open pussy, I rubbed my rod on Momo's ass a few times to clean up the remaining cum on my tips.

Momo was lying on her stomach by the sink, her legs trembling, her rounded buttocks high in the air, a picture that rekindled the desire in my body. My penis, which had not yet softened, immediately rose up again and was ready to go.

“Aunt Momo, I want you again...” Without waiting for Momo's response, I leaned over and fell on top of her, wrapping my hands around her armpits and kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. At the same time, my rod once again broke through the door and pounded into Momo's body. "Hmm... Not so fast... We should take a break... Ah..." Momo tried to protest, but her words were soon replaced by a series of gasps. I accelerated the speed of my thrusts, going deeper and deeper, soon pushing Momo's sanity into a bottomless abyss.

Since that day, Momo and I have been in an instant relationship. Whenever I came to my best friend's house after school, we would always have sex in the bathroom, then step out of the shower together, smile at each other, kiss and hug, and then go into the bedroom and close the door to continue our “workout”. I believe that even the closest friends could never have imagined that one day his best friend would be with their mom, right? After all, who could have imagined such a scene - a young handsome high school student kneeling in front of his best friend's mother, licking her stamen; or this mature and colorful middle-aged woman sitting on her son's best friend's lap, writhing her voluptuous body

[timmydraker]

I made myself sad thinking about Tim being alone at his home when growing up and only having someone to talk to when he went to school and so I decided to make him a cat but because it’s Tim it’s not going to be that simple:

Instead:

Imagine Tim who accidently gets a witches familiar.

It starts when he’s six and his parents flight was delayed so he decides to use the extra time to go find some wild flowers in the backyard forest to bring them. He doesn’t know the space very well but he knows enough to make sure he can always see the manner he lives in and keeps a torch and a few snacks with him just in case.

When he first sees the shadow like figure in the corner of his eye the little boy freaks out but manages to calm down enough to take the dozen flowers he had and start heading back. He feels something watching him all the way home and that night when he looks out his window Dow he swears he see more movement.

He swears to leave it be because lords knows he’s too young to be dealing with ghost and monsters.

But there’s one problem that will never change in regards to Tim Drake: he’s too curious.

Once his parents leave again Tim is back on the border of the forest and calls out a cautious ‘hello?’ Into the small kingdom of trees.

Nothing happens and so the next time he brings an offering in the form of a pile of nuts, a pair of his mums earrings she had thrown in the bin because they were apparently unsightly after the turn of the century, as well as a marshmallow from his very secret and special stash.

The next day he found a four holed button the colour of one of the Aster flowers he had given his parents when he first felt the presence.

He made it into a bracelet and wore it proudly for the next few days before his dad made him take it off before a gala.

Luckily the thing in the forest didn’t seem to take offence and instead he found the charm he had left on his desk safely hanging from his window sill without his input.

Tim brought several gifts for his new mysterious friend, mainly marshmallows and bits of his mums jewlery she was didn’t wear anymore.

Whenever he left nuts or any other kind of food it was never moved, even other sweets and treats stayed where he left them.

It’s a year after this little tradition starts that Tim actually sees the presence that he had been calling ‘Curious’.

It’s from a distance as he’s going through photos of Batman on his window sill, legs tucked up and back pressed against the wooden frame that brackets the window. He looks up periodically to the small pile of marshmallows he’s left on a plate just where the woods start, waiting for them to suddenly vanish before he goes to bed, when he looks up and sees it.

It’s tall, as tall as the trees and cloaked in shadows and darkness, so much so it’d be impossible to miss even if the light of his room wasn’t shining out towards it.

Tim gasps silently but doesn’t look away or feel fear, because something in him just knows that this is his friend. This is Curious.

Instead he finds himself smiling, possibly beaming at the animated dark before him.

Curious doesn’t smile back or wave or anything and yet Tim can feel a relief and happiness that’s second to his own and yet feels like it’s his.

When Tim blinks the shadows have reached out to lift the marshmallows into its veil like form, long fingers that seem twice the amount of a humans curl like spider legs around the surgery sweets and then they are lost in the dark of its form.

Tim goes to sleep that night with excitement and hope in his heart, a burning curiosity in his heart as hundreds of questions and theories rattle his brain, but it’s all unimportant compared to the fact that he has a friend at home.

He has someone to, in a way, live with.

The next morning he wakes to his alarm and a heavy weight on his chest.

Tim opens his eyes to see a fluffy monstrosity of a cat, big golden eyes hidden in light brown and grey fur staring at him with so much knowing and understanding. It’s more than even Ives shows him when Tim brushes off questions about his parents.

He knows just as he did the night before that this is Curious.

His Curious.

He cautiously reached a hand to pat the fur and watches his hand disappear into the soft fur like its quicksand. When a loud purr, slightly echoing like its not quite real, rumbles through the little body Tim beams again and squeezes the feline shape as close as he can.

Curious doesn’t leave Tim’s side very often, only when Tim goes bathroom does he give him space. When Tim starts training to be Robin Curious shifts his body into Tim’s shadow so he can follow without having to deal with Batman’s security rules.

Curious follows Tim when he goes to train with Shiva, when he goes to space with his team, when he goes on his trip around the world to save Bruce, but it’s painful for the little familiar because Tim isn’t actually a witch.

Which means there is no power for Curious to draw from and so it’s unable to help at all.

It can change its form but the only physical contact it can make is with its master, it can’t fight with Tim or defend him when he needs it.

And yet Tim doesn’t mind.

While Curious feels like a failure for being unable to do anything for his master, Tim rewards it all the time. Constantly is he giving it new necklaces for its cat shape and marshmallows when they stay guard all night while he sleeps.

In the face of such powerlessness, Curious vows to find ways to help its Tim.

So, it’s a sentry of a sort. No one can sneak up on Tim Drake or Red Robin, because he will always just know that someone is there. No one ever suspects that it’s his weirdly attached cat or his own shadow alerting him with a soul like connection.

Everyone in the family knows that Tim has a cat, because one time Damian got all mopey at dinner and complained that the stray cat he found around the manner lawns wasn’t being his friend no matter what he did.

He ranted about how he brought it food and water and toys but the unnaturally fluffy cat would just stare at him before running off.

When Tim realises that he means Curious he snorts, making Damian glare at him and demand to know what he finds so funny.

Tim simply makes a ‘sst’ like sound twice and suddenly the big cat his waltzing out from under the table and into Tim’s lap.

Damian is furious but mostly embarrassed, acting like he’s upset that Tim didn’t tell him he had a cat when instead he’s upset that he befriended a cat Damian couldn’t.

Tim explains that Curious has been his cat for years and doesn’t like anyone else, so not to take it personally, and when they ask what the gender is Tim reply’s cryptically, “it doesn’t like gender.”

No one knows what to say to that as Tim leaves the room with the cat in his arms, but they all witness the cat lean over his shoulder and lick a long black tendril over his own face.

Bruce nearly sprains something with how quickly he stands up.

[femmecupid]

spoiling a butch ugh ugh

pulling my card out before they can at restaurants, a glare from them and i’m smiling all innocently asking them if they want dessert, my treat. buying them things they mentioned they wanted months ago, laying it in their lap like it’s not a big deal, because it’s not. making them breakfast and being a little housewife that cleans and cooks and kisses them on the cheek when they come home from work. insisting we watch their favorite shows and movies 24/7 even if it’s something i’d usually struggle to get through, it’s worth it when they smile and babble on about their favorite scenes and what else that actors been in. when they’d have a particularly hard day i’d roam the house in their favorite little outfit, sitting in their lap n whispering praise n kissing them all over until they take their frustration out on me. n i wouldn’t even complain when they’d get rough n mean!!!! telling them i love them n writing them notes n packing their lunches n letting them eat me whole if they really wanted.

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love love all your writings!!

I like your depictions of John Constantine.

I'd like to see you write the sad trenchcoat persona as just that a persona in the same fashion as how Brucie Wayne is a persona.

Maybe he's been the de-aged Danny/Dannies father for years and is an actual functional adult. The sad trenchcoat is just used to keep people from calling on him to frequently because he's a dad and has dad-like things to do.

He could help tim with the time stream thing, like 'oh, yeah that does look like Bruce. Alright kid pack a bag we're going in the time stream I know a guy. No Nightwing I'm not joking this looks like solid proof'.

Maybe Bruce has a oh shit he's actually competent and could kill me, that's hot moment. (Kids I have found your other father, help me get him home)

"I would love to offer more of my time to waste on monitor duty, but I have a previous engagement. A particular fit lady needs help getting her dress on the floor. The cloth always gets stuck on her horns. " John leers, wagging his eyebrows at the grimaces his words cause.

He takes a puff of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke like a drowning man. He never smokes at home, not with Danny's sensitive lungs or Dani's general disgust at smoking, so he only had the chance when called away on missions.

Plus, Danny was trying out for ballet soon, and he wasn't going to ruin his son's chances of being a star because of his own poor habits.

It helped that the rest of the heroes believed he was consistently pumping nicotine into his system. Rather irresponsible for the hero to publicly commit frowned-upon activities - at least in the States. Back home, no one cared that much.

It didn't matter that the Justice League was a global team; the main hard hitters and founders were nearly all American, and they tended to uphold those social expectations, either subconsciously or not.

One more reason why they shouldn't bother John, he can't have him smoking at a big awards ceremony or seen going through an entire pack of cigarettes mid-fight. Oh no.

John Constantine was one of the best magic users of this universe, but he was a last resort. There were plenty of other magic users like Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Zatara, or even Etrigan that came to mind first.

John was likely too busy drowning his misery in bottles or the arms of any willing partner. That's what they all thought.

Or more importantly than what he wanted them to think.

"Well, this has been a time." He announces, snapping his fingers to open a portal to his house. "But I have to run. My lady needs a knowledgeable hand to help her-"

"Enough," Batman growls. Though he has complete control over his emotions, John can tell he's irritated by the meaningless detail. He smirks as the hero waves a hand, "Just go."

He offers the rest of the meeting room a cheeky two-finger salute as he struts out, letting the portal close behind him so his trench coat flares dramatically. It's a nice view, he's sure, but it's also unnecessarily showy, and he is sure at least three pairs of eyes are rolling at his exit.

A chuckle escapes his mouth, straightening from his slouch to properly stand straight and bend it far enough to pop. Goodness, his act always leaves him with a sore upper back; maybe he shouldn't hunch over so much, even if he was playing the part of a no-good punk.

John only had a few seconds to shiver at his own thoughts- he was a punk. A real one! He was in a band!- before he heard the tell-tell sign of a rapidly approaching double set of footsteps echo down the hall. He scrambles to fling his lit cigarette into a water portal, chucking the pack for double security, while summoning a random suitcase from thin air.

All that's left is his rather eye-catching coat, a little too worn down and old to work well with his well-put-together outfit underneath. Without it, John has a clean, pressed white shirt, a respectful tie, and a pair of slacks that make more than one head turn as he walks.

All in all, he looks like the office businessman his worthless father always wanted to be.

John throws off his coat over a chair at the same time the door is thrown open with a pair of excited yells. "Welcome home, Dad!"

A grin stretched across his face before he could think about it, feeling his heart swell at the sight of them, as he knelt down, arms open wide. Two tiny bodies slam into him without a second of hesitation, nearly knocking John backwards.

He lets out a soft grunt as Dani's arms attempt to wrap around his left arm and right shoulder. She clashes against Danny, who's trying to bury himself into John's right side, little face squished against one of John's pecs, like a bunny burrowing into the snow.

"Hello, my little lambs!" He gushes, squeezing the kids close. "How was your day with the House of Mystery? Did you two behave?"

"They were angels," Black Orchid confirms, gliding into the room at a much slower pace. They had their regular, impassive expression on their faces, but John could tell that Orchid was happy with the kids by the way they gently tapped the tops of the children's black hair.

"Dad! Dad! Now that you're home, can we please go get my new ballet shoes?" Danny begs, bouncing on his toes.

For a moment, John doesn't see his son, but rather his own blue eyes staring up at his father, when he was also five, begging to join Lily, the next-door neighbor, in beginners' ballet class.

His father had beaten him nearly to death for wanting such a girly interest. It was the last time they spoke about it. It was also the last time John ever bothered asking to start new hobbies.

"Dad! Dad! Can I do Karate?" Dani asks then, snapping John from his memories better left buried, as she presses her check against her brother's in an attempt to get John's attention. "I want to break a board with my fist!"

He gives the children another squeeze, laughing at the squeals he gets. "Of course you can do karate, little lamb. We're going to get your brother his shoes, and then I'll find a gym that offers the classes at the same time."

"I already provided that service." Orchid cuts in, holding a flyer for Flying Graysons' gym, founded and run by the eldest Wayne in Gotham. "I took the liberty of signing Danny up for a class with Casnadra Wayne, and Dani will join Duke Thomas's class. It starts in a week."

"Plenty of time to go get them everything they need and a new book series for our bedtime stories," John announces, loosening his arms so his children can cheer and bounce up and down in excitement. His knee is starting to cramp up, but he ignores it so he can hold his kids.

It's moments like these, so small and mundane, that John is grateful he thought of his persona. When he first learned how to use the magic he was gifted, he always made himself available for any crisis.

This was before the Justice League days, so anyone who sought him out was familiar with the occult world. He adored helping, and he built an incredible amount of skill and knowledge in magic, but soon John was facing disaster after disaster, dragging his exhausted body from one place to another.

Those who came searching for him never cared. They wanted John to jump at the drop of a hat. He tried for years to always be ready, always be willing, but years of isolation and desperate battles tried him to the core.

Then he took in Danny and Dani, finding the pair of babies in a basket at the feet of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. He had gone to investigate the legends of the famous King Pariah Dark, only to find what he assumed were originally sacrifices, well and truly alive.

Their names were attached to their feet with a letter written by a Jazz Fenton begging the two to grow and live well. She had died to save them. In her honor, John kept their names.

Daniel "Danny" Fenton and Danielle "Dani" Fenton. He often wondered what Jazz had been to the kids, with their identical last names. It is a question he will never get the answer to.

They could have been no older than five months, but when they opened their eyes and reached up for him, John realized he no longer wanted to be the go-to man of magic.

He wanted to be their father.

To discourage people from calling him away from his children, John created his persona of a man barely honorable enough to join a team. Over the five years of his raising his kids, his reputation plummeted until only Batman called to him unless absolutely necessary.

It was a breath of fresh air. John had fought for too long and too hard. He was retired now, just like his band days, the days when John would speed off to save the world were behind him. He only stepped in if a friend asked for a favor.

He had other priorities now.

The best part? The Justice League would never know that.

"Dad!" Dani screamed into his ear, making him grimace.

"Inside voice, darling."

"Sorry." She twirls her fingers, a nervous habit she picked up from John, before brightening up "I'm just super excited. Orichad said Mr. Bruce Wayne will be at the gym! Do you think he'll sign my Wayne Space shirt?"

Ah, yes, the man who was funding some space program or another. He only knew about this because his twins adored anything to do with space travel, as if though he couldn't just teleport them to a different planet.

"I'm sure he will, darling."

[ssa-dado]

30 Seconds

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: SMUT, pre-relationship mutual pining and just a touch of ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: You text the hot swim dad for legal help. He shows up in khakis. You try to behave. You fail. He's accidentally jealous of your date, you accidentally grind on his lap, he finishes in his pants, and somehow it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. Warnings: SMUT MDNI (heavy makeout, dry humping and *sighs* Aaron creams his pants for just that... the title is descriptive enough), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch*, objectification of the Hotchner body Word Count: 4.9k (damn gurl) Dado's Corner: Based on this request! And... um... full disclosure... I added the glasses part solely because of the cat pic sent by @hotchology, who said this ginger furball is how they imagine Hotch in glasses (LOOK HOW CUUUTE)

masterlist(s)

Everything showers.

A sacred rite of modern womanhood.

Takes minimum two geological eras to complete, consumes half the planet’s fresh water, and must be repeated often to remain an eligible mating partner.

Because that’s the whole point of being a woman, isn’t it? To be clean, hairless, glowing, and vaguely vanilla-scented - just fuckable enough for men who think 3-in-1 shampoo counts as skincare.

The concept of an everything shower is… layered. Part hygiene. Part penance. Part psychological rebirth. A full-body cleanse for the sins you haven’t committed yet.

You’ve done them before first dates. Before almost-dates. Before parties, dick appointments, emotional breakdowns, and that one Tuesday when you just needed to check in on her-

(Her. Down there.)

Once, you even did one before visiting your mother. (Unclear whether that was for survival or atonement. Maybe both.)

But never - not even in your darkest, most masochistic imagination - did you think you’d be doing one because of an eviction notice.

Not until today.

Because Aaron Hotchner - a man who should be both physically and emotionally unavailable due to his very, very, veeeery important job saving the world - is apparently not unavailable.

Not when it matters.

Not when it’s least convenient for your nervous system.

…The irony.

All it took was one stupid text. A momentary lapse in dignity. Something he’d probably refer to as “compromised judgment.”

do you happen to know a very cheap lawyer asking for a friend

And instead of his usual three-to-five-business-days reply time, he hits you with:

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): Are you at home now? – A.H.

And now you’re just a bit overthinking… because how does he know that?

Did the FBI install a secret camera in your pothos plant? Does he have access to some satellite heat map of your apartment? Has he been watching your window? A camera in the air vent?

(Has he seen you trying out that new clear dildo in front of the mirror for “science”?)

(The one time you tried doing yoga and got stuck in child's pose for 40 minutes?)

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

All you do know is that you are currently fully naked, shaving for a man who:

Has no idea he’s being shaved for, while you’re on speakerphone with him, as he gets closer and closer to your building block because he invited himself into your private space and-

Would absolutely turn around and disappear if he ever caught even a hint of cucumber-scented shaving cream (you borrowed from your roommate) and realized you'd… prepared for him.

Because your “just in case” implies premeditation. And premeditation implies intention. And intention? Intention is basically foreplay.

And foreplay is strictly prohibited outside the sanctity of marriage, a psychological clearance form, and at least three signed affidavits from HR.

He would enter WITSEC on the spot. Change his name. Grow a beard.

(Hot.)

“What’s happening? Are you alright?”

He concernedly asks over the phone - totally unaware (definitely unaware) that every time he checks in on you, he’s poking your very well-buried, very latent daddy issues with a stick.

(Or maybe he keeps asking because he’s the one with daddy issues. Very obvious ones. That classic parented-child energy. Raised himself on black coffee, moral obligation and emotional regret.)

What a match, really. You get off on being cared for, and he gets off on taking care of people he’ll never emotionally open up to.

Soulmates.

Anyway-

“So… my landlord is an asshole and I really hope he gets some very painful hemor-”

Mr. FBI has the audacity to call you by your full legal name before cutting you off with, “This call is being recorded. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making…” he even pauses, searching for the most delicate phrasing. Because God forbid he doesn’t sound like a morally burdened Disney princess. “explicit threats.”

Oh, you’d appreciate a few things too. Like having his actual number and not the one issued by the United States Government - so you wouldn’t have to worry about scandalizing some poor technical analyst who’ll be forced to transcribe this call word-for-word the second they find his body in a ditch and trace it back to you.

(“Exhibit B: She said, quote, ‘I hope he gets some very painful hemor.’”)

…But you’re not as childish as him to complain about that.

“My bad.”

“It’s alright.” (Can he please stop talking like this?)

“Yeah… I-” Your voice trips. Your face is hot. Your entire body is hotter. “The thing is-”

“I’m listening.” Oh, fuck him. (Please.)

“In short: the building’s falling apart. We’ve been emailing the guy for weeks, complaining, begging, threatening – nicely - and either he forgets to reply or says he’ll fix it and then doesn’t. It’s been an eternity and he still hasn’t done a single fuc-”

Recorded line. Recorded line. God forbid the man has a seizure because of you. “-thing.”

You hear a chuckle on the other end.

You hate phone calls.

You’d choke him if he weren’t safely boxed inside a moving vehicle.

“I said threats. You can curse. I’m not ten.” Oh, he’s smiling. You can hear it. The smug bastard.

“Oh, that I noticed.”

You love phone calls.

If he were here, he would've already hit you with one of those signature stares - intended to intimidate, but really just making you want to lick the corner of his mouth out of pure spite.

But look at you. Free. Untouchable. Doing amazing.

“The thing is, I didn’t pay rent this month. Because they’re still ignoring the repairs. And now they’re threatening to evict me if I don’t pay.”

“That’s retaliatory. It’s illegal.”

“Wait… you’re telling me I’m not screwed?”

“No, they are. You withheld payment due to unaddressed health and safety violations. That’s protected under landlord-tenant statutes,” he says, suddenly shifting into full legalese, something-something code 572, subsection blah-blah, tenant rights, lease clauses-

You don’t hear any of it. Actually, the very second he started speaking fluent Law Daddy, , your brain slammed the emergency brake to focus on the real crisis:

What the fuck are you going to wear.

“Document everything-“

Lace? Bold choice, but post-shave? Masochism. Granny cotton briefs? He’ll never look at you again.

“Photos.”

Tight top, no bra? Risky.

What if he hugs you and feels how obnoxiously hard your nipples are?

(He’s not a hugger. He doesn’t seem like a hugger. Right?)

(Right??)

(But what if he is today?)

(What if he walks in, sees you - top clinging, no heating - and suddenly decides: You know what? Now’s the time. Now’s the moment I become a hugger. Just for her. Just this once. Just to pull her in close, pretend it’s chaste, press his palm between her shoulder blades and - oh fuck - realize it’s not.)

(What if he hugs you and feels it?)

(What if he hugs you and keeps hugging you?)

(What if he grips tighter, his hand slides just a little lower, and his voice does too, right by your ear - “You’re not wearing a bra.”)

(“Neither are you, sir.”)

(And what if that hug turns into a grind, into his thigh between your legs, into lift me onto the kitchen counter and show me what else you know about tenancy law.)

“Emails.”

Loose top, skimpy bottoms? Slutty. Strategic. Respectable slutty. He’d stare at your legs all night.

(He wouldn’t. But you’d know. Which is worse.)

You should lather in coconut oil, just in case.

You should lather in coconut oil anyway – hydration is important to avoid ingrowns (and yes, to smell edible too.)

“Timestamps.”

Tight top, no bra, skimpy bottoms? Too much? Too “I can’t pay the plumber, but maybe I can offer something else...”

(Not that you’ve watched those. Obviously. You’re just… aware of the trope.)

(Not because you spent 30 minutes the other night trying to find the perfect one. And then another 10 skipping the plot because it was too unrealistic, there’s no way the plumber just happens to have lube.)

(Not that you wouldn’t do it for him. But you’re also not going to lower yourself to being a badly lit, lazily scripted fantasy for the male gaze.)

“…If you haven’t already, I’d recommend drafting a written complaint.”

“…Aaron, I don’t even know where to start,” you mutter. “That’s why I asked if you knew a very cheap lawyer.”

“I’m the very cheap lawyer.” For some reason he chuckles, probably it’s because of his own joke, “Don’t worry, we’ll do it together, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He is not there in fifteen.

He’s “there” after fourty-eight minutes - flustered, apologizing, muttering something about I-395 and a jackknifed delivery truck, which is just adorable, really, coming from a man who’s clearly never taken the bus in heels while bleeding through his jeans, juggling three leaking Trader Joe’s bags, and re-evaluating every life decision since birth.

He’s grumbling about “infrastructure,” all furrowed brows and moral outrage. How sweet.

You, meanwhile, are Frenching the entire Department of Transportation.

You are giving gridlock the kind of wet, eye-contact blowjob that wins awards - because, for once in your adult life, the universe delayed a man just long enough for you to become a person.

Thirty-eight glorious minutes to shave, moisturize, hide the evidence of your emotional instability, light a candle, panic about the candle (too much?), blow it out, light it again (fuck it), rearrange your throw pillows, Febreze your loveseat, and clean your floors so well you briefly consider serving dinner off them - or yourself.

(Also enough time to change outfits four times, reject each one violently, and land on something that screams “Oh, this? Just threw it on,” while whispering: “I shaved everything.”)

You’ve never been more grateful for civic failure.

You look good. Your apartment looks good. You know it smells amazing in here. You know it. You can feel the Pine-Sol particles sparkling off the hardwood.

Any second now, he’s going to say something about it.

He’s going to inhale – deeply - and ask what detergent you use. Compliment your lavender baseboards.

You can feel it coming. You’re ready. You smile. You bask.

Aaron sets down his bag. Unclips it. Opens it. Looks up.

“I printed out the tenancy statutes,” he says, already pulling out an aggressively highlighted stack of documents from the briefcase.

And this would be impressive - should be impressive - if he weren’t wearing a plain black T-shirt that is doing things to his arms. And the khakis. Fucking khakis.

The most indecently decent pants in the entire male wardrobe.

They whisper "suburban dad," but scream "accidental bulge in soft daylight."

Speaking of which, unfortunately, your apartment lighting has never worked harder - midday golden-hour haze bouncing off every freshly scrubbed surface, casting soft shadows and sensual gleam until finally it settles on The Situation.

…Shit.

(Do not look at it.)

(Do not acknowledge it.)

(Do not mentally calculate whether that’s just the way his pants fold or if that’s his dick pressed against the zipper like it also has a clause to deliver.)

(Do notice, however, that he still hasn’t said a single word about how nice your apartment looks. Rude.)

“I flagged the key violations and I added notes on a recent amendment that strengthens your case - you can reference it in your response letter.” His eyes scan the room clearing it for hostiles - except all he really sees is your loveseat. Small. Soft. Close.

And you, in a tank top.

He clears his throat. Adjusts the folder. His gaze flicks back to you – quick, sharp, and immediately redirected to something safer, like the floor.

“Where… should we get set up?” he asks, like he hasn’t already mentally measured the loveseat twice, logged its exact dimensions in his brain, and is currently laser-eyeing the very cushion he’s dying – dreading - to sit on.

“Oh, I don’t know… wherever you’re comfortable.”

He nods - just a touch too seriously - then hesitates. Again. Checks one more time, with those painfully polite eyes: Can I...? Is it alright if...?

(…As if you might suddenly revoke loveseat privileges.)

Then, slowly, he lowers himself onto the cushion. Perches. Occupies the absolute minimum amount of space humanly possible.

If he still had the joint mobility of his youth, you’re convinced he’d just origami himself into a respectful little one-inch cube and tuck into the far corner.

You glance at his shoulders - very broad, deliciously broad, yes - tense, but more at how hard he’s trying not to brush them against yours. What a funny man.

Especially funny because while he's typing up your official letter - like a good little lawyer - he's also letting the conversation drift into a completely unrelated side street.

Unrelated except for the fact that it's all about you.

Like how he “casually” mentions he hasn’t seen you at the pool lately.

The one where he trains and you sit in a cracked plastic cafeteria chair pretending to wait for your friend’s aquatic therapy - when really, you’re mourning every second you’re not legally tethered to the hot dad at swim practice. The hot dad who doesn’t even know he’s the hot dad. (Him. Obviously.)

You go for your friend. Technically.

Spoiler: she’s got two weeks left.

Which means once her sessions are over, you and Aaron will have absolutely no logical reason to ever speak again. No built-in excuse. No default setting.

And now there’s a looming, mutual thing neither of you are acknowledging.

You’re sure there’s a term for this. Something about large mammals afraid of mice and metaphor.

“Yeah, I was in the lane next to your friend’s the other day…” he starts.

“Really?” You pretend you didn’t get fourteen missed calls from said friend, who - when you finally called her back - didn’t even say hi. Just launched straight into: “Burgundy swim cap guy looked up at your seat three times. Three. He looked so sad you weren’t there I had to explain where you were so he wouldn’t drown in longing.”

“Yes… we talked for a bit. She seems very nice…”

Ah.

Interesting choice of words, considering she told you – verbatim - “I can’t believe someone built like a brick shithouse could be that pathetic.”

(She has yet to understand that that is the whole appeal. Him. And that exact contradiction. Him and that-)

“So… how did… your date go?” he asks, pretending to be casual. He’s polishing his glasses against the hem of his shirt, even though they’re already spotless. (You weren’t even aware he needed glasses. Probably neither is the rest of the planet.)

He keeps at it. Rubs one lens. Then the other. Then back again.

You wonder if he’s trying to distract himself. From the question. From the answer.

Your date.

The one that made you miss your friend's call. The one you actually went on. The one that-

“It went well, actually.” It did. Way too well. And that’s the problem.

Because you keep chasing Aaron.

Despite the very obvious fact that nothing will ever happen between you. Because he’s… well, him. And you’re…

A little too young. A little too broke. A little too you.

(And technically if you do the math, you’re closer to his son’s age than his. Just by a few years, sure, but still. Still enough to justify it to yourself out loud, then say it again. And again. Until it starts sounding like a fact.)

It’s just a harmless crush. A stupid little thing. A flicker. A fantasy. A hobby, really.

You have so many of those - men. Smart, emotionally unavailable, vaguely haunted. You collect them like parking tickets: Useless. Repetitive. Always showing up when you least need them. But you keep them. Stack them in a drawer somewhere in your head.

Just in case.

Still, there’s something about this one.

About him.

Aaron.

Aaron in wireframe glasses, almost making you believe in the higher powers he believes in too. (Hopefully not the United States government.)

Aaron with that voice, that jaw, that posture.

Aaron, who says things like “landlord-tenant statute” and somehow makes it sound better than the poetry in those overpriced, niche little books you only buy for the cover, the ones where the author hits enter every four words so it tricks you into thinking they mean something.

And maybe – deep, deep down – it’s because you want to be proven wrong. That someone like him could find goodness in parts of you you’ve already declared a lost cause. That he could look at all the rot and still see something worth saving. Or maybe it’s just easier. Easier to chase something you’ll never catch than turn around and face the things already standing still, arms open, waiting to love you back.

“I’m glad to hear that,” says Deliciously Four-Eyed Aaron, just a little too tight. Tighter than his khakis, which shift and pull every time he readjusts to keep from getting a flat ass on your loveseat.

(What’s wrong, Agent Hotchner? Not expecting it to actually go well? God, you hope that’s why his jaw looks like it’s about to file for divorce from the rest of his face.)

“I don’t know him well,” he adds, clinically. “But… he seems like a nice guy. He’s good at his job.”

Right. Which is rich, coming from the man who literally handed you the guy’s number. And now he’s playing coy?

So what was that, then? A random act of kindness? A stroke of pity? Was it projection? Was it a fever dream?

Did he just reach into the FBI rolodex and go: “Hmm. You’re not under disciplinary review, you own slacks, and your blood pressure is normal. Here, date this emotionally volatile woman I know and I think you might like - she has opinions and abandonment issues, enjoy!

Because Aaron doesn’t do spontaneous. Aaron does strategic. Aaron does 48-hour surveillance and triple-signed documents.

He’s not the guy who improvises. He’s the guy who rehearses his improvisation.

So forgive you if you’re just a little confused by Mr. Times New Roman over here, trying to mentally trace the logic that gets you from “I barely know him” to “you should definitely let him finger you. Only after marriage, though.”

It’s weird. And yet, somehow, that’s not even the most annoying part.

“Good at his job?” you echo, with a laugh that sounds way too close to a cry for help. (Of course. Of course that’s Special Supervising Whatever-the-Fuck Hotchner’s metric for male compatibility. Not empathy. Not emotional availability. Not even basic social literacy. No, job performance. What a catch.) “What are you going to say next, that he’s a good person because he clocks in early and doesn’t steal breakroom coffee?”

“Well,” he says, adjusting his glasses that did not need adjusting, “I can’t vouch for the coffee. But I do see him arrive on time. From my office. If that’s what’s concerning you.”

…Oh. So that’s what this is. We’re flexing now.

Mr. I Have A Window. Mr. I Oversee The Peasants. Mr. Private Office While Everyone Else Plays Hot-Desk Musical Chairs. Mr. Title, Tenure, and a Chair That Supports Both His Spine and His Reluctance to Feel. Mr. I Deserve This Square Footage Because I Ruined My Marriage for the Federal Government.

(You could go on. And on. And on. You won’t. But you could.)

And it’s not even clear who he’s trying to one-up here. The guy he set you up with? Or… you? Both?

Like, “Yes, he’s punctual. Yes, he’s nice. Yes, he’s good at his job. But I define what good is. I’m his boss. Be impressed by me instead. Please. I beg you.”

Okay. Breathe. Relax.

No one invited him to a pissing contest and yet here he is, unzipping his intellectual fly right in the middle of your living room. (Not the fly you wanted unzipped, unfortunately.)

You squint at him. “So what, you show up before everyone else just to watch your little ducklings waddle in behind you? Mother Goose clocking in before sunrise to lead by example and assert dominance?”

He turns toward you. Tilts his head. Makes that face. The one you’ve been craving since the second he walked in.

Eyebrows drawn, mouth slightly open - just enough to spot that one crooked tooth, bless it - an expression that says concerned, confused, and disappointed in your tone, all in one.

“It’s none of that,” he’s dead serious, even if he’s visibly smiling… marvelous. “It’s just respectful to be on time.”

Sure, Agent Hotchner. Tell yourself that while polishing your Employee of the Decade plaque.

“I barely even see my boss at the café. Twice a week, tops. And only after we open.”

Aaron lifts his eyebrows. Shrugs. “I’m not an asshole.”

Then he goes back to typing, pretending he’s not biting the inside of his cheek like the whole thing didn’t get to him.

Like he’s completely unbothered by the idea of some man buying you coffee and making you laugh for two full hours.

Like his knuckles aren’t just a little too tight around that trackpad.

“You know, for someone who just said he’s not an asshole, you sure spend a lot of time trying to prove how much better you are than other men.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he says, softly. Too softly. Like he knows volume would give him away.

And fuck, those eyes.

You can’t look at them too long. You bounce between his face and anything else - your coffee table, the printout, his lap (unfortunately) - because those glasses are giving him four eyes now, and all of them are aimed at your skull, dissecting every micro-expression.

He's a bit suffocating.

“I think what really bothers you,” he says, measured, "is that you’re used to being misread."

You scoff. “Excuse me?” (Bitch.)

"You act like you want to be chased, but only if it feels reluctant. If it's earned. You push people to see if they’ll push back. You turn it into a game because it’s safer that way. If it’s a game, you can pretend you were never serious when they walk away."

Well. Okay. First of all: Rude.

Second of all: Accurate. Horribly accurate.

But also: How dare he.

"And if they don't... if they try to meet you where you are... you push them away first. Just to prove you were right to be afraid" he says - and the bastard even smiles. (Fuck his dimples. Really. Pretentious as hell.) "You punish them for it… and you punish the ones who don’t play, too. Because deep down, you still don’t know which would hurt more."

"Wow," you never thought you'd actually be speechless, and yet - here you are, scrambling for a comeback. Great. "Good thing you said you weren’t trying to prove anything. Otherwise I might’ve gotten confused and assumed you were just showing off." (Good enough. You’ll take it.)

Smarty-pants chuckles under his breath then leans back against your very professional, very structurally unsound loveseat. His knee brushes yours.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends he doesn’t notice you noticing.

"Not showing off, just telling you what you already know."

"Oh, right, because you’re such an expert on me."

"I’m just observant."

"And arrogant." And a fucking hypocrite too.

"And you still looked at my mouth twice." What a who-

Somewhere between your brain screaming full bitch slap, full bitch slap and your hand almost twitching to deliver it… you miscalculate.

You lean in. And instead of bruising his cheekbone, you crash your mouth against his.

Pride - and the stack of feminist books judging you from the bookshelf - insist it’s you who moves first. You believe them. You have to.

Even though his hands are already there - rough and steady, drowning your face in their grip - before you even finish breathing in your half-ounce of courage. Before you really even choose anything at all.

(But sure. Go ahead. Call it empowerment. You’re totally running the show. Girlboss shit.)

You want to bite him. Sink your teeth into that smug, diagnosing mouth. Split his lip. Make him bleed all over the living room he still hasn’t bothered to compliment the smell of. (You’re not petty about it… it’s just an observation.)

But it’s slower instead.

You taste his nerve first, his fear right after.

He’s already halfway to pulling back even as he keeps kissing you - trying to have it both ways - and for a second, you do break apart.

Both pretending you could still undo this. (And also undo all the bullshit he said earlier, profiling you so hard he didn’t even realize he was accidentally outing himself too.)

It doesn’t last.

You crash back into him, sloppier, mouths dragging, missing, gasping, half-kissing, half-clawing at each other as you’re both a little too desperate to land properly.

For a split second, the kiss turns... almost sweet. Tender. Romantic, even.

You could say he’s a good kisser.

You could say he’s a great kisser.

You could say he’s the only man alive who could kiss you stupid and still find a way to remind you to breathe through your nose.

(Like when he notices you getting lightheaded and somehow fixes it without even pulling away... which, not gonna lie, is a little humbling.)

But there’s no time for critical analysis. You’re already shoving him flat onto the loveseat, pinning him down, while he blinks up at you - wide-eyed, flushed, so beautiful it makes your chest hurt.

(And he looks so... concerned. As if he’s realizing just now that there’s absolutely no dignified way to get out of this alive.)

(Good. He shouldn’t.)

There’s tongue.

There’s teeth.

There’s his hands – everywhere - gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, squeezing the backs of your thighs, pushing your leg higher over him until you can feel - Oh. Oh, he’s hard. He’s so fucking hard.

There’s a muffled noise from the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like please and you are not thinking about that right now.

And it’s-

God.

It’s filthy. It’s great.

You grind down hard, whimpering shamelessly into his mouth, and he bucks up into you, meeting you halfway with both hands locked around your ass, squeezing so rough you’ll be wearing fingerprints by tomorrow.

(You hope so.)

(You really fucking hope so.)

He helps you move –

Up.

Down.

Slower.

Harder.

Guiding your hips with just enough pressure to make it feel like it’s your idea, finding the rhythm you didn’t know you needed until he gives it to you, forcing you to ride the thick, hard shape straining against his pants-

Just the right angle. Just the right friction.

So perfect it catches your clit every single time, knocks a gasp right out of your throat, straight into his mouth.

You’re soaking through your panties. You’re shaking with it. And it clearly gets to him - God, it wrecks him.

You can feel it - the way he tenses under you, the way his hands clutch harder at your ass, the way his cock throbs against you through the fabric like he’s just barely holding on.

He bites down on your bottom lip, rougher than you expect. Too rough for a man who apologizes when he says fuck.

He holds it between his teeth, sucks it – hard - humming low and filthy against your mouth, so obscene it makes your hips stutter.

Drop.

Just enough to let your soaked cunt drag across the swollen head of his cock.

And when you grind back, slower, tracing right along the thick ridge straining against his zipper, he chokes on a breath.

“God, fuck-”

It tears out of him, raw, as if he’s almost embarrassed by how much pleasure is tangled in it, by how stupidly sincere it comes out of his mouth.

(Also, thank God he didn’t reverse it. If he’d said “fuck, God,” instead, you’re pretty sure he would’ve stopped everything, dropped to his knees, and asked you to drive him to a confessional. Not even a metaphor - actual church. Actual guilt. Actual “forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”)

He tilts his head back, groaning, neck arching against the pillow - exposed, gorgeous - and you completely lose it.

Your tongue drags over his throat, chasing the pulse hammering under his skin, tracing your way back up to his mouth.

He’s so hot. He’s so good. He’s-

…terrified.

"I'm so sorry," he breathes, suddenly sitting up on his elbows. “I-” 

He fumbles. He panics. He stands. Backs away from the couch. From you. Visibly blushing. Visibly mortified.

“I didn’t mean-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence...

…Because he finished in his pants instead.

Poor thing.

You should be a little cruel about it - he was an asshole earlier, after all - but you’re not quite mean enough to kick a wounded 6’2” puppy when he’s already limping. (No pun intended… or maybe-)

"Hey," you murmur, reaching out, curling your fingers around his wrist so he can’t backpedal any further. He flinches. (Not much. Just enough to make you want to kiss him again. Harder this time. Until he flinches worse.)

"It’s okay. It’s-" You almost say sweet - catch yourself just in time, because you’re not trying to get murdered tonight.

"It’s normal," you settle on instead. "It’s flattering. Honestly.” (Also kind of hot. But you’ll take that particular confession to your grave.) “You didn’t... ruin anything."

He still doesn’t look convinced. At all. In fact, he looks like he might apologize again, maybe even draft a formal statement and notarize it.

You scramble. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. Who cares if it was-” (You hesitate for half a second, fatal mistake.) "-like, 30 seconds? Could've been 29, right?!”

…Right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

(I might've missed someone this time, pls tell me in the comments if your name got lost AAAA sorry in advance)

Little reminder that the requests for fleabag!reader are open!! Ok.. I'll go now. Bye.

[ilikerafayelwaytoomuch]

What happens when the LADS guys are caught crying?

A/N: what the title says :) . I've always been someone that people have come to with their problems (forever the therapist friend) and comforting them. But I was thinking about what it'd be like to see the lads men cry, as there's a stigma around men crying (which is stupid but anyways). They're a lil short, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: a lil angst, mentions of death, comfort, crying

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Rafayel 

When Thomas called you saying Rafayel had been dodging his calls all day, you weren't surprised. That was typical of your boyfriend. You decided to give him a call and maybe persuade him to finish a painting or two, but he didn't answer. Growing slightly concerned, you called again, but still nothing. Rafayel never missed your calls. He had even answered one day when he was using the bathroom, never wanting to miss a call from his muse. Since you were off work today anyway, you decided to pay him a visit, grabbing your keys and heading to his place. 

It was eerily empty in his house, which worried you even more. Something was off. Had he decided to go on a spontaneous trip out of town? He would have answered your calls then. You decided to try calling him again, not knowing what else to do. Your heart sank when you heard the familiar jingle play, going towards his phone that was going off. Rafayel had left his phone behind. Even more unheard of. The first place you thought of to look for him was the sea, the beach outside his house. If he wasn't there, there were a few more places to try, but that was the closest place. Opening his back door, you stepped out into his yard, leaving it and walking along the sand. 

You had almost decided to turn around and look somewhere else when you spotted a figure up ahead. The head of lilac hair told you it was Rafayel. His knees were pulled to his chest, sitting in the sand, his head gazing out to the sea, his clothes soaked as sat where the waves met the sand, the waves brushing up against him. A breath of relief left your lips, though you were still concerned. Picking up your pace, you jogged over to him, watching him as you got closer. You could tell that something was wrong in the way he sat and gazed out to the sea. Slowing down when you were close, you could see tears falling like pearls from his eyes, slipping down his face and splattering into the sea water. Your heart broke at the sight, carefully moving to sit next to him, not caring about getting your favorite pants soaked. When your arm wrapped around him, he jumped slightly, turning to see who had joined him. Saying nothing, you pulled him closer to you, his head easily falling onto your chest, a silent way of telling him it was okay to be crying. A way to tell him that you were there for him. 

His arms unraveled from his legs and wrapped around you, the sea beginning to soak your legs and his tears soaking your shirt. You brought a hand up to his head, patting his hair as he cried. When he seemed to settle, his tears slowing, you broke the silence. “What happened?” 

“It's nothing,” he muttered. 

“If it got you out here crying and not answering my calls it's not nothing,” you argued. 

“Sorry,” he hid his face. You gently placed a hand on his cheek, encouraging to face you. 

“You don't need to apologize, Raf. I'm more worried than anything. You know you can talk to me, right? You can cry or scream or pout in front of me and I won't run. I care about you so very much.” 

“I miss home,” his voice broke slightly as he admitted what was bothering him. You nodded in understanding, staying silent. “I miss Lemuria. My friends and family. My home. The stupid fish and whales. I miss all of them and I'm the only one I can blame for that. It's my fault they're gone.” His words sat heavy in your hearts. He had told you of his history and past. You didn't remember what had happened, but believed him when he told you, feeling that the two of you were connected, the bond proving it. 

“I can't say that's not entirely true, and I don't remember what happened, but I don't think you can blame just yourself. You still tried everything in your power to save your people. You fell in love. You were young. No one can blame you for that. I know my situation is completely different, but I miss home sometimes too. It's hard. I can't even imagine how much harder it is when your home literally no longer exists,” you told him. He nodded. “Do you regret what you did?” You suddenly asked. 

“Not at all. I'd choose you every time,” he stated. 

“Then you shouldn't take the full blame for what happened. You tried. You really did.” 

Silence fell over the two of you as you watched the waves. You held him in your arms as he sat silently, a few tears falling every now and then. “Is there anything I can do to make your home here feel more like home? I can try to cook a dish from Lemuria or decorate your house,” you offered.

“You feel like home. Just you being here helps,” he admitted. I nodded. 

“Then I'll be sure to come over more often. And if you find yourself missing home, tell me and I'll come. How about we head back and cuddle up? Watch a movie or something?” You offered, knowing snuggling was his ultimate weakness as well as comfort. He nodded in agreement. You stood first, offering your hand to him. He frowned, looking up at you. 

“Those are your favorite pants, why did you come sit here?” He asked. You shrugged. 

“Cause you're more important to me.” 

“More important than that stupid bird plushie?” His eyes narrowed. You smiled at him. He held such a grudge towards the plush, as you chose one time to have it in your arms while you slept. “Even more than the plushie,” you smiled. He nodded, smiling and grabbed your hand standing up. He pulled you into his chest, hugging you. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Of course. Let's get going.” 

Hand in hand, you all walked back to his place. Once there, you both changed into dry clothes before ordering some food and picking a movie to watch. You had fallen asleep in his arms, too comfortable to not fall asleep. He smiled down at you, thankful that his bride had returned to him. Thankful that he still had part of his home. 

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Sylus

You waltzed into Sylus's office, excited to tell him about your promotion at work. But as soon as you entered, you froze mid sentence, looking at the sight before you. Your boyfriend, Sylus, sitting behind his desk, holding his head in-between his hands. When he looked up at you, his eyes were red, a few tears streaming down his face. He immediately looked away, praying you hadn't noticed. “Sy, are you,” you paused, stunned. “Crying?” 

“No,” he spoke, voice hoarse. You carefully walked over to him, as if afraid to scare him by moving too suddenly. He was lying of course, tears evident on his face. Moving behind the desk with him, you awkwardly hugged him, lightly pushing his face into your chest as your arms wrapped around him. 

“You know, you always tell me it's okay to cry and it doesn't make me any less strong, don't you know it's the same for you? It's okay to cry. Even when you're the big bad boss of Onychinus,” you whispered. He nodded, biting back tears. You stayed as you were, allowing whatever happened to happen. He was unsuccessful in holding back his tears, crying softly into your chest. It was still a shock to you. Sylus was the definition of someone who presented as if nothing could make him cry. It didn't bother you at all, it was just a surprise. Your concern though, was what had happened to make him cry. But you could ask later, and you did, when his tears stopped and he wriggled out of your grasp to grab a tissue. You watched him carefully, observing him. His nose and eyes red, expression downcast. It was unfamiliar to you. You had never seen or heard of him crying. “Wanna talk about it?” You asked. He licked his lips, unsure. 

“If you don't mind,” he finally decided. 

“Not at all,” you answered, moving to sit on his desk in front of him. He smiled softly up at you before taking a deep breath. 

“Some dickhead went on a rampage in the N-109 zone. Slaughtered hundreds of men, women and children for fun,” he spat. “About a year ago, I ran into a child walking around on the street. She had lost her parents and I surprised everyone by supporting her. I found a place for her to live, I visited often to make sure she was doing okay and being taken care of. She was on her way here when she was killed in front of my eyes. I couldn't do anything to save her,” he finished, looking down and biting his lip. You were stunned at the news and furious that something so horrible had happened. 

“Do you need me to go kill this guy? Because I will,” you offered. He chuckled at that. 

“He's been taken care of. Got what he asked for, I made sure of that,” he informed me. You nodded. 

“So it's the loss of this girl?” you carefully asked. He nodded. 

“It's weird and even surprised me, but she kinda felt like a daughter,” he admitted. Not knowing what else to do, you stood up and hugged him. 

“I'm sorry that happened. Truly,” you told him. He gave a slight nod and hugged you back, pulling you in closer. 

“I should have gotten there faster. I didn't know she was there. If I was quicker she could have lived,” he whispered. 

“You don't know that for sure. You didn't know she was there. There was no way to even know she was there. You did all you could, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault,” you soothed. 

“It feels like it is,” he admitted. 

“I know. But you weren't the one to take her life, you did all you could. It may be a bit too soon to think about, but do you want to hold a service for her? You said she lost her parents, so there's not really anyone to do a service,” you offered. 

“That'd be nice. Luke and Kieran have her,” he informed me, words getting softer as the reality continued to hit him. You nodded and moved to place your hands on his cheeks, guiding his lips to yours and pressing a quick kiss to them. “I'll plan it, just tell me what she liked,” you smiled softly at him. He smiled back, sadly. 

“Okay. Use my card for it all. She deserves the best service we can get.” 

“And the best she will. Wanna go get cleaned up?” You asked, he nodded and you guided him to his bathroom, showering with him both literally and with love. Making sure to scrub off any remnants of his fight and loss. You could tell he was still processing it all, upset but not fully grasping the situation. Once clean, you forced him to eat some food before getting into bed with him. Usually, he'd hold you, but today was different. He half laid down on you, head resting on your chest as he listened to your heartbeat. A few tears fell every so often, but he no longer tried to hide them, the grief hitting him. You stayed with him, whispering words of comfort to him, rubbing his back. 

It wouldn't be easy, but with you by his side, Sylus would hold the perfect service for the little girl and process his grief, thankful he had you by his side throughout the whole thing- whether he was strong or weak. 

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Xavier 

When you woke up you were immediately confused, the unfamiliar sterile white ceiling staring back at you. You tried to move, but nothing happened. So you took in the surrounding sounds. The steady beep of a monitor, the sound of a distant fan and talking. You figured you must be in a hospital. It was then that you heard a sniffle, making you blink. You couldn't remember what happened. Who was here with you? Were they crying? Your eyes finally moved, glancing to the side and finding your boyfriend, Xavier. His eyes were red and puffy as he cried. He still had blood from wanderers splattered on his uniform. He looked like he had been through hell and back…maybe he had. “Xav,” you managed to croak out. His eyes widened as he saw you were awake. 

“You're awake. How do you feel? Does it hurt anywhere? I'll get the nurse,” he rambled, standing up. 

“What happened?” You asked, ignoring his questions. He froze in place and returned to your bedside, gently grabbing one of your hands. His hands trembled slightly, making you grow more concerned. 

“I-im sorry. I couldn't get there in time, I was trying to warn you, but I failed and you were hit. Bad. I thought I was going to lose you and it was all my fault. All because I couldn't get to you in time. I'm so sorry,” he spoke, tears falling once again. You managed to shake your head. 

“It's okay Xavie. I know you tried. You did everything you could, I'm sure of it. I'm okay now. You're not gonna lose me,” you comforted him. You wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to hold him and comfort him while he cried. So you tried, gasping in pain when you tried to move. 

“Don't move yet, you'll make it worse,” he scolded you immediately. 

“I wanna hold you,” you admitted. He frowned slightly before getting up and laying in the hospital bed next to you, his arms carefully wrapping around you so he wouldn't cause any further pain. “Are you okay?” You asked him. 

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. “I don't know what I would have done if I lost you.” 

“You'd move on and live your life of course,” you told him. 

“No,” he firmly stated. “I can't live my life without you. I promise I'll be faster next time.” 

“There's no need to beat yourself up about this Xavie. Part of our job is risking our lives. It was an accident. It'd take a lot more to end me.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise. I'm not leaving you any time soon, okay?” He nodded and hid his face in your neck. You managed to gain enough strength to lift your hand and rub his back, comforting him. 

The nurse came in and he refused to move, which the nurse eventually accepted, mostly because you said you were fine for now. She asked a few questions and took the vitals she could manage to get without Xavier in the way, before leaving and informing you she'd be back later. When she left you placed your hands on Xavier's face, guiding him to look at you. You wiped away a few more tears with your thumb. “I've never seen you cry so much,” you admitted. 

“Only because it's you,” he whispered, nuzzling into your hand. You hummed in acknowledgement. “We should get some hot pot when I'm released to cheer you up,” you mused. 

“If it's what you want,” he agreed, making you pout at him. 

“What I want is for you to cheer up. Of course it's okay to cry, but that doesn't mean I like seeing you cry. I want you to always be happy.” 

“Then don't ever leave me,” he said seriously. 

“I don't plan on it,” you smiled at him before softly kissing his lips. 

“Good. Now get some more rest so you can heal up and come home,” he instructed. You nodded, moving your arms to snuggle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep. 

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Zayne 

“Guess who's favorite patient is here?! Oh shit,” you suddenly stopped, still holding the door to Zayne's office, freezing in place. His head was in his hands, glasses thrown onto his desk, his hair messy. What really threw you off though, was when he looked up, fresh tears falling down his face. You hadn't seen him cry since you were children, crying over scrapes from concrete. He quickly wiped them away, unsure what to say. You were the same, still frozen in place. Once your brain decided to process that your boyfriend was crying, you hesitantly closed the door behind you and walked over to his desk. He watched uncomfortably. You weren't meant to see him in this state. Hell, he rarely was in a state like this, no one but him should see. “I- you- are,” you attempted to formulate a question, sighing when nothing that made sense came out. “Are you okay? What happened?” You finally asked. Your heart clenched at his reaction, his face welling up in pain before a sob left his throat. Concerned, you quickly made your way around his desk, pulling him into a hug. He buried his face in your stomach, gripping onto you tightly. You had no words, still stunned by the sight, hands instinctively rubbing his back. 

You stayed like that until your back grew sore from the position, Zayne's tears stopping. He broke the hug and leaned back into his chair, apologizing. “I'm sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Don't be. Are you okay though?” You asked, knowing something was obviously wrong. He nodded. 

“Yes. I guess I just got a bit overwhelmed. With the wanderer attack I haven't been home in days. I've barely slept or eaten. It's surgery after surgery, but I can't just not perform. That's someone's life. It hasn't been this back and forth in a while,” he explained. You nodded. 

“Is there no one else who can do the surgeries? You need to rest,” you chided him. 

“There wasn't. There is now. Fucking 72 hours later,” he breathed frustratedly. 

“That explains why you hadn't answered my texts,” you mused. “I figured you were busy, but not this busy to where you haven't slept in days.” He nodded. 

“Can we go home?” He asked, looking up at you. You smiled and nodded, bringing a hand to wipe away a stray tear. “I was going to leave after gathering myself, but you've already seen the worst of it.” 

“I'm glad I did in a way. Of course, I hate seeing you like this, but I want to be there for you. Overwhelmed and crying or stoic and loving. I wanna see all of it. Want me to get your things?” You offered. He smiled and shook his head, his hand guiding the hand that was once on his cheek to his lips, pressing a kiss to your hand. 

“I've got it. Thank you my love.” He stood and grabbed his things, packing away whatever he needed. You grabbed his hand and led him out of his office. 

When you got to his home, you immediately instructed him to wash up while you cooked him something. He agreed, not bothering to argue, though a shower was definitely what he wanted at that moment. Before cooking though, you quickly slipped out, walking down the road to his favorite dessert spot and getting some sweets for him. The woman at the counter recognized you and immediately got together your usual order- filled with your and Zayne's favorites. 

When you got back to his place you snuck back in, glancing to make sure he was still out of sight. Thankfully he was, opting to take a much needed long and hot shower. After placing the bag of sweets on the counter, you got to work. Zayne left the shower some time later, announcing his presence by hugging you from behind while you cooked, the scent of his body wash filling your nostrils. “Feel better?” You asked. He hummed in agreement. “Sleepy?” You chuckled. He made a noise of agreement, muffled as he hid his face in your shoulder, taking in your scent. He was relieved to finally be home. “I got you something,” you smiled down at the food you were making. 

“You did? When?” He asked. You nodded to the bag on the counter. 

“While you were in the shower. Thought you could use some sweets.” 

“That's an understatement,” he chuckled. When the food was done, the two of you ate, you doing most of the talking as Zayne was tired. He was happy to listen though. He could listen to you talk about your day for hours. You could be reading a dictionary and he'd happily listen to every word. After eating, you did the dishes, slapping Zayne's hand away when he tried to help, instructing him to head to bed first. With a kiss pressed to your cheek, he listened. 

Once done with dishes and getting yourself ready for bed, you joined Zayne, easily snuggling up next to him. He was half asleep, but still managed to thank you. “Thank you for this. You always know exactly what I need. All I wanted was to come home to you and sleep,” he admitted. 

“I would agree, though my days haven't been quite as intense. I'm happy to take care of you. I'll ask off tomorrow so we can spend all day in bed,” you offered. 

“You don't need to do that,” he insisted. 

“Too late,” you smiled. “Get some rest, I love you Zayne.” 

“Sleep well my love,” he mumbled out, falling asleep now that he has said everything he wanted to. 

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Caleb 

You wanted to surprise Caleb. He was going to be in town and you hadn't seen him in a while. So instead of meeting him at your place, you decided to show up at his work. You were able to get through security pretty easily, as Caleb had brought you a few times when you visited. You excitedly knocked at his office door before opening it and stepping in. “Surprise!” You called out, a smile immediately turning into a frown when you saw him holding his arm, wincing as tears fell. You ran over to him, gently holding his mechanical arm and looking it over. “Caleb, are you okay? Where does it hurt?” You asked him. 

“It's nothing,” he answered, stopping his tears. It was the same as when they were kids. 

“How many times do I have to tell you it's not nothing if you're crying? That it's okay to cry in front of me?” You scolded him. “Now tell me where it hurts.” 

“I know. But I'm supposed to be there for you, not the other way around. I don't need to be taken care of,” he argued. 

“Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes. That's how a relationship works. You're there for me and now I'm here for you, so stop hiding,” you sighed. He looked down, avoiding your gaze. 

“It just got an upgrade. They usually hurt, but not this bad,” he softly explained. 

“Do you think there was a malfunction? Should I notify your doctor?” You asked. He shrugged. 

“I'm fine,” he got out, just before wincing again, his hand going to grab his shoulder. You frowned and picked up the phone on his desk, calling for the doctor. 

“Let me take care of you for once,” you told him after putting the phone down, hand reaching to wipe away a few tears that he failed to hold back. “Losing an arm is reason enough to cry anyway. You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt for me. I don't want you to do that at all.” He nodded, listening to your words. You wrapped your arms around him in a hug, patting his hair until there was a knock at the door. You moved to open the door, letting in two men dressed in lab coats. Caleb explained what was happening and the two worked together to take his vitals and work on his mechanical arm. You brought a chair next to Caleb, holding his hand as they worked. He tried his best to make it seem painless, but failed, wincing every now and then. After some time, the men left. “Better?” You asked him, rubbing his arm. He nodded. 

“Yeah, sorry you had to see that,” he apologized. 

“Apologize again and I'm leaving you. You were this bad when we were kids, how have you not changed at all? I cried all the time in front of you and still do and you don't think I'm weak, right?” You asked. 

“Of course not. You're the strongest hunter I know,” he scoffed. 

“Then why do you think crying is going to make you weak? You're still the strongest commander I know. Getting used to a mechanical arm can't be easy, not to mention, it's newer tech. There's going to be errors.” 

“Yeah I guess,” he half heartedly agreed. You sighed, knowing there wasn't really a way to convince him. You decided on cheering him up the same way you did as when you were kids, knocking the hat off his head and throwing it across the room. “Wha-” he began laughing. You shrugged at him. 

“Only way I know to cheer you up. Should I continue?” You threatened with a grin. He shrugged and you pounced, immediately your fingers finding the ticklish spot on his sides, attacking him. He bursted into laughter, attempting to push you away from him. Unfortunately for him, you were much stronger now than when you were kids. It wasn't until you felt the effects of his evol pushing you away, you were forced to stop. “That's cheating!” You yelled at him. 

“I'm doing what has to be done. There are other ways to cheer me up now, pipsqueak,” he grinned, standing from his chair. His hand found your cheek, caressing it as he grinned at you. “Like this,” he whispered before leaning in and kissing your lips. 

“Such a cheater,” you muttered, face flushed. He laughed and you felt the effects of his evol wear off. He wrapped his arms around you into a hug. 

“Thank you though. For being there and not telling me I'm a wimp for crying over a little pain,” he whispered into your ear. You punched his chest lightly, pulling back to look at him.

“A little bit of pain seems like an understatement, but I won't argue further. You're welcome though.” 

“Promise not to tell anyone about seeing me cry? I've threatened both of my doctors,” he admitted. 

“So you crying and being in pain happens often?!” You exclaimed. 

“I wouldn't say often-” 

“Why didn't you tell me? I would have made sure to come to all the appointments I could have,” you interrupted, disappointed in him a bit. 

“I'm sorry. I was stupid and truly believed you'd think I was a baby, still kinda worried about that if I'm honest,” he admitted. You crossed your arms on your chest. 

“I don't think that. Never will. You've always been way stronger than me. Promise you'll start telling me when you have appointments?” You asked. He nodded. 

“As long as you promise not to tell people I cry,” he agreed. 

“Deal. Now can we go spend the weekend together? A new arcade opened up down the road from my apartment.” Caleb smiled at you before grabbing his coat (and the hat that was thrown across the room). He took your hand and led you out of his office, ready to spend time with his favorite person.

[a-soft-aside]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

Summary: Your recent work trip is the longest time you and Robby have been apart since you two started dating. He’s thought of you non-stop and all the things he’s been wanting to do to you. He gives you a welcome home to remember. A/N: THIS IS PURE SMUT (with a lil exposition). +18, MINORS DNI. sorry y'all this got real freaky real fast. just Robby loving on you and then proceeding to rearrange your guts (not medically) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ CW: Explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is in her early 30s), FACE SITTING, oral f!receiving, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, p in v, creampie. WC ~2k.

You stroll down the terminal at Pittsburgh International Airport, luggage in tow, and look down to see a notification ping on your phone: Parked right outside. see you soon

You can’t help but smile. You’re tired, jet lagged, and in desperate need of a shower. Despite all of this, you’ve never been happier. The last three and a half weeks felt like some of the longest of your life. You normally looked forward to traveling for work; you enjoyed immersing yourself in a different culture, meeting new people, trying delicious food. But while you were overseas, all you wished was that Robby was there to enjoy it with you. Surrounded by bustling crowds and colorful open-air markets, you still longed for the domestic safe haven you had created together. Mornings spent in your warm bed with Robby were some of your favorites. 

You walk outside to the Arrivals lot and squint into the sunlight, searching for your boyfriend. You spot him to your left, leaning against his car, sunglasses on. He sees you walking toward him and beams. It makes your heart stutter even now. Your walk turns into a light jog and you fly into his arms into a bear hug. You allow yourself to fully melt in his embrace, and you hear a soft hum of contentment from deep within his throat. 

He reluctantly releases you to take your suitcase and place it in the open trunk. You hop into the passenger seat and stretch out your legs languidly. As the car pulls away from the airport, Robby asks about your travels in more detail, and you chatter excitedly for a few minutes. 

“It feels so good to be back,” you sigh, rolling down the car window to let in the breeze outside. 

“That makes two of us. I missed you.”

You take in his side profile, his crows feet, his aquiline nose, and feel as if your heart might burst. “I missed you too.” 

Of course, you didn’t know the half of it. Robby hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you actually. He’d find himself lost in thought at work, wishing for a moment of peace in his stressful day where it was just you and him. Still, his job was a much needed distraction from your absence. It was when he went home that he missed you the most. It felt like a light long since extinguished inside him had been lit again when he met you. His colleagues at the Pitt joked that he’d turned into a lovesick teenager. 

As time went on, his mind began to wander in other ways. He craved your lush body, the little sounds you’d make when he touched you in all the right places. You two had been at each other non-stop since you began dating, and the time apart only intensified his need. 

Robby scratched his beard before speaking. “So I was thinking...tonight…if you wanted to–”

“Yes,” you interrupt, understanding what he was getting at. You had packed your vibrator with you for your trip, but it couldn’t compare to Robby. You had laid in your hotel room night after night, your breathing rapid, imagining him on top of you, in you. 

Robby smiled. “I was wondering if you wanted to try something new,” he went on. You waited for him to continue, curious. 

“I want you to sit on my face.” he says plainly, almost casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other elbow resting on the car’s center console. Your breath hitches. He keeps his eyes on the road while your eyes are on him. You feel your face flush. You’ve had your fair share of sexual partners go down on you, try to get you off (key word being try), but never had someone blatantly request this. Nor had you ever done it. You wouldn’t describe yourself as naive or coy by any means, and yet the image his suggestion provides immediately leaves you flustered. You start to feel arousal stir between your legs.

“Sure. I’m down,” you say, hoping he doesn’t detect the slight waver in your voice. “I’ll do my best to try and not suffocate you, but no promises,” you joke to play off your nerves.

“I’d be fine with that.” He finally turns to look at you, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. His eyes have a mischievous glint in them, almost boyish. You feel like you’re being toyed with, and you hate how much it’s turning you on.

——————————————————

You emerge from the shower with your hair still damp, dressed in a camisole and sleep shorts that show off the slightest bit of cheek. Robby is already laying back in bed, his eyes on you.

“So fresh and so clean, clean,” you sing mostly to yourself, doing a little shimmy. Robby laughs, thinking about how you brought levity back in his life the moment you stepped into it. Most days he doesn’t believe in God, but just in case, he thanks him for bringing you. 

He looks you up and down, making a note to also thank God for your outfit. 

“C’mere.” 

You happily approach him and crawl onto the bed into his lap. He pulls you into a deep kiss, gripping you at the waist. His fingers slip underneath your top and caress your soft skin. You let out a quiet “mmmm” into his open mouth and roll your hips against his. 

You rush to remove your top and pull his shirt off his head, and pull him close again. Your kisses progressively grow more and more sloppy, until you’re both panting, all teeth and tongue. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you lightly scratch his nape, where his hair is buzzed. He breaks the kiss suddenly to look at you. “Let me taste you.” His voice is gruff, and you feel your insides liquify. 

“I’m nervous,” you blurt out, before you can stop yourself. “What if you don’t like the way I look at that angle?” You wish you could bury the shame that’s seeping in. Despite your age difference with Robby, you don’t often feel it. In fact, it’s felt like the most natural relationship you’ve ever been in. No mind games, no immaturity. Just two adults with a clear expression of what they want; each other. The thought of coming across as needy or insecure makes you grimace. 

He takes a second to register what you’ve just said. While Robby may not be an open book, the softening of his expressive face speaks for him. He cups your face tenderly and looks into your avoidant eyes. “Sweetheart…I love you at every angle. But if you don’t want to, you can let me know. Right now all I want to do is make you feel good. But I can’t lie and say that wouldn’t make me feel really fucking good too.” He chuckles, running his knuckles down your bare back, something you find he absentmindedly does often when you’re cuddling in bed together. You shiver at his touch, the calluses on his hands, and are suddenly consumed again with a deep, insatiable, want. 

You bite your lip and without saying a word, you get up onto your knees on the bed. You take off your shorts and slowly pull your underwear down your thighs, where you’ve left a slick spot in the center of the fabric. Robby notices. He notices everything. He watches you almost reverently, his eyes growing dark. You approach him and swing your leg over his chest, have him straddled. You inch further and further up, until you’re hovered above his face, his eager mouth. You stay there for a moment, your core throbbing. He looks at you like the key to his deliverance is between your legs. 

In one swift movement, you drop down to meet his lips. You immediately moan at the sensation, and he lets out his own groan of pleasure. What happens next is an onslaught on all of your senses. You press your palms and forehead flat against the headboard in front of you for support as his mouth works under you with fervor, licking at your folds and lapping at your wetness. You squeeze your eyes shut, whining and bucking your hips, chasing the feeling. You feel the tip of his nose lightly brush against your clit and it’s like setting off a live wire. He drags his tongue against your clit again and the sensitivity is almost too much to bear. 

The wet sounds that fill the room are obscene, but you’re too far gone to care. All you hear are Robby’s grunts as he eats you, ravenous. Whatever insecurity you might have had prior to sitting on top of him have gone out the window—you forget yourself and where you are, only luxuriating in his worship. You throw your head back and arch your spine, bring your hands to your breasts and start fondling them, playing with your nipples. Robby emits a low rumbling hum of approval, enjoying the view you’re giving him.

You look down and admire how your thighs frame Robby’s face, the burn his beard leaves as it rubs against your most sensitive areas. You meet his brown eyes and see that he’s looking up at you possessively. You run your fingers through his greying hair and grind down further onto him. 

You start to ride his face, wanting more, more, more. Robby senses your frenzied energy and gladly reciprocates; he places his large hands on the sides of your hips, holding you down. He runs a hand over your ass, giving it a smack. You gasp and see him grin against you. You reach your hand back behind you and feel for his cock, the hardness bulging against his boxer briefs. His smile drops immediately and he lets out a guttural groan, thrusting into your touch. He grumbles something barely intelligible, though you can feel the vibrations against your pussy, sending a spark through you. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you tease, your voice breathless and airy. Suddenly, you’re yanked by your ankles and pulled further down the bed, until you’re flush against Robby’s sturdy chest. You let out a yelp as you land, and you feel the warm, solid strength of his arms locking you in place. You’re completely enveloped in him, and it’s dizzying. 

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck, when he finally growls in your ear “I said, you’re fucking trouble.” You whimper, fully aware of how drenched you are. 

Your legs instinctively spread, his knees propped up in between. He tugs the waistband of his boxer briefs down, and you feel his length, long and cut, rub against your entrance. He doesn’t break eye contact as he slowly pushes in, bit by bit.

Your mouth falls open, relishing in the delicious stretch. Robby is always nothing but careful when he first enters you, making sure you’re never in discomfort. Once he bottoms out, he pauses, letting you savor his fullness, every inch of him. He then tilts his hips down momentarily, before driving back into you. You let out a squeal. With each deep stroke, he goes faster and faster until he develops a steady rhythm. You begin to tremble, but his arms are still holding you in place, rendering you near motionless. 

Giving you no option but to lay there as he fucks into you. Robby cradles the back of your head as he keeps you anchored. Moan after moan is spilling from your lips with each deep thrust as he fucks you into oblivion, into a state of bliss. You feel like your eyes might roll into the back of your skull. You’re also vaguely aware that you might be drooling. Ever the multi-tasker, Robby gently brushes the hair out of your face and kisses you on the top of your head, the pace of his thrusts no less relenting. He lifts your chin to look up at him.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmurs. “My pretty girl.” You whine, so close to being completely undone. When Robby talks to you like this, it’s enough to take you over the edge. And he knows it. 

“God, you love taking it like this, don’t you?” 

You nod weakly, feeling nearly delirious. 

“M-Michael…” you hiccup. 

“I know baby, I know. Let it out.”

You sense your orgasm barreling toward you and yet you’re no more prepared; your vision goes white as if you’re staring directly at the sun. You come with a loud wail, your nails digging into the faded tattoos on Robby’s biceps, fingers scrabbling to find some release. 

He holds you close and fucks you through it, continuing to soothe you as you come down from your high. The way your walls clench around him makes him practically choke, and he comes hard, his voice strangled and hoarse. You feel him pulse inside you, filling you up again. 

You remain on his chest for a short while, the both of you absolutely spent. The only sound in the room now is your shuddering breaths. In a minute, you both will get up, wash off, and cuddle back in bed. But for now, you stay in this moment with Robby. 

“Welcome home,” he whispers, smoothing your disheveled hair. 

Home. You like the sound of that.

[erwinsvow]

unintentionally falling asleep on jack abbot's arms GOD i need him so bad..

it would happen on one of those nights—a really long, never-ending night. since the moment you had stepped into the hospital, it had been back-to-back car accidents and gunshot victims. one of those nights where you can't seem to recall how many people you've helped save, because it seems like that number is lower than the ones you lost.

you usually have a routine during your night shifts. it's supposed to be less chaotic than the day, you're supposed to have time for your coffee at nine-thirty, your tea at one in the morning. it's nearing three, and you haven't had time to stop for either, just sips of water and half a can of an energy drink that you keep in the snack drawer that you share with dr. abbot, in case of emergencies.

and even the fact that you'd reached for it so early in the shift should have been a sign to you, that this was going to be one of those nights. but even as hard as it is, when you look up and meet reassuring hazel eyes, you know that you'll be okay. that you've done for your best for this patient, that you'll continue doing the most you can for all the rest that come into the trauma room tonight.

and around three-thirty, there's a lull. jack always says that five to seven is the hardest part of the shift, that the two hours at the end dictate how you go home feeling. those two hours are make or break, but right before them, that's when there's a lull. it's when the patients waiting for beds upstairs finally doze off. it's when the chairs are finally a little emptier. when notes are finished, when a fresh pot of coffee is made, when food is eaten.

four am might be your favorite hour in the emergency department. it's just quiet enough that you can hear jack's steady breathing from the computer next to you. he has to sign off on all of your notes—all the resident notes, all the nurses orders, and this is the best time to do it.

and it's hard, because he's really attuned to you. all you've been wanting to do recently is make jack feel the same way he makes you feel. heard, seen, recognized. you bring him a cup of coffee once it's been fifteen minutes without an incoming, your personal way of telling that you should have at least another ten without one. that's about how long it'll take him to finish the cup, so you bring it to him, in your yellow mug, and take a seat next to him.

you take one sip—but it's black, and you prefer yours with enough cream and sugar to make your teeth hurt. he laughs when you make a face, and then he takes the cup back into his hands, fingers brushing for a second. jack takes a big sip and sets it down, his hand lingering on the handle near where your hand is resting. he's reading notes and clicking a button on the keyboard.

"do you want a cup, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, making sure no one can hear him.

he doesn't care, but he knows that you do. but when he turns to get an answer, your eyes are drooping. somewhere between the repetitive clicks of the keys and your boyfriend's steady breathing, you momentarily drifted off.

"sweetheart?" jack repeats, and you sit up a little straighter, jolting out of it at his voice.

"yeah?" you blink quickly, like that'll wake you up. "what is it? incoming?" you almost get up, but jack brings his warm hand to your knee. you sink back down into the chair.

"no. it's nothing." he wants to offer you a cup but if you drink it now, you won't go back to sleep. "go back to your notes."

wordlessly, you comply, staring back at the screen. back to your own personal sound machine—calm heart monitors in the distance, jack typing something. you try to focus on the screen but your attention goes to how the veins and muscles in his forearm move everytime he brings the cup to his mouth for a sip. that's enough to get your eyes to shut again.

his arm rests next to you yours. and without even trying to, you end up slouched over, head resting on his arm. even at home, you sleep like this sometimes. you think that jack's arm must hurt, but if it does, he's never complained or told you to stop.

it's good that you're sleeping while you can. it's one of those times his favoritism can actually make an appearance—there's not a single other resident that gets to fall asleep in front of their attending, much less on their attending. and you need it—he can tell. you're still adjusting to the demands of night shift and this has probably been one of the worst nights since you started.

it's the kind of shift that would usually end with him up on the roof, but surprisingly, while watching your shoulders rise and fall with each breath, he hasn't thought about the roof once tonight. instead he thinks about what he'll make for breakfast when he takes you home. he'll have you shower first if you two go to your apartment—it's too small, not comfortable enough for you both. but if it's his place, then together it is. maybe he'll wash your hair for you, or let you cry against his chest under hot water.

you bought this sleeping spray stuff when you started, but when you come over to sleep in his bed, you haven't needed it once. hopefully this little nap and the cup of coffee he'll make for you at five-thirty won't ruin your sleep schedule more than it already is. he's remembering something about a pilates class you were talking about and an episode of that trashy reality show you love so much when he hears it—the almost silent yet completely recognizable laugh of his other residents.

shen and ellis look at your sleeping form, and then move their gaze to him.

"not a word," he says quietly. he's lost use of one hand but it doesn't really seem to matter, not as long as you get to close your eyes for thirty minutes.

"just one question-"

"-yeah, when's my turn?"

[prettydaisygirl]

boyfriend!James Potter x fem!reader who thinks he's cheating ✿ 1.8k words

cw: fem reader, reader thinks James is cheating (he isn't), James is a professional athlete and kind of a himbo, reader is jealous/a bit possessive of James, Sirius and Remus back reader up, angst with a happy ending

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James Potter. Your beautiful, wonderful, oh so sweet boyfriend. He is the best man in the world. Except he has one flaw. 

He is way, way too trusting. 

You believe it’s because of his heart, too big for his body. He carries his emotions like a badge of honor, wanting to be good and see the good in others. And because of this, your boyfriend can be a little naive. 

“Jamie, I just don’t think it’s a good idea-“ You’re trying to reason with him, but as lovely as James is, he is also stubborn. 

“I just don’t see why you are making such a big deal out of this, angel.” James is wiping down plates, setting them aside for the team dinner tonight. “Olivia is a part of the team, she asked if she could come!” “She’s not a part of the team, she’s your social media manager.” You argue, rolling your eyes, but James doesn’t let up.

“She told me she thinks you have something against her.” You stop for a moment at James’ words, placing the towel you just finished folding aside. You raise your eyebrows at your boyfriend.

“And her words are so much more important than mine?” 

James seems to know he struck the wrong cord when his shoulders sink a bit. “That’s not what I said. But you did ignore her the entire dinner last week.”

“I told you when you came home from that meet in Florida, James. She was all over you, I watched it on tv.” You hate the way you sound, you know James doesn’t see Olivia’s actions the way you do. 

“You haven’t really met her, my love. I promise once you do, you’ll see that she is just our social media manager, and she wants us to look good so we get more sponsors!” James makes his way in front of you where you sit on the couch, kneeling down to meet your level. “Just give her a chance.”

You really rather wouldn’t. You’d rather James listen to you when you tell him about your concerns. But you know tomorrow’s meet is important to your boyfriend, so you decide to swallow your pride and nod.

“Fine.”

You regret agreeing almost immediately. 

Your house swarms with tall, athletic men. You don’t know when your home became the pre-meet dinner spot, but you don’t mind. You find great pride in helping James and his team do well. 

Olivia shows up after the rest of the team has arrived. When you open the door, her grin falters for a second before she reaches out a hand to greet you, squeezing too tight. She eyes you up and down and you decide to attach yourself to James for the evening. 

You latch yourself onto his side, arm around his waist. His own settles around your shoulders and for most of the dinner you can keep the green jealousy monster at bay. Especially when surrounded by his teammates, laughing and joking at the dinner table.

The best part about James’ team is that the others have seemingly adopted you. Remus and Sirius especially, given their lifelong friendship with your boyfriend. You’re always with them, and you consider them very close friends.

You’re chatting with Remus about his new favorite novel when you realize James has been in the bathroom for a long time. Remus sees the moment he loses your attention, your brow furrowing as your eyes scan over the room, looking for James in the small crowd of his teammates. He isn’t there.

“Are you looking for James?” Remus asks, eyes darting around, and your expression changes, mouth pursing a bit.

“And she’s gone too…” You whisper, under your breath but loud enough for Remus to hear. He seems to put the pieces together right as you stalk off toward the staircase.

Your heart pounds as you make your way upstairs, toward the bathroom. You feel your head spin when the door is open and the light is off. 

Things get worse when you hear James’ voice. You can’t make out what he’s saying but it comes from the bedroom. You step closer, and the next words you are able to make out definitely come from Olivia’s mouth. 

“Why does she even need to know?” The words sound sultry, spoken slow and sweet in a way that makes every hair on your body raise up.

The door is cracked open just enough for you to see the two of them. She is sitting on your bed, her perfectly manicured hand wrapped tightly around your boyfriend’s wrist. You can’t see James’ face and you’re glad for it.

“Olivia-“ His warm, rich tone reaches your ears but you’re gone before you can hear anything else. You try to flee silently down the hall, down the stairs, and past the team. You’re two feet away from the door when Sirius steps into your path and you bump into him.

“Hey-“ He starts to greet you with a smile but it drops the moment he sees your face. You don’t know what you look like. Frantic, maybe? Are you flushed? Crying? You aren’t sure, all you feel is the need to get out of here. “Woah, are you alright?”

“I just-“ You take a heavy breath and move to step around him. You can definitely feel tears pooling in your eyes now and you shake your head. “I have to go.”

The last thing you see before the door shuts behind you is Remus approaching Sirius with a questioning look on his face, looking toward the door where you left. 

You walk for a while, nervous to go too far. You turn off your phone, just wanting some space and to be left alone for a while. You stay in familiar areas, especially given how the sun has fully set now. Eventually you reach the park near your house and take a seat on a bench. 

Your mind races. You didn’t see or hear anything that explicitly suggested your boyfriend was considering having an affair with the team’s social media manager. But her voice, the way she was holding his wrist. It’s obvious that’s what she was asking him. 

There are two different possibilities here. You couldn’t see James’ face, only his back and the way he stood in front of her. Either he was going along with it, or he wasn’t.

You know James. James loves you, and he is not a man who is afraid of showing it. He’s always getting you flowers and little gifts, leaving you small love notes. Before he leaves for every practice he gives you an extra long kiss to your lips, then your forehead, and he whispers, “I love you, angel.” You know James.

So, why hadn’t he pulled away from her? 

It was that thought that kept you on the bench. You sit there longer than you should. Any other night, any other circumstance, if you were out this late and James couldn’t reach you, you know he’d be worried sick. Your legs are stiff and your lower back aches when you finally stand. The walk back to your house is miserable, your soul heavy with anticipation. You don’t know what you will do if this somehow ends with you losing James. 

The lights are still on when you approach the house. The only car left in the driveway is James’ so you know all of his teammates have gone home. That means Olivia is gone too. 

Your feet drag as you move up the steps to the front door. You know it’s unlocked but you get your key out and move to unlock it anyway, just to delay this for just a moment. Every second is heavy with possibility, your heart aching. 

The door creaks open and you step inside. James sits up on the living room couch and the two of you lock eyes immediately. The first thing you notice is that his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, they probably ache as much as yours do. You hate the thought that he has been crying here by himself. 

James stands, and he’s in front of you before you can blink. He gathers you into his arms like you’re something precious and you feel the warm heat of his breath on your neck as he exhales shakily. You wrap your arms around him too, grasping gently at the fabric of his shirt.

“Angel,” He breathes into your skin, and you find your eyes closing. His scent is warm, familiar and comforting. For a moment, just a moment, you let yourself go, focusing only on how wonderful it is to be in his arms. 

His voice pulls you out of it, rough and scratchy from crying. “I’m sorry I really didn’t think-“

You open your eyes to blink up at him when he pulls back. This is the worst conversation the two of you have ever had and it hasn’t even really started yet. You hate fighting with him. 

“Jamie-“ You start to say something. To tell him that you just need him to tell you he loves you. But you don’t get the chance, he’s already speaking.

“No, listen. I’m so sorry, I should have listened to you,” The look on his face breaks your heart, and when his eyes turn glassy, you can’t help but find your own burning again. “I thought she was just being nice, that she wanted to do a project for the team. I didn’t- when she said ‘we’, I didn’t think she meant her and I, I thought she meant the team, you know?” 

“Jamie-“ Your quiet, shaky voice barely breaks through his rambling explanation. His hands move to cup your face. 

“Sirius and Remus already chewed me out, and I know I messed up.” He says, his voice cracking a bit. His expression is raw and a tear slips down his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words are barely out of your mouth when he kisses you. You don’t know if it is the intensity of the situation or the buildup of emotions but you find your knees weak and your grip on him tightening. 

“Jamie-“ You whisper against his lips, a silent plea.

“We fired her.” He whispers back, lips disconnecting from yours as he leans back just enough to look in your eyes. “As soon as I realized what she was asking me, I shut her down.”

“I know.” You tell him. And you do. You know James loves you, and you believe him when he tells you nothing happened with Olivia. “I shouldn’t have… run off. I just needed some time to think. And now you have your meet tomorrow and-“

“Don’t worry about me. I just need you.” James brushes his lips against your forehead before placing another lingering kiss to your lips.

“I love you, angel.” 

“I love you too, Jamie.” 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Nineteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, teeth-rotting fluff, mentions of minor ptsd, the "do you want kids" talk, therapy, sexual content.

Notes — The queen of fluff strikes again. They're so in love it hurts. Enjoy this intermission from the angst before we get to Spa.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Hungary)

Max was having headaches.

Not debilitating, not anything he would admit needed painkillers. But Amelia noticed the way he squinted at the sim screen, how he blinked a little too often under the harsh lights, how he’d logged fewer hours this week than he had since he was seventeen.

She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t want to push him.

But it gnawed at her, heavy and sour at the pit of her stomach.

Because she knew Max. Knew how he worked. If he thought for even a second that she might tell Christian or Helmut or, God forbid, the FIA, he'd lock it down even tighter, wrap himself up in barbed wire and throw away the key. Anything to stay in the car. Anything to win. 

Still, it scared her. The idea that maybe the crash had done more damage than he was willing to admit. That maybe he was hiding it from her, from everyone, in order to be given the all clear to keep racing. 

She leaned against the doorway to the RBR sim room one evening, arms crossed tight over her chest, watching him fight through another lap. He was good at pretending, but she saw the way his hand came up to the back of his neck when he thought no one was looking, how he massaged the side of his head, quick and angry like he could force the ache away. 

Her fingers twitched at her side. She wanted to walk over. Put a hand on his shoulder. Make him stop. But she didn't.

Instead, she just said, quiet but steady, "Don’t be stupid, Max."

He flicked his eyes toward her, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, but didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

She already knew what he’d decided. And she already knew it would break her heart trying to change his mind.

— 

Amelia sat at the kitchen island, watching her mom buzz around the kitchen, throwing together something that vaguely resembled a pasta salad. She scrunched her nose at the sight of it, half-finished, but already tragic, and fought the urge to say something. She hadn’t been lying to Lando over a year ago, standing in her garage, when she’d told him her mom was really only capable of cooking one thing successfully. And there was definitely no chicken in sight.

Her iPad was open in front of her, specs from the latest floor upgrade zoomed in on the screen, but she wasn’t really looking at them. Not properly. She was too focused on the strange, unsettled feeling curling in her stomach.

This was her first time at home for weeks, maybe even over a month, and she’d missed it, she had. She really had.

But something felt… different. Off, in a way she couldn’t quite pin down.

“I think I should get my own place,” she said eventually, voice quiet but certain.

Her mom spun around, salad tong still in hand, blinking fast.  “You— you don’t want to live at home anymore?”

Amelia shrugged, trying to find the right words. “No, it’s not that. It’s not that I don’t like it here. It’s just…” She trailed off for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I feel like a nomad. I’m living out of hotels most of the time. And when I am in England, I’m split between here, Glastonbury with Lando, and Milton Keynes at Max’s flat. I have all these different places that feel half-mine. But nowhere that’s actually mine, you know?”

Her mom set the salad tongs down carefully, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. She didn’t look angry.

Amelia pressed on, rushing a little now in case she’d somehow managed to made her mom sad. “I still love it here. I do. But it feels like… like my childhood home, you know? Not my current home.”

There was a small beat of quiet. Then her mom gave a soft, bittersweet smile. “That’s what’s supposed to happen, honey. You’re supposed to outgrow home. I’m glad you feel ready.”

Amelia relaxed a little, shoulders unclenching. Then her mom added, almost too casually, “Will you and Lando get a place together?”

Amelia blinked. “What? No— I mean—” She stopped herself, brain scrambling to catch up. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I just meant me. Like… by myself.”

Her mom laughed, warm and a little amused. “Well, think about it. You practically live with him already, in hotel rooms, but still… it counts.”

Amelia frowned, thinking it through like it was a math problem. “Oh. Yeah. That would… probably make more sense, wouldn’t it?” She mumbled. “I don’t particularly think I’d want to live alone, anyway. And I have gotten used to all of his stuff taking up my space—“ 

Her mom just smiled again, all knowing and fond, and went back to massacring the pasta salad.

— 

Amelia smiled to herself and kept her head down, pencil scratching steadily across the paper in her lap. The rumble of the jet engine faded into white noise; background to the way her hand moved without much thought, the way it always did when her brain was chewing on something bigger than her.

Lando, sprawled out lazily in the aisle across from her, leaned over, curious. “What are you drawing, baby?”

Immediately, Amelia tilted the sketchbook away from him, tucking it protectively against her chest. Her ears burned hot. “Uh. Nothing. I mean—obviously something, but I don’t want to tell you.”

He stared at her for a long second, like he was trying to decode her, eyes narrowing slightly in that way that meant he wasn’t sure whether to push or leave it alone. Then he grinned, easy and warm. “Alright. Keep your secrets.”

He leaned back, stretching his legs out. 

Amelia ducked her head again, heart thudding faster than she wanted it to.

She wasn’t lying. She just… wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet. Not to him, not to herself.

In the sketchpad, dozens of early concepts sprawled across the page; lines and curves and arrows scribbled in shorthand. A McLaren.

Not just any McLaren, either.

One capable of winning championships.

Lightweight rear end. Aerodynamic front wing for better rotation. A reimagined floor, designed with efficiency and flexibility in mind for whatever the regulation changes might throw their way in the next couple of years.

It was stupid, probably.

She didn’t work for McLaren. Never had, in any official capacity. 

She was still Red Bull’s weapon — heralded by the press as Max’s saviour. Mini Newey. A hundred nicknames but never just her own, never just Amelia Brown.

But the ideas had crawled into her head after Silverstone and refused to leave. It had started with a little idle thought (If I could build him a car good enough to fight Max…) and now here she was. 

She chewed on her pencil, staring at the half-formed shape of the nose, and tried not to think too hard about what it meant that she couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything else. 

— 

They stopped in Belgium before ultimately traveling to Hungary. Lando had family there. Cousins, some distant and some much closer. They’d be too busy to do anything of the sort during the actual Belgium race week, so it was nice to be able to fit them in.

They visited a few over the course of the week; fleeting hellos, shared meals over chipped plates and loud, overlapping conversations. It was nice. Overwhelming, a little, but nice.

Lando introduced her to all of his relatives with a beaming smile and a dozen proud praises—"This is Amelia—yeah, my Amelia"—and she offered polite hellos, dodging kisses on cheeks and handshakes as politely as possible and then doing her best to keep up with the small talk when it was asked of her.

It was a little exhausting, mentally. The swirl of laughter, jokes she didn’t quite catch the punchline of, but Lando never pushed her too far. Never nudged her into the centre of things. He let her stay where she was comfortable, sometimes sliding his hand across her lower back when it got too much, or catching her eye from across a room with a soft, wordless smile.

Mostly, she ended up perched on the carpet with the kids, knees tucked under her, a tiny smile playing on her lips as she held up a toy car and explained, far too seriously, the engine type and manufacturer history. The toddlers listened with wide eyes, clutching their sticky-fingered toys and nodding solemnly as if they understood.

Later, in the car, as they drove back toward their hotel under the pale blue of evening, Amelia sat curled up in the passenger seat, hair pulled over one shoulder, a big blue stain on her blouse that was the product of finger-painting gone wrong. 

Lando was quiet, his hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other tugging her knuckles gently onto his thigh. "You were really good with them," he said eventually, voice soft enough that she almost thought she'd imagined it.

She made a face. “Kids are easy. All you have to do is keep talking and occasionally shove something colourful at them.”

He laughed under his breath. A minute passed.

Then, casual, like he was asking if she wanted to stop for food, he asked, "Do you want kids?"

Amelia blinked, turning her head to stare at him in the half-light. "I— we don’t even live together," she said, blunt and a little incredulous.

Lando’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "Well, we can change that."

She stared at him for a long second, watching the way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. Like he wasn’t nervous. Like he meant it.

"Did you talk to my mom?" she asked suddenly.

He shot her a quick, confused glance. "What? No—why? Did you already—? I mean—"

“Okay. I would like to live with you," she said, cutting him off neatly.

For a second, he just blinked at her. And then he was smiling, wide and ridiculous, so big it looked like it physically hurt to contain it.

She giggled, reaching over to nudge his arm. "Stop making that face. You're going to scare the other drivers."

"I'm happy," he argued, grin stretching impossibly wider. "Let me be happy."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth gave her away. She settled back against her seat, watching the trees whip past the window, her heart full and a little chaotic.

"Who gets the bigger closet?" she asked after a beat.

He laughed, a low, warm sound. "You do. Obviously. I’ll just shove my stuff in a corner somewhere."

She nodded. “I do need a lot of closet room. I have two-hundred pairs of shoes.” A few seconds passed in comfortable silence before she tilted her head, thinking. "Where would we live?"

He didn’t miss a beat. "Monaco." 

She wrinkled her nose, instinctively. "That's... a big change."

He glanced over, softer now, like he already knew she'd need a minute with the idea. "Just think about it, baby," he said. "Makes sense for me. Makes sense for you. No taxes. Close to Max if you stay with Red Bull. Close to everything else if you don't."

She chewed on her bottom lip, the weight of it settling on her. A new country. A new chapter. A real home; with him.

He smiled again, smaller this time but just as sure. "We could make it our home."

Amelia nodded slowly, feeling her brain already spinning into overdrive. "I need to make a list. Pros and cons. Things we’ll want in the apartment. Maybe a balcony?"

Lando just grinned, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. "Anything you want, baby."

— 

“Do you think I’d be a good mom?”

Max froze mid-step, nearly tripping over his own feet. His eyes went wide, panic flashing across his face. “You—fuck, are you pregnant?”

His alarm might’ve had something to do with the fact that she was halfway under his car, only her legs and a shock of messy hair visible as she fiddled with a stubborn screw.

Amelia blinked, glancing up at him from beneath the chassis. “No. I’m just wondering.”

Max let out a breath so heavy it was basically a groan, dragging a hand down his face like he needed to physically wipe the terror off. “Fuck, don't do that to me, zusje. I nearly had a heart attack.”

She wriggled out from under the car, wiping her greasy hands on a rag as she sat back on her heels. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. I’m being serious.”

Max crouched down beside her, arms draped loosely over his knees, studying her with a little more care now. “Okay... why are you thinking about that?” he asked, voice softer.

Amelia shrugged. “I was just thinking—if it ever happened, would I be good at it?”

Max’s face relaxed. “You’d be a great mother.”

She tilted her head, skeptical. “You’re just saying that because it’s what you’re supposed to say.”

He snorted. “No, I'm saying it because it’s true. You love very intensely, you’re honest even when it’s not easy, and you are protective and strong. That's exactly what children need from a parent.”

Amelia chewed on her lip. “Pregnancy is scary. Completely out of my control. Everything, anything, could go wrong.”

Max’s expression shifted, softening. “That’s not something you need to worry about yet.”

She hesitated, then said, almost too quietly, “I think Lando would be a good dad. And I want to give that to him. One day.”

Max nodded. “Then you will. When you’re ready, of course.”

Amelia pursed her lips, staring off to the side. “We... I think we’re going to move in together. Soon. Lando mentioned Monaco.”

Max immediately brightened. “Good! I’m there already. We could be neighbours.”

She blinked, absorbing that new piece of information, slotting it neatly into the mental checklist she was already building. “Oh. Are there any available apartments in your building?”

Max huffed a small laugh, like he hadn’t expected her to take his suggestion seriously. “I’m sure there are.”

She nodded firmly, already halfway down the rabbit hole of logistics. “Okay. That would be efficient.” 

Max smiled at her, patient, fond. “I’m sure that you will find the perfect place, zusje. Don’t worry.”

Amelia nodded again, more to herself this time. 

— 

“We’re not living in Max’s building,” Lando said.

Amelia, perched cross-legged on the bed in his drivers room, immediately pouted. “Why not? It would make life so much simpler, Lan.”

He let out a short laugh, setting his phone down. “Look, I love Max, alright? But living that close to him would be... proper weird.”

Amelia tilted her head, frowning like he was speaking another language. “Why?”

Lando scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Imagine it. Every time we argue, he’s knocking on the door two minutes later—sticking up for you, making me feel like a right dickhead.”

She cracked a tiny smile but stayed stubborn. “But it would be efficient. And Max could help us fix things if something breaks.”

“Baby,” Lando said, laughing, “if something breaks, I’ll fix it. Or we’ll call someone. A professional. Not Max with a wrench and a YouTube tutorial.”

He reached over, tugging her socked foot into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I was thinking somewhere quieter anyway,” he added, softer now. “Away from the main city. Somewhere you can go on your little daily walks without bumping into tourists every five seconds.”

She perked up immediately. “My walks are important for my brain.”

“I know.” He smiled, running his thumb over her ankle. “I even asked Charles where he grew up. There are places, baby; small, quiet. Still close enough if we need to get into town. He said the air’s cleaner too.”

Amelia tapped her fingers against her knee, thoughtful. “Cleaner air is good. Better for respiratory health.”

Lando chuckled and tugged her closer until she half-fell into his side with a tiny yelp. “Exactly. So let’s find somewhere ours, yeah?”

She tucked her head under his chin, breathing him in. “Okay. But if Max gets upset, you have to deal with it.”

Lando grinned against her hair. “I can handle a grumpy Verstappen.”

— 

They were curled up in their hotel room, watching the latest episode of Grill the Grid the night before qualifying.

Amelia sat between Lando’s legs, her back pressed against his chest. He had her squished close, big hands sprawled comfortably across her stomach, pressing just enough to ground her, to help her breathe a little easier.

It’d been a rough day for Max, and the stress had bled into her too. Finally being still, finally letting herself relax, felt like a blessing.

She fiddled absently with her golf ball, thumb tracing lazy circles over the surface, half-listening, until the first trivia question came up.

Without hesitation, she rattled off the answer.

By the third question, Lando was laughing, reaching for the remote to pause the video after each one. “Alright, genius,” he teased, chin nudging the top of her head. “You get first go. Beat all of us.”

She answered every time without missing a beat.

He kept pausing, and she kept getting them all right, and after a while Lando wasn’t even pretending to be surprised anymore. He just squeezed her a little tighter and said, “Smarty pants.” 

Amelia smiled, small and shy but real.

Lando pressed a kiss into her hair. “I should start taking you to pub quizzes. I’d make a fortune.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn’t pull away.

— 

She felt... clingy.

Sitting next to Lando in hospitality, she stared at him, hands itching, burning to reach out, to grab him and never let go.

It had started yesterday. A coil of anxiety tightening in her stomach, left over from Silverstone. Aftershocks, she supposed.

She’d googled it, of course. Trauma responses. Hyper-vigilance. Perfectly normal, the internet said.

She didn’t feel normal.

She kissed Lando goodbye before qualifying, smiling as best she could, and ignored the way her hands trembled when she pulled away. She didn’t look back, even though everything inside her screamed to.

If it were up to her, none of them would be taking part in the weekends running. 

Not Lando. Not Max. Not Fernando. Not anyone.

She caught herself before the spiral could dig deeper, bracing one palm against the wall of the motorhome and forcing a deep breath.

She couldn’t live like this. Couldn’t let one crash, no matter how terrifying, poison the thing she loved. The thing they all loved.

But reason didn’t quiet the fear.

It didn't steady her hands as she watched Lando climb into his cockpit on the livestream.

It didn’t stop her from hugging Max tighter than usual, long enough that he gave her a puzzled little look before he was called away.

Even GP noticed. He kept glancing over, subtle but persistent. “You okay?” he asked, at least a dozen times throughout the session.

Every time, Amelia just nodded without looking at him, glued to the data, clinging to logic, to numbers, to anything she could control.

It helped. A little.

— 

Lando out-qualified Daniel by a mile.

He was cocky and proud, chest puffed out as he peeled her dress off later that night, caught between frantic and careful.

His mouth was hot against her neck, pulling soft, desperate sounds from her lips, her back arching into him. Then his hand tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

He was smirking. Full of adrenaline. Hungry. “You think I deserve a reward for my performance?”

Amelia blinked up at him, sweet and soft and unbearably hot. “Anything you want, Lan.”

— 

The next morning, she clung to him, legs tangled with his, her hands wrapped tightly around his wrists. Holding him, having him, needing him close. The warmth of his body against hers felt like the only thing that was grounding her.

He kissed her nose, then her forehead, her cheeks, and chin, finally landing on her lips. The slow, deliberate kiss deepened, but she pulled away just enough to speak.

“I think I need to talk to somebody. A therapist, probably.”

Lando froze, his fingers still brushing against her skin, a soft hesitation in his touch. “You’re... Fuck, I knew something was up. I could feel it, but I didn’t know for sure.”

She gave him a steady, matter-of-fact look, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Yeah, that’s because I hid it from you. Didn’t want you to worry."

His face softened, and the guilt crept in. “You should’ve told me, Amelia.”

She shrugged, her stomach twisting under the weight of his gaze. “I didn’t want you distracted…”

"Don’t be stupid." His words were sharp, but they didn’t make her flinch. His hand found the back of her neck, pulling her gently against him. “You tell me when you’re having a shit time, okay?”

She sighed, pressing her forehead to his. “Sorry.”

His fingers slid through her hair, his voice steady but soft. "No more hiding it. Right?"

She nodded, barely, but it was enough.

“We’ll find someone good for you to talk to,” he said after a beat, his hand moving to stroke her hair.

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his collarbone affectionately. “Okay.”

— 

She popped her head into Fernando’s garage, offering him a soft smile. He came over, gave her a quick squeeze, and gestured proudly to his helmet. “Pretty, huh?”

She nodded, indulging him with a grin. “I like it. How are things going with Esteban?”

Fernando sighed. “Ah. He is… complicated. A good driver, but a terrible teammate. He does not see how both things can be true at once.”

She glanced over at Esteban’s side of the garage. “He’s passionate.”

Fernando nodded thoughtfully. “He is. That will be his greatest strength—and his greatest weakness.” He kissed her cheek and shooed her off. “Go, go, before Verstappen finds you here and threatens to keep you chained to his garage.”

She hugged him again, leaning in just close enough to murmur, “Adjust your ride height. Two centimetres higher.”

Before he could say anything, she gave him a sly smile and disappeared down the paddock.

— 

She sat next to Checo in the strategy meeting, slouched low in her chair, sneaking cursory glances at him every time he slid his phone under the table toward her. They were playing chess; badly, if she was honest, but that was half the fun.

Checo would make a move, tilt the screen toward her, and wait, barely suppressing a smug grin. She'd frown, tap out a counter, and slide it back without a word.

No one else seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

Checo was a lot of fun. Easygoing. Quick to laugh. And, as it turned out, a little reckless with his queen.

Amelia pinned him in three moves flat.

Checo huffed under his breath, shaking his head at her. She just shrugged, eyes back on the screen at the front of the room like nothing had happened at all.

— 

It was raining. Not hard, not anymore, but enough to slick the track and raise every hair on the back of Amelia’s neck.

She stood, stiff-backed, arms folded across her chest in the Red Bull garage, the whole world around her muffled and distant. She could hear the shrill whine of the engines as the formation lap wrapped, but it was like she was underwater. Distant. Fading.

Max was P3. Lando was P6. Fernando was lurking, dangerous as always. The Mercedes were ahead, unpredictable on a damp track.

Amelia flexed her fingers, breathing deep and slow. 

The lights blinked above the front of the grid, one, two, three, four, five, and before she could even brace herself, the race started.

Chaos.

Immediate, all-consuming chaos.

Bottas missed his braking point into Turn 1 and plowed into Lando. She didn’t even see it happen, only saw Lando’s car snap sideways, broken, ruined, like a toy in the rain.

She flinched so hard she almost dropped her iPad.

And then Max—Max—

She watched it in horror, too slow to look away, as Max’s Red Bull got collected in the chain reaction, bodywork flying, his car crumpling along the side-pod.

Her knees buckled; she caught herself with a hand on the pitwall.

Someone shouted. Someone else was already running to grab spare front wings. Alarms buzzed in her headset, engineers yelling over one another.

“Max has heavy damage,” GP was saying into her ear through the comms device, voice low and tight. “We’re evaluating. Standby.”

Her hands trembled.

The cars crawled through the carnage, half the grid limping back toward the pitlane. She stared at Max’s car as it crept past, side torn open like a wounded animal, sparks flying out the bottom.

“Still going,” she heard someone say. "He's still going."

Somehow, Max was dragging the car around. Somehow, Lando had pulled off track without getting hit again.

The red flag was thrown. Race temporarily suspended.

Amelia let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and pressed her forehead against the wall. Cold metal, cold air, cold panic.

She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder — once, solid and grounding. Probably an engineer who hadn’t been briefed, but they were lucky, their touch felt good, and didn’t make her want to tear off her skin. 

She nodded, to herself, to anyone watching her, making sure she was good. 

Didn't trust herself to speak yet.

— 

Lando was out.

Too much damage. Retired on lap two.

Max was luckier. He kept going, dragging a half-broken chassis to the finish line, scraping whatever points he could.

Esteban won. His first victory.

Amelia watched from the back of Lando’s garage as the Frenchman stepped onto the top step of the podium, soaking in the moment.

Lando’s arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

She didn’t need him to say anything — she could feel it. The bitter edge of jealousy under his skin, the tight set of his jaw.

“It’ll come,” she muttered, more promise than reassurance, her mind flicking to her sketchbook, to the concepts she hadn't shown anyone yet — the ones that could take him all the way. 

The chassis she’d created with two particular drivers in mind. 

Lando squeezed her tighter.

— 

Summer break came just when she needed it.

She and Lando flew back to Monaco with Max, crashing in his guest room while they started apartment hunting.

Well… Lando did most of the hard work. Talking to estate agents, putting out feelers.

Amelia kept herself busy playing with Jimmy and Sassy, who decided almost immediately that she was their new favorite human.

She didn't mind. The cats were easy company, curling up on her lap or following her around the flat as Lando scrolled through listings and Max grumbled about all the overpriced places in the area.

It felt good, normal, even, to slow down. To just exist for a little while, tucked away in the hazy warmth of a Monegasque summer, surrounded by people (and animals) who loved her.

— 

They fell in love with the first place they viewed.

If Amelia believed in fate, she might have called it that.

Lando stood back and watched as she wandered through the apartment; past the galley kitchen, onto the balcony, big enough for a table, a chair, maybe even a canopy swing if she wanted.

Two bedrooms, three bathrooms. A master suite and a double. A massive living room, an even bigger office.

She could already see it: herself at a big desk, sketching new concepts as sunlight poured through the wall of windows.

She found Lando in the kitchen, deep in conversation with the property agent.

When he glanced up, she was already beaming at him.

— 

They spent two weeks of summer break, the rare stretch when neither of them had to be working full-time, Lando free from training camps, Amelia unchained from the factory, tucked away in the South of France.

It felt like stepping into another life. Long mornings spent tangled up in crisp hotel sheets, slow breakfasts on sun-drenched balconies overlooking sleepy coastal towns. They rented a little convertible and drove with no real destination, winding through golden hills and lavender fields, the radio humming low between them.

Amelia wore tiny sundresses and braided her hair, and Lando kept finding excuses to kiss her bare shoulders. They swam in cold, clear water until their fingers wrinkled, then collapsed on the beach, salt still clinging to their skin. 

At night, they fell into bed full of good food and exhausted. 

It wasn’t some extravagant, carefully curated holiday. It was just… easy. 

And somewhere between the lazy afternoons and the late-night kisses, Amelia stared at him and thought, “I could spend the rest of my life with you.” 

— 

The evening was warm, a soft breeze rustling the leaves around them. Lando had set up a speaker on the patio, the faint sound of acoustic guitar playing in the background, but they weren’t paying much attention to the music. Amelia was sitting on the edge of a chair, arms loosely draped over her knees, looking out at the stars above. Lando was sitting on the stone steps, watching her.

“So, how was it?” He asked. 

Amelia smiled faintly, but her eyes were tired. “It was… fine,” she started, kicking the edge of the chair with her foot, watching the dust float up into the air. “A bit awkward, but that’s probably normal. Online therapy, you know?” She rolled her eyes, but there was a lightness to her tone, as if she was still trying to find the right words. “It felt like… trying to untangle a knot in my brain, but someone else was holding the other end.”

Lando nodded thoughtfully, shifting on the stairs so he was facing her more. “I get that. Did she—” He paused, checking her expression, making sure she was okay. “Did she help at all?”

Amelia shrugged, a soft exhale escaping her. “Not yet. I mean, we talked about a lot of stuff. Things I didn’t realise were connected, you know? I think it’ll take a few sessions for it to click. It’s hard to explain. But I felt… heard, I guess. Which is something.”

Lando nodded again, his gaze softening. “Proud of you, baby.” He looked over at the empty space beside him. “Come here.”

She raised an eyebrow but stood up, moving to join him. As she sat beside him on the steps, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re really good at this whole comfort thing.”

Lando chuckled, sliding an arm around her waist. “I try my best.” After a beat, he stood up, holding out a hand to her. “Wanna dance?”

Amelia looked at him, surprised, but the quiet night seemed to make everything feel a little more possible. She took his hand with a grin. “We’re really doing this?”

Lando smiled, tugging her to her feet. “Why not? It’s a slow song.”

The music played on, soft and gentle, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Just moved together, swaying under the dim glow of the patio lights, with the sound of the wind and distant waves in the background. Amelia closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the moment settle into her chest, her heart still thudding, but in a different way now.

“You know, you’ve been pretty great,” she murmured after a while, her hand resting against his chest. “With everything.”

Lando’s smile was barely visible in the dark, but she felt it in the way he pulled her just a little closer. “Always.”

She closed her eyes.

Always sounded pretty good.

NEXT CHAPTER

[trampleddoves]

hi! i liked your free use blurb and I was wondering if you'd do it in the reverse where the reader could use spence?

s. r. blurb 3

contents: fem!reader, free use Spencer, slight dom/sub dynamics, MDNI

Dating a nerd who all but worships the ground you walk on has certain perks.

There are the more obvious ones: he does your taxes for fun (and by hand, like the most lovable troglodyte), he takes you to lovely dates that are somehow both exciting and—if you’re being completely honest—ever so slightly boring, he is an absolute gentleman. The type who walks by the street, and would bend down to tie your laces for you. 

Lesser known perks are as follows: he can recite books for you from memory—which comes in handy when you need something soft and soothing to lull you to sleep, he indulges in your little hyperfixations, and, lastly, he’s so completely desperate for you. Enough that a simple brush of your hand on his thigh has him stuttering and turning pink, the slightest pressure on his crotch sends him reeling. Certain clothes are his enemy—you wear red and there’s a tent in his pants. 

It seems only fitting for you to claim his cock whenever you want. He gets hard so quickly, you might as well take advantage of it, right?

Right.

And of course, Spencer Reid—perfect, loving, incredibly intelligent—says yes to being your free use boyfriend. 

Another perk of dating a nerd?

He has nothing else going for him outside of work. Granted, the BAU takes him away from you more often than not, but you simply see that as another opportunity. Just means when he’s back, you’re bouncing on his cock at every opportunity you can.

This weekend is no different. He’s been gone for four days, barely calls—he’s always been so bad at that—but being apart only heightens your need for him. Absence sharpens love after all, or whatever it is Shakespeare said. You’re sure Spencer knows it by heart, something beautiful and poetic, not the clumsy version you can recall. 

So he’s home after four long days, trying to play chess, and you’re splayed on his lap, your back to his chest, grinding your hips in slow, circular motions to relish the feeling of his cock stretching you out and filling you up after being unsatisfied for the past few days. 

He’s moaning. Everytime he reaches over to move a piece, you bounce on his lap to distract him, giggling at the quiver in his fingers when you clench your walls tightly around his pulsing length. You follow his hands, long fingers wrapping around a knight and moving it to take an opponent’s bishop. You start bouncing faster. 

“God, honey,” he groans, accidentally knocking over a pawn in the process.

“Need your safe word?”

“No no, just—I missed you so much.” he whimpers, burying his face into your neck. He begins to buck his hips up, meeting your thrusts.

You pause immediately, hands resting on his thighs. Not that it doesn’t feel good—it does, but the whole point of this is that he continues his activities while you use him. “Did I give you permission to fuck me, Spence?”

“No,” he whines. You smile when he stops moving obediently, face lifting from your neck, “I’m sorry.” He resumes the chess game, moving a rook to take the offensive knight from before.

“Good boy.” you reward him by grinding again, more up and down this time. Leaning back into him, you drag your wet cunt all over his cock, squeezing as you do. Like a good boy, he simply continues his chess game, but you grin triumphantly as his hands tremor even more. With a hum, you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing quick circles on the swollen nub. “White’s check in three.”

“No way.” he gasps as your pace grows rougher, riding him in quick strokes, “I could have sworn—ah!”

You come undone around him, walls tightening to a nearly painful degree. Soft, breathy gasps leave your lips as you ride him through your climax, going lax and soft in his arms. He sighs, staring dumbly at the chess board in front of him. Understandably needy, but he can’t do much about it right now, that’s not his role. Not unless you give him permission. 

“You’ve been so good, baby,” the words come out a sweet little sigh, full of affection. You crawl off his lap, grinning as he turns his head and follows you with a gaze so full of longing it’s almost pitiful. You hum, settling on the couch beside him. Legs spread, an invitation. “Come and fuck me now, Spence, you deserve it.”

The last, perhaps least known perk of dating a nerd?

They’re amazing at fucking. Or, at least, Spencer Reid is. 

[p1astr81]

Could you do Oscar x Next door neighbor Reader where like he hears her moans through the wall all the time and gets off listening to her, they bump into each other outside one day she invites him over for dinner/coffee/something and eventually confess to him that she let him hear her on purpose then he fucks her brains out?!

Yes? Please?

Thanxx xoxo

Anon I’m sending you to horny jail cuz WHAT

uh anyway, warnings: smut (bye bye minors), everyone is so wrong in this I’m in tears, masterbation (f & m), mean!Oscar (at the end), degradation, sub space, dacryphilia

The first time it happened, he thought he was imagining it. Soft little gasps from the flat next door.

Must’ve been the air vents carrying the sound.

He tried to ignore it, he really did. Tried to go to sleep and pretend he wasn’t getting harder with every little sound. But then a pretty little moan reached is ears and he couldn’t ignore the throbbing pain.

Palming himself through his boxers hardly gave him any satisfaction. So he shed his underwear.

It was already slick with beads of precum. His hand wrapped around the base, and the moan he let out was loud and unrestrained.

It was fully immoral, getting himself off to the sounds his neighbor was making. He knew that. But he wouldn’t dare stop himself when it felt as good as it did.

And maybe all his senses were heightened because of the stimulation, but he could’ve sworn your sounds from next door were getting louder. Needier.

Every moan sounded like you were sat right next to him.

His hand pumped the length of his cock, fast, with a tight grip. He was too desperate to even pretend to tease himself.

Oh! Oh, yes!

The sounds you were making were sinful, and shamelessly loud.

Oscar’s breaths grew ragged, his head thrown back as the pleasure built in the core of his stomach. He was pumping himself without restraint, just chasing his release with no care to prolong the pleasure. He couldn’t stop the groans and curses that slipped past his lips.

Oh yes! Fuck yes!

He could tell you’d cum by the pitch of your moans and the slight knocking against his wall—probably due to your writhing. The thought of it threw him in to a blinding orgasm, groaning loudly, not a care for whether you heard him or not.

Morning runs were never his favorite. He was too tired and it sucked all the energy out of him before he’d even began the day.

He closed his apartment door as he stepped into the hallway, jumping when he realized he wasn’t the only person in the confined space.

“Oh, hi!” You greeted. Too sweet. Too innocent sounding. He knew that was far from the truth, and his face burned red at the reminder of how he’d been getting off to your sounds for the past two weeks. “I don’t see you around much. I guess you’re busy traveling the world, right?” You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You were acting normal. Not suspicious of him or avoiding him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear his moans through the wall as he had heard yours.

The thought eased him enough to converse with you like a regular person. “Yeah, I guess.” He laughed. “But I’m on break right now.”

“You know, since you’re home, are you up for coffee? I’d like to get to know my neighbor a bit more.” Your smile never faltered.

He didn’t have to think for long. Any excuse he had to not go run was a great one.

“So, I don’t keep up with the sport much. But I know the basics and whatnot. So, around here, how do you not hit the walls all the time? It’s such narrow streets and you’re going so fast.” You leaned forward, a mug of hot coffee cradled in your hands, eyes sparkling with interest.

He tried to find a happy medium between a confident and cocky response. “Well, we’ve done it for so long, and we have simulators that we can use to practice on. At that point, it’s more or less muscle memory.”

Still, you looked fascinated. “Wow.” You paused, then leaned in closer, lowering your voice. “Is it also muscle memory for you to get yourself off whenever you hear me?”

Oscar nearly spit out his hot chocolate at that. “Sorry, what?” He coughed, trying to play it cool despite looking guilty.

You breathed out a laugh. “If you can hear me, I can hear you.” The sparkle in your eyes was no longer one of interest, but of mischief. You recognized his guilty look. “Don’t worry.” You leaned back. “I wanted you to hear.” You grinned.

He stared, convinced his ears were deceiving him. “You… wanted me to hear you? Why?”

“You’re a smart guy, Oscar.” You tilted your head. “Handsome, too.” You bit your lip, eyes trailing down his body. “Why do you think?”

You gasped as he threw your naked body onto the mattress. “So this is where you’ve been driving me insane, huh?” He rasped, towering over you, caging you in with his muscled arms.

A little pink toy sat on your nightstand, catching his eye. He picked it up, holding in front of your face. “This what you’ve been using?”

You trembled, trying to close your legs but his own legs stopped you from being able to. “Mhm.” You nodded. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, more than ever before.

He turned it on to the lowest setting, placing it on your stomach and dragging it lower, lower, lower-

“Fuck!” You shouted when it made contact with your clit. Oscar smiled at that, and the way you whined when he shoved two fingers into your dripping cunt. Everything was so slow with him—the vibrations against your clit, the thrust of his fingers. He wanted to drive you insane, wanted to break you, reduce you to a needy, begging mess.

And he knew he had you right where he wanted you when you thrust into his hand. “Do that again, and I’ll leave right now.”

“No! I’m sorry- fuck!” He turned the vibrator to the next highest speed. Your moans spilled over like a boiling pot. One after the other echoed around the room. You were so close.

Oscar withdrew his hands, leaving you without a release. He licked his fingers clean, moaning dramatically at the taste.

“Oscar,” you mewled, reaching for his bicep. You looked so drunk on him already, and you hadn’t even cum once!

That sure went to his head.

He took both of your wrists in his hand, pinning them to the sheets. “You wanna cum?” You nodded desperately, receiving a devilish grin. “I don’t think you deserve it.”

The whine you let out almost made him feel bad. Almost. “Please! I need it so bad!”

He only laughed at your pleas. “I wanna hear you apologize first.”

“What?”

“Apologize for torturing me for weeks. Letting me hear your pretty little noises.” He placed hot, wet kisses along the length of your throat. “Apologize.” He demanded, unsatisfied with your lack of response.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry it was just so hot!” You rushed out, arching your back, trying to entice him.

“Such a slut.” A cruel grin spread across his lips, his fingers dancing across your tits. He gave one of your nipples an experimental squeeze, satisfaction filling him at how you gasped in response.

Handling you like a rag doll, he flipped you over. He pulled your ass into the air while pressing your head into the pillows. You let out a small moan at being handled in such a way. He scoffed.

“If you’re going to act like a slut, I think you deserve to be fucked like one, no?”

You wiggled your hips, shifting back on your knees. Trying anything to entice him. “Please, Oscar! Just please fuck me!” And when he didn’t do anything for a beat.

“Not so fun being tortured, is it?” His fingers circled your clit. Slowly. Teasing. Just enough pleasure to feel it but not get you anywhere.

“Please! I’ll never do it again! I’ll let you have me whenever you want!”

He eased the tip in, earning a high pitched moan out of you. His hands ran along the length of your back, running down your sides before he gripped onto your hips. “Of course you will.” He spat, yanking your hips to slam against his, successfully plunging his cock into your cunt in one thrust.

A loud moan was punched out of your lungs. “Fuck! yes!” You moaned. Oscar gave you no time to adjust, setting a brutal pace right away. He reached places inside of you the you didn’t even know someone could reach before. Each thrust forced another moan from your lips. It was like Oscar’s own personal concert, and his favorite song being played on repeat.

It felt incredible, so good you didn’t even notice the tears rolling down your cheeks. Oscars hand found your throat and he yanked you back so your back was flush with his chest. You moaned louder at the change of angle. Your head lulled back to rest on his shoulder, eyes rolled back in bliss.

“Aw, enough with those tears, this is what a slut like you wants, isn’t it?” He feigned remorse, he kissed the tears away, groaning when he felt you tighten around him. “You like being called a slut?”

You couldn’t answer, too fucked out already.

He pulled out of you, letting your body flop onto the bed. You let out a noise of protest, then gasped as he flipped your body over again. “I asked you a question.” His voice was level, seemingly unaffected by the loss of your cunt around his cock.

“Yes!” You moaned as he slammed back into you. Back arched off the bed, your fists tried to find purchase in the soaked sheets.

“Prettiest slut I’ve ever seen.” Oscars arms looped around your knees, pressing your legs to your chest, effectively folding you in half. The noise you let out walked the line between a scream and a moan.

You couldn’t even warn him before you were gushing all over his cock. Your cunt was sucking him in, begging for him to cum inside you. And he did with a shout of your name, fucking you through both of your orgasms.

He eased out of you, careful of your sensitive body.

“Should I run a bath or do you want a shower?” He asked, already standing in the en-suit.

You didn’t respond.

He came back out, concern etched on his features. You were blinking slowly, unfocused eyes staring at the wall. He smiled softly, taking your face in his hands. “You there, pretty girl?” His thumb stroked your cheek.

Still, no response.

He was conflicted between concern and letting his ego inflate. “C’mon baby.” He took you in his arms, stroking your hair.

When your eyes finally focused on his face, he smiled. “There you are.” You gave a weak laugh at that.

Bath it is then.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds V

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your national team situation

There's an understanding in the team when it comes to you.

You dominate the league with your scoring and now with Pajor at your side, you've started to develop almost too quickly for the staff to keep up with.

Every ball you touch turns to goals.

You're already the Champion's League top goal scorer and everyone is just waiting for the moment that they all know is coming.

Everyone is waiting for the moment a national team snaps you up.

You're been at a youth camp for both Spain and England before but that's about it.

You don't seem to really care all that match.

You spend most international breaks back home with your parents or off in France with your girlfriend, one of Lyon's star centrebacks.

Her international situation isn't quite as complicated as yours but everyone knows it influences your own. She could play for France or England and people know that if she were suddenly to declare for England then you would go there too.

Unless somewhere else snaps you up first.

Spain seems like the obvious choice with their most recent World Cup win under their belt and their dominance in last year's Nation's League.

But Frido is there with a face time from Magdalena Eriksson, who you excitedly inform is your grandmother's favourite players. She's flattered, of course, if a little confused by what's going on - especially when you gasp and stutter over your words when you catch a glimpse over her shoulder of Pernille Harder.

Alexia fumes by the door of the locker room, a disgruntled look on her face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"We can't lose her to Sweden!" She hisses to Irene," Do something!"

"Me?! What am I meant to do?!"

"I don't know! Make her a home cooked meal! Remind her off her Basque roots! Anything!"

Irene sighs deeply. She's taking this a little easier than Alexia is but she still would have you join the Spanish team at the drop of a hat.

You were a once in a generation kind of striker and it would make it all the more worse if they lost your allegiance to one of their own club teammates.

The threat of you choosing England seems to have diminished a little with Keira and Lucy gone but Ellie's still here and while she's currently not a part of the England squad, she's still been seen dropping little hints towards you about joining up.

Thankfully for everyone else though, subtlety and hints goes over your head so you don't even realise what you're being told.

But where England has fallen, Sweden has only grown bolder.

Sweden, of course, meaning Frido and her wielding of Magda as a tool to get you to choose them.

"We need to find our own Magda," Irene says solemnly," Do we...Do we have a Magda?"

"We have a Mariona."

"We can't pick Mariona. Y/n already knows Mariona. We need someone older. We need someone mysterious. We need someone more fun that Magdalena Eriksson!"

They turn to each other in horror.

"We need Jenni."

Being Spain's Magda is a role that Jenni is all too comfortable stepping into. She arrives in the country with her usual brand of drama by using her key to access Alexia's house without telling anyone and eating a bowl of the paella she took straight from the fridge.

"So where's the kid?"

"At Irene's," Alexia replies from the stove," They're coming around for dinner." She waves the spatula at Jenni. "You will be nice and charming and you will, under no circumstances, mention any of the other countries vying for her. You have one job. Do it."

"I got it," Jenni says with ease, leaning back on the sofa," Woo the kid. Be the fun aunt. Make sure she chooses Spain. I got it."

Introducing you and Jenni, Alexia and Irene come to find, is the worst idea they've ever had.

Jenni takes her role as the 'fun aunt' to the extreme in the the four day period she has with you.

You go out for lunch and dinner, at both fancy restaurants and little street vendors. Jenni spends a bunch of money on new cooking implements even though you just mentioned them in passing.

There's even a very impromptu Instagram post and accompanying story of you two on a zip wire and Alexia and Irene are more than happy to shoo Jenni back to Mexico.

"Jenni's cool," You tell them the next day," She even signed my autograph book and gave me one of her old Spain shirts!"

At least she'd done something for a job well done.

With Sweden closing in, Alexia can't take any chances.

She even feels confident in her feelings of you choosing Spain.

Until, like it always does, it comes crashing down.

Because a new contender shows up.

It happens out of nowhere and nobody could have predicted it.

"You have brothers?" Vicky asks one day during a break in training.

"Three," You say with a nod and that same wide smile you always get when you talk about your family," A surgeon, a neurologist and lawyer."

"How come we've never heard of them?"

"Oh, they didn't come with us when we moved back to England."

Alexia's heart stutters.

"You didn't always live in England?" Salma asks and you shake your head.

"I grew up in the Netherlands." You think for a moment. "Until I was like thirteen. It was home."

The gears turn in Alexia's head, trying to draw up FIFA's eligibility rules.

But someone gets there before her.

Esmee.

Esmee with a wide grin and Alexia's heart plummets.

"You know," She says, speaking casually to you as the whole team holds its breath," You could play for the Netherlands with me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the rules say you can. You could come to camp, see your brothers more often. I'm sure Viv would love to have you around."

Sweden may have Magda.

Spain may have had Spanish Magda, Jenni.

But the Netherlands have Viv and Esmee grinning like she's just won the lottery.

Within the week, you've received a signed Miedema jersey and a little note that no doubt Esmee had Viv write about potentially playing together at some point.

"It's fine," Irene whispers days after," It's fine. We've got a recent World Cup. They can't beat that."

You're sitting in your cubby, scrolling on your phone absentmindedly. "Oh!" You say out of nowhere," Are we going to America anytime soon? Should I renew my passport?"

Alexia frowns. "No, we're not and you don't need to renew your passport. Your Mama told me that you've still got three years on it."

"Not my Spanish passport. My American one! Should I renew it now or wait?"

Frido has also stopped what she's doing, turning around slowly with her eyes wide. "Why do you have an American passport?"

"I was born there!" You say brightly," Mama and Papa were there for work and I got impatient! That's what Papa says. So they had to have me in America and I got a cool passport out of it!"

"You have...You have American citizenship?"

"I have a passport!"

"So, yes."

In the background, Esmee groans and there's the clunk of a head hitting a locker door.

Irene looks equally as shocked as Alexia feels. "And...who knows about your citizenship?"

You shrug. "I don't know."

Alexia clears her throat. "Let's...Let's keep it that way. No reason to announce it to everyone."

You shrug. "Okay then."

Silence descends on the locker room and a joint exhale of relief spreads across the room.

Until...

"Oh! Mama said Emma Hayes just called her! I wonder what that's about."

[gutsby]

State of Play

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: You and Joel can’t keep things quiet.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Katoptronophilia (!) Loud and obnoxious I-Love-You-and-I-Missed-You Sex. C*m eating. Age gap. One (1) Almost-BJ. I think that’s it.

Note: For those unfamiliar with That Folgers Commercial

Word count: 8.2k

Airplane food tasted like shit.

Some prick in a business suit spilled his coffee all over you, your luggage had nearly been lost in transit between connecting flights, and someone’s unsupervised child had tried to bite your ankle while waiting at the gate.

The weather was bad, and all of the flight crew and your boarding group were pissed—your second trip was delayed by two hours due to inclement conditions. Snow had pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows without reprieve for what felt like years, and finally, the folks in air traffic control seemed to have just thrown up their hands and said, ‘Fuck it, let them go.’ You boarded the plane freezing your ass off and stained all down the front of your t-shirt in espresso. Your Achilles tendon ached.

And still, this felt like the greatest day of your life.

You were going home. And not just home but to Joel, who was picking you up from the airport that day. You hadn’t had any exams at the end of the week, so you’d decided to come home a half-day early and surprise him. With all of the delays, you wouldn’t be in until early that morning, but Joel was still happy to pick you up. You wouldn’t tell your dad you were back until the following evening, and in the meantime, you’d savor every second you had with Joel until you had to leave again. You didn’t want to be apart from him, but at least the separation this time around was sweeter: he was your boyfriend.

Just thinking those words made you smile.

Even sat next to a screaming baby the whole four-hour plane ride from Baltimore to Austin, you were happy.

Damn near cheerful skipping off the aircraft five hours after your original ETA, and heading to the baggage claim in a sea of pushy, disgruntled passengers.

You took the stairs instead of the escalator. You didn’t mind the extra effort with your far-too-heavy carry-on; you just wanted to take the fastest route to get to the place you’d be meeting Joel. Your sneakers sounded their light, quick thuds down the marble steps as you went, and you slung the strap of your duffel bag higher up your shoulder to get a better hold while you jogged.

You looked around, eager as ever.

Was that a pit of anxiety you felt?

Around Joel, that was never really a thing—but anticipating his presence after weeks spent apart was a whole different beast. Now your pulse pounded in your ears; your throat constricted a little bit. Where was he?

From: Joel

Just parked

Headed in now

That had been twenty minutes ago.

I’ll be over by the stairs

Except he wasn’t there.

You were at the foot of the stairs, peering anxiously around as you were jostled further out by the moving crowd, but the longer you looked, the more certain you became that Joel wasn’t there. In fact, there was no one that looked even remotely like him. It was mostly families and young people that appeared to be around your age—evidently, all colleges started break at the same time—that were standing around. You stood on your tip-toes to get a peek overtop these people, and you still couldn’t spot one single silver-flecked head that looked like his.

You pulled out your phone to text him.

From: You

Sooooo did someone kidnap you or—

You didn’t get to finish that message.

Before you could hit ‘send,’ you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You dropped your bag.

The same grin crept onto your face—you couldn’t help it.

“Excuse me, I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend…”

You pretended to tense with discomfort at the feel of someone’s body draped over your own, and then there were lips grazing your hair, stubble teasing your cheek.

“Oh, yeah? Then where is he?”

Joel turned you to face him.

Well, shit, there he is.

Both of you were beaming. Joel looked handsome but sleepy—and who could blame him at 5:21 AM, when he’d likely been at work since six the day before? You were the one to open your arms then. You lunged just in time for him to accept your embrace, and you didn’t miss the way he stumbled a bit. He also turned his face so your lips landed on his cheek, not his mouth. He blinked rapidly.

Perhaps you’d come on a little strong.

Easy now, he’s probably tired as shit.

“Sorry. Just missed you,” you mumbled into Joel’s neck.

He squeezed you tighter. He shook you back and forth.

His lips pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

‘Don’t be sorry. I missed you more’ was all he said.

And before you knew it, you were headed home again. Rather than retreating to the house you’d grown up in, though, you went over to Joel’s cozy, ranch-style place. From all the time you’d spent there lately, and even in the years before, you knew it well. Joel kept it clean. Simple.

Cold as shit.

“52 degrees?! Have you lost your fucking mind, Miller?”

You’d pulled your parka fast about yourself as soon as you stepped in. You exhaled and saw it hang mid-air.

“It ain’t that bad. We got blankets,” Joel huffed.

He hadn’t talked much on the ride home from the airport. You didn’t blame him. You could see in his eyes and in the way he’d fixed his stare on the road all the way home that the man was exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You decided not to push him on it.

But sleeping in an igloo was where you drew the line.

You spun on your heel to face him, brows pinched.

“My nipples could cut diamonds right now.”

And you peeled back your jacket to show him, where you only wore your tight, coffee-stained tee underneath. Sure enough, two small, hardened peaks poked out through the fabric to greet Joel in the chill of his living room.

To your surprise, Joel swallowed and looked away.

He left the room shortly after that—ostensibly, to adjust the thermostat. But it was the expression he wore as he did that gave you pause. The look on his face was hard.

Guilty.

What the hell had happened in the thirty minutes since you’d gotten here to make him take on that expression?

Was it the way you smelled after six or seven hours of combined air travel, not including all the excruciating minutes spent languishing in the Boston and Baltimore airports? That stupid story you’d told him about the flight attendant whose breath smelled of rotten pimento cheese? Or was it because you’d jumped him too fast—opted for a kiss on the mouth instead of simply hugging him and attempting to curb your enthusiasm a little bit?

Your mind whirred a thousand miles a minute with this thinking—overthinking, really. You couldn’t help doing it.

In spite of the near-dizzying excitement you’d felt coming home, it was easy to slip back into old habits. Worry, uncertainty, fear of feeling more for a person than they did for you and getting too invested, it was all there. It was astounding how quickly the dread crept in. Shit.

“Shit,” you repeated aloud, kicking off your shoes.

You were standing in Joel’s room, preparing for bed. The heat had evidently kicked on, but the space was still freezing, so you peeled your clothes slowly. You set them aside, one-by-one, and folded them atop Joel’s dresser while your stomach churned. Your toes curled in your socks, and for a moment, you contemplated whether or not to wear your pyjamas to bed. Or Joel’s. Or naked.

Did he want to have sex tonight?

He’d looked so tired, and he hadn’t touched you once since setting you down from the hug at the airport, but—

“Hey.”

A folded, fuzzy blanket landed on the dresser next to you

It was pink. It had polka dots on it, not unlike the towel you had back at college and had seen Joel wrap himself in before you’d snuck him into your communal showers.

You smiled faintly at the memory.

You looked back up at Joel.

“I figured you’d get cold whenever you came over here, so I got this. Now you can bundle up. And wear these.”

Emphasizing the last word, Joel dropped a pair of matching slippers next to the blanket. They were new. He’d bought them for you, and had remembered enough to know you liked pink, frilly things. And not freezing your fucking ass off in the middle of winter. Your smile grew.

You thanked him, and were about to turn to give him a hug, when he was off again. This time, to the bathroom.

You decided you’d dress in your own pajamas tonight. You grabbed your new blanket and slippers and then padded over to Joel’s bed at the other end of the room.

How long you waited there was anyone’s guess.

Changing out of his clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his hands or simply running the tap until the water all but ran out seemed to take Joel decades. You stayed curled on your side in his bed, rubbing your now-comfortably warmed feet under the covers and occasionally checking the time. You even scrolled for a little bit to distract your mind and keep it from worrying. He’s probably just tired.

And when, finally, he shut the bathroom door behind him and retired to bed, you could see it: Joel was exhausted.

You wanted to leave him be. Let him get some rest and pick things up in the morning, same as you always did.

Then Joel snaked a big, warm, muscly arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Against your back, you could feel it: he had on one of his long sleeve, waffle-knit shirts. You wriggled a little and shuffled your legs, and you shortly discovered he was wearing his thickest pair of pyjama pants as well. Joel almost always slept naked, or in only his boxers, so this was odd. Then again, it was dead of winter, so you couldn’t really blame him.

He pressed an innocent kiss to your temple before murmuring, ‘Night, sweet pea,’ and you couldn’t ignore what you felt, either. What you were feeling, presently, through the thick, cotton fabric of Joel’s pants was impossible to ignore—he was rock-hard against you. Joel shuffled back some, but still, the bulge was prominent.

Okay, well…maybe we don’t have to sleep just yet.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did what you did. You were pretty tired yourself. All you knew was that intimacy made you feel close to Joel—helped your brain process feelings better than speaking, sometimes—and right then, you felt needy. Lonely. With just a few gruff words and a strange look from him before, you’d grown self-conscious again, and you weren’t sure what to do with that emotion. You figured Joel’s dick in you might help.

So you turned around and climbed right on him.

You straddled Joel’s hips, a little more confident in how you maneuvered it now, after doing this dozens of times before. You and Joel enjoyed sleepy sex, whether it was first thing in the morning or right before bed, and usually, neither one of you had to talk to initiate. You simply clambered over the other person and got to work. It was a simple form of stress relief—a way to rid your brain of unwanted thoughts and get you right to sleep after doing the deed—and it didn’t take much to get either one of you off. You sighed when you felt Joel’s cock graze you through your light, satin pyjamas. You didn’t move too quickly, but you did bear down on him.

Joel’s eyes flew open.

He grabbed your hips, and he grunted through his teeth.

“Sweetheart—” he started, strained.

It encouraged you to feel him stiffen from that first motion of your lower half, so you did it again. You leaned down to kiss his neck, in just the spot he always liked, close to the jaw, and you rubbed yourself gently against his erection. His grip tightened on your hips, and the initial surprise seemed shortly to morph into desire.

Like always, Joel would probably flip you and offer to fuck in missionary. That was how you both liked to start.

You dragged your lips down the column of his neck and were about to bare your teeth to leave a quick love bite, maybe nip at the skin once or twice before moving your mouth lower on him, when Joel’s grip really constricted.

His fingers seared your skin.

A groan rumbled in his chest.

“Baby, please…” he croaked. He swallowed hard.

Was he trying to beg? That wouldn’t be a first, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. His tone was low. His voice was soft, and his fingertips were kneading hard

“I know you’re tired, so I’ll get on top,” you offered, quiet.

With barely more than a whisper and a brush of your hand against the bulge in his pants, you earned another throaty sound from Joel. He cursed under his breath.

“This…I need to…fuck.”

Words seemed to evade him, and that wasn’t surprising. When you were turned on, you also forgot how to talk.

Joel always teased you for it, so now you’d do the same.

Moving lower down his body, and pushing the covers back as you went, you kept your gaze locked on his. The house had heated considerably since you’d gotten back, and now you didn’t feel like you had to wrap up in fifteen layers just to stay tolerably warm. You flashed the man a sly little grin, told him he needed to use his words if he wanted you to put your lips to use where he wanted them, and proceeded to stray even further. Your bottom lip grazed past his navel, and your tongue darted out to lick down the strip of grey and black hairs running down his lower belly where the bottom of his shirt had ridden up a little bit. As soon as you did, Joel inhaled sharply.

“Baby,” he hissed.

He seized your hair in his fist. Surprisingly, it felt nice.

It made you want to take him in your mouth even more.

So, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants, you didn’t waste any time. You yanked at the fabric, fully prepared to suck Joel off a little before climbing on and riding him, and just when his cock was about to spring free, you felt it—his grasp pulling back.

You heard him, hoarsely:

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Your chin jerked up. Probably no more than five seconds had passed since you’d slid down his body, and each act had transpired so swiftly, without a pause or a hitch from what you could tell, that for Joel to stop you so suddenly meant something was off. Something here was wrong.

“We can’t do this,” Joel blurted out at once.

You let go of his waistband. You tried to talk.

“What’s wro—”

“I— I need to tell you something. Now. I’m sorry.”

At the same time, Joel seemed to be asking you to get up. You didn’t hesitate to do exactly that, shuffling back.

Your stomach plummeted inside you as you feared you might’ve done something wrong, or crossed some line.

That, on top of everything else that night, and feeling like Joel might be having second thoughts about your relationship already, was enough to make your eyes sting. There weren’t tears, but that wasn’t far off.

How had you fucked this up so monumentally, so quick?

You chewed the inside of your lip. You blinked furiously.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Joel. I thought you wanted me to—”

“No, I’m sorry. We just can’t do this right now.”

His gaze was serious. Wide. Your heart sank.

You couldn’t help the words that followed.

“Did— did I just do something wrong?”

“No, baby, you didn’t do anythin—”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

Your pulse leapt and sped up.

“No, no, not at all. I’m jus—”

“Because you can tell me.”

“That’s not what I was—”

“If you want to break up—”

“What? That ain’t what I said.”

“So what is it? What’s going on?”

Your worst thoughts were winning.

You were jumping to conclusions again.

There wasn’t time to be rational or sedate.

“Joel Miller, if you’re gonna dump me right now—”

“Sweetheart, there’s a chance I might be your uncle.”

“What?!”

In fairness to you, his admission sounded fucking insane.

Joel could’ve handled this situation in a thousand different ways, and of course, he’d done it horribly.

The timing? Terrible. Treading close to atrocious.

The execution? Piss-poor. Actually, the worst.

You’d been a second away from wrapping your lips around his dick, and he chose that moment to tell you that you might possibly be his long-lost niece? Really?

The look on your face as you shuffled back didn’t surprise him at all. It did make Joel want to vomit a bit.

“Listen, I can explain…” he started, speaking slowly.

He lifted his hands in a conciliatory sort of gesture, then reached for you, but when you pushed back further in the bed, he dropped both. Your eyes went wide in horror.

“What do you mean you’re my fucking uncle, Joel?!”

His widened, too. You might’ve misheard him.

“No, no, I’m not. I’m probably not, I just—”

“Probably?! What is ‘probably’?!”

You’d all but screeched that.

You were standing from the bed. Looking down at it, as if to say, ‘What did I just do? What have we been doing?’ and your face gave way to a grimace. You winced like you’d just witnessed a car wreck firsthand, and again, Joel couldn’t blame you for that. He needed to fix this.

He’d meant to handle this himself. He’d called Tommy at least sixty times that night, when your dad had casually dropped the bomb that Tommy might have slept with his ex-wife and knocked her up over twenty years back, making him your biological father and Joel your uncle.

It was a stretch.

As far as Joel knew, Tommy had never been involved with your mom, much less around the time you’d been born. It was such a wild, far-fetched idea that he and your dad were almost positive that this wasn’t the case.

There was no way.

But if there was…

Joel hadn’t planned on taking any chances until he was certain. He also hadn’t wanted to cause any unneeded trauma by freaking you out and having you go into a panic, like you were right now. He’d intended to play it cool until he could get ahold of his baby brother—if he ever would pick up his fucking phone—and he’d meant to get the truth out of Tommy before doing anything else. Before you got home. Then you’d changed your flight to come back a half-day earlier, and even with all the delays you’d had, Joel still wasn’t able to get in touch with his brother before then. It was late. He’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to spill this big, terrible news that might turn out not to be news at all, while also revealing your dad’s secret that he might not be your father. It was a clusterfuck. It sucked.

Joel had only found this out hours ago, and already, it felt like the world as he and you knew it was going to shit

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lay a finger on you until he was absolutely sure that you weren’t his niece. He hadn’t wanted to fuck up your psyche, as well as the heart of your relationship with your maybe-not-biological-father, by sharing this news. So he’d tried to compromise. Sleep side-by-side and pretend to be too tired to do anything, so he could buy more time before he spoke with Tommy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then you’d wrecked his plans by straddling his dick and proceeding to try and suck it, and Joel had been left with no choice.

He blurted it out before he could try and stop himself.

“Tommy might’ve— might’ve fucked your mom.”

It was graceless. Just like everything else.

Your eyes went even wider.

“What?” you breathed.

He kept going.

“There’s…your dad was tellin’ me, there’s a slight chance your mom and Tommy were messin’ around back in the day, about a year before you were born, and…and he isn’t completely sure—there were a few other guys, but he doesn’t know—and he told me. He told me this tonight, when we went out for drinks. And then you came back earlier than I was expecting, and…well, I’ve been tryin’ to get ahold of Tommy, but he ain’t pickin’ up. I wanted—”

“Get your keys,” you cut in suddenly.

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“Wait, what?”

Joel stared, and he saw you were already on your phone. Toggling something on the screen. Frowning down at it.

“Where are we—” Joel tried again.

You snapped your fingers, like you’d found something. Then you looked up at him, briefly, before striding out the bedroom door. You walked quickly; Joel followed.

He wasn’t sure where you were going or what you planned on doing, but he opted to dress while he walked. He threw on his jacket and kicked on his boots, then went fishing for his keys—they were lying in a hodgepodge of shit on the counter, as always—and just as he reached out to grab them, you seized them first.

You were already headed for the car port. You didn’t look behind you, and wouldn’t so much as turn your head when he called out after you. You marched to his car.

“Where are we goin’? You gonna talk to me, honey?”

Joel tried sounding soft. You weren’t having it.

You jumped in and barely gave him the chance to get his seatbelt fastened before you threw the thing in reverse.

You were backing the Bronco out in a blink. Your grip tightened on the wheel, and that was when he saw it.

First, a frown.

Then, your gaze cutting over to his across the center console. It was brief, but a look did more than enough.

“I have Tommy’s location. We’re gonna go beat his ass.”

Life was great for Tommy Miller.

Like, really great.

He had a lady he was half-certain was the love of his life sprawled out in his bed, the sheets they got to share were warm, and the world outside was quiet. At 6 AM, out in the sticks as they were, it usually stayed like this.

Cool. Calm. Serene.

He should buy a house of his own out here one day.

The place they were staying at used to be his granddad’s. Joel had already done a bang up job at fixing it himself, and Tommy wanted to help. He also knew it would make a nice retreat for him and Maria whenever they wanted to get out of the city themselves. She liked it here, which meant that Tommy loved it. He loved her.

Stupid as it sounded, he was now beginning to understand some of Joel’s fixation with you.

If his brother felt even a fraction of what he felt for Maria, Tommy could easily see why Joel would risk his whole friendship with your father to be with you. He got it.

What he couldn’t totally comprehend was why you two wouldn’t come clean already. All this lying and sneaking around behind your daddy’s back must have been awful for you both. It would suck telling him at first, to be sure, but your father wasn’t that intolerant that he couldn’t be convinced to warm up to the idea eventually. You’d be graduating in a few months—you could come back here, not have to treat each other like some big, ugly secret, and then live like he and Maria did, every day. That was what Tommy had wanted for his big brother, anyway.

These thoughts and at least a dozen more were all swirling through his mind after the break of dawn that day, when he was half-asleep and barely more conscious than not. He stretched out in bed, smiling to himself.

He was about to turn and drape an arm over Maria’s side when a sound at the front door stopped him. It was loud.

Someone was knocking.

Banging.

Striking their fist on the wood so hard it sounded like they might’ve been apt to knock the whole thing down.

For a moment, Tommy considered grabbing his pistol. Then he shrugged off the thought, not wanting to freak Maria out by brandishing a firearm at this hour, and instead bounded quickly to the door to see what the fuck this person wanted before their knocking woke her up.

He swung the front door open, nostrils flared.

And there you were, looking just as enraged.

“You motherfucker!” you hissed at him.

Before he could stop you, you were storming inside. He could see Joel behind you, looking almost as overcome as he was, but he didn’t have time to talk to his brother.

Tommy didn’t have time to breathe, as you knocked the wind out of him by pushing past him, your steps forceful.

Your eyes were wide with indignation and ire.

Disbelief and…something like disgust?

“Did you fuck my mom?!” you spat.

What the— what? What?

When he was too stunned to speak—from both drowsiness and the initial shock—you stepped in again. You didn’t touch him, but you got in his face. Very close.

“Answer the fucking question, Miller. Did you?!”

“Sweetheart—” Joel started behind you.

Tommy could hear that his voice was tight. Their eyes flitted up to meet each other, briefly, and at the same time, the door to the bedroom opened. Well, great.

“Did you fuck my mother or not, Tommy?!”

Perfect timing. Tommy swallowed hard.

For some reason, his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Evidently, you interpreted this pause as an admission, or something, because your face morphed into one of pure horror, and one of your hands rose to cover your mouth.

“Oh god, you did!” you shrieked. Words high and shrill. “You fucked her, then let me have sex with my uncle!”

Oh, fuck.

What the fuck?

What the everliving fuck?

At last, he found words: “No! No, I never—”

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Maria must be thinking.

You turned on your heel, and, hand still hovering over your mouth, you turned to Joel. You looked like you were about to be sick, as did he. Your breaths shortly faltered.

“We are so fucked!” you said to him. In shock.

Joel seemed as if he wanted to comfort you, but in truth, the man looked just as queasy, and you appeared to be in no state to want to be touched. You spun back around.

Somehow, Tommy was able to conjure up more words. Whether they’d actually make sense was anyone’s guess.

“I— I never had sex with your mom, kid. Never,” he said.

Decent enough.

But you didn’t believe him.

“My dad said you did,” you bit back. “He said that you and—and some other guys were hooking up with my mom right around the time she got pregnant with me, and he thinks you might be my dad, which would be insanely, insanely bad, since I’ve been fucking your brother for the last three months, and you knew that!”

Each word hit with all the force of an eighteen-wheeler.

Again, Tommy was too stunned to talk for a moment.

“Just…just come clean if you did. We need to know.”

That was Joel. His face was screwed up in a wince, like he didn’t really want to know any of this, but it was necessary. He needed to know if his brother was truly stupid enough to have sex with a woman and not mention the fact that her daughter might be Joel’s niece.

Tommy stared back, blinking, before recovering again.

This time, he knew he had to keep his shit together.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria.

Keep. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together.

“I never…in my life, ever slept with Amy, Joel. I swear,” he said, slowly. Then, turning to you. “I was—what, like…twenty-two when you were born? I didn’t even lose my virginity ‘til I was twenty-four. I never had sex with her.”

“But her dad said—” Joel started.

“Her dad thought I was a slut back then, I know. I wasn’t, but I liked pretending I was. It was easier to act like that than tell the guys I was a virgin, alright? It was stupid.”

He felt stupid.

Even more so in front of Maria, who now not only had to hear this whole insane incest debate but also learned he hadn’t gotten laid until his mid-twenties. It shouldn’t matter—it didn’t matter, and he didn’t regret his choice in the slightest—but still, he felt a pang in his chest.

And more to the point, why the hell would your dad even insinuate that he might’ve slept with Amy? He knew damn well they’d never gotten together. They were friends, sure, but that’s all they ever were, or appeared.

None of it made any sense.

Clearly, the news was still settling in between you, Joel, Maria, and even himself. Silence stretched on for some seconds, and Tommy released a sigh to himself. His heart rate gradually slowed, and he looked to Maria.

And where he’d expected to find her distraught, if not disgusted or a little humiliated on his behalf, he saw a smile. It was faint, but it was there. From the opposite side of the living room, in the dim glow of the morning sun’s first rays, he could see it. She was smiling at him.

Your family’s kind of insane.

I still love you, by the way.

Maria didn’t need to speak to him in words, but he felt it. He couldn’t help but grin weakly back at her, wanting to walk over to her and give her a big, bear hug in apology.

Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t get that chance, as you jumped him in the next instant with a hug of your own.

You squeezed tight and exhaled shakily into his chest.

“Shit. Tommy, I am so sorry. I’m sorry,” you said.

His grin stretched bigger in spite of himself.

In spite of this whole ridiculous, messy situation, he smiled and hugged you back. You were like a little sister to him, thankfully not a daughter, and Tommy forgave folks easily. Over the top of your head, he glanced at his girlfriend again, and he mouthed a soft apology himself.

I’m so sorry, Maria.

Also, I love you more.

“It’s all good, kid.” Out of habit, and feeling the same protective instinct he’d always felt for you, he kissed the crown of your head. He rubbed your back as you hugged. “If I thought somebody was dumb enough not to tell me I might be fuckin’ my uncle, I’d also try to kick their ass.”

You laughed. You shook your head a little against him.

“You’re too big. I could never actually do it,” you said.

“I might,” Joel rejoined from someplace behind you.

That threat had no teeth. His brother was simply heaving a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch, likely thinking to himself that he was so fucking glad this conversation hadn’t steered where he feared it might. Briefly, Tommy caught his gaze, then squeezed you in his arms a little bit tighter. He angled your bodies to Joel.

“Even if he ain’t your uncle, are you sure you wanna be stuck with this loser, honey? He’s an ass, as you can see.”

He was talking to you, but his focus was on Joel. Smug.

The man on the sofa just rolled his eyes. He reached out to snag the waistband of your shorts and tug you back, while Tommy kept that wry, knowing smirk on his lips.

He let go, and you gladly dropped over into Joel’s lap.

“Too late. We’re dating,” his brother hummed back.

Dating?

Well, shit.

Tommy stared harder, only this time his look was one of surprise—and muted satisfaction. He glanced at Maria, who was yawning and preparing to draw back into the bedroom, it looked like. Then he remembered how early it was. His brother looked just as drained laying out on the couch, and if he’d had to guess, you and Joel would be retiring to the guest bedroom to crash at any minute.

He would have to keep this quick.

“Goin’ steady, huh?” he pressed.

“Don’t start.” Joel raised a hand, yawning himself.

You were all too tired for this shit. Tommy couldn’t resist. Like the bonehead little brother he was, he had to say it. He’d been waiting too long to see Joel in a relationship.

He was already retreating to the bedroom, to Maria, and he didn’t intend on dragging this out, but the opportunity was also too tempting to ignore.

“And y’all didn’t ask for my permission?” he called over his shoulder. Taunting. “A father has a right to know!”

Joel lifted one big, callused middle finger from the sofa. You smiled and waved and gave your best impression of a person much sweeter than you normally were, saying:

“Sorry, Dad, Uncle Joel’s dick was too good to resist!”

Eeeeeewwwwwww.

Tommy made a face as he left.

“I’m going back to bed. Y’all are sick.”

And on some level, he meant it. He was also grinning ear-to-ear as he shut the bedroom door behind him and turned to Maria, who was sliding under the covers.

“Your life is a Folgers commercial,” she chuckled.

“Pretty much,” he murmured as he joined her.

Then, without thinking twice about it, he reached for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. He nudged it over his girlfriend’s way, as if offering for her to take it, and when Maria cocked a brow, Tommy pointed to the door. He could already hear you and Joel going upstairs.

“You’ll need this. Use it to cover your ears,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I know anything about those two, they’re about to have some of the most disgustingly loud sex.”

You and Joel were having the most disgustingly loud sex.

It always was, though, wasn’t it?

The concern wasn’t one that often crossed your mind when getting drilled from behind by Joel Miller, but today, with his brother—who was not your biological father—and his girlfriend in the room directly below the one where you and Joel were fucking, you did consider it.

Were you being too noisy? Could they hear you now?

Was Joel pounding too hard, and should you have maybe put a pillow between the metal bed frame and the wall?

There was no time to fix the latter. You were in too deep. Joel was in too deep himself, digging through your guts with every quick, merciless thrust of his hips against you. His grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed down. He wanted your upper half damn near parallel with the bed, while your ass was up and pointed just where he could fuck your wet and needy cunt. He drove in hard.

Every push of his cock through your body, sawing back and forth, again and again with increasing vigor, could’ve supplied noise enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The dizzying squelch, the persistent, wet smack of his groin against your ass, the tiny strings of your shared arousal and sweat stretching far and then colliding all over again with each new thrust, all blew your cover.

If you’d had any desire to keep your sex noises private, your body and his were doing a terrible fucking job of it.

You might as well have painted it on a billboard by now:

‘WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE FUCKING!’

‘WE’RE NOT RELATED, BY THE WAY!!’

Perhaps that was why Joel was so earnest now—having just found out that this had all been a false alarm and you could fuck as much as desired, well…it did things to him.

It did things to you, too.

It made it hard to keep quiet or even try to curb the frenzy when Joel sheathed himself fully inside, held it, then leaned over your prone body to press his hand to the back of your head. He tilted your chin toward him as best he could in this position. He dug even deeper, and you felt him in your fucking lungs. You let out a whimper

“Joel—”

“Look at me, darlin’,” Joel said, gruff. “You’re close, hm?”

You were.

You nodded your head against his firm hold.

Your eyes tried meeting his from where your face was pressed against the mattress and Joel was hovering directly above, but the effort was fruitless. Your gaze couldn’t stay on his like he’d wanted. Joel grunted.

He pulled you up. He tugged you back into a semi-kneeling position, so that your back was flush with his chest and your bodies still connected. His lips pressed a quick, calming kiss to your neck before he moved again.

Before you knew it, you were off the bed and standing—more a function of Joel holding you up than any strength in your legs. You were propped against a pretty wooden dresser with a mirror attached to the back. In your shared reflection, you met Joel’s gaze, and he grinned at you. He wasted no time pushing back inside and watching your face contort with the pressure and the stretch of his girth. Your jaw went slack; you clenched around him.

And you could feel in the responding groan from Joel that he was just as close. You’d been at it for less than five minutes, but the ardor and the relief and the fact that it had been weeks since you’d gotten to do this together was enough to send you both spiraling fast. Joel reached for your hip in one hand and held your throat in the other. He went on at a relentless pace.

With every snap of his hips, your knees hit the dresser drawers. It didn’t hurt. Joel angled your body so he wasn’t pushing you too hard into the surface of the furniture, but he did make you feel it. He lowered his head closer to yours so that your faces were side-by-side in the mirror, and you felt his stubble graze your cheek.

“Y’know, I meant what I said. Last time,” Joel murmured.

What?

As close as you both were now, how could the man even string words together, much less bring up old memories?

You steeled yourself in place, barely holding his gaze.

“Wh— Huh?” You sounded dumb as shit. “What?”

Joel’s teeth grazed the soft, tender skin from your jaw to your chin while he continued to work himself in and out. He slowed his thrusts to a much calmer, gentler rhythm.

He kissed your cheek just as he plunged in, balls deep.

You let out a whine so desperate, pitchy, and shrill at that, you almost didn’t hear it when he spoke again:

“I told you that I was ready.” Another gentle withdrawal. “To tell your dad.” A thrust back in. “Whenever you were.”

Shit.

So that was what this was about.

You felt good. You felt like you were ready, too.

But the prospect of telling your father the truth about you and Joel was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. Imagining what he might say—or do—to the man you loved made you want to keep this hidden away for as long as you possibly could. It was selfish, you knew it. Still, it was scary to think of all the things that would change as soon as you made this known to your dad.

From what you could tell, though, Joel wasn’t feeling quite the same level of concern. He fucked you slow and deep. He let his hand slide from your throat to your legs.

Between them, he found your clit easily and pressed in.

He rubbed circles while he dragged his cock in and out at the most maddening pace, and with every thrust, you could feel him hit that sensitive place, again and again.

You shuddered in his arms. You braced your hands against the dresser below, not wanting to collapse.

Sensing you were right at the brink of ecstasy, and likely wanting something to fill the lull you’d left, Joel went on.

“You— you want that, too, don’t you?”

There was patent need in that tone.

The slightest tinge of insecurity.

You didn’t want Joel to think for even a moment that you were having second thoughts, so you fought back the worry in your own mind, and you nodded your head.

“Y-Yeah, Joel. I want it,” you whispered. “I’m just scared.”

Hell, that admission might as well have been written on your face, because your expression said it all. You were teetering on release and fucking terrified of this coming to an end. The eyes that held his were a bit glossier now. Joel saw that and seemed to ease off, pressing his lips back to your skin as he rocked his hips back and forth.

“I am, too,” he confessed. His breath hitched, and the circles on your clit grew a little sloppier. He was close. “We— we can wait. I just wanna…take you places, hon.”

You knew what he meant by that. Going out without having to check over your shoulder every ten minutes, wondering if this was the time you got caught. Not needing to worry so much. Again, you nodded, and you felt Joel’s cock twitch inside you. Your walls ached, and the knot in your stomach was tightening every second.

You were about to speak up, when Joel cut back in.

“I love you. I…I don’t care how long this takes us.”

“I love you, Joel.”

You couldn’t manage much more than that. Already the tides of pleasure were rising too high, and your chest was flooded with a heady feeling. You were about to give in, still holding Joel’s gaze in the mirror, and from behind you, you could see his demeanor harden with purpose.

On hearing you say those words, you loved him, plans involving his old friend and the worst the man might think when you two came clean with the truth were lost to the ether, it seemed. He set it all aside, at least momentarily, as he worked on drawing your pleasure out and also getting himself there in time. He held your hip tighter and drew his quick, messy circles through your folds in just the way you liked, and he kissed you gently. He fucked you gently. He made every last word and touch and brush of his cock inside you feel as tender as you’d ever felt it before. You came undone in seconds.

‘I love you’ was almost like a refrain between you both.

Joel shortly followed. He groaned against your neck as the pleasure fluttered and pulsed—muttered something about wanting to spill inside, but you both knew better. He withdrew just in time to paint the insides of your thighs, then your ass, then the small of your back.

There was so much. While relishing your own moment of bliss, you couldn’t help but savor the warmth and weight of Joel’s spend coating your skin. It made it feel that much more raw, and primal, and from the look Joel had lowered between your bodies to take in that wet, sticky mess, you could tell he was thinking the same as you.

You weren’t surprised, and didn’t flinch, when he pushed two fingers in your mouth. He still had you up against the dresser, eyes locked on your own reflection, so you saw what he’d wanted you to see. You licked and sucked the cum off his fingers until they were completely clean. A reflexive whine reverberated down those fingers after you’d swallowed, and Joel’s first instinct was to smile.

“You did so good for me, sweet pea,” he praised.

His hand strayed down your front, mapping the skin mindlessly and with that same, sweet grin on his lips. You preened beneath his touch and didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, it had to. You were both drenched in cum and sweat, and as cold as it happened to be outdoors, your activities had managed to kick the heat up more than a few degrees. Joel’s chest and shoulders were glistening.

“Shower?” you murmured, turning around to face him.

Joel hummed in agreement.

He swept his thumb between your thighs one last time before teasing the tip at your lips. You suckled it softly, if not with a drowsy and contented little smile to match his

You showered. You toweled off. You threw on his shirt, Joel slid on his boxers, and you both crawled into bed. Anything beyond snuggling in and sleeping wasn’t high on the list of priorities, as you assumed it was for Tommy and Maria, so you were surprised to hear a noise right after you closed your eyes. It was a knock on the door.

It was Tommy’s. You could tell.

Sensing the same, Joel called out:

“We’re sleepin’, man, c’mon. Go on now.”

You were certain Tommy and Maria could’ve said the same when the two of you had been engaged in your cacophonous fuckfest just fifteen minutes prior, so you stayed quiet. You squeezed Joel’s arm around your waist.

The knocking continued.

This time, it was accompanied by Tommy’s voice.

“Are y’all decent?”

In other words: not naked and going to traumatize him. You were both semi-clothed and under the covers anyway, so you yelled back that, yes, you were.

Tommy walked in. He had his phone to his ear.

Then he held the thing up, where you could dimly make out that the call was on mute, but what alarmed you even more was the contact name on the screen.

Joel leapt into a sitting position just as quickly as you.

You both froze; Tommy gestured as if to say, ‘Relax.’

“Wh— why is my dad calling you?!” you demanded.

You had no idea how the man was staying so calm. This was a bad thing, right? Beside you, Joel seemed to be thinking the same, because he twisted his head toward the window. He craned his neck, as if checking to see if your father might not be parked outside the front door. Your body tensed glancing back at Tommy—he was still holding the phone like it was a prize, or something—and when you saw him smirk a bit, you shot him a wary look.

“What?! What does he want?” you pressed again.

Instead of answering immediately, Tommy moved his thumb over to the ‘unmute’ button, and his grin grew.

“I dunno, why don’t you ask him yourself?” he said.

At the same time, and before Tommy could press that button, you and Joel both shouted at once: “DON’T!”

It almost would’ve been comical if it wasn’t also bone-chillingly horrifying. What the hell was his problem?

As if to press that last question, Joel stood from the bed and stalked over to his brother. Tommy ambled back, still taunting, and held the phone up closer to his face. Right when Joel lunged for it, the nimbler Miller jumped back. Joel blew out a breath and gritted for Tommy to grow the fuck up, would ya? Tommy just smirked and continued the song-and-dance for the cellular device. It didn’t take much for the two to get into a full-blown battle for the thing, and before you knew it, Joel had his brother snagged in a headlock, Tommy was laughing his ass off and telling him the chokehold’s illegal, asshole, and you were a second away from intervening. Fuck this noise.

“Tommy, you’re bein’ a—” you started, sharp.

“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Joel finished for you.

He’d almost wrestled the phone out of Tommy’s grip, when his brother turned and surprised you both again—he threw the phone your way. You shrieked out loud.

Force of habit.

You narrowly caught the phone in your hands.

And, having nearly dropped it at first, your fingers seized at the screen to secure their grasp. Of course, your thumb tapped right on the key you’d been trying to avoid

“Shit,” you cursed reflexively.

“Sweetheart?”

The phone was on speaker.

Across the room, Joel froze in place, and the color drained from him completely. You, too, were stock-still.

“D-Dad?” you stammered.

You half-expected him to shout—‘What on earth are you doin’ home early? And with Tommy?’—and you winced. For a second, you thought your friend might’ve snitched, and you shot him a look, but then your dad was back.

“Hey! Glad Tommy got ahold of ya. He said you caught an early flight back to surprise me. Y’all at the airport?”

You swallowed.

You must’ve said yes, because your father went on.

“Good, good. Keep your bags packed, alright?”

“Why?” You hoped he didn’t hear you falter.

Time was moving too fast. Your heart was no doubt drilling holes in your ribcage by now. Blood rushed and swirled and deafened your ears to all that was going on, but dimly, you could see Joel’s expression across the room. It was pensive, while his brother’s stayed amused.

Tommy knew something you didn’t.

Before you could begin to wonder what that was, your dad’s voice across the line shortly supplied the answer.

It was laid-back, easy, and uncharacteristically excited.

You hadn’t thought you’d ever heard him so eager about anything in his life, but there he went, telling you at once:

“I’m down in Galveston—I want y’all to come too, ASAP!”