#and it is all so sweet! like ridiculously sweet!

[no-144444]

The Grid! : When their teammate likes you...

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

this is 18+ so mdni please! smut in some of them!

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Oscar Piastri: somehow plays it cool…

Oscar understood that you were a magnetic person. You’d always been more extroverted than him, always been a bit more open to other people, and generally, you were just interesting. He got where Lando was coming from, to be fair, he’d fallen for you too. 

But openly flirting with you in the middle of a red flag during one of the most dangerous races of the season? That took a certain asshole. 

Lando Norris. 

Oscar had looked up to Lando throughout his career, and now having him as his teammate was brilliant. He loved it, up to a point. In recent months he’d been noticing the way Lando looked at you. The way he talked to you. The way he always wanted to be around you. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around Oscar as he walked up. “Doing well out there.”

He also knew that you were less than interested in Lando. Not that you didn’t like him, but you did find him slightly immature and ridiculous, especially with how he handles races and media afterwards. You much preferred Oscar’s style of driving, and his way of speaking. 

Oscar nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He watched as Lando’s face fell, then he quickly picked it back up. “Doing our best, right Lando?”

You both looked to Lando, who looked guilty, like he’d been caught. 

“Yeah mate,” he agreed before walking off. 

“Jealous much?” you smirked, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Oscar shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Just wanted a kiss, that’s all.”

“From me or Lando?” you teased.

“You, obviously,” he mocked. 

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Lando Norris: deeply insecure. 

Lando is insecure about a lot of things. One of his main ones is his worth as a human, and a driver. It hit him hard when Oscar got to stand on the top step of a podium before he ever had. He knew it was a matter of circumstance and the fact that the car was getting better, but it still hurt. Yet, you were always there to pick up the pieces. His sweet, kind girlfriend who was always there for him. 

That same girlfriend that was laughing at a joke Oscar told. Oscar wasn’t funny. Oscar has never been funny. 

Lando watched as you two talked. He watched the way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you engaged with his points and added your own. The way you two easily laughed, joked, and teased each other without ever going too far. 

He couldn’t help but feel… without. You had always been more introverted, and your extroverted side always seemed to come out with other introverts, aka, not Lando. Then began his spiralling of wondering whether or not he was good enough for you. He knew you loved him, and he loved you, but would that be enough? When you’re so different? When he can’t give you what Oscar can? Oscar was a 2-time-Gp winner in his second year. Oscar was more similar to you than Lando was. Oscar’s personality was closer to yours than Lando’s was. 

Was he enough for you?

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He walked into the hotel room, exhausted, and glad that the day was over. Media days took it out of him, and he was sick of watching Oscar’s smug face as he charmed you all day. 

You flung yourself on the bed, exhausted. “Oscar would not shut up today, would he?” you sighed. 

Lando’s lips quirked up into a smile. He turned to hide it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He kept talking to me about random shit, and I had to pretend to be interested all day.”

Lando almost laughed. “You don’t seem to mind when I talk your ear off.” 

“Yeah, obviously not,” you scoffed, looking at him as if it were obvious. “I like your rants. You don’t expect me to answer you all the time. You just let me listen. Plus, I love your voice.”

Lando’s heart felt fuller than it did before. You picked him. You loved him. 

“You like my voice, eh?” he smirked, joining you on the bed. He pressed soft kisses to your neck as he wrapped his arms around you. “I know a way you can hear it-”

“Lando, did I not just say I’m exhausted,” you chuckled, playfully pushing him off. 

He smiled. You truly were perfect. 

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Lewis Hamilton: unbothered 

He watched as George attempted to flirt with you and laughed. You laughed too, thinking it was a joke. George walked off, embarrassed. 

Lewis walked over and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. “George is-”

“Pathetic?” he offered and you shook your head. 

“Don’t be so mean!” you scolded. 

“He’s a big boy, he can take it,” he smirked. “And anyways, what was he thinking?”

“I am your wife,” you nodded, agreeing. “But he is pretty cute…”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?” he teased. 

You laughed. “Never.” 

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George Russell: trusts you

“Lewis, nice to meet you,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “I’m Y/n Russell.”

“Y/n… your sister?” Lewis turned to George, smirking. “I didn’t realise she was so pretty, I guess someone had to take all the beauty genes.”

“She’s my wife,” he smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist. “And yes, she is gorgeous.”

You somehow kept it together as Lewis apologised and walked off, but immediately broke out into laughter as he turned his back. 

“What a dick,” George chuckled. “You alright?”

“All good baby,” you giggled. “A bit weirded out that he thought we were siblings.”

George nodded, grimacing. “I vote we never speak about this again.”

“I second that,” you nodded. 

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Kimi Antonelli: confused more than anything

Ollie was a really nice guy, one of Kimi’s best friends despite only knowing each other for a year. He was a good teammate and a good friend. 

Kimi was clueless. He didn’t always understand what people meant when people ‘flirted’, to be fair, English was his second language. He watched as Ollie wrapped an arm around you, resting it over your shoulder as you grimaced, clearly wanting him to stop. Kimi just shrugged, assuming you’d just push him off or ask him to stop. You weren’t exactly known to put up with shit like that, so he wasn’t worried. You three walked around the Monaco bay, looking at the boats as the sun set, all three of you full from dinner. When you finally parted ways, you and Kimi went back to your hotel room as Ollie stayed out, going to Arthur’s house to visit, you sighed as you lay down. 

“What did you think of Ollie?” Kimi asked, laying beside you, your back to him. 

“Apart from his obvious flirting, I thought he was nice, I guess,” you shrugged. 

Kimi frowned. “What do you mean?”

You turned around to see him. “Him flirting? Yeah, I thought you’d say something about it,” you explained. “He was kind of… weird about it.”

“Did he make you uncomfortable?” he asked, upset with himself that he hadn't noticed. 

You stared at him with an inquisitive look, he really was oblivious. “Of course he did.”

“What?” he questioned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to make a bad impression,” you muttered. “He’s your best friend.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” he reminded you, taking your hand. “And you are more important. If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me and I will deal with it, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his hand. “Thanks Kimi.”

“Anything for you,” he smiled. 

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Alex Albon: slightly insecure…

He sat in his drivers room, he’d just filmed Team Torque with you and Logan, and he couldn’t help but feel… left out. You were American, specifically from the exact state of Florida, where Logan was from, you lived on the same street. You’d grown up together before he left to move to do European single-seaters. The entire episode was just you two talking and reminiscing over your joint experiences as a kid. Logan remembered everything about you, your favourite colour, your favourite food, even your favourite childhood movie (which Alex had gotten wrong). 

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, sitting beside him. “You’re not talking.”

“I didn’t know you and Logan were such good friends,” he admitted. 

You shrugged. “We grew up together.” 

“I know,” he responded, his voice low and hardened. “I didn’t know he’d remember everything about you.”

“I mean, people told me he had a crush on me in middle school so…” you trailed off when you noticed how Alex was closing his eyes and nodding. “Are you… jealous, or something?”

“No.” Yes. 

You smiled, feeling a little bit guilty. “Alex, you don’t have to be jealous,” you assured him. “I love you. More than anything.”

The pain in his chest eased slightly. “You’re sure?”

“Very,” you nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

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Franco Colapinto: doesn’t even notice or gaf

Alex laughed at one of your jokes as Franco looked over some of the data from his crash. After a while, you walked over, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him from behind. 

“Hi bebé,” he smiled, tired, but happy to see you. “How are you?”

You groaned. “Alex keeps flirting with me.”

His ears pricked up hearing you say that. “Alex?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. He turned to you. 

“Should I ask him to stop? I can talk to him-”

“It’s alright, I made him aware of the fact that I’m not interested,” you explained. 

“Oh, alright,” he shrugged. “Once you’re happy.”

He went back to looking over the data and you frowned. No reaction? No possessiveness?

“You don’t mind?” you questioned. 

“That he was flirting with you?” he asked, you nodded. “No, not really. I’m the one you’ve chosen for 3 years. We love each other, sí?” 

You nodded. 

“So we’re fine,” he smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

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Logan Sargeant: also a bit upset…

He sighed as he watched Alex chat to you, a smirk on his face. You were his girlfriend, Alex couldn’t have you. Alex had James, Alex had Williams, Alex had the talent. Logan had you. Alex couldn’t have you. 

You glanced back at Logan, who had grown quieter in recent moments, and you frowned. His eyes were blown up, wide-eyed, mouth open, and his mind was thousands of miles away. You politely ended the conversation with Alex, dragging Logan back into his driver's room with a concerned expression. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, trying to play it off. “I”m fine, just… tired.”

You frowned again. “Logan, you can talk to me.” 

He shook his head, his hands gripping your waist, then the dam broke and he rested his head on your shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you if I lose this.”

Your heart broke. “Logan you’d-“

“No, please just let me talk,” he whispered. “I love you, more than anything. We both know I’m getting replaced either after or during this season,” hearing him say it as such a definite, hurt you. You knew how badly Williams had messed him up, but to hear him so defeated? You could’ve cried. “And I don’t want to lose you if I lose all of this. I love racing, but I love you more. You’ve been here through everything, always. You’re always here for me, and I just hope I haven’t fucked this whole relationship up with all my mental health stuff and being a bad driver-”

“Logan,” your tone was stern. “I love you. I love you, my Logan. I support ‘F1 driver Logan Sargeant’, and you’ll always be that, but I love Logan Sargeant, the boy who asked me out when I was 14 and never looked back, the boy who has made me feel loved and supported since that day, the boy who fought an uphill battle and is only now realising he’s allowed to let the boulder fall. I love that you’re a fighter. I love that you’re a driver. But I love most that you care about and love me. I care more about your mental health than any money or fame you could ever gain. I’m not asking you to keep putting yourself through this, Logan. I want you to be healthy and happy. I want you to smile again. I want to see the real you again.”

“What is the real me if I’m not winning?” his voice was just below a whisper. 

“You get to figure that out,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Now please look at me Logan, so you know that I’m telling the truth.”

He raised his head, his eyes watery as he looked at yours, and for the first time in a while, he actually felt like it might all be ok. 

Granted, only when he was with you, but alright all the same. 

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Daniel Riccardo: freaky wit it

Daniel gripped his steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white under his gloves. He was in the car, meant to be in the zone, but all he could think about was the way that Yuki had a hand on your back. He knew Yuki definitely wasn’t a threat to him or his relationship, but it still felt shitty not being able to get over there and show him that you were his. 

He rushed out of the car, exhausted after bringing the VCarb in Q3 yet again, and immediately his hands were on you. 

“Looking so good today baby,” he whispered between kisses. “So fuckin’ pretty for me.”

You groaned against his lips, smiling. “Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah baby, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he smirked as he pushed a hand into your underwear. Your eyes went wide and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from moaning too loud. You weren’t even in his drivers room, you were doing it against Yuki’s door in the hallway. 

“We should-fuck- we should go to your r-room,” you stuttered out as he rubbed your clit in lazy circles. 

“Why?” he smirked. “When I could have you right here and now,” he punctuated every word with a kiss, moving your hand and swallowing your moans as he sped up. “So fuckin’ beautiful so me.”

“Dan,” you moaned as he finally pushed a finger in. 

“So wet for me too. You like doing it like this? Where anyone could hear you? Anyone could see us?” he knew his words were falling on deaf ears as he revelled in the fact that he got to watch you fall apart for him. He got to make you cum, he got to kiss you, he heard every laugh, saw every part of you and your personality. It was him who you picked to love, and be loved in return. 

And by God, he wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

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Liam Lawson: angry sex anyone???

Liam grabbed your hand, pulling you into his drivers room after he had watched Yuki give you heart-eyes yet again. 

“That fucking dick,” he seethed, pressing his body against yours, pressing kisses up and down your neck. “Always fuckin’ wants what’s mine.” 

“Liam,” you whimpered as he pushed you down on the bed. “Please.”

Any and all control of himself was abandoned, and he pulled his race suit off, watching as you pulled off your dress. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he cursed, climbing on top of you as he smirked. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slowly pushed inside you. It burned, in the best way. “All yours.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl, taking me so well.”

Once he was fully inside and you were comfortable, he was thrusting in and out of you at a rate previously unknown to Liam. Did he like fast and rough sex? Yes. Was it ever this fast? No. Was it ever this rough? … no comment. He was grabbing and smacking all over your ass and tits, you were too busy gripping onto his hair as he used you how he pleased, all the while cursing out Yuki and praising you. 

You both left the driver’s room a little bit less steady than before, but much more satisfied than going in. Liam felt better too, since he’d given you something to show just how much he meant it when he said he was yours, and you were his. That something stayed dripping down your leg as Liam finished the race, ahead of Yuki. 

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Charles LeClerc: death?

He watched, the light in his eyes slowly dying, as you spoke animatedly to Carlos. 

Carlos Sainz, now number one enemy of Charles LeClerc. 

Honestly, he knew you’d never choose anyone over him, you loved him and he knew that. Still, some voice inside of him continued to urge him to run over to you two and scream ‘mine’ and then run off with you. He didn’t, obviously. He knew you would’ve been mad at him if he did. 

As the day continued, you stayed talking to Carlos, every so often, Charles would interject with a sarcastic comment, or some stupid fact about you, then following it up with ‘yeah, I know more than you’. It turned the two of them into school children. Both of them coming to you at different times of the day with random facts about random things, until you finally told them both to stop and share their love of facts with each other, not you. You had gotten so frustrated with the two of them, that you didn’t even want to speak to Charles. 

They both stopped after that. 

Any time Charles was jealous after that palaver? Yeah, he just stuck with the regular PDA overload. He didn’t want to deal with another sex ban. 

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Carlos Sainz: also freaky wit it

His gaze darkened as he watched Charles put a hand on your shoulder. Bullshit. You were his girlfriend. You were his. 

“Querida, stop fucking with me,” he demanded, a tight hold on your arm as he dragged you into his hotel room, 30 minutes later. 

You scoffed. “I’m shockingly not fucking with you at all,” you smiled, annoyed but unsurprised at his shitty behaviour. “In fact, I was being perfectly nice to everyone, including you, all night.”

He watched as you sat on the bed, exasperated and tired of his behaviour. He noticed how you quickly pulled off your heel, took down your hair and sighed, staring at him. 

“What?” you asked. “What did I do now?”

Part of him left bad, it wasn’t your fault that you were irresistible. It wasn’t your fault that Charles thought he could have whatever he wanted. It wasn’t your fault that you had to be kind, just to keep up appearances. It still made his blood boil, but he did appreciate the fact that it wasn’t technically your fault. 

But someone had to help him get rid of all of this pent up tension. 

“On your knees,” he spoke, his voice low and laced with desire. Your eyes widened, but you did as he said anyway and sank down to your knees in front of him, “It’s going to be a long night, querida. I can’t wait to see your pretty makeup smudged,” he smiled sadistically as you tried to not be as turned on as you were. 

I guess you two were a match made in heaven, or maybe hell. 

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Arthur LeClerc: plays his jealousy off… (not)

He grabbed a handful of your ass, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to yours as you yelped. You had been unsuspecting as you leaned over the guest barrier, trying to hear what Manuel was saying to you, when Arthur had caught his other teammate, Charles, staring at you with a smirk. 

You shoved him off after a few seconds and stared at him, waiting for an explanation. 

He shrugged. “Je voulais t'embrasser,” (I wanted to kiss you). “Is that a crime?”

“When you’re doing it like that, yes,” you chuckled, amused by his jealousy. 

“What?’ he smirked. “You don’t like it?” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes. “Arthur LeClerc,” your tone was warning. “Don’t push it,” you leaned in closer, whispering. “Tout le monde n'est pas aussi obsédé par moi que toi, arrête d'être jaloux.” (Not everyone is as obsessed with me as you, stop being jealous).

He laughed. “Tu es irrésistible,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “I cannot help it!” You gave him the finger as he walked away, and he blew you a kiss.

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Ollie Bearman: a bit upset…

He literally hit his head against the desk as he watched Kimi flash you his signature smile. He was sick of it. You were his girlfriend, not Kimi's best friend. You were his girlfriend. Alas, he couldn’t exactly whisk you away, you were his race engineer after all, and this was a strategy meeting, so he sucked it up and paid attention, trying not to look at you. 

You’d noticed how low Ollie had been all day and caught up with him as you walked out of the strategy meeting. “You alright?” you asked, wrapping one his arms around your shoulders as you walked beside him, away from the rest of the group. 

“I’m alright,” he lied, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes on his lips. You frowned. 

“Please talk to me,” you begged. “I don’t like it when you shut me out.”

He sighed. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” you smiled. “I’m sure it’s not Ollie, just talk to me.”

“I don’t like how close Kimi is to you,” he admitted. “I’m… It makes me jealous sometimes.”

Your face softened. “So I’ll put some distance,” you shrugged. “Easy.”

He did a double-take. “N-no I- you don’t have to do-”

“Ollie. I want us to work, and if that means I have to ask Kimi to back off a little bit, then I’ll do it, yeah?”

Ollie nodded. “I’m sorry-”

“Shut up and kiss me, Bearman,” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your lips to his. 

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Max Verstappen: ummm guys???

Max would be an insufferable child. He would literally hide their gloves and racing shoes, he would put dish-soap in their bottle, he’d somehow fuck up their laundry, and all because they looked at you too long. You were his, why would anyone else think you were available. 

There he was, on live, racing with his team, when you came over with another can of redbull for him. He’d been focused on the game, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimpse of his teammate, Luke’s stream. He saw him checking you out. 

He saw red. 

“Luke, do you need something or do you just like staring at my girlfriend?” he scoffed and you groaned. He wasn’t unknown to make scenes in public. 

“Max,” you groaned. “Please don’t.”

He rolled his eyes and settled for a kiss on the cheek while Luke just blushed. Max understood where he was coming from, you were fucking gorgeous. That still didn’t make it right though. 

Again, a little while later, he caught Luke staring at you as you sat in the back of his set up, watching the race silently. 

“Seriously Luke, do I need to turn off my camera or can you act like an adult and keep it in your pants?” He scoffed. “Het is onzin,”(it’s bullshit) he sighed.

“Max, calm down,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, muting his mic. “Who gives a fuck about Luke?”

He groaned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he admitted. 

“I’m a big girl, I’ll be alright,” you smiled, kissing him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled, then went back to his racing, though he did push Luke off the track (in the game) a few (7) times. 

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Paul Aron: he trusts you. 

He sighed, watching Armaury place a hand on your waist. Was he losing you?

Then he smiled as he watched you shove him off, shouting in his face. You were a big girl, you could handle yourself. You didn’t always need Paul to come in and protect you, he loved that about you. He felt his sense of pride growing as you walked over, still shouting at his teammate who was looking increasingly guilty and uncomfortable, even more so when you ran over to Paul and kissed him right there and then, in front of everyone. 

Yeah, he really had nothing to worry about. 

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Lance Stroll: mf he is scary. 

Lance smirked as he watched James (a friend of his) wrap an arm around your waist as you danced with a couple friends. Your face screwed up into one of disgust, and you politely excused yourself to get another drink. James sauntered over to Lance, a smug smile on his face. 

“Might want to keep your lady on a tighter leash,” he smirked. 

“Oh yeah?” Lance cocked an eyebrow. 

“Yeah man, she was dancing all over me!” he chuckled. “Seriously, I’d steal if she wasn’t such a-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he told him, his tone dangerous. “My girlfriend is exactly that, my girlfriend. If you want to go dance with her and make her uncomfortable, that’s your prerogative, but don’t be surprised when I punch you for it.”

His ‘friend’ left quickly after that. He didn’t bother you again. 

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Jack Doohan: maybe a bit angry…

He scoffed as he watched Pierre try yet another pick-up line on you and he felt himself get even angrier. Yes, he was the new guy. Yes, he should definitely bite his tongue and suck it up. Did he do that? No…

He went over to you and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your head as Pierre’s face fell into a frown. 

“Oh, you two are-!” He started.

“Together? Yeah. 3 years, right babe?” He smiled, a little too smiley for regular Jack.

“3 years, sounds right,” you nodded. “Nice to meet you Pierre,” you smiled before walking off, away from the two of them. Jack followed behind you and you sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

“It’s not my fault I have a hot girlfriend,” he defended. 

“It’s not my fault I’m the hot girlfriend!” You laughed. “Just… keep your jealousy to yourself in the future!”

He grabbed onto your waist a pleading look in his eye. “But you make it so hard…”

“Don’t give me ‘fuck me’ eyes right now Jack Doohan,” you scoffed, pushing him off. “You are such a child.”

He chuckled, happy with himself. 

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 6

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love. 

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I don't think I understood the term "labour of love" until right now. I'm emotionally exhausted yet so fucking proud at the same time. Thank you @lotusbxtch for fixing all my grammar and formatting. I also couldn't of done this without @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69, @alltheirdamn, and @for-a-longlongtime (even if you did just try to distract me with Santi the entire time LOL)

Word Count: 14.6k (sorry, grab a snack or two)

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

CW: use of petnames, mention of losing a spouse, mentions of child abuse (mostly verbal), use of nick names (baby, sweet girl, etc.), dirty talk, spanking, sexual activity in public, kissing, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of falling in love, Dom/sub dynamics.

You: 911, I need to go buy a dress, but ya’ll can’t ask me what it’s for Laren: no strings attached shopping? Fuck yeah!  You: I’m serious though Laren: Dude, I won’t ask you as long as you don’t ask about the hickey on my neck Jamie: Damn, my dad’s in California so I can’t leave the office. You: hmm…maybe we just tell each other one secret each Laren: oh sorry, forgot I have to vacuum my cat today, can’t shop You: fine, no asking about the hickey. Pick you up at noon? Jamie: Have fun. I need a sugar daddy. Odette: booo! I’m studying. Someone alert me when we learn about the hickey. 

You

Laren’s jaw drops as you step out of the dressing room, the soft silk of the floor length black gown skims against your body. Your eyes trail down the thin straps along your shoulders and down the deep v that sits low on your sternum. You’ve never appreciated your small breasts until now. The risque cut has a soft and romantic feel. Somehow, so does the long slit up your one leg, stopping much higher than most black tie venues would find acceptable. You spin to take in the way the silk dips low on your back. Yeah, Joel Miller is going to love this. 

“You look stunning. I’m not gonna ask, but whoever you’re wearing that for is going to fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you.”

You laugh at her, watching as she tugs the collar of her sweater up to cover the very prominent purple hickey on her pulse point. If only she knew how ridiculous that statement really was. Joel Miller, your dom, falling in love with you. It’s impossible. 

The big box that you stuffed the small, pink and bedazzled box in snickers in your mind then taunts you in her uppity British accent. He loves you, remember how he held your hand so tenderly through that last orgasm? “It’s a date”, “It’s only you”. 

You shake your head and run your hands down your torso and hips, the silk feeling like water under your hands. 

“Wow, that dress was made for you.” The peppy store clerk says as she rounds the corner to the dressing room. “Oh! I have just the accessory, if you don’t mind me showing you?”

You nod and then look over at Laren through the mirror. The two of you haven’t been friends for that long, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not wearing her massive engagement ring, plus that giant love bite; something is off. “I’m not gonna ask about the hickey, but are you ok?”

“Ya - I’m fine, why?” Her phone goes off in her purse for what feels like the hundredth time since you picked her up. She hasn’t looked at it once and this newest alert doesn’t change that.  

“No reason. I’m here for you though. I hope you know that.” The corners of her mouth lift, but that vivacious sparkle in her eye doesn’t make an appearance. 

You spend longer than you ever had getting ready on Friday. You’ve shaved, exfoliated and moisturized every inch of your skin. You painted your fingers and toes with a fresh coat of pearly white polish, noticing that the skin around your cuticles on your hands isn’t picked clean. For the first time in your life, your anxiety hasn’t needed its usual outlet; picking and pushing at your nails until they’re clean. Even with the last few days kicking your ass, Mister Miller made it better, made you better.

After about three hours, you’ve completed the look: big loose curls, one side pinned behind one ear with a gold clip, exposing the soft slope of your neck that Joel loves to press his lips to. You’ve opted for a neutral glam look; a light smokey grey eye, flirty lashes, a touch of blush and highlighter and a nude lip. 

You keep the jewelry simple, just thin gold hoop earrings and two dainty golden chains, the accessories that the sales girl picked out. The first chain is the longest; one end loops tight to your throat then lays down your sternum, a small clip on the other end holds it in place to the lacy black thong you bought for the occasion. The second chain wraps around your exposed thigh. A few small crystals dangle off the garter. It feels perfect for a sex club, almost like you’re being tied up in gold. 

After wrapping the gift you bought for Joel today you debate taping the dress in place. It’s a sex club, surely a nip slip isn’t the worst thing that can happen. However, Joel would probably forcefully remove anyone who got a peek. As tempting as it is to witness that, you decide to save his sanity for one more day and after placing the last piece of tape you hear the rev of his engine coming down your street. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, it’s been weeks since you’ve heard that sound. That deep rumble will probably always fill you with an excited anticipation of seeing Mister Miller. 

You agreed to let him pick you up tonight since Odette is out. You slip your perfectly pedicured toes into black heeled sandals, working the small golden buckle around the ankle quickly as Joel’s shiny black Jag parks in front of your building. You watch from the window as he gets out of the driver's side door, flowers wrapped in brown paper clutched in his hand. A man that size doesn’t look like he’d fit in that sleek sports car. 

Even from your birdseye view from the fourth floor he looks absolutely gorgeous. You’re sure once he’s right in front of you he’ll be devastatingly handsome, especially once he’s added the gift you got him. Similar to you, he’s in all black tonight. 

The beep of his car locking and the buzz of your door go at the same time and you excitedly hit the button to let him up. It feels like hours before there’s a light knock on your front door. After a shaky breath, you open the door.

Fuuuuuck me, you think as you take him in and actively stop yourself from drooling.

He looks as hot as sin dressed in all black, the lapels of the jacket and the tie slightly silky against the flat black of the rest of his clothing. He’s the living, breathing epitome of JMKink right now. Dressed like that matte black letterhead he still leaves you notes on when you clean for him. You lick your lips as your eyes trail back up his tie. Fuck, you want him to wrap it around your wrists. 

He steps into your front entrance and the apartment feels so much smaller; almost like he takes up every bit of space and simultaneously sucks all the air out of you. His hair is parted to the side, trimmed neatly around his ears, curls perfectly placed. You’re sure it was effortless on his part, just running his fingers through it after getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips. Your mouth waters as you continue to just stare at one another. 

Joel

“Wow,” he finally manages to rasp. His throat feels like it's full of sand all of a sudden. He clears it gently before continuing. “You look…you’re always beautiful, but you are…”

His eyes travel up and down your body again, he’s feeling lost for words which is not something that happens to him often. He watches your bottom lip slip between your teeth, waiting for him to form a thought.

“Sorry, sweet girl, I need a second here.” He places the bouquet of wildflowers on the small table at the entry then reaches out towards you. He actually feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you soon. The whorls and calluses of his fingers drag down the warm, soft skin of your arm gently before he closes his hand around yours. Usually, he loves how small your hand looks in his, but he’s finding it impossibly hard to break eye contact with you right now. As he steps in closely you smile sweetly at him and he’s surrounded by the smell of mint, lavender and something distinctly you. “You look life-alteringly gorgeous. I’m not sure if that’s a word, but wow, Freckles.”

You place your free hand on his chest and he’s sure you can feel how hard his heart is pounding behind his chest. Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart at this point. He cups your face with his other hand and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the way you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him deepen the kiss. He swallows the quiet moan that you make just for him. You pull away too quickly for him, an excited smile across your face.

“I got you something!” You spin and he’s left breathless again by the low back of the dress and the way the silk skirt sways with your hips. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, following you into the living area of your small apartment. “I don’t want you spending your money on me, sweetheart.”

You spin again and his cock twitches as he catches just how high the slit of the skirt is, and the golden jewelry wrapped around your thigh. In your hands is a large, light brown box tied with a black ribbon. “Technically, I spent your money on you,” you say with a wink. “Open it.”

He steps in close, watching your face go from excited to downright giddy as he pulls at the ribbon. He slips the lid off the box and stares down at the exact same black Stetson that he sent with Tiffany. His heart stops beating as the memories, both good and bad, flood through him. This is the same hat he wore the night he met her, the night of their first date, the night he told her he loved her for the first time, the night he married her. Joel Miller doesn’t believe in signs from the universe, but this? This is something. 

No, he thinks as emotions start to clog his throat. This was Tiffany. 

He blinks away the tears that threaten to form behind his eyes and whispers your name. “Thank you, sweetheart. I - I used to have a hat just like this.”

When he looks back at you your brows are furrowed together, a genuine curiosity across your face. “Used to?”

He clears his throat again, “Yea, it’s complicated, but this - this means more to me than you could ever know.”

He slips his hands into the box, the felt of the brim spreads a warm comfort up his hands and forearms. He swallows hard as he realizes it’s the same comfort he feels when he has you in his arms. 

Oh my god…I think, no, I know. I love you.

It hits him so hard that he has to clutch the hat tighter in his hands to ground himself as he pulls it from the box. He knew he was falling, he knew the second he saw you. He can’t push it down anymore. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Joel.”

He turns the hat over in his hands, the black satin liner exactly like his old one. He looks up at you, no longer able to stop the smile or the tears that flood his lash line. Your lips part as your eyes dance around his. 

“No, baby, you didn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been really missing this hat lately.”

“You gonna try it on, cowboy?” The sultry flirtiness of your voice feels sweet on his skin and after a shallow breath he brings the hat up to his head. As the satin slips over his hair a calm confidence washes over him. His eyes meet yours and your flirty smile turns shy as you blush under his gaze. He’s whole again. 

“So?”

“I’m gonna have to fight the women off, I think.” You say softly.

He laughs, moving the box from your hands back to the table and then cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll only be looking at one woman, my sweet girl.” His lips meet yours gently, your tongue swiping softly against his lip as your slant into the kiss. 

I love you.

You

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you’d get from Joel giving him the hat, but his eyes welling up and his breathing getting all shaky was not what you expected. Something about that hat called to you when you saw it. When you picked it up, the soft felt against your palms reminded you of how it feels to be in Joel’s hands. 

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and glances around your apartment. Months ago you would have felt shy or self conscious about Joel in your space, so wholly different from his, but he has never judged you for anything, and you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him which is not a feeling you’re used to. His eyes fall to the scratched wooden coffee table that you got for free from Craigslist.

“You have college letters,” he says proudly, looking back at you.

Your arms cross across your body subconsciously, like they’re trying to shield you from the possibility of being rejected again. “Ya, the last two came today. I’ll open them later.”

“Baby, let's open them! It could be good news.”

He looks so goddamn handsome, in a suit that probably costs more than the entire contents of your apartment and his new black Stetson hat. His expression is encouraging, that same look from his kitchen when you ate some toast; prideful and empathetic. 

“I’m scared,” you almost blurt, wishing you could be smoother with this man. “I don’t want to ruin tonight. If these are both no’s, I don’t know how great of company I’ll be tonight.”

“Freckles, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want. But I think you’ll be thinking of the letters either way.”

“Ah, my consent stands even for mail,” you joke.

“Well, it's a federal offense to open someone else's mail so…” Joel winks and flashes a devastating smile your way. 

“Ok,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, you’ll be wondering all night what those letters say, and Joel has a way of making you forget, making you feel understood, important and cared for. “Do it.”

As if he’s a child on Christmas morning and you just gave him the ok, he snatches up the University of Austin and Berkeley letters, almost vibrating as he says, “Which one first?”

You start to pace the few steps of your living room, wringing your hands together as your heels click on the cheap laminate hardwood. “Austin, I’ll be less upset by a no from them.”

The tear of the envelope sounds like a dagger to the ribs as you go to grab the flowers Joel brought for you, desperate for something to do besides stand there. 

“It’s a thick envelope..” Joel says as he slides the letter out.

“Ya, I’ve learned that that doesn’t mean shit,” You say sardonically.

Joel laughs in surprise, “Always shocks me to hear that pretty little mouth swear.”

“Yea?” You ask, “Open the fucking letter, you’re killing me.”

Joel snorts as his strong fingers gingerly fold open the letter. His eyes shoot to yours, “You got in!”

“W-What?” You drop the flowers on the counter top and cover your mouth.

“Sweet girl, you got in. I’m - I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You stand frozen on the spot. It’s not the school you wanted, you want Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter what that letter says now, because either way, you’re going to be a lawyer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as Joel's arms pull you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” His lips press to hair and you start to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You both part from the hug as you fight to stop tears of pure joy from ruining your makeup. “It’s just…you know, for a second there I actually thought that I wasn’t smart enough. Me? I have a 4.0, I graduated early, I’ve been top of my class for years and I actually thought that I wouldn’t get in.”

Joel's eyes dance, a big smile across his face as he watches you fill a vase. “Open the other one.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he opens the next letter. As he folds open the thick eggshell coloured paper you plunge the flowers into the cold water, his face drops and you prepare yourself for the worst, “You got in. Baby, you - you got in.”

You - Four Years Prior

“So what? You think that getting into your fancy university in Texas means you can just leave Arizona whenever you please? Your mom needs you, you can’t just leave.” Your dad is in his patchwork recliner, a beer in his hand despite it being nine in the morning. The hot June morning heating the small house to an uncomfortable stifle. 

“I’ve contributed as much as I can, dad. Two months from now I’m not going to have any time to myself. I deserve some time doing what I want.”

Your dad snorts, legs slamming the leg rest down on the recliner. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

That should sting, it would to anyone else, but you’ve been called every name possible by your father. You see him now for what he truly is, a loser. He can’t hold a job, hasn’t been able to for years. When you were younger, you thought you were the apple of his eye. He’d show up to every school function, every award ceremony, all the little things. You were eight when you realized he didn’t even speak to you at those functions, just walked around bragging about how he was the reason you’ve achieved whatever you were being celebrated over. It was his time to shine, his award, not yours.

“I’m going,” you say, hoisting your duffle bag of clothing over your shoulder. You’ve always wanted to go back to California. You went once with your mother when you were nine or ten, and the minute you got to the beach and felt the warm sand between your toes everything went quiet. It’s called out to you ever since.

As you spin towards the front door you hear the groan of your dad standing up. Fear spikes in your veins, your heart slamming in your ribs. He’s never hit you, but with the redness of his face as he called you names this morning you wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Like fuck you are!” He bellows as a hard object strikes the back of your head, followed by warm liquid soaking through the back of your t-shirt.

One of your hands cups the back of your head as you bolt towards your recently purchased, and slightly rusted, SUV. “Get back in here right now you little cunt! You stole money from me for that vehicle, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh as you get in the front seat. You don’t bother locking the doors, you know he’s barely out the front door without looking. He’s not strong enough, and definitely too drunk, to overpower you. You throw the vehicle into reverse and yell out the window, “You don’t have any money for me to steal, Doug!”

You hit his first name hard, knowing damn well how much it will enrage him. You drive away without looking back, and you only stop once for gas for the next ten hours. 

The sun is setting as you reach the motel in Newport Beach. You head straight for the beach, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, “Mom” across the screen in bold letters.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, still feeling like a child even though you aren’t.

“Get our ass home, right fucking now. You’re supposed to be contributing to this family and somehow you had enough money to buy a car? And a trip to California? Mark my words, young lady. If you don’t walk back through that door by this time tomorrow, I will come there and get you myself!”

A lump forms in your throat. You’ve spent your whole childhood trying to get them to see you. Contributing? None of your friends had to contribute, they all got to be kids. You’re going to be making a lot of money as a lawyer one day, and they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re getting a single penny of that money.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, mother.”

“You’re in for a rude fucking awakening, little girl. Just because you were the smartest person here, does not mean you’ll be the smartest person anywhere else. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, and your father and I will not be here to fix you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than now. Good bye.”

You hang up before she can respond and look out over the water. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of peaches, marigolds and lavenders. You block your parents' numbers before snapping a picture of the sunset and setting it as your background. A sense of calm washes over you as the waves crash along the shore. You walk towards the water and dip your feet in, the water washing away the last eighteen years of your life. You’re free.

You - Present Day

A whispered ‘holy shit’ is all you can muster as realization washes over you. Your dream school - and you got in. You can go to the beach and listen to the ocean, feel the sand under your feet. You can feel as free as you did almost four years ago. You lock eyes with Joel. Can you really leave him? 

“I can’t believe I got in. To two schools. I’m going to be a lawyer.” Excitement floods your body. You can worry about deciding later, even though deep down you already know what you're going to choose. Right now, you can just be happy and proud. He reaches a hand out to you and you step into the living room to take it. He pulls you in, wrapping you in his strong arms. 

“I know I said this already, but I am so god damn proud of you, sweet girl. No one deserves this more than you. I want to celebrate this with you soon, please?”

“Well,” you say with a hint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “We are going to be at the club.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve never seen before. “Ya - the club.”

“Oh my god. We’re late, Joel!” You push out of his hold. This is his big night, his five year anniversary of owning his club.

“Baby, stop,” he pulls you into his arms again and cups your face. “I don’t care. Just let me kiss you until you need to reapply that lipstick, and then we can go.” His lips crash passionately into yours. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweet girl,” he gasps between kisses.

Joel wasn’t lying. He really did kiss you until your lips were swollen and you had to touch up not only your lipstick but the bit of highlighter on your nose; he also needed to participate, taking one of your makeup wipes to his nose, chin and lips before opening the door to his Jag for you and speeding off to the club.

Upon entering the club, the two of you were separated almost immediately. Joel was whisked away to the stage where he, Tommy and who you assume is Tess are now. The stage is lit up as he gives a speech and thanks everyone. A glass of champagne is handed to you as you stand along the edge of the bar. Everyone claps and as he tries to make his way back to you is pulled into a handshake from a very wealthy looking older man. You smile into your glass of expensive pink champagne as the woman from the stage approaches you.

“Hi! I’m sorry for having to steal him the moment you two walked in.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand out to you. “I’m Tess.”

You go to introduce yourself and she cuts you off as she continues. “Oh, I know who you are. Joel will probably kill me, but we have all been very interested to meet you.”

“All?” you say, swallowing nervously.

She shrugs. “No one has ever seen him this, hmm, this relaxed before. He’s usually here or across the street barking orders. You don’t become as successful as him without a little stress, but since you came along he seems different. Happy.”

You blush, watching him engrossed in a new conversation, his eyes often meeting yours across the room. “Look,” Tess says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I hang around the Millers way too often and I could really use some girl talk. Is that ok?”

“Tess, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s girl talk.” You smile at her and then turn to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, please!”

She takes a breath, looking at Joel and then back at you. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Joel wore a black cowboy hat again.”

You raise an eyebrow at Tess, this could be your chance to get an explanation around his response. You know you weren’t imagining his eyes getting glassy, and he did say it means more to him than he could ever tell you. “I got him that hat.” 

Tess’s jaw drops and panic rises in your chest. “What? Why? What’s wrong with the hat?” 

“Tequila first,” she says as the shots slide across the shiny black marble bar top. A shiver racks through Tess after she swallows, you don’t flinch. “I don’t know if it’s my place…”

“It’s girl talk, he’ll never know.” You state, sucking at the lime. Tess clears her throat and motions to the bartender for another round. The next time she speaks it’s a hushed, sad voice, just barely above a whisper.  

“He, umm - well, he had a hat just like that growing up. Wore it all the time actually. He had it on the night he met Tiffany, and pretty much every important day in his life since then. Their first date, their wedding. Shit, I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Sarah as a newborn in that hat. He also wore it the last time he held her.” Her voice trails off and heartbreak for her friend lines her features. “He…she loved it so much that he sent it with her.” 

You swallow hard and glance past Tess’s shoulder to Joel across the club. The moments of time between each of your heartbeats are filled by memories of his reaction. Tess continues, “Look, maybe you're like Joel. Maybe you don’t believe in astronomy or signs from the universe, but I don’t think you finding that hat was a coincidence.”

You aren’t like Joel; you do believe in signs. You thought you were going crazy when you found that hat today. It literally called to you from inside the store. It wasn’t on display in the window. No, you heard someone call your name behind you and when you looked over your shoulder the hat was all you could see. Could that voice have been from the wife he lost too early? You catch Joel’s gaze across the room; something about him, even before you knew him, comforted you. As your mind starts running through the depth of what that hat means to him he winks, you think you might be falling for him. 

All of this means something. It has to mean something. Right? 

“Girl talk stays between us?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely!” Tess exclaims, you like her more and more and can see yourself being very good friends with her, even if she is almost twice your age.

“Tequila first,” you say in the same way she did earlier. 

She clicks her glass against yours and then on the bar top before slamming the shot back. “I hate tequila,” she rasps while sucking the lime.

“I can’t talk to my girlfriends about this. I don’t know if you know how me and Joel met, but one of my best friends is sort of my boss and I would get fired from my job for knowing him.” Tess nods, and orders you both a glass of what you’re sure is very expensive rosé. “Sometimes Joel says things that make me feel like maybe we are more than a sub and a dom, but that’s ridiculous, right? It’s the heat of the moment.”

“Babe, do you know how long Joel has been doing this?” She asks gently.

You shake your head and take a sip of your wine.

“Years…at one point, being a dom was how he made money. He’s a professional.”

Her words feel like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, bile starts to burn at your throat. The whiplash of thinking he’s falling, and knowing that you are, and now dealing with this is almost too much. Joel has moved onto a conversation with yet another guest. “Right, he’s good. He’s supposed to make me feel wanted. I think I’m just not used to someone being there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Tess’s hand comes to grab yours, squeezing reassuringly. “Professional doms don’t say things in the heat of the moment. They don’t give false hopes. If he’s calling you his or struggling to follow limits, that’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.”

The silence after her words is thick between you. He doesn’t say things in the heat of the moment? You swallow the lead weight that’s made its way from your stomach to your throat, your mind racing through all the things Joel has said to you. My sweet girl. It’s a date. It’s only you. 

“Hey,” Tess says, shaking your hand to bring you back. “This DJ sucks, should we go take over the booth?”

You smile, grateful not only for her words of wisdom but now the way she’s able to stop you from spiraling. “Yes, this is a club AND a friday afterall!”

She smiles at you mischievously as she reaches over the bar for the bottle of rosé and then links arms with you as you both practically skip to the booth. “Owning a club is so fun, I recommend everyone try it,” she proclaims through a laugh.

When you reach the booth she waltzes right up to the DJ, “We need dancing music, it’s Friday, it’s a club, and it’s a fucking party!”

“Sorry, Tess. I can’t do that. Joel wanted background music only.” The DJ, who barely looks old enough to be in a club says, his eyes wandering to the low cut of your dress. A few months ago you probably would have been endeared by that look, but you have a real man now. A real man who loves you, says the sparkling box of feelings. 

Tess snorts and then tuts at the poor guy. “Joel won’t appreciate you ogling what belongs to him like that. So play Best Friend by Saweetie or I’ll be sure to let him know.”

His eyes snap back to his booth set up, one hand held up in defeat, the other pushing a few buttons and then turning the volume dial up. You and Tess laugh, taking sips straight from the bottle as you move to the dance floor. This is what you need, a friend to help you dissect what’s been happening. A friend who understands the dom and sub relationship, but more importantly, understands Joel. Does him having feelings change how you feel about university? You’ve always seen yourself going to Berkeley, that’s been the dream, but now? 

Maybe you should just end this now before your feelings grow too far out of control. The box of feelings laughs. You have no idea how deep you are in this, do you?

Joel

I’m gonna kill that little shit. Frustration rolls through his body as the music grows louder and as he turns to shoot daggers at the DJ he sees you and Tess. Your beautiful face is lit up in a large smile as you sip directly from a $400 bottle of rosé. His anger dissipates as you move your body with a sexy sway, lost in the music. 

Joel moves towards the bar, never taking his eyes off of you. Your arms stretch over your head as you shake your ass, the slit of your dress exposing your soft thigh. His palm tingles at the thought of how good you feel against him. The smooth warmth of your leg against the rough calluses of his fingers. 

I love you. 

Joel orders a whiskey and then walks towards the edge of the dance floor, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he watches you. As the song changes your eyes find him and you crook a finger at him, when he shakes his head you stick your bottom lip out and give him big doe eyes. He shakes his head again as Tess hands you the half drank bottle of wine. The pink tone of the wine casts a romantic glow across your exposed chest as you take a small sip. His cock stirs to life in his pants, remembering how those lips felt wrapped around him. He shakes his head at you again and takes a long pull from his drink. You stick your tongue out at him and spin away from him, wiggling your hips while glancing over your shoulder. 

I fucking love you.

You spin back towards him and crook your finger at him again, mouthing ‘please?’. He stays rooted to the spot. Joel doesn’t dance, especially not to this kind of music. His heart flutters as you start to walk over to him, everything moves in slow motion, the sexy way your dress clings to your hips with each movement, the flash of your thigh, the slight bounce of your breasts with each step. It feels like hours have passed by the time you stop in front of him. 

“Please come dance with me.” You say, fluttering your lashes slightly.

He grabs the expensive bottle of wine from you and places it on the tall table beside him. “This is very expensive wine.”

“That was Tess’s doing,” you smile.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His hand strokes your cheek and he clocks the goosebumps that rise on your skin.

“Please come dance, Mister Miller?”

“I don’t dance, sweet girl.”

You pout again and he wants to suck that perfect bottom lip between his teeth so badly. “What if you just stand there and I dance around you?”

One day he’s going to have to learn how to say no to you, but today won’t be that day. He takes the last sip from his glass and puts it beside the wine. You bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he holds a hand out to you. You lead the way, the dance floor now full of people, heading back towards Tess. Joel’s hands come to your hips as you grind against him for the last few bars of the song. 

A slow twang of guitar starts off the next song. Joel spins you to face him. “This I can dance to.” He whispers, pulling you in close, one hand low on your back, the other holding yours to his heart. 

You smile up at him, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, sweet cheeks?”

At this angle the brim of his hat blocks out everything except for you; not that he needs something to block out the rest of the world when he’s around you. I love you.

“For the right woman I can be, freckles.” He says warmly as you melt into his body.

The two of you continue to dance in a comfortable silence. He watches your lips as your tongue glides across them and just as he’s about to lean in and taste you you speak. “I don’t think I said this yet tonight, but congratulations. This is a huge accomplishment and I’m so proud of you and grateful that you brought me into this space. I hope it’s not too bold, but this has done exactly as I hoped. I feel - freer almost, if that makes sense.”

“Good,” his lips press to your forehead. “And thank you.”

Your neck cranes forward, towards the tangled mess of your hands against his chest. Your lips pressing to the knuckle of his thumb. The gesture shoots straight to his heart.  

“I’ve been feeling a bit bad though. You’ve had to go to two events for me this week.” You go to protest but he cuts you off. “What would you be doing tonight if it wasn’t for this?”

You hum in thought. “Any bar where there’s an open mic night or a local band.”

“That so? Do you participate in the open mic?” 

“No, absolutely not, but I enjoy music and watching people do things they’re passionate about.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. I’ve said thank you to all the VIP’s. Let's go do your thing.”

You

“Can we do that?” You ask, trying not to let the smile that’s pulling at your cheeks win.

Joel laughs quietly. “It’s my party, I can do what I want. They can all stay, but the longer I stay here the more I’m going to be pulled away. And you’re the only person at this party that I want to talk to.”

That’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.

The boulder is growing in your throat again as you croak, “We’re dressed awfully fancy for a local bar.” 

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes soft. You start memorizing every detail of his face. Everything surrounding the two of you went fuzzy the second he pulled you into his arms. This man, dressed in all black, blurs the edges of everything around you, sucking you in and making you feel like the only person he sees. The slow country song that you didn’t even hear starts to come to end. “I don’t care. Any more concerns?”

He doesn’t care, he’ll never care, he just wants to be with you. The box of feelings that's grown exponentially over this evening inches its way out of the shadows, and you can’t deny it anymore. 

You’re falling in love with Joel Miller. 

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement replacing the lump in your throat.

Joel wastes no time, peeling your bodies apart and pulling you towards the exit. He doesn’t look back as Tommy calls his name, only stopping at the front desk to grab your purse. You feel giddy, almost as if the two of you are doing something wrong. He opens the car door for you and then hops into the driver's seat. You pull out your phone, ignoring him as he comments on your cracked screen being a hazard, and check for open mic nights, finding one in a small bar just a few streets over. 

The bar is small, about ten tables crammed together and then a few stools along the bartop. The stage is only big enough for one person, a few guitars on stands, a stool, and the mic stand. The lighting is low, different neon signs above the bar doing the majority of the work. You’re way overdressed and the looks you get from the packed bar further prove it. 

Joel pulls you through the crowd towards the bar. You were feeling slightly tipsy dancing with Tess, but there is something so sobering about being pulled into Joel's arms. And now that you’ve realized you’re falling in love with him, his next question is very welcome.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” You smile sweetly, plastering your front to Joel’s side as he squeezes into the bar. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Two old fashioneds,” he says deeply to the bartender. You stifle a giggle, “What?”

“You just give me so much ammunition sometimes.”

He swats at your ass and then squeezes, not caring who may or may not see. It’s exhilarating getting to just be yourselves away from the club and you have a feeling you’ll quickly become addicted to this. “Mighty thin ice, baby.” 

The raspy voiced woman with crazy curly hair finishes her set as Joel pays for the drinks. It appears that most of the crowd was here to see her, a few tables free up and the place doesn’t feel so crowded. The MC for the night gets back onto the stage. 

“Alright, if anyone else wants to show us what they’ve got tonight I’ll be by the bar.” There’s a few cheers and some clapping as the bar empties out drastically, only about twenty people are left. Joel pulls out a chair for you and then sits beside you.  

“Thank you for the drink,” you say, bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a small sip. The warmth of it heats all the way down to your belly, a familiar feeling when you’re around Joel.

“Of course,” he nods, sipping his. “So? Do you come here often?”

You laugh, leaning forward on your arms, noticing the way Joel’s eyes bounce from your face to your breasts; now pushed together for him. “What a line! But no, I have never been here. I kinda like it though.”

The MC’s voice fills the room, welcoming a brave soul to the stage. A tall man in cowboy boots and a shiny buckle joins the stage, carefully picking a guitar from the rack before he begins singing. You can tell by the warmth along the side of your face that Joel is watching you and not the man on the stage. 

“He’s pretty good,” you say, looking back towards Joel. It’s almost unfair how he can still look so sexy in the neon glow of the lights above the bar. 

“Mediocre,” he says with a scoff and sips his drink.

You glance around, “Ok, well you listen to this mediocre man, I’m going to find the washroom.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on your back as you walk away. The gender neutral bathroom is surprisingly clean and you giggle to yourself at the interaction you had once Joel was no longer looking at you. You try to act natural as you head back to the table, sitting down and smiling at Joel.

His eyebrow arches, “What did you do?” 

God you hate how well he knows you. There’s no hiding anything from this man. Regardless, you stifle the fit of giggles that are right on the tip of your tongue, “Nothing! I had to pee. Is that not allowed?”

You raise your glass to your lips, trying to hide the smile as the MC heads back up to the stage. “You did something bad, I can tell.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have another performer tonight. Please welcome to the stage Joel Sweet Cheeks Miller.”

Joel shoots a teasing glare at you as you start hollering, “Woo! Sweet cheeks!!” You clap your hands loudly. He lets out a sigh, pushing himself up and then grabbing his drink before heading to the stage. 

He steps up, running his fingers over the guitars before choosing a black acoustic. He puts his Old Fashioned on the stool and loops the guitar over his head. Your body reacts in a way you didn’t think it would. Fire erupts on your belly, you take a sip of your drink to try to put it out but the heat of the liquor only makes it worse. He adjusts the knobs on the guitar after hitting the strings a few times and then looks up at you and crooks two fingers, calling you to him. You obey, practically floating to the man you’re falling in love with. 

Joel bends at the hip, taking his cowboy hat off and placing it on your head. His voice is a gravel filled whisper as he says, “I’m going to spank that pretty little ass of yours in that washroom you were looking for after this.”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You rasp.

He stands back up, and clears his throat before starting. “This is, well, this is the largest audience I’ve ever played in front of so, go easy on me.”

His hand pushes back the few curls that have fallen onto this forehead before he strums at the guitar. 

If I ever were to lose you I’d surely lose myself

His voice is like stepping into a hot bath, full of warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ve found here I’ve not found by myself

He doesn’t break eye contact with you, only glancing away occasionally when he moves his fingers along the cords. 

Try and sometimes you’ll succeed To make this man of me All my stole missing parts I’ve no need for anymore

You stare up at him, lips slightly parted, as everything falls into place. 

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You could go to Berkeley and do great, probably middle of the pack, but you’d reach your goals. You’d become a lawyer and leave school with a handful of job offers. Or…you could stay. You could stay and be the top of your class here. You could stay and continue being with Joel. 

Back when I was feeling broken I focused on a prayer You came deep as any ocean Did something out there hear?

The box of feelings starts to vibrate, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the complexities and games  No one wins, but somehow they still played All the missing crooked hearts They may die, but in us they live on

You’re staying. You’re going to the University of Texas at Austin School of Law.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see  Our future days  Days of you and me

And just like that, the box of feelings explodes like one of those worms in a can of fake peanuts.

When hurricanes and cyclones raged When winds turned dirt to dust When floods they came, the tides they raise Even closer, became us

This wasn’t part of your plan, but you can’t let this go.

And all the promises at sundown I meant them like the rest

You hear his voice, ‘It’s only you, sweet girl’ and ‘your consent is the most important thing to me.’

All the demons used to come ‘round I’m grateful, now they’ve left.

‘Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect’, ‘tell me, tell me you’re perfect’.

So persistent in my ways Hey, angel, I’m am here to stay

‘I’m here for you’.

No resistance, no alarms Please, this is just too good to be gone

You’re not falling in love. No, you’re already so madly, deeply, insanely in love with this man that it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You suck in a breath for what feels like the first time since he started singing, your chest practically heaving at the release of emotion you’re experiencing. 

You and me It’s just, you and me

You’re not sure if people are clapping, you can’t hear anything over your own voice in your head screaming out ‘I love you’ over and over again. Joel hops off the stage, his eye flashing onyx as he growls, “punishment time, my sweet girl.”

Joel

The way your eyes sparkled as he sang and the way you’re following him now, your warm fingers laced in his as he pulled you gently to the bathroom, almost have him convinced that you feel the same way he does.

He locks the door, then jiggles the handle to make sure it’s secure. He’s shared subs with other men and women, he’s used the rooms for people to watch at the club; fuck, one time he even made one sub kneel completely naked at his feet while he sat at the bar of the club. But someone seeing you, something that is all his, ignites a protectiveness that he’s only ever felt for two other women. 

You giggle mischievously as he steps close, plucking his hat off your head and placing it back on his. “What did I say I was going to do to you, baby?” 

He watches your bottom lip disappear between your teeth before you say, “You were going to spank me.” 

He spins you roughly by your hips, pulling your back flush to his chest before walking you over the pedestal style sink. He watches in the mirror at the tell tale signs of your building arousal. Your cheeks flush, the pink creeping down your neck and exposed chest. He sees the way your eyes glass over, cock drunk before even getting it. Joel loves how easy you are to turn on, loves even more that it’s just for him.

No, I just love her.

He stops, the soft light above the mirror lighting the two of you up in yellow glow. The small bathroom is clean, but dark. White and black checkered floor with white walls; hopefully thick walls, but he has ways to keep you quiet while he punishes you. 

His lips come to the exposed side of your neck, hovering just above where he can see your pulse quickening. He hears the hitch of your breath as he inhales your lavender scent. He slips into full dominant mode, keeping his voice a deep growling whisper, “Hands on the edges of the sink, sweet girl.”

You obey him without hesitation, leaning forward and wrapping your hands around the shiny white sink. His eyes lock on yours through the mirror as he fists the soft silk of your skirt. His palms tingle at the thought of getting to feel you soon and his cock jumps at the thought of your heart-shaped ass being pink with his handprints. 

As the skirt crawls to be just above your knees he says, “How many should you get for that little stunt?”

He watches the goosebumps that spread across your skin. “Five?” Your voice is sweet and innocent with the ask.

The skirt starts to hike up higher, the long slit could give him easy access, but he’s playing a role right now, and he knows that the anticipation makes it better so much better for his sub. “Not much of a lesson in five. How about ten.”

It’s not a question and he knows you know it. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t want to see if you’d fight him just a little bit. Brat taming is not his thing; granted neither is spanking a sub he’s fallen in love with in a bathroom of a dingy bar while wearing a six thousand dollar suit. 

A shiver runs through your body as he exposes your ass. The lacy black thong sends his thoughts into overdrive. God damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck this woman, just once. 

“Do I have your consent to spank you ten times?”

You nod, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He takes one of your wrists in his hand and brings it back to hold your skirt up and then repositions himself to be beside you instead of behind you. He takes you in, bent over with your ass exposed, pupils blown out. Your chest rises and falls with shallow, shaky breaths. He’s going to have to keep you quiet.

A hand clamps around your lips and your eyes widen. “If you want me to stop, drop the skirt. Got it?”

You nod into his palm as the first slap fills the room. Your skin is soft and warm under his touch as he makes contact again. By the third strike, his hand around your mouth muffles a squeal. The fourth spank lands on your other cheek and a quiet husky moan rumbles against your lips and his palm.

“You’re supposed to be my sweet girl,” he taunts as another loud slap fills the room. He’s been watching you in the mirror the entire time, enjoying the way you try to keep eye contact; but now, at the halfway mark of your spanking, your eyes are hooded with need. He looks down your ass, grinding his hips into your side at the sight of his bright red handprints tattooed on your cheeks. “Fuck, you look so good all marked up.”

He spanks you again watching the jiggle of your ass and how it ripples down your leg. Your back arches as you whimper quietly. “Atta girl,” he says proudly, smiling to himself. “Three more.”

Joel administers the last three spankings quickly, two on one cheek and one on the other. The sound of his palm on your flesh goes straight to his cock each time, he’s practically rutting into your hip bone to relieve some of the ache. He’s given a lot of spankings in his time as a dom and his body has never reacted this way. I’m so goddamn in love with her, I should keep spanking her for making me feel like that, but if I don’t taste her right now I’m going to go insane. 

His hand grabs your skirt while his other drops from your face. Your breaths come in fast, like you just ran a marathon. He guides you to stand and then spins you around, a hiss leaves your lips, “It’s cold,” you whisper, making eye contact with him. 

He takes his hat off and places it on your head before kneeling down in front of you.

You

The cool porcelain soothes the delicious burn along your ass, but the burn quickly spreads through your body as the man you’ve realized you’re in love with kneels in front of you. His voice has an edge of desperation as he says, “I need to taste you, please baby.”

What is he doing to me? He has to know what he’s doing to you, right? Did he mean the lyrics of that song or is it just the only song he knows? However, at this moment, you’re just as desperate for him. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically as you speak, “Mister Miller. Please.’

His mouth connects with your lace covered cunt. Licking over the thin fabric, teasing you with light but mind numbing pressure. Joel Miller always looks good, tall and broad, tanned skin that crinkles slightly around his eyes when he smiles, but when he’s on his knees in front of you it ignites something low in your belly. His curly dark hair is soft to the touch and you bring your hand to his scalp now. He groans at the feeling of your hands on him and continues to lick at your clit through your panties. 

The black cowboy hat falls over your eyes, your other hand raises to hold it out of the way. Even with the decision to stay here for law school, you don’t want to miss a second of the salacious acts playing out right in front of you. 

“Oh god, Mister Miller,” you whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

He moves to kiss at your thigh, hooking a finger around the gusset of your soaked lace. “This fucking garter, sweet girl. Been drivin’ me crazy all night,” he growls between kisses.

He pulls your panties to the side and your nipples harden under your dress as the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. “Fuck,” he practically whimpers. “You smell so good. Taste so good, too.”

His mouth latches around your clit, sucking it between his lips and everything goes fuzzy as the burn in your lower belly starts to spread. “Ohgodohgood, f-fuck.”

The tip of his tongue flicks against your swollen aching clit with each suck and you start to panic over how you’re going to keep quiet while you come. One of his fingers that pulls your thong out of the way teases at your entrance, gathering your arousal, before he pushes it inside of you to the first knuckle. He looks up at you, eyes flushed onyx as he swallows down everything you give him. 

“Mister Miller,” you hum as he pushes his forefinger the rest of the way in. When he curls it forward you release the grip on his salt and pepper curls and clamp your hand around your mouth.

He pulls away, a dimple carving out his cheek as he smirks. “Feels that good?” He flicks gently at your clit and you moan in agreement into your hand. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel sucks your clit back into his mouth, pumping his thick finger against the spongy spot that makes you melt and the heat bursts into tingling pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you fight to keep quiet, grinding your hips unabashedly against Joel’s face. He’s relentless with his ministrations and you bite at your palm as another wave rolls through you. 

The spasms of your pussy around his finger slow and you’re finally composed enough to drop your hand, grabbing his shoulder as your knees threaten to give out. Joel slips his finger out from you, placing light, lingering kisses on your mound before standing. His hands find your hips, holding you steady. 

“Kiss me,” you slur, feeling drunk off the pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck as he kisses you. His lips taste like you and you lick at the heady sweetness. You slant your head, kissing him deeper. His body goes soft, relaxing into the kiss. You could do this with him forever, and for once it’s not the box of feelings saying that. The contents of that box have coated your entire brain with the love it housed for the man you’re not even supposed to know exists. The two of you break apart, both panting for air. You break the silence first.

“Take me to the club.”

“We can’t go back there. I’ll just get sucked back into the crowd.” His nose runs up and down yours, dark chocolate brown eyes never leaving yours. 

“I need more, Mister Miller. Please, take me.”

“Shit,” he huffs. “Come with me.”

Joel

This is so incredibly stupid, he thinks as he pulls into his neighborhood. The moment the two of you got back into his car you leaned over onto his shoulder and closed your eyes. He should take you to your apartment. You must be exhausted from all the studying and working you’ve been doing. Plus, he kept you out late for two nights. He pulls up onto his driveway, and the slight bump from the curb causes you to stir. He parks in the driveway and watches as you blink and register where you are. 

“I can take you home if you want.”

“No, I want to be with you.” Your eyes widen and you start to do that thing where you ramble, only to dig yourself deeper.

Joel chuckles and then leans forward, pressing your lips to your forehead to stop you. “I knew what you meant, baby girl.”

He gets out of the car and then comes around to open your door. When you left the bar tonight you tried to open your door, again, and he scolded you gently. He smiles to himself that you’ve listened finally, that or you’re just too tired and he should really be taking you home. But when he helps you out of the car and meets your gaze again you look anything but tired. Need and arousal flood his system as he takes you in, lips slightly parted and eyes dancing around his face. Your words from the bathroom ring in his ears. I need more, Mister Miller.

He snaps, lips slamming against yours, your hands immediately finding the curls at the nape of his neck; the only hair you can reach because of the cowboy hat still proudly perched on top of his head. He lifts you, moaning at the feeling of your toned thighs wrapping around his waist. He moves on instinct, closing the car door and walking into the house while the two of you fervently kiss in a mix of tongue and teeth. You nip at his bottom lip as he walks into the marble foyer. He closes the garage entry door and presses you against it, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, His cock is painfully hard behind his pants.

“I need you,” you whine after your lip is free from his mouth.

“What do you need?”

You kiss at his neck, hands moving to loosen his tie. “I need you to fuck me, please, Mister Miller.”

I love you. 

He keeps you pinned to the door, his one hand grabbing yours and pinning them above your head. How many times is he going to have you in the position, fighting against what you’re begging for? Hopefully, it never stops.

“My sweet girl, you know I can’t do that.” It physically hurts him to turn you down.

You pout at him before speaking, “Then just be naked with me, I need to feel your skin on mine. Please?”

He kisses you again and starts to move the two of you towards the stairs. Between kisses, he says, “What happened to that shy girl who couldn’t even tell me she wanted me to dominate her?” 

You laugh against his lips, “She’s been corrupted.”

“I’m a bad man,” he hums with a laugh and walks up the stairs with you plastered to his chest; one hand around the globes of your ass, the other tucking your head into his neck so he can see where he’s stepping. The moment you reach the top of the stairs he pulls your face back to his to kiss you again.

“This is where it happened,” you say, as he passes the office. 

“Where what happened?” He says, pulling back to look at you, his eyebrows draw in in confusion and the black Stetson he forgot he was wearing falls forward slightly. You take the hat off his head, looking at him all wide-eyed and amused. 

“The corruption,” you say with a wink. Joel snorts in response and then his lips are back on yours. He has missed having this mix of passion and humour with someone.

When he passes over the threshold of his bedroom he places you on your feet. He told himself he wouldn’t ever have you here. No, not told, promised, because he knew what having here would mean. But you made him fall in love with you anyway. The air in the bedroom feels thicker, and his breathing quickens as he looks at you. The only light that trickles in is from the hallway. He takes in your sparkling eyes, your lips, puffy from his kisses and light nips; the perfect curls of your hair are slightly dishevelled and truthfully - he has never found you more beautiful. 

I love you. 

You

Butterflies assault your stomach as you stare at Joel. He takes the hat from you and tosses it gently on the foot of the bed behind you. The room is deafeningly silent, only the sounds of both of your quickened breathing and thundering heartbeats fill the void. You stand frozen, the heels of your strappy black sandals sinking into the plush carpet of his bedroom. You remember when you carried his sheets to the washing machine just a few weeks ago, being surrounded by the delicious scents of ash and leather. You had no idea who Joel was then, the man in this house was just a fantasy in your mind. You wait for him to make the first move. Finally, his thick fingers find the zipper along your side. 

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his voice is hoarse, and you can tell he’s nervous. You wish knowing that would calm you, but truthfully it just makes your heart burst even more. This morning, the thought of anyone, but especially Joel, having feelings for you was ridiculous, but now you aren’t so sure it’s that absurd after all.

“Yes, Mister Miller. I just - I need…” he watches you patiently. Playing with the small metal zipper pull. 

“Don’t be shy, sweet girl. Just tell me what you need.” 

“I need to feel your skin against mine. Please.” 

He pulls at the zipper as his lips meet your neck. “I love when you ask so politely. My good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, fighting the sway of your legs to stay upright. 

If he’s calling you yours, that’s Joel speaking. Not his dom alter ego. 

Joel’s fingers come to the thin straps along your shoulders. The warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to shiver. He drags the straps down your arms and then frowns at the tape holding the dress to your chest. He tugs gently and you gasp at the pull of the tape. Before you can protest, the sting is soothed by his lips, kissing the sore, pink skin. He does the same thing after tugging the other side and the silky black dress pools at your feet. 

You watch the muscles of Joel’s throat flex as he swallows, eyes trailing down your body. “Turn around.”

You spin on the balls of your feet, careful to not catch your heels on the carpet. “So you need to feel me, is that right, sweet girl?” 

You nod your head. “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

One of his hands comes to gently rest on your shoulder and instinctively lean into his touch. His fingers whirl around as he traces down your shoulder blade and then back up to your neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you looked tonight. I kept getting pulled away from you every time I tried to get back to you. It was killing me to be away from you.” 

You let your eyes close as his fingers run down your spinal column. You feel his heat leave your back and then his lips sponge kisses along the globes of your ass, his hands holding your hips possessively.

“You were such a good girl tonight. Outside of the little singing stunt,” he says between kisses. Every spot that took the punishment of his palm is given attention. “But you paid for that, didn’t you sweet girl?” 

You giggle quietly before saying. “Yes, Mister Miller. Thank you, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again.” 

“Good,” he laughs, standing up behind you. You hear the unmistakable sound of his silk tie being pulled off. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop teasing me.” 

He tosses the tie towards his dresser. Before you know it, he’s spun you around and lifted you into his arms again. Your body knows just what to do, your legs clamping around his waist on their own. He captures the squeak that leaves your lips with his mouth. Nothing makes you melt faster than the feel of Joel’s lips on yours. They’re soft but firm, his tongue warm against yours as he takes what he wants from you and there’s no way you’re not going to let him. 

He sits you on the dresser and plants his hands on each side of you as your hands move to work the buttons on his shirt. His lips never leave yours. 

“I need you,” you whine as you get the first few buttons undone. The heat of his chest skimming against your fingertips has a fresh wave of arousal coat your already soaked pussy. 

Joel moans needily at your confession as he pulls back slightly. He rips at his shirt, buttons burst before he tears it off and stands shirtless in front of you. Your eyes trail down his strong broad chest, stopping on the prominent bulge behind his pants. Your hands fly to his belt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you work the buckle and then the button of his pants. 

As you move to the zipper, his fingers go to the lace of your panties. He growls as he splits the fabric. 

“Joel!” You gasp. “Those were thirty dollars!” 

He grabs your leg, placing the ball of your foot on his chest,unbuckling your shoe. “I just ruined an $800 dress shirt. I’ll buy you more.” 

The shoe hits the floor and he grabs your other foot, his eyes locking to yours as he commands, “And it’s Mister Miller. I’ve been lenient with you. Another mistake and you will be punished - severely.” 

For such harsh words, he’s being so careful with the small golden buckle on your shoe. “Yes, Mister Miller,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes innocently. 

“Feet up on the dresser. Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.” 

You lean back slightly, hands being used as an anchor behind you, placing your heels on the edge of the dresser. Cool air hits your drenched cunt and you fight yet another shiver. You’re spread wide for Joel, every single thing on display for him. He looks at you like you hung the moon and your heart flips behind your ribs. You suddenly feel like you did the first time the two of you spoke in his kitchen, his gaze is too much, too intense, and it becomes nearly impossible for you to not yell out that you love him, so you look away, your eyes falling to his strong chest.

“Eyes up here,” he murmurs as he takes the smallest step back. 

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. In your peripheral you can see his hands going to his belt, the sound of the buckle jingling tempts you to look down. “Atta girl, stay right here with me.”

You stay in his warm coffee brown pools, flecks of gold and honey appearing as the soft light of his bedroom hits him. I love you.

He bends slightly, his pants and boxers falling to the ground. You try to swallow once, twice, never leaving his gaze as the rest of his clothing comes off. You swear that time stops, the two of you are suspended in a moment that’s all yours. He steps forward and you can feel the heat of his skin against your entire body, you melt into his warmth.

“You want to look, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

 The soft tip of his cock gently nudges at your clit and you gasp. “Look down, baby.”

You peel your eyes away from his, looking down to see where his body caresses against yours. The tip of his impossibly hard cock, precum glistening as it leaks for you, pressing lightly to your soft and swollen clit. His piercing lays flat against his pelvis and you remember what he said about there being benefits to it. You try to memorize the sight in front of you. As filthy and debauched as this is, it’s also passionate and beautiful; it's the epitome of Mister Miller and your time with him. 

“Fuck, sweet girl. Your pussy is so pretty…and soft.” You watch as he wraps his hand around the thick base of his cock and rocks his hips. His cock slides easily along the warm folds of your drenched cunt, you swear you can feel the ridge of the underside of the tip as he says,  “Who has you this turned on? Huh, sweet girl?”

“You,” you whimper as your legs start to tremble.

“God damn,” his voice now matching yours, “How’d I get so lucky.”

This time you know he’s not asking you a question, yet you hum in agreement as his cock slides back over your clit, the swollen nub relishing in the friction and the feel of him against you. You hope he’s going to keep going, you want to feel him inside of you more than you need oxygen. Instead, his other hand slips between the two of you, his strong digits teasing at your entrance. He slides along your clit again as one of his fingers pushes inside of you. 

“Is this ok?” He whispers.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, Mister Miller.” A bead of pre cum lands on your mound at the sound of pleasure passing your lips. 

“Such a good girl for me. Already learning how to take me so well.” His finger slips out as a second joins it. “She’s begging for it, tryin’ to suck me in. So tight, my gorgeous sweet girl.”

Your foreheads meet and it all becomes too much again. You close your eyes as his fingers finally fill you. “Don’t stop,” you whine desperately.

His hips pick up their pace, pressing harder along your most sensitive spots. You get that floating feeling again. He’s so close to exactly how you need him, how you want him. The voice from your now-exploded box of feelings adds, “For the rest of your life”. 

You keep your eyes closed, sparks of pleasure occasionally flickering behind them. You’re getting closer to your high with every press of his body against yours. You know if you opened your eyes you’d be able to fall over the edge, but you aren’t ready to be done imagining how it would look if his cock was doing what his fingers were right now. 

“I can feel you’re getting close, baby. Clenchin’ my fingers so hard.” His voice is full of admiration, not a tone you’re used to hearing in moments like this. You used to think that you had a first love, and while none of your exes ever mistreated you, they also didn’t look at you or speak to you the way Joel Miller does. 

His pace increases again as he curls his fingers forward, your body jolts up with the newly applied pressure behind your clit. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself, the inside of your thighs start to ache, but you’re not going to let your feet fall from the dresser. Truthfully, the burning ache only seems to intensify the pleasure at the apex of your thighs.

“Open your eyes, watch how good your pussy looks against me.”

“I ca-can’t. ‘M so close. I don’t - oh fuck - don’t wanna be done.” 

“Just because you come, it doesn’t mean we are done, sweet girl. I’m not ready to be done. I want you to come as many times as you need to.” He presses his cock down against your clit harder as he speaks.

Before you can even take your next breath your orgasm washes over you. It hits hard and for a second you think your throat is constricted, but just as the wall of your pussy relaxes and begins to flutter, a euphoric scream frees itself from your airway. You start to pant, your body falling back to rest on the wall behind you. Joel falls forward with you, and just when you think you’re about to come down from your high, the pressure at this angle sends the strongest wave of your orgasm through you and you begin to gush around his fingers. 

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Soak me.” Pride swells in his eyes as you chant his dominant name like a prayer. Your breathing starts to even and he slows his fingers and hips, ensuring not to send you into any overstimulation. I’m not ready to be done yet. He slowly removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around you to pull you up. Your feet fall from the dresser and the relief your muscles feel causes you to let out a pleasurable sigh.

Joel

He needs more, so much more, but waits for you - taking a few slow breaths in time with yours. When he sees you coming back down to earth he slides the tip of his cock up and down. At this angle, there’s no risk of accidentally slipping so he runs himself along every part he can reach. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble, bringing your face towards his. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, a kiss he’s sure you can tell isn’t the way a dom kisses his sub. He realizes at that moment that he’s never kissed you that way. No, he’s always kissed you with everything he had, giving himself to you piece by piece. 

More. His inner voice growls. I’ll never come back up for air now.

Joel whispers your name between kisses and you both pull back just enough to see each other's faces. “When we got here, you said you wanted me to fuck you. Do you still want that?”

He watches your eyes dance around him. Confusion, fear, excitement and arousal line yours before you pull back from him. He scolds himself for saying it. Of course you’re going to panic, this is supposed to be a safe space. He set a complete ban on sex before he even met with you the first time. It’s right there, in his dom profile; because that’s what he is, he’s your dom. You can come here and beg for it, because you know it’s a safe place where it won’t happen. 

He prepares himself for you to slap him or yell at him. Instead, you say, “Mister Miller, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. This was a hard limit for you, and where I very much want to, I don’t want you to break any promise to yourself.”

He let his eyelids fall shut, for the first time, he doesn’t want to be Mister Miller. He wants to be Joel. 

I love you.

Goosebumps break out along his skin as you drag your hands up to his neck, fingers scraping along the back of his scalp. “Talk to me.”

“Just call me Joel,” he says through the boulder that’s lodged in his throat. 

He feels your warm lips meet his cheek, kissing him softly before you clear your throat quietly and then whisper into his ear. “Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me or I might die or go insane.”

“Again,” he growls.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You say, louder and with more conviction than the last time.

He scoops you off the dresser, your soft naked thighs tightening around his waist and he steals your squeal with his lips, kissing you hard with hurried passion. He’ll worry tomorrow about what getting you to call him Joel means, all he knows at this moment is that he needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs you. 

  He lays you on the bed, pressing down into your warmth. He can feel how wet you are as you grind up into him. His lips grow hungrier, kissing every bit of your face and neck he can reach, relishing in the feel of your hands running up and down his biceps, your short nails scraping his skin occasionally. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks before fusing his lips to your neck.

Your feet fall to the bed and you arch into him. “Yes, Joel.” 

He raises to his knees, unclipping the chains around your body and then working with you to slip your ruined panties off. He reaches over to the bedside table to get a condom, using his teeth to peel the foil open and sliding it on. You’re always completely at his mercy, but this time he’s wholly at yours. One of his hands grips your hip, the other wraps around his cock as he takes in all your soft smooth skin, and memorizes the constellations that your freckles make along your body. Your breasts heave with each shallow inhale and shake beautifully with each exhale. Finally, his gaze meets yours, your eyes filled with every emotion he’s feeling. 

“There’s no safeword anymore, my sweet girl. If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You nod as he lines himself up, the warmth of your tight entrance calling to him. Joel pushes gently, your hips rising to encourage him. His balls tighten at the feeling of you wrapped tightly around the tip. 

“So tight, sweet girl.” He falls forward, both forearms beside your head to keep his weight off of you. 

The two of you rock in tandem, working more of him into you. “Oh god, Joel. More,” you moan.

There was a time when he told you to only call him Joel, it was the only name you could use that would keep this side of him from taking over. But now, hearing your voice say his name in the needy little vibrato, it’s having the same effect as when you call him Mister Miller. He’s sure you know exactly how he feels, and he’s now certain that you feel the same way. 

Your hips grind into his and pleasure spikes through his entire body. He’s fully seated inside of you now, your tight pussy squeezing him sweetly. He buries his face into your neck, lavender hypnotizing him. Everything he can see, hear, smell and feel is you. His sweet girl. 

“More, please, more.” You whine, circling your hips. 

His jaw flexes as he fights his body’s instinct to come. He pushes down with his hips to still you. “I need a minute, sweet girl. Shit - you feel too good.”

Your soft giggle at his confession causes your pussy to flex tighter around him. A shiver runs up his spine, “Baby, please don’t. Just stay still, please.”

He pulls himself away from your neck, his hips flexing forward. He watches your eyes widen as his piercing presses right where it’s meant to. You gasp and clench his hips with your thighs. He smirks, now flooded with desire and determination to fuck you until neither of you can walk. 

“Ready?” He says, his voice deep.

“I think - Joel, fuck - I might…” 

His animalistic side kicks in, he pulls out to the tip and then slams back in, swivelling his hips so his piercing stimulates your clit, which he’s sure still must be sensitive from earlier, before pulling back and repeating. 

“Think you might what?” He demands, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna - gonna come.” You moan between thrusts.

“So fuckin’ needy. Aren’t you?” You met each of his thrusts with a flick of your hips. Even with the condom, you feel better than he could have ever imagined. All the things he wants to do to you run through his mind; he wants to take you from behind, or watch your tits bounce as you ride him, he pictures you strapped to the spanking bench in his room at the club. But right now he just wants to worship every inch of you. He wants to show you how you should be treated and loved. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue. I love you. 

He shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your leg so he can take you deeper. “Sweet girl, I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

“Fuckfuck don’t stop.” He peppers your jawline with kisses. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers. He tilts his head, parting his lips for your warm tongue. Joel starts fucking you faster. He breaks the kiss, “Come for me, baby girl.” 

“Are we going to be done if I do?” You ask. 

“No, baby.” He huffed a laugh, his hand pushing the hair away that’s started to stick to your forehead. “Never. I’m never going to be done with you.” 

“Joel - oh my god.” He feels you getting tighter and tries to distract his thoughts. He’s not ready to be done, but he’s not young anymore so he can’t risk finishing quite yet. “Your - your piercing.”

“Let go,” he says into your lips. He feels it then, that infinitesimal tightening of your pussy around his length before it begins to flutter. Your whine fills his head. He watches the pleasure fill your face, he swears he can see the clouds that form around your vision as you look deep into his eyes and succumb to your high. Your soft body quivers beautifully underneath him, “That’s my girl.”

The primal need to fuck you hard into his mattress simmers his skin. Not yet, not this time. She’s too perfect right now. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

Between pants you moan out, “So good, Joel.”

Your body begins to slow beneath him as your orgasm crests and he gives himself a mental pep talk to hold on just a bit longer. His cock is achy with the need to come, and it’s going to be slightly tortuous to stop, but he wants to take you at least one more time before you both fall into what is sure to be an exhausted sleep. 

His lips come to your shoulder. “I love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me.”

Your nails scrape at his back. “It’s t-too much. Fuck. Sorry…sorry.”

Joel stills his hips, releasing your leg and pushing his weight off of you, but doesn’t pull away. Your eyes are clenched tight, “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes pop open, pupils blown in pleasure and love. There’s no denying it now, he knows you feel the same. “Don’t be sorry.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, “But you’re not, you didn’t yet.”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“You didn’t get to come yet,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to yet. I’m going to let you catch your breath and then you’re going to climb onto my lap and really learn what that piercing can do.” He winks and then gives you a small smile before slipping out of you. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, removing the condom and dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed. 

He hears you hiss, panic clogs his throat as he whips back towards you. “What’s wrong?”

You nod towards his almost impossibly hard cock. “That looks painful.”

“I’m ok, sweet girl.” He pulls you in, melting at the way your body molds so perfectly to his. He kisses your forehead, “You’re incredible.”

“You too.” You nuzzle deeper into him, your warm breath hitting his chest and your leg wrapping around his. 

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before you speak, “Hey Joel?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I think we should ditch the condom.” He pulls back as you look up at him, “You have a vasectomy. I have an IUD. We had recent test results as per the club's rules.”

Joel swallows. Not wearing a condom, even though he had his vasectomy over a decade ago, has never been an option. Another rule of JMKink is that you have to be wearing a condom during all penetrative activities; even if the person you’re fucking is your husband or wife. It hits Joel then that the only person he’s felt that intimately before is Tiffany. 

“Are you sure? I know the chances of getting pregnant are very slim, but you got into law school today, I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I’m sure,” you hum. “I’m also sure that you should put that cowboy hat back on for the next round.”

[curtins]

GREEDY — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. màstúrbation (m.) and rough sèx, creaḿpie. some angst/doubt. angsty love confession before gojo póunds reader into the mattress. incorrect use of reversed curse technique. arguments and stuff. description of injuries. def mean!gojo a bit and he's got vampire tendencies.

reader is of legal age (implied to be 19-20) and gojo is 28 so age gap!romance. obsessed!gojo and popular girl!reader trope. gojo is absolutely a mess in this, and reader is described as wearing short skirts, and wearing makeup.

rather questionable ethics and dynamics (teacher/former student) but rest assured its clear that his feelings are pretty recent. reader has him twirled and whipped around her fingers. reader is also def a baddie and ambiguously bi.

word count. 8.7k words im mad actually. this was meant to be headcanons song inspiration. greedy — tate mcrae

a/n. this is was gonna be from reader's pov but i thought it would be more fun from gojo's 🙂‍↔️

mp3. i see you eyeing me down, but you'll never know much past my name. or how i'm running this room, but i'm still half your age. yeah, you're looking at me like i'm some sweet escape 😛

gojo satoru was not a weak man, no. he knew that he was an anomaly of nature, an unstoppable power that could reduce enemies to dust and make entire clans crumble with nothing more than a flick of his wrists.

so how was it, that when it came to you, his resolve was paper-thin?

every time your open gaze met his, every time you brushed past him, every time your presence filled the space around his infinity, gojo felt something inside him unravel. his breath would be caught in his chest, leaving his pulse to quicken and suddenly, all that strength and control would slip through his fingers.

gojo cursed himself for this, you see. he had never been one to lose control, but he was not quite sure when his entire body has started to betray him.

but no, fuck that, and he did his utter best to run his focus back onto the lesson at hand. unfortunately, the lesson at hand was with you. standing in front of him, arms slightly raised, palms out, and raising your brow as boredom passed over your face.

gojo cleared his throat, "your stance is good, but your cursed energy is all over the place. focus, breathe. centre yourself is what i'm saying," he instructed, but the words felt hollow as they passed through his lips.

unfairly, you're weren't the problem. he was. and now this was getting ridiculous. you had graduated not two, three years past? it would have been a disservice to still call you his student, but even as a mentee, you were still under his tutelage. and as recent as this immature infatuation was, this felt wrong.

but now you were frowning, starting to waver and the sharp, staccato tap of your heeled boot punctuated the wooden floor, click, click!

gojo looked to the sky, briefly, if to pray for patience and a calm of some sorts. he stepped forwards towards you, placing a hand on your waist to guide you into a better stance, and trying to ignore the way your skin felt warm underneath his fingers.

focus.

"don't let your body twist like that when you utilise your own cursed energy. keep it straight, balanced," he muttered, adjusting your posture slightly, hand on your spine — the heel of his palm pressing into a dent. a deity from the sky must have struck him with a cursed arrow, for his whole body was on fire.

because there you were, standing right in front of him, so close that gojo could feel the soft heat of your breath, the faint scent of a sweet perfume wafting off your skin, vanilla?

"you're not focused," gojo grimaced, though he wasn't sure if the rebuke was at himself, or at you — whose eyes widened briefly, and gojo tried not to recognise the curiosity and challenge that flashed across your face.

look at how she's staring at me. and gojo felt utterly ridiculous, and exposed, she knows. but instead of pulling away, you shifted ever so slightly towards him, your body arching as the barest brush of your breasts against his forearm had heat pulling through his body.

would you taste as sweet as you smelt? would you lean more into him if he asked?

he cleared his throat, "okay. relax, not every stance or position works for an individual. perhaps, you'll be able to focus better like this," and with his hand still on your waist, he pulled you into a swift spin. one that left your back pressed against the hard planes of the chest, and you facing the other wall.

you hummed, this time not in the way he wanted. your lips were lightly parted, and there was that soft sheen of gloss catching the light, making your lips look impossibly soft. gojo caught himself staring, wandering what it would be like to press his own mouth to yours, and whether you would squeal or moan.

still, if there was anything that gojo was good at, it was deflecting like a champ, "i think you're distracted," he laughed, low and amused, "is something making you lose focus?"

you tilted your head, and gojo didn't miss (nor did his heart or groin) that your gaze flickered to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his eyes again, feigning innocence, "don't tell me you're underestimating me, sensei. because i'd hate to think you can't keep up?"

gojo bit back a grin at the obvious bait, "careful," brushing strands of white hair that had fallen into his face away, "if you get too cocky, you tend to miss danger. you start to ignore things that should be noticed."

your voice dropped to a droll whisper, eyes glinting, "you think i don't notice things? i'm aware of plenty."

gojo forced himself to focus, to ignore the way that your lashes flutter with unshakable composure. trying to regain control, or some semblance of mind, he started counting each individual lash painted dark with mascara, lingering on the outermost curls that framed your sharp eyes.

after a beat, he forced himself to break eye contact, "alright," he said, stepping back with a casual shrug that he hoped conveyed just how nonchalant he was, "we’ll call it a day here and continue training tomorrow."

"backing out already?" you teased, leaning in just a little, making him tense at the closeness.

gojo chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "for your sake. you may be powerful, but you have to pace yourself."

you shrugged, nodding, "i'm going out anyway this evening," you said, hopping back a step before bending down to gather your things. gojo politely averted his gaze, his heart hammering from your previous proximity, and desperately hoping to avoid a...reaction, that would be quite inconvenient, as wide and loose as his martial pants were. like a fuckin' school boy with a crush. gross.

but as you slung your pastel bag over your shoulder and straightened up, he couldn't help a quick glance, catching the small, coy glimmer in your eyes as you turned to leave.

gojo sighed, pulling up his blindfold once more, "have fun," he half-heartedly offered, but you were already out the door.

the corridors were now empty, the clang of metal and chatter now silent, replaced with a quiet hum of the air conditioning. gojo wiped his face with the towel wrapped around his neck, the damp fabric clinging to his skin and the muscles in his arms and chest still warm from the intensity of training. his arms and chest glistened, the muscles warm and taut as he stretched, rolling his shoulders back with a low groan. exhaustion settled into him like a weight, each movement of his tired, bare torso slow and deliberate.

"oh, you're still here, sensei?"

gojo's eyes snapped open, drawn to the sound of your inquisitive voice. you stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light from the hallway, and he immediately felt a rush of heat flood his chest.

well, fuck, now his mouth was dry. clearly, your previous iteration of 'going out' was a bit more glamorous than you had led on, and he was certain his wandering eyes betrayed him as it flickered over your figure. it took a titan's strength to keep his eyes from trailing down your long legs, the way your dress hugged the swell of your chest, or over your glistening neck. there was a faint shimmer, a glitter of some sort? it coated your skin, and gojo wanted to lick it off with his tongue.

what? no. who said that?

he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his composure.

you scowled at his reaction, clearly mistaking his silence for distaste. "what? i did say i was going somewhere," you retorted, your tone sharp but amused. "i’m more than allowed to leave the campus grounds.”

"of course,” he replied, voice outstandingly steady but his mind still trailing after every curve, every detail that made you look...well...dangerous in the best way, "don't let me stop you. who's the lucky guy?"

you arched a brow, folding your arms over your chest, and now, gojo really did have to look away and pretend that he was busy with retying a dark piece of cloth over his eyes, "who said it was a guy?"

gojo thickly swallowed, wondering if he'd just made a colossal blunder with no return, "that's not what i meant." the words 'my bad' stuck in his throat as you laughed and sighed.

"joking, sorry. it's a guy, this time." now you were fiddling with your long nails, with a satisfying clack as they ran across each other.

"i hope he shows you a great time then," he offered, half-hearted, blasé.

you took a step into the room, and gojo didn't even need six eyes to know that your eyes were raking over his chest, "i'm sure he will," all sweetness and sugar, "i've been training so hard, i deserve it, don't i?"

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he had to remind himself — she's not yours, satoru. but that didn't stop the gruff irritation bubbling up.

"a real man should be taking you out on a date like this,” he said, his voice a bit too rough for his liking. "not some guy who’s probably just looking for a good time."

you scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "are you saying that there's someone else out there who can do a better job?" your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it — an edge that made his heart skip once more, "sadly, there just aren't many who've handled me well."

he ignored your immature, faux pout, and ran a hand through damp, icy hair — ignoring how his temper flared, rearing its ugly head.

was this all on purpose? to toy with him?

"you want to be handled, sweetheart?" gojo's voice dropped a little lower, indulging your teasing, "i've seen you lose focus easily, you could easily break."

your lips creased up, painted a tempting shade of dried-blood red (what the fuck was wrong with him? was he now just a horny vampire?) as you purred, "i'd need some help testing out that theory." your expression was open just enough for him to see the tiniest flicker of something in your eyes — something that told him you were enjoying this far more than you should.

an invitation of sorts, he wondered. did you want him to move? to make a move? it wasn’t a secret that you had always been a popular student practically a legend, rumours swirling around you like wildfire — whispers of broken hearts and sweetened smiles that could captivate anyone in your path. he had never paid attention of course, gossip always ran wild among students and he discouraged such whispers of who-did-what, for a grade 1 curse would never indulge such behaviour before they would get torn to shreds.

and even now, long after graduation as you worked around your old alma mater, men and women — everyone swooned at the chance to speak with you, and yet, here you were, playing this dangerous game with him.

gojo scowled, trying to push past the desire building inside him, the urge to have you underneath him, right on this mat in the training room. "well, don’t hang around too long," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "i’m sure your date is waiting. go have a good time."

invitation declined. the morally right thing to do. right?

he didn’t need to look to see the small sneer that curled at the corner of your lips, or the way it turned into a fleeting expression of annoyance. he could hear the click of your heels echo down the hallway as you sashayed out.

what the everlasting fuck was wrong with him?

lo and behold, the great gojo satoru often found himself alone in his own private rooms. for 'the strongest' rarely had time to accommodate some other forms of company.

and frankly, he had no desire to do so now regardless. not when the echoes of your clicking heels still reverberated in his mind. the silence that echoed around him was heavy, suffocating and he was sure he looked erratic.

gojo ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the thought of you. but it was useless. his body was still on fire, the heat of jealousy smouldering in his chest, coiling in his gut like something alive, something dangerous. he had walked to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his legs splayed wide apart as his shoulders slumped under the soft, amber glow of the setting sun that streamed through the windows. the sorcerer let his head fall back against the chair, eyes closed.

how absolutely ridiculous, he thought, running his fingers through his tousled hair. no, he just couldn't stop it. couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted you. wanted you to want him too. and now, with the way you’d left, with that knowing smile on your lips, all he could imagine was the man you were with now, the man who’d be holding the door open for you, who’d be pulling out your chair, whoever the hell he was.

maybe even a casual, non-sorcerer. some random guy that you had indulged because he was no threat. but he wouldn't be able to touch you, not in the way that you demanded. the man would laugh at your jokes, brush his hand against yours, but wouldn't be able to let a real smile bubble from your lips like satoru could.

and what would that man do next?

would he try to take you back to his place? some small poorly-lit apartment where he'd try to kiss you, to claim your lips without even pulling away for air. would you kiss him back, curling into his frame?

before gojo's even registered what he's doing, his own hand has found his hard cock. despite the tattle of assistance, and dreamy-eyed mongers, pleasure is rare for him. relief, even less so. his schedule just doesn't allow it, and so he oft find himself chasing some distant contentment like this, alone in his rooms.

but he squeezes at the wide hilt, at his base, pulling his hands up, upwards as his brows furrow under blindfold, and he tugs the offending fabric off, away from him, as laden balls smack against his wrist.

maybe the man would then trail his lips down your neck, maybe he'd try to slowly sink his teeth into delicate flesh, leaving blooming purple marks that wouldn't fade, not when gojo saw you tomorrow.

he's running his curled hand up towards the fat mushroom tip, almost glowing pink with heat and pre-cum that's leaving his hand slicked with faint moisture, "shit, that's it."

then what? he can imagine your teasing smile as you decide to take your pleasure as you see fit. how you'd suddenly push this faceless man off, and move so you're straddling him, letting his hands wander around the curve of your hips, digging into plush flesh.

now he's starting to pant, open-mouthed, "ah - fuck! wish i had you here, right here." gojo must be a madman, breathing out to the empty, open air.

but in his mind's eye, you're reaching behind your back to undo the zipper on your outstandingly tight dress, giving the faceless man a coy smile as you push the fabric of your dress down, letting your plentiful tits spill out and against the man's chest.

his wrist is moving faster now, and there's a cramp starting to build up as he pistons his hand over his stretched shaft, and one arm is thrown over his face — the soft hairs on his thick forearm tickling his face as he tries not to gasp or whine too loudly, but he's bucking his ups now, pretending that it's not his hand that he's spilling into, but your tight cunt. and later, he shudders and tenses up, with apologies whispered into the air, "look, look - shit, i'm sorry - i'm sorry. couldn't help it, fuck." and gojo's bitten his lips so hard that he's certain he's drawn blood, vibrant red blooming on pale, creamy skin.

and a lamp had exploded as he came. damn, he'd have to replace that.

you don't deserve someone like him, no. not when he's sitting here, absolutely filthy with thick, white seed entirely over his tense abdominal muscles and stiff hand. not when he's trying to catch his breath after imagining how snug your pussy would feel around him, and how you'd beg for him to give it to you harder.

you didn't deserve someone so messed up with guilt, with mistakes, with the kind of weight that made him too much for anyone, let alone someone like you. didn't you deserve better than a tortured man who couldn't control himself, better than an overzealous mentor who was supposed to keep his distance, to do what was right.

but that didn’t stop his thoughts from swirling, as he separated damp, thick thighs from the smooth surface of the chair, reaching for a tissue. he couldn’t help it. and it made him feel like a damn fool.

the meeting room buzzed with tension, voices rising in sharp, clipped exchanges — some angry, some demanding and others clueless and questioning. gojo had woken up in a foul mood that morning, with some ill-gotten storm brewing beneath his chest. perhaps it was the thoughts of you that lingered from the night before, a gnawing jealously that left him feeling too tight in the stiffness of the uniform dress pants.

but he had forced himself to be dragged through this meeting, plastering a snarky light-hearted grin over his face as he leaned against the wall, letting the higher-ups argue themselves into oblivion.

amidst the storm of words, gojo's focus was nowhere near the mission being discussed. no, his attention was fixated entirely on you. you stood at the far end of the table, eyes flashing with ire as you tore into some pompous old fool who’d dared question your power. the others in the room shifted uncomfortably, deferring to you, as they often did, despite your youth. you had that rare combination of presence and bite that made people recoil back when you sunk your teeth into them, and this was not a knot gojo was interested in unraveling.

kojiro, one of the bumbling administrators, had turned his babbling attention to gojo, "you're still planning to face that curse head-on, gojo-san?" the poor man is wringing his hands at gojo's flat look (made all the more unreadable through a blindfold, satoru would wager), "don't you think it would be well - unwise? instead of expending your time and energy on one cursed spirit, you could handle five lesser ones. efficiency, you see."

gojo's gaze briefly flickers back to you, standing with your arms crossed as one hand fiddles with the end of your braid as your petal-pink lips scowl at some other official with words that don't fit his stature. your other hands keeps reaching around your neck, adjusting a plaid scarf over and over, like you're desparate to hide something under the fabric . well, fuck that.

"i'm aware of the risks," gojo turns his attention back to the matter, "but no one here has time for hesitation. if the curse is special grade, don't you at least think that delaying with lead to more destruction?"

"is it really the cursed spirit you’re worried about, takumi-san?" you asked, your voice low, the kind of voice that could make someone forget their own name.

gojo's gaze snapped to you from under the blindfold, but you weren’t looking at him, not even speaking at him. instead, you were locking eyes with one of the other sorcerers — takumi, a grade two with a shaggy mop of golden hair, one who had been a student alongside you and hardly subtle in his admiration for you.

gojo tries to hide a scoff at how takumi's eyes are wandering over you, ignoring the newpapers that have been flattened on the meeting table, with bold inked letters reading doom-portents such as 'unexplained explosion, 4 dead and 12 injured."

time and place, man.

"you don't think i can handle this mission. if you're worried about me, just say so," takumi's now leaning into you, even as gojo tries to train his ear on kojiro's economic-obsessed babble instead.

gojo can see your eyes flicker to the dastardly newspapers as well, clearly curling your lips at the dour news and takami's disastrous attempt at getting his hands under your skirt. but he also knows that sharp glint in your eyes, the one when you toy with those around you, to pull them in without ever committing to anything. clearly, you've decided to indulge this game.

"takumi," and you draw out the younger man's name, "shouldn't you bring more strength to the table? of course, i'm worried about a friend getting hurt. but even if you were stronger, or the strongest, a special grade curse could do some real damage."

and your eyes have flicked right towards gojo, raking over his frame leaning against the pale cream walls. he's glad for the blindfold, so you can't see how he scowls and furrows his thin brows at you, at your blatant hopes for a reaction from him. were you so unobservant that you did not know how much you bothered him?

the pointed sharpness in your words made takumi pause, and for just a moment, gojo could see the man’s grin falter. it was clear that you weren’t impressed by his attention, you had no need for his slimy attempts.

there was no mistake about it — this wasn’t just a flirtation. this was a game you played, and gojo was not only aware of it; he was caught in it. he tries not to feel irrationally angry, fuck, so much of his life revolves around his work, his job and now he can't even do that properly without feeling like you're using your long nails to dangle something in front of him, wanting to snap his teeth out and snatch it.

so you wanted him to see this. you wanted to claim that you could unravel the strongest sorcerer from the heavens to the earth below, to make him lose his composure. gojo feels as if there is crackling ozone in the air, and wonders dimly if the weather forecast predicted a rain storm for later today.

takumi, sensing the shift, finally backed off with a huff, but not before giving all around him a lingering look, as if it was their fault that you weren't interested.

"enough distractions," kojiro's interjected, raking a finger through a beard streaked with gray, and he's shooting a pointed look at you, snapping rose-pink gum, and takumi, shuffling with his hands in his pockets. "we're here to discuss the mission, not flirt." and then, he's off mumbling something about how this was why he hated having younger sorcerers join the meeting rooms.

his ire only grew. gojo stood with his back against the wall, outside the meeting room, once everyone had left with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. you stood in front of him, your eyes flashing with anger, your chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

"absolutely not," gojo stood his ground firmly, "no-one will let you go on this mission."

you stomped on the floor, once as your heels snapped an echo, "they will if you say so."

gojo stuffs his hands in his pockets, "who said that i would also allow you?"

you scoffed, folding your arms across your chest, mimicking his previous stance but with a clear defiance in your posture. "and why the hell not? i'm more than capable of handling it. it's my fucking choice, and how can extra help hurt?"

"enough!" gojo snapped, feeling a tense pain in between his eyes, "it's too dangerous. and you're too young -"

"too young!" you've interrupted him, "i'm not some helpless child, sensei. i'm a grade 1 sorcerer! one of the best, i don't need to be treated like i can't handle a mission."

"grade 1. not special-grade."

his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. gojo could see the fury in your eyes, but there was something else there, something deeper, a vulnerability that he had seen before in students, some desire to prove themselves and be heaped with praise. he knew you were good, better than most — hell, better than many of the adults he’d seen. but this cursed spirit was unlike anything you’d faced before. and yet, here you were, challenging him, pushing him, daring him to stop you.

"you don’t get it," he muttered, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. you're too reckless."

"reckless!" now you had taken a step towards him, narrowing the space between you both. your eyes were fierce now, but there was something else in them — a spark of hurt that made his chest tighten, and gojo began to wander where this would start spiral. "i’m not reckless. i know exactly what i’m doing. the only reckless thing here is you thinking you have the right to control my every move."

"i'm the one in charge here," he said, his voice hoarse, the words coming out sharper than he intended. "and i'm telling you now, you’re not going. you’re not ready for this. don't involve the higher-ups in this."

you were so close now, just inches apart. his eyes flicked to your lips, with the arch of a blooming flower kissed by the sun, for a brief moment, and then back up to your face, where anger and frustration mixed with something else — a challenge.

"maybe that’s the problem," you said, your voice quieter now, but still holding an edge. "you think i'm still some child who needs you to tell me what to do. maybe you just don’t want me to outshine you."

the words are ridiculous, and he can see by the mild quiver as your throat bobs that you don't mean what you say. it takes a rare type of courage to tell the first person in four hundred years to be born with limitless and six eyes, that he could be outshined. but satoru doesn't say a word to rebuke your obvious and false bait.

your body is so close now that gojo could feel the heat of your skin, your breath brushing against his. he could smell the faint sweetness of vanilla again in the air mingled with fresh, crisp apples, could see the subtle shine of your lip gloss catching the light. it was a testament to his spirit, he thinks, that he did not lean in straight away and touch his mouth to yours in this scenario that certainly did not warrant it.

"you want me to stop you that badly?" he hissed, his voice a mix of frustration and something darker, that had not yet snapped. "is that what this is? a game? a way for you to get my attention? to see how far you can push me before i do snap?"

now he's got your tongue, and your expression has flickered for a brief moment before schooling into an impassive mask, and gojo briefly wanders if he's crossed an awful line and misinterpreted everything. if they're gonna stick a white dunce hat on his head and parade him through the streets of outer tokyo for being an assuming fool.

but then you've stepped even closer, your breath coming faster, the weight of your chest almost pressed against his, and gojo doesn't move and he's briefly aware that he's let his infinity down.

"partly, you know it's not just about you though. i do want to go on this mission, but -" you tilt your head and look right up at him, and the older man's head starts to reel from the fact that he was right all along, "i do want to see how far you can go before you snap."

his heart pounded, and for a moment, everything went still. all the tension, all the heat, the anger, and the desire — everything seemed to converge in the space between you. gojo's hand twitched, aching to touch you, but he held himself back, his muscles straining with the effort.

"stop,” he rasped, barely able to get the word out. "you don’t know what you’re doing, or what you're asking for."

he's never felt quite like this before, breathless as if the air has been punched out of his lungs. all gojo could think was how much he wanted to pull you closer, to kiss you until there was nothing left between you.

but he couldn’t.

he puts his hands on your shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your top, and gently pushes you away.

"my decision is final. don't make this harder than this, you're forbidden from the mission."

how sick and twisted, that you've fled with embarrassed tears pricking at your eyes, and he's stuck with a raging erection.

well, he had seen worse. but it didn't make this curse any less vicious. it was ancient, he could presume, and maddening. its cursed energy was warping the night air like a violent storm. but again, not the worst thing that he had encountered in his twenty-eight years, and with the right timing, he'd been able to calculate every strike and counter.

but then he saw you.

at first, he thought it was a blur — a trick of the light. but then, there you were, standing at the edge of the pavement, your figure framed by the chaotic crackle of cursed energy. fuck your stubborn nature.

this is not what is meant to happen. gojo's heart has skipped a beat, and he's not sure what he's more furious with. you, for defying his concern for your safety. or himself, for getting so distracted in. a battle.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

yes, he knows you're good. good enough to move with precision against a special-grade curse, your stance instantly and suspiciously better than the other day in the training rooms. it's only through his six eyes that gojo has been able to keep a track of your movements as your jujutsu is able to dodge the creature's brutal force.

impressive. but reckless.

and that never lasts.

you had moved to cast your own cursed technique, but the curse was intelligent enough to anticipate it. with a sudden lash of its tail, the creature swung its power straight at you, knocking you off balance. you stumbled, your footing lost, and before you could react, a flash of dark energy slicing across your shoulder.

a scream had torn from your lips as you fell to the ground, blood spurting from the deep cut.

and briefly, just for a flicker of time, gojo sees a dark-haired man in violet robes leaning against a brick wall, with his shoulder torn off, 'at least curse me one last time.'

blood rushing in his ears, before he even realised it, he was on top of you, his body hovering over yours, his jujutsu flaring as he shoved the cursed spirit back with a brutal force that made the earth tremble, an exorcism that will not take long. he kneeled beside you, his breath ragged, eyes locked on the wound on your shoulder. the blood was already soaking your clothes, darkening the fabric as you winced, your breath shallow and unsteady.

"you —” gojo isn't sure if his hand isn't shaking from how irate he is, "what the hell were you thinking? fuck, don't move."

your eyes were unfocused for a moment, but when they snapped to him, there was defiance there — even in this moment (get a grip!), as you gritted your teeth against the pain.

"save it, it's fine," you spat, your voice weak but vexed, "that bitch is still there."

"what did i tell you! what did i say would happen?" he cursed under his breath, focusing his reversed cursed technique as he tried to heal you, but the moment felt like an eternity as bright red blood moved too fast for him to seize it.

an assassin's blade in his throat, his arteries giving way and bubbling out and up.

now you don't answer, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. gojo's gaze darted to the cursed spirit, which was now advancing again, enraged by the interruption.

it won’t touch you again.

he stood, pulling you away from him, your body slumping slightly out of his arms. he could feel the heat of your blood soaking through his sleeve, but he had no time to dwell on it. the curse roared in fury, and gojo's infinity flared up around him again, a shield of pure energy blocking its path.

"stay down,” he growled, and all he received was a weak, "fuck, you think that's funny?"

it's only later when he's pulling you back up, that he realises that his reversed cursed energy has done enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to leave you unharmed as your breath is shallow, your face taking on a more sickly pallor.

"don’t you ever — ever —do that again," he snarled, his voice raw and he wonders when something (or someone) has ever undone him so much. but the anger in his voice doesn't carry to his touch as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing the lines of your jaw.

the sterile walls of your room did nothing to soften the tension in gojo's chest as he stood by your bed, his eyes tracing the curve of your sullen form beneath the sheets. your shoulder was bandaged, with red seeping slowly through the white strips.

"you really are unbelievable," he snapped, his voice sharp as he paced around the room, every step heavy with frustration. "i told you it was too dangerous. i told you not to fucking go."

you lay there, your eyes half-closed, as though you weren’t even listening, but the twitching frown on your lips is sign enough that you're not as sorry. his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something — anything — to release the tension building in him.

"are you even listening to me?" he know he sounds bitter, over-reactionary, angry as he moved towards the edge of your bed.

you blinked slowly, your gaze still infuriatingly calm, "i'm fine, now. save the lecture."

he doesn't want to start sputtering so he settles for crossing his arms over his chest, but your voice breaks the silence again.

"you know i want to be a special grade sorcerer, right?"

gojo only looks down, not wanting to indulge an excuse and he studies the tight grip of his knuckles on his slender fingers, "well, i don't know why. the pay isn't that good." it's a weak attempt at a joke, but you're smiling.

"i was told i could only become one if i was the one to exorcise that special grade."

"by who? the higher-ups?" and you nod, wincing as you do.

what a fucking surprise. the way that the jujutsu world works is no surprise to gojo by now, having been surrounded by it his entire life. but the harshness of their reality still shocks him, old and doddering officials who cling to their silk robes are prone to sending out younger sorcerers (those who are still green, barely out of school) to do their dirty work for them, and the cemetery outside of jujutsu tech is ever growing.

he ground his teeth together, his chest tightening as he stared down at you. the bandages, the damp skin, the stillness of your body — it made him want to tear something apart. "fine! if they were giving you a hard time, why didn't you just come to me then?" he repeated harshly.

"would you go ask someone to help you, for something like this? if you were asked to prove yourself?"

gojo runs his tongue behind his teeth, "i'm the strongest, princess. i don't need to ask for help."

you groan, turning your head away from him, but a faint smile dances upon your lips.

he inhales sharply, his fingers digging into the edge of the bed. "you think this is a joke?"

"all four limbs are attached and i'm living and breathing. okay, so fine. my bad. i won't do it again. will you stop snapping at me now, at everything -" and gojo wonders if there's really some hurt colouring your voice, "what's going on?"

the words slip out, rough and unrestrained. "what’s going on is that you’re driving me insane. you act like this doesn’t matter, like i can just stand by and let you throw yourself into danger like it’s nothing — like you don’t matter — but you do. you do matter."

his chest was heaving now, his hands shaking as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. his thumb brushed over your pulse, the tiny fluttering beneath your skin driving him wild. "i can’t — i can’t just stand there and watch you get hurt," he continued, his voice hoarse. "you don’t get to do whatever you want without consequences, damn it. you don’t get to make me feel this way, and then pretend like it doesn’t matter."

for a moment, there was silence. gojo's pulse was hammering in his ears, his body coiled with the intensity of everything he was trying to say. everything he was trying not to say. everything he wanted to act upon.

and then, with a slow, almost lazy smile, you turned towards him, "i didn't know the great gojo satoru was like this. who would have thought?"

his breath hitched in his throat. gojo wanted to say something, to snap at you again, to maintain that distance — but the truth was that the distance between the two of you had disappeared these past few weeks. his chest tightened, his hands trembling as they slid to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, and he relished how your facade almost cracked and you lightly shivered.

at least, he hoped you were shivering because of his touch. and not, like, a fever building up from your injuries.

fuck it.

and then, before he could stop himself, gojo was leaning down, his lips crashing into yours with all the force he could muster, desparate and hungry and that frustration and fear that he had been holding onto. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you towards him with a force that made your breath catch, as you responded with a soft gasp.

had he misstepped? no, for you kissed him back, tentatively at first, as if you were testing the waters, but then building up to a sudden urgency that mirrored his own. your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pushed yourself closer to him, before crying out.

"ah! fuck, my shoulder."

small beads of blood surfaced where your collarbone met your shoulder, each one glistening like tiny rubies against your warm skin. they gathered slowly, delicate droplets that clung to you before tracing faint, uneven lines downward. the red stood out, vivid and fresh, dotting your skin in a stark, almost mesmorising gojo as they welled up and began to trick in thin, crimson trails.

"stay still," gojo rasped, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, pressing closer. his mouth met the fresh blood pooling on your skin, tongue tracing over the small rivulets that had seeped from beneath the bandage.

he lingered, almost savouring the taste, his eyes darkening as the sharp tang of iron lingered on his tongue, smacking his lips slightly as he drew back, gaze fixed intently on you, on your heavy breathing as he stole away another kiss from you.

gojo's lips left yours briefly, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his eyes wild underneath the blindfold, gasping as your nails reached up to hook the fabric down so his hair loosened, falling around his face.

you were staring back at him, breathless and wide-eyed, and in that moment, gojo knew — he couldn’t stay away from you. no matter how much he tried.

your lips were soft, so soft, but there was fire behind the way you kissed him back, your hands landing on his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he groaned, deep in his throat, and his fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer.

his mouth moved urgently over yours as he shifted to stand beside the bed, his body hovering over you, every muscle tense, straining with the desire that he had tried so hard to ignore. gojo just couldn't think about anything else.

and your lips broke apart only briefly, and you let out a soft laugh, that damn, dangerous laugh of yours. "you're greedy, you know that."

his chest heaved, and his heart pounded in his ears, and blood was now pounding to his nether regions. he wasn’t sure if it was the previous anger or the ache between his ribs, but he couldn’t stop himself as he threaded his fingers through your soft hair, "i am greedy. greedy for you. only you - mmph! shit!"

you had run your long, painted nails (with the little painted charms on the end) down his neck before pressing them, hard enough to cause a sharp sting.

"you wanted to put me through hell," he whispered harshly, and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, "until i realised i liked it. until i realised i wanted you, all of you."

his hands moved down to your waist, squeezing gently as his lips found the tender spot beneath your ear, trailing kisses there, letting his teeth sink in, to see small bruises appear. gojo's breath was ragged as he fought to keep control, and something deeper inside of him roared with the need to claim you completely.

"you’re mine," he growled against your skin, the words hot and possessive. "i don't care what happens. you’re mine now."

you tilted your head, still smiling, but this time there was something different in your eyes — something that burned with the same intensity. "if i'm yours, what are you going to do about it? hmm, satoru?"

and that final thread, that last remnant of honour that he had been nurturing and holding onto, snapped.

"is this what you want, princess?" he draws out the nickname, letting it roll off his tongue, as you suddenly inhale sharply. his hands are all over you now, large hands exploring and kneading at your torso, and before he can even let you blink, they're under your top.

he's pressing his hot mouth to your sternum, wet and open-mouthed, and he wonders what sort of effect you have on him. what force in the world leave him panting like this, desparate as his hands find their way behind your back, to unclip whatever's holding your tits in place — just so he can reach back and run his palms over your hard nipples, flicking them and rolling them in between his fingers.

and faintly, in the back of his mind, he's aware that his reversed cursed technique must be working overtime, because suddenly you're rolling forward into him with no care in the world for your previously injured shoulder, as your own hands trail down the front of body, right over his bulge.

but he slaps your hand away, pressing you flat against the mattress, "fuck, not yet. you think i'm just going to let you get away with all this," and as you mewl a soft yes, followed by a please, he rolls his eyes, "wait. behave and i'll give you what you want."

and then, softer, "need to make sure you're ready first."

his arms are caging both sides of your head, and he's got one hand on the headboard (although, you will marvel at the burnt imprint that he's left, later) and the other is tearing your top off, just so he can lean down and let his canines press into the soft fat of your chest, so he can slip a pointed nipple into his mouth and tug it, ever so gently.

but gojo needs to continue lower, and his hand squeezes at the waistband of your short skirt, snapping the elastic twice as you heave your bare chest, "please, please, satoru!"

it's heaven down here for him, and gojo's dizzy at how outstandingly wet you are, with just a single swipe of his fingers in the soft, damp fabric of your underwear.

your clear, sticky arousal clung to his fingers, stretching in thin, glistening threads as he spread your thighs apart, knocking your knees to either side so he could slot himself in between them. your slick shimmered slightly under the light, translucent and tacky and he just couldn't help himself, bringing them up to his mouth to slowly taste.

"shit, princess. you taste so good, can't believe this is what i've been missing out on."

he's playing an instrument, he thinks. gliding his fingers along sodden folds, twirling his index finger past a thick wad of skin and pressing right over your clit in hot, tight circles that have you bucking your hips, "hnngh, right - ah, right there 'toru!"

'toru.

as a reward, he plunges his middle finger straight into your gaping heat, your tight wall of ringed muscles that had been fluttering in light pulses for his attention. fuck, he almost reaches his own climax by feeling how you squirm and writhe, moan and mewl as he starts pushing his finger in, and then out.

in, and then out. in, once more. and out, again. and then, another finger.

his fingers sank into your soft, damp pussy — which yielded easily enough with a soft pssh! as the digits pressed in. gojo pulled his hand back out from your thighs, enjoying the tight resistance and suction as your cunt has resisted being empty once more, leaving a cool moistness on his skin.

but now your hands gently cup his face, and he isn't sure how to not crumble with how you look at him, eyes wide and glossy, "wan' more, want your cock, 'toru."

now, gojo feels as though he's truly ascended, gone onto some higher plane of existence. because how can he resist when your hands are weakly pawing at his belt, at his waistband and he's letting you pull his thick shaft out.

it's hot, and already weeping angry tears of pre-cum, and he just loves how your eyes widen at the sheer size and girth.

"yeah, princess was sooo brave earlier, wasn't she? wanted my cock, ah! shit - did she?" and he's letting the wide tip lay heavy against your clit, knocking it once, and then twice, through your heavenly folds.

you've reached a leg up, and around his waist, pulling him closer and gojo has to pierce his lip with his teeth to not let out a gutteral groan from his cock sliding through the your folds, "i don't - don't care, i really don't fucking care if it's too big. just put it in now, m' so wet, i'm wet enough."

your babble is endearing, and he marvels at how easily he has you cock-drunk without even being in you right now. he jostles further, until the tip is right at your flittering entrance, pressing forward and slipping through the heated, slick gummy texture in a way that has the strongest's head spinning.

"easy, princess. oh fuck, you're too tight. way too tight, i'm gonna -" and gojo inhales, steadying himself, as the wet heat enveloped him as he moved, each slide through the soft walls of your pussy leaving him acutely aware of every inch, the warmth coating him further until your slick was dampening the white, stray hairs of his groin.

he pulls your lips close again, one hand coming up to gently cradle your head, and his fingers weaving slowly through your hair.

"you're so deep in me, 'toru! so - hnngh," and your words are cut off by a staccato thrust of his hips, and your teeth clack around a moan that gojo gladly swallows.

"hey, i'm right here. i've got you, yeah? got you so good, just hold onto me."

and he keeps a steady pace, plunging into molten silk, with a sensation so intense and so enveloping that it left him breathless, with a rush of heat that made his head spin.

he's toying with your tits, pressing his face into the shadow that lies between your mounds, and gojo's certain that he could die a happy man like this, exactly like this.

he realises that the faint laugh is coming from him, so distant is he in his pussy-drunk reverie, that he realises he must look and sound like a madman, "pretty pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. haah, i think i'm gonna have to fill you up, gorgeous?" and he must be blathering, "want me to fill you up? shit- want me to stuff... ah! stuff you so full of cum that we just hafta stay in this bed all day then?"

he had his fingers now moving in circles over your throbbing clit, exerting a gentle pressure that had you so beautifully keening and bucking your hips up, jolting right into his pelvis. and gojo bit back as a groan as his heavy balls started to smack, and smack! over and over again, right onto your dampened skin.

"she must be close right, pretty little pussy must be almost tired now," and gojo's now slapping your clit, lifting three fingers up and bringing them down with enough force to not harm you, but make you jolt, "she. must. be. so. close." and each word is punctuated by the slippery spank of his fingers bouncing right off your mound.

"makes me want to have you - you and her," and gojo's revelling in the slick of your pussy, now throwing his head back without shame.

and when your walls start to flutter, when you start writhing in his grasp, pressed right against his chest with your legs knocked back as far as they reach on other side of his broad frame, he feels himself unravel. feels the rhythmic quake of your tight cunt literally milk him dry, letting pools of thick, white seed plug within you, and he almost shakes and tears up himself, at the idea of claiming you like this.

later, he has you resting against his chest and the knot in his chest, that nasty plague that sent him afoul has disappeared, and gojo feels as though he's about to start purring, from the feeling of your nails trailing little shapes over his skin (little hearts, perhaps?) and how soft your hair feels under his own hands. he can't resist himself from pressing his lips softly to your forehead, "happy?"

you laugh, a genuine, soft sound that erupts from your chest as you press your bare body into him, "you have no idea."

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙀: Bath Sex w/ CEO!Bucky Barnes

a/n: hey so this embarrassing, but i was supposed to upload this yesterday and even then i procrastinated it LMAOOOO have mercy me!! here's the fic *i throw it and run the other way*

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

There was a clamor of the front door opening, shutting, some scuffling, followed by the unmistakable sound of Bucky’s shoes being dropped on the floor and finally… the sigh.

“I know that sound.” You speak with a grin from where you’re sitting comfortably on the large, white l-shaped leather couch, wine glass in hand and smothered in a fuzzy, cotton robe.

You watch the deep red swirl enchantingly as you spin the liquid in it gently.

A large hand wrapped itself loosely around your throat, coaxing your head back and your mouth to his. You breathe into the all consuming kiss, your eyes fluttering shut and body melting momentarily at the sheer relief of having him back home.

“Rough day?” You murmur quietly against his lips. His stubble scratches at your face as he hums in agreement and you squirm. “Sounds like you need some help relaxing,” You suggest with a soft smile.

“How about a bath? Would you like that?”

“Only if you join me.” Bucky finally speaks, and his voice is a rasp. You shiver in delight. “Of course.”

He pulls off of you with one last breath stealing kiss and an affectionate squeeze to your throat that leaves you pleasantly light-headed.

You don’t hesitate to set your glass down and follow him into your room, where you peep at him loosening his tie. You find yourself in your ridiculously lavish bathroom, bending over the bathtub to twist at the knobs. The thing could really be considered a jacuzzi, but you love it, so you digress.

There’s a large palm on your hip and you lean into his solid chest when you stand up, nuzzling your face into the side of his sharp jaw. He squeezes at the fat of your covered sides, trailing forward to tug at the belt holding it together.

Your nude body is easily revealed to the ever heating room, and a shiver finds its way down your spine. His fingers tug the material down your shoulders, the robe landing on the chilly, tiled floor quietly.

“So beautiful.” Bucky murmurs against your cheek.

Palms caress you innocently, just admiring and occasionally grabbing at a roll or one of your breasts. “Wait, wait, wait –” You giggle,“The water’s gonna overflow.” Bucky’s placing sweet kisses on the tender skin of your neck, and it’s taking everything in you to not fall into him.

“Forget about the water.” He mutters.

You allow him to place a couple more love bites on your skin before you finally peel away from him, spinning around to push him back gently.

“Get naked.” You demand softly, and he chuckles at your words, but nonetheless follows your instructions, picking at the buttons of his white collared shirt and shucking off his slacks and boxers.

You don’t have enough time to admire the newly exposed skin because he’s already placing his tense body into the warm water with a deep groan.

“Feel good?” You ask with a sweet grin, placing yourself in his lap.

The tub is just wide enough to fit you on top of him, but your knees dig slightly into the porcelain. You don’t mind it though, especially not when Bucky looks like he’s finally found some kind of relief.

“Mhm.” Bucky hums, and places his hands on your hips once more. You welcome the weight, your palms cupping the water to playfully pour it over his head. You smile at his scrunched nose as the water trickles down his face.

You can’t help but cup his cheeks at the sight of his relaxed expression, thumbing over his shadow and leaning down to connect your lips once more. He kisses you back immediately, and as always, all you can feel is him.

Kissing Bucky is like standing beneath a waterfall, everything goes quiet and all you know is what’s in front of you. It’s all consuming, and it’s so, so nice to not have to think sometimes.

You allow yourself to get lost in him, even when his palms start to travel, large fingers gripping your ass to pull you against him. You can feel his hardening cock pressing into your stomach, and you let out a little mewl.

“Let me take care of you.” Bucky mumbles.

The kisses he’s placing onto your neck make you shudder, you bare your neck to him. He all but growls at the show, nipping harder, no doubt leaving behind darkening marks.

“Anything for you.” You gasp out when a finger prods at your hole from behind.

Rise up higher on your knees, and his arm curls around you, successfully being able to sink into you. You whimper, your hands falling to his shoulders in order to squeeze them.

“Buck…” You mewl. Your hips desperately try to grind down on his singular digit. “More, please.”

He just hums, his kisses growing gentler as he winds you up. “Take what I give you, yeah?” You have to force yourself to agree.

Bucky can’t force himself to deprive you of what you want for too long, because a second finger joins along with his other one. It isn’t hard to find your g-spot, especially not with the way a high-pitched whine escapes through your mouth.

He works you up to three fingers before you’re pouting and whimpering in his arms.

“Buck…” You complain. An airy chuckle gets brushed against your bare breasts and you shiver. “Alright, alright.”

He steadies you when his fingers slip out, gripping his cock to nudge it against your puffy entrance. “You want it?” Bucky teases, dragging his nose down the curve of your jaw. “Mhm. So bad.”

Bucky wasn’t a cruel man, so with a bruising kiss to your cheek, he pushes into you, pulling you down to meet his thrust. A long, drawn moan escapes you as he bottoms out, hands scrambling to cup the back of his neck, while the other, threaded themselves through his shaved hair.

It was quiet as you took a moment to adjust, the only sounds of water dropping off of your skin and back into the water.

“Move.” You whispered breathlessly with a swivel of your hips.

With a grunt, you rose before sinking back down, disrupting the water surrounding you. It was a few slow minutes before you picked up the pace. Bucky didn’t hesitate to grab at your waist, helping you in your grinding.

Gasps tumbled out of your mouth, and you could feel yourself being moved until his cock found your g-spot. “Fuck!” You cried out. Your head tipped back and a dark chuckle vibrated up your neck.

“Found it.”

Bucky seemed to have thrown caution to the wind, because he proceeded to drag you down to meet his hard, punching thrusts. You squealed as water sloshed over the side of the tub, holding onto him for dear life as he fucked into you.

Little ‘ah ah ah’s’ poured out of you every time he went deeper; you were surrounded by him, your walls clenching down on him to hold him inside.

You felt the burning in your lower back first, orgasm simmering under your skin, practically begging to get out. Then, it was the tingle in your stomach.

“‘M close.” You arched into his touch as he let out a particularly loud groan. “Yeah? ‘Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“Mhm.” You whined in ascent.

Your inability to properly respond drove him deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until you were squirming, practically running away from the pleasure of it all.

“Buck!”

You came with one last cry, eyesight and hearing, whiting out in exchange for pure bliss. You trembled through it, legs spasming, desperate to close even as he worked you through your orgasm.

Your walls that fluttered around him drew him to his own end, his bone rattling moan falling on deaf ears, though you could feel him paint your insides.

It’s a touch of quiet and you throw a lazy glance to the left, where you can see the tile is absolutely drowned in water. No wonder you getting cold so quickly.

“Bucky.” You say simply.

“Hm?”

“There’s water on the floor.”

A sigh.

“I’ll clean it up.”

“Thank you.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @khxna @violettavirus

[notquitecanon]

Dense // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: A pretty little thing like you isn't flirting with Ghost? Are you?

Based off a prompt that's been a worm in my brain since 8th grade (I'm 25 now) and I'm probably going to write the same exact thing from the other POV.

TW: none, just a little fluffy hopefully funny insight into Simon's thought process.

God, Lieutenant Riley was dense.

That's what most people thought after watching him interact with you for longer than three minutes at a time. You'd been working in communications for two years now, mostly dealing with Captain Price but Ghost was always lurking around somewhere nearby. You'd been warned to avoid him.

He's mean, He's surly, he'll bite your head right off. He's dangerous blah blah blah...

What they didn't consider was that he was a tree of a man- tall, dark, and mysterious with pretty eyes. And you had little to no survival instincts when it came to a man who knew how to shut the fuck up.

It was obvious to anyone who watched you interact with him for any amount of time. How you stood closer to him than need be, how you watched him through your lashes when he spoke his few words to you, the way your voice changed when you spoke to him. Then it was the little touches and little gifts, sitting with him at empty tables when others would turn and walk the other way. You were so sweet on him, maybe even smitten with him.

Ghost never seemed to notice, and if he did he didn't pay it much mind. Just assumed you were just one of those chatty and nice people he seemed to attract every now and then- like Price or Soap. It didn't hurt either that you were sweet & pretty & and smelled good... no, didn't hurt at all and certainly didn't mean anything.

He brushed off Johnny and Gaz's teasings, met Price's knowing looks with icy glares. You definitely weren't flirting with him. There was no way someone like you was pursuing someone like him romantically. That was... ridiculous. Right?

Still. Something about that idea scratched his brain just right. Planted a seed that you unknowingly watered with sweet smiles and bright eyes. So, he started paying more attention.

You never got Price's attention by lingering a small, warm hand on the Captain's bicep- but you did with Ghost. You were chatty with Gaz, but never so much so that you made yourself late to other engagements- Ghost was losing track of the times you'd been chatting at with him only to look at your watch and scurry off with hot cheeks. And Soap could make you laugh, but he never got your cheeks to turn that pretty pink color- Ghost rarely saw you without rosy cheeks. Hmmm... Interesting.

So, he watched and observed (pined and yearned, more accurately). Until one day when he noticed how you flipped your hair over your shoulder as you spoke to him, direct eye contact through fluttering lashes, the dilation of your eyes.

"You have such pretty eyes-" You barely finished your statement before he interjected. He cut you off before you could even giggle, voice stern and hard and quick as those pretty dangerous eyes narrowed in a way that would have chased anyone else off. Not you though.

"Are you flirting with me?"

He asked, taking a looming step closer to you where you were standing by the breakroom coffee machine. He expected you to stutter out an excuse or apologize, or even frantically excuse yourself. He did not expect you to sigh, almost in relief(?) with that bright smile of yours.

"I have been for the last two years." You breathe in admittance, "But thanks for noticing now."

Bloody hell, you were trying to kill him.

----

I wrote this instead of paying attention in lecture

[biancadoes1]

So I recently re-listened to the Still Watching by Vanity Fair podcast episode titled Bridgerton Season 3 Part 2: Three’s Company that Luke Newton was interviewed on (highly recommend people check it out if they haven’t his interview is so good!) and I am just blown away by how fucking kind and sensitive Luke is. Like of course he’s human and flawed as no one’s perfect but like in that interview he’s constantly complimenting not only Nicola but also Jonathan Bailey and Simone for how graciously they led the show in season 2 and he admired them and the previous leads as well. And how thoughtful he is in his portrayal of Colin and how he loves the character for his kindness and sensitivity. He also touches on masculinity and how Colin had a twisted idea of what being a man is because of his Dad’s death and how Anthony dealt with running the household and how this season was his journey with his relationship with Penelope and how she helps him unlearn that and accepting he is enough and how he is is strength not a weakness. And he compliments Jess as Cressida and Claudia and he’s so sweet and you just can really tell he really does respect women like Nicola says. He talks a lot about intimacy scenes and consent and tenderness being so so sexy. And I just I can really feel Nicolas assessment of him being just a really good dude who respects women and is so kind. He literally talks about the privilege to act alongside Nicola. All that to say I really do think all the SM hate he hit was so unfair and I absolutely understand why Nicola ran to defend him. It also highlights how ridiculous the narrative of them beefing on social media is. Like obviously all people have fights regardless of friendship or romance but these two have such respect and admiration for one another they def aren’t gonna shade each other on social media for the world to scrutinize. Even their tension in Italy you still saw later that day in the photoshoots how happy and giggly they still were with one another so they clearly got past or worked through it together. Also in the interview he talked AGAIN about how much he enjoys playing in love Colin and how he really looks forward to Season 4 to be able to have that vibe and be even more rom com with Nicola. I just hope he does know that’s it not the majority of the fans and he deserves good things.

We stan Luke Newton around here.

If you don’t………idk why you’re here lol

[spacexgrl]

Bittersweet ! 🎀

mdni <3 you’re here pt 3

series masterlist 💋

~ in which Ellie breaks up with you and you go a little crazy ~

ex! ellie williams x fem! reader , abby anderson x fem! reader

college au!

warnings: SMUT CHAPTER !!! cursing, dom!abby, sub!reader, fingering, Oral , strap on usage, dirty talk

taglist: pls comment if you want to be added! <3 @elliessweetheart @lonelyfooryouonly @vamp1reg1rrrl @autisticintr0vert @amsxdoll

come over then 💋

you followed her back and replied almost instantly, sending her your address. It made Abby chuckle on the other side of the line.

be there in 10

she sent you a quick reply as she made her way into her ridiculous luxury car, it was a birthday gift from her dad last year. Everyone knew who that car belonged to it just screamed her name.

Just like you hoped to scream her name over and over again tonight..

it was already midnight as you checked the time on your phone, Abby will arrive any minute now!! You got up and made your bed look as neat as possible, sprayed some of your favorite sol de janeiro body mist and changed into a silky black robe with nothing underneath. It hugged your body in all the right places, nipples poking through the cold fabric as it touched your skin..you were truly breathtaking, a sight to sore eyes , the devil in disguise of an angel.. yeah that was a good way to describe you and you fucking loved it.

Abby’s a lucky girl you thought as you checked yourself out in your full body mirror and Ellie? Oh you can’t imagine how hard it must feel not to have you anymore, you wondered if she already regretted it. Yeah she’s probably thinking about you while being knuckles deep in her new bitch what a loser

it scared you how unbothered you were..embarrassed of the way you cried in front of her…you’ll never let that happen again is for sure

Your train of thought was interrupted by a loud knock on your door, your heart pounded as you opened up, there she was in all her glory wearing a nike sports bra and black sweats. Her blonde hair hung loosely over her shoulders ,the smell of her cologne hit your nose and filled all your senses..jesus you felt high off of her already. Those ocean blue eyes met yours before staring at your lips.

“Wanted this for so long..”

she whispered as she cupped your face with her rough hands smashing her lips on yours, exploring your mouth with her tongue it was intoxicating you struggled to breathe between the messy kisses but you didn’t want to stop you needed more.

“need you Abby please..”

you whimpered as you guided her to your bedroom pushing her into the mattress while dropping your robe on the floor..letting her gawk at your naked figure before you climbed into her lap grabbing onto her neck as you devoured her lips while her hands grabbed your bare ass, moving you back and forth onto her crotch. You moaned as you felt her strap through her sweats.

“fuck you’re so sexy baby so wet for me”

her hands teased your wet folds, you gasped as she inserted two fingers easily hitting your sweet spots.

“just like that -oh! need your cock abby please!”

abby couldn’t wait any longer. She removed her fingers out of your gaping hole and discarded her clothes quickly, revealing her thick navy blue strap, your mouth watered at the sight fuck she looked like a greek goddess underneath you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as she slammed you down her length, making you fuck yourself on her cock “good girl..ride me like you mean it” you whined as she split you in half, you could barley breathe..too drunk on her strap to think, your thighs burned as you chased your orgasm “mmfuuuuck!-ohmygod! abby !abby m’gonna cum!-“ she swallowed your screams with her mouth as you creamed on her dick,your acrylics digged into her shoulders holding on for dear life.

“you did so well ..so fucking beautiful for me, doll”

she whispered against your neck, shivers ran through your entire body.

“wanna taste you baby please”

you begged as you got off her lap to free her from the harness revealing her pretty pussy. You positioned yourself in between her legs kissing on her inner thighs before sucking on her puffy clit she tasted so good

you couldn’t get enough of her “fuuuck you’re so good babe i’m close” she whined, you ate her pussy like a starved woman like it was the last time you were going to have her. Her toned thighs trembled as she came, almost crushing your head as you swallowed her sweet release.

The smell of sex lingered in your bedroom as you came down from your high, Abby cleaned you up and tucked you into bed after you changed back into your pjs.

“Stay the night” you said as she was just about to leave. She was secretly hoping you’d ask her to so she quickly changed into the pijamas that she packed just in case and joined you on Ellie’s side of your bed the empty space on your bed.

“i could get used to this”

she said as she pulled you into her big arms letting you lay comfortably in her chest.

“before you do explain the beef between you and Ellie.. and you’re driving me to class tomorrow oh and can we get starbucks beforehand??”

Abby flashed you a toothy grin and pecked your lips to shut you up.

“whatever you want princess”

🎀

pt 4

[shybluebirdninja]

Sleep Striker

Summary: You discover that Bucky sleepwalks—and it’s not the calm, peaceful kind of sleepwalking. You wake up to find him in full-on combat mode with the couch.

Pairing            : Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Note                : fluff

The night was supposed to be peaceful. You’d spent the entire evening watching Netflix with Bucky, eating popcorn, and joking around like any normal couple. By the time you both hit the sack, you were expecting nothing but a quiet night’s sleep, maybe punctuated by Bucky’s usual snores.

But no.

Around 2 AM, you woke up to the sound of something crashing in the living room. Your heart leapt into your throat, thinking for a second that maybe someone had broken in. Instinctively, you reached for the baseball bat you kept beside the bed (Bucky insisted on keeping a knife there, but you’d settled on a less dramatic weapon). Slowly, you tiptoed toward the door, already mentally preparing yourself for some horror-movie showdown with a burglar.

But what you found was so much worse.

There, in the dim glow of the living room lamp, was Bucky Barnes—your sweet, grumpy, 100-year-old boyfriend—throwing punches at thin air like he was in the middle of a battle.

“What the hell…” you whispered, blinking in disbelief.

Bucky, still completely asleep, ducked and weaved as if he were dodging invisible enemies, his fists flying through the air with lethal precision. His face was set in that intense, focused expression he wore when he was in full-on Winter Soldier mode, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and… laughter? This was ridiculous. Your boyfriend was sleep-fighting in the living room.

You set the bat down carefully, still trying to process the situation, when Bucky suddenly spun around and landed a full-force punch on the couch.

The couch.

It made a sad thud as the cushions absorbed the blow, but Bucky didn’t stop. He kicked out at the coffee table next, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor.

“Bucky!” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. “Hey, babe, wake up!”

He didn’t hear you. Instead, he crouched low, as if he were avoiding gunfire, and rolled behind the armchair, his metal arm glinting faintly in the darkness. You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh, but it was impossible. This was like watching an overgrown toddler reenact an action movie in his sleep.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “how the hell do I handle this?”

You’d heard about sleepwalkers before, and you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wake them up. But you couldn’t just let Bucky wage war against your furniture all night. The man had already drop-kicked the coffee table, and at this rate, he’d be suplexing the bookshelf by sunrise.

You crept a little closer, careful not to startle him. “Bucky, babe, it’s just me. You’re, uh, safe. There’s no Hydra agents in the apartment, I promise.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he launched himself toward the couch again, this time pulling off a move that looked like it came straight out of a Captain America fight scene. He tackled the poor couch as if it had personally offended him, his arms wrapping around the back cushions in a chokehold.

“Bucky, stop! The couch isn’t the enemy!” you half-whispered, half-yelled, trying to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill the couch…”

He grunted, still deep in his dream, and threw a wild punch that just barely missed the coffee table. You winced at the near miss. That could’ve been bad. Like, broken furniture and a pissed-off Bucky kind of bad.

At this point, you realized you had to do something before your apartment looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Slowly, cautiously, you approached Bucky like you were approaching a wild animal—because, let’s be real, that’s kind of what he was right now.

“Bucky…” you said softly, reaching out a hand. “Come back to bed, babe. You don’t have to fight the couch anymore. You won. It’s dead.”

He hesitated for a moment, his muscles twitching like he was on the verge of launching another attack. But instead of another round of couch-punching, he slowly stood up, blinking groggily as if he was coming out of a fog.

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank God.”

But your relief was short-lived. Because as soon as Bucky turned around, he spotted the kitchen chairs—lined up perfectly in a row by the table—and apparently, in his half-asleep mind, they were the next Hydra targets.

“No,” you groaned, as Bucky lunged toward the chairs. “Not the chairs! I like those chairs!”

He grabbed one, flipping it over like it was an enemy combatant, and before you could stop him, he had another chair in a headlock. You stood there, watching in sheer disbelief as Bucky Barnes—the most feared assassin in the world—battled a set of IKEA furniture like it was the final boss fight of his life.

“Bucky, babe, please!” you shouted, a mix of panic and laughter bubbling out. “I can’t explain this to the landlord!”

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you ran over and grabbed his arm—his metal arm, because that seemed like the safer bet. “Bucky, it’s me! You’re sleepwalking!”

At first, he didn’t respond. His eyes were still glazed over, lost in whatever dream battlefield he was trapped in. But then, slowly, he blinked. His metal arm relaxed under your grip, and he looked down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“...What the hell?” he muttered, blinking again.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief. “Oh my god, thank you. I thought you were gonna destroy the whole apartment.”

Bucky glanced around, still looking dazed. “What… what happened?”

“You, uh… kinda went to war with the furniture,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You were sleepwalking.”

His eyes widened. “I did what?”

“You attacked the couch. And the coffee table. And, um, the chairs,” you explained, gesturing to the wreckage around the living room. “It was… a lot.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” you reassured him quickly. “I’m fine. But the couch… not so much.”

He looked over at the couch, which was now sagging slightly from the multiple punches it had taken. “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I really went at it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Babe, you suplexed the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bucky winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, grinning up at him. “It was kind of… impressive, honestly. I mean, you took out an entire living room while asleep. That’s some next-level stuff.”

He gave you a sheepish look, still clearly embarrassed. “I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“You better,” you teased. “But for now, can we please go back to bed before you decide to fight the fridge or something?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll… I’ll stay away from the appliances.”

You wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom. “Good idea, soldier. Let’s just stick to sleeping from now on.”

As you both crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the wrecked living room, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Bucky?” you whispered, snuggling up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get the urge to fight the couch again, maybe, like, wake me up first?”

He groaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, Super Soldier Sleepwalker.”

“Goodnight,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.

But this time, thankfully, without the couch-wrestling.

[gothcsz]

part six of the neighbors series. thank you to the anon who sent this angsty prompt for getting the gears turning in my head, hehe. these two are something else, i tell ya. the miscommunication is just so... i am pushing them together forcing them to kiss at this point lol hope you guys like it 🖤 and feel free to send me more things for this little au!

javier peña x f!reader. ~2k word count. nothing too extreme to tag, it's straight up just angst and yearning.

Being with Mateo is nice, sweet even. He calls when he says he will, makes you laugh, and remembers how you take your coffee. And you really do try with him. You take interest in his hobbies, hold his hand when you’re walking down the street, and even let him take you to bed.

The sex is fine, nothing spectacular and just barely above average. Being with him is normal and safe.

But every now and then, your mind drifts to what it would be like if it was Javier in his place. You shake those thoughts off as fast as they come. If you’re going to move on, it has to be for real, not half-heartedly.

It’s a little easier to bury those feelings now that Javier is caught up in something—or someone—of his own. 

She’s over at his place constantly, her laugh sometimes drifting through the walls late at night. It feels like they’re always whispering to each other, talking until all hours, and you hate how that little spark of jealousy sits in your chest.

You catch yourself wondering what her name is, how they met, if she gets that look from him—the one that he used to give you when he’d make you laugh. 

You pass Javier in the hallway sometimes, and when he offers a half-smile and rushed, “Hey,” you return it with something tight and brief, barely meeting his gaze.

But he’s always in his own world these days, buried in work, and if he notices you distancing yourself, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he’s too distracted to care. Either way, it reinforces the choice you’ve made to keep things this way. 

Every time you pass his closed door, you tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. Him being absent is the push you need to keep stepping back, to keep looking at apartments a few neighborhoods over, just in case.

One day, Mateo notices you’re distracted during dinner, poking at your food more than eating it. 

“Querida,” he says, nudging your hand, “you alright?”

“Yeah.” You force a smile. “Just thinking about work.” You try to shake off the odd feelings you can’t seem to put to rest—the unease of Javier wrapped up in someone else and it working for him but not for you, leaving you more restless than before.

He’s become a background hum of missed chances and bad timing.

Mateo catches the shift in your expression and rests his hand on yours. “If it’s about your place, I don’t mind helping you look around. Maybe even do a little apartment tour spree together this weekend?”

His warmth stirs something in you, a pang of guilt for not giving him the part of you that’s still tucked away. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I’d like that.” 

Javier’s schedule continues to keep him out of the complex and you can’t remember the last time you saw him at the embassy.

Granted, you work in different departments but still, there was enough overlap for you to at least catch glimpses of him throughout the day. 

There’s a wall between you two—one he doesn’t even realize is there.

One evening, as you’re walking up to your door, you hear his low voice in the hallway, murmuring something to that beautiful brunette that you feel so strongly against because of your own insecurities. 

It strikes a nerve, seeing her leaned up against his door like that with Javier crowding her, his fingers tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her ear.

They don’t even notice you and that fucking stings, then you remind yourself that you’re being ridiculous and unlock your door quickly, barely giving him a second glance when he finally turns his head to acknowledge you. You just shut your door.

Later, as you sit by your window with a glass of wine, a part of you wishes you could confront him about it—how you miss having a friend even if these feelings you’ve grown for him have tainted your friendship.

But instead, you brush it off. It’s better this way, the distance and silence. Cutting him off quietly.

You have Mateo now, and maybe in time, those feelings you’re trying to force yourself to feel for him will start to feel more real.

In the meantime, you keep Mateo close and Javier at arm’s length, praying the ache in your chest will fade into something easier to ignore.

When things with Helena spiral, Javier’s entire world dips into a darkness he struggles to fight off.

He’d been steeling himself for months, pretending that what he felt for her was just a part of the job, just another way to gather intel, to stay sharp. But things had shifted, unraveled into something he wasn’t prepared for.

She had become more than an informant; something tangible and real, someone he genuinely cared about. He should have known better than to let it get personal—mixing affection with the job, letting his heart get tangled up in a life as brutal as theirs.

It’s in the wake of this disaster that you pop into his mind again. The truth is, he’d forced you out of it completely, buried you beneath his work, his duties, his time with her.

After all, what place did someone like him, wound up in the cartel’s mess, have with someone like you? You were safe, building a life with an uppity banker, someone who could give you things Javier’s world would never allow. 

Security, stability, and something close to a normal life—things he could barely imagine anymore.

And he’d see it, too, in the way you were with Mateo. He could hear it sometimes through the walls, that light laugh of yours, the one that’d once been his to hear on a quiet afternoon or over a shared meal. Now it belonged to someone else.

Javier would watch the asshole come by, flowers in hand, gifts in his arms, looking like the kind of guy he could never be, the kind of guy you deserved.

Maybe that’s why he fell for Helena so quickly, so intensely. She was tough, resilient, unafraid of the shadows he’d cast around him. With her, he didn’t have to pretend.

They shared the same night-bound existence and he didn’t care that she was a prostitute. She understood, even when he didn’t, the danger of crossing those lines in his work, the way it weighed on him, without flinching at the blood on his hands.

But now… he’s haunted by what he should have seen coming. She’d been hurt, and every part of him feels complicit.

He couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect himself from feeling it all in his bones, and the guilt wraps around his heart, squeezing so tight it might burst. 

The weight of it pulls him under, and he finds himself wondering how he’s going to claw his way out. His work is far from over.

He's at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon one night when he realizes just how long it's been since he’s really seen you.

The ache that realization brings feels like another knife twisting in his chest. Your bright eyes, that quirky laugh you give when he actually manages to crack you up, and the way you can turn his chaos to calm without even trying—they’ve been missing from his life for months now, and he’s feeling the loss more deeply than he wants to admit.

With sluggish, heavy steps, he staggers across his apartment until he ends up at your door. He knocks, too loudly, too long, until you swing it open, looking bleary-eyed and definitely frustrated. He’s clearly woken you up.

“Hola, cariño—”

“It’s two in the goddamn morning, Javier. ¿Qué necesitas?” 

You’ve got your arms crossed, and he blinks a few times, almost impressed with the improvement of your accent. He opens his mouth, trying to form the words, but you beat him to it, eyeing him up and down.

“Are you drunk? You reek of liquor, Peña.” Your tone is flat. “You need to go back home.”

“Te extraño,” he slurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I can’t be in there another second without feelin’ like I’m losing my damn mind.”

You’re sizing him up, at a war with yourself, and he lets his gaze wander even in his bleary state. You’re wearing that familiar robe with a slip dress underneath, and he has no idea if it helps or makes things worse. 

“Then you should probably call your girl,” you say, voice cool. “Or go upstairs and bother Murphy. I have to be up early.”

You go to close the door, but his large palm spreads against it, steadying himself. “Javier—”

“Please,” he says, voice softer. “Don’t do this. Not tonight.”

For a moment, you search his eyes, your own gaze conflicted, and then, almost begrudgingly, you sigh. “Fine,” you mutter, “but you’re out by the time I’m up for work in the morning.”

You let him in, and he feels that distance in your voice like a physical wall between you. It’s his own fault—he knows it, hates it, but here you are, standing back to let him in anyway.

He stumbles, almost falling flat on his face, and your smaller hands catch him with a muttered curse. Like he’s a child.

You steer him to the couch with an exasperated huff, and even as you help him settle, he’s not sure if it’s the liquor making his chest tighten or the fact that you’re handling him with more care than he deserves. 

You wrestle him out of his jacket, tugging it from his broad shoulders, then go for his boots.

The grunts you make in effort, the feeling of your hands on him—even if it’s just to deal with his drunk ass—makes him ache in a way that alcohol only magnifies.

His thoughts drift to places they have no business going. He’d tried to move past the want he felt for you, burying it under other bodies, other names, other distractions. But here you are in a thin slip dress under your robe and all he can think about is how it’d feel to have you moving against him, to finally let his hands roam your curves, bring you pleasure and fuck you like he’s sure no man has. Not even your goody-two-shoes of a boyfriend.

Once he’s settled on your couch, you leave, only to return a moment later with a glass of water, setting it on the coffee table with a quiet sigh. “If you need to puke, please use my bathroom,” you say flatly, “not the new couch.”

“New couch?” he mumbles, sitting up on his elbows and frowning at it. “What was wrong with the old one?”

You just shake your head, the patience gone from your expression. “Goodnight, Javi,” you say flatly, but he stops you before you leave.

“Thank you for this and I’m sorry—”

“Just stop,” you cut him off with a deep sigh. “You’re always apologizing and I don’t want to hear it. Get some rest.” And then you’re gone, the door to your room closing softly but definitively behind you.

After that night, he tries to make things go back to normal but the distance that happened during that time seems impossible to close now.

Every attempt he makes to lessen it only meets the cool edge of your guarded smile or your quick, polite excuses to cut conversations short. The silence between you has settled too deeply now, like it’s found a home where friendship used to be.

He doesn’t know what to do and you’re still stuck in your forced delusion that Mateo is what you want.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️: @persephone-girl . @almostempty . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @samanthajonees . @dontlookatme121 . @thundermartini . @dinanabuu . @cherrysugarx . @dontlookatme121 . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[itachiiwrites]

𖹭 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖞

𖹭 Synopsis— A random act of kindness was all it took for you to be infatuated with Gojo Satoru, what about him?

𖹭 Dear Diary Archives.

A/N: this is my first time writing a long fic idk what this is but it's something? Let's see how it goes. Divider by @/cafekitsune

𖹭 CW. This story will content dark elements, hence it's 18+. It includes: Murder, Gore, obsessive themes, stalking, suuuuperrr unhealthy behaviours, everyone is insane, the reader is not a healthy person, or exactly a good person for that matter. There are other warnings too but i forgot, gojo satoru is his own warning

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝟎𝟏. 𝑾𝒉𝒚?

All your life, there was an absurd kind of thirst present in your body. You could never pinpoint what exactly it was, what drove you menselessly crazy, made you deranged.

It was hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together, blaming your moldable brain areas for not being able to figure out what was wrong with you. What was wrong with you that the girls in kindergarten wouldn't want to play house, inclusive of you? The question of why was so predominantly present in your vocabulary that it presented itself in your mind even as no curiosity to seek answers to was present. The answer was always the same anyway.

'We don't like you because you're a freak.'

Creep. Freak. Oddball. Psycho.

If you didn't know you had an actual name, you'd be convinced that these were your real names with how often you were labelled that. It wasn't like you didn't have any friends, there were friends present but their presence felt as if it existed only because there was some pity.

Not for Gojo Satoru, however.

The first time you talked to him it was near a cheap, a little worn, worm eaten walled—candy shop. The purpose of going there was to pass time, having nothing better to do when all people would do in your class was draw vile things on your desk, how childish. If they had the balls they should tell you those seemingly outrageous incentives on your face, but it didn't matter because you had found your reason for being.

Was he fucking stupid? Offering you one of his sickly sweet candies? Couldn't he tell what you were already?

"Your eyes are gonna fall off if you keep looking at me like that, miss girl" What an infectious laugh. How cute.

"Come on, take it, I'm doing this only 'cause I have an extra" The boy with the white hair sighed and groaned at how stupidly frozen you were in your spot—making the effort to wrap the chocolate bar in your fist, his cold, clammy hands made you wince. He walked away before you could even get out a spur of a word— away with a casual wave of his abnormally large hand.

At first all you could do was stare at the chocolate bar that he handed you, taking a soft sniff to make out a tiny hint of his scent. There was nothing, all blank, as if he didn't exist, as if he was a figment of your imagination.

That chocolate was placed onto your table, tucked between your trinkets like a souvenir. Because it was, it was a reminder that someone made an effort to give you this diabetically sweet chocolate, just because he could. You didn't even dare to open it.

Frequent visits around the same crippling shop lead you to the information that his name was Gojo Satoru, an 18 year old student at Jujutsu Tech, a religious school.

And with a name in your hand, everything was in reach with internet at disposal.

Checking his myspace became a ritual. Satoru was a social person because.. Ofcourse he was. This was your only gateway to him for now but the desperation to know more was catching up.

He was beautiful.

You found him absolutely captivating, a sight that made your heart race with an intense langour.

The more you looked at him the more his beauty became ethereal, a vision that awakened something so grotesque within, it scared you.

Each feature of his face, every move he made no matter how ridiculous it was to others, fueled your obsession further until it was all-consuming. In his very presence that you never came too close to, you felt an overwhelming need to possess him completely, to have him all to yourself. His beauty was like gasoline to your raging flame of yearning, making your desire grow exponentially. For him.

This love of yours made you question yourself, it was idiotic to be in love with someone so unreachable, someone so beautiful. But an idiot is never complete without their mindless optimism for the better.

And you, were truly an idiot.

The way your heart dropped to your guts and your body manoeuvred nausea as if it was the only thing it knew. Seeing an equally beautiful man holding his hand, looking at him with the same longing in his eyes, the one that leveled yours. The pain was shrill, piercing, tinnitus and unbearable.

He wasn't yours.

The walls of your room that were plastered with his face all over felt smaller, it was getting hard to breath. Something simple like air came so difficult, with emotions risen like a tempest making your chest incredibly tight.

He had to be yours. He was yours.

The question of 'why' was up yet again, but this time with burn in your throat so harsh that it felt lacerated and while a thousand knvies gauched into your heart.

Why. Why. Why.

Only one of all the why's you've had in your existence, this was the one you could answer.

A knife like that from him felt bearable enough.

He had to be yours.

Taglist (Open :D) @rinachains

All rights reserved to ©itachiiwrites, 2024. Plagiarism not authorised. Do not copy, distribute my work on other platforms. Reblogs and feeback appreciated!

[phantomspiderr]

memories ~ evan ‘buck’ buckley x reader

you've secretly kept every important thing from your relationship with Buck; from your first picture to an 'i love you' note scribbled on the back of a receipt and when you make the move into Buck's apartment he finds the box of memories—or just remember how buck's parents gave maddie a baby box right in front of him then dropped the bomb that they never bothered to make him one, so when you've put in all this effort to keep every small memory of your relationship buck realises just how much he loves you

w/c ~ 1k+

no warnings just a lotta fluff🥰

“Okay, this is the last box!” You cheer as you walk through the door to Buck’s apartment—which you guess is also now your apartment. You place the box down on the small pile by the door and approach your sweet boyfriend who has already started helping you unpack. Buck’s sitting at the kitchen island, an array of things spread out on the surface before him, and your curiosity sinks in. Your arms circle around his soft middle and you have to go up on your tiptoes to rest your chin on his shoulder, “whatcha doing?” You say just as your eyes fall down to see a familiar box and all its contents spilling out, a little embarrassment makes its way to the surface. You pull away from Buck and move to the side, as you reach to collect the miscellaneous pieces of paper and photos scattered around Buck’s hand stops you.

“You kept all this?” Your eyes reach Buck’s slightly glossy ones and you’re confused by his reaction. You were convinced he’d find it weird that you kept all these things from the duration of your relationship; movie theatre stubs, a concert ticket or two, the first picture you took together, a Polaroid of him from the first morning you woke up in his apartment, so many memories you couldn’t bare to part with so you collected them in an old shoe box.

“Yeah… you think it’s weird don’t you?” Your gaze falls to the ground, mentally preparing yourself for Buck to make fun of you for doing such a thing, like so many people before have but the ridicule never comes. Instead, you’re taken aback when Buck wraps his arms around you, squeezing so tightly that all the air is pushed out of your lungs. “Thank you,” his muffled words snap you out of your embarrassed state. Your hands move up to hold him, fingers sinking into his hair immediately. His head raises and you can see his teary eyes, “you don’t know how much this means to me. I love you so much.” You’re still a little confused at his reaction but your heart melts at his words. “I love you too,” you hold the sides of his face now before bending down to press your lips to his. The fear of judgement melts away with just a simple kiss.

“Can you show me everything?” Who are you to deny him when he looks at you with those sweet puppy dog eyes. He turns back to the kitchen island the second you agree and you pull out the stool next to his. A smile immediately appears when you spot one of your favourite things, “Oh, this!” You reach over Buck’s hands and grab a small book from the box, he looks at you curiously as you open it, “I learned how to press flowers just so I could keep the first bouquet you gave me.” Your sentence grows quieter as you feel Buck’s eyes on you, watching as you open the book to see beautiful pressed flowers between sheets of paper, “but then you kept giving me flowers so I made this book.” You nervously hand the book over and Buck smiles as he looks through the pages delicately. Each page is dated and the type of flower is written in cursive next to it. Buck takes his time looking at each page and your eyes drift from his joyful expression to the other bits and pieces. You smile to yourself when you see your half of a photo booth strip; it’s from your second date, the date scribbled on the back, you both only had enough change for one set of pictures. So, Buck tore the strip in half, slipping his half into his wallet and sheepishly giving you the other half. You’re so caught up in the memory you don’t notice Buck pulling out his wallet, he holds his half of the strip above yours, reconnecting the two for a moment. You see the second an idea pops into Buck’s head and then you watch as he takes both halves of the strip over to the fridge. He turns back to you grinning lovingly and your heart melts when you see he’s put the halves together on the fridge surrounded by pictures of his favourite people.

Buck comes back to join you, kissing the side of your head before sitting down. He quickly goes back to looking through the box. He pulls out a movie theatre ticket that’s attached to an adorable selfie of you both; you smile brightly at the camera while a slightly blurred Buck kisses your cheek. You reminisce about that day that Buck happily agreed to go see the Barbie movie with you and you swear you fell in love with him more that day when he picked you up dressed in a pink shirt with an old cowboy hat from his rancher days atop his head. “We should watch it again tonight,” Buck says gleefully, extending his hand to hold yours before bringing it up to his lips, “we can order takeout.” He places another kiss on your knuckles, “We can get all cosy,” another kiss, “and then I can take you to our bed. Make your first official night here special.” Your body instantly heats up, a slight shyness appearing through the cracks. Even after so much time together Buck still seems to be able to reduce you to a fumbling mess with just a few words and simple touches. “I should start unpacking.” You giggle as Buck’s hand slips up your neck and he grins at your poor excuse, “We can unpack tomorrow.” He lowers his head slowly, both your smiles growing until your lips meet. “Okay but we’re getting food from the Korean barbecue place down the street,” you mumble out against his lips. Buck laughs, pulling away only a fraction before giving you another quick kiss, “Done. Anything you want.” You pull your head back slightly, tilting it to the side as your eyebrows lift, “anything?” Buck’s hands have drifted down to your hips, absentmindedly pulling them closer to the edge of the stool. “Absolutely anything.” He leans in to give you another kiss and when he pulls back this time he sees your teeth sink into your bottom lip and he knows he’s got you thinking now. “Well,” you draw out the word, “it takes them like 20 minutes to deliver…” A wolfish grin makes its way to his face and he lowers his head to press his lips to your cheek before reaching your neck, “That seems like a challenge.” You giggle again when he nips at your skin, “You have to order the food first, Buck.” His groan vibrates against your neck, “I’m just getting a head start.” You squeal when he jolts your hips off of the stool completely. Your arms and legs immediately tighten around his strong frame as his lips lock onto yours again.

Your first official night living together was definitely going to be something special, Buck would make sure of that.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Off Track” ~ Pt. 4 Franco x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW cheating, rushed sex, unprotected sex?

Summary: At Lewis’s charity gala in London, Y/N is surprised to discover Franco among the guests, stirring up the lingering feelings from their last encounter. As the night progresses, the chemistry between Y/N and Franco becomes undeniable.

London was a city of endless lights, elegance, and charm, but tonight it felt stifling. I was dressed to perfection in an evening gown, something I knew would make Lewis smile with approval. But no matter how much I tried to focus on him, on being his partner for this important night, my thoughts kept wandering back to Franco.

Over the past week, his texts had been a teasing balm, sweet but taunting in their casualness. How are you? What are you up to? Wish I could see you, his words were gentle but persistent, each message stirring that familiar ache of excitement. It was like he knew how to pull me back in, even from miles away.

This week, Lewis and I had argued too. I’d wanted to go home, see my friends, maybe ground myself a bit. But Lewis had insisted I stay for his charity gala, Mission 44, which was happening that weekend. And, as always, Lewis won. He’d flashed that charming, persuasive smile, reminded me how important it was to him, and suddenly, my desire to go home seemed insignificant. So here I was, dressed to the nines, standing beside him at a lavish event, yet feeling miles away.

The gala room was stunning—an intricate, abstract design that was very much Lewis’s style, with bold shapes and moody lighting that made everything feel grand. Celebrities milled around, some famous faces I recognized, others more obscure, all adding to the glittering display of success Lewis had orchestrated. I could feel the admiration bubbling up within me as I watched him interact with guests, looking sharp in an all-black ensemble, his long coat adding a dramatic flair to his presence. He was magnetic, effortlessly commanding attention, and for a moment, I allowed myself to admire him as the man I’d fallen in love with.

But then, like a reflex, my mind betrayed me, filling in images of Franco—his cheeky smirk, the sparkle in his eyes, the memory of his hand trailing up my thigh. I shook the thought away, chastising myself, trying to remember why I was here. Focus on Lewis, I told myself, though it felt like a losing battle.

I drifted around the room as more guests arrived, glancing at the neatly arranged name tags on the tables. When I finally reached our table, I noticed Lewis’s name, then mine beside his, and… Franco Colapinto. The realization hit me—this whole time, Franco had been planning to come to the gala. And I was only now finding out… all those texts… he really was teasing me.

I glanced across the room, searching for Lewis. He was busy talking to a small group, looking perfectly at ease, as if this was all a casual gathering among friends rather than a high-stakes charity event. My mind raced with questions. Did he invite Franco? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Part of me was thrilled, the other part terrified.

I scanned the room, searching for any sign of him, but all I saw were unfamiliar faces. Trying to calm my racing heart, I walked over to the bar and ordered a glass of champagne, hoping the bubbles would soothe my nerves. But just as I took a sip, I saw him.

Franco was across the room, talking to Lewis. He looked dapper, dressed more elegantly than I’d ever seen him before. It was a far cry from his usual race suit and boyish energy; tonight, he looked… confident, composed, yet still with that irresistible spark.

The way he was talking to Lewis, his face lighting up, his eyes wide with admiration—it made my stomach twist. I wanted that attention for myself. I almost laughed at how ridiculous I felt, watching my own boyfriend receive Franco’s excitement and admiration, jealousy curling inside me like a flame. I lingered, not wanting to seem too eager, though my heart was racing with anticipation.

Finally, as the guests started taking their seats, I approached the table, settling in next to Lewis. And then, Franco took the seat on my other side, his presence sending a rush of adrenaline through me.

Lewis talked to him warmly, the two of them quickly diving into conversation about the latest races, upcoming circuits, and throwing a few jabs at some stupid video game they like, that had them both laughing. I smiled, pretending to follow along, but the ache of feeling left out gnawed at me. Here I was, once again, between two men who held my heart in different ways.

Lewis leaned over, his attention on the person seated on his other side, which left Franco and me in our own little bubble. Franco leaned closer, his voice a quiet murmur. “You look Increíble tonight, Y/N. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re actually distracting me from this whole event.”

I felt my cheeks warm, glancing quickly to see if Lewis had noticed. Thankfully, he was too engrossed in conversation, leaving us blissfully alone. I tried to keep my voice steady. “You’re one to talk. I didn’t know you could clean up this well, Colapinto.”

He smirked, his gaze dropping momentarily to my lips. “Had to dress up. Didn’t want you thinking I’m only capable of looking good in a race suit.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling the flutter of nerves building. “Pretty bold to be saying that with Lewis right here.”

Franco’s eyes sparkled with mischief. He leaned in just a little closer. “What, he’s got you wrapped around his finger?”

I felt a surge of defiance and teasingly whispered back, “I think you’re the one who’s got it bad. Don’t you have more of a crush on Lewis than I do?”

He laughed quietly, the sound vibrating between us. “You’re not wrong. But right now… Creo que estoy más interesado en otra persona. (I think I’m more interested in someone else.)”

A thrill shot through me, and I quickly looked away, my pulse racing. Lewis chose that moment to raise his glass, signaling to Franco and me to join in a toast. We clinked glasses, the tension momentarily disrupted, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Franco’s fingers lingered just a little longer on the glass than necessary.

I felt a warm hand settle on my thigh under the table. My breath hitched, and my heart pounded as I realized it was Franco’s. I glanced over, but Lewis was too engrossed in his conversation to notice.

I tried to keep my face neutral, my heart racing as his hand moved slightly higher, his fingers brushing against the hem of my dress. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady. It was maddening, this dance we were doing, all while Lewis sat just inches away, blissfully unaware.

Just then, Lewis rose to go to the stage, ready to give his speech. My heart swelled with pride as I watched him make his way up, his presence captivating as he took the microphone, smiling at the crowd. But before I could fully settle into the moment, I felt Franco shift beside me, his gaze settling on me with that familiar, irresistible intensity.

“Lewis looks happy up there,” Franco murmured, his voice soft, but there was something else in his tone, a quiet invitation that pulled me in.

I nodded, trying to stay focused on Lewis, but Franco’s hand on my thigh, his quiet words, the warmth of his presence next to me—it was all too intoxicating. The room seemed to blur, the sound of Lewis’s voice over the microphone fading as I lost myself in Franco’s gaze.

But as Lewis’s voice echoed through the room, I felt Franco’s presence beside me, grounding me in a completely different way. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “He’s Increíble. I get why he’s the star.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. “He is. He’s… incredible.”

Franco’s gaze softened, his eyes searching mine. “But even stars need a break. Don’t you ever get tired of being in the spotlight?”

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his question sink in. “Sometimes,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. “Sometimes it feels like… I disappear.”

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “No tienes que desaparecer conmigo (You don’t have to disappear with me.)”

The words lingered in the air between us, heavy and charged. It’s the way he says it, so sweet and genuine. I feel my heart swell up. I knew I should look away, break the spell, but something kept me locked in place, captivated by the warmth in his gaze. With Lewis’s voice in the background, I felt myself slipping, giving in to the forbidden thrill I’d tried so hard to resist.

After a moment, I made a decision. I leaned in, my voice a murmur as I spoke. “I’m going to the restroom. Be back in a bit.”

He held my gaze for a beat, a subtle nod confirming he understood. As I slipped out of my chair and walked through the crowd, every step felt like a countdown, anticipation building with each moment. I could still hear Lewis speaking in the background, his voice filling the room, but my mind was a thousand miles away, focused solely on the footsteps I hoped would follow.

I walked down the hallway, heart pounding, the noise from the gala fading as I moved further away. For a moment, a pang of guilt tugged at me. But just as I was about to turn back, I heard the door open and close, footsteps echoing down the hall behind me.

I barely had a chance to breathe before Franco’s hands found my waist, spinning me around, his mouth crashing against mine with a hunger that matched my own. He pulled me into a small service closet, the door clicking shut behind us as he pressed me against the wall, his hands tangled in my hair, his touch lighting every nerve on fire.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice ragged, his breath hot against my skin.

I gasped, my fingers clutching his jacket, pulling him closer, my mind reeling, my heart pounding with the thrill of finally letting go.

My heart races as Franco's lips claim mine, his touch igniting a fire within me that I can no longer deny. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me impossibly closer as our tongues dance in a passionate duet. The thrill of forbidden desire courses through my veins, the risk of getting caught only heightening the intensity of the moment.

Franco's strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me effortlessly as he pins me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his hips, desperate to feel every inch of him pressed against me. His hardness throbs against my core, a delicious friction that makes me ache for more.

“Eres la mujer más hermosa…" Franco whispers, his voice rough with desire. His hands roam my curves, leaving trails of heat in their wake. I shudder under his touch, my fingers clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

In this moment, I know I'm falling for Franco. The passion between us is undeniable, a force that threatens to consume us both. I've never felt this way before, so completely lost in someone else's presence. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Franco's lips trail down my neck, his teeth grazing my sensitive skin. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, a soft moan escaping my lips. His hands slip beneath my dress, caressing the smooth skin of my thighs. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against me.

My fingers tremble as I unbuckle his belt, the metal clinking in the dim light of the closet. Franco's eyes bore into mine, a mix of desire and uncertainty, questioning if this is really happening.

Franco meets my gaze, his own eyes dark with desire and something more - a tenderness that makes my heart ache with a love I never knew I could feel.

In that moment, I know I'm ready to throw caution to the wind, to give in to the all-consuming passion that has taken hold of us both. With a decisive tug, I pull Franco's belt free, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clatter. His breath hitches, a low groan rumbling in his chest as my fingers brush against the hardness straining against his trousers.

"Are you sure, Princesa?" Franco whispers, his voice hoarse with restraint. His eyes are soft and concerned, worried about the consequences.

My heart races as I nod, my eyes locked on Franco's intense gaze. There's no turning back now, no room for doubt or hesitation. I tug at the zipper of his trousers, freeing his throbbing erection from its confines. The heat of his skin against my palm sends a shiver down my spine, a testament to the raw desire coursing through our veins.

Franco wastes no time, his hands deftly hiking up my dress, exposing my bare skin to the cool air of the closet. I see him look at me and smirk, I can tell what he is thinking … I wasn’t wearing any underwear but that was for Lewis…I gasp as his fingers find me, teasing me with a featherlight touch that leaves me aching for more. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him closer, desperate to feel him inside me.

With a swift thrust, Franco sheathes himself deep within my core, stretching me, filling me in ways I never knew possible. A cry of pleasure tears from my throat, my nails digging into the firm muscles of his back as he begins to move, each stroke driving me closer to the edge of ecstasy. His low moans fill the small closet.

The world narrows down to the sensation of our bodies moving together, the slick slide of skin against skin, the rhythmic pounding of Franco's hips against my own. Lost in the throes of passion, I surrender myself completely, giving myself over to the raw need that consumes us both. It’s captivating and overwhelming.

Franco's lips find my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he growls my name. “Y/N… joder (fuck)” . The sound of his heavy breathing and feeling of him and his hands holding me up send me over the edge.

I can feel the coil of tension building deep within me, the telltale signs of my impending climax threatening to overwhelm me. Franco's thrusts become more erratic, more urgent, as he chases his own release, his fingers digging into my thighs as he holds me close.

With a final, powerful surge, Franco buries himself to the hilt, deep inside me as I shatter around him, my body convulsing with the force of my orgasm. We cling to each other for a moment.

As the last waves of pleasure subside, Franco gently helps me lower my dress back into place, his fingers lingering on my skin as if reluctant to let go. I lean into him, savoring the warmth of his body, the closeness we share in this stolen moment.

Franco's lips find mine once more, but this time, the kiss is slow and tender, a stark contrast to the frenzied passion of mere moments ago. He takes his time, exploring the contours of my mouth, the softness of my lips, as if trying to memorize every detail.

I melt into his embrace, my heart swelling with a sense of connection, of intimacy that goes beyond the physical. In this quiet moment, bathed in the afterglow I feel a shift within me, a realization that what we shared was more than just a fleeting indulgence.

The moment our lips parted, reality crashed back in, filling the small, dimly lit closet with a heaviness that neither of us could ignore. The rush of emotions—the thrill, the warmth, the spark—was still coursing through me, and yet, tangled within it all, was a pang of guilt that settled deep in my chest.

Franco’s hand remained on my cheek for a heartbeat longer, his thumb gently brushing my skin before he let it fall away. He looked at me, his eyes reflecting a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. His usually confident demeanor faltered, leaving him looking almost vulnerable, and I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what we’d just done press down on me.

The silence between us was deafening, broken only by the distant murmur of voices from the gala room. Franco took a shaky breath, and for a moment, I thought he might say something to ease the tension, to make sense of what had just happened. But instead, he reached out and pinched my cheek gently, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Guess you really are trouble?” he murmured, his tone light, almost teasing, like he was trying to make this feel less heavy, less real.

I managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. The guilt lingered, clawing its way into my heart, reminding me of all the reasons this was wrong. “Yeah… a little,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Franco’s playful expression faltered, and he looked away, running a hand through his hair, clearly just as affected as I was. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, he looked like a lost boy, unsure of what to do, of where we stood now.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice laced with a hint of regret, “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen. I mean, I wanted it, but… it’s Lewis. He’s—” He stopped himself, the words hanging in the air, unfinished.

I nodded, understanding exactly what he was trying to say. “I know,” I replied, my chest tightening.

Franco’s jaw tensed, and he gave a slow nod, his eyes still cast downward. “Yeah.…”

This was supposed to feel wrong; it was wrong, and yet… I couldn’t deny the connection, the pull I felt toward him. This moment had only confirmed what I’d been trying to ignore since the moment we met.

Franco looked up, his gaze searching mine, as if he were trying to find some sort of answer in my eyes. “But you’re…,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s like… I can’t help it.”

I felt my throat tighten, and I blinked, trying to hold back the swell of emotions that threatened to spill over. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “This… us… it doesn’t make sense.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from my face. “Maybe we’re just estúpido, then,” he said with a faint smile, attempting to lighten the mood. “Two idiots in a closet, making terrible decisions.”

I managed a small laugh, though it was laced with sadness. “Yeah, seems about right.”

He looked at me, and for a moment, the playful light returned to his eyes, even if just briefly. He reached out, pinching my cheek again, a soft, affectionate gesture.

We exchanged one last lingering look before turning toward the door, silently agreeing that we’d return to the gala before anyone noticed we were gone. As Franco pushed the door open, holding it just wide enough for me to slip through, I took a steadying breath, trying to compose myself, to act like nothing had happened.

The murmur of voices and the soft clinking of glasses greeted us as we walked back into the lavish gala room. My heart beat loudly in my chest, the adrenaline of our stolen moment still racing through my veins. I could feel Franco walking beside me, close enough that our hands nearly brushed as we made our way through the crowd, but neither of us dared to look at each other. We both knew that one glance, one shared smile, would be enough to break the fragile resolve we’d managed to muster.

Reaching our table, I took my seat quietly, trying to shake off the feeling that everyone could somehow see the truth, that our secret was written across my face. Franco settled into the chair next to me, his movements just a bit slower, his gaze fixed forward as though he, too, was trying to rein in the storm of emotions beneath his calm exterior.

Lewis was still seated on stage, speaking passionately to the crowd, and for a moment, I allowed myself to focus on him, to remind myself of all the reasons I loved him, all the reasons I was here by his side. But as proud as I was of him, as much as I admired his dedication, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering back to the man sitting beside me. The man who had somehow slipped through the cracks of my heart when I wasn’t looking.

The air between Franco and me felt charged, almost like static—an invisible thread pulling us closer, even as we both sat perfectly still. The memory of his touch, his lips, lingered, refusing to fade, a quiet ache beneath the surface that neither of us seemed able to shake.

He shifted in his seat, and in the dim glow of the room, I could see his hand twitch slightly, as if he was fighting the urge to reach out, to touch me again. I knew the feeling. The connection was undeniable, as much as we tried to ignore it, to pretend that we could simply go back to being strangers or acquaintances.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance over, his gaze soft and filled with something I couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t regret—not exactly. It was something deeper, something I recognized within myself, an unspoken understanding of the intensity that we shared, even if we both knew it was wrong.

A small smile ghosted across his lips, just a hint of the mischief that had drawn me to him in the first place. It was almost as if he could read my mind, as if he knew that the guilt hadn’t erased the spark, the passion. If anything, it had only intensified it, making every stolen glance, every unspoken word, feel heavier, more dangerous.

I returned the faintest of smiles, my gaze flicking forward quickly, aware of the way my heart skipped a beat at the subtle exchange. We were surrounded by people, by friends and strangers alike, yet I felt as though we were in our own little world, a world where the rules and boundaries didn’t matter. A world where, for a few brief moments, we could simply be… us.

The speeches droned on, and though I tried to focus, my mind kept drifting back to the quiet moments we’d just shared, the feel of his hand against mine, his lips warm and insistent. I could feel the tension humming beneath the surface, and despite the guilt, despite the complicated mess we’d created, I knew this was far from over.

We sat there, side by side, our shoulders just barely touching, the passion between us like a fire simmering just beneath the surface. And though we didn’t speak, didn’t look at each other again, I knew that somehow, someway, this pull between us would bring us back together again.

—————————————-

Thank you for reading! 😆

Please like and follow so I know you like my writings!💜

It means a lot! I appreciate you guys! 😘

BTW!!! I will make sure to add the “Franco likes tweet about YN” next time 😅😅😅😅 sorry loves

[spookypete-94]

Dead!GhostxLiving!Reader

Just for you @meraziam. I liked this concept and I'm glad you do too!

Part 1 here

Ghost followed you home from the cemetery curious about who you are and what exactly happened to make you so angry.

TW for mentioned abuse and suicide

Enjoy!

The idea of going to the cemetery to tell off your dead abusive ex made you feel better... at the time. Now you just felt ridiculous. Someone could have seen you curse out and spit at a grave... what were you thinking?? You had to look insane.

Maybe the walk home would calm the nerves, wearing off the anger and embarrassment of your recent tantrum.

Leaving the graveyard, you couldn't help but notice feeling cold. Like the frigid from being outside too long on an icy day, seeping into your bones. Lingering and making your bones ache.

Perhaps sickness was setting in. Maybe winter right around the corner.

If only you could see the large hulking figure with an arm wrapped around your waste. It was black, longer than a normal human arm. A shadow holding you close, trying to console your feelings, but he was pulling your energy away making his stronger.

Returning home, Ghost stepped through the main door after shutting it on him.

Rude, but he couldn't blame you. He would close the door on himself in turn if he could.

Looking around he noticed the damage. The holes in the walls, broken items of yours from being thrown around, glass and debris scattered. It was all familiar to him. He was used to seeing this from growing up, but his heart fell, nonetheless. Memories of everyone in his household hiding and cowering from his father returned. Pieces of the puzzle all coming together.

You on the other hand made a cup of hot tea, still trying to shake off the cold burn you had picked up on your walk. Adding honey to your tea made Ghost feel nostalgic, something his mother did when he wanted something sweet.

Glancing over, he looked down at the laptop you were aimlessly scrolling on until you had clicked a press release from the local news. Reading over your shoulder, he learned what your name was along with verifying the name of the man you had visited that was in the ground. The man had been drunk when he struck you, trying to hold you down while you were trying to get away. Anger and panic rose within him, probably the same you had felt during the event. Luckily, you were able to slip away, calling for help... But the police were too late finding your broken lover gone. Maybe it was shame that caused him to take his own life, maybe it was something even greater than that.

How he would give anything to console you, to hold you and make this right. Can't you see how better off you are without someone hurting your beautiful self? You have Ghost now to look after you and keep you safe. He was here to take care of you, to make you his new home.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn a shadow was there. Every time you would look over though, it seemed to blend in with the rest of your surroundings. A trick of the eyes? Or maybe your head was still rocked from the assault. Either way, it pleased Ghost to know you could at least see something about him even if it wasn't his entire self. This fed him and made him stronger in his state.

Sure, you had noticed the little things around the house being done. Like the dishes being washed and the laundry folded and set on your bed. Pretty panties left on the top of the pile. Maybe your memory was still short from the trauma, but honestly you had no recollection of doing any of these tasks. It was like someone was taking care of you. Someone making sure your house and routine was running smoothly.

It was you hiring a handy man to come fix the holes in the walls however that Ghost learned more about his new abilities. Watching another man step into your home enraged him. Ghost wanted to protect you and have all to his self. He made himself tall, form black as night, not even a chance of any light shining through. Approaching the handy man slowly, like he was stalking his prey. The poor victim turned and ran, unsure of this unnatural being that was encroaching, all too sure that it was not of this world.

So, when you came home and the work was done, you didn't even think about it at first. Until you noticed tools left next to the check to pay for the job left on your table was when it seemed suspicious.

Who does the work and doesn't take the payment for it? The handyman even had gone as far to block your number after reaching out to get him his check.

Finally, what made you even think about someone else being in the house was the heavy footsteps sounding down the hallway and into your bedroom one night.

Sitting up in your bed, you glanced around, trying to calm down. Were you dreaming again? Still breathing heavy, trying to convince yourself that was the case and everything was fine. Until you saw the other side of your bed sink down... like someone was laying on it. An indent in the blankets and pillow where a head would be. The feeling to get up and run away was overwhelming, but at the same time you weren't exactly terrified.

Was it your dead ex?

"Who are you?" You asked.

Just as expected, no answer.

Instead, the indent moved as someone rolled closer to you, an arm slithering around you to pull you back into them.

He never held you like this... this was someone else entirely.

"Who are you?" You asked again. Still no answer. The cold feeling was back, and your energy was zapped, leaving you tired and craving sleep.

That's fine. You would find a way to communicate somehow.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

[wadewnstonwilson]

housewife wade wilson headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: wade wilson (deadpool) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

the minute you leave for work, wade starts bombarding you with text messages. It starts out sweet—“hope you have a killer day, sugarplum!”—but quickly turns into a series of selfies, random thoughts, and (usually chaotic) updates about what he’s doing at home. it’s part of his way of staying connected, even if you’re in a boardroom meeting.

wade clings to you in the morning, draping himself over you dramatically and whining about how you’re “abandoning” him for corporate life. he might even joke about chaining himself to your briefcase just to keep you close. he knows it’s ridiculous, but it’s his way of getting a few extra minutes of affection before you leave.

knowing how particular you are about cleanliness, wade makes an effort to keep the house pristine. he wears a pink apron with “kiss the cook” emblazoned on it, vacuuming and dusting with the same enthusiasm he has for a mission. but he’s still wade, so sometimes you’ll come home to find him balancing on the couch trying to clean the ceiling fans or experimenting with “creative” cleaning solutions that smell way too strong.

even if you prefer something professional and sleek, wade insists on packing you a lunch every now and then, filled with your favorite snacks. he’ll sneak a little love note or even a crude drawing of the two of you, knowing it’ll make you smile when you find it at work.

wade is in awe of your polished, expensive style. every time you’re about to leave the house in a sleek suit or designer outfit, he goes over the top with compliments and jokes. “who needs a superhero when you’ve got this hot-shot executive look going on? can you even handle the power you’re radiating?”

when you get home, wade is the first to greet you at the door, practically tackling you into a hug. he refuses to let you go, playfully clinging to you while peppering your face with kisses. you’ve learned that, once you’re home, wade is glued to your side for the rest of the evening, practically following you around the house.

wade’s idea of romance involves surprising you with homemade dinners—even if they’re a bit chaotic. sometimes it’s a full, fancy setup, complete with candles and flowers, and other times, it’s just pizza with your favorite toppings. either way, he’s thrilled to play “perfect spouse” and waits eagerly for your reaction.

wade “borrows” your wardrobe regularly, despite the sharp contrast with his usual style. he’ll strut around the house in your blazers or designer coats, doing his best CEO impression. “look at me, babe, i’m ready to fire people and make millions!” it’s all in good fun, and he knows it makes you laugh.

wade’s clinginess reaches its peak at night. he wraps himself around you like a human octopus, insisting it’s for “optimal cuddle coverage.” if you try to roll over, he’ll grumble and pull you back, claiming you need his warmth to survive the night.

wade takes pride in being the stay-at-home husband. he jokes about being your “trophy spouse,” but he’s honestly thrilled to be there for you however he can. he wants to make your life as comfortable and happy as possible, even if he’s not the conventional choice for a high-powered CEO’s partner.

[buckleyflower]

WHAT MY BRAIN CAME UP WITH BECAUSE OF THE UNCLE BUCK STILLS:

Think about Eddie entering the loft casually whistling the theme song of Buck’s most recent movie obsession, with his key, and finding Buck with his slightly oversized brown hoodie baking with his niece.

He’d stop in his tracks and think that it’s a fever dream. He’d stop and pray that they didn’t hear him so he could take a moment to fully take in that he gets to have this man, that this soft, cute giant is his, and is currently hunched on his niece’s back so she doesn’t fall from the stool she’s standing on.

The lights are dim and it’s dark outside and yet Eddie doesn’t remember being ever hit with such a blinding clarity. He wants to have a kid with this man, a baby, wants to grow another human being with Buck, because Buck is the best human he’s ever met. And that realization startles him fully.

Because it usually happens in your twenties, when you’re maybe young and carefree and you have no clue what you’ll do with your life: you’ll turn around and look at a person and think I wanna share my life with you, I want to raise my babies with you. But he’s not carefree, he’s the furthest thing from carefree. And he’s not a kid either. He has a kid. And one that is currently in another state because he doesn’t want to see him. And yet here he is, wishing he could have Buck’s kids.

Anyway— Buck saw him. Of course he did. And he smiles at him and Eddie’s insides explode as they have been for all this time whenever Buck looked at him like this. Eddie just didn’t know.

“Oh, Jee, look, Uncle Eddie is here!” He excitedly points at him and motions for him to get closer.

Eddie chuckles and reaches them both while Jee-Yun babbles and simply calls him Eddie, Eddie! all joyful and happy. She’s so sweet and looks like she’s only ever known contentment. Eddie wishes she could be like this forever.

He puts his lips on Buck’s forehead and sighs softly. “Hi.”

“You’re baking.” Kind of obvious but the alternative would have been marry me, have my children please.

“You’re here.” Then they say at the same time. As though they can’t quite believe they’re there. But not there as in the loft, there as in right now, together, for the rest of their time on Earth.

Eddie would like to tell him that there’s no universe where he would willingly be someplace else knowing that being with Buck is an option. Instead, he looks at the wide hoodie and blushes. “You’re adorable, do you know that?”

“‘M not adorable,” Buck pouts while Jee tugs at one of his hoodie strings to get his attention. “I’m a grown man.”

And Eddie chuckles. “An adorable grown man.”

He thinks he will go back to church as soon as he can because he has to talk to the priest. Not now. Now he could do something crazy like scream hey, look, I found my joy! and then run away. But he eventually will.

After all, when that evening Jee-Yun leaves, he cuddles with Buck between Buck’s body and the back of the couch, pressed ridiculously close, and drags his fingers on the side of Buck’s torso, across his ribs, on his soft skin, right under the brown hoodie he’s been loving ever since he stepped foot in the loft. So now, he has more pressing matters to attend. Like burying his nose into his boyfriend’s curls.

Everything screams soft, soft, soft, but most of all: joy.

Eddie finally found his.

[milkmily]

Hello <3

Could you pls write Shoko x (female) reader where reader is feeling a little insecure about her body and Shoko praises her while making out (and maybe fingering)

Ty

Yes I can 😈 also sorry it took me forever I've been busy these past months 😭

Shoko Ieiri x Fem! Reader | Request Open :) |

You felt horrible.

You just felt horrible about yourself.

Maybe it was the outfit you had on.

Or maybe it was because on the way to work, someone pointed out how ridiculous you looked with what you had on. It was some random people you don't even know.

Their opinion shouldn't even matter, you don't know them. Yet, it affected you so much. Honestly it was probably because you woke up in such a bad mood that their words got to you so easily. You Honestly thought your skirt looked pretty with your shirt. Your color leggings and heels matched it all. But apparently, some people don't like it. And well, their opinions mattered to you a lot.

You were soon at work, grabbing your white coat and putting it on. You were presented with Shoko who walked up to you and kissed your cheek, her gloss left on your cheek. “Morning, I got you your favorite drink.” She says as she points at the table.

You nod as you smile And start to button up the coat. She gives you a puzzled look and asks, “Why are you closing it up? Though you hated it?”

“I'm cold. The skirt isn't helping it.” A lie. Shoko hummed and said, “it isn't cold. Keep it open.” She moves her hand on top of yours to stop you. You looked at Her and sigh. She smiled as she saw your skirt and your color leggings that matched with your shirt and heels. “hey, this outfit today is cute. I like it.”

And hearing her say that made you feel good.

“Really?” You never usually say that. You either say ‘oh, I know!’ Or ‘I made this for you because I knew You'd like it’ or something else that you always say with such confidence. But today, you wanted her approval. You didn't sound as confident as you always do.

“Yeah, of course. Everything you wear is cute.” She says as she moves her hands to your hips. “why?” she asks. “What's the matter?” her tired voice asks. And you told her. You told her how in the morning you woke up late, that the hot water at your apartment had gone off so you showered with cold water, how you ran out of your favorite snack, how at the Cafe you go to to get your drink was closed, and that some random people made fun of your outfit. “And I know I shouldn't care! I know! But today they really made me feel, just- ugh. I feel horrible. Of me, of my clothes, everything of me.”

Shoko listened to everything you said. She sighs and holds your waist. “I'm sorry that happened today.” She says. “You want to take a hot bath at my place after work?” She asks and you nod. She smiles softly and cups your face, “and who cares about their opinions? You're Beautiful, you always will be. I love your cute clothes you always wear at work or when We go out.” She says as she gets closer to you.

“They Turn me on sometimes.” She admits and starts to kiss your neck. You softly sigh and hold on to her. “Really?” You ask. “Always.” She says.

The whole day at work Shoko was driving you crazy. Absolutely crazy. You could already feel how wet your panties were. You tried your best to heal anyone who walked in who needed a small healing. Satoru had come in to simply talk with Shoko about some random thing you can't even remember because all you thought about was her. How her lips would feel in that sweet spot you liked to be kissed on your neck. Her sweet words hit your ear as she squeezed and played with your nipples. You groan as you look down at Your report as you try to concentrate.

“She seems really distracted. What you do to her?” Satoru asks while grinning at the long brown haired woman. Shoko shrugs. “Nothing. Said her outfit was cute today and that was all.” She says as she sucked in her lollipop. A lollipop you had given to her yesterday that she left in the pockets of her coat. He chuckles and continues to talk about how he annoyed Nanami and about his Students.

Once the final report is done, you and Shoko sigh. “Finally!” She says as she stretches. She took her coat off and hangs it. She helps you take off yours and grabs her purse. She hands you yours and says, “I need to stop buying at the store. Is that okay?” She asks. You nod as you walked out of the infirmary room.

Shoko ended up buying one of your favorite wine brands and some snacks. once at her apartment, she had told you to go and grab the clothes you wanted as she prepared the bath. You were nervous. It isn't as if it's the first time you two have sex. You two have had it many times, even at work. On your knees, your pretty heels hitting the floor as you sucked on Shoko's clit. God, she was so stressed that day, you just wanted her to feel good. your hands on her thighs As she moans and rides your face as she came.

You grab the towel and sigh as you go into the bathroom and sit down on the stool. You washed your body and stood up to see Shoko already in the bathtub. She smiles and you dip your feet in and sit down. Shoko's eyes never leave you or your body. She smiles and wraps her arms around you as you sit down between her legs and lay your back on her chest. She breathes you in and says, “you smell nice.”

The warm water made you feel relaxed. You Honestly forgot what those people even said about you. Who gives a shit about them anyways. As you relax, Shoko's hands go under your arms and gently cup your breasts. She squeezes them as she kisses your back. “You're beautiful, you know that?” She says as she planted another kiss. “You are so beautiful.” She whispers and gently tugs your nipples. You softly moan and move your head to the side, wanting her to kiss your neck. She smiled and kissed it.

“You know.” She says in-between kisses. “You really did look cute in that short skirt and those cute colored leggings.” You shiver and whine as she slowly moves one hand down as fge other cupped your breast. “You are always somehow cute with everything you wear.” her fingers spread your lips open as she teased your clit. You whine and gasp. “I sometimes feel like you only really wear those skirts with me and with me only.” She closes your pussy lips again and squeezes them, causing you to jump.

“You were wet for me, huh?” She grins. “I saw it when you went down to pick up that pen you ‘accidently’ dropped. I saw that wet spot.” She says as her fi gets open your lips again and start to rub your clit, causing you to jump. “God, you're so hot.” She says as she bites down on your shoulder. You moan and move your his, the water slashing, some of it landing on the floor. She couldn't help But whimpers at just hearing you.

You were just so beautiful. She kisses your neck and sucked as her fingers mkve faster, causing you to hold tightly to the tub. She smiles and says, “Baby, can you have your pretty ass up?” She says. Fuck, the praises. You do as so, your ass facing her as she stood up. She smiles as she saw how wet your pussy was. She licks her fingers and rubs your wet silky folds up and down. “You are so gorgeous. You know That?” She says.

“Your pussy is so pretty too. You're all wet because of me…hmmmm.” She smiled as she kissed your ass and pushed a finger in you. You moan and turn to look up at her. her breast wet, nipples perked up. You wanted to suck and bite on them just how she likes them. You moan as you feel her finger curl up. She smiles and pulls her finger out, tasting it. “Hmm, you taste so good.” She says as she gets on one knee and kisses your ass again. She goes lower and lower to your thighs.

You shiver and moan at her kisses. She was so close to your poor Aching clit. You move your ass closer to her face and she chuckles. “Eger?” She says and licks a long string of your pussy. She moans at the taste and closes her eyes as she goes to your clit and licks it. You felt goosebumps all over your body. You close your eyes as you press yourself more on to her mouth. She moans, her moans being muffled up by your pussy. She spreads your pussy lips up as she licks to taste you. She grins as she feels your legs shake.

Shoko moves two of her fingers to your wet entrance that aches for her fingers. You moan as you feel her fingers slowly push in and out of you. And then a sharp pain is on your ass. She slapped your ass. Fuck, it felt so good. She holds your ass tight and slaps it again as she sucks your clit. She loved hearing your poor moans. Her fingers start to move fast as she thrusted them in and out of your dripping cut, your cream covering her fingers. “S-Shoko! Wait- oh my god!” You moaned as you tried to push her but she kept going. You feel like you are going to sleep the Moment you cum on her fingers and tongue. She giggles as she keeps eating you.

“Shit, You are so hot right now.” She says as she moves a hand to rub her clit. She moans as she sees how your poor legs struggled to stay up, her fingers pumping in and out of your poor wet cunt. She grins as she goes faster and you scream, cuming on her fingers. She chuckles as she sees how you squirt on her fingers. She hums and licks your cunt one last time, tasting you.

You were whining as you try to catch your breath, holding on To the tile wall. She smiled and smacked your ass, making you yelp. “You did good, babe.” She says and kisses your shoulder. “Let's get out so we can drink that wine.” She says as she give you a towel.

You two did drink the wine on the living room sofa but you couldn't Help but return the favor by eating her pussy. Her cunt dripped in your mouth as she sipped her wine and moaned. Her fingers running through your hair. You moan and look up at her. Her beautiful brown eyes looking right back at your eyes. She bites her lip and throws her head back as you suck on her clit. “Fuck, you look so beautiful.” She praises as she opens her eyes to look at you. “Eating me like this- ah fuck.” She moans and smiles. “You are always so beautiful. All mine. Fuck, you're all mine….” She moans and closes her eyes. You couldn't help but moan at her praises. You push your fingers in her as you suck and Lick her clit.

God, you felt so good. Your back arching more as she praised you. She smiles at the arch and gasps as your fingers cruel up. She nods and praises you even more. “right there baby, God, yes- you are so good- ah ah fuck yes I'm going to cum soon baby.” You loved how she talks so much during sex. Her praises and everything about her drive you crazy. She drops the wine glass on the floor, not caring if the carpet is now stained red. She tugs your hair as her feet curl. She whimpers and moans as she cupped her breast. She was so close.

Her moans soon turn into screams as she cums on your fingers. You pulled your fingers out as you licked and licked. She is so sensitive. She jumped at every lip. You smile at her as you lick your fingers clean. She smiles at you, panting. She moves her hair away from her face and says, “you did good.” And pulls you into a kiss.

Honestly, you forgot why you even felt horrible. All you thought of was how Shoko and you both looked and were.