#and multiple chocolate chip eyes

[dovalore]

fuck it, parkour god

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. ���Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[neighbourscat]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 , nicholas alexander chavez

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . celeb!nicholas c. X non-celeb!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. when watching horror movies with your boyfriend leaves you waking throughout the night, you resort to social media to distract you from your disturbing thoughts. scrolling and scrolling, you find yourself on the steamy side of tiktok; your boyfriend the face of this new era.

+ cw. brief description of horror documentary ( no specific title ). mature language! established relationship, painfully horny reader // somnophilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cock-warming for a bit, multiple orgasms + orgasm denial, creampie.

+ nali’s notes; pure filth. wordcount :: 2.6k+

+ to be played: back to sleep, chris brown. || alternative: p power, gunna ( no drake, ver ).

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

you knew you shouldn’t have gave into your boyfriend’s request for a ‘horror movie’ night. it was the first night of october, so you figured why not ( and you regret that ). you prepared trays of snacks; anything you could find in the pantry: chocolate covered pretzels, leftover tostitos chips and spicy cheese dip — which you couldn’t eat at all, unfortunately. you couldn’t understand how your boyfriend could watch those scenes and continue to stuff his face. like the one with the human man meat-grinding another human man; breaking him down to bits and pieces in order to better dispose of him.

after the second and final movie, you told nicholas to lock up once more — your level of paranoia astronomical. there would be no recovering from those movies, especially not in the month of october — “no one is coming in here,” nicholas said for the fifth time, teasingly, crunching up the empty bag of tostitos. “you don’t know that,” you had said, peeking through the cozy throw blanket. you were sitting criss-crossed, nicholas’s pumpkin-blanket outlined around your face and body.

nicholas laughed to himself, licking at his salty fingers. you saw as he turned his back toward you and started for the kitchen to wash his hands — leaving you all alone in the living area. you tensed, scrunching your knees up to your chest and becoming a tight ball.

on any regular night — when your imagination wasn’t filled with slideshows of dismembered human bodies ( mostly children’s. you swore tv-people couldn’t show that shit on television, even if it was all makeup ) or a creature that melted people and used their gushy remains to grow in height, weight, and strength — you would have the window blinds snapped closed, leaving you and your boyfriend in pitch black darkness.

not tonight. fuck that.

after jumping into bed and diving under the blanket, you demanded your boyfriend to open the blinds — and to leave them wide open. you felt like a small girl again, needing her nightlight and closet doors firmly closed. the jackets that you and nicholas had hooked on the walls were also placed into the closet. the reason why they were out on the wall in the first place, was because there was no room in the closet. but nicholas made room — needing to shut your complaining.

you were in and out of sleep for the next four hours. twisting and turning, latching yourself onto nicholas’ arm or his torso, scrolling through instagram and tiktok; sending your close friends reels and responding to fan accounts of nicholas’ — but you straightened up a bit when an edit took over your screen.

without a second thought, without a slight consideration or hesitation — you hearted the video, added it to your favourites, saved the video to your phone, and commented an excessive amount of heart-eye emojis. and when you scrolled up . .. . you scrolled back down to rewatch the edit. you propped yourself onto an elbow, letting it play and play over and over again. and suddenly, the dark hadn’t been so scary anymore. you kept the volume down low, the lyrics of ‘p-power’ by gunna faint; as well as the moaning in the background.

you pulled your eyes from your phone screen, only for a second at the low sound of nicholas tugging the blanket up to his chest. he rolled onto his side and let out a low breath, the moonlight illuminating his features. you raked your fingers through his hair and with your other hand, you swiped over to view the profile and watched more edits of your boyfriend — finding that over thirty minutes had gone; thirty minutes of watching your boyfriend do his job ( hotly ).

nicholas turned onto his backside once again, pushing the blanket downward and away from his bare chest. his sleeping form was always . .. . too tempting not to feel a little tingling on your insides. nicholas liked sleeping with only his briefs on and no matter how normal that was, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander around; even more so after liking and saving all of those edits.

there was something about actually having him here beside you. there’s something in the way his body was ( so toned and muscular ) spread out on his side of the bed and the way his face is as calm as the waters of a lake during a summer evening, or maybe . .. . it was the little tent between his legs that his boxers revealed, that increased your body temperature.

turning off your phone, you felt bad for being turned on just by the way he looked when he was asleep . .. . perhaps it was the effect love had on you or it was just another kink or the velocity edits, you didn’t know yet, but the aching burn in your stomach didn’t stop you from cuddling up beside him.

you rested your head on his spread arm and snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. the familiar scent made you smile and, for a short moment, you thought you could stay like this. maybe this is what you needed; the warmth of his relaxed body calmed you for a while, but then . .. . your hand moved like it had a mind of its own.

you trailed your fingers along his collarbones and he hummed in his sleep, shifting a bit. he looked so . .. . so cute, you couldn’t stop yourself from travelling far south, to caress his chest and abdomen as softly as possible, trying not to wake him up. and in this very moment, you felt like the luckiest woman on the planet; touching on the man that millions were so very attracted to.

you felt every muscle of his abdomen, which made your bottom lip get trapped between your teeth, to prevent a sigh from leaving you. mindlessly, you scooched in closer — your hand needed to go further down, past his sharp v-line, but you weren’t sure. your hand itched for it. for him, but your mind wouldn’t allow it just yet.

and when the slightly lined abs flexed under your touch, you immediately checked his face, afraid that you might’ve woken him —

— but his closed eyes and steady breathing told you otherwise. so, your arm moved to his exposed thigh. his skin was warm, and as you caressed and fondled with his body, the sinful thought of taking his cock out and stroking him, made you press your thighs together. the moans that would fall from his soft lips and the way he’d buck his hips up begging for more, using your soft hand to chase and tip over the edge, only made your breathing heavier.

and the thought of his brown eyes on you as you gently kissed his fiery tip and pumped the rest of him drove you crazy, to say the least. you could picture it . .. . but you wanted to taste it even more; you wanted to feel him shiver as your mouth wrapped around him. you wanted his world to center around you, your name heavy on his tongue, viscous and filling his mouth like honey until he was drowning in a pool of ecstasy.

you wanted him to cup the sides of your head in his big hands — his fingers holding your braids together in a messy ponytail — and start thrusting himself into the slick warmth of your mouth, pathetically using your throat as his own personal fleshlight, the constant flow of his thick precum and your saliva leaking onto the bed sheets. you wanted to hear him groan deep within the pits of his chest . .. .

but you closed your eyes, restricting yourself to only imagine. your mind no longer filled with horrible images of bloody corpses, but of nicholas fucking himself up into your body over and over again — the crotch of your panties were damp and at this point, you hadn’t realized how your grip on his thigh had tightened or how the muscles rippling through his skin had stiffened.

“ . .. . get on top . ..” his sleepy voice, raspy and deep, rang in your ears and you snapped your head toward him, wide-eyed. the burn in your stomach ached even more at the sight of nicholas’ still closed eyes and messy brown hair. you pushed yourself up a bit, staring down at his face. you poked at his cheek and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. he gave his thighs a pat, at which you got the message: come, and straddled his waist without any question or trouble.

“i’m sorry . .. .” you apologized lowly, feeling guilty for being the reason he was no longer sound asleep. nicholas shook his head, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and answered quietly, “don’t be sorry, pretty.” and then, “take what you need,” nicholas said under his breath and the tone made your eyes fall heavy. “you can take me.”

you leaned in and pecked his cheek, but as you pulled away he chased after your lips with a soft pout. a slow, open-mouthed kiss was all it took for the sigh you’d been holding back to finally escape you and when it did, his grip on your hips tightened. his fingers dug and dug into your brown skin, his pulse thumping and pounding. nicholas moved you a smidge, just enough to have you sitting right over his bulge — and his legs trembled, “shhit .. .” breaking the kiss.

you found his mouth again. and as you kissed; his tongue delving between your lips, your hand slid to the grown arousal — his breath hitched as your hand brushed against his hardness through the thin fabric. and you dipped your hand passed the waistband — taking him out of the obstacle that the underwear was.

you gave a clean up and down pump of your hand and nicholas groaned lowly into your mouth. as you gave another and another, he ripped his lips away from yours and tilted his head back into the pillow, the heat and pressure of your hand too delicious. it was almost too much to bear.

his muscles tensed and his breathing became shallow and ragged. nicholas could feel the intensity and pleasure building within him with every stroke of your hand. “need’ta . .. .” he mumbled, his voice low and strained. “holy shitt-oh fuck.” nicholas bit down on his lower lip, eyelids fluttering shut. he needed to be inside of you. he needed to feel your body wrapped around him. he needed you like he needed to breathe.

and when he felt your hand no longer pumping, he opened his eyes — staring up at the ceiling. “wha-what happened?” he had asked, coming to lift up . .. . and his voice died to a scratchy whisper at the feeling of you lining him up between your pussy lips. you moved your wrist; rubbing him side to side, his tip kissing at your clit and just almost pushing into your slit, collecting your syrupy slick — shivers washed your spine.

if it wasn’t for his arms helping, you wouldn’t have started pushing down. nicholas guided your hips down and the sight of his cock disappearing within you was just as overwhelming as the feel of your ribbed walls. “oh. .. . fuckkk.” he groaned deeply, his nails digging into your flesh even harder — the tightness and warmth of you brought tears to his eyes. nicholas could barely keep himself from bucking up into you . .. . but he wanted you to set the pace. he wanted you in control.

“y-you’re squeezing,” he muttered cutely, in a breathless whisper.

you hadn’t realized how needy you were until nicholas was shifting underneath you, burying his cock to the hilt — you felt full all over. you resisted the urge to pound down on him for the sake of his still sleepy daze. your hands landed on his chest for support and you raised your hips slowly.

the wetness of your cunt was enough to slip him in and out with ease — smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touched down — and soon, you picked the pace up, just enough to hear his deep, guttural moans. you rode him slowly, feeling his tip reach deep at this angle while he eyed you with a drowsy stare. nicholas was losing his mind, his eyes now practically rolling in the back of his head. nicholas released a sharp, low breath, staring up at you then, “you’re makin’ it so hard to keep still . ..”

“you don’t even know,” he said, gritting his teeth.

raising your hips, it took quite some effort to pull him out that far because he was so girthy. your walls were literally pulling at his cock as if you didn’t want to let him go. which you didn’t. you did it slowly, terribly slow, every millimetre had your pussy lips tracing another facet of him.

a breathy moan fell from your lips, which made nicholas force you faster down on him and you clenched, instantly. “let me do it . .. .” he pleaded — the wet, squelchy sounds that came from where your body met his, was quiet enough to indicate lazy, early morning sex between lovers, and the rhythm was not a particularly quick one, but one to make the burn in your stomach feel like it’ll soon be on fire.

“let me, baby.” as you were about to give attention to your clit, nicholas planted his feet into the mattress and snapped his hips up, hitting your g-stop instantly. a muffled cry filled the room and the sudden lack of energy made you fall over him. nicholas snaked both arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, holding you firmly against his chest. “nngh-! just like that!” you whined.

your body worked with his, chasing after release.

"f-fuck-nic, please.. ." your jaw clenched so hard, you thought you were moments away from breaking your teeth.

he wanted to kiss you so badly, but the position was too good and he loved seeing the way your lips formed a small ‘O’ with every few thrusts. “baby . .. . shit, i need you’ta cum.” it was his way of hinting that he was struggling and he hoped you would understand it. “want’cha’ta look at me when you cum .. . okay?”

you gave him an eager nod, holding onto his forearms; you felt his arms flex and strain with how fast he was ramming into you. you wanted to hold it in until he came with you, but nicholas got the pump just right — your breaths were short — and you were having trouble keeping your eyes on his. it didn’t take too much longer to have you thrashing and shivering and cunning so hard. he doesn’t stop then.

his heavy breaths got mixed with curses at the feeling of your walls clenching continuously. nicholas continued to move his cock in and out of you, digging and scratching deep — hitting the spots that he knows only his tip can touch. “cum again . .. .”

“need’a feel it again.” the moonlight and his sweat made him shine, highlighting the sharpness to his jaw, the tension in his arms as he lifted you up by an inch; a slight new angle. wet skin slapping was all that could overshadow your moans and pleas. but he could hear you; loud and clear. his attention was all on you.

you might have tried to say something but your incoherent mumbles weren't meant for him to understand. because of his desperate need to keep you tethered as him, he still does not stop. you're howling, and curling into him, and cunt frothing with an orgasm lost into the next.

“s-shhit, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, heaving a breathless sigh. nicholas slowed his hips then; your pussy clenched so hard, so tight, that he could barely move. your clit screamed with the beating and thudding of your heart, loud in your ears and blocking the harsh cries and breathy gasps tearing from your throat.

stifled cries tickled nicholas’ neck, one hand holding your head, you trembled with your nails clawing in his shoulders for strength. he jerked up and gripped your ass tightly, but instead of forcing you to your limits till he came in you, he stilled himself — just sitting inside of you like this burned . .. . so good. nicholas had never felt so close to you, so intimately connected. he could lose himself in you forever.

nicholas was right there, quiet moans escaping him as more time passed. but it was evident that he was still holding out — you could feel his cock twitching. your hands cupped his cheeks, your fingers gently scratching the back of his ears. “why are you torturin’ yourself? hmm?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

he came harder when he denied himself. “th’ build up.” it came out quiet and short and he knew if he stayed like this that he wouldn’t last much longer. “cum, baby . .. .” you pleaded, “please .. .” you squeezed him in just the right way that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. and then he couldn’t hold it in anymore — he was where he wanted to be.

“holy fuck-i’m gonna cum.” his voice was desperate.

the plastic band holding him back from his orgasm snapped as he thrusted particularly deep, and he arched his back off of the bed — letting him reach just a little deeper, just enough to send him over the edge again, more curses spilled from his lips. white filled his vision, red hot pleasure searing his body from head to toe, and you kissed him through it.

you knew you could fall asleep now.

[bewarethecircles]

After a vacation in Alpha Centauri, Gabriel and Beelzebub come back to earth and move in together. They proceed to be the worst and most baffling neighbors anyone in the neighborhood has ever experienced. 

They introduced themselves as Bee and Jim, but immediately started laughing about it, so people are pretty sure those aren't their real names. 

Neither of them seem to have jobs, but they must be rich, because their house is massive and they're always wearing fancy clothes, and their wallets are bursting with money. Maybe they’re in the mafia?

Speaking of fancy clothes, “Jim” is always wearing designer suits. There is an ongoing game where people attempt to take a picture of him in any other clothes. One time, an enterprising teenager went so far as to sneak over in the middle of the night to look into his bedroom (hoping he’d be in pajamas), and saw him still in a suit, Standing on Top of the Bed, eyes wide open and Smiling Brightly. (Gabriel has not gotten the hang of sleeping yet.) (The teenager refuses to go near the house ever again.)

The short one, “Bee,” is consistently trailed by flies. This is alarming to everyone. They say that they're a “fly-keeper,” but people are pretty sure that's not a thing. Do they carry rotting meat around or something?

Bee also seems to be constantly changing appearances. One day they have a buzz cut, the next day their hair goes to their mid-back. Their eyes are a different colour every time you see them. People have set up cameras to take pictures of them on different days, and upon comparing them they are Definitely almost 6 inches taller this week. Even their facial features shift. 

It gets to the point where people decide Jim must just have multiple partners, and be lying about it. (“Multiple partners that all look similar and are never seen together?” the opposition will point out. When asked if they have a better theory, they can never answer.)

The two of them will have romantic moments Anywhere, including standing in the middle of the highway staring into each others eyes. By all rights they should have been run over, but in a bizarre coincidence every car in the area ran out of fuel and stopped moving at that exact moment. People want to blame Jim for it (he did make a strange hand movement, after all), but that would just be absurd.

They use the absolute worst pet names for each other. A list of overheard ones is being recorded. “My rotten cabbage?” “My hell-bringer?” “Dearest packet of crisps??” 

You cannot let them notice that you're disgusted by their lovey-doveyness. They will either get exponentially more cringey, or straight up insult you until you run away crying. Or both. 

“Everyday” by Buddy Holly will be audible to the whole block at all times. Do they know other songs exist? Don't they get bored of this one?? Why is it so loud???

There’s a statue of Jim in the front yard. Its 20 feet tall and definitely a HOA violation, but people are too scared to mention it. Both Bee and Jim will come out at different times and spend hours staring at it dreamily. 

People would hate them, but ever since they moved in the weather has been perfect, crime is at an all time low, and there’s little trucks that go around selling hot chocolate, and those things Probably cant be because of them, but still...

Plus, Jim doesn’t understand how money works at all, so he’ll give you $300 for a bag of chips. It's endearing, even if he is sometimes a jerk.

Bee does seem to know how money works, but they’ll frequently pay even more than Jim, especially if the person seems overworked and the place is under-staffed. They say they have experience with it.

After a month of them living there, most of the neighborhood is in a group chat created to discuss the two of them. Beelzebub is secretly in the chat, and reads their favourite theories to Gabriel. 

A rumour starts going around that they're an angel and a demon in disguise, but no one can agree which one is which. 

Beelzebub is the one who started the rumour. 

If anyone writes a fic with any of this by all means tag me I'd love to see it!!

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 4: Market Day

AN: it should be no surprise that I will be writing a decent amount for spencer this flufftober 🫶🏻 writing spencer fluff is my favorite thing, so here's something short and sweet :) -mod angel 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Summary: Spencer insisted on giving you some help getting your groceries after spending the night at your apartment. 

~~~ 

“You didn’t have to come with me, I just need to get a few things.”

Spencer was strolling along the aisle next to you, pushing the shopping cart after he insisted he be the one to take it. 

“I just feel kind of weird being in your apartment without you,” he shrugged as if it was something nonchalant, but he was looking at you with those big eyes of his that say I would’ve missed you.

You had only been dating for a few months now, and Spencer sleeping over was still something that was pretty new. You both were still getting used to it, but it was something that made you both really happy. Especially being able to wake up next to each other, and now run morning errands together. 

Waking up next to Spencer, now something you did multiple days a week, was one of your favorite things in the world. Seeing his sleepy face in the morning, with his hair all messy from sleeping, and the way he clung to you when he woke up… it filled your heart with a warmth you’d never felt before. 

You smiled as you remembered waking up with him, and you leaned up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. His face turned a shade of light pink, and he gave you a bashful smile. 

“Okay!” You clapped your hands together. “What’s next on the list?”

Spencer pulled the list you had both compiled out of his pocket. “Hmm… I think it says cookies.”

You looked at him, laughing warmly. “It definitely does not say cookies.”

“Yeah it does,” he laughed with you. “Right under bread. You don’t have to check it, I’ve got it.” He was already taking a box of chocolate chip cookies off the shelf and putting it in the cart, shoving the list back in his pocket, a playful smile on his face.

You just laughed, letting him get the cookies without argument. You knew he had a big sweet tooth. 

“Well, something I know for sure that is on the list is chocolate chips and maple syrup, because I wanted to make us pancakes for breakfast,” you said as you continued walking through the store. 

Almost as if on cue, Spencer’s stomach let out a quiet rumbling noise. “Yeah, I like the idea of pancakes right now. Especially if you’re making them.”

“Yeah,” you replied with a smile. “Let’s hurry up and finish shopping so we can go eat.”

[defmaybe]

Prudence

NMIXX’s Lily Jin Morrow x Male Reader

5.3k words

A/N: Thanks to @gangplanksorenji for the beta reading! And also I wrote this with only lust, so it might look rough lol. Thanks for reading!

–

“Get your ass the fuck over here!”

An earth-shattering scream from behind freezes you in place. The voice, as you can always make up, lacks any warmth that would normally be found anywhere else. It always sends shivers throughout your body like a constant, and you can’t quite get used to it.

Another set of profanities follows. “Bitch boy, I said get—the fuck—here!” she screams out.

Following the source, you slowly rotate yourself to face her locating behind. You don’t dare to move from the spot by an inch, so you can only turn your feet, inch by inch. The floors of your shoes rub against the floor.

In your moving sight, the unhelpful bystanders are watching the scene unfold, whispering into one another’s ears. And once your eyes meet hers, you only see her smirking over the conquest once more, arms crossed, tapping her toes.

“Come.” She gestures for you to step towards her.

Every open eye is shifting between you and the blonde woman, as you agonizingly plod closer to her, arms unmoved under the distance chipped away.

“Faster, bitch,” she huffs. Her right foot is tapping even quicker.

You shut your eyes, unable to look at her smokey makeup, hence unbeknownst to the fact that she just ran out of her patience mere seconds ago. She stumps towards your sedate frame, before snatching your collar and pulling you to just a breath away from her.

“I said… faster, bitch,” she commands, and you open your eyes again, whimpering. She stares straight into your eyes, displeased with your slight disobedience. Her mouth is agape a little.

“W—What do you want this time?” you stutter out. Her minty breath hits your nostrils.

The woman continues her intimidation with a laugh. “What do I want?” And with no hint of shame in her eyes, her right hand seizes your covered crotch, drawing a few gasps from the crowd surrounding you.

“As always, you, bitch boy,” and as she finishes her words, she darts her face into your right ear, spreading her saliva onto the auricle. And, of course, you whimper out.

It’s Lily Jin Morrow, the woman who owns your ass.

—

Excitement looms in the air, under the sun; it’s the first day of your freshman year, after all. Multiple booths from the clubs found their places on the lush courtyard, parted in the middle to make way for the enthusiastic fellow freshmen. Conversations between the club leaders and the fresh faces added life to the atmosphere.

Your bag had its weight overpowering you. You paced your way through the crowd before being welcomed with the arch in the front door; the path is separated into three ways, with the navigating sign on top. It guided your trembling body to the assigned locker, new, shiny in red - a signal of the constant improvement this university had promised you months ago.

–

“Nope, not today,” Lily said.

“What do you mean?” Yoona inquired, brows arched.

“I just told you, no!”

“You don’t like mint chocolate?”

“Why the fuck would I? I could just brush my teeth for the same effect, and we just had it yesterday.”

“Excusez moi, did you just compare it to toothpaste?”

Lily stared at Yoona for a breath before breaking out a laugh.

“Yeah, it tastes like toothpaste!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Let’s say I won’t be eating that soft cream when it’s mint chocolate day.”

“Hmph! Your loss then,” Yoona chuckles at her friends’ stubbornness.

The other four women were also giggling along with the flavorful banter.

“Wait, do you guys think that is a freshman?” Lily’s laugh was cut short by words as she pointed at the man arranging his locker - you.

Her friends’ visions followed Lily’s finger onto you, struggling to put your bag’s content into the red container. Some were simpering at your predicament.

“Yeah, he definitely is,” Jinsol confirms.

“Definitely?” Lily stared at her.

Jinsol’s confidence dissolved into a shrug. “Definitely, maybe.”

“Oh fuck off, don’t say it if you aren’t sure,” Lily scoffed, before returning her vision to you.

Jinsol lightly slaps Lily’s shoulder. “Well, you can go ask him.”

“He’s a freshman, Lily,” Jiwoo popped up into the conversation. “Look at the way he’s putting stuff into his locker.”

It was true, you could barely hold your bag from falling onto the floor that day.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Lily affirms. “Let’s get to work, girls.”

–

“Ooh, what do we have here?”

You turned back to see six women surrounding you, if you remembered correctly. The candy-haired woman seemed to be the leader, judging from how she was slightly closer to you than the others.

“H–Hey,” you stuttered out, clenching your hands on your bag.

The leader’s expression was hard to determine. She scanned you from head to toes, while you took notice of her firm body and the skimpy clothes covering it. There haven't been many styles that have bound you as much as this. Her face was also different from the rest. Perhaps she has some kind of western descent. 

The white crop top didn’t help at all, with it hugging her perky breasts so exquisitely, accentuating them to create a mouthwatering sight. You swear you could drool right then and there, if it wasn’t because of your inhibition. And you’d lie to say that you didn’t look at her white shorts of the same shade, exposing much of her thighs.

“I’m looking for some entertainment,” she said, voice stern. You could only gulp.

She carried on her speech with sultry in her voice, smirking to further charm you. “I’m going to do so many things to you, and you’re going to do so many things for… me.”

Your vision was often blinded by the rapid blinks, while she continued, “If you say no, I’ll leave you alone, otherwise…”

You became a shaking mess under her seduction, the flawless approach. Your hands were trembling, breaths ragged as she closed her face in.

“What is it, huh? Yes… or no.” God.

Maybe it was the way her garment showed off the curves of her chest so clearly, maybe it was the way you garnered stares from her subordinates, or maybe, just maybe, it was her Marc Jacobs’ Perfect Intense finding its way into turning the gears in your head, you nodded, bewitched under her spell.

“Such a needy whore, aren’t you?” She grinned, before bringing her feather touch onto your bulge, fondling it with adeptness.

You whimpered at the contact, hands letting go of the bag to grab on the lockers behind you. You could see that her friends in the corner of your sight were giggling at her magic while you maintained eye contact with the perverted preparator.

“Yeah, moan for me, bitch boy,” she whispered, and you complied between the ragged breaths. It was unbelievable what was happening to you then.

The surrounding women began giggling at your faltering composure, with the leader toying with your cock through the cloth. “It’s Lily, by the way. Sophomore.” Her eyes were still locked on yours.

You moaned as Lily revealed her name, and you were under her complete control by that moment, surrendered to the contact. Her hand on your bulge felt like a torture - an unending torment of what’s coming. 

“L–Lily, please,” you pleaded.

She laughed, before leaning in close to your right ear to command in a whisper. “Then kneel, slut.”

It didn’t take more than a second for you to sink yourself onto the floor, looking up to face her grin. The name sparked something inside you - being called a slut, whore, and bitch in a matter of seconds, with her towering over you.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” she began. Her thumb played with the waistband of her shorts. Sounds of the strap contacting her skin were heard. “Wanna eat my cunt?”

It wasn’t a hard choice to be made. You profusely nodded, channeling your submissive eagerness for her. And quickly, her white shorts were dropped along with her thin panties onto the floor, giving the sight of her bare, clean-shaven sex before you.

And without a word, you gave yourself the pleasure of slowly lapping up her cunt. Her caramel-scented body wash ran into your nostrils, while the tangy taste was equally driving you insane. Her friends are all smiling at the sight in the corner of your eyes.

“Y–Yeah, fuck, you know your job, bitch boy.” Lily pushed your greedy mouth onto her, caressing your hair while doing so. She sang a string of moans over the effect your tongue was having. And seeing the opportunity, you gripped onto her shaking, exposed pale thighs to eat her wet folds better.

“Fuck!” she screamed from the sensations. Despite your tight hold, her juicy legs were still shaking from your action. You can see the contractions of her folds, as if she was ready for such a quick release. You keep your deliberate licks on Lily; bits of you didn’t want her to lose the momentum you’ve been building.

“M–My bitch boy, y–you got quite a tongue.” Both of her hands were wandering in your hair by then, trying to find solace within the furor.

You remained busy pleasing Lily; your tongue felt her contractions for an impending release. And with an unknown bravery, you unlatched your right hand from her, before plunging your fingers into her drenched cavern.

“God, w–what the f–fuck.” Her legs were profusely shaking at that point. You did your best to aim for the swollen nub with your mouth, while touching the rough spot with your digits.

“Fucking whore, is my cunt that good?” she asked, then seemed to answer her own question by pressing (somehow even stronger this time) your whore mouth harder into savoring her cunt. You had never had the chance to inhale such a pungent musk, and fuck, didn’t it send you feral?

“I–I’m gonna cum, whore, d–don’t you dare fucking stop,” she shakily asserted, as you fixated what’s between her thighs. You remained mostly as it was - sucking the clit, brushing the g-spot, with one difference. Your free hand glided up to squeeze her supple ass, making Lily’s moans grow louder. Her friends seemed to be happy with your output, chattering about your actions.

“F–Fuck, I–I’m gonna–” Lily’s façade faltered. Her legs quivered; moans jumped; chest heaved; slit contracted, and your mouth became the destination of the explosion. It was quick at the peak - a shock. And as she came down from the precipice, her expression was nothing but glee.

Lily would finally catch her breath as your mouth was aching. “Y–You are my bitch boy from now on, understand?” she inquired, her pulse was still fast, face flushed.

You nodded.

—

Lily took little time to force you into her shenanigans for that second incident. Her smokey eyeshadows and the messy hair had quite an effect on you that day. And with a few name callings and orders, you find your pants and boxers dropped to the floor in the chattering hallway.

Your body was at the edge the entire time. From the moment her tongue flicked the tip of your cock, brushing the first stroke of her saliva. God, you could cum right then and there, but not until she swallowed the entire head with her plump lips. That was when the main course began. 

With unmatched dexterity, Lily Jin Morrow didn’t start with baby steps. She threw her head forward and hollowed her cheeks immediately just to satisfy her bitch boy, taking your entire cock with ease, with the godly suction in her wet, warm cavern. And with such a reckless maneuver, you were rushing towards the cliff. Waves of sensations crashed onto your frame, drawing out a series of moans and whimpers from you. 

“Fuck—I should’ve done this since that day,” Lily says with your cock in her mouth. Her slender fingers were wrapping around your digit as a handle. Her hands run along the length to intensify the sensations. You could see her slight smile. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re so delicious, bitch boy?”

You moaned at her oral mastery in response, “I—I didn’t have the chance, Lily.” You could only seek a place on the lockers to prevent yourself from crumbling in front of the murmuring onlookers. 

You felt it - the knot tying itself in your stomach, a sign of the high. It was merely a small clump up of it. Still, with the way she sucks your cock, it rapidly tangled itself under her actions. Your hands were gripping onto the lockers, once again, trembling at how she forced your hips to move towards her mouth.

“L—Lily,” you whimpered out her name.

She pulled her mouth off your glistened cock. “What, bitch boy?” she asked with such composure that’s unable to be found in a person who just had a cock in their mouth. Her hands were still stroking along the length, hitching your breath as you tried to collect the letters.

“S—Slow down, I’m g—gonna cum soon,” you stuttered out. Her act didn’t seem to slow down to accompany your request.

“Or what, huh? Are you so afraid to unload yourself in front of these people?” Lily asked, still jerking your cock. 

You darted your eyes across the smiling, giggling onlookers, and you could not withhold your peak after being given the otherworldly blowjob in front of them, really. Plus, you couldn’t just chickened away after you fucked her cunt with your tongue like that. 

The warm hands enveloped your cock were then gone, pulling your eyes back towards Lily, who was sucking her right middle finger, coated it with her saliva similar to your cock. You were entranced at the sight of such lewdness, as she seemed to be so eager to tease her poor victim under the weight of her uncertain next action.

“L—Lily, please,” you pleaded. “Don’t tease me like this.”

She pulled her now-shone digit out of her cavern with glee. “Oh, baby, I’ll suck this cock again.” She then nicked your dick softly with her tongue, sending a jolt, and you were struggling to contain a whimper.

“I’m just going to fuck your ass with this.” She flipped you off with her glistened digit, her nail, cut for this single finger, on display.

“W—What?” you asked, voice trembling.

“Do you want my mouth on your cock, huh?” Lily pulled the strings, hovering her mouth just over the tip.

You moaned out, “Fuck, yes, Lily,” as she laughed at the sight, before recomposing herself to match her smokey makeup.

“Then let me fuck that big ass of yours, slut.”

You looked into her lustful eyes, breaths ragged. You wouldn’t deny that you could’ve said no and just rubbed yourself off to cum in mere seconds, since her oral masterclass had brought you so close to paradise. 

“Hey, I need consent,” she said, snapping you back into the wake of her expectations. “Or I’ll just get up and leave you blue-balled, which… I’d hate to see you like that.” Lily averted the eye contact by a split second at the few last words. The people around still had their eyes glued to the depravity of your cock - twitching at the sight of this emo woman.

But a spark lit up inside you. How bad could it be, anyway - having an ethereal woman fingering your ass while hollowing her cheeks around your cock? You got the chance and eventually, you nod.

Lily smiled. “That’s the spirit,” before she stuck her lubed digit up your puckered hole.

It was an almost incomprehensible cocktail; she basically rammed into your hole with her lean middle finger. It pierced your tightness, slowly finding its way to the destination.

“Ooh, what’s this?” she said, as the tip of her length grazed your sensitive spot, sending the same jolt that her mouth had made. You felt her fist pushing into your cheeks.

“F–Fuck, Lily,” you moaned out.

“What if I just…” Lily motioned a come hither with the length inside you, nudging the sensitive spot called prostate. And didn’t that make your legs wobble? The bold act (on top of it being done in front of the other university attendees) sent shivers through your body, shocks after shocks.

“Moan for me, slut,” Lily commanded, and it’s like you’d resist her words at this point.

Your mind could barely register anything beside the knot forming in your stomach and the grin Lily was giving you. Your moans created a vibration throughout the hallway, garnering even more crowd than the blowjob session earlier. And as if her finger wasn’t enough, Lily resumed her oral expertise on your twitching cock, decorated with the dripping pre-cum.

She started, with her finger inside your ass, by lapping up the nectar that was dribbling out of your writhing cock with her nimble tongue, replacing the wetness of your juice with her saliva. And it was enough to send more rounds of jolts through your body.

“This is fucking delicious, bitch boy,” Lily hummed in satisfaction. “Keep your routine like this and I’ll continue to reward you, alright?”

“O–Okay.”

Lily, still yearned for the main, sticky course, took your completely aroused dick into her mouth. Her angelic moans were stifled. Fuck, you couldn’t register shit by then - a finger in your ass nudging your prostate, and your cock engulfed in such wet heat, her hums of satisfaction with the taste of you. The combined sensations were too much to handle, and you could count down to the implosion.

“Lily, I–I–.”

Her movements grew more violent as the murmuring of the spectators went louder, along with your joyous moans. She picked up her speed to where it robbed the senses from your other parts, making you only capable of feeling the suction on your cock and the assault inside your ass. The forceful, sloppy, public blowjob by Lily Jin Morrow might as well be the best you’ll ever have.

You felt a wave building up inside your stomach - the sea levelled down. Her unrelenting assault was surely pushing the incoming crest even higher. Your legs tensed up, and Lily seemed to sense this.

“Gonna cum, bitch?” She paused her oral masterclass for a quick breath, filling the gap with her deft fingers. You groaned out at the robbed ecstasy, eliciting a grin from her. 

Yet, she didn’t let the emptiness linger for long, as she immediately fuck her mouth again. Her saliva dripped out; her emo makeup was ruined; and the curled short hair got even more messy from the act, covering her gorgeous features.

It wasn’t just the act of bobbing her head this time with the last few strokes. She locked you within the bullseye of her vision - those doe eyes, fuck. Her tongue grazed the underside of your cock, nicking your frenulum.

And as predicted, a tsunami washed over you. The crowd dissolved into a blur. Fuck, you almost fell to the ground, crushed by the weight of your own euphoria. You unloaded yourself into her mouth, writhing, screaming under the godly pleasure. Thick, white spurts painted her wet cavern. Lily and you moaned in unison, hands and her swollen lips tried to milk every drop of cum of your nectar. Your enveloped cock twitched inside her mouth, shooting a rope of cum on each vibration.

After what felt like eternity, your tsunami subsided, as Lily pumped the last few drops out of you, slowly, eyes fluttered from the feeling of your seed hitting her throat. You saw her choking on your cock a little, making the sound on the merciless twitches.

“F–Fuck, are you okay, Lily?” you uttered, still shaken from the orgasm.

Lily pulled herself off of your glistened cock - your cum and her saliva, before seeming to swallow the content inside her mouth down her throat. 

“Yeah, bitch, I just ate your cum. Any problem?” she scoffed, looking away from you. Her finger rubbed your anus as she dragged it out, evoking your one last moan.

“No–No, Lily, thanks,” you replied. Your breathing and beating of the heart were still out of rhythm. “Fuck.”

She flashed her tongue a split second, just enough for you to see that there’s no cum left behind her swollen lips. She then pulled your pants and boxers back up into their places, giving you the warmth that you had never felt from her.

“Happy, my bitch boy?” she asked without the usual aggression. You could see tinges of red in her cheeks as she looked up while redoing your belt.

“Lily, your cheeks. Are you really okay?” It’s a bit of a wonder to care about her, with all the pressings in the degeneracy. And you couldn’t quite pinpoint the beat of your heart that pushed this question out, either. Perhaps it was just basic decency shining in this predatory relationship.

She finished up the last details of your belt. “Y–Yeah, I’m fine.” You could still see her cheeks painted in faint crimson, despite her attempts to avoid eye contact as she rose back to her feet.

“Till next time, bitch boy,” she dubbed farewell, eyes elsewhere. Before she strode away from you.

“Till next time,” you replied.

–

Lily is basically devouring your right ear now, with her right hand grabbing your growing girth through your pants. “God, I wish I could just bite your ear off, bitch boy.”

You moan in response to her brimming passion. Yet, you are standing still, hands unmoved opposite to her mappings on your body. Her savoring session remains in your auricle - biting, nibbling, sucking, whatever she can do with her mouth.

“You want the same package, slut?” Lily asks, finally pulling out from your now-drenched ear.

You shake your head; your cock is aching for much more than her mouth. 

“Oh, you fucking bitch,” she chuckles, pushing you softly into the locker doors once again. No eyes in the crowd dare to look away. “You wanna fuck my cunt?”

Your length twitches inside the cage at her depraved words, involuntarily (or not) making you nod.

Lily grabs your jaw, forcing eye contact. Assertive as usual. “Then beg for it, bitch.”

You gulp, making peace with her dominance once again. “P–Please, L–Lily.”

She smiles; the warmth radiated contradicts her usual demeanor and the makeup. “God, you’re such a whore,” even if the words are still in line.

She asserts again, “Fuck my cunt the way I deserve.”

She drags both of her hands on her chest, sideways. “I saw you eyeing this on the first day.” The black crop top makes it a little hard to visualize, but it’s enough to have you drool. She then continues her striptease in front of the public - adding a little spice of swaying her hips, playing with the hem below her chest. Fuck, you can’t tear your eyes off the show. She runs her fingers between the edge of the layers of her double crop tops and her porcelain skin. Sometimes pulling it up to display the hint of her delicate boobs.

The teasing continues for mere minutes, but the intensity of it just quickens your heartbeat with each second. Your hardened cock is helplessly twitching inside your pants - a silent cry of your ardor.

And at the brim, you dash onto her succulent tits, determined to put your mouth on them. Her eluding mounds are asking to be treated too much. However, Lily reacts fast, and instantly grabs you by the throat.

“You fucking whore.” With renewed aggression, she pushes you back onto the lockers with her strength by the neck, before her tone dips into the paused seduction once more. “Couldn’t you just wait?”

“L–Lily,” you choke out. Her grey nails are digging into your throat. You’re sure that there are going to be a few crescent marks left on you.

“I was going to let you fuck me.” Her tone laces with sultry. “But you just couldn’t wait, huh, you little bitch?”

You whimper at her demeaning words - a constant, a certainty, hungry for her attention.

“If your cock and that cum don’t taste so delicious,” she continues her monologue. “I would’ve just fuck your face and get this over with.”

Lily finally lets go of your throat, stepping back, leaving the spectators whispering about the red marks on you.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch me until I say so. Are we clear?” She points at you. God, you’d let her kill you right now.

You nodded, eyes fixated on her covered chest again. Lily resumes the show, teasing you by sliding her hand under the hem of her crop tops - a hypnotic melody. Her hip is swaying, thighs following the motion, showing off her luscious curves at every turn - an enchanting percussion.

She keeps playing around the perfect cadence, tensing you up with the notes that are just short of a harmony. A show of her perky under-boobs, or the more daring black panties. The expression is nothing short of alluring - the smirk, the playful eyes, the occasional giggles at your needy response.

“You wanna see my tits that bad, huh?” Lily teases, pulling up the edge to where her right areola is on display. You bite your lip to stifle the moan.

“Come,” she orders, and who are you to resist?

Under her spell, you are lured onto Lily’s hands, too busy fondling her own mounds under her top, into the middle of the packed hallway, closer and closer; nipples are still covered. Even some professors are joining in to watch the show now. 

“Open your mouth.” More orders come along the path, and you comply, ready to latch it onto her. Lily is still teasing you with the anticipation of her bare tits, so masterfully hiding the nub with her dancing fingers.

And finally, the perfect cadence strikes. Her crop tops are pulled just right to give a peek of her pink, erect nubs. She’s as aroused as you are, and it’s beautiful. You didn’t need more commands to make your next move, bending down to hungrily sucking her perfectly sized tits. The crowd gasps.

“Fuck, just like that,” Lily moans.

You feel her hands pressing your head into her, and it’s like you’d complain. You continue sucking her perky breasts, tasting every hint of her scent. She still uses the Perfect Intense from the first day; it’s imprinted into your brain by this point. How often do you get to give head to a woman on an opening day, right? There’s a sign of her salty sweat - the component that elicits ferociousness. Fuck.

“Hmm, yeah, keep sucking my tits like that and I’ll let you fuck me.”

Your mouth gets tired from all the sucking. Yet, it’s Lily Jin Morrow, and you can’t just get enough of her. Yes, perhaps you’re already under her spell, but you’d always be glad to get just a slap to your face.

Lily would give you an easier access to her perky mounds, taking off her black top, remains just the white, collared-shirt that shows off the same amount of midriff to you. Before she unbuttons the inner garment, showing you how her bra is deemed missing for today. She leaves it just that - her white top just hanging on her shoulders; the middle parted for you to get her taste.

“God, I need your cock now, bitch boy,” she finally allows. 

And with your mouth busy, you undo your belt hastily, blinded by her mounds, stumbling along the way. You yank your whole lower attire onto the floor within seconds, and the people around you gasp again at the sight of your erect cock. Well, it won’t stop just here.

“Hmm, s–so ready for me, what a–a fucking–” Lily whimpers with you still devouring her tits, and she take off her slack and the black panties she have teased you with ease, as if she has been practicing for you. Once again, her cunt is just within your reach.

Lily unlatches you from her chest. “I need you, now.” Her eyes are burning, yearning for your twitching cock.

Just like that, you pick her up by the ass, hands grabbing the flesh. Shit, that’s definitely going to leave a mark. She straddles her meaty legs on your waist, putting her in a position to be penetrated. And you give in to her needs, pushing your clasped bodies onto the locker doors. The crowd in front gives way for you two, for your debauchery.

“Fuck me.”

It’s cathartic, as your cock pierces into her wet, tight, wanton cunt. You bury yourself to the hilt with ease, with the help of gravity. You feel every inch of her velvety walls, welcoming you for the first time. She squeezes you in the way no one can, wanting to milk every drop of your seed just like her mouth did.

Lily is drowned in her sea of pleasure and profanities right now, moaning only fucks and shits to cover the murmuring sounds from the crowd. You are fucking her so well as she does to you. It is false to say that the clenches on your cock do not pull out a sound from you. It’s a cacophony - the wet claps of her plump ass and your thighs, the moans, the chattering of the people around.

“G–God, f–fuck, ngh, ngh,” Lily cannot utter any proper word with you inside her - mouth agape, eyes rolling. Her thesaurus is burned at this point as she bounces on your cock.

She then blurts, “Y–You’re so g–good, baby.”

And that’s it, she confesses so easily (well, with a dick inside her also) - the smiles, the words, the reddish hue on her that day. They all come together here - you pounding her on the wall of lockers, in front of god knows how many people. Then, there’s the scent of your perfumes and sweat mixed, the nails digging into your shirt, and how she smiles at her own utterance of ‘baby’.

“Y–You too, b–babe,” you whimper, still ramming yourself inside her wanting sex.

Lily glances around over your shoulder, seeing the students and professors in their trances. Her vision is shaky from you fucking her cunt erratically. She bounces up and down along your hard rod. The sound of your fleshes smacking traverses through the hallway, as people gather around you even more like an assembly.

“Cum w–with me, alright?” Lily stutters. “B–Because I’m going to.”

You can feel it coming with her tight cavern squeezing around you. Again, the water level drops, anticipating something grand to come after - a tsunami.

And with the final bits of inhibition, you mutter out, “I–I’m gonna–fuck!”

You’ve never thought that your life would come to this point - cumming inside a woman in front of a crowd. Lily then silences your symphony with a kiss, one that’s brimmed with passion. She slides her tongue into your moaning mouth, as your muscles tense up everywhere.

Your cock shoots ropes after ropes inside her welcoming cunt, contracting at her own orgasm. Lily shudders in a rhythm, eyes rolling up, mouth ajar, letting her moans echo throughout the hallway. You feel a liquid being discharged onto your pubic bone - it’s her fucking squirt. Lily Jin Morrow fucking squirts with your cock cumming inside her. God.

After what feels like an eternity in paradise, both of your orgasms subsided. Your breaths are short, rapid, out of sync, together. Sweat gathers on her forehead, as she looks into your eyes, smiling without the familiar roughness for the first time.

“You did well, baby,” she says, before resting her messy head on your shoulder.

You chuckle at the fuzzy name. “So, no more ‘bitch boy’?”

“Not anymore,” Lily replies before planting a kiss on your cheek, smiling along with you. “Let’s go on a date.”

You playfully ask, “Is that another command from you, Lily?”

Lily chuckles. “Well, would you like to go on a date with me?”

You dart your eyes away onto the ceiling, contemplating her question. And the answer seemed to form itself in your mind.

“Yes.”

–

[keerysfreckles]

cookies — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x hephaestus fem!reader

summary: in which luke finds y/n, in order to tell her something he's been meaning to for the past two years

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, i think thats it ??? making out/kissing

a/n: I FINISHED TLT TODAY- idc if luke is evil (if evil why pookie)

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

y/n l/n thought her life at camp half-blood would've felt like a fairy tale. two years later, she was deeply misguided.

the camp experience itself wasn't bad. she loved meeting the new campers, and bonding with her cabin mates, and seeing luke from time to time.

but even when she got claimed by her father, hephaestus, y/n still felt like a square trying to fit in a triangle hole. hephaestus was the god of forge. fire. craft. creation.

when y/n first arrived to camp, she met luke. he didn't know why, but out of all the campers in hermes cabin, he felt as though he needed to protect y/n the most.

two and a half weeks after meeting luke, y/n had been claimed by her father. the boy was sad to see her leave, but glad as well, due to her being claimed to a new cabin.

as soon as y/n and chiron entered the doors of hephaestus cabin, the duo was met with seven boys. five of them were around the same age as the girl, and the other two looked no older than ten.

this made y/n feel even more out of place. yes, they all made her feel at home, and they still do. y/n just can't help but feel isolated.

less than a week after y/n was claimed, she unfortunately found out forging wasn't the exact type of creation she was skilled at. she tried pottery, metalwork, jewelry making, and even knitting. the girl was crushed when none of the activies suited her.

until one afternoon, she was in the kitchen after helping bring in dirty dishes from lunch. a few ingredients caught her eye, and she instantly started bringing them together and made something delicious. chiron soon came inside, and was both surprised and pleased y/n had found her activity. cooking.

this leads y/n to where she is right now. the camp kitchen. ever since the fateful day she discovered her gift, she rarely ever left the kitchen. y/n was considered the new cook of camp, and she enjoyed everything about it.

recently, the girl has taken baking into her small circle of talents. which explains why all day y/n has been baking cookies for tomorrow. it was percy's birthday, and annabeth asked her to make blue chocolate chip cookies for him, one of percy's favorite foods. she had to make enough for the whole camp. almost one hundred cookies were already baked and cooled, and she had one hundred more to go.

annabeth kept checking on y/n every so often, to see her progress (and to make sure she took breaks and to not overwork herself). two times the younger girl came in the kitchen, her and y/n talked for a bit. y/n kept teasing annabeth at all the staring she'd been doing towards percy lately. to be fair, it was annabeth's idea to have the cookies for percy's birthday, so y/n knew something had to be going on between the two tweens.

y/n doesn't notice the person who had entered the kitchen. she heard footsteps, so she guessed it was annabeth.

luke stood in the doorway of the kitchen. he took a moment to admire the girl in front of him. y/n stood behind the kitchen island, with a metal bowl, a baking sheet, and other multiple baking utensils layed out over the countertop. luke could smell a batch of cookies in the oven at the right of the kitchen, along with the fresh ones all placed on the counters behind y/n.

luke finally knocks on the door, making y/n look up from rolling balls of cookie dough. a smile was quick to fill her features, "hi luke."

luke walked over towards her, leaning on the island, standing across from her.

"how are percy's birthday cookies coming along?" he asks, seeing the girl still at work.

y/n nods, "they're going," she laughs, "that's for sure."

"i was looking for you earlier," luke admits, as he continues to watch y/n at work.

looking up from her blue stained hands, y/n sees a small blush covering luke's cheeks. "oh yeah?"

it's luke's turn to nod, "yeah, but the hephaestus boys said you'd be in here."

y/n chuckles, before the two sit in a comfortable silence for no less than a minute.

"did you need me for something?" y/n asks, as she takes two baking sheets to the oven. luke only laughs while watching y/n open the oven with her foot, as her hands were full.

"i just wanted to come check on you," luke moves to side of the kitchen island y/n was previously on. "you have made quite the mess in here."

both luke and y/n look at the batches of cookies, the reminants of cookie dough on the counters, empty bowls in both of the sinks, and flour on the kitchen island and floor.

"what's the real reason you wanted to see me luke?" y/n asks the boy, knowing that he had a tell when he was nervous. he always licked his lips before speaking.

"what? i can't just want to see a dear friend of mine?" he jokes.

"oh you can," y/n responds, "except, whenever you visited me you always wanted seconds, or an extra dessert."

luke doesn't repsond right away, knowing y/n had a point.

the boy licks his lips, nervous from what he's about to tell y/n.

"do you ever wonder why i might've been more protective of you over the other campers? when you first joined hermes cabin?" luke asks, catching y/n off guard.

y/n shakes her head, "no, i never really thought about it before."

luke takes a deep breath, "you seemed more special to me."

y/n's eyebrows furrowed, only making luke continue.

"you just seemed so different from the other campers i've met. special. i just had to protect you. i still feel like i have to."

"luke, i don't get what you're trying to say," y/n admits. luke's confession is only making her confused.

"then i don't have to say it," luke's voice is soft.

y/n's confusion returns, but only for mere seconds before she feels luke's lips on hers. she pulls away from the him, out of shock at what he had just done.

his eyes instantly met hers. his filled with worry as if he messed everything up the two had between them.

before luke could start to overthink everything, y/n leaned up to kiss him. his eyes closed, and his hand went to both sides of her face.

y/n's lips tasted like sugar, with a hint of salt. luke guessed it was from tasting her cookies to get them as perfect as she can for percy's birthday.

luke's lips tasted like a campfire. y/n could only assume it was from the smores hermes cabin had after winning capture the flag that day.

y/n's hands were still blue, and in order to not stain luke or his clothing, she opted to wrap her arms around his shoulders. she felt luke's hands on her waist, only pulling her closer to him.

soon enough luke's tongue pushed through y/n's lips, which caused her to giggle. luke loved her reaction.

before anything could get more heated, a timer goes off in the small kitchen. the loud shrill made luke and y/n stop their movements. y/n only looked at luke sheepishly. the girl leaned in once more and pecked the boy's lips, before retrieving the cookies out of the oven.

"do you want any help?" luke asks, watching y/n again as she started rolling out more balls of cookie dough.

she nods, "if you don't mind your hands getting blue."

luke laughs, "i'm willing to take that chance."

[nikkento-writes]

Rub You the Right Way - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.7k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio, 69 position), mutual masturbation, face-riding, face-fucking, use of sex toys, cum eating, multiple orgasms

Summary: You can’t stop thinking about your adorably sweet and shy next-door neighbor, especially after your very eventful night with him just two days ago. Lucky for you, Choso can’t stop thinking about you either.

Author’s Notes: I initially planned for this to be a one-shot, but I love the dynamic of these two awkward dorks so much that I turned this into a three-part mini series! I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Two days following your risqué rendezvous with Choso, you find yourself standing in front of his door once again, a tad nervous to knock. It’s Sunday night, just past dinnertime, and you finally finished all the extra work you had taken home with you for the weekend. With hours spent pouring over documents, straining your eyes at a computer screen, all you want is to relax. And based on Friday night’s festivities, your shy and surprisingly sexy neighbor can help you with that.

You’re not here explicitly expecting sex. Sure, maybe you’re hoping for it to some extent. It was incredibly hot, so much so that you’ve masturbated yourself to sleep every night since, replaying it in over and over in your head. The fucked-out gaze in his eyes as he watched you play with yourself. His mouth pressed deliciously to your cunt, sucking and slurping on your swollen clit. That huge fucking cock deep down your throat. Most of all, you adore that swoon worthy smile of his as he caressed your cheek, thanking you oh-so-sweetly. What you really want is companionship, to be wrapped in his big, strong arms, so warm and comforting around you, completely at peace in the world. His lips soft, kisses careful, hands gentle on your body, like he truly cherishes you. You want that again. You want it all the time.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, holding your breath in anticipation. Yuji is the one to answer, equally as surprised as you. He says your name, staring at you curiously. “Is everything okay?”

Of course he’s reacting this way; you’ve never visited, especially not at an odd hour like this. You didn’t even consider that his little brother would be here, even though he’s here basically all the time. You dumb idiot! Thinking quickly, you spit out the most generic and phony response that comes to mind. “Can I borrow some sugar?” Sugar? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?

He doesn’t seem fazed by the bizarre request, though you sense he doesn’t buy it, given the twitch in his lip, hiding his smirk. Still, Yuji, much like his brother, has a kind heart, so he plays along. “Hey bro,” he calls out, looking to his right.

Choso walks over from the kitchen, his eyes widening upon seeing you. He utters your name quietly, soap dripping from the gloves on his hands, in the middle of washing dishes.

“She wants some sugar.” Yuji has a cheeky grin on his face. “Think you can spare her some?”

Choso swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing apprehensively in his throat. “Sugar?” he repeats, an uncertain tone in his voice.

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him an innocent smile. “I’m trying to bake some chocolate chip cookies and I have everything except sugar. So silly of me, right?” You’re not baking anything, but you can’t take it back now, not with Choso’s full attention on you.

He nods with a serious expression on his face, holding his arms up like a surgeon who just finished a procedure, suds slowly dripping down his forearms. “How much do you need?”

“Just a cup. That’s all the recipe calls for. It’s a batch of a dozen, so I really don’t need much.” There is no recipe, the lie keeps getting more and more elaborate, your voice getting squeakier and less convincing every second you speak. You really can’t help yourself when you’re put on the spot like this. Why must you be so goddamn awkward?!

He nods once more before disappearing back into the kitchen to retrieve the sugar you actually don’t need. Yuji continues to grin at you. “Choso bakes a lot, so he’s always got ingredients on hand.”

You’re relieved to change the subject in a slightly different direction. “His cookies are always so yummy.” All of the times Yuji has hand-delivered his brother’s wonderful treats to you flash in your head, making you smile.

“He’s a real sorcerer in the kitchen.” Yuji leans in a bit closer, voice softer now for only you to hear. “You know, he’d be more than happy to teach you a few of his recipes, if you want. He’s shy at first, but he is a really great guy.”

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, he is.” It touches your heart how highly Yuji speaks of his older brother. Under the guise of cooking lessons, he’s implying that he wants the two of you to be together, as friends, cordial neighbors, possibly even potential lovers. Maybe he doesn’t want his brother to be so lonely anymore. 

Choso returns, two zipped plastic bags in his hands. “If you’re baking chocolate chip cookies, you’ll need brown sugar too. So, I packed you both, just in case,” he explains, dropping them into your open palms.

You accept, too shy to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the newly acquired goods. “Thank you, Choso. I really appreciate it.”

He bows, stiff and formal, while Yuji waves. “You sure you don’t want any more of Choso’s sugar? He’s got plenty to give!” he adds, definitely trying to instigate.

Turning on your heel to retreat into your apartment, you squeak, “I’m good, thank you!” without sparing them another glance. In the safety of your home, you lean against the door, burying your face in your hands. so embarrassed at what just transpired, mentally beating yourself up for being so ridiculous. With all this extra sugar so graciously given by Choso, you end up baking cookies, pretending for your own sake that this was part of the plan all along.   

~~~

Choso sits on the couch, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the empty TV in front of him. He’s muttering the word “sugar” over and over to himself, mind racing with all kinds of ridiculous thoughts. Two days after the most amazing night of his life and all you want is sugar. Sugar! And for cookies? Cookies for who?! He’s completely aware that you’ve been busy with work, but he can’t stop his insecurities from rattling him. The two of you didn’t really discuss the status of your relationship.  For all he knows, you could have hated the entire experience all together. Though, he has a hard time believing that, not with the way you looked at him, so full of warmth and adoration, even with his cock throbbing inside your mouth…

He physically shakes his head to rid the impure thoughts, the same ones that he’s touched himself to since that night. His vast collection of toys are no match to the real thing, to you. And he may never get to feel that ever again. Because you’re disgusted by him. You hate him. It’s all over between you two before it even began.

Whelp, back to freaking out.

“Choso?” Yuji’s voice finally snaps him out of his trance. His younger brother approaches him carefully, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, unconvincingly.

Yuji raises his brow. “You sure? You’ve been sitting here, mumbling ‘sugar’ for the past fifteen minutes.”

Fuck! He heard that? Choso blushes, embarrassed to have been caught in such a sorry state. He stutters, making a poor attempt at explaining himself. “Well, you see…I’ve been…I have a…I think that – ”

Yuji laughs, taking a seat beside him. “If you want to talk to her, just do it! I already put in a good word for you,” he says with a wink, giving him a playful nudge.

Choso gapes at him. “You…what?”

He beams, pleased with himself. “Yeah, I said you could teach her a few things in the kitchen and I think she’s interested! I mean, she did want your sugar, if you know what I mean.” More nudging and ribbing while Choso buries his face into his hands, horrified. “She’s really nice and super easy to talk to. I’m sure the two of you can become really good friends.”

Friends. Sweet baby Yuji doesn’t even know the half of it. Choso sighs, finally straying from the path of an existential crisis. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” he says quietly. 

Yuji puts his arm around him, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “You won’t, I promise you. Just be yourself.”

He meets his gaze, giving him a half-hearted smile, genuinely feeling a bit better after that little pep talk. They watch a movie together, temporarily taking Choso’s mind off the whole ordeal. He tries not to think about you or the cookies you’re currently baking, or that he’s totally jealous of this new imaginary love rival of his that will be the recipient of said cookies.

Yuji leaves at eleven to catch one of the last busses back to his university. Choso decides that he’s sick of sulking around and tormenting himself with outrageous theories. He puts on his best sweats and fixes his hair so that slightly less strands are sticking out from his poofy buns. Back straight, chest puffed out, and all the confidence he can muster, he marches next door, determined to tell you exactly how he’s feeling.

~~~

You’re sitting at the kitchen table in a bathrobe, having just finished eating one of your  freshly baked cookies. You decided during your shower to finally give one of your newer gadgets a try, a sleekly designed vibrating dildo made from the softest silicone material you can imagine. The toy and a bottle of lube are set up on the nightstand beside your bed, ready to use along with the memory of riding Choso’s gorgeous face. While you wish you were actually with him instead, your efforts from earlier didn’t go the way you were hoping. This will have to do for now, at least until you gather the guts to approach him again.

Just as you’re about to retire into the bedroom, there’s a knock on your door. To your surprise, Choso stands before you, stiff and very obviously nervous. “Hi,” he says, giving you an awkward wave that you find absolutely adorable.

You smile, opening the door wider for him to enter. “Hi. Come in.”

He shuffles through, pausing at the kitchen table to observe the plate of cookies you made with the sugar he gave you. “So…cookies,” he mutters.

You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah, cookies.”

There’s a heavy pause, the both of you trying to find the right words to say to one another. You decide to be honest with him, but it comes out the same time he asks you the question that’s been gnawing on his mind all night.

“I want be with you.”

“Who are they for?”

You stare at each other, confused. Taking a step towards him, you explain, “I came over to see if you wanted to hang out, but I chickened out when I saw your brother. I made up some dumb excuse, hence the request for sugar. I ended up baking cookies anyways to make myself feel better.”

His expression softens, sighing in relief. “I freaked out not being able to see you all weekend. And when you came over asking for sugar, I got jealous that you were baking for somebody else.” He rubs the back of his neck timidly, a small grin on his face. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

Another step and you’re close enough to touch him, but you don’t. “Not at all. I’m the one who came up with the lamest lie ever. Your brother probably thinks I’m a weirdo.”

He chuckles. “He definitely doesn’t.”

You’re only an inch apart now, enough to feel his body heat. “I meant what I said. I want to be with you.”

His eyes wander to your chest, your robe loose and barely clinging to you. He swallows hard and you can tell that he’s losing his composure too. “You do?”

“I do.” You peer up at him with a smile, wanting so badly to hug him, to kiss him.

His voice is quiet, but the surest you’ve ever heard it. “I want to be with you too.”

Your chest swells with happiness, ready to burst and shoot out confetti all over his pretty face. He’s staring at your lips now, licking his own when he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You grin at him, tugging at the collar of his sweater to pull him towards you, pressing your mouth to his. He holds you in a warm embrace, kissing you gently, one hand on your lower back, the other spread across the nape of your neck. “You taste so good,” he whispers, sucking on your bottom lip.

“That’s because I just ate a cookie,” you giggle, nuzzling your nose to his.

“Nah,” he smirks, licking into your mouth. “You taste good everywhere.”

You let out a moan, leading him straight into your bedroom where you untie the knot of your robe, revealing your bare body. He slides the rest off, watching you lie on the bed, legs spread wide, pussy on display for him. His kisses start at your ankles, then slowly up your legs, where he sucks on the plush skin of your inner thighs. You let him ravish you, toes curling in pleasure with his tongue flat on your clit, lapping you up hungrily. “Choso,” you whine his name, gripping onto his hair, bucking against his face to feel him even deeper.

He hums into your skin, his lips puckered tight around you, tongue flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up at you, enjoying your fucked-out expression. Something beside you captures his attention for a moment, distracting him. “What is that?”

You’re too caught up in the pleasure that you don’t register what he’s asking you until he pulls off to investigate, laser focused on the object on your nightstand. You quickly grab it from him, horrified when you realize what he’s so fixated on: the dildo. “It’s just one of my toys. I thought we wouldn’t hang out tonight, so I…” your voice trails off, noticing the intensity in his gaze. Hot, flustered, and not keen on elaborating any further, you comment, “Anyways, I’ll just put this away now – ”

He stops you. “No. Don’t. Don’t put it away.”

“Don’t…?”

A little too Intrigued, he scooches closer to you, studying the device in your hand. “Can you show me how you use it?”

You’ve already demonstrated the vibrator for him. For some reason, you’re shy to show him this. Maybe it’s because of how intimate it feels to have something inside you, to be probed, penetrated, filled. But as he looks at you so sweetly, eyes filled with genuine curiosity, you find yourself giving in. “Okay,” you oblige hesitantly, reaching for the lube bottle, your entire body tingling. You pump a small drop of it on the tip, using your fingers to coat the rest on.

He watches you, mouth hanging open, drool leaking from one side of his lips, mesmerized by the way you rub it up and down your cunt, teasing yourself with it. “What do you think about when you use it?”

You giggle, pressing the toy to your clit. “Do you really have to ask?”

“You think about me?” The surprise in his voice is endearing; he has no clue the effect he has on you, how badly you want him, how incredibly fucking hot he is.

“Of course I do,” you answer, gaining some of your confidence back. You pull him towards you, kissing him fervently, sliding the tip to your entrance, slick with arousal. “Look at what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, growing erection bulging in his sweatpants, eyes glazed over as he ogles your wet cunt. “Fuck.”

“Like what you see?” you goad him, readjusting your grip on the base so that your thumb is set on the button.

He nods, kissing you along your neck, then up to your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “I want you to squirt all over it. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.”

“Oh fuck, Choso. So nasty,” you moan, easing it inside you, pussy gradually adjusting to the size. You bite your lip at the tight fit; it’s been a while since you’ve used this, and even longer since you've been penetrated by anything, or anyone. “So tight.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” His genuine concern is too cute. He’s too cute.

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s just been a while since I…y’know.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He grazes your forehead with his lips, giving you a soft peck. “I don’t want you to be in any pain.”

You grin wider, finding him so adorably sincere and sweet. “I’m sure, Choso.” With the dildo nestled comfortably inside you, you reach for his hand, resting it on the base. “Can you fuck me with it? Please?”

This spurs him on, a guttural groan escaping him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, completely captivated by you. You cup his cheek, tracing his upper lip with your thumb. He opens his mouth, chasing any taste of you on his tongue. “You’ll really let me?”

You gaze down at his lap, a small spot of precum leaking through his grey sweats. “Only if you stroke yourself while you do it.”

Choso is feverishly turned on right now, face flushed, his entire body scorching hot, cock throbbing in his pants. Your fingers brush his navel on your way to his waistband and he nearly combusts just thinking about your fist wrapped around his shaft, stroking him. He shimmies out of his bottoms, shrugging them off from his ankles until he’s naked from the waist down, rock hard erection flopping against his abdomen.

“Big boy,” you tease him, nipping at his ear lobe, drooling at the sight of him. “You’d fill me up so good.”

“God, I want to so bad,” he grunts, stroking himself with his left hand as his right fucks you with the dildo. Even without the vibration on, it feels amazing, the way he flicks his wrist, pumping the toy in and out of you. He times his thrusts to match the pace in which he strokes himself, wishing he was inside you instead. But he resists the temptation, knowing there’s all the time in the world to explore each other. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, enjoying one another at whatever pace feels right. 

Wanting to check out all of the features this toy offers, he pushes the button, causing it to vibrate inside you. You gasp at the sudden sensation, squirming as he ramps it up two more levels, sliding it even deeper to stimulate your g-spot. It doesn’t take much longer for you to come like this, buzzing inside and out with ecstasy, the toy absolutely soaked down the base with lube and your slick. He pulls it out of you, tossing the dildo aside to marvel at the mess you made. Before he can make his next move, you roll over on top of him, straddling his lap to rub your wet pussy along his shaft. You rock yourself on him, sleek folds gliding up and down his cock so smoothly, just one move and he’d been in heaven.

He’s a stuttering nervous wreck when he asks, “Should we…should we try it, baby?” He knows the two of you shouldn’t; despite all that’s happened in just the past two days, this is a big and monumental step, especially for him, a borderline shut-in with intimacy issues that shouldn’t be resolved from a rash decision. But if you want it, he’s more than willing to give it to you. That’s just the kind of guy Choso is, putting others before himself.

Luckily for him, you see that. You see him. “Not yet,” you say, caressing his face. “We’ll wait until we’re both ready, okay? There’s no need to rush.”

He smiles, releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding waiting for your response. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him softly. “I really like you, Choso. I don’t want to mess this up by going too fast.”

“Me too,” he kisses you back, nearly in tears at how perfectly this is going. “I really like you, too.”

He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing you passionately while you grind yourself on him until the both of you come, out-of-breath, sweaty, and in total bliss. His cum pools on his abdomen, some of it dripping down the side of his stomach onto the sheets below you. You relax on top of him, spent and satiated, but your little rest doesn’t last for long as he lifts you up by the hips, wiggling down the bed so that his face is pressed to your cunt, mouth eagerly lapping at your clit. “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little more for me,” he urges you, unrelenting and determined to fulfill his promise from earlier. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.

So you let him, moaning his name wantonly with his lips puckered around you, drinking every drop of you up until he’s had his fill, which is three more orgasms later. He starts stroking himself on the last one, a big smile on his shiny swollen lips as he kisses your clit. You whimper his name for the umpteenth time tonight, hips stiff from constantly grinding against him. Still, you think you could go longer, you want to, despite how exhausted you are. And while you know there’s more to look forward to with Choso, you don’t want this to end. You pull of him, readjusting yourself so that you’re facing the other way, in the perfect position to suck his cock. He growls beneath you, sloppily eating you out while you deep-throat him, hungry for his cum.

~~~

The two of you finally settle down for the night, cuddled in new blankets and bedsheets to replace the ones soaked with the aftermath of tonight’s lovemaking. Choso spoons you from behind, his face nuzzled to the nape of your neck, inhaling your comforting scent. He rubs your belly soothingly, voice a soft whisper on your skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

You smile, turning around to face him, snuggling into his chest. “I told you, I feel amazing. You don’t have to keep worrying.”

He kisses your forehead. “I just want to make sure you’re not sick of me yet.”

This time, you can’t help but laugh. “That’s impossible.” You listen to his heartbeat carefully, trying to memorize the steady rhythm of it. “I can’t get enough of you.”

[ba9go]

not your cookie-cutter love story

bakugou katsuki x reader

bakugou katsuki overhears you whining about your cookie craving. he bakes you cookies. fluff and confessions!! (sfw)

part 3/3 of the cookie craving collection (completed)

more cookies for you? part 1 (sfw) 🍪 part 2 (sfw)

you can't remember the last time you ate a cookie, but you were craving cookies, and you just had to make sure everybody in the common room knew that you were craving cookies too.

"coooooooooookieeeee," you groaned for what must've been the umpteenth time, sinking further into the sofa. you sat between kirishima and mina, and they both winced.

"like... the chocolate chip kind?" kirishima asks, scratching the side of his head. "why don't you ask sato? i'm sure he—"

"already did," mina sighs, shaking her head. "didn't quite hit the spot, did it, baby?"

you shook your head with a pout. you flop your head onto mina's shoulder, and she pats your head.

kirishima blinks, perplexed, but he nods anyway. he hums, then gets into The Thinker pose, hand under his chin and brows furrowed. he thinks, ponders, then—

"have you tried bakugou?"

mina's head turns to look at you so fast you're worried she snapped her damn neck off, but the twinkling stars in her eyes and the teasing lilt in her voice has you sighing (and not in worry).

"oh. em. GEE!!! bakugou??? that's GENIUS, kiri, you're a GENIUS!!! you gotta do it, y/n, c'mon, this is your chance to—"

you slap a hand over mina's mouth. you smile at sweet, innocent kirishima, who looks both startled and petrified by you.

"my chance to satisfy my cookie craving! mina's right, you're a genius, kiri! thank you!" you continue smiling, and kirishima still looks petrified. mina's talking against your hand, saying something, actually maybe she's screaming a little?

kirishima laughs nervously and makes a mental note to not mess with you when you're craving cookies.

and that's how you ended up in front of bakugou's door later that evening.

"b- bakugou?" you call nervously.

knock knock.

it was 7:42pm, and you were worried. everyone knew that bakugou went to bed early, and you'd be lucky if bakugou didn't blast your face off on sight. honestly, getting bakugou to open the door is one thing, but how the fuck is he going to take your stupid cookie request—

the door swings open so fast, you physically startle, and you're greeted by bakugou himself.

bakugou's wearing his aji fry tee and a pair of long, fuzzy sweatpants. he looks so... domestic. his toothbrush sticks out from between his usual downturned lips, and you can't help but notice the small bit of frothy toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.

he looks adorable.

"i- it's me," you announced dumbly, with a nervous wave.

bakugou glares at you, but steps backwards, holding the door open with his foot. he beckons you into his room with a sharp jerk of his head, and you think you must be dreaming.

you follow bakugou into his room meekly and close the door behind you gently. you stand by the foot of his bed as he walks into his bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.

"what." he asks flatly after he walks out the bathroom. bakugou walks past you to sit on his bed, back leaning against the headboard.

"well, uh, the thing is..." you cringed. this was it. you were certain that these were going to be your final words before bakugou blasts you straight to hell. "i've kind of been craving—"

"cookies."

"huh?" you turn to bakugou gaping like a god damn fish. he raises a brow at you questioningly. "how did you—"

"shitty hair told me," bakugou interrupts you. he frowns and sighs, running a hair through spiky but soft blond hair. you kind of want to pet it. "multiple times. the whole week."

you squeak(?) in embarrassment. oh god. kirishima. knowing the redhead, he couldn't have possibly had any ill intentions... but still... you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"wh- what... exactly did kirishima say?" you kind of regretted asking that. maybe you'd be better off not knowing.

"that you thought sato's cookies sucked ass," bakugou folds his hands behind his head, and closes his eyes.

"that is not true, and that is not what i said! sato's the best baker i know!"

"that so?" bakugou opens a single eye to look at you. you're simultaneously terrified and absolutely enthralled by that challenging glint in his eyes. "explain why you're here then. you want a room tour or some shit?"

bakugou breaks into a shit-eating grin as the flush on your cheeks deepens. you realise you're still standing awkwardly by the foot of his bed. you realise you're here, in bakugou's room, making a big fool out of yourself, trying to swallow both your embarrassment and your overwhelming feelings for him. god, this was so embarrassing.

you can't do this. you look away and down at the floor, face still burning. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, and try to regather your thoughts. this was fine. you're going to apologise, leave, and things will go back to normal tomorrow. yup, this was totally fine—

you feel a sharp flick against your forehead. you flinch, and you open your eyes to see that bakugou has moved himself away from his headboard, and is now sitting in front of you, at the foot of his bed. he doesn't look so smug now.

"oi." bakugou's hand falls, and you feel his fingers brush lightly against your knuckles. you look down, but his hands are already resting in his lap. you realise how tightly your hands are clenched by your sides, and try to relax.

"don't look so stressed," bakugou says gruffly, looking pointedly away from you. he's frowning yet again, but you don't sense any irritation from him. "was just fuckin' around."

oh. you blink. was bakugou trying to apologise?

"i- i know," you voice comes out as a whisper. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to cause you any trouble—"

bakugou snorts. "yer makin' it sound like cookies are difficult to bake," he looks back at you with a roll in his eyes. you realise he's trying to lighten the mood for the both of you, in his own way. it's working. you feel a tiny smile tugging at your lips. and maybe you're imagining things, but you swear that the furrow between bakugou's brows relaxes slightly.

"well, they're not easy either," you retort. you decide you're tired of standing, and sit next to bakugou on his bed. you guess bakugou's okay with it, considering that he doesn't shove you off the bed with an elbow to your ribs. you try to chase your nerves away.

"anybody with eyes and hands can make cookies."

"sure, but what about good cookies? like, actually good cookies. not just your basic chocolate chip."

bakugou's frown comes back in full force.

"ya tryna say i got shit taste buds or sumn'?"

"no," you scoff. "i'm saying that you've probably never had a good cookie. probably don't know how to make one either."

bakugou's eyes narrow at you, and you grin back at him.

"m'gonna make you eat your words," bakugou declares, crossing his arms over his chest. he glares at you, but it's missing his usual heat.

"really?!" you look at bakugou with stars in your eyes, and the way he flinches is kind of funny. "you're really gonna make cookies for me??" you sound so hopeful. maybe a little too hopeful, you realise.

but bakugou doesn't waver. he doesn't tear his eyes from your starry, lovestruck gaze. he just nods.

"yeah."

you practically skipped your way back to your dorm room. you were excited, and you rolled around in your bed restlessly and finally drifted asleep at god knows what hour.

you woke up the next morning to new messages.

(3) new messages

bakugou💣: You up? delivered 9:24am

bakugou💣: Nvm delivered 10:09am

bakugou💣: Just come to my room later delivered 10:12am

you had never gotten ready quicker your whole life.

you: SORRYYY i slept in a little im omw rn!!!

bakugou💣 reacted 👍 to your message.

bakugou didn't seem to be in his room when you knocked.

"bakugou?" you called again. you knocked a few more times, before finally pulling away from where your ear was against the door.

you fished your phone out of your pocket.

you: im outside!!! delivered 10:32am

you: wru? delivered 10:34am

you're about to send another message when you hear the rustling of plastic and footsteps along the corridor.

you turn to see bakugou walking towards you with hands full of groceries bags. you run walk quickly towards him, mentally noting how you probably looked like a dog chasing a stick.

you grip and tug at a few of the bags, offering to help hold them, but bakugou simply grunts and tugs them away from your grasp. you give up eventually.

"bakugou, we're making cookies right? you bought so much! was it expensive? let me pay you b—"

"kitchen." bakugou interrupts. a warm hand wraps around your wrist firmly. you flush, and look down to see that he's somehow managed to transfer all of the grocery bags to one hand. he ignores your protests as he drags you down the corridor, towards the kitchen.

bakugou only drops your wrist when he starts to unpack the groceries on the countertop.

"bakugou," you say almost pleadingly. "where's the receipt?"

"ate it."

"i know you didn't eat it."

"but i did?" bakugou's gaze flickers up and away from the groceries as he glances at you with his best pokerface, even arching a brow at you. you can't help the smile on your face. gosh, he was so stubborn.

"i'll just pay you 20 bucks then."

"nah."

"25."

"no."

"30."

"i'll pay you 30 to shut the fuck up."

"fine!" you let out a soft hmph, and move to sit by the kitchen island, crossing your arms. you keep them crossed even after bakugou finishes unpacking the groceries, and walks over to stand in front of you.

he pokes your bicep once. then twice. you don't budge.

without warning, bakugou's hands fall to your waist. you scream in fear before his fingers even move, and you try to squirm away, but it's too late—

"stop, stop!!" you cry, tears springing to your eyes. each tickle of his fingertips grazing your skin draws another bout of giggles from between your lips. you watch his evil grin spread. "i can't— please, i surrender!!"

bakugou looks so smug when he finally releases you.

"what'd you do that for?" you complained, rubbing your sides.

"you were too quiet."

"you told me to shut up!"

"so?"

"you piece of—"

"heeeyyyyyy!!!"

"shhh!!!! don't ruin the moment, idiot!!!"

you both whip around to see mina slapping kaminari in the arm. kirishima trails closely behind them, looking sheepish. you wince.

"morning, y/n, bakubro!" bless kirishima and his pure heart for trying to save the situation.

"heyyyy, lovebirds!" you wonder if kaminari has a death wish.

"FUCK OFF, ALL OF YOU!!!!!!"

you have to physically hold bakugou back from grabbing a metal pan to thwack kaminari in the head.

"look, we didn't mean to interrupt you guys, i swear!" kirishima raises both his hands up defensively. "we just want to toast up the pizza in the fridge for breakfast, alright? we'll scram afterwards!!"

bakugou refuses to let any of them step foot into the kitchen, not when he's already laid out all the bakingware and the ingredients nice and proper. you play peacemaker, and offer to toast the pizza for them. bakugou agrees.

it works. it's peaceful for a while. no death threats or yelling. just bakugou glaring at the ticking toaster oven like he's trying to explode it with just his eyes.

but all hell breaks loose when kaminari speaks up again.

"what is that?" kaminari squints and points at the red tub sitting on the countertop. he reads the label. "gochujang? isn't that spicy?"

and bakugou turns around, red-faced with anger. you rack your brain for a way to save kaminari's life. how, how, how. but kaminari continues,

"bakugou, are you sure you know how to make cookies?"

"you fucking dunceface, i'm going to fucking—"

you grab bakugou's arm with one hand and pull him towards you. he looks at you with angry eyes that widen in shock when your other arm snakes behind his neck.

"what the hell do you think you're—"

you yank him down and press your lips firmly against his.

bakugou's lips are soft. they feel slightly chapped against yours, and you resist the urge to lick them wet with your tongue. you close your eyes, and imagine how good it must feel to make out with bakugou, to have his tongue in your mouth—

your lips part slightly, and you can't help the tiny moan that escapes. your eyes fly open immediately.

bakugou is completely still, just looking at you with eyes blown wide.

you hear mina gasp, a loud slapping noise, and kirishima's hushed, scolding voice. you hear rustling, maybe some muffled protests, and a whispered "sorry!" before it's finally quiet.

you pull back slightly, but bakugou pulls you back in the moment your lips leave his. he finally wraps a strong arm around your waist and holds you flushed against him.

he doesn't kiss you. just holds you and stares at you with wide eyes.

"bakugou," you murmur softly. "i like you. i've liked you for a while now."

bakugou is blushing, you realise, watching his eyes flutter close. he ducks his head towards your shoulder and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"yeah?" his breath is hot against your neck when he whispers against your skin. "i think i like you too."

BONUS:

kaminari has a death wish.

you can't blame him! he's just curious. he didn't want to interrupt anything, he just wanted a peek, you know? it was so rare to bakugou calm, much less domestic.

earlier in the morning, kaminari and kirishima visited the little grocery store to pick up some protein bars (well, only kirishima got protein bars. kaminari got chocolate.)

kaminari was surprised to see the buy-2-get-1-free promotion, but even more surprised to see bakugou with not one, but two baskets. full of... flour, sugar and eggs?

"bakubro!" kirishima waves excitedly. bakugou just nods in acknowledgement. "what're you doing—"

kaminari watches kirishima's eyes flicker to bakugou's baskets. right??? isn't that so odd??? kaminari expects kirishima to be as confused as he feels right now.

but kirishima only smiles, a little too knowingly. kaminari knows he's a bit of an idiot, but he doesn't enjoy feeling like an idiot. right now, he feels like an idiot who's been left out of a huge secret.

"that's really manly of you," kirishima smiles, nodding approvingly. "have fun, bro!"

bakugou nods at kirishima's words.

kaminari is seriously confused. he's even more confused after the stunt you pulled in the kitchen. right in front of his virgin eyes? how could you!

it's okay. a little snooping won't hurt, right?

half an hour after kirishima's dragged him into his room, kaminari sneaks out of him room and back to the kitchen.

he sees a huge ball of dough on the countertop. bakugou's pinching off pieces and rolling them into balls between his palms, and you're standing really close to him, kaminari notices.

you wrap an arm around bakugou's bicep, and kaminari thinks you're doomed. you're going to get your face blown off, he thinks.

but bakugou leans down towards you and presses a kiss to your cheek. you turn to look up at him. you're beaming, and kaminari has never seen bakugou look so... soft.

"you're really good at this, bakugou."

"call me katsuki." kaminari's jaw slackens. he is starting to regret his decision to snoop.

"really?" you ask excitedly. bakugou nods.

"katsuki!"

"i told you to stay out of it, man."

he turns around to see kirishima standing behind him with his arms crossed. kirishima sighs, and kaminari feels jealous, disgusted, and guilty all at once.

I FINALLY RECOVERED!!! this took so long for me to write, i had a weird mental block on top of being sick, and tumblr deleted one of my drafts right after i got hit by inspiration!!! im so sorry this took forever, but thank you guys for being so kind and patient 🥹🥹 you guys are the best. again, thank you for reading!!!!

...nsfw part 4 where they get messy in the kitchen? :D

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @deimosjay @notmeduhh

[tatsumeowv]

౨ৎ SWEET TREAT

𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿: 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: fem reader!, improper use of food (don't waste food guys), manhandling, somewhat food play(?), cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, dirty talk, praise, teasing, groping, trey clover cums in his pants realness <3, some parts are super fluffy and sweet honestly, porn with slight plot

𝘄𝗰. 2175.

☆ sum: When your husband messaged you that he was craving a sweet treat before returning from the gym— with his love for candies and desserts in mind, you decided to bake his favorite cookies. You didn't expect that sweet treat he was referring to to be you, though.

Standing beside the counter, you stared at the flour-covered (courtesy of your flour-dusted hands) chocolate chip bags in front of you. Dark, milk, white— each having its temptation and thirst for indulgence. Tapping your powdered-covered fingers, you pondered shortly before a smile appeared on your face.

Trey won't mind if I use all of them, you mused, carefully cutting open the bags.

As you were about to start with the mixer, your husband's voice broke the silence. "Smells good, my recipe, I assume?" He teased. You rolled your eyes, wiped your arms on your apron, and wrapped your arms around Trey's neck. Adjusting his glasses, you planted a quick peck on his cheek, his large hands securely holding your waist, a gesture that always made you feel loved.

"Well, you are the best baker~." Smiling, Trey patted your head. "What's the occasion, though?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Tilting his head, he guided you to the counter— his alluring golden eyes staring lovingly into yours. "No offense, darling, but I'm sad you didn't wait for me to come home so we could bake together." Your husband huffed a slight pout on his face.

"Hm?" You blinked, confusion evident on your face. "What do you mean, what's the occasion?" Narrowing your eyes, you raised your eyebrow. "I mean, you messaged me earlier sayin' that you wanted a sweet treat after your workout."

Trey stared at you with a blank expression for a few moments before bursting out in laughter.

"Oh, sweetheart." Chuckling, your green-haired husband pulled you closer to him and gently kissed your collarbone. Flinching from the sudden coldness of his lips, you instinctively stepped back, which was futile since Trey gripped your waist tight but comfortably.

"You're just so..." Snuggling against your head, you closed your eyes as you felt your husband hum. "...Cute."

"What on earth—  humphh?!" Before you could finish your sentence, gentle yet rough hands cupped your face, and a deep, sultry kiss silenced you. For a second, you froze, eyes wide and hands open. However, it wasn't long before you closed your eyes and melted into the kiss, your hands gripping Trey's hair as you devoured each other's mouths.

"Mpmh— T-trey!" Pulling away from his lips, you gripped his shoulders while you took multiple breaths, your eyes hazy as a short string of saliva connected your tongues. Before you could even speak, you let out a brief squeal when you felt a sudden shift and rise. Before you could even process— your feet were off the ground, and Trey's hands slipped beneath you.

Feeling his hands grope your ass, you lightly slapped his shoulder. "Trey! The cookies!" You huffed, yet despite your annoyance, your face was flushed with embarrassment.

"Mmm. It can wait." Licking his lips, Trey stared at you seductively— his face flushed lightly, his voice low and teasing. "I was talkin' about a different sweet treat earlier."

Guiding you toward the countertop, Trey gently removed your apron and threw it aside. "I'll clean it later, don't worry." He hummed, nimble hands slowly spreading your thighs. Feeling your husband leisurely removing your clothes, you shifted to a more comfortable position on the counter— eyes never leaving Trey's concentrated face.

"Enjoying the view?" Kissing your thigh, Trey smiled as he tossed your shirt somewhere in the kitchen. Biting your lip, you quickly grabbed Trey's hair and pulled his head back— a grunt of pleasure escaping his lips.

"You're trembling, you know." He chuckled, gently caressing your ankle before pressing a deep bite inside your thigh. Hissing, you involuntarily arched your back and humped against the cold countertop, your pussy pulsing with need against the fabric of your underwear. Gritting your teeth, you pulled Trey's hair harsher and wrapped your legs around his neck— positioning your pussy closer to his mouth. You sharply spoke to your husband with narrowed eyes and a flushed face.

"If you're going to fuck me— " Using your free hand to grab the elastic of your panty, you slowly stretched and pulled it down with a teasing smile. Seeing your husband's gaze darkening, you let out a small coo and let go of your stretched panty, accidentally letting out a moan.

"Then fuck me right here, right now." You whispered before inching your pussy close to Trey's face. "If not," With a sly smile, you giggled.

"I always have a variety of toys to choose from."

Without time to process, your entire world spun before you felt your back hit the cold countertop, a small shiver running across your body. Feeling Trey's hot breath against your neck and his tight grip on your thigh, you let out a small whimper.

"Haa..." With a grunt, Trey ripped your panty apart and quickly removed your bra— your eyes widening in shock and embarrassment. "Trey! Those were new!" Nodding his head, Trey sat up straight and removed his glasses, his golden eyes narrowed and hazy.

"You act like I can't buy you a new pair." Licking his lips, Trey placed his glasses on you, a small smile forming on his face, seeing as you looked so cute wearing his glasses. Pouting, your crossed your arms and covered your boobs. "Still!" You grumbled, annoyed at another ripped pair of underwear.

Snorting, Trey glanced at your cookie batter, a mischievous smirk on his face after seeing chocolate chips scattered about.

"You know," Gently caressing your face with his hand, you let yourself relax under his affection. "I might take you on that sweet treat you talked about." Tilting your head, your eyebrows furrowed when Trey walked towards the refrigerator— your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

...

"Trey."

"Yes, dear?"

"Please don't tell me you're doing what I think you're doing." Smiling sweetly, Trey approached the countertop and carefully placed three items: whipped cream, fresh cherries, and chocolate chips. Grabbing your thighs, Trey positioned himself in between them, making sure that your legs wouldn't get cramps from being spread around his muscular body.

"Comfortable?" Nodding, you held his hand and observed as he removed the cap from the can of whipped cream. Shaking the can thoroughly, Trey looked at you and asked. "You sure you're alright with this? Don't force yourself if it makes you uncomfortable, dearest." He smiled, giving a gentle pat on your head.

"Mhm." You nodded, face flushing from both shyness and excitement.

"Words, sweetheart." Your husband chuckled, giving a quick kiss on your cheek. Biting your lip, you quickly covered your face and faced the other direction. "Do I have to?... You already know I'll like it anyways." You voiced out, your words slightly muffled.

Setting the whipped cream aside, you felt Trey's gentle hands hold your wrist and softly removed them from your face. "It's not that I know you'll like it," he teased, "It's so that you'll be confident and sure of your decision." Trey smiled, lovingly caressing your face. "I don't want you forcing yourself to say yes just because I want to do it."

Staying silent, you let out a huff. "Y-you can do it." You stuttered, face flushing red. "But you have to clean everything and me after!" You quickly added, a shaky smile on your face.

"Was going to anyways." Trey laughed, causing you to roll your eyes and hit him playfully. "You know I'll always clean up, especially when you can't move your legs, body too sore and full of my—" "I get it! I geeettt ittt!!!" You quickly intervened, covering your husband's mouth.

Intertwining his hand with yours, Trey pressed gentle kisses until his lips reached your fingertips— before giving them a playful bite. Humming, Trey kissed the bite mark he left.

"One more time." He pleaded, kissing your hand.

"H-huh?"

Tilting his head, Trey looked at you with an affectionate gaze. "Tell me yes, one more time."

Blinking, you giggled— "Pfft-" You covered your mouth, trying to control your laughter. But it was to no avail as you burst into a laughing fit with a few giggles. "This is— phehahah— you're so fucking cute." You laughed, pinching your husband's cheeks.

"Will you?" Freezing, you stared at Trey. With your hand still attached to his, he pressed a deep kiss on your palm— his golden eyes staring intently into your own.

"Will you say yes again?" He asked, softly gliding his other hand on your exposed stomach.

"..." A sultry smile appeared on your face. "Yeah. Yes, please." You begged, hugging Trey's muscular waist with your thighs.

Letting out a soft smile, Trey let go of your hand and kissed you deeply— your tongues dancing intently as saliva and desperation mixed. Gulping, you felt your breath waver and gripped Trey's shoulders, uncaring if you scratched his skin.

Pulling out with a shaky breath and saliva connecting your tongues, Trey watched with an intense gaze as you took deep breaths, the taste of his lips lingering on yours.

Pushing his hair back, Trey grabbed the can of whipped cream and shook. Suddenly, he sprayed a bit of whipped in his mouth and dived back for another deep, sultry kiss. With widened eyes, you happily yet surprisingly kissed him back with deep fervor—the taste of dairy and vanilla invading your tongue.

With a satisfied sigh, Trey pulled away with a lick of his lips. Staring at your cream-filled lips and trembling body, a shiver of lust and excitement hit Trey. Using his thumb to wipe off the excess whipped cream on his lips, he grabbed your chin and gently shoved his thumb on your tongue.

"Suck." Holding his wrist, you gleefully sucked on his thumb, enjoying the taste of whipped cream.

Groaning, Trey took the can of whipped cream and shook it again. Grabbing your waist, Trey smirked, his gaze dark and intense.

"Thank you for the meal."

You feel like dying.

Not in a bad way, per se. But from how deep Trey's tongue and fingers are in your creamy pussy, you feel like dying and ascending to a heaven whole of pleasure.

"Darlin'," Your husband purrs, the vibrato pouring into your already sensitive pussy. "Look at me, sweetheart. Please?" Your husband pleads, eyes sparkling with doe-like innocence as if he isn't playing with your clit and flicking his tongue inside your sensitive folds.

Biting your lip, you shook your head and remained covered with your arms, back arching and body trembling when Trey sucked hard. Licking a long, deep strike in your pussy, Trey gives you one last slurp before he's standing up straight— dick bulging against his sweatpants.

"Pretty please?" Trey begs, carefully kneading your breasts as he drunkenly licks the whipped cream stacked atop your nipples. Whimpering from the sensitivity, you remained stubborn and shook your head, refusing to uncover your face.

"Don't be embarrassed, darling." Your husband coos, pressing deep kisses and hickies on your waist. "Just let me see your face, please?" You're unsure of how many times Trey said please, but with how close he is to your ear and the deep rasp of his voice makes you succumb to his filthy words.

So, with a shaky breath, you remove your arms from your face and stare at Trey teary-eyed. Eyes hazy with pleasure and lust, lips red and quivering from the amounts of times you've bit them, nose slightly drooping with snot from your tears— ah.

Damn it.

Without warning, rough hands grip your waist— not letting you process before you let out a loud squeal at the feeling of Trey's bulge rubbing itself on your sensitive pussy. Your husband's hands gradually traveled to your ass, giving it a good squeeze before he used his body to spread your legs farther, humping his clothed dick with intense fervor. "Ugh—!" With a raspy grunt, you mewled as your husband came in his pants.

"Haha..." Taking a deep breath, Trey grabbed a fistful of hair (he made sure not to put too much force) and directed your face to look at his wet crotch. "Look, sweetheart." He purred, chest rising up and down.

"You looked so fuckin' cute I came in my damn pants." Normally, men would find this embarrassing— but your Trey wasn't like them. With a cunning grin, he undid the laces of his sweatpants. As his boxers fell to the ground, his dick sprung— your pussy pulsing when Trey smacked his dick against your sensitive clit.

"mmmh— T-tre-y!" Mewling, you wrapped your legs around Trey and arched your back, more tears dripping from your eyes.

"I love you; you know that, right?" Trey coos, slowly inserting two fingers in your pussy. Confused, you took a deep breath and nodded. "Good." He whispers, adding two more fingers to your already full pussy.

Suddenly, he pulled his fingers out— slick gushing out and dripping from his fingers.

"Tr—ey-- ?!" Eyes rolling back to your head, you gripped your husband's hair when you let out a loud moan— legs trembling and turning into mush when you felt the big and tight stretch of your husband's dick entering your pussy.

"Because I'm about to fuck you like I don't."  

Was supposed to add more I got lazy to finish this (ゝз╹)

this work belongs to lili-534030. do not repost or copy.

[sweetbans29]

Support - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You are an advocate for Caitlin's W transition (based on THIS request)

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 5.1k

Sweetban Masterlist

AN: The request was very specific and I am going to be honest, I did not follow it to a T but I hope you enjoy!

"Hey CC, you better hurry up the game is starting," Jada yells from the couch. Caitlin taps the microwave in hopes that will speed up the popcorn. It doesn't.

Cait hurridly puts the chocolate chip cookies on a plate, cursing as she keeps burning her hand on the cookie sheet that she just pulled from the oven. She places the last cookie on the plate, grabs the popcorn bag, and scurries to the living room with the other girls.

The team had just finished a summer training session and booked it back to Caitlin's place to watch the game. It was one they all had been talking about for weeks.

"You know one of you could have helped me," Caitlin says passing the popcorn to Jada and placing the plate of cookies on the table. A swarm of hands comes to grab them, leaving 2 on the plate.

"You didn't ask," Jada says like it was a fact, and Caitlin rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, we'll help next time," Kate says as she finishes her cookie.

"Yeah, whatever," Caitlin says as the game tips off.

"CC, my popcorn is burnt," Jada whines as she tries to pick through the burnt pieces.

Caitlin doesn't respond, her eyes glued to the screen as you make your first appearance in 11 months.

You were the first pick in the 2021 draft, there was no question about it. You had led your team to two championships, back to back. There wasn't much left you felt you needed to do at a college level and declared for the draft. The NY Liberty getting first overall pick made the decision a no-brainer.

When you were drafted, you were in the best physical shape of your life. Tired, yes, but more ready than you have ever been for the jump to the W. Getting to NY and starting in training camp confirmed even more that this was the right decision for you. When games started, you realized that the transition was way more than you had expected. The physicality yes, but the mental transition was even harder. You went from a near-perfect season your senior year to losing what felt like every other game.

You were only 7 games into the season when the worst happened. It was during an away game in Minnesota when you went down and you went down hard. The pop in your left knee was something you were trying hard to ignore but the scream you let out was anything but ignorable. When it happened the whole arena went silent as you made your way off the court - only accepting help when you got to the tunnel. After a few scans, you learned you had torn your ACL, officially taking you out of your rookie season.

Caitlin remembers watching the game when it happened. If Cait were honest, she had been watching your game since you entered college. She watched your freshman year as your game immediately translated into a college setting. She watched as they built a team around you your sophomore year, already anticipating playing you when she becomes a Hawkeye. Then your senior year, her freshman year, when your team knocked out hers in the Sweet Sixteen.

It was in Caitlin's freshman year when you had been posted up against her - playing elite defense and causing Cait to have the single worst game in her college career thus far. She went back and reviewed the tape multiple times to see what had caused her to become so shaken. As she watches it, she realizes several things.

First off, you put your head down and do the work. She rarely sees you arguing with the refs when a call doesn't go your way. She actually finds it comical how your teammates go up questioning the ref or trying to explain how what her team did was a foul and you just jogged to the other end of the court.

Second, she noticed how calm you were while playing. You handled the ball like you were playing a pick-up game with some friends. It was mesmerizing to Caitlin. So often she felt like she played all over the place, and if she were to watch herself it was obvious, but when she watched you - you never once seemed jarred.

Third, your vision is similar to hers. She can only assume you see what she sees. Your vision on the court and IQ for the game is one that she hopes to continue working at. As Cait watches you scout out the floor, you don't always go with what she would expect or do herself. It was almost like a game of chess to you. If you saw the defense react a certain way, you would adjust and get them thinking you were going one way when really you would get everyone to shift, waiting until the last second to show your hand. That is what got under Caitlin's skin during the game. It was almost as if you were baiting her and were playing a head game with her. It was most obvious when you were on defense and were able to pick apart her offensive strategy. It was almost like you knew what Caitlin was going to do before she knew it.

The last thing she noticed had nothing to do with the game, and she almost missed it the first four times she watched the tape, but it was the way she caught herself looking at you. Caitlin throughout the whole game was stealing glances of you. She thinks back to the game and feels herself start to blush. She remembers how your cheeks would tint red and how you stood there with your hands on your hips when something was taking too long. She remembers how your team would gravitate to you because she also wanted to. She remembers how after playing a whole game, when you were giving high-fives, you looked over and smiled at her - your eyes looking directly into hers until she finally broke the contact. She realized that not only was she swayed by your game but she took a particularly deep liking to you.

As Caitlin sits with her team watching your first game back, yes she is watching you because it is your comeback game but also because since she has realized she has taken a particular liking to you, she wants to watch you nonstop.

You take the court and isn't the game you want as your first one back but you are back. You are still figuring out how to move on the court with the adjustment of a weaker knee but know that will come with time. To anyone watching, you looking good as new but you know your game is different - so does Caitlin.

You end the game going 12/4/8 with 2 steals and a block. You aren't super happy but you know you are your biggest critic. You also have to remember this is the first game of the season. After the game, you check your phone to see messages from a handful of people congratulating you, responding to them all with some sort of reaction you open Instagram and scroll. Any time you see anything about you, you scroll right past it.

You stop on a post about the winner of the Dawn Staley Award winner. You see it went, for the second time, to Caitlin Clark - a guard out of Iowa. You wrack your brain and remember playing her in college, she is a solid player. It is tough that she has won the award back to back her freshman and sophomore years. You post the achievement to your story with the caption '1-of-1'. You then click on her profile and give her a follow before locking your phone and heading to the post-presser.

Caitlin gets a notification and immediately stands up. When the game ended, the girls didn't move and kept snacking on whatever was in front of them. Cait is the first one to move.

"Woah, are you okay there?" Kate asks grabbing Caitlin's calf. Kate's sitting right next to Caitlin and lost balance when the girl decided to stand up without any sort of notice.

Caitlin didn't know what to say as she just stared at the notification of you following her. She shows Kate.

"Holy shit, there is no way," Kate says looking at her phone. "That is sick."

The other girls are asking what happened and Kate tells them that you followed Caitlin. Cait sits back down and taps on your story only to see a photo of her. She sits there with a stupid smile on her face. You know who she is. You know who Caitlin is. You posted about her winning an award right after you just took the first dub of the season.

Caitlin tries not to let it get to get head considering you are a pro and she still had two (possibly three) more years in college but that is hard to do when the player she is crushing on now knows who she is.

Time flies when you are having fun. At least that is what Caitlin tells herself as she has just played in her last college game. What a time it has been for her. She brought her team to the championship game twice but fell short both times, never being named with a title. She is now headed to the WNBA draft and will likely go first, making her way to Indiana.

The transition is fast and before she knows it, she is moving in to an apartment in Indianapolis and preparing for training camp. When games begin, she feels like she hasn't received a break in what feels like a year. In reality, it has only been six months but the amount of play she has had both in her senior year and entering the W is overwhelming.

The thing is - Caitlin would never outright say she is overwhelmed, rather just swallow it and keep going. She may not say anything but her body language and eyes tell the story.

You on the other hand have started the season out on fire. Your mindset for this year was redemption. Over the last two years, your game wasn't where you had wanted it to be coming out of college and coming back from a major injury but where you are now is a much better place than you were before. The year you came back from injury, your game was anything but great. You had the worst season you had ever had playing, including the very first year you started with the sport. It was downright embarrassing but that is what drove you to be where you are now. It may have taken longer than anyone had expected but you have arrived.

It is a few games in when you are asked about the rookie guard.

"What are your thoughts on Caitlin Clark? She has been struggling in her transition and many people have been comparing it to your start in the W," one reporter asks. You smile and let out a little chuckle.

"You all love to pick apart a player when they're down, don't you," you begin and your media manager is in the back corner giving you a death stare. When it comes to the media, you have never had a problem calling them out. Unlike you on the court where you just put your head down and play, when it comes to how the media depicts players - well that is something you don't stand for.

"You need to give the girl some space to breathe. I feel like every time I open Twitter it is a huge rookie feast and it's not cool. It is like the world has forgotten they just got done playing their asses off in March and now you expect them to come into a league, freshly adapted to a different game," you say and continue before anyone can cut you off. "It was just a few days ago when I saw something circulating about how these rookies are facing a rude awakening and I laughed. I laugh because people are not looking at the whole picture. Looking at her box score is not a fair assessment of her game. I've been able to catch a few of the Fever games and yes, they have room to grow but all of our teams do. Do you all see the way she is running the floor? Have you looked into how many times she touches the ball? Like, come on, her vision of the game is the same as it was in college - she is now, alongside a team, are both learning how to adapt to play with her. You all may not say she is coming in and dominating but just watch - she will have you all stunned by the Olympic break - use that a headline."

You glance back at your media manager and they have they are rubbing their eyes as their head shakes back and forth. You personally don't think you have said anything out of line but you know you'll get an earful for something. And you do but not as badly as you thought you would.

On the other side of things, Caitlin gets out of a game where she went 8/5/9. She got in her head and stayed there. She gets out of her own post-presser to see a link from Jada.

When Caitlin opens it, she sees you with the headline '[Clark] will have everyone stunned by Olympic break'. Caitlin quickly opens the link and watches you talk. A smile can't help but make its way to her face as you call the media out and speak praises about her.

'Just wait until you see this game, if you see this game', Caitlin thinks as she flinches again at the thought of her efficiency this last game. The link is followed by Jada being Jada.

[Jadaaa: Your girl's got your back, think you can work up the nerve to talk to her when you face off in a few weeks?]

Caitlin knows the younger girl is joking but the feeling that swells in the pit of her stomach thinking about talking to you has her feeling sick.

As much as Caitlin doesn't want to think about you, she does. She can't help it. The last time she faced up against you, you handed her the single worst game she has ever played and in her mind, she wants to show you what she's got.

Little to her knowledge, you were also looking forward to your match-up against the rookie. It has been years since you played against her and look forward to seeing how she has grown. Also, to see how you two match up in the W.

The game finally comes, too slowly in Caitlin's eyes but finally here.

You are the first one on the court. It's not unusual for anyone who knows you but when Caitlin walks out, she stops dead in her tracks. She should have known you would be on the court already but she was so used to being the first one out that it never occurred to her that there would be someone else out there with her.

Caitlin makes her way out and begins to warm up herself. She wants to go over and talk to you but chooses to keep stealing glances. Soon enough, the whole team is out doing a shoot around and the opportunity has passed.

The game is about to begin as the teams take the floor. You go over and hug one of Cait's teammates and high-five the others. When you make your way to Caitlin, everything moves in slow motion for the younger girl.

You come up to her, wrapping one of your arms around her waist. You lean in and whisper something only she can hear.

"Have fun today, it's just you and me on the court - forget about everyone else, and let's have some fun." You tell her.

Caitlin smiles and nods as her cheeks heat up from your closeness. You pat her lower back and get positioned.

The game is a battle.

You play like you have been since the beginning of the season. You hit your double-double in the third quarter and are working towards a triple-double, which would be the second one of the season if you get there.

Cait is also playing better than she has yet and you can even see a little smile come out every now and again.

It is in the fourth when the two of you are standing next to each other during one of your team's free throws.

"Having fun?" You ask.

"Actually, I am," she says, surprising herself with her answer.

"It will get more fun, just wait and see. You're getting there C," you say and she smiles.

"I actually want to tha-" Caitlin begins but is cut short when your teammate knocks down both free throws and the ball is back in the Fever's possession.

The fourth quarter finishes and your team had come out on top by just 2 points. The closest game of the season thus far. It was probably the most fun you had in a game since you got to the W.

In the post-presser, you are asked about the rookie guard again.

"Now that you have faced Caitlin firsthand, what are some challenges you see in her game?" a male reporter asks.

You flat-out laugh at the question.

"You're kidding me, right?" You say and you already see your media manager waving her hands in the air to stop whatever it is you are about to say.

"I am tired of you guys hounding her into the ground. She played a tremendous game today - what was it, another double-double for the rookie? What more does she have to do to show you all she is already dominating in the W? This is midway through her first season playing the sport professionally. She is already doing the damn thing. What you all should be asking is how much more capable is she? If she is doing this in her first year, what will she be doing next year? In 2 years? 5? Like come on, she is already playing better than any of you could so I don't know why we are still talking about what she can't do," you say and stand, tired of their stupid questions.

You are on your way out when you add one last thing.

"Caitlin Clark is a force of nature. She is one of one, I said it about her in college and I will say it again with her in the W. She is unlike anyone we have seen before and you should all be more concerned with how high her ceiling is versus how low to the ground she stands."

You walk out and wait for your media manager to rip you another new one. You don't care and just take it.

When you get back to your hotel, you ignore all the things you are tagged in and open Caitlin's profile.

[You: Hey, this may seem out of the blue but I wanted to let you know I am on team Caitlin. You know the media spins things but keep your head down and play your game and they will see. I've been where you are, I know the media is a circus. Feel free to call or text if you need anything]

You follow your first message with a second that contains your number. It was a little bold and your motives are pure, mostly.

No one asked but if they did, you would tell them that you remember playing Caitlin in college. You remember how your one and only match-up was one of the toughest of your college career. You would speak to how you have followed her ever since, catching every game you could when she played. You were just as mesmerized as she was and neither of you had a clue.

Cait gets back to her apartment and falls on her bed. She unlocks her phone for the first time since the game, a rare occasion but she doesn't want anything to do with what the media was saying about her after that game.

Similarly to when you first followed her, she shoots up to a sitting position on her bed. She scans the message a thousand times.

Caitlin, who was just tired is now wide awake and smiling. She cannot believe her favorite player (and crush) has just given her phone number.

Her phone begins to go crazy in an old team group chat.

[Jadaaa: CAITLIN FREAKIN CLARK]

Jada then sends a link to another post-game presser.

[KMoney: Bro, it is your game to lose now. She's pro-Clark]

[Stulke: I'll start planning the wedding!]

[Caitlin: I bet you can't guess who just got her number 🫣]

[Jadaaa: SHUT UP]

[Stulke: Yep, wedding planning in progress]

[KMoney: I call dibs on making a speech]

[Jadaaa: Get in line Kate, I am getting first speech]

[Caitlin: Shut up]

Caitlin debated sending you a message but decided to wait until the morning. When Caitlin wakes up, she shoots you a text.

[C: Hi...I want to say thank you for always defending me. You really don't have to but I appreciate it]

[C: It's Caitlin btw]

[C: Caitlin Clark if that wasn't clear]

Caitlin feels like an idiot after she texts three times in a row. She locks her phone and throws her head into her pillow with a groan when she hears a 'ding'. She pulls her phone up to her face.

[You: I thought you weren't going to message]

[You: It's cute that you felt the need to put your first and last name]

[C: Didn't want to get mixed up with someone else]

[C: I don't know how often you hand out your number]

[You: Not often]

[You: So...who is Caitlin Clark?]

The two of you messaged pretty consistently. Messages turned to phone calls, phone calls turned to Facetimes then before you knew it you both were talking about anything and everything.

Caitlin's season has gotten better as the Fever as a team has grown, winning more games in a stretch than losing.

It is a few games later after a win that Caitlin is sitting in a post-presser with Aliyah. An interviewer asks if Caitlin has seen the clips of you talking about her in her post-pressers.

Caitlin blushes and looks down, trying to hide her rosy cheeks. Aliyah chuckles and nudges the girl who is now covering her uncontrolled smile with a towel.

"Ya...I've seen them," she says as she removes the towel to show her smile. "I think it is pretty cool how she stands up for me. I have been watching her for years now and love her game so it means a lot when she speaks of me with such grace."

"Ya, I've caught CC watching that presser probably five times now," Aliyah says throwing Caitlin to the wolves. Someone's got to do it right?

Caitlin playfully pushes Aliyah.

"Way to out me," Caitlin says and hides her face again.

There aren't many more questions asked and Caitlin feels like she is in the clear. That is until she gets a call from you.

"Hi," she says with a smile. She doesn't know it but you can tell by her tone when she is smiling.

"Five times, five times is a lot C," you tease her.

She is glad you aren't standing in front of her because the blush that had subsided from the presser is fully back. The truth is that she watched it 15+ times now.

"What can I say? I like watching people praise me," she says trying to speak with confidence.

"Isn't that cute," you say.

"And you are the one who is calling me right after I get out of a presser and you are calling me obsessed?" Caitlin asks.

"That's fair, I won't call next time," you say and Caitlin immediately says 'no'. You laugh and she is thankful you can't see how fast her face turned red.

The conversation is light and flirty before she has to go.

"I'll see you at All-Star weekend," you say, and are looking forward to seeing the rookie. It would be another fun match-up with you being on the Olympic team and her being an All-Star.

"I look forward to kicking your ass," she says, the confidence in her voice dominating over the phone.

You laugh and give her some nonsense response. You've learned she wouldn't talk a big game to the public but when it was just the two of you, that's a completely different story. To you, she talks a big game and you let her. You know she has the game to back it up but you also know you have the ability to slow her down and that is exactly what the plan is for your next meeting.

The weekend arrives and the fun begins. You are included in the starting lineup for the Olympic team while Caitlin is in the starting lineup for the All-Stars.

Your eyes meet hers and you smile. She returns it as you walk up to her. You greet her.

"You ready?" You ask as you pinch at her hip. She swats your hand and shakes her head but your hands are persistent.

"Oh I am more than ready," she says trying to hide her smile.

"Why don't we put a little skin in the game," you say as you lean into her.

"I win, I get to take you out," you say and Caitlin feels a heat rise in her.

"And what do I get if I win?" She chokes out.

"Whatever. You. Want," you say. Caitlin smirks.

"You're on," she says as the two of you shake on it.

The two of you go head-to-head in the game. Caitlin plays one of the best games she has in the W so far. You take note of how hard the girl is working but you also put in the work, having quite the game yourself.

In the final minutes, the score is tied. Your teams switch off points as the seconds wind down.

You have control of the ball, trying to set up the play. Caitlin is guarding you - poking her hand in to try to get the ball away from your hands. You turn and use the screen that Stewie sets up for you, stepping back you put up the three. As you come down, Cait gives you a little push causing you to fall to the ground but you just catch sight of the ball bouncing on and then out of the rim.

Caitlin then proceeds to stand over you, in the heat of the moment, showing you and the crowd that she is tough.

You get to your feet and bump her chest - exchanging a few words.

Someone comes and pushes you back from Cait while they grab Caitlin's arm but you don't back down, bumping Caitlin again.

By now both of your teams have gotten involved and the refs are trying to separate the two of you. As you feel yourself being pulled back you blow Caitlin a kiss.

You both receive techs.

In the final few seconds, all you have to do is not foul and play solid defense which you do, making Caitlin pass it for the final shot that doesn't fall. Team USA taking the victory.

As you celebrate with the team on the court, you also go and hug your opponents from the night making a conscious decision to end with Cait.

When you go in to hug her, you can tell she is moody.

"I'm picking you up at 10 tonight, be ready," you say and wink at her.

As much as Caitlin wanted to win, she couldn't help but be excited.

Once everyone clears out and makes their way back to the hotel, you quickly shower and head to pick Cait up.

When you get to her door and knock, she answers within seconds.

"Someone is a little eager," you joke and she blushes.

"Well it's 10:20 so technically you're late," she says.

You laugh.

"Okay C, come on," you say and lead her on a walk. The two of you talk and she opens up about her experience so far, asking you questions left and right. You answer every single one of them.

"Where are you taking me?" She asks, half expecting the two of you to just stay in her room.

"Patience, we are almost there," you say as you make a turn and Caitlin sees it.

You have brought her to an outdoor court. It is dimly lit and there is a single basketball laying on one side.

You jog to pick up the ball and she walks over to you.

"I just had the best game of my career so far and you want me to play more?" She asks trying to sound annoyed but she isn't annoyed at all.

"Thought we could play a little one-on-one," you say bouncing the ball between your legs before passing it to her. You can tell she is a little skeptical but goes along with it. She begins to bounce the ball and your hand immediately finds her hip, giving it a squeeze like you did before the last game. The same blush as before rose in her cheeks. She works her way around you but your arms wrap around her waist not letting her go anywhere.

"Foul," she yells as you pick her up with her still holding the ball.

"This isn't a normal game babe," you say and she gets the hint. You put her down, still standing right behind her with your hands on her hips. "Take a shot," you whisper in her ear as your lips graze her neck.

Caitlin swallows and puts up the shot missing it.

"That's not fair," she says turning around.

"Better luck next time," you say bringing your hand to graze her cheek. Your eyes go from her eyes down to her lips as you lean in painfully slow.

Caitlin grabs your shirt and anticipates your lips on hers. When they never come, she pouts.

You run to grab the ball and pass it to her again.

"No bucket, no kiss," you say and you can see her demeanor change.

Caitlin locks in.

"Oh it's on," she says as she is ready for the one-on-one action.

AN: Here you go! Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[yanchive]

Tsundere turned Yandere?

Listen, I reaaallly don't like tsunderes, I find the concept to be annoying, having someone essentially treat you like shit because they can't grow a pair and accept their feelings for you.

But, the concept of a tsun going yandere sounds pretty interesting.

Surely, after dealing with so many snarky comments and polarizing experiences, not knowing if they genuinely enjoy your presence/friendship or if their just tolerating you because you two share an overlapping social circle. There's only so much you can take recieving gifts from them only for them to turn around act like it was burden to go all the way to the store to buy you it even though you never asked. Like, who does that? Gets mad at YOU for giving YOU gifts...?

It makes you stressed. The contradiction of verbal abuse and caring, affectionate actions leave you confused and annoyed. Eventually, the only right thing to do for your sanity is drop them as a friend. Yeah, you'd probably have to drop the other couple friends that are part of each of your social circle, but if it meant not being overwhelmed with gifts, affection, and berating comments, then so be it.

You break the news to them after another encounter. They had called you stupid for being cold one day(it was the middle of winter, why tf wouldn't you be cold!?). They began dragging you to the nearest café for a cup of hot chocolate, but you pulled away and confessed how your feeling. You wanted to do it as cordial as possible, but that uneeded insult had you being a little harsher than you liked it to be.

To be honest, it made you feel bad for a second, when you saw their resting bitch face melt away, their eyes going wide as they flinched away from you when you raised your voice. A look crossed their face that you couldn't quite discern, but you can tell it fell under the line of surprise and sadness. Heartbreak, maybe? But why would they be heartbroken? They've been nothing but a pain in the ass to you.

You fled before they could shake themselves from their shock and respond. They called after you, but you can tell by their fading calls, they were not following after you.

You blocked them on everything, and explained the situation to your friends before leaving all groupchats that had the little brat in them, and took the week off to settle your nerves and hide away. Not because you thought anything bad would happen, but just to hope whatever possible attempts at contact would wash over when they'll eventually(hopefully) give up. You knew a few times you got them coming to your door, but you never bothered to respond.

Once the week ended, and you decided to enter back into society, the first few days went by smoothly. Only to be awoken one morning to barrage of texts and missed phone calls from an unknown number.

The texts started off tame. A wave of apologies and begs of forgiveness. Confessions of love and compliments, telling you how they never meant to hurt you. How they were terrified of you finding out they were in love. The fear of rejection was so bad that they completely overlooked how their actions would affect you. It got more and more incoherent and unhinged until it was nothing but a massive load of photos taken of you throughout the past few days. Distant photos. You're in a grocery store in the first few photos. Going down multiple aisles. You're getting milk and eggs in one, chips and soda in another, deodorant, and body wash in these one. At the checkout lane in the last.

You're at a gas station in the next. Someone was taken the photos from within their car. You're stepping out of your own. Heading into the station. They're zoomed into the window, getting your blurry silhouette at the register. And dozens of you just standing at the pump filling your car.

They have you at your workplace, on a walk, at a restaurant, and a coffee shop. They put little quips of how amazing you looked in the photos, how you made them feel. They talked about wanting to snap the neck of the waiter who took your order when they made you laugh.

Voicemails were them alternating from having straight up mental breakdowns, sobbing uncontrollably as they tried to plead for forgiveness between each gasp of air. Others were just straight rambles, detailing their stalking and reiterating the same affectionate compliments found in the texts. They went on about how they dream of dates with you, how your wedding would look. It was such a 180 from how they used to be. Did that one argument seriously have them snap this bad?

You told them off before blocking their number, attempting to continue your day, albeit so much more paranoid that you liked it to be.

It was terrifying. No matter how much you looked over your shoulder, studied every single person in your vicinity, and tried to blend yourself in the crowds, you could never catch a glimpse of their face, nor shake the unnerving feeling of eyes burning into your body.

Gifts would start showing up at your doorsteps and workplace. Almost every day you were continuously blocking new numbers to try and get them to stop sending you messages and photos of you with no such luck.

You were at your wits end. None of your friends could help. Hell, several of them just seemed to disappear. They just quit contacting you. Police were only minor help, actually taking it a little bit seriously until they came back and told you they talked to your alleged stalker and determined it couldn't possibly be them and that you should contact them when this alleged stalker began getting aggressive. (Hello?? You have voicemails of their fucking voice what do you mean its not them!? You knew this town was shit...)

Though, one good thing came out of contacting the police. It seemed to have scared them enough to halt their harassment. All phone calls and texts came to an end. No more gifts. You could finally breathe.

This continued for a couple weeks. Life returned back to normal. So normal, in fact, that you finally felt safe enough to attend a bar party with a few coworkers one night, just to celebrate what you thought was your new found freedom.

Its just... such a coincidence you weren't the only one invited. Not that you knew. No, not until the next morning after a horrendous hangover. A hangover you weren't expecting. You had one drink, didn't you? Why does it feel so much worse than a hangover? And why can't you move your body? When did you have so many photos of yourself in your room?

And why is their a familiar face looking down at you with that unsettling grin?

[ma1dita]

love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.5k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.

(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care.

With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc. 

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once. 

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home. 

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this.

Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands. 

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts. 

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields. 

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home… He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods.

It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask. 

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere. 

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold. 

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide. 

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.” 

You wouldn’t have come, anyway. 

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side. 

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times. 

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real. 

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off. 

Lose myself. 

Lose you. 

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, Trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…” 

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you. 

But then gods, why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

 “We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.” 

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel. 

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.” 

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?” 

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

[roguelov]

Scars and All

Summary: For a few years, you have been friends with Trafalgar Law. And for a few years you have harbored a crush on his dad, Donquixote Rosinante. You tried, and tried, to ignore such feelings, but perhaps it’s time to put it all out into the open. No more hiding, you will tell him how you feel. You only hope he will let you down gently.

Word Count: ~8.9k

Reader: fem/afab (reader referred to a sweetheart/sweet girl)

Warnings: SMUT (age gap (reader is in their mid 20s and Cora is 40), breast play, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cream pie, dirty talk, small breeding kink, mostly dom!cora), minor angst (denial of feelings), pining, fluff in the end

(Fanart and inspo for the fic by levikra)

The idle rumbling of the car was the only thing keeping you grounded, or was the irritable sensation propelling your already splintered mind into more of a frenzy? You pressed your forehead into the steering wheel. The sun’s ray heated the faux leather, unfortunately not bringing you any relief or comfort. Just more irritation.

This is stupid.

Grumbling, you lifted your head, peering up at the picturesque house. It was simple with a small porch with rickety chairs to recline in, and a worn down welcome mat. Shutters muted by the sun. Its attached garage had its mouths open revealing a sleek vintage car and a motorcycle parked inside.

Plain. Ordinary.

Yet, it was frighteningly daunting. You white-knuckled your steering wheel. Your heart pounded feverishly in your chest. Blood pumped so loud in your ears you could barely discern the jumbled voices from the radio. A song? An interview? Why did it matter? Why were you focusing on such trivial things when -

Dumb. This is so fucking dumb and stupid and - and I should just leave. He wouldn’t -

You banged your head - again - against the steering wheel, growing out in frustration. “What am I doing here,” you asked the rhetorical question in the lone space.

You tilted your head, glancing at your passenger and the reason for the afflictions to your spiraling mind: a plastic container of an assortment of cookies. The container sparkled in the sunlight as if smiling giddily eager to be delivered.

You grumbled to yourself, “Why did I talk myself into this?”

*****

“Ooo, it smells amazing in here!”

You peered over your shoulder, looking back at your friend and housemate, Evelyn. She hungrily eyed all the variety of cookies littered across the kitchen counters cooling and some already packed neatly in containers. Giggling, she snatched up a fresh one, biting into it.

She hummed, smiling at you, “It’s so good.”

Your cheeks warmed and you smiled bashfully, “Thanks.”

She plopped down at one of the dining chairs, happily nibbling on her cookie. “So why’d you make so much? And why did you ask me to help?”

You snickered at her tone and small pout. “Ah well, I wanted to make some chocolate chip cookies but then you saw we had plenty of other ingredients so it just spiraled out of control from there.”

She frowned a bit, deciphering your roundabout words. “Stress baking?”

Your eyes dropped to the side. Caught. “Yeah, kind of.”

“Why?”

You added some cooled cookies into another container. “Well … I was thinking about bringing some to Rosinante .. and I know Law is still doing his shift at the hospital.”

She beamed, finishing off her cookie. “Yeah, I bet they will like them.”

You said nothing, you just closed the container, sealing it tight.

Evelyn watched you for a moment. Your hand nervously patted on your pants, rubbing off the flour and sugar. Your eyes darted around counting and recounting all the cookies. “What’s wrong? What do you think they won’t like them?” She asked.

“Huh? Oh, uh … no, that’s not the issue.” You shuffled side to side. “I thought that maybe I could finally do it.”

She cocked her head. “Do what?”

You fiddled with your fingers. “That … that I could tell Rosinante how I feel.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Really?”

She had known about your crush on him, you had confided in her some time ago. She had even comforted you when a few tears were shed under the veil of night. It wasn’t right to have a crush on your shared friend’s dad. You knew this. You tried to drop it, to let him go, yet with every conversation you had with him you fell a bit more.

“I … I just … I don’t want to keep pretending,” you quietly admitted. “If he doesn’t like me, then so be it … maybe I could finally move on once I hear it from him … it’ll be awkward as hell when we go over there in the future but … I should do this.”

No more delusions or what ifs. Your mind tired of these endless running thoughts every single night.

Eve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled, a small one. You placed a hand on your chest, rubbing the spot over your racing heart.

I got this.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up a perfectly packaged container. You held the container close to your chest, however once you turned to leave you froze.

Seeing your hesitation, Evelyn got up and started pushing you towards the door. “Alright, go.”

You dug your heels into the floor. “But -“

“Nope, now shoo.”

“Actually I - I changed my mind. This is a terrible idea and I don’t want to do the adult thing anymore -“

“It’s a wonderful idea,” she urged you, opening the front door for you. “And he’ll love them.”

And you, she thought.

“I don’t care if he likes the cookies,” you grumbled. “It’s the other thing.”

“You can do it. I know he likes you back -“

You vehemently shook your head, pushing back on her attempts. “I can’t -“

She spun you around, grabbing your arms. Her eyes blazed with determination, far more than your own. “Yes, you can. You said you would do it, so no backing out.”

You hung your head, sighing deeply, “… fine.”

She beamed. “Great! And don’t worry, I’ll keep Law away … for a few hours.”

Your cheeks burned. “Whoa, it won’t -“

With one final shove, you stumbled backwards out the door. She chirped in a cheery tone, “Now, go. And good luck!”

The door then slammed in your face.

*****

Fuck it, just do it!

Shutting off the engine and snatching up the cookies, you hopped out of your car. Every step towards the front door, every time your heart jumped up into your throat. You wanted to turn tail and hide, but how could you go back home? Eve will certainly give you trouble.

I could just sneak inside and hide away in my room.

You muttered to yourself. It was at least a decent idea.

Wrong. All wrong, a voice hissed in the back of your mind. You’re a friend of his kid, why would he even see you like this? You shouldn’t have even entertained this for a second. It’s all wrong.

Your heart ached. You shoved that voice back, locking it in the far recesses of your mind. You didn’t need it whispering in your ear. Again. You just needed to get this all off your chest, you couldn’t bear the weight of this secret anymore. The rejection will sting, it will gut you, and you will cry, but then hopefully you could finally move on.

With a shaky hand, you pressed the doorbell. The chime cut through the silence. You flinched. Glancing over your shoulder, you wondered if anyone was watching this slow disastrous train wreck.

This is a dumb idea. Maybe I could -

The doorknob clicked then opened. You whipped around, staring up at the owner of the home, the father of your friend, and the owner of your heart: Donquixote Rosinante. With a cigarette hanging from his lips, he smiled warmly, “Hey, what brings you around here?”

Matching his smile, you held up the cookies. “I made a bit too much so I thought I would stop by and bring some.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Thank you, here -“ he moved aside giving you space to step in, “- come on in, you know where the kitchen is.”

You nodded, walking in. Smiling, Rosinante closed the door behind you. You passed by the living room and into the kitchen with Rosinante following behind you. You set down the cookies on the kitchen island. Rosinante circled around the island to the other side. He took his cigarette, flicking the ashes into a small glass tray. His eyes darted over to you. He saw the question written so clearly on your face.

“I know I’m trying to quit. Just please don’t tell, Law,” he said, taking a small drag. “I know the kid is almost a doctor now, but it’s hard to break such an old habit -“ he winked “- it can be our little secret.”

Your heart fluttered. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Joy, unbridled joy and elation, bloomed at the nickname. It brought a warmth unlike any other: sunshine on a snowy winter morning, bonfire on a cool summer night, or a warm blanket wrapped around at night. You couldn’t remember when it started, but you loved it. His deep voice mixed so lovely with the affectionate tone of the name. It was this small insignificant thing that made your heart cling to hope, hope that maybe - just maybe - he felt something.

“Do you mind?” Rosinante pointed at the container.

“Oh! Uh, no please go ahead,” you answered.

He smiled then opened it up. He inhaled the tantalizing decadent aroma. “Smells great.”

He plucked a chocolate chip cookie. Holding his cigarette between his fingers, he took a bite. He hummed. His eyes twinkled with delight. ”This is amazing! You’re a great baker.”

You smiled bashfully. “Thanks.”

Looking at him, your expression softened as he finished the cookie with a smile. However as he ate the last bite, your eyes caught something. “Hey, uh, you have …,” you gestured to a spot on your own cheek.

Rosinante tilted his head. His golden hair swept across his forehead. His innocent face made him appear decades younger.

How can a grown man look so adorable?

You reiterated, “You have some chocolate on your cheek.”

“Oh!” He swiped his thumb across his skin - to where you pointed - then gently sucked the chocolate off. He hummed, licking his lips. “Thanks.”

You kept your voice steady. “No problem.”

He really doesn’t understand what he does to me.

“Any reason you made so many cookies?” Rosinante asked, closing the lid.

You shrugged. “Just wanted some, but then it kind of spiraled into making a bunch of different batches.”

He smiled, leaning on the island. “Well, thank you for sharing. I might eat them all before Law gets a chance to try one.”

You mimicked him, resting your elbows on the island. “No worries, we have plenty back at the house … that is if Eve doesn’t eat them all.”

He snickered and took another drag of his cigarette.

Your eyes skimmed over him. He truly was a golden god, yet wrapped up with some boyish charms. You tore your eyes away. Your heart started to speed up again with the mere thought of spilling everything out in the open. He picked up the cookies, turning his back to you and putting them next to the fridge. It was out of sight, and somewhat hidden for a sweet treat for himself later.

Ok, fuck, breathe. Just - just say it. It’s now or never.

Clearing your throat, you spoke in a shaky voice. “Rosinante?”

He hummed, his back still to you,

I can do it. It’s fine - it’ll be fine.

You took a long deep breath. “I … I have something I want to tell you.”

He froze.

Instantly, he knew where the conversation would go before you could utter another word. The thing was Rosinante wasn’t clueless or oblivious to your infatuation with him. He will admit he didn’t at first, however it all clicked. He saw how you clung to each of his words, how you stared at him when you thought he wasn't watching, how you leaned towards him craving his warmth, or how you always sought out his company. He was surprised, yes, and in heavy denial for some time. But, as weeks passed, his observation and theory only solidified.

He could only hope your crush would pass.

Rosinante twisted around. “Please don’t.”

Most of all, Rosinante hoped and prayed his own attraction to you faded. It started as a small bud in his chest. Yet, the more and more you came around, the more you talked and laughed with him, the more the simple infatuation grew. It rooted its vines deep within his heart, taking hold and control of him. He craved your presence constantly, you were becoming his new addiction.

But, it wasn’t right.

Rosinante sighed heavily. Taking his cigarette, he smothered it out in the ashtray. “I know what you’re about to say.”

You blinked. “You do?”

Does he?

He glanced up, staring directly into your eyes. Why were his eyes so sorrowful? Or … pitiful? “You we’re about to make a confession, were you not?”

Embarrassment. White hot searing embarrassment coursed through you. Your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. You quickly dropped your head, hiding your boiling shame. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, nails burying into your palms.

“Please don’t.”

His haunting words replayed on repeat.

Fuck, I was right. Shit -

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing back the tears.

Rosinante frowned. Fuck. Maybe, he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe, he should have let you speak first. But, he was trying to save you some pain. He moved around the counter, hovering by your side. His hand raised to comfort you. However, when he heard the faint sniffles, his heart clenched and his hand dropped.

Damn it.

“Look, it’s -“

You snapped your head up. You smiled, an awfully forced one that didn’t convince Rosinante in the slightest. Taking a deep breath, you tried to swim faster than the typhoon of emotions hurtling through your mind. “No, you don’t have to explain yourself. I - I understand … I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

It was a long shot, an impossible chance. Why did a part of me believe it would work? How delusional could I be?

You spun on your heels to leave, but Rosinante caught your wrist. He tugged you back. His hands cupped your face, forcing you to stay and look at him. He searched in your frantic eyes to see if he overstepped. But, all he saw was pain trying to be bottled up. “I do owe you an explanation, it’s only right,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts, “sweetheart, it’s cliche I know but it’s not you, it’s me … I’m … I’m not right for you.”

Your heart - your conflicted heart - flipped. “… what?”

He sighed, “You are kind and wonderful and amazing -“

And everything I could ever hope for, he thought.

“- but I’m broken. I’m old. I’m scarred. I’m - I’m not whole.”

Unlike you.

His words swirled around in your head. Broken. Old. Scarred. “So?” You asked in a quiet voice.

Rosinante’s eyebrows furrowed.

Pushing down your nerves, you pressed on. “Not everyone is perfect and - and without flaws, do you think I am? Do you think I don’t have some sort of scars whether etched into my skin or across my heart?”

He blinked, taken back by your words.

Just spill it all. He … he already knows.

“Only you make me feel like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze. “Only you can constantly make me laugh and smile, and - and brighten my day. You make me feel seen, heard.”

Rosinante’s heart hammered. “Can - can you look at me?”

Your eyes wearily inched back up. Your eyes were glassy with tears threatening to spill.

He smiled sadly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “Hey, don’t waste your tears on this old fool.”

“Why not?” You muttered, desperately keeping your voice calm. “You’re amazing … why can’t you see that?”

Because I have a complicated past, he bitterly thought. I’m old, past my prime. You deserve better.

“Sweetheart -“

“Please,” you cut him off. “If - if you don’t like me, want me, or - or see me in this way then just please let me go. Don’t make me stay here any longer … but if you do … if you like me in some way … then …”

Your voice trailed off, leaving it up to him to interpret. An admission of his feelings? A kiss? It just had to be some obvious sign. You were trying not to crumble before him.

Please, just let me go.

Rosinante licked his lips. His heart raced sporadically in his chest. What should he do? What was the right thing to do?

To let you go.

To save you - one of his son’s friends - from this broken old man.

But what did he want? What did his heart yearn for?

You. He wanted you, he always wanted you. And maybe this was his only chance at happiness.

Why shouldn’t he at least try?

He leaned down slowly as if waiting for you to run, for you to get out while you could. But, you stayed firm. His face hovered inches above yours. His eyes bore into you searching and deciphering any signs, or tells, that meant regret. He couldn’t. He only saw hope, hope that this wasn’t a fantasy, hope that you could finally love and cherish him as you believed he deserved.

His eyes slid down to your lips, so soft and waiting so patiently. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. His eyes flickered back, locking with yours. “I want this, but tell me,” he whispered desperately; his hand now wrapped around the back of your neck holding you firmly, realizing he didn’t want you to run away now, “tell me you want this. I - I just need to hear you say it.”

You hesitantly reached up, touching the side of his face. His chin was slightly prickly unlike his usual kempt appearance. Your hand traced upwards, threading through his blonde locks - that nearly covered those beautiful rustic red eyes of his. “I want this,” you breathed out. “I want you, scars and all.”

Rosinante crashed his lips against yours. He claimed your lips, pouring all this untapped love into it. He wanted - needed - you to know how much you meant to him, how much he wanted this, and how long he had deprived himself of it. His lips parted, darting his tongue along your lips pleading for entrance. You shakily parted your lips, still surprised this was truly happening. Rosinante hummed, slipping his tongue inside. You whimpered faintly. With your head tipped all the way back to accommodate his height, you were truly at his mercy.

And you loved it.

He eagerly explored your mouth, swirling his tongue wanting to taste every part of you. You clung to him, feeling your knees about to buckle. Chocolate and hints of nicotine blossomed over your tongue. His tongue commanded your attention, yet so did his hands. His dexterous hands glided down your body. He awkwardly hunched forward, but he didn’t mind. He had you, he could hold you, touch you. His hands greedily roamed over you, mapping out the curves and lines of your body. He sneakily cupped your rear and thighs, making you gasp. Rosinante smirked against your lips. A quick squeeze and jerk urged you to jump.

And you did.

The ex-marine lifted you up quite easily. Your legs wrapped so wonderfully around his waist, and you threw your arms over his shoulders. However, he couldn’t make it quite far. Taking only a few steps, he stumbled into the wall. You were far too distracted by his lips and touch, you hadn’t noticed his quick reaction: one of his hands cradled your head, protecting it from the wall.

He pulled away from your lips, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you panted.

He smiled, wide and beautiful, making his eyes crinkled in an adorable way. He was enthralled with you, and this moment. How could you truly be here in his arms, in his grasp? It was a dream, a dream he didn’t want to ever end. “Can we keep going?” He asked, nudging his nose against yours.

“Please,” you answered.

He captured your lips again, but slower. He wanted to memorize the shape and feeling of your lips. There was precision to his movements, a dance. The ex-marine knew how to maintain control, and how to draw everything out. Each stolen breath, each push and pull of his lips, each slow drag of his tongue, each teasing nibble left you clinging to him.

One of his hands slipped under your shirt, skimming up your back. You shivered at his cool calloused fingers. He murmured, “Soft.”

His fingertips drew nonsensical patterns, or so you thought. He purposefully drew hearts and spirals, carving his unspoken love. His hand moved upward before dragging his blunt nails across your back. He so desperately wished to mark your skin, to put his scar on you.

“Can I take off your shirt?” He begged into your swollen lips.

You didn’t answer. Using the wall as leverage, you haphazardly wiggled out of your shirt and tossed it randomly onto the kitchen floor. Excited and dazed, you didn’t bother to wait for him to ask about your bra. You unhooked it, adding it to the pile. His eyes widened, staring down at your breasts with his slightly mouth agape.

Fuck, this is really happening, he thought.

You nervously bit your lip. Your mind began to second guess his silence.

Shit, did I go too far? What if he didn’t -

Rosinante quickly hoisted you higher up then craned his head down. His lips wrapped perfectly around your breast, sucking on it. You sighed, arching your back to better help him. Your fingers slipped into his hair, holding his head close. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach. His tongue circled around your nipple. Your lips and mouth had just learned his sensual dance. Every swipe of his tongue, your body shuddered. He teasingly nipped at the bud, making you gasp. He removed his mouth with an audible ‘pop‘ like he wanted you to know how good you tasted, how much it pained him to break away. Yet, he couldn’t neglect the other. He kissed along your chest, hungrily capturing your other breast.

“Rosi,” you breathed out.

Fuck, he loves how that sounded. How could his name send such intense pleasure skyrocketing through his body? His cock jumped in his pants. Gods, he needed to hear it again, and again, and again. His hands squeezed your ass both trying to hold himself back and as if you forced it out of you.

And it worked.

You whimpered.

Faint, yet so sweet.

Pulling away from your breasts, he rested his forehead against yours. Your chests heaved in an odd symphony. The thinnest space separated your lips, your shared breaths mixed together. His air was yours and your air was his, souls were mingling in such close proximity. His eyes shone, all his emotions now officially and completely bare.

No, more hiding. No more denying.

He stole your lips once again, unable to get enough of them. Humming, you arched your back, pressing your now spit covered breasts into him. The tiny bit of friction of your perked nipples across his rough shirt sent sparks of pleasure down your spine. However, and unfortunately, he broke the kiss far too quickly. You eagerly chased after his lips, needing them. Rosinante hid his amused smile. He kissed down your neck, swiping that devious tongue of his over your sensitive skin. He whispered, “You taste like sugar.”

“I - ah - I may have made a mess earlier,” you admitted. “Butter and sugar got everywhere.”

He chuckled. He wanted to say he expected no less from his sweetheart. Sweetness seemed to always pour from you, and he always wanted to drink from you - to always have a taste. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated taking you here. He could lay you across the kitchen island, pour honey across your skin, especially your breasts, and have his way with you. But, he shelved such an idea.

Not today, another time, he promised himself.

“Upstairs?” He asked into your neck.

“Up - fuck.” Rosi nipped at your skin, gently sucking and soothing the spot. His lips curled into a smirk, a smirk you felt burned into your skin. Your head tipped back into the wall as he continued his sweet assault. How could such a kind, sweet man be so conniving, so sly?

“What was that, sweetheart?” He teased in a low tone.

“Upstairs.” You breathlessly added, “Please.”

“Of course.” He pushed off the wall, delicately carrying you up the stairs.

However, since he was so focused on carrying you, you decided to return such delightful favors. You started by peppering his face in adoring kisses from his cheeks, to his nose, then his lips.

He chuckled with a growing smile, “Sweet girl, you need to stop or I might trip.”

“We’ll be fine,” you brushed him off.

Your lips trailed soft butterfly kisses along his prickly jaw and down his neck. Your sweetness turned sinister. You placed a single open mouth kiss on the crook of his neck. He let out a soft pleased sigh. Your teeth then grazed over his skin. His grip on you tightened. You lightly bit him, feeling a shudder run through his body. Smirking, you sucked - viciously and without remorse - on a sensitive spot ensuring you left your mark on him.

His reaction was perfect. He groaned and stumbled backwards into the wall by his bedroom door. The thud resonated through the still home, so much so a few pictures wobbled on the wall threatening to fall. “Shit,” he hissed.

You continued your attack listening to his heated swears under his breath. Once you felt satisfied, you pulled away, eyeing your red spot with a triumphant grin. It will only darken with time, a lovely reminder. Looking into his eyes, they were blown wide with lust and desire which mirrored your own. Smirking, you teasingly nipped his bottom lip. He swore again. Using one hand, he brought your head closer, attacking your lips with new energy. He pried himself off the wall and rushed into his bedroom. He used his muscle memory stumbling and swaying into the room until his shins hit the edge of his bed. Carefully, he laid you down on his sheets.

So gentle, so delicate.

His lips skimmed down to your heaving chest, between your breasts and to your hips. His fingers followed after his lips, tracing down your sides. Your breath stuttered at his feathery touches. His breath fanned over your lower stomach, hitting the waistband of your pants. His eyes flickered up, peering through his eyelashes.

“Can I?” He whispered in such a loving tone.

You nodded, unable to muster up a single syllable.

He undid the buttons of your pants and tugged them down while you lifted your hips to help. He bit the inside of his cheek. So beautiful. His hands traveled up your legs, squishing your thighs. She’s really here. He then spread your legs a bit, and didn’t miss the dark wet patch on your underwear. His chest burned with desire knowing he was responsible. His finger hooked around the band of your underwear. If he could, he would have torn them off already.

“Can these go next,” he asked, continuing to ensure he had your consent with every step.

Your heart skipped. “Y-yeah.”

He pulled them off as calmly as possible, and tossed them aside. Your cunt was dripping. He swore his mouth started to water. Swallowing, he silently drank in your figure, still reeling you were here. He wanted to ravish you, he wanted to make love to you, he wanted to do it all.

However, for you, the silence pressed on for too long. His blank stare morphed into disinterest in your mind. Insecurities bubbled up as it dawned on you how you were now completely naked before him. Your hands covered your chest and you snapped your legs closed.

What am I -

Rosinante’s eyes widened at your sudden change. He immediately climbed onto the bed, over top of you, and removed your hands from your chest. “Please, don’t,” he breathed out. “I - I’m sorry … you’re just so beautiful.”

Your cheeks and chest flooded with heat. You quickly turned your head to the side, hiding.

He cupped your cheek, turning your head back to him. “You are. Please don’t hide from me.”

His soft expression and kind smile eased back the fears. You slowly nodded.

“Good. Here, it’s only fair.” He leaned back and removed his shirt, adding it to the pile on his floor.

Your breath hitched. Your eyes darted all over, taking him all in. So many scars. You propped yourself up on your elbow, reaching out. You carefully traced over each of them, outlining the rigids and harsh ragged shapes. Rosi watched you intensely. A shiver ran down his spine. You were so delicate, as if he were made of glass. Your face filled with some kind of concentration, one he didn’t fully understand.

You asked softly, “Can … can you flip over?”

Stunned a bit, yet Rosi complied. He rolled onto his back into the squeaky mattress. You swiftly straddled his hips. Before he could ask, you bent down kissing one scar by his ribs. His heart leapt up into his throat. You then methodically kissed every single scar - no matter the size nor how gnarly it appeared - all over his chest. You finished your endeavor by kissing the one near his heart, an almost fatal hit. His heart thrummed beneath your lips, and you felt the elated vibrations. You peered up to see his cheeks flushed a rosy red and his lips parted as he tried to calm his breathing. You had rendered this man - this near mammoth of a man - into an utter mess. He was putty under such touches, touches he had long deprived himself of.

You smiled, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a beat which your heart harmonized with. “I’m sorry, did I -“

“Don’t.” He let out a shaky exhale. “Don’t apologize. I - I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Your hand followed the curve of his chest to a scar on his right shoulder. You, once again, traced the shape. Rosi shuddered. At his reaction, a thought suddenly dawned on you. “Rosi, are your scars sensitive?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, mumbling, “Just a bit.”

Noted.

You held back a devious smirk. Sitting up, you placed your hands on his chest. Your nails raked down.

Maybe I could have some fun -

Rosi’s hands suddenly gripped your hips. He yanked you all the way up his body. A sharp gasp left your lips. Your hands flung out and collided with the wall for support. Your eyes - wide and somewhat confused - dropped down. You now straddled over his face, your knees on either side. His hands wrapped around your thighs and squeezed, letting the fat pool between his fingers. Most importantly, his grip indicated one thing: he was unwilling to let you go.

“Fuck.” He groaned, looking up at your dripping cunt like it was a meal.

Your heart sped up, “Wait, Rosi - I -“

“Sweetheart, I dreamt of this so many times,” he whispered. His breath, each puff of air, sent jolts through your body. “Please, can I have this?”

No one had begged before.

Trying and failing to keep your voice steady, you stuttered out, “I, uh, y-yes - ah!”

Rosinante eagerly yanked you down, unable to wait another second. Humming, his lips wrapped around you. The tip of his tongue swept over your folds, collecting and tasting you. Sparks burst through you.

“Rosinante,” you moaned. How could one single motion left you so vocal?

He smirked at your reaction as he weaved a spell over you. He moaned as he started devouring you. His tongue teasingly traced your folds. You shuddered. He did it once, twice, then pushed his tongue inside of you. He curled his tongue, hitting your spongy walls. You whimpered. Your hands balled up into fists, clawing at the wall. His tongue - long and thick - moved with precision. His age and experience truly showed in his moment. He knew how to work it, how to render you in his beautiful mess.

He hummed. The wondrous vibrations made you moan loudly and unabashedly. A noise you never expected you to make. One of your hands instinctively shot down and latched onto his hair. Mindless on your growing pleasure, you tugged on his strands, making him groan. More vibrations, more dizzying sensations, more of your juices coated his lips and face.

Rosinante nearly rolled his eyes back. Fuck, this was better than his measly dreams. His cock twitched in his pants at each of your sounds. And gods if you tasted and felt this amazing just around his tongue, then how would it feel to be buried inside of you? Precum spilled in his pants at the mere thought.

Pleasure built deep in your stomach. As his tongue expertly moved and curled in and out of you, you lowered yourself more and greedily rocked your hips to chase after the pleasure. He moaned. His fingers dug harshly into your thighs, possibly leaving bruises.

“That’s it, sweetheart, ride my face,” he purred.

Shit.

Rosinante’s eyes darkened. Your walls fluttered around his tongue at his blunt words. He watched your head tip back as a sweet whimper hummed in the back of your throat.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured with a devious smirk.

His words added to the insatiable heat burning you from the inside out. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pornogrpahic moans daring to escape. He continued to watch, unwilling to tear his gaze away. He loved how your breasts bounced, tempting him to feast on him again, how your back curled so elegantly, how your thighs slowly squeezed around him minimizing his world so it was you and you alone, and how your hips stuttered losing concentration at his words, his pet names, and his merciless tongue.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” his voice was low and commanding, drawing up such a tone from his former marine days.

You shakily glanced down at him. Your eyes drooped with lust and desperation, your chest heaved gulping down air, and your mouth hung open as whimpers and moans poured out. To him, you were picture perfect, a sight to behold and cherish.

He turned his head, kissing your thigh. “Good, now can you lean forward for me?”

With a tiny nod, you tipped your hips forward.

”That’s it, good girl.”

Your whole body pulsed. Such praise, such simple words shouldn’t set your body ablaze, and yet you nearly crumble. You already wanted to hear that honey tone pour from his lips again.

His lips wrapped around your swollen clit, sucking on it. You inhaled sharply. His hand then caressed down between your thighs. It trailed down with such a light tough until one of his slender fingers dragged slowly through your soaked lips. You lurched at the feeling. He gingerly pushed his finger in. You shut your eyes tight and bit your lip, almost drawing blood. His finger moved painstakingly slow, both wanting to be careful yet also wanting to tease you closer to that edge.

“More,” you begged, already pushing your hips back. “Please.”

Rosinante happily and easily added a second finger. The wet sounds echoed in the room from him hungrily sucking and licking at your clit, to his fingers being drenched in your juices. It was all too much. You pressed your forehead into the wall, closing your eyes. It held all of your support. You were panting, nearly drooling as pleasure claimed your whole body.

Fuck, Rosinante could come at the sight of you like a horny teenager. His cock ached to be free, to be buried within your walls, to be stroked by your delicate fingers, to be wrapped around your tongue, or perhaps to be smushed between your breasts. He wanted it all. But, he also wanted this. He needed this just as much as you did. His pleasure can wait, he wanted to devote all his energy onto you. He hummed again.

Another moan fell off your lips.

Cracking open your eyes, you were greeted with Rosinante’s red glowing eyes beneath you. He then kissed your clit, softly as if giving one a kiss on the cheek, and cooed, “Be a good girl and come all over my face.”

“Fuck,” you swore. He chuckled, a rich laugh. He crooked his finger, hitting a certain spot. You gasped, seeing stars. “T-There, fuck, right there.”

Rosi immediately zoned onto that spot. His fingers bullied into you with new purpose. Each curl, scissoring, of his fingers snatched your breath away. His tongue and mouth, however, could not be forgotten either. He sucked and swirled his tongue, guiding you closer to the edge. You tightened your grip on his hair, nails scraping along his scalp. And he could only moan. Pleasure and pain tangled so well together.

You mewled, “Rosi, I - I about to come.”

“Give it to me,” he growled.

The pressure built and built, and you quickly abandoned all caution and care. You began to grind back on his fingers, practically humping his face. A fog was casted over your mind, only able to think of your pleasure. Rosinante moaned, fueling your end.

Yes, use me, he thought.

A few more pumps of his slender fingers, mixed with his constant attack on your clit, you cried out his name gushing all over his face. The edges of your vision blurred with stars. Rosinante swiftly pulled out his fingers and greedily drank you up. He groaned, enjoying every drop. He feasted until your legs were shaking, ready to topple over and you were whimpering and jerking from the intense overstimulation.

He thankfully - and finally - stopped. He lifted you up and off his face, laying you down on the bed. He then littered your heavy tired body with kisses as you came back to your senses. He kissed your cheek then forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, tossing him a lopsided smile. “I’m good.”

Great. Fantastic. Amazing.

He smiled, giving you a short kiss. He continued his conquest kissing down your neck and chest. You sighed dreamily, threading your fingers through his hair. Your desires, however, were being reignited by every kiss. You still craved more, you wanted him all.

“I want you,” you whispered softly.

He lifted his head with some hesitancy behind his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t been more sure in your life.

“Ok,” he smiled, giving you a quick peck on your lips.

Standing up, you finally could drink in the full sight of him. The years had been so kind to him. He was like a Greek god: golden hair kissed by Apollo and Helios, a rugged physique that battled Ares’s, a booming laughter rivaling Zeus’s own thunder, a voice so rich and luscious like ambrosia poured directly from Dionysus’s cup, and all of it wrapped together and blessed by Aphrodite’s touch.

He was beautiful, more than beautiful he was ethereal.

He tugged down his pants, along with his boxers. Your eyes trailed down to chest, to his stomach, to the thin patch of darker blonde strands to his hard cock - long and thick, matching his already intimidating height. His tip red and swollen as precum leaked out, a sign of your effect on him.

You swallowed nervously.

Would he fit?

Rosinante’s ego inflated at your stunned reaction. He kicked aside the clothing, unfortunately his clumsy curse returned momentarily. Getting tripped up, he toppled sideways, crashing to the ground. You immediately sprung up. Before you could think to ask if he was okay, he propped himself up. His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. He huffed, resting his chin on the edge of the bed.

Smooth, he sarcastically thought to himself.

You bit your lip then bursted out into laughter. You know you shouldn’t, yet you shouldn’t have expected anything less. He perked up, and smiled at your infectious laugh. You crawled over to him, sitting back on your knees. You cupped his face, bending down kissing him softly. Pulling away, Rosinante looked at you as if you brought upon his salvation, as if you were an oasis in the desert of his life.

“Are you okay?” You asked, still concerned about him.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“Good.”

Still holding his face, you gently drew him with you, urging him back on the bed. He listened to your silent command. You fell backward, scooting up the bed while he slowly crawled over top of you.

“Are you sure?” He repeated.

You threw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him down. “Yes, I want you. Like I said, scars and all.”

His heart melted. He kissed your nose. His hand slid down your side, sending ripples of anticipation. He guided your leg over his hip. He gave your thigh a quick reassuring squeeze. He will happily take the lead in this dance, he will ensure you are cared for. There will be no misstep.

He lowered his hips, brushing the tip of his cock over your dripping folds. You shivered at the size and warmth of him. He teasingly rubbed through your folds and over your clit, enjoying how his precum mixed with your first orgasm. Your nails sunk into his skin. Crescent shapes adorned his body with more marks to come.

“We’ll take it slow, ok?” He whispered.

“Ok,” you mumbled, beginning to lose yourself all over again.

He reached down grabbing the base of his cock, and slowly pushed the head of it in. You bit the inside of your cheek. It stung. The stretch was unlike anything you had experienced or felt.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he spoke, reading your expression and feeling the tenseness of your body.

You panted, ”Keep going.”

You wanted this.

Listening, he pushed in further. A sharp hiss left your lips. You clawed at his back, red ribbons added to the jagged pale scars. Rosinante almost stopped, fearfully he was hurting you too much.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. The sting had begun to subside as pleasure whisked you away.

Rosinante again listened to you. He may lead this dance but he had a partner he must be attentive too. You whimpered, shutting your eyes and adjusting to his size. Your heel dug into the meat of his calf, pleading him to keep going. With one final push, Rosinante was completely in filling you to the brim. He panted heavily over top of you. He watched as your face contorted from minor pain to absolute pleasure. Opening your eyes, you were met with pure unfiltered love, a culmination of months upon months of locked feelings, of denial and heartache.

It was finally all unburden, and unchained.

Breathless, you both stared at each other unmoving. Neither of you could. You both desperately wanted to stay here, to preserve such a memory and feelings. He filled you, your senses utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of him. And your body welcomed him in return.

It was as if you were made for each other.

Rosinante hid his face in your shoulder, exhaling shakily. Shit, I feel like I could come right now.

“I’m going to move now,” he grunted into your neck.

“Please.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly moved his hips. His thick cock dragged through your walls before thrusting back in.

You whimpered.

“I got you,” he whispered. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

“Just - just please don’t stop.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. His hips increased in speed, spurring stars to burst in the corners of your eyes. Your mouth hung open as a silent moan spilled out. His cock stretched and filled you leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake. You wrapped your other legs around his hip, clinging to him. You were immediately becoming drunk and desperate on such pleasures. And Rosinante wanted to give you everything, to have you consumed by pleasure. He curled over you, pressing his forehead against yours. Lifting your hips, he hit a new angle, deeper and far more intimate.

“F-Fuck, Rosi,” you moaned. You clawed harshly at his back. An apology sat on your tongue, but every thrust left you mewling. You could only babble his name or curses.

Rosinante glanced down, seeing your stomach bulge at the size of his cock. “S-Shit, sweetheart,” he moaned. “You’re taking me so well. Look.”

You peered down. The debauchery sight left you speechless. His hips slapped deliciously against yours. Your stomach bulged every time his cock disappeared back in. And when he pulled out, you saw how his cock was slick and coated with your mixed juices. Not to mention at this new angle, the tuft of his snail trail rubbed wondrously against your clit only furthering your pleasures.

Fuck.

Whimpering, your head fell back into the bed. You bucked your hips, matching his thrusts. Rosinante whimpered, almost unnoticeable. “Fuck, just like that.”

He grabbed your hands, prying them off his back and pinning them to the bed. His fingers interlocked with yours, and squeezed your hands. He captured your lips, kissing you sweetly and pouring all of his love into it. His mouth, his hands, were passionate, and yet his hips were so sinful. The trio constantly stole your breath, leaving you in such a messy state.

Breaking the kiss, he smiled down at you. Still boyish, despite the years on him. Hearts danced in his eyes, and you knew you were the same. Every movement, every thrust, every shared breath, every touch - no matter how minuscule - was written with love.

And he was beginning to love watching you squirm on his cock.

He bent his head, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your eyes rolled back. The stretch of his cock, the grinding on your clit, the swirl of his tongue on your breast, each sensation brought you closer and closer to the edge. Each delicious friction melted your mind, and your body could only react. Your own well-timed thrusts started to waver as desperation sunk into your bones.

You whined faintly, “Rosi, so close.”

He popped off your breast. “I know, sweetheart, come on. Come around my cock.”

You shivered, lolling your head to the side.

“Be my good girl,” he purred into your ear, rolling his hips. “Come on, sweet girl, come on my cock.”

Your walls fluttered around him, warning him. He gritted his teeth, holding back his own pleasure. He needed to feel you come first. He snapped his hips with new fever, hitting the perfect spot. You gasped loudly. Blinding pleasure covered your senses. Rosinante saw your beautiful reaction and continued to hit the same spot over and over. His pace was unwavering, he needed to see and feel you come.

“Make a mess on me,” he moaned.

You tightened your grip on his hands, digging your nails into him. You squirmed and writhed on his cock. You whimpered as your orgasm approached quickly. Rosinante groaned in your ear, whispering such sinful things. You bucked your hips up just as he snapped his hips, and it all came crashing down.

Shutting your eyes tight, you walls clamped down as you cried out his name. He kissed you, swallowing up your moans and cries. He then kissed your cheek where a tear glided down, to your forehead, and finally nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “I got you, sweetheart.”

His hips continued to pump into you, letting you ride out your orgasm. It was a beautiful sight. Your body convulsed as pleasure consumed you and as each additional pump stole your breath. Your eyes fluttered open to see your god still hovering above you, giving you everything.

But, it was his turn now.

“Fill me,” you muttered weakly drunk on pleasure.

“W-What?” Rosinante’s eyes widened and his hips stuttered at your words.

Freeing your hands, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You dragged him down pecking his lips. “I want to feel you, Rosi,” you whispered.

His cock twitched inside of you.

“Please,” you begged softly. You arched your back, trying to take him deeper. Your hands glided down his back, pressing into his chest. Your hands roamed touching his scars, the ones you had memorized only moments ago. Your thumb grazed over his nipple, making him hiss. You nibbled on his ear, “Fill me, Rosi.”

His jaw clenched. He kissed you heatedly, pushing his tongue inside to re-explore your mouth. His large hands grabbed your hips, most likely bruising them in the process. But, you didn’t mind. He guided your hips, matching his new pace with more vigor and unrestraint. You moaned, drawing your nails down his chest.

A mere taste of this side of him was addicting. He could be loving, but he could be a monster. A monster you wished to learn in full some day.

Abandoning all his resolve, he pumped wildly into you. He couldn’t help it. Your words let a fire inside of him, and he had been holding back for so long. He muttered out an apology, afraid he might be hurting you. Yet, you took it all. You smiled up at him as he used you.

“Please, Rosi, I want to feel you,” you moaned.

He shuddered. Fuck, how could someone so sweet be so sinful? With a few more deep thrusts, he came, moaning out your name. He slowed down his pace until he buried himself deep within you, coating your walls.

Just like you asked.

Taking a second, you both stared at each other sweaty and out of breath. Rosinante carefully removed himself, and you squirmed at the abrupt emptiness. He rolled off of you, flopping onto the bed. But, he snatched you up, bringing you with him. You yelped, surprised by it. He settled you onto his chest, and your shock vanished. Sigh deeply, you nuzzled into his chest savoring this moment. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, listening to how his heartbeat slowly evened out. His fingers soon skimmed up and down along your spine.

It was peaceful, it was heavenly.

You each shared one thought: mine. Each of you unbeknownst to the other swore the same vow, to always make sure the other smiled and is to be loved for eternity. Perhaps, later down the road, such vows will be spoken aloud. But for now, you kept these secret promises to both of your chests.

Unfortunately, serenity was short lived for you. A thought, a more drastic one, occurred to you. Lifting your head, you nervously said, “Rosi? I - I think there’s still one thing we should at least talk about.”

He hummed, peering down at you.

“… like how are we going to tell the others? Especially Law?”

Rosinante flinched. He sighed heavily. His arms wrapped around you, firmly drawing your head back down. “We can worry about that later, I just want to stay right here a bit longer.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. You buried your head back into his chest whispering, “Ok.”

Your eyes spotted a scar near your face, specifically the one by his heart. You began to trace over it, memorized by the feeling and knowing you alone could do this.

“I like them,” you admitted quietly.

His heart skipped. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “It means you survived and you’re here.”

With me.

He gave you a gentle squeeze. His lips brushed over your hair, kissing the top of your head. “And I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Closing your eyes, you smiled and kissed his scar. “Good.”

*****

“Law, please!”

Law huffed as Evelyn tugged on the back of his shirt. She had called him after his shift, asking him to come over. He wanted to go home, and into his bed, but she kept insisting. He agreed, however, as time dragged on doing little to nothing at her home, he decided to leave.

And for some reason, she decided to join him.

She begged the whole time to turn the car around, to go somewhere else, but he kept on driving home. He didn’t care, she could catch a ride back to her own home. Once parked, Law hopped out of his car, marching up the driveway with her bizarrely pleading.

“Look, I’m tired and …,” he paused, spotting a familiar car. One he didn’t see at her home, but oddly was parked here. “Why is she here?”

Eve flinched.

Law peered over his shoulder, staring down at her. But, she avoided his piercing gaze. He glared at her obvious guilty expression. She knew something. “What do you know?”

She blurted out, “Nothing!”

He tsked, “Lair.”

Law shook off her grasp then opened the front door. Stepping in, Eve quickly darted around trying to push on his chest but to no avail. Law walked further into the home. He didn’t see anyone, and nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Where …,” his voice trailed off when he stepped into the kitchen. His eyes instantly spotted something on the floor: a shirt and bra.

Eve whipped her head around. Her eyes widened at the pair of clothing, both shocked and happy for you.

Law’s face, however, scrunched up in disgust at the thought of what his dad had been doing. He huffed, clicking his tongue, “Idiots better not have done anything in the kitchen.”

Scanning the floor, he luckily couldn’t find any pants which brought some relief. Sighing, he spun around, heading back towards the front door.

Eve blinked, “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Do you want to stay and find them?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

She blushed, “Um, no … not really.”

“Figured, now let’s go.” He glanced back at her. “You can buy me dinner.”

She gasped, “I will not.”

“I’m driving, so either you stay here and find them or you pay.”

She pouted and grumbled, following after him. However, Evelyn sent you a kind thought as she left.

I’m happy for you.

[moonbeamwritings]

Satoru has never gotten into your bed gently; has never sunk into the mattress without a bounce, without jostling the plush surface with an audible oof and pulling you from the depths of sleep. Never. Not once.

And tonight is no different.

It’s an impossible task for him, it seems. Like trying to breathe underwater or pick something to watch on TV. And the worst part of it all is that you know he’s doing it on purpose. No matter how hard you may try to will yourself to sleep through it or how much you may complain when he finally settles beside you, the man is unrelenting. A pain in the ass, even at one in the morning. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so damn annoying.

“Satoru,” you warn, though it’s not as threatening as you hope it would be. You blink over at him with heavy lids, tone dripping with exhaustion. “Must you do that every time you get into bed late?”

He has the audacity to think about it. “Mm, well I suppose I don’t have to,” he coos, voice low like he’s trying to lull you back to sleep. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t wake up my little sweetheart to give them a goodnight kiss when I got home?”

“A better one?”

Your eyes slip closed as if shutting them will make him disappear (or shut up). It doesn’t. Instead, it only serves to spur the sorcerer on. Now, Satoru crowds your space, wrapping you into a tight bundle and pulling you so close your nose squishes against his cheek.

He’s entirely scandalized by your rebuttal, gasping in your ear as if you’ve just told him the most offensive insult imaginable. “I can’t believe you’d say that about your dashing boyfriend.” As if to prove his point, Satoru pulls you away only to drag you back in to plant multiple exaggerated pecks against your cheek, a sappy muah sound accompanying each one.

They leave wet lip prints in their wake that you’re too tired to rub away. Eyes still closed, you furrow your brows, accepting your fate as you cuddle into the curve of his throat – right beneath his chin.

“My dashing boyfriend who can’t do anything quietly to save his life.”

“Hey,” he whines into your hair. “I can be quiet!”

“Oh yeah? Then let’s play the quiet game.”

You can feel him hum somewhere deep in his chest as he thinks it over. “What do I get if I win?”

Your limbs feel heavy as you rest your arm across his stomach, curling your hand around the hem of his shirt. You can only muster enough energy to mumble, “Winner gets breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

“Ooo, okay,” Satoru presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Be prepared to make me a huge stack of pancakes tomorrow, baby.”

“Mhm, fine. 

“With extra chocolate chips.”

"’kay.”

“And,” A hand ruffles your hair. “A lil extra love, maybe?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Without opening your eyes, you can tell there’s a retort brewing in Satoru’s, and you stop it before it has the chance to fill the air. “Quiet game starts now.”

The room immediately falls into silence, only broken by the soft sound of your combined breathing. Satoru’s warmth and the steady movement of his chest as he breathes — up, down, up, down — bring you right back to sleep’s door, as if Satoru hadn’t woken you up at all. Maybe the quiet game had been the answer this whole time. You kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

You nuzzle closer, nose brushing against his collar bone as you feel yourself drift off, but right before you completely fall into the clutches of exhaustion, you hear a tiny voice mumble, “Love you.”

It’s punctuated with another kiss to the crown of your head and a warm palm gliding up and down your back, and you can only bring yourself to tighten your hold on his shirt before you fall asleep.

The next morning, you awake to an empty bed and the sweet smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air.

[slushycoookie]

Late Night Trip ~ Miguel O'Hara x GN! Reader

A/N: A drawing from @scwibbs inspired me to write about going to the store late at night with Miguel. All because he wanted some more ice cream. I hope you all enjoy it!

“Amor? Do we have any more ice cream?”

You paused the movie, the frame stopping right before the part where a woman gets stabbed to death. You removed yourself from the couch and walked into the kitchen, where Miguel dug in the freezer. Only in his boxers.

“Yeah, I saw some yesterday.”

He huffed as he continued to search, “Well, I don't see it.” You pushed him aside, knowing he had tunnel vision when it came to looking for something in the house. Lucky for him, you remembered the exact place you saw it last night: sandwiched between frozen broccoli and the ice maker. But the pint of strawberry cheesecake wasn't there.

“Hold on, it was right there. What happened to it?”

Miguel didn’t look at you, “If you're talking about the strawberry cheesecake, I ate that one yesterday.”

“What?” Your head flickered, annoyed, “How did you eat that one already? We just bought that one.”

He rubbed the nape of his neck, “Late night hours at HQ.” Your fingers rubbed circles on the sides of your forehead. Miguel was the king of late-night snacking, especially if he was working late.

“Well, no ice cream for us then.” You accepted defeat, going back to your comfortable place on the couch to get ready to finish the horror movie.

Miguel had other plans. “I’ll go out and get some more.”

As he disappeared into your room, you perked your head up, about to protest. It was past midnight when you checked your phone. “It’s late.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Oh I know you will.” You stood, going into your room to grab a jacket, dressed in your t-shirt and pajama pants. “That’s why I’m coming with. I want some more snacks.” As you slipped your multi-colored covered feet into some slides, Miguel was ready to go. He resorted to simple sweatpants and a shirt, wearing matching black slides. Oh and he couldn’t forget his shades.

“You’re not going overboard.”

You raised a brow at him, “This is coming from the person who’s about to go out to get ice cream. At night.”

“Because I want some.” He stated, taking your hand and leaving the house.

There was a convenience store a block away. It was open until 3 a.m., enough time for you two to grab some goodies and go. Cool air brushed along your jacket as you walked beside Miguel. The atmosphere was quiet, crickets singing in your ears and the moon shining down on both of you. Hardly anyone was out at the moment. You didn’t see many cars in the store's parking lot when you went inside.

Miguel’s hand didn’t leave yours as he dragged you to the freezer aisle. Your eyes blinked multiple times to get used to the strong fluorescent lighting. The cashier’s hello drowned in the background from the vibrating hum of the freezers. He had to get his favorites, the strawberry cheesecake, banana bonanza, and tres leche. Your eyes caught triple chocolate fudge and dream boat, so he grabbed those too. Both of you noticed champagne, a flavor neither of you tried yet. Soon, his arms were covered in pints of ice cream.

“We should’ve gotten a basket.”

After a basket was acquired, you made a beeline for the chips. Throwing a bunch of bags of flaming hot ones inside, your favorite.

“You know, I heard they can mess up your stomach lining if you eat them too much.” You glared at your spouse, putting a bag back. Ignoring his smug look, you caught a little shelf of ramen on the other side. It wasn’t much to browse through, but there was no need. You saw that signature black packaging, grabbing the remaining two.

Miguel tsked when he saw the ramen packages you were holding, “I can't eat those. They're too spicy.”

“See, that's the white in you saying that because these aren't that hot.” You quipped back while he rolled his eyes. He took the packaging from your hands and tossed it in the basket. Being the nice partner that you were, you also grabbed the less spicy ones, the packaging sporting a green color.

Moving on to candy, you snagged a few bags of gummy bears. Stashing some chocolate bars too. Miguel picked up some hard candy, liking to suck on a few throughout his day.

“Are we done?” He asked, motioning to how much stuff was in the basket. It was almost overflowing if you put one more thing in it.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

As you two made your way up to the cashier, who wasn’t paying attention to you and was watching videos on his phone, you stopped at the beverage aisle. You smacked your lips, feigning thirst, before grabbing two bottles of a mystery-flavored cola.

The cashier's eyes went wide at the number of items you had, but he had no issues ringing you two up. You didn’t make eye contact with your husband as the beeping lingered in your ears, but you felt his eyes.

Still, he took your hand, carrying the bags as you traveled home. While walking, you opened one of the sodas and took a swig to taste the mystery flavor. Hints of cotton candy lingered on your tongue with a mix of cherry? Or was that blueberry? You needed to ask an expert.

“Here, taste this.” You placed the bottle to his lips so he could take a sip.

Miguel felt the flavor, tasting like he had a sip of wine. His eyes lowered in mild thought, his lips pursed. “It’s blueberry-flavored cotton candy.”

“I knew it.”

Once you all got back inside, you threw your slippers off, grabbed your bag of hot chips, and jumped on the couch. After putting the snacks away, Miguel sat beside you, holding the tres leche ice cream and two spoons. Both of you got comfortable and resumed the movie, treating the outing as a success.