#and then having a v clear soft spot for u - the man is in deep 😳

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[peaceeandcoolestvibes]

Yeah like one thing doesn’t mean the other but I find weird how contradictory the info his friends gave to these girls (‘he’s taken pls’ ‘his wife is gorgeous pls stay away’ ‘girl😳’ ’he’s taken’) while telling me the opposite or just doing weird shit to get us together LFMALZ 🥴😌

The damn staring 🫡😭

This sis @peaceeandcoolestvibes bags the men everyone ones. It’s incredible but she’s gorgeous inside and out so no wonder 😭 enjoy him lmao

[jared-19-cant-reid]

Sunday Kind of Love

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You need a date to your sister’s wedding, and Spencer begrudgingly agrees to help you out. Your feelings for him become difficult to hide, and Spencer really commits to his role as your “boyfriend”.

Word Count: 5.3K

Content Warnings: Family conflict, minor angst, unprotected sex, Dom!Spencer/Sub!Reader, bondage, daddy kink, spitting, choking, breath play, exhibitionism/public sex, teensy bit of sacrilege

Author’s Note: This fic idea came to me while I was listening to “A Sunday Kind of Love” by Etta James, so I’d highly recommend listening to it if you read the fic. Gives you the ~vibe~. Anyway, this is way longer than I expected but Spencer and reader deserved the extra time! I hope u enjoy :)

~

“C’mon, just make an appearance with me!” You pleaded. “It’s just one night! How bad can it be?” I didn’t even believe the words as they came out of my mouth.

Morgan snorted at that, shaking his head as he moved to exit the bullpen. “Sorry, kid. I love you, but I am not spending my night off at your bitchy sister’s wedding.” 

You sighed, reluctantly stepping aside to allow him to leave. Beginning to lose hope, you turned to your only remaining coworker. Spencer was still sitting at his desk, busying himself with organizing drawers and repositioning folders to avoid meeting your gaze as you approached his desk.

“Spencer, please come with me tonight. I can’t deal with my sister alone, and I think I might die if I have to explain to her that the guy I told her I was bringing ghosted me last week.” As you spoke, you watched him try to think of a way to protect your feelings without going. In the year you’d worked at the BAU you’d come to see everyone on the team as family, but it was Reid you felt closest to. When he didn’t respond immediately, you put your hand on his shoulder. “Spence, I need you.” You spoke quietly, but he heard you clearly.

He looked up at you at your last words, visibly conflicted. You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and he sighed, standing up. Knowing you had won, you threw your arms around his neck in a hug, nearly sending the two of you tumbling over in your enthusiasm. He tentatively wrapped his arms around you, returning the gesture of affection. 

His touch brought with it feelings of peace and happiness that you had come to associate with Spencer. Your smile grew impossibly wider as you thanked him a million and one times, squeezing him tightly as you felt relief spread through your body. Forcing yourself to pull away, you noticed his lips had quirked up into a small smile at your reaction.

“You know, almost twenty percent of weddings are called off. There’s still a chance it won’t even happen.” Spencer mumbled as you walked out together. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or himself. As you reached the garage, you thanked him again for agreeing to be your date. He just nodded, visibly nervous about the event.

You stopped him before he could start walking to the metro. “Let me drive you home,” you insisted, “it’ll be faster and we can talk over our game plan on the way!”

“Game plan?” He questioned, amused at your choice of words.

“Just pretend we’re going undercover on a case! We’ll get into character and everything. This can be fun if we make it fun.” Spencer seemed unconvinced, but he followed you to your car.

As you drove to his place, Spencer seemed to relax as he started to plan, happy to gain some control over the situation. You knew he hated big events, especially ones with a lot of strangers, but your deep dislike for most of your sister’s invite list meant you’d at least suffer together. Pulling up to the curb, you said a quick goodbye, telling him to be ready in an hour.

When you got home, you jumped through the shower, scrubbing off the stress of the work day to allow family-related stress to take its place. You quickly blew your hair dry, putting more effort into your hair and makeup than you usually did. As you reached your closet, you scanned your dresses for one that would match the maroon tie Spencer planned on wearing. A smile spread across your lips when you spotted it, your fingers toying with the soft fabric as you imagined Spencer’s reaction when he saw it. 

You tried to push the thought away, sighing at your own hopelessness. You’d been trying to bury your feelings for Spencer ever since you joined the BAU, but it was a losing battle. You found it impossible to ignore him, despite your efforts to remain neutral in his presence. Your heart swelled at the excitement shining in his soft hazel eyes, skipped a beat at the sight of his tongue resting between his lips in concentration, and stopped altogether at the way his hands moved and flexed when he spoke. The opportunity to spend this much one-on-one time with Spencer in what you were sure would be an incredibly flattering suit was almost worth the stress of dealing with your family. 

You slipped on the soft satin dress, admiring how it hugged your curves and flowed around your legs. The plunging v-neck was flattering, but tasteful enough to stave off disapproving looks from older guests, leaving you comfortable and confident. You stood in front of the mirror, taking in your appearance as you would a stranger’s. The face that looked back at you was friendly but tense, hands fiddling restlessly with the soft fabric of your dress. It didn’t take a profiler to see you needed to relax.

Taking a deep breath, you cleared your mind, taking a few minutes to give your mind rest and ground yourself. Opening your eyes again, your reflection looked much more peaceful, nodding as you decided you were ready to leave. As you drove to Spencer’s, you felt your heartbeat quickening, this time from excitement instead of stress. 

Knocking softly, you were surprised to hear Spencer’s footsteps already nearing you, as if he had been waiting by the door. As he stepped outside, your breath hitched. You shouldn’t be so affected by the sight of him, it’s not like he’d never worn a suit in front of you before. It was mostly the look on his face that struck you, his lips slightly parted and eyes scanning your body as he took in the sight of you. 

“So what do you think? Good enough to pass for a put-together adult who hasn’t been dreading this day for months?” You asked.

He took a second to respond. “Y-yeah, you… you definitely shouldn’t worry about it. I mean you look great- not that you don’t usually look great it’s just-”

You interrupted him for his own sake, giggling a soft “thank you, Spence. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Understatement of the century.

Soft music played through the speakers in your car, soothing your nerves as you hummed along to “A Sunday Kind of Love” quietly. You almost jumped when you heard Spencer begin to hum with you. 

“You know this song?! I didn’t know you listened to any non-classical music!” You exclaimed, unreasonably excited at your discovery.

“I’ve heard you listening to Etta James on the jet a couple times, so I checked out a couple of her songs,” Spencer said simply. You tried to pretend your heart hadn’t just exploded at the implications behind his words. You couldn’t trust your voice to mask your overflowing adoration for the man beside you, so you just smiled and began to sing along quietly.

Oh I'm hoping to discover

A certain kind of lover

Who will show me the way

Lost in the music, you were surprised for the second time that car ride by Spencer’s voice joining yours to sing the chorus. Your eyes shot to his face, but he kept his eyes forward, a small smile the only sign he’d seen your reaction. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face as you sang with him, his attempts at melody bringing a smile to your face. The words seemed to gain meaning as your voices joined together, both looking forward but focused fully on each other.

To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold

Love for all my life to have and to hold

Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love

Before you knew it, you had arrived. It was as if the bubble that had protected you from the reality of the situation had popped, leaving you exposed to the harsh world that lay waiting for you. Spencer reached out and squeezed your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence, his support, unwavering as you faced the night together.

Nodding slightly, you let go of his hand and stepped out of the car. Spencer walked beside you to the entrance of the church, close enough that you could feel his body heat. As you got closer, you groaned internally at the sight of your mother. 

A fake smile stretched across her lips, nodding at a woman whose outfit was so brightly colored you nearly had to look away from the glare. Her smile dropped for a split second when she saw you, but quickly returned with twice the artificial sweetness as before. She called out your name, voice straining with the effort it took to sound happy to see you. 

“This can’t be the boy you’ve been seeing! Much more handsome than I expected, how much did he cost you? Just kidding, of course.” Her laugh was somehow faker than her smile. You saw Spencer tense up beside you, and opened your mouth to correct her. She wouldn’t openly admit it, but you were sure your mother would be smug about the fact you and Spencer were just friends.

Before you could say anything, Spencer’s next words sent you reeling.

“Actually, I’m her boyfriend. Glad to finally meet you.” He said as politely as he could, though you could tell he disliked her already. Spencer had never had much patience for people who made jokes at others’ expense. 

You were still processing what he’d just said when his arm wrapped around you, gripping your waist. The feeling of his hands on your body was almost too much for you, and you struggled to pay attention as your mother smiled and made smalltalk with Spencer that walked the line between passive aggressiveness and outright hostility.

You finally registered what was happening when your mother made some excuse to leave, off to emotionally torture a new victim. Your head whipped to face Spencer, your mouth hanging open, confusion written on your face. 

“Why did you-” you began, interrupted by Spencer’s panicked words laced with regret.

“I’m so sorry, I know we didn’t plan on pretending to be a couple tonight, but she just seemed so smug about it and I wasn’t thinking clearly and I just-” he rushed out. Now it was your turn to cut him off.

“Spencer, thank you. I’m not mad, I promise.” You leaned into his chest, the arm still wrapped around you tightening. “I guess we’ll just have to pretend we’re dating for the rest of tonight, though.”

The two of you slowly made your way into the church, stopping a few times to chat with relatives who called out to you. Everyone was charmed by Spencer, who played the part of your boyfriend remarkably well. You found seats on the right, farthest from the aisle in an attempt to limit your interaction with other guests. Sitting down, you remembered how uncomfortable church pews were, the hours you’d spent in mass with your family all coming back to you now. 

Looking around, however, you were reminded of what had gotten you through it. The stained glass windows that surrounded you created a kaleidoscope in your field of vision, capturing your attention for long enough to forget why you had been uncomfortable in the first place. You looked back at Spencer to find him already looking at you, sending a small blush to your cheeks. 

“Did you know that stained glass was originally used in Catholic churches to tell stories from the Bible visually for the benefit of illiterate churchgoers? During the English Reformation, many stained glass windows were smashed and destroyed as part of the 1547 Injunctions against images. In fact, all images in churches were ordered to be removed. If it weren’t for that period in history, more stained glass would likely have- sorry, I’m doing it again.” Spencer’s eyes were cast down at the floor, only to shoot back up to your face when he felt your hand on his.

“I like listening to you. Why did they want to destroy all the images in churches?” You asked, leaving Spencer speechless for a second, seemingly unable to process your request for him to continue his rambling. With a small smile, he continued to explain the importance of the English Reformation to religious art as you watched him adoringly.

The ceremony started all too soon, pulling your attention to the front of the church. As you and Spencer listened to the seemingly endless stream of anecdotes about love and life that the pastor had clearly spent years reciting, your eyes started to glaze over. You pushed thoughts about marriage and family and religion out of your mind, preferring emptiness. Your mind didn’t stay blank for long, though.

Apparently Spencer had noticed your change in mood, because he brought his hand to rest on your thigh in a comforting gesture of solidarity. Unfortunately, you were unable to respond in any way, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand flattened against the satin fabric of your dress.  His thumb beginning to rub small circles into your skin, you felt your heart rate quicken. The warmth he brought to your thigh began to spread through your body, suddenly finding the church unbearably hot. 

Spencer seemed unaffected by the room’s sudden warming, keeping his gaze locked on the happy couple. You took a shaky breath and tried to calm yourself down, reminding yourself that you were overreacting to what was likely a completely platonic display of affection. The ceremony seemed to drag on for hours, but that might have had something to do with the constant effort it took to mask the desire and panic that Spencer’s touch had ignited in you. 

You were broken from your trance of concentration by the feeling of his hand inching higher on your leg. Whipping your head around to face him, his gaze remained fixed on the pastor, pressing his lips together to hide a smirk. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt Spencer’s hand slowly make its way up your thigh, paralyzed by shock and desperation. His grip tightened as he glanced at your face, reading your reaction to his touch. Before you had a chance to respond, it was withdrawn, the world around you coming back into focus as everyone began to clap. The ceremony was over. 

When you went to stand up after the recessional, you nearly stumbled on your weak legs. Spencer stabilized you, guiding you through the pews and through the hallways with his hand on your lower back. As you followed the crowd to the banquet hall, the gears in your mind were turning slower than usual, as if they had rusted in the time you hadn’t allowed them to work through the idea of Spencer returning your feelings. Finding your seats, you and Spencer were faced with one of the greatest challenges of your night: extended conversation with your family and their similarly judgemental friends.

The overlapping chatter of so many people at once was clearly bothering Spencer, but he stuck it out for your sake. You felt a tug in your chest at the thought of the effort it must be taking for him to stay in such an uncomfortable situation. He played his part beautifully, though, responding to the borderline offensive questions directed at you politely but firmly, protecting you from their attacks. Your sister would usually have led the onslaught, but thankfully she was preoccupied yelling at the photographer for some suggestion she’d taken as a personal slight. 

When Spencer struggled to answer questions about your “relationship”, you took over. He had never been a good liar, and while you loved that about him, you knew it could blow your cover if you allowed him to continue.

In your story, the two of you still worked at the BAU, having started dating a few months after you joined. You threw in small details from your countless daydreams, centering them around real events so that the tale was completely believable. Maybe too believable, you worried, feeling Spencer’s eyes on you as you talked. Under the protection of a lie, you had finally been free to speak the truth, pouring a year’s worth of pining and affection into your words as you concocted a love story you wished was real. 

You heard a band start to play, a bluesy vocalist at the center of the ensemble. The music filled the hall as the newlyweds rose for their first dance. A small crowd gathered around the pair as they moved in synchrony, every step practiced and planned. A few songs later, many couples were swaying together, tonight’s celebration of love bringing out the romantic in most. 

You turned to Spencer, nodding your head at the band. “We should probably dance for a song or two, just for appearance’s sake.” Spencer looked uncomfortable, but nodded and followed you closer to the source of the music.

Raising your hand to his shoulder while his landed on your hip, you felt a warmth spread through you as you joined hands. Fingers intertwining, you began to move along with the slow song that had been playing, stumbling at first but moving more smoothly as time went on. You had no idea how many songs passed while the two of you swayed, apprehension and desire swirling in the air between you. It took a second for you to notice it, but as soon as you did, Spencer’s small smile told you he had as well. 

The smooth vocals of the singer sounded even more lovely on Etta James’s familiar melody, filling you with an intense emotion you couldn’t put words to.

I want a Sunday kind of love

A love to last past Saturday night

And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight

And I want a Sunday kind of love

The feeling in your chest grew as you looked into Spencer’s eyes as the song continued, your chest threatening to burst with whatever magical dust you’d inhaled from the shared breath between your faces. Wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, you were overcome with a feeling of safety and contentment as he returned your embrace. You swayed together as you began to ponder the cliches you’d always despised, begrudgingly admitting that you now understood the sentiment that nothing in the world mattered but the two of you.

As the song ended, you gathered up all the courage you had, and spoke before your mind could think through the possible negative outcomes of what you were suggesting.

“I need to tell you something,” you started. You felt his grip on you tighten, as if afraid what you would say next would take him from you, but he let you continue. “I think I love you, Spencer.”

He didn’t respond, but you felt him pull away from you. You felt cold without the contact, but it was nothing compared to the loss you felt in your chest as you realized what you’d done. He didn’t feel the same way.

You opened your mouth to apologize, to try to undo the damage you’d done, but before you could say anything he was dragging you toward a hallway. Overcome with confusion and fear of losing him, you didn’t realize where you were going until Spencer opened the door to the single-use bathroom and pulled you inside.

“Spence-” you began, the rest of whatever you had been about to say swallowed by Spencer’s lips as they moved against yours with urgency, his hands coming to cup your face gently. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, the coldness you’d felt replaced by the warmest light filling your chest.

Your hands found his hair, pulling him closer to you as you tried to eliminate any space left between your bodies. A frantic mess of hands and lips exploring any exposed skin, you stumbled backwards with the force of Spencer’s kiss, hearing the door lock as your back hit the cold wood. Your hands slipped under his suit jacket, moaning at the feeling of his firm body under your hands. He shrugged it off completely, allowing the jacket to fall on the floor, his germophobia trumped by his need to feel your warmth. 

You moaned into his mouth as his hands wandered your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. As the kiss became more heated, you noticed that he seemed to withdraw whenever he noticed his touch had gotten rougher, clearly holding back so he wouldn’t hurt you. You smiled into the kiss at the care he showed for you, but your desire to see him fully let go was too strong to allow it to continue. You weren’t sure exactly what he was willing to do, but you took your second biggest risk of the night, showing him what you wanted.

Finding his hand on your body, you laced your fingers between his, kissing him sweetly before pulling away with an innocent look on your face. Spencer stared down at you, confusion clear on his face. You brought his hand up to your mouth, kissing the back of it before moving your hand to his wrist. He watched you intently, unsure what you were doing. Staring up at him with an angelic smile, you brought his hand to your neck, his fingers curling around it instinctively.

 As he realized what you were asking of him, his eyes darkened and his grip around your neck tightened. “This is what you wanted, huh?” He spoke lowly, a small smirk forming on his lips. “So needy for me. Would’ve let me fuck you in front of all those people back there, practically shaking just from my hand on your thigh.”

You whimpered, turned on beyond belief by this new side of Spencer. His smirk widened at your reaction to his words, pressing his body against yours, his hardness pressing into you. 

“Feel that? Feel what you do to me?” He growled. “Let me show you how I deal with pretty little whores like you.” He stepped away from you, eyes hungrily raking over your body as he began to unbuckle his belt. You just stood there, watching his hands as your mind flashed back to all the times you’d imagined this happening. Somehow this was even better than your wildest imagination had been able to conjure.

“What are you waiting for? Get on your knees” He spat out. The words shot straight to your core, and without hesitation you dropped to your knees in front of him. You watched as he pulled the belt from its loops, but frowned in confusion when he didn’t discard it. He walked around behind you, grabbing each of your wrists and pulling them together. Oh. When he was sure the belt wasn’t too tight, he whispered in your ear how pretty you looked tied up for him, your whimper at the words causing him to let out a dark chuckle.

He returned to the front of you, leaning down to toy with your bottom lip. “Show me you deserve to suck my cock, princess.” He instructed, slipping his thumb into your mouth. You moaned around his finger at that, and instinctively began sucking on the digit. You hollowed your cheeks around it, running your tongue along the length of his thumb before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the tip. He must have approved of your demonstration, because he removed his thumb, pulling down the clothing restricting him in one motion. 

Your eyes widened at his size, his smirk growing when you leaned forward instinctively to take him into your mouth. When he grabbed your hair to stop you, you looked up at him in confusion. 

“Good girls ask for permission.” Your eyes fluttered shut at that, wanting nothing more than to be good for him. 

“Please, let me suck you off, I want you in my mouth,” you begged. He seemed pleased, his hand still in your hair pulling you forward. When your lips wrapped around his cock the hand on your head pushed you down roughly, making you take all of him into your mouth, the tip pressing hard against the back of your throat. You moaned through the gag, your panties likely soaked by now from your arousal at his dominance. 

As he began to fuck your throat, you wrapped your lips around him tightly, timing your breaths so you wouldn’t have to stop for air. Words of praise mixed with degradation fell from his lips as he worked your mouth on him. Tears pricked at your eyes at the feeling of him against your throat, spilling over as he continued his ruthless pace. 

When he pulled you off of him, a dark smile appeared on Spencer’s face at your disheveled state. He pulled you up so you were standing before him, hands still bound behind your back. He stepped back to admire you.

“Look at you, such a mess for me. What do you want, pretty girl?” He asked, voice still commanding but much softer now, genuinely checking in with you.

“I want you, please, need it so bad,” you practically moaned. He moved forward to meet your mouth with his, one hand coming to rest around your throat while the other gripped your hair, fully in control of your movements. He pulled your hair back, breaking the kiss as he tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. 

“Jump.” He commanded. You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your legs around him as he walked you over to the sink, setting you down on the cold porcelain. His mouth rejoined with yours the second you felt the bowl of the sink digging into you. As Spencer’s hands roamed your body, he lost patience with your dress, pulling it down so your tits spilled out of the top. You moaned as he took one nipple into his mouth, a skilled hand toying with the other. His other hand lowered to the hem of your dress, pushing it up to gain full access to you.

Spencer moaned against your chest as he felt the dampness of your panties, soaked all the way through before he had even started to pleasure you. His fingers ran up and down over the wet fabric, applying pressure over your clit that sent your eyes rolling back. You made a noise of complaint at the loss of contact when he withdrew his hand, but were quickly silenced by a hand over your mouth.

“You’ll take what I give you, slut.” Spencer gritted out, tearing your panties off with the last word. His hand came up to your entrance, teasing you as his fingers ran up and down your slit. Gathering your wetness, he moved up to your clit, rubbing circles that left you moaning uncontrollably into his hand. “Can you snap for me, baby?” He asked. You were confused, but you did anyway. “Good girl. That’s your safeword for when you can’t talk.”

Before you could read too much into the statement, he plunged a finger deep into you, causing you to arch your back into him. Your moans still muffled by his hand, he set a brutal pace, adding another finger when he felt you start to clench around him. Tightening his hand over your mouth and nose, he cut off your breath as you approached your peak, your eyes glazing over with pleasure. The high of the lack of oxygen along with the haze that came with this level of submission left you fully pliant, his to play with how he wanted.

Right as your lungs began to burn, your orgasm shook your body, and Spencer let go at that exact moment. The relief of oxygen once again flooding your lungs added on to the euphoria that overtook you, your body shaking as you came down from your high. 

You didn’t have much time to recover, as you were brought back to reality with the sensation of the tip of Spencer’s cock teasing your slit. The overstimulation shook you, but with every second your need to feel him inside of you grew stronger. Your whimpers turned into pleas, and in your desperate state you didn’t realize what you were saying until it was too late.

“What was that?” Spencer asked, withdrawing completely.

“I-I’m sorry, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I’ll never-” you were interrupted by an unexpected demand.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say. It. Again.” Spencer gritted out, his eyes darkening with each word.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You said shakily.

A look of satisfaction came over Spencer’s face as he slammed into you without warning, setting a rough pace. You began to chant his new title, and his hand came up to choke you, fingers pressing into your carotid arteries just beneath your jaw. He wasn’t putting any pressure on your windpipe, but your lightheadedness from the reduced blood flow made it feel harder to breathe, the feeling of being owned by the man you loved only intensifying your pleasure. 

Spencer towered over you as he continued his assault, his other hand coming up to muffle your moans by allowing you to suck on his fingers. When he withdrew them to pay attention to your body elsewhere, he was confused to see you stick out your tongue. When the wave of understanding washed over him, he couldn’t hold back his smile. Bringing his hand up to trace your cheek, he looked at you lovingly before spitting in your mouth, watching in awe as you eagerly swallowed and met him with an innocent smile that contrasted beautifully with your actions. 

As you began to feel the knot in your stomach building again, Spencer increased his pace. Bringing one of his fingers to your clit, Spencer knew you were nearing the edge, and fast. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He ordered.

You obliged, Spencer’s kiss swallowing the moans spilling from your mouth. He followed soon after, sent into ecstasy by the image and sensation of you coming apart under him. As he filled you up, you felt a bliss that you’d never experienced before, using your lips to show him how he’d affected you as he fucked you through both of your orgasms. When you eventually parted, it was quiet for a moment. 

As Spencer helped you off the sink and removed the belt from your wrists, massaging the tender skin, you began to laugh. It started out as a small giggle, but it soon turned into a full belly laugh, bringing tears to your eyes. Spencer was taken aback at first, but son couldn’t help but join you. You both laughed until your stomachs hurt, and when you could finally speak again your first words were “we just had sex in a church bathroom.” 

Holding back another bout of laughter, Spencer responded, “I have to say, this wasn’t how I imagined tonight going.” He took a step towards you, arms lacing around your waist. “I’m not complaining, though.”

You pulled him down to meet him in a kiss, your teeth clacking as neither of you could hold back your smiles. When you broke apart, Spencer’s forehead stayed pressed against yours. “I love you,” he said quietly, “I have for a long time now. I just never thought you would feel the same way.”

You couldn’t hold back the happy tears that formed in the corners of your eyes.  Wordlessly, you pulled him into a hug, your bodies coming together like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally been connected. You stayed there for a while, just feeling each other breathe. 

In a few minutes, you’d sneak out the back door of the church. In a few minutes, you’d leave the room with no need for lies to excuse your shared affection. In a few minutes, you’d have to deal with the paperwork that Hotch would inevitably require. But for these last few minutes, all you had to do was hold each other. For now, you were just two people in love, and that was enough.

[orobaxi]

aftercare.

always brings his lover some water & a small snack, & will carry them to the bath if needed. will check your body for any injuries, & will always apologize, even after you insist that it’s fine.

body part.

he loves your face so, so much. from the way that you look at him when he tells you he loves you, to that soft smile you give him when the two of you finish. it’s perfect in every way imaginable, & he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

cum.

his cum is a bit on the thicker side, with a normal clear-to-white color. it’s neither salty or sweet, however, sometimes it has an odd hint of metal.

dominant/submissive.

zhongli’s a softer dominant that has his rougher moments, however, he’ll be the submissive one on occasion. while he enjoys being in control, he enjoys blindly trusting his partner just as much.

experience.

although he’s met many people who have been sexually interested in him, he rarely had the same feelings for them. he’s had sex before, but it’s been a few years since his last encounter. it’s completely understandable for him to be nervous the first few times he has sex again.

favorite position.

any position where he can see your face. zhongli adores being able to see the pleasure he’s giving you, & he loves being able to simply lean in & kiss you at any given moment. he’s particularly fond of having one of your legs over his shoulder, though. & to be fair, it allows for deeper penetration, so it’s quite understandable as to why he enjoys it so much.

goofy.

he sees sex as a serious act, & doesn’t joke around much. during foreplay, there may be a joke here & there, but beyond that? absolutely not. if you were to joke around though, he wouldn’t mind too much.

hair.

trimmed short, & he tries his best to keep it in a neater shape than what it naturally is. his pubic hair does match the hair on the top of his head perfectly, though… so, it might glow, too.

intimacy.

frequent whispers of “i love you,” accompanied by many slow kisses, gentle touches, & words of praise… or making you beg like a common whore for him to fuck you, only to leave you on the edge over & over again. it depends on his mood, really.

jack off.

while he doesn’t masturbate often – he gets embarrassed simply thinking about it – he always does it to the thought of his lover. he’d be absolutely mortified if you were to catch him in the act, though. i don’t think he’d be able to look you in the eyes for a day or so.

kinks.

begging, breeding, creampies, edging, gentle/slow sex, light bondage, lingerie, overstimulation, praise, & “sir/master.” he’d be quite vanilla before exploring these things with his partner, though.

location.

as long as it’s in a private area, he doesn’t care too much about where you two have sex. on a desk or counter? alright, as long as you’re comfortable. on a couch? okay, but let him know if you’d like to go to the bed. in truth, the bed’s his favorite place. i mean, it’s always going to be comfortable, & it’s a relatively easy clean up compared to a desk… he has a record of shoving all the shit on the desk to the floor before fucking you on it, unfortunately.

motivation.

dirty talk, lingerie, & teasing touches are the main things that get him going. he fucking loves lingerie – simply telling him that you have some on under your clothes is enough to get him hot & bothered. the thought of you sitting on the bed in that, waiting for him to walk in, knowing he’ll pounce on you the moment he sees you… fuck, it’s so sexy to him. for dirty talk & teasing touches, however, you’ll have to know what you’re doing in order to get a rise out of him. lightly stroking his thigh, just a little too close to his dick, or gently touching his sides… whispering how bad you want – no, need – him, telling him that you don’t care what he does to you, you just need him to fuck you however he wants… &, to really seal the deal, throw a “sir” or two in there.

no.

he could never agree to hurting you. while spanking may be iffy, slapping & punching are a hard no. there’s also the whole “consensual non-consent” thing, & it’s really because he’s afraid of you forgetting the safeword – & he doesn’t understand the appeal of it. after all, your partner letting you know they really want to have sex is one of the hottest things they could do… in his opinion, at least.

oral.

he prefers receiving over giving, but it’s only out of fear that he’s not truly pleasing you when he preforms oral on you. he knows it’s a bit silly – after all, why would his lover fake it? wouldn’t they rather guide him to where their sweet spots are? still, he can’t help but feel a bit insecure. of course, that won’t stop him from fulfilling your wishes. zhongli just doesn’t know what it is about you that makes him love oral so much. perhaps its the way you look up at him through your eyelashes, with those beautiful, teary eyes of yours. maybe it’s the way you swallow his cum effortlessly… or, maybe it’s the way your throat tightens when you choke on his dick. 

pace.

agonizingly slow for the first few moments, & then he slowly goes faster & faster. he always tries to stay in control of himself, though; you’re going to have to either catch him in a more dominant mood, or rile him up to the point where he doesn’t care about control anymore. pounding inside of you & gripping you so tightly his fingertips leave multicolored bruises – giving you no time to rest before the next thrust.

quickie.

while he doesn’t particularly like them, he may have one with you once in a blue moon. it really depends on how riled up you’ve got him, & if you’re the one who initiates the quickie. otherwise, he’d much rather wait until the two of you got home.

risk.

while he doesn’t like taking extreme risks, he’s up for a some smaller ones here & there. it usually takes a bit of persuasion on your end, though.

stamina.

surprisingly, he can go for hours on end – the only things that stop him are other responsibilities & his lover getting tired. if he has a rare free day on his calendar, though, he might dedicate most of that day to having sex with you. it depends on how riled up he’s gotten.

toys.

doesn’t own any. why would he use them anyway? half the fun is using them on someone else – or so he thinks, at least. if his partner wants toys, though, he’d consider purchasing one or two.

unfair.

he only teases if he’s provoked. once he starts, though, you’ll soon regret your actions. he won’t be bold enough to tease you under a table at the the third round knockout, for example, but he will be bold enough to utter absolutely filthy things into your ear that leave you a blushing, breathless mess… & this man has the nerve to say: “are you alright, love? you feel a bit warm.” with a worried look on his face, every single damn time.

volume.

when he’s dominant, you can expect deep, soft groans & almost inaudible whispers of praise. “you’re adorable when you say my name like that. keep saying it.” “you take my cock so well, huh? you’re doing so good, my love. you’re doing so good.” 

when he’s submissive, though, you’ll receive moans & whimpers that seem to be a bit higher-pitched than normal. he’s perfectly content with biting a pillow & muffling his noises, but then you wouldn’t get to hear him begging. “ahh– please, i need you so bad, my love. please– fuck–!” “it feels so good, it’s– it’s too much–!”

wild card.

fantasizes about his partner degrading him, although, he’s not sure why. perhaps it’s the whole “disrespecting a god” thing.

xray.

considering that he’s taller than average & has a slimmer build, one would assume that he isn’t too toned underneath those clothes of his. however, you’ll be pleasantly surprised once you discover that his looks truly are deceiving. for his cock, though, he’s average length, & far above average in girth. it’s definitely going to hurt if you aren’t adequately prepared beforehand – even if you don’t, though, the pain will fade into pleasure within a few moments.

yearning.

over the years, he’s become amazing at suppressing his desires. on some days, though, his drive seems to skyrocket – he doesn’t understand why, either. those are the days when, as soon as he’s done with his shift at the wangsheng funeral parlor, he heads straight home & either masturbates or has sex with his lover. usually, though, he’s up for it whenever his partner is – that is, unless they’re trying to have sex when he’s doing something important, of course.

zzz.

this man never seems to truly get tired – in fact, he’ll almost always be the first one to get up & start cleaning up any messes the two of you made. he’ll always lay back down & make himself take a quick nap with you after he’s done cleaning, though.

❥  stole this idea & (most of the) alphabet from @rosens-new-dawn​. 💞

[duskholland]

Meet Your Match || Mob!Tom Smut

Summary ↠ It’s always awkward when your current boyfriend meets your ex, but it’s a whole new level when it transpires that your ex-boyfriend is the leader of Tom’s rival mob...

Warnings ↠ 18+, contains mature nsfw material. There are extended warnings beneath the cut, but this is quite heavy. 

Word count ↠ 5.9k

A/N ↠ Genuinely am shocked that this came out of my head tbh. It is very intense so please consult the warnings before you dive in ! The entire concept of the first half is very random and almost crack, but then the second half...phew. Sheesh. Thanks to V, mischiefandi, for suggesting I write in a hot Irish mobster as Y/N’s ex...love that for her, and I love you V. I hope you all enjoy this :)

This is a part of my mob!Tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. You don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense! You can find the other parts in my masterlist.

18+ do not touch this if you are a minor. 

extended warnings: lol. mob themes including gun mention and punching, a broken nose ft minor mentions of blood, a bit of a dodgy ex who makes some uncomfortable comments, alcohol, possessive!jealous!Tom, d/s dynamics, soft!dom!Tom, mean!dom!Tom, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), spitting, orgasm denial and edging, guided masturbation, rough sex, doggy-style, like two minor instances of spanking, he calls her slut once. im not here to fuck around this goes hard so if you aren’t into rough stuff this isn’t for you. also includes unprotected sex -- please practise safe sex (condoms provide barriers against STIs as well as unwanted pregnancy. pls be safe irl). i would like mob!tom to rail me thank u. enjoy.

--------- Meet Your Match ---------

You’d never given much thought to the possibility of Tom meeting one of your exes. Why would you, when being with him is infinitely more satisfying, loving, and enjoyable than it had ever been with one of them? 

But if you’d had to imagine it, you would’ve pictured it casually. Maybe you’d be out somewhere together - at a café, or a market, with Tom’s arm wrapped safely around you. You’d see your ex - whoever it may be - and there’d be an awkward encounter. The exchange of painful hellos and goodbyes, maybe some piercing stares, and pinched words. Then, you’d move on, and that would be that. 

Never, in your wildest dreams, would you have imagined you’d run into your ex-boyfriend whilst in attendance at a meeting of the London mobs. 

It’s a special event - a large, networking occasion, organised by Tom, as an opportunity for him to meet with his partners and rivals, as they come together to cordially bond over beer and discuss business plans. It’s hosted right in the centre of Piccadilly, in the elegant conference room of a luxurious hotel. You’re just starting to relax and settle in when you glance across the room and see him:

Aidan. Your ex-boyfriend. At… A meeting of the mobs of London? 

“What the fuck,” you mutter. You almost drop your glass of champagne as you narrow your eyes and stare. The conference room is vast, adorned with glittering chandeliers and large banquet tables, but it’s undeniable: Aidan is here. 

“Everything alright, love?” Tom’s by your side, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders. He’s in remarkably high spirits this evening. The event is fully underway, and judging by the snippets of conversation you’ve been hearing, Tom’s latest plans are coming into fruition - something about warehouses, and a shipment of class A drugs. But none of it matters now, because your mind is entirely elsewhere.

“No,” you state immediately. 

Tom cranes his neck, his eyes seeking you out. You manage to drag your gaze away from Aidan for a brief second.

“What is it?” He’s looking at you with those deep, warm brown eyes, and his gaze is so tender it makes your breath hitch. One of Tom’s fingers moves up to caress your cheek, and you find yourself shifting guiltily on your feet.

“Who, exactly, did you invite to this meeting?” You ask your boyfriend, speaking in hushed tones. Your eyes slip back to Aidan, and you feel yourself relax as you note he’s still deep in conversation with a few men. 

“Suppliers, rivals, allies… Anyone of importance, really.” Tom narrows his eyes, his thumb brushing over your chin as he looks at you closely. “Why?”

“Did you know that you’ve also invited my ex-boyfriend?”

Judging by the look of utter shock on Tom’s face, he had not, in fact, realised his fundamental truth.

“Who?” He asks immediately. His face shifts through several shades before settling on jealous, with his eyebrows bunched together. 

You turn around, resting one hand on the broad shoulder of Tom’s suit before using your other to point out across the crowd.

“Aidan.” 

Tom squints his eyes, a small rumbling noise travelling up his throat. “Aidan?” He repeats, his voice flooded with confusion. You hum affirmatively. “Bloke with the blond hair? Irish?” Again, a hum. Tom releases a short, curt chuckle. “Angel, he’s not called Aidan.”

“What?” You exclaim. 

Tom releases a deep sigh. “That’s Gordy. He runs the Eastside.” 

You feel your jaw loosen. A fake name. “Gordy Byrne?”

“The one and only.”

“Shit.”

You’ve been with Tom for a year. Over those long, fulfilling twelve months, you’ve picked up on several important key pieces of information about the London mob: it’s split into three factions, each sector run by a different figurehead. Tom and his family control the South-West, and they’re in constant disagreement with Gordy, of the East, and Monique, of the North. Each third is continuously testing the waters, trying to take over land, and supplies, and emerge as the solo Kingpin of London. The fragile alliance between the three families is constantly on the verge of disintegration. 

And Gordy is your ex, who you’d met three years ago at the same exclusive club you’d worked in when you’d met Tom. Your relationship had lasted eight months and ended on equal terms as you’d mutually agreed the spark had fizzled away. Despite the considerable span of your relationship, you’d had no suspicions that he’d been involved with the mob. The thought is incredibly jarring.

“Seems like you have a type,” Tom comments, his voice entirely too flippant. 

Before you can call him out on his apparent feelings of resentment, your evening takes a further turn as you realise Gordy has spotted you and is now working his way through the sea of people towards you. 

He looks just as you remember: 6’2, blond, green-eyed. His shoulders are stocky and broad, and his suit bulges with disguised muscles. He maintains that signature swagger you’d come to associate with him, his eyes glinting as he throws out a wild smile. Your eyes catch on the presence of a few new golden teeth fixed in his mouth, and then to the tattooed knuckles that hang by his side.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Gordy greets, green eyes skimming across you appreciatively, “Who’d ‘a thought we’d meet again?”

All you can really do is let out a squeak of agreement, and pull away from Tom’s side to greet the man with a kiss on the cheek. The familiar scent of Gordy’s musky cologne drifts up your nose, and it makes your head spin.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you pull away, looking at him incredulously. His pale cheeks wear a scruff of fuzz, highlighting the high arches of his cheekbones. 

“What are you doing here?” He returns, his Irish accent twanging. His eyes shift over to Tom, then back to you, and then they watch as Tom reaches out and carefully tangles his fingers with yours. “Wait…”

“Evening, mate,” Tom greets, voice a little clipped. You feel the grip on your hand tighten, and you let him reel you back into his side. You find home beneath Tom’s heavy arm as he repositions it across your shoulder, keeping you near. “I see you’ve already met my girlfriend.”

The air seems to flicker with tension.

“Interesting,” Gordy comments. He shifts his attention back to you, drawing the lines of your face with his curious eyes. “Didn’t take you for the type, Y/N. Would’ve stuck around if I’d thought you could handle this life.”

His words dig into you, and you find yourself clenching your teeth.

“You told me you worked in banking.”

“Oh, I do.” He runs his fingers down the front of his designer suit, winking. “The mob is quite a lucrative business.” He pauses, and something a little like guilt flashes over his face. “You know my real name, yeah? Gordy, not Aidan. Sorry about that. I hate the lies, but they’re for protection, y’know.”

You feel almost dizzy as you bring your glass of champagne to your lips and throw it back. The bubbles do little to soothe down your discomfort.

“Wow,” you manage. Your eyes shift up to Tom, who’s looking at Gordy with apprehension in his gaze. You understand why: for the past two months, Tom’s been engaged in a brutal turf-war with Gordy’s family over in the South-East. Men have died, shipments stolen. You know one of Tom’s primary motivations for the meeting tonight was to see if he could reach some kind of agreement with them, but the circumstances were tense enough as it was, before this. 

“Isn’t this fun,” Gordy comments. He’s eyeing up Tom now, a cocky smirk hanging from his plush lower lips. “Well, Thomas, it’d seem you and I have a lot more in common than we’d thought, eh? Maybe we’ll be able to come to an agreement.” 

Your stomach turns, and you feel Tom tighten his grip on your arm. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his tone is so severe that it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Don’t talk about Y/N like that,” he warns darkly. “We will not be making any deals tonight, Gordy.”

You raise your eyebrows, trying to meet his eyes but finding that Tom ignores your attempts and instead keeps staring straight ahead at your ex-boyfriend, a determined frown hanging from his thin lips.

“Why’s that, Thomas?” He quips.

“I don’t like your attitude, I don’t like your policies, and I don’t like the way you’re looking at my girlfriend.” 

Gordy arches an eyebrow. His hand slips down slowly to rest on his hip, but not before his suit jacket has ridden up just enough to expose the sleek outline of his gun, hanging low in the holster on his belt.

“Is this how it’s going to be, Tom?” He asks, shifting his eyes back to you. “Eh? I bed your bird and suddenly business is off the table?”

You can feel the mood sour, and as much as you’d like to reach out and give Gordy a piece of your mind, you are painfully aware of the circumstances: you are standing in the lion’s den. Despite the meeting of Tom’s creation, you know that there’s no chance in hell that Gordy has walked into the evening alone. To initiate any sort of heated discussion whilst surrounded by London’s most notorious gangsters would be a disastrous move.

“Tom,” you murmur, recognising all too well the signs of anger that curl out across Tom’s face: his clenched jaw, the deep frown marks on his forehead, the tight line of his lips. “Let’s go.”

For a moment you think he’s going to follow you. Tom lets you shrug off his arm and take his hand, and his posture loosens as if he’s about to turn and walk across the room with you. But then, of course, Gordy just has to get in the last word.

“Oh, well, if you’re going, you won’t mind giving me a goodbye kiss, eh, Y/N?” He peers at you with mischievous eyes, his voice lilting lightly. “Just like old times?”

Tom’s moving before you can even attempt to stop him, and you hear a loud crack as his fist sweeps up and collides with Gordy’s nose. The man doubles over, groaning profusely, and your eyes widen as you take in the stream of blood that immediately begins to pour from his face.

“Tom!” You exclaim, your eyes wide and your hands shaking. Your boyfriend grabs at your fingers, squeezing your digits in his.

“He’s not allowed to disrespect you like that,” he mutters darkly. 

“I don’t need you to defend me, I can do it myself,” you hiss back. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you feel the hot lump of anger melt away as Tom looks at you through those brown, golden eyes, his mouth positioned into a guilty smile. 

Two men emerge from the crowd and flank Gordy’s side. You feel a deep swell of fear pool in the pit of your stomach, and instinctively your fingers move down towards your bag for the switch-blade you’d buried alongside your lipstick. But you find your actions stilling as Gordy clears his throat, rights himself and holds up a bloody hand.

“It’s fine,” Gordy tells his guards. He tilts his head in your direction. “I deserved it. No disrespect to the lady.” His beady green eyes move to Tom. “We can finish this discussion some other time, Thomas. Good evening to you both.” 

Before waiting to see if Gordy turns around and walks away, you tighten your grip on Tom’s hand and lead him out of the large conference room. It’s completely silent, and the groups of people seem to part like the sea as you escort your boyfriend from the scene, his lips brushing over the back of his bruised hand as he winces. You don’t say anything, not until you’re safely stowed away in the backseat of a large car, the doors locked, windows tinted, and driver separated by partition.

“Love, look, I’m sorry, but I-”

You cut Tom off by climbing from your seat and meeting his mouth with a deep, needy kiss. Your boyfriend releases a noise of surprise, and his hands shift up to grab at your waist as he pulls you onto his lap eagerly, pressing back against your lips with fervour. It’s messy, and you enjoy running your hands through strands of his unruly hair as he keeps you close, his fingers grasping at every area of your front and sides, mapping you out.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Tom murmurs, his curious eyes meeting yours. “Thought I was in trouble.” His hands cup your cheeks, and you give him a coy smile.

“You shouldn’t have punched him,” you tell him, biting your lip as his thumb brushes over the soft skin of your face. “I’m glad that you did, though. He was a dick.” 

Tom hums. “And also the enemy, love.”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you sit back on Tom’s wide thighs as you sigh. “I can’t believe he runs one of the other mobs,” you mutter. “I can’t believe I’ve dated two mobsters, and I didn’t even know.”

Tom’s smile doesn’t quite stretch to his eyes, but he still manages a short chuckle. “I hate the thought of you being with him,” he admits. His eyes stir with something darker, and his fingers dig into your waist. “I hate the thought of you being with anyone other than me.”

You bite your lower lip as you twirl the short strands at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “It was a long time ago,” you tell him. “Our relationship wasn’t anything of consequence.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, but he’s still got that hungry glint in his eyes. You feel a shiver roll down your spine as his gaze sweeps across your face, his hands shifting up to rest on the curves of your breasts. Your dress is thin, and the neckline meant you had to go without a bra. A soft gasp falls past your lips as Tom’s thumbs brush over the lines of your nipples, which prick in response to his touch.

“Is our relationship of consequence?” Tom asks, his voice dancing. He’s staring at your chest now, his smirk widening as you instinctively push further into his hands, enjoying the feeling of his large, warm palms groping at your breasts.

“Of course.” You swallow and bring your fingers away from his neck. With careful movements, you reach up and pull the straps of your dress from your shoulders, meeting Tom’s gaze as you roll down the front of the garment, exposing your bare chest to him. “I love you.”

Tom seeks out your neck with his lips, and you release a small gasp as he sucks firmly on the base of your throat, his fingers moving over your bare chest. You can feel his mouth pulling the blood to the surface of your skin, but the pain makes you cry out in pleasure as your fingers wrap around his suit jacket and fist at the expensive material hugging his back. He takes his time as he works his way up your neck, sucking and biting, and then soothing the throbbing marks with gentle laps of his tongue and soft, open-mouthed kisses. By the time he reaches your ear, you’re squirming in his lap.

“You are mine.”

His tongue teases the lobe of your ear as his hands move all across your bare back, caressing your skin gently with his palms. The cold metal of his silver rings bites to touch, but you shiver in enjoyment.

“Yours,” you agree. Tom shifts from your neck to look at you straight on, his eyes full of dark, heady lust.

“Mine,” he repeats. His mouth is on yours, and you let him prise apart your lips with his tongue. His hands fist at your hair and he pulls you closer roughly, and your teeth collide as he kisses you sloppily, groaning into your mouth. It’s messy - with noses bashing and his digits tugging at your strands and your lips moving everywhere, slick with spit - but you feel him gather you up in his arms as he holds you. He owns you.

You make-out until the car arrives home, at which point your lips are tender and puffy and your entire body throbs with persistent arousal. Tom’s eager with his affection, but you can feel the underlying pulse of fear coasting through his veins; you want so desperately to placate it: to let him know that he has nothing to worry about - that you are his now, and probably always will be. Tom’s not alone in his discomfort - you, too, feel jilted and unbalanced after running into a ghost from your past. You need Tom desperately, in more ways that one. You need him to look after you - to hold you, be firm with you, and show you your place within your relationship. You need him to be your dom, and you crave the release of submitting to him entirely - with your mind, body and heart.  

“You can do anything you want to me tonight,” you tell him. You’re standing at the foot of the bed, Tom sitting up against the headboard. His suit jacket lays off to the side, tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone. You’ve made a mess of his hair, but he looks so fucking pretty with his chestnut curls all tousled and his lips bright pink and inflamed. 

“That’s funny,” Tom comments, eyes glinting as he tilts his head to the side, “I thought I could already do that.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself biting your lower lip as your face fills up with heat.

“Do you want me to take off my dress?” Your fingers toy with the straps, which are all rolled up and uneven thanks to the hastiness in which you’d scrambled from the car.

“No.” Tom sits up, and he pats his thigh invitingly. “Take off your panties and come up here.”

You tease him a little bit, enjoying the way his gaze weighs down your figure. You’re slow to push your dress up to your waist, and you make a show of hooking your index fingers beneath the band to reveal lacy panties. You tug at the material until it falls to pool at your feet, and then you delicately step away from them and approach your boyfriend. You have a sudden thought that it’s as if you are the prey, walking straight into danger, but you welcome it: Tom’s looking at you, his expression hard but excited and his eyes swimming with darkness, and it makes your throat dry up. 

“Such a gorgeous girl, aren’t you?”

The material of Tom’s slacks feels coarse against your centre as you straddle his left thigh. His hands press at your waist, pushing your cunt straight against his leg, and the contact makes you moan softly.

“You look so pretty with your neck all marked up.” Tom presses a light kiss to one of your hickeys, and you gasp as a line of pain ripples out across your skin. “You look like you’re mine.”

“I am.”

“I know.” Tom strokes his hand through your hair, eyes watching you carefully. “I’m just going to remind you.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You ask, your voice wavering.

He hums, the noise suspended with confidence. “You’ll see.” His hands dig into your waist a little firmer, and he starts to guide your movements. “Work yourself against my thigh, darling. Make a nice wet spot for me.”

His words make you moan, and you’re quick to comply. You recognise the dark glint in his eyes and the layers to his voice - he’s slipping away into his harder, more dominative side, just as you find yourself eager to oblige him. You grind yourself down over his thigh, and his trousers are rough against your flushed centre. The friction burns beautifully. A few moans slip past your lips, and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press over you, digging into your waist, guiding you. Tom is very much in control, and as the seconds slip past, you give into it.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, rich voice drifting into your ears. You bite your lip, your hole clenching around nothing as you swivel your hips and feel the pressure to your hot bud.

“Feels really good,” you admit, voice a whimper. “Love it when you let me touch you.” 

Tom takes your chin between two fingers, looking at you with a hard stare. He pulls your face to him, his tongue licking a wide stripe over your lips. As you try to push forward for a kiss, he just moves away, a teasing smirk on his lips. “No,” he says softly, “You’ll take what I give you, and you won’t be greedy about it. I don’t want to have to punish you, babygirl.”

You nod quickly, the movement hurried and messy. It’s getting hard to think of anything other than the fact you’ve made his trousers slick with your arousal. The burn between your legs is gradually swelling to a crescendo.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Your fingers find purchase on his shoulder, and you find your forehead dropping down to rest there too as your breathing hitches.

“Are you close, darling?” He’s very soft and gentle, and it makes you whimper out a small noise of agreement. Tom chuckles, pulling at your hair as he brings your face back up, his hands bearing down on your hips to halt your movements. “Lie down for me, please.”

You scramble from his lap, your centre pulsing as it leaves his thigh. Your eyes catch on the way you’ve left a large, wet mark on his trousers, and you watch with wide eyes as Tom stands from the bed. He walks around to the foot of the mattress, his figure commanding your complete attention. 

“I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do to you,” he says, speaking quietly. His nimble fingers work down the buttons of his shirt, popping them quickly. Once his shirt is discarded, Tom works on his slacks. As the metallic sounds of his belt clicking fill the air, he smirks at you. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. You squeal as Tom grabs at your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He kneels on the floor, hauling you closer until your thighs are over his shoulders and his face is near your heat. Your dress scrunches up at your waist, and you whimper as his hands press your legs apart. “I’ll always be good for you.”

“Is that right?” Tom asks, index finger running lightly over the inside of one of your thighs. He looks up at you, eyes hooded and blown wide with lust.

“Yes.”

“Prove it to me,” he instructs. “If you think you’re about to cum, you need to tell me.” Tom’s gaze darkens. “If you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what happens.” With tender lips, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, looking at you with a gentle smile. When he speaks again, his voice is lighter, “Is this okay, darling?”

You nod.

“Words.”

As two of Tom’s fingers spread your puffy outer lips, you stammer out a broken, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good girl.”

He dives in quickly, and the press of his warm tongue against your pulsing pussy makes you cry out. You’re already feeling hot and bothered from the time you spent rutting against the coarse material of his trousers, and the pressure soothes you. He’s too far away to touch, so you curl your hands into fists and pull at the silky bed linen, eyelids fluttering shut as his tongue caresses you, over and over.

Tom makes out sloppily with your cunt, two of his slender fingers pulling up to push into your heat. He fills you easily, taking the edge off your desire as his tongue flicks over your clit, unrelenting, hard. He’s eager for it, holding nothing back as he coaxes you quickly towards a high, moaning and grunting into your centre. The vibrations drive you mad, and your mind spins off as he holds you in place.

“S-Shit,” you stammer, back arching. As much as you don’t want to say it, Tom’s already pushing you towards climax. As he curls his slender digits up against you, his tips brush against your g-spot, and it has you seeing stars. “I’m gonna cum, Tom.”

All movements stop. Tom’s mouth pulls back from your cunt, and his fingers still inside you. Your walls clench around him, but he relaxes them, halting all stimulation of your sensitive pussy as you whimper.

“Good,” he coos. Your eyes seek him out, and you moan as you see his chin slick with your juices. “You taste divine, sweetheart.” His free hand strokes over your inner thigh, calming you with gentle circles and caresses. “We’ll do this a few more times, I think. I want you dripping onto the sheets. I want you to forget about everything apart from me, and how desperate you are for me.” His teeth nip at your thigh, and you squirm.

True to his word, Tom works you up, over and over again. Each time he brings you to the edge of a high, he pulls back at the last moment, leaving you teetering on the edge for a painful second before your climax goes ebbing away from your reach. The time it takes to build up to each edge narrows considerably with each completion, and you find yourself growing desperate for more. Your skin is hot and prickles, your forehead breaking into a sweat. The muscles in your legs ache from the exertion of almost spasming into climax, time and time again, and your throat hurts from your eager, desperate moans. He’s a demon, his deep brown eyes watching you closely, sharp ears picking up each noise and sound, and he seems intent on drawing this out for as long as possible.

“I think that’s enough,” Tom finally says. Your sigh of relief is so loud and pronounced that it makes him chuckle. “What, you didn’t like that?” His hand comes down over your inner thigh, slapping softly. As the pain ripples across your skin, you whimper. “Don’t lie to me, angel. I know you love it when I’ve got my head between your legs.” His large hands slip under your thighs, and he pushes you up the bed, slipping up over you. With his body suspended above you and a hand either side of your head, Tom raises his eyebrows. “Open,” he instructs.

What he does next makes your eyes roll back. You open your mouth immediately, and he chuckles darkly. One hand holds your jaw, and you watch as Tom purses his lips, eyes you intently, and then spits directly into your mouth. The taste of your cunt spreads out across your tongue, and your hole clenches around nothing as you moan loudly.

“Swallow,” he says. You close your mouth and do just that, and then you stick out your tongue for him to see. “Good,” he coos. Tom kisses you suddenly, the action hard as he sucks on your tongue. When he pulls back, he kisses your nose. “Pretty girl, aren’t you? My pretty girl.”

His lips skate all across your face, dusting you in warm kisses of reward. 

“I love you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The gratitude you feel towards him for knowing exactly what you need is boundless, consuming. 

“And I love you.” You share a tender moment of understanding as Tom brushes his hand over your face, and in the look you exchange, you know that he feels as you do: appreciation towards your partner, for reading you and obliging you. He hums softly, slipping away from you after a final kiss to pull off his boxers. “Take off your dress for me, love. Give me a show.”

You’re shaky on your feet, but you manage to stand in front of the bed. Tom sits up against the headboard, working his hand over his erect length as he watches you. You tease him, just like you know he enjoys, taking your time as you roll the sleeves down and unzip the back. The material goes tumbling to the floor, pooling at your feet, and then you’re entirely naked - wearing only his hickeys, and his spit between your legs. 

“Beautiful,” he says, eyes glinting. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?” When you shrug bashfully, he nods. “My angel. C’mere.” You move to him, but he stops you before you can reach for his cock. “I want you to lie down here and show me how you get off.”

“But I want--” 

He shuts you up with a hard stare. “Do you really want to finish that sentence?” When you’re quiet, he hums. You can��t stop staring at the way his hands slide over his length. Your mouth waters at the thought of letting your tongue wander over his leaking tip, collecting the beads of salty precum. “Do this for me, and then I’ll let you have what you want.”

You part your legs, your thighs aching. As you dip your hand between your legs, you whimper to feel your slick mixed with Tom’s spit. Your skin is soaked, and as you nimbly press two fingers into your hole, you find it looser, already stretched from Tom’s exploration earlier. You can feel his eyes on you, watching your hand move as you slowly fuck yourself with your fingers, getting pleasure from the knuckle of your thumb as it brushes up against your clit.

As you begin to whimper, Tom swoops in with his final lesson of the evening. He reaches down, wrapping his hand around yours, guiding your movements. He sets the pace and the angle, speeding up your thrusts. The sound of your wetness sloshing around makes you cry out loudly as he edges you perfectly, like he knows your body better than you. 

“You see this,” he mutters, voice husky. “I give you pleasure. It doesn’t matter if it’s my tongue in your cunt, or my fingers, or my cock. This cunt?” He curls your fingers, and they brush up against your g-spot, making you cry out. “This cunt is mine. You are mine.”

You almost lose it right there, the deep husky tones of his dominant voice sending you spinning, but then Tom pulls away. As your walls flutter weakly around nothing, he pats at your hip.

“Hands and knees, darling.”

Your arms shake as you roll over, adopting the position. Again, Tom stands at the foot of the bed, pulling you back until you’re spread open for him. You feel his cock, dragging through your slick folds, teasing your tender clit until your hips jerk forwards. Your bud aches almost painfully, your body pulled tight with an overwhelming need to climax.

“Please,” you beg desperately, dropping your head between your arms. “Please, please.”

Tom’s hand smooths over the curve of your ass, silver ring biting coolly against you, “Does my darling want to feel my cock?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Hmm.” Easily, he slips the tip of his cock past your entrance. “I suppose you deserve it,” he teases. “Been such a good little slut for me, haven’t you?”

When Tom finally fucks into you, the moan you release is almost pornographic. He’s been teasing you, over and over, drawing you close to orgasm only to jerk it away from you each time, but now that he’s got his length buried up to the hilt inside you, you know it’s been worth it. Nothing compares to the relief you feel as you realise you’ll be allowed to finish soon, your walls squeezing his cock. 

The pace is punishing, and everything blurs together. His hands on your hips, holding you in place, pulling you back rhythmically to meet with his thrusts. As his slick cock pounds into you over and over, his flushed tip nudges against your g-spot. The stimulation makes your eyes tear up, and a few hot tears skate across your cheeks as you whimper and cling to the sheets.

“Fuck, princess, you’re fucking perfect for me, aren’t you?” A hand falls over your bum, and you moan. “So tight and warm. Feels so snug around me, lovie. So perfect.” Tom’s voice comes out firm, but it wavers, and you can imagine the grimace of pleasure on his face. “Always take me so well.” His hand moves to the top of your back, and he pushes you into the bed. Your face buries into the sheets as the angle adjusts, and you gasp loudly as the adjustment means he can rail you harder. 

“S-Shit,” you moan. “Love your cock, Tommy. Pl-Please.”

“What do you need?”

You whimper, the power of his thrusts fucking you further into the mattress. “W’nna cum.”

“You can play with your clit then.”

Tears fly down your cheeks, and it feels overwhelming as you nudge a hand between your legs to fondle your bud. Tom’s hands hold your hips, keeping you nice and open for him, and you’re glad for the heavy pressure on your skin. It keeps you anchored down.

“Are you close?” He asks, grunting heavily as he feels your walls squeeze him.

“Yes.”

“I think you deserve to cum, don’t you?” He pauses briefly, cursing lowly, pace faltering. “Let go, darling. Let me feel you squeezing me. I want to feel what I do to you.”

The action of his deep, fast thrusts mixes with your fingers on your clit, and you cum with a  loud, quivering scream. Tom holds you down, fucking into you as you spasm and writhe in the sheets, and after a few, mind-numbing moments of pleasure, you feel him follow you with a grunt. His hot speed paints your walls, his noises of heady enjoyment mixing with yours, and it just prolongs your climax.

When you calm down, Tom carefully pulls out from you. You whimper at the loss, feeling a little out of it as he turns you over, pushes you up into the centre of the bed and pulls you on top of him. Your head settles in the crook of his neck, his hands palming over your back as he kisses the top of your head, over and over again.

“So good for me,” he mumbles. Your legs tangle together. You can feel his cum spilling from your hole, dripping down onto him, but he doesn’t seem to care. “My best girl. I love you so much.” 

You hum quietly, rubbing your hand over the top of his arm as you whimper. “Love you too,” you manage, voice hoarse. 

Tom’s hands cup your face, and he gently coaxes you up until he can meet with your eyes. His fingers brush away the teary residue from your cheeks, and he kisses you softly.

“Mine,” he mumbles against you, smiling into your lips as you hum in agreement. One of your hands folds into his curls, and you feel your heart stirring contentedly in your chest.

“Yours.”

---------

lol. hope you enjoyyyyed :) 

I’m intending to do some mob!Tom blurbs next week for mob!Monday, so if you have any concepts you’d like to see, please send them to my ask box!

ask box is open for your thoughts!! I’m dying to know what you think of this... 👀

masterlist linked in bio!

[starlight-writes-stuff]

Hey lovey! Could I request a mcyt headcanon thing of how they each are in bed?

hi angel , and of course ! as always im sorry this took forever lmao . hope u enjoy (((:

AYO LOOK AT THESE : smut ! rough sex , choking , scratching , hair pulling , breeding / unprotected sex (wrp it b4 u tap it , bbys) , overstimulation , light bondage , i think thats all (:

reblogs are always appreciated <3

dream :

out of all the feral boys dream is the roughest for sure

it's all his gamer rage coming out

he truly has to control himself  / hold back

because he wants to fuck you until you cant remember your own name

but doesnt want to break you

he’s not the biggest fan or foreplay , only because he’d much rather feel you wrapped around him

but he loves to go down on you

would prep you with his fingers because lord knows you’ll need it

and once you started to squirm he’d get so cocky

“if you cant take my fingers , you definitely cant take all of me, baby .”

so many pet names - baby , kitten , pretty girl , bunny , bun , my little whore

he’d make you cum twice on his fingers alone

and wouldn’t fuck you until he was aching for any sort of stimulation

wouldn’t use protection (w your consent !!!)

the thought of his cum deep inside you , painting your insides … it fucks him UP

you KNOW clay would be the motherfucker to slap his dick on your pussy

would groan at the sound of how wet you were for him

he’d run the tip of his cock through your folds and collect your arousal

until you were begging him to fuck you - and even then he’d wait a moment longer

he’d ease in slowly , making sure you felt every single inch 

and would praise the FUCK out of you

“look so pretty taking my cock , bunny”

he’d stop to let you adjust to his length, but he’d be so arrogant as you bucked your hips

“want more , sweet thing ?”

you’d just nod , the pressure building in your tummy too much to produce words

and clay would grab at your chin so fuCKING agressivley

“i asked you a question , whore .”

he would just ruin you (in the most respectful way possible)

you’d cum for the third time within mere seconds

the room would be filled with the sound of harsh , slapping skin

you moans mixing with his - it was like a symphony to him

at some point your legs would go completely limp from the shear amount of pleasure clay was providing

and he’d circle an arm around your hips , holding your body to his as you came yet again

he’d get progressively less vocal as he approached his high , his raspy moans turning to rough growls and groans

and he’d bury himself deep inside of you as he came , muttering scratchy praises into the crook of your neck

as you and clay started to come down together it would be a complete 180

he’d pull out so gently , watching the way his cum dripped out of you

and would press sweet , tender kisses to every inch of skin he could get his mouth on

clay would run soft fingers over every bruise , every mark he left on your skin

admiring his work

he loves the way you look after sex - all fucked out and dewy eyed

would wet a washcloth with warm water and clean you up while murmuring over and over how much he loved you

the two of you would fall asleep pretty quickly after in a tangled mess of limbs

sex with him is quite the workout

george :

gogs <3

i have many thoughts on this subject yall

wakin up in the mornin , thinkin about so many things

would LOVE foreplay

something about being so intimate but not actually fucking is so <3 to him

he loves every single moment of it

starting from when a simple peck turns to something deeper

george’s tongue rolling over yours as he cups a hand under your jaw 

would do the thumb thing™ on your cheek

his free hand would roam up and down the curve of your hips

then up and under your shirt

the way that your breath hitched would make him sh i v e r

and george would start kissing down your neck and over your jaw to your neck

loves hickeys

and biting you

he’d take yall to some place soft if you weren’t already there and start to undress you

adores the action of getting you out of your clothes and insists on taking your shirt off himself

is obsessed w your titties

rolling your nipples between his fingers

sucking on the sensitive nubs , flicking his tongue over them until you could cry from pleasure

then leaves sloppy , hot kisses all the way down your body

is so good with his hands

knows the exact way to curl his fingers inside you

and is very good at keeping a rhythm that pushes you over the edge

but truly have you seen that boys hands because like

he’s all about pleasuring you in bed

it's his number one priority

and he knows your body incredibly well

the boy knows how to make you cum without even trying

yall have experimented and figured out what feels best

and he’s perfected those techniques

on the non physical side of things however

sex with george would be s i n f u l

the things he would say to you …

and in his fucking ACCENT no less

starlight has a voice kink

god he would talk so fucking dirty

the filthiest things falling from his lips as he’s thrusting in and out of you

he’d be so vocal

“just like that , love ,” he’d pant before throwing his head back

his fingers would dig into your hips as his moans turned to whimpers

the two of you would reach your highs one after the other

but george always makes sure that you finish first

sapnap :

we’re just gonna address this right away

daddy kink

(“call me big daddy” , sapdaddy , need i say more ?)

pretty dominant but not necessarily aggressive

more mentally dominant if that makes any sense ???

wants you so far in subspace that you’re all his

dumbification is so hot to him

“baby doll , darlin’ , sweet girl”

degrades you but in a soft way :,)

“look so pretty on my cock , whore”

“my sweet little slut , taking me so well”

spits in your mouth and holds your jaw until you swallow

loves to fuck your throat

literally uses your mouth as his personal fleshlight

hold your hair up for you bc he’s a gentleman

but would rather have it in pigtails

thrusts into your mouth hhhhhhhhhh

wants to see mascara tears and won't stop until he does

loves to give you facials

then takes 1476592837310982 pictures of you like that

his my eyes only on snap is 99% your face painted with his cum

honestly likes to cum anywhere he can see it

tits

backshots

on your stomach

l o v e s your thighs

and yall have absolutely done thigh jobs

would fuck you until you cried then marvel at the look of your tears

because you look so pretty when you’re entirely overwhelmed by pleasure

your face flushed a pretty pink 

eyes watering with crystal clear drops

then would make you cum again

“one more , sweet girl , you can take one more”

and you’d just nod , so deep into subspace that he words were like spells

how could you say no to him ?

aftercare KING though , would take such good care of you

would run you two a warm bath and carry you to the tub

bc lord knows you cant walk after him

and he’d run his hands allllll over your body , soothing any rough marks he may have left

at the end of the day he absolutely worships you

karl : 

karl jacobs , love of starlight’s life

i just think that he <3

karl has stated that he’s on the ace spectrum

so i think that sex with him wouldn’t be near as much about physicality

its about the intimacy and connection that comes with that for yall

and mans would make you feel so loved ,,,

he’d kiss every single inch of your body

and hold you so close to him as you two were getting undressed

loves kisses when yall are shirtless

because he can feel your heartbeat on his

and they sync up the longer u lay there

would go down on you for hours if he could holy fuck

he loves eating you out , drawing pretty moans from your lips

and is so good at it bye .

he can easily make you cum with just his skilled tongue

and fucks you with it i-

one of his favorite feelings in the world is your thighs tightening around his head

and your hands tugging at his hair as he makes you come undone over and over

you’re his favorite taste in the entire world

sex with karl would be sweet and soft and so so so intimate

it would be so loving

he’d have you look him in his eyes as he slid in

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnggngngnngngnngggggggg

and would stay buried deep inside you , not moving  until you adjusted to him

karl’s packing i just know it 

moans your name quite a lot

and murmurs how much he loves you , everything he loves about you inbetween thrusts

he’d hold your hands while you two made love

his grip tightening as he got closer

karl would make DAMN sure you came first

but loves cumming at the same time if you can hold off for him

the two of you would stay like that , chest to chest for a while after your highs

karl still tucked inside you

he’d love cockwarming dont @ me

is a fluffy mess after sex and always wants to fall asleep after

with you in his arms

quackity :

sex with alex >>>>>>

yes

please

he’d be . so fucking good . at everything he did .

alex loves foreplay

lapdances

bc he’s so obsessed with your body

and having you put on a show just for him ?

turns him on like nothing else in the world

lets you show off for as long as possible before he finally picks you up and throws you on the bed

hands hands hands

alex is so skilled with his fingers and knows how to hit all the best spots

has absolutely made you squirt on his fingers and is so cocky about it

has you hold eye contact while he eats you out

and the minute you break it , he stops

would have his dick in your mouth 24/7 if he could

and loves the way you look with your tongue swirling around him

keeps a hand on the back of your head and pushes down so gently

alex is definitely a soft dom

when he cant hold off from fucking you any longer he’s no stranger to tying your hands up

usually with his belt

fucks you in missionary with your legs over his shoulders

but also loves when you're on top

alex is a titty guy

such a boob guy

and absolutely covers your chest in hickeys and bite marks

getting to play with them while you ride him ?? heaven

once your hips give out from feeling so good , alex would lift you up and thrust into you

his fingertips digging into your skin , leaving pretty purple bruises

would play with your clit as he fucks up into you

“cum for me , princess”

loves cumming inside you

breeding kink

just saying

and watching it drip out of your pussy gets him hard all over again

his voice goes so deep while he moans

and calls you pretty names in spanish

vvvv vocal and loves when you match that

“show me how good im making you feel , baby”

[seita]

― bnha abc’s: hitoshi shinsou [nsfw edition].

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

ғʟᴜғғ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴀɴɢsᴛ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ

⤑ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

∴ since sex is so intense with him, he’s always faithful to aftercare. ∴ he literally never skimps on it. ∴ if you take a while to settle down, he’ll clean you off with a warm washcloth and cuddle with you with soft kisses and caresses until you’re clear headed. ∴ mixes lots of praise in the process, knowing how sensitive you feel emotionally. ∴ then he’ll take a bath with you. ∴ if you come back to earth pretty quickly and easily, he’ll be more relaxed and be more keen on cracking jokes and teasing you. ∴ he’ll run a bath and have a relaxing soak, chatting casually with you about anything that came to mind.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

∴ his: his hands. he knows how to use them and he loves how they look on your body. he knows he has really pretty, lithe fingers. also, the fact you’re always so eager to hold his hand makes him appreciate them more.

∴ yours: he’s a breast man. there’s something about feeling your breasts in his hands, leaving marks on the soft flesh. he loves how you react when he plays with your nipples. he can never resist taking them into his mouth when he fucks you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

∴ he will cum literally wherever you want him to. ∴ if u want him to pull out, he’ll take pleasure in marking your body with his cum. ∴ if you want him to release inside, then he’s gonna cum even harder giving you a nice creampie. ∴ he maintains a decent enough diet so his cum def doesn’t taste bad -- a little bitter, maybe but something you could handle. ∴ he cums a lot too, several spurts releasing. ∴ his orgasm lasts a good amount too ― he cums really hard lmao.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

∴ he has...on more than one occasion... ∴ jerked off using ur panties lmao. ∴ he doesn’t exactly keep it a secret but ∴ he’s never going to just admit he did it. ∴ if you call him out on it he’ll probably easily confess. ∴ but until then....where oh where do ur panties keep going lmao

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

∴ he hasn’t had many partners. ∴ but...he has experience in the sense that he has done research and tried such a wide variety of kinks and positions that he’s just...got it down to a science. ∴ he always makes sure his bdsm etiquette is perfect, he never wants to cause you any harm. ∴ he takes the time at the beginning of the relationship to learn your body’s sweet spots and talks to you about what you like and want. ∴ he’s very good at communication so he gains experience purely by learning tbh.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

∴ his usual go to is doggy style or the mating press. ∴ he likes how deep he can get his cock into you. ∴ he can feel you cum so well like that. ∴ very rarely will he let you ride him. ∴ don’t be mistaken tho, he’s always in control even if you’re on top.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

∴ not really a jokey type of guy. ∴ he prefers to be serious to as to not break the scene. ∴ that’s not to say he can’t be goofy. ∴ he will if he’s in the mood. ∴ or if the two of you aren’t doing anything hardcore. ∴ but def don’t expect it.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

∴ carpet matches the drapes, king is a natural.....purplehead???? ∴ he keeps himself well groomed in the sense he trims. ∴ but he doesn’t shave bald. ∴ he doesn’t like the look of his dick hairless. ∴ but his pubes are always pretty short so u don’t gotta worry when suckin his dick u feel?

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

∴ he’s intimate in the sense that the dynamic of your relationship requires a strong emotional connection and trust. ∴ in the moment, he takes on the dominant role teasing and humiliating you. ∴ but he makes sure to mix in praise and the odd sweet touch amid the bruising grips. ∴ he’s not really into romantic sex ∴ like you’ll never get candles and rose petals on the bed. ∴ but he always shows he loves you in his own way.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

∴ he doesn’t jerk off very often. ∴ but he has urges frequently enough. ∴ probably takes like 2 or 3 nights a week to himself if he doesn’t get the chance to fuck you. ∴ he uses his hands, fisting his cock while he watches porn on his phone. ∴ takes a shower afterwards to clean up the mess.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

∴ very heavily into dom/sub dynamics. ∴ he is always the dom. ∴ prefers to be called master most of the time. ∴ you’re his pretty little kitten. ∴ there is lit no chance he will be submissive lmao. ∴ it’s not always hardcore scenes with him, though. ∴ he’s very capable of having vanilla sex without the choking and spanking if you so wish.

∴ dacryphilia. ∴ he gets off on your tears. ∴ when he punishes you by overstimulating you and you sob that it’s too much. ∴ when he’s been teasing you for an hour, edging you before backing off and you have tears in your eyes. ∴ when your throat is wrapped around his cock and there’s tears running down your cheeks. ∴ he finds it so fucking hot lmao.

∴ shibari. ∴ there’s something about the red ropes on your skin that is so beautiful to him. ∴ he loves seeing you tied up and vulnerable to his debauchery. ∴ he thinks you’re prettiest when you’re restrained with the complex patterns of rope.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

∴ prefers the old faithful bedroom. ∴ but he’s not opposed to the living room, bathroom, or kitchen if he so pleases. ∴ it’s just all his toys are easily in reach in the bedroom. ∴ and plus, it makes it easier for you to get comfortable faster if you’re already on the bed when you’re done.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

∴ teasing him. ∴ flash him a view of his favorite panties under your skirt. ∴ “innocently” lay your hand on his thigh, close to his cock under the dinner table with friends. ∴ lick a lollipop suggestively. ∴ if u do literally anything to tease him, you’re in for it lmao. ∴ making him jealous. ∴ seeing you flirt with another guy instantly makes him feel territorial. ∴ he knows when you’re doing it on purpose and easily takes the bait, knowing what you want. ∴ however, it won’t work if there’s some random guy just hitting on u. ∴ he knows u didn’t ask for that and doesn’t see that as something to get jealous over. ∴ he trusts u n shit. ∴ worshipping him. ∴ sit on your knees while he watches tv asking if you can suck his dick. ∴ tell him how nice his hands are and how you love how they feel around your throat. ∴ let it slip that you had a wet dream about him last night. ∴ he’s more than eager to give u more reasons to worship him.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into anything that will cause lasting harm to you. he’ll spank you and do some impact play but if you ask for anything really hardcore like burning or cutting you...it’s a no from him. he genuinely couldn’t handle hurting you like that.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

∴ def a giver. ∴ he thrives on pleasuring you. ∴ he thinks you look divine with his mouth attached to your greedy cunt. ∴ he’s damn good at it too. ∴ more than capable of making you cum several times if he so wishes.

∴ when he receives, he’s into some deep throating. ∴ won’t necessarily facefuck you. ∴ but it’s a slow, methodical pace he sets. ∴ he relishes on sinking his cock deep into your throat to feel you choke and gag around him. ∴ watching your eyes tear up as you struggle to swallow him down.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

∴ prefers a fast pace. ∴ he likes the thrill of being rough with you. ∴ sometimes he likes a deep, slow pace that makes you feel him all the way to your cervix. ∴ he can, of course, pull the sensual card if he so chooses. ∴ he def gets into moods where he wants to worship you and indulge in your body to the fullest.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

∴ honestly not his go to. ∴ it’s not that he doesn’t like them, it’s just that he finds them...unfulfilling? ∴ he’s a man who enjoys long, drawn out scenes of you begging and cumming multiple times for him. ∴ a quickie doesn’t allow him that time. ∴ of course, if you want to have sex with him and the only option is a quickie well...he definitely oblige. ∴ it’s just not his preference.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

∴ he’s more than willing to experiment. ∴ he’s always looking for ways to bring something new and exciting into the bedroom. ∴ is all ears when you bring up something that caught your attention. ∴ will always do his best to do as you ask. ∴ isn’t willing to risk your safety or reputation, however.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

∴ one round most of the time. ∴ but it’s one long ass round. ∴ he’s got immense self control and knows exactly how to draw sex out. ∴ he may even indulge in a cock ring to make himself last even longer. ∴ but he has the ability to stave off his own orgasm for a while. ∴ if you want more than one round, you only get it if the sex isn’t intense. ∴ he saves the multiple rounds for the occasional soft, sensual sex/

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

∴ he enjoys toys! ∴ but they’re not brought in too frequently. ∴ more specificially, he uses them for punishment most of the time. ∴ likes to hold a vibrator to your clit until you’re crying. ∴ makes you ride a dildo instead of letting you have his cock. ∴ he’s rather fond of rope tho, if that counts. ∴ doesn’t use them on himself like.....ever. minus an occasional cock ring.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

∴ lmao if u don’t like to be teased ur shit out of luck. ∴ he likes to draw out the sex with you. ∴ so when you two do it, he teases you for a long time. ∴ he is a monster about it. ∴ takes immense pleasure in your begging and crying. ∴ eges u constantly ∴ but he usually follows through with his teasing unless ur bein punished

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

∴ not a moaner. ∴ the most you get is an occasional grunt and a groan when he cums. ∴ HOWEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ∴ he is a constant producer of dirty talk. ∴ he really never shuts up tbh lmao. ∴ but it’s hot as hell. ∴ lit the best dirty talk you could hope to hear. ∴ so it’s not really a loss. ∴ when he’s not callin u a slut and humiliating you, he’s calling you his good girla nd telling u ur pretty.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

∴ he’s got a rlly big anal kink. ∴ i could say he almost loves it more than actual vaginal sex. ∴ he couldn’t tell you why except for the fact it feels dirtier. ∴ it feels more lewd to him and that just gets him off. ∴ especially if you’re shy about it ∴ he uses that as a gateway to humiliate u and make u cry ∴ and that only gets him more turned on ∴ dont let him fuck ur ass too often or he’ll actually go feral lmao

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

∴ hitoshi shinsou’s dick is big. ∴ i just know it is. ∴ more specifically, he’s got girth that makes your mouth water. ∴ he also has no problem reaching your cervix when he goes deep enough. ∴ lowkey cocky about it. ∴ always asks u how much u love his big cock or teasing u about how he’s too big for ur pussy to take. ∴ filthy man.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

∴ well,,,,it’s not high but it’s definitely not low. ∴ like he’s not looking to be balls deep inside you every single night. ∴ and it’s not like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t get to fuck u for a while. ∴ but he’ll jerk off to release the built up tension. ∴ and if u want to have sex every night then he’s pretty easy to convince ngl.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

∴ stays up a pretty long time afterwards. ∴ usually it’s because he’s taking care of you. ∴ but also, in general, he doesn’t sleep much. ∴ he’ll usually just lay in bed on his phone while u sleep beside him. ∴ the good news is if u wake up in the middle of the night bc ur thirsty he can get u a glass of water. ∴ or if u wake up horny and wanna suck his dick he’s already awake so hey everybody’s a winner.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.

[hellsbedroom]

Arvin Russell // NSFW Alphabet

arvin russell x reader

Masterlist

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Arvin needs a minute to recover, not gonna lie. He rests his forehead to yours and breathes the moment in. He’ll hold your cheek or squeeze your hand and whisper, “that was so good.” Then he always cleans you up with a damp rag and offers to get you a glass of water before laying back down. The afterglow is blissful, with your hand tracing shapes on his chest as he speaks softly and you doze off together.

B = Body part (favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

He never really thinks about it, but he supposes he appreciates his hands. They’re strong and lean and can be so harsh to people he wants to hurt. But at the same time they can be so soft with people he loves, especially you. He loves how you don’t mind the calloused pads of his fingers tracing over your skin after a long day at work.

And your legs could knock him flat any day. He loves their shape and how they look under any dress you’re wearing. He especially loves how good your legs feel when they’re draped over his hips when you straddle him. Squeezing your thighs is one of his favorite things in the world.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

If he can’t cum inside you, Arvin loves to cum on your chest. When you go down on him and let him drench your naked chest in cum he almost loses it. You just look so pretty and in love with him. He’s always good about cleaning it up after, especially if it got on any of your clothes. But even so, a little mess never hurt nobody ;)

D = Dirty secret (an interesting dirty secret of theirs)

He thinks about your lips all the time. Especially sitting in church, when things are supposed to be holy. He’ll dream of the curve of your lower lip or the new lipstick color you wore the day before. Thoughts of messing up that lipstick by making out or your pretty lips wrapped around his length always follow.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a little experience with a girl or two when he was in high school. Making out, fondling, he’s not totally new to the idea. But with you is the first time he really explores someone. And he’s a fast learner. It doesn’t take him long to figure out what makes you tick and where he can kiss you to make you moan like that. 

F = Fantasy (what’s their favorite fantasy/roleplay?)

Arvin will indulge in a nurse roleplay sometimes. You saunter in the room in a little white outfit with the red crosses and pretend to take care of him a bit (he answers everything with a smirk and “yes ma’am”) before he’s kissing you everywhere and trying to get the damn dress off. You take care of him so much in real life that a little fantasy play is the perfect way to spice things up.

G = Goofy (are they more serious or goofy in the moment?)

He can be playful with foreplay, anything to make you smile even while you’re just making out or trying to get your clothes off. But as things progress, he gets more serious. He wants to make sure you’re enjoying yourself and is so in awe of you that he sobers up and gets to work when you’re between the sheets.

H = Hair (how groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes?)

He’s not really worried about grooming, but he’ll trim if he knows that’s what you prefer.

I = Intimacy (how are they in the moment, romantic aspect)

A huge romantic. Arvin won’t always set up flowers or candles but he’s so focused on being close to you that everything else fades away. He gives constant praise and keeps his eyes locked on yours when you need it most. His favorite thing is to always be holding your hand if possible, and squeezing when either of you reaches climax. It’s a way to anchor himself to you because the moment is so important.

J = Jackoff (about masturbation)

A guy’s gotta get stress relief somehow. Especially if y’all spend a few days apart. He’ll pull one out in the shower thinking of the last time he saw your figure splayed out beneath him. Sometimes you’ll leave a few racy polaroids for him to find and they become a treasured part of the routine.

K = Kink (any kinks)

Marking you with bite marks or hickies — where no one can see, of course. Slight daddy kink (saying “c’mon daddy” will end him). Pulling his hair makes him grin and now he’s sure to keep those locks long. And of course a praise kink!!! Breathlessly moaning that he feels so good, he’s hitting the right spot, that you love him and he’s doing such a good job. All of it will send him in a tizzy.

L = Location (favorite place to do it)

His car! It gives the two of you the most privacy when you can go park in a clearing far away from everyone else. You’ve figured out just the right way to lay on the seat to make it work and Arvin hovering closely over you is nice anyway. And it gives him a little pride when he’s driving alone and thinks back to all the things you’ve done on those seats.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

A pretty new dress will do it, but what gets him most of all is when you sass him. Getting playful, sarcastically quipping at him, and teasing him with a twinkle in your eye. He cocks his head in surprise but loves it deep down. It makes him mutter “c’mere you” and chase you around, which always ends hot and heavy.

N = NO (something they won’t do, turn offs)

Hitting your face. It’s too degrading and he couldn’t bear it if he hurt you. 

O = Oral (giving and receiving)

Arvin is so eager to please, he wants to do right by you and one of the best ways he’s found is by fervently going down on you. Hearing the sounds you make and feeling you quiver around him sends him over the moon.

But you on your knees for him is a real pretty sight, too. You can make any bad day fade away with the things you do to him. He’ll never admit it, but he loves when you tease him, keeping him on the edge and driving him wild.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

If either of you have had a hard day, or you’re barely hidden in his car like giddy teenagers, he’ll be quicker and rougher. You’re breathing fast, his chest has a sheen of sweat, and his teeth glint in the darkness as he grins and takes you like there’s no tomorrow. Otherwise he’s on the slower side, taking his time to do it right. Burying himself in every inch of your form is important and you’re one of the most precious things in his life so he doesn’t like to be harsh. 

Q = Quickie (opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He has no real need for quickies; if he wants to fuck then he’s gonna do it properly and not let anyone rush him along. Especially if you’ve found a good secluded spot in the woods. Rushing it doesn’t allow him to fully appreciate you and your body anyway. On occasion it’ll happen if he has to head out to a work site for a few days and you can’t resist having him one more time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment?)

He’s not too keen on being risky other than maybe being caught out in the woods. He likes stability when he finds it. You’re the one who has to shyly bring up new ideas in the bedroom and he might be a little hesitant, but he’s willing to try anything once. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Early in the relationship Arvin busts quickly, he can’t help it. But now he can last decently long, especially because he follows the cardinal rule of getting you off first. And for stamina? The man is like an ox. As long as he has a bit of a breather between each round he can go for as long as you want.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them on a partner or themselves?)

You won’t find a lot of sex toys in 1960s small town America. Mostly he likes knowing he can get you off by himself anyway. But if you visit a big city and come back with a vibrator to play around with, he wouldn’t be opposed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Usually Arvin gets right down to business, but he can get in moods where he’s a real tease. In public he’ll stick to pinching or swatting your ass when he’s in that mood. When you’re alone he’ll taunt, “you like that, pretty girl?” when he can tell you’re really enjoying yourself. Hearing you beg for him when he’s endlessly teasing makes his eyes blow wide and he can’t help but give in to you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Surprisingly, he’s not quiet. He’s no screamer but you will definitely hear that he’s having a good time. He’ll groan deep in his chest when you nip at his neck or when he’s sinking into you, and he’ll gasp your name near the finish. And he’s always talking to you in between, murmuring how good it feels.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

When he’s drunk: Arvin finds everything funny when he’s drunk. He chuckles at anything you do and will even take your hand and make you spin for him just so he can admire you. He leans on you more, burying his face in the crook of your neck even if you’re with friends and family. You’re always so happy to see him let loose and relax for a bit.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s in those pants)

He’s an average length and fairly girthy. Fills you up well. There’s also a curve to it that does wonders for you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Moderate. He can sometimes be really eager to get his hands on you, especially if you spend the weekend apart or something like that. Or he’ll sneak into your room late after you’ve gone on a date just to taste you again. But some days he just enjoys being around you with no pressure to perform in any way. 

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It varies. Sometimes Arvin will be out like a light as soon as he knows you’re satisfied and cleaned up. Other times he lays awake worrying for your safety or a dozen other things, and those nights you’re there to hold him and whisper the anxieties away with sweet nothings.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Can u do a ethan x mc proposal but it does not go as planned but finally he proposes and she accepts please😁😁

“I’m not letting you plan date night anymore, because you give the most vague answers,” Naomi yells, her voice coming through string from the en-suite.

“I gave you very adequate information,” Ethan argues.

“You and I have different interpretations then. You won’t tell me where we’re going, you barely gave me a dress code.”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you the one who’s always saying that you look good in everything, no matter the occasion?”

Ethan nervously pats his jacket pocket for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. The small black ring box from Harry Winston is still there, and a bit of his anxiety ebbs away.

The ring has been burning a hole through his proverbial pocket from the moment it was purchased. There have been multiple occasions that Ethan has had to stop himself from blurting out, “Will you marry me?” to his unsuspecting girlfriend: while they’re eating dinner, on their way to work, in the middle of their dumb bickering.

So he’s been meticulously planning this proposal for 2 months now, and he has everything planned to a tee. It starts with dinner at one of Naomi’s favorite seafood restaurants downtown (he has an in with the owner and head chef), then they take a stroll through Boston Common and the Public Garden, admiring the ducks, smelling the roses before he eventually proposes. Ethan is a perfectionist and he wants the night to be perfect. He wants something they can look back on 10 years from now, 20 years from now with fondness, because Naomi deserves nothing less than that.

“I look amazing no matter the occasion,” Naomi quips. She steps out of the en-suite, and Ethan catches her slipping on a few bracelets. “But are we going to be by the water? Are these heels appropriate? Will I need a jacket?”

Ethan looks her up and down quickly, deciding that the faux leather skirt and sweater she’s wearing is a good enough outfit. “You look great, and the weather is perfect, you don’t need a jacket.”

“You better not just be saying that to rush me out the front door.”

That’s a good point, and one he hadn’t thought of yet. Ethan checks the time on his watch and inhales sharply. Their reservation is in 40 minutes, and it’s a Saturday night in Boston, so he expects congestion downtown. “Speaking of that, we need to go.”

“Alright, give me a few more minutes, Ramsey.”

“No, we need to go now, Naomi.”

Naomi knows her boyfriend is a stickler for order, but he’s been riding her ass all day over this date night. He’s never been this fussy before.

She saunters over to him, making a point to sway her hips as she does so. As soon as she’s within touching distance, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist as he pulls her close.

“We’re going to have a nice night tonight,” Naomi says. She presses her thumb to his forehead and massages away the worry lines. “You made me get all dolled up, and I flat ironed my hair, so I’m willing it into existence in hopes that my effort was not in vain.” Ethan doesn’t say anything but the corner of his mouth flits up, and Naomi counts it as a smile. “Now, can you stop being such a fuddy duddy?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at her immature vocabulary, but he nods nonetheless. “Only for you.”

“Good.” Naomi gives him a quick peck on the lips and pulls away before he can deepen it. “Now, let me put on my shoes and we can head out.”

~v~

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any reservations for Ethan Ramsey tonight.”

As soon as the words leave the host’s mouth, Ethan feels the blood in his veins pulsing with rage. There’s no way that’s possible, seeing as he made the reservation well over a month ago. 

“Check again,” Ethan grits out. The host stammers a bit, but he listens to the command nonetheless.

Naomi bites the inside of her cheek as she watches the scene play out in front of her. Ethan’s using his attending voice, the voice reserved for combative patients and interns.

“Again, there’s no reservation for you,” the host stammers. “Maybe, you picked a different–”

The young guy doesn’t even get to finish that thought, because Ethan shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

“I didn’t ask for you to come up with any ideas on your own,” Ethan says, his jaw clenching so tight, it's a miracle it doesn’t snap. “What I need you to do is simply call Frank and tell him that Ethan Ramsey wants to speak with him.”

Frank, the owner of the restaurant and a former patient of Ethan’s, should be able to sort this all out.

A few minutes later, Ethan spots Frank walking towards the front of the restaurant. The two men lock eyes and Frank stops dead in his tracks upon seeing Ethan. He quickly schools his features, plastering a wide smile on his face before he approaches.

“Dr. Ramsey, so lovely to see you!”

Ethan isn’t feeling as friendly. He doesn’t return the smile or the pleasantries, just taking a few confident strides over to Frank, ushering him to a quiet corner. “Frank, remember when I personally spoke to you over a month ago and I told you I planned to propose tonight? I told you I wanted a reservation, and you told me that you’d personally see to it that I have the best seat in the house?”

Frank swallows hard and averts his gaze. Looking into the eyes of a pissed off Ethan Ramsey is something like staring at Medusa head-on. “I did say that, yes,” he concedes.

“So flash forward to tonight, why am I being told that there’s no reservation?”

“I apologize, Doctor. There’s clearly been a breakdown of communication between myself and my staff, and I take full responsibility.”

“As you should!” Ethan snaps. His voice goes up an octave, and a few patrons of the restaurant turn in his direction, startled by the outburst.

Okay, so being 38 years old and throwing a tantrum in public isn’t his best look. Taking a deep breath, Ethan counts to 3 and tries to regain his composure. So there’s no reservation, but maybe there’s a way this night can be salvaged.

“Well, just give us an available table, any one will do,” Ethan says. Franks wrings his hands together and Ethan doesn’t like the sight of it one bit.

“Unfortunately, we are fully booked for the evening.” Ethan’s nostrils flare and there’s a slight ringing in his ears at the admission. “But I can squeeze you in next weekend, at any time you want! And for the inconvenience, it’ll be on the house for you and the lovely lady.”

“If you think I’m ever stepping foot in this place ever again, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Ethan walks off and takes Naomi’s hand. She looks up at him, her gaze soft. “What happened?”

“They somehow forgot I made a reservation for tonight,” Ethan grumbles. “And we can't get a table because it’s packed. I’m sorry.”

Naomi frowns and squeezes Ethan’s hand. “Well it’s not your fault, so you don’t have to apologize to me. It’s their loss. I’m sorry because it’s clear that you put a lot of thought into this date night.”

She doesn’t even know the half of it, Ethan thinks to himself.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Naomi adds, tugging on her boyfriend.

“Where are we going?”

“A place with a lot less pomp and circumstance.”

They end up in a hole in the wall lobster shack near the harbor, eating lobster rolls and sharing a bowl of clam chowder. They’re the most overdressed couple visiting the establishment, earning interesting stares from the other patrons.

“You and I are slightly overdressed,” Ethan teases, awkwardly tugging the collar of his button-down.

Naomi looks around and then at herself before laughing. “I think I’m going to keep a spare change of clothes in your car just for nights like this. But I think we look very good. It’s always nice to not have to wear scrubs.”

“Again, I’m sorry about the reservation at Frank’s not working out. I know it’s one of your favorite restaurants.”

“True, but I’ll survive. For now, I’m content just being here with you.” Ethan watches as Naomi opens a pack of saltine crackers, crushes them in the palm of her hand and pours them into the bowl of chowder. He pulls a face, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by the young resident.

“I can feel you judging me, Ramsey,” Naomi says.

“I’m just observing your messy eating habits, Valentine,” he shoots back. He briefly wonders if she’ll want to keep her maiden name. Will she stay Dr. Valentine? Dr. Ramsey? Dr. Valentine-Ramsey? It’s an outdated tradition, adopting a new last name upon marriage, but the thought of her becoming Naomi Ramsey makes him excited. It rolls off the tongue rather nicely.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at her, but now Naomi is looking back at him. “Hello, earth to Ethan.”

It snaps him out of his daze and he blinks a few times in an attempt to regain his bearings. “Huh?”

“You keep staring at me. Do I have something on my face?”

“No, you’re fine. I guess I just got caught up in looking at you.”

Even though the lighting in the lobster shack is dim, Ethan can still see the apples of Naomi’s cheeks turning red.

While things at the restaurant didn’t turn out like he planned, this, just being here with Naomi as she devours the clam chowder that they were supposed to share, feels extremely right.

His hand tingles and the urge to whip out the ring box, right here, right now is strong. Just do it!

Don’t even think about it!

Stop being an idiot and ask her already!

The tiny voice in his head only grows louder the more seconds tick on. Impulsively, he reaches forward and grabs Naomi’s hand, stopping her from bringing her spoon to her mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Naomi says back. “But can you not grab my hand while I’m trying to eat?”

Ethan drops her hand quickly, flushing as he does so. “I wanted to take you out tonight because I wanted to celebrate with you. This past year and a half has been–”

“Help! Help!”

The shrill cry cuts Ethan short and he head snaps around to find the source of the noise. He sees a woman frantically standing over a coughing man. The man is clutching his throat, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. He’s choking.

Naomi and Ethan lock eyes with each other before they both abandon their table and rush forward to help, never able to turn off the fact that they’re doctors.

Ethan sighs, as the moment has been thoroughly ruined. So maybe proposing in the lobster shack won’t be happening.

~v~

So dinner was a bust two times over for the evening, but Ethan tries his hardest to stay optimistic. It’s a beautiful night, the weather is calm, and the Common is surprisingly sparse for a weekend night, so he and Naomi don’t have to deal with too many people.

“This has been an eventful night,” Ethan says.

“You mean you don’t get turned away from a 4-star restaurant and then perform the Heimlich on lobster shack patrons every day?”

“No, it’s usually one or the other. More of the life saving, less getting turned away at restaurants.”

“Well, at least I’ll have an interesting story to tell my friends at work.”

They stop at a bench, right in front of the giant weeping willow, Naomi’s favorite part of the park and sit down. She rests her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already?”

“It was a long week at work,” Naomi says, feeling the need to defend herself. “My boss has been working me like crazy. Not to mention, it’s been a busy day.”

Ethan chuckles and kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of shampoo. “Your boss sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Yes, but I let him get away with it because I love him.”

“He’s sounds like a lucky man.”

“He is.”

A family of ducks trots past their feet, earning a few coos and smiles from Naomi, though she otherwise leaves them alone to roam.

A comfortable silence settles between the two of them, neither one of them deeming it necessary to speak. Finally after all of the chaos the past few hours threw at them, it’s nice to just sit in quiet.

Is now finally a good time? Ethan thinks to himself. Surely nothing else can impede on the proposal, as the universe has screwed with him enough for one night.

The wind picks up slightly, a strong gusts makes a few tendrils of Naomi’s hair fly into her face, and she huddles closer to him, trying to steal his body heat. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight against him.

“I’ve been driving myself crazy all day trying to think of a way to broach this with you,” Ethan starts, breaking the silence.

“Broach what?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently. Mostly about us, especially with you being in your third year of residency, and how our future might look because of that.”

The hair on the back of her neck stands up, but Naomi doesn’t fully know why. Why does Ethan want to talk about their future? Why did he feel the need to take her out on the date in order to start the conversation?

The wind picks up again, and this time, Naomi hears thunder clap somewhere close by. “Is it supposed to rain tonight?”

“What? No.” Ethan checked the weather more times than he’d care to admit. It’s supposed to be a perfect evening in Boston.

“Are you sure?” 

Naomi sounds skeptical, and Ethan huffs. “Rookie, trust me, if there’s one thing I’ve done today, it’s check weather reports.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Ethan feels it. A single drop of moisture hits his cheek.

It doesn’t take long after that first raindrop for the others to come. In a quick burst, the rain falls, harsh and heavy.

Naomi shrieks and stands up, trying to look for shelter. Ethan isn’t as quick as she is, as he’s still stuck on the fact that it’s raining.

The pure absurdity of the day is so ridiculous, and a low chuckle forms low in his throat until he’s actually laughing. He laughs hard, the force of it actually making him clutch his side.

Ethan looks up at the sky, uncaring that the rain is pelting him relentlessly. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Ethan, what are you doing?” Naomi asks. “You’re going to get soaked!”

“My car is on the other side of the park, we’re going to get soaked regardless.”

“So you want to, what? Just sit in the rain?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, now isn’t the time for petulance,” Naomi says. She grabs Ethan’s hand and tries to tug him up, but he doesn’t budge.

“No. I have spent weeks trying to plan the perfect date for you, and it’s been a shitshow from start to finish. For some reason, the universe has decided that today isn’t my day, so instead of fighting it, I’m going to lean into it.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. Ethan has been beating himself up over this night not going the way he wanted it to, and she doesn’t understand why. Yes, Naomi likes fancy restaurants as much as the next girl, but she’s never been a high maintenance diva, nor has she ever demanded that Ethan be perfect. 

“Why have you been putting so much pressure on tonight?” Naomi asks.

“For you!”

“I never asked you to! Now stop being such a baby and let’s go home!”

Ethan sighs and drudges himself up. His now soaking wet clothes make the task more difficult than it should be as now he feels 10 pounds heavier.

“I’m not being a baby,” Ethan argues.

“You’re acting like one.”

“You’re a blanket hog.”

The statement is so random, it makes Naomi do a double take. “What?”

“You’re a blanket hog,” Ethan repeats. “And you always put your freezing cold feet on mine when we’re in bed. You have a terrible singing voice, but I love listening to you when we’re at home. Your grooming products have completely taken over my bathroom, and it’s fine, because I love the smell of whatever fruity shower gel you use. You spend way too much time watching inaccurate medical dramas for a woman that graduated top of her class at Johns Hopkins. You steal my food, as evidenced by the fact that you completely hijacked the clam chowder we were sharing. You drive me insane, and it’s been that way from the moment we met, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I love you.”

“I love the way your nose crinkles when you smile. I love the way you speak French when you’re mad at me. I love that you spoil Jenner. I love how passionate you are and how you’re willing to fight for people you care about, especially your patients. I love that you aren’t afraid to challenge me, whether it’s about work or something at home. I love that you have always believed in me, even when I was so stupid to believe in myself.”

Ethan reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small ring box before dropping down on one knee. Just seeing him do that is enough to earn a gasp of shock from Naomi.

“Ethan?” She can’t breathe. She can’t think. The only thing Naomi can hear is the sound of her beating heart. “What’s in the box?”

“What do you think is in the box?”

“I think it’s an engagement ring.” With trembling fingers, Ethan slowly opens the box, revealing the stunning 4 carat cushion cut diamond.

“You’d be correct.”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

“Oh no. After all the trouble I went through, you have to let me get through my entire speech.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t see you coming at all. I wasn’t looking for love when you came into my life, and I was quite content being single. But little by little, you broke through and made yourself a permanent fixture in my life, and I’ve been all the better for it. You have all of me, mind, body, and soul, and usually the thought of relinquishing so much control terrifies me, but not with you. You are smart, and kind, and outspoken, and beautiful, and compassionate, and I don’t know what I did in this lifetime or the last one to deserve you, but I intend on spending the rest of my days being someone worthy of you. So, Naomi Marie Valentine, will you marry me?”

The tears are flowing freely, and Naomi can hardly see anymore, but she nods nonetheless. “Y-yes!”

“Yes?”

“Yes!”

Ethan doesn’t waste another second, plucking the ring out of the box and sliding it onto Naomi’s left ring finger. Once the ring is securely on, he stands up and wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her into the air slightly.

As soon as her feet are back on the ground and she’s steady again, Naomi grabs Ethan’s face and pulls him into a kiss. Neither of them seem to mind the fact that it’s still pouring, the cold rain seeping through their clothes.

“I love you,” Naomi says quickly, before pulling Ethan into another kiss.

“I love you too.”

“And though things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to, this proposal was perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Because of this, I got my cliche kiss in the rain.”

Ethan smiles. He hadn’t thought of it like that. “That’s true.”

“And think about it, I think this will be a much more interesting story to tell our future kids someday.”

“You make some excellent points, future Missus Ramsey.”

A thrill courses through her at the name. “Mhmm, I like the sound of that.”

“Good, because that’s what I’m going to be calling you for the rest of our lives.”

~v~

Tags: @aylamreads @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey 

[author-morgan]

Deimos!Alexios NSFW Alphabet 

Deimos!Alexios x Fem!Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Deimos is steadily getting better when it comes to aftercare, just as he is getting better and learning how to show affection. He doesn’t act aloof anymore and starts taking time to tend to you. He’ll check for any scratches and soothe the angry-looking love bites on your neck and chest with soft kisses. Deimos helps you clean up too. While he’s not one to cuddle, he still drags you into his side (and if you want to curl up to him he’s not going to stop you).

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part is his arms because of how strong they are —he can easily pin you down with them and have his way with you. You also like his arms, but Deimos’ thighs are surely sculpted by the gods. There have been times when he’s let you get off by riding his thigh.

Deimos’ favorite part of you is your hands. He likes how much smaller they are than his and how delicate they look against his skin, especially near the scars on his torso and back. He also enjoys how talented your hands are when they’re struggling to wrap around his thick cock. A close second for him is your stomach —Deimos likes how soft it is, a reminder that you aren’t a warrior, and how it rolls and creases as he bends your body like Hephaestus does hot iron in his forge. He thinks it’s a glorious sight to look down and watch his seed paint your belly.  

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The Cult may not have told him everything —but deep down he knows he’s only a weapon and they want his bloodline erased (why else would they be hunting his parents and sister?). He knows that if you bear his child the Cult will either twist it into a monster like him or leave it to be exposed. For that reason, Deimos mostly finishes on the inside of your thigh or your stomach. If –for whatever reason– he cannot control himself and cums inside you, he’ll make sure you’re supplied with silphium or wild bird’s nest to prevent conception.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It makes him feel a little guilty, but Deimos takes pleasure when you struggle —mostly trying to fight for control, or at least to be able to touch him when he pins your hands down.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, whispers were that the Cult provided their champion with prizes for his victories —a night with some unfortunate soul or souls— to quell the monster until morning. The first time you lay with Deimos, he left you wanting. He knew how to please himself, but not another. It’s a tedious process to teach him the workings of a woman’s body, but after some time he learns what you like (and don’t) and ensures you’re never left wanting again.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It’s basic, but his favorite ways to take you are with you on your back —legs wrapped around his waist— or on all fours (or bent over a table). Deimos does get a certain thrill when you’re on top of him, but he likes being in control too much for those moments to last long.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Deimos is serious and it’s reflected in everything he does —including when he has his way with you. You don’t mind as it’s his nature.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s the face of a powerful organization and image is important to him, even for areas not seen in public. He keeps everything tidy —once he’s comfortable around you, sometimes he’ll even let you help.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

For the longest time, he tried to remain detached, but soon his emotions started getting in the way. That’s when the dynamic started to shift between the two of you —his kisses and touches become softer and linger a little longer and he holds your gaze longer, making sure you’re satisfied.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

For the most part, Deimos controls his compulsions well and rarely ever jacks off. He suppresses his desires when he’s away —he doesn’t need the distraction when he’s trying to sway a leader or change the tides of war— but when he returns, his pent up desire is released like a flood.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Besides an obvious kink for being in control, Deimos also has a kink for marking you as his. He likes seeing the shallow indentation of his teeth on your shoulder, the purple-red hickeys on your neck and breasts, even the light bruises on your hips. (Deimos won’t ever tell you, but he enjoys it when you mark him too especially when your nails break his skin and leave scratches over his back.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

There’s a spot south of the Temple of Apollo that’s always quiet with a view of the sea —he likes to take you there and have his way with you with the moon and stars as witnesses. When you’re there, Deimos tends to take things slower, is gentler, and you might even dare say bordering on romantic. While that’s his favorite place, he’ll take you just about anywhere if he wants you bad enough —in a fort or leader’s house, in one of the antechambers of the Cave of Gaia, on a ship at sea— anywhere.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Three things can easily get Deimos riled up. 1) When you shake your hair free from a braid or let it down from a pinned style it drives him crazy and he wants nothing more than runs his fingers through it. 2) Back and neck rubs, mostly it’s unintentional as you’re just trying to help soothe his tight muscles after a stressful mission or long day of training. Though sometimes when you’re feeling brave your hands will slip around to his torso, pressing into his abdomen —if you do that, Deimos is on you in seconds. 3) Seeing you for the first time after being separated will get him going too.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Deimos isn’t going to do anything that could seriously hurt you, sure his hands leave a fair share of bruises on your hips and thighs, but he’ll never do anything that could truly injure you. After all, the Cult has made it very clear that he will not receive another prize should anything befall you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It was clear when you first met Deimos that he preferred receiving over going down on you —in part because he never had a partner up until you that made him want to return the favor. He still enjoys having your mouth wrapped around his cock, his hand tangled in your hair. When you're sucking him off, it gives you a sense of power and pride to have one of the strongest men in the Greek world completely at your mercy.

When Deimos goes down on you, he always acts like a starved man at a feast —pulling your legs over his shoulders and holding you against his mouth. The stubble of his jaw scraping your thighs, his warm tongue against your clit, and rough fingers pressing into you, curling and stroking. He doesn’t stop until you’re writhing, unsure if you’re pulling him closer and pushing him away.  

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He tends to be on the rougher side even if he’s taking things slow, but if you’re ever in pain or uncomfortable he’ll make small adjustments to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. On rare occasions, you can get him to truly take things slow —it doesn’t take long before you’re begging him to go faster and deeper.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Deimos isn’t opposed to a good quickie. Most of the time he pulls you aside for a quick fuck when he has to leave suddenly and isn’t sure when he’ll be back.  

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Deimos is down to experiment to some degree, mostly it’s trying new positions (he’s always going to be the one in charge though unless you manage to catch him off-guard). He only takes risks when he knows you’re okay with it. One time he had his hand over your throat and you’d laid your over his, squeezing his fingers. That’s how he found out you enjoyed the light pressure of his hand wrapped around your throat.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has the blood of the gods running in his veins —he can easily go three to four rounds before he’s spent and tends to last far longer than a typical man. Deimos has been known to keep you up to until the early hours of the morning.  

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

There’s an olisbos lying around somewhere (it’s molded after his likeness though he’s never expressly mentioned that, but every time the cool, smooth stone slips into your heat it always feels familiar). There are a few long strips of silk lying around, too —Deimos only uses those if you’ve been especially ill-behaved.  

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not much for teasing. There’s still ample foreplay between you and Deimos, but it never feels like teasing. You’ve gotten away with teasing him before, like when he was training you to use a sword though once he realized what you were doing, Deimos pulled you aside —his stiff cock pressing into your stomach.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not particularly vocal during the act. Mainly he just grunts and groans —sometimes right before he cums, soft moans bordering on whimpers will escape his lips. You notice once he’s free from the Cult he becomes a little louder, less controlled, and eventually, he even starts panting and breathing your name like a broken prayer.

W = Wildcard (a random headcanon for the character)

One of his favorite things is after he gets back from an assignment or training and is bathing. He loves it when you start massaging his scalp, working down to his shoulders and arms, around to his back. Soothing his tense muscles and tracing over his scars. Eventually, you always end up in the water, too —with him lazily thrusting up into you, hands holding onto your hips, face pressed into your breasts, and your hands threaded into his matted hair. Now that you think about it —bath sex is one of your favorite things too.  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Deimos is well endowed. He may only be a demigod, but his cock is that of an Olympian god —15 cm with an equal amount of girth. When he’s completely hard, it curves slightly to the left with swollen veins running from base to head.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a healthy sex drive —maybe even a little higher than an average man. When he’s not off somewhere doing the Cult’s bidding you can expect to have sex two or three times during a week, unless he’s in a bad mood. His libido is always higher once he returns from being away from you, though.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

If Deimos is beyond the point of exhaustion, he can fall asleep almost immediately, sometimes while still laying on top of you (it takes practice to be able to shimmy part of his weight off of you without waking him). Other times it takes hours for him to fall asleep —even if you’re already sound asleep lying next to him, and sometimes he doesn’t sleep at all.  

[okk--maaan]

Ronnie NSFW Alphabet N - Z

Hi guys! Remember Ronnie Week?? Yeah me neither. I know I haven’t been great at updating, but reality really smacked me in the back of the head this week. So here’s the rest of his Alphabet!!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

You haven’t said or done or suggested anything thus far that he wasn’t into. The only turn off he can really come up with off the top of his head would involve certain bodily fluids (which he has made clear does not include squirting or even period play).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ronnie loves to eat your pussy. Like really eat. He could be down there for hours - for forever really - if you let him, just devouring you like it’s his last meal, like your cum is the last thing he’ll drink. He’s not the most finessed in the art of pussy eating, but he is dedicated.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This depends entirely on the mood and intent of your playtime. If you’ve been teasing him all day - rubbing your ass on his cock before you get out of bed, visiting him at the station in a skimpy outfit, bending over in front of the oven naked - he’ll take you exactly how he likes. Which is usually hard and quick. Pounding into you over and over until you just can’t cum anymore.

But sometimes he likes to tease you. Sometimes he likes to skim his fingers through your dripping folds, intentionally ignoring your throbbing needy clit. When he finally feels like he’s ready - when you’re beyond ready - he’ll drag the tip of his dick through your slick circling slowly around your swollen bud before pushing himself in even slower. He’ll pull out then slide back in at such an excruciating pace. Never really giving you the friction you’re desperately hoping for.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Ronnie generally isn’t one for quickies. He likes to take time with you. Likes to explore every part of you. Likes for you to explore every part of him. The closest Ronnie gets to a quickie is a bit of mutual masturbation when he comes home from work and your body has been on his mind all day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He loves to experiment. Ronald Peterson will try anything - twice. Has he said that before? He’s pretty sure he’s said that before. But. Like he’s also said before, he doesn’t particularly enjoy the risk of public/semi-public sex. He’s too scared to get in trouble. What a wuss.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

HOURS. Even if Ronnie busts quick the first time ‘round, he’s ready for you again in a matter of minutes. And you better be ready. Because he’s going to make you cum at least four times. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No such thing as too many toys in Ronnie’s opinion. He doesn’t really like using toys on you though. He would much rather watch you get yourself off with a vibe or a nice cold glass dildo. But he loves when you use toys on him. His favorite sleeve, that soft little blue buttplug. And when he’s feeling particularly naughty, he asks you to use his long thick dildo. Sometimes you’ll just use your hand to push and pull into him while he lays on his back with his legs hiked up. Other times you’ll strap it in to your special panties and fuck him hard with him on his hands and knees.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ronnie usually doesn’t tease you unless you’ve been teasing him and he thinks you need to learn a lesson. But sometimes it’s just too hard for him to control himself around you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This is another aspect where his relative shyness comes into play. It’s not so much that he’s embarrassed, he just wants his words to be only for you. All of his grunts, moans, sighs are deep in his throat - private, special. And even when he cums, his shouts are just loud enough for only you to hear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Ronnie loves ass play. He is an ass man after all, remember? Just like he can spend hours eating your cunt, he can give just as much attention to your asshole. Sometimes he’ll have you on your hands and knees while he tongues at your tight hole and strokes his cock. And he can cum just like that. He also loves when you return the favor. He’ll lay on his back with his knees pulled to his chest and his ass spread so you can lick him and jerk him off.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Ummm large? He likes to be bashful about it, but Ronnie is packin’. 9 inches of silky, veiny, thickness, a prominent head with a rounded edge for you to swirl your tongue around. And he’s got a nice little upward curve that hits all those right spots perfectly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Higher than the Space Needle! (Which you always jokingly tell him you’d like to fuck at the top of. Well...it’s not really a joke.) But he never denies you when you’re in the mood. If the two of you are out and about and you start dropping sexy little hints, he’s really good at coming up with an excuse to get you home as quick as he can.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After he’s made sure you’ve rehydrated and bathed and you’ve shared a post-sex snack, he usually doesn’t make it past the opening credits of the movie he picked. But he always falls asleep snuggled up real close to you, wrapping long arms and legs around you tight.

[beerecordings]

Poison - Chapter 3

(Part 1 l Part 2)

okay!! so I wasn’t originally planning to do this because I don’t really like a ridiculous amount of suspense and I wanted you guys to be able to have most of the rest of the fic beneath your hands before I released another chapter, but this is just too gotdang long to not have in several chapters. so no this does not have the end, but i have a LOT more written than this and will plan to release it pretty quickly, probably within the week or a few days.

i hope u like it!! or, um, maybe don’t like it, because it is painful :)

seriously, though, trigger warning for major abuse of Marvin, death, blood, vomit mention, and extreme distress. I feel like the first two chapters set a strong enough mood that you can kind of anticipate how dark this could be, but I would definitely rate this as Mature on ao3 for the anger and torture of it all.

But you’ve been waiting long enough for this, so here you go.

Henrik packs everything he could possibly need.

Sedatives, painkillers, emetics, ethel, tubocurarine. His gun in his coat pocket. A pack of cards. A mask.

As soon as they find him, he’ll be ready. He’s already called the hospital to tell them what to expect and what to prepare. He’s not a rookie, not two months old anymore. Ready for anything. Ready for everything. All good war medics are, and fuck if his life hasn’t made him a soldier.

As soon as they find him, he can save him.

But they can’t fucking find him.

“What do we do?” he whispers from the couch, staring up at Jackie, pacing, pulling at his hair, panting. “Jackie, what do we – ”

“Schneep,” Jackie cuts him off, warning, thinking. Henrik falls silent, staring up at his big brother.

“I’ve got to follow this Chase lead,” mumbles Jackie.

“What? Don’t you think Marvin is just a little more pressing?”

“I don’t have any leads on Marvin!” Jackie’s voice is loud, always loud, but it barely shakes. He can feel Jamie and Henrik’s eyes on him. “Max will keep looking. None of our other friends have any ideas. I’m hoping – oh, fuck, I’m praying – maybe Anti was after Marv this morning too.”

“You think Anti might know where Marvin is?” asks JJ, frowning. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

“He was near Marvin when the camera spotted him. Maybe he was following him. Maybe he lead Cottonmouth to him or something. They could be working together. If I can find him, maybe I can find Marvin.”

Henrik and Jameson exchange glances. They both recognize it for what it is – Jackie’s last, bottom-barrel, goose-eggs idea. The only one they’ve got, no matter how slim the chance of it leading to anything. Jackie is already rushing to leave the house.

“Well,” frowns Henrik.

“No, don’t argue with me!” snaps Jackie, grabbing his boots from beside the front door, hopping on one foot to tug them on. “This is the only way.”

“No, I agree,” sighs Henrik. He clears his voice to get the weakness out of it. “I do think Anti watches us. Knows where we are. Maybe he could find Marvin if you could find him. Just… be careful. We’ll keep an eye on the video. You go.”

Affection like a heatwave rises up in Jackie’s chest. He pauses in his mad scramble to come over and shove his forehead against first Henrik’s, and then Jameson’s too, getting a small, warm whistle out of his little brother for comfort.

“Okay, stay here, be safe. Yes, that means you, Jameson.”

Jamie clutches his knife to his chest, sticking out his bottom lip petulantly. It’s a little strange that he hasn’t demanded to come along, sign-shouting about his own ability to kick ass and protect Marvin, but Jackie isn’t about to start looking gift horses in the mouth. Or whatever the fuck the saying is. He isn’t about to start looking a stab-happy little force-to-be-reckoned-with in the eyes when he’s in a rush, that’s the point.

He grabs Chase’s keys off the table and heads toward the door, his heart pounding painful in his chest. “I love you both!”

It’s important that they know that.

“I’ll be back soon. I’ll find him.”

A promise.

“I know, Jackie,” answers Henrik frailly, trying to believe him, and then Jackie is gone.

Henrik slumps down on the couch and breathes out a deep sigh, pulling the computer where Marvin’s figure contorts close. There’s nothing more he can do. He’ll just keep an eye on Marvin. On his big brother, writhing. Oh, God. Oh, God, please. It’s okay. He’s okay. Everything’s okay. He wipes his sweaty palms on his dress pants and decides on a quick break, maybe just two minutes to pretend this isn’t happening. He buries his face in his hands and tries to stop thinking.

JJ taps on his shoulder.

“Just a second, Jameson,” moans Henrik, pushing his glasses into his nose until they leave a mark.

Another tap, more insistent.

Sighing, Henrik pulls his face away and looks up, red-eyed, at his little brother.

“Sedate me,” signs Jameson.

Henrik closes his eyes. Opens them again. “I’m not understanding you,” he says.

Jameson furrows his eyebrows. He tries another sign.

“Put me to sleep.”

Henrik rubs at his beard, staring.

Irritated, JJ signs it out. “S-E-D-A-T-I-V-E.”

“You’re really going to make me ask why, aren’t you?” snaps Henrik.

Jameson throws his hands up in the air. “Obvious!”

“No, it is not,” Henrik signs back, just as forcefully. “What is you getting some sleep going to help in a time like – oh.”

The realization hits him.

“Oh, come on, Jackson. You must be pulling on my arm.”

“It’s ‘leg,’ Henrik. And you come on! If I fall asleep, I bet I’ll have another dream about Marvin, and then maybe I can find where he is! I bet if I really focus – ”

“Jameson, for the last time, they’re not prophecies. Just dreams. Please, let’s not do this right now.”

But Jameson grows ferocious under stress and he huffs and throws his hands, complaining without words, standing over Henrik.

“Don’t fuss at me!”

“This is the only thing I can think of to help!”

“Well, it won’t work, so it doesn’t matter!”

“I am telling you, as my big brother, who’s supposed to have my back, that these aren’t just dreams. Henrik. I’m not joking. Sedate me.”

“They’re not real! It’s better for you to be awake so you can come help me with Marvin when Jackie finds him!”

“Jackie’s not going to find him! Jackie hasn’t been able to find Anti for six months! That’s why Chase is still gone, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“Don’t fucking say that to me!”

“Why are you so opposed to this? You know magic is real, you’ve seen Marvin use his cards, but you refuse to believe me when I tell you I can see things too? I’m supposed to be able to trust you. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. I’ve got an actual idea to find our brother who is dying at this exact moment and you won’t even try?”

“It’s not – stop! Just stop!”

“No, tell me why, why do you refuse to even – ”

“Because if what you’re seeing is real, then everything you’ve seen is real!”

He shouts it so loud it hurts the back of his throat.

He’s on his feet, but doesn’t remember standing up. Jameson flinches away from him, blinking rapidly, standing back.

Henrik tries to breathe steady.

Dust filters down through the sun-bright air.

“What do you mean?” asks Jameson. He reaches up like he might touch his hands, but draws away again, his mouth slightly open.

“You – you want me to believe you can see things before they happen.” Henrik runs a shaky hand through his hair. He can’t take this right now. “You want me to believe you’ve seen things that will come true, that will really happen. And for months… and months… and months… you’ve been watching Chase in torment.”

Henrik’s voice breaks down the middle and he has to stop, clutching at his heart. Jameson stares at him, mouth slightly open.

“Chained up and covered in blood, sitting in that little room hiding his eyes like Anti won’t see him if he can’t see him, crying through possession throes, and scheisse, scheisse, but I’ve been there…”

Jameson’s mouth trembles. He leans in, slow, and presses himself to Henrik’s chest, burying his face in his collar, gripping at his sleeves.

His soft breath against Henrik’s chest is a reassurance: It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” whispers Henrik, wrapping his arms around Jameson’s back, staring out at the sky through the windowpane of the home they share. “Often I think it would be better for him to be dead than to suffer that.”

Jameson groans and presses his forehead harder against Henrik’s collarbone, shaking his head. He squeezes his arms tight around Henrik’s ribs and then draws back, meeting his teary, embarrassed eyes, reaching up to tap on his chin. They could talk about this for so long – maybe they should have a long time ago – but there isn’t time now.

Marvin is limp on the screen, his captor standing in front of him, watching, watching.

“I’m sorry,” says Henrik, very softly, turning away from his gaze. “You know, I used to be stronger. Before you were born. Before anybody ever got their hands on me. Before my mind started to… I used to be stronger.”

“I like you just the way you are,” says Jameson, so simply that even Henrik can’t help but believe him.

Henrik rubs his eyes, breathes in deep, and blows the breath out again. “You really want me to sedate you?”

“Yes. So I can try and see him in the future.”

“It’s lunacy.”

“It’s the only idea I’ve got.”

Henrik sighs, straightens, and pushes his glasses up on his nose, standing tall. “Okay. Okay. You know the risks, you know the likelihood, so I trust you. Of course I trust you. I believe you. Go lie down on your bed – no, no, Marvin’s. He burns incense in his room and casts all his spells there, the walls are heavy with magic. Get his tarot cards out too, maybe they will help you.”

Jameson blinks and smiles. “Why, doctor! If I didn’t know any better I might take you for a bit of a magician yourself.”

Henrik scoffs, shoving his shoulder. “You take that back. It’s not my fault my brothers are all idiot sorcerers or whatever you call yourself. I’ve just picked up on the ways you do things. Me, I am a man of science. And I’m about to sedate the hell out of you, so get your ass to bed.”

Relieved, Jameson beams up at him and then darts off down the hallway. Henrik knows just the thing for the task – a sedative bordering on a mere calmative, helpful for younger brothers with too many shadows in their heads to handle alone or out-of-control magicians with too hot a glow in their eyes, just enough to take them out of whatever dangerous game they’ve been caught up in for a little while. It doesn’t take him long to prepare it.

Truth is, he doesn’t have much faith this will work, even if Marvin’s magic halos JJ’s in that little blue bedroom in the hallway. Jameson’s visions are fickle at best – though, to be fair, he never seems to dream of anything irrelevant to his life anymore. It’s always shadows purring along the corners of their house or the people he loves in danger. And the more obsessive he gets, the more paranoid, the worse the visions always seem to be... the more clear, the more powerful...

Maybe Jack made him like this for a reason, Henrik tries to hope, pushing through the door to Marvin’s room and finding his little brother already laid out on the bed, his neck bared in a show of trust, his eyes calm as Henrik approaches with the little needle. Maybe Jack always meant for him to be able to find us in times like this.

If nothing else, it will give his little brother a break from this alcohol-burn terror convulsing in their chests.

“Going to be a small pinch,” warns Henrik. “You should be able to wake in some twenty, thirty minutes. It’s light so you might have to make an effort to quiet down and fall asleep, okay?”

That doesn’t sound easy when he can’t think of anything but Marvin: writhing, strung up, his eyes bulging in his skull. He’s already seen part of where this story is headed. Now he just needs to find the setting for his brother's torment. For that, he will try his best to fall asleep.

In his hands, he clutches Marvin’s cards. His fingers play with the Chariot, flipping it up, and then down, up, and then down, up, and then…

He nods, and smiles, and then there is a needle in his throat.

Jumping Jehoshaphat! It hits him right away and he derealizes hard as the world goes distant, sinking down against Henrik’s arms. His body has never gone light quite like this, far away quite like this, and in the middle of it all, there is only one image that remains – Marvin tortured, Marvin blood-slicked, Marvin dying.

Brother! cries everything within him, cries his strength and his heart, cries the faraway world and the growing burn of something like magic in the blood circling through his aching chest.

Marvin shaking, Marvin calling, Marvin stiff and growing paler.

Brother, brother!

Flickers of strangers approaching his body, flickers of unnatural movement and colors that burn…

Marvin, Marvin, my brother…

His shattered cheek comes fully into focus. Jameson stares at the red-pink bone protruding. The walls behind him are brick, the floor cement, the air tastes of dust and alcohol, and someone is close, close behind Jameson, for he looks with eyes that only see what he needs to see, and nothing more –

And then the vision has swallowed Jameson, and his rolling eyes pause one more time to fix on the good doctor, and he slips under the sedative’s warmth.

Henrik sinks back, holding him.

His lip trembles.

He stares dead ahead.

His watch ticks softly on his wrist and the computer at his side is turned up to volume level two, just enough that he can hear the soft cries of Marvin beginning to suffocate. In his pocket, his phone waits for any word, any sign, any summons.

He is a sentinel, today.

“Let this fucking work,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. He wishes Chase were here.

Like a well-trained soldier, the good doctor keeps watch.

  “Cottonmouth,” whispers Marvin through his gag.

She looks up.

Her eyes are the sharpened ends of daggers.

“Killian,” she says, tilting her head at her soldier. “Go run a perimeter check.”

His hulking figure retreats up the concrete steps of the basement.

Cottonmouth takes a long drink from her coffee thermos and pulls a few almonds out of a bag on her table behind the camera, popping them in her mouth. Marvin's blood has dried on her fingers. She licks the salt off.

There must have been a change in his tone, or maybe it's just because this is the first time he's bothered trying to speak in about half an hour, but Cottonmouth, though she can't understand his words, seems to understand that he wants to speak to her and not to the cameras. He's too tired to try anything. Maybe this is just his fate. Maybe he's already lost.

She gets up and yanks the gag out of his mouth. He takes a deep breath, coughing hard and spitting up the taste of poison and the foul cloth.

“Don't beg,” she tells him as she returns to her desk, crossing her legs and rubbing her wrist gently across the satiny tights which covers her knees. “I don't care what you ask but don't beg, I'm so tired of everyone begging once it's already much too late. 'Don't kill me, don't hurt me, I have a family, I'm scared to die!' Blah, blah, blah. Everyone is the same when they are dying. It's no longer entertaining.”

Marvin is limp in his chains again. His eyes are closed and his throat nastily swollen, making his breaths come in a slow, steady, string-thin wheeze. Cottonmouth stares at him blankly, taking another drink of her tea.

“You really think you can get out of this untouched?” rasps his tiny, choking voice.

“Nothing can hurt me now,” she responds, immediately.

Her eyes glow gold in the one beam of light which filters in through the high windows of the basement, peeking out over grass and freedom.

“There is nothing left worth protecting,” she continues. “Not without him. Used to be fun living like this, you know. Being rich as all fuck and telling everyone what to do and watching my soldiers bash in heads between car-doors... and then, when I got bored of that, bashing in the heads myself... but it's nothing to me now. What does it matter? No fun without him.”

She sighs and throws another almond in her mouth, getting to her feet and stepping closer to Marvin on her little black ballet flats, soaked through with blood. Wet against her small feet.

“Nothing's fun anymore. Even this, shit. Hoped it would cheer me up.”

She sighs and pushes Marvin's cheek, making him sway back, like a doll on a string.

“Maybe I should have had you crucified or something a little more dramatic. Or hired a surgeon to pick your brain, literally. I suppose this is good too. Moccasin would have really liked it. And I'm looking forward to the part where you choke on your own vomit, filling up the swollen red chamber of your esophagus as you spasm. Come on, then. Have you fallen asleep or was that all you wanted to say? Not long now before the spasms come back. You're getting less and less time between them, now. Last two were only three minutes apart.”

No, he's not asleep. He's not asleep. If he were home, ill or poisoned or injured, he would be. Henrik would be here at his side, pressing medicine between his lips or whispering a warning about a swift prick of a needle, giving him something so he can escape this hurt and tumble into unconscious. Jackie and Jameson would be nearby, glowing in tandem, his gold and silver stars, watching over him.

He wonders if they're still watching.

He wonders if they're still looking for him.

“I'm going to come visit you in jail,” he tells her thickly.

There's a little life back in her eyes again, suddenly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I'll visit Moccasin too – sorry, Andrei, that's his real name, isn't it? – and I'll come and tell you all about it.”

“Will you now?” she laughs, and she begins to circle him, circle him, fond of the game they're playing, her eyes flashing like lights coming on in the graveyard.

“Yeah. Bring Jackie along too.”

“I'd love to see him again. You know, after I kill you, I'm going to hunt him down as well.”

Fire lights up in Marvin's blood, and not the kind that burns. Fuck, but he wishes he had his cards, his mask, anything to let his power out! He would explode like a supernova with this much pain and fear, all of it writhing to be expressed in hearts and clubs!

“He's going to be the one who catches you, Cottonmouth.”

“Please. Your little mongoose can't save you, gopher. No one can. You have minutes left, do you understand? Look at you, barely able to suck in air and almost completely immobile, stiff as a chunk of cold metal. At most, you struggle for perhaps an hour longer. And then, when you're gone, I'll put your body out on the streets for your boy to find, track him down, kidnap him and imprison him for the rest of his short life. I've got to put this fire out. I've got to put this goddamn hatred out. He'll be screaming like a rabbit to have died as fast as you did! No one is going to save you, stupid boy!”

A convulsion writhes its way up Marvin's spine once again and he shrieks, curving backwards, in agony, in agony, and the snake is laughing, is laughing; her teeth shine in the cold white lights of the damp stone basement, and as Marvin's pain becomes greater than his courage, he fixes the stiffened orb of his gaze on the lens of that horrible camera, and begs a God that he doesn't believe in to send somebody to save him –

A gunshot rings out like an apocalypse cry, close enough to make Cottonmouth give a defiant shout and whirl around, yanking a pistol out of her bright red dress coat, pointing it at the stairs.

Killian's body comes crashing down into the basement.

Thud, thud, thud!

Silence as his blood runs across the floor to meet Marvin's.

His eyes gape blankly up at him.

Cottonmouth begins to laugh.

Louder, and louder, and louder, into a fountain of ecstatic giggles, her eyes shining as she levels the gun and steps carefully forward, teeth bared in a grin.

“No one?” comes a voice from the top of the stairs. Familiar. Fraternal. So much like Marvin's own voice. “No one to save him? Are you so sure, my darling?”

“Didn't know you had got a taste for blood, Jackie,” she crows, tilting her head and smiling wicked. “But hey, I understand. Come down here and let's see which of us gets the next drink. Something to quench this hatred, no?”

“Jackie? Jackie? Oh, I see the problem. You have me confused with my big brother. People tell us we look alike, but don't worry...”

The lights flicker out

one

by

one.

At Cottonmouth's back, Marvin gives a low, keening whimper.

Undaunted, she holds her line – gun straight, chin held up. That one beam of sunshine glows down on her.

She doesn't have anything to lose anyway.

The outline of the figure of a man shivers into existence in the corner of Marvin's vision, and then, a second later, it is gone again, re-appearing on the other side of the room, flickering with all the colors of a technicolor dream coat, sometimes barely present, sometimes clear as any good mirage, ghostly and grinning, grinning like a monster.

“I'll introduce myself,” sneers Anti, stepping down the stairs.

[foreverwayward]

“Lost in You” Part 2

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2335

Warnings: none? Possible fluff. Language.

SideBar: A/U where Jensen is single.

Summary: You and your best friend (Y/BF/N) go to a Supernatural convention. It was supposed to just be a fun day; nothing too crazy. That is…until he saw you.

Part 1

You looked in the mirror as you zipped up your fitted hoodie. Underneath was a v-neck t-shirt that just hinted at your full chest. The fitted jeans you wore were met with your favorite Converse sneakers and you ran your hands through your wavy curled hair.

Y/BF/N came out from the bathroom and smiled. “That took you all of five minutes and you look fucking adorable. We don’t really need the extras, do we?”

“I don’t know. I was going to get more dressed up, but...it just doesn’t feel like me, ya know?” You continued to fluff your hair to its appropriate state and then smacked your lips spreading your lip balm.

“You’re right.” Handing you the room key, your friend grinned. “Be yourself.”

“Well,” you sighed heavily. “If I come back in the next ten minutes, you’ll know how well ‘being me’ went.”

Y/BF/N gave you a loving tap to your ass pushing you toward the door. “Go! Have fun! Don’t keep him waiting.”

------

Your stomach did more than somersaults as you rode the elevator to the roof. It felt like you had been in that small box for an eternity as your anxiety built with every floor.

As you shifted on your feet, the doors opened to the rooftop of the hotel. It was a clear and beautiful night with more stars than you usually would see in that part of the city. The full moon gave a soft glow to everything along with the strings of lights hung for ambiance. It was quiet except for the soft music that played through the rooftops speakers.

You walked around the corner with your heart racing a mile a minute. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if he doesn’t even show? Or worse, what if he sees you and leaves?”

Across the rooftop, with no one else around, stood a tall familiar figure. Still, in the red flannel and jeans you saw him in at the convention, Jensen leaned on the railing as he enjoyed the view. You took a deep breath and headed in his direction.

With only a few feet separating you, your steps alerted him of your presence and Jensen turned toward you. Immediately, a genuine grin slowly grew on his face as he looked back at you. “Was wondering if you were gonna stand me up,” he said playfully.

You shrugged with a flirty look. “Eh, didn’t really have anything better to do.” He laughed and you joined him at the railing. Jensen studied you briefly and his tongue shot out over his lip. If only he knew what that did to you. “Well, at least now I’m not worried I’m too underdressed.”

“Nah,” he replied with a smile. When a stray hair fell in your face from the breeze, Jensen reached a soft hand toward you and brushed it back behind your ear. “You’re perfect.”

Butterflies; no...butterflies don’t make you lightheaded and forget your name.

Jensen nodded toward the bar. “Wanna grab a drink?”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” you asked coyly.

He nodded with a chuckle and a look that almost seemed like he was impressed with you. When you reached the bar, he leaned onto the countertop and glanced down at you. “Alright, got a preference?”

“Whiskey, neat.” You didn’t even think about your order before it came out like word vomit. It was your go-to drink of choice.“Oh, god,” you thought. “I’m gonna look like some fucking drunk. Always go for the fruity drinks, Y/N!”

Again, with that look of surprise, Jensen told the bartender, “actually, make that two.” When the man left to start your drinks, Jensen scoffed. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a whiskey girl.”

The drinks were ready and slid in front of you, so you picked yours up and smiled. “I’m full of surprises,” you told him as you sipped your drink with a smile on the glass. Your tone and confidence lit something in Jensen and he grew more intoxicated with you with every passing moment.

Making your way toward the quiet firepit, you found a comfortable spot and Jensen joined you. It was the perfect scene with no one else around. The two of you talked and laughed, enjoying every second of each other’s company.

Both of you told the other about your families and where you’re from; the standard small talk. You talked about work and how you hated your job; that it was never what you wanted for yourself.

“You’re not what I thought you would be,” Jensen added with a smirk as he sipped his drink again.

Nervously, you asked, “how so?”

“Well,” he leaned over to place his glass on the edge of the stoned firepit and turned to you. “For one, I think you’re the most down-to-earth woman I’ve met in a long time. Most people meet me and it feels...fake, ya know? But, you,” Jensen chuckled. “You’re the real deal aren’t you?”

How did this man make you feel like you were flying and falling at the exact same time? “Real as you, I guess.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment then.” The two of you scoffed through laughs and it grew quiet. Jensen’s unbelievable green eyes met yours and either your heart fluttered or completely stopped, but you felt the air leave your chest. He was actually lost in your eyes just as you were in his.

With no words spoken, the perfect moment went on as “Wild Horses” played through the speakers. Jensen smiled and stood up before reaching his hand out for yours. “Wanna be cheesy with me?” he asked.

You couldn’t help the smile that went from ear to ear. “I can do cheesy.” Taking his hand, you felt him softly squeeze yours to help you stand. He walked ahead, slowly keeping you in tow. Once you were in front of the fire, he turned to you. He took the hand he already had and guided it to go onto the back of his neck. Jensen locked into your eyes again as he gently took your waist and you brought your free hand to your other. The soft song had you swaying together under the twinkling strings of lights.

The way his large hands held your hips and the small of your back made your eyes shut briefly as you caught your breath.

“You good?” Jensen smirked.

You nodded and tried to steady your still shaky breath and smiled ridiculously. “Mm-hm. I’m good.” Absently, your fingers ran through the short hairs at the top of his neck and Jensen melted into it.

That Rolling Stones’ song was the last of the night as the bar shut down and went quiet. Though it didn’t seem to matter in the least as you and Jensen still danced in the silence of the night.

“I don’t think an hour was enough time,” he admitted gruffly.

Shaking your head, you agreed. “Definitely not.”

Leaning into you, Jensen’s forehead touched yours and you both were lost in the other. He smelt of the perfect mix of cologne, whiskey, and mint from the gum he had been chewing earlier. The feeling of his large shoulders under your small hands made knots in your stomach.

With eyes still closed and taking in everything you were, Jensen uttered, “I don’t wanna say goodnight.”

“Hmm,” you hummed almost laughing. “Me neither.”

Slowly, the two of you pulled apart, once again eye to eye. The lights twinkled in his eyes and mesmerized you. Whatever Jensen was selling, you were about to buy out the whole store.

He cleared his throat softly. “Can I walk you back to your room?”

“I don’t want this to be over,” you thought sadly. But you just nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”

With his hand on the small of your back still, he guided you toward the elevator. You stepped in and he joined you. “What floor?”

“Uh--six.”

Jensen’s finger pushed the appropriate button and your floor lit up. As you both leaned against the back of the elevator, your hands on a metal bar, you felt one of his large fingers brush against yours. Without looking down, you shared the gentle sentiment just barely touching his. The tension between you was building and in that small elevator, you both could practically drown in it.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened. Jensen made sure to walk as slowly as possible, trying to get every moment with you that he could.

“Thanks for the drink,” you said.

Jensen smiled. “I’d be happy to join you for one anytime.”

As you neared your room, you stopped and your heart sank. You wished the night would never end. “So...this is me…”

He looked at you so tenderly and spoke with a low voice. “I’m really glad I met you, Y/N.” That same strand of hair fell from your face and he chuckled under his breath as he fixed it once more.

Butterflies again. No...elephants. “Me too, Jensen.” When neither of you said anything else, you took it as a sign and pulled out your room key.

As you went to open the door, he stole back your attention. “Hey, uh--” Jensen ran a nervous palm down his face. “I’m heading back to Vancouver tomorrow…”

“Oh…” you replied, trying not to sound too heartbroken.

“Can I see you before I go?”

You could feel the girlish squeal that wanted to crawl up your throat. But you stuffed it down as hard as you could and just smirked. “Sure. What time?”

“Well, I usually sneak out of these places after conventions to avoid all the crazy...so, meet me by the back door of the lobby? Say, 12:00?”

Without thinking, you bit your lip and Jensen’s jaw clenched at the sight of it. “I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” he asked sweetly.

There was no controlling the smile on your face. “Promise.”

“Okay, then.” Jensen shared your expression; both of you looking like your faces would hurt tomorrow with how much you grinned that night. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jensen.” And with that, you turned to leave and closed the door slowly so you could see him intently watching your every move. With the door finally shut, your back leaned against the one thing standing between you and the man of your dreams and you sighed.

Y/BF/N was on the edge of her bed and hopped up when she saw you; her eyes twice their size. “Well?! How’d it go?”

At that moment, your phone chimed and you pulled it from your pocket to see Jensen had texted you. When you opened it, it read: “I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘Wild Horses couldn’t drag me away.’ :)”

You chuckled with pure joy as you held the phone tightly in your hands. There was no saving you at that point; you were already falling for him. Jensen was like a dream, and it was one you never wanted to wake from.

------

At 11:58, as punctual as you could be without seeming desperate, you hurried to the back door of the hotel lobby. You hadn’t slept a wink since you had last seen Jensen, but with the high you were riding, it didn’t seem like you needed it.

When you reared the corner, there he stood with his bodyguard, Clif, at his side. The large man with tattoos, a bald head and salt and pepper goatee flexed at your presence ready to tell you to leave. 

Reacting to Clif, Jensen turned to see you and practically beamed. “Hey!”

“Hi!” You hoped that didn’t sound to pathetically eager and excited.

“I’m glad you made it.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” you smiled to one side.

“Jensen...we gotta go,” Clif told him in a deep husky voice.

Never breaking eye contact with you, Jensen replied, “I’ll--gimme a minute, I’ll be right out.” Clif wasn’t going to go far. He stepped outside the glass door and folded his arms as he waited. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d have more time.”

With sad eyes that you couldn’t help, you gently frowned. “You gotta go, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

“I understand.”

The thought of saying goodbye to you wasn’t one that Jensen was about to be okay with. So, without thinking it through, he took your hands and blurted out, “come with me.”

You almost had to do a doubletake with how taken aback you were. “What?”

“Come with me. You can visit the set for the week while we shoot. I can introduce you to everyone, show you around...your friend can come too, of course.”

“Oh, I dunno, Jensen...” your voice soft and disappointed. “I just don’t have the money to do that right now.

“Don’t worry about it. All you have to do is come.” His eager eyes waited for an answer as you bit your lip in thought. “Say you’ll come...”

Just then, your phone chimed with a message. You apologized to Jensen before peering down at it and seeing a text from your best friend: 

“I’m around the corner and I’ve been listening. You can call me a stalker later. If you don’t say yes to this man I’m gonna kick your ass!”

You chuckled to yourself before tucking your phone into your back pocket and smiling at Jensen. “Alright.”

“Alright? Alright, as in ‘alright you’re coming’?”

“Yes,” you laughed.

Jensen lit up like a kid on Christmas at your response and licked his lip again. “I’ll text you everything you need. Just let me know when you wanna head out.” He pulled you in for a tight hug and kissed the top of your head. When he pulled away, Jensen looked down at you. “I’ll see you soon.” As soon as Clif opened the door, Jensen ran toward the car waiting for him. 

You stepped outside and called out for him to hear you. “Promise?” you asked referencing him from the night before.

Before he got to the car, he spun to see you and smiled. “Promise!”

------

Part 3

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[writerbee-ffs]

Here it was ... your birthday. Although most would probably be receiving birthday calls and gift or even figuring out what club they were about to hit up, you were most definitely getting ready for work. Out of all the places you could be you just had to take this last minute client for a photo shoot that your manager insisted on.

“So you weren’t playing about going to work today?” Your boyfriend, Michael, asked watching you scramble around the room for your clothes.

“Bakari, I made it clear that I had to work. What should I do quit my job just because it’s my birthday?” Your voice was laced with an attitude as you buttoned the Fashion Nova high waist jeans up. Partly because you knew Michael had been ready to argue about this since your manager, Latavia, called you and told you about the exclusive shoot that would help build your rapport. The other part was because YOU were the one working on YOUR birthday. You were 26 years old and was very capable of making your own fucking decisions.

“I mean you could, Y/N.” “I told you I got u-“

“And I definitely told you I didn’t need you taking care of me with your money, Michael.” You asserted yourself. This was an argument you both had always had. Him wanting you to not work or at least not as hard. Then you letting him know that you wouldn’t just live off of him just because he was a famous actor and your boyfriend of 4 years.

“It’s not about the fucking money but you know what happy birthday.” Rising from the bed he tossed a black jewelry box on the bed and made his exit.

“Really? Jellybean head ass niggah.” You mumbled not even bothering with the box because you knew it would only piss you off further because of how he just tossed it. “Yeah... happy fucking birthday, bitch.” You sighed taking a swig of Red Berry Ciroc before walking out of the door.

*******************************************************

‘A$AP fuckin’ Rocky.’ You thought as you walked into the shoot. Your manager had definitely made your birthday with this Calvin Klein ad.

“This is your gift.” Latavia smiled watching you set up your camera. “I know you’re in love with him.” She chuckled. “I mean aside from Michael Bae Jordan.”

“Well Bae is definitely mad and being childish but this definitely makes up for it.” You smiled sinisterly as you watched Rocky pull the CK jeans over the slim fit boxers. “Definitely.” Catching a glimpse of his print.

“Well I’ll leave you to it, Y/N.” She called back typing on her phone.

“What’s good?” He smiled at you before sitting on the gold ol’ skool bike.

“Hey. I’m Y/N. Ready to get started?” You smiled showing casing your pearly whites as you placed you curly hair into a high pineapple.

Nodding quickly, Rocky did slight poses as your camera clicked and flashed. Star struck wasn’t the word you were more like beauty struck. This man was chocolate, beautiful, in shape , nice smile and once more beautiful as hell. You definitely remembered the crush you had on him pre-Michael Bae Jordan.

“Like what you see or sum?” He smirked as you realized you had been staring more than you had been shooting. “‘Cuz I definitely see sum’ I like.” He was flirting and you couldn’t help but to do the same.

“Uh just making sure you’re in the right light.“ “Can’t have all that chocolate looking washed out.” You smirked allowing him to see some of the shots. He had pulled you into his embrace as he looked over your shoulder at the pictures.

“Oh you’re real deal?” He chuckled licking over his lips. “I told my manager to find me a pretty lil ass women to snap my shit. Figured they just had you here to satisfy me.” His devilish grin set in as he whispered in your ear. “But now that I know you good at your job I’m definitely pleased.”

“Well I aim to plea-“ Hearing your phone sound off, you immediately snapped out of your flirtation and apologized for the phone interruption. “What?” You snapped quietly.

“Are you done?” He questioned. His voice was relaxed meaning he wasn’t mad anymore which ultimately made you feel guilty and pissed you off.

“Jus-Just a few more shoots.” You mumbled letting the guilt set in.

“I’ll see you at home.”

Hearing the beeps in your ear, you’d realized that he had hung up on you. Yeah you had definitely fucked up. ‘Happy fucking birthday.’ You thought.

*******************************************************

Although you had stayed 3 extra hours after talking to Mike, you had cut you shoot short due to your guilt. Yeah all you did was do a tad bit of flirting but you had a man at home. A famous fine ass sweet ass loving ass man at home.

“Baby?” You yelled as you open the door of your shared home. “Mi-“ Seeing the black balloons in the air, the dim lit room and the soft r&b play in the background, you broke down. You had seen the wine set out in melted ice, cupcakes from you favorite bakery and that’s when you knew you had really fucked up.

“5 hours Y/N?” His voice had scared you straight. Your tears had been slowly drying up. “5 hours to take some damn pictures?”

“Baby, I’m sorry. This is beautiful. I love you! I missed you!” You fired off as he moved towards you. His eyes were trained on you and you dared not to move as he circled around you. Something was off about Mike and you couldn’t tell what. Maybe you had real pissed him off this time especially since you could smell a hint of liquor on his breath.

“Put this on and go wait for me.” Michael had handed you a long black garment box with a red ribbon before you made your walk of shame to the bedroom.

Pulling your work clothes off you figured a shower wouldn’t hurt considering he was already upset and it was your fucking birthday. “Get your shit together, Y/N.” You coached as you looked at yourself in the lacy black lingerie. Between your breast almost popping out of the deep low v cut, your ass hanging out of the back and the thin fabric leaving nothing to the imagination, you were completely surprised by Michael’s choice. You styled your kinky coils a bit before walking out of the bathroom.

Michael was already in the bedroom waiting for you. “Took you long enough.” He smirked shocking you. “You had me waiting so on your knees.” You didn’t know what had came over him but you actually liked it. ‘Maybe you should piss him off more.’ You thought. Scrambling to your knees, you felt Mike behind you with a piece of fabric. “Close yah eyes.” He coached shielding your eyes then tying your hands.

Hearing a clicking noise, your became nervous. Yeah you trusted Mike but this wasn’t the Mike you were use to. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He touched your cheek before stroking your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “You been playing with me.” He spoke cupping your neck. “Testing me. You like testing me?” He asked applying pressure and slipping two of his thick fingers inside of your one piece rubbing you clit slightly.

You hadn’t spoke. Partly because you were becoming turned on and also because he was starting to apply too much pressure.

“Answer Daddy.”’

“Ye-ye-yes.”’ You let out softly.

“Yes what?” He was so close to your eat that you could feel the breath and smell the Ciroc.

“Yes Daddy.” You mumbled feeling his tongue drag from your ear to your neck. Sucking on your tender spot you began to moan. Feeling his hand travel down to your breast, you couldn’t help but to halt your breathing as he pinched you right nipple through the thin lace. The fingers on his other hand slight pinched and rubbed your clit even more.

“Stand.” He commanded still caressing your nipple. You felt his fingers off of your nipple and your clit but instead peeling the lingerie off of your body. “Wet already?” You could sense the smirk on his face which only made things more interesting and irritated the hell out of you because you couldn’t see a thing.

Once again you could hear clicks in front of you as you stood there naked and tied up. “Daddy, what’s that?” You mumbled.

“Back on your knees.” He commanded disregarding your question. “Open your mouth.”

Licking your lips you felt the tip of his dick near the corner. You’d always loved giving your man head but honestly you would get off yourself if you could watch the satisfaction on his face. “Daddy can I watch?” You ask completely ready to get your man and yourself to cum.

“Nah.” He chuckled. “Punishment baby girl.”

“But-“ His dick had completely caught you off guard entering your mouth mid sentence. You wrapped your lips around your man’s girthy member allowing your tongue to do most of the work since you were still tied up. Swirling it around from the base to the tip, you had started to become wet all over again.

“Fuck.” He mumbled as your head bobbed up and down taking him all in relaxing your throat. You were forming a trail of spit on the corners of your mouth and you could care less. The sloppier the better. “Keep that up, baby girl.” He moaned slightly which only fueled you to go harder. He’d palmed the back of your head fucking your throat. You were gagging and could barely breath but if you died ... so be it! Popping your lips from his dick you started to give attention to his balls. Licking them before placing them in your mouth and sucking slightly swirling your tongue around them. His breath had halted at the sensation.

“Nut Daddy.” You encouraged as you went back to giving all you attention to his rock hard dick. Your tied wrist that hung in front of you found their way to your dripping center. “Please.” You begged wanting to taste your man’s kids hit the back of your throat as you began playing with yourself. Finally feeling him twitch and the warm liquid mix with your spit, you gladly took all your man’s warm seeds down your throat sending yourself into an orgasmic frenzy. “I love you.” You called out feeling him guide you towards the plush California king bed.

“Love you too, ma.” You could feel him pushing your face into the bed while your bare ass sat up in the air allowing the cool air to hit the wetness between your legs. “Arch that back, Y/N.” He spoke sending a small smack to your pussy.

“Fuck!” You hissed out in slight pain. Two of his thick fingers had found there way to your center slipping into it to call down the stinging sensation.

“When I tell you some shit you gon listen?” He questioned pumping in and out of you faster and using his thumb to vibrate on your clit. You couldn’t speak due to the upcoming orgasm. You went to move your hips attempting to throw your as back on his fingers. “Answer me!” He snapped pulling them out and giving you right cheek a harder slap. “When I tell you not to go to fucking work, are you going?” He’d smacked your left cheek.

“No!” You cried out wanting to feel him anywhere on you. You were literally crying real tears from the pain and pleasure. “I’ll stay home, baby!” You moaned as you heard the clicking noise again.

“Good girl.” His plump lips had began to kiss you center before his tongue attacked your wetness. You spread your legs further allowing his tongue to slip inside of you before you began to throw it back against your man’s tongue.

“Yes Daddy! Fuck me baby. PLEASE!” You begged as your covered eyes rolled to the back of your head and the tears formed again. He had added two fingers along with his tongue. “Damnit!” You grunted as your legs shook violently before cumming. “Ssss-stop, Daddy.” You begged as he continued to devour you through your orgasm. “I’m cummin’.

“Shit.” He groaned taking the blindfold from your eyes. Your eyes were still closed as he kissed you viciously allowing you to taste your own sweetness.

Your eyes adjusted to the light as he pulled away from you. He was staring at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen but you were most definitely sure that your eye makeup was ruined especially your mascara from the tears of pleasure. Looking over at Michael his mustache and lips were glistening from your juices. “Smile.” He smirked holding up the Polaroid camera as the familiar clicks sounded off.

“You’ve been taking my picture? You questioned as he untied your wrist looking at all the pictures of you on the bed.

“That’s all you cared about earlier. Getting them fucking pictures done.” He scoffed tapping on your thigh. “So why not see what was so interesting in doing that shit.” He smirked taking another photo of his fingers slipping again into your wetness.

“Shit.” You mumbled as the cameras clicks went off. “Lemme see.” Your eyes twinkled taking the camera from him. You had started to snap a few of your man before placing the camera on the edge of the bed setting it to the multiple shot self timer. “Fuck me.” You spoke flipping again on your stomach arching your back so your ass was in the air.

Aligning himself with your entrance, Michael slipped into your wetness fully with ease. “Wet as fuck.” He commented as he began to stroke inside of you. Between your man’s dick and the clicks of the camera you wanted to put on the ultimate show so you could remember this night although you knew your legs would for the next couple of days.

“Faster baby!” You yelled throwing your ass back again attempting to follow Michael’s rhythm as he began to fuck you senseless.

Feeling the smacks your ass cheeks then your hair being gripped the tears were coming down again. “Shit!” You cried tightening your walls against his dick. “I love you, Michael! I love you.” You had attempted to take control but ultimately failed as you collapsed on the bed letting your juices leak from your sore throbbing center. “Cum inside of me...” You moaned. “Please.”

Hearing the curse words under his breath, Michael grabbed your neck giving it light squeeze thrusting harder inside of you. You could tell he was on edge and you wanted nothing more than your man emptying the contents of his dick inside of you. Did you want kids right now... no but you would deal with the consequences later. Today was your birthday and right now you were 26 and invincible. “Open your mouth.” He groaned attempt to slip out of your pussy because he knew it was just the sex talking all that ‘come inside of me’ bullshit.

“No!” You demanded tightening around him biting your lips. “Inside of me, Daddy.” “I want your kids ... I want you.” You reasoned crying out as he groaned honoring your request.

“Love me enough to marry me?” He asked sleepily biting then kissing your shoulder as he cuddled against your body to weak to pull out.

Tensing up, you slipped from under him before looking at him in the eyes. “What?” “What did you say?”

“Marry me, Y/N.” Pulling the black box from this morning out of his nightstand, he looked at you seriously.

You were stunned. Leave it to Michael to not only give you great birthday dick but to ask you to marry him afterwards. “I-ye-wait. What?!“ You were crying and tripping over your words. You’d jumped off the bed realizing your legs were jelly.

“Y/N, tell me something baby.” He pulled you back into the bed with him.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head frantically. “YES! Yes I’ll marry you.” You cried kissing him. “I’ll be your wife.”

“I love you. Happy birthday, baby girl.”

“I love you too.”

‘Happy fucking birthday indeed.’ You thought cuddling up to your fiancé.

[ursoself-satisfying]

Whole Lotta Love

P A T  M U R R A Y (Undrafted) x F!Reader, SMUT 

Warnings: smut, lots of it, language, like all the sex guys all of it guys,,, SPOILER: UNSAFE SEX THEY DISCARD THE CONDOM WRAP IT BEFORE U TAP IT BOYS N GIRLS

A/N: this is my zenic,, its 10k words n I am v tired,,,, I hope you all enjoy sorry its late lol

an accompanying playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/criceloni/playlist/5sP9FcSsFcPjFodxN1E5RY?si=dNK4SdE2RoSRcqhN99dntg 

The engine of your car sputtered weakly as you turned the key for the third time. You pursed your lips and grunted as you screwed your whole arm around, twisting the key in the ignition again. The hot sun beat against the grimy, untinted windows of the old van and your skin boiled under the magnification of the glass. Drops of sweat limply slipped down the side of your face, sizzling when they hit the leather between the seats. The day was nice, but the interior of the vehicle was sweltering and stunk of burgers and sex. You groaned loudly and threw your head back tiredly. With your eyes closed, you tiredly and hopelessly went to turn the car on one last time, dreading the spitting sound that you expected to greet you. You were indeed greeted by the same annoying noise, burned into your eardrums by now, but it faded after a moment, the harsh metallic sounds blending into a solid purr as the engine started, radio turning on to the classic rock station. Shooting up out of your seat in shock, both at the sound and the unexpected success, your hands slammed against your steering wheel and your mouth hung open. “Oh my God,” you muttered, “Oh my God! Thank you, God!” You shouted at the roof of the car and you let out a dry sob. The wet lines down your face could have been sweat or tears, or both at this point. Loud thrums echoed through the cabin of the vehicle as you drummed your hands against the soft roof excitedly, shaking your head in a grateful spasm of relief. “YES! Oh my God, yes, thank you.” The soft whispers left your lips in the form of a laugh and you gripped the steering wheel tightly, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. The next thing you did was roll down the windows and sigh as the clear, blue sky blessed you with fresh air, letting The Who play you out. The gas pedal was pushed down and you made your way from the curb where you’d been sitting for the last half an hour. The VW bus bounced, “My Generation” fading as you turned a corner and made your way to the game.

Your sputtering horseless carriage shuttered to a stop and felt like it would cave in and collapse once in park. With a shake, you turned off on a ‘don’t text and drive’ PSA, the engine and rolled up the dirty windows. Manually locking the door behind you, you exited the rusted green car and headed towards the greener field. You rolled your eyes as you passed a large bus undoubtedly belonging to the opposing team. You doubted it was necessary and would have guessed it was more of a petty power move if anything. A small group of people, not yet a crowd, was gathered by the fences of the baseball field watching the game. It had already begun and you’d missed the first few innings. You searched the crowd for a familiar figure until you spotted a red shirt and jogged over to it. “Brian!”

The man turned to see you waving your hand happily above your head. He turned once he recognized you and laughed heartily with open arms. “[Y/N]!”

Once you reached him, he wrapped his strong arms around you and lightly picked you up. You did your best to return the embrace but he held you too tightly. His cotton button up smelled strongly of a flower-scented detergent and a gas station, comforting and familial. Your laughs mixed and you remained leaned against him when he put you down. “Mr. Murray,” you started playfully, “How are you on this fine day?” The older man patted your back and chuckled.

“Well, I could be doing a hell of a lot better.” Brian looked out at the game, Barone at-bat, and took a deep sigh. You scanned his face with concern, catching the glaze of sadness in his eyes. You softly placed a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what happened exactly, but having an idea.

You turned your head back and look around you for Brian’s almost other half, but seeing the older Mazzello nowhere. You felt safe enough to ask, “He didn’t get it, did he? John-” He shook his head quickly, not turning towards you. You wanted to ask how Pat was taking it but you could figure it out based on your past experiences. You weren’t sure Brian would know at this point anyway. For a moment, you just watched the game. Barone wouldn’t slide and Ty was clearly upset. All you could hear were the curse words carried to you by the light wind picking up. You squeezed Brian’s arm gently and gave him a sympathetic smile, before gulping and beginning to say something. “So then where’s-”

Joe walked up beside Brian and handing him a bottle of water from his trip to concessions. The shorter man glanced over and stopped when he caught sight of you. “Oh, [Y/N]-”

“Hey, Joe,” you replied softly. The man beside stepped back to allow you to give a quick embrace to the new arrival. You stepped back and smiled, biting your lip. “I’m sorry,” you spoke quickly, “He deserved it. John’s-” A stifled laugh interrupted your sentence, but you continued, “Not that I would know, but he’s the best, I hear. He should have gotten it. That’s- That’s so stupid-”

“He’s got some offers, but there’s not much we can do now that it’s over.” Leaning against the fence, the dark-haired man took a swig from the bottle he held and smiled faintly back at you though he kept his attention on the game before him. “Now we just play.”

Though you’d missed the first five innings at least, Brian filled you in on how the game had gone on with as many bumps and hitches as you could possibly imagine. The D-Backs were down (though you honestly wouldn’t have expected otherwise) and hoped for a comeback. Ty interrupts Barone’s play to demand he dirty his uniform, a call is unfairly continued and Ty (again) interrupts and demands his complaint be noted, which had been happening just as you’d arrived.

You were there just in time to see Pat’s second at-bat. “C’mon, baby, you got this! Hit it out of the fuckin’ park!” You were screaming and hollering encouragements at your boyfriend. His father chuckled and gave you a side-eyed glance, a glint of understanding gleaming on his face, seeing again why you and his son got on so well. “He’s not gonna get a hit,” you said quietly to the man beside you, not taking your eyes off the boy at bat.

Brian nodded, smiling. “Never does.” Both of watched as the third pitch was thrown and Pat unsurprising did not get a home run. He let out a long and frustrated scream and hit the bat against his helmet instead before heading to the dugout. The bat Pat had used broke against the fence pole as he hit it repeatedly and cursed the ‘loaded fucking bases’.

Pat then ran to his position in the outfield as he was told but it was clear he hadn’t cooled down yet by his continued yells. If you knew Pat Murray, you knew what he sounded like when he said ‘fuck’. By now, his curses were carved into your ears and you could hear them in your dreams. He yelled and yelled as the game continued, with some concern shown by his teammates and some confusion by the competition. Vinnie had attempted to diffuse the situation by engaging in a friendly game of catch between bats but Murray firmly stuck the ball in the scoreboard. He very nearly took Zapata’s head off.  

“Is he like this at home?” The elder Murray let a smile tweak his lips upwards for a moment, then looked away from the comment. You leaned over the fence n suppressed a laugh at what John had said.

As the game went on, you could tell things would only get worse until it all imploded, and you were right. Brian shared a tired, knowing look with you as you could both hear him yelling from the dugout. “YOU THROW LIKE A BITCH AND YOU BAT AT .250!”

Brian rocked back and look between you and his friend, shaking his head. “Patrick, relax!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAD!”

He nodded and leaned back against the fence. “That’s my boy.” Laughing, you bounced against his side. John shrugged his shoulders and gave an exaggerated frown of acceptance. The game lasted a while before another notable event occurred. This time, was an unsportsmanlike fight erupting after an unfair play and a sudden injury. It all happened so quickly it was hard to comprehend.

Garvey was slammed into the ground by an opposing player and when they hit the dirt a cloud of red dust rose around them. An audible thud echoed as the crowd went silent. Your mouth hung open and the world stood still for what felt like forever as the small catcher laid there unmoving. Then Ty erupted. He grabbed the assaulter from behind and held him down, Vinnie running to leap into a punch. That was the instigator. The rest of the team, with the exception of Fotch, raced to the scene. The riot on the field got worse and once John ran out, Joe bounced off his arms on the fence and rushed just as you had to stop his son. You could hear your boyfriend shouting and mentally cursed, knowing how this would turn out.

“Pat, fuck-” You went to lift yourself over the fence and attempt to run after your lover in an effort to keep him from hurting anyone, but his father pulled you back. He gave you a stern look and shook his head.

“I don’t need you getting in any more trouble right now.” Without anymore protest, you huffed and took your place again. Brian yelled after the boys and jogged out onto the field himself, though he was sure to look back and give you a strict but caring sign to stay back.

You had been right in your earlier assumptions, as Pat charged with a battle cry and pounced on the bobbing mass of bodies, all angrily entangled with one another. More and more athletes seemed to be absorbed into the huddle the longer it went on until it's magnitude reached the crowds of onlookers, who soon after went to join. As the fathers ripped their sons from the mess, Brian stopped a member of the other team from adding a bat to the fight, but by the time the teams had been surgically separated, enough damage had been done. Garvey was in bad, bad shape and the rest of the team was covered in scrapes and bruises, uniforms in shambles and carrying expressions that could kill.

Brian remained out on the field for a few minutes, post scuffle, and Joe went to his son at Garvey’s side. With no one left to stop you from making your way to the scene, you stepped for the first time onto the sacred ground and jogged over to the pit with a wave, “Patrick!” The man turned at his name being called and you stopped in your place when he looked at you. For a moment, you thought you saw a small smile grace his shaking lips as his eyes shone with recognition and he made his way to you. Closing the distance between the two of you, he took you into his sweaty arms and held you perfectly against him. You fit like a puzzle piece together as your own arms were slung around him. He held your head tightly to the crook of his neck and you could smell on him all the events of the day. As you inhaled the scents of dirt and a bit of blood caked onto sweat-soaked skin and leftover aftershave, maybe the hints of a citrus shampoo, you pulled handfuls of his team shirt into your balled fists. Together you swayed for a moment in the middle of the field and he muttered, “Fuck, God- Fuck, I’m so glad you’re here- So fuckin-” He stopped his profane murmurs as he bit back something directly in between happiness and anger. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”

You responded with pressed whispers against the skin of his neck ignoring the previous events and focusing on the moment you were in. “Hey,” you breathed, “I wouldn’t have missed the D-Backs’ last game for the world.”

He smiled, though you couldn’t see. His muffled response was kissed into your hair. You couldn’t quite understand what he’d said but it sounded like something along the lines of, ‘God, I fucking love you,’ which you completely reciprocated.

One hand of yours strayed from his back to his head and held the hair protruding from beneath hat. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said again, softer this time, emphasizing how much your being there for him meant. “But I can’t fucking wait to get you alone.” He finished his statement quietly, in a voice that sent shivers down your spine, hot and dark, every vertebra quaking. His own hands mapped the back of your neck, threading his calloused, bloody fingers through your locks, holding you with a fear of losing you.

“I’m just glad you’re o-”

The quiet conversation was interrupted. “Get a room, Murray!” A voice yelled from the group of red behind him. It was most likely Barone or Polacco, the only two in a good enough mood after the previous events to pay enough attention to you to make any kind of crude comment like usual.

Pat pulled away, lips spread thin and eyes low. His hands moved to grip your upper arms tightly and he slowly turned his head back to look at the clever commentators. “Shut the FUCK UP ABOUT MY GODDAMN GIRLFRIEND!” Your eyes widen and a sheepish grin spread widely between your cheeks. When he turned back to you, you lifted your hand to hold his face. His eyes were tied to yours, but your gaze soon drifted down to the lightly bleeding scratches on his neck. You frowned and your fingertips dropped to trace over the red lines. The man holding you still, softer now, hissed at the raw contact and his pleading eyes twitched.

His hand rose to wipe at your left cheek, stained from his wound and your place in the crook of his neck. He didn’t move it though after placing it there. “You- There was some blood- Fuck, that’s so gross, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-” His head shook lightly as he stared at you, lip twitching with slight distress.

You responded with a soft laugh, breathed through your nostrils. “It’s ok- It’s ok! I’m sorry you got hurt,” you said as you wiped some of the blood from around the new wound. Pat looked pained, but your presence overcame any discomfort he had. “What a game, huh?”

You chuckled and he hummed near your ear, a pleased puff of air pushed through his nostrils. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here- It’s a better game now. I know it’s not gonna actually get better, but-” Pat moved back and looked at you with gleaming eyes. You could never resist those eyes. He seemed so hopeful since he’d learned of your arrival and you weren’t going to even think about how vain it might have been. “But you’re here, you know.”

You moved your hands swiftly to the sides of his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Though it took him a moment, he quickly pulled you against him and his plush lips pushed against yours. His arms around your waist were the only things keeping you upright as the two of you collided so passionately you arched against him. He pulled slightly back to turn his head and slip through your parted lips. He tasted of vanilla ice cream and blue raspberry Gatorade. Tongues pushing needily against each other, for just a moment, the field around you was lost and all you had was the sensation of Pat Murray buzzing through your lips.

“Ey, Murray-!” A sing-songy voice interrupted again and immediately Pat painfully yanked your face from his. With a clenched jaw and white knuckles still on your figure, he wiped the shared saliva from his mouth and looked like he was refraining from erupted in a trembling angry fit. One hand swept down the side of your face with a dazed expression of admiration and he made eye contact with you, sending you his concern through soft, hazel eyes. You felt the sudden sadness of his body leaving yours, the physical contact high of your love crashed down and you were left hot and alone. The player ran back to the benches spewing foul curses at his ogling teammates as they threw around playful jabs at his PDA. He turned to wave you off and that made you smile. You stepped backward, slowly at first, then turned to jog back to your spot at the fence.

The crowds grew but the sound shrunk. Spectators came from around the neighborhood as word of the fight had spread. It was silent now, in the aftermath. It felt like a sort of mourning period, perhaps for the final chances of the D-Backs at winning today’s game. Reverence was the word to describe what was emanating from the home team. The dugout looked morbid and the only eyes that weren't cast down were furrowed in anger, confusion, and concern. Sirens cut through the still, religious air as an ambulance and a police car drove onto the game dirt.

Two EMTs came barrelling from their vehicle with a gurney and lifted Garvey into the back of the ambulance. The teams cheered him on before the vehicle doors closed and the ambulance left the field. The last image of Garvey was that of him in a neck cast with a thumbs up and the biggest smile.

Two cops then got out of their car that had parked itself on the dirt and went over to the D-Back dugout. Vinnie and Ty sat against the fence as the policemen approached them after speaking with the umpires. “Tyler Delmonica and Vincent Maltzan?”

You watched with the fathers as you had before and smacked Brian’s arm with fever as you saw the lawmen approach the team. “What the fuck- What’s- What the fuck are they doing?” With a slightly irritated side-eyed glance, Brian observed the same scene you did with concern. The elder Mazzello on the other side of him grunted and spoke, “Nothing good.”

The two from the fence had gone over to the cops and were now in handcuffs. The entirety of the red team had come swarming from the shaded dugout to defend their friends. Curses were thrown back and forth and the policeman threatened to arrest Dells as well. “Dude, what the fuck-” you muttered.

“Finish the game!” Ty urged as he and Vinnie were dragged away. The other policeman countered Ty’s plea, announcing for an end to the gathering, at which time both teams emerged from their holes and agreed upon something for the first time. ‘We’re almost done!’ they said, ‘We’re winning!’ The crowd, which had grown exponentially since the scuffle, jeered and booed at the officer. He then complied to the masses as Maz promised they would go on with no further complications. The Bulldogs player that had put poor Garv in the hospital was expulsed and that was the end of it.

The game went on, not without some drama, of course, but it went on. It was an incredible sight. Dells was on fire, throwing out after out after out. Zapata gets a hit, Fotch walks with a dead arm (breaking Dell’s front car window in the process), then it was Pat at-bat, again.

He hit the first one and your breathing stopped, then it was announced a foul. You held tightly to his father’s arm, praying for the impossible as you did every game. The second ball went in slow motion as it headed towards him. The world stood still for you. The sudden smack of wood against hot leather shook you from your trance. Patrick ran with a fury you’d never seen before, sliding into first base in a red dust cloud of victory.

You could barely recognize your own voice in the scream you let loose as you watched your significant other accomplish such a rare feat. “YES, PATTY, YES! FUCKING GET IT!” You were jumping up and down, shaking the fence, hitting Brian when your hands weren’t waving excitedly in the air. Brian laughed at your reaction and held you with an arm when you settled down.

Patrick screamed and jumped just as you were. “I GOT A HIT!” The crowd was still roaring, the D-Backs yelling for him.

“Way to go, Pat!” Brian hugged you and wiped tears from eyes you hadn’t noticed falling before. The older man shook you affectionately against his side.

“I GUESSED! I FUCKING GUESSED!” The ginger was kept his yelling as the blue team called for time. “I’M NOT OUT!” He clapped and laughed, calling after his team as they prepped during the other team's timeout. Maybe it was just you but the air smelled sweet now, beside your considered family in an epic and cherished moment. It may have been bittersweet but it was worth savoring every second of.

“GO PALACCO! KILL HIM! MURDER HIM!” Pat was still screaming as his teammate took to the batting mound. It went Palacco, then David, then Maz. Having two strikeouts lead to your star didn’t seem like a good sign, but Maz was a miracle man. A home run, last bat, and they- They won. The D-Backs won. Maz hit home and the entire game, everything leading up to it erupted in the field and the crowds. The culmination of an entire season, all the stress of the game, the fight, the disappointment of the draft, the love of the team and the camaraderie and support they all show through all this exploded.

Red shirts were glued in a huddle at center field. “For Garvey!” You heard someone yell. Vinnie and Ty came running back on, leaping and whooping. The crowd roared and the cheers rolled over the hills beyond the field. You shook with pride, sure you must have been glowing like the sun looking out upon the victory. Brian looked on the verge of tears, but you couldn’t quite tell through wet eyes of your own. Sound seemed to escape the reality you existed in and all that mattered was the team. Time slowed and your focus went to tunnel vision on a very specific first-time hitter.

Patrick ran over to you the second you set foot on the beaten dirt of the outfield, ambushing you with the tightest embrace you may have ever been in. It took a second but you thrust your arms around him as well as he lifted you from your waist. Holding onto him around his neck, he spun you in tight circles as you both laughed heartily, buried in one another’s soft scents. As he put you down, you started to speak but he cut you off immediately by pushing his face into yours. You did not mind one bit as you resumed your position from earlier, curving against him, your front flat against his chest, hands tugging at his sweaty hair as his limbs slipped down your back. Tracing the dimples at the bottom of your spine, pulling at the hem of your shirt and letting his thumb kiss your skin. His other hand gripped your ass, wanting you impossibly closer. Your open-mouthed kiss was outlined by a smile as you groaned every time he found a new place on your body to caress. Pat was lost in your taste, like lemon cookies and cherry slushies and little league baseball games.

“C’mon, man! Your fucking dad’s here!” Zapata groaned and Palacco smacked his arm with a laugh as the team, those distracted by the couple, made faces and sounds to tease. Barone made a thrusting motion and mouthed ‘Get it!’ as his own girlfriend stood neglected behind him.

The pair of you separated to see the what antics the boys had come up with this time around. Though you thought Pat’s good mood after the win couldn’t be bent, this came awfully close. His grimace was incomparable yet that was just another reason you loved him. Somehow it was still adorable. “He’s right, you know,” you patted your lover’s dusty chest and smiled, “I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Murray the whole game and he probably saw all that.” Pat glanced back at you before looking behind you and quickly, guiltily, pulling his hands from your ass.

‘Perfect timing,’ you thought, as you could guess exactly who it was. Brian was kind enough not to mention anything as he approached his son. The father gave you a pat on the back before embracing his son. The moment was tender as you looked on at the scene of the father/son bonding, albeit a bit awkwardly. Brian held Pat by the shoulders for a moment and they both had shining streaks down their cheeks. You didn’t hear anything that had been said but you smiled softly, overcome with love for the both of them. The graying man approached you next, rubbing your shoulder and giving you a quick hug. “You kids have fun,” he said as he walked back to Joe, “and be safe!” He winked.

“God, your dad-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Love him, though,” you joined the number 15 player as you followed the others to the snack shack, walking arm in arm, holding as much contact as you could while still being able to walk.

Maz ended up beside you when you all sat at the picnic tables with rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream in a casual post celebration gathering. This gave you the opportunity to congratulate him and at the same time express your sympathies after the draft. “I mean, it’s alright,” he’d said to you, “‘cus this is really what it’s all about right here, you know? I mean these guys-” He laughed gently as David and Palacco ‘lovingly’ assaulted Ty with several scoops of ice cream to the face, “Dad was right. They’re what it’s about. Winning is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t be here without them and- and it’s all just-” Without getting emotional, he could barely say anymore. “It’s not about me. It’s about family.” John sat back against the table and chuckled.

You patted his knee as you stood. “They wouldn’t be here without you either, Maz. Regardless of where you go from here, everything you’ve done has mattered to someone, to all of them, at least.” Your boyfriend approached you and you said one last thing to the star batter before moving out, “I mean, if you could hear the way Pat talked about you, you’d think you were his girlfriend.” He laughed at this and you grinned knowing he would appreciate it. “Be proud, no doubts, you’re loved, and all that shit.”

“Thanks, [YN],” John nodded happily at you and looked down for a moment at his melting cone dripping on the grass below him. Pat stood next to you now and whispered some suggestive suggestions in your ear. Shooting the younger Mazzello a sorry look he sent you off and waved you and your lover goodbye with a sly grin. “Go on, go have fun. I’ve had enough of the longing looks, get it out of your system.”

Pat laughed lightly and slipped an arm around your waist, furrowing a confused set of eyes at his friend’s comment, then at you. It made him wonder what type of conversation the two of you’d had. He led you towards the parking lot, flipping off the team he left behind as they wolf whistled, making a lot of correct assumptions of what the two of you intended to do in your early departure. You’d left your van parked around the side of the field in the nice shade of a small grove of trees. The keys clicked in the quieter, cooler, fresher air around you. Patrick leaned against the side of the vehicle, one arm up to support himself and the other placed on his hip, ankles crossed. He watched you a bit too intently as you unlocked the cabin of your old car.

“I can feel you looking at me,” you smiled, opening the passenger’s side door to manually reach around and slide open the spacious back of the bus, turning on the car battery in the process. Leaving the keys in the ignition, turning down The Damned, but leaving it loud enough to cover what sounds may come. He watched you do this every time. It came as no wonder to him why your cherished car was in such bad shape as you left the battery running to supply a soundtrack to your lovemaking. Eyes distractedly stalled on your midsection as he looked you up and down, Pat faltered as the car shuddered when the door opened and he was thrown off his balance. He caught himself, though, and shot you a slanted grin.

“You’re just-” He bit his lip, “-so fucking hot, and you’re all mine.” Settling into the cushy, creaking back part of the carriage, you grinned expectantly.

“Am I?” You cocked your head, “Maybe you should remind me again who exactly I belong to.” Dragging every word out, you purposefully teased the impatient man, unbuttoning the top of your shorts slowly.  

Like a switch, something clicked in him. His entire demeanor shifted from his almost toddler-like temper to something much more mature. Sitting spread eagle on the plush blankets you kept in the back for such occasions, you waited. He stared at you darkly, a towering shadow that filled the van’s open portal to the rest of the world. He filled in the empty space, deciding what he wanted to do first, how he would defile you in so many ways and what he would start with.

The interior smelled liked fast food, rubbing alcohol, and sweaty sex. Seeing as the main things you did in this car were eat bad food, try to clean up the stains left behind from said bad food, and, of course, fuck, the medley of scents came as no surprise. Around you were an array of cushions, blankets, and pillows all extremely soft to the touch. Not an inch of the original upholstery could be seen under the collection of plush covers. This made for the ideal landing as Pat pounced on you like a starved jungle cat as you look so very appetizing against the grey of the fur throw you laid on.

With him on top of you, you grabbed his cap and threw it to the side, kicking the door closed with your foot. Already against your lips, Pat straddled you, one hand on your waist and the other your cheek. The tops of your thighs pressed against the backs of his laying sideways in the cramped space. Holding his face to yours, his stiff, sweat dried hair curling between your fingers, you moaned. He smelled hotly of dust and fire, like a childhood summer day. The intimacy of the flood of memories he reminded you of only increased the sensation for you, heightening your attraction to him in a familiar, safe emotion.

His lips moved against yours, both of you sharing the same rhythm like singing along to an old song you never really could forget the words to. Open mouths clashed, teeth hit teeth, tongues knotted with tongues. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek as his wet kisses traveled down your face hitting your chin, your neck, your collarbone. Simultaneously, his hand pushed up your top, the other lifting you to help you pull it off. You let your arms drift above your head as he peeled the first layer off your body. It was only fair you would start unbuttoning his jersey and pulling at it, signaling him to take it off.

Before you could rip his undershirt off, he attached his lips to your neck, sucking hard to leave behind a noticeable deep purple love mark high enough it couldn’t be covered. You could feel his teeth graze your skin in a proud smile as your hot and heavy breaths turned to desperate, squirming moans. You gasped, gripping the fabric over his chest. He was glowing knowing only he could leave you in such a state.

Dragging a hot trail of saliva down your body, Pat stopped at your chest. He pulled away and stared down at your breasts with a shake of his head. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered. With one knee on either side of you, he sat up and pulled his red top off. Then he swept back down, suctioned back to your skin. He started behind your ear and peppered bites around your jaw, hands pulling your body to arch, allowing him the opportunity to remove your bra. You threw your head back and shimmied off the upper undergarment.

Your hands skimmed Pat’s bare chest, traveling upwards to his shoulders and past. Palms pressed against the sides of his face, you wiped your thumbs at the smeared eye black on his cheeks. His gaze was tied to your exposed chest and his breathing was heavy and hungry. Lips hanging parted, he slowly looked up at you through hooded lashes.

You smiled at the man hovering above you. Neither of you moved as you established eye contact while Jimi Hendrix played in the background. The van was hot between your bodies and the setting sun shining through the front window. Sweat beaded your forehead and your boyfriend went to push your hair back from your face, damp from the growing heat. “You’re-”

“You’re beautiful,” you finished. He laughed and it was like a Baroque painting before you. In a golden haze, his hair looked soft and he was glowing in muted tones. The tapestry pinned to the ceiling gave a dusty rose background to compliment the halo you saw around him. You pushed his hair back and pulled yourself up to kiss him. He took this chance to explore your body, mapping every inch of your warm, welcoming skin.

His fingertips were calloused and grey, dirt caked in the ridges of his prints, proof of the aftermath of the game. Rough pads walked down the center of your torso, stopping at your breasts. He took one mound in his hand, pinching your nipple between his thumb and his palm, rolling it slowly. You bit your lip and tucked your fingers under the waistband of his baseball pants and briefs, pulling them back and snapping them against his hips. Your eyes hung on the happy trail leading up his stomach. You traced it with the tip of your nail and his dark gaze settled on your face.

From his perspective, you were hidden in the shadows below him, hot and vulnerable. Buds of your breasts perky and hard, the dips of your stomach like a flowing river to your hips where your shorts sat a little too low, you were buried under filters of lust. The retiring sunlight hit the dust particles between you, floating through the air in slow motion like a love scene in an early 2000s, warm-toned, rom-com, the kind you spent Friday nights watching under three different blankets on the couch. You were dreamy, always, but especially now, a hazy, golden goddess.

“I want you, Pat,” you interrupted his daze, stroking his face and pushing his loose hair behind his ear. “Now.”

He blinked at you and grinned. “Oh, let’s go.” You smiled wickedly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, you wrapped your arms around his back and slipped your hands on his ass. He engulfed you then gripped your shorts and panties, ripping them down all at once. A guttural groan left your throat and you wiggled out of your clothes. Pat had moved to one side of you, maintaining skin on skin contact whenever he could, and kicking off his shoes. Your body arched towards him as he retracted his touch. You shook your pants off your leg and laid baring it all for your lover in the cramped space of the vintage vehicle.

Pat was awestruck as you sat up, spread out for him, back to the driver’s seat. He paused with his pants stopped just high enough not to be truly explicit. You looked on with anticipation, one finger slinking its way between your legs. “Keep going,” you nodded at him. He complied with a lopsided grin and hot, hooded eyes. You rubbed two fingers against your clit and bit your bottom lip as he yanked his pants down, cup painfully sliding over his hard erection. He sat back and pulled off his bottoms, socks included, cock slapping against his stomach as he did so.

You snorted at him, unceremoniously slouched in the back of your small van. The sight was both pleasing and amusing, and far from being unfamiliar. Every time you’ve watched him undress in these four fabric covered walls, it felt the same. It had become something of a post-game ritual, defiling the backspace of your car while the oldies stationed tuned out the lewd sounds you made together.

‘She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side’, your lover crawled towards you as you spread your lower lips to welcome him, ‘I said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side.’ Patrick took in the sight of your glistening sex and licked his lips. He sat back on a plush green throw blanket and pulled you onto his lap with a soft chuckle. He hummed contently at your lips against his ear, tightening his arms around your damp skin. You were straddling him, one arm slung over his shoulder and the other reaching for his member. The pre-cum leaking from his tip spread against your stomach as you pressed onto him, limber fingers wrapped precariously around his length. You pumped him slowly, hanging off his lobe by your teeth. This pulled a whimper from deep inside him, nuzzling against you. Thumb sliding over his head, you dragged the slickness down his shaft and sucked on his neck as he had yours. You were dripping for him and he could feel it. His knuckles went white, gripping your thighs with bruising strength. He nipped at your shoulder, leaving behind wet, fading love bites.

You were jostled as your boyfriend lifted you by your waist so he could easily access your tits, supporting you against the back of the driver’s seat. Pace quickening as your hand slid up and down his cock, his mouth latched onto your nipple, teeth brushing against it as he sucked hard. His thick fingers inside you scissored with fervor and you could feel every bend of his knuckles between your walls. Your free hand held his face against your chest and you moaned. Slowly, the cabin filled with the sweet scents of both yours and his arousal and sweat. You pulled yourself towards him and pulled gently on his hair as he replaced his lips with rolling fingers and paid his attention to your other bud.

“Fuck, Pat,” your breath hitched and you could feel him smile against your breast, “Pat, I want you-”

“I fucking need you, [Y/N],” his breathing was heavy as he detached from your chest, moving to look you in the eyes, “Soon.” It was a pleading look he gave you, far different from his on-field persona. With one last soft squeeze of his erection, you let go. He moaned at the release and you were up on your knees. He looked up at you from between your breasts as you flattened against him.

One of his hands slid between your thighs and your composure faltered, his cold fingers pressing past your nerve center and straight to your hole. He watched your face carefully, one hand on the small of your back, the other letting digit after digit push into your sex easily, slick secretion assisting in his effort to stretch you before his anticipated penetration. Blinking quickly, you twitch your hips at the knuckles deep in your pussy. Patrick grabbed your ass and began going in and out and in and out of your entrance with a quiet slap. To the rhythm of the Bowie song blowing out your damaged speakers, you hump his fingers and ride your rising pleasure ut before you can peak, you’re filled with emptiness.

“You fucking ready for me, babe?” Want was dripping from every syllable of his words as you looked down just in time to see him pull his slick fingers from his mouth, appreciating your taste every chance he could.

“Let’s drag this out, baby, today we got something to celebrate.” You caressed the side of his face and smiled softly. He couldn’t resist your whims and he knew exactly how to make this special.

He laid on his back and pulled you up by your ass, sliding your wetness along his torso. He lifted your waist and you compliantly moved your knees to either side of his head. “Then let me finish you off before we start on the good stuff, hm?” His smile was sexy as he adored you from between your legs, willing to put your sexuality before his need. His arms wrapped around your pillowy thighs, on hand holding your slit open and the other stroking your clit. A shiver ran through you as he lifted his head to break your first contact.

This was his chosen place of worship, kissing your core surrounded by the satin skin of your voluptuous legs. His religion was you on your knees and him on his back, the ecstatic expression you wore his deity. The fluid stained woven rugs and fur throws that shaped the interior of your chosen mode of transportation was the altar he so admired in the temple of you. Your skin was scripture and your acts together sacred, the hard rock you left on the hymns of your love. His metaphor was worn but as the last of the daylight threaded through the fallen waves of your hair, he couldn’t think of any words more true to describe this image of you.

He dove into you, starved of your taste. You were pulled down to his face, feeling his tongue probe the space between your lower lips, sucking at the labia and fully drinking up your nectar. You ground against his tongue, utilizing what he could to maximize your pleasure, the texture of his muscle overwhelming your senses. His nose pressed against your clit as his hands moved to go from grabbing your ass, supporting your waist, then giving his hands’ attention to your breasts. Your nipples were well loved as your pussy continued to be stimulated to the point of pushing you over.

Your whole body curved forwards, gripping his hair and supporting yourself with a fistful of the blanket. Uneven breaths drifted from your open mouth, heaving chest painted with small drops of sweat. Pat’s palm was flat against your back. Your hair flipped out of your line of sight as you threw your head back, lips forming a solid ‘o’. A wave of ecstasy rushed over you in your first orgasm of the evening, a musical moan, broken by sharp breaths. The lover beneath you lapped up every release of your spasming pussy until your curses died down to soft shudders. To avoid overstimulating you, Pat moved from your sensitive mound to drop hot kisses on your inner thighs.

The pulsing of your core subdued as you spent the next minute catching your breath. The van was filled with salty, hot air and Patrick held your midsection tightly as he sucked dark hickies on every inch of your shy skin he could reach. His face was coated in your juices, which was smeared across your legs, both sets of hands, and down your boyfriend’s chest. Letting his tongue glide over a fresh bruise just left in the crux of your crotch, his melted autumn eyes stared up at you with intense lust. He threw his head back when he was satisfied with his work and snorted, “You taste like a Goddamn fucking angel.”

His smile was goofy and gross, the juvenile delinquency of your act written all over his face. It made you feel like a teenager again, sneaking around with the angry boy your parents didn’t like. God, you loved him. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the situation. There you were, sitting on your boyfriend's face in the back of your musty van by the neighborhood baseball field and you weren’t even done yet.

You grinned down at him, “Shut up and fuck me, Murray.” The man smiled and sat up, catching you as you fell off him. You grabbed his face and pressed his lips to yours for a moment, tasting your own sticky, semi-sweet love on his lips before he pulled away to reach around you. Popping open the center console compartment with a click, he grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. “Care to-”

You took the contraceptive from him without letting him finish. He could understand the eagerness in your eyes and moved back expectantly. Holding up the plastic package, you frowned. “I thought we were celebrating?” You tilted your head innocently. Recognition flashed across his face and he raised his eyebrows. For the first time, the mood was broken, a Honda commercial really solidifying it for you.

“Are you- Are you serious? Are you sure?” The sweaty athlete’s eyes were wide at your implication.

You smiled slyly and nodded at him. “I’m on birth control and,” you shrugged, “I trust you not to have any weird, contagious rashes.” He laughed at you, happily, and you joined him.

“I can promise you I have no transmittable diseases, inspect me if you want.” His arms moved out to present himself to you.

You dragged a nail across the length of one of his arms and he cocked a half smile in your direction as he eyes your movements. “I’ve seen plenty.” You grinned and put your hands back on his cheeks, pushing against him in a kiss. Pat was quick to move, but you stopped him, hand flat against his chest. “You need a little prep, first, don’t you?” Slowly, he figured it out and sat back to give you more space to do your deed. Folding over yourself, thighs spread and arousal tickled by the thick woven rug beneath you, your face reached the waiting cock.

All the man could focus on was your long, batting lashes and your ass sticking out behind you. His tip was cold and wet from being untouched, but your spit dripped down it as you kissed the slit briefly. Patrick’s breath was shaky as you licked from the base up to the tip, making eye contact as you did so. His body weight was put on his locked arms behind him, leaning away from you, but he feared one more sex filled look from you would break him and he would collapse.

He nearly did when you first took him into your hot mouth. A groan vibrated through him and you felt it in your connection. Slowly at first, sparingly, you bobbed up and down on his length, soft lips sliding over every ridge and every vein. “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-” You picked up speed with his encouraging curses. Head thrown back, your lover focused on not cumming right then and there, doing his best to save himself for what came next, but Goddamn it, [Y/N], he thought. He’d let you know him far too well if you could break him into so many pieces so quickly. Tongue scraping at the side of the sensitive skin, balls being treated with care in your hands, and the pace leaving him a sputtering mess- You name filled the compartment like a rolling sea fog, all your senses overcome with his apparent need for you. His scent, his sounds, his taste- hot and salty. Seeing his chest rising with labored breaths, you decided he was getting too close and hilted him in your throat as best you could for a moment, teeth grazing his base and your nose buried in his happy trail, before pulling off at a painstaking pace, detaching from him with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva falling from between you.

It took a quiet moment for him to get his bearings at the disappointing cutoff. The drops of sweat sliding down the sides of his face were tinted with red from the adobe colored dirt he’d spent so much time on. Sitting back up and leaning towards him, you went to wipe the moisture away and he held your hand to his face, kissing your palm with closed eyes. He saved his high and gave you a quick, and ironically chaste, kiss before pushing aside discarded clothing articles and repositioning the two of you so he was above you once again. He took you by your middle and moved you to the side, growing increasingly impatient, seemingly recovered from his edge. Holding firmly to your ribs as he laid you down before him, he then pulled away to admire you again.

Under a young night sky, you were the only star he saw. Glowing in a post-orgasmic haze against the shadows cast by street lamps, you were a constellation of an impossible creature. Contrasting the true space you both existed in, his view of you was divine. Every beautiful thing in the heavens and the earth, he saw in you.

“Pat?” You furrowed your eyes in concern at his momentary stillness.

He blinked the clouds from his eyes. “God, sorry, fuck-” Shaking his head, he smiled slightly, “I got so fucking lucky. I may not be able to get a hit but, uh-” He chuckled before completing his favorite line, “You sure are a catch.” He winked and you gently kicked him in the shoulder. Catching your ankle, he held your leg up and held it over his shoulder as he moved to position himself at your open hips. “C’mon, it’s my best line.”

You impatiently rolled your eyes. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?” You motioned to your waiting sex, ready and slick for him. “I’m waiting-”

“-And I’m ready!” Patrick held up his free hand defensively before grabbing your hip with bruising strength. His dripping, neglected tip sat waiting at your entrance. His tone turned serious, “Are you?”

His genuine asking was comforting and you nodded quickly. His position over you turned you on even more, if possible, loving that he could see you melt in his hand and drip between his fingers. With one hand holding your leg up and the other stroking his excited cock, preparing to enter you. The sparkling space between your welcoming thighs glistened in the little bit of moonlight making its way into the vehicle. He slid his thumb through the wetness and you groaned in need. He chuckled at your response and you squirmed against the soft fabrics you’d been set on.

It was the moment of final satisfaction that you’d been building to all afternoon in the back of your sex-soaked bus. Your eyes were trained on his focused downward gaze and you could feel him press into you. It was a pleasant stretch you looked forward to but it was different this time, void of the protection you’d so cautiously used. You felt unequivocally full, natural, and satisfying like you were made to fit together like this. Scary, but exciting, this new sensation left you unable to control your breathing. Sharp inhalations were a sign to him he was doing something good. Pushing into you was easy with how much arousal dripped your sex, all the fluids of the night mixing together for a pleasurable experience. In and out, he took his time deepening the contact, holding tight to your hips, a nice pain shooting through you when he squeezed the old yellowed bruises he’d left behind from past rendezvous. Your eyes focused on him when they were closed in ecstasy, hands swiping furiously at your clit or alternating between your breast. Pat was in awe at the bolts of hot pleasure that traveled up his body at the raw feeling of you around him, tight, wet, and warm. He thought sex couldn’t get any better, especially not with you, but he was wrong. He felt every dip and fold of your tunnels against the ridges of his own skin.

You were sleeved around him as he picked up speed. Grunts fell from his pouting lips every time his hips slapped against yours. The sound could be heard over the still playing radio in the front seat. It seemed the amount of teasing the two of you subjected each other to left little resilience to the sudden relief of penetration as your boyfriend’s rate jumped from calculated, appreciative thrusts to messy, needy, heavy ones in a matter of minutes. “You feel-” He groaned as he hilted in you again, balls deep to the pleasure of both of you, “So fucking amazing-” The words barely came out. You tried to formulate a response but the heat filling your abdomen stopped you. What came out instead was a gurgled moan of agreement. Smiling at the sights and the sounds you produced, Pat was absolutely enamored by you in this new sensation. Tits bouncing as you shook with his slamming thrusts, your eyes rolling back with guttural groans from deep inside you.

Drawing from that pit of white-hot pleasure, you neared your peak and a higher pitched plead cam as a warning to your partner, “Can’t- Fuck, Pat- Almost there-” He got the message and the two of you shook together, his whispers of ‘me too, me too’ barely heard through the whimpers. No longer could sounds be differentiated from one source or the other as your bodies melted together in a moment of bliss. For the first time, the vehicle noticeably shook in your passionate lovemaking. His hands slipped down your legs, attention drifted from your clit to your navel to your hair as he doubled over to float parallel above you. Sweat from his tiring body rained on you and you pulled him closer. His face was buried between your ear and shoulder, biting away curses as he humped through his high.

“Fuck, that’s it-” The sliding stopped as his back arched first, pressing so hard into your crux, you were sure your entire lower half would be purple by the next morning. His member pulsed inside you and you could feel it swell with anticipation before your own pussy milked him for all he was worth. Streams and streams of hot, white pleasure flowed into you and you swallowed a scream. The sound that managed to escape was otherworldly and Pat loved it. You’d never felt this before, his love directly inside you, hot sloshing, liquid driving you past your point of return. You thought maybe it hadn’t been the physical sensation but the idea of how intimate the action was that had really given you your final orgasm. Either way, you had simultaneously arched against him and he held you up by your back as you squeezed with every muscle. Nails dragging down his spine, no doubt leaving red territorial marks down his sides as you rode out the ocean of intensity that washed over you. It made you curl your toes and tense your appendages around your lover like a boa constrictor and their prey.

Love came gushing from your connection and pooled beneath the small of your back, sinking into the layers of covers that cushioned the two of you from the hard vehicle floor. You didn’t think about the mess you’d made or the unfortunate task of cleaning it up and instead focused on the weight on top of you. Still, inside you, Patrick’s cock twitched as he’d nearly collapsed over you. The rhythm of your breathing synced with his and your pussy pulsed sorely, your entire body sensitive and raw. A shiver ran through your bones as you felt the hot mouth of the body blanketing your’s suction onto your neck one last time, licking over its handy work with a weak laugh. Your fingers laced through his damp hair and you turned your cheek to kiss his.

Your eyes were watering, maybe from the tense situation or the exhaustion that suddenly overwhelmed you now that the wire strings of arousal no longer hold you up. Pat felt the same way as he slowly pulled out of you and you winced. On his side next to you, you felt him pull you closer, nestling into your equally wet and disgusting hair. The entire car smelled awful and hot, the windows were grey and fogged up, blankets beneath you covered in God knows what. Closing your legs and turning towards the warmth beside you, you nestled into him, the feeling of your post-coital calmness was immortalized in the music you’d left on. ‘Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice. Hope you find your paradise.’

Maybe the lyrics weren’t a perfect fit, but somehow the melody found it’s way beneath your hot skin and soothed you. You remained this way for, you weren’t sure how long. Time seemed lost to the two of you then. Engulfed in his arms, you felt safe. The scene was grimy and explicit, your nakedness blending together, the leftover ejaculate dripping from your slit without care, the stained and discarded undergarments left unnoticed and hanging off the steering wheel. It wasn’t clean or safe, but for the two of you, it was nice. What that said about your situation, you didn’t care. This was your heaven.

“Good morning, Orange County! And what a lovely morning it is! We’d like to start the day with a little Springsteen, huh?” A hard drum intro led into a twangy guitar and the sonorous voice of Bruce Springsteen, ‘In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream. At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines.’

“Is it weird,” you’d said, “knowing all the boys are well aware of what we do? Including your dad?” You laughed a bit, leaning against him, still bare, under a furry quilt. The carriage of the vehicle creaked at your movements, audible now that it wasn’t masked by the heavy breathing of your fucking. The bohemian tapestry behind you shrouded the rising sun from your sensitive eyes, half open in a dream-like state.

Patrick planted a quick kiss in your hair, “I like they know you’re mine.” He took a deep breath, “And my dad can fuck off.”

After a pause, you looked at him and erupted in laughter. “He’s pretty cool, you know, for having to deal with a kid like you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

‘Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend, I want to guard your dreams and visions. Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims and strap your hands 'cross my engines.’

Brian glanced at the phone as he prepared his breakfast. He was sure his son was fine, he’d gone nights without calling before, but by morning he usually had a message waiting for him. He tried not to think about what may have distracted him in order to keep down his first meal of the day. The radio played in the background.

‘Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors and the boys try to look so hard. The amusement park rises bold and stark, kids are huddled on the beach in a mist. I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight in an everlasting kiss.’

The groundskeeper stared on worriedly at the shaking VW bus that had been parked behind the trees since before he’d gotten there in the small hours of the morning. “Fucking teenagers, disgusting,” he shook his head and turned away, earphones back in as he started up the lawnmower.

‘Oh honey, tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.’

[seromreven]

title: good day sunshine.

anonymous requested: “hi!! could i request either a john or paul x male reader who’s seen as the sweetheart? maybe they’re a beatle or just an individual songwriter? and they’re jus...... very soft....... please? thank u for ur time!!! have a nice day!“

author’s note: it’s past midnight here so, like, happy birthday johnny mah boi

---

1965,

When your manager informed you of a radio interview, you were to be doing the following day for your upcoming debut album one summer day; he hadn’t been so kind as to tell you that you would be sharing airtime with two members of The Beatles. And, well, you could just about die. Of course, Hank (name of said manager) weren’t quite aware of your admiration for the band. They hadn’t been something you had talked much about. You were told you could be rather… quiet and shy… reserved. Which, you supposed, could be true. In a way. You just needed to be comfortable and feel safe around the person you were with and then you could be hard to shut up! Really! And… well, Hank could be intimidating. Terribly so. But he was a nice guy and damn good at his job. He got you an opportunity to meet The Beatles, didn’t he?

It was only when you arrived at the studio that you found out which Beatles it were and, God, your heart jumped to your throat as you saw them through a set of wide glass doors. It was Paul and John! They wore nice, patterned suits, and matching sunglasses. They looked to be deep in conversation and didn’t take notice to you… staring at them… behind doors. You shook your head, took a deep breath and opened the door with trembling hands. A young woman, behind a desk filled with dials and buttons and… all kinds of things, looked to you as you entered and greeted you with an ecstatic hello and came to shake your hand faster than you could blink. You stammered through your greeting back and she giggled slightly as she pointed to your seat near the other men. “Mister Waller will be out in just a second,” she said with a polite smile and disappeared behind her desk. Your grip tightened and released on the strap of your guitar as you stumbled to your seat, carefully placing your prized possession next to you and felt the cool wooden material for comfort.

You adjusted slightly in your seat, careful in not hitting the large and round microphone in front of you when doing so. You felt warm… nervous. Your heart beating furiously. You had never been particularly comfortable with interviews and now, two very impressive people sat only a reach away from you. You carefully glanced to them, wanting to take a look, and found two sets of eyes meeting yours. Your eyes widened, and you readied yourself for an anxious, stammering, greeting when the doors flew open and a tall man with handsome features stepped inside. You recognised him as Charles Lee Waller, the host of the radio show you were now privileged to be on together with John Lennon and Paul McCartney. He gave you all a strong handshake and sat down, lighter already in hand, and lit up a smoke. You shook your head politely as he offered you one and watched in silence as the recording signal went on.

He started talking; introducing you and half of The Beatles to the audience after having laid out the schedule of the show. John and Paul were to be interviewed first, then a break, then you. And, lastly, you had a performance of one of the songs from your album (the reason why you had brought your guitar). You felt jittery, restless with unnerved excitement at the prospect of not only performing your song for the first time to an audience, but for that audience to be John and Paul!

“So, boys,” Charles started in his smooth made for radio voice and the Beatles looked to him in an equally swift turn of their heads, “let’s begin with you.” The host gave a smile,  “earlier this month you released your seventh album, Revolver, to rave reviews,” they nodded and hummed in confirmation, “now, I’ve heard it myself and do quite agree with that census.” He looked to you with clear eyes, “do you share that opinion?”

You nodded eagerly, “v-very much so. It’s… b-briliant!” You smiled widely and nervously glanced to the pair, silently cursing your persistent stammer. “That’s high praise,” John said wryly and your heart twisted at the sarcastic voice but… something in his eyes, behind the tinted glasses, seemed to disagree with the attitude he had taken on. “Well,” Charles laughed, “let’s see if they will share that opinion of your own release.” You looked to him with sudden focused attention. But it was for nought as he announced the first commercial break and exited the room the moment the circle of red light went off. You sat, blinking for a few seconds, before you heard a small cough and felt a light presence on the back of your hand. You turned and saw that it had been Paul, reaching out to you to get your attention. “You all right?” He asked, and you fought hard not to fall into his stare. You nodded and choked out, “yeah.” You coughed slightly and took a sip of a glass of water, that had been placed in front of you, with shaking hands. 

“You’re new to this, aren’t ye?” You heard John question and looked past Paul, to him. You nodded again, folding your hands in your lap, feeling them tremble and shake. “I haven’t… done a lot of interviews… yet,” you inched slightly further towards the table as you felt yourself slip back in the chair. You lips felt dry, and you gave them a slight lick, not noticing the eyes on it. “Oh,” Paul smiled sweetly and looked over his shoulder to John, “we’ve been there. You’ll get used to it, y’know. And then it’ll just be a breeze,” he patted your shoulder, and you felt a heat travel to your cheeks. You thanked him in a meek voice, “-that’s very kind of you to say,” and watched as John’s eyes drifted from Paul’s neck to you. And it stayed there. For how long, you didn’t know, but you felt trapped in his stare- but it didn’t feel… bad. Suddenly, your name was called and you willed your eyes away from John and Paul, losing the staring battle you had come to have, and looked to the chiseled jawline of the radio host, still not sure of how to make eye contact. He had, at some point, entered the room again and you now realise the beaming red light was back on. Your gentle smile stayed in its place and you awaited the next moment.  

“Later this month we’ll finally see the release of your debut album Meadow, something that is looked forward to with much anticipation. Your recent single for it, Autumn Tree, was very well received and nearly knocked down the boys here,” Charles said in a rehearsed fashion and pointed with an open palm to John and Paul, “from their top spot.” They laughed and you couldn’t resist the urge to smile wider. John leaned in to the microphone with a smirk and looked at you behind his dark shades, something that made you feel so funny inside, “no hard feelings, I hope.” You snickered with a shake of your head, “none at all.” Laughter was shared around the room and the conversation seemed to flow more… naturally from there on. John and Paul joined in more often when you were asked or talked and you did the same when it was their turn. A good feeling was shared all around and you no longer felt a crushing sense of panic for when your time to perform finally arrived.

“Now,” Charles said your name and focused the attention back to him, “tell us what you’re about to play.” He smiled, professionally with no real life behind it, and postured towards your guitar. “Oh! Yeah,” you laughed softly and positioned the guitar over your lap. “It’s the first single I released for the album… last month, yeah,” another laugh gave away as a flow of content travelled through your chest. “It’s, uh, called Take Care… and, uh, yes,” you laughed and looked to the Beatles, both concentrated on you, and started to play the opening chords. You felt it had gone well as you finished the song and your confidence only slightly managed to waver before Paul started clapping, with John (who had received a slight shove to his stomach by the bassist’s elbow) who started to join in with Charles. “Very good… very good,” Charles hummed, looking through some notes in front of him. “Well, that’s about all we have time for today! We, all of us in the studio, look forward to what else you boys have in plans and, as always, be pleasing. Be thriving. And most of all; be happy.”

And, that was it. The end of the show. You sat silently in your chair as people flourished around you, your arms tight around your guitar as you waited for the right moment to move out and not be terribly in the way of someone’s path. And when that moment arrived, you hurried out of your seat and looked around for two familiar faces. You sighed in dismay; they were already gone. Of course, they must be very busy people! You packed together the little stuff you had brought, went out of the cramped room and turned to leave in the hallway when you bumped into a hard chest with soft fabrics dressed upon it. Blinking in shock, you looked up with the feel of hands on your waist, to see no-one else but John. He was smirking down at you and you felt your heartbeat spike up the way it had done earlier that day, the way it had done when he had smirked earlier. “I, uh… I-” he interrupted you. “You’re quite the cute lad, aren’t ye,” his smirk only seemed to grow wider as he watched your face turn a dark red colour. “And tiny too,” he patted you on the head and ruffled your hair. You stammered, and the smirk turned into a softer, more gentle, smile as realisation of your rather frazzled state dawned on him. He drew back but kept a hand on your waist. You noticed, finally, that he wasn't wearing his sunglasses.

He scratched the back of his neck and looked around; “I, uh, liked what I heard back in the studio, y’know, and was wondering… hoping that you’d, maybe, like some dinner with me?” His former confidence seemed to wash away with an invisible tide and he looked around yet again. You felt bold, strikingly so, and gently took the hand that nudged slightly against yours into your palm. He looked to you with slightly widened eyes and drew a sigh of relief when you nodded with a delicate ‘yes.’