#and to celebrate that he got to talk face to face with his patron for the first time two days ago

[s7ven-art]

NAMES (PLURAL)

[cheolhub]

LAVENDER — CHOI SEUNGCHEOL ࿐

summary. you really don’t want seungcheol to go to work, so you give him a million reasons to stay at home with you.

wc. 3.7k+

warnings. whew… dom!cheol, teasing, very needy f!reader, morning sex, f. masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of dirty talk, pussy drunk cheol <3 rough but very passionate sex, size kink if you squint, heavy praise, heavy use of pet names [pretty/sweet girl, baby, love] (im not sorry) — MINORS DNI 18+

note. happy birthday to cheolhub (not me, my account. she turns 1 today ^^) we will celebrate with a self indulgent fic. i was blinded by need for him one morning a while back and then BOOM, this was born. so here u guys go, i hope u enjoy. p.s. the title has nothing to do with the fic, stream lavender by dreamer boy :p

early mornings are the absolute worst for seungcheol. the tedious morning routine, watching the sun peek from the bleak, dark sky, and worst of all, parting from you. he hates leaving you before you can even form a coherent thought, body wracked with last night's sleep. he hates leaving you ‘cus you look so adorable while you’re drooling over your pillows, whining at him to get back in bed.

but this morning was different. normally, you’d be sound asleep by the time he had to leave, but you had been tossing and turning all night so by the time seungcheol’s alarm had gone off, you were well awake. you frown at him as he takes a deep sigh, forearm coming to rest on his forehead once he snoozes the alarm. 

you scoot closer to him, snuggling into his side and wrapping an arm around his naked torso. he hums at your touch, “g’morning, baby,” his raspy voice sends a shiver up your spine.

“nothin’ good about this morning,” you mumble passively, pressing your face further into his side. 

cheol raises an eyebrow. you sound too awake this morning. “did you sleep at all?” he pressed, noticing the lack of tiredness in your voice. the arm on his forehead comes down to wrap around your frame. he takes your vow of silence as a no and he whines cutely at you, “angel, why didn’t you wake me?”

“‘cus you had to wake up early, cheollie,” you pout. “and i didn’t wanna bug you.” 

“you could do no such thing,” he defends, his hand rubbing your hip. “why couldn’t you sleep?” 

you shrug, shyly. you could tell him about how you had imagined him fucking you all day yesterday and how you needed him horribly while he was at work, but your embarrassment keeps you from admitting your desperation. 

but, cheol is smart. maybe a bit too smart. especially when it comes to you. he can read you like an open book, knows you like the back of his hand. 

“aw, was my pretty baby horny?” he coos feeling the way you wordlessly nod your head into his side. “yeah?”

“yeah… missed you all day yesterday,” you murmur, pressing chaste kisses to his naked, warm skin. “ needed you so bad, but you seemed tired when you got home… ‘n, like i said, i didn’t wanna bug you, so,”

seungcheol shakes his head disapprovingly as he maneuvers his body to hover over yours. “what did i just say? you could never bug me, Y/N.” he reprimands and you pout once more. “tell me what you need, baby, hmm?” his voice drops an octave and you feel yourself melt to putty. “what does my pretty baby need?”

the sheer dominance that emits from his body has your insides churning in anticipation. “need you…” you can barely breathe out. 

he chuckles, “yeah? ‘m right here, love.” the lilt to his voice signals he’s teasing and you let out a soft whine. “did you need anything else?”

“need you in me,” you exhale.

“that so?” he questions, raising his eyebrow, feigning awareness, “i dunno baby, doesn’t seem like you actually need me…”

you squirm under him, your panties soaking as his patronizing tone arouses you to no end. “please, i do,” you whimper. “i need you so bad, cheol, please.”

his breath hitches and his previous teasing manner suddenly vanishes. before he can say anything, though, his second alarm rings indicating he has to get ready. forreal this time. 

you’re saddened at the thought of him leaving… it would be totally selfish of you to provoke him, right? especially so early in the morning while he should be getting ready for work… 

but he did say that you could never bug him…

“cheollie,” you mumble. “can’t you call in for the morning? just go in a lil late?” you ask, hopeful. 

the sigh that he lets slip his lips is one you know all too well. it’s a heavy sigh that comes right before he’s about to tell you something disappointing. something you don’t want to hear. “baby…”

you deflate before he says anything else, huffing out, “fine.” he smiles at the pout that etches into your lips but it’s quickly wiped off his face when you sulk out your next words, “guess i’m just gonna have to fuck myself all day while you’re gone.” 

“huh…is that so, baby?” his soft tone is gone, replaced with one that makes you immediately submit to him. he leans into you, a sinister smile creeping back onto his face as thoughts roam through his mind. “yeah? gonna shove those pretty little fingers in your cunt and pretend it’s me making you feel good?”

you exhale sharply, gulping when you feel your throat dry up. “y-yeah.” your stutter doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, yet he plays along with your cute little game. 

“guess that means i don’t have to make you cum this morning then, huh?” 

you gasp, snapping your head back to look at him, eyes filled with regret. “what?! wait, no, no, i-i want–”

he cuts off your stuttering while wearing a faux pout, “what happened, baby? i thought you wanted to fuck yourself? i think you should go for it, you don’t need me.”

“no, cheol, i do– i’m sorry, i do need you.” you tell him feebly, a whine following your words. 

he coos, “aw, really? then why don’t you show me, sweet girl.” 

“but you’re gonna be late–”

“don’t worry about that, baby, just go ahead and touch yourself for me.”

you whimper, nodding your head. you hook your fingers into the elastic bands of your sleep shorts and wet panties, lifting your hips up to pull the thin pieces of fabric off your body. your heated core is now exposed to the cool air, chilling your feverish body the second it fans over your cunt. 

seungcheol can see the way your pussy glistens with the soft light peeking in through the window. blood rushes straight to his cock and it throbs almost painfully under his loose shorts. he doesn’t feel like going all the way to work like this, nor does he want to be there with the thought of you touching yourself without him. 

your hand trails down to your pussy, two of your fingers finding your clit. your eyes flutter close, shifting and getting comfortable on the bed before moving faster. 

your eyes don’t need to be open to see him staring intently at you. you can feel his gaze burning holes into your skin and knowing he’s sitting on his knees above you…just watching makes you squirm a bit. adrenaline continues to pump through your veins, exciting you further. 

your breath hitches and a soft, “fuck,” tumbles out of your mouth. your fingers pick up their pace, rubbing into the swollen bud with pure desire.

your lips tug up a bit when you hear your boyfriend’s shuddered exhale. you decide that— maybe— it’s your chance to put on a little show for him. 

your free hand comes up to fondle your tits, squeezing the fat with vigor. you arch into both of your hands helplessly. your eyes screw together and your jaw goes slack as moans come out of your open mouth. 

and, fuck, you bet you look so lewd to him. playing with your tits through your thin shirt and panting like a bitch in heat, all the while you're desperately grinding your hips for more.

and then you give him something he can’t deny. something he can’t ignore even if he wanted to.

“mmm, fuck,” you moan, fingers dipping down into your pulsing core.  “fuck, ‘m so wet, cheol.” 

when he doesn’t reply, your eyes crack open and shoot to stare at him. with your eyebrows knit together, you moan again, curling the fingers trapped between your warm, velvet walls. you speak as if he’s not inches away from you, as if you’re not staring directly at him while you fuck yourself with your fingers. “wish you’d just come ‘n fuck me, cheollie. wish my fingers were your cock so bad.” 

the wet sounds of your fingers curling and scissoring inside of you fill the room and it’s driving him absolutely insane. heat begins to radiate off his body and he realizes he can’t take this much longer–

“need your fat cock to fill me up so bad–” you pant, eyes rolling to the back of your head, the sight of him disappearing and your vision fades to black. “need you to split me open, make me take it all.”

and you’re not that close– even though your fingers feel fucking amazing– but stretching the truth never hurt anyone, so you whine out, “m close.”

he finally cracks..

his hand spans over your tummy and his thumb finds your clit, circling the puffy bud faster than you could imagine, “so soon, baby?” he asks with a low voice, words heavy and dripping with sheer dominance. “you’re that horny? gonna cum after playing with your pretty pussy for five minutes?”

you weren’t close before, but the stimulation to your clit along with the fingers in your messy cunt and your hand on your breast have you tensing up. your tummy tightens and your brain goes a bit haywire, his vulgar words not helping the situation in the slightest.

“needy girl… so fuckin’ dirty.” he murmurs. “talkin’ about getting split open on my cock. need me to fuck you back to sleep, don’t you?” 

you nod eagerly as his fingers work you faster, swiftly rubbing into you. he’s grinning at the way your movements are inconsistent, how you’re unable to keep your speed from faltering– your hand is probably cramping up inside of you. 

his free hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers out causing a mewl to erupt in the back of your throat, but before you have a chance to complain, his longer, thicker fingers are replacing yours. he’s mocking your actions, but he’s making it feel so much better as he stretches you further and hitting all your spots better than you were. 

he hums, “you sure you can even take it? you’re squeezin’ my fingers so tight—”

your eyes snap open again and you protest through a moan, essentially cutting him off, “i-i can! you know i can!”

a deep, dark chuckle reverberates through your room as he nods, “you’re right, huh? you always take me so well. my good girl.” 

you really are going to cum now and seungcheol can feel it. you clamp around his fingers and your own curl around his wrist in attempts to ground yourself before your impending orgasm washes over you. 

“is this really how you wanna cum before i’m off to work, baby?” another faux pout appears on his face. “you don’t wanna cum on my cock? don’t want me to cum with you?”

you cry, shaking your head incessantly, preparing to have pure bliss cruelly ripped away from you. “cock, want– fuck, cheol– i-i want your cock.”

his pout morphs into yet another devious smirk as he pulls both of his hands off of you, abandoning you to cry and mewl in disappointment. the orgasm bubbling up in the pit of your tummy quickly flees, dissolving into nothing and leaving you with a dull ache in your needy core. 

seungcheol quickly strips his boxers off, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen. he doesn’t need to with how wet you are, but he still lets a trail of spit coat his angry, red tip. 

you’re still heaving, recovering from your loss of orgasm and seungcheol is very aware. he can see that you're heavily anticipating the feeling of his dick finally pressing into you, doing your best to be patient and he has to fight off the urge to tease you for being so desperate. 

but, in all honesty, he’s doing no better than you. his hands eagerly find the backs of your thighs, spreading you open and then pushing them back till your knees knock against your chest. you gasp when you realize the position he’s put you in– 

he’s really going to give it to you. 

he slaps the heavy tip of his cock against your clit a few times causing your hips to jolt after every strike. he laughs quietly to himself, savoring the sight of you like this even though he knows he’ll have you like this again tonight and tomorrow and for the years to come. he’ll still burn the image of you before him into his brain every single time. you’re just too beautiful not to.

he runs his head through your drenched slit and you can’t resist the impatient groan that comes out of your mouth. “god, cheol, don’t tease. please.”

“you’re so cute when you’re worked up, though.”

“i’m a lot cuter with your dick inside of me,” you mumble, clenching around nothing as another flash of arousal courses through your body. “taking all of you.”

he can’t argue with that. 

he finally trails down to your drooling hole, slowly and steadily pushing into you. daunting inch by inch. he lodges his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting back an embarrassing moan over how incredibly tight you are. 

he’s only a quarter of the way in and you’re almost in tears. the pain from the stretch is one you’ll never get used to, but you breathe through it. he guides you through it. 

“good job, baby, just breathe. it’s gonna feel good, just relax.” he gets out with a strained voice as you let out an incoherent string of words.

you give him a broken nod and moan, doing your best to control your labored breathing and physically unclench.

he decides to just go halfway for the time being, gently thrusting in and out of your vice-like pussy till the pain subsides– till you’re able to take it all. 

and it’s not long before said pain turns into fervor and immense pleasure. 

“ch-cheol– oh, my god.” your words are something between a whine and mewl. “so big, oh my… fuck. you’re so big…”

he groans, cock twitching at the praise. he doesn’t mean to, but he fucks another inch (or two) into you, driving himself deeper into you. when you gasp at the intrusion, he swears he won’t be able to last long. 

he moans out his words, breathy and a bit stuttered. “d-don’t say that… swear to god, you’re gonna drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

you give him an airy laugh– though it quickly dies and turns into a whimper– and say, “you can give it to me.” 

a growl bubbles in his chest at the implication of your words. before he moves, he asks, “you sure?” and when you give him a soft yes, he doesn’t hold back, the switch– the sanity switch– in his mind and body flipping off.

he grabs the back of your thighs for support before pushing the rest of himself inside of you in one go. his hips meet yours and it has your eyes rolling back, an array of mewls and moans bouncing off the walls of your room mixing with his loud groans. 

he holds himself there for a second, but when you clamp around him tighter than before, he pulls his hips back and slams back into you. he repeats his actions, almost completely pulling out and pushing back in over and over till he gains a steady, consistent pace. 

he’s in deep, the tip of his cock scraping against your sweet spot. he hits it persistently while spewing praises left and right. 

“such a good girl. fuck, you’re so good, you know that?” he rambles, stars in his eyes as he watches your face contort and your body twitch at the sweet words. “feel so fuckin’ good, shit–”

you wish you could reply. give him back some praise about how his cock is fucking incredible, how he’s perfect, how he’s the most beautiful man ever, but the words escape you, as does your mind. instead, you tighten around him, velvety walls molding to the shape of him.

a guttural groan leaves him and he moves faster, forcing himself in and out, “not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

you do it again, clenching around him as he’s keeping up his impressive speed. “f-fill me up.”

“i fucking will,” he growls as if that were his plan all along. “but you’re gonna cum for me first.”

he discreetly snakes his hand between the two of you, hand splaying over your stomach as it did earlier except, this time, he’s pushing down and feeling himself inside of you. he groans at the sensation as his thumb catches your clit. 

“cheol!” you gasp, shockwaves running through your body at the contact. 

“come on, baby,” he coaxes in his sultry, breathy voice. “you can do it, can’t you? you can cum for me?”

you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, body becoming overstimulated at the onslaught of pleasure. your tummy tightens, just like before, and you feel the knot reforming with his deep strokes filling you to the brim and skillfully hitting your spot every time. 

“y-yeah– fuck, yes,” you pant, eyes screwing shut and body arching. you squeeze him tight– so tight he’s scared you might not let him leave. every nerve ending in your body is tingling, electrified– you may have the best orgasm of your life at six in the fucking morning. “cheol– cheol! cheol, i–” you sob, each version of his name getting louder and more incomprehensible than the last. 

looking at you, he thinks he’s in heaven. or maybe he’s in hell because his cock is twitching uncontrollably and he’s just barely hanging on. a pretty whine– one that he finds a bit embarrassing– escapes him before his wavered voice says, “fuck, i got you, baby. cum for me. cum all over my cock like the pretty girl you are.”

your body jerks and vision goes white at his command. the knot in your belly unravels rather quickly and you persuasively drench his length in your syrupy arousal. a silent scream leaves your mouth and you’re squirming under him as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm before your entire body goes lax.

you whine out little, mindless babbles, begging him to cum while he picks up his pace, fucking into your near lifeless body with so much vigor. 

“gonna let me fill this pretty pussy, huh?” he grits through his teeth, pulling his hand from your tummy in favor of putting it on the back of your thigh again. he pins your legs to your chest with a sense of urgency, nearly folding you in half. “tell me how bad you wanna get fucked full of my cum, baby.”

you shudder at the thought of him pumping you full. you nod dumbly, “p-please, cheol. wanna feel it inside of me so bad.”

“yeah?”

“fuck yes,”

he groans, his nails digging into your flesh. if he wasn’t close before, he’s going to fucking explode now. 

his hips stutter, thrusts growing sloppy before he stills with his tip nestled at your hilt. his abs contract and he twitches and pulses in between your walls. a soft cry of your name falls from his plush lips right as he shoots ribbons of warm cum deep into your cunt.  

the warmth of his cum causes a wanton moan to escape you. there’s so much of it that it’s hard to keep it inside of you. so much that it ends up spilling and dribbling out of your hole as he slowly pulls out. 

he watches in awe, dick twitching in excitement at the sight. he shakily exhales, holding himself back from shoving it into you again. 

you’re so sore. coming down from your euphoric high, you let your legs down, stretching them out due to the strenuous position, and try to regulate your breathing.

 a few minutes pass and you finally feel like your heart rate is back to normal. you still feel his load slipping out of you, so your hand comes down to your messy pussy, swiping up some of his seed and bringing your fingers to your lips. 

seungcheol groans at the moan you let out at the taste of your mixed cum. “you’re such a tease.” he mutters, hands soothing over your body. 

you pull your fingers out of your mouth and smile lazily at him. “we’re meant to be then.”

he cracks a wide grin, “we are, huh?”

“very.” you nod.

he leans down, whispering a soft i love you and pecking your lips. right before you can wrap your arms around him and tangle up with him again, he moves away. 

you groan in annoyance, “you’re not still going to work are you? after that?!”

“baby,” he laughs. “i’m already gonna be late. i have to clean you up and then get ready.”

“noooo, stay with me.” you whine making grab hands at him. “we could have so much more fun here. for example, i could suck you off.” you say in joking matter though you have never been more serious in your entire life. “orrrr, we can do some of the things you’ve always wanted to try.” you whisper, a taunting smile on your face. 

he gasps, face flushing, “baby, don’t play.” he shakes his head, pushing his dirty thoughts to the back of his head. “while the offer sounds tempting–”

“just today, cheol,” you plead, a pout on your face. “for me? please? just don’t wanna be away from you.”

he wishes that you weren’t so persuasive, but, unfortunately for him, you are. he can’t resist the pouts or the pleading eyes or how cute you are when you’re clingy. an exasperated sigh slips his lips. he’s going to have to play catch-up tomorrow, but the idea of spending the day with you instead makes it seem worth it.

“fine, i’ll give them a call. tell them i’m sick or something.” he says, a smile playing onto his lips. “just for you. just for today.”

“yay!” you cheer, sitting up on your messy bed sheets. “round 2 in the shower? then maybe we can work through your bucket list.”

“you are literally insatiable.” he scoffs as if he isn’t pulling your arms to get you out of the bed. 

“seems like you’re way ahead of me.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

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[muxshwriting]

almost (sweet music)

Bradley Bradshaw x reader

summary: a summer where you and Bradley remind Maverick of Goose and Carole || warnings: literally one swear word, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth (mentioned) || word count: 793 || masterlist

You had Bradley had met at the Hard Deck and hit it off instantly. You were charmed by his carefree attitude and charisma, and he was charmed by your kindness and your heart. Both of you had found the perfect person to spend the rest of their lives with, to be yourselves with. Bradley had never been more sure about anything in his life when he thought about marrying you. Your family loved him and, in turn, the squadron and especially Maverick, loved you.

Maverick viewed Bradley like a son, and was very particular about the girl that had captured his heart. However, the second he saw you, he was pulled in my your very soul, the pureness that was simply you. Bradley was lucky to find someone so well matched for him. There was something else, though. There were moments where Maverick would glance over to you and Bradley and see Goose and Carole staring back at him.

It began the night you and Bradley got engaged and went out to the Hard Deck to celebrate. As all good nights at the Hard Deck do, it ended with Bradley at the piano. Despite being at least eight beers in, he was rather coherent and playing a recognisable tune. Patrons and other people all joined in on the fun, crowding around the piano. You, smiling unabashedly at your man, were standing directly next to Bradley, leaning against the piano, glass in hand as you sang to whatever he was playing. Bradley had reached up, pulling you closer and down onto his lap. He kissed you passionately, laughing with you as he continued to play, choosing to stare lovingly at you instead of what notes he was hitting.

★--~-~--★

Then came your wedding, a beautifully private affair with a few friends and family members from both sides. Your vows were perfect, encapsulating your love for Bradley in a few short words. “Bradley, there are no words to fully describe how I feel about you but I will say this: I’ve never felt as much comfort as I have whenever I hear your name. It’s so bizarre to have a word that can make you feel so much in a second, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world. I love you.”

Maverick was thrown backwards to Goose, drunk on his bachelors night out, leaning against Maverick and rambling about his soon-to-be wife. “She’s like the wind beneath my wings. It’s so weird that her name makes everything feel alright whenever I hear it. God Mav, she’s perfect.”

★--~-~--★

Maverick will never forget the day that Rooster came to him with the amazing news that he would become a Great Uncle. Or a great, Great Uncle as he reminded Bradley. He had had a few beers in the back garden, talking about everything and nothing going on with life. “Gods Maverick, I’m gonna be a dad. That sounds terrifying, a good kind of terrifying but still terrifying.”

Goose had come onto base, a giddy grin plastered onto his face. “Carole’s pregnant. We’re gonna have our own little bird in the nest.” His eyes widened as he sighed. “A kid Mav, a whole entire human. That’s crazy.” He had hugged Goose, giving him his congratulations for him and Carole, wishing them the best for the future. Goose had stayed ecstatic for a week after the news, nothing could bring his mood down. “I’m gonna be a dad!”

★--~-~--★

He had gotten the call from Rooster that you’d gone into labour and that his son had been born (his son!), inviting Maverick down to the hospital to meet his great nephew. He got to hold him in his arms, a newborn baby, so small and innocent. “What did you name him?”

Rooster had smiled proudly, “Nick Bradshaw.”

From the bed you had perked up, taking your baby back when Pete handed him over. “His full name, however, is Nick Mitchell Bradshaw. We had to fit you in somewhere.” Maverick couldn’t stop the tears from springing in his eyes as he tearfully embraced Bradley.

“I’m a dad!” Goose was whisper shouting through the phone to Pete, trying not to wake his sleeping wife. “Do you want to come meet him?” Maverick was there as soon as he could be, bring in flowers for Carole and patting Goose on the back. “Uncle Maverick, meet Bradley Bradshaw.” Goose was standing there, a shit-eating grin on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows and Maverick burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

Carole swatted at both their arms, telling them to keep it down for the baby. “Don’t make me regret his middle name.”

“His middle name?” Maverick had asked.

Her expression softened as she glanced over at the baby. “Bradley Pete Bradshaw.”

[sophsbookstore]

Somebody Come Get Her

Lando Norris x driver!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Word count: 1,627

“I'm literally fine!” She is not fine. Infact Y/N is the drunkest she's been in a while.

After placing in the points at the Montreal Grand prix, while simultaneously celebrating her friend's second place win, Y/N decided that getting absolutely wasted in Montreal was the best thing for herself to do.

“Y/N how many shots have you taken?” A concerned Lando Norris questions his best friend.

“This many.” Y/N says, holding up two middle fingers in front of Landos face.

Lando tried to hold in his laughter, Y/N wasn't a big party girl. Sure she would always accompany the rest of the grid out to parties after races, she usually doesn't drink that often, going a little crazy once a season, but never this crazy.

“I'm going to get you some water, please don't drink anything while I'm gone, okay?” Lando scolds Y/N. “Can I trust you won't do anything stupid?”. When the girl gives him a thumbs up he takes it as his sign to move, quickly walking to the bar, Y/N books it to the other side of the club, spotting a small group of wag’s sitting together.

Not even thinking twice she bolts to the other side of the tight Montreal club, speed walking as fast as her designer heels can take her. Lily Z spots her, not really the party girl herself notices Y/N practically falling over herself trying to get to them.

Laughing, Lily taps one of the girls on the shoulder, they all turn to face Y/N instantly getting up and running to the girl with drunken excitement.

“Holy fuck you guys are so hot.” Y/N blushes, giving each girl a compliment before finding Lily in the back of the group. Y/N clings onto the Australian for dear life, Lily doing her best to hold half of Y/N’s body weight.

The girls walk back over to their couch in the VIP section of the club, all of them talking over one another while house music blasts throughout the small room. Back at the bar Lando is constantly looking over his shoulder, trying his best to find Y/N, making sure she stays near him.

Just as he thought, when the bartender finally hands him his drinks she's gone. “Of course she's gone.” Lando scolds himself for thinking that she would have actually stayed.

Placing his hand over the top of her drink, Lando aimlessly walks around the club, trying to find Y/N so he can take her home. Back at the couch the girls are starting to move to the dance floor, all of them going crazy for the international house music being played on the speaker.

As Y/N spins around, her eye catches something in the middle of the club, a pole. The pole is placed in the middle of the club, sitting atop an LED podium. Throughout the whole night many people have drunkenly got on it and sloppily spun around. “Look!” Y/N shouts, all the girls following her line of vision to the pole.

“I need it!” before anyone can say anything Y/N sprints to the empty pole, practically jumping onto it before spinning around. The sudden movement of the pole triggers the people around to stare at the girl. For being absolutely wasted Y/N managed to do pretty well for herself, random girls at the club shoving money in her bra as her friends and random patrons cheer or record on their phones.

The sudden cheering alerts Lando, a big crowd of people move toward the center of the club, Lando turns, seeing what he feared most. Knowing this was going to be a PR disaster for Y/N if the videos got out he abandons her drink on a random table, moving quickly through the crowd covering any camera he can in the process.

“Excuse me, pardon me, sorry.” Lando says to complete strangers before making it to the base of the pole. Without a second thought he grabs her arm, pulling her into him. Drunk off her ass Y/N collides into Landos chest. “Come on, I'm taking you home.” Lando snakes his arm around Y/N’s waist, moving the two of them closer to the door as another girl jumps onto the pole.

“Why did you do that? I was having so much fun.” Y/N pulls away from Lando, folding her arms in front of herself, trying to get some stability.

“Y/N come on, you're too drunk right now.'' Lando puts his hands on his hips, the both of them knowing she has no chance in this fight.

“I'm staying, that's final.” Y/N turns away from Lando, walking back to the big group before suddenly she's swept off her feet. Lando kneels down next to Y/N grabbing her waist once more before throwing her over his shoulder.

Holding onto the back of her knees, Lando pulls his keys out of his pocket as he walks toward the exit of the club, eyes following the pair as they walk away. “Damn Lando, why didn't you ever say anything about this dumpy back here?” Y/N giggles, her face against his lower back.

Lando laughs, carrying her all the way to his car. He holds the door open for her, helping her into the front seat before buckling her in. Lando quickly moves to the other side of the car, typing in Y/N’s hotel a few blocks away, before starting the car and driving off.

“Oh shit!” Y/N shouts, pulling the money out of her stuffed bra. “I'm rich!” She cheers, throwing the money all over Landos car.

“Where did you get all of this?” Lando says, picking up a twenty from the dashboard.

“People just kept giving them to me, I ate.” Y/N shrugs. Lando smiles at the girl, Y/N turns her attention to the window beside her, resting her head against the glass as her eyes start to shut.

Lando plays some soft music to help Y/N fall asleep, within seconds she's out. The drive doesn't take long, about fifteen minutes, when Lando parks he takes a minute to admire the girl beside him, carefully tucking a loose hair behind her ear to wake her up.

Y/N stirs in her sleep, Lando whispering for her to wake up as he goes to her door to help her out. With a combination of alcohol and sleep deprivation it's a miracle Lando got Y/N to her room, avoiding eye contact with guests and staff on his way to the elevator. 

Lando lets the both of them into her room, helping Y/N into bed before placing Advil and water next to her bed. “You're so hot.” Y/N whispers, her glassy eyes stare at Lando.

“You're so drunk.”

“It doesn't mean I can't point out the obvious.” Y/N shrugs, closing her eyes and pulling the comforter close to her body.

“I'll see you in the morning, Y/N.” Lando smiles, setting up a “bedroom" for himself in the living room.

Lando spent the whole night thinking about Y/N, her dancing at the club, what she said before she went to bed. Lando has liked Y/N ever since they joined Formula 1 together, the two have always been inseparable, an iconic duo in motorsport. 

CLACK! “Fuck!” The sound of something falling, quickly followed by a semi quiet swear, wakes Lando up.

A shirtless Lando moves his head toward the sound, his gaze falling upon Y/N wearing a tank top and plaid pajama pants. The pair look at one another, Lando notices her wet hair and beautiful bare face.

“Goodmorning!” Y/N gives lando an awkward smile.

“Good Morning to you too.” Lando gets off the couch, stretching before walking over to Y/N, the girl's eyes looking him up and down before the two become face to face.

“Be honest, how drunk I was last night.” Y/N grabs a banana off the counter.

“Honest?” Y/N nods, wanting to know what stupid thing she did. “There was a pole at the club, it may have gotten a lap dance from a certain female driver.”

Y/N drops her banana, her face getting hotter by the second as she covers her mouth in shock. “No I didn't.'' Lando decided that he wouldn't tell her about how many strangers filmed the whole moment. “Please tell me that was it.”

“You told me I’m hot, which boosted my ego an unhealthy amount.” Lando laughs.

“Oh, that's not that bad.” Y/N shrugs, picking the banana up off the floor. “You are.” She starts unpeeling the banana, taking a bite out of it before going to get a cup of water.

Lando was shocked, too stund to speak. Y/N turns around laughing at Lando’s expression. “What, you seriously didn't know?”

“Know what?” The man quickly asks.

“I've had a crush on you for the longest time, I thought it was so obvious!” She finishes the water, throwing away the remainder of her breakfast.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Y/N stares at Lando, trying her best to read his emotions. “I've had a crush on YOU for the longest time!” Lando explains, both their smiles getting bigger and bigger.

“Well then what the hell are we waiting for!” Y/N steps closer to Lando. “Can I kiss you right now?”

“Always.” Lando replies, taking Y/N face in his hands before kissing her passionately.

“Finally.” Y/N says as the two pull away from one another. “But seriously, remind me to never drink in Canada again.”

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Laws Desires

Prompt: Curtesy of @tsunderedonut : Law filled with an animalistic, primal desire to breed you.

NSFW

Trafalgar Law X Fem Reader

Law walked into the bar, “Sorry I’m late,” He says while taking a seat around his rowdy Crew. Most of them let out a small groan before filling a glass and passing it to him. He took some sips and smiled at the chaos he had arrived late to. Relaxing wasn’t so bad. He had just gotten back from delivering hearts to the world government and gaining the title of Warlord. Despite him not wanting to do much, his crew had pressured him into celebrating after being gone for some time.

         After a couple of glasses however, he noticed that you were missing. You, in particular, had been pestering him to celebrate, often complaining about how little attention he had given you recently. He rakes his eyes through the group, trying to catch a glimpse at where you might be. “If you’re looking for Y/N I think she went to grab another round a little bit ago,” Shachi laughed at his captain.

         He gets up to look for you, making his way to the counter, his ears filled with your delightful laugh. Law follows the noise, brushing past other bar patrons before seeing you. Leaning over the counter, your shorts riding up every so slightly, and your shirt clinging tightly to your body and your lower back exposed, some peaks of a tattoo peaking from underneath the shirt. His eyes trailing down to your exposed thighs, untouched by scars or bruises, you were leaning on one leg while the foot on the other was crossed around your ankle. Looking back up at your elbows against the counter, as you subconsciously flip some of your hair over your shoulder while talking to the bartender.

         You hadn’t noticed Law was behind you yet, but Law could feel his growing desire. He’d only been back for a couple of days and hadn’t thought about anything other than setting his plan in motion. But now, with you so oblivious and in front of him, his mind couldn’t focus on anything but you. Something must’ve caught your attention as you spin and lean against the bar with your back your head still turned towards the barkeep, and Law can’t help but notice your low-cut top, and your stomach expose.

         It wasn’t until you felt arms on either side of you that you jumped a bit, turning your attention to the man in front of you. You relax a bit realizing it was just your captain as he traps you where you are, “Well hi there Law,” You giggle out, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Have you finally come out of your office to enjoy yourself?” You lean up to give him a peck on the lips, “Do you want something to drink?”

         “I think I’d rather have something else,” He whispers before kissing you again, his hands going to your waist, slightly brushing your shirt higher up as his fingers dig into your skin.

         “You just got here a little bit ago,” You breathe out, pouting at the idea of leaving already, “We can’t leave just yet.”

         “Need you now,” He growls into your ear and you feel your face flush. Law wasn’t forward very often, not in public at least. He’d usually whisk you away before starting anything, thinking to keep your relationship private from prying eyes. His hands trailed up your stomach, your shirt hitching higher with the subtle movement. His head making quick kisses to your neck, sucking on are particularly sensitive area.

         “Not here,” You breathe out trying to control your own desires. This was a crowded bar, the thought becoming both worrisome and rising the heat in your body at the implications.

         Law nips at your exposed collar bone, “What about not leaving yet?” He teases before both his hands go to your thighs to hike them around his waist. You ignore his tease as you pull his hair so that his lips meet yours again, deepening the kiss as he carries you out of the bar.

         The cool night air hit your hot face, and Law returned to ravaging your neck as one hand snakes under your shirt to release the clasp of your bra. “Law” You hiss out as you feel your back meet against a building wall. He ruts his hips up in acknowledgement before his hands are at the bottom of your shirt.

         “Too much clothing,” He growls, tearing the clothe right off your body, your back arching at the force. Your entire upper half now exposed to the air, you gasp and quickly go to cover yourself up, glancing around to see if anyone is there.

Law stares at the sight in front of him, the moonlight luminating the blush on your face. He leans down and starts to pay attention to your breasts, grabbing your hands away from covering them in the process. The roughness of the stone wall behind you becoming more evident now that its against your bare skin.

You try to hold back a moan as his tongue flicks at your nipple before his teeth pull slightly at the sensitive skin, “W-what if someone walks by?” You tug at Law’s hair again, his head tilts up to meet your half-lidded gaze, “Someone could see us.”

Law huffs, “You’re mine.” The firmness and devotion in his voice sends another wave of emotions through you and before you know it you’re in the captains quarters, laying against his bed, “No one should be able to look at you but me.” He bites down on your shoulder harshly this time and you let out a yelp, your body jumping against his at the sudden sensation.

You try to assert some dominance by trying to roll the both of you, trying to get on top of him. But he takes the movements as an invitation to rip your shorts and panty off you, his lips going back to your chest, one hand holding both of your together while the other brushes against your core.

“L-Law,” You moan out, arching your back into his touches. Without a second though he shoves two fingers into your already drenched entrance, and you gasp out as he hits the perfect bundle of nerves every time. You try to bite your lip to conceal your pleasure but it doesn’t last long when you feel a harsh bite on the side of your boob making you cry out. You look down to watch as Law licks the tender bite mark, placing a gentle kiss on it before trailing his lips to your neck, deciding to place a mark there as well.

You cry out at the pain mixed with pleasure, begging for more than just his fingers as he rubs your clit with his thumb. It’s not until you cry that you’re about to cum that the hand holding your hostage lets go, tracing its way to the base of your skull before lightly gripping your hair, tugging to force you to look up. You can feel him nip and kiss at your neck before sitting up to look at your sexed out face.

His fingers not relenting as you continue you to cry and moan, on hand going to grab his wrist in between your thighs, while your other hand goes to your breast to squeeze it yourself. “You’re so beautiful,” he says as you feel your body twitch from the oncoming orgasm. Law feels you tighten around his fingers as he leans down to shove his tongue down your throat.

You moan into the kiss, tears escaping your eyes from the pleasure. Laws fingers expertly finishing you off before slowly letting you calm down, it’s not until he removes his hand that you feel you can breathe again, albeit heavily, and Law retracts from the kiss, biting your lip as he leans up.

He sits up entirely, watching as your chest rises, smirking at the mess he’s made of you. Grabbing his own shirt and lifting it over his head, “I hope you don’t think we’re done,” he leans down to kiss you again, “You’re just too tempting when you scream like that.” And just as quickly as you were aloud to breathe for a second, you were now position on your hands and knees.

 Law was behind you, his hands kneading your ass and you try to push against him for more than just a massage. With one hand still gripping you open, the other leads his tip to your entrance and you moan in relief as it the head slowly enters you. Rocking your hips back to meet him half way. “God Law. You’re so big,” You breathe out, fists clenching at the blanket underneath you.

You feel him twitch inside of you before the sudden movements starts, setting a harsh pace for you to cry out to. You feel Laws chest against your back as on of his hands supports himself next to your own, his other hand gripping your hip to help keep pace.

Your hair falling in front of your face as you try to keep up with him, moaning with every hit against your cervix. Law trailed his hand up to your boobs, bouncing with every movement and grips one, pulling and kneading as he pleases as he bits the back of your shoulder, only letting up with the slight coppery taste meets his tongue. You cry out as his gentle kisses trace the mark before he goes to make another one on your back.

“L-law it’s too much~” You cry out, feeling overwhelmed from another impending ending, though you doubted he’d let you catch your breath this time round. You feel him hum into your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses up your neck.

You turn your head to meet his lips as he hungerly bruises your own, and you start to see white as he pinches and pulls at your nipple. You feel your entire body shaking and your arms give out, falling into the bed with your ass up as he continues to pound into you. He leans into your ear, “I’m going to make sure you know who you belong too.” Nipping at your earlobe as your mind is already filled with him.

You start to let out soft whines, “Law I want to face you.” Law seems to agree as he grabs your leg, only feeling the loss of sensation for a second while he flips you over. He grips your thighs, pulling you closer to him before penetrating you fully, going back to his brutal pace.

“I’m going to fill this sweet little cunt of yours,” He whispers his intentions into your ear before stealing your lips again. You arch your back at the thought of being filled, gripping his shoulders to keep him close. Your head feels heavy as the war between your tongues continue, but it is ultimately you who pulls away to catch what little air you can.

You cry out his name, begging for more as you feel him bruise your cervix. Soon enough you feel his uniform harsh thrusts become sloppier, some deeper while some rougher. He leans down to kiss the sides of your mouth as you continue to scream his name, music to his ears as he fills you with his seed.

He stays still for a second while you both catch your breath and he leans back to see where you two are connected. Your swollen lips stills spread to fit him, his eyes trail up to your heaving chest and all the bite marks he’s left on your body and finally his eyes meet your face. Your red face, your mouth ajar as your half-lidded eyes look back to his.

You feel him twitch inside you, your swollen core starting to feel his hardness again and you let a small whine out of your lips. He slowly removes himself, watching as some seed follows and leaks out of you, “Well that won’t do,” he says as one of his fingers goes to swipe his cum, pushing it back into you as you moan again, already knowing this isn’t the end. Law leans back down, gently kissing your lips before rocking his hips back into you, his apparent arousal already, ready to go. “You’d better be pregnant by the time I’m done with you,” Law growls before pumping his hips slowly at first. You doubt you’ll be getting any sleep tonight.

[gretavangroupie]

Saudade

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 16.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Drinking, Heartbreak, Angst, Sexual Themes, Mentions of Disbandment, Mentions of Estrangement. Smut: Dirty Talk, Touching, Kissing, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Oral M!Receiving, Edging, Protected and Unprotected Sex, Fluff.

A/N: I know this is not your typical story, being set twenty-five years in the future, but I hope you will stick with it until the end. Though this was only planned to be one part, I could definitely see this having a part two in the future. As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, etc. It means more to me than you know!

OCTOBER 2049

NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

It was almost the same. Twenty five years later and not much had changed. Maybe the owners, the patrons, the furniture and the drink specials, but wholly and truly it was almost exactly the same as it was back then. It’s dark, and poorly lit by a string of multicolored Christmas lights around the perimeter. Dusty college pennants line the walls, and the sound of billiards balls smacking together still ring through the air. 

The clientele has changed a bit since the last time you were here. Instead of a younger, edgier crowd, the bar is filled with people your own age. Quite possibly reliving their own glory days. Your mind flashes back to a night full of blurry memories and cheap beers, this very bar packed to the brim with friends and familiar faces. It was a night of celebration amongst your peers, the pre-party before the main event, so to speak. It was all a blur now, but it was a memory you’d held on to for all these years, and in a way you all did. 

You bring your glass to your lips, sipping at the now watered down Gin and Tonic. Your phone buzzes on the bartop in front of you, your screen showing a message in your recently resurrected group chat. All it took was a single photo of the bar and they knew. A memory unlocked over twenty years later. You’d all talked about meeting up again. Coming back to the city where you all met each other, but years passed and life got in the way. It never happened, and that was okay. The friendships never faltered. Those remained a constant, even after all this time. 

They couldn’t believe you were here. You told them you were going to come, and why wouldn’t you? When you found out the conference was taking place in Nashville it was nearly the first thing that came to mind. You knew you had to stop in to take this picture just for them. It felt sad almost, being here without them. You knew it wouldn’t be the same, but just being here in this place you have such fond memories of felt good. 

A large group descended upon the bar as you arrived, huddling around the bartop ordering drinks and shots. They were loud and rowdy, but you didn’t care much. You know that was you once, and you hope they will look back on this night much the same way you look back on the night you spent here in the company of your friends. They hung out there for most of the night, a few people from their group leaving to hit the pool tables, or step outside to smoke. You kept to yourself, enjoying your drink in such a nostalgic place as you made conversation over texts. 

Now though, as your drink was melted and your skin was feeling warm they decided to leave. They cleared out of the bar quickly, taking the noise and the vibrant energy with them. Now that your view is unobstructed you turn your head to look down the bar. It’s mostly empty, only a few people left sipping their own drinks. You bring your glass to your lips as you observe the people around you.  It’s quiet and dark and your eyesight really isn’t what it used to be. The man about ten chairs down from you seems to do the same, finally able to see more than the horde of people that made the bar their home all evening. He looks to his left and right, taking in his surroundings the same way you did. He turns his attention back to the television hanging behind the bar, watching whatever football game is happening in the stadium down the street. He’s leaning back in his chair, his right hand fixed on his glass as his left scrolls on his cellphone with a few flicks of his thumb. 

The bartender steps up to you, delivering your fresh drink and snapping your attention back ahead of you. 

“Thank you,” you offer, sending him a soft appreciative smile. 

“My pleasure, let me know if you need anything,” he answers with a nod of his head. 

You grab the new drink and bring the small black straw to your lips, letting the lime flavored bubbles flow over your tongue. The bartender stepping away has grabbed the attention of the man to your right, watching as he turns his head to meet your line of sight. You feel a rush of nerves flood through you, but as the man's eyes meet yours you feel something else. Something familiar and strange. It’s something you know, deep inside of you that's been buried away for years and years. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He nods his head and gives you a small, pleasant grin and that’s really all it took to put it together. It hit you like a tidal wave. Connections in your brain that had been long severed, were finally finding their way back together. The tip of his chin, the familiarity of his smile, the dark twinkle of his eyes. This wasn’t just a handsome long haired man alone at a bar. No, it was Jake Kiszka. 

You quickly turn away, your eyes zeroing in on the labels on the liquor bottles across from you. You felt stiff as a board as you sat there, your heart pounding in your chest as your mind started to flash through hundreds of memories. Twenty years worth of music, and laughter and memories playing on fast forward. Your mind settles on one though. One in particular that sticks out the most, and probably the most painful one of them all. 

You can remember it clear as day. It was an overcast day in March, your phone buzzing incessantly on your desk. Over and over it rang and rang until you picked it up and answered the call. It was bad news, some of the worst you’d heard. “What do you mean a mutual separation?” 

How naive of you to believe something so good could last forever. Your small community of friends were devastated, unable to cope with the fact that the very thing that brought you all together was seemingly gone without warning. What you had is all you would ever have. It didn’t feel real. No more concerts to attend, no more music to look forward to. Nothing. It was just over. In the blink of an eye. 

Some fans took it hard, lashing out and picking fights. Some were okay, happy and eager to see what would happen with the four members in the future. Whether it be families or solo projects, you knew you would support them either way. What none of you expected though, was for all four of them to disappear. 

It was years before anyone saw or heard anything about them, collectively or singularly. They had gone into hiding, something they were good at. No marriage announcements, no birth announcements. Nothing. Even their social media accounts died that day in March. Everything was silent. It hurt, but it was almost better that way. 

Around the ten year mark there were whispers, rumors of a reunion. Small gigs here or there, but nothing ever really came of it. They were just that, rumors. There was no show, and there most definitely was no reunion. 

A few years later came an album celebration. The fifteen year anniversary of ‘Anthem of The Peaceful Army’. It was slated to be a large event, even a few people you knew planned on attending. Only two of the four showed up to the event that day and the online murmurings of sibling animosity were running rampant. You never heard anything else about the event, there was barely even a photo posted to prove it happened, but it did. Something changed that day in the park, and that was the last anyone had heard or seen anything from Greta Van Fleet. 

Now, fifteen years later you find yourself here, looking at Jake Kiszka, in the flesh. He’s older now, in his fifties with a few wrinkles adorning his face and his hair a bit lighter and streaking silver in a few places. He looks different, but in a way, almost exactly the same. He seems to carry himself much in the same way he always did, keeping to himself but exuding a powerful presence.

You toss back a gulp of your drink and make your way into the bathroom. You wonder if you’re making the wrong choice, leaving without saying hello, but you tell yourself that he will be here when you get back. You just have a feeling. 

You take a look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, swiping on a new layer of lipstick and tucking away a few errant strands of hair as you give yourself a pep talk. You take a deep breath and fix your top before making your way back out to your barstool, happy to find him still sitting in his seat. As you sit down you see him turn towards you, almost looking at you as if he wants to say something, but doesn't. 

You remember back then you always told yourself that if you ever saw him you would say hello. You’d walk right up to him and say hi with no fear at all. But you knew that wasn’t true, one look from him had you running the opposite direction. A single glance in your direction mid show nearly had you in cardiac arrest. However, you’d grown up significantly since then, and never before had you had an opportunity like this one. 

He bites his lips together and turns away, minding his own business as he sips away at his drink. You smile, noticing that his style really hadn’t changed much. Newer versions of his same tried and true staples hanging from his body. A pair of dirty old boots and a corduroy jacket, of course it’s Jake. 

You aren’t sure what has come over you, this sudden bravery taking you by surprise. You turn your barstool just a touch, now facing him just a few seats away. 

“Jake?” you say, swallowing down your nerves. 

His head snaps to the side, his eyes growing in size as his face softens, “Yes?”

You’re shocked to say the very least, you hadn’t really planned anything past that. 

“Hi, um, I’m sorry, I just– I thought it was you but, I wasn’t completely sure. I don’t mean to bother you.”

He shakes his head quickly, “No, no. No bother at all. Have to be honest, it's been a long time since someone recognized me,” he laughs. “Several years at least.”

He stands from his stool and slides his drink along the bar as he walks towards you. You feel your heart rate increase dramatically as you swallow down your nerves. He takes the stool next to you, and now that he is directly in front of you there is no refuting that it’s him. His cologne is strong as you breathe him in, spicy and warm, everything you always expected. 

“I think I knew it was you pretty immediately, but it’s dark in here and all…” you smile. 

“Well, to be fair I don’t look the exact same as I used to, the years have been tough on me,” he laughs, fidgeting with his glass. “No one really recognizes me at all come to think of it, I’m a little surprised you did.”

“Oh, that can’t be true! I think you look the same!” you say, hoping to boost his ego just a bit. “Honestly, I almost didn’t say anything. I know you value your privacy and I really didn’t mean to bother you.”

He smirks to himself and nods his head, his eyes scanning over you as he lifts his head back up. He stops suddenly, grabbing your arm and turning it just a bit, feeling hesitant to touch you.  

“My god, I haven’t seen that in years,” he says, his face completely shocked. “It’s um, it’s the Age of Machine symbol, right? From the album?”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the recognition, suddenly feeling a bit bashful about the ink. “Yeah, yeah it is. It’s in desperate need of a touch up, but yeah that’s exactly it.”

He runs his finger over it gently in admiration, his eyes growing dark and a smile pulled across his lips. “I loved that one. I still remember when that song came out,” he pauses, taking a pull from his drink. “Those were the goddamn good old days, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, they were. I think that one ended up being my all time favorite,” you say nervously. 

He releases his grip on your arm, and you mourn the contact, a sizzling fire burning through your skin at his touch. “My favorite album we ever cut. Always was.”

He sets his glass down and looks at you, really looks at you for the first time. His eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” he says, still fixated on your face.

You sip at your drink, needing the alcohol to hit you quickly if this conversation was going to continue. “Oh, it’s Y/N, I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind.” you giggle.

He takes in your name as if it’s a fine wine, tasting each syllable on his tongue. “Y/N…” He pauses, trying out the name on his lips. Feeling it roll off his tongue. He nods his head in a silent agreement, liking the way the name sounds falling from his mouth. 

“It wasn’t true, you know,” he pauses, biting his lips together, “I didn’t try to be…reclusive or whatever people used to say. It’s not that I needed privacy. Things were just so different back then. I had to recharge, everything was just so…draining, I suppose.”

You find yourself smirking at his choice of words, swallowing down your giggle before you speak. “Yeah, I totally understand. I always wondered how it affected you all, the constant traveling and recording. I can’t imagine it was easy.”

He smiles at you and sighs, tilting his head back a little. The memories flash through his eyes, old and fond.

“It wasn’t,” he admits, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “I loved it. I loved what we were doing. I loved the music and I loved performing in front of huge crowds. There was nothing like it, still isn’t. But it was so…exhausting. I felt like I would never be myself again.” He says, looking back at you, studying you for a silent beat.

You're unsure how to respond to that, feeling guilty for being part of the reason he felt that way, but also being the reason he was able to do what he loved in the first place. As if he can sense your unease, he moves to change the subject.

He clears his throat, “Anyway,” he says, shaking the memories from his mind. “You were a fan. How was that? Did you see many shows or–”

“Yeah, actually. Quite a few. My friends and I would meet up and go together. It was always this big thing, we would plan for months…It was a lot of fun. I think of those days a lot. Miss them often.” you answer, taking a sip of your drink. 

You notice his demeanor shift a bit, his tongue rolling out over his bottom lip as he listens. You can see his mind working, tumbling through his own memories no doubt. 

He nods his head while you speak, feeling a pang of jealousy in his chest at the mention of your friends. A hint of loneliness in his heart that you were able to share those memories with someone but he no longer could.

“It’s weird, you get so caught up in being…famous, I suppose, as corny as it sounds, that you almost forget what you’re doing it for. You do it to make people happy, to give them a night that they’ll remember, and you get to feel it in return. There’s nothing like that in the world,” he laughs breathlessly.

“So you miss it, then?” you ask nervously. 

He chuckles, looking at you. “Of course I miss it. I mean, I can’t say I don’t enjoy having anonymity again. There’s a level of safety and comfort in it, and I’ve learned more about myself and my needs since then, I’ve grown as a person. But at the end of the day I miss the performing, I miss the people, I miss the rush, I miss my brothers,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. “I miss all of it.”

You feel a pang in your chest hearing someone you adore so deeply confide in you about things so close to his heart. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine something like this. 

“So you…don’t speak to them? Your brothers?” you ask quietly, not wanting to prod too much. 

He sighs and his demeanor shifts, becoming cold and somber. The warmth he held earlier in his voice leaves him at your question.

“No,” he says firmly. “Not much. They’re doing their thing. I’m doing mine. We grew apart. It could’ve been avoided but…” He shakes his head, looking back at his half empty glass.

“We haven’t really talked in a long time. Especially lately,” he answers, his jaw clenches a little as he says it. “To be honest, I haven’t talked to Josh in years.”

“The two of you were always so close. At least, it seemed like that to us.”

“I thought so too. He’s my twin brother, my closest ally. I knew I could tell him anything, I knew I could count on him,” he says, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Then everything happened the way it did and he left for California. We just…fell apart. Stopped talking for a while, and then we never really started again.”

“What about the others?” you ask, trying to pull his focus from his thoughts of Josh.

He clears his throat, shifting in his seat, his eyes flicking back to you.

“The others,” he says, taking a short breath as his mind runs down the old memories. “We talk on occasion. Sometimes, it’s a short conversation, talking about nothing. It feels like it’s hard to get through to them, to really connect in the same way we used to,” he explains, the sadness returning to his voice. “But when we do talk, it always feels like it did just a few years ago. Nothing’s changed between us but…the distance feels different. When your relationship with someone is built so heavily on one thing and then suddenly it’s taken away, you tend to fall apart from them too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I definitely understand that. I can’t lie, it makes me a little sad to think about it, but I guess that is the reality of life.”

“Yeah,” he says, resting his hand on his glass, “It’s certainly a hard lesson you learn early. Everything is fleeting, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t hold on to it, no matter how hard you try. Can’t live in your glory days forever.”

You sigh and nod, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation hanging over you. “I always wondered if you would start your own thing.”

He perks up a bit, his expression turning cheeky again, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I did for a little bit there, if you remember…”

“Oh yeah, god, I almost forgot about Mirador. Whatever happened to that?” you ask, suddenly remembering his side project. He gives a bitter laugh and takes a long, deep drink from his glass.

“Mirador,” he says with a shake of his head. “It was just supposed to be a little side project. Just me and an old friend writing some songs, you know? Sadly, it just didn’t go anywhere, to be completely honest. I realized I couldn’t do the same thing again. People expected too much from me, and every little bit of the project was under a microscope. At least, it felt like it was. It felt like I would never be able to get away from Greta. It felt like I was trying to recapture the magic of an already good thing, but no matter what I did, or how much I put into it, it wasn’t the same. I wanted to break out of my brother's shadow, but that’s very hard to do when he’s the sun.”

“So you knew that we referred to the two of you as the sun and the moon, then?” you smile, hoping to lighten the mood. 

A small laugh escapes him, nodding his head. “Yeah I did. I remember that,” he shakes his head, “Me, the moon and my brother, the sun. It's incredibly accurate, I'll give you that.”

“So, you just stopped playing all together then?” you ask, tilting your head to rest on your fist. 

He shakes his head, a serious look on his face. “God, no. That’s a ridiculous question. Music is my entire life,” he says, suddenly realizing how intense that statement was. He softens his voice as he continues, not wanting to ruin this good thing.

“I couldn’t give that up, even if I tried I don’t think I could. I love it too much. I have a little set up in my house. Nothing super crazy, my old stuff, my favorite things, the stuff I can’t live without. I write and play almost every day, I go to the occasional open mic or bar, you know how that is,” he shrugs. “I just, I don’t do it for a living anymore. Haven’t for a while. But it still brings me peace. It’s still a part of me.”

“I think there are a lot of people that would still love to hear the music you write, Jake,” you say, a bit of seriousness coloring your tone.

He looks shocked, as if not expecting praise like that. He smiles at you, almost shyly. “I don’t know. It’s been a while, and I’m not the same musician I used to be. I’m– I’m out of professional practice, I mean, I’m not twenty years old anymore,” he says, laughing slightly. 

Your eyes flick down to his hands, seeing the callouses still prominent on his fingertips. “I don’t believe that.”

He looks down, his eyes following yours to his hands before flashing back to your face. He laughs again, “I’m serious. I don’t know if I even still have it in me anymore,” he pauses, bringing his eyes back to yours, looking into them as if searching for reassurance. “Playing in front of a few people and playing in front of thousands of people are very different things. It’s been a long time. I don’t know if I could do it again like I used to. I’m not half as good as I used to be.”

“Then you are right on par with every person playing now. You were always better than the rest, Jake, and you know that. Hell, half of the people playing guitar now were inspired by you in the first place. You playing at fifty percent is still everyone else's one hundred percent. And you didn’t win all of those awards for no reason.”

He looks at you, absolutely shocked by your praise. He can feel his heart in his throat, beating fast.

“I…” he stutters, at a loss for words. He stares at you, unable to do anything but listen. There’s such a conviction in your words, such a seriousness and passion behind what you’re saying that it makes his heart beat a little faster.

It’s not that Jake wasn’t used to being praised. In fact, it used to be his favorite thing on Earth. He had gotten used to compliments and applause for years, and soaked it all up. Hearing it from you, after being apart from that type of recognition for so long, was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” he teases, “You really were a fan weren’t you…” he says with a smirk. 

“Are, a fan…” you correct. “Just because the band isn't together doesn't mean that I stopped listening to the music you made.”

He looks at you quietly, his eyes flicking back to the drink in his hand as a small smile graces his lips. “You don’t know how good it is to hear that,” he says, almost under his breath.

“No one has forgotten about you if that's what you're thinking…”

He shakes his head, taking a long sip of his drink to mask his embarrassment.

“It’s not that I thought people forgot about me, I don’t have that kind of ego,”  he laughs. “I guess I just thought that people moved on, that’s all. It’s been a long time. But knowing that you still listen to it, that means a lot. Really, it does.”

You watch him resettle in his chair, turning his body to face yours a little bit more. You can see a sliver of his chest through his open shirt, his style still not changing through the passing years. His silver pendants still hang around his neck, shrouded by his long wavy hair. 

His fingers fiddle with the glass in his hand as he turns his body a little more to yours. He’s a little buzzed now, not drunk but not completely sober. He glances down at the exposed bit of your arm, eyes lingering on the ink that graces your skin. He takes another sip of his drink, the alcohol flowing through his veins, emboldening him just a little bit.

“So what about you?” he asks, his eyes raking over you before meeting your gaze. 

“Well, I've been here in Nashville all week for a work conference. Tonight is my last night here, so I decided to stop by here and have a drink. Needed to send a picture to my old friends to see if they remembered the place.” you confess.

He nods his head, listening as you speak. He can hear the nervousness coming from your voice, even though you’re trying to cover it up. He takes another sip of his drink, leaning a little closer to hear you better.

“A work conference? What do you do?” he asks, a curious look in his eyes.

“I'm a designer,” you answer confidently. “Mostly digital.”

He raises his eyebrows, a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

“A designer, eh? The artsy type.” He looks at you with an almost amused expression, a crooked smile on his face. “And you’ve been to this bar before?”

“Yeah, um, right before one of your shows actually. It was the opening night for the Starcatcher Tour…” you answer hesitantly. 

He nods his head, “I remember that show,” he says under his breath, more to himself than anything else. “That was a very memorable night.”

“It was, it was,” you agree, both of you letting your mind fill with the old memories. 

“That whole tour was one wild ride,” he pauses, letting his eyes flick over you. “So what else about you? Married? Kids?” he asks, sipping from the remnants of his drink. 

You laugh, “Oh, no, neither. I'm divorced actually.”

His eyebrows dart up, looking surprised. “Divorced? How long?” he asks, tilting his head a little as he studies you.

“It's been two years.” you answer.

He nods, “Three for me. Shitty club to be a part of,” he grins, trying to bring up the mood. “Not even a free hat.”

“You're divorced?” you ask in shock, “I didn’t even know you were married.”

He nods again, his eyes looking down, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “Yep, three years now. It, uh-,” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. His fingers wrap around his glass, twirling it in his hands. “It didn’t end well. At all.” he says, looking up at you. “Two beautiful kids though.”

“Of course they are,” you tease, nudging his shoulder.

He laughs, the first genuine laugh you’ve heard from him all night.

“They’re fantastic,” he says, the pride in his voice evident. “They’ve grown so much, too much. I don’t get to see them nearly as much as I’d like, but they are amazing. Oldest just started college, and my youngest is finishing up high school.”

“Boys?” you ask. 

He grins, a look of fondness in his eyes. “My son is following in my footsteps a bit, surprisingly. Loves music, plays several instruments, the whole deal,” he laughs. “My daughter, on the other hand, absolutely despises music and is an incredible athlete. I think she did that completely out of spite.”

“You're a lucky man,” you smile.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours. In the low light of the bar, you can see the flecks of gold that are hidden in them.  He sighs, letting his fingers pick idly at the rim of his glass.

“I suppose I am,” he admits, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. “The craziest part of all of it is how much I miss noise.”

“Noise?” you ask, giggling.

He laughs, his eyes twinkling. “That came out wrong.”

“I mean,” he continues, “I miss the sounds of a family. I miss the sounds of little girls yelling in excitement, of boys getting angry because they lost their game, of music playing every day every where, of arguing over what to have for dinner or tour schedules. I miss that more than anything. Sometimes my house is just too quiet. I’ve never liked the quiet.”

You feel a twinge of sadness in your chest, knowing the exact feeling he speaks of. 

“I spent my entire life surrounded by it, shit, making it myself. I never ever knew a moment of peace, and it almost became comforting to me. Three siblings and a rock band will do that to you. But now it’s just quiet. Silent all the time, everywhere. You never realize how much you miss it until it’s gone. You’ve got no idea how silent an empty house can be until you’re forced to live in it.”

“I have a little bit of an idea,” you tease, finishing your drink. 

He raises his eyebrows, a sly smile on his lips. “That's why I come here,” he says, looking around the bar. “To find the noise.”

“A sticky dive bar?” you laugh, tracing your finger around the rim of your glass. 

“Exactly,” he says, nodding his head. “I’m sure there are a few nicer places I could go, but they wouldn’t be nearly as interesting,” he laughs, looking around. “There's almost always someone or something going on, music, people. It helps,” he shrugs, focusing on your face, “Fills the silence…Plus, it can’t be that bad if you found yourself here, too…”

You grin, nodding your head in agreement, “You make a great point, Mr. Kiszka.”

“I have my moments,” he says with a wink. He brings his drink to his lips, his eyes never leaving your face. He studies you as he swallows a sip, his eyes slowly looking over every part of you. 

“You said you are texting your friends,” he pauses, glancing down to your phone on the bar top, “Should we send them a photo?”

“Do you want me to send them a photo?” you tease, raising your eyebrow. 

He grins at you, his eyes flashing. “I think I do,” he says, his voice deep and sultry. He holds his hand out for your phone, “May I?”

You smile and nod, placing your phone into his hand. He hits the camera icon and opens the screen, the two of you appearing in frame in the dimly lit bar. 

His eyes are focused on the screen, snapping the photos, but for a brief moment he flicks his eyes down to you, smiling. He lets the camera click a few times for each shot, getting a variety. He looks at the photos for a moment, a cocky look in his eyes. His body brushes against your arm as he moves it, the heat traveling from his body to yours.

“Smile for me, love,” he murmurs, his voice close to your ear. A chill runs down your spine at his words, his breath warm on your skin. 

You grin as he snaps a few more photos, your mind reeling over the fact you were taking pictures at a bar with Jake Kiszka in the year 2049. 

He gives an almost cocky smile as he hands you your phone back, his fingers slowly tracing down your arm. “There,” he says, taking a long drink from his glass, the alcohol going straight to his head. “Pick whichever one, I think they’re all good. Actually, you should send them to me, too.”

What?

You hand him your phone, letting him type in his number and sending a few photos to himself. He hands it back to you with a nod, and you swear you can almost feel your heart stop. You quickly pick a few, sending them off to your friends, anxiously awaiting their replies. You giggle as you lock your phone and set it back on the bar top. “Thank you, for that.”

He smiles back at you, his lips still wet from the alcohol. “Of course,” he murmurs. He leans back in his chair, his shirt gaping open a bit more, his necklaces on display. His chest is tanned and strong, you notice that he has kept in shape since the last time you saw him. He lets his eyes flutter across your body, his fingers toying with his glass. 

“The least I could do after you’ve sat here and let me talk your ear off,” he laughs. “I should be thanking you,” he pauses. “It’s been really nice to reminisce with someone who remembers me when I was in my prime.”

“Who says you’re not, still?” you ask.

He laughs, his head cocked to the side. He looks at you again, his eyes raking over your skin. He lets the tip of his finger slowly trail down the exposed skin of your arm, drawing a small shiver from you. “That's awfully kind of you,” he murmurs, “But we both know that's not true. I'm not the same man I was twenty years ago. Definitely don't look the same. Not the rockstar I used to be.”

“It’s not the way we look on the outside, it’s who we are on the inside. And for what it’s worth, how you look on the outside is still just as beautiful as I remember. A perfect match for this,” you answer, pressing your finger to his chest.

His heart thumps wildly under your hand, a small gasp escaping his lips. He stares at you in shock, his breathing speeding up as your words and touch send heat through his body. He lets himself lean into your touch, enjoying the contact, savoring it. His eyes soften, looking at you with a different kind of look. He’s silent for a moment, just staring at you. When he speaks, his voice is raspier than before.

“You’re much kinder than I deserve,” he murmurs.

“I don’t think that’s true either, Jake,” you breathe. 

He laughs again, his breath slightly shaky. The way you say his name sends another shiver through his body, your soft voice causing his heart to beat faster. He lets his own fingers brush up to encircle your wrist, gently holding your hand in place against his bare skin. He feels the heat radiating from your skin into his own, the touch burning him like a white-hot flame.

His eyes never leave yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me ask you a question.”

“What’s that?” you answer. 

He hesitates for a moment, the alcohol making him bolder than normal. His eyes are locked on yours, taking in every feature of your face.

“Did you ever receive a rose?”

You look down bashfully, fiddling with the ring on your finger, “No, actually. I never did. The people around me always did, but never me. I never got any of that kind of stuff.”

He can see the disappointment in your eyes at your confession. A frown creases his own brows. He lets his fingers run idly along the inside of your wrist, his skin craving the sensation.

His eyes darkened, “That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “But I can’t say I am surprised, my brother always did have a hard time seeing what was right in front of him.”

“Just wasn’t meant to be,” you whisper. 

He lets his eyes search your face, almost as if studying you. He lets his fingers slowly brush up the underside of your arm, the light touch leaving a trail of goosebumps across your skin. He can feel his heart still stuttering in his chest, the alcohol and the proximity to you making his head spin. He lets out a breath as he looks at you, his eyes flicking over every feature of your face.

“This is going to sound crazy, but,” he pauses, rubbing his fingers over his lips, “Would you like to come somewhere with me? I want to show you something.”

“Oh, like– like leave?” you ask, taken aback at his suggestion. 

He can see the surprise on your face and it makes him smile. He nods his head, his hand still encircling your wrist, his fingers tracing the shape of your arm. “It’s not far from here, I promise. Just a five minute drive,” he murmurs, his voice almost pleading. “I think you’ll like it, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes dart around his face. Is Jake Kiszka really asking you to leave with him? 

“Um, I-” you pause, trying to decide if this is a good idea. You know this opportunity will never come again, so you make the decision to agree. “Sure. We can do that.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips curving up into a smile. He lets his eyes rake over your face again before finally releasing your wrist. He fishes in his front pocket, pulling out a roll of cash. He tosses a few bills on the bar, more than enough to cover his tab and yours. He then places his hand on your lower back, his fingers searing at the touch.

“Let's go,” he says gently, guiding you off the stool. “It's not far at all.”

You let him lead your outside into the humid late summer air, the humidity thick and heavy around you. He leads you to his car, opening the passenger door for you.

He walks around the front of the car, his heart hammering in his chest. He gets in slowly, his eyes raking over your body.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life. He rests his hand on the gearshift and looks over at you, his expression uncertain.

“Ready?”

“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” you giggle, turning to look at him. 

He laughs, the sound low and slightly nervous. He keeps his hand on the gearshift as he looks over at you, grinning. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he teases. “You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one, love.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sentiment, nodding your head as you turn your eyes back to the dark road in front of you. He was right, it wasn’t long at all until you were pulling into a parking space at a park. It was dark, only a few stray street lights buzzing overhead. 

He steps out of the car, coming around to open your door. He offers his hand, the skin hot to the touch. He helps you out, holding your hand as he guides you out towards one of the lit sidewalks. He walks quietly next to you, keeping his stride short to match yours. The sound of crickets filters through the air, creating an almost peaceful hum.

He smiles at you, the warmth of his hand encompassing yours. “Almost there,” he murmurs, gently pulling you forward. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, the feeling of his hand in yours so gentle but so firm. The two of you walk down the sidewalk further into the park, finally stopping just in front of a large open area, with a single well manicured rose bush. A small gold plaque stands in front of it, but you can’t yet make out the words. 

He looks over to you, the corner of his lips curving up in a slight smile. He gestures to the plaque, his voice is soft, “Go ahead, read it,” he says, reluctantly releasing your hand. He stays put, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants as he watches you with a smug grin. 

You walk over to the plaque, trying to focus on the weathered metal, but one thing is perfectly clear, the logo forever visible in your mind. 'Greta Van Fleet'. Your eyes focus harder in the low lighting, doing your best to read the old dedication. 

‘This White O’Hara rose bush, dedicated on this day, October 19, 2033, celebrates the 15 year anniversary of the release of ‘Anthem of The Peaceful Army’. Planted in memory of the adoring fans that made this dream possible, in the name of peace, love, unity and equality.’

‘They pass the torch and it still burns, once children then it’s now our turn.’

He stands there, silently watching as you read the plaque. The sounds of the night fill the air around him, crickets and cicadas creating an almost peaceful hum. He watches your face intently, searching for your reaction. He can see you taking in each word, the slight tilt of your head, the narrowing of your eyes as you read. He stays quiet, letting you digest every word. He lets his eyes fall over you, taking in the way the light of the street lamp hits you. Admiring you. 

You feel tears spring to your eyes as you let them take in the sight of the beautiful white roses, flourishing on the mature bush. The fragrance is overwhelming, the beautiful smell filling your senses. You turn around to look at Jake, seeing him smiling as you figure it all out.

He can see the tears in your eyes, his chest tightening at the sight. He silently watches you move closer to him, his breath hitching in his throat. He remains quiet, the words that he wants to say stuck in his throat. He swallows again, the intensity of his gaze never leaving your face as you come to a stop in front of him.

“Jake, this is so beautiful. It’s so– These are the prettiest roses I’ve ever seen.” you say, stopping in front of him. 

He lets out a shaky exhale, his breath mixing with the muggy summer air. He reaches out and tentatively places his hand on your elbow, the touch almost hesitant. His eyes never leave yours. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest, the beat echoing in his ears. He bites his lower lip, his breath coming out in a soft huff.

“They are…they’re perfect, truly,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering to the beautiful white roses behind you. “My hard work has paid off I suppose.”

“Your hard work?” you ask.

He nods, his hand never leaving your arm. It moves though, ever so gently moving down to wrap around your hand again. He absentmindedly toys with your fingers as he speaks, his eyes still never leaving yours. He lets the edges of his lips quirk up in a wry smile. “I planted these roses. Well, Sam and I. And I tend to them now. I wanted something out here that would be here for years, centuries. I wanted something permanent.” He lets his eyes trail up your body, his gaze never leaving yours for a moment. “I wanted something eternal. This was sort of my last effort to fix things and– well, yeah.” 

“Jake it’s beautiful,” you breathe, “A beautiful tribute.”

His voice is husky when he speaks again, “You like it,” he murmurs, the words a statement. “I knew you would. But there is actually one more thing.”

He pulls away from you, releasing your hand as he walks towards the bush, reaching his hand into his pants pocket and pulling out a small pocket knife. His arm descends into the mass of leaves, fiddling with the knife before pulling out a perfect, bloomed rose. 

He turns back to you, holding the flower gently in his hand. The rose looks small in his hand, his fingers wrapped gingerly around the stem. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you once more, quickly using his blade to shear away the thorns and leaves. He lifts the rose gently, the bloom just a few inches from your face, looking at you with unwavering eyes.

“For you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry it’s late.”

Your breath catches in your throat, accepting the rose from his hand. A smile parts his lips as he watches you bring it to your nose to breathe it in. “It was worth the wait.”

He lets a shaky exhale from his lungs, his chest almost hurting from how fast his heart is beating. He can feel his own breath get caught in his chest, his breath becoming labored at the sight of you with the bloom held in your soft hands. He swallows again, his eyes raking over your face. He takes a small step forward, the toes of his boots now almost touching your own. His voice is raspy when he speaks.

“I just wish it could have been sooner,” he mutters, his voice almost sad. He runs his hand through his hair, a slight flush of emotion crossing his face.

“I actually think I prefer this,” you breathe, letting your eyes flick up to his.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, the sound filling the air around you. He can’t help the way his body reacts to your simple words, a rush of emotion surging through him. “Are you– Would you be up for one more adventure?” he asks.

You’d never felt more sure of anything in your life. You felt safe with him, you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. “Of course.”

He lets his smile grow bigger, a rush of relief coursing through him. He reaches to take your hand again, the skin warm against his own. He lets his fingers interlace with yours, holding on firmly.

“Good, then let’s go,” he says, pulling you along with him as you make your way back to his car, white rose in hand. 

He opens the passenger door for you, gently helping you into the car. He closes the door, coming around the other side, climbing back into the car. He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life again. He shifts the car into gear, pulling out of the park, the streetlights casting a harsh glow over his face as he drives. His hands are still shaking on the wheel, adrenaline still coursing through his body.

“That was really sweet of you Jake,” you murmur, “I’ll think about this forever.”

He can feel his heart skip a beat at your words, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. He swallows, his eyes never leaving the road.

“I hope you will,” he says quietly, his voice still a bit shaky. He lets his grip on the wheel tighten as he speaks. The radio is off, the only noises coming from the hum of the engine and the sound of his breathing. “There is just one more thing I would like to show you.”

“I can't wait,” you admit, watching him turn into a neighborhood. You can only assume he is taking you back to his home. 

He lets his jaw clench, his eyes remaining trained on the road ahead. He feels the nervousness bubbling up in his chest as he continues driving, the familiar surroundings of his neighborhood coming into view. His house is still lit up, the outside lights leaving a soft glow on his expansive front yard. He pulls into the driveway, putting the car into park.

“This would be me,” he mutters, his voice low.

“This is your home? It's beautiful.”

He hesitates before turning off the car, his fingers still gripping the steering wheel. He lets his eyes glance at you before looking out at the house.

“It definitely was an upgrade back in the day,” he chuckles, still staring at the house, lost in thought. He finally lets his fingers slide off the wheel, taking the keys out of the ignition.

He opens the door, climbing out of the car. He comes around to your side, opening the door for you once more. He offers his hand to you, the gesture almost gallant. Once you’re out of the car, he closes the door behind you, taking your hand in his again. He leads you up the path to the front door, unlocking it quickly. His heart is beating fast once more, the blood rushing to his ears.

You take in the entry way of his home, grand and exactly what you expected his home to look like. “Wow, Jake, this is…”

The words leaving your mouth fill his chest with warmth, the anxiety from before replaced with a sense of pride. He lets the corners of his lips quirk up as he closes the door behind them, the sound cutting through the quiet in the house. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice soft. He glances down the hall, his expression slightly uncertain. “But the best part is back here...”

You follow him down the hallway, turning a few corners and stopping in front of a large wooden door. He twists the handle and pushes the door open, letting you enter first. You’re immediately captivated by the room, filled floor to ceiling with guitars, artwork, posters, and more memorabilia than you’d ever seen in your life. It was lit by a small lamp in the corner, the room glowing a warm amber color. 

He lets his eyes fall over the room, taking in the look on your face. The look of awe is what he had hoped for, and he feels a sense of pride wash over him. His chest is tight, his heart beating erratically. He takes a step into the room, the small amount of light casting shadows on the floor. He walks over to a small, low table, flicking on another, smaller lamp.

“This is my office, so to speak,” he says quietly, his voice soft. “But I'm sure you know what actually happens in here.”

“This is where you play,” you breathe, letting your eyes focus on the guitars lining the walls. One catches your attention immediately, your hand itching to run your fingers over the frets.

“Indeed it is.” He slowly turns to look at you, his expression half-hidden in the dim lighting. The shadows on his face make his features sharper, the hollows beneath his cheeks creating deep shadows that leave his face in contrast. “Had it built custom for the house, has sound proof walls and everything…My ex she– she got tired of the music all the time,” he laughed. “Had to make some compromises.”

“There is so much here…” you say, looking around in wonder. “I don't even know what to look at first.”

He watches as your eyes flit from item to item, trying to take it all in and process it all at once. 

“Feel free to look at whatever you want, touch whatever you want, I won’t stop you,” he assures and lets his eyes follow yours, watching as you look at all the pieces of his life surrounding you. 

You recognize some things, others are completely new to you. Photos you’ve never seen, and posters you only ever saw photos of, here now in front of your face. “I wish this stuff didn’t make me sad,” you confess, snapping a few photos of old tour posters. 

He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face. He swallows and gently touches your arm, the contact sending sparks up his fingers. He can hear the sadness in your voice, his heart twists in his chest.

He stands close, his chest almost touching yours. He lets the edges of his lips quirk up into a slight smile. “I understand, trust me,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I can assure you there is something in here that may take the edge off.”

He makes his way over to a small shelf housing a collection of vinyl records, thumbing through the stack and pulling out a black cardboard sleeve. He pulls the vinyl from inside, revealing it to you in the light. The sticker on the front reads, ‘Test Pressing’ but offers no other distinguishing qualities. He offers you a teasing smile as he stands to place it on his turntable. 

He carefully places the record onto the turntable, his slender fingers handling it with a certain amount of reverence. The record player is old, the vinyl spinning with a soft crackle of static. He’s almost excited to hear it, anticipating your reaction. He stands next to the record player, his eyes darting from the spinning record to your face, watching as you process his actions. He lets his fingers rake through his hair, a slight smirk on his lips as sound begins to play through the speakers. 

Music begins to play, the familiar guitar tone striking a chord within your chest. You could recognize it anywhere, and just as you were about to speak, you hear Josh’s voice singing lyrics you’d never heard. 

“Jake, what is this?” you gasp. 

He watches as your eyes widen, your mouth parting slightly in surprise. He can see the disbelief in your eyes as you register the sound, a song you couldn’t place because it was never released. He can only respond with a small shrug, his heart twisting in his chest.

“I– I’ve never heard this,” you breathe. 

He gently steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face. He’s close enough to get a good look at your surprised expression, his heart still pounding. “No one ever has,” he whispers, his voice soft. “It was never released. Never made it past the studio.”

“Why not?”

He lets out a huffed laugh, the sound almost sad. He runs his slender fingers through his hair, his expression almost troubled. He lets his eyes flutter down to the record, his heart twisting in his chest. 

“Management thought it was too...” he trails off, struggling to find the right words to say. “It was too…intimate. Josh wouldn't budge on it. We all tried. We had so much other material...We could have gone a completely different direction. But Josh just–He wouldn't. Said it was this or nothing. This is ultimately what ended everything.”

“Oh my god, I– I had no idea.” you whisper, still hearing the beautiful and deeply personal lyrics playing in the background. 

He lets a sharp exhale of air leave his nose, his eyes still focused on the record spinning gently, the sound of Josh's voice filling the small room. His heart is still beating violently, the sound of it thrumming through his body. He shakes his head slightly, his jaw clenching.

He wants to reach out and touch you again, but he suddenly doesn't know what to say. He lets the moment stretch for a few more seconds before he speaks again. “I thought you’d like to hear it.”

“I just can't believe it. It's beautiful, it would have been perfect…”

He swallows, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. He nods in agreement with you, his heart aching. The song is beautiful, it’s sad and lonely and everything that he loves. He looks back at the record, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on the record spinning. 

“Yes...it would have been…” he mutters, his voice soft.

You feel the energy between you shift, his eyes are staring into yours, deep and dark, and you can’t seem to look away. His hands on your skin are burning through you like fire, and you can’t help but to fall deeper into the flames. 

He swallows, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His eyes are locked on to your face, a mixture of sadness and something else in his gaze. He feels his fingers twitching slightly, almost itching to reach out and touch you again, the burning in his body becoming increasingly more intense with each passing second.

“God…” he mutters, his voice low.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling his warmth against your palms. His face is inches from yours, and you know in this moment that he wants you just as badly as you want him.  

The thumping in his chest increases, the sound of his heart beating in his ears almost deafening at this point. He can feel the tension in his body increase, his blood rushing through his veins. He reaches up, his fingers grasping the back of your neck, his body on autopilot at this point. He pulls you flush against him, the burning in his body increasing to the point of being almost painful.

He’s aware of the record still spinning in the background, but the only thing he can focus on is you. His hand slides up your neck to the back of your head, his fingers getting lost in your hair. He lets out a huff of air, the breath shuddering slightly, his body shaking. His eyes are focused on yours, the deep brown of them almost completely lost to the black of his expanding pupils. He feels your hands against his chest, the warmth of your body against his leaving a scorching trail across his skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Please,” you whisper.

He lets out a growl as he slams his lips against yours, his hand in your hair pulling you in tighter against him. The action makes his heart jump, his chest tight and aching. He kisses you hungrily, his body on fire as he tastes you through the kiss. He parts your lips with his, his tongue exploring your mouth with an increasing sense of urgency.

He tastes of Whiskey and peppermint, his lips warm as they envelop yours. His hands are tight against your head, gripping into your hair so firmly it’s almost as if he believes you will float away. Your hands travel beneath the opening of his shirt, feeling his warm chest on your fingertips. A hum leaves his lips as his tongue twists with yours, his legs walking the two of you backwards to an oversized velvet chair. 

He moans as your fingers touch his skin, your warmth igniting something dangerous inside of him. He can’t help the way his body reacts, the way his fingers grip your hair a little more firmly, his body becoming almost starved of all things rational.

He continues to kiss you desperately, the taste of you leaving him wanting more. He guides you backwards, the back of his legs hitting the chair, causing him to stumble slightly before sitting down in it, pulling you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

Your legs straddle him, his hands automatically finding their way to your hips as he pulls you down further. He breaks the kiss, panting slightly as he pulls just far enough away to look at your face, his eyes raking over your features, taking in the flush creeping over your cheeks. “God, you're beautiful…” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

Your insides turn to a puddle as his words float through your mind. All you can focus on is the feeling of his hands on your body, and the taste of his lips on yours. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, his hips moving upwards to meet yours ever so slightly. 

He lets out a low moan as he feels you move against him, his body reacting immediately to the contact, a shiver rushing through his body in response. He lets his hands grip your hips again, fingers digging into the soft skin there, the motion making his heart pound. He leans back in, capturing your lips in a kiss, the action full of hunger and need. He can’t get enough of you, the warmth of your body against his own almost driving him insane.

You feel his hands trailing up your sides, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt as his lips move to press wet kisses to your neck. His hands stop just at the swell of your breasts, his fingertips gliding gently over the round skin. You pull away from him, looking into his lust blown eyes and nodding your head in approval. 

“Please, Jake,” you beg.

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice, the sound of your plea making his heart jump in his chest. He lets out a low groan, his body almost shaking at the sound of you begging, his desire increasing tenfold. He lets his lips move back up to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there gently as you feel his fingers move up, gently skimming the underside of your tits, the touch light and deliberate.

“Tell me you're sure,” he demands. 

“I’m positive.”

He lets out another soft moan against your neck, his fingers gently caressing the soft skin of your sides. He runs his nose along the skin, his head spinning, his body already on edge, the sound of your voice fueling the fire within him. He leans back in the chair, his breathing ragged as he lets his eyes rake over your body, the sight of you straddling him on his lap almost too much to bear.

“Take your shirt off,” he rasps, his eyes glued to you.

You reach for the hem, pulling the fabric over your head as his eyes lock in on your bare chest. His hands move to cup at your tits, sliding around to your back and pulling you in towards his face until his lips connect with the plump skin. You feel his tongue swirling around your nipple as his hands move down your body, pulling your hips harder into his. He growls against your skin, alternating between sucking at your chest and nipping at the sensitive skin. 

“Jake,” you whine, tossing your head back as you revel in the feeling. 

He moans again as you say his name and pulls you tighter against him, his fingers gripping your body possessively, his need growing ever more urgent. “I need you on the bed, sweetheart,” he whispers hoarsely, his words laced with desire.

“So take me,” you answer, looking at his pink swollen lips. 

He smirks at your response, the sound of your words sending a shudder through him, his eyes dark and intense. He doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves quickly, his strong arms scooping you up off his lap and setting you back down on the floor. He stands, his broad stature leading you with ease as he walks out of the room and across his expansive house. 

He leads you to a large bedroom, the room lit only by a small lamp on the bedside table. He walks you quickly over to the bed, the plush comforter and pillows surrounding the king sized bed. He gently pushes you down onto the bed, his body towering over you as he stares down at your half naked body, his eyes practically black with desire.

You can feel the plush bedding beneath you, a dark navy color to compliment the jewel toned walls. Your chest is heaving with want for him, watching as he pulls his black linen shirt over his head.

He stands at the edge of the bed, his shirt tossed to the floor and his muscles taut underneath his skin. His eyes rake over your form on the bed, taking in every little detail, his need increasing by the second. He swallows suddenly, his nerves beginning to take over. It’s been so long since he’s done this with someone. He tries to push down the rising anxiety, his eyes never leaving your face.

You can see the unease on his face, sitting up on your elbows to look at him. “You okay?” you ask gently. 

His heart skips a beat as you ask him the question, the genuine concern in your voice pulling at his heartstrings. He lets out a soft huff of air, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine,” he reassures, but his voice betrays him, his words coming out as a whisper, his chest tight.

“You look amazing, Jake…”

He can feel another shiver run through him as you speak, your words pulling at him. He swallows, his chest getting tighter, his heart thrumming in his ears.

He takes another deep breath, letting his eyes rake over your body. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he says quietly, his voice raspy and low, his eyes taking in the sight of you on his bed, your skin practically glowing under the lamplight.

“Touch me,” you breathe. 

He lets out a shuddering breath at your request, his skin prickling at the sound of your voice. He moves fast, closing the few feet between you and crawling onto the bed, his knee on either side of your thighs as he hovers over you. His hand gently cups the side of your face, his thumb tracing your jawline, his other hand running down your side, his touch feather-light. 

You reach up, running your hand across his chest, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the cold metal of his necklaces. You wrap your hand around his neck, guiding his lips back to yours as he lowers himself to hover over you. As his lips connect with yours you feel his free hand unbuttoning your jeans, and pulling the zipper down. 

Your kiss is harsh and needy, wanting him as close as you can get him. You lift your hips to help him slide your jeans off, leaving you in your underwear beneath him. His hand moves to cup at your heat, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as his hair tickles your cheeks. 

He can feel the heat coming off of you, the sensation making him ache for more. He lets out a low hum as his hand runs between your legs, his fingertips gently running over your mound, feeling the heat and the wetness through your panties. He breaks the kiss, his head spinning as desire and need courses through his body. He peppers your jaw and neck with quick kisses, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin.

“God you're so perfect,” he whispers hoarsely, his breath coming out in short pants.

Your hips arch into his touch, silently begging him to remove the barrier between the two of you. “You feel perfect,” you whine, twisting your hand into his hair. 

He lets out a low growl as you pull at his hair, the sound driving him crazy. He can't wait any longer, the burning desire to taste you, to feel you, becoming almost overwhelming.

He lets his hand slip past the elastic of your panties, his fingers slipping through the wetness, a low moan leaving his lips as he touches you. “God you're so ready,” he breathes against your neck.

You whine as his steady hand guides his fingers over your clit, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure through your body. “Fuck,” you whine, “Keep– Keep going.”

He can feel the way you squirm beneath him as his fingers work between your legs, his heart thrumming in his chest at your reaction. He lets out a low groan, his fingers circling your clit as he responds to your request.

“Yeah?” he whispers, his fingers tracing and teasing. “Like that sweetheart?” he asks, delivering a particularly sensual swipe of his fingers. 

You hum in pleasure, letting your eyes flutter closed as you enjoy the sensation. You can hear his pendant tinkling together above your face, committing the sound to memory. He's painfully hard beneath his jeans, the feeling almost uncomfortable in his current position, but his focus is completely on the reaction he's getting out of you, the sound of your pleasure filling his ears, the feeling of your body beneath his fingers making his head spin. 

You feel his hand slide further down, three fingers sliding through your wetness before gently gliding to your entrance. “Two or three baby, you tell me what you want.”

“Tw-Three,” you stammer, quickly correcting yourself.

He lets out another low laugh against your neck, his tongue tracing a line up to your ear. “Good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of the words sending a shiver through your body.

His fingers slide back through your wetness, a soft moan leaving his lips as he presses three fingers in to the knuckle, the feeling lighting your body on fire. “You’re so perfect, sweetheart.” he growls, letting his fingers move perfectly inside of you. 

He lets out a low moan at the sound of his name on your lips, his fingers working inside of you, his knuckles rubbing against your inner walls. He's completely lost in your response, the feeling of you beneath him driving all rational thoughts out of his head.

“That's it, sugar, say my name again,” he commands, his voice low and breathy. “God, you feel so good around me.”

“Jake,” you whine, feeling his thumb move to rest on top of your throbbing clit.

He doesn’t stop his fingers, his thumb gently beginning to rub at your clit, the feeling and sound of you pulling another moan from his mouth. “That’s right sweetheart, let me hear you. Don’t hold back on me.”

You feel your insides starting to tense, your thighs are quivering with anticipation, and your blood is moving through your veins faster than it ever has. You let your eyes open to look at him, completely entranced with the way his fingers are disappearing inside of you. “I'm close, baby.”

He lifts his head to look at your face, his eyes scanning across your features, taking in the flushed appearance and hazy expression on your face. 

“Let go, baby,” he rasps, his fingers increasing their pace. “I wanna see, I wanna hear you cum for me.”

You can hardly deny him, your body giving in to his demands whether you like it or not. Your body tenses around his fingers, your hips rolling up into his touch as the tension snaps inside of you. Your back arches up off the bed as his name falls from your lips, echoing through the air around you as soft curses leave his lips. 

He stares down at your face, watching you come undone beneath him, and it’s the most breathtaking, perfect thing he’s ever witnessed.

He lets his fingers slow as you ride through your orgasm, gently removing them, a low hum leaving his lips as he sits back a bit, his eyes taking in your disheveled form. “God you’re fucking beautiful, baby,” he murmurs against your neck.

You are working steadily to catch your breath, looking at him as he pulls his fingers to his lips. 

He lets his eyes stay on yours as he runs his tongue over his fingers, the taste of you making his head spin and his stomach tense. He moves onto his knees as you settle back down, his eyes roaming over you, the sight of so needy beneath him makes his body ache.

He lets his hands run up your bare legs, gently massaging your thighs and hips. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low and raspy.

“That was,” you pause, letting out a sigh, “Amazing, Jake…”

He lets out a soft laugh at your response, his fingers continuing to massage your skin as he responds. “Yeah?” he asks, a smirk slowly spreading across his lips.

“Yeah, but you already know that,” you counter, pulling him down towards you by the chain of his necklaces. He moves quickly, his body pressed flush to yours before you move to roll him to his back, taking position on top of him. 

His hands rest on your thighs, his thumbs making small circles on your skin as he looks up at you. He lets his eyes rake over your face, his hands gently squeezing your hips, trying to keep the cool demeanor as desire begins to overtake him. 

“Think you’re taking charge here, sweetheart?”

“I know so,” you quip. 

“Only because I’m letting you.” he smirks, moving a hand to rest behind his head as he watches you. 

He looks so good beneath you, the years passed only adding to the natural sexiness he always possessed. Your eyes rake over his body as your fingers move to unbutton his pants.  

He sucks in a deep breath as you get the button unfastened, his entire body practically burning now, his skin overheating. You pull his jeans down below his hips, revealing the thin boxers he’s wearing underneath, and the obvious print of his fully hardened length beneath the fabric. His muscles flex involuntarily as he tries to keep himself in check, but he finds it damn near impossible when you’re looking at him like this. 

You drag your hand over his length, pulling a hiss from his chest. You stroke him through his boxers watching his lips part and his breathing become heavier. 

He can hardly contain himself as you touch him through the fabric, a shuddering gasp leaving his lips, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. 

“Oh god, baby,” he grits out, his voice strained and harsh. He can’t keep his eyes off you, his heart racing in his chest as you tease him, the friction both incredible and completely torturous.

You move backwards on the bed, letting your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down his legs as you move further backward. His cock springs free from the confines of the fabric, slapping against his groin with an audible thud. His eyes search yours as you throw his boxers to the floor, reaching for his length and grasping it hot and hard in your fist. 

He lets his tongue run across his dry lips as you continue teasing him, his eyes darkened with lust, his chest heaving as he tries to keep his breathing even. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he moans, his hips arching up as you continue your movements, craving more friction, more contact.

You settle yourself between his legs, as you continue to work him, giving him a playful smile before dropping your lips over his length. You can taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue, and the warmth of his body on your lips. 

He lets out a low moan of pure pleasure as your lips wrap around him, his heart feeling like it’s about to explode in his chest, his body practically on fire. 

“God, yeah, that’s it baby,” he grits out, his hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. “Just like that.” He can’t help but let his hips roll up into your mouth, the feeling and the sight of you, almost too much to take.

You flatten your tongue against him as you take him further into your mouth, feeling his tip brush at the back of your throat. His hips jerk into you, his own primal need for more manifesting. When you don’t gag, it takes him by surprise, his eyes widening as he looks at you. 

“Fuck sweetheart, and I didn’t think you could get any better.”

You pull back a bit, sucking as you withdraw your mouth, cupping his balls and pulling a whine from his chest. 

“God, yes,” he whines, “Doing fucking amazing.”

You begin to bob your head up and down at a faster pace, feeling his cock start to thicken in your hand. You pull your mouth from him, letting a string of saliva drip down the side of his length. Your eyes never leave his as you lick up the underside of his shaft, savoring the taste of his skin and the feeling of his veins on your tongue. 

He practically whimpers at the feeling of your tongue on him, his chest heaving, his body practically trembling with need. He can feel himself getting closer with every movement of your mouth and hand, his eyes locked on yours as he tries to keep control of himself.

He’s on the edge, desperate for release, his body arching up into you. “Keep going, baby, don’t stop,” he moans out, his voice ragged and breathless. 

You quicken your pace, eyes locked on him as you continue to work him towards his release, the jerking movements of his cock in your mouth letting you know its arrival is imminent. You hum around him, letting the vibrations of your voice work him even closer. 

“Goddamn, Y/N,” he pants, gripping his hand into your hair. His grip is firm and his eyes are pleading, so you give in and give him the approval he is looking for. 

In seconds you feel his hand guiding your head at a much faster pace, the head of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat as he curses in pleasure. It’s only a few seconds before you feel him starting to twitch against your tongue, his hand loosening its grip in your hair. 

His breathing becomes ragged as he guides your head, his hips bucking and rolling as he gets closer to the edge. “Look at me,” he demands. 

Your eyes immediately meet his, and suddenly you feel the rush of bitter warmth as it flows across your tongue and down your throat. 

“Take it, fucking take it,” he groans, his hips still moving on their own as he spills into your mouth. 

As you swallow down the last of his release, he lets his head fall back on the pillow, his chest heaving and his heart still racing as he comes down from the high. He looks back up at you, his eyes dazed and half-lidded, his breathing labored. 

“Jesus,” he rasps, his hand falling from your hair. You move to stand at the end of the bed, tossing your hair over your shoulders and sliding your thong down your legs. He watches you intently, his eyes taking in the sight of your naked body, causing his cock to harden once again. He strokes it a few times, still feeling sensitive from his last orgasm. 

“I want you, Jake,” you whisper, kneeling back onto the bed. 

“Come here,” he replies, his voice a low, gruff whisper. He sits up, his eyes still taking in every inch of you, his body practically aching with need, his heart thrumming in his chest. He holds a hand out to you, his eyes locked on yours.

You move towards him, taking his hand as you step closer, your body coming flush with his as he pulls you into his lap. He lets his hands move to your hips, pulling you even closer until you're straddling his thighs, his breath catching in his chest as he looks at you.

“You want me to ride you, baby?” you ask, a mischievous smile on your lips. 

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, pulling your wet cunt into direct contact with his cock. 

“Or,” you pause, pushing up a little, “Would you rather have me on my hands and knees?”

The question makes his heart skip a beat, and he lets out a low groan, his hands gripping tighter on your hips.He hesitates for a moment, his eyes locked on yours, and when he speaks his voice is low and rough. 

“That's not fair,” he says, his hands moving to the small of your back, pulling you closer against him.

“Why not?” you ask, pretending not to understand his conundrum. His hands remain firm on your body as he responds, his voice a low, huskier version of his normal tone. 

“Because I'm trying to show you some restraint, and you're making it very difficult for me, sweetheart,” he says, his eyes flicking between yours as he looks at you.

“Who said I wanted you to show restraint?” you ask, wanting everything he had to offer. 

His eyes darken as you challenge him, his hand gripping tighter on your hip. “You're playing with fire, angel,” he warns, his voice strained as he tries his hardest to keep control of himself.

He can feel the way your body responds to his touch, and he can tell you want more, and god knows he wants more too. You roll your wet pussy against the head of his cock in an attempt to press him even further. 

“Last chance baby,” he warns. 

You suck a wet kiss to his chest, giving him your answer. He pushes you up, and rolls you off of him, standing from the bed as he snaps his fingers. “Hands and knees,” he barks, pointing to the center of the bed.

The demanding quality of his voice sends a flood of arousal to your core. You follow his command, getting on your hands and knees in the middle of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest as you hear him move behind you.

He walks over to his bedside table, pulling open the bottom drawer and grabbing a silver foil packet from the strip. He rips the packaging open with his teeth, spitting the corner out to the floor before rolling the latex over his throbbing cock. 

He moves closer to you, his body now completely flush against yours, his hands on your hips to keep you in place. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, his breath hot against your ear.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, anticipating his first move. 

His hands tighten on your hips as you reply, his heart racing as he hears the need in your voice. He leans down, his lips close to your ear as he responds, his words a low, gruff whisper. “Good girl.”

He moves his hips behind you, positioning himself at your entrance. He takes a moment to compose himself, wanting to savor this moment. His grip on your hips is firm, but his touch is gentle as he slowly pushes into you, a low moan leaving his lips as he does. 

“God, you feel so good, baby,” he whispers, his body trembling against yours. 

The stretch is indescribable, the burning fullness as he fully sheaths himself inside you is nothing like you could have ever imagined. You can feel the throb of his cock against your walls and the way his hands grip into your hips as he adjusts to the snug sensation overwhelming his senses. 

“Jake, oh my god,” you whine, feeling his hand slide around to grip your chest. He pinches your nipple between his fingers as he drags his tongue down your spine. 

“I know baby, you feel incredible,” he says, starting to move his hips at a faster pace. 

The room is starting to grow hot, his headboard tapping the wall with every thrust into you. You can’t seem to stop the continuous flow of noises leaving your chest, only offset by the sound of his hips slapping against your ass. 

“Jake, baby,” you cry out, his hips slamming into your at a bruising pace. 

“I warned you sugar,” he pants, “I know you can take it.”

He’s right, the pleasure is overriding the pain, leading you towards what you know will likely be the best orgasm of your life. You begin to clench around him as curses fall from his lips, his hands gripping into your shoulders, pulling you back to meet each thrust. 

You can feel his hair as it drags across your back, his lips pressing into the arch of your back. “So fucking good for me, sweetheart.”

You know you aren’t going to last much longer, the need for release inching its way closer and closer to the forefront of your mind. 

“Baby,” you whine, looking over your shoulder at him. He’s the picture of perfection, hairline dotted with sweat as his chest glows. 

“There’s those pretty eyes,” he smirks, “Have half a mind to turn you over, just so I can look at them when I cum.” he ponders, his hips slowing slightly, “You know what, I think I will.”

He pulls out of you quickly, guiding you down to your back before slipping right back into you with a groan. 

“Goddamn, perfect pussy,” he murmurs, “Look at me, beautiful.”

You let your eyes meet his, his hair framing his face now as his pendants drag over your skin. Your hand moves to cup at his neck, your thumb splayed wide over his throat. 

“Mmmm, yeah,” he growls, “This was the right choice.”

You wrap your legs around his back, his free hand coming down to grip at your ass. His thrusts are starting to become more erratic, his pace slightly off from the consistent speed he was working at earlier. Again you feel the warmth in your stomach starting to creep up your chest and you know that it will be only seconds until your undoing. 

His breaths are coming in short, ragged gasps, his heart racing in his chest. He can hear the sound of your bodies colliding over and over again and it only fuels his fire. As he feels you start to get closer, he pushes himself even further, wanting to give you everything he has. 

His hand snakes up your body, cupping at your face and letting his thumb trail over your kiss swollen lips. You part them, allowing him to press his fingers to your tongue. You close your lips around them, letting your tongue work at the digits, and suck them without breaking eye contact. 

You feel his cock jump inside of you, and you know that you’re both there, but prolonging the moment as long as you can. He presses his fingers to the back of your throat, your eyes watering instantly as you gag around them. 

“There it is,” he grins, “Just had to hear it.” 

He pulls his wet fingers from your mouth and immediately presses them to your clit, circling around the throbbing nub to get you to the finish line with him. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he demands, “Cum with me.”

“I want you, Jake,” you beg, “All of you.”

He lets out a low moan as you speak, the tone of your voice setting his body on fire. He knows what you're saying, what you're asking of him, and who is he to deny you?

“All of you, Jake… Take it off…” you whine. 

He lets out a deep growl as you beg, his body trembling with need. He wants to give you what you want, but he also wants to show restraint, his self control hanging by a thread. 

“You sure, baby?” he asks. 

“Yes, please,�� you beg, “Want it so bad. Want to feel you.”

He can't hold back any longer, your words pushing him over the edge. “God damn it,” he growls, his body trembling. He pulls out of you, ripping the condom off and tossing it to the floor, pushing back inside of you with a sinful groan. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” he pauses, “This what you wanted, baby? You want my fucking seed? Need to feel me all nice and warm inside you?”

“Yes Jake, Oh god– you’re so– give it to me baby,” you cry out, finally feeling the full warmth of his cock inside of you, stretching and filling you so perfectly. 

“I’m there sweetheart, gonna fuckin cum,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours as his hips slam into you. “Soak me beautiful, squeeze my cock while I cum in this pussy.”

His words send you over the edge, your world exploding around you as the sound of his grunts fill the air you seem to be floating in. He’s hot as he spills inside of you, sweat dripping down his chest in salty rivulets. 

His lips crash to yours as he works you through it, his tongue dancing with yours as you both start to come down from your orgasms.  He breaks the kiss after a moment and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing coming out ragged, his eyes still locked on yours.

“Goddamn, baby, I think that almost killed me,” he laughs, “Was hot as fuck.”

You laugh, as you kiss him again, his smile making your heart flutter in your chest. “You're hot as fuck, so it wasn't hard.”

He laughs at your reply, the sound deep and velvety. “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart,” he replies, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. 

He's still trying to catch his breath, his heart still racing from the exertion, but he still has enough energy to pull you closer against him, his hands gently rubbing your back as he speaks. “But you’re only adding to my ego.”

“I knew you were still in there somewhere,” you tease. 

He pulls out of you, the evidence of his release slipping between your thighs. “You know, I did not expect my night to go like this.” he smirks, standing from the bed and making his way to the bathroom. 

“Glad it did,” you smile, watching his perfect round ass make its way to the sink. He returns a minute later with a wet towel, gently cleaning you up as he showers you with praise. 

“I’d like you to stay here, if you’d like.” he asks, nervously, sliding back into the bed next to you. 

“I have a flight in the morning,” you counter, biting at your bottom lip. 

He pulls you into his side, pushing the hair away from your face as he sighs, “I see,” he pauses, swallowing nervously, “Just stay, and you can leave at whatever time you need to, I would just really like to spend the rest of the night with you here.”

You can't help but smile at the sound of his words, your heart fluttering in your chest. You nod, snuggling closer into his side, your head resting against his chest. “I think I can manage that,” you reply, your voice soft and gentle.

You can feel his heart beating beneath your ear, the steady rhythm comforting you. You close your eyes for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of his body close to yours. He reaches over and turns off his lamp, leaving the room in darkness. 

“Thank you, for the rose…” you whisper into the darkness. 

His hand moves to stroke your hair once again, his eyes roaming over your face in the darkness. “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice soft and sincere. “Wish it would have happened twenty five years ago,” he says, his words a light tease.

“I’ll keep it forever.”

“You better,” he teases, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, “I expect to see it on Instagram by morning, and don’t forget to tag me.”

You slap at his chest playfully, the joking quality of his voice very present. “Be careful or I just might.”

He laughs, his hand moving to the spot you slapped his chest. “Oh no, please don’t,” he teases in mock horror. He pulls you closer to him, and sighs in contentment, his heart feeling light and happy for the first time in a long time. 

—

Your phone buzzing on the nightstand wakes you, your alarm set for 5:00AM. The room is still pitch black, the black velvet curtains shrouding the windows and keeping the light from entering. The air is cool, a little too cold for your liking but the heaviness of the sheets make it bearable. You can feel Jake’s body heat beneath the sheets, radiating and keeping you warm for most of the night. His hands never left your body, keeping you close to him even in his sleep. You slept peacefully, though as you start to move around you notice the soreness of your muscles. You know you have to get up, you have to find your clothes and get back to your hotel before your flight. 

You turn to look at Jake, still sleeping next to you. His lips are parted, soft puffs of air drifting between them as his eyelids move. His hair is pulled back away from his face, revealing his ear and the column of his neck. His hand rests gently on your pillow, his fingers twitching in his sleep and bringing a smile to your lips. 

You roll over towards the nightstand, noticing that the white rose he presented you with last night was laying across the length of the small table, and you know he must have placed it there at some point during the night. The petals have opened more now, and your heart flutters as you remember him giving it to you. You grab your phone and open the camera, snapping a photo of the rose on the nightstand just to remember the moment.

You take in the sight of him one last time before silently slipping out of the bed, feeling very exposed as you look around the dark room in search of your clothes. You redress yourself as quietly as possible, remembering that you shed your shirt in his office. You grab your rose, and take one last look at his perfect sleeping form before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and slipping out of the large wooden door and into the hallway. 

You make your way to his music room, seeing your shirt still laying on the floor and the record still spinning idly as the speakers crackle. You grab your shirt and pull it over your head, deciding to stop the turntable and place the record back into his collection. You take another look around the room, overcome with emotion as you look at the young faces on the posters and in the photos hanging on the walls. 

Twenty minutes later you’re notified that your Uber is outside, and a pang of sadness washes over you. You know you have to leave but part of you wants to stay. To get back in bed with Jake in hopes of a round two, to see his morning face and hear the raspiness of his voice, but you can’t. You decide to leave with the memories and your rose, watching his house pass by the windows as the car pulls out of his driveway. 

Your mind is swirling with thoughts of last night, the way he felt, the way he tasted. You scroll through the photos of the two of you at the bar, feeling a weight settle on your shoulders as you realize you will likely never see him again. In an effort to lift your spirits you pull up your group chat with your friends, forgetting that you sent them the photo of the two of you last night. You never thought to check their replies, feeling so caught up in your time with Jake that it never crossed your mind. 

You’re instantly reduced to laughter as you read their desperate replies, catapulting you back twenty years when you all wished to run into him at a bar by chance. You sent a few laughing emojis and gave them all a quick run down of the night, finishing off your message with a picture of the white rose on the nightstand. 

Their reactions were exactly as you expected, complete panic and begging for every single detail. 

—

As you make your way through airport security you deposit your things into the large plastic bins, walking through the metal detector and out again, grabbing your bag and shoes from the end of the conveyor belt. 

It’s a short walk to your gate, your flight home seeming daunting after the night you’d had. It had been a few hours now and still you couldn’t shake the thoughts of him from your mind. You knew you should be happy for that one perfect night with him, but you felt something with him. Something you hadn’t felt in years. Something different.  

You take a seat at your boarding gate, letting out a sigh as you settle into the stiff airport chair. You can still smell the remnant of his cologne on your body, and you can almost feel his lips on your neck. A swirling feeling takes up residence in your stomach and your skin feels warm. You decide to take your mind off of him, reaching into the front pocket of your purse for your phone, but feeling something else against your fingers instead.

As you pull the items out of your bag, you feel as if your heart might stop in your chest. A small folded piece of paper emerges from the pocket with a note written inside. A relic falls into your hand as you open it, small and black and aged from wear over the years. A guitar pick, adorned with the ‘Age of Machine’ symbol sits perfectly in your hand. You feel your eyes well with tears at the special gift, letting them flick over to the note written in his messy handwriting. 

Every Jake girl needs a pick. I hope you enjoy this one from my personal collection. Might even be the last one in existence. Thank you for everything tonight, your kindness to me will never be forgotten. You’ve reignited my spark in more ways than one.

P.S. - Check your phone

Love, Jake

With your newly acquired pick in your hand you reach into your purse, pulling your phone out as quickly as possible. On the screen you see more texts from your friends, but more importantly you see a text from Jake, who not only sent those photos to himself, but added his contact information into your phone. Your thumb shakes as you open his text, nervous to see what he has sent.

JK

9:47AM: I’m guessing you found my note and it led you here. I hope you like the pick and that you will hold on to it for me. I meant what I said in that note and here’s your proof. Thought of this last night and recorded it this morning just after you left. It’s all thanks to you. Give it a listen and call me when you land. Hope to hear from you soon. 

An attachment was sent along with his message, and as it opens you realize it's an audio file, but not just any audio file. It’s him, playing music the way he was always meant to. 

JakeSoloDemo.mp3

As you listen to the track you feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. You’d brought him out of his shell, and all it took was a few encouraging words and letting him know that people still cared. You read over his message again and again, debating whether or not to text him back now, or wait to call him when you landed like he asked, but either way he wanted to hear from you, and the promise of the conversation to come was enough to keep a permanent smile on your lips for the rest of time.

Sure, you may have reignited his spark, but maybe, just maybe, he reignited yours, too. 

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[tinydefector]

TURN BACK ANON MY ANONYMITY NOAAAAUUU /J

ive been thinking about this idea the whole day but imagine in human effects, a group of humans shamelessly talk about who they would bang bang in ll and them being superised that; minibots (cough swerve) are oddly popular because in the humans words 'thats probably the only size they can bear without being impaled to death', rung and ratchet is somehow in there because some have a preference for the old ladies (dilfs) etc etc

theyre talking thinking no ones listening since its a bar full of drunken bots but the fact is half of the bar is eavesdropping, esp after the events of the first human effect. some waiting for their names to be mentioned, some absolutely puzzled by their preferences, some fistpumping thinking they might have a chance (brainstorm HAHA)

u dont have to write anything if u dont want to!! love ur writting!! running away now!! have a good day slash night!!

Effects of Drinking

Word count:2.1k

Warnings: talking about sex, hookups, speculated workplace relationships.

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Human effects masterlist

I absolutely loved this idea and got to work on it the moment I read this. So enjoy another part of human effects.

___________________

The sound of Swerve is always loud with the mingling of bots and humans alike, the sound of laughter, crying and venting was a causal occurrence for the many drunk patrons that frequent the bar. But tonight It was bustling even more than it normally is. Swerve shakes his head in amusement as me brings a plate of drinks over for the human crew. Swerve whistled cheerily as he whisked through the busy bar, expertly weaving between crowds with overloaded trays of alcohol and snacks balanced expertly on his servos. The atmosphere pulsed with raucous revelry.

Setting down his latest platter of Human-sized drinks, he flashed the smaller patrons a dazzling smile. "Hope y'all're enjoyin' the party! What's the special occasion tonight, if I may ask?" His optics twinkled mischief. Leaning casually on the bar, taking care not to endanger any of the humans. Swerve propped his chin in his hands attentively. "Seems like a lively bunch are in to spill all the juicy deets. Come on, I'm all audials. what's worth celebrating tonight. 

Millian shoots Swerve a smile. "Oh it's gonna get messy tonight Swerve Taylor just had a break up" states which earns raised glasses from the other human crew mates. "To the shit show of a long distance relationship" Nadia calls out and she downs her first shot. "Fucking hell your an alcoholic" the Liason states to the rest of their the crew as they shoot Swerve another smile. "Thank you for the drinks, Swerve I'll try to keep this unruly lot under control, and hopefully Taylor and Nadia dont get to shit faced" they state to him. 

Swerve's optics gleamed with intrigue as the Crew shouted their toasts and explanations. "Oooooh, messy breakups and long-distance woes, huh? Been there, done that," he chuckled knowingly, a cheeky gleam in his optics. "Well hey, if Taylor needs a shoulder vents or an audial, you know where to find me," he offered with a friendly wink. "And as for the rest of you rowdy lot..." His vocalizer took on a playfully stern tone. "I expect nothin' but the finest conduct from representatives of our new friends on Cybertron. No pukin' in the vents, no startin' bar fights - at least, no winnin' any," he jested. 

Laughter fills the area as the two waves Swerve off back towards the bar. Nadia whistles softly as she watches Swerve walk off. "Careful now, don't let Taylor catch you drooling, she'll make you drink tequila with her" Millian teased softly, jostling Nadia's elbow with a grin. Her friend simply chuckled and took another sip of her drink, eyes still following Swerve's retreat fondly.

"Can you blame me? Those Mech's are something else," Nadia sighed, resting her chin on one hand dreamily. "Tall, strong... kind soul. If he was human, I'd be all over that bartender like rust on spoiled bolts." Millian shuddered as they pulled a face at Nadia. "Ugh, don't put images in my brain, thanks. I swear if I have to watch you flirt with another thousand-pound machine..." 

Nadia swatted at him playfully. "Oh hush, like you wouldn't ride Optimus Prime like a mechanical stallion given half the chance." It makes Kyle spit his own drink out as he laughs and chokes at the same time. “Shut the fuck up Kyle!” Millian hisses. The group's Ambassador rolls Their eyes. “Behave you two, God forbid I have to get Garry to drag you both back to your rooms later” they state with a smoke of Their head.  

Taylor begins pouring herself tequila shot after tequila which gets her a look from the others realising just how hard she was taking the breakup. As Taylor's shots began piling up at an alarming rate, concerned murmurs arose among the human crew. Millian shot Nadia a look across the table. "Woah there Tex, maybe ease up on the hard stuff for a bit, yeah?" They suggested gently, resting a hand on Taylor's wrist to still the next pour. 

 "Breakups suck shit, believe me - but that's what friends are for. No need giving yourself An alcohol coma!" Nadia nodded supportively. "Mil's right, T. We're here to help you forget that piece of shit, not drown yourself." She flashed Taylor a cajoling smirk. "And who knows, might find someone else worth your time out there. Wouldn't want to miss your chance at a rebound, all because you're too fucked to function!" 

The team's Ambassador shoots Taylor a look too Check on her. "We are here to try and make your night better without you drowning yourself Tay, plus I'm pretty sure Nadia is more interested in the 'eye candy' as she likes to put it" they tease back Which earns a snort from Kyle. “Yea seems ready to jump anything that looks her way” he states partly amused as he goes back to sipping his beer. Nervous laughter arose from the humans at their ambassador's gentle teasing of Nadia. She accepted it gracefully, raising her glass in cheerful concession. 

"You got me there, boss. What can I say - alien ships, alien bars, alien hotties. A girl's gotta have her fun!" Taylor managed a half-smile at her friend's antics, tension easing slightly as others diverted focus her way. "Thanks, everyone. I know you're just looking out for me. It's been a rough week… plus this on top of it" Her gaze softened gratefully. 

Nadia leans in to Taylor with a smile that could only spell touch. And both Kyle and the Ambassador know what's about to come out of her mouth. "Sooo.. who wants to play smash or pass?" Kyle and another one of the mechanics shoot her a look as if to go ‘really?’. 

In the background curious optics watch the rowdy group of humans, some ears dropping in on the conversation others only shooting looks over when one of them gets over vocal. 

"Ooh, I love this game!" Millian crowed, bouncing mischievously in his seat. "Lay it on us, Nads - who's first on the bot buffet?" 

Skids’ optics go wide from his own seat as he turns around to watch the commotion over at the other table, partially intrigued after the last late night bar conversation with some of the other mechs, he gives Hound a slight nudge as if to get him to look over at the other Table. 

Their ambassador sighed fondly. "As your head officer, I should discourage such fraternisation... but as your friend, please try not to get yourselves into trouble God forbid I have to do the sign off overbone of you trying to get cosy with the crew." Nadia cackled, unrepentantly salacious. "Hey, no kink shame in my smash or pass!”

They go around the table multiple times asking each person a bot to smash or pass little to their knowledge or drunken state had they realised quite a few of the bots listening in on their conversation.  "You lot are a bunch of menaces, I swear if I have to drag you out of the bed of one of these good mechs because you got to grabby I'm not going to be happy" they state in a playful tease as they begin drinking their own drink.

The humans cackled irreverently at their ambassador's mock threats. "Aw, don't be like that boss!" crowded Millian. "We're just havin' a little fun gettin' to know the local talent. No harm in window shoppin', right?"

"Speak for yourself," Nadia shot back with a wink. "Some of us plan to do more than just look. A girl's on a schedule, after all - and these mechs are some mighty fine cuts of steel!" 

Ratchet shoots the group A rather disapproving look knowing if anything happened he'd have to deal with the fallout. The ambassador shoots him a look with a shake of their head while sipping their drink. They knew their group weren't exactly being subtle about it. 

Kyle groaned and hid his face, though the tips of his ears still burned hot. Even Taylor was gradually relaxing into laughter again. Catching their ambassador's imploring gaze, Taylor smiled ruefully. "Don't worry boss - I'll make sure this lot don't embarrass us too badly, we don't want a redo of what happened with Kyle and David. And if anyone does end up, er, occupied for the night... Well, I'm sure security footage could be omitted from our reports. For diplomatic purposes."

“Oh my God, one time, I go to see Kyle one fuckin time” David huffs in embrassment while pressing his face into his hands. It's Millian who realises who the ambassador's eyes are lingering On before they make a sly comment about it. “Ohhh got eyes on the old medic?” They tease before Nadia speaks up. “Mmmm bet he'd have a lot of experience, bet he'd be real nice in bed” she purrs while her eyes dance across his plating. 

One of the Bluestreak begins choking on his drink of high grade earning him a laugh from a smokescreen who slaps him on the back. He curses as he tries to make it seem that he wasn't ears dropping on the conversation. Nadia's keen eyes noticed the bot choking on high grade at the adjacent table.  

She grinned, nudging her friends eagerly. "Hey, I think we've got an audience! That mech over there started glitching when talk turned to after-hours bump and grind."

Heads swivelled covertly, giggling and pointing out the bot now sporting a rather flustered frame as his companion gleefully slapped his plating while laughing at him. 

"My, seems our alien friends find human proclivities just as intriguing as we do theirs," Kyle noted dryly. 

Millian snickered into their drink. "Bet they've never met a crew so eager to sample the merchandise firsthand." 

Nadia stretched lavishly. "What can I say - we aim to broaden cultural exchange through... hands-on cooperation." Her grin turned downright feline.

“Not that type of hands on cooperation Nadia, but I do appreciate the enthusiasm of building decent relations with our crew” The Ambassador states as their comm link goes off with an incoming call, they sigh when they read the message that pings through. ‘Needed on command deck due to an incident involving Rodimus and Daniel’. The Ambassador sighs before getting up. "I've got head, got another Accident report I've got to go process due to our captain's Asteroid surfing again" they state while moving from the table, their attentions were diverted as their ambassador rose from the table with a resigned sigh. 

"Duty calls, it seems. You lot try and stay out of trouble while I'm gone, please? I'd hate to have to bail any of you out of the brig for 'cultural exchange' gone too far." They fixed Nadia with an arched brow ridge before departing with a chuckle. 

"Tch, spoilsport," Nadia huffed affectionately. "Care to place bets on how long it takes our ambassador to get sick of Roddy's scrap and maroon him for good?" Kyle scoffs as he takes a drink. "With the amount of times the Ambassador gets called away you'd think it's a cover up story" he states as the alcohol begins going to his head. David Shakes his head as leans against Kyle. 

Nadia's eyes gleamed deviously at Kyle's insinuation, while Millian and Taylor look at him with a shocked look. “No… you don't think..?” Taylor starts 

 "Oooh, sneaky! You may be onto something there, flyboy." Nadia tapped her chin thoughtfully. 

"Let's think - who've they been spending an awful lot of 'alone time' with lately..." 

"Rodimus is always dragging them to the bridge for 'meetings'," offered Millian with wiggle-voiced air quotes. 

Taylor giggled behind her hand. "I've seen Drift approach them in the halls an unusual number of times..." 

"Megatron's been having private strategy sessions, he says," mused Kyle slyly. 

Their giggling swelled into raucous laughter and speculation at the myriad possibilities. It's only when Swerve makes his way back over to ask if anyone else wants new drinks that the drunken lot of humans continue to giggle, laugh and speculate. 

Swerve's audials perked as he drew near the boisterous human table, curiosity piqued by their spirited discussion, he leaned in eagerly. 

"Oho, sounds like you cheeky fleshies are having all the fun over here! Care to let ol' Swerve in on the gossip?" He flashed a playfully pleading grin. "A bot's gotta live vicariously through someone, after all."

"Trust us, handsome, you don't wanna know," Nadia snickered salaciously, tossing back her last shot. David  smiles, swirling his drink. "We were just speculating on who might be keeping our dear ambassador... occupied during their frequent 'calls'." He made air quotes with his free hand. 

"Oooh!" Swerve's optics flashed with glee as implications dawned. He lowered his vocalizer conspiratorially. "Do tell! I love a good intra-ship romance." Quite a few bots seem to lean in and listen in hope that it might be their name that people speculated. 

___________

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[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 7.4k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! baby fever!Nanami, breeding kink, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), pet names (darling, sweetheart, baby), oral (f!receiving), lots of talk about babies and children

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ This was a request for husband!Nanami trying for a third baby!

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ✦ ⋆˙ yukata ┈ summer kimono ⋆ obi ┈ sash used to tie yukata and kimono ⋆ hatsutanjo ┈ baby’s first birthday! ⋆ isshou mochi ┈ a 2kg rice cake babies carry around on their first birthday ⋆ erabitori ┈ a tradition of giving the birthday babies items to choose from to determine what they’ll be like when they grow up

The park is pleasant for once. With the turn of the seasons, the weather has soothed to something far more palatable than the roaring heat of the summer. A breeze rustles through the air, kicking up the scent of freshly-trimmed grass and algae from the park’s pond. Koi fish, scaled in calico spots, swim in lazy circles as visitors toss handfuls of food into the greenish water. It’s still early afternoon on a Thursday, and aside from the elderly patrons dropping morsels into the water there’s only a few people in the park. A man walking his dog, a group of young women jogging along the park trail. The largest party is surely their own as the Nanami family gathers to celebrate their youngest daughter turning one. Nanami himself feels slightly out of place, unused to enjoying such leisure on a weekday after years of spending nearly every day of his life at work. But his wife was insistent that Yuka’s birthday be celebrated on her exact birthdate, so he requested the time away. It’s a welcomed change of pace despite the fact that it almost feels like he’s still at work with the way his coworkers–old friends, they say ruefully–have joined the celebration. It’s hardly a burden seeing how much his daughters adore Gojo and Shoko. 

The party is spread out on the patchwork of blankets laid beneath the grove of trees, family and friends all gathered together to celebrate Yuka. The birthday girl looks a bit miffed by the theatrics of it all. Her face is pinched in a nearly pensive look, bottom lip jutted out into a pout, likely unhappy with being wrapped up like an onigiri in her little yukata. She’s long since kicked off her sandals, prefering to toddle around the grass barefoot with her sack of rice cakes strapped to her back. While not usually a strict traditionalist, Nanami’s wife always defers to his parents’ judgment when it comes to how family gatherings should be managed and his mother has always been fond of following customs. 

And being the perfect daughter-in-law that you are, you always go above and beyond to suit your in-law’s needs no matter how many times Nanami reminds you that such lengths aren’t needed to please his parents. They already love you–adore you really–but you insist that you’re doing these things because you want to, not to please anyone. He believes you, of course, more enthralled than anything that you have such unwavering respect for his parents. Even when his mother gets a little uppity with how meticulous she is about planning big events. All this fanfare was her idea in the first place. 

Not the park–although it doesn’t slip Nanami’s notice that you chose somewhere close to his parents’ home to host the party–but the traditional aspects of the day were definitely the fault of his overly nostalgic mother. When your eldest daughter, Ayako, was born his mother brought out her photo albums to whine about missing when he was little because “he never let me take care of him once he got to middle school,” and cooing over how happy she is to finally be a grandmother. Though he imagines her excitement was a cross between empty nest syndrome and surprise that he’d finally settled down after spending most of his twenties burning the candle at both ends. Between being a salaryman and a sorcerer–although he’s never been very forthright about what that particular job entails–Nanami was slowly grinding himself to dust. But it only took a single glimpse of you sitting in his favorite bakery to reignite his interest in a life outside of work. His mother practically melted the first time he brought you home. Babbling and gushing, something close to tears, at how happy she was to see him bringing a girl home. Though he could’ve lived without her mentioning his lack of romantic partners up until that point. 

Now the older woman is working herself up again just watching Yuka explore the park. She has her two kilogram rice cake riding on her back in a little bag and the weight of it occasionally knocks her off her feet. Every little stumble or fall is rewarded with more maternal gushing about how “falling is good, she’s shaking off the bad luck!” It would be irritating if it were anybody else fawning over a baby, the childish tinge to her voice working Nanami’s nerves in a way he tries to ignore because, in some less zealous way, he gets it. 

Nanami’s hardly taken his eyes off Yuka since she woke up this morning. Exactly a year later and he still finds it hard to believe that she’s real. Even Ayako seems like a dream two–nearly three–years later. He never imagined he’d be a father. He wanted a wife but the family part never really came to mind. Because, really, he never saw further than what was in front of him when it came to life goals. As a sorcerer the next day was the only goal he had in mind. Fight, survive, live to see tomorrow. He’s not so bleak and nihilistic now that he’s returned to the supremely safer walls of an office, working as a manager at Jujutsu High now that he’s retired from more active duty despite his high Grade level. The pay is good and keeps him off the front lines so he can’t really complain about what was technically a demotion. 

Gojo opined about it being a waste of his potential but a flippant mention of his plans to get married shut him up real quick. Then immediately brought on another slew of complaints as the closest person he has to a friend pouted about not being introduced to his lover. Gojo hadn’t even known you existed by that point, but he’s here now. Eating and playing with Nanami’s daughters like he didn’t strong-arm him into a proper friendship after years of a strictly senior-junior working relationship. For a moment, he reconsiders the idea as Gojo’s face screws up like he’s thinking real hard about something, blue eyes staring at his daughter’s face. And he just knows Gojo is about to say something asinine. 

“Were you even in the room when you made her?” Gojo asks when Yuka tires herself out enough to sit beside him. Nanami watches his wife kiss her teeth, glowering at Gojo as she wipes Yuka’s hand with a baby wipe and hands her a dumpling she’d been reaching for. 

“I’m just saying,” Gojo continues around a mouthful of cake. “Look at her.” Yuka’s happy to be picked up even if Gojo is holding her at arm’s length like she’s a rabid puppy looking to sink her teeth into him. Never mind the fact that at exactly a year old, Yuka has all of eight teeth in her mouth that are about as formidable as the blunt end of a chopstick. She shows them off with a giggle as Gojo bounces her, seeming to enjoy the befuddled face he’s making as he looks between you and Yuka, then Yuka and Nanami. 

“I was there.” His wife grouses, stabbing a dumpling of your own as you pout. “And watch your mouth.” You nod pointedly towards the girls. Although a bit vulgar, he isn’t wrong. There’s no mistaking who Nanami’s babies belong to when they look so much like their father. Blonde hair, brown eyes, and while they’re too young to look anything other than round-faced, you’re insistent that you can just tell that their faces are going to narrow out to match his sharper features when they’re older. It doesn’t seem to bother you that they only share a passing resemblance to you. Something in the tone of their skin and texture of their hair. But Ayako definitely has your nose. 

“You should try for one that looks more like you.” Gojo whispers over Yuka’s head. Usually Nanami wouldn’t put much stock in the things Gojo says when he takes that playful tone, but something about it makes him pause. The joke passes between the two of you with a conspiratorial laugh, neither a confirmation or denial of the idea, and it tosses water on the seed Nanami has kept carefully hidden in the recesses of his mind since your first pregnancy. 

Sometimes it makes Nanami stop and think about how things turned out for him, almost guilty that he’s had a comparatively normal life when looking at the legacy most sorcerers leave behind. It’s nearly a rite of passage to perish in the line of duty at the hands of some curse. At one point, he’d been resigned to it, but every modicum of acceptance evaporated the moment he decided to marry you. Before, when you were only dating, he rationalized that his death would have less of an impact. That you’d be able to move on from a man that was so aloof towards everyone. But he is nothing if not fiercely loyal and violently protective. The moment he decided to marry you–before even asking you the question–you truly became his world. And he’s enjoyed living in it every moment since. Perhaps he doesn’t tell you often enough, still awkward and reserved about expressing his emotions, but he shows you in the ways he knows how. 

Just because he can–still learning to let himself enjoy these small moments–he reaches over to touch the nape of your neck. For the occasion, you’ve donned your own yukata, the collar pulled away from the back of your neck as is traditional. He watches the shiver work through your body as his cold fingers drag up the column of your neck. You reach to cover your exposed skin as goosebumps raise, pulling his hand away to twine your fingers together. As if by habit rather than thought, you lift your joined hands to your lips to leave a flower-petal red mark on the back of his hand. Nanami’s eyes linger on the perfect print of your lips, wondering if it’s too soon to broach the topic of another baby. Yuka is only one and Ayako is just nearly three, but he can’t help but wanna see you pregnant again. Because Gojo and his damn mouth just had to mention a baby that looks like you. Trying for a baby that looks like you. And in this quiet moment, despite everything happening around him, Nanami can’t help but linger on the thought. 

It’s a selfish wish because you’ve never complained about how your pretty girls look but he can’t help but want to try now that someone’s gone and brought it up again. His mother had preened at both hundred day celebrations, insisting that the Nanami genes are strong or why else would his girls look so much like him, so much like Nanami’s own father. And he knows it’s true to an extent, one plus one equals two and genetics work out in different ways, but Nanami can’t help the desire to try. 

He’s staring and he knows it. Eyes lingering on the shape of your lips and flutter of your lashes like he doesn’t see you everyday. His staring is only interrupted when Yuka stands up, babbling about mama, mama! with one hand pointed towards the pond while the other keeps hold of another half-eaten dumpling. 

Nanami watches you go, trailing after Yuka as she leads the way to the water. Halfway to the stones shaping out the shore, Yuka holds up her dumpling and he watches you crouch down to accept it, nipping playfully at Yuka’s fingers. His daughter squeals in delight, laughing as you scoop her up in your arms to press kisses over her face as you pretend to bite at her round cheeks. Yuka kicks and giggles, enjoying the attention as her cheeks start to blush with the marks of your lips, lipstick painting her into a doll with rosy red cheeks. It’s enthralling, the way you treat his baby, setting her down carefully at the edge of the water as she points at each fish and duck she finds skimming the pond. You’re kneeling next to her, ruining your yukata with the dirt and grime of the ground as you hold Yuka close to your side to keep her from falling into the water. 

He couldn’t have picked a better woman to have his babies, to be his wife. And even if they don’t look much like you, Nanami is glad it’s your personality that his little girls reflect. You always say babies are like sponges, sucking up traits from everything around them and he can see it plain as day in moments like this. Yuka likes being outside, shrieking with delight at every animal she sees, because she’s always following after you like a little duckling anytime you’re out in the garden. Ayako will eat any food you put in front of her because she’s always underfoot when you’re in the kitchen. Like little pieces of clay, Nanami can see the impressions your hands have left on the girls as they’ve grown. 

He’s there, too, in less obvious ways. Ayako has never complained about bedtimes, never thrown a fit about having to go to daycare because she’s just like her daddy. Nanami likes structure and punctuality and it makes his oldest easy to manage. The same way Yuka can easily speak up for herself, so quick to snap out a petulant no! if something is making her upset or uncomfortable. It always makes you laugh how prompt she is about her irritation even at such a young age. Nanami can’t help but wonder if baby number three–if and when they come along–will look like you and act more like him. 

He’s so deep in his mind, wrapped up in the thought of a baby with your eyes and his nose, that it takes his mother clapping to make him refocus. She smacks her hands together like she’s banging cymbals and Ayako decides she wants to help, clapping along from Shoko’s lap as his mother announces that it’s time for the erabitori. She digs through one of the legions of bags you brought to the outing, shooing his father aside so she can make space on the blanket for the erabitori items. Nine in all are set out on the blanket. 

Another tradition meant to guess at his child’s future. Each item has its own meaning. A 1,000 yen–weighed down with a rock to keep the breeze from carrying it off–for wealth, a calculator for an affinity for mathematics or business. You carry Yuka back from the water, setting her down once his mother has finished fiddling with the arrangements. Yuka waits patiently until she’s urged forward–rice cake in tow–towards the neat row of objects. She seems to consider everything for a moment, even smacking her little fist on the travel-sized dictionary before thinking better of it and picking up the pen instead. His mother claps again as Yuka tests the taste of the pen between her little teeth. 

“Pen!” His mother says happily. Gojo leans towards Shoko and whispers none too quietly, “What does the pen mean again?” 

“Studious.” You answer happily. “And good at writing or drawing. I didn’t have a paint brush for art but a pen is good too.” Nanami had picked up a ruler on his first birthday. Methodical. Diligent. It makes sense that he turned out so pragmatic. Ayako had picked up the pair of chopsticks and his mother had insisted on feeding her extra for the rest of the day because chopsticks mean you’ll never have to worry about food. The tradition is inoffensive, and you seem fond of it. “It’s cute!” you insisted when his mother suggested it for Ayako’s hatsutanjo. Really, he couldn’t care less what the future holds for his children as long as they’re safe and happy. He hopes his level of cursed energy is a fluke. Neither of his parents can so much as see curses, so it’s likely his girls will never become embroiled in the sorted life he’s lived up to now. Pen or chopsticks, it’s all the same to him. 

“Kento picked the ruler, do you remember?” His mother beams, working herself up into another spiel about how much she misses taking care of him. She goes on about it for a while, long enough for Yuka to abandon the pen and start fussing about the weight of the rice cake still strapped to her back. 

“C’mere, baby.” Just your voice is enough to soothe your daughter in an instant. She quiets down, little arms reaching towards you for comfort. She nuzzles her way into the collar of your yukata, nosing away the tightly wrapped fabric so she can hide beneath it. Nanami recognizes the lethargy in her arms, the way she pulls them back close to her chest the moment the straps of her issho mochi bag are pulled off. She’s tired, probably halfway to sleep already with the way she’s curled up like a cat in your lap. Shoko is in the same boat with Ayako yawning from her place in the woman’s arms. It’s been a long day, the sun turning darker as it begins to set behind the trees in beams of orange light. 

Everything is packed away with a methodical swiftness, not at all hindered by the baby on your hip. It’s not until you’re all walking towards the parking lot, exchanging final goodbyes with Gojo and Shoko, that his mother starts to drum up a fuss again. 

“Could we take them for the weekend?” There’s barely enough time to consider the question before the woman launches into a seemingly prepared speech about how their house is closer and you’ve worked hard planning and deserve a break. In the end you rouse Ayako and Yuka just enough to ask if they want to spend a few days with their grandparents. All it takes is a reminder that the ice cream shop they like is near grandma and grandpa’s house to get the babies to happily agree to visiting. His parents have always been attentive to his children so Nanami knows there’s no need to worry over not having packed any clothes or toys for the girls. Even his father’s car is already equipped with the proper car seats for each of his girls. All you need to do is kiss them goodbye and promise to call in the morning. And just because you’re clingy with your babies, you stand and pout even after the taillights of the car have disappeared around a corner. 

Nanami brushes his thumb over your jutted lip, smearing lipstick on the pad of his finger. 

“I don’t like when you’re upset, darling.” It’s a simple fact but it always gets you to ease up. He doesn’t ask you to smile–knows you hate it when men badger you about it when you’re out running errands without him–but there’s the hint of a smile on your face when he opens the car door for you. Even after so many years together, Nanami hasn’t lost his manners. At least, not outwardly because he spends the entire drive home trying to keep his hands to himself. The long skirt of your yukata makes it easier for him to behave because he can’t feel your skin when his hand drifts towards your thigh, but he wants to untie your obi the moment the last of the bags are brought in the house. 

You look perfectly ruffled from a day spent outdoors with two toddlers. Hair slowly coming loose from the updo you’d pinned it into this morning, collar hanging open after Yuka tucked her face into your chest, lipstick faded from eating and giving out kisses. He wants to muss you up further. Ruin your hair and makeup and get you out of your pretty clothes. The idea of another child is still fresh in his mind, and while he knows the responsible adult thing to do is have a proper conversation about it, Nanami can’t help but just want to fold you up and make you take it. You’ve always said you want a big family. 

“Want you in my bed.” Nanami’s lips brush against the back of your neck as his arms wrap around your waist so he can feel how you tense up, thighs squeezing as his words sink in. It’s always been easy to get you how he wants. You say it’s something about how imposing he can be, all broad shoulders and graveled whispers in your ear. It only takes a few words to get you weak in the knees and Nanami’s quick to sweep you up, carrying you to the bedroom. The bed is neatly made, the same as you left it this morning, and he’s looking to ruin it by the end of the night. He tosses you onto the duvet but you’re quick to scramble to your feet, squeaking about taking off your makeup and taking down your hair. 

“Leave it.” There hasn’t been much reason for you to get all dolled up recently and Nanami is looking forward to having your makeup run and hair hanging loose. Undoing it all now would deprive him of the pride in knowing he’d been the one to ruin it. Still, you stand in the middle of the room looking unsure of what to do so Nanami decides for you. From his seat at the edge of the bed he draws you in close by your waist. 

“Want this off, sweetheart.” He instructs, running his hands over your waist hidden beneath the bulk of your obi. It’s cute to see how shy he can make you when he tries. Getting you all flustered and nervous like he hasn’t been with you for years, like this is all new and you’re just hoping to keep his attention. His eyes have nowhere to be but on you. His pretty wife carefully undoing the bow tied in her sash as you take off your yukata like unwrapping a present. Something nice just for him as the robe slides off your shoulders and pools at your feet. Beneath it is a plain tank top and shorts but it has Nanami’s pants feeling tighter even still. Your shorts are just tight enough to bite into your skin, lining out the shape of your thighs and he reaches out to tuck his fingers up under the hem, squeezing at your hips as he pulls you closer. 

A kiss is laid on the sliver of skin standing between your shorts and shirt before his hands are under there too, pushing it higher until you get the message and take it off yourself. Nanami considers keeping your shorts on. They’re the kind he could push to the side to get to where he wants to be, but he wants to see so they’re tossed aside too. He doesn’t miss the way you turn shy once he gets you in your underwear, knees knocking and feet shifting like it’s the first time all over again. It almost feels like it with the way Nanami’s brain is working overtime trying to remember which positions are best for making a baby. 

“Hi, mama,” he says, hands petting over your waist as you giggle, something sweet and breathless. 

“Hey, Kento.” Just the sounds of his name rolling off your tongue is enough to get his dick twitching, pants feeling too tight as his cock strains against his zipper. But how else is he supposed to feel after spending the day watching you be such a perfect mother for his babies? There’s no other reaction when you’re looking so beautiful and he’s got you home to an empty house. And you’re making it worse with the way your hands are running through his hair, nails scratching across his scalp in a way that sends shivers down his spine. Mumbling about “so eager, papa,” like you’re not pulling him closer as he kisses wet marks over the shape of your tummy. Your soft laughter turns to squealing as he pulls hard at your hips, tripping you up so you land on his lap. Nanami groans, can’t help being loud when you’re sitting so pretty on his dick. He can feel the heat of your pussy through his pants. 

He’s eager, but you’re right there with him, hips already moving as you grind yourself down on his cock. He’s barely touched you, just some soft words and gentle touches and your pussy is already drooling all over his pants. There’s a wet spot where you’re grinding and he likes seeing the way you’re marking him up like you’ve got anybody to compete with. His hands flex around your waist, squeezing and kneading until he decides you’re done teasing. One hand slips away to wrestle with his belt, struggling blindly over the button and zipper because he can’t take his eyes off the way your lips part around soft pants of his name. Cute little sighs of Kento that have him rushing to get his dick out of his pants. The hisses when your fingers wrap around him, squeezing softly as you thumb over the mess leaking from his flushed tip. You’re going slow, being gentle, looking at him with those pretty eyes like you need permission to touch your husband when he’s this desperate for you. 

“S’your, sweetheart.” He can’t help the way his voice dips low, sounding angry as his hips thrust into the tightness of your fist. “Whatever you want.” His hands shift from your hips to your back, running up the column of your spine at just the right time to feel you shiver. Your teeth nip at your lips, lashes batting all shy like because you love when his voice gets deep and gruff like he’s mad at you. 

“C’mon, baby,” he tries to sound sweet but he’s stuck in that low reverb that has you squirming as he lifts you up to sit on his dick. You’re real helpful, pulling your panties to the side and guiding him inside you with a whimpering sigh. He sees you trying to be quiet as your pussy struggles to take him in one go. He should’ve loosened you up on his fingers but you don’t sound upset, making little stuttering sounds as you try to take him in deeper. He has to grab your hips, muttering “slow” and you whine. He knows his voice is making it worse for you because you’ve always loved the way he talks to you. 

“Kento.” He hears your voice break as you pout when his hands keep you from taking him any deeper. He wants you to. Fuck, does he want to see your pussy swallow him all, but you’re getting too eager and he’s not about to let you hurt yourself on his dick. No matter how you bat those wet lashes at him, pouting ’cause you know he always wants his girl to have everything she wants. Especially if it’s him. He kisses between your brows, brushing back loose strands of hair, and reminds you to go slow. It’s torturous, feeling the way your pussy is already trying to milk him when he’s only halfway inside. He keeps your pace steady even as he feels you trying to buck against his strength to get him in deeper. 

“Relax, sweetheart. Gotta calm down if you want me inside.” Nanami croons, lips pressed up against the shell of your ear. That gets you to loosen up, taking in slow, steady breaths as he works you down inch by inch until he’s got you sitting all the way down on his dick. It’s enough to knock the breath out of him feeling the way your pussy is making a mess in his lap. Your thighs are shaking as you clutch at his shirt, struggling to lift yourself up. Now that he’s pressed up deep inside you, you’re trying to run away from him. He’s mean about grabbing at your hips, keeping you sitting pretty on his cock. He can feel your cunt squeezing real tight around him, pussy trying to milk him before he’s even moved and he knows the second he does he’s not gonna let you off his dick until he’s satisfied. He hears you sniffling about it being too much after trying to rush into it and it makes him smile. 

“Yeah, darlin’? S’too much? Tell me where you feel it, baby. Show me.” It takes a second for your hand to unclench from his shirt to press his fingers into the shape of his cock pressing up against your tummy. He can feel the faint shape of himself seated up inside you and it makes his cock twitch just looking at it. You always take it so well. He can tell by the look in your eyes, behind the sparkling tears, that you’re confused. He’s not usually like this, all mean and demanding. Nanami prides himself on being a gentleman and treating his pretty wife like fine china but tonight he’s acting possessed, so wrapped up in the thought of getting you with another baby. His baby. One that looks just like you, just like him. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s got you waddling around all big and pretty in the next few months. Trying to find his usually sweetness, Nanami digs past the desperation to get you bouncing in his lap, keeping your pace slow and steady even as he wants to fuck you hard and fast. That’s not how this works. His babies are made with love. Can’t have you feeling anything less than adored when he fills you up. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.” It’s hard to get you to focus with the way you’re hiding your face in his chest but he gets you to look up long enough to ask if you want another baby. Your body reacts before your mouth has time to shape out the words. He feels it in the muted sting of your nails biting into his shoulders through his shirt, sees it in the way your eyes widen and head nods. 

“Want it. Want another baby.” You agree, stuttering over how fast you’re trying to get the words out. Whining about, “as many as you want, Kento.” That’s all it takes. He pulls you down hard, making you take him to the base in another deep stroke that has you keening. You’re starting to move on your own, rushing to fuck it out of him. He’s still got his hands on you, squeezing at the softness of your thighs as they shake and tense with how hard you’re riding him. Nanami’s seen you eager but this something else. Something wild and desperate. All he can focus on is the way your cunt is gripping him like you never want to let him go. Good, because he doesn’t wanna let you go either. 

He knows he’s crowding you, but he can’t help but wrap his arms around you. Around your waist and up your back so he can cradle your head and make you look at him while you bounce on his cock. Black streaks are already running down your cheeks as he’s looking to smudge your lipstick beyond saving as his lips seal over yours. It’s hardly a kiss with the way your lips can’t close around each panting breath but he swallows all your little noises happily, tongue sweeping over yours. 

“Gonna cum for me, darling?” He asks when you really start getting noisy, whimpering and moaning but still keeping quiet like you don’t have the house to yourselves. He can feel your whole body shaking and he reaches between your bodies to work his fingers over your clit. It nearly kills him, how hard you clench as he teases the sensitive little bud. You’ve stopped riding and started grinding, moving your hips in those damning circles that barely do anything for him but he lets you because he knows it feels good to you the way his cock is stirring up your insides. He presses a kiss to your forehead and tells you to keep going ’cause Nanami likes when his wife feels good on his dick even if he’s not getting anything from it. He’s here for you, for your pleasure. All you gotta do is take it. And you do. Wetting his fingers as you come hard, slick leaking down his dick as you shudder through your orgasm. 

“Feels good, baby?” He knows it does. You’re grabbing onto him like you’ll fall apart if he’s not there to hold you up, trying your best to get up. He watches your struggle, the rough pads of his fingers still teasing at your clit even as you jerk at the overstimulation. He’s got you so loose that your legs are useless as you try to sit up, every little shift only sinking you deeper on his cock because you can’t find the strength to get up with how hard your legs are shaking. Nanami keeps you there with a hand on your hip, not pulling you down or lifting you up, just keeping your hips grinding against his dick until he feels you cumming again. A smaller, more fluttering orgasm that has you clenching real nice around his cock. 

He kisses your spit-soaked lips with soft praises of “just like that, sweetheart,” chuckling darkly at how soft and pliant you’re getting. It’s like you’re melting in his arms, so wet you’re swallowing him back inside and it gets him close when he feels you take him all over again. He hears his name, soft and shuddering as you try to break through the prolonged pleasure. He can’t tell if it’s praise or a complaint so he helps you up to your knees, going slow so you feel every inch of him as it slips out of your wet heat. He’s absolutely leaking against his stomach, leaving a wet patch on his shirt as he lays you down properly. You’re tired, he can tell, but you’re still pawing at his arms and whining about how he didn’t come yet. 

“Said you were gonna give me a baby.” It almost hurts how hard you’ve got him with just a few words and that little pout. He brushes his fingers over your lips like he always does when you pull that face and you open your mouth to take them inside, tongue cleaning up the mess you’ve left on his fingers. Fuck. He snatches his hand out of your mouth and you smirk like you know exactly what you did sucking on his fingers like they were his cock. If he wasn’t so close to the edge he might consider letting you taste the real deal, let you choke on his cock the way you so clearly want to. But he’s not sure he’ll last and he wants all his come going inside your cunt tonight. Anywhere else would be a waste. Can’t get you pregnant by cumming down your throat. 

There’s not much of a show in the way he takes off his clothes but you stare like you don’t ever want to see anything else as he pops each button of his shirt. It’s tossed aside with little fanfare and he remembers you’re still partially clothed so he spares the moment to unhook your bra and drag your soaked panties down your legs. It’s got you all shy again like he can’t see the way your cunt is still dripping, thighs shiny as you press them together and watch him kick off his slacks. He knows he needs a moment before he touches you again because it’s getting hard to remember to treat you nicely with the way his mind is cluttered with all the little things he’s missed about seeing you pregnant. 

The subtle swell of your belly in the first few months when you complain about how you look fat and bloated, not pregnant. Getting to watch you putter around the kitchen, making the most abhorrent flavor profiles he’s ever seen in the hopes of quelling your cravings. He can’t wait to hear the nickname you give your baby bump. Ayako was “bean sprout” and Yuka had been “bunny” because she was always kicking. 

Nanami tries to focus on something softer so he isn’t too rough with you. Usually it wouldn’t matter as long as you’re feeling good but tonight is special–making babies is special–and he doesn’t want to look back and say baby number three was all heat and aggression. So he stops to take his time, pressing warm kisses up your legs until he’s got his head between your thighs. Your hands are in his hair again as he puts your legs over his shoulders, nails scratching over the tapered cut at the nape of his neck. He rewards the feeling with a long tease of his tongue as his lips wrap around your clit. He hears that little sound you always make when he’s got his head between your thighs. A little fluttering gasp that has him humming because he loves hearing his wife feel good, even if you’re still stifling your voice. 

One hand leaves his hair as he tongues at your cunt, covering your mouth like he doesn’t want to hear every little noise he can draw out of you. He can feel how good you’re feeling riding his tongue. Feel you dripping down his chin and wetting his cheeks as he drags the flat of his tongue over your clit with quick strokes. He’s making a mess as his tongue teases at your fluttering hole. You’re canting your hips, pulling him closer with sharp tugs at his hair. There’s desperation in the way you’re riding his face, getting him all wet as you grind your clit against his nose like he didn’t just have you gushing on his dick. Your little pussy is greedy, swallowing two fingers at once as he presses them up inside you, hooking against the place that has your back arching and thighs clenching. Nanami groans at the feeling of your soft legs closing around his head, locking him in where you want him most. 

This time you come with a muffled shout, voice breaking over the sound of his name. A quiet mantra of Kento, Kento, Kento fills his head as Nanami drags out each shiver and jolt until you’re really pulling at his hair, trying to get his mouth off your pretty little cunt. Threads of spit and slick draw a line between his mouth and your twitching pussy and he can’t help but lavish a few more kisses between your legs before he’s sucking your taste off his fingers. 

“One more, sweetheart.” He’s nearly begging as he crawls up your shivering body. “Gimme one more and then I’ll let you rest, promise.” He seals it with a kiss, loving the way you cling to keep him close even when he barely moves away from you. 

“Can you do that for me, darling?” He asks just to make sure he hasn’t tired you out yet. You nod, eyes misty with tears as you reach between your bodies to guide him inside you. It’s different with how wet you are. It feels like he’s melting as he bottoms out inside you, real slow like he hasn’t already loosened you up more than enough. You take him to the hilt and he nearly cums just from the soft, hazy look on your face. Something drunk and lovestruck as you stare up at your husband. Nanami thinks he must look just the same as he presses kisses over your face, tasting the salt of sweat and tears. His sweet little wife, doing so good for him. He says as much as he pulls away just to press back inside. You shiver and wrap yourself around him. Arms around his shoulders and legs around his hips. There’s barely any space between you. Everything is skin against skin as he kisses you, tongue chasing yours as you whine into his mouth. 

“Wanna hear you,” Nanami grits after another pretty sound is lost as you hide your face in his neck. “S’just us, sweetheart. Lemme hear your pretty voice.” He shifts his hips, aiming higher so he can find that place that has you keening. It takes a few more grinding thrusts to get you wailing, nails biting into his skin as he works those beautiful sounds out of you. It’s still not as loud as he wants, as loud as you used to be, but it’s enough. Gets his blood pumping and balls tightening as you whine about how good he feels inside you. He can feel himself getting close. His pace starts to break, losing his rhythm as he teeters on the edge. Nanami looks between you and sees the way you’re creaming on his cock, getting him all sticky and wet as you make a mess on the sheets. He can feel your pussy milking him, feel the way your thighs are trembling around his waist. 

“C’mon, honey.” You’re brushing his hair away from his face, pulling him in until he can feel each panting breath brushing against his lips. “Want your baby. Gimme another.” Fuck. Something about that little pout and the way you sound so desperate and longing get him. Nanami feels himself tensing up, arms slipping underneath your body to hold you close to his chest. A litany of rumbled groans wells up in his chest as he presses in as deep as you’ll let him, cumming hard inside you. 

He knows you feel it ’cause you make a little gasping sound, hips squirming until he presses you still against the mattress. You take it so well, sniffling and whining as you thank him for filling you up. 

“Y’know I always give you what you want, mama.” And he does because even if he’s only really acted on it today, the thought of having another baby has been on his mind for months. And you haven’t helped looking so beautiful while taking care of his babies. Of course he wants another. How could he not? He presses gentle kisses against your face; your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your lips, until you stop shivering in his arms. Even though he doesn’t want to, Nanami reaches for a pillow to prop your hips up as he pulls out. He goes real slow just to watch how you squirm at the feeling of his cock sliding against your sensitive walls. 

“You think that did it?” Nanami almost laughs at the eagerness of your tone, a doting half smile playing on his lips as his thumbs rub circles just under your navel. 

“I dunno,” he says fondly. There’d been a strategy to conceive your first two babies. Checking calendars and tracking ovulation to line everything up for the best chance, and it worked out perfectly. This time was spur of the moment. No discussion, no planning. Just a desperate need to get his wife pregnant again. To see what pretty baby you’d give him this time. It doesn’t really matter it baby number three is made tonight or any night in the future because he’s happy to fuck you into the sheets even without baby making in mind. Still, it’s sweet to know that you’re right there with him. 

Nanami sank a good chunk of his savings from his office job into buying this big house and you’re more than happy to fill it up with happy little babies with him. He kisses your belly even though there’s no way to know if it took just yet, burying his face in the softness of your tummy. Your hands are back in his hair, stroking through the sweaty mess of blonde locks with enough softness to nearly lull him to sleep. Except he knows he needs to get up, needs to clean you up and get the sheets sorted out before he can fully relax. There’s painstaking dedication to the way he takes care of you. Undoing your hair and washing your face. The smell of you clings to him after a shower. The scent of your hair and skin. Something uniquely you that overwhelms him as he pulls you into his arms. He hears you mumble something about “don’t leave,” when his arm loosens from around your shoulder just long enough to grab the book from his nightstand. 

“I’m not going anywhere, darling.” And he means it because where would he go when his world revolves around his family? He’d be lost without you and his little girls, with–hopefully–another on the way. 

[andshesaidwhat]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: After the boundaries are pushed a bit too far, you and Clay agree that you both need to be more careful about adhering to the rules going forward. That lasts for all of about ten minutes…

Warnings: angst, descriptions of sex work, alcohol consumption, dry humping, coming in pants, nipple play, the pining is strong as ever.

Playlist | Masterlist

After another week went by with no sign of Clay, you began to wonder if he was busy with work or if he had just finally decided that you weren’t worth his time.

This was why you hadn’t wanted to be involved with someone like him. You didn’t like how much it consumed your mind. He was all you were able to think about lately.

You had replayed that last meeting in your head over and over, cursing yourself for pushing it so far but craving to feel that fire again. You hadn’t even touched him, but that connection had still been the most visceral thing you had ever felt.

You stared at your reflection in the vanity mirror, wondering how you’d let yourself fall in this deep. You knew better than to get roped into the romantic ideology that men like him subscribed to, but things with Clay felt…different.

“He’ll be back, babes,” Frenchie spoke, coming up behind you and resting her chin on your shoulder.

You held her gaze in the reflection of the mirror, softly sighing as you playfully rolled your eyes.

“I’m not worried about that, French,” you told her, shrugging dismissively. “He’s just a customer, that’s all. He’s no different than any other patron here.”

“Except for the fact that he owns a multibillion dollar corporation,” she said, quietly. When she saw your wide eyes, she scoffed, “What? I have eyes, doll face, I can recognize a celebrity when I see one. Besides, he’s been plastered all over TMZ enough times that he could get rich from the royalties, alone.”

“He…” you paused, glancing around to make sure the other dancers weren’t listening. “He just wants some privacy. I don’t think he wants it getting out that he’s spending so much of his time in a place like this.”

“You mean you don’t think it would fit his lovely public image?” Frenchie joked, snickering as she nudged you. “I’m joking, Cherry-pop. The man has every right to live his own life without it becoming the next big news story. You don’t have to worry about me running my trap. The other girls, however… They may not talk, but they’re certainly waiting for their turn with him. If you’re truly so tired of him, maybe you should let one of them take him off your hands.”

You felt a sudden spike of anger as the bitter taste of jealousy settled on your tongue. Frenchie smirked knowingly at you, laughing quietly as she shook her head.

“Just a customer my ass…” she snorted, walking over to sit down at her station. “You want my advice? Rules are meant to be broken — and I’m not just talking about the club.”

Her words sank in, settling heavy in your chest as you looked away from her. You sighed, shaking your head as you busied yourself with touching up your hair and makeup.

Sal walked into the back, clipboard in hand, and he idled on over to you. He looked up, glancing between you and Frenchie as he sensed the tense atmosphere.

“I don’t wanna know,” he said, sighing. “You’ve got a customer, Cherry. Room four. The kid’s gonna buy this whole place out sooner or later. Dunno what you’ve been doing to the boy, but keep doing it.”

As Sal walked off, you felt your heart begin to race. He was here. Oh, god…he was here. You didn’t know whether to feel ecstatic or to crumple in a complete panic. You settled for a dazed middle ground as you took one last look at your appearance and adjusted your lingerie set.

“Mr. Admirer awaits you,” Frenchie teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You glared at her with a huff, feeling your palms growing sweaty.

The hallway seemed to go on forever as you made your way down to the looming door of room four. With a shaky hand, you reached for the handle and pushed it open.

Your breath escaped you as you walked into the room and met the gaze of his dazzling blue eyes. Your heart was in your throat and your feet felt rooted to the ground. You had thought a week would be enough time for the effects to wear off…but no.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you said, quietly.

Clay’s eyes locked onto yours, his face flushed as he spoke with just as much tenderness, “Cherry.” He walked toward you, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve thought about you every day since we last saw each other. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come back.”

The confirmation that he’d been thinking about you as much as you’d been thinking about him tugged on your heart.

“I was beginning to think you’d ran for the hills,” you joked — though your voice betrayed your doubt. You held his gaze until it became too much to bear, then you looked away and cleared your throat. “We, um…we may have pushed the boundaries a bit too far the last time we met. Going forward we should probably stick to the rules.”

“Yes,” Clay agreed, nodding. “We need to respect the boundaries.”

His eyes told a different story, however. They burned with desire, his gaze lingering on the curves of your lips. His fingers twitched by his sides, as if itching to reach out and touch you.

“I’ll try to behave,” he confirmed, his voice hoarse.

“Thank you,” you said, biting back every urge to say fuck it and break every goddamn rule in the book. “Besides, this will give you more time to ask your questions and tell your stories.”

“Oh, I have a story to tell you, Cherry,” he smiled, moving to sit down on the couch. His eyes never left yours as he leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees. “It’s a story about a boy who fell for a girl, but couldn’t have her. He would do anything to be with her, but she was out of reach. He would dream of her every night — of the way she looked at him and the way she made him feel. He would wake up every morning hoping that she would be there, waiting for him…but she never was.” He paused, his gaze intense as he looked at you with longing. “The boy would wonder — was it all just a dream? Is this a dream, Cherry? Are you just a dream? I’m beginning to think that I’ve made you up in my mind as some sort of psychotic delusion.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart pounded as you smiled at him, a hint of laughter in your voice as you asked, “You think I’m made up?”

“I think that maybe I’ve created you in my mind,” he breathed. “Maybe you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

You stared at him for a moment before you said, “Stand up, pretty boy.”

Clay rose from the couch and moved to stand in front of you, his body tense with anticipation. He was ready to do anything you might ask of him.

“Yes, Cherry?”

You moved closer until you were a breath away from him, peering up into his eyes.

“I may not be able to touch you, but there are still ways that I can prove to you I’m real,” you told him. “Can you smell the subtle hint of perfume on my skin?”

Clay’s eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. The sweet, faint scent set his senses ablaze as he sighed.

“Yes,” he whispered, his eyes opening to lock onto you. “I can smell you.”

“Good,” you smiled, leaning up to let your lips hover near his ear. “Can you hear my voice?”

“Yes,” he nodded, shivering at the soft sound of your whispers. “I can hear you.”

You walked around his frame, moving behind him as you stood on your tiptoes to gently blow on the back of his neck.

“How about that? Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Clay gasped at the tickle of your breath, feeling goosebumps erupt onto his skin. “I can feel you.”

“See?” You grinned, walking back around him until you were stood in front of him again. “I’m real, pretty boy.”

Clay’s gaze was locked on you, his heart thudding inside of his chest. He could see you — the way you batted your lashes, the way you smiled at him.

A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he whispered, “I suppose you are, Cherry.”

“Good,” you smirked. “Now that we’ve got that settled, why don’t you pour me a glass of that champagne you brought.”

Clay breathed out a laugh as he turned toward the ice bucket. He grabbed the bottle, popping the cork and picking up a glass. His hands trembled slightly as he poured the drink, watching the bubbles fizz to the top.

“Here you are, Cherry,” he said, handing out the glass for you to take.

You held his gaze, smiling as you reached for it. You weren’t paying close enough attention. Your fingers grazed his as you took the flute from him and you gasped, letting go of the drink as it fell to the floor with a loud clank.

Electricity zapped your fingertips. The touch was so small, but it had happened. You had touched him. After weeks of building up boundaries, your skin had finally touched his.

Your chest heaved up and down as you stared at him, wordlessly. His eyes were wide, his own breaths coming out in ragged pants. He could feel the electric current between you.

“Cherry,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

“I…” You attempted to speak, but words fell short. You were stuck in his gaze, feeling the remnants of his touch on your fingertips. So light, and yet…it was the catalyst to undo the final shred of your resolve.

Your eyes wandered down to his lips. His full, perfect lips…

“Cherry,” he breathed, his own gaze following suit as he leaned closer to you. “Please.”

There was nothing you could do to stop your body from moving on its own accord as you reached up to grab his face, bringing his lips down to yours.

Clay instantly sighed into your mouth, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close to him. His warmth enveloped you as he parted his lips, his tongue pushing past to taste yours.

The world around you melted away as your bodies melded into one another. The spilled champagne was long forgotten and the music faded into the sound of ragged breaths between you.

You were both lost in the moment, in the sensation of your lips touching, in the thrill of breaking the rules — of giving into your desires.

You pressed your body into his, relishing in the contact. You tried to memorize the way he felt against you — the way his hands roamed, the way he held you, the way he tasted.

He kissed you like he needed you — like yours was the only air he could breathe.

Without breaking the kiss, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the couch. He stumbled, falling down against the cushions and bringing you with him. He groaned as you straddled his lap, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as the kiss grew more intense. Your nails gently scraped at his scalp, earning a small shiver as his breath hitched. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, gently biting down on it.

Clay moaned, his hips surging upward as he pulled you closer. His large hands wandered up to brush over the cups of your bra, squeezing softly.

You whimpered against his lips, arching into his touch. You were craving more, craving him.

His fingers traced across the thin fabric, tugging lightly at your nipples. His actions elicited a soft cry from your throat and he hummed in satisfaction. He used his thumbs to circle the sensitive buds, letting his tongue dance against yours.

It was ridiculous how natural this was for him. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to play your body like an instrument he’d known his entire life.

You moaned into his mouth, feeling the arousal pooling between your thighs at his teasing touch. You could feel the ache burning within you — the need, the desire.

You adjusted in his lap until you could feel his erection pressing up against your core. You ground your hips down against him, gasping at the friction of him pressed up into you.

Clay groaned, his eyes snapping open to meet yours. The blue in his eyes was nearly non-existent, his pupils blown with lust. The intensity of his gaze would’ve made your knees buckle, had you still been standing.

“Cherry,” he panted, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you breathed, grinding against him. “God, I want this.”

Clay grabbed your chin, moaning softly at your response. “Then take what you want,” he demanded. “Show me how much you want me, Cherry.”

You held his gaze as you slowly moved your hips, watching his eyes flutter at the sweet friction. You leaned forward and captured his lips again in a slow, passionate kiss. You grabbed his chin and tilted his head, kissing across his jaw. You trailed your lips down his neck, nipping and sucking at his pulse point before soothing the area with your tongue.

You moved your mouth up to his ear and whispered, “You feel so good, pretty boy.”

Clay’s eyes rolled back as his head lolled to the side. He kept a firm grip on your hips, dragging you back and forth against his crotch.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he groaned through heavy breaths. “Feels so fucking good.”

Your soft moans against his ear caused his hips to buck as his mouth found yours again. You could feel the constant friction beginning to stir a steady thrum of pleasure that was building in the pit of your stomach. Clay gripped your ass, kneading the flesh as he moved you faster against him. He returned your kiss with urgency, the desperation he felt evident in the way he devoured you.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You’re going to make me come like this.”

You held his face, giving him a knowing smirk as you continued to move against him. His eyebrows were knit together as he tried to ground himself, but the pleasure was too intense. His hips met yours at a particularly delicious angle and a whine escaped your lips. His eyes darkened further as he repeated the action, both of you desperately chasing a release. You gripped onto his shoulders for leverage, gasping for breaths as you felt your body humming with need.

Both of you were teetering on the edge, nearing the precipice. He rested his forehead against yours, holding your gaze as the space between you was a mingle of breathy moans.

He thrust upward, meeting you movement for movement as your bodies moved as one. The need to finish this, to reach the peak of pleasure, overwhelmed you both. You were caught in a dance of pleasure, of desire, of hunger. You danced with abandon, solely focused on the connection between you.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, pushing you further. “Finish the dance.”

You shivered the moment you heard the word baby slip from his lips. You whimpered, biting down on your lip as he coaxed you closer to the edge.

“I want you to finish it with me,” you panted, trying to hold on to the little restraint you had left.

“Anything you want, baby,” he nodded, a low moan sounding in his throat. “Anything you want.”

His hips surged up at the perfect angle, hitting you exactly where you needed it. He repeated the motion, reaching up to gently cup your face.

“Let go, Cherry.”

You held his gaze as your body soared over the peak, falling into a fit of pleasure as you gasped. Clay watched with rapt attention as you came, the sight alone sending him to his own release. He let out a strangled groan as he buried his face in your neck, clutching you tightly as you both rode out your highs.

Moments passed, your breathing ragged as your bodies both moved in sync. Finally, you both relaxed against each other. He pulled back, looking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You held his face, tracing his swollen lips with your thumb before capturing them in a slow kiss. He hummed, contentedly, returning your kiss with sweet devotion as his hand cupped the back of your head.

The world was hazy as you both pulled back, gazing into each other’s eyes. You struggled to catch your breath, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

“Cherry,” he breathed, caressing your cheek softly. “That was…”

“Incredible,” you finished for him, smiling softly.

Despite your better judgment, you laid your head down on his shoulder and buried your face in his neck. You inhaled the musk of his cologne, breathing him in as you relaxed in his arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you close as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.

You knew that this was a mistake you’d be sure to regret, but you wanted to bask in the affection. You hadn’t known such comfort in so long…

“Tell me another story,” you whispered, clutching the fabric of his shirt in your fists — as if he’d fly away if you didn’t hold him down.

“Okay, Cherry,” Clay smiled, stroking your face with his thumb. “How about the story of a young boy who grew up with a dream to make something of himself — to continue a legacy. He worked hard, chased his dreams, and eventually found success…” he paused, his fingers trailing up and down your arm, “…but even with all of the fame and fortune, he still sought something more.”

“Why did he want more?” You asked, tracing the buttons of his shirt with your finger. “Was he unhappy?”

Clay’s smile faded slightly, his eyes losing their playfulness. “No, not unhappy,” he said, softly. “Just lonely.” His fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb rubbing your palm. “He found himself successful, but it wasn’t enough. There was a void he couldn’t fill, no matter how many people surrounded him. Then, one day, he met someone…”

You sat up in his lap, facing him. You held his hand, playing with his fingers as you waited for him to continue. He watched you intently, his heart in his throat.

“He met someone who made him feel alive,” he continued, softly. “Someone who saw past the fame and the facade. It made him realize that…maybe he’d been chasing the wrong legacy all along. Maybe a life well lived is less about the fortune, and more about the people you’d want to share it with.”

You held his gaze, feeling the threat of tears sting your eyes. You opened your mouth to respond, but the shrill ring of the timer sounded — signaling the end of the session.

“Shit,” you cursed, grimacing. You looked at him with apologetic eyes and said, “I have to go work the rest of my shift.”

Clay’s heart sank at the sound — the sudden reminder of reality. He didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want the moment to end.

“Yeah,” he whispered, softly, his voice filled with disappointment. “Work.”

“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” you told him, holding his face in your hands. “You’re the only rule breaker I’ll allow.”

You leaned down to place a gentle, slow kiss to his lips before climbing off of his lap. Your body immediately missed the warmth he provided. You felt hollow, having to step away from him again.

“Thanks, Cherry,” he whispered, smiling sadly. “I’ll hold on to that.”

He stood up and straightened his clothes, trying to shake off the lingering sensations.

You couldn’t help but glance down at his crotch, stifling a giggle at the wet patch that had formed on the front of his pants.

“You should, uh…you should probably cover that,” you laughed biting your lip.

Clay blushed, his eyes dropping down. He groaned, an embarrassed smile pulling at his lips as he untucked his shirt to hide the evidence.

“Yeah, I should,” he murmured, his cheeks pink.

You couldn’t resist reaching up to kiss him one more time. He sighed against your lips, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. He kissed you like he may never get the chance again. You could feel it down to your toes as he poured himself into this fleeting moment.

You pulled back and rested your forehead against his as he peered down at you.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, giving you space. He knew you had to get back to work, and he respected that. Still, a part of him wished you didn’t have to go.

“I’ll see you around, pretty boy,” you said, taking one last long look at him before leaving the room and returning to the real world.

You missed him the moment he was out of sight. You wanted nothing more than to run back into that room and tell him to take you away — but that wasn’t a story you could write for yourself.

You changed into a clean costume, but you could still feel his touch against your skin. You never wanted to wash that feeling off of you.

When you walked back up to your vanity, Frenchie looked at you with a shit-eating grin.

“You little rule-breaker,” she whispered, poking your arm with a laugh. “The smell of sex is practically wafting off of you, babes.”

You couldn’t help but blush, frantically shushing her as you looked around. Realizing that nobody else was paying attention, you bit your lip and looked back at her.

“Do you think I’m taking a huge risk, French?”

“Yes,” she nodded, without hesitation, “and it’s about time you did.”

You sat back in your chair as her words sank in, unable to shake the feeling that this was the start of something that would change your life forever.

By the time you were gathering your things and getting ready to clock out for the night, Sal met you in the back with a wad of cash. You took it from him, seeing a tiny piece of paper sticking out between the bills.

When Sal retreated back to the front with a grunt of acknowledgment, you grabbed the paper and unfolded it.

For Cherry,

From Your Pretty Boy.

Your heart fluttered. Your pretty boy. The implications of that word alone were very dangerous.

You gasped as your turned the paper over, bringing your hand up to your mouth.

Across the back, he had scrawled his phone number. You stared at it long enough that you could have committed it to memory. Those numbers stared back at you, daring you to risk everything.

You wouldn’t call him. You couldn’t call him. That would mean breaching every rule in the book — both the club’s and your own.

No matter how badly you wished that they could, your worlds could not collide. There was a reason why Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. You both existed on opposite sides of life.

If you were to bridge that gap, to cross that divide, it would surely be your ruin.

————————————————————————

tag list

@bxbyysstuff @dollyiia @haydensbbg @dinorawrss @ann4zw

[ceruark]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

synopsis: the love of your life is engaged, and you foolishly show up to the celebration. notes: gn! reader x sunday. arranged marriage (not to you, sorry). angst. cw: light smut words: 1,273 inspiration: fortnight by taylor swift got me in a chokehold… a/n: oh to have sunday longing for you…

You shouldn't be here.

There's a number of things that sentence could mean. You shouldn't be here, attending the engagement party thrown for the head of the Oak Family. Here, in Golden Hour's finest ballroom, dressed in the outfit he loves to take off of you. Here, hidden away in one of the private rooms. Here, in Sunday's arms, fingers tangled in his hair while he steals kisses from your lips, drinking you in like he's just spent an eternity in the desert. Devouring you, because he knows it’s the last time he can.

They've wedded him off to an established actor from the Iris Family. Their face isn't plastered on billboards as much as Robin's is, but you've certainly noticed their increased presence in the media in the past few years. You've only met them once, at the entrance of the ballroom, hanging off of Sunday's arm and thanking you for coming. They seem nice enough.

The image of their smiling face flashes in your mind, and you shove at Sunday's chest weakly, more of a test to see how strong his will is than an actual signal for him to stop. In response, he grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer. His lips trail kisses down your cheek and jaw and settle at your neck. A slight gasp leaves you as he tugs your collar lower and sucks at the exposed skin. You grip at his hair and pull, unsure if you’re still testing his resolve or trying to find your own.

The Family had started their search for Sunday's partner two years ago. As was customary for the heads of families, potential suitors were carefully screened and selected based on the image the specific family head had to keep up. All of their selections for him had been the same: distinguished, elegant, and influential in one way or another. Any of them would have been perfect as his other half in the eyes of the public.

Only one of them resembles you in some way, and they're out in the ballroom, likely wondering where their fiance has disappeared to.

Sunday tugs at your top and looks up at you in silent question. You nod at him, and your resolve slips through your fingers in the same moment the piece of clothing slips through his. He moves his hands up to grasp your waist, and presses a kiss to your stomach before moving his face up to your chest. You move a hand away from his hair and use it to muffle a gasp when he bites down on the area, sucking the skin into his mouth. He presses a tender kiss to it after.

The Family had never considered you, or even looked your way. How could they? You were a Bloodhound, and not a noteworthy one at that. You were rough around the edges, too used to defending yourself against drunk patrons with a temper. Having grown up around hot-headed and boisterous individuals, you let your true self shine through unapologetically— the very thing that had drawn Sunday to you.

Lively, brutish, undignified. You're a fool for having ever believed you'd be his one and only.

He shifts his head slightly, and you jolt when you feel his tongue trail over your nipple. He lifts one of his ungloved hands up to the other side of your chest. You bite down on the back of your hand to muffle a moan when he rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, still sucking at the other one.

Sunday hadn't told you he'd gotten engaged; you had to find out through the news six months later like everyone else had. He'd taken you on twenty-six dates during your period of blissful ignorance. At the time, you idly wondered why the places he'd taken you to were so secluded and hidden from the public eye— more than usual, at least.

You were making small talk with Siobhan at Dreamjolt Holstery when you got the notification of the engagement on your phone. The betrayal stung; you knew it was coming, but you felt blindsided by the fact that he hadn't told you himself, as soon as he found out.

You got blackout drunk that night, and you hadn't spoken to Sunday since then, not until tonight. You didn't open any of his texts, threw the handwritten letters he sent you in a drawer, and avoided the places he and his sister frequented like the plague.

And when you stood at the ballroom entrance, greeting the happy couple, he spoke your name in that reverent tone he reserved for Xipe.

And when he caught you alone in a hallway and pulled you into one of the private rooms, you didn't stop him. You couldn't. You didn't want to.

You can't stop him, his devout love, your name rolling off his tongue in fervent prayer. You don't want to.

You shouldn't be here.

Shame crawls down your spine, and you shove at his chest, hard this time. He looks up at you, face twisted in confusion and desperation.

"Did I hurt you, angel?" He whispers, his lips and breath tickling your skin.

"You're going to hurt me." Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. "You're going to hurt them. They're kind. They don't deserve this."

He stares at you, and you turn away to study the intricate wallpaper, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. You move your hands down to gather your top and put it back into place.

Sunday catches you by the wrists, pulling himself up to meet your line of vision. He presses his lips against yours. It's everything and nothing all at once: tender and starved, lingering and fleeting. He barely parts, and you can feel the movement of his lips against yours when speaks.

"Please," he begs. "If I can't have you in the future, at least let me have you tonight."

Your heart aches. Tears prick at your eyes. "We shouldn’t be doing this."

"Please." He moves away, raising the back of your hand to his lips. "I need you."

"Sunday." Your voice catches on the last syllable of his name, and the first few tears slip out before you can stop them. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

A lifetime and silence and stillness passes between you before he finally pulls away. His fingertips graze your skin as he helps you put your top back on. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp as you comb through the tangles in his hair.

He reaches for his gloves, but pauses, hands hovering in the air for a moment. He ends up settling them on your cheeks, pulling you in for one more kiss. This one is soft and uncertain, just like the first was.

"I'm sorry."

You grit your teeth and blink against the tears. "It's not your fault." You pause, then add, "I'm happy for you."

The pain that flashes in his eyes has you regretting the words. He sighs and releases you, finally moving out of your way. You push yourself off the wall, keeping your eyes forward as you head for the door. Your hand lands on the knob, and you stop when you hear him call for you again.

He speaks so softly you almost miss it. "I love you."

It's the first time he's ever said it.

A choked sob escapes your throat, and you throw the door open, rushing out without glancing back.

In the vacant hallways, the joyous sounds of laughter and jazz reverberate off the walls. Tears roll down your face.

You shouldn't be here.

[amirasainz]

okay okay i love the jealous alexandra!! but what about a continuation where it’s bff kika and amira vs alexandra and miss kika throws some hands!! maybe they were out on a girls day like they have kika and amira days and alexandra was there with her bff an iv and they got to shit talking and kika threw some punches, and amira was yelling in spanish like two very jumpy bffs, and pierre and charles are very much like it’d be painful if we hurt them, cause they may just kill us!! love the better girlfriend fic! this series is so so fun ❤️❤️ ( oml and kelly being very proud of her 2 younger wags when she find out )

I'm so sorry but at the end I had to laugh so bad. Please be aware that this is just a fic and not hate towards any persons mentioned.

I hope you enjoy reading and send me some requests.

-XoXo

The better girlfriend (Part 2)

Amira and Kika, inseparable as ever, embarked on another girls’ day in Monaco. Their bond was more than friendship—it was sisterhood. Kika played the role of confidante, makeup lender, and partner-in-crime during hungover mornings. Sweet “girl-dates” were their specialty, and Kika’s shoulder was always there for Amira to lean on.

But Kika wasn’t just a soft touch. Like any true best friend, she’d throw a punch or two if needed to defend Amira. Loyalty ran deep between them.

On this particular day, they indulged in a four-hour shopping spree, treating themselves to manicures and a relaxing spa session. To cap it off, they settled into a cozy restaurant for lunch, sipping delicious mimosas.

Seated at the back, they paid little attention to the other patrons—until a familiar voice reached their ears. It was one of those moments when fate intervened, weaving their lives together with unexpected threads.

"I honestly don't know what he sees in her." the annoying voice of Alex reached their ears. Amira and Kika shared a look, both of their faces looking unimpressed. "Yeah" was the weak reply from Alexandras best friend, Sarah. To be honest, Sarah wasn't Alex biggest fan at the moment. The whole stunt she did with kissing a man that was not her boyfriend wasn't ok. But going to said ex-boyfriends job and offend his new girlfriend publicly was just borderline crazy. In her opinion Amira is a sweet girl and a good girlfriend to Charles. No wonder that they are Sarah's favourite celebrity couple, but don't tell Alex.

"You should have seen her, she stood there like an idiot. She dresses like a whore. Hell, I bet she even behaves like one" Alexandra continued. "And of course little perfect Amira Sainz had to play the angel again and tell the media that she didn't take my words to heart. Does this bitch even know who I am? My word is law." For gods sake why couldn't she stop talking, thought Sarah.

Meanwhile, Kika and Amira listend to the one-sided conversation. Both girls started getting angrier the more they heard. While Amiras rage was the "I can destroy your life with one sentence" rage, Kika's blood was boiling. "Who does this stupid bitch think she is" muttered Kika.

But when Alexandra confessed she started the internet rumor of Amira having an eating disorder, all rational thoughts left her head. During those horrible rumours, Amira started really struggling. Anti-Ferrari fans and Anti-Charles fans took the presented possibility to write her online hate. Besides, starting rumours about serious topics like that is never alright, no matter who it is about. It was a very dark time for Amira.

Before Amira could even comprehend what was happening, Kika stood up and went to the neighbour table. "Hey, girlie" she said to Alex sweetly, before taking her hair and dragging her out of the chair. Alex screeched like an wounded animal, which gained the attention of the other guest and staff. One young waitress recognised the girls and started filming.

Kika pushed her to the floor and started ripping of her fake nails. "Who the fuck do you think you are talking about my best friend like that?" Alex and Kika started ringing on the floor. Obviously Kika had the upper hand. Amira, who was still angry, decided to encourage her besties behaviour. "Vamos, Kika. Acaba con esta estúpida zorra." she yelled. Kika shot her a little smile while Alex looked at her in horror. "Eso es, zorra. Toma tu puta opinión y a ver a quién le importa. " Amira said straight to her face, raising an eyebrow.

Kika slapped her one last time across the face, stood up and said loudly: "Can we get our sandwiches to-go, please?" Amira and Kika turned to the filming waitress who answered excitedly: "Girls, it's on the house for you." After paying their mimosas and taking their food, the two left.

Inside the car, Amira hugged Kika tight. "Thank you" she whispered tearfully. Kika didn't say anything back, just hugged her tighter. What the two girl's weren't aware of, was, that at this exact moment, their little video fight went viral. And boy, did the fans stand on Kikas and Amiras side.

Bonus (+):

Max and Kelly stood in front of the girls, the video on in the background. They knew Charles and Pierre wouldn't say anything against their behaviour, so they took it upon themselves to be that bad cops.

"I am very disappointed in you two. Instead of talking it out like an adult, you hit her, Kika. And you shouldn't have encouraged her, Amira. As a punishment you both are not allowed to have any girl-days for two weeks." explained Max tiredly. Instead of arguing, both girls silently nodded their heads.

After a moment of silence Max spoke again: "Kelly, don't you want to say anything as well?" "….Bad girls." was her only reply. While Max held his head in his hands, Kelly shot the two of them a secret wink.

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Vox takes you on a date to a casino.

Vox: "So, Doll what do you want to do first?"

You: "Oh well, I'm not really sure... I've never really gambled before. I don't want to lose money because I don't know how..."

Vox slings his arm around your shoulder, his warm body pressed to yours.

Vox: "Nonsense, Doll I'll teach you, and it's all on my, my treat, how about we get you a nice drink, and I'll teach you how to BJ..."

At your startled look, he holds up his hands laughing, clearly he'd been teasing you.

Vox: "I just meant Blackjack."

He laughs at your reddened face and guides you over to the bar, giving you the rundown of the rules, you're sure you'll learn better as you play, but it gives you enough of an idea of what's expected in the game.

You sit in the seat and Vox hovers beside you, sending soothing static down your spine and sparking delightfully through your nerves making it hard to focus.

Not that it matters as Vox tells you every move to make anyway right now.

You celebrate your first win so excitedly and to Vox's utter pleasure you kiss him ecstatic and buzzing, he buys you another drink and you go another round really liking this game.

You found you won the next hand again under his guidance and tried yourself the next time and lost.

Every time he helped you, you seemed to win, and each time he got a kiss in gratitude, he'd clearly won more than he'd lost.

As you were about to buy in for another round, a trio of imposing guys approach the table and you end up clutching Vox's arm as you're both whisked off to a side room.

The dude sitting there is feline in nature. The guards post beside him and one at the door behind you.

Vox: "Well hello there Husker, good to see you my man, our evening is going splendidly, nice place you've got here."

'Husker' however is stoney faced, to Vox's charismatic friendliness.

Husk: "As a fellow Overlord who don't want no war, I'm gonna just tell you this once and give you one chance, you leave and there'll be no trouble."

Vox shifts, subtly blocking you further from view, you cling to his jacket trembling.

Vox: "And why would I do that, my good fellow?"

His voice, friendly as ever but you can hear the shift in the undertone, a dangerous one, feeling the static shocks run down his spine you still do not let go despite your fingers going numb.

It was Vox's one rule, if there's trouble you don't let go as he can zap you both out of anywhere with electricity in less than a moment as long as you're connected.

Husk: "You been countin' cards, and I want you out."

You gasp in slight surprise and you feel Vox shaking with laughter, like he'd expected this all along.

Vox: "Why would you say that, Husk? Be careful what you say next, you might not like the outcome."

Husk was either very brave or very foolish, or perhaps a bit of both, maybe it's because Vox wasn't really a fighter... That was ever talked about.

Husk: "You win every round you play, and you might not have the counting cards tells like most normal folk but I know you're doing it in that tecky head of yours and I want you out for cheating on my turf."

Vox: "I'm going to give you just one chance to take that accusation and rude statement back my man, and let bygone be bygones, otherwise... You'll be the one regretting your actions tonight. I might have a 'techy' head, but I can assure you I have integrity for games that my mentor taught me..."

The room flickers around you all, your knuckles going pale as your grip shakes and the power flashes in the whole casino.

Vox: "I do not cheat, and you insult me as an Overlord and a paying patron, and if you don't submit an apology, of course good chum, I will be forced to ruin you."

Husk: "I've heard enough, take him out boys."

Guns were pulled and in a moment you were back in VTower in the penthouse, dizzy from the unusual travel, blood still buzzing in your veins as Vox catches you and settles you on the couch cradling your face.

Vox: "You okay? Babydoll?"

You breathe deep for a moment getting grounded, your face splits into a wide grin.

You: "Fuck you're hot when you're swinging your dick around with authority."

Vox laughs kissing you deeply. Thoroughly amused at your choice of words and feeling the real thing twitch with more interest.

Vox: "Oh yeah? Want me to order you around a little tonight, Doll? Maybe you can show your Master just how much you like being his little pet."

You can't help the loan that escapes you, his shark-like grin tells you how well received your involuntary response went however.

Vox: "Good, my Babydoll. So good aren't you? Held onto me the whole time we were there, trusted me, such a good little Pet."

You whimper and bite your lip, flushing and nodding eagerly, dragging a finger down the ball of his antenna making him shiver slightly, his claws prick your hips where they tighten.

You: "Did you cheat?"

Vox: "Oh absolutely, Alastor always taught me as long as you hold all the cards and are the most powerful in the room however, no one can stop you. I have seniority, I have more power and I'm afraid I'm going to have to end that two bit Overlords little buisness in less than a weeks time."

Vox kisses you all across the face and angling your head funny, kisses down your neck with every word, to your giggles.

Vox: "I'll give him two days to lure him into a false sense of security, then I'll strike, and while he's trying to save himself I'll offer him a deal... But first, my Doll, I'm going to have a pre-celebration, right here with you."

His voice almost purrs at you and you whimper as he covers your body with his, kissing you soundly and really living up to his words as he doesn't disappoint tending to all your needs for the next two days, making you scream his name more times than you can keep track of.

Only, after two days Vox's plans didn't quite work out the way he'd intended...

It seems the cat was smarter than he appeared... And had already taken the threat seriously, seems the old cat was now under Alastor's protection, and his business untouchable, Husk had his soul chained but still kept his power and business and Vox raged for a whole week after that.

Only you could calm him for short periods of times, but you were bruised from how roughly he'd handled you.

On the last night, Vox curled around you muttering apologies into your skin as he caressed every mark, and kissed every bite.

You didn't mind so much, but with an extra threat just that week from some mafia guys, he moved you out of the tower and into your own flat.

You couldn't help but feel isolated and alone, wondering if Vox would ever come back for you...

[angelf1re]

Okay so I was in a country song bing for a good couple of hours and all I can think about is hannigrahm with a country s/o (preferably gn) who isn't shy at all but will absolutely put their hat on their heads (the meaning if that is like staking a claim or save a horse ride a cowboy)

A Night To Remember

Hannigram with a country s/o

They met you at a bar, a celebration for breaking a case, as Jack had told them.

You were on the stage, playing the guitar and singing softly for all the patrons to hear.

Hannibal watched you with interest, eventually catching your eye.

You winked at him before tipping your hat, finishing up the song you were singing.

You thanked everyone for listening before hopping off the stage and heading over to the bar, right over to Hannibal and Will.

You ordered something strong, turning to Hannibal as it was being made.

“You look like a fancy fella. What brings you ‘round here?” You asked him, starting the conversation fairly easily.

After you got your drink you hung around them, spending some time trying to crack Will out of his shell.

You bought them a round of shots, making a toast to friendship before downing it easily.

Will swished his around in the small shot glass before he took it, wincing slightly at the burn.

You teased him about it for a few minutes before taking off your hat and placing it on his head.

You gave them your number before leaving the bar, telling them to call you.

Alana laughed when she saw you place your hat on Will’s head, knowing the meaning of the whole ordeal.

Will clearly did not know, as he kept the hat on.

Eventually, Alana told him, trying to hold back her laughter when she saw his face of shock.

When Will got home he called you almost immediately, wanting to ask why you put your hat on his head.

You responded accordingly. “I thought you were cute, sugar.”

You laughed when you heard him stumble over his words slightly.

”Meet me at the bar tomorrow night. 6:30. I’ll get my hat back and we can talk. Get to know each other.”

Will agreed, mostly because he wanted to return your hat, but also because he wanted to get to know you a bit.

Hannibal helped him get ready, even offering to go with. Will denied, saying he could do it on his own.

When he met you there, he immediately asked you why you put your hat on him again.

“I told you, darlin’. I thought you were cute.” You said with a smile, taking a sip of your drink.

You two hung out all night, eventually going back to your place late at night, both of you tipsy.

Will woke up on the couch with a blanket over him and a plate of food on the coffee table.

He ate, got dressed(when did he get undressed?) and left your house.

He went home and told Hannibal about the night.

You three hung out more and more, eventually all of you fell in love.

You were the one to ask them out, jealous of a drunk who was hitting on them at the bar.

They were a bit shocked, sure, but they easily accepted your confession, confessing that they too were in love with you. (A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I thought it was really cute! I hope you like it, I tried my best to get the country aspect right, as I am not the biggest country fan. I’m sorry if it’s a little short!)

[agaypanic]

Omfg you’re writing for Rodrick? 🥹he’s so bbg. Can I please request something with him and a guitarist!reader (I play lead and bass<3) who’s in a band and he like sneaks into a bar and she’s playing there and singing and is just so cool he immediately just *heart eyes* and he meets her after the show and they hit it off? I know he’s more edgy punk but I vibe with more rock type and I like the similar-but-different couple dynamic stuff

If you want obviously np you could change whatever but still he’s so hot please and thank you

Rock and Roll (Rodrick Heffley X Guitarist!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Wanting to see if his fake I.D. is any good, Rodrick goes to a bar at the edge of town. But he’s immediately distracted by you singing and playing with your band.

A/N: once again, idk shit about anything thats not the violin lol also superbad reference for no reason other than i wanted to. au where rodrick's 19/20 and reader's 21

***

“Your name is…” The bouncer looked down at the license, raising his eyebrow skeptically before looking back at Rodrick. “McLovin?”

“Yup,” Rodrick responded, trying to remain casual. 

The two men had a stare-off for a few tense seconds before, finally, the bouncer sighed and handed Rodrick back his ID.

“Whatever, man.” He opened the door to the bar and stepped aside, allowing Rodrick to pass through. He tried not to look so surprised about the entry.

Rodrick decided that the best way to celebrate his fake ID working was to buy a drink. So he headed to the bar, trying to decide what he should order.

“What can I get ya?” One of the bartenders asked Rodrick as he approached the bar. Rodrick looked at the chalkboard menu on the wall, about to say something, before he was interrupted by loud music.

Across the large room was a stage and dancefloor. The floor was filled with semi-drunk patrons dancing and jumping around to the beat. On the stage was a rock band jamming out. Rodrick was immediately captivated, soon forgetting the bartender as he slowly walked closer to the dancefloor. 

The music was different from what he was used to. Rodrick was into punk, but this was more rock. But he really liked it.

It might’ve had something to do with the pretty guitarist, who headbanged along with the lead singer without missing a single chord. Rodrick was a drummer, but there was something about the way your fingers glided across the fingerboard that had him completely mesmerized.

About half an hour later, your band’s set was finally over, and Rodrick hadn’t moved an inch from his spot. He watched you walk off the stage and over to the bar, ending up right next to him. You ordered a drink and then looked at him, giving a smile.

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” Rodrick’s brain raced with what to say next. He wasn’t used to talking to a pretty girl. “Nice set.”

“Thanks.” You nodded in gratitude as the bartender handed you your drink, taking a sip before looking back at Rodrick. “You like rock?”

“Well, I’m more into the punk scene, but that stuff was pretty cool. You know, I’m in a band too!”

“Really?” You asked, turning to fully face Rodrick with interest.

The rest of the night, the two of you talked about music and being in bands, which branched off into talks about other parts of your life. Before Rodrick left, he had the guts to ask for your number. And when he got home and snuck up to his room, he was already texting you and asking when you could see each other again.

***

Rodrick Heffley Taglist: @tweedledipshit

[eyesxxyou]

that's what they all say

↳ ❝ [dbf!miguel o'hara x black!reader] ¡! ❞

rating. mature

word count. 4k

synopsis. you and miguel have had tension from the very first moment you met. the only problem is that miguel is your dad's best friend. what happens when you two finally find yourselves alone?

or

you and miguel take your chance to fuck while your dad is sleeping

warnings. big age gap (20 years. reader is 22 and Miguel is 42), exhibitionalism kinda, oral (m receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, size kink, size difference, google translate pet names (IM SORRY), kinda awkward and uncomfortable towards the end, angst, kinda bad ending. let me know if I missed anything.

It started with a glance. Just a glance was all it took. Miguel O’Hara has not been in your life for very long. You were 21 at the time and visiting your father for the afternoon. You had dropped in unexpectedly, not expecting your father to have a friend over. He was lounging on the couch with your father, sharing some beers together. “Oh– Y/N, I didn’t expect you. This is a friend from work, Dr. Miguel O’Hara.”

The first thing you noticed was how startlingly large he was, the fact only punctuated when he stood up to shake your hand. He towered over you, his huge frame intimidating you to no end. He offered his hand to you, a hand a big as your face, and looked down at you. “Nice to meet you. Your father talks all about you.”

The second thing you noticed was how handsome he was. Presuming he was around your father’s age—twice your own— he was sharp and handsome. Tan skin, high, prominent cheekbones, a strong jaw, and the softest looking hair you’ve ever seen. If you looked closer, you could see a few stray gray hairs but not nearly as many as your father. He was gorgeous all things considered.

From then, you’d get to see Miguel here and there, dropping something off for your father, visiting him at home. You and Miguel got along just fine, a joke here and there. There was always something unspoken there that your father never caught on to and the two of you never really infringed upon.

But that changed with a single glance.

You were out at dinner with them. Miguel and your father had just won an award for their research in genetic editing and wanted to celebrate. You offered them dinner and how could they possibly refuse? The only condition was that you would not be paying for it. ‘We’re two grown men. Would be pretty shitty if we let you pay for our food.” Miguel shook his head with disapproval at the thought of it, his large hand reaching out to open the door ahead of you. “F/N, back me up here.”

Your father shook his head and raised his hands up. “I’m not a part of this.” He wasn’t one to place himself in situations that hadn’t involved him to begin with. Miguel was stubborn but so were you, maybe even more so. “Are you trying to say I’m not grown?” His smile was patronizing. “I thought I was grown too when I was your age. Either way, it has nothing to do with your age. It’s mine.”

The two of you argued over this the entire dinner and when the bill came, Miguel snatched it up before you could, settling the matter then and there. You were pouty, crossing your arms over your chest in a way that only pronounced the shape of them. Miguel almost felt like a pervert looking at you. Not only a friend and colleague’s daughter, but a woman half his age. He had every reason to brush you off and leave everything as is.

You caught him in the act, stealing looks at your breast when your father was distracted. His jaw working as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Then he glanced up and his eyes caught yours. This one look changed everything. Everything you both thought the other was completely unaware of, the lustful little glances the two of you would toss back and forth without the other one knowing— unfolded right there.

Miguel immediately looked away, his hand coming to rub his chin stressfully, his brows furrowed as he nodded along to what your father was saying. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was flustered. You caught him and everything you both had been pushing away with all the reasons you shouldn’t want each other are now broken down. Why not go all the way with it?

Miguel felt your foot against his leg, pushing up the leg of his pants to feel his skin against yours. He glanced back at you to find you were already looking at him with eyes questioning what he would do about your indiscretion.

Nothing. The answer was nothing. There wasn’t much he could do in the moment.

Getting your father home was the hard part. He didn’t drink alcohol too often but when he did, he drank a lot. Plus tonight was a celebration, you all had a few drinks but neither of you were as drunk as him. Miguel could handle him on his own but the only way you were getting home was by way of Miguel himself. You had all carpooled to the restaurant meaning you would all have to do the same back.

“Do you need help getting him in?” Miguel asks as you get into your father’s home, ready to take him to bed. You look back at him. “Why? You think I can’t do it on my own.” He rolls his eyes at you as you walk off, supporting your father’s weight over your shoulder. It wasn’t an easy job but you managed to get him into bed to which he completely passed out upon his head hitting the pillow, snoring as he always did since you were a child.

You came back out with a heavy sigh, dragging your hand down your face. When you opened your eyes, you found Miguel looking at a few photos your father had hanging up of you. He was staring a one in particular, you at your college graduation. Your smile was shining and proud, yet exhausted.

“You majored in…”

“Cybersecurity.” You finish for him, slowly making your way closer to him. It was clear you two were trying to figure out where to go from here. You both know now. So do you act on it? Do you pretend it isn’t there until they go away? There’s a lot of reasons why you both shouldn’t, why you should just leave it alone, but in a situation like this—with the desire you two have for each other—reason doesn’t matter. “So watch what your say to me or I’ll absolutely fuck up your home security system and your AI.”

“You talk such big game for a spoiled brat.”

“So do you for a perverted old man who likes to stare at the tits of a girl half your age.” You shoot back quickly before you can bite your tongue. Miguel turns his head away, his ears turning blush pink. Who knew he got so flustered so easily? Why not push it a little further?

"How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Miguel? When we first met?" You tease, approaching even further. "Did you take one look at me and think about what you would do to me if you had that chance?"

"Y/N…" Miguel still didn't look at you but his voice dripped with warning. His tone told you to tread carefully because you might not like what comes next but you were sure that much wasn't true.

"I did." You admit to him, your hand now against the curve of his back. His muscles were firm and well-built. "I saw you and could only think about how much I wanted you to break me in half."

Miguel grabbed you suddenly by the throat and at a moment's notice had his lips against yours. His hand was so big, he could have broken your neck right then and there if he wanted to. He had to lean over to kiss you, he was so much larger than you. He kissed you with the fever and passion of someone who's desperate, who's been wanting to do this for a long, long time.

Something parallel to a growl erupted from his throat as he kissed you, licked the inside of your lips as you opened up for him and let him have his way. Your hands wrap around his wrist as his fingers squeeze softly at the sides of your throat, leaving you lightheaded and delirious but that could also be from the fact that you finally know what his lips taste like.

"Miguel." You murmur against his lips. "Miguel, please."

"Shh, mía carina. You don't want your father to hear you." His tongue traced your bottom lip languidly before sinking his teeth into your supple flesh. You placed your tongue against his, wanting nothing more than to have his saliva in your mouth, taste him for all he had to offer. "Or would you? Wouldn't that be something? I wonder who he'd be more upset at."

You wanted his cock in any way you could take it. You were hungry for it, desperate for it. Your hands grabbed at the hem of his shirt before teasing at his belt buckle. "Please." You whispered and looked up at him with innocent eyes that belied the intent of your plea. You didn't wait for an answer as you undid his belt, taking it upon yourself to answer for him.

Miguel didn't protest, though he did glance up towards the stairs knowing your father was only a few dozen feet away. He looked back down at you. "You have no shame, do you?" He placed his hand on your head and began to push you down until you were on your knees in front of him.

You were salivating at just the thought of having him in your mouth, licking your lips and you continued to undo his pants. Just the outline of him was enough to leave you shuddering with anticipation. Miguel was petting your head, letting you take your time with it all.

You’re startled by the size of him but what were you expecting. Everything about him was huge, brom his shoulders to his hands which crept this veins from his forearms. A slightly darker brown and riddled with veins that pulsed with the blood rushing to his length. You liked his happy trail that led to the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock. You wondered how you might fit him in your mouth, better yet how you would fit him in your pussy. The thought made you entrance squeeze, him trying to bully his cock into you without regard.

Miguel wrapped a hand around himself and stroked a few times, squeezing out pearly beads of precum. He tapped the tip against your plush lips, smearing his precum against your lips, leaving them shiny and sticky. “Open up for me, muñeca.” You wanted to deny him, make things difficult for him because you liked the way his control seemed to slip, but you’d be denying yourself this honor and you weren’t sure how long this might last.

You opened your mouth and let your tongue rest against your bottom lip. You looked up at Miguel from hooded eyes as he slapped his weeping tip on your soft muscle. He shuddered softly as he slipped his cock into your mouth and the wet cavity of your mouth engulfed him. "That's it– mhn. Just relax." He eased his way further but you could only take a fraction of his length before he hit the back of your throat.

His hand was on the back of your head, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail. "Go ahead and take it." What you couldn't fit in your mouth, you wrapped your hand around and began to stroke, using your saliva as lube, while your free hand slid between your legs to touch yourself. Your panties were soaked with arousal and you circled your fingers over your clit, using the fabric as friction.

It was sloppy. Your spit coated the length of his shaft and dripped from the corners of your mouth. You kept your jaw slack and let Miguel use your mouth as he pleased. His hands held your head in place, one in your hair and the other under your jaw against your neck to feel the way his dick created its own space in your throat.

You looked so pretty with your mouth stuffed with him, tears making your mascara run down your cheeks as you choked on his cock. You were taking it so well, your tongue tracing the slit of his head in a way that makes Miguel nearly double over. “Fuck, mía carina. Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he presses his pelvis forward a little move. He liked the way you sounded sucking his cock, the wetness, the gurgling and choking, the way you whined on it.

Just because he wasn’t pushing himself all the way in didn’t mean he was being easy or kind on you. “Imagine how disappointed your dad would be knowing his little girl sucks dick like a champ.” He fucked your mouth like it was his own personal fleshlight, cooing about how pretty you were. “Look at you, baby. My pretty girl. You can take more, I know you can.” Miguel forced you down further and you gagged and choked, more tears streaming down your cheeks. Your hand tightens around the rest of his cock. He held you there for a moment, watching as you struggled before letting you go.

You fell back onto the feels of your feet, gasping for air. A string of saliva kept you connected until it thinned and soon broke. As soon as you caught your breath, you kissed his tip before doing the same down the underside of your length in more sloppy, wet kisses. Miguel continued to pet your head with a sly smile. “Good little cock slut, aren’t you?”

You kiss him everywhere, down his happy trail, leaving red marks against his warm brown naval, destined to blossom into roses of purple and blue, against his length, his balls. You take him into your mouth again and bob your head in fast, fluid motions. You're too good at this, Miguel thinks and the thought of you on someone else’s dick besides his own pisses him off. He knows it shouldn’t, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing this to begin with, but god, he can’t help it.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, muñeca.” Miguel groaned softly. "And you're gonna take it, aren't you?" He could feel it, his orgasm creating over the horizon. His muscles contracted and his grip on your hair tightened. You stroked his sensitive tip with your tongue, tracing the underside of the head and up to the tip. You wanted it so bad and Miguel could tell, more than happy to give it to you.

You watch in delight as his eyes closed and he bit his lip to stop himself from being too loud, sniffling his groan. He shivered one last time before his seed coated the inside of your mouth in thick spurts of white. You swallowed quickly in fear of choking and left yourself no time to savor his taste.

You lick him clean, suckling on his head a little because you liked the way he had to place his hand on the wall to keep himself stable. When you were done, Miguel grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look up at him. You knew you looked like a sloppy whore with your streaking mascara, drool making your lips and chin, and his cum gathered at the corners of your lips.

He used the rough pad of his thumb to wipe up the cum and push it back into your mouth, weighing the digit against your tongue. He was still hard, angrily so, and the only way to satiate his hunger was to have you, right here, right now. Damn if you father hears you, damn if he comes down, damn if he kills Miguel.

“Get up.” Miguel makes you stand on your feet. His hands grasp at every inch of you clad in your little dress. You don’t have much time to process before you’re in front of a vanity littered in old family pictures. You should feel some sort of shame, but Miguel tugging at the hem of your dress is rather distracting.

He shoved it up to your waist and pulled your panties to the side to expose your soaking pussy as you brace your hands against the edge of the table. You whimper at the way he dragged the tip of his cock between the puffy lips of your pussy, from front to back to front again, his head taking turns stroking your clit and your gushing entrance.

“You think it’ll fit?” Miguel glanced between you and your pretty pussy as he guided his tip into you. You inhaled sharply, biting your lip to contain the whine that threatened to wake your father upstairs. He gave you no moment of rest as he pushed inch after excruciating inch into you and you could do absolutely nothing about it except take it. He stretched you to size, forced himself a space in your body that no one else would be able to fill. Every vein was felt dragging against your walls.

You let out a strangled moan that might have been a little too loud. Miguel placed his hand over your mouth and paused for a moment, listening. Your father’s obnoxious snoring could still be heard from upstairs.

“Keep quiet now. You’re gonna get us in trouble.” Miguel thrusted his hips towards you, pushing the rest of his length into you until his pelvis was pressed flush against you as some sort of sick punishment. You cry out against his hand, back arching.

Miguel drew his hips back at a slow, torturous pace. “Look at me, muñeca.” He panted into your ear. He waited for you to raise your gaze to meet his before shoving his cock right back into you without a single ounce of mercy in his eyes. He wanted to make it as hard as possible to keep quiet. Maybe the risk of being caught was what made this all the better, the illicitness of your actions. Everyone wants so desperately for what they cannot have.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me, pretty girl. Keep looking at me, just-” he grunted as he fucked into you harder. “Just… let me fuck this little pussy. Just once.” If once was all he would get, then so be it. But he knew himself, he should have never started in the first place because now, all he would think about was the next time he could get you alone.

He pounded your pussy like no other, like you had done him wrong, like you owed him this, like it belonged to him. The cloth of his jeans kept the sounds of your lewd actions muffled, the wet creamy sound that expelled from you every time he claimed you as his own.

He muttered obscenities into your ear. “So— mmh…fuck—so fucking good. God, this pussy is mine now, you got that?” His fingers grasped your hips so hard you had no doubt in your mind they would leave bruises in the morning. You can see in the mirror the way his eyes flutter but you, you were seeing stars.

Your family pictures clattered around you, making you flinch at each and every last one, but Miguel didn’t seem to care. “Look at that.” He nods down between your bodies. You follow suit, watch the way you hole stretches to accommodate his eyes with each stroke of his cock. He pauses for a moment you adjust your position, slipping his arms beneath your knees before lifting you up completely as an impressive show of strength. You wrap your arms around his neck to keep yourself up and somehow, the close proximity made this all the more intimate.

Miguel fucked you like he meant it, like this wasn’t just a one time thing, like this was anything more than lust and sexual infatuation. You buried your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your cries of divine pleasure. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel.” His name was a sacred prayer on your lips as you pleaded for his mercy. “I’m so close.” You whispered before leaning back to look him in the eyes.

It was then that Miguel realized just how young you were. You’re eyes held that youthful glow of someone who had everything going for them. What the fuck was he doing? He had already lived his life. Why was he trying to take the rest of yours away from you?

You held on to him so tightly as you came, your fingers in his hair, a slight sob from your lips as the feeling was so overwhelming that you simply had to cry. Miguel held on to you too, pet your head softly and told you that everything was okay. He held you through it because that’s what you needed right now despite all his regrets.

You two had no time to just sit in this, the mess you’ve made. You two pere quick to make yourselves decent again just in case your father woke up at some point. You were busy putting the picture frames back in their rightful place when Migeul finally broke the long stretch of silence between you two.

“We shouldn’t have-”

“I know.” You speak quickly.

“It has nothing to do with you.”

You roll your eyes and finally turn to look at him. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Miguel rubbed his temple stressfully. There are reasons boundaries are in place so that lines like this don’t get blurred. “I’m 20 years older than you, Y/N. I have a daughter of my own.” You shake your head. “Bold move to bring up your daughter after you just got done banging your friend’s daugh-”

“My point—” He’s quick to interrupt you before you can go any further down that road. No father wants to think of things like that. “My point is that you have your whole life ahead of you and you’re too young for me. I’m too old for you. This can’t happen again.” His voice tells you that the decision is finally, the period to end the sentencing. You don’t like that.

“I’m a grown woman who can make my own decisions. I get to decide who’s too old for me and it’s not you. So what if you have a kid? Majority of the population does.”

“And your dad?” How would that possibly go over with him? He finds out his best friend if fucking his daughter and he’ll flip like any good father would. “This can only end in disaster, Y/N. You know it, I know it. Why are we even humoring this idea? This is it. No more of this. We got it out of our system so we can move on.” He didn’t want to raise his voice. He definitely didn’t want to use that voice. The dad voice, the same one he uses when he tells Gabriella to go finish her homework. Makes him feel like more of a creep than he already does.

You’d be a dead liar if you said you weren’t hurt. You knew he was right, that nothing about this was right or okay and the only outcome to any of this was absolute disaster, but that didn’t soothe any of the pain in the slightest. You cross your arms over your chest and cast your eyes down at your feet to hide the tears swelling at your lash line. “If you just wanted to get your dick wet, you could have just said that.”

“This is what I mean. You’re immature. That’s not what I said.”

“Could you just fucking leave already?” You snap at him with a biting venom that stings. Your eyes are already growing puffy and red. “Just go for fucks sake. You got what you wanted so leave.”

Miguel opened his mouth to say something, anything to come in his own defense or to even comfort you. He didn’t want any of this to happen. What was there to say? Anything he let leave his lips would find away to sound bad to your ears. It was better to just do as you asked.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Fuck you.”

Miguel sighed and grabbed his eyes out of his pocket to leave.

What the fuck did you two do?

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Heyyy love ur work alot and this is my first time asking u but for ur 500 followers celebration could u do Spencer Reid and childhood friends fem!reader with heavy pining and " it's always been u" at the end hurt/comfort ?

omg slay yes. Done. (accidentally made it gn lmao)

“Oh my god Spence I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“I can’t—I can’t do it.”

“Hey, hey talk to me. What’s going on?”

“It’s all wrong. Everything is all wrong.”

Spencer listened to you ramble as he very calmly moved towards the door, trying not to alert anyone that anything was wrong. Of course, when you’re surrounded by friends and family, and a strong percentage of them are profilers, the statistics of one of them not noticing was very, very, very low.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, trying to calm you down over the phone, while trying to not attract attention.

He was lucky Hotch was the only one to notice him getting up. Spencer was almost lucky enough to have Hotch not notice he was on the phone, but the universe had other plans.

Spencer quickly slipped out the main doors of the church and into the hallway. Hotch was not far behind.

“Y/n. I need you to sit down and breathe okay? Open a window. Get some air—“ Spencer stopped talking when some patrons walked by him, smiling at them and waiting for them to be gone to continue calming you down.

“What’s wrong.”

Spencer turned and faced Hotch. He wasn’t even going to try and lie. There was simply no point in it. “We have a um…..”

Hotch nodded. “How much time do you need?”

“Five minutes max.” Spencer whispered.

The two men silently came to an agreement and one went back into the church while the other bounded up the steps.

Spencer knocked on the door, patiently waiting for you to answer them. He was surprised when you quickly yanked him inside and slammed the door shut so no one would notice it was open. Spencer decided not to point out that slamming doors was not the way to go if you didn’t want to attract attention.

“Want to—-“ Spencer stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t breathe.

You had literally taken Spencer’s breath away. Spencer had always thought that he would see you at the end of the aisle when you both were at your wedding. But even just seeing you now was enough to cause his heart to drop with grief.

You were breathtaking, and you weren’t his.

You and Spencer had known one another since he was five and you were six. Since you were older, you always knew better, even though Spencer was definitely the brains of your little operation.

The very first time Spencer saw you, he proposed to you with a rock, muttering something along the lines of a rock fact and what that rock had been through and eternity.

You said yes.

It was hard to be friends with someone who graduated high school and went to college when they were twelve years old. You knew Spencer wouldn’t forget you, but as the years passed by, it felt like he did. You only found him again on your first day in the FBI Academy.

To say you were shocked when you saw him in your line up the first morning you all had to run a mile in a minute, it didn’t even come close.

You two only got closer when you both were selected for the BAU, which wasn’t even on your radar until Spencer told you about it.

Somewhere down the line, you fell in love with him. With his smile. His brain. His never perfect hair. His facts. His glasses. His messenger bag. All of it. And you fell hard.

It didn’t take a room full of profilers to tell you that it was fairly obvious you love him.

But it didn’t seem to reach across the border with Spencer. He ended up making out with movie stars, falling in love with JJ, dating a woman who he only communicated with on the phone. It was never you.

The love you had for Spencer was palpable but you had no where to put it. So you did what you do best, you diverted your attention. Dated around. Kissed people at bars. Went on boring dates. Until you found someone who was kind, and respectful, and attractive. A distraction that ended up being someone you cared for deeply. Deeply enough to say yes when they proposed.

But now, that you were here, and completely dressed, fully made up, you were having cold feet. You couldn’t do it.

You wanted Spencer to be on the other end of the aisle and he wasn’t. You couldn’t picture anyone else when you looked down the aisle and it was killing you.

You looked up at Spencer, tear stained cheeks, puffy eyes.

Seeing you dressed like that, and not for him, was a stab in the gut. Repeatedly wrenching out his insides. Spencer shoved everything he had ever wanted to say down his throat. “Oh Y/n.” He whispered, walking over to you and pulling you into a hug.

“Talk to me.” Stab.

“What can I do?” Stab.

“How can I fix this.” Right through the heart.

“I-I can’t do it Spence…i don’t love—I’m not going to marry—-“

“Hey hey hey.” He kissed your head. “You are so strong and wonderful and you can—“

You shoved him away. “You’re not listening to me. I’m not—I can’t do it. I don’t love—“

“Yes you do.” Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. “You wouldn’t have said yes if you didn’t.”

“Yes—-but no. I don’t.” You huffed and cracked your knuckles (a nervous habit you had picked up from a certain SSA Morgan). “Not like that.” You looked down at your attire. “Not like this.”

Spencer stood there, watching as you worked it out. “Why.”

“Why?”

Spencer nodded. “Why aren’t you going through with it.”

You opened your mouth but no sound came out. Nothing. It was as if you had never spoken at all. You felt the words. They were on the tip of your tongue. Literally.

I’m in love with you Spencer Reid.

But they never made it past your lips. So you just looked like a fish out of water, mouth flopping open and closed.

“Y/n?”

“I-I have a reason it’s just…” you closed your eyes. “I love you.”

Spencer exhaled but responded. “I love you too but—-“

“No Spencer.” You cut him off. “I’m in love with you. I have been since you proposed to me with that stupid fucking rock that I still keep on my night stand. It is the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I see when I sleep at night. But I don’t want to see some stupid fossilized sand. I want you. I want to see your eyes every fucking morning. I want to make my espresso in the kitchen and have you tell me about ancient Mayan chiefs drinking it during major celebrations. I want to have someone to talk to about the books I read and the ones I don’t. I want someone to play chess with. I want to be able to lean over and kiss you whenever the fuck I want because I am all you Spencer. I have been yours. And I cannot picture anyone else on the other end of that aisle at my wedding. I can’t go through with it because it’s not you. I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember and it kills me that you don’t love me the same way. But I cannot get married today because I’m not saying my vows to you. I’m not swearing before our friends and family that I would not only lay down my life for you, but I would stay alive for you.”

Soencer was sure that the ceiling had a leak in it because it felt like he was just run over by a water fall. Completely drenched in your words and soaking them into his skin.

You wiped a tear away and shook your head. “That’s why I’m not getting married. And I get it if you don’t see me the same way but—-“

You had always imagined that Spencer’s lips would taste like, but strawberry chapstick was not one of them. His lips slotted perfectly into yours, with his hand on your cheek, and the other around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You melted into his touch, made dumb by the fact that his lips were on yours.

Eventually, you needed air. You would have stood there all day with your lips locked with his. But you pulled away ever so slightly, forehead resting on his.

“It’s you.” You felt his lips brush against yours as his spoke, his breathe fanning across your lips. “It’s always been you.”

You smiled and pushed your lips against his.

No matter how the next few minutes of your life played out, it was all going to be okay, as long as you could keep your lips on Spencer’s, and he kept his lips on yours.