#because present!me is just following along

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 7 - Girl of The Season | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You went out to dinner with Jack, Noah, Trent, and a few more of their friends. At first you didn’t want to go but Trent texted you that he better see you tonight. It made you giddy when he followed up...

It was sweet, playful, and everything you’d wanted. The night had started with excitement, a thrill of anticipation as you’d read more of Trent’s message telling you he’d have a hard time keeping his hands off you. It all had you feeling like a schoolgirl. You’d gone out thinking it’d be fun—a way to let loose and enjoy the easy chemistry that had been brewing between you and Trent, even with everyone else around. You imagined the night like any other was lately, filled with laughter and stolen glances that no one else would notice. The evening buzzed with energy, drinks flowing and stories spinning across the table. The group banter was easy, familiar. But as you sat at the table, laughing along to their stories, everything changed in an instant. One boy looked at Trent and asked a question that’s intent was harmless but catastrophic to you. 

“Bro, so who's the girl of the season right now?” The question was referring to something you didn’t know about. It hung in the air, a casual laugh among them, but it made you freeze. You tried to keep your face neutral, not wanting to react to something you didn’t quite understand. Trent shifted in his seat, letting out a small laugh as he shrugged it off, but the other boys egged him on, teasing him as if they were letting you in on some kind of inside joke. Trent couldn’t do anything but let it play out. He felt helpless and stupid at the mercy of his own history. You knew Trent got with plenty of other girls before you but you had no idea it was so routine. That he’d apparently find a girl ahead of each football season began so he’d have someone locked in for when he was away and because he’d be too busy to go out and find someone- it was convenience not love. 

“Yeah, just share her now, mate. Or is she not locked in yet” Noah laughed. They kept laughing and adding to it, casually throwing around details as if this ritual was common knowledge, as if finding a girl for convenience was routine. It felt hollow, the notion that Trent had a pattern, that every season he had someone by his side just as a placeholder for when he was busy.

“Girl of the season huh?” You quipped with a raised brow. You felt sick but presented just teasing.  You tried to keep your tone light, even though your pulse was racing. You looked to Trent for clarity, a reassurance he didn’t immediately give. The boys kept talking. Even Jack joining asking if it was maybe going to be the girl he rejected i.e you. i.e the girl Trent had told them about after your incident at the club. Your heart sank, you wanted to cry but you bit back tears and spoke up once more. Inside you felt horrible. Were you merely his ‘girl or the season?’ “So… is there a contract?” you asked, sarcasm laced in your voice. “When’s the deadline day?” You quipped. But the weight of the situation bore down on you, leaving you feeling like you were nothing more than an option, something temporary. You were trying to join the banter just to survive, even though you were crumbling inside.

“Y/N it’s not that serious, the transfer window is always open” one boy laughed. All the boys laughed, not sensing the discomfort behind your smile. They couldn’t possibly know this information hurt you. They didn’t know everything that had happened behind closed doors.

“Yeah, it’s rolling. I was just curious because Trenty usually has his girl locked in by this point. Season’s started. You know a lucky lady to keep him… entertained,” Noah laughed, the others nodding in agreement. “She’s lucky… and convenient. He’s a busy man, after all.” He joked further. You felt the blood drain from your face, but you forced a smile. 

“Is it now? Wow… sounds really really good for you ” you sarcastically quipped. 

“Nah, lads relax… it’s not.” Trent tried to stop this. He could feel your tension even though it wasn’t showing on your composed face. Trent cut in, sensing the shift, his voice softening as he tried to redirect the conversation. His eyes flicked over you with a trace of panic and concern but most of all guilt. But the boys continued, chuckling about his past conquests, reeling off names as if recounting game stats. 

“Yeah remember the year you won the Champions league you were cooking with girls. Lol.  Michele, Keely, Taylor…” Noah added. It was a boys dinner and suddenly you realized that and they didn’t. Noah forgot about the obvious crush you had on Trent. Noah meant no harm but this was making you sick. The illusion of intimacy shattered in your mind, leaving raw insecurity and a sudden urge to escape. Trent sensed it, reaching for your hand under the table, a dangerous move but it was the only thing he could do, his touch gentle, but you pulled back, suddenly feeling exposed. Trying to keep your composure, you excused yourself and walked quickly to the bathroom. Your hands shook as you closed the door, the glossy, tiled walls offering little comfort. The hurt hit you all at once, and you sank onto the floor, your breath hitching as you tried to hold back tears, feeling crushed under the weight of it all. The thought that you’d been so easily slotted into a role in his life—temporary, interchangeable, convenient—cut deeper than you’d imagined. Had you let yourself believe you were different to him? That you mattered more?  In the solitude of the bathroom, the truth crashed over you in waves. It wasn’t just that he had been with other girls before—of course he had. But this casual talk, the way they all laughed as if his relationships were nothing more than placeholders, as if this ‘girl of the season’ title was just part of the cycle… it made you feel disposable. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hot tears blurring your vision. You felt naive, stupid even, for letting yourself fall for someone who’d apparently seen you as convenient. For thinking you were different. It felt foolish to imagine you could hold a place in his life that was anything more than temporary. In the cold, sterile quiet of the bathroom, you replayed every tender moment you’d shared with Trent, every laugh, every late-night conversation, every quiet touch that had felt so real. And now, it felt like it had all been a facade. How could you have been so naive?

After a few deep breaths, you pulled yourself together, standing up and dabbing at your eyes. You couldn’t hide out forever, no matter how much you wanted to. You checked your reflection, steeling yourself, and returned to the table, forcing a breezy smile as you slid back into your seat, a mask of indifference firmly in place. But as you settled in, Trent’s gaze caught yours, worry etched across his face. He’d seen the hurt lingering in your eyes, even as you tried to hide it. The question of whether he cared—whether he’d ever care as deeply as you did—hung between you, unspoken but heavy. And in that moment, you realized you didn’t want to be anyone’s ‘girl of the season.’ Not even his. Trent looked at you, his gaze intense, worry etched into his features. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t do anything and you loathed him for it. You averted your eyes, focusing instead on your drink, anything to avoid his gaze. Your heart was screaming that you weren’t. You’d wanted so badly for him to see you as more, for what you had together to mean something real. And now, you weren’t sure if it ever could. 

The night had unraveled faster than you could process, and the hurt simmered, sharp and bitter, as the dinner ended. You didn’t look at Trent once more the rest of the night, you completely ignored him. Trent’s presence had been an ache next to you that you ignored, refusing to look his way, refusing to acknowledge him as if somehow that might make the pain hurt less. You were barely holding it together when you all stood up to leave. The others filed out, laughing and talking, but you pulled Jack aside and asked if he could drive you to Layla’s instead. Jack chuckled, a teasing grin on his face. 

“Why did Trent even buy you that car if I’m always the one driving you around?” he teased, completely unaware of the turmoil swirling inside you. You forced a smile, ready to brush it off, but Trent stepped in, his voice firm.

“I’m heading that way, Y/N. Let me drop you at Lay’s,” he said. You snapped back a quick ‘No,’ trying to keep your tone dismissive, trying to make it sound like you just didn’t want to be a bother. But Jack insisted, scoffed teasingly,  rolling his eyes.

“Go with him, Y/N. I don’t want to drive across town,” he said, half-joking, his car keys dangling in his hand as he made a show of locking his car door to prevent you from climbing in. Frustration bubbled up, and you were close to tears, caught between trying to hold it together and wanting to break down. 

“Jack, please. Just drive me home then,” you whispered, your voice barely hiding the tremble. But after a bit more back and forth, with Jack being relentless and Trent silently waiting, the rest of the boys’ cars pulled out, Jack’s included, leaving you and Trent alone in the dark, quiet car park. The silence in the parking lot was thick, broken only by the distant sound of traffic and the soft hum of streetlights above. You stood there, feeling exposed, raw from the dinner that had stripped away your illusions. You wanted to hide, to be anywhere but here, but Trent’s gaze held you still. His eyes, so familiar and usually so gentle, were clouded with an intensity that made your chest ache.

“Come here,” he said quietly but sternly, his hand reaching out for you, his voice steady but soft. Trent was still, his face serious, any of the laughter from dinner completely gone.

“No,” you said sharply, pulling back. Your voice cracked, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep the tears at bay. “Just… don’t, Trent. Just leave me alone. I’m not going with you. I’ll call an uber.” You snipped. You wanted to shout, scream at him for everything you’d heard tonight and for the pain it had left you with, but you were too tired, too heartbroken to manage anything louder than a whisper. “Please leave me alone.” You whispered once more as the tears on your lash line finally tipped over.  You felt the tears streaming down now, the anger and hurt tumbling out as you cried, unable to contain it any longer. But he wasn’t giving up. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he said firmly, stepping closer, his voice firmer this time. “Do you know what year I won the Champions League?” His question made you flinch; the reminder of the stories his friends had told, of the girls they’d listed, was like salt in a wound. He was asking you to recall the very thing that hurt. He asked like the question mattered, like it would fix anything. You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice steady.

 “I don’t care, Trent,” you whimpered, wiping a hand across your tear-streaked face.You glared at him, your eyes blazing with hurt. And then a different emotion appeared in full force. “I don’t care, T. I don’t care about any of it,” you snapped, wiping angrily at the tears falling faster. But he wasn’t deterred. His jaw was set, his eyes locked on yours, determined to make you hear him.

“The year I won the Champions League,” he began slowly, voice low but steady, “was the year you had that serious boyfriend.” His words hung between you like a confession, and for a second, you forgot to breathe. For context, he wasn't referring to Josh. You remembered that year — the love you’d thought you had found with another boy, the trust that had shattered when you’d learned of his cheating. But why was Trent bringing it up now?  “I couldn’t stand it, Y/N,” he said, his voice softening, breaking just slightly. “I couldn’t stay home watching you be his. I needed… anything, anyone, to stop thinking about you with him. It hurt.” He explained but it wasn’t enough.

“Oh, am I supposed to feel bad for you, Trent? You needed a distraction while I was dating someone? He was cheating on me, okay?” The anger that had simmered in you suddenly flared up, burning bright.  “So poor you. I’m so sorry that you had to fill your fucking bed with so many girls. And mind you so many that you couldn’t even be asked to be there for me during one of the worst years of my life. Trent, he was cheating on me! And now… now I’m here again, wondering if I’m just another ‘distraction’ for you.” You choked, the tears coming faster now, the memories making the hurt sting even more. “He had other women, and you’re doing the same thing. I’m never enough, Trent! You all always need someone else. Something more than me” You yelled generalizing all men. You were lumping Trent with every other man.

“Baby… please.” He begged with a pet name that made you wince at the minute.  And while it wasn’t entirely correct what you were saying, there was truth in it. You took a step back, throwing your hands up, cutting him off. 

“No! This is exactly what it is, Trent. I am never enough. I give everything, and it’s never enough for you… for any of you!” The words came out in a yell, louder than you intended, and in that moment, you couldn’t stop the full on sobs, letting them spill over, hot and blinding as they streamed down your face.

“Y/N, it’s not like that,” he said gently, reaching out to you, but you stepped back, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the pain. He shook his head, his eyes pleading, as he stepped closer trying again.. 

“This isn’t right,” you said, voice hoarse from crying. Trent was silent, his face losing its color as he took in the weight of your words. “We need to stop. I can’t… I can’t do this to Jack. Lying to him when he’s given me everything, and I’m giving it all to you, and to you I’m just… nothing.” The words cracked, a final, painful admission, the weight of it all too heavy to bear. Trent’s face crumpled with remorse, his gaze full of guilt, and without a word, he stepped into you, and this time, when he reached for you, you didn’t resist. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him, and for a moment, you let yourself be held, resting your forehead against his chest as you breathed in his familiar scent amidst your tears. He was warm, solid, and despite everything, being in his arms felt safe. You fought him for a moment, weakly pushing against his chest, but he held on, his grip steady and strong, grounding you as you let the tears fall. Shame and guilt washed over him, silent and heavy, as he held you close, feeling the depth of what he’d let happen. And for a moment, the world fell away, the pain eased by the warmth of his arms, though neither of you could find words to fix it. 

“I know I don’t deserve you, but I promise… it’s not like that. It never has been with you. You’re not just another girl. I’ve waited so long, Y/N…”  He quietly whispered, voice thick with emotion as he gently stroked your back. “I should’ve done more to stop it, I just… I don’t know but I know I fucked up at dinner. I know I’m not doing enough but I also don’t know how to make this better, but I want to. I want this. I want you. And I swear, it’s not a game for me.” His fingers brushed through your hair, his voice a soothing murmur, and you let yourself lean into him, the weight of your pain easing slightly. But as he held you, another ache rose in your chest, heavier, more real. 

“It’s just… Jack is all I have, Trent,” you said, voice muffled against his chest. “You and Jack… you’re all I have left.” And the words tasted like truth, a bittersweet reminder of everything you’d lost, of the fragile balance you were trying so hard to keep. “I can’t do this.” You whimpered. “Not for something that isn’t even real to you.” You whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, a soft, tender gesture that made your heart clench. 

“I don’t want you to feel like…. like this isn’t real to me. If it’s even possible it’s so much more real than I ever thought possible and I’m sorry I’m shit at handling it.” His words hung in the cool night air, full of promise, and as he held you, the quiet between you was thick with things unsaid. You closed your eyes, letting yourself believe him for a moment, letting yourself hope that somehow, you wouldn’t have to choose, that somehow, you could keep them both. His arms were a steady warmth around you, and though the pain hadn’t faded completely, in this moment, it felt like maybe… just maybe… there was a way forward.

The car hummed softly beneath you as Trent pulled out of the parking space, his hand warm and steady around yours, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and bittersweet. The weight of the evening still sat heavily on your shoulders, the words exchanged at dinner echoing in your mind, each one pulling at the fragile threads of the trust you’d placed in him. But now, in this quiet moment, his hand was solid in yours, and that simple touch brought a calm you desperately needed. You shifted in your seat, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his shoulder against your cheek as you closed your eyes, letting the silence settle between you. He brushed his thumb softly over your knuckles, a small but constant reassurance that he was here, that he was with you. The faint streetlights casted a gentle glow over the car’s interior, illuminating his face in the soft shadows, and you felt yourself easing just slightly, even as your heart continued to ache.

“Do you think…. Erm, T…Do you think I could just go to your house tonight?” you whispered, barely audible stumbling to get to the ask out. “I’m really sad, and I don’t want to sleep alone.” Your voice wavered, thick with tears, and you sniffled, trying to steady yourself. He looked at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he took in the vulnerability you were offering, no walls, no defenses. It’s not that you didn’t want to see Layla. It was just that you knew if you told her what you heard tonight she’d have an opinion and it wasn’t that you didn’t value her thoughts, you just needed to get yours in order before you debriefed. Was Trent’s bed the best place to sort those? No, but you wanted his comfort, he’d always been your comfort. 

“Yeah, pretty girl,” he murmured, a tenderness in his eyes that was almost enough to make you believe everything could be okay. “You can come be with me tonight. You can sleep with me whenever you want, okay? My baby.” His words wrapped around you like a promise, one that felt as real as the warmth of his hand around yours, and you nodded, your head finding its way back to his shoulder. For a while, you just stayed like that, nestled into him as he drove, his thumb tracing soothing patterns over your hand resting on his thigh. The city lights blurred softly as he drove, casting gentle reflections against the car windows, and you let yourself sink into the quiet comfort of his presence, each moment a balm to the ache in your heart.

When you reached his house, he parked and didn’t let go of your hand as you both made your way inside, guiding you gently through the door, his touch never wavering. Once inside, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, holding you like he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time all night, you felt yourself relax, the weight of the world slipping just a little as he held you. 

He guided you to his bedroom and suddenly a big smile pulled on his face. Tiredly you asked him why he was smiling like that. You weren’t in the mood and really weren’t in the mood for any cheek. But that gorgeous cheeky smile all made sense once you were stood in Trent’s ensuite, holding a brand new pink Goyard wash bag in your hands. Despite everything weighing on your mind, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. You traced the soft pink leather with your fingers, glancing back at him with a puzzled smile as he came into the room, his own grin lighting up his face.

“T… what is this?” you asked, holding it up. He chuckled, stepping closer.

“It’s the same one I have, because, obviously, it’s the best one,” he explained, “mine’s white but I got it for you in pink so it’s like a Mr. and Mrs. thing, you know?” The sincerity in his voice melted something inside you. You turned and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

“Go on, open it though,” he urged gently, nodding toward the wash bag, his eyes bright with anticipation. You hadn’t even realized the weight of it, realizing that clearly there were things inside of it as well. You raised a brow, a little surprised—did he really go beyond the bag itself? Unzipping it, you peeked inside and felt an instant laugh bubbling up as you took in all the familiar beauty products you’d mentioned to him the other night, each one carefully packed. You looked up at him in disbelief, a smile stretching across your face as he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “I actually had to ask my mum to come with me,” he confessed, laughing as he watched your expression. “Didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in the beauty section.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought, picturing him awkwardly shuffling through the aisles, trying to get it all right. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, shaking your head with affection. Trent pulled you closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he looked down at you, his voice softer now. 

“You’re my only girl, alright? You know you always have been. I’m sorry that I did things that made it seem like you weren’t. I’m sorry it took me so long to show you that…Only girl I’d ever pay that kind of money for ounces of cream for.” He laughed, clearly mocking the price tag on your La Mer moisturizer. “But for you… anything.” And with that, the tears you’d been trying so hard to hold back started spilling over. You wiped at them with the back of your hand, giggling through your sniffles, embarrassed but touched beyond words.

“Stop, baby!” he laughed, reaching up to gently swipe a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “Please no more tears. I hate when you cry so, so much,” he whispered, pulling you close again.

“Sorry,” you murmured, a soft giggle slipping out as you looked up at him. You stood on your tiptoes, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, feeling the warmth and safety of him radiate through you. Trent brushed his nose against yours, his hand cradling your cheek as he whispered, 

“I’ve got you, pretty girl. Always.” And for the first time in a while, you felt your heart settle, the ache easing just a little as you held onto him, feeling the promise of his words wrap around you.

You crawled into Trent’s bed, pulling back the covers, and let out a surprised laugh when you saw the smooth, cool silk pillowcases he’d swapped in just for you. Trent stood nearby, watching your reaction with a smirk, his hands on his hips.

“See?” he teased, puffing up a little as if he’d won a major victory. “Got the silk pillowcases and everything. I’m in, baby.” He cooed proudly. This act so clearly showed he was making an effort. You couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the gesture, a warmth spreading across your chest. 

“You actually do the most,” you said, shaking your head, but the grin on your face gave you away. The fact that he’d followed through with something so small, something that made you feel comforted and at home, touched you deeply. He moved closer, and you reached out, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent—a mix of his cologne and the lingering warmth of the day. He wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you like he never wanted to let go. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible. You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Thank you for liking me… for doing all of this.” His eyes softened, and he gazed at you with such tenderness that it made your throat tighten. 

“Always,” he murmured. He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, then kissed your forehead. The touch was gentle, lingering, as if he wanted to press his feelings directly into your skin. You both climbed into bed, and as you got comfortable, you found yourself settling halfway on top of him, your back resting against his side, your legs tangled with his. His hand found its way to your collarbone, tracing light, lazy patterns that sent shivers down your spine. His touch was calming, grounding you in a way that made you feel safer than you had in a long time. In the dim light, with only the moon casting soft shadows across the room, you found the courage to ask something that had been weighing on your mind. 

“T... Do you think…” you started, your voice hesitant, “we’ll ever be able to really go out together? Like, just… be out in the open?” You asked. The vulnerability in your voice made Trent pause. He turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression earnest. A gentle smile pulled at his lips. 

“Yeah, course if you want that,” he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. His fingers paused in their gentle tracing, and he shifted slightly to look at you more directly. “I mean… things have been good between us I thought but I also didn’t know you wanted that. For us to like go on a date or anything. I wasn’t sure if you liked the secrecy. I don’t know what you thought.” He explained to you sheepishly. Clearly things worked well between you in the bedroom and while you had no problem discussing that, it was also so glaringly obvious there was more to this relationship than just the sex… you just hadn’t said it yet. You bit your lip, feeling both shy and exposed. 

“I do,” you admitted. “I mean, I know it’s complicated, but… I just want to be with you.” He smiled again, this time with a deeper, knowing affection. 

“I want that too. I really do,” he told you. “I just didn’t know how serious you wanted this to be. But if you want it… then I’m in. Silk pillow cases, dates, whatever you want.” His words made your heart flutter, and for a moment, the world felt a little brighter. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but this time they were happy ones. You didn’t say anything more, afraid that if you spoke, you might start crying for real. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his jaw, your lips lingering as you tried to show him everything you couldn’t put into words. That night, there was no urgency between you, no rush to tear each other’s clothes off or tumble into anything wild. Instead, there was a softness that blanketed the room, a shared vulnerability that felt like a bridge between your hearts. You both exchanged gentle, lingering kisses that were more about comfort and closeness than anything else, the tender brush of lips and shared warmth easing the hurt from earlier. As you settled into the soft sheets, the familiar comfort of his bed easing the ache in your chest. His hands gentle as they traced soothing patterns over your back. You curled into him, your legs tangling with his, seeking out every ounce of warmth and comfort he could offer. As you laid there, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.  “I want you.”  He murmured softly. “And only you. Always have.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart squeeze, and you found yourself finally breathing a little easier. And as you drifted to sleep, his arms wrapped securely around you, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could allow yourself to believe in him, in this, in a future where he was more than just a fleeting presence in your life. You squeezed his hand once more, a silent promise to yourself that tonight, at least, you could find peace in his arms. When you finally drifted off, you did so with your head on his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, your cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your face was relaxed, your pouty bottom lip just barely brushing his skin. Trent lay there, his hand stroking your back in gentle circles, the other cradling the back of your head. He pressed soft kisses to your hairline, whispering to you even though you were already half-asleep. He stayed awake longer, watching the soft, peaceful expression on your face as you dreamed. Guilt twisted in his chest as he thought about how hurt you’d been earlier, how you’d tried to hide it but couldn’t quite keep the pain from seeping through. He wished he could take it all back, erase the moments that made you doubt him. The memory of your stricken face during dinner haunted him, and he knew he had to make it right. His mind began to work on a plan, a way to take you out on a real date, one that wouldn’t be about sneaking around or hiding. He wanted to show you off, to be open about how much you meant to him. He imagined a perfect night, one that would make you smile so brightly that he could forget the hurt he’d caused. As he held you, his chest tightening with how much he cared for you, he promised himself he’d make it happen. You were his only girl, always had been, and he was determined to show you that in every way possible. Even if he couldn’t fix the past, he’d make sure the future was full of moments where you never had to doubt what you meant to him.

After that dinner, things settled back into something you could only describe as uneasy but fine. You still were living this double life, lying to Jack. Keeping the extent of your new life beyond the first fuck from Layla. On the inside of houses, the confines of bedrooms, everything felt perfect; the chemistry with Trent was undeniable, and whenever you were together, it felt like the two of you were building something real. But the moment he left, that foundation started to shake. Alone, doubts crept in, the taunting whispers of insecurity that left you questioning every detail. The laughs and comments from the dinner echoing in your mind. Was this how he made every ‘girl of the season’ feel? Were they all secrets he kept? His history loomed over him. It made you wonder, was this just the same story with you? Only now, Jack's little sister had the lead role, the fact making you feel more self conscious of how he viewed you.  

Layla's constant questions, innocent but probing, made it worse. She didn't know the real extent of what was going on, only that something had happened. She knew you fucked but after that… you kept your lips sealed. Saying you weren't sure either, which was a half truth... you didn't but you also were omitting the fact that you were spending night's together. And while you wanted to confide in her, every part of you held back, afraid of exposing too much-afraid it would all unravel the moment it wasn't hidden. More people couldn’t know, it was too risky. The secrecy felt safe but also confining, and your chest ached every time you thought of it. The double life weighed on you more than you'd ever let on to Trent. And yet, when he messaged you during his away game, that familiar excitement flared up, and you felt that ache turn into something else, a want to remind him of you, make him feel how much chemistry you two had. For the moment you were hidden but after the dinner, after his promises you wanted to make sure he was certain. He texted asking to call you. You were nervous to agree but who wouldn’t want to facetime Trent Alexander-Arnold in bed. You weren’t sure how to act at first but then you decided– You wanted to make it clear you wanted him. You wanted to make him want you. Apprehensive but determined, you sifted through your wardrobe quickly, finding the boldest, most daring piece of sleepwear you owned. It was underwear disguised as something casual. You finally sat in front of the camera, as his call pinged through your phone. You answered, and immediately his jaw dropped. 

"Oh my fucking days," he murmured, his voice low, a mixture of shock and hunger flashing in his eyes. The look he gave you sent a thrill through your entire body.

"Hi," you cooed, feigning innocence as you adjusted your posture slightly, giving him an even better view. A small, mischievous smile tugged at your lips. You wanted this to be memorable. Trent leaned closer to the screen, shaking his head with disbelief and lust flaring behind his eyes.

"You look unreal. Fucking hell," he said, his gaze tracing every curve as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. You felt a rush of power, the distance fading as he soaked up every detail of your look. But it wasn’t just the look, it was everything; the clearly recently lotioned skin, the faux innocence, the vibes were just everything Trent would want. 

"I just want to make sure you don’t think of me only as Jack's sister." You met his eyes, holding his gaze as you whispered. The words hung in the air, a truth you'd wanted to tell him for a while figuring now while you had his attention would work.

"Trust me, he's the last thing I'm thinking about right now," Trent chuckled, still in awe, his eyes glued to you.

"I hope you’re not thinking about other girls while you’re away," you murmured almost as a test but simultaneously a tease running a hand slowly along your raised collarbone over to your shoulder, playing with the delicate strap of your bra as his breath visibly caught.

"Trust me, they're the last thing I'm thinking about," he repeated, his tone shifting, voice raw. “I don’t know who you’re even talking about, baby.” You could see it in his eyes-there was no one else he wanted right now. And that single, unspoken promise was all you needed to feel. “I don’t want any of that. You know that.I want you. Don’t play me, baby.” He smirked, his voice dropping, filled with a frustrated need that made your pulse quicken.

“I’m not playing.” You stretched out languidly, letting your voice drop to a purr. “Just thought you might like a little reminder of what’s back at home for you.” You told him. 

“Trust me, I don’t need one.” His voice softened, a hint of a smile in it now. “You’re all I think about. So don’t tease me like this. Oh my days, Y/N…” His eyes lit even more as the bra top was practically falling off. 

“Yeah?” you asked, feigning a nonchalant surprise. You could almost feel the tension through the phone. As you toyed with Trent, pulling down the thin strap of your bra, his breath hitched. The teasing, the slow build—it was intoxicating, leaving him hanging on every move you made. He was completely fixated as you gradually peeled away each item of clothing, your body on full display, leaning back against your bed, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smile. His reaction was instant, a low groan escaping him.

"Oh my god," he breathed, raking a hand over his curls, unable to tear his eyes away. Just as you began to lower the phone whilst opening your legs. A shiver ran through you. Feeling bolder than ever with what you were about to do. 

"Hold on-my phone's about to d-” You glanced away from the camera, then, without warning, hung up, pretending the call had dropped. Your phone dead. The silence that followed was deafening on his end. For a moment, Trent just blinked, waiting for you to reappear, only to realize you weren't coming back. It dawned on him that you'd left him high and dry, and he almost laughed in disbelief but the strain in his jogger was excruciating. This wasn’t funny at all. Not to him. It wasn’t long before the messages began flooding your phone, his name lighting up your screen as he called again and again.

Trent was spinning out. He couldn’t believe that just happened. You settled back against the pillows, heart pounding as you watched the texts roll in. Your phone buzzed—one, two, three times in a row again and again. 

But then you turned it off though to play the part. Still, you laid there opting to grab your laptop  staring at his messages flood in with a smile. This felt good. It was so easy to believe him when you were together, to let yourself feel like the only girl on his mind. But alone, doubts crept in, filling the space he left behind. Still, you couldn’t deny the thrill of making him wait for once. He called but your phone was off or ‘dead’ in his mind. He prayed you’d fucking charge it now. He was desperate for you and only you. He was almost embarrassed he had called and texted so many times but he wanted you so badly but as time ticked on he knew this was not an accident, this was chess, Begrudgingly he took matters into his own hands literally.  Hours later, you finally responded to his barrage of messages, typing with a grin tugging at your lips. You had left him out to dry and you kind of loved the power switch.

You wrote, knowing very well he was the culprit who'd taken your charger in an effort to hide things from Jack the other day. Your message was cheeky and taunting, almost blaming him for why he didn't get to have the call continue. Really just hammering home that you knew what you were doing. You could practically feel his frustration through the screen as he replied, a flurry of texts that only made you smirk, still desperate for you. His handiwork would never match what you offered.. You had him exactly where you wanted him, and something told you he wouldn't let you get away with this so easily and you couldn't’ wait.

The anticipation had been building for a whole day after the call, ever since Trent's away game ended. You knew he'd be coming back to you straight away. You had teased him mercilessly during that facetime, flaunting your body and hinting at all the naughty things he could do to you when he returned. But then your phone died or you could also say well… you just hung up. His desperate pleas over texts only fueled your excitement, and you couldn't wait to have him back in your arms, and beneath you or under you. You didn’t care. Jack was out and you were in… and in and just in a tiny tank top and panties. As soon as Trent walked through the door, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with a mixture of desire and frustration. He strode purposefully towards your bedroom, just moving straight past you and straight to the point,  his broad shoulders exuding confidence and determination. You followed, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. It was like he came in and didn’t need to say a thing because you knew he was frustrated. Not actually, just sexually and you liked it the build up. You had to fight back a giggle as you came into your room after him, plopping yourself on the bed. 

"Baby," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly as he stood in your room. You couldn’t read the inflection. It almost sounded like he was disappointed? Was he actually mad? Momentarily you were nervous but he looked so god damn sexy like this, hungry almost, you wanted to keep up your game just to see what would happen. You were lying on the bed, your hair cascading over the pillows, a seductive smile playing on your lips.

"Did you miss me?" you teased, propping yourself up on your elbows, your tits straining against the thin fabric of your tank top. Trent's eyes darkened at the sight, his gaze flicking between your face and your exposed cleavage. "I'm tired, I won’t lie" you continued, feigning innocence. "You must be too from the flight. Maybe we can just catch up on some sleep tonight.” You knew you were being a tease, and the thought of driving him wild excited you even more. 

Then there was a shift in the room. He came over to you, his hand picked up your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“You’re not tired.” Trent growled, a low sound that sent shivers down your spine. He told you very matter of fact. "You've been so naughty, baby…teasing me like that," he said, his voice laced with a possessive edge. "You know how much I thought about you dressed like that in this bed alone in my hotel." A rush of heat flooded your cheeks as you realized the extent of your power over him. You'd left him with a constant ache, his cock throbbing and heavy with desire. But the shift in power was singly like a pendulum. Now back to you. 

"I know, baby," you cooed, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "But you like it when I'm a bad girl, don't you?" Trent's eyes blazed with passion as he grabbed your hand, pressing a heated kiss to your palm. 

"No, baby… I like when you’re a good girl f’me. And you've been a very bad girl, and I'm not having that," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re gonna be a good girl now. Right now. And I’m gonna take what's mine.” He said ferociously but steadily calm as he climbed onto the bed, straddling your waist, his hard muscles pressing into your soft curves. You gasped as his weight settled on you, his erection straining against his trousers, pressing into your core through the thin fabric of your panties. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing and kneading your tits through your top, causing your nipples to pebble in response. "You like being my good girl though, don't you, baby?" he growled, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You like it when I touch you, when I take what I want." You arched into his touch, your breath coming in short gasps. 

"Yeah huh, T," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. Your resolve crumbling, the game falling to pieces instantly.

“I know you do. And right now I want you.but you didn’t seem to want me…” he taunted, still teasing you. “ So beg.” He commanded.

 "I need you please. Please T… I’m sorry.” You whined. The tides turned so fast. The power dynamic has returned to where it was before. With a growl, he tore your top off, baring your tits to his hungry gaze. His mouth claimed one taut peak, sucking and nibbling, while his hand cupped the other, rolling and tugging gently. Your back arched off the bed further, offering yourself to him, your hands threading through his hair, urging him on.

"See? Such a good girl," he murmured between kisses, his hands now exploring your body, sliding down your stomach, tracing the waistband of your panties. "But….” He began and your heart skipped a beat. What did you get yourself into? “Can’t be acting like that. You've been so bad, baby. You’re not doing all that with me. I’m in charge, hmm?” He hummed. You whimpered as he hooked his fingers under the elastic, slowly sliding your panties down your thighs, exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. His eyes devoured you, taking in every detail of your swollen lips and the dampness between your thighs. "So wet for me. You like this, don’t you? Me in charge of you. In control." he growled, his voice thick with desire. You nodded. He was 1000% correct. You weren’t sure you’d ever been more turned on in your life. "You’re gonna take my cock now.” He shifted, positioning himself between your thighs, his cock straining against his trousers. With one swift motion, he ripped at the button and zipper, freeing his thick length. You moaned at the sight, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

"Please, baby. I want your cock. I’m so sorry," you begged, your voice breathless. "I need you inside me." He didn't make you wait long. You thought he’d draw out the teasing but neither of you could wait any longer. With one powerful thrust, he filled you, stretching and claiming you in one stroke. You cried out, your body welcoming him, your walls gripping and milking his length.the stretch was deliciously painful. You were so tight from minimal prep but god you were wet he just slid in.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as he began to move, his hips snapping forward, driving into you with fierce possessiveness. It was clear immediately this was going to be a rough fuck. "You're mine, baby. All mine." You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own, your bodies moving in perfect rhythm. His hands gripped your hips, leaving marks on your skin as he pounded into you, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every stroke.

"You like it rough, don't you, baby?" he panted, his breath hot against your neck as he nibbled and sucked on the sensitive skin. "You want me to fuck you hard?" He asked with a smirk you could feel. “Gonna have you begging for more of me.” 

"Yes, please," you whimpered, your head thrown back, your body on fire. "I want it all. I want you to take me, own me." You’d never acted so submissive in your life. This was like an alternative universe only he could create. Trent obliged to your pleas eagerly, his movements becoming more primal, more demanding. Trent kept one hand on your hip guiding your movements but brought his other up your body, his hand wrapping around your neck, eyes pinned to yours. You gasped feeling his tip smashing against your cervix and orgasm barrelling towards you. But then he surprised you by letting go of your neck, slowing his pace ever so much so that the coil loosened in your stomach, the climax retreating momentarily. He was playing games with you. “You wanted to play with me, baby the other day? I’ll play with you.”  He taunted. He moved his hand off your neck and up to cup your cheek. Then swiftly he dragged his thumb across your lips. He slipped it into your mouth with ease as he pulled your mouth open by your bottom lip. He spit his saliva into your mouth and you swallowed diligently with a moan before he pushed his thumb all the way back in for you to suck on it like you would his cock. He groaned when your eyes began to flutter closed with a whine, simultaneously swirling your tongue around his finger. 

“Such a good girl f’me.” he gripped your chin looking longingly into your eyes. He loved everything about this. Being in control of you. You letting him control you. You wanting him to control you. He tucked his face in the nape of your neck. He nibbled on your sensitive skin. His hair tickling you. Hoarse grunts escaping him as you soaked him. He hit that spot deep inside you, only he knew.  All you could think about was the way he hit that spot again and again, continuously. He felt so good when he dropped his hand between you to rubbing your throbbing clit. He knew how to make you cum and he was going to do it well but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let you. So he pulled out and  flipped you onto your stomach, throwing you around like a rag doll, positioning you on all fours, your ass raised high in the air, your back arched to perfection, presenting yourself to him. With a possessive growl, he smacked your ass, leaving a stinging imprint of his hand. "Why’d you have to act like such a naughty fucking girl, baby?" he whispered, his hot breath caressing your sensitive skin. But instead of a whine, you moaned in pleasure. You liked when he slapped your ass. "You like it when I punish you, don't you?" He smirked, mildly surprised that you were this down for him to have this much control. Obviously you knew each other well but in the bedroom you were still finding things out. 

"Yes," you moaned, your voice hoarse as you pushed back against him, inviting more because you knew more were coming. Trent’s hand rained down on your ass, slap after slap, again and again, leaving a symphony of slaps and marks that would remind you of his dominance. Finally once he felt it was sufficient he let a line of his spit fall onto your ass. He watched it run  down over your ass and into the folds of your pussy. His hands caressed the fat of your ass. 

"You've been a bad girl, teasing me," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Just gotta fuck it out of you now, yeah? Make you my good girl again." He cooed as he positioned himself behind you and began to tease you, dragging his leaking tip across the smooth skin of your ass before slipping it between your folds teasing your entrance. He slowly pushed his cock into your pussy without another word. You were completely drenched. You could feel yourself coat his length in your slick again and again as he drilled in and out of you. The recoil of your ass from his hard thrusts had Trent in pure heaven. God, it must’ve been a good 30 minutes of him just blowing your back out. 

"Oh, fuck!" you exclaimed, your hands gripping the sheets as he pounded into you, his hips slapping against your ass, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. “I’m gonna c-.”  you cried out, your body trembling.

“No!” He commanded and you whined as he pulled out, halting it all. “You’re gonna keep taking my cock.” He told you as he slid back in and so you did. You kept taking him  “That's it, baby," he grunted, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you with abandon. "Take it, take all of me." You cried out as he slammed into you, his cock hitting your G-spot with every stroke, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your orgasm building, coiling tight in your core, every inch of your body alive with sensation.“ You’re mine, baby. Understand?” He said it was a seriousness and a harshness that made goosebumps arise on your skin. 

"I can’t… oh my fucking god. I'm gonna cum, T," you panted, your nails digging into the sheets as you fought for release. "I’m gonna cum, fuck– please." You whined. You moaned as your vision began to blur a little from how good it all felt.

"Not yet, baby," he growled, his voice rough. "You’re gonna keep taking me because I said so. You asked for this. I want you to feel me, feel every inch of me." He reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing and pinching the sensitive bud as he continued to pound into you. Your moans filled the room, a mixture of pleasure and desperation.

"Please, T, oh my god," you begged, your body on the brink. "I need to cum. Please."

"Not until I say so," he commanded, his voice harsh. "You don't get to come until I'm ready to fill you up with my cum." His words sent a shockwave of desire through you, and you surrendered to his control, your body his to command. “You continued throwing your ass back as he fucked you relentlessly, his cock driving into your pussy with brutal force, his fingers working your clit with expert precision. "That's it, baby, let me see how much you want it," he grunted, his breath hot against your neck. "You're mine, every inch of you. I own this pussy. I get to decide when you cum.” After a few more strokes, that were gradually getting rougher you heard it, the command you’d be aching for. “Cum f’me baby. Cum now.” His words pushed you over the edge, and you exploded around him, your pussy clenching and milking his cock as you cried out his name. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, alright? Doing so good, baby.” He grunted as his thrusts became messy and unregulated before he came inside of you, filling you up to the brim.  his cock twitching and pulsing as he filled you with his hot release. You collapsed onto the bed, your body spent and satisfied. He gently pulled out of you but was quick to push his two fingers along with his leaking cum back inside you for a few moments longer. "You wanna cum again f’me, pretty girl?" He cooed.

“Oh fuck- oh my god.” You whined, body gone almost limp but craving more insatiably. His fingers easily sliding in and out of your pussy, finding that magical spot deep inside. He rubbed and pressed your clit as his fingers curled deeper from behind. You cried out, your body exploding in another mind-blowing orgasm. Trent smugly and quietly laughed not at you but just happy you were feeling so good. As your bodies calmed, Trent's softer side emerged as he gently rolled you onto your back, his eyes filled with love and adoration before he collapsed onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. He kissed you tenderly, his hands stroking your hair, his touch now gentle and caring. He held you close, his strong arms offering comfort and protection. You could feel his heart pounding against you, and his breath was warm on your skin.

"My good girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Did so good f’me. You okay?”   You smiled, your heart full as you snuggled into his embrace, content in the afterglow of your passionate encounter. 

"I love being your good girl, T," you murmured, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. 

"You were more than that, baby. Honestly, that was fucking unreal," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I love making you feel good." You snuggled closer, your body still buzzing with pleasure. 

"That’s good because you make me feel amazing.” you tiredly giggled. “But…I do really like when you take control, baby," you confessed, your voice soft and sated. "It makes me feel so fucking… I don’t know wanted or something. I like knowing you want me like that.” You poorly explained in your post orgasmic haze. He chuckled, the sound low and warm. 

"I do want you, more than you know. And I promise, I'll always take care of you…. Especially after wanting you like that." He smirked. He gently caressed your hair, his touch tender and loving. "Let's clean you up, my pretty girl," he said, his voice filled with affection. He helped you into the shower, the warm water washing away the remnants of your passionate encounter. Trent's hands were gentle as he soaped your body, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through your tired limbs. You leaned into him, your body still limp from the intensity of your orgasms, but he held you close, his strong arms offering relentless support. There was a physical and emotional feeling of warmth with him. He just wanted to wrap around you and keep you with him all the time. He was completely consumed by the thought. Seeing you so fragile after sex just sent a feeling alight inside he didn’t quite no how to label. 

"You're so good to me, T," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. He’d always taken care of you but now it was different… so different, so intimate and you both were recognizing it. He kissed the top of your head, his lips soft against your hair. 

"I will always take care of you, baby. I always have, I always will." He cooed as the water washed away the sweat and passion of your lovemaking, Trent's gentle care and adoration filled the void, leaving you feeling cherished and adored. You knew in that moment that this was more than just physical attraction. It was a deep, profound connection, but one you craved beyond the boundaries of the bedroom. 

That next morning was a slow, honeyed glow, filtering through the curtains and casting a soft light over the room. The world felt paused, as if the universe had frozen to let you both linger in this quiet perfection a little longer. The warmth of Trent’s skin was the only anchor you needed, the steady beat of his heart a lullaby against your cheek as you lay entwined, tangled together under the weight of the blankets and something far deeper. He shifted slightly, his body moving with that half-conscious care to keep you close, and you felt his breath stir your hair, a sigh caught somewhere between sleep and waking. As he moved, you instinctively tightened your hold, pressing yourself closer, unwilling to let him slip even an inch away. 

“MmNmm,” you murmured, a soft, sleepy protest as you shook your head against his chest, feeling the rumble of his chuckle in response.

“Nah, course not,” he laughed at you, his voice still heavy with sleep, But he was only teasing, he was loving that you didn’t want him to move. He lent down, pressing his lips to the top of your head in a lingering kiss, his breath warm against your hair. His hand drifted down your back, tracing gentle patterns, like he was memorizing every inch of you. “My pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice a tender whisper, more to himself than to you, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. The sound of his words washed over you, filling you with a warmth that went beyond the touch of his skin. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he gazed down at you, his expression so soft and open, filled with a quiet awe that made your heart ache. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face with a gentle hand, his fingers lingering, tracing the curve of your cheek as if you were something precious, something fragile. “Nah you’re actually so gorgeous, baby,” he cooed, a little smile playing on his lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. He studied you, his eyes tracing every detail of your face as if he were afraid he’d wake up and find this had all been a dream. His other hand slipped around your waist, pulling you even closer, holding you like he’d never let you go.  You couldn’t help but sleepily smile, your own hands finding their way to his, fingers lacing together as you pulled his arm around you, tucking yourself against him. “Can’t believe I finally have you with me,” he whispered, almost like he was speaking to himself, his voice tinged with wonder and something deeper, something vulnerable. You didn’t need to say anything; words felt unnecessary in the soft, stolen space between you. Instead, you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your lips, letting the silence say everything that you couldn’t. 

“You feel like a dream sometimes.” After a while, you finally spoke up when something other than sheer bliss came into your head. His arms tightened around you, his thumb gently stroking your side, sending a shiver through you that made you feel acutely, blissfully alive. He tilted your chin up, his lips meeting yours in a soft, unhurried kiss, so full of affection it left you breathless. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand cupping your face as he held you there, his gaze deep and intent. 

“You’ve been my dream,” he murmured softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek. You felt his fingers run through your hair, tucking it behind your ear with the same careful attention, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to trace slow circles on your back. He rested his forehead against yours, his breathing soft and steady, and for a moment, you both stayed there, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. The morning stretched on, time losing meaning as you lay there, cocooned in each other’s arms. The world outside could wait; for now, all that mattered was the quiet perfection of this moment, of being held, of being seen, of feeling his heart beat in time with yours. It was a feeling you wanted to hold on to forever, a softness that seemed to live only in the rare, untouched hours of early morning.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 8 - Caught in The Kitchen, Hidden in The Bathroom xx

[ordowrites]

Can I request something Diluc x wife/husband reader scenario?? Pretty please. Domestic routine at the end of the day (cuddling and kissing)👉🏻👈🏻🥺

hello! certainly. i love myself some fluff!

cw: established relationship, gn!reader, domesticity, fluff, mdni, minors dni, blank and empty blogs dni, flirting, mild insinuations, domesticity as intimacy.

He is so pretty, you think as you watch him move about the room, his muscles taught and stretching as he slowly strips out of his day clothes, every inch of his skin revealed to you like a gift unwrapped every single night. Of course, you don't tell him this out loud because he will fluster and get a bit shy, clearing his throat and push the compliment right back at you without even a second thought.

You think it's cute that he gets shy when he's compliment, it's a far cry from the man he presents himself to be.

"Want me to brush your hair before you go to bed?" You ask from where you sit on the bed, book in your lap and candlelight flickering on your skin.

The groan he releases as he stretches makes you bite your lower lip a bit. This man.

Diluc grabs the brush from the vanity, you meet his eyes within the reflection as he picks it up and strides back towards you. You both know that he can certainly do his own hair, but it's something you've come to love doing, morning and night, because of how soft and thick his hair is, how he seems to relax and let down his guard.

And it also allows you to admire his muscles and scars up close.

When he quietly presents the brush to you, he sits down and you maneuver so you're sitting behind him, on the edge of the bed and slowly start to run the brush through his hair. It's a quiet affair, one that feels so deeply intimate yet not quite. Despite how in love the two of you are, it had taken him quite a long time to get used to you touching him.

Once you're done with that, you run his fingers through the soft strands, massaging his scalp, working it into a braid for the night. The whole thing takes longer than it should, but he doesn't say anything and you don't quite want to stop. Afterwards, he climbs into bed next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pulls you close and presses his lips against yours.

One kiss to your lips and more follow, along your cheeks, forehead, and a few bites down your neck. Of course, you're not one to only just take and take, you kiss back. Gently, gingerly, sweetly - you tease sometimes.

Beneath his shell, you have learned, is a man starved for affection and attention. And you're happy to give all those things and more to him.

"Good night, my love." He breathes against your ear, breath hot and tickling.

"Good night, Diluc."

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 14

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

Buy me a coffee

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Noah pushed in slowly. That was always his favorite part: that slow first push, the quiet gasp she makes at the initial stretch… It was almost as good as coming. 

Fuck, she was so wet. She gushed around him, hot and slick around his throbbing cock. 

He groaned against her neck, snaking his hand up her shirt and squeezing the soft flesh, thumbing over her perky nipple. She threw her head back as he thrust into her again, exposing her neck for him to lathe his tongue across. It was hot, and slick, and he slid in and out of her over and over again. 

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“What the—ow!” 

You were still half-asleep when your elbow crashed into the coffee table, but you woke up just fast enough to catch yourself before your head followed suit. 

Adrenaline coursed through your veins. You struggled to catch your breath. Searching around for what had sent you tumbling off the couch so early in the morning, you caught a glimpse of Noah’s tall silhouette disappearing around the corner. A few seconds later, you heard the latch to the bathroom door close softly. 

Your elbow throbbed, and you pushed up the sleeve to see the damage. Already, an angry red lump had begun to form. 

What the hell had happened? 

You’d been having a good dream, though you couldn’t remember what it was about. Just that you were warm—a stark contrast to the unexpected chill that slowly started to register now that the spindly fingers of sleep had begun to release you from their clutches. 

You exhaled slowly, noticing a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before. 

What were you dreaming about? 

Noah was there, you were fairly certain. The two of you were pressed up close to one another, him behind you, and…

…oh shit.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes growing wide. 

That was real. 

Everything froze as your brain began to fill in the holes of your memory. 

You and Noah had fallen asleep on the couch together, and you were sure you’d gravitated towards each other in your sleep. Beyond that, and this may or may not have been real, but you thought you felt movement. 

Your skin tingled with its own memory—one your brain couldn’t yet latch onto. The back of your neck, your right breast, all along your back, your ass…they thrummed with the knowledge that Noah had been there. You could almost hear him groaning softly in your ear as he moved against you. Your neck understood what it felt like to have him sighing, open-mouthed, against it, and down in between your legs, you were damper than you’d ever been. 

It was too much. 

Flopping back onto the couch, you stared at the faint outlines of smoke stains that decorated the corners of the stucco ceiling. 

Noah must have woken up and abruptly realized he’d been dry-humping you in his sleep. That’s probably what had sent you tumbling into the coffee table, him getting up in such a hurry.  

You rolled over to face the back of the sofa. 

It was so nice. You didn’t even need to be cognitively present for it to know that it had been nice. You let your eyes drift shut, allowing your body to sink into the memory of him behind you, arm wrapped around and clutching at your chest. Noah, firm and hot against your lower back, grinding himself into you. 

You reached down to cup your sex over your clothes. Not much—just enough to relieve some of the tension. 

You must have fallen into a micro-sleep because the next thing you know, you woke up to the sound of Noah clearing his throat. You blinked your eyes open to see him standing awkwardly at the far end of the couch. He shifted from foot to foot, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Sorry about that,” he said. The words were awkward as they tumbled past his lips. “I, uh, had to go to the bathroom.”

“It’s okay,” you said, pretending you had no idea what had happened. 

“Power’s out,” he continued. “We should probably get you back to your dorm.” 

You sighed, not wanting your time with him to be over quite so soon. The last time you and Noah had been sexual, he’d disappeared immediately after. You wondered if it was a pattern of his, whether or not he would get in his head, decide your presence in his life was too much trouble, and ghost again. 

Part of you was already preparing yourself emotionally for that. 

“What time is it?” you asked. 

“Almost nine.” He crossed the room to open the blinds and let the sun in, flooding the dark room with light. “Jesus,” he muttered, scanning the scene outside. 

You sat up, craning your neck to see what had drawn that reaction out of him, but didn’t have to wait long. 

Overnight, the snow had collected in droves, piled so high you could barely make out the cityscape underneath it. The road out front showed evidence that salt trucks and plows had already begun working, but that just meant that the snow had been pushed to the side in large piles, blocking sidewalks and driveways. In the yard, the landscaping had been blanketed over, sharp edges reduced to vague white shapes that were your only clues that beneath the ice, you may find where the sidewalk stops and the steps to the porch begin. 

“Looks like the power’s out all over this side of town,” said Noah. You looked over to find him thumbing over his phone screen. “And my shift got canceled.” 

“Yikes,” you said. “Phones are still working, though?”  

He nodded, striding across the room to check outside the front windows. 

You fumbled around in your bag for your phone, opening it to see a text from your parents asking you about the storm, as well as a notification from the university. 

“Power’s out at the university too,” you said. “Generators are down. It says a temporary shelter is being provided at the fire hall just off campus.” 

Noah disappeared down the hall, coming back with a bundle of garments in his arms. He dropped them on the floor, then picked out a black hoodie from the pile and threw it on before looking at you. 

“Get your coat on.” 

You stared at him blankly, then out to the window, and then back to him. “Noah, there’s no way I can make it to the fire hall in this,” you said. “The sidewalks aren’t even passable.” 

“I know,” he said, throwing on some sweatpants over his basketball shorts and tying a knot in the drawstring. “We have to check on the neighbors though. There are some old people that live down the street. We gotta make sure they’re okay.” 

You slapped a palm against your forehead. 

Of course.

How had you missed that? Usually, you’d be the first to jump into service mode, always thinking of how the people around you were affected by problems before worrying about your own comfort. Truthfully, you were a little ashamed you hadn’t considered it.  

You allowed that shame to motivate you into action, throwing your coat on and searching around for where you’d put your boots. 

“Do you have any shovels?” you asked, working to right a sleeve of your jacket that had turned inside out when you removed it last. “We could at least clear the sidewalks for people so they can get to a shelter if they need it.”  

Noah tossed you an extra pair of socks for you to slip on over the ones you were wearing. “Yep,” he said, zipping up a heavy black puffer coat. Then he slipped into a pair of heavy black work boots and began lacing them up. “They’re on the porch. The fire hall’s only a few blocks away. Let’s work on shoveling and salting the sidewalk and then we’ll check on houses as we go.” 

You nodded, pulling on your gloves and following Noah out. 

Ridding the sidewalks of snow was tedious, but the two of you weren’t the only ones working at it. Across the street, a few men worked to get their sidewalk cleared. Down two blocks were another few people with snow shovels, chipping away at the thick blanket of snow. 

As soon as the pair of you cleared the sidewalk in front of a house, you knocked on the door to see who might be inside. So far, only two houses were still occupied in the area. The rest must have evacuated prior to the storm or were visiting relatives for the holidays. One older couple had a fireplace in the house and were taken care of. The other—a frail elderly lady who lived alone, had already arranged for her son to pick her up in his truck and take her to his house. 

The two of you worked until lunch, where you heated up a frozen pizza in Noah’s gas oven and ate in relative silence before heading back out to finish shoveling the next block. 

The work was heavy and strenuous, but it allowed you to clear your head until you were devoid of thoughts and feelings and existed simply as a body, utilizing its strength to accomplish a task. You worked until your muscles burned with the effort and sweat caused your sweater to cling to you and your fingers to prune beneath your gloves despite the cold.  

Ten or so meters away, Noah had his back turned to you as he stuck the shovel beneath the pile of snow, nudged it deeper with his heel, and flung it back over his shoulder. He worked far quicker than you, those days at the gym providing him with ample strength and stamina while you struggled to accomplish even half as much. 

There was something about how driven he was to help his neighbors that had you in your feelings. He never once complained or acted like it was a chore, and he never expected any thanks, either. He did it because it was the right thing to do. 

You turned back to your own section of the sidewalk, punching through the snow with the shovel again and straining under its weight while you tossed it into the yard. You’d developed blisters on your fingers a few hours ago, but kept pushing through, determined to see the sidewalk cleared. It took until the sun was three quarters of the way across the sky to finish the job, but ultimately, you managed it. 

Heaving deep, frozen breaths that cracked your lips on the way in, you locked eyes with Noah and shared a mutual understanding: the work wasn’t finished. 

“Fire hall?” you suggested. 

Noah huffed a laugh, face red and skin scrubbed raw from the way the wind had whipped at it all afternoon. “Yeah,” he said, and you both ditched your shovels on his porch, heading to the hall. 

You arrived to a flurry of activity. The hall was in the middle of being converted into a temporary shelter. A handful of volunteers were busy setting up temporary cots, carrying supplies in from trucks, assembling care packages, and distributing blankets. 

You and Noah parted ways for the time being, him heading to help with the unloading of supplies and you making a beeline over to where two middle-aged women were in a corner, sorting blankets into different piles. 

“How can I help?” you asked. 

“Oh! Good, glad you’re here,” one of them chimed immediately, not even bothering to introduce herself or ask your name. She handed you a pile of folded blankets. “Would you mind setting one of these on each of the cots? Come back when you run out and we’ll have more for you.” 

You got to work, methodically distributing the blankets, weaving in and out from the cots. Some already had occupants, who gratefully accepted the offerings. You noticed a number of them looked like they may have not come from the most secure living environments, possibly unhoused, and it pained you to think of them facing the elements on their own. Rather than fighting back the emotions, you let them spur you forward, determined to see as many people taken care of as possible. 

Once all the blankets had been passed out, you made your way to the kitchens, where volunteers sorted donated food from boxes into piles. Again, you got right to work, asking how you could best be of service and not minding when you were given the task of sorting expired food from fresh. You didn’t even squirm when you had to shovel out a pile of rotten potatoes from the bottom of a crate, though the smell alone had your stomach clenching uncomfortably.  

After that, you got to work scrubbing dishes leftover from the morning’s meal service in preparation for dinner. The staff at the kitchen were in the midst of preparing large batches of soup to hand out, complete with bread and sides of vegetables, and when you finished with the dishes, you switched to chopping carrots for the soup. 

The whole time, the only thing you could think was that this was what philanthropy was supposed to be. There was no ulterior motive to ensure the people receiving help believed in a specific god or religion, just a deep desire to see those in need taken care of. 

It was nearly eight o’clock when you finally stopped to take a break. Warm at last, the sweat dripped down from your temples and your lower back, and you started to realize just how exhausted you were. It was a good tired, but tired nonetheless. 

Wiping your brow, you collapsed into one of the metal chairs lining the hallway outside of the kitchen. As you drank deeply from your water bottle, you observed the scene before you: 

The entire community, or what remained of it, had come together to help each other out. Old and young, rich and poor, all working beside each other to ensure everyone was taken care of and had what they needed.

And in the middle, lading soup into bowls and handing them out was Noah. 

In the back of your mind, you knew that the modern depiction of White Jesus wasn’t remotely accurate to what the actual person probably looked like. Biblical iconography has been whitewashed over centuries of European colonialism, and the real Jesus looked a lot more like the colonized than the colonizer. 

Still, the small part of you that fell in love with the depictions of Jesus you grew up with couldn’t help but notice the similarities between the man that hung from the crucifix in your childhood living room and the man that stood before you. 

Glued to your chair, you watched in awe as Noah smiled at the strangers he served. He offered food to the hungry, rest to the weary, and comfort to those who sought it. 

Several things dawned on you at once: that the metaphor playing out in front of you was disrespectfully on-the-nose; that you didn’t have a simple crush on Noah, but instead actual, tangible feelings for him; that acting on these feelings would mean taking a serious risk considering he’d already hurt you before; and that you were going to act on them anyway, and in many ways were already in the process of acting on them. 

It wasn’t butterflies, but an entire hornet’s nest that erupted in your stomach. 

Holy shit, you were in love with this man. 

You forced yourself to breathe slower, counting to eight on each exhale because the last thing you needed was to lose it in the middle of a crowded fire hall. 

You had to slow down. Was it possible you were deifying him? Had you put this person on a pedestal, failing to see him for who he really was? Had he reminded you of a figurehead you’d always admired, and was that why you were convinced you were in love? 

It was possible. You’d been known to idolize crushes in the past. 

But Noah had been up front about his flaws from the moment he met you. If anything, you’d had to dig deep to find the parts of him that were pure, like what you were currently witnessing. 

You observed him, taking in the way he greeted everyone as they passed him in line, ladling soup into bowls and handing them off with a warm smile. With his hair net and apron, he may have looked more like a lunch lady than any religious icon, but you couldn’t call the humble kindness on his face anything other than Christlike. 

Gratitude. That was what you were feeling. You were overcome with gratitude for the opportunity to know this person. 

Though there were perhaps a few more tasks you could have finished if you’d really looked, most of the work was done by that point, and you were struck with the notion that perhaps the best work you could do at that point was to take in everything happening around you. To let it change you. 

So you did. 

--------

Walking out of the fire hall half an hour later, you and Noah strolled down the cleared sidewalk in companionable silence, both tired from the day’s events and content to reflect on the shared feeling of a job well done. 

When you came upon the intersection that would take you to your dorm and Noah back home, he finally broke it. 

“You heading back to your dorm?” he asked. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna grab a change of clothes and probably head back here for the night.” You shoved your hands in your pockets, rocking back and forth to dispel some of the nervous energy that had built up in your gut. 

“Power’s still out, then?” 

You nodded, having just checked on your phone before leaving the hall. 

“What about you?” you asked.  

Noah looked down the street in the direction of his place, then back to you. “I was gonna head to my studio. I’ve got a wood stove in there. Keeps it pretty warm.”  

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, not wanting to end the interaction, but not sure how to keep it going until Noah chimed in. 

“You’re welcome to join…if you want.” You looked at him, watched the steam of his breath swirl in the air as it exited his lungs, noticed the earnestness in his face, the vulnerability behind his eyes. 

In the pit of your stomach, you were aware of what could happen should you take him up on his offer. The energy between you had been building for quite some time, and there was something in the air that night that hinted at the unknown—that whatever happened between you that night, it would be formative. You wouldn’t walk out of that shed tomorrow without knowing exactly where you and Noah stood.  

“Yeah,” you said. “That’d be nice. Thanks.” 

“I’ll walk you to your dorm if you still want to get changed.” 

“Thanks,” you repeated. 

Inside, you trembled with nerves, already having been overwhelmed by the emotions of the day and anxious about what might come next. 

Those feelings from earlier—they didn’t hit you like past crushes. They weren’t something that needed to be acted upon or expressed immediately. 

You didn’t need to know whether Noah felt the same. It wouldn’t crush you if you found out his were platonic, though you knew you were about to find out. 

Even if nothing happened tonight, you knew you’d be okay. Your feelings were selfless. They arose from the knowledge that this was a person you cared about, whose company you enjoyed, and whose wellbeing you cherished. 

You reflected on them on the short walk to your dorm. When you arrived, you fumbled in the dark to find your phone to use as a flashlight. 

The two of you climbed the stairs slowly. Your battery was almost dead so you turned the brightness to its lowest setting, which made navigating through the darkness a little more difficult. 

Once at your dorm, Noah waited politely outside the door while you changed into a fresh pair of pajama pants and a sweater, taking special care to scrub your teeth with some toothpaste and rinse your mouth out with a bottle of water that was sitting on your night stand. You spat into the trash, feeling much better than you had earlier. It had been almost a full day since you’d brushed your teeth and they’d started feeling gross. 

You threw your phone charger in your purse in case the power came back on in the middle of the night, then checked to make sure you had everything else you might need before leaving. 

“Got everything?” he asked once you made your way back out into the hall. 

“I think so,” you said just as the battery on your phone finally gave out. 

“I got it,” said Noah, pulling out his own phone. You could only make out his silhouette in the darkness, but his presence was still comforting. 

“Thanks,” you said. “Lead the way.” 

There was no light or warmth in the studio when you arrived. It was just as cramped as you remembered, and the added chill left it feeling less than cozy. 

Noah immediately got to work loading the small wood stove in the back while you bundled up on the couch with a few blankets that were stacked in a corner. He fiddled around with some old newspaper as kindling, threw in half a brick of a starter log with a few thin strips of wood on top, then started building out the pile with thicker logs until he was satisfied and lit it, keeping the door of the stove open. 

“Should be warmer here in a minute,” said Noah, sitting back on his heels to watch his work. 

“Hey,” you said, shifting to the other end of the couch to be closer.

Noah turned his head to you, quirking his eyebrows up in curiosity. “What’s up?” 

“Thanks for today,” you said, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them. “It felt good to help out.” 

Noah averted his eyes and chuckled, flashing that grin you loved so much. “Just doing my civic duty, ma’am.” He finished with a tilt of his head, as if he was tipping his hat to you and you giggled. 

“Still,” you continued. “Not everyone cares about the people around them as much as you. It was refreshing to see.” 

Noah fidgeted with the lighter in his hands, flicking it a few times in lieu of a response. You allowed him to play off the compliment, knowing full well that sometimes you tended to be too heartfelt with your sentiments, but you were glad you said it, just the same. He deserved to know. 

“Want some wine?” he asked, reaching under his desk and fetching a bottle out of a small fridge that had now been rendered useless in the power outage. 

“Please,” you said, sitting back further into the cushions and watching the flames dance up the sides of the stove while Noah uncorked it with his teeth. 

“I don’t have any cups,” he said, plopping down beside you and taking a swig from the neck. He handed it to you and you followed suit, wincing at the bitterness that flooded over your tongue. “Sorry,” he said, frowning. “I like a dry wine. I should have mentioned that.” 

“It’s fine,” you said, swallowing the large gulp with some effort. You caught Noah working to suppress a smile and you passed the bottle back to him. He took another swig and then tensed as the liquid made its way down. 

“Hypocrite,” you teased. 

Noah sucked in a breath. “That wasn’t the wine,” he defended. “I shivered. It’s fucking freezing.” As if to emphasize, he wrapped his arms around himself. 

“Oh,” you said. That made more sense. “Want to share?” You lifted the edge of the blanket and gestured for him to join you. 

Noah sighed, scooting close and pressing into your side. “Fuck, you’re warm.” 

You giggled, adjusting yourself on the couch so you could curl into his side for more warmth. You brought your knees up to your chest and wedged your frozen toes under his thigh, the double layer of socks no longer doing enough to keep them from going numb. He offered the wine to you again and you took another drink. Now used to the flavor, you found it wasn’t that bad. It had a richness you couldn’t appreciate on the first try.

“How do you normally spend Christmas?” you asked, passing the bottle back to him. 

“Usually I’m working,” he said, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. “That takes up most of my time. If I’m not, then I’m either writing music or playing video games.” 

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked. 

Noah chewed on his lip, then took a sip from the bottle, held it in his mouth for a second, and swallowed. “Sometimes,” he said, then wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Not right now, though.” You flushed, burning under his touch, despite the cold. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s Christmas like at home?” 

“Ha!” you spat out. “We’re so busy with church events we usually don’t get around to actually celebrating.” It wasn’t entirely true. You did receive gifts, but you often opened them whenever you could get around to it, in between helping your family organize different toy drives, attending special services, participating in productions and leading the children’s pageants. There was no time for the kind of cozy holiday celebrations you longed for. That’s why you’d been so excited to stay on campus this year—you could celebrate however you wanted. 

“That sucks,” he said. 

You shrugged. “It’s not so bad.” 

You chanced a look up at him to find the firelight flickering in his eyes. There was a quiet intensity in the way he held your gaze. Nerves ignited in your stomach, sending the wine churning and causing you to squirm in his hold. For a second, it looked like he might try to kiss you, until he took another sip from the bottle of wine and passed it to you. 

You supposed it was wishful thinking on your part, considering how he’d been very clear about his boundaries. Even this much physical contact was more than you’d bargained for. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss once the moment had passed. 

“So you really left the church, huh?” he asked, drumming his fingers on your ankle. You sipped from the bottle, working to keep the nerves in your stomach from spreading out through your whole body. 

“It was time,” you answered. You offered the bottle back to him but he declined, so you took another sip. Half the wine was already gone, and you’d started to feel the pleasant buzz creeping through your veins. 

“The faith itself or just the organization part?” he asked. He wrapped his hand around your ankles and adjusted your legs so they could drape over his lap. The backs of your thighs met the top of his and they immediately warmed upon contact.  

“I don’t know,” you answered, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the tingles sparking to life everywhere your body connected to his. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, and at this point, I don’t really care. It might be good for me to figure out who I am when I don’t have anyone telling me who I should be.” 

“I can respect that,” said Noah, sliding a palm up your calf. Jesus, was he even aware of the effect he had on you? For a minute you said nothing, choosing to focus entirely on his touch. You leaned into the couch, letting your head rest against the back cushions and your eyes drift close. You didn’t care if you were letting your cards show—Noah might as well know just how much you craved him. 

“What about you?” you asked after a while. 

“What about me?” 

You opened your eyes to find him quietly regarding you. “Any plans to surrender your soul to the Good Lord?” 

Noah snickered softly into his chest. “Not at the moment,” he said, taking the opportunity to pick at a stray thread on your sweatpants. “I don’t know though,” he continued. “Maybe there’s something out there. God, or the universe, or whatever. A divine sort of energy that gives people a sense of meaning.” 

“You think it’s all the same?” you asked, noticing some of his hair had fallen into his face. Your fingers itched to push it back, so you did, tucking it behind his ear. He caught your palm in his, bringing your clasped hands to rest on your knee. He flipped your hand over palm-side up and started tracing patterns over your wrist. 

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe it’s the accumulation of all our souls once we die—a divine collective. Maybe all our religions are just each culture’s best attempt at explaining where it comes from.” 

His fingers stilled in your palm and you closed yours around them, lacing them together with his. 

“I think,” you began, glancing back up at him and trying not to be consumed by the way the light danced across his face, “that maybe we’re not meant to figure it out.” 

He smiled a half-smile, the corner of his mouth lifting up and perhaps you’d appreciated his mouth before, but never in this much detail. 

“You might be on to something,” he said. He dropped his gaze to where your hands remained interlocked, running his thumb along your knuckle. “Can I ask you a question?” 

You sat up a little more. “Sure.” 

He hesitated before speaking, sucking in a breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling and turning back to you. 

“What was it like kissing Folio?” 

Your gaze dropped back to the bottle of wine in your hand. That was��not a question you’d expected him to ask. You’d locked the memory of the kiss in a compartment in your brain titled Things You Won’t Bring Up to Noah, and as far as you were concerned, that’s where it should stay.  

“I don’t know,” you said, bringing the bottle up to your mouth and taking a large swig to kill some time. “Do you really want me to answer that?” 

Noah shrugged, relaxing his grip on your hand and you slid your fingers out of his grasp, using it for balance so you could sit up a little straighter and collect your thoughts. 

“I don’t remember much, to be honest,” you said. “I was pretty drunk. And in my defense, I didn’t know you were there.” 

“Hey,” he said softly, “No judgment here. I was just surprised, is all. Call it morbid curiosity.” 

The question felt like a trap, like anything you could say would be the wrong thing, but Noah had asked, so you decided to be honest. You took another large gulp of wine for good measure before you answered, after which, Noah took the bottle and downed the last of it. 

“So,” you began, feeling your cheeks flush under his stare, “it was fine, I guess. He tasted like stale beer and cigarettes, which wasn’t great, but he’s a good kisser.” 

“How?” Noah asked. 

“I don’t know,” you said, sinking back into the cushions. “He’s just… enthusiastic? I guess. He’s not too sloppy or anything.” 

“So, you liked kissing him?” Noah prodded. 

“Noah,” you whined, rolling your eyes at his questions. “Do we really have to talk about this?” 

“Please?” he asked. “I just wanna know.” 

You took a deep breath, pursed your lips to slow the exhale, and then rested your forehead against his shoulder so you didn’t have to look at him as you said the next part. 

“Yeah, I liked kissing him,” you admitted. “It was better than kissing Isaac, at least.” You rolled your head back again so you could see his reaction. “But keep in mind that I don’t have a ton to compare it with. He could be a trash kisser for all I know, and I only liked it because it was my first time making out with someone and that was exciting.” 

“I think you’d know if he was a trash kisser,” Noah said. 

You rolled your eyes again. “Still, we were drunk. It was just for fun. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.” 

“No?” Noah asked, fingers digging into the back of your knee. 

You held eye contact, and suddenly you noticed the vulnerability there, just behind his eyes, and in the slight pout of his lower lip. 

“No,” you said, softening. “Not even a little bit.” 

Noah swallowed, pulling his lower lip into his mouth to wet it. Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. Your palms grew sweaty and you couldn’t seem to draw in a steady breath. 

“Well,” he said, exhaling a half-laugh. He broke eye contact and let his eyes drop to your legs. “You sure? He’s a real catch. I could put in a good word for you if you want.” 

“Noah!” you whined, and you were about to tell him to stop being a jerk, when he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you into him. 

The first kiss was slow, meant to give both of you time to process the fact you were finally kissing. Then he went in for a second, this one deeper. He licked at the seam between your lips, and you parted them, allowing him to dip his tongue into your mouth. You released a shaky breath, hands trembling slightly, and not from the cold, until they found purchase around the neck of his hoodie. 

For a while, you stayed like that, exploring the textures and tastes of each other, memorizing the shape of his lips and movement of his tongue as it slid over yours. Noah tasted of the wine you’d shared, layered over a heady mixture of herbs and spices and something else entirely his own. 

His hand wandered up your leg, fisting itself in your sweatpants and he pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, desperate to eliminate as much distance between your bodies as possible. 

He dragged his teeth along your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth before letting it spring back into place and when he was satisfied with how swollen it had become, he pulled you closer by the neck so he could suck a bruise into the skin behind your jaw.

You arched into his touch, digging your nails into his shoulder as he took your earlobe in his mouth and tugged at it, sending all the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention. 

Deep in your core, something stirred. A deep need made itself known to you, hot as liquid magma, winding itself around you like a coil—a sensation you’d always associated with the forbidden. The coil would wind tighter and tighter, but it was never allowed to snap. 

Senses on overload, you rocked against him, exploring what would happen if you allowed yourself to give in. Noah’s hands clutched at your hips, bracing you against him. 

Needing more of him, you took his face in your hands and brought your mouths together in another kiss. Gone were the slow, rhythmic kisses you’d shared before. Now it was a tangle of teeth and lips and tongues and you stopped being able to tell where you ended and Noah began. 

You rocked into him again, this time feeling a distinct presence that hadn’t been there before. Noah groaned into your mouth and you swallowed the sound. He rolled his hips into yours, and you felt yourself losing control. 

“Are we moving too fast?” you whispered, finally breaking the kiss. Noah wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, bringing your lips back together. 

“Mmph,” he said into the kiss. “I don’t know.” He spoke in short bursts between kisses, only half-focused on the conversation. “What do you think?” 

“We should probably,” you said, pausing to suck on his lower lip, “slow down.” 

“Yeah,” he breathed, fingers dragging across your neck. “Let’s slow down.” 

It was a nice thought. The intentions were there, but you both fumbled the execution as soon as Noah sucked a deep red mark into a particularly sensitive area of your neck and your body responded by grinding down onto Noah’s lap. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, releasing your skin from his teeth, “baby, I’m trying to be good here, but you make it hard when you do that.” 

Not even registering the words, only the way your body responded when he called you baby, you bit into his lip, sucking on it hard as your hips gyrated on his. 

“Hold on,” he said through the kiss, placing his palms on your shoulders to still you. “Hold on.” 

It took you a second to register that you were no longer kissing, and when you did, you let out an involuntary whine.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to catch your breath. 

“We’re moving too fast,” he said. Your eyes scanned his face, noticing how red and bitten his lips had become. 

“Oh,” you said. You didn’t want to slow down, though. Everything you’ve learned up until that point taught you that youshould want to slow down, but slowing down was the exact opposite of what you wanted. 

He tilted his head, sliding his hands down your body to rest on your waist. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re drunk.” 

“I’m not drunk though,” you said. 

He tucked his lips into his teeth, looking at you with amusement. “Even so, I think we should take it slow.” 

You pouted, letting your fingers trail down his chest. “It’s just,” you began, trying to find the right words to articulate your thoughts, but the cloud of lust in your head had your brain fighting to stay afloat. “Do you feel like this is too fast?” 

Noah swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing up and down, slightly distorting the shape of his tattoo. “For me? No.” His fingertips dug into the flesh of your ass as if to demonstrate his point. “But my virginity isn’t on the line here.” 

He had a point, but was your virginity something you even wanted to protect? Lately, it had started to feel much more like a cage than anything of value. 

Rather than answer him, you rolled your hips against his one more time, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wrapping his arms around you to hold you in place. You could feel him throbbing under you, a few layers of cotton the only things separating you from the freedom you craved. 

And that’s exactly what it was to you, you realized. Taking this next step meant setting yourself free from the guilt and shame you’d always associated with your sexuality. It would mean reclaiming your body as your own. And who better to experience that with than the person who encouraged you to let go of that shame in the first place. 

You leaned in to flick your tongue against his upper lip. He caught it in his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth.

You smiled into the kiss, grabbing the hand he kept around your waist and moving it under your shirt until he cupped your breast.  

“Succubus,” he whispered into your open mouth.

“Sinner,” you countered. 

Something happened in that moment—a transmutation of your soul. In the past, you’d always looked up to the men in your life, idolizing them or striving to be worthy of their time and attention, but here, warmed by the light of the fire and the heat of Noah’s body under you, the tide had shifted. 

“Say it again,” he said, pulling you further into him. 

You were no longer an unworthy peasant, begging to be noticed—but a goddess. Someone worthy of being celebrated and admired. It was divine and sacred and potentially sinful, but after spending so much time worshiping, perhaps you could allow yourself to be worshiped for once. 

“Sinner,” you whispered, draping your arms over Noah’s shoulders. Your mouth hovered just over his, lips parted and wet, begging to be kissed. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. It was just you and Noah, sharing the same breath, caught in a game of chicken, each daring the other to move first. 

In the end, it was Noah who ran out of patience. He crashed his lips into yours, and you surrendered your body easily to him. When the friction of your hips on his was no longer enough, he lifted you up, flipping you until your back hit the couch, legs wrapped around him while he ground his body into yours. 

He was slow to undress you, starting only with the removal of your sweater, and with your skin finally exposed to him, he wasted no time in exploring every inch, sucking a nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue across until it pebbled between his teeth. He then moved on to the other, repeating the act until he was satisfied, and then began kissing his way down your stomach and back up, trying to discover every sensitive spot he could find.  

You flushed under him, heat creeping up your chest and neck despite the chill in the room. When Noah was done painting your collarbones with hickeys and teeth marks, he moved lower. 

“Wait!” you said, and he stilled, worried that he’d crossed a line, until you grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over him, needing to feel his skin on yours. 

He dropped back down to kiss you, and for the first time you could enjoy touching him without any barrier. You sighed into the kiss, running your hands all along his back and shoulders, logging every rope of muscle and ripple of skin and trying hard not to put too much pressure on the freshly tattooed parts, but having a hard time controlling where your hands wandered. 

In the time it took for you to register what was happening, Noah had already slid your sweatpants down over your ass and you separated so you could kick them the rest of the way off. 

He went slow, at first only caressing the apex of your thighs with delicate fingers so you could get used to being touched in such a sensitive area. It wasn’t long before you were begging for more, however, wrapping your hands around his wrist and pulling him into you. 

Apparently, that was the wrong move, because Noah flipped his hand, easily catching both your wrists and slamming them above your head. He switched his hands so he could hold yours with his non-dominant one while the other cupped your sex. 

“I have waited a long time for this,” he hissed, eyes boring into yours. “Do not rush me.” It was both a command and a threat. 

You bucked your hips into his hand, needing more friction and he removed it, slapping your inner thigh instead. 

“Use your words.” 

“Please,” you rasped out, flushing a deep scarlet at just how pathetic and needy you sounded. 

“What do you want?” he asked again, letting his hand roam down once again to stroke your clit. 

You swallowed, feeling uncomfortable being so lewd, but in an effort to rip the band-aid off, you chose to be direct. 

“I want your fingers inside me.” 

He smiled, slipping one long digit past your entrance. It slid in easily, finding no resistance as by that point, you were dripping. 

You weren’t a complete stranger to the sensation of having something inside of you—you’d masturbated before, so you knew how your own fingers felt, but you weren’t prepared for the feeling of his. 

They were long, and thick, and moved with a dexterity you had never been able to achieve. The second they entered, a strangled moan escaped from deep within you—one you think may have been begging to escape for years. 

Within minutes, he’d worked you into a frenzy. You were no longer the graceful goddess from earlier, but a gasping, writhing mess of a person, falling apart around his fingers. 

“Do you want to come?” he asked. 

You nodded, fighting to stay in control of your breath. “Please,” you whispered. 

“Okay,” he said, speeding up his ministrations. “Be a good girl and come for me.” 

Whether it was the dirty talk or the sheer skill of his hands, your entire body seized up and then exploded, sending a rush of fluids to your center, resulting in a loud squelching noise that carried over the sounds of your moans. 

Waves upon waves of sensation rippled through your body, muscles twitching from overstimulation and rendering you boneless.  

Noah extracted his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean, then smiled down at your lifeless form as he stroked your hair. “Good,” he murmured. “Good.” 

He hoisted himself off you, sliding off the couch to kneel on the floor next to you, and bent down to kiss you lazily. 

Not being satisfied with so little contact, but still not having control over your legs, you slid off the couch and onto the floor with him, the plush area rug providing a decent barrier between your naked body and the cold concrete floor beneath you. 

You straddled his hips once more, kissing him slowly, this time with gratitude. His hands roamed down your back and caressed your thighs and you could feel him, painfully hard underneath you.

You were still sensitive, but not too sensitive to move against him and he sighed into the kiss. 

“What do you need?” you asked. Though your body was drained, wrapped in a post-orgasmic glow, you still had an unyielding desire to give as much as you’d received. You wanted him to feel good and though you might not be experienced enough to know exactly what to do, you at least wanted to try. 

“I just need to feel you,” he said. 

You knew what he meant by that, so you slid off his lap and tugged on the drawstring of his pants until they were loose enough to inch down his thighs. 

Once they were gone, you were free to take in the sight of him. You’d never seen a naked man in person, so you weren’t sure what to expect, but you were caught off-guard at how big he was. Tentatively, you wrapped a hand around him, noting how soft and smooth the skin was underneath your fingers. 

“Did you really have it pierced before?” you asked. 

Noah laughed, and in your hand, a pulse surged through him. 

“I did,” he said, taking himself in his hands and tilting it up to show you. “The scar is still visible,” he said pointing to the underside. You squinted, trying to make it out, but couldn’t see much in the light of the fire. You ran a finger along the underside and could feel where the texture changed and he hissed out a breath, grabbing your hand. He leaned over and spit into your palm, then wrapped it around his shaft, squeezing to show you what level of pressure to apply. 

He guided your hand up and down. “Please?” he said softly, and you nodded, taking over the motion and watching in awe as he let his head fall back, exposing his neck to you and sending a new wave of desire surging through you at the sight. You allowed your mouth to roam over his neck, trailing your tongue over the pulse point and taking in the expansion of his throat as inhaled. 

His breathing sped up, and it wasn’t long before he pulled you into another bruising kiss. He clutched at your hips, digging his fingers in and it was hard to keep hold of him in that position, so you let go and settled for grinding yourself against him, which he didn’t seem to mind. 

He set the rhythm, using his hands to rock your hips back and forth over himself. You found yourself growing wetter by the second.

A flood of emotions hit you all at once—pride, fear, anticipation, but strongest was desire. You wanted this. You wanted to be in control of your own body. You wanted to decide for yourself what to do with it, and you knew more than anything that you wanted this with Noah. 

Unbeknownst to you, Noah had been carrying condoms his pocket for weeks, just in case this moment arrived, so it was no trouble for him to fetch one, tear the wrapper with his teeth and roll it onto himself. 

He laid you down on the plush rug and spread your thighs, positioning himself in between them. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, holding your gaze. You’d never seen him look so serious before. 

“Yes,” you said, staring back and trying to communicate nonverbally just how very sure you were. 

“Okay,” he said, breaking eye contact to kiss you one last time. He brought his fingers to you again, sliding them through your folds and scissoring them inside of you to make sure you were ready. “It might be uncomfortable at first.” 

You nodded, slipping his hair over his shoulder so you could better see his face. “Just go slow.” 

He did, pushing into you centimeter by centimeter until just the head slipped past your opening. He paused, forehead resting against yours while you adjusted to the stretch. It was big, and he was right that it was a little uncomfortable at first, but it was also better than you could have ever imagined. 

“Okay?” he asked, and you nodded, pulling him into a kiss as he slid farther into you. 

An overwhelming sensation of fullness—that’s the best you could describe it. He was warm and solid and stretched you in such a way that you knew you’d be replaying this moment in your head for the rest of your life. 

He backed out just an inch and pushed in again, and you wondered how and why anyone could possibly consider an act that felt so completely right to be sinful in nature. You threw your head back, exposing your neck and he ran his mouth along the column of your throat, tasting the skin while you soaked in the feeling of being so intimately connected to him. 

You pushed yourself off the floor, gesturing for him to lay back against the couch so you could straddle him. You felt safer if you were in control of the motion in case it proved to be too much.

Gently, you rocked against him, feeling the pressure of him inside you stretching you to your limits. He was almost too big in length. You couldn’t sit fully on him without him pressing uncomfortably against your organs, so you hovered just over the base of him, moving your hips back and forth. 

You found it easier to brace your hands on his thighs behind hind you and lean back, and when you did, he brought his thumb to your clit so he could trace small circles around it. 

Your movements were slow and shallow at first, but with time, you found yourself adjusting better to his size and capable of taking more. You began to bounce, throwing your head back as your hips met his over and over in messy repetitions. Sounds escaped from Noah, first quiet gasps and whimpers, but growing lower and gruffer the more you moved. 

His nails scraped along your back, digging into the flesh and pulling you into him, and he held out as long as he could, but eventually needed to be back in control, so he flipped you around so you were once again on your back and hooked his arms under your legs to prop you up. 

“Okay if I go harder?” he asked, and you sputtered out something that sounded enough like “yes” to satisfy him. 

He sped up, no longer holding himself back and you only now understood the sheer force his muscles could exert because for a second you lost the ability to comprehend what was happening. 

Sounds you didn’t know you could make escaped without your permission. Noah threw your legs over his shoulder so he could brace himself on either side of your head, folding you in half as he drove himself into you. It was all you could do to keep your eyes locked on his, watching the intensity of his gaze as it burned into you—pupils blown, brow furrowed, jaw tensing. 

“Fuck,” he spat, pulling out of you and flipping you over to all fours before reinserting himself. Wrapping his arm around your middle, he pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest. He held you against him by your throat, hand easily wrapping around the circumference and putting only enough pressure on it to keep you where he wanted.

“This okay?” he whispered against your neck and you nodded, body existing on an entirely different plane, just trying to take in everything happening at once. 

He bit your shoulder, sucking another angry red mark into it before releasing you so you could fall forward and rest your face against the soft fibers of the rug—something to ground you while he continued his barrage inside of you. 

He dug his fingers into your hips and used them for leverage as he pounded a steady tattoo into your pussy and you felt the same welling up of energy you’d felt when he had his fingers in you. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed in time with his thrusts. One arm reached around you to feel around for your clit, fingers slipping over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he tried to lock them into place. His thrusts grew sloppy and unfocused, losing control of the rhythm he’d been holding before. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, I’m gonna c—,” he began, but never finished his sentence because the rest came out choked, morphing into a guttural groan. He throbbed inside of you, fingers releasing your clit so he could brace them on your hip as he chased his orgasm to its end. 

As soon as he caught his bearings, he replaced his fingers on your clit, drawing steady tight circles while he continued the best he could to thrust inside of you despite the fact he was well beyond fucked out by that point. 

Already on the brink, you tumbled over the edge easily, cascading waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you rode out your high against his hand. 

You collapsed on the floor, Noah on top of and inside of you, muscles twitching while you fought to catch your breath. 

“Holy shit,” Noah whispered between deep exhales. “Holy shit.” He reached out to tuck your hair behind your ears. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding against the rug. “Yeah, I’m good. You?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed out, wrapping his arm around your middle and rolling you on your side. He peppered kisses over your shoulder and up the back of your neck. “Water?” 

“Please,” you breathed. As you returned to your body, you noticed just how much hydration you’d lost in sweat and other fluids. Your mouth was dry, throat parched and aching against the chill of the air as you sucked in breaths. 

Slowly, Noah removed his softening cock from you. He slipped off the condom, tying a knot in the end and throwing it in the trash can under his desk. Then he fetched a bottle of water from the same mini fridge that had produced the wine, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to you. 

You took it with trembling hands, lifting your head to sip at it, but struggled to force yourself upright. 

“Here,” he said, taking your arm and pulling you to a sitting position so your back could rest against the couch. 

He dragged a blanket from the sofa, throwing it around your shoulders and turned his focus to your legs, caressing your calves while you came down from your high. 

Noah slumped against the couch, resting his forehead on the arm while he drew slow patterns into your legs. After a few more sips of water, your thoughts became less cloudy, awareness returning to the room. You over at Noah, finding him just as exhausted as you felt. 

He turned his head, watching you watching him and his fingers stilled on your leg.  

“Hi,” he said, breaking out into a smile.  

“Hi.” You breathed out a laugh, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to you. He put up no fight, sidling up to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He took the bottle of water from your hands, drinking deeply before handing it back to you and encouraging you to drink more. 

“How are you?” he asked, and all you could do to answer was giggle, still high off endorphins. 

He chuckled softly, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you in so he could kiss you lazily. After a few minutes, he pulled away, collecting a few blankets and cushions from the couch and fashioning a warm nest on the floor. 

“We should get some sleep,” he suggested, and you agreed, finally (albeit reluctantly) sliding back into your clothes and cuddling up next to him on the floor. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back into him and you rested your head on his chest. 

You were both aware you had a lot to discuss in the morning, the biggest question being what this meant for you, but for the time being, you were content to remain in a post-coital haze, listening to his heartbeat, comforted by how solid and sturdy he was underneath you. 

He kissed the top of your head as he wished you goodnight, and the last thought you had before you drifted off to sleep in his arms was that if that was a sin, you could understand why Jesus would feel compelled to die just so you could enjoy it. 

___________________________ A/N: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! Happy birthday to me! If you feel inclined to support my writing, buy me a coffee. (I also have Venmo if you want to buy me a birthday drink. Dm me)

__________

All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[mintedwitcher]

Thinking about this again.

Thinking about the double-edged guilt of both Tommy and Eddie, both blaming themselves for Buck getting hurt.

"I shouldn't have made Bobby switch the two of you," Tommy snaps, seven hours after the crash, five hours deep into Evan's surgery.

"You didn't do shit, I was the one who told him to just shut up and swap," Eddie snaps right back, fists clenched. "It should've been me in that chopper."

Lucy's okay, miracle of miracles, but Evan's surgery is taking longer than expected. He'd been in nearly critical condition by the time they'd found him in the wreckage, and it had taken far too long to actually extract and transport him. Tommy's nerves are stretched thin.

"You're damn right," Tommy says, glaring at Eddie, at Bobby. "Why the hell did you let me spout that bullshit? I should've been able to stow my crap for one goddamn call!"

"Gentlemen, if you can't be civil, we'll have to ask you to leave," one of the nurses says, exasperated. Tommy and Eddie shoot her matching venomous glares. It's not really her fault, and Tommy does feel guilty for it.

The rest of the 118 are there too, along with Maddie, Athena, and Karen. None of the children are present, which Tommy is grateful for. He doesn't think he could stomach listening to all the kids asking if their Uncle Buck was gonna survive this shit.

"You know what," Eddie says, shaking his head. He points towards the doors. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Tommy follows, the simmering guilt in his gut turning to rage the longer Eddie stays silent as they walk out of the hospital together. Eventually, Eddie whirls around on him, and it's only years of training that allows Tommy to catch Eddie's fist before it can connect.

"Yeah, you should've stowed your crap," Eddie snaps. "You fucking idiot, he loves you. He's been in love with you since, fuck, I don't even know when. And you broke his heart, and now... you couldn't just bite your fucking tongue, and now the last words he might've heard from you are 'get off the radio'."

"What else was I supposed to do, huh?" Tommy snarls back, throwing a hook of his own that sails over Eddie's ducked head. "Let him carry on with the hero-worship and get my heart broken later down the line when he finally realises that I'm not perfect?"

"You can't just keep running from your problems!" Eddie shouts. "Buck loves you. He wants long-term with you, and you're chickening out because, what, he admires you too much?"

"What would you know about it, huh? Perfect Eddie Diaz," Tommy sneers. Eddie scoffs, loud and bitter.

"You know the answer to that already," Eddie says. He shakes his head. "I let the love of my life run away from me. More than once. I screwed up in every way imaginable. And I'm fucking miserable, Tommy. So is Buck. So are you."

"I don't know what to do," Tommy admits. Eddie sighs.

"Well, first," he says, "just be there. Buck's easy, man. All he wants is to be appreciated, to be seen for who he is. He wants someone to fight for him just as hard as he'd fight for everyone else in his life. That could still be you."

Silence stretches until Tommy sighs, shaking his head.

"Not after this," Tommy says, defeated. "I'm the reason he's hurt."

"Tommy. If you leave right now, you'll regret it for the rest of your life," Eddie warns him.

Tommy swallows. Nods. Shoves his hands into his pockets.

"When he wakes up... tell him I'm sorry," Tommy says. "For everything."

yes yes I know we all want the Tommy copter crash whump BUT it's been two seasons since Buck has had a near death experience.

put him in the chopper, but not with Tommy.

"I can't work with him," Tommy says in an undertone to Bobby, watching Buck across the tarmac grabbing his gear from the 118's truck. "I get that you want us to talk, but this is a serious crisis, Captain, we can't afford distractions."

"Buck's professional, he won't--" Bobby tries, but Tommy shakes his head.

"I don't doubt his professionalism, I doubt my own," Tommy says. "Give me Eddie, Lucy can take Buck."

"Alright, if you're sure," Bobby says. Tommy nods and beelines it back to his chopper before Buck can join their conversation. But he sees the moment Bobby relays the new orders. The slump to his shoulders, the twist of his face. He cuts a glare over at Tommy, who looks away immediately, afraid of being caught staring. Not that it matters.

The choppers go up. Eddie's buckled in next to Tommy. Everything's going fine. The radio crackles to life.

"Not to be unprofessional," says Buck's voice, bitter and sulking, over the radio, "but do you think this wind is gonna be an issue for the landing? Over."

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs. Tommy frowns.

"Is Donato worried? Over."

"No but you know what they say about wind. It never knows which direction it's going. Over."

Tommy's jaw clenches.

"Get off the radio, Buckley," he snaps.

"Or what, huh? You'll walk away again?" Buck demands.

"Okay, can we save the domestic for later?" Lucy interrupts, clearly pissed off. "We have a job to do, and I didn't sign on to sit here and listen to you two-- SHIT"

"Donato?"

"Tommy." Eddie's voice is dark, filled with dread. Tommy looks out of the passenger side window, just in time to see the other helicopter begin to nosedive towards the ground. Tommy's heart drops right alongside it.

"Evan..."

[heejayy]

Jason Todd x black reader (1.3k) Warning: angst, mentions death, blood, and swearing

A/n: this has no title it’s just been floating around in my head and I finally wrote it.

[Flashback]

Jason had been acting strangely for the previous week, but you didn't want to bother him because he already had enough on his plate for a seventeen-year-old side kick, but you couldn't help but keep an eye on him as he lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head. You follow his gaze, and he's simply staring out your bay window, watching the rain fall. Jason's nonverbal behavior is nothing new; he's always in his head, but this time feels different, which alarms you.

"Hey Jay you okay?" You asked scooting closer, and he only nodded, his gaze never leaving the window.

You frowned.

You reverted back to silence until you had an idea, then bent down and pecked his forehead, cheeks, and lips. You continued to kiss his face until his lips cracked into a smile.

"Stop, I'm trying to be broody and mysterious," you giggled, snorting.

"Leave that to your father it doesn't suit you." He let out a tiny gasp as he playfully nudged you. As the laughter subsided, Jason rolled off your bed and walked over to his gym bag. After rummaging through it for a few seconds, he found what he needed and returned to you. He was holding what appeared to be a little jewelry box.

“Jay wh-“ before you could question him on it he sat beside you gently grabbing your hand.

"Angel, before you open this, I want you to know that I adore you, and in the year we've spent together, you've truly made life worthwhile. I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with, and I've been told I have a temper, but you've stayed with me nonetheless, and I wanted to thank you for that.” He leaned in, kissed your forehead, and handed you the box.

"Umm Jason if your contemplating on-"

"No! I'm not thinking about hurting myself, so just open the box." You laughed at his frustration and did as you were ordered. You opened the jewelry box, revealing a lovely charm bracelet. It was embellished with red and blue charms, his initials, and a robin. You couldn't stop yourself from crying, "Jason, I love it!" You wrapped your hand around his neck, squeezing him tightly and nearly knocking him down.

"Here, angel, let me put it on for you," you reluctantly let go, allowing him to snap the bracelet onto your wrist. You shook your wrist with a smile, hoping to hear the charms jitter together. "I'm never taking this off."

[Present]

And you never did.

Today marks four years since Jason passed; the night he gave you the bracelet was the last time you saw him. There were so many things you wanted to say if you had known what was about to happen.

You sulked as you fiddled with the charms on the bracelet, gently dragging your finger over the letter J…

"Y/n?"

"Y/n?!" Your head shot up, looking for whoever yelled your name.

"Focus! We're getting busy," you stumbled out of your seat in a haze and walked up to the cash register, muttering an apology to Anya before accepting the customer's order. "Hi I'm sorry for the delay welcome to Lush Latte how may I help you?"

And that's how your day went: trapped in a trance on autopilot, daydreaming about the what-ifs. Before you knew it, it was time to clock out, so you packed your belongings and headed for the door.

"Hey, before you leave, I wanted to ask if you were okay. You were more quiet than usual," Anya inquired. You nodded, offering her a little smile, before pulling the cafe doors wide. You were assaulted with a gust of cool air; autumn is gradually turning into winter, and the temperature begins to drop dramatically early in the day. Which you despised. You checked your phone and realized you had two hours till it was absolutely dark outside. You went to a flower shop, picked up a bouquet of lilies and orchids, and made your way to him.

….

As you approached Gotham's Cemetery, you gathered the flowers from the passenger seat and walked to his tombstone. As you placed your flowers in the vase, you noticed fresh white roses next to them, and a sad smile emerged on your lips. "Must be Alfred," you muttered, fixing his flowers in the vase alongside your own. After rearranging the flowers and cleaning up his grave, you took a step back. Looking at his tombstone always made his death seem too real. "Jason Todd, a good soldier" it read. Every time you read that, you're filled with wrath, remembering all of your arguments with Bruce to get it changed

“How could you?!!” He was your son not some fucking soldier, you used him and now you’re throwing him away! You never loved him! You NEVER CARED!”

You closed your eyes, and tears streamed down your cheeks. You remember shouting and striking him, but he never moved, never yelled or hit you back; he simply let you unleash your rage and frustration on him until Dick carried you away in an attempt to calm you.

How could he diminish his son to merely a soldier? You would never understand.

Thunder boomed over the sky, making you flinch; it began to drizzle, and you took this as your cue to depart. You bid him farewell, dried your tears, and drove home.

….

You didn't realize you had driven all the way home until you parked your car in the garage. You made it up to your apartment and locked the door behind you. By now, your head was throbbing and you were worn-out; this time of year is never easy for you.

You turned on the lamp and hung your purse and coat on the rack; when you kicked off your shoes, you noticed a small puddle on the floor. This triggered alarms in your head, and as you moved around more, you observed mud tracks around your flat, which couldn't have came from you because the shoe size was significantly larger than yours.

Fearful, you stealthily got a knife from the kitchen and wandered around your, "hello?!"

"If anyone is in here I have a knife and will fuck you up!" As you moved down the hall past the living room, you noticed that your bedroom door was open and the lights were turned on. Your breath hitched and stuttered in between gulps as your terror grew. There was blood on the door, plenty of it. You stormed into the room, ready to stab the stranger, but there was nothing there until you heard ragged breathing coming from the bathroom.

You peeked into the restroom and saw a pair of dirty boots, then pushed the door open with your foot to reveal a very massive beat up man lying down on the floor, gripping his bleeding abdomen.

"Who the hell are you?!" You screamed aiming the knife towards him. Wow, how terrifying…

He slowly peered up at you with hooded eyes, damp hair stuck to his forehead, barely conscious, and whispered, "You don't recognize me, angel?" You tilted your head in disbelief, still pointing the knife at the strange man.

Angel? The only person who ever called you angel was…no it can’t be.

Your grip on the knife loosened as the realization set in. But this is insane; you saw his body, and he is dead! You started feeling nauseous, your chest clenched, and your breathing became shallow. It can't be him; he's never had green eyes, this many scars, or a white streak combed through his hair.

"If you don't let me bleed out on your bathroom floor I'll explain everything, I promise.”

•••

©heejayy 2024 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission

[starlight-library]

Favorite Days | Multiple drivers

who's involved?: ln4, cl16, mv33, lh44, op81 & bonus

summary: a glimpse into driver's favorite thing they do with you

warning: fluff. just so much fluff.

fc: n/a

wc: 1.6k

a/n: hi! holiday season is fast upon us and so is my chaotic work schedule! with that my series: playlist series, toto concert series, and rbdhh are going to take longer for me to roll out but i have not forgotten them!

Max loves nothing than being an introvert with you. If Max could have it his way, the two of you would just stay home unless necessary. How could he not? When he’s streaming and takes a moment to turn around and see you on the couch watching TV. Jimmy and Sassy both curled up around you as you lazily pet whichever one is close. The way you’re so invested and silently reacting when you aggressively toss a hand out in shock. When you catch him staring and point to the TV as if he’s been watching the entire time seeing the same shit she is and he can’t help but smile and return to his stream. His favorite was ending stream and immediately going to you. You shift a bit to make room as Max lays on you, hugging your waist and he melts when you run your nails through his hair. How you two could stay like this for hours and be content in each other’s silence. It was pure bliss.

Lando adores game nights with you. He adores how you are so not competitive compared to him for most things. While Lando got really into games, even like Jenga, you were so nonchalant about it. You just smiled and laughed at Lando when he went on his little rants or his little gloats. He knew that you knew it wasn’t that deep. Though his favorite was you two playing ‘Overcooked’. It was the only time you got serious about a game. Suddenly you were calling the shots and now Lando was the one laughing as you yelled at him for forgetting a tomato or something. He almost fell over laughing the next time you two played and you presented two chef hats and told him you were giving him some ‘call out lessons’. Lando got them mixed up which resulted in him screaming from laughter as you gently smacked him with one of the pillows while shouting ‘HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?’ It’s his favorite side of you during game night for sure.

Charles enjoys going on side quests with you. Charles really did try to balance his work and home life and he thought that he did well. Yet according to some of his ex’s they can’t handle all these random “side-quests” he takes (though he always made it a point to tell them). Yet, you are the complete opposite of them. You absolutely adored the random side quests Charles got to go on and was ecstatic when you got to join him because that meant more side-quests. You two getting lost to one restaurant and finding a cute ma and pop shop. Sometimes you guys would plan to hit a bar and end up outside, eating ice-cream, just people watching. Sometimes you two would just go out to walk and see where the day would take you guys. You were so easy going and just enjoying quality time with Charles that it was a breath of fresh air that he could be himself.

Lewis loves to spend a night in and cook with you because you always kept it interesting. The first time Lewis had ever cooked with you was in Brazil when he brought you to his house. You had insisted you wanted to help him cook and he let it. He had looked away for two seconds and whipped around to a very small fire starting on the pasta. You two swiftly put it out and Lewis couldn’t help the laugh as you apologize profusely. He reassured you that he is not upset or laughing at you but he’s laughing at the sheer shock of the situation. Lewis thought it was a fluke but realized the longer you two date that this is just you cooking. He found it both amazingly scary but truly enduring at your ability to take a simple dish and create some chaos about it. Though Lewis has now found peace in the chaos and laughter that followed along with the ‘how did you manage this?!’ ‘i don’t know this is a first!’ conversation.

Oscar finds the most mundane things exciting when you’re with him. Shopping his favorite thing to do with you. Typically, Oscar is in and out with the bare necessities for him to survive until another race weekend and only doubles during breaks. Though when you join him, shopping becomes the most interesting thing ever. It always starts with iced coffee and ‘we’re only buying what we need’ though you both know that’s far from the truth. He just happily pushes the cart as you walk up and down every aisle. Stopping to sniff the candles before getting both because it’s a ‘little treat’ and the ‘sale is too good to pass up’ (as if you were paying). He lets you pick out matching pajamas, board games, all the snacks and drinks. Oscar happily pays for everything and helps you load the car up and unload the car before you two are in your own little world for days on end.

Bonus!

Logan loves amusement parks at heart and it was bonus that you also love amusement parks. The two of you always made it a point to see if there was an amusement park nearby the hotel or track when he was in F1 and go check it out. When Logan was let go, he was absolutely devastated and really didn’t want to do anything. Though, when you mention that you’ve never been to Universal, Logan is rolling out of bed rambling bout how his parents had just renewed the family annual passes. Logan seemed to come to life after parking and making his way up the escalator with you and walking into the City Walk. The two of you went into Island’s first to some rides. You deemed the ‘Cat In The Hat’ ride was the weirdest ride you’ve done yet but overall, 9.5/10. You two then hopped over to Hollywood studios where you experienced the joy that is ‘The Mummy’. You two had a dance party in Spongebob’s shop under the pineapple (that you two were a little big for but still fit comfortably) before ending it with some Fat Tuesday’s and Voodoo Donuts. It seems that Logan can never have a bad day when he’s at an amusement park, sharing the joys of memories with you as he steps back, looking at all the photos he paid for from the rides smiling to himself.

Mick loves a good snow day. The days where there’s too much snow so everyone stays home. He loves making a cup of hot chocolate and just looking at the snow enjoying the quiet before you come in and gasp before disappearing. He turns seeing you come out about five minutes later, all bundled up and rushing out the door. Mick is quick to follow, bundling himself up before opening the door and getting a snowball right to the face. Mick shakes his head out before rushing you the best he can. He ends up tackling you, the two of you laughing and rolling in the snow as Nala, the Saint Bernard puppy you two had recently adopted, comes out and jumps around. She tries to eat as much snow as possible which you and Mick try to control so she’s not puking up water. The three of you (really you and Mick with Nala barking for support) make a snowman before Mick ushers you three in. Getting dried off, the three of you cuddle up under a blanket to watch movies.

Arthur loves playing music with you. Typically, Arthur is rather bashful about the music he makes as the imposter syndrome seeps in. Though when it comes to you, Arthur could sit for hours playing. His favorite is when you showed an interest in learning piano. The two of you on the piano bench, he guides your hand to the keys. Arthur rambles on about the keys and gently plays a scale before looking at you. He smiles seeing you try to intimate him, sticking his tongue out. It didn’t sound as fluid as him but you hit all the keys right. He gently places his hands over yours, guiding your hands to play the scale while murmuring about relaxing as you were so tense. It took you about three lessons to finally relax, which Arthur took as a huge win. His favorite is when he’s playing a piece and he glances over, seeing how you watch him with such a proud and loving smile. How your eyes sparkle in awe and how you whisper ‘wow’ as you watch him. He may never release his music to the public but he would gladly play all of them for you.

Toto actually quiet enjoys rainy days. He enjoys waking up to the sound of rain and watching the rain fall while he drinks his morning coffee. Typically, Toto would move as many meetings to Zoom as he could and only go into the office if necessary but there were rare days that he had nothing schedule when he wakes up to a rainy day. Now these days are his favorite because he loves watching you sleepily make coffee in one of his shirt. How you gently cradle your mug and take a sip and sigh in relief. Toto loves watching you shuffle to the living room and pick up your kindle before curling up on the couch. How you look up with a happy but sleepy smile as he sits next to you on the couch with his own coffee in the hand and blanket. Placing the blanket over both of you, Toto moved his arm as you cuddled up into his side. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, he turns the TV on, gently resting his cheek on top of your head as you two spend the morning laying around. Rainy days were truly his favorite.

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 9

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Chapter summary: Past. You aren't good enough for Logan. Present. Logan makes you feel good.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Before

“Please stop worrying about me.”

“You’re hurt.”

Logan reached up and took your wrist gently. “Everything is literally already healed, Dolly.”

You look down at him, eyes wet with worry and anxiety as you dabbed at his forehead with a wet washcloth. Since getting back inside, you hadn’t stopped fretting over him. “I know… but you got hurt because of me, please let me just do… something?”

Logan acquiesced, letting go of you so you could clean him. “You didn’t get hurt because of me, doll face.”

“But you did.” Logan took a few tumbles fighting Scott, leaning him fine, but bloody. You’re thankful Logan did hurt Scott for touching you, Scott doesn’t have healing, and you know Logan would feel horrible hurting or even killing Scott over a misunderstanding.

There was silence as he let you care for him even though he was healed. It was for your own sanity, to know you weren’t completely useless. You clean off his handsome face, taking the blood off his skin, even cleaning his hairline and beard with tender touches despite his rough skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, and you even heard him humming.

You couldn’t meld the two Logan’s in your head, couldn’t make sense of what you saw this evening with the kitty purring in your arms right now. He had been vicious, ready to kill Scott for sliding your dress a mere inch to the side. Yes, it was embarrassing and you didn’t like it but it wasn’t worth disemboweling him for. Logan, the Logan you knew was a gentle giant, soft enough to cradle the duckling on the side of the road you saw while driving home from church with him and taking it to the pond with its family. Your Logan offered to take you to a nondenominational church in the first place so you could pray. Your Logan only hurt you in the throes of a nightmare.

“It wasn’t your fault, Logan. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

But he shook his head as you sat by his side. ”Not meaning to doesn’t erase the fact you have scars on your back now.”

He was right, it didn’t, but you didn’t really care. “Lo… that doesn’t matter to me. Honestly, it doesn’t. You were having a nightmare, sometimes-”

“I almost killed Rogue. During a nightmare. She came to check on me, just like you did, got stabbed right through the chest.”

Your heart clenched at yes, the thought of sweet Rogue in such pain, but also how much guilt Logan carried around.

“She touched me and was able to absorb my powers, make heal herself… but if that had been anyone else, if that had been you?” He shook his head. “I’d skin myself alive before I hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

And you nod, because you do. Logan wasn’t like Mark. “I know… that’s why you fought Scott, to protect me.”

Logan chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t just foughting him, Dolly. I was gonna kill him for laying a hand on you.”

This makes you frown. “It wasn’t that serious.”

But he catches your wrist, eyes snapping up to you with a burning intensity you rarely see in the calm brown eyes of his. “You are that serious to me. Scott should know to keep his weasley hands off you.”

You make no attempt to pull away. “But it was a misunderstanding!” You protest. “He thought you hurt me, he wanted to-”

“Scott doesn’t want anything other than to prove he was right about me all along. If it was about the claw marks I wouldn’t even care, because baby doll if I had seen that someone hurt you, they’d be dead.” He stands, imposing height and broad frame should be fearful, but you didn’t fear Logan. Instead, you simply stare up at him. “You hear me, Dolly? Fucking dead. But that’s not why Scott cares. He doesn’t care about you, not like I do. He just hates me.”

You try to make sense of this information. You knew Scott wasn’t fond of Logan; they never interacted outside of necessity, didn’t get sent on missions alone together. Remy was sent on one once because the skillset fit Logan and Scott best, but Remy was there just to function as a peacekeeper, a buffer he said. Still, you didn’t think it was that bad. Scott was kind, friendly, and caring. Logan was the sweetest heart you knew.

Taking his other hand, you prompt him to continue. “Why, Logan? When you’re so…”

“So what?” Logan chuckles. “Insane?”

“Good.”

The words hang in the air, soaking into his skin as if he hoped you could speak it into existence. He didn’t believe it, but you truly, truly did. You’d spend forever making him see what you saw in him.

He simply shakes his head, looking down but not at you. “He’s got a right to hate me, baby dolly. ‘Fraid I’m not the good guy in this story.”

“Logan.” You emphasize his name, pleading with him for clarity. “What happened between you?”

“It ain’t gonna make me look very good in your sweet little eyes. ”A deep breath and a long talk later he told you what happened, how he came to Xavier institute with Rogue, how he fell in love with Jean Grey. That part shocked and carved a pit in your stomach, because she was always someone you compare yourself to, with her beautiful red hair and soft eyes, her thin but strong body curving in a beautiful wave. And she was a mutant. You always fretted about not being a mutant, if that was a turn off for Logan that you were weak, useless, needed to be protected.

Logan laid it out for you, how he knowingly and willingly began an affair with Jean, that she cheated on Scott. This also surprised you. Scott was someone you liked a lot, seemed like a loving husband. He clearly adored Jean. Why would she cheat? Still, you were disappointed in Logan. He knew what he was did.

“Well… you’re right. You are the bad guy here…”

“I know.”

“But Lo… she made her own choice. I mean, it wasn’t good of you, especially to Scott-”

“What do you mean, ‘Especially Scott?” Logan’s voice held scrutiny, and you couldn’t help smirk a little at him.

“I mean he’s kind, Logan. I know you can’t really see it, you don’t like him, but he is.”

He relaxes. "Sorry... old habits die hard, I guess..." Logan's hand reaches up to cup your face, thumbing gently over your cheek. His eyes held worry as he searched yours for answers. "Does that ruin things, dolly?"

Heat creeps up your body, warming your neck. You and him... you never addressed what this was between you, and you wanted to keep it that way. You loved him, of course you loved Logan, you loved him in a way you'd never felt for your husband. What you felt for Mark was teenage infatuation of a child who didn't know she was being taken advantage of. This was real. Logan was sweet, he was kind, and most importantly to you he was gentle.

Your parent's followed the teaching of the Pearls, their book, "To Train Up a Child" was second only to the bible in your household, and you remember watching in horror as they smacked your younger siblings to prevent them from leaving a laid put blanket. When you protested, your mother asked "so, you want Grace to go to hell?" You didn't know what to think of that, so you couldn't protest anymore, because of course, of course you don't want your sister to go to hell! So it was hell or aggression? Was gentleness a sin? You were conditioned to accept abuse as love, that domestic discipline was your husband teaching you because he loved you, he wanted better for you.

His hand leaves your face when he notices you shrink back.

"Lo, I'm... I'm not right for you."

His hands drop to his sides, bewilderment clouding his face. "Is this about not being able to have kids? Dolly, I want that with you, of course i do but... a baby that doesn't even exist yet isn't more important to me than you are... dolly I lo-"

But you backed away. Shaking your head in your now-dirty dress, hair falling out of it's pins, you looked so sad, like you were falling apart. It broke his heart.

"I don't just mean that."

He blinks. "It is the pants thing?" You mentioned it early, that he deserved someone who doesn't cry when they try on pants. "baby, I don't care if you can't wear pants or drive or, or whatever it is you think is wrong with you. I love you as you are! I want to help you, me and Remy, we can help you get better but if i have to drive you around for the rest of our lives..." He chuckles wryly, hands stretched out in pleading, begging for you to fall into him the way you wanted to. "Well, you won't hear me complaining. Whatever it takes to have you in my life."

But he didn't know you. He thought the only worries you had were the leftover weird little habits you had from your upbringing and nothing could be further from the truth. "I'm not who you think i am, Logan. there's- there's something wrong with me. Something very, very wrong and I'm a bad person who-"

"Dolly..."

"I DESERVE EVERYTHING BAD THAT HAPPENED TO ME!"

You're cry echoes off the walls of the school hall, and you can't even bare to face him. He will just try to tell you that you didn't deserve it, that you are good.

But that is only because he doesn't know you.

If Logan knew the truth, he could never look at you again.

You turn around and ran away.

After

The sound of prom flowed in through the window, your students laughing and having fun to the music. You were glad, even if you couldn't see. Everything those kids have worked through, the trauma they experienced gets to go away for a night. They don't have to be mutants. They don't have to be the freaks they were called by the ones who were supposed to love them. They were just teenagers.

Logan held you in his arms, his body radiating heat and strength and protection you couldn't help be drawn to. Maybe it was the pregnancy, a biological urge to have someone who is going to protect you. Maybe it was your body being drawn to it's father. Maybe you were just weak.

"Let me take care of you, Dolly..." He whispered against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting over yours like they were asking for permission. "Won't let no one hurt you again, you and our baby... we could be so happy."

Flashes of his abuse flicked, the way you held your arms over your eyes because you couldn't make sense of Logan being the one doing this to you. because it was easier to pretend it was someone else. How you sobbed. How he slapped you... How he held you so sweetly after, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' but as soon as they were came, they left when your hand on his shoulder grazes his collarbone.

So warm.

You couldn't do this alone. You were terrified, terrified of having a baby, of having a baby out of wedlock, of the shame and embarrassment and the questions. There would be so many questions. Scott knows, so who else does? Has Remy figured it out? Remy wouldn't hate you for having a baby with a man you weren't with, would he? Of course not, but your old beliefs creep in.

"I'll marry you, Dolly." Logan whispers. "My little wife... my perfect girl... You'll never have to worry again..."

It sounded nice. it sounded safe. It sounded like your Logan, the Logan you trusted...

"We're both a little fucked up, aren't we?"

You remember. you remember the things you'd done. The story you trusted to Logan before he did what he did to you...

"you can't ever do that again, Logan..." You say, hesitantly, and you can feel him smile against your lips.

"Never. I'd never hurt my baby doll."

He wouldn't hurt his baby doll. His girl. his wife. The mother of his child... Logan had given you what you wanted, your baby... you could have it all again. A happy family. A husband. A good life here at the school... all you had to do was forgive and forget.

It was what the bible taught, wasn't it? He confessed his sins. He was forgiven by god, so who were you to hold out?

"Okay." You whisper and nod. "I forgive you. Just..." Your eyes meet his, and there's a hope in there you haven't seen for months. "Just don't fail me this time."

"Never." The lips that had been so clos you could feel the lines finally collided with yours again, and it was like the damn had broke. Hands pawed at skin and you kissed Logan like you were trying to swallow him whole, a communion of two bodies pulled together. Logan picked you up, pressing your back against the wall as he ground his hips against your pubic bone, your legs and arms wrapped tightly around him like you'd wanted to do for nearly a year.

Don't fail me, Logan Howlett

"Taste so pretty" Logan murmurs, shuttering as his erection pressed against you. He wasn't exactly making sense, so lost in your that words came out messy and jumbled and god, did it make your head spin. He was drunk of you.

He carried you to your bed, laying you down so gently he cradled your head until it hit the pillow, soft as his lips on your neck. Your dress rucked up around your thighs, falling down when he spread them to loop at your core. You wore tights, of course, but Logan was not hindered. One claw came out just enough for him to cut through the black material, revealing the wet spot of your cotton panties. You should feel embarrassed, honestly, that you weren't wearing the sexiest of clothes, but the way Logan looked at you all of that dissapeared.

Guilt crawled under your skin, a creeping feeling in the back of your head that this was wrong, that this was something god frowned on, that you were bad for doing this...

You wish you knew him before it felt like like a sin.

Logan's mouth was warm over your still-clothed cunt; he mouthed over it, his licking adding to the wetness pooling until sharp teeth tore at the material, masking you gasp once and then again when he dove into you.

Mark never touched you like this.

He never loved you like this.

Logan's tongue on your pussy was unlike anything you'd experienced before, his fingers so much thicker than your own and god, nothing had ever felt so good before.

"Want you to cum, baby doll." he whispers to your cunt. "give it to me, cum on my face." His arm wrapped around your leg, holding you down as you squirm and pleasure and all the overwhelming sensations. "You can do it baby. Let me taste you."

Your hands card though his hair, gripping him; when you cum, you pull so hard on the dark waves for a moment you think you've hurt him... but when he finishes lapping up your juices, his head pops out from under your skirt... he's grinning.

That ear to ear, shit eating, boyish grin you loved so much about him before, before it all got so complicated.

When Logan slid inside you, it didn't hurt. you felt a stretch, sure, but not pain... still, there was an aching inside you, a pain that screamed out SOMETHING IS WRONG! ITS WRONG! ITS WRONG! but you shoved it away. It was just the guilt, that's all. It was guilt from a religion that tore you to shreds, that stripped down every essence of your being until you were a shell, a community of people dependent on thought crimes and martyrdom that somehow never applied to men the way it did to you, and made you feel dirty for wanting to feel pretty. That's what it was.

This with Logan, it wa right. That's why God gave you a baby, right? You were being rewarded. Mark wasn't the one, Logan was. it was fine. it was good.

And he made you feel so, so good.

Logan fucked your body with a passion you didn't know what possible, his hands wandering and groping and feeling, just needing to know every single inch of you, learning what made you gasp and moan and what made you tense and uncomfortable. He drove his cock so deep inside you that you saw stars, an intense sensation of being full, so fucking full. All the while, he was gentle with your stomach, always touching it in some way, needing to be close you know, knowing he was the reason you had stretch marks and he was the reason you swelled with a child.

"Mine." Logan growled, claiming your mouth with fervor and passion as he hips slammed inside you. "You're mine, dolly, and no one is ever going to take you away f-from me, FUCK!"

You didn't care who heard you, if anyone left the party early and came to the rooms. Remy's was the closest, and he certainly wouldn't care.

You let your pleasure me known, moaning his name as your fingernails clawed up his back faster than he could heal. Logan like the pain, smiling when you drew blood. It made you feel good to make it smile. It made you feel good to make him hurt.

You thought he'd cum inside; you were already pregnant so there was no other risk. Logan remained unpredictable.

After he makes you cum so hard you bite through his skin, Logan pulls out with a 'pop!' and flips up your dress. You watch in aw as he jerks himself off, strong body, soft muscles, and the absolute look of lust on his face as he stared directly down on your cunt, painting it with rope after rope of white cum. He was filing it away for his memory, the way his seed covered you, sticking to the public hair and contrasting against your skin.

Once he was sure he'd never forget, and every last drop was pulled from his softening cock, Logan's tongue cleaned you.

THEY FUCKED!!!!!!

we're not at the end though, tee hee! still more!

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[sturniolo04]

Holy Cow! Did you just ask me out C.S.

Fwb!Bf!Chris x Fwb!Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

Ever since you were a little kid the only thing you could remember aside from the fact your parents couldn't decide on a first name for you ultimately giving you two Anna Katherine so everyone just calls you A.K. but you always remembered how you and the triplets were attached to the hip considering you guys grew up together in Boston. You took an extreme liking to Chris just because you shared more things in common with your high-spirited energy and quite frankly you and Chris were always getting in trouble and Nick would always get you out of it being the oldest out of the three, you guys definitely owe him.

Chris and Ak's relationship was always a little more than just friends or even best friends, everyone could sense this romantic relationship tension in highschool. It became really apparent to you both individually during sophomore year considering the busy schedule you both adopted which made you guys realize how much you two miss the presence of the other.

Which brings you to now, sitting at your house in LA that you share with your roommate in college, Sarah, who is currently on vacation for spring break. You and Chris had still keep your friendship close unfortunately you or chris never grew enough nerves to solve and address the very romantic tension that was still apparently present even after highschool.

"Anna K"

chris screams as you open the door to let him and his brothers in.

"oh my god Christopher"

you exclaim back hugging him seeing that had just gotten back to LA from tour.

"how was tour you goofball"

you ask chris as you and him made your way to your room sitting on your bed after you greeted matt and nick and after him ultimately telling you he needed to talk to you about something.

" it was so amazing i feel so blessed to even have the opportunity to do something like that and have such a huge impact on people's live"

he excitedly states as you subtly smile at your best friend hearing how happy he sounds at just explaining tour.

"i love that for you chris"

you beam replying to him.

"yeah but i wished you were there though with us"

he nonchalantly states resulting in a surprised look to take over your face.

"what you missed me"

you joke out pushing his shoulder playfully.

"i mean- yeah "

he trails off shyly as your face morphs in a softer expression

"i didnt realize how much i like when you are with me all the time I just I think I realized that I"

he breathes out.

"chris"

you softly breath out.

"i like you and i want you to be my girlfriend"

he rushes softly out as your jaw drops.

"chris i-i"

you stutter out with a loss of words as he scratches the back of his head embarrassed at your reaction.

"shit um i for-"

he nervously replies regretting his previous sentences.

"wait im sorry did you just ask me out"

you joke with him giggling not believing that chris your best friend just admitted he liked you and wanted to be your boyfriend.

" yes i did Ak, im being serious. I cant believe I did either honestly"

he huffs out chuckles mumbling the last part.

"yes chris i would love to for your to be my boyfriend"

you giggle out as you reach out and grab his shaky hand as he lets out a breath of air as he hangs he head down chuckling as you follow his movements with caring eyes.

"i was really nervous about all the way here"

he giggles out as you laugh along with him.

'really aw chris"

"yeah"

he breathes out

"well im glad you asked"

he reply as he nods his head.

"c'mere"

you say opening your arms and standing up to bring him in a hug as he nuzzles his head in your neck.

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@mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff @dirtylittleheart333 @stayingstromboli @emely9274 @spicymuffins03

[wc-confessions]

Gonna toss a stick into fire by saying this but I think people react too strongly toward Bluestar. I see tons of people bashing her for her behavior towards Snowfur/Brightheart especially and while I do agree that yes she.. Didn't treat them the best I can totally understand why. She fucks up pretty badly but I think that's what makes her so interesting and why her plot is so enjoyable to me. Her life was horrible since the beginning, with her mother dying at an early age, her father barely being present in her life, having such a heavy prophecy thrown onto her back, Sunfall pushing her out of her grief so soon, always put in this stake to be a fit warrior for her clan. And then Oakheart happened, which again I can see why. Her giving up her kits in the middle of winter is something I don't think is justified at all, especially since they were so so young (and Mosskit ended up dying along the way which was horrible), but I can feel sympathy for her because it was an act out of desperation, even if a terrible one. Snowfur was the only one she had left, and yeah she did behave immaturely towards her and Thistle's relationship, but I see it as her just being overprotective of Snow over it. She was genuinely shaken when she died. Also, Brightheart and Swiftpaw. Unfortunate sitation, but not entirely her fault. She was going through a mental crisis- which again, doesn't justify her actions but really gives insight as to why she acted that way- and I understand both sides. Swiftpaw wanted to prove himself worthy, Brightheart followed after, but as that point they were old enough to know not to leave camp all alone, especially since they weren't aware of how massive the issue was in the first place and when their leader was obviously unwell. I don't think Bluestar giving Brightheart the name Lostface was targetted towards her in specific or entirely with malicious intent, more so as an act of rebelty towards Starclan with her as the receiving end of it. It did have an undeniable horrible effect on Brightheart though, which is why I repeat that while her mental issues do explain how she acted, her actions did injure others and that isn't excusable. This is getting extremely long but my point is; Bluestar's story is far from black and white and while she isn't a saint, she isn't absolutely horrible either. She suffered, she suffered a lot, and she ended up expelling that to everyone around her. I can understand people who hate her, people who love her, and she is one of if not the most interesting TC leader to me. You can enjoy a character without having to absolve them of their flaws.

.

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 4)

And here we have the internship beginning.

(Kei notes some divergences from what happened in Shell Game in her narration as we go. For the most part, these can be attributed to having way less time to meet up with her teammates and get them acclimated to Japan.)

Sorry, Ingenium.

After saying goodbye to the other students at the Musutafu train station, neither Kei or Iida talked during the trip to Hosu City. 

While it wasn’t that uncommon for Kei to zone out completely on public transit, Iida would’ve said something out of politeness at the very least. There wasn’t that much of a crowd on the late morning train compared to either rush hour. They’d even both managed to find seats rather than clutching the overhead handles or the various vertical handholds. 

Instead, Kei dug a book out of her non-regulation backpack and read with her forearms leaning on her costume’s carry case. Every once in a while, she’d either shoot a deadly glare at someone trying to approach the more-recognizable Iida or look at her classmate in concern. The former scared off interlopers, while the latter had no apparent effect. 

Iida just sat there, like a super-tense robot. 

Kei wasn’t even as close to him as Midoriya and Uraraka were, so directly asking how Iida felt…didn’t quite work, in her head. She didn’t have the kind of rapport where she could just say what was on her mind. Or punch it out of him and remain friends after. That was a Gai thing. 

And we would not want that. 

Though guess being genuinely me could still go worse. With a sigh, Kei turned her attention back to her light novel. Hopefully, some fictional violence would take her mind off some of the impending actual violence for a while. 

Before she knew it, they were walking out into bright sunshine in a city Kei had patrolled once. Just not as herself.

Manual, the Normal Hero, turned out to be a plain-faced man with a generic ocean theme to his costume. His visored helmet even had a fin top, though nothing functional. Practical white boots, yellow gloves, and a skintight shirt divided evenly between blue and white rounded out the look. He greeted his case-toting interns with a smile and a wave and didn’t seem at all awkward about it. Manual didn’t seem to mind that Iida’s behavior and countenance was a little terse or that Kei tried to stay in Iida’s shadow all the way from the train station to his pro agency. 

While Kei’s counterfeit Quirk was stronger than his by orders of magnitude, Manual was really no weaker than the average Kiri-nin. Like most shinobi, he relied on water already present in his environment to do his work, but in a city, he was never that far from a fire hydrant. More importantly, operating in an urban environment usually gave him a lot of pro hero allies within shouting distance. 

For all intents and purposes, he was an ordinary pro hero with ordinary responsibilities in a city with a serious serial killer infestation. 

Kei felt kind of bad for him, because both of his interns brought ulterior motives along with their literal baggage. Not bad enough to confess to anything, of course, but the thought lingered.

“Well, now that you’ve both arrived safely, let’s get you situated.” Manual didn’t have the same kind of winning smile as, say, All Might, but he didn’t really need it. He beckoned them to follow him into the building. “To cut down on the commute somewhat, my agency will provide room and board for the week. We also have locker rooms so you can get changed quickly for our first patrol. Meal breaks may vary a little depending on what’s happening in the field, but we’ll take good care of you.” 

“Thank you, Manual-sensei,” Iida managed with a third of his usual bombast.  Still, he bowed. 

Kei clasped both hands over her costume case and mirrored him. “We’ll be sure to learn a lot from you this week, Manual-sensei.” 

“I have no doubt!” 

Kei’s borrowed room was smaller than her apartment’s bedroom, but it didn’t need to really be more than a cot and bathroom access to make her happy. Manual’s agency even had on-site laundry service, so the backpack she’d brought along would suffice for the entire week. Locking the door behind her, she quickly stripped out of her UA uniform and made the change to her “hero” costume. 

Unlike some hero students who a) thought out their requests and b) chose a company that could take criticism, Kei dreaded looking at what she’d be wearing for most of this week.  Even now, the design was a short, sleeveless kimono in dark blue wave patterns, long (unarmored) gloves that reached her biceps and only covered one finger apiece. It’d taken a round of angry revision notes to even get ultra-lightweight armor incorporated into the torso keep her vital organs covered. 

Maybe they’d only given ground because Kei destroyed the first iteration “by accident” during the USJ incident. She’d probably never know. It fell on the cot with a faint rattle, though, so at least the nano-whatever weave chainmail component was still there. 

Might as well get it over with. Kei took a deep breath and checked on the rest of the costume. 

While the boots included shinguards, the designers went with a tabi look for the actual shoe component. The pants appeared to be basically skintight swimming trunks, probably because her listed Quirk incorporated so much water manipulation. And for some fucking reason, there was an obi with a massive bow on the back, trailing behind her as she walked. Kei was going to trip and eat pavement because of that thing someday. 

Overall, what Kei pulled out of the case had barely been changed. She just got an extra belt with some pockets for stowing things like utility knives and little adhesive bandages for civilian boo-boos. 

When Kei inevitably did an about-face and started her career of villainy as Cascade, the City Drowner, she’d start with the support company and knock their building down brick by brick. Yes, a safer bet would be to go to UA’s Support Department and demand revisions from people who weren’t so obstinate, but it would be so satisfying. Vindictively. 

Still, she put it on. Including the hitai-ate that wasn’t Konoha’s. And the makeup to downplay her scar. The goal here was to appear as normal as possible—as a hero hopeful—to anyone observing her and not rock any boats. Certainly not literal ones, either. No matter how much looking at her reflection in the provided mirror felt wrong. 

“All right.” Kei clapped her hands together to shock herself awake. She closed her costume case and took a deep breath. “I can do this.” 

Kei emerged from her temporary quarters feeling as awkward as she had during the Sports Festival, but no longer concealed by her official gym uniform and a whole crowd of similarly-dressed kids. There was no more camouflage to be had. 

“Ah, Gekkō-san, right on time.” Manual got up from his desk and waved. “Once Iida-kun is ready to go, we can take on your first patrol as young hero-hopefuls.” 

“Thanks, Manual-sensei.” Kei crossed her arms as they settled in to wait for Iida in the agency’s lobby. It didn’t really help cover her discomfort, but it did make her feel slightly better. 

“Hm, that reminds me—what’s your hero name? I don’t remember seeing it on your paperwork.” 

“Oh. It’s, um, Cascade. The Mist Hero.” Ugh, I sound like such a fake. Kei managed to mutter a rather lackluster explanation involving deadlines, not really enunciating any of it. 

Manual gave her a thumbs-up likely meant to inspire confidence in the downtrodden.  “That’s all right, Gekkō-san. I’ll just be sure to use it so you can get used to how it feels. I’m sure you’ll live up to the aspirations embodied by that name!” 

More like live down to them. Heroes like Manual were so painfully earnest it made Kei’s hair want to stand on end. What did she do with that? “That’s…nice of you to say…”

“Well, here’s one more nice thing then: I think your hero costume looks good.” 

Kei winced. She felt her whole body lean into that scrap of honesty and hated it just a little. 

“I take it you don’t?” 

“…No, Manual-sensei. It doesn’t feel like me.” Because it wasn’t. Not really. 

“Maybe one of the goals you can work on for this internship can involve that, then.” Manual suggested it like it wasn’t a big deal. “Feeling comfortable with yourself.” 

To be fair, it probably wouldn’t be an important issue once Kei got into an actual fight. Most of the distractions faded away once her blood was up and there was someone who needed a beatdown. 

But in the meantime? Uuuuuugh. 

Thankfully, there was a shiny and chrome option right there. Manual also noticed, then waved, “Oh, Iida-kun! Over here.” 

Iida’s full-on Ingenium look was so much more complicated—visually and emotionally—and storied than Kei’s ongoing fight with support companies. He got to look like either a sentai villain or a turbo mecha, and his armor theoretically deflected attacks before he had to see if they’d bounce of his bones. It was one of the reasons that Iida was completely jacked, apparently. Besides, well, the whole running lifestyle. His hero outfit also came with a helmet that almost entirely concealed his face—except for his eyes—and made his voice echo in a simultaneously cool and kinda creepy way. 

Iida really should’ve taken a better internship somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

“Manual-sensei, I’m ready for duty,” Iida said firmly, despite Kei’s doubts. He was so serious about this that he didn’t even swing his arms for emphasis. “Please lead the way.” 

“Of course. Come along, you two.” 

Patrol as a concept was…fine. 

Mostly boring. 

Kei didn’t exactly mind walking all over cities. A lot of what Hosu citizens wanted out of their local heroes was a token showing. If that meant they also got help taking in their laundry or rescuing cats from trees, so much the better. She did a lot of the same things in Konoha when just starting out as an adorable little genin. There was little expectation of violence in broad daylight. Even petty criminals—those stubborn or uncreative enough to strike without any stealth consideration—were lying low for the moment. 

Basically, the point was deterrence. Though the Hero Killer had earned that title, he didn’t attack groups of heroes. No, he hunted solo operators. Or maybe just whoever separated from the pack, regardless of specifics. Now the city was crawling with potential fights and potential victims. 

Kei mostly hoped Iida didn’t plan to shove his way into the ring. When Ingenium was attacked, he’d been running ahead of his sidekicks and fought a guy specialized in close combat in a blind alleyway. Obito barely managed to get him to the hospital afterward, and if not for Kakashi’s tracking abilities, they might never have found him at all. From what Kei’s teammates said about it, there was a real chance Iida Senior would never get the full use of his left arm back. And the engine in it was probably beyond repair. 

“We’ll mostly be patrolling the local area so you can get a feel for how this works,” Manual said, living up to his name. “Later, we’ll branch out.” 

“Yes, Manual-sensei!” 

Still, Kei did miss running across rooftops with her friends. Her job today, though, was to stay firmly bound by gravity and societal expectations. And not hunt down Stain like the slippery bastard he was. 

So, Kei patrolled. Mostly, this entailed following Manual like a duckling while making sure Iida didn’t stray. Though that last part wasn’t said aloud. 

Broken up by meals, breaks, and gentle encouragement from their pro mentor, the first day passed peacefully. Almost too peacefully for Kei to sleep soundly that night. 

But the next day was similar, despite her worries. The absolute highlight of the entire eight-hour stretch was when Manual asked her to create water for him to manipulate and put out a car that had hit a light pole and caught fire. Iida managed to keep the victims calm while alerting emergency services, who then had to cut the driver out of the vehicle. Overall, it was a good deed and only ruined progress during rush hour for twenty minutes more than usual. 

And then, the third day. Honestly, Kei would’ve called it superstition if trouble had waited one more day into their internship, but it wasn’t to be.

On the third day, the patrol shift split between a morning and afternoon set. While Manual did lead Kei and Iida around until lunch, the next few hours after that involved a little bit of training and a lot of paperwork. According to Manual, almost everything pro heroes were responsible for involved forms in triplicate, and they’d be lucky if computers got involved at all. A lot of the smaller agencies loved their carbon paper. Even snagging the time for a nap amid the flurry of bureaucracy didn’t really improve Kei’s opinion of the whole thing. 

Suffice to say that when it was time to head out just before sunset, Kei was happy to see the sky again.

“We’ll be patrolling Kyoto a little later tonight,” Manual explained as they went. “Sorry this is so monotonous.” 

“No, it’s better this way,” Iida replied. 

Kei nodded along, taking a moment to yawn and stretch before a potential third night of nothing much. 

Instead of just continuing to walk until their feet all fell off, Manual drew up short and turned toward Iida. An unusually serious look was on his face. “Hey, Iida-kun. This is kind of hard to ask, but you’re after the Hero Killer, aren’t you?”

Iida startled. “How did you…?”

Manual’s expression went sheepish and self-deprecating laugh popped out of him. “I couldn’t think of any other reason you’d come to my agency.” Then his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you did, but…you shouldn’t be pursuing personal grudges.” 

Good thing someone wants to talk about that. 

“We heroes don’t have the authority to arrest people or punish them. The only reason we’re allowed to use our Quirks is because of the regulations put on them,” Manual pointed out. 

…Though that part’s still bullshit. 

“That’s why, no matter what their reason might be, a hero must not use their Quirk for themselves.” Manual actually glared at Iida. “If a pro hero used their powers solely for their own ends, it would be a very serious crime.” 

Iida lowered his head just the slightest bit, as though shamed. Just a bit. 

Conscious of the awkward atmosphere, Kei coughed to remind them both that she was still present. 

With that tiny reminder, Manual’s seriousness cracked. Using the kind of choppy hand gestures that Iida normally did, he stumbled his way through his attempt to downplay how serious he’d been. “I’m not saying the Hero Killer isn’t incredibly guilty! You just seem like the really earnest type, you know? I’d hate for you to focus on one goal and ignore everything else.” 

Like Iida doesn’t have tunnel vision fit for a train. 

“Thank you,” Iida said, giving nothing away. “I appreciate your concern.” 

Yeah, that wasn’t an actual concession. That was a very careful sidestep. 

“Oh, it’s fine as long as you get what I’m saying.” Manual turned to lead them onward. “So, we good?” 

He totally missed the way Iida’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his shoulders, or the weight still dragging him down. Or, if he did notice, Manual didn’t have the tools necessary to deal with Iida’s bellyful of vengeance before the Hero Killer finally put in an appearance. 

Kei tapped Iida’s armor with her knuckles as she passed, since he was falling a little bit behind. 

“Gekkō-san, what is it?” 

“Let me know before you do something reckless,” Kei told him, pitching her voice carefully enough that Manual’s helmet wouldn’t let him catch it. “Don’t just run off.” 

Iida didn’t say anything in reply. It was like he couldn’t acknowledge her concern without exploding, and thus needed to keep his focus entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. If it made him rude, maybe he’d be able to apologize for it later. When he felt better. 

But Iida also didn’t notice the tracking seal she'd just pasted to his black bodysuit, which Kei figured made up for that. 

[chiyana]

Bruce: now, for the last part of this meeting

Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie, Damian, Cass, and Duke: ?

Bruce: -turns around to bring up a power point presentation, the title card of which just reads 'Please Be Normal About Tim'-

Bruce: -turns back around-

Bruce: ...Tim why are you the only one still here

Tim: I just like power point presentations

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[buckleydiazmp4]

sometimes the smallest things annoy me

[screampied]

#THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY. g. suguru

☆ sum. the last thing you’d expect for a surprise birthday present by your friends was a visit to a men’s strip club. geto suguru—your dancer’s got it all. tall, handsome, and he wants waaay more than just thirty minutes with you.

wc. 6.9k (h.. haha)

warnings. fem! reader, stripper au, stripper! geto, unprotected, lap dancīng, dry humping, switch geto, lots of riding, 69, finishing too quick, choking, geto has nīpple piercings, hair pulling, spīt, dirty talk, he licks champagne off you, nīpple play, breedīng, praise, **** cameo :), petnames.

an. ty to the ppl who voted on my poll <3 kinda scared to post this LOL. this came on a whim ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

➤ kinktober mlist.

“i understand your body wants it. i know your thoughts, oh you ‘bout it ‘bout it . . ”

the erotic lyrics that blared through the club’s abject speakers nearly deafened your ears the moment you stepped inside. you were flashed with a plethora of luminescent jade lights as you read a glowing sign near the bar that read ‘welcome to the vixxxen lounge.’ your friends, who decided to surprise you for your birthday with nothing more than a girls’ trip to a men’s strip club told you they’d be getting drinks if you need them. of course . . that was probably code for: going to spend time near the private rooms.

apparently, it’s ‘happy hour’ which meant countless discounts—and you’d already had your two individual sessions paid for by one of your friends. crisp aerating air waves from the air conditioner chills against your skin as you lean against the bronzy brick pillar. you gather your surroundings, eyeing the oily attractive glossed men that entertained the screaming crowds of thirsty women. the wide stage was spacey, and it almost looked like a concert—you started to wonder just who you were paired up with. but right as you’re pondering deep in thought, there’s a light tap on your shoulder.

“miss.”

you turn around to face probably the most attractive man you’ve laid your eyes upon. he’s tall with lengthy long hair — tangled black tresses of strands that reach just about past his shoulders. you couldn’t help but openly gawk a bit . . finding your eyes to leisurely trail down toward his skimpy attire. near his neck, he had a stained smooch of a lip stick mark that was a dark shaded red. you then noticed a few hundred dollar bills stuck in between his red thin straps.

this guy, it appeared he was dressed as some kind of firefighter. he had on the helmet along with the matching baggy yellow pants, but was completely topless. the only thing that went against his chiseled pecs was the skinny straps that attached onto the belts of his pants.

“heyy,” he waves a hand in your face, arching a brow.

“o- oh, sorry,” you bashfully murmur, mentally cursing yourself out for wandering off into space again. embarrassing, embarrassing. fishing for your vip pass that gave you direct access to one of the secluded private rooms—you dig it out your pocket, staring down at the assigned dancer and room number. “are you uh . . geto?”

“i am. but ah, suguru’s fine,” he murmurs, and he takes your pass, putting the temperature lanyard over your neck. geto’s fingers brush against your skin and you nearly shudder.

his touch.. it felt like sparks of electricity, and near the far distance by the crowded stage, your friends waved at you. with a throaty, “follow me, birthday girl,” he swiftly turns his heels and starts making a beeline toward the back of the club. you follow him, continuing to eye his costume.

but phew, he had quite the ass.

but anyway—that’s not the point.

it never really occurred to you how all the male strippers had specific costumes—you were far too entranced by geto. it was probably because of how halloween was only a mere few weeks away, so it’d make sense how they’d be ordered to get into the spirit of things.

“and imma let you do it how you wanna girl i’ll riiiide with it, riiiide with it . . ”

the lyrics of that catchy same song that resounded through the speakers of the club grew louder—and as he guided you inside the dimly red lit room, he makes you lie back against a cushioned sofa. there’s a few piles of money scattered near the front, and you didn’t count but that amount could make anyone filthy rich.

geto rubs the back of his neck, rolling it around to stretch before he glances down at you. you struggle to look him in the eye and a faint smile creases across his lips.

you’re new, and he could tell you weren’t used to such carnal provocative environments.

“relaaax, pretty girl,” his voice was low purr. the way he talked was soothing, a good amount of teasing and playfulness. right at his words, your shoulders slumped and you lean back.

the air around you seems to close in, getting thicker ‘n thicker before he makes you haul your arms over the edges of the couch. “comfy?” and he doesn’t do anything else until you give him a subtle complying nod. geto takes off his amber-colored helmet before putting it on your head. “lean back. just focus on me.”

“o . . okay,” you exhale, and your eyes finally meet his.

the fake firefighter helmet crooks, tilting a bit to the side over the crown of your head as you watch him starting to sway to the bass dropping beats. you gulp as he gets closer . . and closer, following the exact steps to his usual routine before he gets on your lap.

he’s so pretty, and now that his helmet was off of him, you got an even more view of his face. geto starts to slowly grind against you, one hand resting near back of the couch that’s next to your shoulder. he’s fully in sync with the song that booming blares in the background.

the friction. he was moving up against you, and you couldn’t help but glance down his glossy chest. his legs were huge, and you didn’t even notice the clamped silver piercings that stuck against his reddened nipples. “is this okay?” he whispers, and you already feel yourself starting to heat up. the a/c was blasting—and yet, you felt like it was over a hundred degrees.

“ ‘s okay,” you breathlessly say, feeling your facial expressions serene. geto swiftly gets off you, and he starts to rock and grind his hips against the floor.

he’s slow and precise—each movement matches the following before he sits up, flicking against the straps of his costume. fuck, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. you knew he was probably used to this . . seeing so many women at a time, giving them a thirty minute private dance and going on with his day.

geto had charisma and lots lots of it.

it was ironic because he didn’t even have to say anything. throughout the duration of his entire routine, he let his hips do the rest of the talking. speaking of hips, you’ve never seen a more a slutty waist.

it’s unapologetically snatched, and you start to envision seeing his face plastered on every cover of a a men’s vogue magazine. he’s gorgeous—and the second he’s back in your lap again, he leans into the crook of your neck. “hey,” he repeats, and his voice was a lot more pitched and lower. it’s a dirty kind of husky that makes you clench your thighs together. as he’s up close—you get a whiff of his cologne. it’s quite loud, and you’d guess the scent was something between bergamot and rich aromatic oak moss. “do you wanna touch me?”

a breath gets trapped in the back of your clogged throat at the question.

geto continues to gradually grind his hips into you as pretty black strands of his hair tickles near your shoulders. “y- yes,” and the words smoothly flow from your lips like smooth molasses of chocolate.

geto was patient, and he wanted to make you comfortable—that was his number one priority.

he speaks in a more rough yet sly tone. “ ‘m gonna grab your wrists okay? just feel me,” and you feel mentally prepare yourself. biting down on your bottom lip—you mouth a soft, ‘okay,’ and geto gently grabs your wrists.

he’s still slowly jerking his hips against you, matching each sultry beat of the song. the base of the chorus rang through your ears and the lyrics flowed through once ear ‘n out the other.

as you stare up at him, he makes you press your hands firmly against his shaven flexing chest. sheets of slicking sweat that covers the top part of his body coats on your hands and you cutely furrow your brows. “heh, oh sorry love. ‘m a bit sweaty, hope that doesn’t turn you off.”

“it’s f . . fine,” you utter, and he resumes to guide your hands. his chest was as hard as a brick, and you felt how his muscles would freely tense.

god, geto was a literal sculpture. you probably looked stupid with how you kept openly staring at his perfectly carved abs. an entire six pack - each section even more strenuously ripped than the first.

as you continue to gawk, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets—you feel him shifting his weight a bit so he wouldn’t crush you. your thumb snags against his pierced nipple and he grunts, breaking character for a second. he lets off a cute snarl. “sorry! i didn’t-”

“sweetheart, it’s okay,” he hums, releasing a low puff of air. so he was sensitive there, noted.

as he continues, he makes your hands reach lower. the thin straps of his costume glide against your plump fingertips before he stops at his fading raven-colored happy trail.

black ‘n bushy . . you could make out every single tiny speck of hair that stuck against the lower part of his abdomen if you squinted, and you did.

the rest was hiding underneath the upper hem part of his prop turnout pants. “now ‘m gonna let go of my hands,” he whispers, eyeing you intently.

it was so much lustful ardor in the air. the more you stared at the dancer, the more you started questioning why the hell you never visited a strip club sooner. a question that was probably gonna remain unanswered..

“ . . ‘n ‘m gonna let you do whatever you want while i finish.” he concludes his sentence, and as if his hands were attached to your own with adhesive velcro, geto slowly pulls away.

now, it’s just your two balmy palms pressing against his chest. you take it upon yourself to drag an invisible line down his flat sleek cheek with your fingers.

your hands then find themselves reaching for a few papery fifty dollar bills, tossing it at his glossed grinding body. geto sighs with a cunning simper, continuing to rock his slim hips into your lap. “that’s it, feel me princess. ‘m all yours.”

and in a way – he was.

it was only you two in the room, and yet it felt like you ‘n suguru were the only people on earth. the entire mood was sensual and you could almost smell the libido that radiated off his skin. it was a scent you couldn’t describe—but you didn’t want him to stop.

as your hands kept roaming down his puffed out chest, you stop right at the hem of his pants. poking out, his sharp carved-like ‘v’ shaped pelvis arches within each muscle he moves forward.

the crimson red lights that flicker every three seconds narrowly spotlights toward geto’s fit body. for a quick moment—you get a good glimpse of his face and he’s inches away from your shimmery twitching lips.

geto leans up to your ear and he hoarsely whispers. “birthday girllll,” and he huffs out a drawn breath, feeling you eagerly tug at his pants. a snicker leaves from him before he gets a nice smell of your citrusy perfume. “ah. is the pants gettin’ on your nerves?”

“a bit,” you murmur honestly, and you were already undressing him with your eyes. you were sure geto was most likely wearing a thong underneath but you imagined otherwise.

filthy - you couldn’t believe the thoughts you were having.

to think, if you hadn’t accepted this little ‘girls’ trip’ with your friends, you’d probably be sleeping the entire day away. after all, they did want you to get out more. especially for your special day. with a pout twisting across each part of your lips, you sigh. “can i—”

“what, undress me?” he tries to play coy, seeing your pouty expression increase. geto hums, amused as you lightly hook a finger underneath his hooked strap before he shrugs. “go ‘head, princess. knock y’rself out.”

geto found your hesitance cute. you didn’t wanna seed ‘needy’ but you were showing all signs of it. at the moment, you completely forgot you were at a strip club and he was just a dancer.

but fuck it.

you went slow as he still straddles your lap, slowly pulling down his loosely fitted pants. they were baggy.. a flashy color of yellow, and the more you tugged them down, the more you got a glance at his scanty thong.

it’s dark purple with his name embedded on the thin white strips.

from all sides, it spelled ‘s u g u r u,’ in bold lilac plum colors. he even had custom made thongs? as if you couldn’t get even more aroused—

yeah, you were aroused. leave it to your legs that remained glued together starting to swelter up with … stickiness.

not everyday did you have a man grind against your lap, and to be fucking frank you didn’t think you’d last.

“you’re so pretty,” you pant, watching him shimmy his pants down to where it flops down to his ankles. and oh, he had quite the bulge.

it looked almost painful—so swole and round, you just wanted to kiss it. it looked like at any second it was about to just burst through the cottony stretched fabric. the scenery grows more hedonic as the red lights dimmer. you could barely see his face anymore, just a silhouette that grinds against your lap at each beat of the song playing loudly.

as you nearly slip out a moan, you lean back before your heaving breaths start to accelerate. “suguru.”

“aw,” he coos, feeling your arms wrap around his slender waist. geto’s still swiftly grinding into you, feeling your cute nails claw into his back. the back of your brain kept chanting ‘more, more, more!’

you still have the helmet on, and with the way it’s crooked and could barely fit your head—he found that small detail adorable. as he remained seated on your squished thighs, it was embarrassing to think you were starting to feel yourself erratically throb.

leaning into your neck, he could loudly smell your sheer arousal and it makes him lowly chuckle against the soft shell of your ear. “not satisfied, yeah?” and he lets off a quiet bellowing grunt, feeling your hands trail down his sweaty body once more.

he’s so built, parallel to a literal tank.

geto’s rocking against you in rhythm with the same song that still trumpets through the speakers before whispering. “just say it ‘n i’ll give it to you.”

“you always come to the parties. to pluck the feathers off allll the biiiirds. . ”

the lengthy song continued to drag on—and the busted speakers in the private room sounded like it was about to break from the distortion. it was loud, but your panting breaths was even louder the more geto dances on you.

letting off a longing three second moan once a leg of yours voluntarily hooks around his slim waist, you mewl out a sweet, “i want you. suguru, fuck me.”

“oh. sounds like a demand, sweetheart,” he purrs, and he stills his hips against your lap.

geto’s got a plethora of rings on each of his fingers. pretty silver ‘n gold bands that would wrap around his digits. he had long fingers, thin and perfectly slender.

the more you stared, the more you thought how good they’d fit insi—

“eyes up here,” he cuts you off, and you shudder feeling his palms cup your face. your leg still wraps around his waist before another shortly follows.

he’s barely rocking into you now, and with a bumpy shimmy, you feel his bulge rub against you. “mhm,” geto grunts before meeting your needy gaze once more. as a thumb strokes your bottom lip, pulling it down gingerly, he whispers. “ask nicely. say pretty please.”

“you won’t … charge me extra?” you sheepishly say, beads of perspiring sweat trickling down all sides of your forehead.

geto smugly smiles, grumbling a subtle, ‘nah,’ before making you lean all the way back against the padded sofa. “okay,” you breathe, and you just didnt care anymore.

you wanted him – maybe even needed him..

geto’s hardened bulge that presses against his thong throbs harder before you sweetly murmur,“please, fuck me, suguru.”

“anythin’ for the birthday girl.”

and those words were the same exact words that ran through your mind as you now found yourself in . . quite the risqué position.

you’d be the one straddling geto now. he’s got you in a classic 69, and your pretty perked ass hovers over his face. right in front of you was his weighty fat cock, and it’s a pretty flushed pink with rosy-lime veins prodding from the sides.

you’re whimpering out sweet harmonic keynotes as his long pointed tongue slithers its through your inviting entrance, two broad arms clinging onto your hips. “fuuckk,” he’d groan, feeling you smear a thumb over his leaky mushroomy tip.

you’ve already got him sopping wet from the chin down thanks to your wet cunt – glossy pearly drool seeping from the sides of his dick.

geto’s shaft remains idle, and you wrap a hand around his base before pumping it, rotating your wrist – once, twice, thrice..

he was aching, and the entire time he was giving you a show he had a boner. it was rare, usually whenever he gave lap dances—he was one to never really crack, he was a trained professional and yet here you were.

“mmch,” his swollen puckered lips smack against your cunt as he eats you out entirely from the back.

your mouth drops, jaw dangling— goofily hanging open like a cartoon as he resumes to extends the length of his tongue inside the outskirts of your warm room-temperate-tastin’-pussy.

lolling it out all the way, he licks from top to bottom—stopping at your clenching hole. geto gives it a five second kiss, a sloppy one that glues a mixture of his spit and your slimy juices on his mouth. “sweetheaaart,” he rasps, biting back a greedy groan once he feels you starting to take him in your mouth.

your throat’s seraphic warmth draws a hot sharp breath out of him as he swats a hard palm against your ass for you to start. “when i say move your ass against my face, i fuckin’ mean it. move,” and you let off a candied whimper the second the temporary sting sends singles toward your weeping whiny clit.

feebly, you start to flop your ass up and down against his face and you hear a satisfy ‘hmm’ purr from his lips. you’re moaning, sinking his cock down your throat in the process before your sticky tongue swirls around his angered crownhead. “mmph,” and you take a few inches before you feel his tip swipe against the scaled roof of your mouth.

going back up, it loudly ‘pops!’ out as a bit of sheeny saliva trickles down your chin. you’re taking him deep within no time, and you let off a cute hiccup once his swollen sack paps near your jaw.

so full ‘n round…

you’re breathing through your nose, still shaking your ass against his face, swipin’ his nose occasionally like a credit card with your honeyed-slathered cunt.

his wide flat tongue felt so good that you felt your toes curling each time he playfully nibbles on your sensitive throbbing clit. his tastebuds felt each pulse and it was so hot. “sugu, fuck.”

“i know, i know,” he gruffly whispers against your runny folds. bringing a pair of long twinned fingers towards your pussy, geto strums it down the pulsating slit in a straight pillaring line.

with a bit of pressure—he spreads your lower lips apart, getting a front row seat view of your clit pumpin’ pumpin’ away.

you had such a pretty throb, the prettiest he’s ever seen.

“god, you’re pretty but you’re even prettier down here too,” and not only do you hear him swallow but you feel it too.

a long full gulp, and he’s making sure to savor as much of your sweet slick on his tongue as possible.

geto’s just nasty, and a proud eater. he zigzags his tongue everywhere until your vision’s murky and clouded. you’re left crossed eyed with puffed up cheeks, barely able to focus on his dick that’s laying flat on your tongue.

a hand of his squeezes against your ass before with a mean ‘whack!’ he spanks it again just to see the bouncy recoil. the way a ‘lil fat portion of your ass would jiggle all due to the hasty-rash contact of his palm makes him throb.

and you feel it right in your mouth.

as your head bobbles at a more quick yet languid pace, your tongue skims down one of the many veins that paint down his cock. your repeated moans become muffled, and geto groans at how sloppy you sound—from the front and from behind.

the more he slurps every syrupy drop that dribbles out from your gurgling pussy, his precisely-thorough licks turn into exaggerated four second sucks.

geto softly caresses a hand against the bare skin of your exposed flesh, tugging on your pulled up skirt. pulled to the side were your panties that had a pretty pink star imprinted on the back decorated with glimmery rhinestones. you moan as your back slowly arches inward ‘n out and your knees become to buck.

his tongue, he definitely knew how to eat.

“ ‘s good, juuuus’ like that princess,” he huffs, feeling minuscule dewdrops of your saliva pour down the sides of his cock, slicking all over his base.

your thumb traces a heart over his hefty sack, massaging his tender full testes before you hear geto whine out a sweet, “o- oooh shit,” he was tender there too, huh..

and the sound catches him completely off guard because he grunts, the swaying of his tongue gradually slowing down. geto’s pretty lashes flutter before he grunts, taking a second to breathe. “don’t . . stop, play with ‘em some more,”

“pf—” you pop your mouth off his dick again, wet slimy sounds following as you stroke him off with an closed palm. “are you sure?”

“yeah yeah, ‘m sure,” and there’s a bit of sass in his gruff tone.

geto’s getting flustered, and never in a million years would he admit that you playing with his balls made him feel so good but fuck, it did.

geto paws a hand against your ass before letting off a hurried breathless, “fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

you went back to bobbling your head up ‘n down, pumping his fleshy pillar of length in your free hand before you start writhing your ass against his face even more quicker. geto moans, a surge of a trill nearly escaping out his gruff vocal chords before he grunts loudly. “mmp,” and your throat was so wet ‘n warm.

it enveloped him entirely, and as your cunt’s sitting over his slick lips—every so often rubbing against his nose and slick-streamed chin, he peppers it with a few kisses.

your hips were arched ‘n askew, and as your tongue occasionally darts down his sensitive slit you hear him grunt again. the burgundy colored sofa pathetically dips inward due to the stacked weight of both rutting bodies. geto’s eyes start to roll their way back as you continue, nearly sucking the soul out of him.

“fuck, baby. spit on it,” he groans, clasping his teeth at your needy clit.

he slides his tongue against your cute bulbous-shaped nub before sucking on it for the umpteenth time. you moan, still tossing your ass around for him in a slow meandering manner, feeling his tongue drag down the slope of your ass again.

geto’s pussy drunk entirely, and he didn’t care if this was against policy, having a customer touch him. when you tasted this divine, he couldn’t help devour your cunt like the starved, starved man he was..

at his words, you spat out translucent globs of saliva from your lips, pasting the slightly curved sides of his dick with your slick mess. “pff,” and you drench him from the base down, twisting his shaft with your wrist before hearing him groan.

geto’s about to finish and you could feel the vigorous pumps of his dick in your mouth growing weaker … and weaker – until, he cums.

geto’s jaw goes slack the moment his peak abnormally reaches, and growls out a husky ‘fuuuuuck,’ with the muscles in his neck tensing.

within a blink of an eye and a snap of a finger, the flat tip of your tongue’s now being sprayed with spritz of waxen cum. it’s a bittersweet taste that coats on your judgy tastebuds, and as you close your eyes with a humming moan departing from your lips, you hear him hiss. his body’s violently shaking, and his hips start to hungrily thrust into your mouth.

you wriggle your ass in face as he’s barely eating you out anymore, frantically heaving as he dumps his all down your pretty tight throat. “fuck, fuck, take it,” and his body still sporadically tremors.

as your mouth’s still full, geto gives your teary wet cunt it’s last few lapping licks before his head collapses back in lecherous defeat.

with cheeks still plumply puffed — his cock remains shoved inside. his aggravated red tip’s just swiping ‘n erupting near the roof of your mouth as you slurp him clean.

you swallow instantaneously, luxuriating in the mildly honey taste before feeling him shudder underneath you. “goddamn, so fuckin’ good. fuckin’ filthy, princess.”

with clammy palms, he turns you over and you lean in to kiss him. geto’s taken by surprise, and as you make him flop back against the velveteen cushion, you made your way on his lap. rough edges of teeth clash and roughly clatter against each other as each tongue plays a more salacious version twister.

geto reclines back, his hands moving toward your rocking waist as he grunts—tasting himself on your tongue. its bitter, but with the help of your lip gloss—it turns far more sweet within seconds. feverish breaths ghosts inside each mouth before you watch him reach near the side of him.

grabbing a half filled up bottle of mousseux, he flicks off the cork with a flick of his middle finger. geto’s eyes still closed as he’s delving his tongue right into your mouth.

the merciless smacking of lips grew louder before he pulls away, huffing breathlessly. “wan’ more of a taste real quick, princess,” and it sounds more like a needy plead. you see how flushed his face was, and geto’s eyes dart straight toward your bare chest. the top you wore was pulled down, clinging near the very bottom of your waist. “c’mere..”

and as you lean in, you watch as geto starts to pour down a small stream of champagne all down your chest. right between your tits, cupping underneath your tummy so none wouldn’t spill further down.

he makes sure a few glosses over your pretty round breasts before he grunts, closing the distance between your chest.

geto buries his face in between the valley of your tits, licking it right up. the bubbly fruity taste lingers on his tongue as he laps you up from top to bottom moaning at the spicy sweetness.

a mixture of your skin and champagne—better than any cocktail this club’s ever served.

“f- fuck,” he moans, lying his tongue flat. geto stares at you the entire time too, and his mouth gradually trails it way toward your damp neglected nipples. he cups his lips around the first nipple—slowly transitioning to the next before slurping the drink right off your body.

a tight breath gets caught in your throat as he continues to lick the rainy drops of sugary champagne off your body. geto groans, savoring the taste before with a loud ‘plop’, he pops your tender wet nipple out of his mouth.

there’s nothing but utter lust and infatuation in his eyes—and he then gets up to kiss you. the room’s nearly pitch dark without the help of the dim effulgent red lights that shined against you both. it added to the mood perfectly.

as tongues continue to try to assert dominance, you moan right in the dancer’s mouth, returning the gesture of swapping gauzy strings of gossamer spit.

abruptly though, you pull away, gently pushing geto back against the sofa.

with a raspy ‘ugh,’ geto lands on his back as you give him a light shove. he’s at your mercy, and you stand up from his lap, a wind of confidence coming out of nowhere and nearly pulling you forward.

he stares at you with hooded cunt-drunk eyes, watching you do a figure eight with your body.

“what’s . . this?” he huffs, burly arms stretching over each edge of the sofa. you looked so pretty, eyeing him up and down as he does the exact same to you.

the luminescent lights started to beam on you now, highlighting your curves and entire physique.

“lie back,” you murmur, slowly sashaying toward him. geto runs a hand through his hair, his dick twitching from the cool air wafting against it. you teasingly drag a finger down the scarred middle line of his bare-puffed chest, stopping at a hardened row of his brick-made abs. “i wanna try your little routine.”

“yeahh?” geto snickers, sucking in a sharp breath once you spin around, bending all the way over. the helmet that was still on your head—you put it back on him, watching him scoff at your audacity.

so you stole his profession now, great.

as you’re turned the other way, you slowly wriggle your ass in front of him, putting a hand over your sopping pussy and he kisses his teeth. “tch. don’t tease, sweetheart,” and geto’s allured stare fixates on you the entire time. his dilated irises frantically roamed around every and any part of your body like a laser. “fuck,” he grunts, watching you finally make your way on his lap.

geto’s all submissively underneath you—bare ‘n exposed with his poor tip flushed. its color was a sheeny carmine red that’s akin to a ripe cerise rose.

a few dried up splotches of cum stick near his weighty sides before he shudders. your ass sits on his flaccid dick before you start to move.

slowly,

you’re rutting into him—just like he was to you, grinding back and forth. geto looks so pretty though, underneath you. he’s still panting a bit, sweating bullets as you tease him with your crazed hips.

you weren’t at his level quite yet, but fuck could you move. geto groans, feeling your sloppy pussy rub off against his dick. you were so close to his tip that his foreskin would peel back a bit. “do you wanna touch me?”

touché..

geto narrows his eyes at you as you tease him, repeating his exact words from what he said to you earlier.

he doesn’t just touch you, he fucks you—

but in this case . . you fuck him.

geto holds back a moan as he’s watching his claret-colored cockhead disappear between your sappy folds. it’s like a magic trick, and with a ‘poof!’ half of length vanished within you.

you let off a soft shrilling whine, trying to writhe yourself around his length.

his dick was fat. ‘eyes-rolling-tongue-lolling-drag-your-nails-down-his back-’ type of fat.

and his girth only made things ten times more intense. you felt him rearranging your guts within each prolonged inch you took – literally.

you’re as slow as a snail with the way you try to take him wholly. even as you’re gingerly sinking your bare ass down with his cock snug ‘n deep inside you, he easily kisses against your g-spot.

it’s happening already, and you don’t even realize he’s fully in before a cooing whimper rawly snatches from the back of your dry esophagus. “oh fuck,” you huff, tossing your arms around the dark haired man.

geto’s got the same wide-eye-jaw-dropped reaction to you, and with one arm snaking around your waist—another’s tightly gripping onto your right ass cheek.

he spanks it, giving it a short squeeze afterward. your chest starts to heave in quickened intervals, and once he feels you starting to move it’s game fuckin’ over..

“god, pussy’s ‘ta die for,” he groans, eyes sexily rolling back until his sockets show nothing but white.

you had him whipped, and he can hear your cunt trying to have a word of its own, squelching out cute gargled squelches. you start to ride him at a mere hypnotic rhythm—and geto’s a lot more vocal now.

with his adam’s apple bobbing, both hands of his were now gripping onto your waist now. piles of money surround you too, a few sticking against his sweaty beefy thighs. “fuck me,” he grunts, and it’s more like he’s begging.

geto locks eyes with you, shaggy long bangs running past his eyes before he securely grabs your hips—trying to keep up pace with you. “mhm, thaaa’s it. ride it, ride . . the shit out of me, uuughhh.”

“ ‘m trying,” you moan, biting your lip each time his swollen cockhead plummets its way deep.

he’s just so big—you couldn’t wrap your head around how a guy could be so damn big.

the good kind of big, and each time he’d seep a single girthy inch into you, your stomach would churn like butter. he’s in sooo deep, your legs could barely support yourself anymore and he had to hold you steady.

as he pulls you all the way down, geto reaches waaay inside of your sloppy gripping cunt that’s oh-so desperate to wring him like a vice.

his thick cock greets your pretty fleshy cervix, mimicking a soft ‘knock’ before introducing itself with a welcoming pound.

he holds your hips, pumping himself into you again, and again, until your pussy remembered each stroke, each thrust, each fuckin’ letter of his name—front to last..

slow but fucking deep.

you gasp, clinging onto his neck before soft hurried pants of ‘yeah, yeah’ ‘s scurry past your glossed lips.

geto’s dewy eyes were half lidded and he’s never felt more pussy drunk in his life. trust—he’s had his fair share of women but oh, you were far different. it was something about you, and he just wanted more after each carnal second passed.

you’re so into his dick givin’ your pussy a fuck of a lifetime that you don’t even realize your hand was now wrapped around his thick neck. not too tight, but geto’s reaction time was slow also. once he realizes seconds after you did, he sheepishly scoffs before slyly humming.

“goddd, y’r so fuckin’ hot when you choke me,” he purrs, tugging at the panties that pull to the side of your thighs. of course he’d enjoy it, and as his dick’s still massaging your gummy walls, he moans. “harderrr.”

“don’t be greedy,” you mumble, burying your knees into his bulky thighs.

the way you rocked against him was hypnotic—and geto’s hands remain on your waist.

you nearly shudder, feeling the various cold bands of his rings run and tickle down your skin. he’s in love with your body, and even more in love with the way you feel from the inside.

leaning in close until you’re just inches away from his spit-slicked lips, your thumb runs its way down the bulging ball that lies inside his throat. “say ‘pretty pleaseee.’ ”

“tsk,” geto scowls, and even with a pout he’s effortlessly attractive. your hips continued to champion its way up ‘n down at a deranged pace as you moved, and his cock’s pumping you full over and over and over. with a vexed grunt, he utters. “pretty please, choke me harder.”

leaning in to kiss the side of his mouth, you whisper a crooning, “good boy,” and geto whines the moment you add a bit more pressure around his neck.

his hair’s all in his face, and your ass was just ruthless.

ferociously slamming down onto his stout cock, you’re drenching him from the base down with your syrup-coated slick. a bit of your own sloppy arousal glues against the pried apart crevices of your thighs—pasting against his as well.

it’s a mess, and with how close he was getting, he was about to create an even bigger one..

geto felt like he was ascending—and with how you were riding him, it didn’t take him long before he’s close again.

yet this time—so were you, and you could recognize the feeling all too well. geto’s cock stretched you to capacity, and he grabs the few dollar bills that scatter on the sofa, throwing it at your body whilst you rode him. he makes it rain on you, spanking your ass with a crumbled up hundred rubbing against your stung skin.

“fuck, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum again,” he grunts in your ear, feeling your pace accelerate by a mile. you were draining him, preparing to milk him and the thought of him stuffing your cunt full made you pulse.

your tongue salivated at just imagining it..

the warmth, the stickiness, the way it’d spill between your thighs. you’re moaning out sweet noises yourself as you both rut into each other at a demented overzealous pace. geto’s thick thighs clench—and while you’re letting out cute blubs of his name on repeat until it’s the only syllables your dumb brain could register—he pulls you close. “ngh, same time, pretty girl. cum with me, let’s make a . . hah, mess together.”

“okay,” you mewl out, both hips pivoting in lascivious unison.

both sweaty mounds of flesh blissfully bounce into at other and each squelch makes you whimper out in ecstasy.

you cup geto’s pecs, smearing a thumb over his pierced nipples and he whines instantly. you lean in to suck against the bars that slash through his tender areola. geto leans back manspread, growling out husky, ‘fuuuuck!’ ‘s as you hum, giving both his nipples its few seconds of attention.

it lasts for seconds that felt like years, and one you pull away he lets out a cute blasé huff.

as your cunt’s in the midst of overflowing—your hips tremor once more time before within milliseconds, you both cum.

it’s quick..

and with your jaw dropping and geto’s shoulders fatally sagging after his big, heavy sigh—he starts to fill you up ounce after ounce.

it’s patching hot, and the second he’s beginning to spill ‘n dump out his perfect ivory ribbons of cum inside of you, you grunt out a melodic finishing, “fuuuck.”

swinish, weak hands grab at your ass as you come undone also—whimpering soft defeating babbles from the sensitive feeling of your cunt spasming right between your jittery numb legs.

you feel static … shock, electricity pulsing through your veins all at once. your entire body was turning haywire. as you start to grow limb right with geto underneath you—nirvana runs through each individual axon on your body before you hear a loud ‘pop.’

it’s more of a sopping squishing sound, and you were so dumbed down from his dick that you didn’t even realized how full you were..

peeking down, he filled you to the brim. wads and wads and wads of cum went inside of you and you moan, spreading your ass apart while craning your neck around just to see for yourself.

“ ‘m so full, suguru,” you pant, sliding a thumb down your sputtering cunt that’s plugged with both his cock and his thin oozing seed. you lick your lips before turning back towards geto and he’s absolutely fucked stupid.

you rode him so good to the point where he’s just stammering out inaudible whines. it’s cute, and you lean in to kiss him once more.

oh.. he was hooked.

he deepens with a few clingy hands feeling at your chest. the kiss gets more passionate rather than sloppy, and as he’s still buried inside of your cunt—he slowly starts to trail butterfly kisses down your neck. you moan, turning your head before you pull away. “shit, i almost f- forgot.”

“forgot what?” he hoarsely rasps, watching you unalign yourself, plopping down on the sofa with a big content sigh.

geto leans in, allowing his thumb to draw circles around your hips before you reach in for your purse, pulling out another decorated vip pass.

sheepishly, you utter. “my friends bought me two sessions with two dancers. so i have another one after you,” and you glance at the clock, squinting before you let off a bashful titter. “. . . oh, that was way past thirty minutes.”

“who? what dancer, sweetheart?” geto utters with a pout. he was still aching, already missing his you felt from the inside. he watches as you squint at your pass that reads the dancer’s stage name and / or full name on the back.

“uhh, it says t—”

“she means me,” and the both of you spin heads, ogling at the glittery red carpet and decorated pathway that was once covered up.

you could hear geto that laid beside you muttering out a jealous, ‘fuck,’ as you meet the other dancer’s gaze.

he’s wearing a leopard thong with an added on accessory of the most smuggest grin you’ve ever seen.

a slashed scar runs down the right side of his crooked curved lips and you spot bills sticking at both sides of his halfway on thong that nearly shows his sharp hips before he hums.

“name’s toji,” and you’re suddenly being lifted up by strong, tatted brawny arms before he turns around, winking at a very pissed of geto before trodding out the private room with you in his arms.

“i’ll take it from here,” and feral green eyes with an even more feral grin. “ain’t that right, birthday girlll?”

[slttygeto]

I'd love to see me from your pov — GOJO S.

synopsis: Gojo Satoru seems to struggle with the idea of love and doesn't quite know where to stand. Luckily for him, you're there to soothe his worries every time.

word count: 2,1k

content warning: a tiny bit of angst, but you know me and my love for this man.

note: hi hello there :)! it's October which means it's the 4th year anniversary since the release of ariana's album positions! I adore that album with all of my being, and what better way to show my love than to dedicate some of my favorite songs to my favorite anime men? enjoy reading!

Satoru has never known what love is. His parents’ marriage was an arranged one, his mother’s good looks and her status along with his father’s powerful technique is what brought them together. And nine months later, the wielder of the six eyes was born. Raised in an environment where his father was barely around, the only warmth he’s ever felt was his mother’s hand holding his smaller one as she walks him around the Gojo estate, showing off the boy whose birth altered the balance of the world. 

Then she was off to do her duties as Madame Gojo. 

Satoru remembers his childhood as being extremely dull. He was forbidden from social interactions, was told that they are useless unless the person was of any benefit to him or his powers—which at the time, six year old Satoru didn’t understand but he had no choice but to comply with his father’s words. 

Bright pair of blue eyes would then follow his father’s figure as he made his way towards the sliding paper door, but before he could leave, the tall man turned towards his wife whose eyes remained glued to her lap before announcing. 

“I’ll be off.” Whether that meant for hours, days or weeks, Satoru never knew. 

Logically, that led to the creation of his image on love and marriage. He avoided the two concepts like the plague. Love was always meant to find others before it could even glance his way, and Satoru was okay with that. 

He was okay with spending the rest of his time alone, maybe he would buy a house on the top of a hill and own a nice border collie dog. Perhaps, that dog would show him a little bit of loyalty and love because Satoru feeds it and takes it on walks, but when the sun goes down and the dog goes to sleep, it would be just Satoru and his thoughts. Dying alone sounded scary, but it was better than ending up like his parents.

“Are you okay?” The tall man feels a gentle squeeze on his large hand. Suddenly, he’s pulled back into the present. 

The smell of fresh roses and the cold breeze overwhelm his senses. He blinks and realizes that he must’ve taken off his blindfold somewhere—Satoru can’t remember where, or why he got so lost in his thoughts.

“Satoru?” That voice. That sweet, warm and honeyed voice, barely above a whisper as it calls out his name and he gets another whiff of something—perfume.

Your perfume.

You’re standing next to him, smaller frame and smaller hand squeezing his own and he remembers why he was pulled back into his childhood. 

You had squeezed his hand the same way his mother did. Except this time, you don’t pull away like she does. In fact, you haven't pulled away in years. 

When Suguru left, Satoru was trying to piece himself back together within the confines of his own place. Quiet, cold and unwelcoming. He despised the feeling, it made him feel like shit and Satoru was usually the type to ignore his feelings—so when they come crashing against him in strong waves, the strongest can’t duck down and avoid them, he can’t swim away and find refuge. He chooses to believe that he is his own refuge, even if he’s messy and selfish and quite literally just a jerk. The strongest was unable to save his own best friend from a fate that is so horrible, one that could’ve easily been avoided had he looked harder. 

Had he not been raised that way. 

“Satoru?” 

On a cold October night in 2007, you show up at Satoru’s apartment with food and homemade sweets. You’re sweaty, clearly having climbed up the stairs since you had no access to the elevator. He sees you, he cannot process the reason for your sudden visit until he sees your lip quiver and your eyes fill with tears.

“I’m sorry.” You say with so much emotion that the teenager can only try to stop himself from digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands. 

Although he only realizes it years later, the only person who had shown Satoru that he was worth a bit of love was Suguru. He had been your classmate too, your friend. You’re grieving his absence too, but you choose to stay with Satoru that night. He doesn’t say much, you don’t press him about it. 

He doesn’t understand why. 

A couple of months pass, your visits become more regular. He buys you a mattress and even suggests you move in with him in the guest room of his apartment. And after much consideration, you agree and the two of you become roommates.

What had once been a cold, uncomfortable apartment slowly turns into a refuge for Satoru, a place he looks forward to coming back to after a long day of missions. Was it because of the smell of food that fills the hallway as he approaches the door, or the thought of finding you in there when he inserts the key? Satoru isn’t sure yet.

He’s still a bit confused as to why you want to be around him.

Months turn into years, your presence remains a constant in his and Megumi’s lives when he takes him in. You have your own room that you choose to share with Tsumiki and you treat the two children like your own. The strongest believes that your heart is as big as the oceans combined.

For someone whose youth was stolen away by the Jujutsu society, Satoru tries to make sure that his students don’t meet the same fate. So he takes on countless missions, protects students like they’re his own children and promises them a bright future. Even if it’s at the expense of his own. 

You hate that, and you make it clear to him the day he takes in Yuuta.

“That’s such bullshit.”

“Hey, watch it.”

“No, you listen to me!” This is the most emotion you’ve shown since that one night you came to visit him. Satoru looks up from his phone where he’s sitting, and is a bit taken aback when he sees your eyes fill up with tears. “Do you realize how dangerous it is to be going around and doing shit like that?” 

“What–saving them?”

“Ruining your future!” You raise your hands in the air. 

“I don’t have a future.” 

The room falls silent. Suddenly, you’re glad that Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t home. Your eyes meet his, and the white haired male watches as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There’s a thousand expressions on your face—betrayal? Hurt? Worry? He can’t decipher them.

He is overwhelmed. His six eyes are screaming at him that your cursed energy was elevating, your body temperature was rising and he can see that your chest is heaving. 

He still doesn’t realize what he had just said. 

To him, it was the truth. There was nothing morbid about his words. If he couldn’t see himself marrying or falling in love, then Satoru simply did not have a future. Those children do, and that’s what he should prioritize.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t–”

“Satoru–” you lose your breath as you utter his name, broken and weak. You gulp harshly, heart pounding loudly in your ears. “You can’t say that.”

It’s selfish, you’re aware of that, but it can’t be helped. You watch as the light of the man you had been clinging onto like a lifeline for years starts to dim, and you scramble to find the source of the problem. 

And while Satoru’s six eyes are screaming at him to walk away, his heart pins him to the ground of his living room. Overwhelmed and emotional, it reminds him of that one lonely night. He can’t tell you how he feels, he can’t pinpoint to you that it’s because of his parents that his heart refuses to let him accept the idea of love. He sees the waves coming, large and tall and ready to destroy him years later—as he scrambles to find refuge, his heart finally feels at ease.

Your arms wrap tightly around his middle, chin resting on his shoulder and your hands digging into his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. You want to stop your chest from stuttering, but your quivering lip gives away your strong emotions. 

“I’ll stay.” 

Why would you stay? 

His arms feel heavy as he lifts them up and finally rests them on your warm body, pulling you so close to him you feel yourself suffocate. It doesn’t matter. Satoru hugs you so tightly that you hear your heart break. 

You don’t comment on the wet feeling on your shoulder, or the way his hands tremble as they grip the back of your shirt. You let him cling onto you as though you were the air he needed to breathe, the warmth he sought in the middle of the coldest nights. 

—

“Thank you.” 

“Hm?” You look to your side, a bit confused. The white haired man thinks you look very adorable when you’re clueless, trying to understand his words. 

“Thank you? What for?” Satoru isn’t one to get nervous, but your stare has him feeling a little hot. He hopes he isn’t blushing, it doesn’t suit his brand. 

“For saying yes.” This time, he is the one who squeezes your hand and you hold back a chuckle at how he avoids eye contact. You squeeze his hand back and lean your head against his shoulder.

“I would be crazy not to marry you.” 

“But you know… given my line of work, and Suguru—”

“Satoru,” you stop the man before he can carry on with his small ramble. You appreciate how vocal he is, it is one of the major changes to his personality ever since the two of you made it official. “I am a sorcerer as well. I understand.”

“You hate the missions I take.”

“I hate the way the higher ups view you, not the missions you take.”

Silence engulfs the two of you. 

You fidget with your hands, feeling as though you might’ve crossed a line your husband wasn’t ready to let you cross yet—

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“How do you view me?” He asks, voice low and small. He still doesn’t look at you, nor does he look anywhere really. Despite being 28 years old, Satoru feels the same way he felt at 6 years old. Vulnerable, worthless and in need of a reminder of what he brought to this world other than his powers–

“You’re handsome.” You break his chain of thoughts with a lot of ease, and he looks up at you with wide eyes. “A handsome, caring young man with a big,” a finger traces his heart over his shirt, “big heart. You have a child-like spirit, and a boy-ish smile that could make anyone fall for you very easily. I don’t want to focus too much on your looks, but they’re unfortunately a huge part of who you are,”

“You’re selfless.” You lean against the balcony railings, staring down at the city. “People take you for granted and either you don’t seem to notice, or you try not to.”

“And last, you’re too good for this world.” 

Your eyes sparkle as you describe every small detail about the man. You pour all of your emotions into your tiny monologue, so you fail to notice that Satoru had removed his hands off the railings. Until you feel something warm on your sides and something heavy on your shoulder. 

“Satoru?”

“I’m fine,” his broken voice would beg to differ, but you don’t push him. You rest your hands on top of his and let him pull you back against his chest in a warm, tight hug. 

He had always wanted to see himself through your eyes, filled with so much adoration and trust that it made his heart burst in his chest. He was riddled with confusion and something he couldn’t quite decipher anytime you had told him ‘of course it was you’ when he would do something nice, or ‘you’re not like that’ when you heard Nanami mumble something about Satoru’s playful behavior. 

You wish you could give him your eyes, take away some of that overwhelming feeling of being the wielder of the six eyes and allow him to rest—see himself as the selfless, kind-hearted man that he was to you. 

Since that was physically impossible, you’ll stick to loving him as though he held the universe between his palms.

You make loving him seem as easy as breathing, and the inner child living deep within him is forever grateful for that. 

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[buckyalpine]

Give me drunk Bucky who wakes up in your bed, confused over why he's in the softest pj's he's ever felt and for some reason wearing a giant fur coat he can only assume is from a pimp because who else would own such a thing.

What the hell happened

Mere hours earlier; 3:30 am, Guys night

"Noooooo" Bucky howled, letting his body go deadweight while Thor continued to carry him to his room, the only one strong enough to get the soldier off the floor after he'd polished the bottle of Asdargian mead clean. "Wanna see y/n"

"Yeah, can't imagine what y/n would say if she saw you being carried off like a princess" A very tipsy Sam and Steve followed behind while Bucky's bottom lip jutted out into an exaggerated pout, head thrown back with is eyes closed in defiance "She's still off on that mission, she'll be back soon, you can see her then-

Before Steve could finish, Bucky's eyes shot open, scrambling out of Thor's arms and stumbling towards your room. There was no time to stop him from entering, a drunk giggle slipping past his lips as he let himself in and sighed contently. By the time the three men reached, Bucky's shirt had already been discarded beside his socks.

"Oh no- Steve snorted at the sound of Bucky's belt bucky hitting the floor, his lip sticking out in concentration as he tried to work at the button of his jeans.

"Barnes, I swear if you take your pants off-Damn it" Sam huffed, a pair of black jeans landing on his head. "At least keep your boxers-Oh hell nah" He ducked before Bucky's intimates became aquainted with his face. "Don't you dare helicopter that third leg-he's doing it"

No one intervened as Bucky decided to make himself more comfortable, clearly missing you as he sighed, walking over to your closet. He was in there suspiciously long before emerging with-

"Buck, those are-

"Soft" Bucky hummed, coming out of your closet with a set of pj's you wore often, oversized so they'd be extra comfy. Bucky giggled at the smell of your soft scent, slipping the shirt over his head and putting the pants on, flopping on your bed like a cat. "Smells like y/n"

"Do we just leave him here"

"At least he's wearing pants" Steve sighed, frowning when he heard running footsteps approaching along with a chaotic cackling, who else would be still this active at this hour-

"There you guys are!! We're doing body shots off of- wait you're here. C'mon capsicle, take your shirt off-

"For fucks' sake Tony"

"Where the hell did you get that jacket" Sam's face scrunched when he notice Tony's shirt was missing however he was in a large coat which he'd thrown off, the pile of for landing on a half sleepy Bucky. Bucky's eye peeked open at all the fuss, wrapping himself up in the coat and blissfully falling asleep with his face in your pillow, the rest of the chaos mere white noise.

"SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS-"

"TONY NO"

"TONY YES"

Present

"What do we have here" you coo, giggling at a very disoriented Bucky who blinks up at you with puppy eyes, a pink blush spreading on his face. You'd just returned from your mission with Nat, the entire compound still reeking of alcohol, the hallway littered with various still drunk Avenger men. The only thing that cut through the smell was the fresh breakfast a happy Thor had already started, the only one standing as if nothing had happened.

You'd stepped over a sleeping Sam and Steve in the hallway to get to your room, cocking a brow at the large mound of fur and soft snoring sleeping in your bed.

"Good morning, sweet boy" You brushed back Bucky's hair, bending down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, letting him take his time to figure out his surroundings, "have a fun night"

"Missed you" he mumbled, pulling you to lay on the bed so he could cuddle up with you, his head now resting on your chest instead. "Missed you so much"

"I missed you too, bub" You continued to gently play with his hair, happy your boyfriend got to have a night of fun and thankful that you always kept painkillers in your bedside drawer. Poor baby was going to need it. You noticed the pile of clothes that were thrown on the floor, they were definitely Bucky's but Bucky was in clothes so what was he wearing-

"Buck?"

"hm?" "Are those my pjs?"