#being too innocent in my drawing habits.

[gutsby]

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

[nanamiscocksleeve]

A Tight Spot

Warnings: MDNI, pegging, piv sex, voyeurism, slightly subby Sylus A/n: I know in my rules I said I don't write butt stuff, but (no pun intended) I'm coming around to the idea of prostate massage for men.

Sylus was not in the habit of hiding things from you. However, he had his own secrets, things that he felt made him vulnerable, or he wasn’t sure you’d understand.

One of those things was his ultimate, private kink; pegging. He’d tried it once by himself after reading about prostate massage but the unbelievable pleasure it had brought him blew his mind. The intensity, the absolute delight of getting an orgasm from a prostate massage had opened up new realms for him. Of course, Sylus was kinky and he loved having sex with you, but this particular bit of information embarrassed him, and he’d never dared bring it up for fear that you might judge him. 

Which is why he only indulges in this pleasure when he is alone. The mansion was empty, having sent all his henchmen home for the day, and you were heading back to Linkon City. Sylus lays on his bed, naked, remembering the way your body felt against his, the flushed heat and soft sway of your tits as you rode him, the sound of your sweet moans in his ear. His back still carried the lines scratched by your nails as you’d held onto him in the throes of ecstasy. He missed having you in his bed. Sylus firmly grips his cock, pumping his hard flesh, gritting his teeth, little growls leaving his throat as he pleasured himself.

He imagines you kneeling in between his legs, your face looking so innocent before you opened that wicked mouth and slurped him in, your tongue dipping right into his slit, making him pathetically dribble copious amounts of precum that you licked off with enthusiasm. The memory of your small hand as you squeezed his base, followed by the wet noises of his skin being suctioned by your lips was enough to almost drive him to the edge.

Sylus stops, panting, his eyes wild, blood rushing through his veins as he tries to regain control of his breathing. He knew what would take this fantasy from amazing to out-of-this-world. His tip was weeping, and he thumbs at the milky beads forming on the tip before going on all fours. His hand creeps behind his balls and he knuckles down on his perineum, feeling the faint vestiges of pressure on the little gland hidden away under his skin. He lets out a moan, flexing his buttocks, clenching and unclenching his asshole.  He feels his body starting to tingle with need, the kind that builds up when you’ve been teasing yourself for too long. 

He reaches into his nightstand, digging through the various toys that had been used over this weekend, and finds a slim, black, silicone dildo, the one he’d personally tested amongst many for his backdoor pleasure. A similar one but in red rested in the drawer as well; he was careful to never mix these two up. The red one was yours, and he’d never risk your health by selfishly using the dildo meant for your pussy for himself. He trickles a generous amount of lube on his dildo, before sticking the suction cup base to his headboard and gently backing onto it. He breathes in and out slowly, allowing the muscles to relax, then teases his tight, puckered hole with the tip, groaning as it passes through his tight ring of muscles, filling him up so deliciously. 

Sylus wonders if this is how your pussy feels during penetrative sex and the thought has him clenching, drawing the soft silicone deeper inside of him. He hopes it felt as good for you as this was for him. His cock stands proudly erect, the sensitive head brushing against the sheets as he continues backing onto the toy until he feels it press against a sensitive patch of elastic muscle and he lets out a pathetic moan. His hips arch, angling the tip of the toy until he’s able to glide comfortably, feeling the slick dildo massaging his inner walls, stimulating him beyond belief. 

His eyes close as he sets up his rhythm, each exquisite push against his prostate bringing pops of color behind his closed lids. Sweat slickens his skin as he builds up the pleasurable tension, grounding his hands and knees into the soft mattress to keep up his speed and arousal. Taking a deep breath, he pushes back further and feels like his eyes might roll into the back of his head as the toy bottoms out inside his hole, sitting right against the pulsing gland that threatened to shoot his load out. It never failed to amaze him how quickly his orgasm could form with this particular act, and the tantalizing dance of keeping himself on the edge was an intoxicating rush.

A low, gravelly, purr leaves his throat as he thrusts shallowly, letting himself be massaged so intimately at that sweet spot that he’d been oblivious to for so many years. He wondered how long he’d last this time; he had a reasonable period to himself now that no one was home, and he intended to tease himself into a mess, just to test how much his willpower could be stretched.

 He rides the dildo slowly, his hips rolling smoothly, feeling his back muscles coordinate and his ass grip the dildo in sweet ecstasy. As Sylus’s pace picks up, lewd squelching noises fill the room as he gives in to his urges. He can feel the tension building in his balls, in his belly, his hard abs quivering as the heat starts to gather in his gut. Sweat forms on his forehead, his cock twitching as he humps leaking precum all over the sheets. He can see the stains and bites his lip, feeling the way the sensation grows and ripples through him.

The next second is a blur of motion. As he’s in the blissful throes of his own passion, he hears his bedroom door opening and his name being called. His eyes fly open and he splutters in shock as you enter, losing his rhythm and almost slamming the dildo in haste. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight before you. Your big, intimidating, boyfriend, bared on all fours, with a dildo in his ass was not something you were expecting to see. Sylus scrambles off the toy, his breathing heavy and unsteady, his face burning red as he tries to cover himself.

He’d never been caught in such a compromising situation, the feeling of being vulnerable alien to him, feeling shame burn through him. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. “What-what are you doing here?” He manages to ask after a long moment of silence. 

You don’t move from your position near the door and Sylus keeps his eyes downcast. After a gap, you start to speak. “Luke and Kieran almost got me to the border but there was a really bad sandstorm. It could have taken hours for it to die down. So they brought me back here.”

“Luke and Kieran?” Sylus’s head whips up in alarm, ruby eyes widening in panic and you quickly approach him on the bed.

“They dropped me off here and went back to their place. It’s ok. It’s just me.”

Relief floods his features only to be immediately drowned by embarrassment and he averts his gaze. You see the tension in his shoulders and how fidgety and nervous he is, making you feel strange. This wasn’t your boyfriend, the confident and ruthless leader of the N109 zone that you had gotten to know. Unsure how to proceed, you gently cup his cheek. His glances briefly at you and you realize he’s waiting for you to pass judgment. Your heart squeezes to see him like this.

“Sylus. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” Your voice is soft and you kneel on the bed so that you can thread your fingers through his hair. Your touch soothes his racing heart but he’s still anxious. His voice is low as he starts to admit his actions.

“I like being pegged.” His voice sounds ashamed. 

“Isn’t that a kink?” You haven’t moved, staying close to his quivering body. 

“It’s not one that I think most men would admit to having.” You gnaw at your lip, trying to remember something, anything, that would ease his tension. 

“But…isn’t pegging the only way to stimulate the prostate? That’s a thing right? Prostate massage?” You slowly draw him closer to you so that you can rest your head on his shoulder. Your hands dip down from his hair to stroke his back and you feel him shiver.

“Yeah. It is.”

“And…it feels good right?” You probe further, trying to get him to talk. 

Sylus takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. It does.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone and you like it, why are you so scared right now?” Sylus feels some of the discomfort in his chest release as your words wash over him. After a beat, you ask him a question.

“Why haven’t you shared this with me?” There’s no blame in your voice, just a general curiosity.

Sylus swallows, then rests his cheek on top of your hair, drawing comfort from you. “I don’t know. It’s not a norm. It’s frowned upon. Joked about. I just didn’t know how you’d react to it.”

You huff then grasp his chin and make him look at you. “Sylus, do you know how ironic it is that you made me share all the kinks that I’ve fantasized about and you’ve done them all only to hide this from me?” 

“So you-you don’t find this weird?”

“I think it’s hot when you’re being pleasured. Isn’t that that a good enough answer?” 

Sylus processes what’s been said to him and you take advantage of his distraction to push him down on the mattress, his large frame falling on it with a thump before you lay down next to him. You reassuringly cuddle his body, pressing into him and nuzzling his neck. 

“You looked like you were on the edge of a pretty good orgasm there. Before I came in that is.” 

Sylus clears his throat, traces of a blush lingering on his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, I was.” You trace your fingers down his chest.

“Would you be comfortable to do that again? With me in the room?” You ask the question carefully trying not to crowd him. Sylus finally looks at you in the face. His expression still looked guarded with a tinge of disbelief.

“You-you want to watch me?” Even as he says the words, he feels a surge of arousal. It was touching, almost intimate that you wanted to be a part of this. 

You bite your lip. “You looked really sexy there for a minute. All hot and moaning. I liked it.”

Sylus huffs, trying to regain his composure but your reaction to the whole situation was calming him down. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Your hands busy themselves on his thighs, squeezing and hard sinew, and you see his eyes softening as he realizes he can trust you with this. It pulls at you and you raise your head to kiss him, enjoying their warmth. 

His hands are working deftly to pull off your clothes, his cock hardening again at the prospect of what was to come. You, watching him, pleasuring himself, and it turned you on. There was no mistaking that little lip nibble you had done. The knowledge that he could share this vulnerability was filling him with a different kind of pleasure. 

Once he’s freed you from your clothes, he palms your breasts, groaning as your hands find his cock, pumping him enticingly. After his interrupted orgasm, the whole organ pulses, heat and sexual need filling him. He doesn’t hold back with his bites, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he touches you fervently.

Soft sighs leave your lips as you play with his cock, and you’re eager to see his demonstration on the dildo, needed to hear him make those noises of ecstasy again. “What do you need me to do?” You ask, still pumping his hard flesh. 

Sylus’s eyes are half closed, clearly enjoying your ministrations. He hesitates but asks, “Do you mind squeezing my cheeks?”

Understanding, your hands sensually leave his cock and instead, start to massage the soft rounded flesh of his rear, and he hums at your touch. You feel the muscles contracting and relaxing under your fingers and Sylus was syncing his breaths to the action. He glances over at his headboard, and you can see the dildo is still there, held in place by the broad suction cup base.

“Needs more lube,” he observes, and you squeeze his ass once more before reaching over to grab the bottle from the nightstand and hand it to him. You take note of how much he applies to the toy for future use and he begins to back himself up against it. He looks at you again, unsure. 

“What is it?” You lean up to cup his face, peppering kisses all over it. 

“I’ve…always fantasized about…someone holding me open as I…get penetrated.” He admits shyly and you feel flattered that he had opened up and asked. You move towards his legs and with care, part his cheeks, seeing his opening fluttering, similar to how your pussy would when it needed to be filled.

You watch in fascination as Sylus continues to back onto the dildo and your heart leaps as he makes contact, and watch, wide-eyed, as it starts to disappear into his hole. There’s a rush of arousal, at how hot the sight was, but you remain quiet, the room filling with Sylus’s contained moans as he pushes himself onto the toy.

“Oh Sylus…the view is so sexy.” You encourage him as he pauses in his penetration, panting. 

“Yeah?” He looks at you over his shoulder, and you nod. Your hands slowly release his cheeks which jiggle slightly as they fall back into place. Then he starts to move.

The noises that leave him drive you wild. You’ve heard him while having good sex but nothing compared to this; the way his hips started to buck in abandon, the husky, desperate way he moans as he fucks himself. Not wanting to miss a second, you quickly scramble back to his face, his expression sending a spear of pure lust straight into your core.

His ruby eyes are wide with delight, mouth hanging open in an O as he rides to climax. His gaze fixates on you and you see the flush that stains his skin and know he’s just as turned on by you, by the fact that you’re watching him so admiringly. You squeeze your breasts, teasing your nipples as you try to stimulate yourself with him, rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts, watching the way his weeping cock drags along the sheets with each thrust.

It wasn’t enough and driven by primal instinct, you quickly slide under his muscled body, surprising him. He pauses in his motions. “Kitten?” he breathes questioningly, gazing at you beneath him. 

“Sylus, I can’t. I need to experience you like this.” He lets out a guttural moan as you spread your legs and begin to guide his neglected cock into your hot wetness, the dual sensation too much for him to handle. His hole clenches, feeling the dildo snugly against his prostate while his cock was being nestled into your pussy. He lets out a deep, sultry whine.

“Fuck, sweetie. You’re going to kill me.” You stroke every inch of his body you can reach and Sylus begins to build up his rhythm, going as slowly as possible to stave off his orgasm but he feels like he’s a lost cause. 

Your pussy grips his cock, spasming with each thrust. Every time he moved forward, he’s gliding through your eager cunt, and every time he moves back, the dildo massages his aching prostate and he feels like a loser, knowing he won’t last too long this way.

You see the struggle in his eyes and talk him through it. “It’s ok Sy. You’ve held on for so long. It’s ok to cum. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Let yourself cum.” you murmur reassuringly to him and he lets out a keening groan, his hips going into overdrive as he pushes himself over the edge.

His vision blurs at the edges as an intense orgasm grips him, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries not to collapse on you. His body shakes, creamy jets of cum filling your pussy as his hole spasms rhythmically, prolonging his state of euphoria as he empties himself into you. 

Sylus carefully crawls off the dildo, then lays over you. Sweat covers each inch of his body as you lovingly stroke his hair. 

“I don’t know why you’d hide something so hot from me.”

“What’s a relationship without a little mystery?”

“Well mystery solved. Next time, we should use a vibrating dildo.”

Your eyes flicker with mischief and Sylus chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[lyvhie]

hi omg read the jeno one I requested ATE DOWNNNNNN…… so for nowwwww maybe thinking jeno (sorry I love him…) x shy!reader who doesent really like the idea of jeno seeing her naked cause reader is SCAREDDDD… so he just praises her throughout the whole thing… LOVE UR WORKS they’re so good 💖

-🦋🦋🦋🦋

touch it | ljn

jeno x fem!reader (18+ mdni)

summary: jeno never intended to invest so much time and effort just to have sex with you.

a/n: my sweet 🦋 anon... i'm sorry it took me so long to post this. as soon as i saw it i started writing but it wasn't coming out like i think it should and i didn't want to give you something bad 😞 please forgive me 🙏 i hope you like this one too, it ended up being longer than i was planning. love u, please don't give up on me!

cw: smut, shy/inexperienced!reader, jeno big dick agenda, very slightly bulge kink, fingering, oral (m), unprotected penetrative sex (bcs i forgot to write the condom part sorryyy 🫣), praising, pet names.

jeno never considered himself a patient person. he always got what he wanted when he wanted. and that's why you were driving him crazy.

at first, he enjoyed toying with you, finding it effortless to get under your skin. it was just a game to him, a way to pass the time by teasing and taunting. he loved pushing your buttons with even the slightest action, knowing how easily you would react.

he wasn't entirely sure why you acted the way you did around him. was it shyness or fear of people in general? perhaps a combination of both. regardless, he found your reactions incredibly endearing. whenever he looked at you, he couldn't help but smile at the way you fidgeted and stumbled over your words.

it was cute. he just knew he had to fuck you. he made it his personal goal.

he was aware that winning you over wouldn't be easy, and that he'd have to gain your trust and go through the whole song and dance. but he saw it as a thrilling challenge, and he was determined to make you his.

he surprisingly found it easy to become your friend. given your lonely nature, he didn't need to put in much effort. you didn't appear to have many friends, which made it simple for him to step in and fill that role.

what began as innocent gestures, like whispering sweet nothings in your ear or tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, quickly escalated into more intimate encounters.

his “accidental” touches or the casual placing of his hand on your thigh, how he enjoyed wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chest pressed against your back as his hands gently roamed your sides. he did all of this to get rise out of you, to see you get all flustered and embarrassed and it worked perfectly.

he knew that simply being a good friend wouldn't be enough to take you to bed with your legs all open for him, so he doubled down on his efforts. he had to be the best friend you ever had.

he became the person you could count on for anything — if something was troubling you, he'd be there to listen and provide comfort. you wanted a plushie from your favorite show? no problem, he would make sure to get it for you. feeling lonely and in need of companionship? all you had to do was call him, and he'd be right there for you.

all of it was part of his grand scheme to lower your defenses and draw you closer to him. and it worked little by little.

when you confessed that you had never kissed anyone before, his response was instant: "that's what friends are for." he gauged your reaction, noticing the way you nibbled on your lip and fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, all little habits that he had noticed in you a long time ago.

his words were merely to test the waters, to see how you would respond to his subtle advances. he was overjoyed when you finally agreed to his suggestion, after taking some time to consider (a good 5 minutes). he couldn't help but feel proud that he was the one who would get to kiss your innocent lips, a thought that thrilled him. this small victory fueled his confidence in the belief that winning you over wouldn't be hard.

it was fun to him, teaching you how to kiss for the first time and seeing your reaction to his touch. the moment he reached out to touch your face, you quickly recoiled, as if you had been burned. it just fueled his desire to go further and explore this nervous, inexperienced side of you.

"relax, baby," he spoke softly, your favorite term of endearment rolling off his tongue effortlessly. he gently took your hand in his, soothingly rubbing his thumbs over your skin in a reassuring manner. it was his way of calming you down, a small gesture that never failed to affect you.

as you tried to follow his words and relax, he cupped your face between his hands and leaned in closer. with a soothing tone, he instructed you to close your eyes. he was so close that you unconsciously held your breath, which made him chuckle. his breath ghosted over your skin as he spoke, his proximity to you causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

as his lips finally touched yours, a soft gasp escaped you and you nearly jolted. he started with just a gentle peck, giving you a chance to adjust to the sensation. your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the rapid rhythm so intense that you feared it might burst out of your chest at any moment. you were almost certain he could hear it, the sound of your heartbeats echoing in your ears and filling the silence between you.

his soft voice gently commanded, "open your mouth slightly, sweetheart," and you obeyed eagerly, parting your lips. a small hum escaped you as you felt the warm, wet touch of his tongue slipping into your mouth. the sudden sensation sent chills down your spine, surprising you in the most pleasurable way.

as you started moving your tongue against his, following the rhythm he set, he was the one who couldn't help but let out a pleased hum. his hand moved from your face to your hair, fingers gently grasping the locks and pulling you closer to him.

the feeling of your mouth against his, your inexperienced but eager tongue trying to keep up with his, was beyond what he imagined. the taste of you, so sweet and untainted, drove him to become more demanding, rougher, and you didn't seem to mind, responding to his intensity with a sense of abandon.

he carefully maneuvered you onto your back on the couch, crawling over you and bringing his body on top of yours. his hands began to explore your form, tracing every contour until they reached your thighs and gently caressed the soft skin. with a sly smile, he squeezed the supple flesh, grateful that you were wearing a skirt, making his plans even simpler.

tou were so absorbed in the way his mouth captured yours that it took awhile for you to notice his hand roaming further up your skirt. the feeling of his fingers slowly tracing your inner thigh sent shivers up your spine, igniting sparks of pleasure that made you almost gasp into his mouth.

you managed to pull away from the kiss, panting for air, and stopped his hand before it went any higher. "w-wait, jeno," you gasped, your voice breathless and filled with hesitation.

jeno's breath was shallow, his mouth moving to your neck as he inhaled your scent and began to place soft, gentle kisses there, making you left a soft sigh. he hummed against your skin, his voice still unsteady as he responded to you. "what is it, baby?" he murmured against your skin, his warm breath teasing your sensitive flesh.

“i-i don't—” your words were interrupted by a gasp as he sucked on your neck, his lips creating a pleasant suction that made your head spin. but as he continued to nibble and kiss your skin, you softly pleaded, "j-jeno, stop.”

jeno grudgingly pulled away from your neck, his eyes a mix of desire and annoyance as he looked at you. but you were too flustered to notice his expression, hastily hiding your face in your hands, unable to meet his gaze. your embarrassment was palpable, and the moment was suspended in a brief silence.

before he could utter another word, you hastily scrambled out from under him, mumbling a clumsy excuse before hastily retreating to your room. he sat there on the couch, a little bewildered, as he watched you disappear. the sound of your door closing echoed in the silence that followed, leaving him alone with his frustrated thoughts.

he ran his hand through his hair. of course he wouldn't get in your panties so quickly. he got a little carried away by the moment and forgot that he needed to take things very slowly with you.

he had assumed you would lock yourself in your room for a while longer, probably consumed by a million thoughts and doubts that he was all too familiar with at this point.

after a while, he stood up from the couch and approached your door, knocking softly on the wood. "i'll be waiting," he called out softly, and that was all he said.

he was already starting to turn away, but the sound of the door opening caught his attention. you emerged from behind the opening, looking at him timidly, and he was taken aback by your whispered request.

"can we... keep practicing? j-just the kissing…" you spoke in a small voice, your words barely audible but filled with trepidation and desire. he froze for a moment, surprised by the unexpected request, before a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“you don't have to ask twice, sweetheart.”

in the days that followed, a new routine was established between you and him. every time you found yourselves together, whether at his place or yours, the hours would pass in a haze of lip and tongue, mouths moving against each other in a frenzy. by the end of each session, your lips would be swollen and sensitive to the touch, a reminder of the time spent indulging in such an activity.

but what truly fueled jeno's frustration was the fact that your interactions always seemed to stop at the same point. no matter how much he touched and caressed you, nothing ever went further than a few brief moments of physical contact.

he felt an intense sense of desperation growing within him, the unfulfilled desire weighing heavily on his mind. he longed to take things further, to explore more of you, but somehow he always found himself stuck in this endless cycle of heated yet ultimately unsatisfying make-out sessions.

he was already mentally bracing himself for the challenges ahead, but then you caught him off guard once more.

sitting on his lap, your tongues intertwined in a hungry dance, you suddenly did something unexpected. you began to subtly grind against his thigh, your movements and moans so natural it was as if you weren't fully aware of what you were doing.

the sensations were immediate, and he felt a twitch in his pants. the feeling of you riding his leg set his body trembling with desire. a low groan escaped him, his kiss growing more fierce as he tried to keep himself together in the face of your unintentional provocation. he could feel his arousal growing with each passing moment, and the thought of having you so close yet so out of reach was driving him insane.

jeno's grip on your waist became a little tighter as he pulled you down, pressing you against him more firmly. the thin fabric of your shorts did little to disguise the wetness building between your thighs, leaving a noticeable dampness on his pants.

your moans grew a little louder as you lost yourself in the sensations, and jeno reluctantly broke the kiss to look at you. he clutched your waist, stopping your movements and holding you firmly in place, drawing a whine from you.

your words escaped your lips involuntarily, a soft plea for more. "jeno, please," you murmured, desperation tinging your voice. he chuckled softly at the sound of your plea, his smirk growing wider. “please what, baby?" he whispered, his lips brushing gently against yours, barely making contact, teasing you with the lightest touch.

his question hung in the air, unanswered, leaving you floundering to articulate your desires. you felt a mixture of shyness and embarrassment, unable to vocalize what you truly wanted. so, your response was a soft whine as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. his chest vibrated with a low chuckle, his amusement evident at your inability to express yourself clearly.

“you want some relief here, sweetie?” his hand slid between your legs, his middle finger pressing against your clothed cunt, making you gasp at the sudden contact.

this time, you made no attempt to stop him, instead nodding silently in agreement. you buried yourself deeper into the safety of his neck, feeling embarrassment and need. you knew deep down that you were desperate for some form of release, and the realization only flustered you.

jeno, on the other hand, was practically bursting with excitement and joy, mentally launching fireworks and wanting to dance a victory lap around the house. he was finally close to getting the hardest fuck of his life — not exactly in the good way.

his voice was a soft whisper in your ear as he nibbled gently on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "we should do something about it, shouldn't we, pretty girl?" he murmured, his nose nuzzling tenderly against your ear. "will you let me help you again?" he asked, his breath warm against your skin.

your response was immediate, a desperate plea for his touch. "yes, please," you managed to stutter out, your voice tinged with a hint of need.

even though he just wanted to empty his balls, he knew he had to make you experience some of the sensations and induce you to want more.

jeno leaned against the bedhead, preparing himself for what was to come. his one hand began to trace gentle circles on your thigh, while the other continued to soothe you with soft caresses on your back. "okay, baby," he assured you. "just relax and let me take care of you, alright?”

jeno had become skillful in taking care of you, and his request for you to relax was met with an immediate submission from you. he wasted no time moving your pajamas shorts out of the way, efficiently tugging the fabric to the side.

due to your current position, where you were on his lap, with your chest pressed against his and your face still buried in his neck, jeno had limited visibility of you. he could feel your body against his, but he couldn't see much more than that. despite being mildly frustrated by the lack of visual access, he knew you wouldn't pull away anytime soon, even if he asked. you seemed too focused on hiding your flustered face against his skin.

even so, he could feel how soaked your panties were and that was enough for him right now. once again, jeno wasted no time in his actions, pulling your panties to the side with decisive motion. his digits pressed gently against your sensitive flesh, eliciting sigh from you. his fingers parted your folds, gently exploring your wetness with delicate movements. he took his time, savoring the moment, your soft sounds and how you were already squirming with just a few touches.

you gasped as he slipped a finger inside you. he started pumping slowly, he could feel how tight you were and he couldn't help but feel his cock stir inside his pants, his mind swirling with thoughts of what it would be like to be inside you.

"how does it feels, baby?" he coos, adding another finger to stretch you just enough, feeling how you clenched around his digits and moaned timidly into his neck. “g-good… very good,” was all you could mutter, your breath hitching as you felt him scissor and curl.

jeno hummed, a contented sound escaping him, as he used his free hand to gently push away the strands of hair that hung over your neck. he pressed his lips against your skin, gently kissing and nibbling at the sensitive flesh, feeling a shiver run through you.

jeno's fingers began to search inside you, seeking out the spot that would make you melt. when you trembled and a loud moan escaped you, his smirk widened. "found it," he chuckled, continuing to target that sweet spot with deliberate precision.

he added pressure with his palm against your clit, rubbing it softly but firmly enough to ignite intense sensations. he knew exactly how sensitive you were, and even this gentle touch was more than enough to leave you moaning and trembling.

jeno nuzzled your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke soft words to you. "you sound so pretty, baby," he murmured, his hand never ceasing its movement as he felt your body clenching around him. "i know you're close already," he continued, increasing the speed of his movements. "just let it go, don't hold it back, okay?" he coaxed.

you didn't even realize how close you were, the sensations stirring in your body completely unexpected. there was a strange feeling in your stomach, your toes curling as you clung to him tighter. then, his words struck you like a command, and suddenly, a wave of pleasure washed over you. the new sensation was overwhelming, almost transporting you to another realm.

jeno absolutely loved the way you mewled his name in the midst of your climax. he relished in the sweet sounds you made, eagerly anticipating the chance to hear more and feel more of you. his desire was palpable as he continued to watch you come undone in his arms.

with your body quivering from the aftermath of your climax, you leaned against him, allowing your weight to fully rest on him. the tingles that coursed through you seemed to reach every inch of your skin, leaving you breathless. you panted slightly as you felt your body slowly returning to a state of stability.

jeno slowly withdrew his fingers, wiping them clean on your shorts. with a gentle tug, he drew your face away from his neck, allowing him to finally get a proper look at you.

your mind was still hazy from the intensity of your climax, and you barely registered his actions until you saw the smug expression on his face. the realization that you looked so utterly wrecked just from a little fingering made jeno silently contemplate how you would look when he pushed you further than just his fingers.

you were on the verge of speaking when he silenced you with a kiss, a kiss that you gladly returned. the touch of his hands slipping under your shirt sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers gently caressing your bare skin. you felt his touch drifting over the clasps of your bra, his movements deliberate and suggestive.

despite being consumed by the myriad of sensations he was evoking in you, you couldn't help but notice the way his hand tugged at the hem of your shirt, clearly signaling his intention to remove it. but as he began to lift the fabric, you instinctively halted his movements by placing your hands over his, preventing him from proceeding further. you pulled away from the kiss, gazing into his eyes a hint of hesitation.

“n-not yet, jeno,” you managed to stutter out, biting your lower lip as you averted your gaze from him. the thought of revealing yourself even partially in front of him sent a wave of fear and nervousness coursing through you. despite the intimate moment you had just shared, the idea of baring your body to him, even further, felt overwhelmingly nerve-wracking.

frustration and disappointment etched itself across jeno's features as he suppressed the urge to curse aloud. instead, he released a soft, frustrated breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours. he had been eagerly anticipating a night of finally fucking you senseless until you can't even remember your name, and your hesitation dampened that hope once again.

your soft-spoken words brought him back from his momentary disappointment. "but i..." you began, your voice tinged with coynes and a hint of determination. "i want to make you feel good too," you confessed, your eyes drifting down to his lap, where you couldn't help but notice the evidence of his arousal. there was curiosity and desire in your tone as you confessed your wish to return the favor. “j-just tell me what to do…”

a spark of something akin to admiration and appreciation flared up in jeno's eyes as he processed your words. out of all the things you had ever said, these words felt like music to his ears. a hopeful glimmer of satisfaction shone through, a realization that the night might not be a complete wash after all.

jeno chuckled affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of genuine appreciation as he spoke. "that's so nice of you, sweetie,” he murmured, gifting you a gentle peck on the lips which prompted a smile to bloom on your face. following his instructions, you carefully repositioned yourself, assuming a kneeling position between his legs, your eyes looking up at him expectantly.

a glimmer of greed flickered through Jeno's eyes as he took in the sight of you looking up at him. his hand cupped your face, his touch soft as he traced his fingers along your cheek. a subtle smile played at his lips as he issued a command, his voice dripping with desire. “you can start by taking off my clothes,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, hungry and full of heat.

you followed his directions without hesitation, slowly unbuttoning his pants and gently pulling them down, the sound of the fabric rubbing against his skin filling the room. as the fabric pooled around his ankle, your eyes couldn't help but drift towards his impressive package, your breath catching in your throat at the sight.

you saw a darker spot on the fabric of his boxes, damp with pre-cum, you wasted no time in removing the remaining piece, freeing his aching cock that stood proudly in front of your eyes, eliciting a soft sigh of relief from him.

you continued to stare at his dick, blinking a few times as you processed the sight. he was big. too big.

jeno chuckled heartily at the sight of your eyes widening in surprised awe, his ego swelling with a touch of cocky confidence. he knew exactly what was running through your mind. "don't be shy, pretty girl," he teased, a sly smile playing on his lips. "you can touch it." he leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he waited for you to make a move.

as calm and collected as he appeared to be, jeno was practically craving your touch. his muscles tensed under your gaze, and there was a hint of desperation in his eyes as he longed for your caress. however, he was determined to maintain a facade of coolness, masking his inner pleading with subtle smirks and sultry words.

as your delicate hands finally encircled him, a soft sigh escaped jeno's lips, his eyes closing for a moment as he savored the sensation. jis breath hitched, his teeth gently sinking into his lower lip in response to the pleasure coursung through him. his dark gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you explored him with a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

you started to stroke his cock slowly, the pre-cum acting enough as a lubricant, facilitating your movements. “just like that, sweetheart,” he said in low groans, his breath heavy.

yes, this. more. fast. please. he closed his eyes tight to savor the sensation. each sweet, slow movement of your hand pushed him closer to relief. and then... a new sensation joined the others. a delicate, refreshing affection, at the tip of his cock. almost like a breeze. you were licking it. rolling that pink, shy and naughty tongue around the head of his erection. kissing and tasting lightly. the feeling was intense. sublime. insufficient.

it took him by surprise how you effortlessly seemed to know what to do, and he found himself thoroughly enjoying it. his hands threaded through your hair, his fingers delving into the soft strands as he lavished his touch upon your head. in that moment, he found himself unable to hold back his words. his voice came out in a rough whisper, "put it all in your mouth.”

for a brief moment, a flicker of worry crossed jeno’s expression. he feared that his request might have intimidated you, that you may stand up from your position on the ground and refuse to continue. he was on the verge of pleading with you, nearly uttering a desperate “please,” but before he could voice his concern, you unexpectedly acquiesced to his command, enveloping the head of his cock in your wet, ecstatic heat.

you began hesitantly. which was understandable, since this was your first time. but you didn't need much skill. he throbbed with desire while you showed great enthusiasm, even though you had no experience. there was little you could have done — except bite him, perhaps — that wouldn't have been delicious.

you were more than good. it was fantastic. he found himself rocking his pelvis, trying to go deeper each time your sweet, juicy mouth descended on him.

a ragged moan escaped his lips as he spoke, his grip on your hair growing tighter as he moved his hips in a quicker, more insistent rhythm. “you are doing so well, baby. so, so, well,” his words came out in a deep, raspy tone.

the mounting tension between you had taken its toll on jeno, and he was acutely aware of the pleasure that had been denied to him for a considerable amount of time. it was a struggle to maintain control, and he found himself teetering on the edge of climax.

as you continued your ministrations, he swallowed hard, the air around him seemingly growing thinner. his body trembled under your touch, his breath escaping in ragged gasps as he felt his climax building up, on the verge of tipping into pure ecstasy.

and, before he could even warn you, he came in your mouth, holding your head in place, forcing you to take his entire load. he didn’t mean to do that, but it felt so good he didn’t want you to pull away at the best part.

as you pulled away, gasping for breath, jeno's grip on your hair loosened, his hands gently releasing their hold on you. his own chest heaved with effort, his breathing ragged and labored from the intense encounter. he gazed at you with eyes heavy with desire, drinking in the sight of your disheveled appearance and the thin line of his cum that traced the corner of your mouth. in that moment, his expression was one of pure contentment and satisfaction.

a ghost of a smirk played at the corners of jeno's lips, his voice lacking any trace of remorse. "i'm sorry, i should have warned you, baby," he said, his words carrying a hint of satisfaction rather than regret.

you glanced up at him, offering a timid smile as you assured him, "i-it's okay, it wasn't that bad,” he watched as you ran your tongue over your lips, innocently cleaning the remnants of his essence.

god, he thought, you're so sexy.

from that point forward, not only had making out become a regular occurrence, but oral sex had become something you enthusiastically welcomed. jeno couldn't help but notice the change in you, how earnestly you seemed to embrace the act of pleasing him. it looked like you derived a sense of satisfaction from bringing him to such levels of ecstasy.

even though jeno was completely happy with the addition of a new activity to the menu, it still wasn't enough. don’t get him wrong, he loved getting a blowjob whenever either of you were in the mood, but what he really needed was to actual fuck you.

he found himself perplexed by your reluctance to take the next step. while he was fully aware of your penchant for shyness, he couldn't help but wonder why you hadn't given in yet.

considering the things you had already engaged in, he assumed that your comfort level would have already reached a point where you would be receptive to more.

the mounting impatience and desire finally got the better of him, and he decided that it was time to address the issue directly. he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before addressing you with a blunt question.

“baby, why don't you just let me fuck you?”

jeno caught you off guard, interrupting your casual routine as you were making your way to bed and using a towel to dry your hair. you momentarily froze, the towel suspended in mid-air as you turned to face him with widened eyes. “w-what? jeno…!” you stuttered as you hastily grabbed the towel, clutching it against your face in an attempt to conceal your flustered expression.

he couldn't help but roll his eyes, at your reaction, with a smirk on his lips and a chuckle in his voice, he reached out and pulled you closer to him, his arms encircling your waist and drawing you into his embrace. he settled his chin on your belly, gazing up at you with a curious expression and added with nonchalant tone, "i’m just curious, you know.”

with a single movement, jeno reached up and took the towel from your hands, tugging it away from your face to reveal your expression. his eyes scanned your face, taking in the adorable sight of you all bashful and shy.

"i-i..." your voice trailed off, your nervousness clearly evident. jeno's eyes remain fixed on you, waiting patiently for you to continue. sensing your hesitance, he encouraged you gently, his voice soft and soothing. "mmm, i'm listening," he urged, silently coaxing you to continue.

you averted his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally confessed. "i-it's just...you'll see me naked and all...," you admitted, the thought alone making your heart race with anxiety.

jeno's eyes widened momentarily as he processed your words, his expression alternating between disbelief and shock.

that was the reason? no fucking way.

"are you serious?" he asked, his voice filled with a touch of incredulity. you responded with an eager nod, still not looking at him, "i-i can't do that, you'll see everything!" your voice trembled slightly, the thought of being fully exposed in front of him clearly terrifying to you.

jeno couldn't believe what he was hearing. it seemed almost unbelievable that the reason you were hesitant to take the next step was solely because of the thought of being completely naked in front of him.

his facial expression softened as he tried to understand your perspective better. "baby, it's me, you know," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. he reached out to cup your face, his touch tender. "you don't have to be embarrassed with me," he continued, his eyes searching yours.

"i...i know that," you stammered, feeling your heart fluttering in your chest at his touch and the soothing sound of his voice. despite knowing that he was someone you trusted deeply, the thought of being completely nude in front of him still felt overwhelming.

you tried to articulate your feelings, your words coming out in a shaky whisper. "but... it's just... i'm worried i won't look good enough for you," you confessed coyly.

great. you were insecure. he forgot that.

“that's just so stupid," he muttered, pulling you onto the bed with him and positioning you straddling his lap. his fingers gently cradled your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "you know i love every single part of you, right?" he repeated, his tone tender and sincere. "even those i'm yet dying to see," he added with a smirk, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every contour. "you are just perfect.”

your eyes widened slightly at his words, his unwavering confidence in your beauty causing a flutter in your chest. insecurity still lingered, but the way he spoke with such certainty made your doubts waver.

your hands unconsciously found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as your breath hitched. "you...you really think that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as your lips form a small pout.

jeno chuckled softly, his hands moving from your face to your hips, their grip firm but gentle as they held you in place on his lap. "i don't just think it, i know it," he replied, his eyes scanning your face as his thumbs began to trace soothing circles on your hipbones.

his voice dropped lower as his eyes held your gaze, “your body is incredible," he repeated, "i love every inch of it." his expression softened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "and i would love even more if you just let me see more of you. you have nothing to be shy about, baby. let me show you just how much i appreciate every part of you.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words igniting a flutter of anticipation within you. despite your lingering insecurities, you couldn't deny the way his words made your stomach churn with excitement and nervousness, he sounded so inviting.

after a few moments of contemplation, your voice trembled as you finally gave in, your eyes meeting his.

"o-okay," you whispered, the word barely audible, as if spoken more to yourself than to him. taking a deep breath, you made the decision, your heart racing in your chest. “i-it's fine.”

as soon as the words left your mouth, granting him permission, Jeno's lips were on yours in a heartbeat, the kiss passionate and feverish. his hands didn't waste any time either, slipping under the fabric of your shirt to caress the soft skin of your back.

“that's it, sweetie,” he said against your lips. “i promise it will be worth it,” he pulled you closer, the intensity of his embrace and the hungry way his tongue sought yours sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

jeno's impatient hands were soon tugging at the hem of your shirt, his movements eager and insistent as he lifted it over your head, revealing your bare upper body, clad only in a bra. his breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of your exposed skin, his eyes roaming over you, appreciating every inch. his hands continued to caress your skin, the feeling of flesh on flesh sending shivers down your spine.

his touch was gentle and deliberate, his fingers tracing soft lines along your collarbones, your arms, down your sides. he leaned forward, his lips pressing kisses along your neck and collarbones, nipping and nibbling at the sensitive skin there. "you are so beautiful, baby," he murmured against your skin. "i've been wanting to do this for so long.”

he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck and collarbones, his movements soft but insistent. as he trailed a path of kisses down your chest, his fingers traced the lace of your bra, tracing the edge of the fabric with the tip of his fingers.

his lips moved lower, his kisses growing more frantic as they reached your chest, his tongue tracing the contour of your cleavage as his hands continued to roam your body. his fingers trailed a path down your back to the clasp of your bra, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he fumbled to undo it.

jeno's fingers worked quickly to undo the clasp of your bra, his touch both impatient and skillful as he finally managed to free you from the confines of the undergarment. he pulled it away, revealing your bare chest to him, your tits jiggling slightly.

“fuck,” he exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes taking in the sight of your exposed flesh. "you're more beautiful than i ever imagined," he murmured, his voice filled with desire and awe.

as jeno continued to gaze at you, you couldn't help but feel a wave of shyness wash over you. your arms instinctively moved to cover your chest, attempting to shield yourself from his unabashed staring. embarrassed, you muttered, "s-stop looking at me like that.”

he reached out and gently pulled your arms away from your chest, exposing your bare skin again. “don’t be embarrassed,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “you’re gorgeous. i could look at you all day.”

He leaned down, his hands trailing a path across your chest, his fingertips gently caressing your boobs. his touch was feather-light, almost reverent as he explored the contour of your flesh. he took his time, seemingly wanting to savor every moment of this encounter.

slowly, he lowered his head, his hand reaching out to cup one, his thumb brushed over your nipple, his fingers closing around your breast, squeezing gently as he drew your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly. he hummed contentedly, lost in the sensation, his lips working slowly, savoringly.

a soft gasp escaped your lips as jeno's tongue worked its magic, sending shivers down your spine. your body writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his locks, tugging at them softly.

feeling your body respond to his touch, he took the opportunity to lay you down on your back, gently coaxing you into the plush pillows. he never stopped his ministrations, he caught your nipple between his teeth, giving it a light bite and then sucking, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive touch, as if marking you as his own.

“god, you're so perfect," he whispered, he moved to your other tit, giving it the same attention. "don't hide yourself from me again.”

jeno's hands slid to the waistband of your shorts, his touch burning against your skin. he pulled them down, along with your panties, as you lifted your hips up to help him guide them down your thighs and off your body.

when you were finally bare before him, he couldn't help but take a moment from sucking your boobs to admire the sight of you laid out beneath him, open and vulnerable.

“look at how hot my pretty girl is,” he bite his lower lip, leaning closer to capture your lips in a rough kiss, his fingers making their way to between your thighs. he knew he needed to prepare you for the main event, to make sure you were ready for what he was dying to give you.

you were so sensitive that it was easy to get reactions from you, he didn't even need to finger you that much to make you come a few times, that, along a few praises on your ear while hitting your sweet spots, were enough to have you squirming under him.

jeno's breath was warm against your ear as he spoke, his words sending delightful shivers down your spine. "okay, sweetie," he whispered, his lips still pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck. "you're doing so well."

he could feel your quick breath and the sweat beginning to form on your forehead. his wrists were growing tired from his efforts, but he wasn't backing down. "i'll make you feel even better," he promised, his voice low and seductive.

he shifted his body, his hands working quickly to remove his clothes, discarding them carelessly on the floor beside the bed.

your eyes drank in the sight of jeno's body, taking in his toned muscles and the way his body glowed in the faint light of the room. your gaze fell on his cock standing proud and ready, and a wave of heat washed over you, making you instinctively press your legs together. he was so hot. it was unfair how good he looked.

“like what you see, pretty?” he asked with a smug smile. you weren't brave enough to say the words out loud, but you wanted him to know that you appreciated him too, so you only nodded fiercely, making him laugh and lean over you to press his lips against yours in a gentle kiss while positioning himself between your legs, his erection rubbing against your thigh.

jeno broke the kiss to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and serious. he gently cradled your chin in his hand as he spoke, his voice filled with concern and desire. "just listen to me for a moment, okay?" he said softly. "i need you to promise me that if it becomes too much, if it hurts in any way, you'll tell me to stop. can you do that for me, baby?”

his words hung in the air for a moment, the implications clear. you knew why he was saying that. the size of his cock was undoubtedly intimidating, and it was natural to feel a pang of fear. but your desire for him overpowered any reservations you might have had.

with a nod, you responded. "yes, jeno, i can," you gave him a small smile, "i’ll tell you if it's too much.” he studied your face for a moment, making sure you were sincere and not just saying it to please him. he could see the want in your eyes. the way you nodded your head and answered him firmly gave him the reassurance he needed.

“that’s my good girl,” he kissed your cheek, straightening his back and wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before pressing it against your entrance, teasing you lightly by rubbing the tip up and down.

then, he slowly pushed his lenght inside you, as he advanced, you gasped and clutched the sheets, small whimpers of pain escaping your lips. you were lucky you were wet enough to ease the pain, his dick slid into you with ease, he really prepared you well.

jeno's expression mirrored pleasure, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he threw his head back and let out a silent moan. it was as if he had been waiting for this moment for an eternity, and the feeling of you enveloping him was like entering a state of nirvana.

he paused for a moment, his body trembling with pleasure and exertion, as he looked at you. he was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

"are you doing okay, baby?" he asked, his voice hoarse and low, he wasn't even half way and you seemed to be struggling already.

he looked at your face, taking in the expression of pain and pleasure mingled on your features as your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes welled up with tears. despite the discomfort you were feeling, you reassured him. “y-yes, keep going," you managed to say through trembling lips, your voice shaky but determined. "i can take it, i promise.”

jeno couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for finding you so incredibly hot even in that moment. he leaned in closer, pressing his face against your neck, and sought out your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. it was an attempt to provide some distraction from the pain, and his words were a soothing whisper against your skin.

"that's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "you're doing so well. just a little more,” he continued to move his hips, causing you to gasp once more, and he couldn't help but moan at the feeling of you squeezing him. his grip on your hands tightened as he fought to maintain control of his own desire to simply fuck you hard.

and when he was finally fully inside you, a wave of relief washed over you, releasing a soft sigh from your lips, you never felt so full before.

he soon let go of your hand to straighten his back again, you were speared open by his cock and when he pressed the palm of his hand on your belly and you felt the bulge he made there, it was too much. neither of you were expecting you to cum right now, your voice crying out his name as your entire body tremble.

“fuck, baby, already?” he asked under his breath, a smile on his lips. again, that was so hot of you. he can't believe he made you come like that.

and that was enough for him. he pulled his hips back slowly, his cock almost all the way out, a brief moment of relief when your insides were empty again, which didn't take long when he pushed back into you hardly, his tip hitting your cervix, making you both moan loudly. you didn't even had time to recover from the most intense orgasm of your whole life.

“fuck,” he said almost breathless. “feel that, pretty girl?” his grip on your hips tightened enough to feel painful and leave bruises. “feel how deep i am?”

the room was filled with sounds of skin against skin as he increased his pace, thrusting even harder while voicing out a few praises to you, saying how well you take him, how good your pussy feel, how he wanted to fill you up with his cum.

he nipped and nibbled at the sensitive flesh, leaving behind a trail of kisses and light love bites as he continued to move in and out of you. your name spilled from his lips like a prayer, a plea, a mantra.

you had intended to speak, to ask him to slow down, but before you could utter a word, jeno sealed your lips with his own, effectively silencing your pleas. his kiss consumed you, capturing all your moans and protests.

he picked up the pace, his movements growing more urgent, more desperate as he feel himself getting closer to his climax. jeno's voice was a low, seductive whisper, his breath hot against your neck. "gonna fill you up, pretty," he murmured, his teeth sinking into your flesh. "you're gonna take every single drop," he whispered fiercely, nibbling at your neck once more as he continued to move, his thrusts growing more insistent.

his hand went to your clit, wanting to make you cum once again, this time right with him. he was close to his limit and he knew he was overstimulating you, then it wouldn't be so difficult. within moments, jeno felt his body become tense and his thrusts more erratic, his movements stuttering even more as he felt you tighten around him.

it didn't take long for you both to cum and you feet him fill you with his hot seed, both moaning loudly. jeno gave a few more thrusts to make sure you were going to take everything he had to give you before pulling out of you.

jeno's body collapsed onto yours, both of you panting and struggling to catch your breath in the aftermath of your climax. the room was filled exclusively with the sounds of your labored breathing.

you could feel the hotness of his skin against yours, his heartbeat racing against your chest as he tried to regain some control over his own breathing. his weight pressed you into the mattress, his body limp and sated.

he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. his grip on you loosened, his arms coming to rest by your sides as he lay on top of you, completely spent.

after a few moments of comfortable silence, jeno rolled off you and settled onto his back beside you. he broke the silence, his voice gentle, "how are you feeling, baby?" he asked, turning his head to look at you. he noticed the tired yet content smile on your face.

“blissful,” you answered with a light giggle, making him smile back at you.

good. he was going to focus on that now instead of thinking about how stupid he was for cumming inside you on the first fuck and how this could be a big problem in the future.

[macfrog]

If you ever feel up to it - a little short story from the scom universe about reader and Joel deciding to have a second baby or finding out they're pregnant for the second time would warm my cold dead heart <3

i am. so. sorry. for the word count on this i truly do not know what happened. but i had a lot of fun with it, so. hopefully y'all do, too. happy fathers day! x

jellybean ~4k words | series masterlist warnings: pregnancy symptoms (feeling and being sick, horniness + sleepiness. aka me even when not pregnant), 99% just duckie vs her mom

Duckie spills the secret on a Friday.

The morning is lazy, slow. The breathing of the sea across a plain of beach. Your fingers sift through her hair like the breeze through sun-bleached pages. The way she and the sun tint the room peach.

Sarah sprawls out across the spot still warm on her dad’s side of the bed. She’s in a habit of waking up early to sneak through to your room, lift the bottom of the covers, and army crawl between your bodies.

Joel’s in a habit of stirring to the heat of her at his back, her tiny toes at his spine, and turning to scoop her in one arm. They sleep curled into one another, mouths catching flies.

This morning, though, she’s up to something. She brought a secret.

She’s flat-out on her stomach, pens scratching at the paper. There’s the scent of cherry and lemon and green apple tangling in the air. Taut frown on her face, tongue poked with concentration. She looks just like her dad.

She pauses and looks up at you. “What color is this part?” she asks, dabbing at the blank hubcap.

“Silver,” you reply, fixing the cap back onto the grape pen before it stains your sheets.

She huffs. “I don’t have silver, Mama.”

You tap on the page. “Daddy’s wing mirrors are black, but you did ‘em green. The colors don’t matter, do they?”

But it’s seven a.m., and you’re sharing only the red jellybeans for something of a pre-breakfast snack (the four-year-old’s idea), and you’re exhausted despite having slept the full night, and she keeps halting any time Joel’s humming quietens – just in case he spoils his birthday surprise.

She hunkers down with the lemon pen to nail the emblem of his truck, and you figure – color is just the least of it. Truthfully, to your kid – and so, to you, too – nothing has ever mattered more.

You cup her cheek and lift her gaze back to meet yours. “How about I grab you a glitter pen today, just for the wheels?”

She grins. Little milk teeth, gappy and gummy. Peach fuzz cheeks, sweet as the rest of her, a perfect fit in the palm of your hand.

I love you I love you you’re my whole world I love you, you want to say.

Instead: “Only if we tidy your room later. Deal?”

“Deal, Mama,” Sarah giggles, and her little ink-stained hands splay out across the page again.

She scribbles only a few more splotches of color before you both notice it.

The sudden silence.

The water’s stopped running. The shower screen rattles as he pulls it back. Dripdripdrip from the showerhead straight down to the empty basin.

Sarah twists to watch Joel’s disembodied arm blindly grab for a towel folded on the sink. It whips off out of sight, and he calls through from the bathroom.

“Duckie? You still there?”

“Gogogo,” you whisper, helping your daughter cover her dad’s drawing with blank sheets. “Leave the jellybeans, Duck, save yourself!”

She finds the entire thing hysterical. Swinging her masterpiece under one arm, two fistfuls of rainbow pens, springing from the mattress like it suddenly caught flame. She throws herself from the foot of the bed and dashes across the hall to her own room, candy scattering in her wake.

Joel’s head cranes around the doorframe. “Where’d she go?”

You smile, shrugging. Chewing innocently on a jellybean. “That’s funny. She was here a second ago.”

He pads over to the bed, towel slung loose around his hips. Smirks, when your hungry eyes descend his figure – the bearlike shape of him, all muscle and fur, toned where he needs it but soft where you want it.

He cages over you, dark hair dripping with the smell of citrus, skin sticky.

His lips are like velvet against yours. Tongue still singed with coffee. A low growl from his throat when you lean forward to lick into his mouth.

“Smell so goddamn good,” you murmur, dipping your head to bury into the crook of his neck.

His beard is fuzzier when it’s damp, natural masculine musk melded with the fresh soap and rich aftershave he uses. All honey and oatmeal, mixed with a woodsy scent – and fuck, it’s intoxicating. Moreso than usual – stronger and sexier.

You take his hands and lower them to your hips, letting his fingers knot around the baggy material of your – his T-shirt. Tugging on it, exposing the slip of delicate lace on your hips.

“Darlin’,” Joel warns, “we’re late. We still gotta drop Duckie off – If she walks in –”

You groan, huffing back into the mattress. The weight between your legs ripples over the horizon, pulses into weak nothing.

Joel fixes the shirt back down to your thighs just as the thunder of his daughter’s footsteps rumbles back into the room.

Tonight, he breathes, slicking some of the hair from his face.

You grin, taking his hand to pull yourself back up.

Sarah materializes in the doorway, a lingering half-girl. Smiling from behind the frame, twisting the ball of her foot into the floor.

“Hi, Duck,” Joel says, still playing with your fingers.

“Hi.”

“You look guilty.”

Her grin widens. She totters into the room, launches herself onto the bed, and nuzzles into your side. She squirms when Joel digs his fingers into her waist.

The beats of her laughter drum against your ribs, the same way her fists used to when she lived inside you.

“Alright.” You cradle her, her little head tipping back to wake the rest of Austin up with her squeals of glee. “Are we ready for some actual food, now?”

Joel chuckles, reaching for his mug.

Sarah nods from your lap. Her eyes drift down to the print on your tee. “Mama?”

“Mhm?”

“Do they like jellybeans?”

You frown. “Does who like jellybeans?”

Her finger prods lightly into your tummy. “The baby.”

Joel chokes, splattering coffee into his fist. He slams the mug down, pounds his chest clear of liquid.

“There’s no – Jesus, Joel,” you swipe mocha flecks from the sheets, “Told Sarah to be careful with her pens and then you spray coffee all over the…”

Sarah rolls off, cackling. “Silly Daddy,” she hoots, leaping on the bedroom floor.

“Hey,” you usher her over to the door, “Why don’t you go pick out what you wanna wear today? I’ll be right behind you. Quit tryna give your dad a heart attack, okay?”

“The baby, Mama,” she’s repeating, walking like a little convict. She turns over the threshold to her room like it’s a cell, her pink pajama uniform and guilty expression to go with it. Still laughing, swallowing the ticklish bursts when she notices you’re shaking your head.

“There is no baby.” You kneel before her, repeating, “No baby. Just you. How about your T-shirt with the butterflies?”

It seems to distract her enough. Thank Christ. She gasps, inspired, and twirls off to find the tee.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, pushing back to your feet.

Joel’s flapping the sheets when you slip back into your room, still clearing his throat. Half-dressed: a white T-shirt over his broad chest and a pair of black boxers. Soaked hair clinging to the back of his neck and drying in flicks across his forehead.

Jesus, you want to pull him back over you and let him have his way.

You close the door over and spin, hands on your hips. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” he croaks. “Did you hear what she just said?”

“You’ve known this kid for four years, Joel, you really can’t tell when she’s fucking with you? She’s my kid, keep up.”

“Just seemed an awfully –” he thumps his chest again, “– awfully specific thing to say.”

“She’s in a phase I think,” you reply, catching the pillow he tosses across. “She’s telling stories. Last week, her pre-K teacher congratulated me our supposed wedding. Asked to see pictures of the Mickey Mouse officiant.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles. “She really bought that?”

You mimic the breezy voice: “Sarah was very convincing.”

Joel scoffs. “I don’t know if I can take a lying phase and a copying phase at the same time. Every goddamn word I say, she’s gotta repeat it.”

“She idolizes you,” you straighten the sheets, “I think it’s endearing.”

“Hm. Just wait until it’s you.”

He wanders around the bed, pulls your back against his chest. His arms cross over your tummy, lips pressing into your shoulder where his shirt has slipped.

“How much harder would two be?” he mumbles into the bare skin.

“Two Sarahs?” You scoff.

Joel laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. I forget she runs on chaos and jellybeans.”

“Yup,” you turn in his arms, linking yours behind his neck, “And there ain’t no point in talking about it anyways, because I am not fucking pregnant.”

He rolls his forehead against yours, stealing bristly kisses. “Okay.”

“I’m not, Joel.”

“I believe you, baby.”

Sarah’s bedtime is a liberal eight, eight thirty on weekends. She likes to sit up, lodged between you and Joel on the couch, and help pick the movie you two will watch once she’s in bed.

Once – and only once – Joel tried to fool her by pretending to play her choice, then switching as soon as she went down.

The kid quizzed him on the movie the next morning. He failed. She’s never forgotten.

Tonight, though, Joel’s out. Some game that you know and care too little about sports to learn the name or importance of. He’s with some buddies at the local bar, probably nursing his second beer in as many hours, and counting down the minutes until he can come home to his girls.

Sarah snores soundly, slumped at your side as though butter wouldn’t melt. The flicker from the TV across her face, the gentle mumbling of the voices onscreen. Her hands limp in her lap, fingers idling in a pink snack bowl.

You admire her, stealing a piece of her popcorn. Teeth grinding down when you remember dishing it for her earlier, hearing her curious voice ask whether or not the baby likes popcorn more than jellybeans.

Nope, you sang, tossing a handful in your mouth as you passed her the bowl. Imaginary babies don’t eat popcorn.

She snorted (which unnerved you, because what the fuck is this kid finding so funny?), and followed you to the living room so close that you could feel her toes at your heels.

Some of the kids in her class have siblings. Some older, but mostly younger. It’s the only fucking explanation, the only thing that explains this sudden interest in the real estate of your uterus.

She’s going through a phase, you tell yourself, suckling on popcorn. But then – how many fucking phases do kids go through? Which phases did you go through?

Barney & Friends. That was a fucking phase. Refusing to leave the house without the hoodie your mom bought you from the Museum of Natural History, even in the height of summer. Ketchup and broccoli, your boyfriend at seventeen, frisbeeing your neighbor’s newspaper and aiming for his flowerpots.

Phase, phase, fucking phase.

Does she know something you don’t?

…No. You took a test just last week. Shut up. Stop letting the kid into your fucking head.

Joel’s keys jangle on the other side of the door, shunting into the lock with a sound which stills your brain.

You tilt your head over the back of the couch, your man’s beard tickling your nose as he kisses you. “Evening.”

“Missed you,” he whispers against your lips. He straightens and tugs the jacket from his shoulders. “She not in bed yet?”

“She fell asleep down here,” you reply. “I got too tired to carry her up.”

He caresses your forehead, big pillowy palm. “You feelin’ okay?”

“It’s been a long day,” you grumble.

Joel smiles. He flops down onto the couch beside you, reaching over to stroke Sarah’s head.

You roll, solid as a rock, curling into his side. “She keeps saying it, Joel. She keeps fucking saying it.”

His chest jumps, tectonic plates moving with a laugh. “You’ve met your match, honey. Produced a professional little shit.”

“One of the other moms from her class is pregnant,” you mumble. “That’s gotta be it, right? That’s where she’s getting it from?”

“Maybe,” Joel muses. His fingers link with yours. “Why don’t you take a test anyways? Settle it in your mind?”

It startles you awake, even if only enough to prove the fucking point.

“No, Joel!” you hiss, body jerking. “If I take a test, and it turns out negative – which it will – she wins! My four-year-old fooled me. No,” you pluck spilled popcorn from your lap, pinging it back into the bowl, “I know this kid. I gave birth to this kid. She is not fucking winning.”

“Alright, baby,” he coos, “it’s okay. I won’t let the four-year-old fool you.”

You glower. “Thanks, asshole.”

He chuckles. “She’d make the best big sister, though. She would,” he insists, when you huff back against his chest. “She’d love being the oldest. Get to be bossy, get to call the shots. Get to protect them, no matter what.”

Your voice feels so small, as inquisitive as your daughter’s when you blink up at him. “Were you protective over Tommy?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, he was annoying as all hell – and I told him so – but anyone else had anythin’ to say about him, and – well, they had me to deal with.”

“Big scary Joel Miller,” you whisper, yawning into his shirt. “I knew him once.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, “You sure did.”

You look up again, blinking all doe-eyed and dreamy. Already half-asleep.

“He never scared me,” you whisper.

Joel smiles.

“Well, you scared the hell outta him.”

Saturday morning, you wake to an empty bed. No snoring man, no scribbling girl. Just you – a starfish on the mattress. Bathing in waves of late-morning sun, sheets for coral, body as heavy as though you really are at the bottom of the ocean.

Her giggles carry all the way upstairs. Sarah. They surf into the room on a sunbeam, sounds like bubbles which shatter and sprinkle over your aching body.

You smile into Joel’s pillow, breathing in the smell of him, and peel your eyes open.

It’s ten thirty. Definitely – you blink three times and rub at your eyes, just to make sure. Ten thirty, and something’s swirling behind your navel. Something that sharpens, sours, when you push yourself upright.

“Oh, shit,” you rasp, and throw yourself across the room.

You barely make it, collapsing in a heap at the toilet. Your stomach empties in seconds; three heavy, painful gags and your head is in the bowl, choking on last night’s dinner.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, gasping, “Oh, Jesus.”

You’re sick. You’re just sick. Sarah probably caught something from pre-K, passed it on without even knowing. And, hey – you feel better, now that that happened.

You’re just sick. Nothing else.

“Mornin’,” Joel calls, watching as you stagger into the kitchen.

Sarah mimics his drawl. “Mornin’, Mama.”

“Hi, Duckie.” You crumple into the chair beside her, shoulders hunched. The smell of burnt toast and grape juice twists up your nose, and you suck in a slow breath.

Joel sweeps a hand over your forehead. He tips your jaw up to face him. “You alright? Thought we heard running.”

Sarah rips a slice of toast in two. She stares at the fluffy insides, the jam dripping from the tear. The sight of it lifts the hairs on your skin, the gloopy mess splattering onto her plate.

“Just feel kinda…funny,” you slur, turning away.

“Funny? Funny how?”

“Funny how?” your daughter parrots.

You shrug. Every word, every inhale makes you feel even more nauseous. “Probably just ate something.”

“Heard that one before,” Joel drones, and you throw him a flat look.

Sarah licks the jam from her fingers. She holds her tiny hands up to her dad, snorts when he pretends to bite at them.

“Eat your breakfast, Duckie,” he says then – in his Dad voice. And in something softer, kinder: “Can I make you somethin’?”

You swat the idea away, but it’s already churning in your stomach again. “Just gotta – get over whatever it – is.”

The table falls silent. Joel and Sarah stare blankly at one another. When you turn to look at your daughter, she’s staring straight back. Smirking.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you clip, wincing again at the dribbling jam.

“Alright,” Joel utters, “I think you oughta take a test now.”

“That is not what this is,” you groan, petulantly pushing up from your chair.

He takes your hand, steadying you. “No? I was thinking about it, baby, and I don’t think we’ve been safe enough to be so sure.”

You dump your golden toast in the trash and turn, crossing your arms. Your shoulders lift. “We’re not being any less safe than we have been the last four years.”

“Safe,” Sarah says, and Joel holds a finger up.

“No,” he tells her. “No. Not that word. Go back to funny.”

She beams at him. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

He sighs, pacing over. “Look,” he lowers his plate into the sink, “I’ll take Duckie to the park. Let you rest up, give you a quiet house for the morning. But darlin’, if you’re not better by tonight, you’re takin’ a test.”

You grimace. “But she –”

“I know –” he grits his teeth, “– I know you don’t want her to be right. But I want you to be okay, more ‘n I want to prove my child wrong. Like it or not, you’re taking a damn test.”

Your eyes flit across to the kid swinging her legs in her chair, the splotch of jam down her Peppa Pig T-shirt. Your greatest accomplishment and your biggest challenge, wrapped up into a hundred-centimeter, jellybean-fueled monster.

Her cheeks lift, jam-covered and smug.

“Funny,” Sarah says, nodding.

The afternoon strings the sun high in the sky.

You’ve been home alone for the better part of an hour, busying yourself by cleaning to take your mind off the nausea tugging at your esophagus. Making and remaking beds, folding laundry until your fingers cramp.

Sarah’s room has never been tidier. Joel’s workshop has never seen so little dust. And you have never been more determined to prove your four-year-old wrong.

You’re lingering in the bathroom, the window gaping. Sucking in breath after breath of fresh air – which only serves to tickle the acid burning its way up your throat, entice it further.

You’re emptying the cabinets, reorganizing them into some senseless order. Playing Tetris with boxes of Band-Aids, slotting in tubes of toothpaste. You blindly reach behind your hip for the next box – a nearly empty thing which rattles when you lift it, jitters as though nervous.

You glance down.

“Fuck off,” you hiss, throwing it on the shelf beside some tampons.

It stares back at you, as blinding as the sun. The two display window examples, pregnant and not pregnant, like a wink peering out from the dull cabinet.

Your gums taste of bitter bile, rancid. Teeth furry and aching. Your entire body aches – though nothing quite so bad as the space below your ribs, still tender from all your retching.

Slowly, your hands slip down your front to cup your lower tummy. Rounder than before, suppler – bloated, even.

“’s from all the throwing up,” you tell nobody in particular. Maybe yourself. There’s a desperate edge to your voice, almost a plea.

But then – a plea to who? For what? There was nothing you loved more than carrying Sarah for nine months. Duck. Start saying duck. Baby Duck.

You were never on your own. She was right there. Someone to talk to, someone to complain to. Someone to weep to, in the quietest lulls of night.

Her language came to you as easily as your own. All her kicks and punches, her fucking acrobatics while you tried to sleep. It was love, in its most chaotic form.

And you loved her, the very moment you saw those two lines. The very moment you realized she’d been in there the whole time.

You realize now, squatted on your bathroom floor, that it feels the exact same. A warmth, radiating from your very core, if only you’d pay it enough attention to feel it.

Like there’s someone there. Right there.

“If you’re fucking with me,” you warn your stomach, reaching for the single test, “I will lose my shit.”

Love, in its most chaotic form bursts through your bedroom door no less than half an hour later.

“Hi, Mama!” Sarah sings, tearing through the room with her hands behind her back. Her knees bump against the side of your bed, the air about her summer-warm and pollen-sweet.

“Hi, little Duck,” you mumble, voice swollen. You wipe sleep from your eyes, asking, “How was the park?”

She answers with a wide grin on her face, whipping out a small, shabby bunch of flowers. Dandelions and daisies tangled around one another, loose petals scattering over your bedsheets.

“Oh, baby,” you push yourself up, ignoring the sickly weight in your stomach, “Are these for me?”

She nods. She dusts her hands free of grass when you take the bouquet. And then, as you smell them and hum with delight, she turns.

First, over to the dresser. She stares at her reflection, pokes at some of the makeup on the table. Then over to the window – where her breath fogs the glass. You hear the whack of Joel’s tailgate closing, and she tracks him into the house, before examining the windowsill.

You watch nervously as she drifts back over to the bed, a curious hop to her movements. Inspecting, like she knows there’s something waiting to be found. Someone.

“Did you have fun with Daddy?” you ask.

“Yep,” her small voice says, distant and distracted. She disappears into the dim bathroom.

You slump back down on the mattress, dropping the flowers in a clump on your bedside table. “I don’t even know when I fell asleep, baby girl,” you say through a yawn.

Sarah doesn’t reply.

“Duckie?”

“What’s this?”

You lift your head. “What’s wh…Oh, n-no, Duckie, wait –”

She flees past you, one fist raised and wielding the pregnancy test.

“Sarah! Jesus, fuck –”

You’re chasing after her before you have a chance to consider it – nausea be damned. She’s squealing something, roaring with laughter, blitzing out into the hallway. She swivels, ladders down the stairs backwards, leaps straight into the arms of –

“Christ, Sarah –”

Joel stumbles backwards with the force she throws at him. She’s safe in his arms by the time you reach the top of the stairs, waving the stupid stick around his head like it’s a magic wand.

“Daddy!” Sarah cries.

He glances up to you: hunched over the top step, panting, clutching your stomach. He pinches the test from her grasp. “What do we got here, baby duck?”

She kicks her feet. She has no fucking idea what they have, but she knows you didn’t want her near it – and if you know your kid, you know that’s all the catalyst she needed to fucking take it.

You slowly make your way down towards them, smirk growing the nearer you draw.

Joel glances down to the test. The creases by his eyes deepen. He hugs Sarah closer.

“Two...two means...pregnant, right?” he asks.

You sigh, nodding. “Mhm.”

His head lifts.

He breaks, the second he sees your expression. Eyes glassy, tears spilling onto your cheeks. The same smile you wore that June morning: sleep-deprived and shellshocked, a love pumping through your veins so strong that you thought you might burst with it.

Joel reaches for your hand, reels you in against his body.

“Shit,” he laughs, holding the test up.

Your shaking hands take it from him – though you already knew what it says. You were dreaming of it all when Sarah broke into your room.

Dreaming of linked hands and echoed giggles; of bunkbeds and matching surnames, of all four seats in the truck filled and all four chambers of your heart spoken for.

Dreaming of one on each hip, one in each hand. Dreaming of them tag teaming Joel, of the word kids slung with his southern twang. My kids, the kids, our kids. All ours.

Dreaming of two Sarahs, goddamn it. Because nothing ever completed your life as effortlessly as one Sarah, and – hell, she was born to follow in her dad’s footsteps and become the elder Miller sibling.

“Shit,” you agree, turning to sob into Joel’s chest.

“Duckie,” Joel says, voice hoarse and choked by tears, “You’re gonna be a big sister.”

She giggles, tracing the damp lines down your cheeks. As she reaches your jaw, the elation on her face slowly dwindles into something of a frown.

Your lips part to repeat it – a big sister, Duck – when her tiny voice steals the air from your lungs.

“Shit!”

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 4

04 : DISAPPEAR

SUM. : you find out the truth about the boys' relationship

REQUEST. : this might be a dumb question but are the marauders also all in a poly relationship with each other? if so, i'd love one where the reader finally has that realisation and gets all blushy and starts to consider if they'd ever want to include her —@thepunisherfrankcastle

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist james ; tattoo artist sirius ; piercer remus ; only slight fluff ; mostly angst ; im so sorry ; reader finds out the truth ; but not really in the best way ; major misunderstanding trope ; sirius isn't a bad person! ; poly relationship revealed ; yay? ; distance ; walking away trope-ish ; james is precious ; remus trying to make the hard decisions ; our boys need a hug ; wolfstar ; starchaser ; angst angst angst ; im sorry im sorry im sorry!

LENGTH : 5.2k

← PREV. : 03 | GROCERIES

Hearing James giggling fills your chest with warmth and is so contagious that you have to bite your lip so as not to join him. He sees your resistance and moves his hand, making you freeze up and stop all movement. His index finger curls under your chin to lift your gaze as his thumb settles on your bottom lip and slowly draws it out from the press of your upper teeth. 

“I can’t be the only one laughing, angel,” on his face is an innocent smile but you know he’s devilish — the raging fire he lights up inside you with the smooth delivery of his simple statement is evidence enough that he’s up to no good.

His light grasp offers barely any resistance when you lift your chin away, “that’s because I’m not ticklish like you,” 

“Hey now,” he warns firmly but you can see the mutual playfulness reflecting clearly in his hazel eyes, it was like staring into clear honey, “you’re the one who’s colouring in my tattoo like a toddler,” 

“I was bored,” you defend a little too quickly, getting huffy and exaggerating a pitiful pout. It was… a sight, James admits in his head; you look adorable like this and he wants to frame the image in his memory forever, “and besides, you agreed to it,”

“Yeah, so don’t tease me about being ticklish,” his hand reaches up to play with a strand of your hair before he leans down to press a kiss onto your forehead, where you feel his mischievous smile lift up the corner of his lips, “instead, tell me how much you love to hear my laugh,”

There’s no way you’ll ever admit that. Not to his face, at least…

“Woah, comfy are we?~” came the familiar teasing voice of Sirius, who walks into the room and almost has his eyes bulging out at the sight of you and James, “you lucky bastard, Prongs,” Sirius clicks his tongue but there’s no malice in his eyes or tone, “shirtless, all relaxed and cool, leaning back into the sofa with our doll on your lap and colouring in your tats,” your cheeks heat up under your skin when a shameless expression takes over James’s face and he sends a wink over at his fellow tattooist. 

“I guess I saved the universe in a past life,” James chuckles, receiving an eye roll in return.

“And you, princess,” Sirius whistles playfully and leans down to kiss the crown of your head, “how lucky you are to have such well-sculpted muscles and a handsome face entertaining you,” the heat on your cheeks continue to blossom, “I don’t know who I’m more jealous of,”

That was the first time you were hinted at Sirius’s dichotomy. Between the wink he sends James and the satisfied grin the glasses-wearing brunette returns, you felt a slight shaking in your heart that you couldn’t quite place. 

It didn’t feel bad… but it didn’t feel good either…

After the first homemade lunch you made for them, you’ve gotten into the habit of regularly visiting the boys at the shop with boxed lunches whenever time nears noon. They often insisted that the first surprise lunch was enough thanks. 

“It’s really okay for you not to do this, dove,” Remus voices, slowly trailing off as he leans forward to wipe a stray crumb off the side of James’ mouth with his thumb, only to lick the crumb he wiped off without batting an eye. James pays him no mind either and continues savouring your cooking; he was always the one person who devoured your food as if he was a starved man being fed for the first time.

“But–” you quickly protest, trying to dismiss the small gesture between the two, “but I enjoy cooking for you,” 

“And we’re very grateful,” Sirius smiles warmly at you and takes your hand to press a kiss against your knuckles, “but your company is enough,” ever the flatterer and flirt, you resist the butterflies in your stomach from his gesture and words. 

“And we feel guilty that you have to buy and cook all this food,” Remus adds but you assure them one more time. 

“I promise I’ll stop if it ever gets too hard or burdensome but, for now, please let me do it…” the boys look at each other and smile following a unanimous sigh of defeat. You weren’t aware of the effect your soft pleas and pretty eyes had on them. Of course, they couldn’t say ‘no’ and agreed, satisfied with your pledge for the meantime. 

“Ugh! These cookies are amazing!” James praises, completely oblivious to the interaction you had with Remus and Sirius. He looks up and the three of you have to suppress your laughter at his childish appearance, crumbs surrounding his mouth as his cheeks puffed out from the food he still had to chew. 

“Swallow your food first, James,” Remus reminds, which James quickly does before addressing you again. 

“Can you please teach me?” James leans forward in earnest and you swear there are stars in his eyes, “please teach me how to make them so I can have them all the time. I’m an expert at making fruit tarts now but Moony and Padfoot are sick and tired of me making just fruit tarts,”

You were flattered but…“I want them to stay special though,” you pout softly, “I want to be the only person who bakes them for you,”

Before James could answer, Sirius breaks out into peels of laughter, “you don’t have to worry about that, doll,” he winks at you and side-eyes James with a smirk, “James sucks ass in the kitchen, especially when it comes to baking,” James shouts in protest but is swamped by the laughter shared between you, Remus and Sirius. Nevertheless, you finally agreed to teach him just so he stops pouting… even if he looked cute doing so. 

That Saturday, you were at their apartment, eager to teach James the secrets to your baking creations. Their flat was sizable and still relatively clean, which you verbally praise and are clued into all of their cleaning habits in more detail. It appears that they have a pretty good system going on that keeps things neat; Remus handles the organisation of all items and keeps stock on most things, Sirius proactively keeps all spaces clean and James loves doing laundry. When asked, he said that the main reason was because he liked the smell of clean sheets, which you couldn’t really blame him for. Together, their good habits cumulatively result in a tidy space and you were impressed; not only were they great friends but they functioned well together too. In some ways, you were envious of that. 

When you arrived at the apartment, the boys had all of the ingredients you sent over on a list laid out on their kitchen counters, ready to be put together and baked into your famous cookies. 

“Do you two want to join us?” you ask with a smile as James helped you into Sirius’ apron, tying up the strings behind you. 

“We’re good, darling,” Sirius smiles and offers to tie up your hair as James slips into his apron. You don’t deny his assistance and hand him over your hair tie as Remus observes the scene with a soft smile, leaning against the door frame that leads into the kitchen.

As much as Sirius and Remus disparaged James’ abilities to bake in the kitchen, he, once again, proved them wrong. He did pretty well with following your instructions and getting things done if you discounted the times he got distracted and had to pull you away from the work as well, just to share in the fun. The last time you baked together was a lot of fun and you were just as eager to get back into the kitchen with him in order to experience that joy all over again. Like last time, Sirius and Remus occupied the living room while you and James got to making the cookie dough before eventually baking the cookies. With the timer set, it won’t be too long before you’re happily serving everyone yours and James’ baked cookies with some tea and coffee. 

“It’s just down the hall,” James points out, directing you to their bathroom, “it’s the last door on your right,” with a quick word of thanks, you make your way out to relieve yourself while James gets started on clean up duty. You promised not to be too long so he didn’t have to clean all by himself but he just laughed it off and assured you to take all the time you need — ever the sweetheart. 

Your mood was light and happy and, like all other times you spent with the boys, it felt as if you were walking on air… that is, until you weren’t. From the corner of your eye, when passing the living room doorway, your heart came to a stuttering stop at the scene you happened upon. 

Seated on the sofa was Remus with Sirius’ laid down, his head on the tall brunette’s lap. It would have been a scene you could have easily shrugged off if it weren’t for Remus bending down so that the two could share a loving kiss. One that had Sirius running his fingers through Remus’ light brown hair, who returned the touch by tenderly gripping at Sirius’ thigh with a spare hand. You would have remained frozen there, like some petrified statue, if Sirius didn’t hum pleasantly only to have Remus chuckle against his lips. 

Hurrying to the bathroom, you struggle to get the scene out of your head as your heart breaks over and over again until the stinging pain in your chest dulls into a throbbing ache. 

If they were in a loving relationship then you were happy for them, truly…you were; they always looked so content and at bliss around each other, you felt stupid for not having put the puzzle pieces together yourself. It was just conflicting as to why they never hesitated to establish some sort of distance with you when they already had one another. They were together romantically and yet they were able to press loving kisses against your temple and wrap their arms around you with their loved one standing close by?...

“There you are,” James chuckles when you finally make it back into the kitchen, “I was starting to get worried that you somehow got lost on your way to the bathroom,” it was a weak attempt but you joined his laughter without offering to explain your whereabouts. Turning back to the sink, James returns to washing the dishes as you wordlessly get to wiping down the surfaces. He doesn’t appear to notice your sudden change in mood or, at least, he doesn’t let on that he knows; soon enough, he’s yapping away again, being his usual goofy self and drawing a smile from you. He almost makes you forget. You could always count on James to be your ray of sunshine; a happy bug who was eager to spread his contagious joy. 

Sirius and Remus were a… surprise, although you really should have known better than to not suspect anything. They’re happy though, and you’re happy for them; that’s what matters. 

It was hard to gauge whether or not you should confront them about the revelation you had about their relationship. You had to thoroughly think it over… 

There had to be a reason behind why Remus and Sirius didn’t want to tell you about their relationship and managed to get James in on it too. It must have been a very good reason. So you can’t fault them and resolve to stay silent on the matter. Their privacy needs to be respected; they’ll tell you when they’re ready, you’re sure of it. For now, you just have to act normal, as if nothing happened. The only problem was that you were left to wonder…

Why haven’t they told you? Is it awkward for them? Maybe they didn’t trust you enough? Did they think you were homophobic?— You’re not! You fully support all types of love in all its forms and would never be prejudicial towards them because they preferred the same gender. Or maybe they did trust you but the right time just never came up? That’s also plausible. They probably just need time…yeah! Time, you can give them that; you’re a very patient person, after all—

“—Dove?” 

“H-huh?” you blink rapidly, returning to the present as Remus tilts his head at you curiously. 

“Are you okay?” there’s an amused smirk painted across his lips as he eyes you up and down, “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” his warm voice is like a comforting hug on an autumn day, one that makes you want to lose all thoughts and melt into his arms. 

“Y-yeah!” you chirp as embarrassment begins to creep in, “Sorry about that,” he laughs with you, “I guess I got distracted,” Remus nods, understanding in his eyes as he turns to the clock on the office wall.

“The both of us have been at it for a while,” he hums when reading the time, “I think we deserve a break,”

“Snack run?” 

Seeing the delight in your eyes, Remus laughs and presses a kiss to your temple. It takes everything in you not to lean away out of respect for Sirius —you still need to act as normal as possible so you don’t draw attention but it’s getting harder and harder to do so, “snack run,” he confirms, his gaze lingering on your tight-lipped smile. It’s an awkward tilt of your lips and it doesn’t belong on your usually soft and brightly beaming features, Remus thinks to himself. He wants to ruminate on it’s appearance further but files away his thoughts for another day, “let me tidy up here first and I’ll meet you out front,”

Nodding stiffly, you hurry to leave and get to the front of the parlour, where you can safely catch your breath. There, you can recalibrate your thoughts and feelings from a safe distance—

Your gradually slowing thoughts come to a grinding halt as you pass. 

What did you just see?...

Angling yourself carefully and peeking through the crack of the door, you resist the urge to gasp in horror. In an otherwise empty tattoo room, Sirius sits in his tech chair and angles himself upwards as James stands and leans down to meet the former in a sweet kiss. 

Scandalised, you cover your mouth and step away from the door, suppressing a scream as racing thoughts pour into your head. 

SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!SiriusIsCheatingOnRemusWithJames!

All breath escapes you and the world begins to spin. The charming, loyal and honest character of Sirius that you’ve built up in your head breaks apart and you’re left spiralling at the implications of his betrayal. You feel like crying and vomiting and throwing a rage-filled fit all at the same time! Wait! —No! It’s not about what you want to do it’s about what you need to do and that’s to—

It was then that you hear Remus walking down the steps behind you. Your heart jumps in your chest and your stomach caves in on itself. Leaning forward, you peek through the crack in the open door again and find Sirius carefully prepping his tools for a later appointment while James is against one wall on the other side of the room, checking something on the computer. 

Good… Remus doesn’t have to see anything… you think to yourself, although the thought alone makes your heart break all over again. 

“Ready to go?” Remus asks, approaching you with a lifted brow of curiosity. He’s probably wondering why you haven’t made it to the front of the parlour yet. 

“I-I was just thinking!…uhh,” you bite your lip and try to keep your rising panic from reflecting in your eyes. 

“Hmm?”

“I don’t really want to go on a snack run,”

“Oh?” Remus didn’t even try to hide his surprise, it wasn’t like you to not go on a snack run — so much for wanting to act normal… “How come?”

“I just remembered something-!” it was a lame excuse but you could kill two birds with one stone through this, it’ll be worth it, “-something I wanted to talk to Sirius about—”

“You called?~” speak of the devil and he shall appear. Upon hearing his name, Sirius pulls open the door and flashes his usual charming smile, which only draws a chilling glare from you. Caught off-guard, Sirius blinks in surprise, “What’s the matter, dollface?”

A taunting whistle floats through the air from behind him as James steps up and eyes your unusually angry expression, “what did you do this time, Pads?”

“I-I don’t know…” his normally confident, unwavering voice stutters and is offered cautiously, almost scared despite the tattooist standing a good few inches taller than you. 

Finding some confidence, you square your shoulders and address Remus again but keep your glare focused on Sirius, “Why don’t you and James go on a snack run while I talk to Sirius?” you almost snap out the cheater’s name from spite. You can’t believe you ever deluded yourself into thinking he was a good person that could do no wrong. He’s charmed you, Remus and James, tricked all three of you and you weren’t going to stand for it. 

The two boys jokingly wish their friend ‘good luck’ as they walk past and head out, promising to get his favourites so he can nurse his wounds from the verbal beat-down he was about to receive with something yummy. It’s clear that James and Remus don’t really believe you’re capable of delivering much vengeance or rage but the fire in your eyes tells Sirius otherwise. As soon as the front door closes behind the two, you push Sirius back into the private tattoo room before he could utter a single word. 

“You need to explain yourself, Sirius Orion Black and you need to do it now!” you demand, your voice harsh and biting, something you’ve never done in front of the boys before and catches the traitor, in your eyes, by complete surprise. Sirius doesn’t know what he’s done but he already feels incredible guilt and sorrow over it. He’s never wanted to draw out such a horrid emotion out of you; you’re only allowed to feel happiness and love and comfort. Not this. Never this…

“I-I don’t understand, princess—” he reaches for you but you step away from his touch, your piercing glare and obvious rejection stabbing a knife through his chest. You’ve never pulled away from his reach before, he’s not used to this. What did he do? He would take it all back, whatever he did, if it meant that you would lean into his touch again rather than pull away. He’d do anything to quash the evident flames of rage in your eyes. What did he do?... What did he do goddamnit?! 

“I saw it! I saw everything! You’re playing both of them!” you shout, your rage lashing out and scorching him with their intense heat. There was no holding you back, you told him everything, about how you saw his kiss with Remus and James. His eyes widen in shock before filling with horror, which does nothing but corroborate your heart breaking revelations, “I don’t want to believe it! How could you do this to them, Siri?...” your shouting voice slowly quietens and tapers off at the end, quivering like a shaken autumn leaf. So heartbroken over the fact, your rage quickly turns into sorrow and tears quickly fill your eyes, “You’re better than that, I know you are!” and you really do. No matter how betrayed you feel and having witnessed the evidence first hand, you cling onto the little slither of faith you still had in Sirius, “Please tell them the truth, they deserve the truth… they deserve you being forthcoming with them because they’re good guys,”

Looking on at you, Sirius feels his heart break. This misunderstanding was tearing you up inside and, although it makes him happy to know that you would confront him and be angry for the boys at his supposed betrayal, watching you break down, and sob uncontrollably made Sirius’ heart twist and clench uncomfortably— painfully so. 

Without a word, he reaches out again and is able to bring you into his arms. You don’t return the gesture but you make no effort to push him away either. 

“Shhh Shhh Shhhhhh, darling…” Sirius whispers comfortingly, softly patting your hair as he waits for your sobbing to calm down enough for him to come clean. Scrap the plan, whatever bullshit plan they came up with to slowly ease you into accepting their relationship before selfishly asking for your love as well. He wasn’t going to let you continue misunderstanding their relationship, especially when it’s causing you so much pain, “...this is all a big misunderstanding…” he begins softly once your cries were finally reduced to soft sniffles, “do you know what polyamory is, sweetheart?”

“...n-no…”

“It’s when more than two people agree to be in a loving, romantic relationship with each other, all at the same time,” he explains in the same soft voice, his arms never pulling away from you as he feels you slowly lose your grip on resistance. 

“Is…is that…”

“Yes, that’s the relationship James, Remus and I are all a part of…” he looks down with a gentle smile and watches you peek up at him curiously. Sirius resists the urge to swoop down and pepper your face with kisses. Just when he thought his love for you couldn’t grow any bigger, here you were being the sweetest, most caring and lovable little thing he’s ever laid eyes on. 

However, you slowly begin to shake your head and the resistance in your eyes and expression returns. This time you push him away and keep him at arm's reach. Like a scared prey animal being cornered by a predator, you inch your way back until you're pressing yourself against the wall beside the door. It takes Sirius two steps forward to finally stop and keep his place so that you don’t feel pushed or stressed by his presence. 

“I-I won’t believe you until James and Remus say so…” 

He shrugs and gives you a pained smile. He supposes he can’t blame you for being cautious and not believing him, he’s the apparent ‘cheater’, afterall. 

You watch Sirius part his lips to voice something when you hear the parlour door open and rush into the hallway to see James and Remus walk in. The two were grinning cheekily at each other and their arms were piled high with an assortment of snacks. They held true to their promise; you could spot many of Sirius’ favourites among the pile and it made your stomach twist uncomfortably. 

As soon as the two look up and see your dishevelled form, your eyes pink and tearful, your bottom lip wobbling from restrained cries and your frame closed up like a frightened clam, the snacks are carelessly disregarded and they rush to your side. 

“Dove?” Remus calls, worry evident in his voice as he steals a glance at Sirius over your trembling shoulder. The response he was given — tight lips, drawn into a straight line and unreadable eyes — wasn’t enough, however and his chocolate pools hardened into brown stone. What. Did. You. Do?... Remus silently interrogated the tattooist.

“What happened, angel?” James immediately wraps his arms around you and you almost melt into his hold if it weren’t for your need to clarify everything dominating your thoughts. 

“Are you and Remus in a relationship with Sirius?” your hesitant voice, small and fraying at the edges, speaks up but barely above a whisper. The two men visibly stiffen beside you and you feel a well of tears quickly building up again; your thoughts immediately jumping to the worst possible outcome. 

“Tell her the truth. Give her peace of mind, lads,” Sirius speaks up, his own voice lacking its usual confidence and was reduced to a vulnerable softness. 

“Yes,” Remus affirms after a beat of silence. 

“We’re all consenting, we all love each other, mutually!” James pipes up, his tone bordering on defensive despite not knowing what he’s their relationship defending from, “You…you don’t think of us differently do you?”

“No! No no no! Of course not,” you quickly elucidate your thoughts, your shoulders relaxing as you turn and meet eyes with Sirius, mustering a small smile, “it’s actually quite a relief,”

Grinning softly, Sirius steps up to explain the situation, “Dollface over here thought that I was cheating on you and James with each other, Rem,” he chuckles softly, amusement in his eyes though it still lacked their full brightness, “she gave me a good shouting to and looked like she was ready to bite my head off if I didn’t ‘come clean’ to both of you,” Remus laughs and pulls Sirius into a sideways hug as James coos lovingly at you. 

“You got angry for us, angel?” James presses his face into your hair and nuzzles you affectionately, “you’re the sweetest~” he coos, his smirk growing as he feels an embarrassed heat radiating off your cheeks. 

“St-stop the James,” you whine with an awkward smile and wiggle yourself out of his arms, avoiding his pouting lips because you know your resolve will melt away at the sight. It was confirmed. They were in a relationship, all three of them, with each other. You should be happy that Sirius wasn’t a cheater and still the wonderful man you saw him to be. But, no matter how happy you were for them, the twisting of your stomach and the gaping hole in your heart wasn’t easily fixable. 

The following weeks, you maintained the friendship you had with the boys, who no longer felt the need to limit their intimate touches around you. However, whenever they tried to initiate affection with you, as per usual, once the innocent kiss on the temple and harmless hug was now fervently being rejected by you and pushed away. You had no intention of disrespecting their relationship, even if most acts of affection you exchanged as friends were innocuous. But, then again, it was also your way of protecting your already shattered heart. Yes, you could just stay away from them entirely but you had built such a strong friendship with them that it didn’t feel right to candidly pretend that you’ve never met them before. It’ll do more harm than the harm you were inflicting now…  

Ever the observant man that he was, Remus knew the instant reason behind your hesitation and was quick to reassure you the next time you were invited over for tea. 

“It’s really okay, sweetheart,” the tall brunette hums softly as James and Sirius agree from their own seats, “we’re okay with it and you aren’t going to come in between any of us, I promise you,”

Stubbornly, you shake your head, pulling a deep frown from all of them.

“Are you not comfortable with it?” James asks with uncertainty, his question and its potential implication is filled with enough dread to make even his two lovers stiffen up. 

You nod your head ‘yes’ and they slump in their rejection. It hurt to know that the revelation of their relationship had pushed you away when the basic nature of their affair meant more love for everyone. And they wanted it to include you… Their romance that led to such an abundance of love and promises of more was now paradoxically pushing you away. For once, they didn’t know what to do, not a single one of them could come up with any idea to resolve the ever-growing tension in your relationship. It was a rubber band ready to snap. 

“If you’re uncomfortable then we’ll respect that and keep our distance, touch-wise” Remus surrenders despite the heartbreak it gives him while Sirius shoots up and sends him an irate glare, one that Remus coldly returns. It wasn’t a question of their comfortability but yours, Sirius needed to regard that to the highest degree and Remus was all too ready to make him face the music. They can’t afford to lose you and if it meant that he needed to make the hard decisions then so be it.

“Thank you,”

“...do you not want to be around us anymore?” James speaks up, not necessarily taking things to their extremes but rather potential, future escalations. He’s seen it. In the days and weeks that followed the divulgence of their true relationship, bit by bit you have begun to pull away from them to the point where James can vividly see where the escalation of your behaviour will lead and it’s frightening. One day, you’ll just disappear and that terrifies him. 

“No no…” your weak defence, lacking true resolve, ignites a shock of terrorising fear in all three of them, their eyes shaking with trepidation. But you couldn’t see it because you couldn’t look at them, like a coward. Because that’s what you are — a coward. The heartbreak was chipping away at you. You thought you would be brave enough to see them happy together but you couldn’t. Because, not only were you a coward, but you were selfish too. Green with envy, you stewed in that awful, stomach-twisting, heart-aching, bitter-tasting, gut-wrenching feeling each time you saw every loving kiss, affectionate cuddle and sweetly whispered words. 

Throughout your friendship you grew to love each of them as more than a simple friend. You know it was wrong but they were all so charming in their own, unique way. They treated you sincerely, cared for you without any sinister, ulterior motives and they’ve successfully wormed their way into your life and heart, permanently. 

What was once something that brought you such joy, warmth and feelings of safety was now mercilessly ripping you apart. 

Their dynamic looked different to you now that you were looking through a different lens. They weren’t just close friends anymore, they were very much in love and have been romantically involved for a few years now — it was one of the first things you found out about their relationship. Its longevity was a testament to their unwavering love for each other and here you were, secretly, selfishly and salaciously hoping for your own slice of the love pie.  

How dare you…

Just because you’ve had such bad luck with love didn’t mean you had the right to wish for something that couldn’t possibly become yours. You have no right to ask them for love when they are completely content with their own.  

“Please don’t push us away, dollface,” Sirius begs softly, his steel grey eyes melting into a pool of mercury. Beautiful but poisonous. Something you want but can’t have. 

“I’m sorry,” you’re breathless when you see the genuine fear in their eyes and turn away from the sight. This isn’t the time to turn weak at the knees, “it’s getting pretty late, I should go,” shouldering your bag, you get up and rush to leave their flat. 

“Stay,” Remus half commands and half begs, almost stopping you in your tracks, “please stay… we need to talk to you about something important,” if there was any time for them to reveal the truth, it was now. Before they lose you, before they drown themselves in regret, before they fall into a pit of despair, before they—

“I’m sorry…” you repeat and, just as James feared, you disappear. 

A/N : this took such a long while to write but i wanted it to be perfect, thank you so much for requesting this darling @thepunisherfrankcastle it fit perfectly into the plot although i did make some slight altercations to your request. unfortunately, there's still more to go after this so i'm going to have to leave you darlings with a cliffhanger, look out for part 5! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

→ NEXT. : 05 | DRUNK AND CIGARETTE SMOKE

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS M.LIST

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @sageskisses444 @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @ghostgardn @mess-is-my-aesthetic @susyelectra @fangirlninja67 @pagesfalling @thepunisherfrankcastle @axeofwars @imarimon @in-love-with-4-marauders @chicken-taco-burrito @valencia-rou @feast0nmeee @lestat-whore @hvmxjjk @twilightlover2007 @diaryofabiwoman @woohoney @celestialfantasiess @willbedecided @lovelyygirl8 @iiirhiane-g @mangodamochiii @queerqueenlynn @l3xiluve @brain-has-left @bunbunbl0gs @kneelforloki @citrusiove @virtualbuni @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @that1nerd-20 @wolfstar4everbitches @skepvids @dearmy-diary @littledollfacebaby @mylifeisnothing @em16cor @krazyk99 @imdoingbetternow @realalpacorn @remussbitch @swiftieeras1989 @lonely-nerd-sodaholic TAGLIST CLOSED

[azen13]

Hallooo!!

can I request a Sunday and aventurine (separate) x reader where reader has insomnia and cannot fall asleep? It’s alright if you just write for one character, whatever is most comfy for you <3 take your time and get some rest !!

Sleep, Sweet Nightingale

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: Thank you so much for the ask! This was really fun to write :D I'll likely post Aventurine's in a week or two, so stay tuned for that! Thank you for your kind words <3

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: Sunday x Avgin!Reader | With Sunday at a meeting discussing future plans for Penacony, you find yourself struggling not only with falling asleep, but also with memories from the past. Luckily, your lover is always here to help you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Insomnia, Dissociation, Mentions of Imprisonment, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Emotional Flashback

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Nested in soft blankets, sleep should come easy to you. You had hoped it would soothe your troubled mind, washing all of your dark, tainted thoughts away like soapy water cutting through grime; instead, you toss and turn in the tangled sheets, a sheen of sweat shining on your skin in the dim, warm lights of your apartment.

Your inability to sleep is also compounded by the fact that you’re entirely alone. Sunday is busy in a meeting with the Family–discussing a potential renovation to Oti Mall to make it more navigable–leaving an empty space on the other side of the bed. You miss your lover’s sweet, feather-light touches and chaste kisses. More than that, you miss feeling protected. The world has scraped your heart clean of any innocence, leaving you sensitive to all the cruelties of the world–cruelties that seem to hang above your head like a cloud of daggers, waiting to fall.

Signaled by the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, minutes pass by. You make a game of watching as the long hand of the clock slowly creeps past the short hand at around 2:30 a.m, and continues to race around the chapter ring like a runner in a marathon. Eventually it passes the finish line, the clock ringing in quiet celebration as a new race begins. 

After another minute or two, you finally decide to push the plush sheets off your body and get out of bed. Sunday had recently bought you some medication to help with your sleeping problems, but he had kept them hidden away somewhere. The lack of trust stung, but you believed him when he said he was doing it out of worry for your wellbeing. You could look for it, but knowing Sunday and his penchant for being meticulous, you’d only bring yourself into a fit of frustration, making your mind more dysfunctional than it already feels.

Instead, you decide to wander the apartment aimlessly, a blanket wrapped around your body that billows behind you. From the bedroom to the parlor, the kitchen to the study, you search for something to pass the time, but find yourself rejecting any potential forms of entertainment. You can hardly fathom reading a book with how tired your eyes are, and the TV is too loud–even at the lowest volume.

So, you settle down on a sofa in the parlor and try to block out the world by wrapping yourself up in your blanket. For a second, you try to close your eyes, but open them in an instant. 

The overhead light feels less warm now, washing the room out with fluorescence. You can feel your heart beginning to leak, waves of emotions tossing it to and fro. Impressions of words spoken to you years ago press against your skin–not heard, but felt. No tears spring from your eyes–a habit built from near-daily torment, of knowing that your captors would only revel in the sight of your sadness and attempt to draw more of it out. Instead, your hands grip against the blanket. The rhythm they take up isn’t a thought so much as a motion, letting you escape the sinking ship of your soul. Clench, unclench, clench.

Then you hear the lock of the apartment door click. As though electrified, your body freezes from head to toe. 

“My dove? Where. . .you?” 

“Dearest?”

You hardly register Sunday moving out of the corner of your eye and taking a seat in a chair a few feet away from the sofa. After a moment, your lips open, words trickling out. They are uttered on their own accord–not a thought, but a motion, same as your hands.

The look on Sunday’s face softens. His words move in and out of focus as he begins to speak again.

“. . .you’re dissociating, my. . . Let me help . . . you name five . . . you see?”

Again, as if compelled by some supernatural force, you begin to speak again. It’s as though you’re speaking a foreign language you never learned.

“Wonderful. . . amazing. How about. . . things you. . . touch?”

“Now try to. . . three things. . .can hear?

Halfway through naming two things you can smell, the world sharpens, like shifting a camera’s focus. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, aware of how tense your body is.

“Are you back in the present with me now, my sweet?” Sunday asks quietly. His tender voice is almost a whisper, aware of how sensitive you might be to loud noises right now. 

You nod weakly, feeling beginning to return to your body, a shuddering breath filling your lungs. “I think so.” It feels true. As if in confirmation, your heart beats out a steady ‘Yes’.

“I’m glad.” Sunday folds his hands in his lap, eyes reading between the lines of your face. “It’s getting late. Would you like me to help you to bed?”

“Yes please.”

Slowly, Sunday stands. He extends a hand out, not as a demand, but an offer. A choice. It’s an easy one that you decide to take, clasping it like a lifeline as he guides you back to the bedroom. Humming gently, he fluffs up the comforter and the pillows, doing his best to maximize your comfort. 

“If you’d like, I can sleep in the guest bedroom-” “Stay.”

Your response is a plea, one Sunday is happy to comply with. Quietly, you watch as he begins to get ready for bed, his routine methodical and precise. Through it all, he keeps a quiet vigil over you, even as he brushes his teeth and preens his feathers. After it’s all said and done, your lover quietly crawls into bed, eyes gazing gently at you. “If you need anything, let me know,” he says quietly. In response, you gently grab one of his hands, and move it over your shoulder, before grabbing the other. Sunday allows you to position his arms how you wish, only adjusting after you finish. “May your dreams be sweet, my dove,” Sunday whispers, voice reverent like a prayer, as you begin to drift off into a soothing sleep.

[sunnie-angel]

hi sun! for the prompts how about carving pumpkins + childhood friends to lovers with the one! the only! jaytodd <3

sanne my love, anything for you (and for him)

the first time you meet jason todd, you're bored out of your mind at a gala that your parents' forced you to attend, dress shoes pinching at your toes. he's slow to smile and half-hides behind his adoptive father's legs but you offer to show him where the best snacks are on the buffet table and you become fast friends after that

it's easy being friends as children, only arguing over who's house to play at and which toys are better. you start going to school together and it only draws you closer, making faces behind the backs of stuffy teachers and helping each other out with last minute homework

puberty changes things a bit, a new awareness of jason's lanky limbs and cracking voice while your own body starts to swell and change. innocent, accidental touches become supercharged with awkwardness and you can't seem to hold his gaze without stuttering. it's a relief then, when he asks with sweaty palms if you want to go to the end of school dance together. you laugh, because he asks in march but he's dead by april and you don't laugh so much anymore.

you attend his funeral, dress shoes still pinching your toes, murmur your condolences to bruce and dick. you leave a part of your childhood in that grave with him, the tendrils of first love and fluttering innocence.

as you grow up, you drift away from the waynes though you still see them sometimes socially. you try to date, relationships that fizzle out each time by the haunting what if that rests in a gotham graveyard.

it becomes a habit to visit him, to talk as if jason could hear you, about each disastrous date, the goings on of your life, and how you wish he were still here. always, you are the only one there to visit him, so when a stranger walks up behind you one afternoon, you're surprised by the company. he strikes up an awkward, if not sweet, conversation with you about your loss and you walk away feeling a little less lonely.

he appears more often, this stranger, when you visit jason's grave. always asks after you and your family, the friend you wish was still with you. you never see him very clearly; he always has his hood up, always stands at an angle. but he is kind to you in your grief and so you allow him his little idiosyncrasy. still, in the flashes of an upturned mouth and errant curls of hair, you see glimpses of the person jason could have been.

you thank your dead friend for sending him to you, this reminder that life always goes on but at least jason will live on in the people that knew him. you ask jason for his forgiveness, that as much as you love him, there might be room in you to love this man too. the dead don't speak but the sudden burst of wind feels like a blessing as it lifts the tears from your cheeks.

you gather up the courage and ask the stranger if he would like to meet sometime, as a date, outside of the graveyard. he startles and his hood slips back, helped on by the wind. you can't help but gasp as you finally see his face. older, more scarred, but still impossibly jason.

you can request more headcanons as part of sunnie’s soft autumn

[l0v3tast3]

i’m fucking loving the pervy older boyfriends!!! how about pervy older johnny??

aa tysm anon !!! ヽ(*⌒▽⌒*)ﾉ i loved writing this hehe i've been wanting to write for johnny for awhile now too so thank u for the request!! <<33

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 20's, johnny is mid/late 30's), semi-public s3x, car s3x, dirty talk, abuse of pet names, innocence/corruption kink, breeding kink (r is on birth control), overstimulation, praise kink/degradation, loss of virginity, oral (f receiving)

✎ word count: 1.7k words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!johnny who has an outrageously high sex drive whenever he's around you, or even just thinking about you. you're just the epitome of perfection to him, so sweet and pretty and smart, and you're all his. that fact alone always astounds him; unlike some others, johnny is aware he's a pervert. to be fair, it's only when it comes to you.

✧ ˖ ° he's just so happy to have you as his girlfriend, he can't help that he expresses his affection for you sexually! you've come to expect that as soon as you get into the passenger seat of his car, johnny's hand will holding the back of your neck to press your lips tighter against his. only when you're out of breath and your eyes are hazy will he draw away, cupping your face to peck a kiss to your nose before he's grabbing the steering wheel with one hand and your thigh with the other. he almost always ends up pushing his fingers into you and teasing you about distracting him when you end up moaning and grabbing at his wrist.

✧ ˖ ° unless he's taking you back to his house, johnny has a bad habit of pulling you into the backseat before you go on with your date. going to the movies or out to a restaurant? he parks in the back of the lot and fucks you slow to "not rock the car", but he just loves when you claw at his back and arms and beg for him to go faster (you've been banned from a concerningly long list of places because he just can't say "no" to you). one of his favorite places to take you out to are drive-in theaters, where he can sit you between his legs and finger you, stopping whenever you start making enough noise to attract the attention of the people around you.

✧ ˖ ° when johnny takes you back to his home, he does try to just spend some nice, non-sexual quality time with you, but he always says you're a fucking minx. if he doesn't make the first move within thirty minutes of settling into the couch, you will. in your defense, it's johnny's fault, and he'll also admit it. he takes pride in how much he's corrupted you, how addicted he's made you to him. he loves how reliant you are on him, especially for your pleasure; johnny will make damn sure that you won't be able to get off without his help after he gets his hands on you.

✧ ˖ ° "what's wrong, bonnie? it's only been a couple'a days, y'really miss me that much?" when you sheepishly mumble that you aren't able to finish yourself off anymore, a cheshire grin spreads over his face. "aww, poor little lass, y'need my help to cum? y'know i'll always help ya with that, c'mere."

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!johnny who wants to get you pregnant so badly. he knows you're on birth control and he'll wear a condom or pull out if you say the word, but his favorite thought to get off to while he's away from you is stuffing you full of his cum and seeing your belly swell. johnny's always wanted a family; maybe two boys and a girl, a couple dogs, and a sweet little wife to come home to and wrap his arms around. who better to do that with that you, his sweet little girlfriend?

✧ ˖ ° this results in him practically jumping you the second you tell him you're on birth control. he has you whining and white-knuckling the sheets, the side of your face pressed against the mattress and your hips being held up by one of his hands in no time. the other is planted beside your head so he can lean down close to you. "y'want my baby, lass? how much?" despite the whole thing being his idea, johnny will still make you beg for his cum. "c'mon bonnie, i know y'can use your words. you'll look so pretty with our child, don't ya think?"

✧ ˖ ° when you finally choke out your best attempt of pleading for him to breed you, johnny has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. and despite the rough strokes pushing your body further up the body with each time he bottoms out in you, he'll get sweet. he lays his front over your back and holds your hand with one of his, the other snaking down to your clit. "doin' so well, just a bit more, lass, one more for me. sh, shh, y'can bonnie, promise it'll feel good. we wanna make sure, right? it'll help y'get pregnant, jus' one more, bonnie," he coos into your ear, shushing you when you start whining from the overstimulation. at that point, when he's finally wearing down, you'll already have multiple loads of his cum dripping out of your abused pussy around his cock, so you're pretty damn sure, but how can you say no when he's making you feel so good still?

✧ ˖ ° it isn't entirely about starting a family with you, though. part of it comes from how territorial and protective he is of you. not in the way that he'll kidnap you to keep you from the dangers of the world, but in the way of wanting everyone to know that you're his. in public (around anyone, really) johnny is always touching you. a hand on your thigh, around your waist or shoulders, holding your hand. his favorite place is the back of your neck; the shiver he feels run down your spine when he brushes his thumb under your ear always makes him smile. but there's still that little bit of him that says it isn't enough.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!johnny who likes to make fun of you (in a loving way, of course). he doesn't go as far as humiliating you, but the way you try to look away and pout is just the cutest sight that johnny's ever seen. it'll be for any little thing, too. when your hips twitch as he grazes his hands over them. when you start forgetting to try and keep your moans and whimpers quiet. when your eyes start getting hazy while he sucks bruises into your neck that he'll wrap his hand over later. everything is fair game with johnny.

✧ ˖ ° and it doesn't take long for him to figure out how much you like it too. he sees the way your thighs rub together when he pins you against the kitchen counter or the hood of his car. he can feel the damp spot on your underwear spread even more when he brushes over your clit through the cloth. and the way you tighten up around his cock while he tells you what a good little whore you are for him when you let him use your sweet cunt. it's all because of how much fun he has teasing you near-constantly. johnny's ego definitely gets boosted to the high heavens when he catches onto how much you like his voice.

✧ ˖ ° he will definitely use your love of his voice to his advantage. it's just so easy, so tempting when you whine because he's holding your jaw so you can't look away while he fills your head with filthy words. "hah, i love y'like this, bonnie. so pretty with my cock fillin' ya up, doesn't it feel good? tch, i know it does, you're soaked for me lass. i got ya trained so well! sweet little girl, you'll really let me use ya however i want, won't you?"

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!johnny who puts little to no effort into concealing just how much he loves ruining your innocence. when you first start dating, he'll wait as long as you want to until you're ready to lose your virginity; he takes it as an opportunity to come up with more ideas of what to do with you. once he does finally get his hands on you though, it's game over. your clothes are off of you before you even know it and he's kissing and licking and biting every inch of skin he can touch. johnny wastes no time in hunting for your most sensitive spots. he's making a roadmap of the best places to pull gasps and tiny mewls from your lips as quickly as he can, starving for any sound, any reaction he can get out of you.

✧ ˖ ° after you're covered in imprints of his teeth he makes sure you're begging for him to do something to make you cum. johnny will slip off your underwear, following it down your legs with more kisses and nips, and when he's finally get his mouth on your drenched cunt, he won't come back up until you're nearly sobbing, trying anything to get him to let up. your hands will be pinned against your stomach with one of his to hold you down simultaneously, the other working one, then two, then three fingers in and out of your tight hole. when they get tired he'll swap his tongue on your clit with them, his thumb resuming the shapes and letters he draws over the bud.

✧ ˖ ° as he lines up the head of his cock with your pussy he'll finally be soft again, kissing you deeply and wrapping your legs around his waist and his arms around you. then his tip pops past your entrance and, once again, game over. johnny knows he's pushing into you a little faster than he should, but you're already arching your back, clawing at his back, and you're so tight that he thinks he might lose his mind trying to hold back. the way your eyes are rolling back as he bottoms out makes his last bit of self-control crumble.

✧ ˖ ° johnny delights in pulling you down deeper into the depths of depravity with him. how after he finally relents and decides to show you mercy during your first time together you giggly airily, saying you didn't think it could be that good. how each time he tries something new with you he watches you get more and more desperate for him, his cock, his touch, anything he'll give you. johnny just wants nothing more than his pretty little darling to rely solely on him for her pleasure!

[cinnbar-bun]

Hugs and Kisses (One Piece) Pt.2

Featured Characters: Robin, Franky, Chopper (platonic only!), Brook, Jinbei

Scenario: How they like to give hugs and kisses to you <3

Rating: SFW

You can read this on my AO3 here!

Chopper (this is platonic!)

Chopper really loves being held and kissed by you. 

While you’re not his dad (Zoro) or his mom (Robin), you’re very up there when it comes to Chopper’s affections. 

He loves when you scratch his ears and feed him cotton candy. 

He likes just sitting on your lap. It’s comforting, and feels he can trust you a lot to keep him safe and hold him.

While he says he doesn’t like to be babied, it’s obvious once he’s in your arms that he really loves how secure you make him feel. 

You’re like a… hm… cool older sibling! Yeah! That’s it! He goes to you often for fun or to help sneak him something he may want, and you’ve become something like a sidekick to his habits. 

Not that you mind, he’s your baby bro Chopper. If Mom and Dad say no, well, he can always go to you (and 99% of the time, you give in). 

Robin 

Ever the elegant and mature woman, she will be more likely to express her emotions and love for you in more private settings. 

It kinda traces back to her personality and history, she’s just worried you’ll be an even bigger target by being seen so closely with her (the last thing she’d ever want is for you to be captured or tortured because of her) 

But in an innocent way… she would like to play the part of a “normal” couple. She knows it’s a pipe dream, considering she’s the Devil Child and you’re both a part of the Straw Hats, but still. 

That’s why, if you want to surprise her, hold her hand in public on slower days, like in the market or at a wonderful view of a flower field. She's touched when you do that, and she decides to join you in playing along as the “normal” couple she sometimes fantasizes about. 

She's never had anyone she was close to in the way you are to her, so she’s very protective of you. If she feels you are in danger or someone is trying to fight you, she immediately stands in front of you. 

She prefers hugs in private, where she can pull you close and hold you without fear of being hurt or seen. When she gets more comfortable though, she’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder or keep an arm around your waist so you two can be close. 

Robin can be a bit of a tease, and while normally her kisses are simple pecks on your forehead, cheek, or nose, she can and will put on bold red lipstick and kiss you, leaving an obvious stain (she may or may not tell you). 

Perhaps it’s something of a possessive streak coming in… and, well, she kinda can’t help it. You’re too cute. 

Franky 

Should be obvious, but Franky is SUUUUUPPPPERRRR into PDA. He’ll just sweep you in his arms and throw you over his shoulders, or snuggle you like you’re a teddy bear (and seeing how big he is, you kinda look like one). 

He doesn’t get embarrassed by what others think, he’s just wanting to hug you and kiss you lots when he feels like it. 

He’s so needy when he’s not building things. Straight up will beg to be able to hug you and sob if you have to decline. 

Despite his eagerness to be with you at almost all times, he’s not gonna jeopardize you or anyone else in a serious situation. He knows there’s a time and place for things, and he won’t try to be physically affectionate in the midst of a battle. 

He will, however, wink and say that once this is over, you owe him some kisses and hugs. 

If you compliment and hug him, he’ll give himself an ego trip and smirk. He knows he’s super, but when you say it, it just makes him feel uh- super-er! 

He likes you sitting on his lap most. It’s so comfy having you there, and he likes resting his chin on top of your head. 

Often likes to look at what you’re doing when in these positions. If you’re reading, for example, he likes to try and follow along with it. If you’re doing something like say… gaming or drawing, he’s happily watching to see what you’ll do next. 

He might even create something to go with your favorite hobby to make it easier/better for you! 

Brook 

Brook is a gentleman (for the most part), and so he won’t do anything forward without your permission. 

Listen, he’s always going to be down for you wanting to hug, hold his hand, or kiss him. He will make many, maaany jokes about how he “can’t feel it cuz he’s dead” and laugh his signature laugh, but he really does treasure your affection. 

Sure, he can’t feel it or reciprocate it back the way he could as a human, but he does enjoy and appreciate how effortlessly you make him feel like one. 

Similar to Robin, the idea of a relationship, especially in his physical state, was nigh impossible in his mind. But you, for some reason (he’s still trying to figure it out), loved him, even for all the reasons you really shouldn’t have. 

Also like Robin, when you hold his hand or kiss his cheek (or where his cheek would be if he had one-), he feels almost… “nostalgic”. That’s how he likes to describe it. He’s gotten used to life as a skeleton, and though he yearns for skin to be able to hold you correctly, he enjoys what he has with you. It’s the closest he ever gets to feeling alive again, and only you could spring forth such feelings from him. 

He can’t “kiss” persay, but he likes to press his mouth against your forehead- so at least you can get a kiss without him possibly hurting you or making it feel weird!

He loves when you lean against him, so he’ll wrap an arm around then. Also loves when you pepper kisses all over his face, it makes him happy. 

Yes, it’s a bit unconventional, but it’s your unconventional relationship and damn it, he’ll treasure it and fight for it like no tomorrow. 

Extra thought: Brook would make sure to give you an accessory that matches with him, so he can always remember you and be connected with you, even after death. 

Jinbei 

Jinbei is so respectful, so gentlemanly, and so sweet, and you can’t help but feel adored with him. 

Often takes your hand and presses a kiss to it, especially as a greeting or good morning. He likes how your hands compare to his larger ones. 

Again, very respectful and honorable, so he will not force his affection onto you unless you ask. Then when he gets more comfortable, he will begin to ask if he can hug you, kiss you, hold your hand. If you say you don’t mind/he doesn’t need to ask as much, he will take note and make an attempt to “surprise” you with a hug. He does like the look on your face when your eyes widen and the large smile on your lips once he randomly decides to hold your hand. 

Likes to hug you in private, and when he does, he makes sure to wrap you in his arms and stroke your back. It’s so nice, and Jinbei is quite warm, funnily enough. It’s like a very snuggly heater wrapped around you. 

Jinbei, despite being the “adult” in the Straw Hats for the most part, he tends to get super cute and bashful when you kiss him. It’s adorable seeing the slight blush on his face and the goofy grin when he recovers. 

He often jokes that it’s an eye for an eye, so if you kiss him, he must kiss you back, and vice versa. He's all about being equal and treating you with respect while making sure you understand how much he loves you. 

Jinbei doesn’t admit it, but he would adore wearing matching kimonos or outfits with you. He might like to wear contrasting colors but with a similar theme, or just the same pattern and color. It makes him feel closer to you sharing outfits like that. 

[tkpuke]

jayvik with 16/lee!vik?

Jayce + Viktor - 16. “Put the book down and pay attention to me!”

The sound of chalk harshly hitting against a blackboard kept repeating, Viktor drawing a equation that took half the space in a hurried manner as if the ideas flowing in his head would vanish any second before he could write the rest down. Viktor was deep in thought, having spent around three hours already in the lab alone. No distractions so far, which he was thankful for.

Until the door swung open.

Jayce comes in, immediately taking a seat while dramatically running his hands through his hair; an anxious habit. “I need to rant real quick.” He starts, but Viktor only glances once and keeps writing away. “It’s this upcoming speech,” he fetches something nearby to fiddle with. “I’m so nervous I can’t even think straight. I don’t even have a speech prepared!”

“Mmm.” Is all Viktor responds with, now taking a little step back to view his work so far. Something’s missing. He grabs a book that was on standby the entire time, flipping through the pages to see what went wrong with his equation.

“I don’t know how much Insight I should give the people about Hextech and its potential. Will it scare them? Will it bring hope?”

“uh huh.” Viktor says again, but he wasn’t truly listening. He has been too caught up on what he’s currently doing, it’s impossible for him to drop it all suddenly and put full attention on anything else. Don’t get him wrong, Viktor deeply appreciates that Jayce comes to him for advice or just to be a shoulder he can lean on, but right now wasn’t a good time. Jayce seems to be a little slow on picking that up, though.

The man sighs, resting his cheek on his palm. “I really wish you could be up there with me, Viktor. I know you already declined but it would’ve put me a lot at ease, y’know?” Silence was all he was met with. He could hear the wall clock ticking, pages being flipped and a occasional chalk meeting the blackboard, but no reply from Viktor. The only sound he was looking forward to hearing.

Jayce finally looks over, seeing Viktor’s nose buried deep in a book. This entire time was he just being ignored? Annoyance starts to fuel Jayce’s entire body, making him stand up to creep over to Viktor quietly. He doesn’t even hear him, of course, his mind somewhere else.

Viktor’s racing thoughts suddenly ripped away from him by a hand placing tiny squeezes on his side. The book was dropped, Viktor grabbing onto Jayce’s wrist tightly but not doing much to push it away.

“Put the book down and pay attention to me!” Jayce nearly pouts as a joke, still squeezing away on Viktor’s side while his other hand supports his back so he won’t fall from all the helpless squirming. “Wahait! Stohohop, I wahahas!” He shakes his head in the midst of all the squirming, loose hair strands starting to almost cover his eyes. Jayce stops abruptly but with the hand still there, almost like a warning.

“Then what was I talking about?” Jayce clearly sees Viktor trying to mentally recall, his silence speaking volumes. “uhm….err…” Viktor hesitantly looks up at him, who stared back unamused. Then, the tickling started back up again.

“It’s not looking good for you, Viktor. Maybe this will jog up your memory? Worth a shot, right?” The squeezes started to intentionally get lower, Jayce evilly seeking out for that bad spot: the hips.

And Viktor knows this. Hence why hitting weakly at Jayce’s chest, trying to signal a tap out. “noHO!—JAHAYCE!” He pretty much squeaks, cheeks slightly flushing from embarrassment. Viktor absolutely hates the sounds he makes whenever he gets tickled silly, but if you ask Jayce?

He adores them.

“That is my name.” Jayce answers innocently, honing in on just that spot. At this point, he doesn’t even care if Viktor had actually listened to him or not. At first, this was for the sole purpose of a bit of fun revenge. Although it always finishes out to be Jayce wanting to just hear his partner laugh like there’s no tomorrow, his reactions so priceless. How can someone not enjoy tickling a person that scrunches up their nose when you target there, or squeaks like a mouse when you tickle here?

It would’ve gone on for a few more minutes if Viktor didn’t bump against the blackboard in the midst of all his squirming, accidentally erasing some of the equation he had written. They both halt; Vitkor staring at the half erased problem in disbelief and Jayce staring because he’s about to get scolded by him any second, which is not a pretty sight.

But Viktor didn’t scold. He instead slowly turned, faces so close they can feel each other’s breath hit their skin. What Jayce failed to see from the corner of his eye was Viktor starting to flex his fingers.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

[lucimaaie]

honeymoon phase ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - the honeymoon phase of you and ellie's relationship doesn't go exactly as planned.

warnings - fluff and angst, im so sorry in advance, srry if the pacing is bad, this is my first time writing a series this long, emotional whiplash

playlist | spidey masterlist

Months went by and things had been going good, Spider-woman related duties aside. Ellie had made things up to you and ironically put herself in many more situations to develop a habit of apologizing. But you were her girlfriend now and she didn’t plan on letting that go for anything.   

"Don't forget to smile. My mom says people like that, even if it's not real. More a formality thing." You folded the cuffs of Ellie's dress shirt. Not the thing she wanted to wear, but it was the only thing you could both agree on. "And make yourself sound good. None of those self-deprecating jokes-"

"Of course not." She tried not to cheese as she watched you fuss over her. You had a folder full of her resumes tucked under her other arm. All part of your self declared project of helping her get ready for an internship interview. Another one, minus the lizard-obsessed scientist and power-granting spiders. Things had been going well in her life for a while, so she decided it was time.

"And no sarcasm," You held out a finger. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Ellie pretended to bite your finger, smiling at your wounded pout. "I'll nail it, bug. Promise." She kissed your hand. Ugh, had she walked past you two on the street months ago, she'd be disgusted. She was always so hesitant to hang up or even walk away from you, like those couples in the honeymoon phase. Well, that was you now wasn't it?

"You better. Hey, wait." You tugged her hand, leading her to a corner of the fancy lobby. Your lips on hers were unexpected but not unwelcome. Ellie almost forget where she was until you pulled away. "That was too quick,"

"Oh, shush. It's just good luck," You fixed her collar. “I’m not gonna makeout with you right here.”

“Not that I’m opposed anyway—“

"Ellie Williams?" The receptionist called out. Ellie perked up, looking from you to her. "I- That's me."

"Go!" You whispered.

Ellie wiped her clammy hands on her pants as she walked into the office room, but not without sparing a sheepish glance at you. The whole interview was like that. She was being asked questions and the whole time she thought of you. She hoped it didn't make her seem absentminded but at the same time, she was just counting the minutes until she could hear you talking her ear off. Ugh, honeymoon phase.

The day she found out she got it, you were already ready with a cake that either gonna be to celebrate or to comfort her. She almost felt normal balancing school, an internship, and a relationship, minus crimefighting.

Maybe that's why she was so surprised now. “You want me to have dinner with your family?” Ellie’s fingers froze in drawing patterns on your arm. She sat up just enough to look down at your face. “That’s including your dad?”

“What kind of question is that? Yes!” You sat up along with her.

“And you wanna prep, weeks in advance?”

“That’s what I said.” Ellie could’ve laughed at the serious yet innocent expression on your face. As if you weren’t asking her to have dinner with your dad who despised her. Well, not her but her in the mask. Maybe she’d earned a sliver of respect after saving you from a lizard, but still. “Do you think it’s too fast? We can shelve it—“

“Baby..”

“Ellie..” You grabbed both her hands, begging with your eyes.

“Just a few flashcards and no-no topics.”

“Which is every topic.” Ellie flopped back on the bed dramatically. Her heart jumped as you curled up to her almost immediately. She’d never get used to the affection she shared with you. “He’s gonna hate me.”

“Well, I like you. So, it doesn’t matter.”

Damn you. She couldn’t argue with that. "I like you too," She said softly, intertwining your hands. She pressed her lips to the back of your hand.

“So..”

“Shit, fine. A few flashcards.” She was absolutely whipped, eyes loving as you ran off to get out the flashcards she knew you’d already made. She was cheesing as she watched you navigate her room like it was yours too. "Oh, color-coded too. How considerate." She said dryly, eyeing the colorful cards in your hands.

"I try my best,"

"Yeah, yeah. Quiz me, already.” She sat up against the headboard. Her arms automatically opened and closed around you as you sat almost on her lap. She let her head rest on your shoulder. She hadn't even noticed her leg moving until you reached out to stop its movement.

"Are you nervous?" You turned your head to look at her.

Ellie frowned, thinking you were asking her was she nervous around you. "No," She stared at you as long as you stared at her. Her face fell when she realized. "No," She said, scoffing. You said nothing, simply looking at her with a grin. "I'm not,”

"Aw," You pushed out your bottom lip. "You are, it's okay."

“I’m not scared of your dad.” She took the flashcards from your hands and shuffled them in her hands.

“I never said you were scared of my dad. Are you?”

"I'm gonna-"

"What? What? You're gonna what?" You moved from her lap to kneel on the bed in front of her.

Ellie tossed the flashcards onto the nightstand just to focus on you. "You're on extremely thin ice," Her hands reached out to grab your hips, scooting to be closer to you. She hadn't been aware of hiding her strength when she pulled you closer to her without a second thought.

"Oof," You said out of surprise. Now, Ellie was the one grinning watching you squirm to find the right position. When you were satisfied, she let her hand rest on your stomach and her head rest on yours. It was when she let out a content sigh that you spoke. "How thin?"

"You know what?" Her fingers moved to tickle you before the hairs of her neck stood up. The sirens that went by the window only proved her right. Her eyes shut in frustration. She had to go. It was her job. "I've gotta..take out the trash real quick," It almost hurt to move you off her. "I'll be right back."

"What- Ellie!" She was already out the door.

The reasonable time for taking out the trash had been passed two hours ago. That's how long it took for her to stop the robbery, wrap everything up, and realize she had been shot herself. And of course it was an alien gun, four bozos inexplicably got their hands on.

She fell onto the fire escape when she landed, holding her side. The pulsing in her side had made her dizzy. She wished she got back to when adrenaline masked the pain. She hadn't even thought to knock on the window that she was leaning on. It wasn't her window. It was yours. Even in her painful haze, she knew the way to you.

She ripped off her mask and tried to turn around to knock. It brought of gasp from her, making her stop for a moment. "Shit," She winced, leaning her head against the window as she tried to stop blood from seeping into her suit.

Ellie flinched as the window behind her opened. She turned around despite the pain. God, was she happy to see you. "Hi, bug." She said weakly.

You were frozen and overwhelmed with the situation in front of you. Ellie in a spider-woman suit and hurt and smiling—or trying to—up at you like it was no biggie. She was shot. Someone hurt her and she was here in front of you. Once you snapped out of it, you wasted no time in helping her in.

Ellie tried to be conscious of your numerous roommates but moving was a literal pain in her side. "Mm-mm, not on your bed. I don't wanna mess up your sheets," She mumbled.

"Ellie, I don't give a shit about my sheets right now." You blurted, voice shaky with fear. You laid her up against your pillows and assessed the damage. It hadn't even processed that she was Spider-woman. It made everything make sense. The leaving, her horrible excuses, the strength, all of it. But that didn't matter right now. You'd be damned if she died in this suit. "We have to..get this off, okay? Before I take you to the hospital."

"Mm-mm," She shook her head, hand tight on her side. Blood was still seeping out of from the edges of her fingertips, but her hand was slowing the flow at least.

"What do you mean no?" You asked, already roaming your room for a change of clothes for her. They'd be soiled, anyway.

"They'll ask who did it, how.." Tears pricked her eyes as she exhaustion and pain started to cloud her vision. Plus, her judgement. "Baby?" She was quiet.

You couldn't hear her, between your racing thoughts and heart. Everything was starting to become blurry as you thought about the fucked up situation you were in. You were just cuddling with her earlier today. How the hell-

She given all her energy to repeat your name louder. That was all she could get out before her view went dark and her consciousness with it. She couldn't feel your hands, holding her face up. "Ellie?" Your tears were warm down your face. "Come on, you have to stay awake. For..for me. Please?" Gentle slaps to her cheek did nothing.

You pulled back to look at her. Blood was smeared on her forehead from wiping the cold sweat off. Nausea set in as your attempts to wake her did nothing. "No, no." You leaned your head against her. "El, please." You swiped your thumb over her hand, just wanting to feel something. Anything.

"Ellie? Please, wake up so I can help you." You cried, clutching onto her hand for dear life. Your fingers were wrapped her whole hand as if that would bring her back to consciousness.

That when you felt it. A weak pulse that in that moment became your saving grace. You pulled back, hands tugging her suit down from her neck to feel the skin there. Two fingers right under chin told you she was still alive. Fighting, but still alive.

You had ran around like a madman searching for gauze, towels, anything google said was needed. You had no idea what you were doing and that feeling only made everything worse. Because what were you gonna do if your girlfriend died in front of you because you couldn't save her. She had saved who knows how many people in the city and you and you had no idea how to help her.

The bullet wasn't typical. It glowed an electric blue in a metal bowl you'd stolen from the kitchen. The constant pulsing of light in the corner of your eye didn't help your uncertainty. A long look at your bloodied hands and the subsequent wave of nausea made the decision for you.

By the time, the ambulance got there you had already dissociated. Your grip on Ellie's limp hand was just at tight as before. The faint beat of her pulse was all you could focus on.

You flinched when hands were placed on your shoulders. You looked up to see your dad's face etched with concern. You were limp in his embrace as you turned your head to look at her. You had somehow gotten her in an outfit they wouldn't arrest her for being in and wrapped her side tight enough to stop bleeding, but her eyes were still closed.

"Mm, no-" You pushed your dad away at the sight of her being strapped onto a stretcher. "I'm going with her."

"I think you should stay here." His hand was gentle, rubbing circles on your back. The purpose was nice but none of it matter if she was out of your sight, still hurting.

"She's my girlfriend and I'm going with her, okay?" You said, in an attempt to sound strong. "I love her, okay? I love her." You nearly choked on tears. Still, you refused the comfort of your dad and the worried looks of your roommates hanging outside the door. "You wanna keep her from me? Huh?" Everyone knew you were on the edge of breaking down. It only helped strengthen your case. The man finally relented, guiding you to the fast-working paramedics.

So much for the honeymoon phase.

thank you for reading!

[sorceresssundries]

Thunder and Lace

Pairing: Rolan x Fem reader

Summary: The very busy and important master of Ramazith's tower is instructed to spend the day wearing your delicate, lacy underwear.

Warnings: Tail play, Smut

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: So, the brain worm evolved. This is a treato for my pal @orangekittyenergy! (Not completely selfless, I have very much being enjoying the thought of Rolan in lacy underwear.)

You watch him from your comfortable position in bed, still dozing. The space next to you, where Rolan had been just minutes ago, is now cool and empty. Your leg feels forlorn without his tail hugged round it, as is his habit while he rests -  mooring himself to you even in the dreamy tides of sleep.

“Come back to bed,” you murmur, your voice thick with leftover tiredness.

“Can’t. Cal organised the scrolls completely inadequately yesterday, he has muddled up all the abjuration and conjuration sections like a dolt.” he mutters something else as he moves around the room, but it is infernal and too low for you to make out. His tail swishes with annoyance, and all you can think about is the squeezing heat of it. 

You slip out from beneath the covers, still in the underwear you slept in, and press yourself against his back as he ties up his hair. Your lips, swollen from the night’s fervent kisses and playful bites, brush softly against the freckles adorning the strong, defined planes of his shoulders. The early morning light filters stubbornly through the closed curtains. 

“I’ll make it worth your while” you hum against the warmth of his skin.

“I…” He begins to protest, but his words flicker out with his resolve. You trace a finger down his spine, drawing slow, gentle lines around the base of his tail, bumping down and over the ridges that just hours ago you were grinding against in a maddening heat. Reaching around, you stroke his erection as intently you did then. His breathing hitches, caught off guard by the same memory. He turns to press his forehead against yours, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “Seductress,” he purrs.

“Me?!” You bat your eyes at him innocently and move your fingers until you are raking through his coarse, dark pubic hair. His erection bumps against your abdomen. You lean forward, pushing your nose against the soft skin below his ear, catching his musky scent as you gently suck on his earlobe before whispering, “I could be much, much worse.”

There is a moment of heavy hunger where you think you have won, and Rolan will drop his duties like coins down a well and spend the entire day chasing pleasure with you in streaks of sunlight and stretched out hours. 

The moment passes. 

“Shit,” he mutters, noticing the time. “I’m going to be late.” You love seeing him like this—all his sharp thoughts blunted. He’s the wickedly clever archmage, the gifted master of one of the most prominent Wizard’s Towers on the Sword Coast, yet you’ve reduced him to a word-wrecked mess of a man more times than you can count. Around you, his sentences slip and his concentration crumbles into dust. It makes you giddy.

“I can’t find my underwear,” he says, rummaging through his drawers. You smirk. It’s tricky to be empathetic when you’re very much enjoying watching him storm around the room naked. His face bears that indignant little frown he wears so well, and his lithe tail flicks around in annoyance. A dishonourable person would probably have hidden his things on purpose just to elicit this kind of delicious reaction… or as part of a wicked plan.

“Here,” you say, sliding your delicate, lacy underwear down your legs with a shimmy. “You can wear these.” You throw them to him nonchalantly, and he is so taken aback he doesn’t even try to catch them. They land on his shoulder, draping in wait—a black web of flimsy lace against his claret skin.

You act as casually as if you’ve just handed him a hairbrush or a towel. You move around the room, tidying up clutter and beginning your morning routine, all the while relishing his stunned reaction.

“Are you kidding?” He thinks you are teasing him. 

You move back to him and rake your nails gently along his erection, burning your gaze into his. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" you murmur.

He hisses and tilts his head back in pleasure. You take the underwear off his shoulder and kiss down his body—slowly, reverently. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. You know he desperately wants to run his nails over your skin and ball them in your hair, but he won’t. Not unless you tell him to.

You lower yourself until you are kneeling on the ground in front of him, and you notice that even his toes are curled. 

“Step into them.” You say as you press a heavy kiss to his calf. He does as he is told, placing a foot carefully into each gap. Pretty impressive given his legs are shaking. You pull them slowly up his legs, letting the lace chase your licks and kisses up his skin. You pause as you get to his erection, and give it a long, indulgent stroke with your tongue before finishing your task and stepping back to admire your work. 

The black lace of your underwear looks sinful against his crimson skin. It is tight against his muscle, and he is straining against it - desperate to get to you.  Luckily, your curves mean the fit isn’t too tight. He looks delicious, perhaps you would let him wear your silken negligee next. 

“How do they feel?”

“Restrictive.” he says running his finger around the waistband “And, erm.. Damp” His golden eyes were molten. 

“Well, I awoke from a very vivid dream about you, my love.” You curve your body into him, and move close enough to let your breath dance with his. “Well, less of a dream and more of a memory” He makes a whiny little noise which makes your stomach twist. “I hope the busy and important Master of the tower doesn't get too distracted thinking about how tight, and wet they are all day long.”

It proves too much. His lips crash against yours, starving. You smile and allow him a few moments to taste the heat of your tongue before pulling away.

“You’re very late.” 

“Fuck.” He says, prising himself away from you pulling on the rest of his robes in a clumsy rush. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, flushed and unkempt.

“Fuck. Ok” He kisses you once, chastely, and then again. And once more… “Ok, i’m going now.” You giggle as he doesn’t move and presses another kiss to your cheek, your nose, and then one final one to your mouth. “Fuck” He tears himself away, practically falling out the door to get to work. 

After a long and luxurious shower you drag yourself through the portal to help out around the shop. It’s so crowded with people asking repetitive, inane questions that you barely have any time to flirt with Rolan. It makes you feel pouty, especially thinking about how grumpy and uncomfortable he must be in your restrictive underwear. You just want to play with him. 

After a while, you finally seize a brief respite and saunter over to where he is engrossed in paperwork and mundane administrative tasks behind the front desk. He wears his best surly look, the one you adore stealing away with a few well-placed kisses across the freckles that dapple his stern features. His frown used to be stone-carved, his demeanour so clouded and thunderous you worried the sun might never reach him. But you slipped through, like sunrise and sea breeze, slowly and gently wearing down his defences. It took gentle hands and even gentler words, but now, the moments when he reverts to his familiar frowns are a sweet reminder of how easily they can pass.

“Are you alright, my love?” you ask with sparkling innocence as you perch next to him on the counter. “You look a little out of sorts.” 

He looks at you as though you are a fire he wishes to extinguish.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you." He kisses you on the cheek in a perfunctory, reflexive manner that makes you grin. You are a part of his routine, and the idea that he reaches for you instinctively, as if pulled by gravity, makes your heart flutter. He is your sun. A grumpy sun, but yours nonetheless.

“What a relief! For a second, I thought you looked little… Distracted.”

He brushes past you to grab a book, and as he does his fingers graze across your thigh. Too briefly, too gently. 

“I wouldn’t be much of an archmage if I let myself get distracted, now would I?” He gives a sultry smile, but his eyes deliberately avoid yours. You know it’s because if he met your gaze, you’d see the barely contained fluster in them.

You let your hand brush against his, and hear the quickening of his breath. "Good to know. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for keeping the great Rolan from his important duties."

He finally looks at you, his eyes back to molten gold ."You are a menace," he says, but there’s no real bite to his words.

You answer with a wink, a wicked grin spreading across your face.

You start to work away next to him, flicking through various notes and business accounts at the desk, and you feel a pressure against your ankle that makes you gasp, until you look down and see Rolan’s tail starting to twist its way around your ankle, slow as a creeping vine.

You turn to glare at him, but he doesn't acknowledge you at all, just carries on making a list of inventory. 

Sometimes, in moments of concentration, his tail reaches for you involuntarily. As natural and instinctive as a plant reaching for sunlight. Is this one of those times? The purposeful creep of the tail under your robes and up your calf makes it feel as though there's definite intention in its journey.

You don’t have time to play your next move.

“‘Scuse me,” comes a voice at the counter. “I bought a potion recipe from you, but I can’t seem to get it right. Could you talk me through it?”

Rolan, usually standoffish and curt towards 'idiots who wouldn’t know a hill giant’s finger from a dried sausage,' is surprisingly cheerful towards the customer.

“Why, of course. My delightful and highly knowledgeable associate here would be happy to go over every detail with you, wouldn’t you, Tav?” His eyes glint, and his tail squeezes you slightly.

“Erm, yes. Of course.” The man, a dwarf, barely taller than the counter, luckily cannot see Rolan’s tail disappearing under your robes.

He asks you to go through each step of the potion in detail, hoping to pinpoint his mistake. You lean over the desk, arms folded tightly, trying to focus on the instructions. You dare not look at Rolan, who stands next to you, still writing a list on that infernal piece of paper. How is he multitasking so well? You think about how uncomfortable he must be in your underwear now; His scent would have mingled with yours, the two of you blending into the delicate gusset of the skimpy, thin piece of material. Later, when you were alone, you would tear it from him with your teeth and...

“Excuse me? Miss…”

The man is frowning at you; you had drifted off to a whole other plane. One where Rolan’s cock sits stiff and heavy in your mouth. You swear you could hear him stifle a laugh next to you.

“Erm, yes, sorry… Right… so…” you begin to explain exactly the temperature needed to create the concoction just as the tip of Rolan’s tail reaches the soft flesh of your upper thigh. It is still sensitive and stained with the purple bites he had lavished upon you the night before, and you have to stifle a gasp as he grazes over them, the blooms of past conquests mapping his way forward.

Suddenly the tail halts, and Rolan’s posture stiffens next to you in realisation. You aren’t wearing underwear. Of course you aren’t. After slipping him into your lust-soaked lingerie, you had decided not to put on any more, determined that at some point in the day you would corner him in some private cupboard and get your underwear back from him. Stretched and well-worn.

For a second, you think he might abandon his intent, worried about his professionalism or reputation as the highly respected wizard of Baldur’s Gate. But lust must have won over sanity, as it doesn’t take long for his tail to push upwards, the length of it coiling and gently squeezing around the full length of your leg, the spade tip lightly stroking around your vulva.

How does he have so much control over it now? When it seemed so often it would wave, sway, or even vibrate without him having any say in the matter. Bloody mysterious, frustrating, sexy Tiefling.

You continue with your explanation to the now quite unimpressed customer, who is infuriatingly slow to catch on to your instructions. You refuse to let Rolan win; you would never hear the end of it.

You gasp audibly as you feel a light stroke against your clit. 

The customer frowns and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Sorry, erm, I was just shocked at how much rogue’s morsel you were using… AH…” The end of the tail has begun to vibrate softly, and Rolan is making a low, subtle purring sound next to you. Bastard.

“I’m so sorry…” you say as professionally as you can to the customer through gritted teeth. “I just need to… ah… get to the store cupboard to see if we have…” You can feel the clenching building and building in that low point of your abdomen. You absolutely cannot fall apart leaning against the counter where you work. “...have the ingredients you need, if you’d excuse me I’ll just be two minutes, illberightbackimsosorry” you manage to stutter before hastily moving away from the counter and grabbing Rolan tightly by the back of his robes, dragging him into the first supply closet you come across.

“What the hell are you thinking?!” you say as you immediately push yourself against him, licking and suckling at his exposed throat, feeling it pulse with the hot blood coursing through him - giving him away.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he gasps as you give a firm bite, not caring if you mark him. Let every citizen of Baldur’s Gate see the Master of Ramzith’s tower covered in marks like some kind of horny teenager. It was his own fault.

“You and that fucking tail,” you purr as you wind your fingers into his soft hair.

“Oh?” you feel the rumble of his chuckle vibrate against your lips on his throat. “Silly thing must have been acting of its own accord again.”

As if to punctuate his point, his tail coils around your waist, holding you firmly against him.

“Ah, I see,” you pull your face back to gaze at him fully. His eyes are lidded, his skin flushed from pink to deep scarlet. He's so beautiful. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you release his hair and trail your fingers down his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. His tail tightens around you, 

You press your lips against his, fierce and hungry, and his response is immediate, his hands finding their way to your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The heat of his body seeps into yours, and it feels like you are lit from the same fire.

You break the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline and down his neck. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold onto control.

You move your hand to stroke up along his tail, grazing slow and purposeful against each raised ridge as you do. 

“Tav, wait..”

“Oh no, my love.” You voice is more breath than words. “Is this not what the damn thing wanted? All this attention?” 

Without giving him any kind of warning, you grip the base of his tail and give a sharp tug. 

The effect is immediate and his gasp choked.

You kiss him softly and keep him gripped to you as he catches his breath and regains his burnt-out composure. His forehead rests against your shoulder. 

“Oh dear, Master… did I just make you come in your pants?” your voice is smug and light.

He groans sheepishly, not looking at you. “No darling... You just made me come in yours.”

[ghostchems]

sacred blasphemy - catholic priest!copia x f!oc

chapter one: blood!

in another world, copia has become a catholic priest after being drawn to it during his childhood in an orphanage. he is content with his life, finally feeling grounded and like he belongs -- until a new face in his flock captures his attention.

author’s note: this is the project i’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! eventual smut, my friends, but nothing too spicy here. this story came about because a lot of fic i’ve read and also written have the papas as the seducers, the ones who draw “innocent” people to join the satanic church with their charm and sexiness so i thought what if i did it the other way around. about 4k words. ao3 link!

The young boy stood motionless in the schoolyard, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest in a protective embrace. He remained there, a still figure amidst the bustling playground, his heart pounding with anticipation. Time seemed to slow as he waited, knowing full well what was coming but powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the air was split by the unmistakable sound of rubber against skin. A dodgeball, thrown with cruel precision, struck the boy squarely in the face. The impact was immediate and intense, causing his nose to erupt with blood. As it trickled down his face, a strange sense of relief washed over him. The nuns, alerted by the commotion, rushed to his aid, their habits fluttering as they escorted him swiftly to the infirmary. Despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the boy felt a small spark of triumph. His plan had worked – he had successfully escaped the dreaded dodgeball game, just as he had hoped.

He found solace in the quiet sanctuary of the infirmary. The gentle care he received there was a balm to his battered spirit. The nun tended to his injury with practiced hands and he felt a sense of peace wash over him. Seeking further comfort, he reached for the Bible that lay nearby. It really should have been his by now. He opened its well-worn pages. The ancient words spoke to him, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. He immersed himself in the sacred text, allowing its timeless messages to soothe his troubled mind and provide a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his daily life.

Every trip to the infirmary ended with wondering when this would all be over. When he would be free of this place. The thought both terrified and excited him. The infirmary, with its antiseptic smell and quiet atmosphere, had become a strange sort of sanctuary. Here, at least, he was safe from the chaos of the playground and the cruel taunts of his fellow orphans. he'd always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. His appearance didn’t help. He was a gangly child, oddly proportioned child and his eye certainly didn’t make people want to be friends with him.

But he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the world outside these walls. He turned another page of the Bible, his eyes scanning the words without really reading them.

***

This has been a long time coming for the priest.

He surveyed the parking lot as members began to arrive for mass, a content smile on his face.

Copia's journey to this moment had been a long and winding one. The sense of displacement he felt as a child led him to seek solace in faith, eventually finding his calling in the priesthood. The path hadn't been easy - there were moments of doubt, struggle, and loneliness that echoed his childhood experiences. But now, standing before his congregation, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he'd long yearned for, a stark contrast to his rootless beginnings.

As more people filed into the church, some stopping to shake his hand, Copia reflected on how far he'd come. The hardships of his past had shaped and guided him here. He felt settled, grounded in a way he never had before. This small church, this community—it was home. Though it had taken some getting used to on their part. He was the strange priest with the ghostly white eye. The one who sometimes had dark circles around his eyes, rumored to be from any number of things. Definitely not your typical priest. His appearance had initially raised eyebrows and sparked whispers among the congregation. Some had even questioned whether he was fit to lead their church in the wake of beloved Father Acosta’s retirement. But Copia's genuine compassion and unwavering dedication to his flock had gradually won them over. Very gradually. Still, he couldn't help but notice the occasional curious glance or startled reaction from newcomers, though that wasn't very often.

He shook the thoughts off, focusing on the message he was about to deliver. Copia was excited to share his homily today, having worked on it for the last few days. The message he had prepared felt particularly poignant, addressing themes of acceptance and unity within the community, drawing inspiration from Ephesians 4:2-3: "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." He hoped his words would resonate with the congregation and foster a sense of belonging for all members - a belonging that he would gladly provide after being deprived of it for so long in his own life. The irony wasn't lost on him; the outsider now creating a space of inclusion for others.

“Father Copia!”

Copia spun around at the sound of his name, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized the pair approaching him. Mark, a single father who had become a regular at the church, was gently guiding his daughter Maisie forward.

"Ah, good morning, Mark! And hello there, Maisie," Copia greeted them, his voice softening as he addressed the shy little girl. Maisie, usually hesitant to make eye contact, was clutching something in her small hands.

"Go on, sweetheart," Mark encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge. "Show Father Copia what you made."

With a deep breath, Maisie stepped forward and held out a piece of paper. Copia knelt down to her level, his mismatched eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's this, little one?"

Maisie's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I drew you, Father."

Copia carefully took the offered drawing, his heart swelling with emotion as he examined it. There in bright crayon strokes, was an unmistakable portrait of himself. Maisie had captured every detail - his black cassock, his graying brown hair, and most notably, his distinctive eyes. One was scribbled a deep green, while the other was left white.

"M-Maisie," Copia breathed, genuinely touched. "This is beautiful. Th-thank you so much." He looked up at the girl, who was now beaming with pride. "This is, ehm… this really is me."

Mark chuckled, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "She's been working on it all week. Wouldn't let me see it until it was finished."

Copia stood, still holding the drawing carefully, almost unable to tear his eyes away. “This is going straight to my office. I'll treasure it always, piccolina." The little girl's shy smile grew wider, and Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest. He was so touched by Maisie's gesture that he felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask it with a cough, urging them to get to their pews. "Thank you again," he managed, his voice slightly rough. "Please, take your seats. We'll be starting soon." As Mark and Maisie moved away, Copia took a moment to compose himself, touched by the unexpected kindness. He carefully folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The last few congregants entered the church with Copia watching, taking a deep breath to center himself. The moment had arrived. With a final glance at the sky—a calming ritual he'd long practiced—he turned and strode towards the entrance. His mind was already racing with anticipation. He could feel the weight of his responsibility, the trust his congregation had placed in him. As he stepped into the church, the familiar scent of incense and old wood enveloped him, grounding him in the present moment. Even so, the chasuble always felt heavy on his shoulders. It was green today — to represent the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. He let it drape over him, heavy yet calming. Copia took his place at the altar, ready to begin the service.

His eyes swept over the congregation. The familiar faces of his flock brought comfort, but a new presence caught his attention. A nun he hadn't seen before sat in one of the back pews, her head bowed in prayer. Something about her struck him as... different, though he couldn't quite place why. His gaze lingered on her as the words to his introduction fell effortlessly from his lips until a sudden, sharp pain flared behind his left eye — his white eye. The sensation was entirely new, a stinging that made him blink rapidly. Copia faltered for a moment, taken aback. He'd never experienced anything like it before, especially not during a mass.

He recovered quickly, his hands flying into motion as he continued his sermon. His fingers danced through the air, emphasizing key points with dramatic gestures. The congregation seemed to lean in, captivated by his animated delivery. His Italian heritage shone through in every sweeping motion and expressive flick of the wrist.

"And so, my dear brothers and sisters," Copia proclaimed, his hands spread wide, "we must remember that our faith is not just words, but actions." He brought his palms together. "It is in our deeds that we truly show our love for God and our fellow man." As he spoke, Copia found his natural rhythm, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. His hands continued to paint pictures in the air, bringing his message to life with each gesture.

Throughout the service, Copia found his gaze drawn back to the mysterious nun. Her posture, the way she held herself during the hymns, it all seemed slightly off-kilter for a woman of the cloth. He shook off the feeling, chiding himself for being distracted during mass. As a priest, his focus should be solely on the service and his congregation. Yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about this newcomer. Copia silently admonished himself, refocusing his attention on the sacred rituals at hand. He took a deep breath, centering himself in the familiar rhythms of the mass.

When it came time for communion, Copia's heart rate inexplicably quickened as the line of parishioners moved forward. The new nun approached and he felt an odd tension in the air. She raised her head, and their eyes met. Copia's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, almost luminous in the church's dim lighting.

"The body of Christ," Copia intoned, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.

"Amen," the nun replied, her voice a low, melodious whisper that sent an unexpected shiver down Copia's spine. To his surprise, she opened her mouth instead of raising her cupped hands as most parishioners did. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself, momentarily thrown by this deviation from the usual practice.

He placed the communion wafer on her tongue, his finger brushed it ever so slightly. A jolt of... something... passed between them, leaving Copia momentarily stunned. The nun's lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she turned away, leaving Copia almost shattered. Shaking himself mentally, he continued with the communion, but his thoughts kept drifting back to those piercing blue eyes and that enigmatic smile.

The last of the parishioners returned to their seats, Copia moved back to the altar, a place of safety for him. He carefully cleaned the sacred vessels, his movements deliberate and reverent. The familiar ritual helped to calm him, pushing away the lingering thoughts of the nun. He felt like he was in autopilot for the rest of Mass, not his favorite feeling in the world but he was at least able to get through it. He raised his hands, inviting the congregation to stand for the prayer after communion. “Let us pray," he intoned, his voice carrying through the church. He recited the prayer, asking for God's continued blessings and grace upon those who had received the Eucharist.

After the prayer, Copia shared his usual weekly announcements with the congregation. He reminded them about the upcoming parish potluck and called for volunteers for the food bank drive. The attentive parishioners responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. These community events and opportunities to give back were truly Copia's favorite aspects of his role—even more so than having an audience for his sermons. Such initiatives held a special place in his heart; after all, he'd benefited greatly from them during his own upbringing.

Finally, it was time for the Concluding Rite. Copia spread his arms wide, his voice warm as he spoke the familiar words: "The Lord be with you." The congregation responded in unison, "And with your spirit." He then gave the final blessing, making the sign of the cross over his flock. Mass drew to a close, members began filing out of their pews and Copia felt a mixture of relief and lingering unease. The service had gone well, despite the unexpected distraction. Yet as he watched the congregation file out, his eyes couldn't help but search for a glimpse of blue eyes and a nun's habit among the departing crowd.

He lingered in the pull for a moment longer then made his way into the crowd, exchanging warm greetings and engaging in light conversation. He found himself particularly drawn into a chat with Margot, a cherished elderly parishioner who never missed a Sunday service.

"Father Copia," Margot beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can't wait for the potluck! I'm planning to bring my famous lemon tarts. Everyone always seems to enjoy them so."

Copia's face lit up at the mention of Margot's renowned dessert. "Ah, your lemon tarts are truly a blessing, Margot. I'm looking forward to them myself." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of making pasta for the event. I, eheh, got the new Martha Stewart cookbook and..."

Their pleasant exchange was interrupted by a gentle tap on Copia's shoulder. He turned to find Sister Laura, one of the regular nuns, standing beside the mysterious newcomer he had noticed earlier.

"Father," Sister Laura began, her voice warm but formal, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest member, Sister Veronica."

Copia's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met those striking blue ones once again. Sister Veronica offered a small, shy smile. He took her in, trying to be discreet. She was petite, with wisps of dark hair escaping from beneath her habit. Her posture seemed self-protective, arms wrapped around herself. Copia couldn't help but notice how her blue eyes sparkled with an inner light, a contrast against her pale skin. He quickly averted his gaze, reminding himself of his position and the impropriety of such thoughts.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Father Copia," Sister Veronica said, her voice carrying the same melodious quality he remembered from communion.

Copia reached out to shake her hand as he felt a familiar stirring within him - a temptation he had grappled with before. The touch of her hand sent a jolt through him, reminiscent of their earlier encounter during communion.

"Welcome to our parish, Sister Veronica," Copia managed, his voice steady the discomfort that warred inside him. "I hope you'll find a home here with us."

Sister Veronica's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, Father. I already feel welcomed." She glanced around the church, her gaze lingering on the ornate stained glass windows. "It's a beautiful parish you have here."

Copia nodded, his eyes following her gaze. "Indeed, we are blessed with such beauty. Perhaps… I could, eh, give you a tour sometime, show you some of the hidden treasures?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a flush creep up his neck. Sister Veronica's eyes widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Sister Laura, sensing the tension, cleared her throat softly. "Father, perhaps you could tell Sister Veronica about our upcoming potluck? I'm sure she'd love to contribute."

Copia blinked, grateful for the interruption. "Ah, yes, of course," he replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "We'd be delighted to have you join us, Sister Veronica. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the congregation."

Sister Veronica nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with interest. "That sounds lovely, Father. Perhaps I could bring my grandmother's secret recipe for cannoli?" She glanced at Sister Laura, who nodded approvingly. Copia felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of the Italian dessert, one of his favorites.

"That's perfect, Sister Veronica," Copia said, his tone polite but brief. "I look forward to trying it." He nodded to both nuns. "If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Sister Laura can help you with any other questions."

With that, Copia turned and walked briskly towards his office, his mind spinning with frantic thoughts of what he was feeling. In almost a blink of an eye, he had arrived, quickly seeking the solace. He leaned against the closed door, his heart racing. A panicked laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the silence of his office. "Why?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel this way?"

The image of Sister Veronica's piercing blue eyes flashed in his mind, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the thoughts. This wasn't right. He was a man of the cloth, dedicated to his faith and his congregation. These feelings... they were inappropriate, forbidden even.

Copia pushed himself away from the door and paced the small confines of his office. His hands fidgeted restlessly, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, his Italian accent thickening with his distress. He paused by his desk, his eyes falling on the worn Bible that always sat there. Guilt washed over him in waves. Copia sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He needed to pray, to seek guidance and strength. But for the first time in a long while, he felt off kilter.

Copia shook his head, trying to dismiss the worry. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper - Maisie’s drawing. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

This was why he had chosen this path. This was his purpose - to guide, to protect, to be a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. The innocence and trust reflected in that simple drawing grounded him, reminding him of his vows and responsibilities.

"I will stay the path," Copia whispered to himself, his resolve strengthening despite the lingering worry about his eye. With renewed determination, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, seeking the guidance he so desperately needed - not just for his spiritual dilemma, but now also for this unexpected physical concern.

As Copia he began, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his eye. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the affected area. The world around him began to blur, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to make sense of the plan.

He felt a warm trickle from his nose. Copia lowered his hand, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the crimson stain on his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding. In a daze, he fumbled for a tissue, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He pressed the cloth to his nose, his gaze fell upon the drawing in front of him. His entire body went rigid, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside. Droplets of blood had fallen onto the paper, marring the innocent crayon strokes with stark red splatters. Copia stared at the ruined drawing, his heart sinking. With trembling hands, he carefully folded the bloodstained paper and tucked it into his pocket.

More blood spilled from his nose, splattering on his desk. Panic ripped through him, his head feeling light and heart thundering in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision still blurry, and rushed out of his office towards the restroom.

He collided with someone on the way because of course he did. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sister Veronica's concerned face. The sight of her caused another surge of anxiety, and to his horror, he felt a fresh gush of blood from his nose.

"Father Copia!" Sister Veronica exclaimed, her blue eyes widening with alarm. "O-oh goodness! Here, let me help you."

He wanted to protest, to tell her he had it handled but the words refused to leave him. Sister Veronica gently guided him to a nearby alcove, away from prying eyes and he followed silently. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and began to dab at the blood on his face with a tenderness that made Copia's heart race even faster.

"Tilt your head forward slightly," she instructed softly, her warm fingers on his chin sending an involuntary shiver through him. "It'll help stop the bleeding." Copia complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and unease at her proximity. The scent of her - a subtle mix of incense and something floral - filled his senses, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

"Thank you, Sister," he managed to mumble, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "I... I don't know what came over me."

Sister Veronica's eyes met his, filled with genuine concern. "It's alright, Father. These things happen. Just take deep breaths. Are you feeling any better?"

Copia nodded slightly, acutely aware of her gentle touch as she continued to tend to him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing and he was grateful. He took a deep breath and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The gentle care and the clean scent of the handkerchief transported him back to his childhood days in the infirmary. He remembered the kind nuns who had cared for him then, their soft hands and soothing voices a balm to his young, troubled soul. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to his chest.

"It's... it's been a rather strange day for me," Copia finally spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. He met Sister Veronica's concerned gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and unease. "I apologize for troubling you with this, Sister."

Sister Veronica's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "There's no need to apologize, Father. We all have our difficult days. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest at her kindness, even as he struggled with the conflicting emotions her presence stirred within him. He shook his head slightly, careful not to dislodge the handkerchief. "Your assistance has, eh, been more than enough, Sister. Thank you." Copia gave a deep sigh. "I'll make sure this is spotless when I return it to you, Sister." He tugged at the handkerchief.

Sister Veronica shook her head gently, her blue eyes warm. "Please, keep it, Father. Consider it a small token of welcome to your parish."

"Thank you again, Sister," he whispered, raising his hand to hold the handkerchief to his nose. As their fingers brushed, Copia felt a familiar jolt course through him.

Sister Veronica's expression softened further. "I'm here if you need any assistance, Father. Please don't hesitate to ask." She lingered for perhaps a moment too long, then turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As Copia watched her retreating figure, he felt a twinge in his chest - a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he dared not name. He took a deep breath, relieved to find that the blood flow had finally stopped.

Lowering the handkerchief, Copia leaned against the wall.

A strange day indeed.

[hyunsvngs]

This was definitely inspired by that little glimpse of Hyune's happy trail in a photo where his shirt rode up (and no I haven't thought about it an unhealthy amount shush...) But I'm guessing most of SKZ either shave or wax and I can imagine them being shy about having pubic hair.

Say they let it grow out a bit (either on break or tour) and when you go to touch them they pull back because they haven't shaved, and you have to reassure them that you do not care one bit. I'm specifically thinking of Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung and Felix but it could be any of them honestly.

Imagine sitting behind them and pulling them against you so that they're tucked between your legs with their back to your chest. You wrap your arms around their waist, letting your fingers slip underneath their shirt and trace the soft skin of their stomach. Then you go to dip beneath their waistband and they tense up and grab your hand.

"Baby don't, I haven't shaved."

"Do you honestly think I would be bothered by that?"

You gently coax them to relax, lavishing them with praise and reassurances and eventually they let you. Your fingers brush through the small patch of hair while you press kisses along their jawline and the column of their neck, drawing out soft moans and whimpers.

It wouldn't necessarily have to turn sexual, especially with Chan and Felix. They would just melt into you and adore the intimacy. If you do it while spooning them in bed they might even fall asleep, or get into the habit of shyly asking you to stroke their pubic hair when you're in bed together.

Hyune and Ji would probably get too sensitive and needy after a while and end up pushing your hand onto their cock, but they also enjoy the intimacy -- especially the vulnerability aspect for them.

-😺

ohhh i love hairy skz !! NEED THEM SO BADD. i think with chan and hyunjin it'd be a cute domestic thing, but i think jisung is the horniest dog ever and felix is a bonafide gremlin. jisung's caveman brain would kick in and realise that oh, you like that, and oh- hand near my dick, and he's huffing and puffing and bucking his chubby hard cock into your hand within minutes.

felix would try to be a bit more coy about it i think. felix acting all innocent and pretending his shaft isn't dripping a storm in his boxers.. acting as if he's embarrassed about it, shifting his hips away from you and wiggling and oh! it bumped your hand, darn it. by the time you're pumping his shaft he's doing that sexy little smile of his that he got what he wanted, kissing up the column of your throat.

[hannahssimblr]

Fridays end, as they always do, as the life drawing class filters out of the room, and I scrub charcoal from my hands with the icy water in the classroom sink. I don’t know how I do it, get smudges on my fingers, my hands, the sleeves of my sweatshirt, but invariably I do. I use an old paintbrush left lying on the ledge to scrub my fingernails, too. They’re always filthy. I think I am inherently messier than everyone else, somehow, despite my best intentions to be something else. 

“Und dein Gesicht.” The tutor, Gunther, says casually as he saunters from the room, shattering the illusion I had of having cleaned myself off. My face, too? How did it get on my face? The silver tap reflects a smudge above my eyebrow. I bring a handful of water to wash it away, and the coldness stings my skin. I shiver as it trails down my neck and under my collar. Cold. I’m always cold these days, even as January has limped into February and, along with the new year snow, my delusions that spring is just waiting to burst through the frozen soil, have melted.

My face, still damp, feels like it might freeze solid as I trudge across campus to the lecture halls. This is part of my Friday routine, too: Visiting the lecture hall. Not because I have an actual lecture. My art history class is on Wednesday. Astrid has it on Friday afternoon, finishing at half four, and I like to be there to meet her. My phone reads 16:40, the screen is bright in the fading light and the mist, grey, cloud hanging low over the brick pavers.

I make myself known with a knock on the door. It’s ajar, the room vacant of all students but Astrid, and she stands by a desk, her white blonde hair covering her face as she murmurs in German still too sophisticated for me to understand. 

It’s Steffen who she is speaking to. Her art history lecturer. A rumpled, mousy-haired man with a leather satchel always slung across his body. He has an incessant need to discuss the minutiae of Astrid’s academic essays with her after class far more often than he does any of his other students. He wants her alone, and it sends a shiver up my spine. His lack of concern about being creepy is alarming. I could go around to everyone on campus and describe him as some lecherous old weirdo hunting women half his age. He would be ostracised, ridiculed for it, but it’s like the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, like he’s lacking some basic element of male shame.

I don’t like it. It freaks me out. I hate the way he holds her hostage after hours like this, and his habit of looking at her like she’s not flesh and blood, but some sort of otherworldly, celestial thing for him to rake his eyes over as he pleases. He enjoys her too much.  

“Hello,” I say with all the obnoxiousness I can muster, and they both look up. Perhaps I am projecting onto Steffen, this notion I’ve bamboozled him, pissed him off by interrupting his time with my girlfriend, while he innocently helps her with her essay on female painters of the 16th century, but I swear he gives me a look, and I give one in return. He’s so weedy. I wonder if he knows that if the rules of university were the same as the primitive, hierarchical rules of secondary school, I would have snapped him in half already. Look at him, and his stupid glasses and his stupid leather bag. 

“Danke, Steffen,” Astrid says, and scoops her books from his desk. I keep my eyes on him as she walks away, to make sure he’s not watching her do it, and I keep them on him until she has slipped out of the room ahead of me. I’ve never felt more like a territorial dog. 

“Good chat?” I say, my intentions of sounds casual coming out weird instead, while Astrid strolls along next to me, examining the paintings hung along the walls of the hallway. 

“Oh, yes, it was fine. We talked about Marietta Robusti, mostly. Steffan was showing me paintings of bowls of peaches and things.”

“Peaches?”

“Yeah, she painted peaches proficiently.”

“Right. You were just talking about peaches. He didn’t, like, say anything else to you, did he?”

“Not really. Why?”

She pulls on her coat as we exit to the courtyard and brace against the gust of icy wind. “Because of what I was saying before, about being careful around that guy. I think he wants more from you than discussion about bowls of peaches, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, I thought about that. You’re could be right.”

“I’m right?”

“Yes, I think he has a certain way of looking at me when we’re talking.”

“Oh,” I pause, having expected pushback. “Well, yeah, I think so too, and I think you should be careful about being alone with him.”

“Jude!” she cries, “He’s my tutor. I can’t stay away from him, exactly.”

“Yeah, but if he wants to drag you up every class to talk to you alone, then maybe you should pretend to be too busy. At least then you won’t be uncomfortable-”

“I’m not uncomfortable. He was saying interesting things about Marietta Robusti.”

“Marietta Robusti,” I echo, forlorn, and I hold the door to the café where we have our Friday afternoon coffee. “Maybe he should email you about Marietta Robusti and her famous peaches, huh? Has he heard of Gmail?”

“Or maybe you shouldn’t worry so much. It’s okay. He’s my tutor, and if he wants to speak to me about my assignments, then it is fine. If he wants to fuck me, I’ll say no. It’s like you think he will coerce me. Like he will lock the door of the classroom and trap me inside.”

“Yes, that’s what I was picturing. That he’d throw a big sack over you like a cartoon villain and run away with you slung over his shoulder.”

“Why do you say things like that? As if he has a sack waiting under his desk with which to steal women.”

I laugh at her unintentional comedy, and we reach the top of the queue. “Könnte ich bitte einen Latte, einen Americano und ein Stück von diesem Kuchen haben?”

The barista nods. 

“I don’t want any cake today. I’m not hungry,” Astrid says. As we shrug out of our coats and hang them across the back of our chairs, I nod, “I’ll have it all to myself, then.”

I reach across the table for her hand, and stroke my thumb across the sharp peaks and valleys of her knuckles. 

“Later, I think we should go to a play I’ve been interested in seeing,” she says. I pull a face, and she frowns. “What?”

“I hate plays.”

“That’s ridiculous. You cannot hate an entire art form.”

“I do. I just don’t like the way they talk and move their faces. It makes me cringe, and I find them unwatchable.”

“They need to talk and move their faces to say the lines.”

“We can’t go to a play, anyway. My friend Jen is coming.”

“Oh, is that today?” our order arrives, and she dunks her spoon through the foam of her latte to destroy the steamed milk heart on top. “I forgot it was happening.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving to collect her from the station in, like, half an hour.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you still up for dinner at mine?”

“Oh, yes, we planned that too, didn’t we?” She exhales slowly. “Yes, I suppose. Though you live so much further from here than I do. Wouldn’t it be easier if we ate at my apartment?”

“What, like you’ll cook?”

“No, you can still cook, but at mine. Wouldn’t it be more comfortable?”

I take a contemplative bite of chocolate cake. Astrid’s apartment is smaller, but it has the unique benefit of not smelling like tobacco, and a heating system that works with some semblance of reliability. Still, we had a specific plan. Now I’ll have to tell Jonas.

“If that’s what you want,” I say with reluctance. “I suppose your place is a good bit nicer than mine.”

“I think Jen would like it.”

Jen wouldn’t care, but I nod in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be nice for her to go straight to a nice warm apartment, rather than, like… mine.”

“So true.” She steals a crumb of cake that crumbles onto my plate. “And I want to be in a good mood when I meet her. I feel I will be a little tired after travelling to yours.”

“Mm, good thinking.”

Astrid reaches for my fork, and I relinquish it. I watch as she digs wholeheartedly into the remains of my chocolate cake, then finally, in defeat, I slide the plate to her and let her finish the whole thing.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[lazywriters-blog]

THE DESPERATE HERO

YANDERE IZUKU MIDORIYA

Warning: May contain triggering content, sexual assault, non-consensual touching, creepy and stalkerish behavior, and yandere content.

Summary: She has been a fickle little friend, and her avoidant nature leads up to a disastrous position, and her best friend is the center of it all. Grown into a man, a focused and determined young man that meets with his distant friend who will avoid him at any cost. What shall occur?

"Hey, I stopped by to see you again, are you home?" three taps on the door and her shoulder flinch up, blood-shoot eyes swift to steady on the voice behind the main entrance, menacingly dark and unwelcoming, "I want to talk to you, please don't ignore me." he pleaded, another series of knocks chimed throughout her space and tensed up the peace. Then, it began. The phone calls.

The device illuminated with life in the clutches of her hand, stiff and unrelenting against the soft metal that buzzed silently, she peered down and without a thought, pressed her finger on the power button and brought the screen into darkness. Lifeless and still.

"You don't even pick up your phone, how am I supposed to talk to you? Please just let's sit down and speak, I'm sorry for what I did the night before." he continued, "I wasn't thinking straight." He had leaned closer to the door, kept his hand on the handle, and tried to listen in to her movements she's sure. "You don't have to isolate yourself, there are people who care about you, please let me help you."

The peacekeeper talk had crawled under her skin, the times he uses it to bring about change that would benefit him, and keep her aware of her every wrongdoing. Her bad habit of pushing people out of her life had become a prominent obstacle in his way, and he had his chances.

She knew she should have kept away from him the moment he held her hand, but best friends always do, so she never said anything about it.

She really should have pulled her hand back when he blushed and flashed her a shy smile, gently combing through his green hair and leaving no space between them. She was wrong in not doing anything.

"I... Know you were avoiding me since the time we held hands, you were cutting me out of your life and I didn't want that! I want to be your friend forever, I want to help you, please let me in." his voice held no motive other than to convince her she was the one who was overreacting. Somehow, his kiss was a friendly gesture, and she'd never believe that the innocent izuku had put his lips on hers, he just didn't seem the most courageous. When it came to her, at least.

"That one time, I called out your name, you almost pretended that you didn't hear me and walked into the bathroom, that was mean of you but I'm not mad, I get it, I'm somewhat clingy, and I'll try my best not to be. So, please open the door."

She would rather risk their friendship than feel the immense discomfort of being observed under his gaze, but confrontation seems impossible once she steps out and into the wide big world, he'd find her during his duty and she would have to sprint back home in a sweaty mess. Barely managing to dodge him all while.

Her eyes locked onto the handle and saw it shift, she knew his patience was cracking and she'd be one to piece them back for the sake of harmony.

He never liked her pushing him out of her life. All too many times, that seemed to be the case for her, and to get him off her back she would get to be the peacekeeper.

"Please let me inside your life. I want to be a part of it, even if a little. I want to be by your side."

The hopelessness in his voice made her reconsider, made her sympathetic for a moment, and provoked her to get onto her feet and move toward the only thing blocking him out. The one thing she's hesitant to unseal.

Resting her hand on the wood, she bends to look into the peak hole. Standing near, he's drawing in breath quicker, and the tears pooled in his eyes made her will weaker and the desire to let him in stronger. But she knows better.

"Please, I can't live without you. Let me in..." he inhaled a choked sob, "I love you... I love you so much, it hurts."

"You know, I think you're cool... Cooler than me, at least." she laughed, chugging down her last portion of vanilla tea, and looked at the astonished man with smiling eyes. His freckled cheeks vaguely appeared red before the fluorescent lights, his mug in his hands held tighter while he gulped.

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," he replied, fondly staring at his beverage. Before lifting his gaze back up to see her walk into the kitchen, he kept his glass down and suddenly stood up. Followed in her trail and ended up behind her as she was calmly washing her cup.

Izuku didn't know where he found the intrepidity to finally wrap his arms around her waist and rest his chin in the crook of her neck, something he's been wanting to do forever. She didn't seem all that stunned at first, she kept still and slowly turned around to face him. An unanswered question lingered in her head, her eyes questioning his abrupt change.

"I love you... so much..." he starts, staring into her and steadying his grip, the distance between them was little and he's never felt his heart racing so fast, he forgets what he set out to complete.

"I figured that much." she giggled but it wasn't her usual teasing one, this one had a sad tone, "I knew this was coming and I still wasn't prepared for it." she carried on, "I'm not ready to commit to a relationship, I'm far too avoidant for it. Plus, I'll only hurt you and that's what I've done so far so, I'm sorry to deny your feelings but, I can't do it."

She gently attempts to shake him off, but he doesn't let her and quickly stumbles to give a reason, "No! no, you are not, you've never hurt me and you and I know each other better than anyone else, I want to be a part of your life so please don't push me out after so long. We can try, can't we?" He brings her back close, sealing the gap so much so their nose touches.

"I know you better and no matter how much you try to cut me out, I'll keep coming back for you, I love you that much. I can't imagine being without you."

"No, we both know it's only going to hurt us so let's not get ahead of ourselves and stop, you have a life better worth spending on someone else, you know it, so let me go izuku," she argued and forcibly made her way out of his embrace.

"I want to spend it with you!!" he yells, in a frenzy corners her into a kitchen counter and the electronics fall out of place while the clean cup she had set down drops to the floor and into a handful of chunks. She looks at him and she's taken aback by the strength he used on her, laid down in an awkward position she whimpers and pushes her hand against his chest.

"I don't want to." she hisses, catching the man off-guard as he goes quiet with the realization. Hurt displayed in his leafy green eyes, she knew she hit a nerve.

"You can't cut me out of your life again, I won't let you..." it was sudden and raw, anger twisting his features into a person she's rarely seen, and the kiss had barely registered in her mind while she contemplates the unexpected change in the tides.

His scarred hand lowered down to her hip, while her futile attempts at throwing him off her seemed impossible. Suffocated by the kiss, she squirms in misery feeling his lips press down on hers and his body radiating heat that made it so much more unbearable.

She snakes her hand to claw into his arm but it didn't induce an expected reaction of pain, instead, he moaned, and took it as a sign to continue.

Certain the moment he leans back and disconnects their kiss, she'll scream.

He didn't want that.

Cupping her face, he muffles whatever struggling noise she makes, he sadly stares down at her face and gives her a reassuring smile, his right hand moving down to her warm spot, before slowly feeling her long skirt, and revealing the color of her panties.

"I promise I'll take care of you..." he whispers, snuggling closer to her body heat and caging her underneath him.

He seemed to blush with glee, while he unbuttons her green shirt and fests his eyes on the black bra perfectly fitting her chest, he slightly trembles as he traces his hand against her collarbone. His ear redden, and his stiff muscle loosened.

He chuckles, tears gathered in his eyes while he slopes his head down, "I love you... I love you so much, it almost hurts." he mutters against her skin, then looked up at her. "I want to be someone special to you."

"I just want you..."

The doorbell rings, piercing the stagnant air as izuku quickly drags his attention to the unwanted visitor, his hold on her face grew tight. This was her chance, but her silenced words could only be heard by izuku.

"Pizza delivery." shouted a monotone voice.

"Hello, ma'am?" he repeated four knocks. "I'll leave the pizza by the porch." he finished once no response came from anyone, and soon, she was left alone with him.

But the slight deviation was what she needed.

Grabbing the steel pencil holder, she banged it on his head and used her leg to give him one final shove to get him off her, immediately after making a mad dash to her room and closing the door in time. Not stopping there, she ran to her bathroom and locked herself in for what seemed like a day before he decided to leave.

Not after slamming into the door once or twice.

She remembers coming out of there, scared inside her own house while she checks every room and every hidden place to see if he had truly left, she locked herself in her house and hasn't decided to leave until he showed up again.

If he wanted to, he could burst through the door and get to her. But for however long it takes, she will not let him enter her life again.