#but yeah i'm having a ROUGH time lately with all this

[hcneymooners]

⋆ up until the very last ember of my heart extinguishes, i will be thinking of you.

dj!mel x best friend!fem!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you & mel have always been thick as thieves, and things have yet to change. but lately, you've been thinking of mel differently and, well—maybe you want more. cw: dj!mel, best friend!reader, female!reader, no age gap i fear, you guys are in your twenties, modern!au, resolved sexual tension, pining, friends to lovers, clubbing, not actually unrequited love, explicit sexual content, dom!mel, sub!reader, lowkey y'all are switches, wall sex, tender sex, vaginal fingering, edging, cunnilingius, oral sex (r!receiving), couch sex, mel is actually insane about you, obsession, possessive behavior, squirting, face riding, pet names, you guys are very soft for each other.

notes: i love her so much guys; i'm gonna be sick. hope you enjoy. this is really rough for my first time back in a while but it is what it is, hmm?

“you’re loyal to her. i’ve never gone a night without seeing you here.”

the words are screamed directly into your ear and you stumble a bit, already off kilter thanks to the lychee martinis you’ve been sipping since the beginning of the evening. the world is beautiful like this: slurred into soft strobes of turquoise, gold, green that caress the sweaty gleaming bodies of the people spinning within it. the set for tonight is still danceable but decidedly slower than usual, honing in on the loneliness and escapism other people may desire on valentine’s eve.

you blink blearily at the girl vibrating next to you. she shakes with a jitter you know belongs either to ketamine or cocaine—or perhaps both. ck-ing was a popular method of dressing up a club night in london. you stop swaying to the beat, body still as you focus on her completely. mel once told you that this was your pull—this ability to make whomever was in front of you feel as though they were the most important thing in the world to you.

“sorry, what?” you finally push out.

“mel,” the girl shouts again, gesturing to the stage way up front. “whenever she’s performing, you’re here!”

you glance up at the woman in question, face softening as you watch the way her body flows into her highly practiced routine of dance. tonight the movements are more minimal, courtesy of her dress—a masterpiece of fanned peacock feathers that catch and scatter light with every subtle movement. the feathers are arranged in a mesmerizing spiral from the jeweled clasp beneath her arm, each eye seeming to watch the crowd as she moves. it's shorter than her usual style, ending mid-thigh in a flutter of iridescent tips that make her look like some rare, exotic bird. every time the bass drops, the feathers tremble in response, creating a hypnotic dance of green-blue shadows across her skin.

it’s not typical for a dj-ing outfit, but mel has cemented herself as a rich girl with a talent. everyone knows who she is, who her mother is. they love that she comes down to their level during the weekends, covers herself in glitter and spins together a beat like some kind of opulent spider.

"yeah," you shout back, your voice still managing to sound tender. "she's my best friend."

the words feel both true and incomplete in your mouth - they always do. you've been "best friends" since you quite literally crashed into her at university, spilling your coffee all over her white hermès sweater. instead of the fury you'd expected, she'd laughed, dragged you shopping for a replacement, and somehow ended up buying you three sweaters instead.

that was mel all over: excessive, generous, impossible to refuse.

"lucky!" your momentary friend shouts back and your mouth dips into a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

lucky. right. lucky to be the one who holds her hair back after bad nights, who listens to her practice sets until dawn, who knows exactly how she likes her tea when she's stressed (earl grey, splash of oat milk, two sugars). lucky to be the one who gets to love her from this careful distance, never quite close enough to risk everything.

the girl disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the music again. mel's current track winds down, bleeding into something slower, more haunting. you recognize it immediately—it's one of her original pieces, the one she'd made you listen to first, cross-legged on her bedroom floor at 3 am, her face anxious and hopeful in the low light.

the memory makes your chest ache. up on stage, she's different from that vulnerable version of herself. her movements are precise and controlled, even in that impossible dress. you watch as she adjusts something on her deck, the feathers shifting across her back like ripples in dark water. when she reaches up to adjust her headphones, the dress catches the light in a way that makes your breath catch.

you're not the only one watching. the crowd around you is entranced, and you hear snippets of their whispered appreciation. the warmth of your tipsiness is starting to wear off. you’re suddenly so much more aware of yourself, of the differences between you and the luminescent girl on stage.

tonight you’ve chosen a simple black midi dress with a scoop neck that cups your chest gently. the tops of your breasts swell up softly at the mouth of the fabric, gleaming with a golden sheen that could only belong to your beloved diamond shimmer bath and body works mist. your hair has been longer by a copious number of extensions, the bundles pooling together at your lower back. tinsel is strung artfully in-between some strands, a careful layering courtesy of mel.

as you look around at the people around you, you feel boring and a bit underdressed. everyone is suddenly so much cooler than you and the thought brings a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the embarrassment strong in its resurgence. you shift in place as the song changes to something a bit more fast-paced. there’s a chorus of screams, shouts of pleasure, and the floor begins to shake as people flood it to dance. you smile tightly as someone slams into you rather harshly, their apology half-assed and unfocused.

you clutch the top of your mother’s vintage ysl clutch, the chain a bit rusted and the body bulging with a combination of your house keys, your lip combo, some shit from work you didn’t take out in time, and the normally slim body of your phone which as been made bigger by the chunky sides of your artisan bedazzled phone case. the multiple polaroids of you and mel in the back didn’t help the situation in any way, the glossy memories slightly distended by the rolled bills you’ve tucked back there for emergencies.

as you turn to navigate the sudden pit of people, the music lowers just enough so that mel’s soft steady voice bleeds through. the lights flash once, twice, a third time; the bulbs are hot and pink. you know what’s coming, but you still don’t turn around, though your mouth twitches in a smile.

"hey, london," mel croons and the crowd screams back at her, eager to greet the woman soundtracking what is probably just another tuesday evening. "i have a question before i finish up. i don't want to forget."

your heart stutters in your chest. she does this sometimes, turns you into an unwitting participant in her performances. you remember the first time she did it, six months ago, how your knees had gone weak at the way she'd claimed you so publicly, so casually. how dangerous it had felt, how thrilling.

"has anyone seen my girl?"

the crowd goes crazy and you lift a hand to your mouth to hide your smile, heat flooding your cheeks. you hate how easily she can undo you, how these little moments of possession—even if they're just part of her show—make your pulse race. your free hand unconsciously touches the delicate gold chain around your neck—her birthday gift from last year, a tiny hextech crystal pendant that she'd said "reminded her of home."

"i came in with her. you know her, right? gorgeous little thing in a short black dress. kind of looks like…"

you close your eyes, remembering how she'd fussed over you earlier tonight, her fingers gentle as she wove tinsel through your hair. 'perfect,' she'd murmured, her breath warm against your ear, and you'd had to suppress a shiver. now, surrounded by strangers who are about to echo what you've felt for years, the irony isn't lost on you.

she trails off, holds out her mic to a group of girls right below her who giggle out the finishing portion of her sentence.

“…the love of my life!” they sing, drawing out the ‘i’ for a long while.

mel’s laugh echoes through the speakers, the sound throaty and raw. on cue, the music begins: “please don’t be love of my life” by caitvi, (calvin harris mix). they were a rock band that accidentally stumbled into becoming the summer muses for every edm fiend in existence.

you clutch your empty martini glass with a renewed strength, fighting until you manage to clutch a hand on the bar. the bartender smiles at you, complimenting your perfume which you don’t even think is still on your skin. you say thank you anyway, laughing openly as they tease you about your fondness for lychee. you’ve always been this way, you want to say, always holding on to what you know in the hopes that it’ll eventually love you back.

instead, you look over your shoulder at mel’s far off silhouette. there’s a moment where she looks up, seems to look at you. you don’t know if she really sees you, given your distance and the disorienting nature of the club. you smile regardless, raise a hand to wave lightly. the chrome bow on your acrylics flashes meanly, signaling your position.

she looks way, smiles earnestly at the crowd, and you drop your hand. the moment is broken, like always. as you move to pull your refreshed martini by the stem, mel’s dj tag sounds: sounds of birds of paradise, interwoven into one another over a damagingly sad violin sample. it’s her way of letting the people know that this will be her last couple of songs for the evening.

the birds’ calls fade into the melancholy beginning of “healing” by gordo featuring drake. the opening notes reverberate through you and you press your lips together, body thrumming with the effect of being noticed. she had seen you. that was the only reason she was playing this song. it had been your favorite for the past month, and now here it was on blast at one of the most elite clubs in the city.

‘i want to see you dance to this,’ she’d told you one evening, her mouth trailing against your shoulder. you were twisted together in your bed, the blankets plush around you as the two of you shared her airpods. ‘i want to see you have fun, lose yourself.’

‘i can’t lose myself,’ you’d said back, mouth rising in a secretive smile.

mel had lifted your hand teasingly, bit it gently, and then interlinked her fingers with yours.

‘don’t worry. i’ll find you.’

you look back at her, find her leaning over her deck with a finger pressed pensively to her mouth. she quirks an eyebrow and gestures to the crowd, as if asking why you’re not inside of it. you smile despite it all and abandon your martini, wiggling through the gaps of people until you're up front.

the bass drops and the crowd surges forward, but you hold your ground, eyes locked on mel. she's watching you now, really watching you, her movements more deliberate as she works the deck. you recognize this version of the song; it's her own remix, the one she'd been perfecting for weeks in her home studio. she'd added layers of ethereal synths that make it feel like you're floating, like you're the only person in the room who really understands what she's trying to say.

she gestures to her security guard, a subtle movement that you've seen countless times before. within moments, strong hands are parting the crowd, creating a path to the booth. your heart pounds as you're ushered up the steps, into her domain of switches and lights and pulsing energy. the peacock feathers of her dress brush against your arm as she pulls you close, her free hand settling on your waist.

"dance with me," she murmurs into your ear, her voice carrying despite the thundering music. her fingers trace patterns on your hip, and you wonder if she can feel you trembling. "show them what this song was made for."

you let your body move with hers, falling into the rhythm she's created. the feathers of her dress catch the light with each movement, creating a private light show just for the two of you. she keeps one hand on the deck, maintaining the perfect flow of music, but her other hand never leaves your body, guiding you through the dance like she's afraid you might disappear if she lets go.

the crowd below is going wild, but you barely notice them. all you can focus on is the way mel's breath catches when you press closer, the way her fingers tighten on your waist when you roll your hips. the tinsel in your hair catches the light, mixing with the iridescent shimmer of her dress until you're both wrapped in a cocoon of glitter and sound.

"see?" she whispers, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "i told you i'd find you."

the words send a shiver down your spine, and you turn your head slightly, catching her gaze. there's something different in her eyes tonight, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. maybe it's the valentine's eve atmosphere, or maybe it's the way the lights are hitting her face, but for a moment, you let yourself believe that the look she's giving you means what you want it to mean.

she transitions into the next song seamlessly, but keeps you close, as if she's forgotten that this isn't how she usually ends her sets. as if she's forgotten that you're supposed to be just her best friend, watching from the crowd like always. as if, just for tonight, you could be something more.

the spell breaks when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in one of the booth's chrome panels. you see yourself pressed against her, see the way you're looking at her: desperate, obvious, completely transparent. the music suddenly feels too loud, the lights too bright, your skin too tight. you're acutely aware of every place her body touches yours, and it's simultaneously too much and not enough.

"i need—" you start, but can't finish. mel's hand tightens on your waist for a fraction of a second before you pull away. you gesture vaguely toward the floor, not meeting her eyes. "sorry, i just—"

you don't wait for her response, practically stumbling down the booth steps. the crowd that had been watching your dance parts easily, perhaps sensing your urgency. you hear the next dj's tag start to play—some remix of a taylor swift song—which means mel's set is over. which means she might follow you. the thought makes you move faster.

you trip over your feet, your heel catching on the bone of your ankle as it lifts and you fall. your knees crack against the ground, but you regain your momentum. your neck is warm and you lift your hair with one hand as you spin, eventually locating the flickering neon sign denoting the bathroom.

the bathroom is mercifully empty when you burst in, all perfectly-cut marble and deep blue lighting that makes your reflection look expensive and almost admirably tragic. you press your palms against the cool counter, letting your head hang down as you try to steady your breathing. the bass from the club thrums through the walls, muffled but persistent, like a heartbeat.

“you’re always so fucking stupid,” you whisper to yourself, watching a tear splash onto the marble. you'd let yourself get carried away, let yourself pretend. but mel is mel. this is the girl who turns heads when she walks into rooms, who has fashion houses begging to dress her, who could have anyone she wants. and you're just… someone else.

her best friend, you suppose. the girl who’s responsible for holding her hair back when she's sick, who listens to her practice sets, who loves her so strongly that it feels akin to having a spear sunk through your chest.

the bathroom door opens with a soft whoosh, and you know it's her before she speaks. you can smell her perfume. it’s something custom-made in paris, a mix of lily, amber, and caramel. you don't look up.

"hey," mel says softly, and you hear the click of her heels on the marble floor as she approaches. "what happened up there?"

you close your eyes, trying to ignore how the marble feels like ice beneath your palms, how your body still burns where she touched you in the booth. "nothing happened, melly. i just needed some air."

you use your nickname for her as a way to disarm her, but mel has always been immovable when it came to getting something that she wants. the silence that follows feels incredibly long, but you know it hasn’t even been ten seconds. you lean forward, splash water on your face. blindly, you search for a paper towel but you’re handed a small hand towel instead. your makeup transfers onto the fabric, staining it with the traces of your exhaustion and loneliness.

"[name], look at me." her voice is gentle but firm, the same tone she uses when she knows you're lying. when you don't move, you hear her sigh, the sound followed by the soft rustle of feathers. then her hand is on your shoulder, turning you around.

she's closer than you expected, close enough that you can see the individual glitter particles scattered across her collarbones, catch the faint sheen of sweat at her temples from performing. the peacock dress seems alive in the bathroom's soft lighting, each feather shifting with her breath. you try to step back, but the counter prevents your retreat.

"you were crying," she observes, reaching up to brush her thumb beneath your eye. her touch lingers longer than necessary, and you hate how your body betrays you, leaning into her hand like a flower seeking sun. "why were you crying?"

"i wasn't," you lie, even as another tear escapes. "it's just the vodka. you know how i get."

"yeah," she says, and now both her hands are cupping your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. her eyes are dark, intent, stripped of their usual playful gleam. "i know how you get when you're drunk, and this isn't it. this is something else."

you try to laugh but it comes out choked. "melly, please—"

"when you were up there with me," she interrupts, one hand sliding down to rest against your neck, her thumb pressed gently against your pulse point, "what were you thinking about?"

the question hangs between you, heavy with possibility. you can feel your heartbeat racing beneath her thumb, wonder if she can feel it too. the bathroom suddenly seems smaller, the air thicker. somewhere outside, the music has changed to something slower, more intimate. the bass line crawls up through the floor and into your bones.

this is how love always finds you, corners you. it's a snake that's flat enough to slide underneath the door. you always watch it passively as it slides up your body, only crying out when it bites.

"i was thinking," you start, then stop, swallowing hard. her eyes track the movement of your throat. "i was thinking about how great you were tonight, how—how beautiful you are. ‘nd i was thinking about how some things can look real without being real. like stage lights. or club nights. or best friends who—"

you cut yourself off, but her grip on your neck tightens slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. the feathers of her dress brush against your thighs, a whisper of sensation that makes you shiver.

"or best friends who what?" she prompts, her voice low, almost dangerous. she's close enough now that you can feel her breath against your lips, can smell the champagne she'd been sipping between sets.

the door to the bathroom opens, the sound of the club surging in, and you both freeze. mel doesn't move away, doesn't drop her hands. instead, she leans closer, her lips brushing your ear.

"we're not done with this conversation," she murmurs, the words a promise that distills heat through your body. "come on."

she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the look in hers makes your knees weak. you open your mouth to respond, but—

the bathroom door swings shut again, leaving you both in that suspended moment. your "okay" comes out barely above a whisper, but she hears it. of course she hears it. she’s always heard you, even when you chose not to speak.

♤

the ride home is thick with unspoken words.

mel's driver, marcus, keeps his eyes professionally forward as you slide into the back of the bentley, the leather seats cool against your bare legs. mel follows, close enough that the feathers of her dress spill over onto your thigh. neither of you speak, but her pinky finger finds yours in the darkness between your bodies, hooking together like you used to do in university when one of you needed grounding.

london slides past the tinted windows in a blur of neon and shadow. you watch the reflections of passing streetlights play across mel's profile, catching the sharp edge of her jaw, the elegant line of her neck. she’s removed her performance jewelry, but missed a spot of glitter near her ear. without thinking, you reach up to brush it away.

she catches your wrist before you can retreat, her thumb pressing into your pulse point again. the car feels smaller in a matter of minutes, the air between you charged with electricity. she turns to fully face you, bringing your hand up to her mouth so that she can slide your pointer finger into her mouth. the suck of her lips is gentle, tender. you watch her head bob as she slides down further, then pulls off.

she doesn't let go of your wrist for the rest of the ride.

when the car pulls up to her mayfair townhouse, you feel like you're moving through a dream. the click of her heels on the steps echoes in the quiet street. to you, they're like gunshots and you have the irrational thought of the neighbors coming out to complain, to tell you that your desire is choking them in the same way you feel now. your own steps are less sure, thanks to the martinis and the way your whole body seems to be humming with anticipation.

she fumbles with her keys briefly, something you've never seen her do, and then you're inside. the door closes behind you with a soft click that seems to echo in the darkness. neither of you move to turn on the lights. the moonlight filtering through her floor-to-ceiling windows is enough to see by, casting everything in shades of silver.

she looks unreal, like a figment of your imagination. you pinch the inside of your thigh, letting out a hiss of air from in-between your teeth. she moves closer, fingers the indentation where your nails had dug into the skin.

you shake, but she only steadies you.

"melly," you start, but she shakes her head, settling both hands on your waist.

gently, she maneuvers you until your back meets the wall. a hand lifts to settle at the base of your neck, her lithe fingers threading into your hair so that she can cup the back of your head. she’s making sure your head doesn’t hit the stone, sacrificing her own skin to ensure your comfort. the thought makes you warmer than before.

mel watches your face, her eyes almost erratic as she searches for whatever sign she needs. she comes flush against you and your legs part instinctively to make room for her, spread to accommodate the whole of her.

she lowers her head, mouth coming to burn against your neck as she presses a kiss there. you let out a small, weeping sound as if her lips have enabled a release inside of you. in a way they have. you soften, melt into her and find the strength to touch her.

your hands grasp at mel’s neck and she hums in satisfaction, working her teeth into the meat of your neck like a vampire. she pulls back only to look down, freeing a hand from your waist to inch the hem of your dress up.

you moan brokenly as you grow more exposed, your cunt wet against the baby blue lace that holds it. the moonlight sneaks between the both of you and renders the fabric practically translucent, the blue so light in its glow that it seems closer to white.

“you’re so beautiful, baby,” mel whispers and you blink at her, your throat tight. “you always say it about me, and i never understand it. when i look at our pictures, i don’t see anyone else.”

your eyes slip low, going tender, and you cup her face.

“you’re perfect, mel.”

“i guess we’re a good match,” she murmurs and then she’s in you.

the motion is so smooth, so quick. you hadn’t realized she’d peeled the fabric of your panties back, pushed them to the side. you know nothing now except for the steady pump of her fingers. there are two working deep into the heart of you, searching and spreading your slick heat.

you cry out, eyes wide like a doe’s. mel only smiles, predatory and slow. her teeth gleam, two rows of perfect pearls. you feel out of your body, but she brings you back in with every stroke inside of you. her breathing is becoming heavy, labored. her eyes seem a little wild and the hand on your neck moves briefly to squeeze tightly at your waist until you let out a deep “unh.”

mel grins again at the sound and it makes you surge forward, crushing her mouth into a bruising kiss. you bite at her bottom lip until she opens and lets you in, your tongue lapping all over as if to consume her. she slips a third finger inside of you, curling at the walls of your cunt to make you clench down.

you continue to kiss her, tilting your head so that angle is better. you slot together perfectly and she moans into your mouth, increasing the speed of her thrusts. you break away from her and study her face, taking in the way her lip gloss is smeared wickedly around her mouth. her lips are swollen and dark and she takes one in between her teeth as she works deeper into you.

your head falls back and she returns her hand to the nape of your neck, catching you before you can hit the wall.

“you’re okay, mama,” she murmurs and you nod, eyes focused somewhere distant on the ceiling.

she knows how you get, how disassociative you can become when you’re overwhelmed with emotion. she watches as you go somewhere she’s unable to follow. your chest heaves with every exhale and she leans forward to press a kiss to the top of your tits, then another right in the middle of them. her mouth is dusted with glitter when she pulls away.

you fuck down on her hand, an animalistic moan crawling from somewhere deep in your chest. mel fucks you harder, grunting as she shifts you bodily up and down with the effort. you keen as she uses her thumb to rub your clit, the circles tight and concentrated. pleasure arcs white and hot up your spine and you close your eyes, mouth falling open silently.

“that’s it,” she says. “come on, baby. come on.”

“mel,” you gasp and she laughs lowly.

“what happened to melly?” she teases and you whine, a foot kicking out as she presses against your g-spot.

“melly, please,” you whisper. “fuck, please.”

“please what?”

"just please.”

nothing changes. she only watches you squirm and beg like a whore, her face impassive. it was moments like these where you were reminded of her mother. the thought sends another shot of arousal to your cunt and it drools down mel’s wrist, sticky and warm.

“mel, fuck. fuck, i can feel it. i’m almost—i’m right there. just please, baby.” you’re crying now, disoriented and breaking apart with every push of her fingers. “please. please, melly, please."

you drag your eyes from the ceiling to her face, your pupils dilated and bright like stars. her face suffers through a range of emotion before she curses and yanks her fingers out of you.

“no,” you sob, and she sushes you.

“just hang on a minute, mama. hold on,” she soothes, her hands coming to lift you from beneath your thighs.

mel moves quickly and you take comfort in the fact that she needs this as much as you do.

you find yourself draped over the couch, your stomach resting on the arm of the chair. there’s a slight application of pressure as mel forces you into an arch, your ass and cunt pushed up. she nudges your legs apart and then gets on her knees, her hands coming to rest on the back of your thighs as she leans in and puts her mouth on you.

“oh,” you moan and she hums into you.

she’s methodical and precise, her tongue slipping into the mix and filling you as best she can. her pace increases as she licks you front to back, twisting so she can suck and nip on your clit. you let out a high mewl as she grips the plush flesh of your ass, rocking you slowly until you’re able to continue the rhythm on your own.

the heat returns, spirals up from your stomach into your chest and throat. you whimper, letting your head fall forward and down. your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on riding her face, swiveling your hips in small circles to better grind your clit against her nose.

again you can feel it, that call to somewhere distant. mel feels the way you tighten around her tongue, the sudden stiffening of your thighs. she knows you’re just there, right at the golden gate of your private paradise so she removes her mouth and focuses completely on stimulating your clit with her fingers.

“mel,” you breathe. “melly—”

“i know, mama. you can do it. cum on my face. cum all over me, princess. mess me up, hmm?”

you reach down and she reaches up, instinctively understanding what you’re aching for. just as your fingers intertwine, you fall apart. your arch drops and mel hums, closing her eyes as you squirt over her. she can feel you trembling and she opens her mouth lazily, letting your cum drip into it as if it was some sort of sacred rain.

her fingers lace with yours properly now, no more tentative pinky holds. you grip back with the strength of a soldier at war, your eyes rolling shut as you hump against her face and ride out your high. mel only lets you use her, dragging her other hand down to grope at her throbbing pussy.

eventually, you settle and she tugs you down so that you’re sitting dazed and lax in her lap. her hands squeeze your ass as she noses at your cheek, slipping a light kiss onto your cheek.

"hey. hey, baby, look at me. are you with me?”

“ye—yeah,” you get out. “‘m with you.”

“let’s go upstairs," she says softly, and it's not quite a question. "unless—"

"yes," you interrupt, squeezing her hand. "yes."

mel makes no move to get up, however, and you watch her face.

“melly?”

"i need you to know," she says, a hand coming up to trace your jawline, "that whatever happens next… this isn't just because. this isn't just because we were dancing, or drinking, or—"

"i know," you whisper, even though you don't, not really. but you want to believe. god, how you want to believe.

mel shifts, tilts you so that you’re on your back. her braids have fallen from her signature bun, and they block out the little light spilling in from the window.

“baby, i want you. i love you, i need you, and i can’t—i can’t tell you enough how much i’ve wanted this. nothing matters to me more than you.”

“i know, melly. trust me, i understand.”

she shakes her head, opens her mouth. you lift a hand, dig your nails into the sides of her throat as you clutch at it for just one second.

“i understand.”

it feels like she’s been the only thing on your mind since the day you were born. you’ve been waiting for her ever since.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics

[googlemooglemadi]

This might sound kind of complicated, so I'm sorry in advance^^

But Valentine's Day comes around and Viktor is sick, so they have to call off their plans (maybe a nice dinner date or something) and Jayce takes care of him? I don't know, I just got that idea a while ago and think it would be really cute!

˚｡⋆୨ 𝑱𝒂𝒚𝒗𝒊𝒌 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ୧⋆ ˚｡

Viktor hated the wintertime. He made sure everyone around him knew it, too – he consistently complained about being cold (especially to Jayce, who’d always jump at the chance to warm him up), he was almost always sulking, and he made sure to voice his grievances whenever his body began to ache.

On top of that, Viktor had never really been a fan of Valentine’s Day. Having been single for almost his entire life, it hadn’t ever seemed important to him.

Jayce? Well, Jayce was another story.

He was a little over-the-top when it came to their relationship on an average day. Viktor often compared him to an overeager puppy – not that he’d say so out loud, of course. Jayce tended to get a little huffy when he was teased.

Viktor had become used to Jayce’s ways of expressing love. Physical touch was the most common, but Viktor also occasionally came home to find a bouquet of flowers, his favourite chocolates, or a book he’d been eyeing for a while. It was often paired with a sweet note, especially if Jayce had known Viktor was having a rough day. Viktor would never admit how much he loved the little gestures of affection, though it didn’t matter; Jayce knew.

Despite having dated for a little over ten months, this upcoming weekend would be their first Valentine’s Day together. Unsurprisingly, Jayce was earnest to go all out. He’d insisted on planning a date out at a nice restaurant, and though Viktor assured him that they didn’t have to do anything special, it was clear that his mind was made up.

The few days leading up to their planned dinner date, Viktor found himself faced with two conflicting feelings: on one hand, he was steadily growing more excited to go out and to give Jayce the gift he’d picked out for him. On the other, he’d been awfully tired lately. And sniffly. Not to mention sneezy.

Yeah, there was no denying that he was getting sick. But he did his best to take care of himself – something he had a bad habit of neglecting to do without annoyed reminders of Jayce – until he went to sleep on February 13th, hoping that he would wake up feeling well enough to push through one more day.

Waking up on Valentine’s Day, Viktor was immediately struck with a shiver even though he had multiple blankets piled on top of him. He rolled over in his bed with a quiet groan, his throat sore and his joints aching. His knee, propped up on a pillow and bent at an awkward angle, protested any movements.

He reached out towards his nightstand, grabbing his phone and squinting against the bright light it emitted. His hair hung in his eyes, blocking most of his vision, but he couldn’t find the strength to brush it away. His last text to Jayce had been a simple goodnight, and the thought of having to cancel their plans sent a wave of guilt through Viktor.

It took a few moments and rewriting his text a few times before he finally settled on:

Good morning. I think we might have to take a rain check on dinner.

Jayce responded within seconds, asking why and if Viktor was okay. Viktor answered by telling Jayce that he was sick, though this likely didn’t surprise him – his immune system was anything but strong, and especially during the winter, he felt as though he was sick every other week.

Jayce didn’t seem to be upset about the cancellation of plans, which relieved Viktor slightly. It wasn’t long before Jayce offered to come over, and Viktor agreed. Maybe it was selfish; the last thing he wanted was to get Jayce sick. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that he wanted company from his boyfriend. It was Valentine’s Day, after all.

Luckily for Viktor, Jayce was quick to get to his apartment. He knew where the spare key was, so he let himself in the front door and headed towards the bedroom. Viktor’s heart melted at the sight of the flowers and stuffed teddy bear in his arms.

Jayce set the flowers down on the dresser and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run a hand through Viktor’s hair. His gaze was sympathetic as he watched Viktor lay his head back down. He felt Jayce’s hand press against his forehead, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t need to be mother-henned, even if he did enjoy the attention.

“You look miserable,” Jayce commented as he set the plush in front of Viktor. It was a bit childish, sure, but Viktor couldn’t help but find the gift endearing. He’d never imagined himself collecting stuffed animals, but Jayce had a habit of gifting them to him, and… well, he couldn’t help himself.

“I feel miserable,” Viktor grumbled in response, his eyes fluttering closed as Jayce pulled the blankets further over his body. “Do I have a fever, doc?”

Jayce rolled his eyes and let out a wry chuckle at the mocking edge to Viktor’s voice, lying down in the bed behind his boyfriend. “I don’t think so. I doubt that makes you feel any better, though, huh?”

“Mm, not at all. But I do appreciate the effort.” Truthfully, just the warmth of Jayce’s body against his was enough to lessen his shivering and make him feel better, if only slightly. 

“Well, I’m not going to move from this bed for the rest of the day. Good luck getting rid of me.”

Viktor laughed quietly, the sound a strange mix between a raspy chuckle and a cough. “Duly noted, though I wasn’t exactly planning on getting rid of you.”

“I just thought you should know,” Jayce said with a content sigh, pressing his face against the back of Viktor’s neck. “Hell of a Valentine’s Day we’re going to have, yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” Viktor responded, reaching his hand back to run his fingers through Jayce’s hair. “I didn’t mean to ruin our plans.”

Jayce shook his head, pressing a kiss against Viktor’s jawline. “Don’t apologize. This is just as good as a fancy dinner. Maybe even better.”

Viktor silently agreed. Though he wasn’t exactly over the moon about the fact that he was sick, he certainly wasn’t going to complain about getting to spend a day lazing around in bed with his boyfriend. He didn’t often give himself the chance to just do… absolutely nothing, and if he was being entirely honest, this felt like heaven.

“Thank you for the gift,” he finally said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them, “but you didn’t need to get me anything. Dinner was enough.”

“I wanted to. Besides, I have a feeling you’re being a hypocrite.”

Damn Jayce for being able to read him so well. Of course he was being a hypocrite – Viktor had noticed Jayce eyeing a book at the library a few times, so when he saw a copy on a trip down to the local bookstore, he bought it. He was planning on giving it to Jayce along with a box of his favourite chocolates (though that was, admittedly, partially because he knew that Jayce would share).

He let out a heavy sigh, pressing his face into his pillow. Jayce, used to how melodramatic his boyfriend could be at times, only laughed. “I’m assuming I’m right.”

“Yes, yes. As always.” Viktor begrudgingly admitted, tilting his head to the side just enough to give Jayce a halfhearted glare. “It’s in the kitchen.”

“I hope you know I’m not getting up, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I was, but I suppose I can give it to you later. It’s that engineering book I’ve seen you looking at. And some chocolates.”

Jayce grinned quietly, trailing a few kisses along Viktor’s jaw and up to his cheek. “So you do pay attention. I knew you loved me.”

If Viktor weren’t feeling so shitty, he would have made a show of squirming away from the relentless attention. Instead he leaned into it, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath. “Have I ever given the impression that I didn’t?” He groused.

“No. But you like to pretend that you don’t.”

“That’s only because you’re a nuisance.” Viktor countered. Even as he insulted Jayce, he sank further into his embrace, feeling properly warm for the first time in hours. That was the benefit of having a boyfriend who doubled as a portable heater, he supposed.

“You don’t really think that,” Jayce murmured, frowning and giving Viktor his best puppy-dog eyes. Viktor might have believed the act if not for the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips and the mischievous spark in his eyes. “You love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.”

“Aw, well, I love you too, V.” 

The words were paired with a kiss on the cheek, which elicited a tranquil hum from Viktor. He let himself curl up against his boyfriend, ignoring the protest of his aching leg. He wasn’t going to let his aching joints or sore throat ruin his Valentine’s Day, not while he was wrapped up in the arms of his favourite person.

this request was literally so cute omg!! had me giggling n kicking my feet while writing it lmfao

credits to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!!

[rinielelrandir]

If you follow me and in any way, shape, or form think the Israeli civilians killed and kidnapped on 07Oct (including children! including old people! including goddamn peace activists working for Palestinian liberation longer than some of us have been alive!) *deserved* what happened by virtue of being Israeli? Do me a favor and unfollow me. This is me showing you the door, please see yourself out, I do not want to have a conversation with you about this. (See tags for caveat.) Because killing of non-combatants is never okay.

It literally does not matter which "side" you are on here. To be clear, I do not agree with being on any "side", this isn't a fucking sports match. These are real people being straight up murdered. Palestinian and Israeli. Both for having the misfortune to be born the wrong country or the wrong religion. That will always be wrong. Hamas is wrong. The Israeli government is wrong. Because killing civilians is always wrong. That's it. That's the takeaway. You don't get to say "Palestinians have a right to self-defense" as a justification for 07Oct. Self-defense does not extend to civilian targets. To non-combatants. To CHILDREN.

And to be quite clear, I will not accept "Israel has a right to self-defense" as a justification for the killing of Palestinian civilians but I'm largely not seeing that from Jewish leftists, including Israelis and including Zionists. I'm largely seeing them call for a ceasefire and for peace and condemn the Israeli government and its actions.

But I *am* seeing fellow western leftists, particularly non-Jews, defend Hamas and the 07Oct attacks in their desire to stand with Palestine. You have to stop doing that. Hamas are not the good guys, you can read their damn charter documents online. You can read analyses of them by experts - Hamas is a religious extremist group intent on imposing jihadist control over the entire region and eliminating all Jews. It's not something they've been secretive about. They routinely kidnap, torture, and kill PALESTINIAN peace activists who they learn have met with Israeli peace activists or in any way worked towards a 2 state solution. They use global aid donated to Gaza for themselves while letting their citizens suffer. Their most prominent leaders don't even live within Gaza, aren't even at severe risk. These are all things you can verify easily and readily just by doing some basic research anywhere that isn't Twitter, tumblr, or Al Jazerra.

So if you want to justify killing civilians? If you want to support a terrorist organization? If you are going to unilaterally condemn all Israelis for the crime of being citizens of a country whose government you disagree with? Please see yourself out. And when you do, please keep in mind that I am a nonzionist telling you to kindly consider availing yourself of the sea. I do not support Israel and I work with actual Palestinian liberation organizations when I can. I've been doing so for the better part of the past 5 years. I attend a synagogue that is actively involved in Palestinian liberation as well as the first nonzionist havurah in the US. I'm not exactly new to this.

But I am also a Jew. I do not support Israel, the government of the nation state, largely because I do not support the concept of nation states as a whole. I find the system inherently violent. But I *do* support, Israel, the people. I am a Jew by Choice. I have chosen to throw my lot in with Israel and her people. They are MY people. If you gleefully call for my people to be slaughtered, I want nothing to do with you.

[dazais-guardian-angel]

kinda wild to me that one of the most compelling aspects of both Chuuya and Kunikida's characters to me, that I never really see talked about, is how they're heavily set on a doomed crash course towards complete and utter destruction, and how I am so, so worried for them both.....

[captainjonnitkessler]

I wrote out a long post about how exhausting it is to be online when everyone is so absolutely devoted to being negative about everything all the time. According to twitblr everything is the worst it's ever been, no victories have ever been achieved, and anyone who says otherwise or has any semblance of hope or joy in their lives is a naive idiot being manipulated by the vague yet menacing Ruling Class.

Then I didn't post it because I'm usually fine about receiving negative comments but I swear to fuck on this post in particular having someone try to dunk on me by telling me "actually everything IS the worst it's ever been and you're just a neoliberal cuck" WILL be the last fucking straw for me

[haarute]

something i realized in the recent years is that while my mom is a very nice person and i can understand why she is the way that she is sometimes, she had a history of always dismissing and throwing away things that were important to me, and in hindsight that certainly had an effect on both my trust in her and how much i was willing to ever share, and also just turned me into a dumpster goblin because i just gave up on ever having nice things so why bother ever caring about my personal space at all ✌️ i'll just live in the filth because we'll never have anything better after all !!

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Little drabble for today, since technically today(or perhaps yesterday?) Was the day I had my little...moment of. Wow it would be so funny if I got engaged with Finn and of course it happens to be cliche a few days before Valentine's Day. Anniversary. I know I don't really post my writing a lot and keep it more private but that's mostly just cause it's harder for me to write things that aren't very emotionally incorporated, if that makes any sense? With drawing I can do a little cute doodle, draw some hearts around it, and that's it, a nice simple little thingy. But with my writing it is normally a lot more extensive, even if whatever I'm writing is just fluffy stuff. And. Not to mention. A lot of people normally brush over drawings after like five reasonable seconds, but with writing it isn't entirely something that can be consumed so quickly. But! I yap a lot on here anyway.

I don't thinkkkkkk this needs any content warnings? I tried to not go into detail about the actual extent of the woes I experienced and just said enough to get it out of my system, but everything else is true and accurate😉 it gets super sappy fluffy at the end because it is me we are talking about here, so of course it does. I did a shorter Speedrun version of my proofreading, so hopefully it has a nice flow to it!

--------

"Yes, but I want to actually do SOMETHING for today, I mean, something nice at least. It is a special day, we should do something.. special for it!" Kane reasoned, still in bed and curled up to a pillow. He cautiously rolled over onto his back, and his expression twitched like he had winced. He kept the pillow in his arms and loosely hugged it against himself.

"Kane, I'm pretty sure I just watched you die, I'm not going to let you expend what little energy you have left that needs to go to resting." Finn sighed, upset, sitting carefully at the edge of the bed. He certainly wasn't upset at Kane, more so the situation; and perhaps what little he could do- or have done- to remedy it, to no fault of his own, of course. Or anyone's, really.

Considering that Kane wasn't always that keen on bigger events anyway, his prying for one was a bit ironic. But just because he didn't like going out to restaurants or typical romantic events that involved eating out in public or resulted in lots of noises going on like at restaurants, it didn't mean that Finn didn't like those things. And, perhaps, Kane felt a little guilty inside, because he had been out of commission for most of the day, so anything that they could've done couldn't happen.

"It's not like I didn't know this might happen." Finn said gently, turning a little so he could look at Kane when he said it.

Kane sighed a little, almost in a pouting manner, and glanced at Finn to meet his gaze for a moment, "I mean, I know that we both knew it was going to happen, cause the prediction and all- and I could feel it- but..."

"But I'm feeling better now and-"

"Rest." Finn interrupted firmly.

Kane groaned in response, why must he need rest and recovery. Why must he be aware of how truthfully exhausted and sore he felt. "Okay, well I wasn't dying, I was just-"

"You were withering in pain, and trying to tug out your own hair so you could feel something else, you-"

"Okay, okay, but worse case scenario you could've just- I mean we live in England, all the houses and buildings are brick- you could've just bonked me out on the head and then drivin me off to the ER or like, urgent care or something."

Ah, and Kane was met with the look of a man who sometimes forgot what country people grow up to be. A look laced with concern because it was his partner he was looking at, but there was still a slight hint of "Fuck? No!" Whether Kane's country roots lying in America added to this was a different story.

"Er- euhm- Whatever the uh. Thing is called the-..." Kane looks around the room as he racks his brain for it, "The NHS! Yes! Whatever those.. they have like those walk-in urgent rooms, right? Like buildings?"

Finn looked like he wanted to respond with several things like "The NHS wait time isn't worth it" and "The day I put you out of your misery like some animal even if it is to temporarily knock you unconscious is the day I [redacted]" but with as ruffled and exhausted as Kane still appeared, he wasn't going to have the man waste his breath on discussing the complexities of the NHS and every other healthcare system, or whatever else was going through his mind. Instead, he ever so gently nudged Kane over closer to the middle of the bed so he could lay down next to him. He understood that going from forever sleeping on a bed that was hardly bigger than him to the luxuries of a bed that was probably a bit bigger than your dining table was something for Kane to adjust to, but it still drove him mad that Kane, for some reason, slept right at the edge of the bed. Even if he has yet to actually fall off of it.

And Kane couldn't help but crack out a grin over it, he spent a lot of time in bed so there was hardly a moment where Finn wasn't wordlessly gently shuffling him closer to the center of the bed.

"But we aught to do at least something, right? Today isn't just any other day today- not to me at least- I want to at least mark it like that by doing something special. Even if it is something small."

As Finn stretched out and laid down net to Kane, he let out a long exhale, "And you call me foolish?" Finn mused, and with as much little movement as possible he rolled over so he could face Kane and gingerly wrap an arm around the other man, tucking it under the pillow that Kane was still holding closely to himself. He was sure Kane was still feeling sore, so he treated every movement and touch he did like he was trying to do a waltz in a minefield.

Kane cocked an eyebrow, "I do call you foolish. Not that I'm any less foolish- if not more." "You certainly are," Finn's voice turned to a mumble as he tried to nuzzle himself infinitely and impossibly closer to Kane.

"And would you like to elaborate on that?" Kane asked, with a faint grin. He was feeling far more amused that he was able to express himself at the moment.

"The whole point of the day is just to spend it however we'd like, and I don't care how we spend it, I just want to spend it with you."

This was one of the moments were Kane was glad that Finn had his face buried up against him, because even if Finn could feel Kane hold his breath, it at least still spared Kane a little dignity because Finn would miss seeing his eyebrows furrow and the corners of his mouth twist and maybe his eyes watered up just a little as well. "Yeah, but you spent the day like a medieval doctor watching a patient and not being able to do anything about it but sedate them."

Finn frowned a little, but he would've frowned regardless of what day it happened on because it was still something that happened in the first place.

Kane let go of the pillow with one of his arms, and then decided to forfeit the pillow entirely altogether and shift his position so he was laying more towards Finn now. He didn't really have much left to say.

"I just want to enjoy the day with you, Kane." Finn murmured, the weight of affection in his voice was undoubtable.

Kane was quiet for a moment, his eyebrows were still furrowed, "I just want you to know that you are special," he responded, and if his sentence had been any longer his voice might've croaked.

Finn smiled, and tried to be as gentle as he could as he softly tugged Kane ever so slightly more closer to him, "I know that you think I'm special." Again, Kane took a moment before he responded. His mind was having trouble arguing with someone who seemed to radiate their love out of their body.

"You do?" Kane asked. Of course he would want Finn to feel special.

"This is where I get to use one of your own sayings against you," Finn said, starting to grin, "You always say that actions speak louder than words, don't you?"

As much as Kane loved that saying and thought it to be true, it bugged him a little that it sounded like something you would find spelled out as the lesson in the back of a book or TV show for children. Which perhaps was exactly where he had gotten it from.

"I do say that. And at least in my experience I've found it to be relatively true, give or take some case scenario exceptions; as with anything there's exceptions."

"Well I think it is plenty special that I get to do this with you," Finn gave Kane the lightest squeeze possible in his arms, "And you tell me in plenty of different ways all of the time how you feel about me." Kane knew that he did that, but part of him almost wanted to respond with "I do?" because it wasn't the usual for someone to be able to understand the funny language that he seemed to speak.

Kane looked at the ceiling for a little while, soaking in the words and the moment. Finn seemed quite content and peaceful with things right now- which is what Kane wanted. Truthfully, in an ideal scenario Kane would've spent the day treating Finn like he was some royalty- not that he didn't have tomorrow to do that, anyway.

"I like you, Finn," Kane said.

"I like you too, Kane." Just for a few moments Finn had closed his eyes. Then again, no one ever goes to close their eyes for just a few moments and it turns out that way.

No, maybe today wasn't and couldn't be spent as a day for a big grand gesture and display of love and affection, perhaps that was something that was going to be saved for another time, but there was still just as much love to be felt in getting consumed by the peaceful tranquility that came with not having anything but a nice warm and safe home, and being willingly boxed up in a room with someone literally, and figuratively, wrapped up around you.

[caotictimmy]

🍏- ANON? MAYBE??? it's so late for me but reading your nsfw on Daisuke...UAAAGHHH SAAGHHH 🗣️ he's such a vocal man and the whole morning sex thing where he can't get into you quick enough .helpop helppp meeeee helpppp

(maybe this is a request? Maybe I'm just yapping lowkey??? But if you want to write on this, by all means go for it LMAO)

Giggling over Swansea being mortified while walking in on reader x daisuke getting it on, I imagine they don't notice him and Daisuke is getting all needy trying to keep his pace 🤞 That boy has never felt the touch of person romantically so I could onllllyyyy assume that he'd been sensitive his first time. Or like. Every time with reader- especially if they're still on the ship. He's trying to not make too much noise as everyone is asleep ☹️ his whiney ass is NOT making it through that night. Bonus if reader is nonchalant about it the next day at lunch. They're talking with someone about their poor love lives (finding people to stay with how long their jobs shipments are)- reader dropping shit like 'aw man yeah. if only there was someone to really understand me, y'know?'. As if Daisuke wasn't memorizing their insides and how they physically react to him with his body just last night 😭

HELP 🍏 ANON THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD I ALMOST FELL OFF MY BED. But this is Acually so smart. I always believe Daisuke gets lost in the sauce when you guys have sex. For the headcanon I was thinking they were known dating. But for this let’s pretend the crew doesn’t know Daisuke and reader are dating. The first kind middle part will be NSFW. But the rest should be NSFW. This will be done as a one shot. (I’ll also include your little bonus! Plus a little more:3)

What was that god damn noise..? Swansea thought. Irradiated as he heard a squeaking sound, an indescribable muffled sound coming along with it. For fucks sake he just wanted to get some rest! But those loud noises would not let the poor man drift to sleep. He was gonna put a stop to that noise. Once and for all.

Swansea swings his legs over the side of his bed, sitting up. Stretching his arms as he gets ready to investigate what the noise is, and where it’s coming from. He stands up, his back making a loud crack.( I love old man Swansea). He slips his slippers on. Grabbing and putting on his robe by the door. Slowly pushing the door open. Before silently shutting the door. The noise got louder. Even though the walls were paper thin. It still muffled some of the noise.

He tread carefully through the halls. Getting closer to the noise. Swansea could hear talking maybe? The squeaking of something getting louder the more he approaches. Wait. He’s getting closer to Daisuke’s room..? What the hell was that kid doing. He could hear a faint panting? He started walking a bit faster.

Daisuke’s door was cracked open. God was the kid hurt-. Oh… Oh dear god.. For the love of pony express why did he have to be the one to catch this scene. He could now clearly see what was happening now. God why him..? (Warning for what’s ahead will be NSFW)

“Nyyhhh… F-fuck you feel so good. G-god so good. Am I doing good? Mhm!.. a-am I doing good for you. Wanna make sure your feeling as ..ahh ~… as good as I am.” Daisuke whimpered out. His arms wrapped around your waist as he continues going his rough pace.

“Yes! O-oh fuck hah… doing so good for me!”, Your voice muffled as you were face first in your pillow. Daisuke’s body pressing against your back. Like he was trying to mold his body with you. A loud ‘plap’ sound being able to be heard.

Swansea felt his face contort in horror. He could feel his stomach twist in disgust. He definitely walked in on something he definitely shouldn’t have. So what did he do. He went back to his room. Staring at the ceiling with that petrified face still stuck on his face. To say he wasn’t able to sleep that night would be an understatement

-

“I feel like it’s impossible to date anyone with this crappy job.” Anya huffed in a frustrated tone. “I second to that.”, Curly sighed as he ate his crappy lunch.” Our shipments at a Minimum are 5 months! And it’s like we get a month or two back on earth, before they send us back to ship something!” Anya finished. The annoyed look on her face quite prominent.

��I get you Anya. I want to Acually spend time with someone and let them get to know me. But you can’t really do that on this floating rock.”, You said nonchalantly. You sure were letting Daisuke get to know you. All of you… Swansea thought. Trying not to gag at the imagie of what he witnessed last night.

You could feel Daisuke’s eyes turn to you. Lingering a bit longer than ‘just friends’. “Yeah man, it’s such a bummer!” Daisuke said. A light blush spread across his face as he said it. No one else except Swansea noticed.

“Say uh..” Anya started, looking up at you. “I saw you walking in here with a limp, you good?” She asked,her voice laced with concern. God why did you have to ask that Anya! Swansea cringed at her question. “Oh yea no I’m good! Just hit my leg on the wall while sleeping y’know.” You said. Hmh.. I’m sure you were doing some sort of sleeping. Swansea hurrying to finish his food. Quickly getting up to put his plate in the sink and immediately start work. He really just wants to take his mind off this..

-

“Swan-sea!” Daisuke said, dragging the two parts of Swansea’s name out. Swansea ignored Daisuke, continuing to work on the broken vent. “Dude did I do something wrong?” Swansea sighed. Since Daisuke wanted the truth he’ll get it.”For fucks sake Daisuke! Can you have them stop fucking like rabbits! I know you young people have your urges, but this has been going on for the past week. And it’s Saturday for crying out loud!” Swansea yelled.

“AND IF YOU FREAKS ARE GONNA KEEP GOING AT IT. AT LEAST KEEP THE DOOR SHUT AND BE QUIET. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP.” Swansea finished, catching his breath. Daisuke just stood there stunned.

“You.. you heard us..?” Daisuke asked, his mouth agape and his eyes shot wide. “I didn’t just hear you guys. Saw it to! Close the damn door next time!” Swansea said irritated. Daisuke continued to stand there embarrassed. “Swansea uh.. I-I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” Daisuke stuttered out. Still shocked about the revelation.

“Yeah you better be fucking sorry” Swansea muttered. Turning around before pausing. Sighing a bit. “At lest your getting some action in this hell hole. Reminds me of me and my wife.” He said. Before holding his fist out. “I’m only gonna do this once Daisuke.” Swansea said. Daisuke happily returned the fist bump.

“Now get the hell out of my sight for the rest of the day!” Swansea yelled. “Alright swan-sea!” Daisuke said, doing the same long period name thing. Swansea let out an annoyed sigh. At least the kid was happy…

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[rafescvntyclubgf]

“𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲” - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 × 𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 | 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

6K

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙/𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊

⚠️ warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Older!Rafe, DILF!Rafe, pet names, kissing, praise, angst, soft!Rafe, swearing, smoking, drinking, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), cum tasting, spanking, choking, rough sex, degredation, rough oral, ownership kink, orgasm control, multiple orgasms

Thank you to my lovely beta reader @oceandriveab love you bae 💕🩷

Rafe’s POV:

"I love you, man. But, I'm home for one fuckin' week. Leave me alone. Yeah?"

"The Azimut deal is major, Cameron," my boss groans. “We really need you face-to-face in Italy.”

"I haven’t been home in a month. I’m gonna be gone for another few weeks," I chuckle in disbelief as I rub the sleep from my eyes; this fucker is tryin’ to pull even more of my time away. “Send, Top. I’m sure he’ll be able to land the deal. Alright?”

"We both know he won’t-"

"Not my fuckin’ problem," I cut him short as I drift into the driveway.

"Your loss. That’s a shit ton of money, man.”

"Yeah… Well, I got plenty of that. We done?" I taunt.

"Fuck. You’re killin’ me... See you in a week, Cameron. Give the best to y/n and the kids."

"Umm yeah... Gotta go," I sigh as I watch the scene play out in front of me. Jesus Christ. Problems already? This kid... Why is he me? Fuck. I'm gettin’ it back tenfold. I roll down my window, eavesdropping shamelessly, watching Harbor Thornton clamber the rest of the way out the window. Max leans toward her, cig dangling from his lip, no shirt on his muscular body, and a neck full of fresh hickeys.

"Tell him you went to Macy’s house, princess," he smirks, exhaling two streams of smoke through his nose. "I'll be right down. M'kay?"

"Don't take too long, Maxi. We're gonna be late."

Maxi? I can't help but snort out a sleepy snicker.

"Late for a party? We’re always late, Thornton. I just need to get my shit. Then, we can go to your house and get you dressed.”

”I can’t wait for you to see my costume, baby. Maybe you can take it off me later.”

”M’plannin’ on it.” He hooks his hand around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her bleach-blonde hair.

"Maybe we can sneak into Piper’s parent’s room," she mumbles between sloppy kisses. Enough. Make it end. I open the truck door, slamming it shut. The two of them fall silent.

"Welp. Now or never," I gripe as I press the door open— Harbor lowers herself down the side of the house, clearly aware of my arrival as she does her best to hide. Like it matters, sweetheart... Your BMW is parked right outside the gate. "Have a nice day, Harbor," I sigh.

She looks around the house, giving me a guilty grin and a wave. "Uh-h... Hi, Mr. Cameron," she stammers. "You too." Harbor looks back at the window, no Max to be seen, quickly scampering to her car. An even thicker cloud of smoke pours out, wafting away. Jesus Christ, bud. I throw my head down, shuffling up toward the door, climbing up a few steps before grabbing the knob. There's a stir behind it already. My babies. Jerking it open, stepping through the threshold, a roar of joy following fast.

"Daddy!" Poppy shrieks at the top of her lungs. Her feet patter against the hardwood floor, Rory trailing close behind. I squat down to their level, waiting for them to round the corner. I meet their twinkling eyes, smiles doubling. They crash into my arms, crawling onto me to get closer. I hold them tight, taking in their smell. A wide smile sets on my lips as well.

"I missed you, two."

"Missed you, Daddy," Rory smiles. Poppy gives me an all-too-wet kiss on the cheek before nuzzling in again.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispers.

"I love you, princess. And I love you too, bud."

They leave as soon as they come, tearing back to the kitchen, leaving y/n standing in the doorframe, giving me a moment. She chuckles warmly, a beautiful smile playing on her perfect lips, giving me butterflies. Still. She walks my way, wrapping her arms around my neck. Picking her up in a hug, I pull her in tight. "Fuck. I missed my girl," I mumble against her skin, pressing a gentle kiss on the crook of her neck. "I love you, babydoll."

I set her down on the ground, not letting her leave my arms. Matching her gaze, I feel myself at peace again. "I love you too, baby," she whispers. Damn, I missed her voice. Cupping her soft cheek in my hands, I kiss her again, feeling her smile against my mouth.

"What?" I laugh lightly.

"You kinda smell like weed," she hums.

"That ain't me, honey."

"What?" She draws back, wide-eyed. "Max?"

"Mhmm..."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in frustration. "I said no weed," she whizzes. I blurt out a laugh, throwing my head back. Y/n slaps my chest, a little scowl setting on her pouty lips. "Rafe... He has ISS."

"ISS?"

"In-school suspension..."

"Oh shit. What'd I miss?" I breathe as I shut my eyes tightly. "Lay it on me, princess."

"Apparently, he sells weed."

"Why?" I whine. "It's not like he needs to..."

"He said we wouldn't buy him that truck he wanted? So, he's gonna buy his own."

"All’s I said was he had to wait ‘til his birthday or somethin’. He wants a fuckin’ Raptor, y/n. Shit starts at 80 G’s… Maybe get a job? Help me around the office? Do somethin’ besides jackin’ our boat, drinkin’ beers, and golfin’. Jesus fuck, that kid’s somethin’ else."

"Technically... he did get a job,” she breathes as she rests her palms on my chest, calming me down slightly.

"Technically... I guess," I huff, rolling my eyes away. "He is killin' me. Did you know Thornton was here?"

“Topper?”

“Harbor,” I correct her. Y/n's mouth falls open in disgust. "She was not... She didn’t come through the front.”

"Think they wanted some privacy, honey," you groan, shuddering in disgust, y/n echoing the same.

"Can you talk to him?" Y/n whispers, her tired eyes pleading with mine. "I thought I was doin' a good job, Rafe—Shit's fallin' through the cracks. I wasn’t even gonna do anything with the twins for Halloween… Just dress ‘em in one of Winnie and Max’s old costumes and pass out candy.”

“Winnie…” I smile, just thinkin’ about my pride and joy. “Where’s our girl at?” I ask as I look around the house, just the sound of the twins pattering feet left behind.

“You don’t wanna know,” Y/n sighs as she tugs her phone out of her back pocket, showing me a picture that has my eyes doubling.

“That’s Win?” I ask as I look down at my angel in next to nothin’, slamming my eyes shut in mental exhaustion. “What is she supposed to be?”

“Little Red Riding Hood?” Y/n sighs— the two of us silently coming to terms with the fact that our babies are anything but babies anymore.

“So, she’s gone then?”

“Just left with Jackson Mayb-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, pretty girl,” I mumble as I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for comfort.

“It’s been a mess here, Rafe. I’m not doing a good job-”

"You." I stop her, pressing a rough kiss on her forehead. "You are doing an amazing job, y/n."

"Thank you," she whispers weakly. Y/n's attention gets ripped away, brows furrowing in irritation as she glances out the front window, watching Max lower himself from above. "Now? Please."

"Of course, honey." I give her one last kiss, turning toward the door, breaking out in a little trot, throwing the entry open. "Max!"

Max turns on his heels, looking back at me annoyedly, his mother's scowl and a button nose, the rest of him all me. "Rafe."

"Scuse me?" I challenge, making him shift his stance, crossing his arms over his tight white polo, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I'm just kiddin'. Calm your tits,” he scoffs.

"Sure… I missed you. Weren't you gonna say 'hi' or anythin’?" He crushes the grass with his boat shoe, throwing his gaze to the ground to avoid eye contact. "Max?"

"Missed you too. Sorry... I just didn't want a lecture ‘bout Harbor-”

"Harbor?” I laugh tiredly. “The Thornton girl is the least of my worries. Why are you sellin', bud? You could get a job or help-"

"Rich comin' from you," he snips, cutting me off with a cruel laugh.

"What does that mean?"

"It's like the pot callin' the kettle black. You were literally a drug dealer. You dealt drugs, Dad."

"That shit was different ."

"That shit was worse," He sneers, turning back in the direction he was going. “M’sellin’ grass, not yayo. Fuckin’ hypocrit,” he yaps over his shoulder.

"Just get a normal job, Max. Like one with a W -2 ... Work with me-”

"Nah... 'Cause you don't get it,” he turns around, angry and quick.

"What don't I get?" I lift my voice, causing Max to return his stare to mine, looking back at me in disbelief.

"You’re never home. What’s there to do if you ain’t here? Huh?”

"Max-"

"What, Dad? Seriously... I'm gonna be late to pick her up. It’s Halloween. Give it a rest-”

"Cut the shit, Max," I mumble. "She's on the other side of the gate." He gives me a smirk, holding back a chuckle as he takes off his captain’s hat, running his fingers through his hair with a smug smile before putting it back on. "You two bein’ safe?" I ask gently.

"Not talkin' to you about that, old man."

"Holy shit," I puff, covering my eyes with my hands as I do my best not to lose my mind. "I'm your dad, Max. I worry about that shit."

"Of course we are. I'm not a stupid like-"

"Like me? Only me. Right?" I stop him before he can go any further, seeing the first look of remorse in his sights. "I know you weren't about to talk about your mom, Max." He throws his gaze to his feet again. "What would she say if she heard you talkin' like that?"

"She'd be upset," he mutters feebly. "Don't tell her I said that. I'm sorry."

"We just want you to be safe. Okay? It wasn't easy for your mom and me for a while. We just want your life to be easier. We aren't tryin' to ruin your life. And we can talk about the job tomorrow. I don’t wanna ruin your night. I'm sure we can figure out somethin' that doesn't involve you sellin' weed." He nods, giving me a soft smile. His mother's smile. Max turns around again, stepping away.

"I love you, bud."

"Love you too, dad. I'm glad you're home." There's no sarcasm in his tone, warming your heart.

"Oh, wait! Did you two need me to pick you up tonight?" I ask as he passes through the gate.

"The fuck do you think?" He cracks up, flicking me off with a smile.

Love you too, buddy. Turning around, I trudge up the driveway toward the house. Well... I don't know if I made it better or worse. But, that was somethin'.' I close my eyes, taking a deep, needed breath. The front door opens, and Y/n steps, strolling toward her SUV with the twins in hand. She opens the side, letting them climb in, walking back to the trunk.

Her dress sways with the fall breeze, heels strapped around her ankles. Wow. I’m struck with déjà vu. She wore a dress just like that on our first date. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. That face, that smile, her voice, her curves. She knew how to work 'em all.

Babygirl… Y/n reaches inside, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs. The slightest peak of her perfect fuckin' ass. A smile spreads across my lips. Y/n knows I'm watchin'... She knew it then, too. I need her... So fuckin' bad. It's been too long.

I walk toward her while she digs through the twins' travel bag, hastily taking hold of her hips, pressing myself against her ass, making her giggle. She winds up slowly, relaxing her back against my chest, looking up at me over her shoulder. "You're stunning. Fuck, you look so damn good, y/n," I rasp.

"Thank you, daddy. So do you."

"What are you doin’, ma?”

“Getting them costumes. I feel guilty, Rafe,” she sighs with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I didn’t. The older kids are a disaster; the house is a mess-”

“Don’t feel guilty, baby. The kids are fine. They’re just teenagers. Yeah? And you aren’t a maid. I can’t believe you’re keepin’ up with everything like you are. Get outta here, baby. Buy yourself a coffee, get us a bottle of wine for later, pick up the costumes. Let me handle these two. Unless you want me to go-”

“No!” She stops me fast, laughing at her rash reply. “No. I’d love to get out”.

“And, I’ll talk to the housekeeper about comin’ once a week. Oh, and Harbor… I’ll ask her to come over when I’m outta town so you can take a break. You deserve it.”

“You sure,” she asks apprehensively.

“‘Course I’m sure, pretty,” I croon as I cup her cheeks, pressing a kiss on her lips. “We’ll get these kids dressed up, walk around the neighborhood for a bit, put ‘em down, and have some time for ourselves.”

"That would be amazing." She turns her body into mine, arms wrapping around me, slipping into the back pockets of my slacks. "A night to ourselves. Huh?” She smiles at me coyly.

"Yeah… We’ll snag the good candy, bury a few glasses of wine, and have a good night…”

"I can’t wait, Rafey. I need you so bad."

"Well, shit," I chuckle lustfully. "You're readin' my mind."

"It's been too long." She leans in for a kiss as she squeezes my ass.

"I was just sayin' that, y/n." My hands weave through her hair, tugging slightly.

"You should feel how wet I am for you..."

"That so?" I slip my hand down, tracing slowly up her thigh, feeling her lace panties soaking wet.

"AHHH!" Poppy screeches, making you both jump, jolting the two of you out of your feral state.

"What the hell..." I grumble, making y/n laugh. "You good, princess?" Poppy smiles brightly from her car seat. Her blonde curls bounce as she nods 'yes.’

"She's been doin' that all week," y/n breathes.

"I'm sorry, baby. You're a patient woman," I hail as I pull her in for a hug. "Thank you."

“Anything for you, daddy.”

Shit. I rub my hand over my smile as she steps away, smacking her ass before she can get too far, chuckling to myself as I watch the recoil. So fuckin’ sexy. Y/n meets my gaze, giving me a little wink as she steps into the front seat. Yeah… That’s my girl.

“You two wanna go play on the trampoline?” I ask, offering up the only thing that’ll pull them out of the vehicle without tears. The two squeal with delight as I free them from their seats, climbing out of the car, running toward the back before I can even shut the doors. I stand in the drive, waving at y/n as she pulls out. She looks happier. Fuck, she just needed time to herself.

Hurry home, baby.

Reader’s POV:

You pour a coffee for Rafe and yourself, adding some Bailey’s to top it all off. It had been a long, tiring week with a never-ending list of tasks with him away. But he was finally home. Rafe leans down at eye-level with your daughter, fixing her little cat ears. He turns to your son, swathing the superhero cape around his shoulders before tying the perfect bow.

The twins giggle, bright smiles plastered all over their round faces as their favorite man dotes on them, the two sneaking in hugs and kisses when they can. Rafe reaches into the back pocket of his slacks, grabbing his phone, snapping picture after picture of the duo, looking back at them proudly.

The four of you step out into the night, hand-in-hand. You walk through your beautiful neighborhood, an unsaid contest between the kooks of who could outdo who, each one of the stately manors more done up than the last. Jack-o’-lanterns flicker on the entrances, spooky music swelling all around.

You look up at Rafe and smile. Even though it was decades ago, you couldn't help but see that same college boy you fell in love with; Rafe still rocking a backward cap, his crisp polo poking out of his cozy North Face jacket. He’s exchanged his jeans for khakis and his red SOLO cups for a travel mug. But the man only looks better with age. The glow of the streetlights highlights his strong jawline— grizzled with the perfect 5 o'clock shadow. His beautiful blue eyes follow the twins as they run freely from house to house. Rafe’s fit, he always has been, but the way his muscles move under his clothes has you dying to rip them all off.

He’s talking business, telling stories about some big deals he closed. You try your best to focus—you really do, but you get lost watching his perfect lips as he speaks, catching the little looks he steals between sips of coffee making your head spin.

Rafe was working so hard for your family: closing deals, making a name for himself, doing what he loves and still coming home being the husband and dad you could only dream of… He’s perfect. You'd drag him home right now if it wouldn't break the twins’ hearts.

Your kids run over, laughing and squealing with delight, opening their bags wide to show the two of you their treasures. Rafe kneels down, looking in the sack, asking them about their loot. “What’d you get? Show me, princess,” Rafe invites, his tone softening as she speaks to her. Your daughter reaches into the satchel and points her tiny finger at a few king-size candy bars. Rafe sneaks his hand in too, grabbing a Reese’s cup. Your daughter’s eyes widened in horror; Rafe signature scowl and glare cutting into her dad.

“Daddy!” She scolds, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh - Umm,” Rafe panics slightly as he stands up, towering over your daughter, looking down at her as he fumbles for his wallet. “I didn't steal it. Alright? Daddy was hungry, was all. How much do I owe you, sweetheart?”

“A dollar.”

“A dollar?” He gasps as he fights a wide smile. “You drive a hard bargain.” Rafe thumbs through his wallet, pulling out a dollar and one more as he catches Rory hoping for one too. “N’what do you have for me, buddy?” He questions as he crouches down, looking in the bag. Rory sticks out his tongue as he reaches inside the pouch, looking for something for Rafe, pulling out a taffy. Rafe scrunches his nose in disgust, contorting it into a smile before your son catches his eye again, making you laugh.

Fuck, he's killing me. You feel your cheeks warm up as he walks back to you, looking down at you with loving eyes. Your heart swells with devotion as he slips his hand into yours, feeling the warmth of his palm. He lifts your hand, kissing the top. But it’s not enough; Rafe pulls you in by the hand, kissing your lips instead. “I missed you, baby,” he mumbles against your kiss, his voice dropping slightly lower, sending chills across your body. He smiles against your mouth as you echo the same sentiment. “You look so sexy tonight,” he drawls, his southern accent bleeding through his compliment, his tone warm, and sticky sweet.

“You look so good, daddy,” you praise. Rafe groans against your lips, living in your words.

“It’s after bedtime. What do you say, baby?” He asks as his large hand falls down your body, pulling you in by your waist. “Let’s go home.”

Rafe’s eyes widen as he walks through the door. "No fuckin’ way," he praises as he drinks you in, taking in every inch of your frilly maid’s costume. His beautiful blue eyes fall to a lusty haze. “N’I said ‘you weren’t a maid, baby… You makin’ a liar outta me. Huh?” He asks as he twirls you under his finger.

Rafe’s rough hands slip under the hem of your lace stockings, following the little straps of your garter belt, clipped to your barely there panties, still hidden under the satin skirt. “Daddy’s gotta get you out of the house more… ‘Specially if you’re gonna come back with gifts like this. You’re spolin’ me. Fuck,” he groans drunkenly, looking down at you in awe. He takes you into his strong arms, tossing you playfully on the mattress.

Rafe mounts the bed fast, crushing you under his weight. His lips capture yours in a heated kiss."You taste good... You smell so fuckin' good, darlin'," he purrs as he buries his head in your neck, stroking his clothed cock against your throbbing pussy. "Damn. I missed this."

"I missed you, baby. C'mon... I need you inside of me," you pant in that pathetic tone that gets you anything you want.

"Jesus, y/n," he moans, chuckling sinfully.

"Why are you dressed, daddy?"

"Good question." He sucks off your bottom lip, tugging at it with his teeth. "Can I leave these on?" Rafe asks, snapping the garter belt around the fullness of your thighs with his big fingers. You smile and nod.

"Panties, too..." You add.

"Well shit," he breathes onto your lips, instantly gliding two thick fingers up your soaked cunt, making you suck in a breath. Rafe takes his digits between his lips. "You're dripping, y/n."

"Haven't stopped thinkin' about you since you left."

"Me either, y/n. You're so fuckin' sweet."

"Rafe..." You pout.

"Shit, baby... I forgot what a slut you were for me."

"How could you forget?" You giggle against his lips. "Clothes. Now."

"Mmm... Yes, Mrs. Cameron."

Rafe steps off the bed, tossing his shirt off his built body. You study him carefully as you slink to the edge of the bed. He grasps his belt in his hands, tugging the leather loose. "Let me?" You sigh as you rise, sky-high heels clicking against the wood floor.

Rafe’s eyes continue to roam your curves as you unfasten his top button, splaying his zipper, pulling his slacks down low. He grabs your chin, drawing you up. His blue eyes lock on yours; Rafe’s stare is hungry and deep. His grip is rough. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to let you know he's in control. This is what he wants... What he's craving at this moment, and you are more than happy to oblige.

"You're my good girl. Aren't you, y/n?" He groans, making you wetter.

"Yeah," you sigh.

"Tell me, y/n."

"I'm your good girl, Rafe."

"And you listen to me, and me alone. Don't you, baby girl?" He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, making your heart thump.

"Yes, daddy. Only you."

"Daddy? I love the way you say that, baby.” Rafe pushes you back on the bed. You sit on the plush mattress, looking up at him innocently as you toy with the elastic of his boxers. He gives you a little nod. You take your cue, pulling them off, following his thick cock to the tip, letting it spring free.

"Fuck, Rafe," you sigh, gripping him in your hands, precum glazed on his tip. You quickly swipe your tongue across his swollen head, swirling for good measure.

"Y/n..." He draws out your name as he towers over you, looking down at you with lust-blown eyes. Rafe drops down on one knee— his strong hand lifting your calf, sliding your spike heel off your foot, kissing your leg unhurriedly before working on the next. He's taking his time, savoring every inch of you before dropping the shoe to the floor. You inhale sharply as he hooks his hands around your legs, tugging you to the edge of the bed.

His calloused finger meets your knee, tracing slowly up your thigh. Your breathing starts to quicken, and your lips part. You look between your legs, watching your husband spread your thighs. "Rafe," you moan as he teases your entrance with the tip of his ringed finger.

"Y/n." He draws out your name, working it deep. "Who's pussy is this, baby?"

Fuck.

He dips in another finger, thrusting it in and out... in and out. Your eyes drift back up his body, watching his abs and arms flex with each thrust. Rafe’s eyes greet yours, the most beautiful blue; he lets your gaze linger on his a little longer. He doesn't punish you, rewarding you with a smirk and some pressure on your clit.

"Mmm... Yours," you whimper. "My pussy is yours, daddy."

"It is... Isn't it," he chuckles as you start to rock with him. Rafe drops to his knees, causing you to draw your legs wider. "Fuck. I could cum just lookin' at you, y/n." His tongue meets your pussy, licking a line to your clit, latching on for a momentary, releasing you with a pop. Your head falls back. An airy moan slips your lips. "Remember when we met? You were such a bad girl, y/n." He kisses his way up your stomach, past your ribcage, grabbing and pressing your breasts together. "No one could tell you what to do."

"But you..."

"That's right." Rafe grabs you roughly, pulling you from the bed and drawing you to your feet. His hands work up your body, weaving into your hair, pulling slightly.

"Get on the chair," he whispers against your lips.

"Yes, Rafey." You walk across the room, Rafe, meeting you fast. The man is on you before you can even reach it. His broad chest presses flush with your back, kissing your neck harshly. "Fuck, baby," you whine. He shoves you, causing you to fall forward. You grasp the back of the chair while his strong hands palm your ass under your slutty maid’s costume. Rafe grabs your thong, snapping it against your skin. His hands return to your body, working over your skin, slapping your ass, causing you to groan.

"First time you sucked my cock, we were at Tops place. Remember?” He spreads your ass and spanks you even harder, causing you to cry a little louder. “You were dressed like a Playboy bunny,” Rafe drawls as he grabs himself in his hands, stroking a few times as he takes you in. “You didn’t even take the ears off.”

“You remember?”

“Shit’s burned into my memory, baby,” he sighs as his large hand follows the length of your spine. "You look even better now, sweetheart."

"So do you, baby? We fucked the next night."

"Mhmm… Yeah, we fuckin’ did. Night one. You’re such a good mommy, baby. Who woulda thought you used to be such a whore back in the day. Huh?”

“Mmm… You bring out the slut in me, daddy. You always have.”

“Yeah, baby. That’s right.” Rafe seizes his dick by the base, tapping it against your ass with one hand, using the other to grope your skin."This fucking body, y/n," he moans as he presses his tip into your entrance. "It's just so damn perfect."

"Shit," you hiss as you feel a stretch.

"And these tits." He grabs the straps of your costume, brushing them off your shoulders, pulling it down past your tits. He reaches around, grabbing your breasts as he glides in a little deeper.

"This waist." His hands drift lower, mirroring his words, driving his cock in a little more. "These hips," he grunts, taking hold of them, bottoming you out, causing you to wail.

Rafe draws out slowly. "Baby, please," you sigh, craving more. He thrusts into you again. Your head falls forward. Rafe snaps his hips into you, setting a rapid pace. Skin, cracking skin. He spanks you— a prickling sting is left behind. "More, Daddy," you beg.

"I don't know, baby... Your ass is pretty red," he taunts. "You sure?"

"Yes. Fuck!"

"Atta girl." He slaps you roughly on the other side. You feel his hands wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough that you can feel your pulse. The chill of his rings felt against your skin. Rafe rolls his hips into you, deliciously slow, using his grip as leverage to drive deeper.

His hands push higher, gathering your hair. He tugs your strands, causing you to rise, arching your back. He's unforgiving, pounding into you just like you were craving he would. "Fuck me, y/n," he demands.

"Yes," you moan, using the back of the chair to steady yourself as you fuck him back. Working Rafe in and out of your soaked cunt. You bounce and grind, rolling your hips as Rafe praises you. Your ass claps against his toned hips as you take every inch of his long dick, filling yourself to the brim. "Rafe!" You cry.

"Fuck, y/n. Let me hear you, sweetheart," he rasps.

You lose yourself, fluttering around his cock, gripping his wrists as he takes over, rutting into you quickly. "Fuck, Rafe! Just like that." Pitiful cries pass your lips as he proceeds to wreck you from behind. Rafe doesn't let up till he feels you relax around his cock, your head falling back on his chest as he rocks in and out.

"I missed you so fucking much, daddy," you whimper. Rafe kisses your shoulder gently, working his way up to your ear.

"I missed you more, baby. You're my girl, y/n. You know that? You always have been."

"I'm your girl, Rafe," you pant.

"Does my girl want more?"

"Never stop," you chuckle breathlessly.

"Anything for you, y/n." Rafe thrusts into you roughly, making you fall forward, gripping the chair as you expel a breath. He presses your head against the plush backrest, increasing his tempo. "Ugh... Do you hear that, y/n?" You try to nod. "Mmm... You're so damn wet." He turns you around, pulling you back into his arms. Your kisses are wild and deep as you cross the room to your bed. "Can you taste yourself, y/n?" He mumbles against your lips.

"Yes," you mewl.

"Can you ride me, baby?" He groans.

"Yes, daddy," you sigh blissfully. Rafe falls onto the bed. You slip away before he can grab you; Rafe chuckles darkly, twining his fingers behind his head.

"Couldn't get enough?"

"You're right, baby... I'm sweet," you laugh breathily against his cock, watching as goosebumps spread across his thighs.

You wrap your fingers around his length, licking your slick off, eyes burning into his. "Holy shit, baby," he moans, throwing his head deeper into the pillow. You flick your tongue across his slit, tasting the both of you together. Rafe's hand glides from your bangs to the top of your head, taking a tight hold. He presses you down on his cock, bobbing your head up and down to stroke his throbbing dick.

You can feel Rafe striking the back of your throat, tears pooling in your eyes. You flutter your lashes, feeling your tears run in two little rivers down your cheeks. "Ugh... You're so beautiful, baby," he grunts. His eyes roll back as you drop your hand, rubbing little circles against your clit, moans pouring from your lips between strokes. "Come'mere," he chuckles raspily."We gotta do that later... Please, baby. I need more of that."

Rafe grabs your hips, guiding you on top. You rise on your knees, grabbing Rafe's hand, sucking his fingers, cleaning, circling your tongue around his wedding band. He draws them down to your clit, rolling them gently. "All I could think about when I left the house was you, y/n. I couldn't wait to get home. You make me feel so fucking good, y/n." He gives you a sinful smile as his tongue skimming along his rosy bottom lip.

"You make me feel so good, baby," you breathe, slinking your frame hands up your frame, the skirt still pooled around your hips, boobs bouncing with every movement.

Rafe grips his thick cock in his fist. "All I could think about was seeing you naked, princess. Look at you now. Huh? Never thought I’d get to see you like this… So fuckin’ good to me. You know that?" He slides his tip through your silk, circling his head on your clit. You let out a breathy moan. Rafe's eyes roll back again. "Your little noises and this wet fuckin' pussy." He presses his tip in, and you feel the stretch. "Mmm... Grab the headboard, y/n." You grip it as Rafe takes hold of the small of your waist. He thrusts up into you roughly.

"Rafe!" You cry. He lets out a growl, thrusting into you a few more times for good measure. He relaxes on the bed, beckoning you with his stare. "I want you deep in my pussy, daddy," you sigh, sinking slowly, letting your cunt swallow up his big dick. He sucks a sharp breath, snatching your hips, holding you in place.

Clasping the headboard, you start to circle your curves, rolling and working yourself on his length. "Holy shit, honey," he moans. You can hear yourself—how wet you are for him. Rafe can hear it, too, giving you a little smirk. "Still so wet for me?"

"Sucking your cock always gets me wet, daddy. You know that."

"Fuck, baby."

You reach back, clutching his thighs, bouncing on the mattress, nail sinking into his skin. "Shit. You're deep, Rafe," you whimper.

"So fuckin' deep." You look between your thighs, watching his long cock slicked with you once more. Rafe can feel you tightening around him; he can see the look in your eye. "That's my girl," he rasps. "So fuckin' good for me. Can you wait, baby... Cum when I tell you?"

"Rafe..."

"I thought you listened to me, y/n? Can't you wait, mama?" He chuckles as he applies a little more pressure to your clit.

"Plea-" You stutter as your body quivers uncontrollably.

"Cum." You scream his name as you toss your head back. Your orgasm radiates through your body, making your toes curl, popping off your heels. Rafe continues to thrust as you fall apart. Your muscles tighten around his dick as he works at an insane pace. "Fuck, y/n... That feels so fuckin' good, baby," he moans. "So tight."

He throws you to your back, stepping off the bed, looping his arm under your thighs, pulling you exactly where he wants you, right on the border, before slinging a leg over his shoulder, your heels tumbling the rest of the way off onto the floor. Rafe tips into you, pressing a rough kiss on your lips as he starts to thrust again. His tongue reels with yours. The two of you, utterly exhausted, panting into your kiss.

"Almost there," he mumbles, fighting back his climax to get you on last time. He wraps his arm around your thigh, using that to drive himself deeper.

"S-Shit, Rafe," you stammer. As you feel him strike your g-spot, making your body tremble.

"Again?" He gives you a cocky smile, getting exactly what he wants. You nod rapidly as tears gather in your eyes, overstimulated.

"Can you cum for daddy?"

"Y-Yes. Yes. Shit," you stutter as you grab ahold of the edge of the bed, tossing your head back. Rafe grunts and moans as he thrusts sloppily. Tears fall from your eyes as you close them tightly, your climax claiming your body. A choked cry passes your lips, giving him all you can muster. You feel the warmth of his release, Rafe answering with your name on his lips.

Rafe mounts the bed, pressing a soft kiss against your mouth. His lips drift to your flushed cheeks, kissing away your tears. "I love you, baby. I love you so much," he respires as he holds you close.

"I love you. Never leave me again..." You sigh blissfully.

"I hate leavin' you. But, fuck, do I love comin' home to you, princess." Rafe chuckles as he plays with the costume around your hips, smiling against your lips. “Keep this on for a little while longer. Yeah?”

[reocidal]

HONEYMOON PHASE — A. MIYA

cws; swearing, gn?reader but it gives fem to me even tho theres not descriptions of reader or gendered pet names, married life, tooth rotting fluff, yeah.

wc; 605

"'s it too late," atsumu's voice is muffled and his words slurred as he speaks, face buried in your shoulder.

"mm?" you respond sleepily, not really listening to him. strong tan arms are wrapped around your middle, and you absentmindedly curl your fingers into his untoned bleached hair. he purrs at the feeling, pulling you closer to him so he can press his mouth to your neck, grinning lazily. you make a slight noise of protest as you feel his teeth against your neck, and then he bites you, really bites you, to make you shut up.

"mmh, leave the jackals, y'know? fuck 'em, i could become a hermit or a monk or somethin'."

a drowsy, surprised giggle bubbles out of you, and his smile widens in response. he likes making you laugh.

"tsumu," you say, and he realises with glee that you still have your rough, lower-than-usual, sexy morning voice. "tsumu, monks can't get married, i think. and they have to be bald."

he groans, but you're not sure which one it's in response to. switching tactics, you half-heartedly try to push him off you.

"lemme stay here," he whines. "i love you, i wanna—"

"tsumu, no," you chide him, and he quiets down like a kicked puppy. raising his head, he pulls your left hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the spot just above your wedding ring before he gets up with a sleepy yawn.

"five years into our marriage and you still don't let me sleep in," he says with a pout.

you ignore him, pausing mid-movement to admire his sculpted figure and the way his body moves as he transfers his wedding ring from his finger to the chain around his neck. when he notices you looking, a bright, boyish grin lights up his face. "can't risk losing it," he tells you, still smiling. you can't help but mirror his expression with your own giddy, lovestruck smile.

you're fixing up breakfast in the kitchen when he comes in, although he's still not dressed to leave yet. you turn to him, smiling when he nuzzles his face into yours. "baby, can i drive you t'work?"

you shake your head, hands coming up to cup his face. "you're already running late, love."

he rolls his eyes in response, angling his head to kiss your palm. "baby, best friend, love of my fuckin' life. is it such a crime to want to spend more time with you?"

"we have all the time in the world, tsumu," you say. "eat quick and go."

"not leaving the house without you," he says sulkily. "they can practice without their favourite setter for a bit."

"favourite? that's debatable," you tease, sitting down next to him with your own breakfast. atsumu kisses your knuckles again with a sly grin, ignoring your dig at him. "but i'm your favourite setter."

"you're my favourite everything," you say, and then you laugh as the red spreads across his cheeks and his nose and the tips of his ears. your breakfasts remain untouched as he leans in to kiss all over your face in a bid to distract you.

"are you flirting with me, y/n l/n?" he asks.

"maybe," you reply, still laughing.

he shuts you up with a kiss. "what if we skip work today?"

"and do what, exactly?"

"laze around, y'know. i just want to stay with you, spend some time together."

"hmm." you pretend to think, but your mind is already made up. "i dunno..."

he kisses your palm, and then your wrist. "please?"

you've never been able to resist those stupid puppy eyes, anyways.

I HATE THIS ITS SO HAPPY. kmsing. drop a like, rb and or comment if u liked this 🤔🤔 husband atsumu u could fix me

[covenofagatha]

I'm a good girl, Detective

You're a prostitute in the town of Westview and maybe Detective Agnes needs to teach you a lesson.

Word count: 1750

Warnings: Rough sex, spitting, spanking, Top Agatha, Bratty Bottom Reader, fingering, prostitution, sex with men mentioned

“What can I do for you, baby?” you say in a sultry voice. The man in the car in front of you gulps excitedly. 

“Blowjob?” he asks, hands shaking on the steering wheel. It’s clear to you that he’s never done this before. You spot the wedding ring tucked in the cupholder in the middle console. “Is that how this works? It’s my first time doing this, sorry.” 

You sweetly smile. “I can do that. It’ll be $100.” 

If the price seems high to him, he doesn’t let on. He must be desperate. “Oh, sure, yeah. Do I pay now or…” 

“Half up front, half after.” 

“Right,” he says, reaching into his pocket to bring his wallet. “I’m guessing you only take cash?” 

It’s a feeble attempt to hide how nervous he is. You don’t even dignify the question with an answer, only a quick nod. 

He’s pulling out a $50 bill when all of a sudden, a siren goes off, lights flashing in your face. 

“Fuck!” he says, hurriedly shoving the money back into his wallet and peeling out of the parking lot because the police car can pull up beside you.

You chuckle to yourself and lift your hand in a greeting, wagging your fingers playfully. The window rolls down. 

“Detective Harkness,” you drawl. “Come to blow off a little steam?” 

It’s a familiar game the two of you have been playing for a little over a month now. She always manages to find you right in the act of accepting money for sexual services – illegal in Westview – and puts you in her squad car to take you back to your apartment. Everytime she tells you that if she catches you again, she’s throwing you in jail for the night, but everytime, she pulls right up to your complex and throws you out. 

Her glare is heated as she steps out of her car. Her blue flannel has two buttons open and it’s tucked into her navy pants. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. 

“What can I do for you, Agnes?” you flirt. You like to poke and prod at the tightly-wound older woman, secretly hoping that one day, she’ll take you up on your offer. 

“I told you last time, if I caught you doing this again…” she mutters in her gruff voice, grabbing you by the elbow and leading you over to the other side of the car. 

“He hadn’t even given me any money yet,” you pout. “We could’ve been old friends just catching up. No need to be jealous, Officer.”

“That’s Detective to you,” she shoots back. She yanks open the passenger door and shoves you inside. 

For some reason, she never puts you in the back. 

“Ya know, it seems like you’ve been frequenting this side of town lately. Hoping to run into me?” you say, enjoying the way her jaw tightens. 

“More like hoping to save all your poor men from wasting money on a cheap lay,” she says bitingly. 

You gasp mockingly. “I’m not cheap! And I wouldn’t say they’re wasting money. You should see the things I can do with my tongue.” You wiggle said tongue out at her and note the way her cheeks pink ever the slightest. “I can show you, if you’d like.” 

She glances at you and then turns back to face the road. 

“I could make you feel so good,” you whisper, daring to reach a hand over to put it on her thigh. She tenses and her grip tightens on the steering wheel. 

“Get your hand off me,” she growls. You run your fingers up her leg softly before obeying, not missing the way her breath catches. 

And then you realize that instead of turning left, which is the way to your apartment, she goes straight. 

“Wait, where are we going? Why, Detective, are we going back to your place?” 

She laughs meanly. “I’m finally doing what I should’ve done the second time I caught you on the street. You’re spending the night in a cell, so maybe you’ll think twice about going back out there.” 

Well, fuck. If that’s how it’s going to be, you might as well go big or go home. “But, Detective, I’m a good girl. Let me show you how good I can be.” 

You lean over and press a kiss to her jawbone. Her hands on the wheel falter and she inhales sharply. 

“What are you–”

You slide your hand back on her thigh and nibble on her earlobe. “Let me make you feel good. You deserve it.” 

Agnes’s breathing has quickened and she swallows hard. “This isn’t appropriate,” she says, but it sounds weak, even to her. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Your hand is trailing higher, unbuttoning her pants. You dip your fingertips inside them and the car comes to a stop with a screech. 

“Get out now,” she demands, slamming the car into park. She steps out and stomps over to your side. 

“Agnes, I’m sorry, I didn’t–” You’re afraid you’ve completely fucked up. 

She yanks you out of the car, spins you around, and presses you against the car. The older woman presses her body against yours. 

“Is this what you wanted?” she hisses in your ear. “You want me to fuck you like the slut that you are?”

You can’t help the moan that escapes from your mouth.

“You think acting like a brat will get you what you want?” 

The next thing you know, she slaps your ass. You jump, feeling the pain give way to pleasure. In all of your time as a prostitute, you’ve never even been close to feeling this turned on, and all she did was spank you. 

“I asked you a question and I want an answer,” Agnes says dangerously. Her hand hikes up your skirt and soothes the red skin. “Unless you want me to do that again.” 

You do, so you don’t say anything. Slap. This time, without your skirt as a barrier, it hurts even more deliciously and you groan. 

“I just wanted you,” you finally say. 

“You keep saying you’re a good girl, but all I see is a spoiled fucking little brat,” she taunts, spanking you during each of the last four words. 

You’re squirming against her, desperate to feel her hands on you again. “Yes, that’s me,” you gasp out. 

“You’re so desperate for someone to take control of you,” she murmurs, tracing her hands over your asscheeks. “You’re so pathetic, needing a woman twice your age to teach you how to be good.” 

“Show me, please,” you beg. “Aggie, please touch me.” 

She flips you around and roughly grabs your throat, a raw moan clawing out from you. Her thigh slots between your legs.

She scoffs. “Of course you’d like that.” A finger forces your mouth open and she leans down and spits into your mouth. “Swallow.” Your brain short-circuits and she nods approvingly as you obey. “So you can follow directions. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

You whimper, grinding on her leg, trying to get all the stimulation you can. You dig your nails into her shoulders so you can get better leverage.

She laughs cruelly. “Look at you, humping my leg like a bitch in heat. I should just leave you here, dripping and unsatisfied. That’d teach you a lesson better than any night in jail would.” 

Your movements stutter and you shake your head insistently. “No, please don’t.” 

Agnes’s grip tightens on your throat and she grasps your hip with her other hand, helping you grind.

“Aggie, I need more,” you choke out. You’re already so close, but you don’t think you can cum from just this. You need to feel her. 

“Aww, the poor slut wants more,” she taunts. In a flash, she moves your underwear to the side and buries two fingers inside you up to the hilt. You bite on your lip so hard you taste blood and you keen. 

“Fuck!” you exclaim sharply as her fingers twist and thrust roughly. Her palm is harshly bumping against your clit with every push.

“Is that good enough for you?” she jeers. You moan your approval. “Do those men fuck you like this? Do they make you feel this way?” 

Your hands scramble on the back of her flannel, trying to pull her even closer to your body. 

“No, no one but you! I’m gonna cum, Aggie.” 

Her fingers stop, still inside you. You whine and keep moving your hips around them, desperate not to lose the stimulation. “Do you think you deserve it?” she whispers hotly. A tear threatens to fall from your eye. 

“I’ll do anything,” you promise. “Just, please, let me cum.” 

A wicked glint lights up her eyes and she resumes fucking you hard. Her nails dig into your throat from where she’s still choking you. “Not so cocky now, are you, brat?” 

“You’re the one who’s two fingers deep in the prostitute she keeps picking up off the street,” you manage to retort. “I’m feeling pretty good.” 

She chuckles lowly and suddenly pulls out of you. 

“No,” you gasp. 

She steps back, corners of her mouth turned up. “And you’re the one who’s not going to get what she wants.” 

You gape at her, shocked. She sways back to the other side of the car and gets in, looking at you, frozen, through the window. 

“Are you coming?” 

You open the passenger door and get in. “Not anymore,” you grumble. She pouts mockingly and swats your hand away when she sees you moving to touch yourself. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Your fingers twitch the entire drive, your stomach still burning, wondering if she’s actually taking you to the station. She’s definitely not driving in the direction of your apartment. 

You sulk the entire drive until she parks in front of a house. You turn to look at her, eyebrows raising. She acts normal and exits the car, waiting for you. 

“Where are we?” you ask. She doesn’t answer, just leads you inside. 

She suddenly stops in front of you once you’ve gotten to the living room and you bump into her, muttering an apology. She turns around and tangles a hand into your hair, slowly pushing you down to your knees. 

“Agnes?” 

She smirks. “Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to good use and show me the ‘things you can do with your tongue’. And then maybe, I’ll think about rewarding you.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2?

[auroralwriting]

his little finger

spencer reid x fem!hothead!reader

part two here

spencer has you wrapped around his finger; you'd do anything he said without question. your team can't quite understand it. little do they know you and spencer have an unsaid.. thing.

warnings: reader has a hot temper? is that a warning? | words: 1k short but sweet!

You were known to have a confident personality. You never let anyone shake you, that's why the team loved you so much. You were the sole, beating heart of Aaron Hotchner's team; you never let them give up. Not only, but you were kind of a badass. You knew how to profile amazingly, and you could hold your own if an unsub got a little too rough.

Something else you were known for? A hot temper.

Okay, maybe it could go a little bad sometimes, but you truly meant well. Like that time you accidentally made a teenage boy cry. To be fair, he was a potential unsub. He actually was the unsub, so not all was a total failure.

Today was different for you. The coffee shop you frequented before work was closed due to issues with the electrical systems. That put a chip in your day. How was one to thrive without coffee? Next, you forgot your badge at home, making you late for work since you had to retrieve it to even get into the building. That put a dent in your day.

Derek was known to be a funny guy. Not the kind of funny guy you'd actually laugh at, but the kind who kind of pissed you off sometimes. Yeah, that kind. While he meant well at heart, it just royally pissed you off. You couldn't help that!

You leaned your elbows on the table, listening to the coffee pour into your cup. "Hello my little fox," Penelope greeted, her face frowning when she saw the look on yours. "What's wrong?"

"Bad day so far," You muttered. "Everything's just going wrong."

"It's only seven," Derek said as he walked in, smile on his face. "Come on, sugar. Go on and sit down at your desk. I know how you like your coffee." You thanked Derek quickly as you went to your desk. It was right next to Spencer.

Oh, Spencer. The boy who fell hard for you, who made you fall for him. Neither of you knew that, though, your crushes remaining secret still. "Y/n," Spencer frowned, "what's wrong?"

"It's alright, Spence," You forced a small, pathetic smile. "Just a bad morning."

Spencer gave you a half smile, "Positive attitudes actually give you a higher likelihood of having a better day by ten to thirty percent," Spencer rambled, "and that actually is the same for social connections, being a twenty to forty percent. You're on the right track."

You loved Spencer's rambles. They were adorable. "Thanks, Spence." You smiled.

A few minutes later, Morgan came to your desk with your coffee in hand. "For you, sugar." He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. You quickly took a generous sip.

It left your lips quicker than it entered. You spit it out into the trash can next to your dest, face turning sour at the taste. It was so bitter, so salty. "What the hell, Morgan?!" You cried out, "What is this?"

"Salt, sugar." He teased.

Your face turned hot, "How old are you, six?" His face slowly fell as you became angrier, "Genuinely, how old are you? Because last I checked, children don't have jobs."

"Hey," Derek tried to calm you down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to actually upset you."

"Oh, of course you didn't!" You replied with sarcasm dripping from your lips. "You just don't get when people don't want you to make them feel worse!"

Derek's face fell into a frown. You didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but you couldn't stop your words. "Y/n," Spencer said firmly, "Sit down, now."

Before you could even think, you followed his command. The whole event caught Penelope, Emily, Rossi, and JJ's attention. JJ was quick to rush over, grabbing your coffee. "I'll get you the right one, it's okay." She comforted as Emily quickly lead Derek away. Rossi and Garcia decided to mind their own business, smart.

You groaned, head in your hands. Spencer was quick to kneel by you, taking your hands into his own. "Y/n," He said softly, "Take a deep breath. I know, I know." You followed his instructions, inhaling and holding it like he demonstrated, softly letting it out after. "Good job, sweetheart, do it again for me, okay?"

After a few more times, your face cooled off. You closed your eyes, sighing. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings."

"I know, he knows, too." Spencer assured. "He knows he was out of line. You reacted the same way anyone would. It's alright."

Spencer raised his hand to your face, softly brushing your cheek with his thumb. JJ walked over, unsure if she was ruining.. something?

"Hey, I got you your coffee," She hesitantly spoke. You looked up, reaching out quickly.

"Thanks," You mumbled, taking a cautious sip. When you realized the taste was right, you took a bigger sip, sighing at the warmth flooding down your throat.

Spencer gave you a small smile, "See? It's okay now."

You nodded with a smile, thanking him softly. He went back to his desk, re-opening his report. You did the same, clicking your pen open.

"Okay, now what the hell was that?" Derek asked, the previous team members crowding around Rossi's desk.

"I felt like I was walking in on them," JJ mumbled awkwardly. "The tension was so strong I thought it was gonna slice me clean in half."

Emily smiled, "I bet they're in love or something, only love can make a person react like that. She would've bitten anyone else's head off." Everyone mumbled in agreement.

"I bet two weeks," Rossi said after a moment.

"Nah, knowing Reid, it's gotta be more like three." Derek shook his head.

Emily laughed, "I bet a week and a half. Y/n's too badass to not admit it first."

"I don't think they ever will until we do for them." Penelope sighed, knowing how stubborn both individuals were.

"I say one week, solid." JJ nodded. "I felt that tension."

Hotch's voice came out of nowhere, "Four days."

Everyone turned around, shocked. "Hotch, you sure about that?" Derek asked, a slight tease in his voice. "You know them."

"I do," He nodded, "Four days. You'll see I'm right."

[redcherrykook]

──── ๋࣭ ⭑ irish coffee ! ( s & c )

‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

↳ part of 𝓦𝓗𝓘𝓢𝓚𝓔𝓨 ꩜ .ᐟ

❝ [ husband!Jungkoook universe] ¡! ❞

✎ summary: a whiskey fueled coffee cocktail thats the perfect mix of caffeine and numbness to relieve your stress

or- jungkook eats you out because you're overworked. kisses, body worship, comforting jungkook

note from cherry: #needthat also... surpirse!! (not proofread)

‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

the front door of your house - shared, freshly furnished house- slams shut.

"rough day baby?" your husband asks, painted in the light of your kitchen's illuminating bulb, a small scowl runs through your expression

"horrible. everyone is late on deadlines and i'm being blamed for not having the reports ready" you sigh, ridding yourself of the thick winter coat that's appropriate to shield you from seoul's januruary tempretures

his steps grow closer, as you set your shoes aside, jungkook's large palms find the curve of your hips,

"you need a break ma, been doin' so much" he mutters, rubbing up and down your figure with care,

"gonna let me take care of you won't you?" content sighs leave your lips while his dance along your jawline, creating a trail down to your delicate neck, skilming the soft skin with healing open mouth kisses

"hm.. want you to relax" he adds, the cold metal reminder of your joined life grazes your cheekbone, his knuckles soothing that stressed look into lust- love, and slowly everything bad evaporates into nothingness

"c'mon, jump f'me baby" following, he grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his hips, immediately he walks toward your bedroom, big round eyes growing darker in their chocolate brown, desire floods him- the desire to please you, relieve your worries into moans of his name

"you're so good to me" you speak for the first time since his hands landed on you, watching his pierced lip curl into a small smile, your now bra clad back meets the cotton cushions,

"gotta be, you're my wife, my precious lil' wifey" you chuckle softly- letting him feel up all over you, wandering to caress every tense inch of you- shoudlers, arms, hips, stomach, chest and soon you can't even remeber what you were so stressed about- not when he unclips your bra and takes your nipple in between his lips

"kook.." you trail off, closing your lids to feel the extend of his love, he flicks his tongue over it- rolling the pebbled nub with his wet muscle to hear your little moan. simultaneously his fingers take the other swell into his hands, rubbing it gently,

"such a pretty girl baby.. so perfect" the air blown out of his words raises tingles on your skin, jungkook takes his time to love on you, addicted to watching your lips part after he flicks harder, captivated by the whine of his name whe he pinches the opposite nipple in his fingers

"need to take good care of this beautiful body baby, hear me?" now kissing down the valley between your breasts, his gaze finds your half lidded eyes, "mhm.." you hum in response,

"yeah? gonna kiss and soothe every ache of yours ma, make you feel so good" he whispers, gliding his tongue along with the slow, intense kisses that find your stomach, his hands accompany them by grazing his fingers along your waistline, down to rub small circles on your hips

your fingers fly into his dark hair in a heartbeat- the real ache now pulsating between your legs, drooling with the need to be cared for, "baby.. feels so good" you tell him, fixated on his button nose that presses against your panty covered clit, nuzzling into it with his eyes closed in pleasure

"you're so perfect, my poor thing, so stressed.. gonna let your husband take care of you hm? make you cum and let it all go?" you moan is answer enough for him, he continues to suck and kiss further down, on your right thigh, caressing the left.

jungkook groans in satisfaction with every slow, heated kiss that leaves wet trails on you, inching further to the evident stain on your panties, he can smell your arousal, his cock twitches at the smell of it, so so needy, so ready to be loved

"my hands feel good on you baby? like how i kiss all your worries away?"

"being so good for me, letting me love all on this gorgeous body"

"way too cute to be stressed like this"

he mutters while finally pushing the soaked tiny piece of fabric down your thighs, it pools at your ankles, collecting there to reveal your seashell

he bites into his pink bottom lip to supress a loud moan that would have escaped at the sight- so dewy, clit so puffy and loud for attention that he wastes no time giving in to

"fuck kook, just like this" you can't help but praise the way his tongue runs flat against your clit, slowly flicks at it with the tip only to lapp up everything that's spiling from your folds, teasing you as much as he is patient- takes his sweet sweet time to lazily circle your clit, suck at it only with a little amount of pressure

its driving you crazy, oh so crazy how good his sensual groans vibrate on your skin,

"mhmm.. taste so sweet baby" he speaks into you, bringing his large palms to hook your legs over his shoulders without the time to register his change of heart- he's burrying his tongue inside of your cunt, licking fat stripes up to flick your clit faster, harder and goes right back to fucking you with his tongue

"shit- shit yes yes oh-" you ramble, clenching your eyes so tight you can feel the sparks of color appear right in front of you, the loud buzzing inside your eardrums had long dissolved into fragments of jungkook's pleasure, now going to quiet down every nerve in your body- with the exception of the ones hes sucking on while having burried two of his long digits into your tightness

"gonna come for me aren't you baby? make a mess on my fingers?" he asks, strumming your insides with deep strokes that refrence a "come here" motion, you nod pathetically between the parting of your lips and breathy- barely audible whines that are tumbling out senselessly

"yeah? you will? what a good girl.. come on, let it all go" his soft bur growly words of encouragement are enough for you to collapse into exctasy at the next deep stroke and hungry kiss to your sensitive clit, he lets you feel it all out, slowing down his pace until your thighs have returned to normal, until he can see your pretty- big eyes innocently staring down at him

he withdraws his fingers entirely, immediately shoving them down his mouth to gather your relieve in his mouth, humming contently as it hits him

"did so good f'me ma" jungkook rasps, patting your thighs with his hands before pulling you on top of his hard chest, nestling one of his fingers to your scalp,

"you have a way to make everything easier. even if its sometimes.. well, this" you giggle shyly, rubbing the tip of your nose to his neck- the scent of belonging floats into your mind

"yeah? so you feel better hm?" he questions- leaving a kiss to the top of your head, his other arm secures you even closer to him as he smiles- "so much better. why was i tense again?"

jungkook laughs in that silly chuckle that you feel in love with long ago,

"exactly. wanna take a bath and watch your show? the 4th season just came out"

you wouldn't wanna be married to anyone else.

[tasteleeknow]

handled.

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. hands on necks (not exactly choking but choking adjacent). dirty talk. slightly rough piv. soft!dom minho.

It's not what you expect, the first time someone reaches out to wrap their fingers around your throat. It's during a lesson in self-defence, part of a compulsory skill. You flinch away as their fingertips graze your skin, scrunching your shoulders at the unnatural feeling. It's not a neutral act, a simple experience of skin on skin.

There's something deep down, an instinct designed to make the feeling of another person's hands around your neck inherently discomforting.

It takes many attempts for you to build a tolerance to it, the anxious feeling never settling completely despite your ability to hold still.

It was hard to imagine how the act could ever elicit anything other than that deep, instinctual urge to squirm away.

Until him.

His fingers flex as he tugs the black glove down his wrist a little further. It's a vital part of his costume as far as your concerned, a last minute addition ties up his all-black theme perfectly.

"Are you having fun?" you question, back pressed against a wall in a dark corner of the room.

The New Year was around the corner, the costume party in full swing around you. It'd taken a doe eyed look and a soft kiss to his neck to convince your boyfriend to join you.

He offers you a small lopsided smile, the delicate lip ring balanced prettily on his lower lip. "Mm," he hums with a small nod.

You tug him a little closer, "You sure? I know it's a little more crowded than I—"

"I'm fine," he says, the bare fingers of his glove free hand stroking gently over your wrist. "I'm all good."

If you were being totally honest with yourself, a (not so small) part of you hope he'd ask to leave. Getting him dressed up like this was the best part of the entire night, you'd decided. Now, you'd very much rather be at home taking the costume off him than stand around in a crowd of drunk partygoers.

The lip ring presses into his plush lip a little as he nibbles at it for a moment. You could leave the accessories on him. The ring, the silver necklace hanging around his collar—just long enough to tickle your chin if he was above you... and then there was the glove. Your eyes drop involuntarily to the hand in question.

"What about you?" Minho asks, tugging your eyes back to his.

"Hm?"

"Having fun?"

You blink.

He smiles, keenly aware of your propensity to drift elsewhere. "What you thinking about?" he asks. You would have answered him. You were too far into your relationship to be timid about such things. But then... then he reaches up with that hand... the dark, smooth fabric cool against your skin as he tilts your chin up a little. "Talk to me," he encourages gently.

Oh, he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you like my costume?"

His eyes drop down your body quickly. "Mm," he hums. "Very pretty."

"I like yours too."

He fails to suppress an amused, knowing smile. "Yeah?" His hand drifts from your chin along your jaw, coming to rest just below your ear. It allows his gloved thumb to play with your lobe a little as he steps into you a little more. "What do you like about it?"

"Fishing for compliments?"

"You seem desperate to offer them."

You frown, "No."

"No?" he questions, stepping even closer. He's pressed against you now, warm and dark—a barrier between you and the rest of the room. "My sweet girl wouldn't lie to me." He leans over you, lips brushing your jawline. "Would she?" he adds with a whisper. His breath tickles, hot against your sensitive neck.

You realise your error then. It was too late. The time had passed for you to drag him home and tear the dark clothes from him in the privacy of your shared apartment.

It was happening here.

Your eyes flick quickly across the room before you're grabbing his wrist and tugging him along with you, dodging drunk friends and acquaintances as you beeline for the hallway door.

Minho chuckles behind you, letting you tug him along without resistance.

You'd let you of tomorrow contemplate the decisions you make next. When you find each room taken, occupied by a couple or a group of intoxicated friends, you tug open the laundry door and slam it behind you both. There's a small lock on the door handle. You twist it.

"You like it that much, then?" Minho says from behind you.

He's leaning against the washing machine when you turn, arms crossed—sleeves rolled to his elbows.

You take in a few shallow breaths before he's stepping towards you and lifting you off your feet. It shouldn't be as easy as it is for him to lift you on top of the dryer. He settles between your legs, hands gliding up and down your thighs a few times.

His dark hair has loosened a little over the evening, the hairspray you'd used to keep it in place off his forehead giving into the humidity and copious tousles by distracted fingers. There's a lock hanging just over one of his eyes.

You reach up to brush it aside delicately.

"I lied," Minho whispers, seemingly prompted out of silence by your action. "When I said it's pretty..." he thumbs at the hem of your dress where he's slipped it up your thigh. "...I lied." His fingers brush your skin on one thigh, the fabric of his glove is cold against the other. "Pretty isn't right," he continues. "It makes me want to hold you down... sink into you..." His gloved hand snakes up your side slowly, coming to rest at the base of your neck. His fingers are splayed out across your collarbones, just below the point that would normally make you itch to squirm away.

"Min?"

His eyes flick up from your neck. His fingers twitch against you. "Mm," he hums. It's a sweet sound, in total contrast to the way he looks at you. Like he wants to tear you apart. You find you like the idea. You also find... that you wish his fingers would inch up just a little.

It's not a thought you dwell on. Instead you reach up slowly, like he might spook, and wrap your fingers around his wrist.. then slowly... gently... you guide his hand up to your throat. His eyes stay fixed on yours; his fingers ghost light on your skin.

"Don't look at me like that," he says as your fingers squeeze his wrist. "All fucking sweet like you don't want me to—"

"Please," you interrupt.

He leans forward with a groan, lips pressing to the side of your neck. He squeezes slightly at the movement. It's enough to have you dropping your head back.

It's different. It's so different to how it'd been with a stranger, with someone other than him. This makes you want to crawl under his skin, beg him to hold you and consume you—to take you. His. His. His.

"Minho," you gasp as his lips part and suck at your neck, his wet tongue poking out to lave at the marks he leaves as he goes.

His hand stays at your neck as he works, a comforting and steady pressure. He's got you, it says.

A tiny clink breaks you from your trance. His lip ring is gone when he pulls back, fallen into the dark and bouncing off things around you as it goes. You could not care less. You tug him back towards you, hands at the back of his neck to guide him. His lips are wet and hot against yours, moving with a laziness that did not at all align with upbeat music and countdown starting outside.

His tongue slips out to meet yours, his body falling over you a little in a desperate attempt to get closer. 8...7...6... the partygoers chant. Your fingers grasp at his hair, tugging a little. He whines. 3...2... You could be anywhere... you ponder as the cheers start and the new year begins. You could be anywhere and anytime, and all that would matter would be whether he was there with you.

His breath comes out in deep gasps when you finally part. It's a brief reprieve. He's on you in the next second, tugging your hips towards his and burying himself inside you. It's your turn to attach yourself to his neck, kissing and biting your way through his sharp drives into you. The dryer bangs against the wall behind you with each one.

"This what you wanted?" he gasps as you fall back on your hands. His hands grasp your hips. One warm. One cold. "Hm?"

His lips glisten with spit, a mixture of each of you. You're about to reach towards him again, desperate to taste him, when he releases one hand from your hip.

It's the bare hand this time, that wraps around your neck. It's worse—better. His fingers twitch each time he pumps into you. Your pulse flutters against them. You can feel it.

Then he pauses, tugs you flush against him—buried deep. "My sweet girl," he says. He presses his fingers into your skin at each side of your neck. It doesn't cut off your breath, instead, your cunt clenches around him—your high taking you off guard. It's a rush, a heaviness in your head that seems to match perfectly with the heavy, fullness of his cock buried deep.

There's something deep down, an instinct designed to make the feeling of another person's hands around your neck inherently discomforting. And then... there's this.

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

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mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!