#cw age gap crush implied

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Wide little kit eyes stared up in awe, her frail, tiny white body shivering in the snow.

"Who're you?" Her breath is a soft little white puff, drowned out by the white snow and the white sky and her own white fur.

She had only just opened her eyes a mere few days ago. In her little mind the cat above her had no mouth, no nose, and no eyes. Just a black void where they all should have been.

At least not until the eyes opened.

Pupils that reflected the light off the snow against the pitch black of their face. The image would sear into her little mind.

"I am Omenmask."

-----

Sunshadow wakes in a panic, staring at her paws. Black paws.

She flexes her claws and stares at them. Turns her paw over to look at the pads. They were large, fully formed, adult cat paws. Not the tiny little white ones nearly frozen in the snow.

What was that?

She flicks her tail and looks around the warrior's den before getting up and silently padding out. She hopes Berrytail is awake.

She quietly pushes her nose past the moss hanging over the entrance. Silence greets her.

"Berrytail?"

Her voice is a low whisper, but it still feels too loud.

A soft 'mrrp?' responds and she pushes her way in. Her eyes adjust quickly and she spots the shape of Berrytail in her herb stores.

"Hey. Can I talk to you?"

"Of course you can." The sweet she-cat smiles gently, "What's bothering you so late at night? There are kits becoming apprentices tomorrow and we both know your father is going to give you one to mentor."

Sunshadow sighs.

"I had a strange dream..."

-----

"I told you she was cursed!! That wicked... thing brought her back!"

"Omenmask is a cat, Iceshadow! Just because he is in exile doesn't make him an object! He's your own son."

"That thing is no son of mine! Let him keep her, cast her out with him!"

"She is a kit!!!"

The little white kit sniffled and flinched at the yowling passed between her mother and the deputy. She pressed deep into her father's fur, and his tongue gently swept across her head.

"Don't listen to him, Frostkit."

She just sniffled again.

"That's enough, Iceshadow."

A booming voice stopped them both. Cliffstar, their leader, had interrupted.

"With Omenmask, we were sent a vision after his birth. Hollygust has had no such vision about Frostkit. If she is cursed, Starclan will tell us."

"Starclan told us when the sun vanished as she was born! Isn't that proof enough?" The pale tom whipped around to face the elderly cat, who held steady in the face of the tom's paranoia.

"No. Mountainclan is favored by Starclan. If danger is to come for us, they will tell us. As they always have. Perhaps Starclan chose to test her, to call her out into the snow to survive. And she has not only survived that, but survived Omenmask as well. That, Iceshadow, should be celebrated."

Frostkit peered out from her father's fur and saw the regal silver leader smiling at her. She sniffed again, doing nothing for the little snot bubble on her tiny pink nose, and smiled back.

-----

As a kit will, Frostkit would ask questions. Who was Omenmask? Why was he exiled? Why did his eyes look like that? Why did Iceshadow hate him so much?

Her parents tried to keep up. They told her what they knew. When he was born, Starclan had sent their medicine cat a vision of an avalanche and a black faced cat standing over it, laughing.

Cliffstar had always planned to exile him, but was kind enough to let the cat get through his training enough to survive.

And then he killed a cat from Oakclan in a border skirmish. A cat he could have let go. And so he was spitefully given his warrior name and chased out of the clan, never to receive the warmth of the warriors' den.

This is what Frostkit was told.

That the cat who'd gently held her, given her food, and carried her back to her clan was a murderer.

She was given to Iceshadow to be mentored. Cliffstar meant well by it, hoping to curb Iceshadow's paranoia and help Frostpaw come out of her shell.

It certainly helped one of those.

Iceshadow tested her, constantly. Had her spar the older apprentices long before she should have. She would end up in pain, curled up in the back of the apprentices' den and trying to sleep through the aching.

She was sent on her own to hunt a whole moon before most apprentices are supposed to. On the mountain, Newleaf was a blessing, but still perilous. Ice, now shiny and see-through and slippery from snowmelt, was dangerous on the cliffsides. But what little prey there was was stupid and young or still recovering from Bareleaf. And stupid.

She had a successful hunt. But it was because she'd found a second mentor on the mountain side, in a pine grove lower on the mountain. One who offered to teach her how to hunt alone, how to fight the older apprentices. One who knew what Iceshadow was putting her through, because Iceshadow was his father.

And she took the offer.

She would be the first to volunteer for solo missions. She would sneak out at night if she could, to go train with Omenmask.

The black faced cat with his wide, snow-blind eyes, taught her how to fight. He was a strict teacher, but kinder than Iceshadow. He taught her to fight, yes, but also how to tend to her own wounds if she ever got stranded. How to navigate even if she was ever blinded.

She was named Frostfang, for her battle prowess and sharp wit.

One day, she begged Omenmask to teach her the move he'd used to kill the Oakclan cat. She was desperate for something bigger. Oakclan had begun threatening them with war, wanting control of Dragon Stones.

Omenmask refused.

She became angry at him. And angry at Iceshadow. Angry at the other apprentices who laughed at her. Angry at Oakclan. And then angry at Cliffstar for refusing to go to war. Angry at Hollygust who had received a vision that caused Cliffstar to hesitate.

How could this be Starclan's vision? To give up Dragon Stones?? She became suspicious of Hollygust. The medicine cat was half-clan.

The new medicine cat apprentice was her younger brother, a little grey thing by the name of Ashfeather. He would be a good medicine cat. Good and pure clan and loyal and, most of all, also suspicious of Hollygust's vision. He'd confided in Frostfang that he thought she was just scared of war.

So Frostfang decided Hollygust was a liar. She must be faking visions to suit her needs. She was the problem.

But how to get rid of the problem.

She lied.

She told Omenmask that war was upon them. That Oakclan was vicious and had killed some of their warriors already. She begged him to teach her, cried crocodile tears that all she wanted was to do right by Starclan.

And Omenmask gave in. Unknown to her, he had started falling in love with her as she grew into herself. She cared about him, seemed to want to defend her clan, the same way he had when fighting Oakclan before. She was faithful to Starclan. So, they trained. Forbidden techniques in battle to kill cats, not just wound them.

They shared tongues, they spoke about war and death, and they trained.

Frostfang moved into action just a moon after their training began. She found dark mud at the lower part of the territory and smeared her face in it. She ate herbs to make her voice hoarse.

Hollygust was out foraging with Ashfeather. It was perfect timing. She ambushed Hollygust. Pretended to be Omenmask and pretended he hated Hollygust for being the reason he was exiled.

Ashfeather didn't stay long enough to realize it was his sister. He saw the dark face on white fur and hoarse yowling about prophecies and revenge and ran back to the clan for back up.

By the time Ashfeather returned, Hollygust was dead and Frostfang was nowhere to be found. Hollygust killed the same way Omenmask had killed the Oakclan cat. And with only Ashfeather's skewed account, Omenmask was dragged from his den in exile back to the camp.

Cliffstar was furious. Iceshadow vindicated. The rest of the clan gnawed at the bit for his death.

And Frostfang... guilty.

Seeing Omenmask, blind and trembling and begging to be heard out. Seeing his face drop when he's told how the cat died. The way his head turns and those unseeing eyes almost seem to instinctively know where she's at. And how they burn into her. Burn into her skull like they did when she was a kit.

And she felt small again. Cold and on the mountain side.

But as Omenmask was executed... There would be no kind exile to help her out of the cold this time.

Only his mother attended the vigil for him, and it was a vigil the mourning mother had fought for.

Frostfang found her later. Asked about him. He had been her only surviving kit. All her others were stillborn or died days later. And it was him that was cursed. Why, oh why, did it have to be him?

Something broke inside of Frostfang.

And so began the avalanche. Omenmask's mother was the first sign of collapse. She was found dead, herself, with death berry juice on her lips at the place she buried her son.

Iceshadow went mad with grief and hatred. Ashfeather pushed for war, for their right to the Dragon Stones. Cliffstar fell victim to whitecough in his last life, giving the paranoid widower leadership. All of them were little slips in the snow, pieces at the edges collapsing.

And Frostfang thought they deserved it. Every one of them. Her parents would die in the war that followed. The war would drag into Leafbare.

Frostfang became sick. Wheezing and coughing in the medicine den under her younger brother's care.

She tried not to talk much. He'd told her that using her voice would make it worse. But she had to tell him she was proud of him, how he was working so hard for Mountainclan.

Horror seeped into his face. He backed up against the wall of his den as she asked him what was wrong.

It was a terrifyingly long moment before he spoke.

"You killed Hollygust." His voice was a whimper. A cracking sob.

Her voice.

Her voice was hoarse.

Just like it had been the day she attacked Hollygust. Her ears folded back.

"She was a liar. It's her fault we didn't fight back sooner...!" She tried to reason with him, but he turned to bolt out of the den past her. And in her panic her fangs broke through the skin of his neck. The rest of the avalanche began to fall.

The clan was already in shambles.

Maybe it was because she was feverish, maybe it was because she'd just killed the last family member she had, maybe it was just madness, a prophecy realized, but she lost all reason.

The clan tried to fight back against her rampage. She tore into the she-cat who'd loved her brother when she came wailing for him after his scream. She killed that she-cat's father when he tried to defend her. And on and on down the line.

She couldn't feel her own wounds. Numb to the bone.

Icestar was the last, a coward who trembled in the back of his den as she took up the entire entrance. In her delirium, she wavered on unsteady feet and taunted him. He'd exiled his only surviving son for nothing. He was right that she had been cursed. It was his fault his mate had killed herself. If he'd just accepted his son, none of this would have happened. If he hadn't been a coward.

She killed him. She killed him nine times. There was no one left of the clan.

No one but the kits. Three little wailing kits who begged for their mother to get up. She didn't realize they were her brother's kits, had in secrecy. They were nearly at apprentice age.

She stood over them. Blood dripped from her lips, along with her own fevered drool.

"Go down the mountain. Follow the water to Oakclan. Tell them an avalanche came. Tell them it killed us all."

They fled. They ran from her like all of the Dark Forest was on their heels.

She stood there, swaying back and forth.

The Dark Forest...

That's where she was going, wasn't she?

Tears joined the blood and the drool and the cold on her face.

There was no one left to patch her wounds. No one left to remind her what herbs would soothe her throat. She turned away and stumbled into the snow. Out of the camp. She tried to get as high on the mountain as she could. To try and get as close to Starclan as she could.

She was going the wrong way. She ended up farther down the mountain. She tripped into the same mud she'd darkened her face with.

She was so cold now. So tired. She weakly moved to try and get up, but only stained her white coat more and more with every movement. She won't know how long she laid there.

But she would wake up under bright red leaves in the place of no stars with a sleek black coat, an anger that could not be quenched, and the haunting apparition of a white cat with no face. Who would never leave her alone.

[rowarn]

NEIGHBORLY.

simon riley/reader feat. soap + gaz

tags: smut, established relationship (engaged), retired!simon, neighbors!soap+gaz, afab!reader, gn!reader, age gap (not specified but i imagine 30s/20s), long winded pwp

cw: voyeurism, size difference, no foursome, cucking, throat fucking with fingers, blowjob, dacryphilia, pet names: love/lovie/sweetheart, praise, outdoor sex, cunnilingus, wet&messy, simon picks up reader bridal, striptease?, fingering, dirty talk, praise, lots of compliments!!!, masturbation, clothed/naked sex, standing sex, hand on throat!!!!!, creampie

; two guys called soap and gaz move in next door and aren't good at hiding the crush they develop on you. your fiance, simon, decides they're fun to play with.

"You had dressed up so nicely for your company and here he was, stripping it off of you in front of them instead."

8.5k words

When your fiancé surprised you by buying a quaint little house for the two of you to spend the rest of your lives together in, you were elated. It was straight out of your dreams, cute and cozy, yellow on the outside and enough room for a little garden if you so wished. It was in a quiet neighborhood but near enough to everything you needed that you could walk there if you so chose. 

It was all so perfect – living with the love of your life in your first house together. Ready to start your lives and plan the upcoming wedding. Things were peaceful and you couldn’t have been happier. 

Then the house next door sold. 

“You really have to give them away?” Simon huffed from where he sat at the table, cheek resting on his propped up hand. His lidded gaze followed you as you flitted about the kitchen, cat-themed apron covered in flour.

You laugh over your shoulder, “It’s the polite thing to do! We have to be good neighbors!”

“They smell good…” Simon muttered, only making your smile broaden as you walked over to him.

His hands found your hips when you placed yours on his broad shoulders, black t-shirt getting white specks all over it from the flour still on your fingers, “After I get back from delivering these I’ll make a whole batch just for you, deal?”

He tongues the inside of his cheek before nodding, “Let’s get it over with.”

“You’re coming?” you ask, brows raised in surprise. 

“Of course,” he huffs, giving your bottom a little pat when you bend over to grab the tupperware out of the lower cabinet. 

You giggle and carefully place parchment paper inside before organizing the cookies in a way that looks nice. You pop the lid on and make your way to the door where Simon is leaning against it with his arms over his chest. 

You try your best not to ogle him but he looks damn good; a simple pair of blue jeans fastened with a leather belt and a tight shirt that hugs his pecs and stretches the sleeves around his biceps when they flex. 

“Maybe when we get back,” you hum, slipping your feet into your slides, “You can let me suck your dick on the couch, yeah?”

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn’t do a good job of hiding the crooked smile that slips across his face. He turns his back to you and opens the door for you before following you out and down the porch.. 

His heavy boots pound against the stairs, reminding you just how intimidating his stature is. It makes you pause, halfway between your yard and the new neighbors. You turn around and look up at him.

“What?” he raises a thick brow, crossing his arms over his chest again.

“Just…” you take a few steps backwards, playfully squinting at him with pursed lips, “Stay here, okay? We don’t want to scare the new neighbors.”

“You implying I’m scary, love?” he huffs, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m not implying it, Si,” you grin, “Just stay here while I deliver these.”

“You’re the boss,” he sighs. 

True to his word, his feet remain planted right where he stands as you cross into the new neighbors yard. You hop up the stairs and ring the doorbell. 

You hear a clamoring from the other side of the door before there’s a slam against the surface and muffled cursing. You bite back a laugh before smiling politely when the door swings open. 

Two men stand in the doorway, one with a mohawk stands closest to you – probably the one who ran into the door. 

“Oh,” he clears his throat, fixing his posture before flashing you a crooked grin, “Can-can we help ye?”

The other man, with pretty, brown eyes scoots closer, bumping shoulders with the other man, “You’re from next door.”

“Huh?!” The mohawk man gawks, whipping his head over to stare at the other man, “We had a pretty neighbor this whole time and you kept it to yerself?!”

“Are those for us?” he ignored his companion and looked at the tupperware in your hands.

“Oh!” you brush off mohawks comment and nod, holding the box out, “I made you some cookies. They’re just plain chocolate chip, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” he kindly smiles and takes the container from you, fingers brushing against yours. 

“So,” mohawk rests his arm up on the door frame, eyeing you up and down, “My name’s Johnny but everyone calls me Soap.”

“Nice to meet you,” you nod your head in greeting, introducing yourself before looking at the other man who has opened the tupperware to take a cookie out.

“Kyle,” he offers before taking a bite, humming in satisfaction, “These are delicious.”

“Hey, don’t hog those for yourself, ye pig!” Soap cries, snatching a cookie out of the container before shoving the whole thing in his mouth with a moan, “These are good.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like them,” you giggle, “You can return the tupperware whenever you’re ready.”

“So,” Soap hums before you can leave, “You’re pretty and you can bake, what else can you do? How about you come in and we can get to know each other more.”

You bashfully lower your head and laugh, “I don’t think my fiance would appreciate that very much.” You gesture over your shoulder. 

Both men comically lean out of the doorway to look into the yard where Simon still stands, arms over his chest, brown eyes practically piercing through them.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Soap mutters under his breath before sighing, “Figures, I suppose. Lucky bastard.”

You shake your head tossing a little wave to Simon before looking back at your neighbors, “I’ll be seeing you guys around. Enjoy the cookies!”

You can feel their eyes on you as you go and it isn’t until you reach Simon that you hear the door shut. 

Your fiance looks down at you when you stand in front of him, “They liked the cookies.”

“Bet they did,” he hums, letting you take his hand and lead him back to the house where he proceeds to demand a fresh batch just for himself – as you promised. 

The next time you see your neighbors, it’s just Kyle. You’re outside, kneeling in the grass with your hands covered in dirt as you plant some flowers. 

“Hey there, neighbor,” a friendly voice calls from behind. 

You turn to look to see Kyle dressed in a compression shirt, shorts, and running shoes, “Oh hello, Kyle!”

“Doin’ some dirty work, are you?” he asks, eyeing the holes you’re carefully digging.

“Just getting started on my garden,” you explain, “What about you? Going for a run?”

“That’s right,” he nods, “May be on leave but gotta keep movin’ or I go crazy.”

“Leave?” you ask, sitting up straight in interest, “You’re in the military?”

His eyes light up as he nods, “That’s right. Soap and I both.” 

“You don’t live on base?” you ask, unable to hide your interest. 

“Nah, had to live in the barracks for way too long I couldn’t handle it anymore,” he laughs, a charming smile that makes you smile back, “You interested in military men, love?” he asks, flirtatious tone more than obvious.

You laugh softly, “You could say that,” his brows raise in interest, “My fiance is ex-military. Discharged at Lieutenant for an injury.”

His smile is wiped from his face quickly and you bite back another laugh, “Right, your fiance.”

“I could introduce you, if you’d like,” you offer, “Simon doesn’t really get to talk to many people who know what the military is really like–”

“That’s alright, love,” Kyle says, smiling politely, “I’ve got a run to go on, I’m sure I’ll get the chance to meet him soon enough.”

“Alright,” you wave, hands still covered in dirt as he makes his way back to the sidewalk before jogging off and out of sight. 

You finish planting and watering before you place all your tools in the shed and head back inside. Simon sits at the kitchen table, watching the tv that plays some movie from the living room. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets without looking away. 

“Hi baby!” you chirp, making your way over to the sink so you can scrub your hands free of dirt, “I ran into Kyle outside!”

“Who?” he asks, barely showing any hint of interest. 

“One of the guys from next door!” you remind him, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to wipe your hands dry, “Turns out they’re both in the military!”

“Is that right?” that finally gets his attention.

You nod, turning to look at him, “I offered to introduce you but I think they’re a little scared of you after all.”

He laughs through his nose before standing up, approaching you in a couple broad steps. He crowds you against the counter, hands on either side of you to prevent you from fleeing, “Think they wanna fuck you, lovie.”

You swallow thickly and look up at him, “Th-They’re just flirts…”

He hums, leaning down to press his lips against your neck, “Think I don’t know blokes like that? Young guys in the military like them only think about stuffing their pathetic pricks into whatever tight, wet cunts they can find.”

“S-Si, I haven’t showered yet…” you whisper when he starts trailing his lips along the side of your neck, “I was outside, remember?”

He scoffs, “What kinda man do you take me for?”

You giggle, squirming your way out of his hold, prancing past him and towards the stairs, “You can show me what kind of man you are after a shower.”

A grin spreads across his face as he chases after you, your sweet giggles music to his ears and cock already hard and heavy against his thigh, ready for you to be beneath him or the night.

He waits patiently for you to finish your shower. The second you’re out, a towel the only thing wrapped around you, he has you pinned on the bed. 

“You like keeping me waitin’, lovie?” he huffs, nipping at your jaw as he tugs your towel open so he can palm your breasts. You spread your legs for him, legging your knees rest on his hips, “Leavin’ me here with a hard-on. Got my cock achin’, sweetheart.”

“Si…” you sigh wistfully, lashes fluttering as his dirty words make you clench around nothing, “I-I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?” he grins, broad tongue licking flat over one of your nipples, “I like the sound of that. You gonna let me use that pretty cunt?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, hands coming up to grip his strong shoulders from the pleasure his tongue brings you.

“So sweet for me,” he hums, rough hands sliding down your body, over your hips and trailing along your thighs until goosebumps rise on your skin. He brings two fingers between your legs to spread your folds apart, the sticky noise audible between the two of you and it makes him snicker, “You’re this wet?”

Your cheeks burn in humiliation, “Sh-Shut up, don’t be mean.”

“Mean?” he asks incredulously, “You’re callin’ me mean while I’m playin’ with this pretty cunt?”

You open your mouth to retaliate but he slides two thick digits into your pussy. You whimper at the burn that it causes but it fades quickly when he crooks his fingers just right to prod that sweet little spot inside you. 

Your blunt nails dig into his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as he surges up to pull you into a kiss. You whimper into the kiss as he continues to stretch you open on his fingers, carefully introducing a third so you can take his cock later with ease. As you kiss, you grind your hips against his hand, his palm rubbing against your clit. The pleasure makes you sigh and shiver, a sweet little sound that makes Simon’s cock twitch in interest. 

The kiss is sloppy and wet, messy strings of spit between your lips every time you part to take a breath. Your cunt clenches pathetically around his fingers as he fucks you with them, scissoring his digits to really stretch you out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait 

“Please, Si,” you gasp, the plea making him stop, glancing over your face to see how badly you really need it. 

He sits back on his knees, flingers sliding out of your cunt with an obscene schlick. He unbuttons his jeans and moves the fabric out of the way so he can pull his hard, leaky cock free. He wraps his hand around himself, using the slick covering his fingers to lube himself up. 

“Take it off,” you whine, making him pause. 

He wants you so bad, just wants to fold you up and stuff his aching cock right in the tight, hot clutch of your pretty pussy. But the puppy-dog eyes you’re giving him has him huffing and obeying. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt so he can yank it over his head. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to run your hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling the firmness underneath your explorative fingers while he rids himself of his pants and boxers. 

Once he’s finally bare, he gives you no more time to admire his body before he’s pinning you down underneath his massive weight. You can’t do anything but let him, breathing in his scent while enveloped by his overwhelming warmth. 

He grips the base of his cock and slides the tip up and down between your folds, circling your clit to spread his precum all over it before meanly slapping the head against the little bud. The impact makes your thighs twitch and jump, a choked whimper of his name escaping your throat. 

You arch your hips just right, finally drawing the fat head of his cock into your clenching cunt. He grunts, thumb coming up to swirl against your clit.

“Oh, that feels so good, Si,” you whimper, your praise making his whole body shudder as he works his hips forward, sinking more of his cock into you.

“I know, love,” he chokes out, eyes pinned on where you slowly take him inch by methodical inch, “I treat this little cunt just right, don’t I?”

“Uh-huh!” you whimper, thighs twitching against his waist when he hits that sweet spot with practiced ease, sinking balls deep easily with how absolutely soaked you are for him, “No one fucks me as good as you, Si.”

He plants both hands on either side of your head, pulling his hips back so only the head is enveloped by your hot little pussy before he rolls his hips forward and stuffs his full length right back inside. He hits your cervix, a painful shot zaps up your spine and makes you grasp his arms to dig your nails into his skin. 

“I’m the only one who gets to fuck you, lovie,” he huffs, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as an apology for hurting you. 

His next thrust isn’t as deep, avoiding slamming against your poor cervix but still deep enough that he can grind his pelvis right against your clit every time his hips meet yours.

“Simon!” you squeal, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your orgasm building.

“Fuck, look at that,” he grunts, head hanging between his shoulders, his wild hair tickling your face as he watches the creamy mess you’re covering his cock in, “Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, lovie.”

“You’re gonna make me cum!” you sob, hands slapping against his shoulders when he suddenly redoubles his efforts, encouraged by your announcement.

“I know I am, sweetheart,” he grunts, teeth clenched, “Always make this pretty cunt cum don’t I?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” you wail, throwing your arms around his neck, nails drawing thick, red marks down his back, “Cumming, cumming, cumming, Si! Fuck!”

He curses right in your ear, one arm wrapping under your arched back to pull your chest snug against his. He grinds his cock into you, no longer pounding into the gushing heat of your pillowy cunt, humping his pelvis against your clit to work you through the orgasm. 

When you sag against him, sticky cunt still spasming around him from the aftershocks, he starts fucking you again, this time to his own end. He grunts and groans in your ear, body trembling from the effort of getting his own orgasm – his reward for making you cum nice and hard around him like you deserve. 

“Shit, I love you s’much,” he slurs, lips getting loose from how close his high grows closer. His heavy balls slap against you, aching from how full they are, needing to fill you up with the load he built up just for you, “My pretty baby, so sweet and wet for me. A nice, perfect cunt for me to fuck, shit.”

Your cunt clenches pathetically at his filthy words, hearts in your eyes as you watch how handsome he looks with his brows furrowed and his pupils blown huge, making his brown eyes appear black, “Love you, Si. Please cum inside me, wanna feel you cum, please.”

He pants, slumping against your chest as he uselessly works his hips until his orgasm finally washes over him, spilling his cum inside you with a final, long, drawn out moan. 

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he whispers, hoarse and breathless as his cock throbs and pulses, spitting out ropes of cum that fill you up just right, “Take it all.”

“Ah…Si…” you sigh softly, carding your fingers through his hair as he rests against you, waiting for his cock to stop twitching from the aftershocks before he pulls out. 

“You alright, lovie?” he coos, soothing his large hands over your body, “You did so well.”

You smile, cheeks warm and body buzzing from the incredible dick he had just given you, “Never better. You’re so handsome.”

He scoffs, rolling over to toss his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. He picks up  his discarded shirt and uses it to wipe off his softened cock, cleaning the mess of your combined cum off of himself.

You hum, “I have to take another shower. Would you like to join me this time?”

He looks up at that, eyes twinkling in interest.

One afternoon, there’s a knock on your door that interrupts your peaceful dinner preparations. You wipe your hands off on your apron and make your way to it, passing by where Simon is transferring the wet clothes into the dryer. 

On the other side stands Soap, an empty tupperware container in his hands. 

“Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, holding the box out, “Gaz and I loved ‘em.”

“I’m glad to hear it!” you giggle, taking it from his hands, careful not to touch his hands with leftover vegetable residue on your own.

“Somethin’ smells heavenly,” he groans, leaning over your shoulder to take a whiff of the aroma drifting from your kitchen.

“I’m just making dinner,” you explain with a little shrug.

“Guess you’re one hell of a cook too, huh?” he compliments, a charming smile on his face.

“I get by,” you laugh.

“Say,” he says suddenly, “Is that big bastard really your fiance?”

You blink in surprise at his bold question, “Y-Yes..?” your response comes out more as a question. 

“Is that a problem?” a deep, annoyed voice comes from behind you. 

You jump when Simon’s firm, tattooed arm wraps around your waist, “Si, you should be watching the stove.”

“You go ahead and finish up, lovie,” he mutters, kissing your temple before shooing you away from the door. 

“Ah,” Soap clears his throat awkwardly, as his back straightens, “Simon was it?”

“You’d be wise to watch your tongue,” Simon warns, “I’m not above putting you in your place.”

“Y-Yes sir,” Soap whispers, hands clasped behind his back, “I’ll be more mindful.”

“Get the hell off my porch,” Simon orders, watching the young man tuck his tail and dash down the stairs. 

Simon quietly closed the door and made his way back to the kitchen where you were plating the food, “Everything okay, Si? You weren’t too hard on him, were you?”

Simon bites back a smile and takes the plates from your hands to put them on the table for you, “Who do you think I am?”

You give him a skeptical look before taking a seat in front of your food, “I don’t want to make enemies with our neighbors, Simon.”

He sighs, taking a seat across from you, “Alright, I’ll be nice, love. I promise. I’ll go over tomorrow and apologize for bein’ rude, will that make you happy?”

“Yes,” you smile, “They’re not too bad. They’re just…rambunctious. You said so yourself, you know how their types are! They’re just flirts.”

He nods, “They’re…interesting characters.”

The next day, true to his word, the next morning, Simon is standing in front of their door. 

“Oh, hello neighbor,” Kyle greets nervously, “Is there something you need?”

“Your friend,” Simon grunts, “I’d like to talk to him.”

Kyle looks worried for a second, glancing over his shoulder where Simon assumes Soap was, “Whatever he did, don’t mind him. He’s just an idiot.”

Simon huffs out a laugh through his nose, “I wanted to apologize to him.”

“Oh!” Kyle gasps before looking back over his shoulder, “Soap, door for you!”

Soap rounds the corner and freezes when he sees Simon standing there, “Hello, sir.”

“Soap, right?” Simon says, “Listen, I was rude last night. I wanted to apologize.”

“Ah, well,” Soap shifts on his feet, casting a sideways glance at his friend, “I-I deserved it, I shouldn’t have said what I said either. Your relationship isn’t any of my business.”

Soap actually looks like a kicked puppy and Simon feels his own interest piqued, “Pretty, huh?”

“Sir?” Soap blinks in confusion.

Simon says your name, “Pretty little thing. Can’t blame you for makin’ eyes.”

“I…” Soap licks his lips, blue eyes wide in shock, “W-Well, yes, sir. Very pretty.”

Simon laughs softly, glancing over at his house where he knows you’re bustling about inside, “You think they’re pretty now. You should see them in nothing, bent over the kitchen table in tears.”

Soap’s throat moves as he swallows around the lump in his throat, mind conjuring up sinful images. Kyle’s eyes practically bug out of his head at Simon’s words.

The large man gives a tight lipped smile as a goodbye before he's stalking off of the porch, leaving the two young men slack-jawed and stunned into silence. 

When Simon’s in the safety of his own home, he places a hand over his face and lets out the low chuckles he had been holding back. 

“What’s so funny, Si?” you ask when you descend from the stairs, a laundry basket in your hands – the second load from yesterday that you hadn’t had the chance to do.

“Nothin’, lovie,” he grins, sharp canines on display, “Let me help you with that.”

“Did you make up with the neighbors?” you ask, letting him take the basket from your hands.

“I sure did,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before leading the way to the laundry room. 

You give him a suspicious look but decide not to press the issue further, instead choosing to focus on the other chores you still had to do for the day. 

Things seemingly settle down for a little while. You don’t see either of your new neighbors except for polite greetings in passing. All in all, things seem to quiet down. 

You’re relaxing with Simon on the back veranda, curled in his lap on a swinging bench with a book in your hands. Usually, you’d be scrolling on your phone but Simon was always adamant about being tech-free when you were outside together like this.

Enjoy nature and relax he would say, only laughing when you would call him an old man. 

Just as you start a new chapter in your book, Simon’s hand begins to wander. Your lips twitch as you fight smiling, watching his fingers slip beneath the leg of your lounge shorts. The feeling of his callused skin brushing against the hem of your panties already has you clenching around nothing. 

“Look so pretty like this,” he coos in your ear, hand coming from between your legs to wrap around your throat.

You smile against his lips, “I haven’t even gotten dressed yet today.”

“I know,” he breathes, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, simple kiss before pulling back to add, “You’re pretty without even havin’ to try, lovie.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I let you in my pants,” you tease, practically melting at the feeling of his thumb stroking the skin of your cheek. 

“Don’t gotta butter you up for that, do I sweetheart?” he coos, “You’ll let me right between those thighs without even havin’ to ask.”

Your lashes flutter at his words, heart pounding in your ears because he’s right. Even right now, your panties have grown sticky. His thumb traces over your lips and you open your mouth to let the digit inside. The action makes him raise a brow.

“You want somethin’ down that little throat?'' he asks. You nod your head, not caring how desperate you look, “Even with our little audience over there?”

He watches your eyes widen, clearly startled out of the moment. Your gaze flicks past his face to see your two neighbors Soap and Gaz on their back porch, both nursing beers. They look away when your gaze falls on them but it’s clear they’ve been watching the whole interaction with your fiance. 

“Don’t care,” you find yourself muttering, eyes falling back onto your fiance.

“That’s what I thought,” he huffs, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours, “Knew you were filthy, don’t mind if anyone watches you as long as your pretty cunt gets to cum, yeah?”

You feel breathless as you nod your head. Simon brings his index and middle fingers to your lips that you eagerly open up for him. 

“Good,” he praises, slowly slipping the fingers into your mouth, careful not to gag you on them until you’re ready. 

Your lips seal around the digits, rolling your tongue over the salty skin until they’re covered in spit. Then he slowly starts sliding them deeper into your mouth until the tips are buried in your throat.

“Relax, just like that, good,” he praises, cock leaking against his thigh at the sight of your eyes filling with tears. He pulls his fingers back carefully just to stuff them back in, biting back a groan when you choke around them. 

Simon casts a glance over his shoulder to see the two neighbors you were giving the show to watching with wide, unblinking eyes. Neither could take their eyes off of you as you eagerly let your fiance fuck your throat with his fingers. 

He could see Soap had his hand on his crotch, no doubt gripping his hard cock. Kyle at least had enough pride to not touch himself to the sight of you. 

You reach up to grab Simon’s wrist, signaling for him to pull his fingers out of your mouth. When he did, a string of thick drool connected your lips to the tips. The sight made his cock throb painfully, desperate for some kind of friction. 

“I want you, Si,” you whimper, reaching down to cup his hardened cock through his pants.

“Is that right?” he asks, raising a brow, “Is that pretty little pussy wet?”

You nod your head, “Want your tongue, Si.”

He licks his lips, chasing the fantasy taste of you before glancing back over to the neighbors who now don’t even bother hiding the fact they’re watching the two of you.

“Want me to eat you out right here?” he asks, subtly gesturing his head to next door.

“Don’t care about them,” you whine, a cute little frown on your face that he just couldn’t say no to. 

Before you knew it, Simon was on his knees, tugging your shorts and panties off in one fell swoop. You eagerly spread your legs, locking your arms around your knees to let Simon have as much room as he needed. 

“Look at you,” he coos, using his thumbs to spread your lips apart, exposing your drooling entrance and swollen clit. 

The little bud twitched under his heated gaze, hole dribbling out more thick juices that made his mouth water. He can’t resist the call anymore, leaning forward to slide the flat of his tongue over the length of your cunt, ending with a flick against your clit that made your whole body twitch. 

“Thaaaaat’s it, pretty,” he coos, muffled from the way he refuses to part from your cunt, “Let us hear you.”

Your mouth falls open as he starts eagerly tonguing your pussy, swirling the muscle inside your hole before coming up to wrap his lips around your clit. He eats messy, not caring for all the drool and cum that covers his face or drips down to the floor below. 

He uses his thumbs to keep your folds spread so he can focus on your clit. His tongue swirls around and around, lathering the poor little bud in a heavy film of his spit before he’s wrapping his lips around it again and sucking. 

The feeling makes your back arch and you can’t help the loud moan that tears from your throat. Your nails dig into the soft meat of your thigh, the only thing you can grab from the position you’ve chosen for yourself. 

Simon’s eyes are closed and there’s a crease between his brows of concentration. Neither of you even remembers the fact you’re outside and have an audience of two just next door. All you can think about is how good your fiance’s tongue feels worshiping your clit. 

“Si!” you squeal when he reaches up to tug the hood of your clit back, exposing the little bud for him to tongue at. It’s so sensitive that it aches but it feels too good to stop him, only able to lay back and twitch as you take it. 

He groans in response to you calling his name, cock leaking down his thigh so much that his sweats are sticking to him. Your slick drips off of his chin and he can think of nothing but how good you smell and taste – a 5 star meal all laid out just for him.

“Oh, I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, “You’re gonna make me cum, Si!”

He can’t even bring himself to pull his mouth off of you to encourage you like he usually does. Instead, he doubles his efforts, slurping and sucking at your clit. His jaw is aching but it’s barely a blip on his radar as he feels the tender little bud throb beneath his tongue. 

Your orgasm washes over you quickly and hard. Your eyes roll back in your head as your jaw falls open, a symphony of pleasured cries flit through the air. Your fiance eagerly works you through the orgasm he so easily gave you, tongue swirling and circling your clit until your thighs clamp shut and you push him away, still trembling and shaking from the aftershocks. 

He pulls back, chest heaving as he finally takes the first deep breaths he’s gotten since he started. 

“Good?” he asks, licking his lips to clean your cum off of them.

You nod, breathless, “Take me inside and fuck me, please Si.”

He’s on his feet in seconds, scooping you up bridal style before hurrying back inside, forgetting all about the book you left behind – and the audience still on the porch next door. 

You learn that Simon seems to really enjoy torturing your two neighbors when just a few nights later, he corners you in the bedroom. 

“Our neighbor’s a nosy little bastard,” he coos into your ear. 

You cast a glance over to the window where you can see Soap is lingering in front of his window, acting like he wasn’t watching and waiting to see what would happen next. 

“He’s waitin’ so patiently,” Simon says, “It’s only polite of us to give him somethin’ to look at.”

“Glad to see you’re finally being neighborly,” you tease, a cheeky grin growing on your face. 

Simon’s fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, sliding it up and up until you lift your arms and let him tug it over your head. Your bare breasts bounce free and Simon sucks in a breath at the sight.

“Fuck,” he coos, large hands cupping them, “Can’t believe I get to marry you some day.”

“We still need to pick a date,” you mutter, voice cracking when he wraps his lips around one perked nipple. 

He groans against your chest, “I’d marry you right fuckin’ now if you’d let me.”

You whimper, hands carding through his messy hair before he abruptly pulls away. He grips your shoulders and turns you so your back is pressed against his chest and you’re facing the window – and Soap, who still stands there stunned. 

Kyle pops in from the left, mouth dropping open at the sight of your tits on full display for them to ogle. Simon stares over your shoulder, watching their reactions as he gropes your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. 

You can’t stop the soft whimpers and gasps that fall from your lips as he plays with your nipples. Your thighs clench together, a weak attempt to quell the ache that settles in your cunt. You never thought you’d enjoy being watched like this – it felt so dirty and wrong but that’s exactly what turned you on. The fact your neighbors wanted you so badly that they would just watch you get touched like this. 

“You wanna give ‘em a show?” he asks, voice dark and deep in your ear, “Somethin’ they’ll be fistin’ their cocks to later?”

“Yes, anything, Si,” you whimper, hands coming up to grip his wrists as he squeezes your breasts, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Then get on your knees,” he orders, letting your chest go so you can drop to your knees in front of him, “There you go. Just where you belong.”

He unbuckles his belt and pulls his zipper down, reaching inside his boxers to pull his half-hard cock out. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly strokes himself to full hardness. 

A bead of precum oozes from the tip and it makes your mouth water. Before Simon even says anything, you lean forward and wrap your lips around the head of his cock. A soft, sweet sound comes from his throat at the feeling of your hot, soft tongue sliding over the sensitive skin. 

His hand comes down to cradle your jaw, lidded gaze watching how you start to take him deeper. 

When he feels his cock pop into your throat, it feels like the air gets punched out of his lungs. His touch moves from your jaw to your throat, feeling the way it bulges the deeper you take his length down. 

He glances out the window to find Kyle has joined watching with rapt attention at how you swallow his cock. The sight of it makes him pulse in your throat and you whimper at the salty taste of his pre-cum on your tongue. 

When you’ve swallowed all of him that you can take, you bring up a hand to stroke him to the same rhythm that you bob your head. Simon tosses his head back, brown eyes rolling into his skull at the sloppy sounds of you choking and drooling all over him. 

He feels your spit dribble down his balls and over your chin to his hand. It’s everything – it’s messy and sloppy. He can’t even bring himself to look at you, too scared he’ll blow his load right down your tight little throat before he can even fully enjoy it to the fullest. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound going straight to your cunt. You can’t help but slip your hand down your panties, finding your cunt slippery and wet. Your fingers circle your clit as you gag around your fiance’s thick cock.

“That’s it, lovie,” he huffs, “Touch that pretty cunt for me.”

Your lashes flutter at his words, rocking your hips against your own touch. Simon’s hand rests on the top of your head, slowly starting to rock his own hips, heavy balls slapping against your chin with the movement. You halt stroking him with your hand and brace yourself against his thigh, giving him permission to fuck your face as he wants. 

“There you go,” he grunts, teeth gritted, “Cum on those fingers for me and I’ll cum down your throat, yeah? Think you can do that?”

You nod your head, doubling your efforts between your legs. The mess of drool that Simon fucks out of your mouth froths and drips everywhere, the entire endeavor growing messier and messier with each thrust he makes. 

Simon watches the way your eyes roll back in your head, thighs twitching and spasming around your hand. He can feel the muffled vibrations as you whine against the cock filling your mouth. 

With a final, deep groan, Simon’s balls draw up and his brows furrow before he’s spilling right down your throat – as deep as he can. You eagerly swallow around him, taking down every single drop he has to offer. 

When he’s finally done, cock still twitching in sensitivity as he slowly softens, he pulls out. His cock was a mess, drool and cum still clinging to the skin in sticky strings. 

“Fuck,” he laughs breathlessly, “That little throat is dangerous.”

You giggle, biting your lip as he moves towards the window, sending a last look to your neighbors before drawing the curtains closed. End of the show, it seems.

You never thought about how you would feel when you’d have to face your two neighbors again. Given the fact they were actively in the military, you could go days before you caught sight of one of them again. Ever since Simon had started this little game of teasing the poor guys you hadn’t actually spoken to them face to face. 

“I invited Soap and Kyle over for dinner,” Simon muttered one late afternoon as he sipped on a cup of tea.

You nearly dropped the knife you were using to chop vegetables as you turned to look at your fiance in shock, “You what?!”

“Saw them while I was out on my mornin’ run,” he explained, taking a sip from his cup that was all too nonchalant for the utter anxiety that you felt, “Thought I’d be neighborly and invite them for dinner since we haven’t yet.”

“Simon!” you cry out indignantly, “How am I supposed to face them!?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, hiding his smile behind the cup.

“Th-They’ve watched us do all sorts of shit!” you whine, turning back around to anxiously cut the vegetables once again.

“So?” he hums, “We’re all adults. You think they can’t act normal just ‘cause they’ve seen you with a cock down your throat?”

You let out a frustrated sound, “You’re so-!”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he croons, placing his empty cup down, “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

You should have known better than to believe him. Simon seemingly couldn’t resist teasing the two men. As soon as all four of you were sitting at the table, you knew right away that this was not going to be the peaceful dinner you were hoping for. 

Kyle and Soap were painfully quiet, trying their best to keep their eyes off of you in fear of making your fiance angry. Simon was keenly aware of this and before any of you had a chance to finish your meals, he was pushing his chair back and pulling you from your own seat, your back pressed against his front.

“I think we all know what we want,” he sighs, “So why don’t we cut the shit and get on with it.”

Rough, experienced fingers slowly start undoing the buttons on your shirt. You had dressed up so nicely for your company and here he was, stripping it off of you in front of them instead. 

One by one the buttons came undone, your fiance giving you ample opportunity to stop him and back out should you decide this wasn’t something you wanted to do. But you never did.

Your breathing fastened and your heart raced in your chest at the excitement of the whole situation. Soap and Kyle sat in their seats, wide eyes following each methodical movement of your fiance until the final button was undone and they were able to see your bra. 

Kyle licked his lips at the sight of your breasts wrapped in the sheet material, giving just a hint at what was beneath. 

Soap follows Simon’s hand as it slides down your front to the button on your jeans. The button comes undone followed by your zipper, giving a little peak of the maroon colored panties you wore. 

“What do you think?” Simon asks them, nosing softly at your cheek until you let your head fall to the side, exposing your neck for him to kiss. 

“A fuckin’ dream,” Soap whispers, sounding like he’s in a daze. 

Kyle audibly gulps, too lost in a daze to say anything as his eyes practically burn holes into you. 

After pressing a kiss against your jaw, Simon finally slides the shirt off of your shoulders. The fabric flutters to the ground but you don’t have time to think about it before the clasp of your bra is undone and your bra joins it. 

Both men at the table inhale sharply at the sight of your bare breasts. 

“Prettier up close…” Kyle mutters, resting his chin on his hand, simply admiring the view before him. 

Simon takes a second to cup your tits, squeezing them in his rough hands before his thumbs hook under the band of your pants and tugs them down. You shimmy in place, helping him tug them over your hips until they pool on the ground and you can step out of them completely. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap whispers, leaning even closer from where he sits, trying to get an even better view of you standing in just a pair of pretty, sheer maroon colored panties. 

“Aren’t they so lucky?” Simon coos in your ear, one hand slipping between your thighs to cup your clothed pussy while the other eagerly gropes your tits, “Gettin’ to see you like this when only I should get to.”

“Si…” you whimper, gripping his arm in your hands as he carefully strokes you through your panties. 

“What do you say, men?” Simon asks sharply, glaring at your two guests.

“Thank you, sir,” both of them say in unison without taking their eyes off of you. 

Simon hums, seemingly satisfied enough to slip your panties down so you’re completely bared – the only one naked in the room. It made your cheeks burn in humiliation but that humiliation only made your wetter. 

Simon’s fingers slid between your folds, a sticky noise accompanying the movement. You hear him suck in a breath when he feels your slick coating his fingers. You lift your leg and place it on the nearby chair, giving both men at the table a perfect view of your pretty cunt being spread by your fiance’s fingers. 

“There you go, lovie,” he coos, “Show them how wet you get for me.”

He slips his middle finger inside, letting it slowly sink in the final knuckle. Your lashes flutter at the feeling of being stretched but it’s not enough – one finger would never be enough when you’ve had his perfect cock inside you so many times before. So Simon quickly slides his ring finger in right alongside his middle and your head falls back against his shoulder. 

You practically forget about the two pairs of eyes on you when he crooks his fingers just right and grinds the tips against that gooey little spot that makes your thighs tremble. 

“Si!” you squeal, nails biting into his wrist as you grind your hips, humping your hardened clit against his palm. 

“Yeah?” he responds, tucking you firmly against him so he can fuck you properly with his fingers. 

You’re unable to stop the cries and sobs of pleasure as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm with every press of his fingers against your sweet spot and every slap of his palm against your clit. Drool drips down your chin as your whole body twitches, eyes rolling back in your head as the orgasm builds and builds. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kyle breathes, a trembling hand placed over his mouth in awe. 

Finally, your high washes over you and you slump forward, held up only by Simon’s strong arm grappled around you. Your knees tremble as Simon’s fingers continue to fuck you through it until you’re gushing in messy spurts all over his hand every time his fingers are stuffed back inside. It splatters to the floor and drips down your thighs, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

Simon pulls his fingers out of the hot clutch of your cunt with a humiliatingly loud squelch before he pops the digits right into his mouth, humming at the taste of your cum on his tongue. 

He lifts your chin up and immediately plants his lips right on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You sigh into the kiss, cum-drunk brain getting lost in the familiar affection. You don’t even notice Simon undoing his jeans until you feel the hot, blunt head of his cock prodding your entrance. You whimper into his mouth when he simply ruts his hips, sliding the head back and forth, over your clit and back down – coating himself in the cum he had already fucked out of you with his fingers. 

“How are you boys enjoyin’ the show?” Simon asks, suddenly reminding you of their presence. 

You dazedly look at them, finding both of them sitting back in their chairs, stroking their cocks in the open. Soap’s got a thick, veiny cock that looks like it would make you cry if you tried to take it down your throat. Kyle, on the other hand, has a long, pretty cock adorned with a piercing on the tip that makes your cunt clench around nothing just imagining what it would feel like. Maybe you should ask Simon to get a piercing just to see.

“Fuckin’ incredible, sir,” Soap chokes out, squeezing his cock tight in his fist. 

Simon chuckles under his breath before his attention turns back to you, a well-practiced rut of his hips sinks the head of his cock into your warm, sticky cunt. Your mouth drops open at the feeling, eyes accidentally locking onto Kyle’s, who is watching you with a dark, focused gaze. 

You find yourself unable to break eye contact as your fiance slowly and carefully stretches you open on his cock until he finally sinks to the hilt, full balls sleeping against your clit. Your eyes roll back and you bite your lip to suppress the absolutely sinful sound that threatens to escape your lips. 

Simon groans at the feeling of being clutched so tightly by your precious cunt. Your hand comes down to circle your clit with desperate, shaky movements until you’re suddenly cumming around his cock.

“Shit!” Simon practically howls, blunt nails biting into your skin as he holds your twitching body against his through the sudden orgasm you’ve given yourself, “Cummin’ just from gettin’ my cock in you? So sweet, lovie.”

You whimper his name in a little hiccup, tearily looking up at him from where your head thumps back against his shoulder. The pathetic look in your eye is what prompts him to start moving – fat cock sliding out of you before a powerful roll of his hips ends it back deep. He prods your cervix in a way that makes pain mix deliciously with pleasure – an addictive feeling that only Simon could ever give you. 

His harsh thrusts jostle your entire body, your tits bouncing in time to the movement. You’re not able to keep quiet, every time he sinks deep, it punches a moan out from your lungs. His heavy, fat balls slap against you, only adding to the lewd sounds of squelching and moaning. 

Soap and Kyle continue to stroke their own cocks to the sight of your getting fucked. Leaking cocks squelching quietly in their own grips. 

“Shit…” Soap groans through his teeth, “Wish I could wrap my lips around that pretty clit, darlin’.”

You whimper, eyes rolling back at the very thought of having a tongue worshiping your neglected clit. With Simon’s cock stuffing you full, you know it would work the most magnificent orgasms out of you. 

As if sensing your greedy thoughts, Simon wraps a rough hand around your throat, forcing you to look up at him, “Felt that little cunt squeeze me when he said that. My cock not enough for you?”

“Y-You are!” you sob, tears filling your eyes from how he starts an even rougher pace, “J-Just wanna cum, Si!”

Your fiance scoffs at your words, harshly knocking your leg off of the chair that you had it propped up in. You cry out at  how the angle changes with his hand still wrapped around your throat, forcing you to arch your back to look up at him. His cock grinds incessantly against that gooey little spot that makes your entire body twitch every time he pounds against it. 

It’s even more difficult to keep yourself upright without the chair to help, both your knees are shaky and if Simon wasn’t holding you tight against his chest by your throat, you’d certainly be slumping to the floor. 

Simon’s hand tightens around your neck and it cuts off the noises that are escaping. Your vision fuzzes up as your orgasm builds and builds. 

“Si, Si, Si–” you choke out, drool dripping down your chin, “Please, I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum!”

“Course I am,” Simon snarls, letting his free hand drop to your clit, harshly slapping the little bud before rubbing soothing circles around it. 

That sends you over the edge, gushing all over him and down your thighs. You squeal, unable to do anything except hang on for the ride as Simon fucks you through your high until he reaches his own end – spilling his load inside you without a second thought. 

You’re left trembling and twitching, gasping and whimpering with tears dripping down your cheeks. Finally, Simon allows you to slump forward, your chest meeting the kitchen table as he pulls his softening cock from your dripping cunt. Sticky, thick strings of his cum connect to his length from your clenching pussy. He soothes his hand down the length of your spine, soothing the little trembles that still wrack your body as you come down. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Soap pants, wiping his cum-covered hand off on his pants.

“You,” Kyle adds, “are one hell of a neighbor.”

property of rowarn. do not modify, translate, or report on other websites. reblogs OK!

[storusangel]

Hey I have a little request: reader has a big crush on her best friend's older brother (could be Gojo or Geto). I like to imagine the possibilities, if she spends the night at her bff's she might run into him when she goes down to the kitchen to get some water, maybe he'll flirt a bit, maybe he's not wearing a shirt and reader is trying hard not to stare at his v line and bulge... So she makes conversation, trying to act cool as if she hasn't thought of him spitting on her pussy oops 🙈💕

a/n: so sorry this took so long!!!

w/c: 1.5k

cw: implied masturbation (by reader), tiny age gap (gojo is 23 reader is 20), fingering, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart), very slight degradation, overall it’s short and sweet! - MDNI

the first time you saw gojo satoru was at your best friend’s birthday party. he was sitting to her right as she blew out her candles and cut the cake. everything about him was mesmerizing. you couldn’t tear your eyes off of him. not when your friend’s mom called you over to get a slice. not when your friend called you over to sit with her. and certainly not when he finally stared back at you. 

years have gone by since you first met satoru and yet you still haven’t gotten over your crush on him. you think of him constantly. during class, when you’re out getting lunch with friends, and especially at night when your hands are between your legs trying to mimic what you think satoru would do. 

would he kiss you softly and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he gets you off? or would he push your knees into your chest and pin you down before spitting on your needy pussy.

you’re back home for break and so is your friend. it’s the perfect time for a long overdue sleepover. you go to her house with the sole intention of talking all night long about all the things you’ve missed out on in each other's lives during your time apart. and maybe with the slightest intention of seeing satoru as well…

the day of your sleepover has finally arrived and you rush over to her house. as soon as she opens the door you two get straight to your planned activities. After spending hours doing whatever the two of you could think of, you’re both spent. 

the two of you pick out some snacks and a movie to watch before you sleep. you’re not even an hour into the movie when you hear your friends soft snores. you sneak a few pictures of her sleeping figure to send to her later before you head downstairs to get a glass of water.

your jaw drops when you get to the kitchen. you expected to see satoru at some point during your stay. what you didn’t expect was to see a half naked satoru with gray sweatpants on that sit perfectly at his hips. his happy trail clearly visible as he grabs himself a late night snack.

“hey princess. haven’t seen you around in a while.”

his voice brings you back to life. you close your jaw and pray he didn’t see the tiny bit of drool slip past your lips. 

judging by the smirk on his face, he definitely did. oh well, you want him and he has to want you too because his sweatpants look significantly tighter around a certain area. not that you’re staring. you’re definitely stealing glances.

“i’ve been upstairs with the other gojo. we’ve been busy you know” you say as you walk towards the cabinets to get yourself a cup. 

“you miss me? i didn’t think the great gojo satoru would ever miss a girl” you joke, but a part of you hopes he did because you missed him. you missed the way he teased you and the way he smiled at you whenever you did something he knew you were doing for his attention. 

“of course i missed you, baby” the new pet name makes your face heat up. he’s behind you now, wrapping a single arm around your waist and nuzzling his face into your neck. 

“you didn’t even say hi to me. you used to always find me to say hi when you came over. do you even miss me?” he asks. it’s a rhetorical question. he can tell you missed him because your back is ever so slightly arching into him. 

“yes” you breathe out quietly. “i missed you ‘toru. i missed you so much” you’re whining now. he’s made you so needy with just a slight touch. you’ve wanted him for ages and you won’t leave until you’ve got him.

“kiss me please, satoru” and he does.

he spins you around and presses his lips into your the second the words leave your mouth. it’s messy. the way your teeth clash and how he pushes his tongue against yours.

he pulls away from you to say “you need something, princess?” 

you nod hastily, wanting to feel his lips on yours again. but satoru isn’t having it. if you want something you’re going to have to tell him what you want. and you know this so you whine out “need you, need you so bad, toru. i can’t wait anymore.”

something inside him short circuits when he hears your whiny voice he’s tossing you over his shoulder and scrambling towards his room because, fuck, he needs you too. 

you hear the door lock before you feel the soft silk of his bedsheets, the mattress sinking in on the area he tossed you onto. satoru’s on top of you ripping your shirt and pants off before smashing his lips against yours. you moan against his mouth when he ruts his hips against yours, the friction soon becoming unsatisfactory. 

you tell him that you “need more, toru” and satoru is more than happy to oblige. he wastes no time in pulling your panties down to your knees, not bothering to pull them down any further. two strong fingers rub up and down your slit in haste before he slips one in. satoru pumps his finger in three times before adding the second finger. 

trailing messy kisses down your body, satoru’s lips find your clit. his hand and lips move faster and faster bringing you to the edge more quickly than you’ve ever been brought to it. you try and warn him but you can only whine and grind into his mouth and fingers. 

satoru doesn’t mind, not right now. he wants to make you cum over and over again. there’s only one thing going through his mind right now, and it’s you. he growls a “cum for me, baby” and your body convulses at his words. you drench satoru and his perfectly blue sheets but neither of you care. 

satoru only moves up to kiss you, a mix of teeth, spit, and want. much to your dismay, he pulls back from the kiss. you see him reaching for something on his bedside table, but you stop him before his hand even reaches it. 

“i’m on the pill. wanna feel you raw, toru, please.” satoru thinks he’s dying because there is no way he finally has you in his bed and you’re asking for him to fuck you raw and come inside you? if he is dying, satoru is okay with it. he couldn’t ask for a better death than being buried inside you. 

“what a fucking slut. you want me to fuck you raw, yeah? is that what you want? You want me to fill you up? want me to give you my babies?” your moan out in anticipation, grinding your hips up in the air for any sort of friction. “please, please toru. stop teasing and just fuck me.”

you always loved to test his patience. but this time, he plays along. satoru slides his dick up and down your slit before pushing himself all the way in. you both moan when he bottoms out. “you f-feel so good, toru. always wanted this, always wanted you” you have tears in your eyes. you’re not sure what they’re from but you know you want satoru to move so you grind your hips against him, hard. 

you don’t stop. not until satoru grabs your legs wrapping them around your waist before pounding into you. the room is filled with your whines and cries of “please don’t stop” and “wan’ to cum”. satoru listens to your pleas, dropping a hand from beside your head to rub your clit with a vigor never seen before. he needs you to cum around him and he needs to fill you up immediately afterwards.

the added stimulation makes you arch into him. more tears fall, this time satoru kisses them away. soft lips press against your cheek and next to your eyes. “shhh, don’t cry. i’ll give you what you need, baby” and he does. he fucks you harder, deeper. he kisses your neck, leaving small bite marks all over. 

“c-coming!” you say as you gush all over him. satoru keeps his pace, never slowing down. your whines of overstimulation only spurring him on more. his hips stutter and his pace becomes more erratic, a telltale sign he’s close. he gets in a few more thrusts before he fills you up with his cum. 

satoru doesn’t pull out of you, not when you’ve both returned to your normal breathing and not when you try, and miserably fail, to push him off of you. “satoru-” he says your name and you turn to look him in the eye. his voice his soft when he confesses. “i love you” you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “i love you too, satoru”.

[nanaminokanojo]

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking​ things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo x you/afab reader TW/CW: angst | smut/implied smut | sorta dubcon | age gaps | aged up characters | kind fluffy | mentions of alcohol/drugs | some mafia stuff | mdni Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew. 

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense? 

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything. 

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor – at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations. 

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life. 

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card. 

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life. 

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear. 

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time. 

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract. 

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore." 

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself –"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you. 

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it. 

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car. 

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go." 

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..." 

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?" 

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20231019]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[evermoreal]

it always leads to you ࿐

pairing: simon riley x reader

genre: dad’s best friend au, fluff, smut, a touch of angst

cw: smut - this is 18+ minors dni, age gap (ghost is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s), fem!reader, reader is implied to be shorter than ghost, unprotected sex (bad idea!!!!!), praise kink (excessive use of ‘good girl’), oral (m & f receiving), face-fucking (he’s gentle abt it), ummmm a man that is Not ghost makes unwanted sexual advances, small mention of blood (someone gets a cut on their forehead). please lmk if i missed anything !!!!!!

summary: coming home for the holidays is both a blessing and a curse — cheesy music, bittersweet nostalgia, and simon riley, your father’s best friend and the man you’ve had a stupidly big crush on for years.

author’s note: hiii!! um a Few things . firstly, i seldom write smut & when i do i never post it. i have put off posting this for so long bc i was so nervous — it was originally meant to be a christmas gift to u guys 😭😭 n e ways we Prevail. also i despite being Obsessed w him i’ve never written for ghost !!!! i want to do soo much more for him & the other cod men, so if u have any reqs/ideas, my asks are always open !!! love u guys soooooo much i hope i enjoy ! 💋💋

word count: 11k (sorry 😭)

credits: title is from tis the damn season by taylor swift, and the beauuuutifullll render/edit of ghost is by user dwisesz on twitter!

before you met him, you’d heard endless stories. for as long as you could remember, your father recounted tales of his friend ‘ghost’ from the army. every time he came back from deployment, there’d be something new — ghost’s snipe from 2,700 meters away, ghost making your dad laugh so hard beer came out of his nose, ghost making a new recruit cry simply by staring at them.

there were others, of course, too; gaz, who your father had quite the soft spot for; john, who quickly became your favourite when you met him a few years ago and he snuck you a sip of wine at dinner; soap, who was new to the team but had enough passion to carry an entire army on his back.

ghost, though — he was your dad’s favourite. though he claimed to be too honourable for favourites, the way your father spoke about him made it clear. a simultaneous respect and affection woven through every recounted story.

it was a shock you didn’t meet him until your freshman year of college. your father and ghost’s leave fell around the same time, and your father had invited him to stay with your family. your father never revealed much about ghost’s history, but you knew it was dark and splattered with blood. he was alone now, and though he claimed he preferred it that way, he’d accepted your father’s invitation.

from your bedroom, you’d heard the front door creak open, and without so much as a breath you were bounding down the stairs, bare feet smacking against the hardwood. your father was in the midst of putting down his bags when you threw your arms around him. “dad!”

he reciprocated immediately, pulling you tightly against him. “hi, honey. i missed you.”

as you pulled back, he patted your head, and you spotted a shadow along the floor. following it toward the still-open door, you found a broad, menacing figure, blocking most of the sunlight. he was nearly as wide as the doorway, and the top of his head just barely made it under the threshold. over his face was hidden by a black balaclava with the faint impression of a skull along the front, faded with age and use. despite the endless stories, you were immediately intimidated, and stepped closer to your father.

your dad squeezed your arm, chuckling. “lieutenant, this is my daughter.”

looking between the two of you, simon took a slow step forward, and extended his hand. his movements were careful, like you were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

hesitating briefly, you slipped your hand into his. the warmth of ghost’s hand bled through the gloves he wore as he squeezed yours once. “nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“it’s nice to meet you, um, mr ghost.” you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye.

a low, raspy chuckle rumbled from his chest, and beneath the balaclava, his eyes creased into tiny half-moons. “just simon is fine, love.”

and, really, he didn’t even give you a chance. there was no warning, no preamble. in an instant, fear ignited into something far more dangerous — attraction.

with a warm stomach, you smiled, and tried your hardest to keep it from growing too wide. “right. um. simon. yes.” you bit your cheek. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

finally releasing your hand, he murmured, “terrible things, i assume.” his wink was quick and cheeky and certainly wasn’t meant to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and yet . . .

“mostly,” you joked, and beside you, your father laughed. it was a rude awakening — ice water splashed over your silly little daydream. this man was only a few years younger than your father — in no universe would he give you a chance, and in no world should you want him to.

as quickly and as unassumingly as you could, you excused yourself, claiming you were in the middle of packing — which was mostly true. you were due on campus in less than two weeks, and if you didn’t start now, you’d leave it until the night before and end up forgetting something.

initially, you’d dreaded spending two weeks under the same roof as simon. it was a surefire plan to end up embarrassing yourself, because you’d never really been able to act normally around a crush, especially one in the shape of a 6-foot-whatever behemoth. yet, as the days went on, that dread steadily began to lift. despite your school girl crush, simon was easy to talk to. a lot of the time he was quiet, but his eyes never wavered from you, listening intently and humming where it mattered. he was fun, too — he recommended good movies, took you shopping while your father ran errands, taught you the best places to hit a man if one attacked you.

(a picture of simon, dramatically curled up in pain after you’d accidentally kicked him in the balls during a lesson now sits in your phone’s ‘favourites’ folder).

two weeks went by far too quickly, and before you knew it, your dad and simon were lugging your belongings up and into your dorm. not a single bag was left for you — you were tasked with the important duty of telling them what went where. when all was said and done, simon handed you a tiny piece of paper with a ten-digit number scrawled messily across it.

“in case you ever need me,” he explained, warm brown eyes peering at you beneath terribly long lashes. “i know your dad’s always there, but — just in case.”

then, he’d patted your head and squeezed your shoulder, murmuring a, “good luck, kid.”

and, though he was lovely to look at and talk with and exist around, you knew it would never be anything more. no matter how desperately a silly little part of you wished it. he spent time with you because he didn’t have anyone else. never had a daughter or a niece to spoil or playfight with. it was endearing, the way he interacted with you. wholesome and innocent and if that was all you’d ever get, you’d be happy.

— ∘♡༉∘ —

college was a lot. it was simultaneously the best and worst time of your life, passing by at both a snail’s and bullet’s pace. somehow, you ended up halfway through your final year. the holidays had rolled around, leaving you on a train, weaving over the tracks as you made your way back home.

in the years you’d been away, you’d kept in contact with simon. he joined your family for every holiday, and beyond that, you texted him often. sent him photos of your proudest grades, spirit days, or yummy meals. he’d even occasionally text you first, asking how your classes were going, if it was raining there like it was here, if you got home safe on the nights he knew you went out.

the landlord he’d rented his shitty apartment from ended up selling the place and simon had to relocate, finding a place only a few minutes from your dad’s. they loved to bug you, now — sending selfies and videos. to occupy themselves on their offtime, they’d opened a car repair shop together, and it only got worse.

you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow, but you were feeling homesick and your bags were already packed. before long, you were stepping out of a taxi, bags in hand, and ambling up to the shop.

the reception area was tiny, sweetly decorated for the holidays and playing some generic christmas station. leaning against the desk was soap, slyly flirting with the blushing woman behind it.

his eyes lit up upon seeing you. “the fuck’re you doin’ ‘ere, lass?” he questioned far too loudly. immediately, you shushed him, and he caught on. “ooh, i love surprises. they’re back in the garage, workin’ away. y’want me t’film it?”

giggling, you shook your head, accepting the quick side hug he gave you. when you slipped through the garage door — opening it bit by bit, never too quickly lest it creak, soap returned to the customer.

the garage was stocked with cars in disrepair and various parts you couldn’t name if your life depended on it. the stench of motor oil, cigar smoke, and antifreeze stung your nose as you made your way over, where simon was wheeled beneath a car, thick thighs flexed inside oil-stained jeans. your father was turned away from you, bent over a shoddy metal table table and observing an array of papers. an ancient radio sat next to them, croaking out a rock song from your childhood.

“one of these days, i’m gonna teach you to use spotify,” you called, voice bouncing off the cement walls and ceiling.

a bang proceeded your words, and in the same instant, your father turned around, exclaiming your name and wrapping you in the world’s tightest bear-hug.

“we were supposed to pick you up tomorrow!” he said, voice muffled to your ears beneath the suffocating squeeze of his arms.

“figured i’d surprise you,” you supplied, stepping back from his grasp once it loosened. immediately after, you were enveloped by simon, who stunk of grease, cheap cologne, and tobacco. you inhaled; it was lovely.

“my favourite college student,” he murmured into the top of your head. “how y’been, trouble?”

when you pulled away, a dark splotch caught your eye. a small but growing patch of blood stained the top of his balaclava, turning the black fabric a murky shade of brown.

“shit! you’re bleeding!” you yelped, stepping away from him and searching your surroundings — there wasn’t much for medical supplies in a garage.

beside you, your dad was laughing; a deep, wheezy sound. “did y’hit your head?”

simon grunted, shooting you a playful glare. “if college doesn’t work out, kid, y’ve got an easy spot on the one-four-one. you’re quiet as a mouse. scared the shit outta me.”

despite yourself, you snorted. “i’ll keep that in mind. d’you guys have any bandaids?”

“there’s some in the office. bottom drawer of my desk,” your father replied, voice tinged with amusement.

“thank you, dad. simon, come. i took a first-aid course in high school.”

obediently, simon followed, keeping just a step behind as you moved through the garage. from his table, your father called, “we’re going out for dinner tonight, don’t make plans!”

“sir yes sir!”

simon and your father’s office was a small room just off the garage. carpeted, with off-white walls and dusty blinds letting in yellowish rays of sunlight. dusty photos hung from the wall; a few of you and your father; the 141; a german shepherd simon adored.

moving to the desk, you bent over and dug through the mountain of junk in the bottom drawer. the box of bandaids was shoved into the corner, bent and creased. simon copied your movements, rounding the desk and sitting on the worn desk chair.

“d’you know if you have anything to clean it with? hydrogen peroxide, saline, any kind of antiseptic?” you questioned, opening the drawer above it, which contained only invoices and a chequebook.

humming, simon stood, moving to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. at the roll of your eyes, he chuckled. “it works, doesn’t it?”

“i suppose it does,” you replied, collecting the fast food napkins you’d spotted while searching for the bandaids. then, after he’d sat once more, you softy placed your fingers at the bottom of simon’s balaclava. “may i?”

whenever simon’s eyes met yours, your breath hitched. every single time. whether it was because of that stupid crush that never went away or because his gaze were simply so intense, like an entire world existed within small pools of deep brown. pulling you in, drowning you. it was impossible to look away.

again, he hummed, granting you permission. gently, you rolled the fabric up, revealing his face inch by inch. this wouldn’t be the first time you’d seen his face — he spent far too much time around you to hide it. he still wore it more often than not, though, and every time he bothered to tug it off, it was like seeing it for the first time. roman nose, full lips, the scar across his brow, the prickly dusting of facial hair along his jaw. it was a shame he hated photographs — you’d frame it if you had any less sanity.

in your distraction, the tension had grown thick, humming in the silence of the room. clearing your throat, you took the whiskey from him, turning it over in your hands. “this stuff is shit.”

his face twisted. “how the hell d’you know what whiskey tastes like?”

snorting, you uncapped the bottle, and began to soak the corner of a napkin. “y’know, riley, i’ve been legal for a while now.”

his lip twitched, forming a crooked smile. “i know. it’s hard not to. y’keep growing. every time i see you, you’re . . .”

he trailed off. placing a gentle hand on his forehead, you tilted his head backward, and began to gently wipe at the cut. “i’m what?”

imperceptibly, he shook his head, careful not to jostle you. “more of a woman.”

you barked a laugh at that, and his smile grew. “more of a woman? what does that mean? i had tits when i met you, simon.”

simon rolled his eyes. “that’s not — what i meant. you’re . . . not a kid. you’re meaner now, for one.”

resuming the cleaning of his wound, you pouted. “mean? you wound me. maybe i’m just not scared of you anymore.”

“no, you’re not mean. always been a sweetheart.” his eyes fluttered shut beneath your ministrations. “you were scared of me?”

you giggled, and placed the bloodied napkin in the trash. then, you dug out a bandaid. “no, not really. nervous, maybe. intimidated.”

“is my handsome face really so daunting?”

this time, your laugh was lacklustre — he’d hit the nail straight on the head. “you’re bigfoot in a skull mask. before you spoke, i was a bit nervous.”

“but you’re not? now?”

peeling the parchment from the back of the bandaid, you met his gaze. “no. why would i be?”

this time, it was simon that looked away. you delicately placed the band-aid over the cut, before he said, “thank you, angel.”

you smiled, and, like you were drunk of the proximity of him, placed a quick, daring kiss to the band-aid. “if i wasn’t such a generous nurse, i’d say you owe me. you’re lucky.”

simon breathed laugh, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the tops of his cheeks were pink. clenching and unclenching his jaw, he murmured, “lucky indeed.”

— ∘♡༉∘ —

in hindsight, believing your high school friends were capable of growing up was one of your less intelligent ideas. call it boredom or stupidity, but when a few of your old friends invited you out to the bar, you were compelled to accept.

it, unsurprisingly, went dreadfully. the first half of the night was fine — the first round of shots was purchased by one of the sweeter ones. you caught up over murky-coloured cocktails, swapping stories about your new lives and reminiscing over your old ones. the alcohol warmed your skin and loosened your limbs. the night went on and the amount of patrons doubled; you recognized a lot of them from old classes or bus rides or kindergarten friendships.

a boy from high school, one that hadn’t said a single nice thing to you in the entire four years, approached you with something that was supposed to be a smirk. you were polite at first, nodding along to his slurred words, exhaling when he attempted a joke. he dragged a hand over your thigh, and when you shifted away he easily followed. you excused yourself, muttering something about using the restroom, and he took it as an invitation.

“y’like it public, huh? never took you as the type,” he garbled, sliding off the barstool and following your movements. “i like whatever you like, baby.”

“no, i — actually need to pee,” you stated, glancing around the bar for your lost friends. he stared at you for a long minute, eyes narrowing.

“mm, fine. i’ll — i’ll pull up my car, we can head back to my place.”

“no, i—” you began, eyeing his sleazy grin and glazed-over leer. “i don’t want to go home with you. i’m not interested. i’m sorry.”

it takes a few moments for him to wrap his head around your words; each one spelled out across his face as it’s processed. finally, his expression twisted into a sneer.

“should’ve fuckin’ known not to waste my time with you,” he barked, unfocused eyes glaring daggers at you. “once a whore always a whore, huh?”

the most embarrassing part of this was the tears. you didn’t let him see them — too prideful to let them fall before you muttered a “fuck you,” and escaped out the side door.

the night air was freezing, twinged with the sharp bite of early winter. without a jacket or alcohol — you’d sobered up as soon as his hand touched your leg — to warm you, you were left hugging yourself, digging your phone out of your purse.

you could have sobbed when a red battery symbol lights up the screen, before flickering back off, dead. you just might have had you not spotted a pay-phone a few meters away.

there were only a few coins in your purse. had it not been kept for just-in-case situations like these, there would be none at all. shoving a few into the coin slot, you dial the number you’d had memorized from childhood.

it rang several times, wind whistling in your other ear, before your father’s voice stated, “sorry, can’t reach the phone. leave a message.”

a choked sound left your throat. what the hell were you supposed to do? most of your friends had split off into tiny sub-groups, and you were too ashamed to ask any of them for a ride. there was the option of asking a bartender to call a cab, though the idea of that was, for no real reason, profusely embarrassing. then, you remembered the one other phone number you’d memorized.

you don’t really know why — there was no reason for you to remember it, especially over any other phone number. yet, when he’d handed you that crumbled sheet of paper, your eyes had traced over the shapes of the numbers, and for some reason committed them to memory with no further effort.

whatever the reason was, you didn’t feel like questioning it. you were merely thankful you did. with cold fingertips, you pressed the digits into the payphone.

he picked up on the fourth ring. “who’s this?” was the greeting.

“it’s me,” you replied, and you barely were able to finish saying your name before he was cutting you off.

”what’s wrong? are you alright?”

huffing a quiet laugh, you said, “‘m fine, simon. i just—” you sighed, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. “i went out with my friends, an’ i—i’m just not having a good time. i tried to call my dad, but it’s past ten, so he’s passed out. i’m sorry—”

“where are you?” he asked, and there was a rustling in the background.

there were only a few bars in town—he knew immediately where this one was. “i’m on my way, i’ll be there in ten. are you in a safe spot, sweetheart?”

“i’m in a telephone booth. my phone died.”

“of course it did. would you be willing to go in an’ ask the bartender to use the phone?”

“no.”

“alright. okay. just stay on the line with me then, okay? d’you have any extra change, in case y’run outta minutes?”

”yeah. i should be good. i’m—listen, si, i’m really sorry—”

“if i hear that word come outta y’r mouth again we’re gonna have issues,” he said, and you laughed despite yourself. “‘m glad you called. now i’ll get t’see your pretty face.”

a girlish giggle sounded from your chest, and if it weren’t so damn cold, you might’ve been embarrassed. “i hate bars.”

“y’go to the wrong ones,” he replied. “one day i’ll take you out to one of my favourites. show you a decent drink.”

“my drinks are decent,” you argued. there was a whooshing sound on the line, and you panicked. “you’re not driving your motorcycle, are you?”

“didn’t have anything else with me,” he said. “y’got a problem with my harley, trouble?”

“your harley is a death machine.”

simon chuckled. “i’ll drive slow with you.”

“you should be driving slow now.”

another laugh. “i’ll be there in three.”

“simon!” you admonished. “you said ten!”

“that was four minutes ago.”

shaking your head, you said, “your lack of self-preservation should be studied.”

in the few seconds he took to reply, your teeth clacked together, and simon swiftly asked, “are you chattering?”

your lack of response served as one on its own, and he continued, “doll, what’re you wearing in this telephone booth?”

“um,” you started, chewing your bottom lip. “a skirt.”

“and a jacket?”

“uh.”

“christ,” he swore. “your lack of self-preservation should be studied. it’s not even 5° out.”

“jackets are a lot of work to carry around in a bar,” you argued, though you knew it was fruitless. “and i wasn’t really planning on spending any time in a telephone booth.”

“y���should always prepare for the worst,” he stated. “what if i hadn’t picked up, hm?”

“you always pick up.”

for a short moment, the other line was quiet, with only the quiet whoosh of the wind brushing past the speakers. then, “yeah, i do.”

the way he said it — so tenderly, like an admission — had any response dying on your tongue. your heart felt oddly warm, and didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, curling and uncurling the phone cord around your fingers.

“‘m here, trouble,” simon said, saving you from further awkward silence. a headlight glared against the glass of the phone booth, hallowing fingerprints and rain stains. squeaking out an, “okay,” you hung up the phone with a click and stepped out.

he was off his motorcycle already, immediately tugging off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders before pulling you against him.

“god, you’re a fuckin’ ice cube, sweetheart,” he said. he held you like that for a while, arms wrapped so tightly around your frame that you worried you’d morph into him. not that you minded — he was warm.

afterwards, simon cupped your cheeks, tilting your head upward as he examined you, as if you were ill or injured. furrowing his brow, he asked, “were you crying?”

you attempted to look away, ashamed, but in his grip it proved futile. “not much.”

“what happened?” he asked, and there was something in his voice, laced in the low rumble of it, that sounded threatening. it wasn’t meant for you, that was clear — he’d never direct anything hostile toward you. before he had even the barest idea of who or what made you cry, he was already furious at it.

“it’s nothing.”

“tell me,” he demanded. then, softer, “please. i just — need to know.”

moving your gaze from a far-off shape in the night towards his, you were unable to keep it from him. “i—this guy. i went to high school with him.”

a spark lit his gaze. “what’d he do?”

for a few breaths, you were quiet, trying to sort the words into something only mildly wrath-inducing. “he wanted, um, to take me home. i didn’t want to. he got upset.”

the spark caught, lighting his gaze into a furious blaze. even beneath the balaclava, you could see his jaw clench. he stepped away from you and set on a warpath toward the bar.

“simon—no,” you yelped, hurrying to catch up with him. it was a difficult task—your shoes weren’t comfortable and his long legs moved swiftly. finally, you caught his leather sleeve in your grasp. “don’t. please, don’t.”

at the sound of your voice, soft and warbled, he stopped, turning to face you once more, and whatever he saw on your face had his eyes softening.

“i don’t want to deal with him any more than i already have,” you said, staring up at him. “i just—i just want to leave. can we go to your house, please? i don’t want to be alone. i don’t want to think.”

the neon bar lights cast strange shadows across your frames, illuminating you in various bright colours as you stood, gazes caught in one another. simon seemed to fight with himself for a moment, fury and something far more tender battling for authority. the latter won out; he exhaled a long breath, hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him once more.

“let’s go, yeah?”

you nodded, following with your arm wrapped around his as he led you to the bike. attached to the back was an extra helmet, which he placed atop your head, adjusting it with a heady stare you couldn’t meet. the helmet smelled like pine and tobacco and vanilla and simon — it was everywhere, and you blissfully drowned in it.

when it was to his satisfaction, he tugged his gloves off and pulled them over your fingers. they were large and loose on you, and they were still warm from his skin. afterward, he pulled his own helmet back on, and held a hand out, helping you onto the back of the machine. large hands adjusted your hips, manhandling you into the right position, and it took everything in you not to make some sort of embarrassing squeak.

“okay,” he murmured, bent over your shoulder. “i’m gonna sit on the front here. you’ll have your arms wrapped around my torso, okay? and you’re not gonna let go, at all. yeah?”

you nodded. “mmhmm.”

“i need to hear your words, love.”

meeting his gaze for the briefest second, you repeated, “i won’t let go.”

“good. i won’t too fast with you, but if y’need me to pullover, just let me know, yeah?”

another nod, and this time he gave you a pointed look. “i’ll let you know,” you stated, lips just barely twitching.

with a gloved hand, simon pat your helmet and mounted the bike. after the briefest moment of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his middle. even through the leather, he was warm; you couldn’t help but burrow a bit further into him. with merely a glance at simon, it was obvious he was built — far more than any other man you knew. to feel it beneath you, though, was an entirely separate thing. he was solid and unyielding but not harsh; a thin layer of fat kept him just soft enough.

“good girl,” he praised, patting the hands you’d entwined in front of his belly. you pressed your eager grin between his shoulders.

the motorcycle rumbled beneath you, and, slowly, he eased the gas, weaving through the tightly-crammed parking lot. just as he was about to exit the lot, he asked, above the exhaust, “you alright?”

“mmhmm,” you hummed, cheek pressed against leather. then, “yes.”

with that, he accelerated onto the road, joining the late-night traffic. the wind whistled in your ears and bit at your exposed legs; you pressed yourself further against him, and his back vibrated with the sound he made in acknowledgment. above, yellowish streetlights warmed the pavement and passing cars. gas stations and markets and various homes passed by in a colourful blur.

at a red light, while you sat still, simon’s hand came down, brushing over your knuckles in slow circles. the movement was featherlight and you wondered if it was unconscious — as soon as it flicked back to green, he moved the hand back to the handles without any acknowledgment.

the ride to his place was closer than it would have been to yours. simon lived in a small, red brick townhouse, far enough from downtown to be quiet, and close enough to access it without any hassle. he could afford better, though he opted for this because ‘it was all he needed.’ a stove to cook on, quiet neighbours, and a bed to sleep in — these were his only requirements.

steering the motorcycle beside the curb, he parked it there, and leaned backward into you. “how was that?” he asked. the world seemed strangely quiet without the hum of the engine.

“fast,” you said lamely, honestly. “not as bad as i thought, but i still prefer cars. they have walls. and heat.”

simon laughed, shaking his head. the sound echoed through his shoulders, which you were still pressed against. “when i get you a jacket i’ll make sure it’s heated.”

the idea of simon purchasing you a leather jacket to ride with him more often — it made your face heat up and your cheeks ache with a restrained grin. you were barely able to get yourself under control before he was sliding off the bike and offering a hand to you. even with his help, maneuvering your way off with mostly-numb legs was a difficult task. you just barely were able to land steady-footed on the pavement. as if simon knew this, he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked up the steps to his home.

inside, it smelled like simon. pine, english breakfast tea, and something unique to him. the only thing missing was the stench of a cigarette; you knew he refused to smoke inside.

the decorations were minimal yet cozy; it was surprisingly neat. besides the pair he’d just kicked off, the shoes were lined up along the wall. you’d been inside very few times, and never long enough to observe. in the living room, the lamp was still on, bathing the room in warmth. there was a cup of tea on the coffee table, only a few sips left. beside it was a novel you didn’t recognize, dog-eared halfway through.

every detail felt important, like a glimpse into him. had the bar not left you feeling sticky and unkempt, you could have stayed here observing for hours. yet, your shirt felt suffocating across your chest, and the nape of your neck felt sweaty despite the earlier chill.

“um,” you began ungracefully. “do you mind if i use your shower? i feel . . . icky.”

his lips twitched at your choice of words, and he nodded. “yeah. lemme show you the bathroom, sweets.”

following him up the stairs, he directed you to the bathroom, pulling two towels out of his linen-closet. then, he said, “shower’s fuckin’ complicated. too fancy. lemme get it started for you.”

you watched as he ducked in, fiddling with buttons and knobs until steam danced over the glass doors. afterward, he looked back at you, peering at your figure. “that’s not very comfortable.”

you followed his gaze, glancing over your outfit. “well, no.”

he huffed. “i’ll get y’something of mine,” he stated, and made his way toward the door. “i’ll leave it on my bed, yeah? just down the hall. if y’need anything, sweetheart, just shout. i’ll be downstairs.”

giving a soft smile, you nodded and said, “okay. thank you, simon. really.”

“no need. i’d let y’live here if it meant never going to that fuckin’ shitehole again.”

“it wasn’t that bad of a bar.”

he gave you a dead-pan stare. “shite. hole.”

amused, you rolled your eyes, and pushed the door shut. on the other side, you heard a chuckle — the smile that bloomed on your face at the sound was unbidden.

it’d be a lie to say it didn’t feel strange to strip in simon’s house. the fact that only a few walls stood between you sent a strange thrill through you. it was in your best interest to ignore it — your heart and body had incredibly inappropriate reactions to the man, and tonight they seemed to be at an all time high.

he was being kind, nothing else.

once your clothes were peeled off and discarded on the tiled floor, you stepped into the shower. immediately, the warmth enveloped you, melting the tension out of your muscles and washing it away.

simon didn’t have much of a selection when it came to soaps. you were thankful he had a decent face wash, though — at least there were no three-in-ones.

the body wash smelled lovely — that dizzying, woodsy scent native to simon danced alongside the steam in the bathroom as you lathered it across your skin. though it was tempting to stay for longer, you didn’t want to waste too much of his water. you stepped out, and wrapped a shockingly soft towel around your abdomen.

the house was quiet when you stepped out of the restroom, clothes collected in your hands as you padded toward simon’s bedroom. this was the one room you hadn’t yet seen, though you could have predicted quite a bit of it. neat, minimal decorations. a king-sized bed because anything smaller wouldn’t fit him. folded atop were joggers and a sweatshirt.

it wasn’t a surprise you had to roll up the pant legs until they were ridiculously cuffed at the bottom. the sight of yourself in the mirror made you snort; you were drowning in simon’s clothes. butterflies swarmed your tummy, too—you were in his clothes, like you belonged to him. the train of thought was dangerous, you quickly looked away.

exiting his bedroom, you heard a quiet, continuous popping sound. padding down the stairs, you followed it into the kitchen where simon stood, collecting a bit of butter and a salt shaker.

though your steps were quiet, simon’s eyes were on you before you even stepped inside the room. his gaze swept your figure, dwarfed in his clothes, lingering just long enough for you to catch it before he was shifting it away, jaw twitching beneath his balaclava.

after a moment too long, he said, “hey, trouble.” his voice was low. “making popcorn. there’s tea.” he gestured with his chin to the counter where two mugs sat, one of which you’d gifted to him nearly three years ago now. a black cat was painted on the front, a grumpy expression wrinkling it’s little face (“it reminds me of you,” you’d said). in a significantly less interesting mug was your tea, several shades lighter than his black.

“thank you,” you murmured against the lip of the glass, wincing slightly when a sip burned your tongue.

“do you—” he began, taking the popcorn out of the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. “how’s a movie sound?”

you grinned. “it sounds lovely.”

“there’re dvds in the cupboard out there,” he explained, sifting the butter and salt through the popcorn. “take your pick.”

a snort. “why am i not surprised you still use dvds?”

simon raised a brow. “i spend half my life in barracks. netflix is a scam, love.”

“sure,” you said, grinning impishly. “grandpa.”

despite your teasing, his movie collection was vast. a lot of them you hadn’t heard of, though you picked out a familiar one, presenting him with your choice when he joined you in the living room.

“diehard, hm?” he gave a crooked smile. “tis the season, i suppose. you have good taste, sweetheart.”

“i know,” you stated proudly. “but you should keep complimenting me.”

simon huffed a laugh, and placed the disc in the dvd player. “i already feed your ego too much.”

making yourself comfortable on his couch, you agreed, “you really do.” then, when he procured a blanket and draped it across your lap, you snorted. “this isn’t helping.”

placing the popcorn between you, simon tugged off his balaclava and shoved a few pieces in his mouth, saying, “sorry, sweets. can’t help it.” his smile was lopsided and boyish, charming. the tv flickered on, basking the room in a blueish glow, before simon clicked ‘play’ on the movie.

together, you watched the opening scenes of the movie. a few jokes were muttered back and forth, but, other than that and the sounds of the film, it was quiet. the popcorn was delicious, lathered in an unhealthy amount of butter and salt, you shovelled it into your mouth.

the tea, too, was lovely. warm and sweet, and, combined with the comfort of simon’s presence, you were sleepily lulling back into the plush couch. with low eyelids, you tried to make yourself comfortable, manoeuvring your body this way and that. huffing, you stared down at the couch, searching for a decent position, when you spotted simon’s lap.

all muscled and soft, he’d make the perfect pillow. would he mind? you sincerely doubted he would. it was innocent, after all. you simply wanted to relax. the only one it might be awkward for was you, and if you could get past your stupid crush for a single hour, it’d be perfect.

after one more moment of doubt, you stretched yourself out and hesitantly laid your head on simon’s lap. beneath you, he tensed for a moment, and you just about thought you’d fucked everything up before he relaxed back into the couch. a large hand made a home on your back, running soothingly up and down your spine.

laying against simon like this — it was so peaceful. your mind hushed to a low hum as you nestled further into him, eyes trained on the screen. his fingers trailed upward, tracing a pattern on the nape of your neck and returning south.

the movie was entertaining, though you felt yourself slipping into sleep. occasionally, simon’s fingers would slip over a ticklish slip of skin, and you’d shiver, causing him to exhale a chuckle.

slowly, as your mind quieted, so did the sound of the film, until it was an unintelligible mumble. the world started and ended with simon’s thighs beneath your cheek, and his hand against your shoulders.

against your eyelids, the screen was bright, lighting them up uncomfortably. huffing sleepily, you pressed your face into simon’s lap, burrowing further in an attempt to make yourself comfortable. beneath you, something firm prodded against your cheek, and at once you were very awake.

simon, suddenly, stiffened. the hand on your back halted, fingers hovering over your skin before dropping away completely. “oh, fuck—christ, sweetheart, i’m so sorry. i’ll drive you home, okay? or—i’ll call a cab, if you’d rather that—”

“simon.” the word was firm enough to catch his attention, quieting him if only for a moment. your mind swam—a mess of confusion, lust, excitement, and need. when it proved too difficult to sift through, too impossible to cohere, you voiced the one word you could manage:

“please.”

despite the long-forgotten movie being your only source of light, the reaction simon had was the clearest you’d ever seen. his breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly. his gaze, so dilated it was almost entirely black, narrowed on your face. it darted between your features, like he was searching for some sort of hidden meaning in your words, like he didn’t quite believe you.

in retaliation, your hand, trembling only slightly, came up and grazed the too-large tent in his trousers. immediately simon’s hand gripped your wrist, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling sharply.

“kid—” he said then, and the word was wrapped in molten heat. it was gravelly in a way you’d never heard before, a rumble in his chest. goosebumps broke out along your skin. “don’t start something you’ll regret.”

“i’m not,” you stated bravely, daringly. you adjusted your position, only to face him better, and he did not let go of your wrist. you hoped he couldn’t feel the rapid thrum of your pulse beneath his thumb. “please, simon. i want this. i’ve wanted this.”

that snagged on something in his brain; caught his attention and held it. he stared at you, intense as ever. behind his gaze was a dilemma; a war you could only see traces of. after a few suffocatingly long moments spent beneath heavy tension, something won out, and the grip on your wrist loosened.

immediately, with years of want behind your touch, you grazed your hand over his clothed length once more. the breath in your chest stuttered when you grasped it, feeling just how big he was beneath your fingers.

a sound rumbled in simon’s chest; a groan of sorts. exploratorily, you tilted your head down, holding his burning gaze as you brushed your lips over his trousers.

“fuck,” simon cursed, hand grasping the back of your skull. he didn’t push or move you at all; he simply held it there, like he couldn’t bare to not be touching you himself.

the button of his trousers was difficult to undo with shaking hands, but you managed, pulling down his fly barely seconds after. with uneven breaths, you delved beneath the band of his briefs, pulling him up and out of the fabric.

the sight of simon’s cock was enough to get you off on it’s own; too thick for one of your hands to wrap around it, long enough that it bobbed against his shirt as you stared, too entranced for embarrassment. he was uncut, and there was a mound of curly, dirty-blond hair at the base, trimmed just enough to stay out of the way. you exhaled, breath ghosting along his length. the grip simon had on you tightened

again, you looked up at him. simon’s gaze was unwavering, as if looking away was some sin he was too pious to commit. it was then, as he gazed down at you with a burning gaze, that he seemed to read something in your expression. a pleading, a search for guidance. whatever it was, it had him speaking. “go ahead, sweet girl. get y’mouth on me.”

like his words triggered some sort of instinctual response in your body, your mouth was immediately moving. you licked a long, languid stripe from base to tip, revelling in the warm, salty taste. then, your lips wrapped around the head, suckling slightly before descending another inch.

“fuck,” he cursed again, hand moving in soothing circles against the back of your skull. “good fuckin’ girl. such a good listener, aren’t you?“

the words pulled a whimper from your throat. you released his dick for the briefest moment, a string of saliva connecting you, before wrapping your lips around him again, hollowed cheeks taking as much as you could manage. the fact that it was only half was disappointing.

“christ, angel. y’mouth is — heaven. fuck.” the choked sound of his voice only emphasized his point. when you made another noise, something between a whimper and a whine, he chuckled, and said, “like me talking to you like that? telling you how good you are? fuck, y’re so sweet. my sweet girl.”

moaning against him, you attempted to take more. betrayed by your gag reflex, you pulled back, choking, eyes glistening with tears.

simon cooed, hands cupping your jaw and thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear that’d escaped. “oh, angel, y’don’t need to take so much so fast. you’re doing so well. lemme show you. is that okay? can i help you?”

swallowing the excess drool in your mouth, you nodded, and his eyes crinkled with a smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“words, love.” though his voice was soft, it was a command. “thought i taught you this already.”

“please,” you whispered. “show me how,” his face was close enough to see the thin wrinkles around his eyes, the soft dusting of a five o’clock shadow over his jaw. “wanna make you feel good.”

simon’s lips curved before they pressed against yours, all gentle and soft like you’d break if he were any rougher. it was inebriating to be treated so reverently, hands holding your jaw like you were something precious. simon made you feel like you were.

his lips moved languidly. he took control of it easily, guiding your lips with his own. he didn’t escalate it, didn’t shove his tongue into your mouth like so many other boys had. he kissed like he found pleasure in this alone.

arms tangling around his neck, you gently ran your nails over the nape of his neck, where fabric met skin. simon groaned, softly nipping at your bottom lip. you giggled.

as much as you adored this — you’d kiss simon for hours if he’d let you — you were getting impatient. you’d gotten a taste for him, and you were quickly becoming addicted.

when you pulled away, he let you, stare darting between your kiss-swollen lips and glazed-over eyes. he watched your gaze trail back down to his crotch, and chuckled quietly.

“eager thing, aren’t you?” he questioned, leaning in to press one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. “go ahead, trouble.”

you didn’t need to be told twice — keeping your head on his lap, you laid out on your belly, across the couch. his hand found your head again, and this time, he gently guided you forward, allowing your lips to find his cock once more.

“that’s it, love,” he murmured. he had you stay like that for a while, suckling contentedly on the head and lapping your tongue over his slit.

“if y’need to come up for air, tap my thigh, alright?” he instructed. you nodded, before correcting yourself, allowing him to slip from your mouth only to voice, “okay.”

simon exhaled, the sound shaking towards the end as your long laved the underside of the head. “good fuckin’ girl.”

though you’d blown guys before, this — simon — was different. something about him, his scent or the sound of his voice or simply his presence, created a haze that had your mind going cloudy. with your lips wrapped tightly around his cock, your world started and ended with simon riley.

little by little, he inched you down his cock. never too quick and never too much. in that moment, he seemed to know your body better than you. always stopping just before your gag reflex was triggered, just before your limit was reached.

“look at you, breathing outta your nose. you’re a natural.”

your breathy moan vibrated against simon’s cock; his thighs tensed, though he didn’t buck his hips or push you down. he continued his languid pace, inching you down only when you could handle it.

“so good,” he muttered. at this point you’d taken more than half of of him. breathing steadily out of your nose, you used a spare hand to grip the remaining length, pumping it in time with your mouth. “fuck. ah, angel, ‘m gonna cum if you keep tha’ up.”

spurred on, you hollowed your cheeks and took another inch, blinking away tears. his pelvis barely a few centimeters from your nose, now, and with one last deep breath, you swallowed back the rest of his cock.

“fucking christ—!” simon swore, pulling you off of him as gently as he could manage. you sputtered, coughing and sniffling as tears ran freely from your eyes.

“oh, none of that now, love,” he cooed, big hands cradling your jaw as he kissed away your tears.

“did i do something wrong?” you asked. your voice was raw.

“no, no. of course not, love. you could never do anything wrong,” he stated, pressing a lingering kiss to your hairline. then, he chuckled, warm breath ghosting along your skin. “‘m not as young as i used to be, pretty girl. ‘n if i’m finishing tonight, i want it to be in this sweet cunt.” to make his point, he cupped you over your panties, which had become embarrassingly wet over the last bit. sensitive, you whimpered, curling further into him and grinding down. “how’s that sound, hm? y’gonna let me fill y’up?”

vehemently, you nod, gripping the wrist that’d snuck up your skirt for support. “please. yeah, yeah. i want that, si.”

with shaking hands, you gripped the bottom of your top in an attempt to yank it off. swiftly, simon stopped you, one hand large enough to catch the both of yours. “mm-mm. if ‘m gonna fuck you, ‘m gonna do it proper. y’deserve better than a shitty couch, dove.”

in the next breath, you were swept up into simon’s arms, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. a high-pitched squeak escaped you and tapered into a laugh as he carried you up the stairs, towards his bedroom.

“such a gentleman,” you joked, toying with the collar of his shirt.

“i try’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your palm when it cupped his jaw.

after closing the door behind him, simon gently dropped you on the bed. you giggled as you bounced, bracing yourself on your elbows and looking up at him. for a moment, simon stood, gaze locked on your frame, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“fucking hell,” he cursed, finally. “you’re a dream.”

“a dream?” you echoed, grin simpering into a smirk. “y’been dreamin’ about me, riley?”

in a single, fluid motion, simon tugged his shirt off. he was a mass of muscle, age just barely softening his edges. tattoos ran up his arms and across most of his chest, where hair the same shade as his happy trail grew.

“‘course i have,” he answered, like it was obvious. then, he kicked off his slippers and fit himself between your legs, arms bracing himself just inches above you. “making me act like a fucking teenager again, wakin’ up to wet boxers.”

the thought of simon having wet dreams about you made your head spin. dumbly, you blinked up at him, and found yourself unimpressed with the balaclava still covering the upper-half of his face.

“can i?” you asked, voice quiet enough you wondered if he’d even be able to hear it. his small smile, though, gave him away. he nodded.

little by little, you rolled the offending material upward, revealing every mesmerizing inch of his face. tossing it to the side, you took a long moment to admire him: the long blond lashes, the sloping scars, the light spattering of freckles, his crooked nose.

“y’so pretty,” you stated, honestly. rose blossomed across his cheeks and nose, leaving you with a wide grin. simon pressed a kiss behind your ear, though you had a sneaking suspicion it was to hide his face.

“think that’s supposed t’be my line, love,” simon replied, gently nipping your throat. as you giggled, he continued downward, kisses growing sloppier as they reached your collarbones. then, he pulled back, fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt. he met your gaze for a brief second, searching for the permission you’d always give him, and tugged it off.

left in only the lacy scrap the lingerie shop deemed a bra, simon stated openly at you. this time, it was your turn to squirm, hands instinctively reaching to hide your face. easily, he caught your wrists.

“no. no. i wanna see you,” he said, squeezing your arms once. “cover your face and i stop, alright?”

huffing, you kept your hands at your side, and he twitched his lips. afterward, he smoothed large hands across your skin, over your stomach and ribs, cupping your chest. “so gorgeous.” he squeezed. “fuckin’ hate the idea of you going out in somethin’ like this when i’m not with you. no more. if y’wearin’ this, it’s for me, yeah? no one else.”

biting your lip, you nodded, not trusting your voice enough to speak. simon disagreed with your decision, seeing as he pinched your side. “no one else,” you affirmed.

“good girl.” he drew out the words, eyes trained on your chest, before he was reaching behind and unclamping your bra with his fingers. sliding it off, he tossed it haphazardly into the growing pile of clothes on his floor.

simon wasted no time in resuming his assault on your skin, leaving a kiss here and a bite there. he swirled his tongue over your tits, paying special attention to your nipples, playing with one while he had his mouth on the other. little marks littered your saliva-soaked skin when he reached the top of your skirt.

one more glance at you and he was tugging it down, along with the flimsy nylons you’d worn. swiftly, he pressed an open-mouthed kissed to your cloth-covered cunt, easily keeping your hips down when they tried to buck.

the air was cold against your soaked cunt when he peeled back the fabric, pulling it over your ankles and discarding it on the floor. as had become his habit, simon took a moment to admire you. eyes blazing and turning the skin beneath it warm. your hands fisted the blankets as you resisted the urge to cover up.

“so pretty,” he said, moving backward down the bed and climbing off it. then, he tugged you with him, earning a tiny yelp, before kneeling at the end of it. “wanted t’taste you for fucking ever. y’gonna let me, sweetheart? hm? you gonna let me taste your sweet cunt?”

nodding, you squeezed your eyes shut and breathed, “please, simon.”

his fingers, warm and steady, trailed up your thighs, pulling a shiver from you. “spread your legs a little wider for me, baby. there y’go. good.” then, slowly, they inched towards your centre, spreading you open. you didn’t have to look to know he was staring.

all at once, his tongue was on you, licking a long stripe up your folds and over your clit. you moaned embarrassingly loudly, trailing off into a long whine when he didn’t let up. your fingers knitted themselves in his blond waves, tugging as gently as you could manage. he groaned in approval, the sound vibrating through your cunt and sending your back arching.

“fuck! simon,” you yelped. his hands held your legs apart when they attempted to close, overwhelmed by pleasure.

he slipped away from your heat only to say, “keep sayin’ my name.”

whining, you pushed his head back into you, and he chuckled, resuming his ministrations on your cunt. simon was talented with his tongue — something jealous burned you at the thought of how he got so good. the thought was quickly scrubbed from your brain, though, when he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit, circling it once, twice, before descending again.

“please,” you whined, though you didn’t know what you were asking for. his pace had slowed, now, sloppily making out with your cunt like it was something he could worship. “simon . . . ”

the pleasure was inescapable; your body was torn between grinding down on his mouth and trying to wriggle away from it. it didn’t help that he was doing it so leisurely; tongue moving languidly through your folds and over your clit like it was for his pleasure instead of yours. that thought got you off all the more.

your legs trembled, winding around simon’s head and damn near suffocating him — not that he cared. when you glanced down, he was watching you, nose shiny as it brushed against your clit. simon smirked — you could feel the movement against you.

had you been in any other state, the sound you made as you tumbled over the edge might have embarrassed you. as it was, though, you didn’t have the mind for anything other than pleasure as your back bowed off the bed and your legs tightened around simon’s skull.

he was saying something — you only understood bits of it, but it sounded like a mindless litany of praise. “there you are, there we go. so good, so fucking good.”

he paired each praise with a kiss to your cunt until you were trembling from overstimulation, just pushing past the edge of too much. simon climbed up the bed and pressed wet kisses across your face; when he licked into your mouth and you tasted yourself, you moaned.

“you’re a fuckin’ vision, sweetheart. never knew you’d cum so pretty. y’gonna let me see it again? hm? y’gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

you were nodding before the words were even out of his mouth, snaking your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. without breaking it for longer than a few seconds, simon moved the two of you further up the bed until your head rested against his surprisingly soft pillows.

simon groaned appreciatively when your nails scraped against his skull. you grinned, and breathed, “you like pain just as much as me.”

simon chuckled, biting your chin. “maybe. when it’s you.”

“what was that you said earlier? something ‘bout feeding my ego?”

another laugh, and he joked, “i’m too far gone, now, i think. i’m just here to serve.”

“prove it.” your lips curved into a lust-drunk smile. “fuck me.”

with one last peck against your lips, simon smirked, and said, “yes ma’am.”

he leaned over you, then, tugging open the creaky drawer to his bedside table and fishing around. “shit.”

“hm?” you hummed, following his gaze to the foil packet between his fingers.

“‘s fuckin’ expired.” simon’s brow furrowed, and he brought the packet closer, squinting. you grabbed it from him, tossing it on the floor.

“i don’t care,” you said, probably stupidly, but the thought of not fucking simon right now had something foul twisting in your belly. “want you.”

running broad hands over your legs, simon gazed down at you, like your expression would say otherwise. you rolled your eyes. “i’m clean. i’m assuming you’re clean, if your condoms are expired.” simon pinched your side, and you giggled. ”please? want you to fuck me, simon.”

simon exhaled, and shook his head, smirking. “yeah?” he asked, fingers trailing over your belly. “y’want me to fuck you? cum in this little cunt?”

“yeah, yeah. please. want that.”

his lips press against yours again, hands continuing their journey downward until he was exploring your sensitive folds. you whimpered, quietly, but simon caught the sound and tutted. “i know, sweets. but i’ve gotta stretch you. don’t wanna hurt you, right? not tonight.”

lubing his fingers up with your slick, he started with his middle, circling your hole before slowly pushing inward. your earlier orgasm had relaxed you already, and he was able to add a second in no time. he explored for a moment, pumping his fingers in and out, curling them upward until he found that spongy spot that had your head rolling back in pleasure.

“there it is,” he said, and though your eyes were squeezed shut, you felt his smirk against your skin; heard it in his voice. “that feel good, pretty?”

the answering nod you gave was shaky and sudden, hands gripping onto his forearm for dear life. “fuck me, si. please—want your cock.”

“i know, i know. one more finger, how about that? then we can give you what you need.”

with a groan, you nodded, and sent him a short glare. he snorted, and muttered, “so impatient.”

“been waiting for fucking years,” you argued, though your point might’ve been lost in the quiver of your voice. “‘m allowed to be a little impatient.”

“years, hm?” his third finger prodded at your entrance. “guess i should hurry, then. poor thing.”

the way you dug your nails into his skin was both in pleasure and retaliation. three thick fingers pumped slowly in and out of you, curling in a way that had your thighs shaking.

finally, he slipped the fingers from you, the whine you gave turning into a moan when he plunged them into his mouth instead, savouring every bit of you. “so fuckin’ sweet.”

when simon’s fat tip ran through your folds, you tensed, and questioned if three fingers would really be enough. “simon . . . ”

though his voice was strained, he stopped, glancing up at you. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i don’t—” his tip ran over your clit ”—fuck, i don’t know if you’ll fit.”

simon tsked, the hand not controlling his cock coming up to brush the hair out of your face. “don’t gimme that, sweets. you can take it, i know you can.” he kissed your jaw. “i’ll make it fit, yeah? how’s that?”

shakily, you exhaled, meeting his gaze. truly, you didn’t know if it’d wavered from your face all night. his eyes were so sure — you could do nothing but believe him. it’d fit. you nodded.

“yeah, yeah. there’s my girl.” again, his lips were on yours, tongue licking into your mouth. minty toothpaste, tea, and cigarettes overwhelmed your senses as his thick tip pushed inside, swallowing every moan you gave.

when he’d made it a few inches, simon pulled back. “how’s that?” he questioned. “y’okay, lovey? want me to keep going?”

you couldn’t nod fast enough. there was a bit of pain, but the pleasure of the stretch won out easily. tangling your hands in his hair, you yanked simon back down for a long, messy kiss. really, it was more so a clash of teeth and tongue and heavy breathing than a kiss, but you digress.

by the time simon was fully sheathed inside you, it felt like he was in your fucking lungs. he gave you as much time as you needed to adjust, though the way his fists clenched and unclenched beside your head proved how greatly he wanted to move. digging one of the legs wrapped around him further into his skin, you urged him to.

“fucking christ,” he groaned. simon dropped his head for a moment, hot breath fanning over your neck as he slowly rocked in and out. “y’so fucking tight.”

“m’not tight, you’re just huge,” you argued, a furrow in your brow. simon bit the juncture between your throat and shoulder—you giggled, the sound delirious.

propping himself up on his forearms once more, simon slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip inside of you, before swiftly thrusting back in, setting a harsh, steady pace.

little high-pitched sounds came from your chest with every thrust, cock abusing that spongy spot inside you that lit fireworks behind your eyelids. with the way you were clawing at his back, you’d be surprised if simon didn’t look like he was mauled by a wildcat tomorrow.

“so good. gripping me like a fuckin’ vice. swear it was like you were made for me,” he breathed, teeth grazing over your ear.

sense had long since left you — you only nodded, murmuring back, “for you, f’you.”

maybe the way his cock kissed your cervix would have you cursing tomorrow, maybe the way your back bowed with pleasured tension would have you hunching over in the morning — you didn’t care. right now, your world consisted of simon’s searing brown eyes and the toe-curling pleasure he supplied.

“feels so good.” your words were breathy, punctuated with a tug to his hair.

“yeah?” he questioned, smiling lopsidedly. “good. gonna fucking ruin you. you’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me—thinking of how good i made you feel.”

shaking your head, you whines, “no. no one else. only you.”

simon growled, thrusting especially hard as he licked and sucked at your throat. “yeah. you’re mine, aren’t you? my girl.”

“yours,” you nodded. “‘m yours, f’rever.”

simon groaned out a slew of curses, cock twitching inside of you. one hand reached down toy with your clit, making quick, slippery circles. “want you to cum again, baby. ‘m not gonna last much longer and — fuck — i need t’see it again.”

you’d already been dancing along the edge — his thick fingers and raspy words were a harsh push, leaving you dangling by one hand.

your eyes rolled back into your head, and his other hand was swiftly gripping your chin, gently shaking you. “on me, love, keep y’r eyes on me.”

with great effort, you kept your hazy gaze on his face, which was twisted in the effort to stave off his orgasm. you whimpered, and murmured, “say it again. say i’m yours. please.”

“oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck for a moment before finding your eyes again. “you’re mine, ain’t ya? my sweet girl. yeah. an’ i’m yours — always will be.”

the second the words left his mouth, you tumbled over the edge. your entire body shook, curving inward and wrapping itself around simon like it was trying to burrow inside him. in the haze of it, you heard simon shout, before warmth was spilling inside your cunt, filling you up to the fucking brim. if simon wasn’t simon, you were sure the grip you had on him would’ve broken something by now.

when you came back to, the world was quiet — soft breathing echoed through your ears, his and yours indistinguishable from each other. simon’s head was buried in your neck, the weight of him just bridging the edge of uncomfortable. it was bliss.

eventually, he rolled over, cock pulling out with an equally disgusting and enticing squelch. his spend leaked out of you, dirtying his sheets. neither of you minded, it seemed — he easily pulled you across his chest, pressing his lips to your warm forehead.

“y’with me, lovie?” his voice was barely more than a murmur.

you hummed, hand moving upward to trace over his sweat-soaked chest. “i think so.”

a quiet laugh vibrated in his chest, breath dancing across your face. you smiled in turn, crooking your neck to gaze at him. keeping in theme with the rest of the night, simon was already staring at you — his eyes seemed to shine when they found yours, and his lips curled up in a rare smile. you were met with the embarrassing urge to take a picture.

“you’re a mess,” he stated, chuckling quietly as his eyes darted across your face and body.

narrowing your eyes, you pinched his pec, and his chuckle became a laugh. “a beautiful mess, sweetheart. ‘s the prettiest you’ve ever looked, i promise.”

you rolled your eyes, and argued, “‘s your fault.” then, attempted to sit up — though his strong grip on your shoulder kept you down. simon frowned. “where d’you think you’re going?”

“i need to pee,” you stated, and he let you up with a huff. “then i need to fucking shower, again.”

simon made a sound. “how ‘bout i run you a bath, hm? lemme do the work.”

smiling softly, you glanced back at him. he took your hand that lingered on his chest and brought it to his mouth, pressing kisses over your knuckles. “that’d be lovely.”

simon stood, and when you looked over him, you smiled. hair mussed, lips swollen, skin glazed in sweat — he was just as much of a mess as you. in a single movement, simon swept you into his arms. with a yelp, you clung to him, and he carried you, bridal-style, into the bathroom.

placing you on the lip of the bathtub, simon left for only a moment to dig through his linen closet, and returned with a wash cloth. after running it under warm water in the sink, he helped you up once more and gently ran it between your legs.

afterward, while you used the restroom, simon ran the bath, using that intoxicating body-wash as bubble bath. spotting his back, which was covered in bright-red scratches, you giggled, feeling only a little bad.

“i’d say sorry for y’back, but really i look no better,” you stated. hickies and bite-marks littered your skin, decorating your neck, chest, and thighs.

snorting, simon moved to look in the mirror, eyes tracing the pinkish abrasions trailing from shoulders to spine. “i’ll wear ‘em with pride.”

once the tub had filled, steam dancing around the mound of bubbles, simon, again, helped you up. his skin was warm, and if the bath wasn’t so enticing, you’d be tempted to stay here, pressed against him.

easily, he lifted you up and into the bath, following you not long afterward. it was a shock he could fit all of his limbs in the tub, even moreso when you could fit between his legs. it was a bit squishy, but you couldn’t have traded it for anything — laying against his chest while his hands ran up and down your body. thighs, stomach, chest, arms — he touched you softly, reverently, lips pressing behind your ear.

“did you mean it?” you asked. the quiet hum of your voice seemed loud in the silence of the room.

“mean what, love?”

swallowing, you played with his fingers, and supplied, “that ‘m yours. that you’re mine.”

simon exhaled, and you could feel the small curve of his lips against the back of your neck. “i meant it.”

[gladiatorcunt]

- DIRT IN CHAINS | X.

i can’t wait for the nights with you, i imagine the things we’ll do

cw: kinktober prompt (feet), semi crack treated seriously (he just comes back and says footjob. now.), pseudo incest (step brother & step sister), no shelly or chris 💀, set in the 90’s with brandon lee’s eric, small-ish age gap (reader’s in her early 20’s), fem ballerina!reader, random kurt cobain crush mention, implied inappropriate behavior when reader was 18 and after (nothing explicit but it could be seen as done with certain intent), attempted non con mention (not involving eric or reader)

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

Body of my body, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.

If you serve a chunk of still bleeding meat to a gruesome stray dog, then that is love. If you toss a coin to a crow with a glint in its beady eyes, that too is love. Even when you scoff and grumble at the perceived inconvenience and continue your jaunt down the muddy alleyway. You are assuring an animal that you believe it deserves to have its hunger sated and tended to like a toothache. don’t be surprised when gangrene sets in around your ankles and wrists, bracelets made of red jade. They bite for the same reason that you sharpen their teeth and beaks with roadkill and gemstones. It is life’s greatest gift to ever be well fed, such neglect can open a void from which there is no escape. If only your heart could plug up the hole.

The most painful sentences in existence are hypotheticals that start with if. That's why this will be nothing of the sort, hunting season will be successful.

Your step brother Eric was shot about a month ago the night before halloween, and you’re coping by robotically moving through life as if it couldn’t happen to you too. It’s all too easy to succumb to the panic and the grief but you’ve never been wired that way, it’s safer for you to retreat into a cocoon of numbness.

You don’t want to think about where the woman he saved from being raped is, as happy as you are that she’s okay. Knowing any of that would only remind you of the knife Eric got thrown into his back before he was thrown from her apartment window. He lived in the same building and like the good guy your step brother was at heart, burst in the room with the best intentions.

His good deed got him killed, and all you’ve done is play his music on repeat as you rot in your bed. He’d want you to continue your ballet career, hell, he showed up to your recitals and performances more than your own mother. You always ignored how his presence made you feel simultaneously relaxed and confident but also so stressed you’d be worried about pissing yourself on the stage.

Wide smiles and long dark hair that glistened in the theater’s warm lightning, he would always be the one to stand up and whistle first.

Eric’s favorite ballet was your ballet company’s Swan Lake. He kept a picture of you as Odette in one of the pockets of his leather jacket.

Your parents had only been married 4 years, but you’ve changed a lot from the starry eyed 18 year old that mooned over your older step brother and tripped over your pointe shoes.

Your dad started teaching you how to play guitar before he left, when you were 5 and your chubby hands plucked at the wrong strings. Eric wouldn’t leave you alone when you told him the story, and spent an entire weekend getting you caught up on your missed lessons until you both had a swarm of blisters on your fingers.

Now you’ll never see him again, never get caught in the rain when you’ve begged him to drive you home and wish you could tuck a strand of his wet hair behind ear, never hump your pillow and muffle your sounds into your balled up fists because he’s staying in the next room and you have to be quiet.

You’ll never see him with his band again, caught in that weird space between a groupie and a supportive family member. He liked to embarrass you, make big shows out of looking directly at you and coming to the edge of the stage to poke your cheek. He’d ruffle your hair and your cheeks would be so hot, one wrong burst of electricity from the wires attached to their instruments and you’d go up in flames.

You never told your mom but you always wanted a brother, you should’ve known you weren’t gonna have him for very long.

Hangman’s Joke. God, you wish.

“Hey, peach, ya miss me?”

Hand on your heart you think you’re dreaming at first, but you’ve never really had any dreams where Eric was front and center. He haunts all your other ones, regular strange ones where you’re running around department stores and fucking Kurt Cobain but someintes he turns into your step brother, sometimes you fuck them both.

You shoot up in bed, the straps of your lavender silk nightie slip down your shoulders so you pull them back. It’s the middle of the night, and your vision is blurry, but when your eyes focus properly you see him standing in front of your bed.

It’s Eric, your brother, you don’t even care if there was a gas leak overnight that’s got you fucked up or if this reslly is a dream. You can’t pretend to be fine anymore if he’s right here in front of you, suddenly there’s an umbrella over your head in the pouring rain again.

“Eric, oh my god, what the fuck! How are you even- I mean- How the fuck are you alive?”

He sighs, tonguing his cheek and shaking his head. “I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise, ‘m tired, peach. Missed my girl, didn’t she miss me?”

It’s a little cruel because of course you have, but the dulcet tones lull you into nodding. You don’t want to cry, and you’re scared to reach out to touch him because of the chance that he might disappear. Eric’s haunted eyes soften, and he intertwines his bizarrely muddy fingers with yours. There’s warmth, and maybe it’s just your hummingbird heart but you feel a soft rhythmic thumping under his skin.

It’s different, slow as molasses, more like the chiming of a grandfather clock. But Jesus fucking Christ he’s real.

Your sham of a facade shatters as you bring your joined hands down to your breasts, forcing his knuckles to press into your sternum.

Eric pushes you back down on the bed, his knees dig into the mattress on either side of your hips. His stare is intense, dark and enticing as he reaches down to curl his hand around your calves.

“I used to be obsessed with uh, vampires, ain’t that a bitch?” He chuckles, massaging your ankles and staring off into space. “All that mysticism and unimaginable power and all I could focus on was the way they talked about their cravings. How they get hunger pangs like a normal fuckin’ and it’s bearable until it’s not, it consumes them like they’re boilin’ from the inside out.”

You suck in a breath, Eric’s eyes flick over to you immediately.

“Then I look at you and i’m right back in rehab, toes curlin’ at the thought of getting high again. I think I know how those bloodsuckers feel.”

“Eric- Don’t say that.” Your heart seizes up, but you keep yourself from falling off the ledge.

He kisses your ankle, his black lipstick leaving a stain as he leaves a trail of carnage up to your toes. His lips split wide on a fox’s smile, slipping his tongue in the crease between your toes and sucking each one clean, almost like he’s trying to eat your flesh off the bone. He nuzzles his nose into the sole and inhales deeply, taking in the dirt you didn’t wash off in the shower, the plastic hospital smell from your bath mat, your cherry almond scented body wash.

“Yes, all i fuckin’ need, right here.” He whispers, staring at you dead in your eyes.

He flicks his tongue out to taste the high arch of your foot as his hand caresses your still bruised toes. But they’re faded, you quit ballet a long time ago.

“You have pretty feet, y’know that? Always liked helping you lace up your slippers.” Eric laughs “You’d get so fussy about me doin’ them properly but you’d kiss my cheek after, all sweet on me.”

He lavishes every inch of both your feet with his tongue in broad strokes, making out with your toes because he can’t resist sucking them into his mouth one more time.

You moan, fisting your hands in your nightie, your step brother’s back from the afterlife apparently and the first thing he wants to do is get a footjob from his step sister.

Eric tucks his hair behind his ears so he doesn’t have to bother with it for right now, you can tell that this is like one of those moments on stage, he wants your full attention.

He’ll always have it.

You’re the one that pulls your feet out of his grip to slide them down to his crotch. You keep eye contact as you massage his clothed bulge with your toes, rubbing your heel into his balls and applying light pressure here and there.

You blink up at him, too innocent and too worn down by life already all at the same time, “Like that, big brother? Does that feel good?”

Eric grunts, wrapping his hands back around your ankles and pushing your feet further onto his cock.

“Yeah, peach, feels so fuckin’ good, holy shit. Just like that, keep doin’ me like that, baby.”

You bite your lip, nearly tearing through the skin in your efforts to make your newly risen step brother jizz in his ripped jeans. You wish you had psychic powers and had the foresight to know he was coming over, you would’ve put on those socks with the frilly edges and a red rose stitched on the white fabric.

But he’s so worked up from this already, he’s breathing heavily and rocking his hips forward to hump your feet. He’s grinding his teeth together, already so close to unraveling from how much of a little tease you’re being.

You hum and turn your right foot to ghost the edge of your toenail around the tip of his cock. He groans as he twitches and a bead of pre seeps through his clothes, you can trace the outline of his length so clearly you know he’s not wearing any underwear.

The look in his crazed eyes reminds you of all the times he’d take you to the attic of his loft, making up scary stories and playing guitar with you. When you turned 21 he surprised you with a cheesy golden heart shaped locket, with a picture of you two at your parent’s wedding, joking about how awkward you look with each other there. Eric’s penguin style suit and your agitated face that’s partially covered by gaudy turquoise puffy cap sleeves.

He chuckled and said that every time you look at it, you’ll feel nothing but happiness for what those two losers are about to experience.

Part of that experience is you curling your feet around his clothed cock while giving him just enough of a view of your hairy pussy, you forgot to put a pad on so there’s some blood trickling out of you that Eric is just so utterly enraptured by.

His groans are death rattles now, long and pain stricken, at some point he stops humping your feet and lets you worship him like this. Eric kneeling above you, drooling deep in the back of his throat at the sight of his baby sister caressing his painfully hard dick with her cute dancer’s feet.

Your mind is filled with all the pretty shoes you can put on and do this again, you just got a new camera as an early birthday present too.

“You can come if you promise not to leave again, Eric, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself this time.” You promise, digging the ball of your feet into his perineum.

“I crawled out of the earth back to you, didn’t I? Couldn’t let my sweet peach perform alone, she gets stage fright.”

He comes in his pants and you continue to gingerly move your feet along his length, soaking up the cum that wets your toes like a sunflower does sunlight at golden hour.

[eatommo]

Coach [r.k.]{kd12}

Dirty talk / breath play

Cw: coach!Roy Kent, coworkers, inappropriate use of coach, lots of kissing, p in v, teasing, swearing, rough sex, mentions of shower sex, implied age gap (though not large), mutual pining

Moving across the world to chase a childhood dream, per request of your brother’s football coach, had been working out so far.

Futbol had always been your passion, you would get up at odd hours to watch your favorite teams, and your favorite player perform, even begging for channel packages so you could watch matches live. So when Coach Lasso offered you a position on his coaching staff for Richmond, the landing place for your favorite grumpy futbol player, you jumped on it.

Ted had an incredible ability to make everyone around him cherish life a little bit more every single day and life in England really did cast a spell on your small town American heart.

Roy, had been full of surprises himself. You and your dad used to bond over his no nonsense attitude, and his passion that was evident in the way he left his entire life on the pitch every single game, even the occasional meltdown.

Meeting him had been difficult at first, but during your first conversation you quickly established yourself as something more than a baseball fan, or as he put it so nonchalantly “a pretty face.”

You always had a crush on him, sure he was a bit older than you but his personality was addicting, and the subtle nuances of his love for the boys didn’t go unnoticed. You once watched him talk Danny through his emotions after a movie night where the team had gathered together to watch When Harry Met Sally. He helped Jamie grow to his full potential, albeit through gritted teeth, but he did it because as shy as he was to admit it, Richmond had become his home.

“Mmmmm.” Roy Grumbled as he walked into the coaches office. You sitting at your desk on the other side of the room from him, his fist clenched as he threw himself into a chair across from you with a grunt.

“What happened this time?” You half expected some Blaise excuse like his car getting dinged by the kitmans bike.

He looked across the desk at you, giving you a small eye roll. Mumbling back at you, he replied. “Players. Don’t show up properly to train. Don’t focus on the exercise, just a pain in my ass really.”

You hum in agreement, “I know, if only we were still allowed to bend them over a desk maybe you could return the favor.” You taunt, with just a hint of warmth in your cheeks, unable to stop the out of pocket phrase.

“If only.” He joked back to you, his grumpy tone now changed to something more lighthearted with a small grin. “I swear sometimes they try to do this stuff on purpose just to mess with me- And what am I even supposed to do with a player who can’t even get their kit on right. Sam had his shirt on backwards, the hell are we supposed to do with that?” He let out a frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair.

You chuckle, “Do you really think they do it on purpose just to fuck with you? I know I enjoy watching you get all grumbly.” Mumble with just a hint of suggestiveness in your voice, but shifting your attention back to the tape you’re cutting into a highlight reel for tomorrow’s practice.

“They better not be doing it on purpose.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “Or I swear I’ll be out there making them do extra drills after their extra drills. I swear if they wanna mess with me they’re really not gonna like my attitude tomorrow.” He leaned forward, and given the threatening tone his voice still never raised at you. He was always respectful of your space, and never would do anything to intimidate you on purpose.

You smile, clearly enjoying the grumpiness of him today, and tease him just a hair further, “Easy old man, I don’t want you to waste all that energy on the boys.” I say in a coy and insinuating to save some for me with a short pause, before continuing “We have a yoga class we can’t miss.”

His eyes widened for a brief moment, surprised by the comment and the tone you used. He could tell your were teasing, but it didn’t stop the thought from popping into his mind about saving energy for you. “Oh shush.” He replied, his tone trying to act as if he was unaffected, but the way his breath went a little faster said otherwise, “I’m looking forward to it.”

You’ve been flirting with each other for weeks, getting along better than most people typically do with Roy at least right off the bat, and the reality of it is you think when Roy is sexy when he’s angry. “Everyone needs an outlet for stress, I like yoga among other things.”

He let out a breath, his arms still crossed as he looked at you across the room. “I swear we’re supposed to be professional.” He mumbled with a bit of a chuckle and rolling his eyes, as he knew both him and you weren’t exactly doing the best job at being professional.

You smile knowingly, “I have reason to believe we wouldn’t be the first ones to break that rule.” I look at him up and down, not trying to hide my intention anymore, watching the veins in his neck strain, longing to make them pop.

He raised an eyebrow, listening to your suggestion. He couldn’t deny that the idea was tempting, and it would definitely relieve some of the frustration he had. He stared at you for a moment, considering the suggestion, before finally speaking. “Are you propositioning me?” He smirked, crossing his arms again with a raised eyebrow, still playing a bit coy, but the twist of his mouth is stuck in place.

You shrug, simply stating, “You know how much I like you, I think we’d have good chemistry off the pitch.”

He chuckled a bit at your words, the idea of ‘relieving stress’ with you becoming even more tempting. He knew that there was chemistry, everyone could tell in the locker room. The way you always seemed to make him laugh and feel lighter, while also managing to send his heart race with your playful teasing. He was tempted, not for the first time. He smirked again and tilted his head to the side. “You think so?” He taunted, his voice low. Leaning just a bit closer to your desk.

You hum again, standing slowly and circling the desk, perching on the edge and getting a close as you’ve ever been to him apart from a few celebratory hugs during matches. “You know what helps me relax?”

He smirked, the sound you made already sending a chill down his spine. He was already sold on the idea, but seeing you move to the front of the desk and letting out that phrase definitely sealed the deal. He walked closer to you slowly, moving around the desk until he was standing in front of you. “Enlighten me.” He said smoothly.

“A nice warm shower…” you reach out slowly, giving him every opportunity to move before you touch his chest gently with a lifted eyebrow in question.

He let out a breath as you reached out, his heart beginning to pound in his chest at the idea of finally getting to do something with you. He watched you closely, eyes following your hand to his chest. He had no intention of moving, wanting to keep this going.

A small smirk appeared on his face as he watched you. “A nice warm shower,” He said, taking another step forward.

He chuckled softly, leaning forward slightly, so he was standing right in front of you. “You are a tease, you know that?” He said in a low tone, his hands going to the edge of the desk on either side of you, caging you against it. “A right little tease.”

Him being so close to you is intoxicating, you can smell the oil he puts in his beard, he smells like sage and sweat. Your breath picking up as the anticipation of his touch draws closer, you look down into his dark brown eyes.

The sight of you enjoying this was almost enough to make him snap. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. “You like getting this reaction out of me, don’t you? Teasing me, making me want you?” He murmured, voice low and rough.

“Yes,” you pant, your hands twisting in your lap. “I have a feeling you’re rough in all aspects of your life.”

He chuckled breathlessly, his heart pounding even faster as you confirmed his suspicions. God, the thought of the two of you doing other things together was almost enough to make his brain short circuit. He took a moment to regain his focus, trying to respond in a way that wasn’t just a bunch of stutters and breathless words. “Is that right?” He replied softly. “You’re just dying to know the reaction you’d get from me in other situations, ehh?”

I smirk, leaning forward so our lips brush ever so slightly breathless, “So how about that shower?”

The slight brush of lips alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine. God, he was already a mess, and it was all your fault. He could feel the desire and need running through his veins. He let out a short huff, his hands gripping the edge of the desk tighter. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He whispered huskily. “Let’s go.”

Your faces meet, coming together in a clash of teeth and hunger, your lips moving against each others in a frenzy.

Roy groaned into the kiss, his hands quickly moving from the desk to grip your hips as your mouths pressed together. He allowed you to dominate the kiss for a moment, letting you lick into his mouth, his eyes closing as he enjoyed it.

After a moment, he began to grow more aggressive, his tongue meeting yours hungrily and his hands pulling you closer against him. You groan eagerly, feeling the tight grip on his hands all over your body. Partially wondering if you’ll even make it off your desk.

He let out another quiet moan as your hands moved to grip his hair, the feeling sending a spark of pleasure through him. He broke the kiss for a moment, only to begin trailing kisses up and down your jawline.

He nipped and sucked the skin, leaving a trail of love bites along the side of your neck. One of his large, rough hands snuck up under the hem of your shirt, wanting to feel your skin.

His hands are calloused and warm, and part of you should care that he’s leaving a trail of marks in the wake of his mouth but if you weren’t lying the idea of wearing these mark, his marks, in front of so many people makes your pussy throb in need.

Roy’s hands come down to your hips, squeezing and pushing more of his body against yours, you can feel the hard outline of his need in his trousers.

Roy runs a hand over your ribs, and you shudder in response. “How much longer is training?” You say, as you throw your head back and begin kicking off your shoes.

“Half hour, then Beard is holding a checkers competition in the team room.” He lifts your shirt up and over your head, “we’ve got your office to ourselves for at least an hour, we’ll have to be quiet to keep the kit man away,” he kisses you again, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra,”You can be a good girl and keep quiet yeah?”

“Yes coach.” You pull away, to free him from his shirt, and pressing your chests together. “Tell me what you wanna do to me.”

“Fucking minx.” He swears fingers finding your nipple and tugging on it harshly, “Filthy fucking thing calling me coach.” His eyes are dark with desire, breath hot and full of desire. “I’m gonna fuck you on this desk.”

His fingers dip into the waistband of your joggers, grabbing fistfuls of your ass as he envelops you with his mouth again. You moan coach, against the press of his mouth.

As you repeat the title, calling him coach again, he groans against your skin. His hips press forward, practically grinding himself against you for a moment to get some much needed friction, a low hiss slipping from his lips. He pulls back, his breath coming out in short huffs as he looks you in the eye.

“Say it again. Keep calling me coach.” He practically growls out. He pushes your paperwork onto the floor, urging you to lay further back onto the desk and to give him space to remove your clothes.

You comply, leaning back and lifting your hips so that he can pull the soft material from your legs. Looking down between your legs he sees a sizable patch of wet fabric clinging to your skin.

“Fucking filthy girl, you want this cunt filled don’t you?” He lets the pad of his thumb tap your clit through the thin cloth of your panties, and your eyes all but roll back into your head.

You nod vigorously, feeling so hot and dazed, knuckles clinging to the edge of your desk. Catching a glimpse of the sizable bulge in his trousers, you reach down to slip your hand around him.

He continues to press a finger to your clit, and takes a hand and twists into your hair tugging from the root. You hiss in pain, squeezing his shaft in response to the pain, “Please coach.”

His resolve breaks, pushing the top of his trousers down just enough to let himself fall free. In a single breath the head of his cock is working you open and his hips saw back and forth stretching you around his size.

Once he’s bottomed out, he pauses for a moment. Taking in the way your mouth is parted in a pant, and the way the muscles in your legs quiver around his waist.

“You said rough yeah? Tell me if you need me to stop.” He said, sober as a saint for a second making sure to establish himself as in control but giving you what you need to feel comfortable.

You nod, biting your lip as he shifts his heels to angle his hips up, he hits something inside you that makes you squeak.

His large palm wraps around your throat, squeezing the artery there and making your brain lull into the field of pleasure he gives you.

[ghostsbimbo]

give me a reason - simon ghost riley x reader

cw: implied dubcon, implied grooming, mentioned age gap relationship. a/n: simon is INNOCENT in this. he is helping reader come to terms with the status that they were a victim. simon isn't being a groomer, he's not guilting reader into consent, and they're not in an age gap relationship. title is from dial tone by catch your breath. please stay safe. minors, if you see this: that adult (18+ year old) is not into you. adults, if you see this and you ignore the fact that your friend is talking to a minor in a romantic aspect: you are part of the problem. words: 437.

All I wanted was an answer All I needed was to know Give me a reason I need a reason All those messages I left you All those nights I spent alone Give me a reason 'Cause all that I hear is A dial tone Dial tone

you two have been sitting silence. you didn't know for how long. all you knew is that the crushing realization of you being in a not so great relationship when you were only 14 with an 18 year old wasn't on the plate of things to do today.

"so all my friends....?" you questioned softly. simon sighed softly, simply nodding. you had talked to him about being with an 18 year old when you were 14, thinking it was normal, it was healthy. it wasn't until you noticed the concerned look he was giving you that it wasn't.

you even talked about the multiple times you tried to reach out to your ex, missing them- even going as far to include the fact he tried to get back with you when you were twenty and well past the age of being a legal adult.

you let out a soft sigh looking up at simon. "i'm an idiot, aren't i?" you questioned softly after the long silence of you mentally going over everything in your head.

simon just sighed softly, putting his arm around you before finally deciding to pull you into a bear hug. "no, you're not an idiot, you were a kid blinded by the fact that class mate was just like you and you fell for the attention he gave you." he pressed a kiss to your forehead, slowly rubbing your back - an attempt at him comforting you.

he didn't need to say anything else, you were slowly coming to the realization you were groomed, that your friends even encouraged so much of it all - peer pressure, wanting to be like your friends who were older than you, not wanting to be considered a loser because you were a virgin, and then on top of it all, your significant other making you think you wanted it - when in all reality, you were fourteen. you were a kid, so even if you did think you wanted it, you probably just actually didn't and just gave into peer pressure.

you finally let some tears fall. "i feel so stupid for falling for him." you mumbled. he didn't say anything, he just held you and let you cry until you fell asleep in his arms. thankfully it didn't take long, considering letting yourself accept the fact you were a victim, did take alot of energy out of you.

he stayed though, he stayed just to make sure you felt safe, and so when you woke up, you knew that no matter what, he wasn't going anywhere. you were stuck with him, just like he was stuck with you.

[savoryhoneybear]

Glucose Guardian (WIP AU sugarbaby!sans x reader)

CW: dubcon, implied drugged sex, handjob, frottage, oral sex, sans x reader, reader's sex/gender is left vague, implied alcohol consumption. ecto body, ecto genitals, spit kink, unnegtioated kink, financial hardship, original character (its satyr, but he's niceys). alphys cameo. i have no experience working a big boy office job so please don't look at the details of your "work" too closely lol. ask to tag <3

---

he can't move.

sans feels heavy, like his bones had been replaced with lead weights. his eyes refused to focus.

where was he, again..? the last thing he remembered was you, sitting next to him at the bar and telling him all about your business. you were so excited about closing a deal with the vegetoid group - something about "making magic mainstream." now, he was pretty sure he was laying down, somewhere. he was looking at the fancy wallpaper of an expensive hotel room. the sun barely made it through gaps in the thick blackout curtains.

what time was it? how long had he been out? was papyrus okay?

he groans, trying to push himself up from under the heavy comforter - only to be pulled down, arms wrapping around him that he had no memory of inviting into bed with him. his panic is muffled and dampened by his lethargic magic. he can feel warm human skin in direct contact with his bare bones.

how much did he drink last night? the last time he woke up in someone else's bed like this was during his college years, but that was... well, it wasn't that long ago, admittedly. still! these days, he was way better about picking his partners, and he was always home before his brother had any reason to worry.

this felt different. the way his body wasn't listening to him was starting to scare him.

the body behind him tugs him closer, a soft, breathy moan chilling the top of his skull. he was being clutched like a teddy bear.

that couldn't be comfortable, he thinks offhandedly. his ecto isn't even summoned. his spine had to be poking into your soft tummy. his tailbone was being cushioned by the warmth of your -

oh, stars. you shift again, your thick thigh moving up and around his pelvis, locking the two of you together. sans can't look, but he knows it's you. he realizes sluggishly that he's surrounded in your scent. the body he'd fantasize about during guilty late night solo sessions was nearly crushing him now, exactly how he wanted it to. you seemed to revel in his bony form instead of being repulsed, and if the way you rubbed against his pelvis was any indication, you were getting off on it, too.

the new knowledge sticks to the front of his mind like taffy, refusing to budge. he whimpers, wishing he had the strength to do anything about it when his ecto starts collecting along his bones.

when it pops into place, solidifying with a squelch, he hears you hum in confusion. you're roused from your light rest, and in the dark of the room, his magic was neon bright, like a freshly cracked glowstick. it didn't help that he couldn't stop thinking about your thighs, or the chest pressing against him, or your hands on his ribs, or -

you chuckle softly. one of your hands moves from his sternum to trace lazily over his newly appeared rolls. you pinch a love handle with all the tenderness of a romantic and place a kiss to the back of his skull. he literally can't fight the way he melts at your attention.

"goodmorning, baby blue," you murmur. "looks like someone's excited for round three."

sans is trying hard to remember why this was a bad idea. he'd been wanting to be in your bed for ages, now, hadn't he? sure, he was missing his morning shift, and papyrus was probably wondering why he hadn't called yet, but -

oh fuck. he was going to get fired.

sans mumbles with a note of urgency, trying once more to get up and out of your decadent embrace. you only shush him, hand trailing further down to his half-hard magic. he whines, only spurring you on.

"hey, hey, it's alright," you say. "just relax, sweetheart. i've got you."

you continue to coax small sounds from him, lovingly pulling on his perfect little cock. you can feel him grow to his full size the longer you pleasure him, using the beaded up precum on his tip to slick the way. sans' breathing speeds up in time with his soulbeat and any vision he had flickers in and out. It's all he can do to stay conscious while you bring him to what was, apparently, his third climax of the night.

you're huffing into the side of his skull now, and he can hear every stitch of humor when you watch him spend weakly over your fingers. it plants a seed of doubt in his throat. what was so funny? did he look weird? did he not last long enough? were you playing some sort of joke?

you shush him again, pressing kisses to his cheek, each one followed by a small praise. "gorgeous. lovely. handsome. darling," and so on. it eases most of his anxiety.

sans finds himself feeling rather puddle-like. there was no hope of escaping now. he might as well accept his fate. once whatever was in his system passed, he could bombard you with twenty questions. he doesn't know what he was going to do about his shifts today, but nothing could be done in this state.

the thought of you that clings like taffy to his mind stretches to push his worries down until all he had energy for was the stream of praises being kissed into his bones.

---

as soon as sans settles again, you untangle yourself from the sheets and pad lightly to the restroom. you prepare a warm towel and grab a water bottle from the mini fridge on your way back. you take great care in cleaning up your escort, helping him take a few sips of water before lulling him back to sleep.

he's been your favorite partner so far. everything about him was interesting. you've found yourself delighted by this little skeleton in more ways than one. you wanted to keep him around.

you set up beside him, maneuvering him so that his skull rested against you as you went about a lazy morning routine. you checked your phone for missed calls and new emails, working through the small tasks that you could stomach before having your cup of coffee.

there was a lot less stress for you to handle this morning, thankfully. last night had been your personal little celebration. with the vegetoid group signing on to work with your team to bring monster brands to human shelves, it wasn't that you were off the hook - more so that you could focus on your favorite part of the job.

you rub a hand over your face. some caffeine would be nice anyway.

you lean over sans to reach for the hotel's landline, catching sight of his phone lighting up in silence. your curiosity gets the better of you, and you grab it instead, looking through the barrage of notifications. multiple missed calls from "bro." a few from "work3," and many unanswered texts. you frown, looking down at the sleeping monster beside you.

that won't do. you make a note to yourself to ask him about it when he wakes up. it wasn't any of your business to do damage control yet, though.

you put his phone back down and make your call to room service, requesting a late breakfast in bed. that settled, you shoot a text off to your personal assistant and ask them to find a new set of clothes for your companion before noon. the measurements you send are educated guesses made by using his old, discarded outfit as a reference.

he was adorable to you, but to the hotel's mid-day staff? he absolutely was not passing through the lobby without judgment. you didn't want to have to deal with it - it was cheaper to just doll him up a bit now than it was to keep mouths shut.

you let in room service and tip them well when they leave, coming back to find sans blinking groggily at the silver cart.

"good morning, darling. you must be hungry."

he groans, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth a few times. he pushes at the sheets with the strength of a kitten, and it makes you want to coo and chitter over him. you help him out of his cocoon, bringing him closer to the food.

you watch as he struggles to pick up the fork. your humor quells to concern when you finally realize that sans isn't just tired. he seems to be incapacitated.

"are you feeling okay?" you ask gently.

sans' eyelights are hazy when they look up to you, and his teeth clatter when he tries to put together more than a whimper. eventually, he manages to slowly shake his head "no." a few more yes or no questions later, and you feel anger sparking in your chest.

you curse, grabbing your phone to get in contact with your PA again. you tell them to switch priorities and get a monster healer to you as soon as possible. you didn't know it was possible for a monster - much less one made of bones - to get roofied. If that even was the drug responsible, anyway. how had you not noticed?

you figured the two of you had had plenty to drink, sure. and sans was even rather enthusiastic about getting out of his clothes, but...

you tell sans that help was on the way. until then, you help him eat by feeding him yourself. you try not to think about who in that seedy little pub had slipped something into his drink. you try not to think about the fact that you had taken great pleasure out of his pliable body. you try not to think of the way his phone was still lighting up with new messages, as missed commitments passed with the rising sun.

you grimace. you take a chug of your warm dark roast. it helps a little.

sans is trying to get your attention. he's blinking owlishly at you as a hand tugs at your robe. you glance at him with a questioning hum, and you watch as he tries to form his words.

"wh...what... haah. happ'ned?"

you look away, take another swig, and sigh.

"not much," you say. "we both got drunk and i brought you back to my hotel room for sex and cuddles."

sans' eyelights are trained on you, even as his body sways unsteadily in its upright position. you wince. just how big of a dose had he been given?

"...s'rry," he mumbles. "didn' mean to..."

you scoff despite yourself. "no shit, babe. i'm not about to blame you for getting dosed. when i find out who did this to you i'm going to skin them alive."

sans frowns. "...didjou... like... it?"

you look away.

"i was drunk," you say again.

he nods. a mistake, apparently, proven when he starts convulsing like a sick cat. you leap up in alarm, rushing him to the restroom in the nick of time.

you two stay huddled by the toilet until another knock on your door demands your attention. you hesitate to leave sans' side, and in the silence your PA decides for you. they use the spare key card to let himself in, and you peek out to see him marching directly to the unkempt bed. he starts setting things to rights, placing a bag of brand new clothes on the couch.

sans' sockets blank out, and he huddles further away from their view.

"satyr, your patience truly knows no bounds," you say sarcastically.

the tall cat monster adjusts his smart sweater vest, twitching his whiskers in place of an eye roll. the black and white tuxedo pattern of his fur is well groomed, complimenting the ice-blue eyes that flash daggers in your direction.

"you were the one who demanded urgency," he says with a slight hiss. "you're lucky dr. alphys was available at the drop of a hat. her time is valuable, and i expect you to be on your best behavior. she will be joining us any minute now to look over your new pet."

you know that name. a part of you relaxes at the knowledge that was good old alphy coming to your aid.

you tsk. "aw, is that jealousy i hear?"

his tail flicks. "you wish it was. where is he, anyway?"

you glance over to see sans in a miserable little ball. your mirth crashes when you see him shiver. you move closer, gathering him up in your lap. the bathroom tile is cold where your robe fails to cover you. you could only imagine what it must feel like on his bones.

"i have him," you say. "he's uh. not doing too good, say."

satyr hums. "have you given him anything?"

"food and water. nothing heavy. no meds because i don't know what he's ingested."

"right."

satyr continues his organizing in silence. sans curls up closer to your warmth, tucking in under your chin. you talk to him with gentle tones, rubbing soothing patterns over his dim ecto, still summoned despite his exhaustion.

another knock on the door. satyr answers for you, and after a hushed conversation filled with pleasantries, you hear the heavy footfalls of a different monster.

"d- director?" you look up at the mention of your title. "good afternoon! it's- it is good to see you again."

"afternoon? stars, is it already that late? thank you so much for coming out of your way, doctor."

alphys gives a small wave of dismissal, smiling nervously in the face of your gratitude. "don't- don't, uh, don't worry about it! not a problem at all. i hear you might be in need of an antidote?"

you shift around, bringing the front of your rob into view, and the sickly skeleton clinging to your body. alphys gasps.

"s-s-sans?? what? what are you doing here?"

you look back and forth at the two curiously. "you know him?"

alphys pushes her glasses up with an anxious tick, and then moves to rustle through her supplies. "uh! well, it's uhm- it was a small underground, you know? only two skeletons around to know! ha, ha..."

you look down at sans and curse silently. good going, pal. you managed to get attached to one of the easiest monsters to identify. sneaking him anywhere with you was going to be a higher risk affair than you had initially planned.

sans moans sadly, reminding you of similar noises he had made just that morning. you bite the inside of your cheek and wrap around him protectively once more.

oh, the trouble would be worth it.

alphys takes out her phone, tapping around for a bit. "i'm going to do a detailed CHECK on him. It's essentially like a full body scan. i'll be able to see the changes in his stats and address his symptoms directly."

"okay," you say with a nod. "i trust you. just let me know if there's anything you need me to do to help."

the doctor nods back, quickly refocusing on sans' care.

you watch intently, but there isn't much to see from your end. dr. alphys assesses sans' skeletal structure (say that three times fast) and you get a peek in their bag to see various supplies and substances that you know better than to name.

satyr busies himself with your calendar, anticipating your desire to move today's appointments further down the week. you would have to make it up to him later.

absentmindedly, you rest your cheek on sans' skull. "you're doing so well, baby," you murmur. "you'll be all fixed up in no time. then we can spend the whole day together. go on a little date. doesn't that sound nice?"

sans' ecto glows in response.

"you might want to make sure his schedule is clear, too, before making any plans, director." alphys is putting together a few different liquids as she says this, allowing her to display a rather collected, confident energy. it suits her.

you hum. "yeah. his phone is being bombarded with messages as we speak. it's okay. i'll take care of it."

"papy?"

sans tries to move in the direction of his phone, but he's stopped by alphys this time.

"he's worried about you," the doctor says, "but i know for a fact that you wouldn't want him to see you like this. i've got something that should do the trick, but you have to let my intent do its job. are we clear?"

"...crystuhl."

"good. satyr, do you mind grabbing sans a cup of water?"

satyr does as he's requested. sans takes his concoction without complaint, and the doctor observes for any immediate complications.

"so..," you say smoothly, "who's papy? is that the famous brother i kept hearing about last night?"

sans nods. "s'the best."

alphys grins. "yeah. uhm... anyway! it's- it's going to take a few hours for you to get your full cohh- coherency back, sans. i can talk to papyrus for you if you'd like?"

another nod. "ok."

"you might feel better if you rest at home, too."

"oh, best not jostle him around too much, right? you're free to stay here with me, darling," you cut in with a tone that invited no argument.

"ok."

alphys glances between the two of you for a moment but ultimately concedes.

"a-alright, then. if anything comes up, at- at all, then uhm. dr. satyr knows how to contact me. is there anything else you'd like my help with, director?"

you glance at your personal assistant, who doesn't care to remark on his pretty new honorific.

sans had stopped shaking, so you give alphys a gracious smile.

"thanks again, doc. i owe you one."

once alphys is sent on her way, you round on satyr. sans is set on one side of the bed, and he's clicking through his various notifications.

"since when are you a doctor?"

satyr's tail flicks. "if you had read my resume when you hired me, you would have seen that i received my doctorate in bio-mana technology."

"wait, wait, wait, so then, why didn't you help sans?"

"i have no license to practice medicine as, if you remember the words i just used, i am not a doctor in a medical field."

you stick your tongue out at him. "so mean to me, and for what? i could fire you, you know."

"if only," satyr says. he pushes his glasses up, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk. "unfortunately, you need me around to cover you when you decide to shirk your responsibilities and play lovestruck fool."

"admit that you like the challenge. oh! speaking of shirking responsibilities - i don't want sansy getting in trouble with anyone. sans, sweetness, who do we need to call to give you the day off?"

sans shakes his head.

"no?" you pout. "what do you mean, 'no'?"

"no need to call anyone for the first gig," he says slowly. "alphys said i'll be fine soon, so i can... make- i can make it to my night shift-"

"what? absolutely not! you're literally recovering from getting drugged - that's a medical emergency, isn't it?"

sans shrugs. he rubs a hand over his skull with a low groan. "i don't- i'd rather... it would be best if no one knew i was in the position to get roofied at all, if that's okay with you, director."

you balk at his short tone, crossing your arms. "why? it's not like it was your fault."

"they won't care. it's fine. i can work."

"but you shouldn't," you plead. "sans, baby-"

"can you stop that? please."

your jaw clicks shut. satyr meets your side glance. he checks his watch and turns heel, immediately getting your hint that you want to be alone.

the hotel door clicks shut, and the silence in the room feels heavy.

sans sighs. "i'm not your 'baby'. you just think i'm weird. or, or... erotic. exotic? different, anyway. you'll be over me in a week."

that's not fair. you cross your arms, half in defense. you want to immediately disregard the comment.

but you couldn't, could you? satyr had been covering for your promiscuity for years. had become a bit of an expert at it, frankly. if sans was ever made properly aware of your track record...

you hate to imagine the way he'd look at you.

but this felt different. you wanted this to last longer than a month. you'd already put in so much effort into making this work. you weren't about to let him think you didn't care.

you weren't about to let him leave.

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you say honestly. "i won't use pet names until you ask me to, moving forward."

sans looks tired. "ok."

you pout. "the rest of what you said isn't true, though. well, not like that. i mean, i like you a lot for a bunch of reasons."

sans puts his phone down. he blinks, and his eyelights struggle to refocus on you. "...like what?"

"well... i like your humor. and the way you talk about your brother. you must really love him." with every point, you inch your way closer to him. "there was this one time, when we were at that rooftop bar. do you remember? you talked about the stars for like, twenty minutes."

sans' face heats up. he looks away, and you chuckle.

"i would have listened to you ramble for the entire night, but you did just that. you got all blushy and shy and apologized for being super smart and cool."

there it is. sans snorts, making you grin.

"i like your appetite. if i knew how to cook, i'd want to share a meal with you. you don't laugh. you snort and chuckle and huff. i think i've managed to make you laugh, like, at most twice. i want to get to know you more and figure out how to get that big belly laugh out of you every time."

you lower yourself to the ground beside him, resting your head and arms on the bed and looking up at him innocently.

"if you stick around, that is. if you'll allow me to get to know you," you murmur. "of course, i like the color of your magic. and yes, i think you're sexy as hell. absolutely gorgeous. i love the way you melt into me, and the noises you make when you're so far gone that it only feels good."

sans' blush floods his cheeks.

"i want you, sans. i want to help you. will you let me?"

he looks at you for a long while. you sit patiently, looking back. he's searching for something, and you hope that what he finds convinces him to let you kiss him again.

he ultimately looks... conflicted.

"ok," he says softly. there's something vulnerable in his voice that makes you want to curl up around him again, and protect him from this bitch of a universe. you had failed him last night. you weren't going to let it happen again.

you smile kindly.

"ok. can you tell me what you need?"

sans picks his phone back up. his mood sours again.

"i don't know," he says earnestly. "i just got fired, and i missed the time to set up my hot dog stand for the lunch rush. my next shift starts in about four hours, and i know for a fact that if i call out now, they're not going to let me back in the door."

your soft posture is rigid once he's done explaining his situation. you hate to think you've cause him so much stress... you also despise that this man has been working at least three jobs just to make ends meet. no wonder he could drink you under the table - every day was another stress to hide at the bottom of the bottle.

"how much do you need? like, monthly?"

sans looks sidelong at you. "don't worry about it."

"too late for that, babes. i- i mean, sans. sorry. it's too late for that, though. i'm so very worried about it. you're smart and charismatic. you catch on to things very quickly. i bet i can give you a referral to a way better position-"

"no."

"what- but, why? please, sans, you're going to work yourself to death!"

sans shrugs. "It's not that bad... a lot of us don't even get the opportunity. It's hard to hire a skeleton for much of anything. if i was a bunny, or a dog..."

"then work for me."

sans squints at you. "doing... what? you already have a personal assistant."

"mmmaybe," you hum, inching closer. "you could keep me company. be my escort."

"i... i... no," he says slowly, with great hesitance.

"how much do you need, sans? i can offer you double."

"wha- what? no! i can't accept that-"

"triple."

sans huffs. "stop, please, i- look. i don't need much. it's... it's my brother who needs it. he got accepted into MEU. i think i told you about it? anyway. his classes, the tuition- the room and board... it's so expensive. the gold i had saved up from before is set to run out in a couple months if i don't have at least four different streams of income. i don't want him to worry about it, much less about me. he needs to focus on his studies and on getting to know as many people as possible. i don't want to be the reason he holds himself back from reaching his potential, and i can't- i can't be there for him the way i used to be, but then i wonder if i ever really was and i can't even-"

sans is starting to have trouble breathing, the anxiety choking him. you rush up to hold him again, shushing him.

"sans. sans," you say, tone firm. "you're okay, papy is okay. it's going to work out. please, trust me. let me help you. if you won't let me help you get a job- let me cover one month. i can give you time."

sans groans, leaning into you. his grip on his phone is worrying. you try to be soothing.

"why are you so against the idea, though? if anything, i'd expect you to leap at the easy out."

he buries his face against your chest, tossing his phone to the side just to grip you instead.

"i... like you. too." the confession is caught in the soft material of your robe.

you perk up for a moment before collapsing back into confusion. you wait for him to continue.

he's shaking again.

"i wanted this to be different," he says in a rush. "i didn't expect to like you so much. i don't want to take advantage of your status, and i don't want you to think i'm only here for your money, i just- if i can't do this, then what use am i to you? what do i tell paps?"

you frown. "sans. please look at me."

sans whines for a note, but does as he's told. he backs up just enough to meet your eye.

"sans. you don't have to do this alone. please let me help you. i promise that i won't like you any less."

sans' eyes flicker. "you promise?"

you nod. "i promise."

sans bites his tongue. he curls in closer to you, the side of his skull resting over your heartbeat.

a minute passes.

you try to be soothing, rubbing patterns into his ribs and rocking gently to and fro.

eventually, sans nods.

"ok."

you light up, pulling back to look sans in the eye again. "really?? wonderful! how much do you need? Mount Ebott University isn't Ivy League, right? i could probably find a way to slash that tuition for your brother. Where do you live again? do you rent or did you buy? regardless, i have property in the city that you could live in-"

"s-slow down," sans mumbles.

you grin. "sorry! sorry, okay. well, here, let's start with this-"

you grab sans' phone and hand it back to him.

"call out. you're not going anywhere today, young man!"

sans' smile is wobbly, and a drop of sweat appears on his skull. "ok."

you giggle, feeling compelled to plant a smooch to his cheek. that makes him blush again.

---

he calls out. someone on the other end of the line yells at him, and you don't entertain it for a second, hanging up on them for him. with a small celebration, you kiss him senseless.

with his newfound freedom, sans' first request is to take a shower. understandably so- usually you would have insisted on taking one earlier, but today had been rather eventful thus far. you don't even really think about it in your excitement, picking sans up in a bridal carry without issue and marching happily to the large bath.

you set him down on the soft bathmat and remove your robe with a flourish. sans' sockets widen, and he stumbles back a step.

you cackle. "what? it's nothing you haven't seen before!"

sans is grinning despite himself. "in my defense, it's usually dark, and i'm usually half-drunk."

"then feast your eyes, darling," you say with a grand gesture, standing proudly before him in plain view. only to wince at your mistake and walk back with a rushed, "shit, sorry, i mean-"

sans laughs.

"no, no- it's fine. i uh... i was..." sans' hands clench into fists. "you promised... so, uh, its okay. i like it..."

you perk up again. "you like it? what do you like?"

sans is bright blue when he says, "i... i like being... your baby..."

you squeal in delight. you pick him up again, this time spinning him around in giddy circles. with every endearment, you place another kiss on his soft face. "baby!! sweetheart!! darling!! cutie-patootie!! honey bunches!!"

eventually, sans devolves into a fit of giggles, helpless to avoid the onslaught of your affection. you set the water to temp, and as you wait for the room to steam up, you help things along by pressing sans against the wall.

you kiss him again and again, licking at his teeth. he summons his tongue at your insistence, and he tastes like-

medicine.

you spit without thinking, recoiling at the flavor. sans presses himself as close to the wall as he can, and he stares at you with a hint of fear. his jaw snaps shut, tongue hiding away.

"oh stars, oh stars, oh-" you fret, "no, wait-" and you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. "i'm so sorry, oh my fucking stars, i didn't mean to do that, i-"

sans' blush is so deep, his eye lights flickering and warping.

you kiss him elsewhere, trying to soothe over your mistake-

only.

sans is stiff as a board.

you grin.

"wait a second... did you... like that??"

"n-no!"

"holy shit, you liked that!!"

"i- i don't even-"

"you little freak," you say with a purr. "i'll just have to keep that little trick in my back pocket, hm?"

before he can protest again, you reach up to hook a thumb on his bottom jaw, prying it open. you see sans' florescent blue tongue squirm in embarrassment as you slowly position him inches below you. you gather a small bit of saliva and threaten a drop of it.

sans' eyelights spiral out of shape, and his arms lash out in search of stability. you pull back before the drop lands, letting go of him enough to let him gather his senses. he's gasping, trying to get a hold of himself, trying to not make it so obvious that he found that hot as hell.

his eyelights betray him, flashing heart shaped. his ecto is at full mast, and when he finds stability, he finds it in you, clinging to your strong arms.

now knowing what to expect, you dive in to kiss him again. the taste is unpleasant, but his keening whine makes it worth it. stuck between you and the wall, he ruts against you, searching for friction. you let him take his own pleasure, encouraging him to grind against you.

the steam builds around you, hot and heavy. you moan, dropping a hand to sans' thick thigh, pulling his leg up and over your hip. you rub against each other, and you can feel how the slick from his ecto is sticky against your skin.

"good boy," you say roughly, nipping the corner of his mouth. "you look so pretty and desperate grinding on me. does that feel good, baby? yeah?"

"y-yeah."

"i want to hear you say it."

"it- it feels- nmgh- it feels good."

you groan. "perfect. so good for me, sans."

"please, please-"

"what do you need?"

"need more," sans begs, "please!"

you kiss him hard, shifting until you can comfortably wrap a hand around his dick. you pull a few adorable squeaks out of him, and you can feel it in the way he twitches that his pleasure is climbing.

the ceilings are high enough that you can lift sans up until his thighs rest on your shoulders. he yelps, the bite of fear easily melting into arousal when you lick a stripe over his delicious looking cock. the tip of it is a dark indigo, contrasting the vibrant sapphire of the rest of his ecto.

you give him a teasing kiss before swallowing him down to the hilt. he's not the biggest you've ever had, but you might just claim him to be the best. he fit perfectly in your mouth, and he tasted as good as he looked. you moan around him, loud and vulgar, and focus on making him delirious with pleasure.

sans holds on to the best of his ability, a chant of "please, please, please," joining the humidity of the room. you're honored to provide.

it's wonderful for both of you. you love the way he feels, twitching involuntarily, thighs shaking even as they clamp around your head. sans' moan is gorgeous and ragged when he finally reaches his peak. his hands pull you down, smushing your nose against him, and you happily swallow down every pulse of cum that paints the back of your throat.

sans is panting, the strength of his hold waning as aftershocks zip up his spine. you look up to see his heart-shaped eyelights are hazy and warbling, and for a minute, you're so overcome affection that you want the moment to last forever. you suckle gently until he's whining again, one hand weakly asking you to stop.

you release him with a pop and one last kitten kiss. you take sans gently off of your shoulders and guide the two of you to the waiting stream of water. the shower was more than ready for you, and the water felt divine.

"you did so good, darling," you say in a hushed tone, half because your throat needed a moment to rest. "absolutely gorgeous. positively delectable."

sans is liquid in your hold, and he sighs with heady decadence. you rub gently at the surface of his exposed bones. slowly, the ecto clinging to his frame fades back down, and you're left with a sleepy little skeleton that you can maneuver as you wish. you are nothing less than thorough, making sure any buildup of magic and sweat was washed away. you continue to praise him as you go. it was quickly becoming your favorite thing to do.

after doing the same for yourself, you shut the water off and wrap sans in a big, warm, fluffy towel. he dozes almost immediately, trusting your care.

looking down at his peaceful expression, it dawns on you just how far gone you are.

as long as he continues to indulge your offer, you are going to do everything in your power to keep sans for yourself. safe, happy, and pampered...

[danpuff-ao3]

shipping asks! a couple of random ones: i’d like to hear your thoughts on snape x any other lightning gen character (positive or negative - you pick!), & if you had to ship every one of the marauders with one lightning gen character each, what would your pairs be? as much or as little explanation as you’d like 😂

Oooh!!!! Hello there! These are fun!!!!! You know I love those age gaps so this is perfect. 😍

Let's see...

Snape x any other lightning gen character

I'm guessing by "other" you mean "other than Harry" since obviously Snarry is my one true love. 😂

For Hermione/Snape, while I understand why people ship them, I more so friendship them. For Ron/Snape, a fic with this ship was recently brought to my attention, and while I don't see this pair at all, I really need to check out that fic to see what all the fuss is about. (Seraphim Beneath the Christmas Tree, for the curious.) On the darker side, I can appreciate Ginny/Snape where Ginny is a Lily replacement. I see lots of gorgeous Luna/Snape art and while I appreciate the visual contrasts, I'm just...unsure? (Though there's a great Snape & Luna friendship fic I love, also a Christmas fic: Nargles at Christmastime.)

But the two Snape ships I'm most intrigued by would be Draco/Snape and Neville/Snape.

For Snaco: Head of House and one of his own students? Hot. Even hotter if you like the Godfather Snape headcanon. So Head of House/student and godfather/godson?? Yes, please. There's also the same visual contrasts that Snuna has, only it's slash!! There's also the fun "pureblood rich boy falls for older, poor, ugly man" which is my kink.

Do I see a genuine, healthy relationship? Absolutely not. Is it even love? Ehhh. I see this as more sexual, especially on Snape's end. Draco is young and pretty. And especially after Dumbledore's death, when they go on the run...perfect time for sexy shenanigans.

Specifically I like to think of existing Snarry, then Snape kills Dumbledore, Harry is angry and betrayed, Snape is stressed and heartbroken, and he uses Draco as a second best option. Whether Harry and Snape ever reunite, who knows. It's a sadder story if Draco and Snape stay together and Snape just settles for Draco, and Draco stays because...Well. I can see Draco falling for Snape before I see Snape returning his affection.

One Draco moves past being fussy and particular, if he can see Snape as a protector and a hero, I think that would do him in. Recognizing his strength and bravery; respecting his intelligence and his power; finding appeal in his protectiveness and possessiveness; appreciating the hidden romance, and mystery. I think the war could really do a number in demolishing whatever reasons Snape is the "wrong choice" for Draco. I think he'll take what he can get. Maybe fall into bed with Snape for the sex, catch feelings, and by the time he realizes Snape doesn't actually return them...well, he holds onto hope and sticks with it.

Even in a world where Snape would rather be with Harry, but Harry is either dead or doesn't forgive him...Draco will at least take comfort (and smugness) in that he does have Snape.

(I wrote some unrequited Snaco in Midsummer if you like angst! But cw for implied mpreg.)

(Other Snaco rec: Custard Tarts for the Tart by iamisaac.)

For Sneville: Another case of unrequited love (which I explored some in Romantic Notions.) During school years, I can see the case of a fear/crush on Snape. But I especially see it postwar when Neville deals with complicated feelings of his unpleasant history with Severus combined with now seeing him in a new light, as a hero. Think of events they might meet at! Snape the spy, Neville the snake-slayer.

Another super unhealthy dynamic. In my eyes, the imbalance of their personalities on top of their troubled past just makes this not work out in any decent way. Even when Neville comes into his own more and gains more confidence and strength, there will always be something a little off about his dynamic with Severus. This is another one where I see "in a world where Harry is dead or doesn't forgive Severus, Neville is the one he settles for." (Sorry, Snarry truly has rotted my brain.) It could be cute in a very questionable and angsty way. They share a garden. Neville supplies ingredients for Severus' potions. They have a little cottage and a quiet life. And really kinky sex.

(Humiliation kink helloooooo.)

I do have a Sneville + Snarry fic I've considered. Wartime fic. Harry asks Neville to look after Severus (as if he needs it 🙄) and...things happen. Very sad. Very hot. Just how I like it.

(Other Sneville rec: Night-blooming heartease.)

I'm feeling very exposed right now, let's move onto the simpler questions!

Marauders x Lightning Era

Let's go hardest to easiest, hmm?

Peter...Jesus lord idk. Hmmm. 🤔 I almost wanna say Ron because of the Scabbers of it all. 😂 Oh the questionable smut potential! Instead, let's go...Zacharias Smith. Sorry, I can't get rid of iffy Peter feels, so we stick him with the jerkface. OR...for Death Eater-y reasons...Crabbe or Goyle???? Sorry, anything I think of for Peter feels wrong and/or mean 🙈 And all of my ideas belong on the darker side of fic.

Unless we're going the time travel route and I can imagine Peter in better days as a better person...in which case...huh. Colin, maybe?? I wanted to say Neville, but I like Neville better for Remus.

James: huh. The first ship that came to mind was Hermione because of my dear friend @bluesundaycake, but I've never actually read Hermione/James or thought about it too much. I've never really thought of James with Lightning Era characters at all. I can see the case for Hermione. Smart as a whip, brave as all heck. But also...Ginny???? People laugh that Harry/Ginny is basically Harry hooking up with his mom, so here it's like...James hooking up with his late wife/ex wife (whichever the situation calls for. 😂) Unless it's time travel and he just shifts his crush on Lily to Ginny instead?? Plus they can bond over Quidditch! (Bonus points if Lily and James are divorced, and Harry and Ginny once dated and are broken up.) (For maximum drama and weirdness, y'know?) (Super hot.)

Remus: okay I really like Draco/Remus. Similar to Snaco for all the contrasts. Rich pureblood boy with his poor half-blood werewolf boyfriend?? Daddy will be so mad!!!! And I love it. Plus how calm and patient and charming Remus is with bratty, demanding, spoiled Draco?? Killer pair. Draco will feel safe with Remus; Remus will be excited by Draco. And I know I've mentioned before, somewhere, that this ship reminds me of me and my partner, so I have extra soft feelings for them! 🥰 Just think of Remus smiling fondly/indulgently while Draco paces around, ranting about his day, talking with his hands. Or pouting for one reason or another. Or Remus having to defend Draco and getting all calm-angry with attackers and Draco being all dreamy-eyed over it!!!! (Only One Word by EntreNous.)

I also really like Neville/Remus. A very drama-free pair. Two soft boys just doing life. Very calm and quiet. They garden together and read together. The very stable, healthy couple everyone else looks up to and goes to for advice. Better as a background pair, but cute all the same! Though there is a very good fic for them by swtalmnd called Flora and Fauna.

Sirius: there can only be one, and it's Draco/Sirius. I'm stupidly into it. I like it, I love it, I want some more of it. They're cousins! The age gap! The proper pureblood and the rebel! Opposite sides of the war. Yadda yadda yadda. Both are drama queens. Both are hot. Sirius teaches Draco how to properly let loose and have fun. But he also cleans up well (surprisingly) and can play the part for Draco as needed. Meanwhile, Draco brings a challenge into Sirius' life, and gives him someone to chase and bicker with. They'd have a lot of fun together I think, and a lot of passion! (Old Dogs and New Tricks by youcantseeus.)

ship asks

other answers: here

[hemera989]

bilumax | pegging | age swap

explicit - 485 words

see i told myself i wasnt gonna repeat kinks but pegging,,,, PEGGING

cw : implied underage, age gap, consensual non-consent, stepsibling incest

Billy always gets this stupid-cute look on his face when he’s getting fucked good.

Usually Lucas is too busy laying pipe to really get a good look at him, but with Max doing all the work right now, he’s got plenty of time to sit back and enjoy. And, God, is there a lot to enjoy; Billy’s eyes are glazed over and wet with overwhelmed tears, his mouth struck dumb and open with moans, arms trembling with exertion while the lewd, wet slap of Max’s hips against his ass matches perfectly with each stuttered groan from Billy’s mouth. 

The dildo she’s fucking him with is definitely way too big for him, and his helpless whimpering every time silicone crushes his prostate is evidence enough, but it’s just too easy to get Billy on board with shit like this. He’s so fucking easy, and so eager to please that it’s like he’s barely got any boundaries at all. It’s a hell of a turn on—Lucas is so, so tempted to move his hands from Billy’s cheeks to his hair and yank him down, forcing Billy to swallow his cock and choke him on it. It’s not like Billy would complain, hell, he’d probably get off on it.

He almost does it anyways, because Billy has got the best mouth in Hawkins, but he and Max already decided: Billy’s gonna cum, untouched, on Max’s cock or not at all. And if Max is done before Billy gets to cum? Well, tough luck.

Then, Billy whimpers and his cock jumps, and he’s fighting not to drool all over himself, and, well…

Lucas looks up at Max, whose cheeks are pink with exertion, and raises one of his eyebrows in silent question.

“You want his mouth?” Max asks, a little breathless. Billy makes an utterly overwhelmed noise, open-mouthed groaning against Lucas’ chest. 

Lucas grins. “How did you know?”

“You always get that look on your face,” Max scoffs. Her smile is affectionate. “Go ‘head, baby.”

Lucas gives her a grateful look, and then he’s hooking a thumb into Billy’s mouth and tugging him down. Billy goes down easy, and there’s no resistance when Lucas guides the head of his cock into his mouth, thrusting up into wet heat. He’s a little too stupid to suck properly, so Lucas rolls his eyes and takes Billy’s hair in hand, pulling him up and down like a toy. A spurt of pre-cum drips down onto Lucas’ thigh, so it reasons to believe that Billy is definitely into it.

Lucas can’t help but snort. “Jesus, Max. Where the hell do you get a guy like this?”

“Don’t ask me, he was probably born like that,” Max says, rolling her eyes. “Isn’t that right, Billy? You were born to take dick, weren’t you?” And when Billy cums all over the sheets, Max looks at Lucas and shrugs as if to say, See? Told you.

[aveegrex]

PROFESSOR ROBIN

genre: smut pairing: prof!Robin x afab!reader (no gendered pronouns used but reader wears skirts and has a pussy) word count: 0,5k cw: fingering, oral (f!receiving), age gap (implied), student-professor relationship, semi-public sex, panty-stealing (more like taking away since Robin's not really shy about it)

author's note: I'm at the writer's block right now and I have about five stories that I'm working on atm that I just cannot call good enough to post here. This one might actually get taken down too, I'm just feeling too guilty to haven't posted in a while.

professor Robin, whose class on Monday morning is the only one that's perceived as a blessing and not a curse, full attendance guaranteed at any point in the semester.

professor Robin, who has even the slackest of the slackers studying hard, every single student eager to show her their attention to her subject.

professor Robin, whose sultry voice and tight dresses leave everyone pondering their sexuality.

professor Robin, who’s always so kind to those in need, helping the struggling students at ungodly hours.

professor Robin, who being at the top of the gossip topics pool, stays a total enigma, leaving everyone even more tantalized with her persona.

professor Robin who always gives you a soft knowing look in class, calling your name out ever so gently to ask you a particularly difficult question, chuckling lightly when you stumble over your words.

professor Robin who asks you to stay behind after one of the lectures, mentioning your deteriorating performance.

professor Robin who grins eloquently when you stutter over the lamest excuse, failing to cover the pathetic truth that it’s her voice that’s making something much lower than your ears receptive to whatever she’s saying.

professor Robin who tells you to have a seat at her desk and settles beside you, her dewy floral perfume not helping you focus in the slightest.

professor Robin, whose gentle hand slides a textbook in front of you, long fingers barely brushing against your own hand.

professor Robin who’s watching you closely as you read the paragraphs out loud, voice shaking to her excitement.

professor Robin who motions you to continue as you almost let out a yelp when her hand glides up your thigh to the hem of your skirt, fingertips peeking under the flimsy fabric to just lightly press on your clothed core.

professor Robin who moves your panties aside, your arousal soiling her soft skin.

professor Robin whose lips ghost over your neck, a tiny whisper of “go on” teasing your ear as her fingers plunge inside you, reaching the spots you could never touch herself.

professor Robin who catches your lips with hers, the lewdest open mouthed make-out session leaving you clamping your thighs around her wrist.

professor Robin who slides under the table, opening your legs to nuzzle her face into your shy little pussy and have your juices smeared over her red lips

professor Robin who’s snatching your panties from your grasp and tells you you’d only get them after your private study session this evening.

professor Robin who leaves you unable to close your legs the next morning, body buzzing of multiple orgasms she has put you through.

professor Robin who promises to help you with your studies her own way, and you’re surprised to learn how experienced of a tutor her tongue is.

professor Robin whose enigmatic persona and only increasing sex appeal make you forego all clumsy same-age crushes and land you in the bed with an experienced woman. The bed that you oh so hate to leave for classes other than hers. MDNI, reblogs and comments are welcome, I'm off to findng hot meelf$ in my area

© 2022 AVEEGREX, all rights reserved. reposting and copying my works without my consent is forbidden.

[seita]

— better than (m.)

pairing : iwaizumi/reader

wordcount : 3.087

genre : fluff, smut, pwp

cw : college!au, athletic trainer!iwaizumi

tags : implied age gap (hes 27 reader is in college- age nkt specified. he's older tho), size kink, dom!iwa, pussy job (a lil bit), multiple orgasms, sensitivity kink (if u squint), squirting, fingering, creampie, aftercare.

note : this was just an excuse to write about how iwaizumi is better than any other boy <3 thank u to @toshisins for beta'ing this for me <3

+ summary : you're so tired of dumb college boys who hump and dump, with no stroke game, and can never even try to get you off. that is, until you meet 27 year old iwaizumi hajime.

When you first met Iwaizumi Hajime at the bar near your college campus, you noticed how good looking he was. Well, that was an understatement - he was tall, fit with tanned skin and a confident aura that made you weak in the knees.

You hadn't actually had the courage to approach him, however. Instead, you let some college boy buy you a cheap drink and take you home for some mediocre sex before kicking you out after not even 15 minutes of his reckless humping.

The second time you met him was at the same place. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey that was almost empty. His back was to you and it gave you a wonderful view of his broad shoulders.

The mediocre lay from the last time you had been there attempted to chat you up again with false confidence, as if he had been the best fuck of your life. Naturally, you weren't having any of his bullshit - he tried to rub your clit like a scratch and sniff, forcing you to pry his hand away from it, there was no chance in hell you were giving him another second of your time. He definitely wasn't the type of guy who took rejection well, if not evident by the way he exploded and went off calling you a wide, colorful variety of names paired with numerous hurtful insults that had tears of humiliation filling your eyes.

“Hey now,” a smooth, deep voice had interrupted his very public spiel, “Don’t punish the girl for your own short comings, if she doesn't wanna fuck you again, don't you think that says more about your abilities as a man?”

The other man sputtered, muttering even more curses before storming out - probably not wanting to tussle with a guy who looked like he benched every second of his day.

There was something about Iwaizumi that just immediately had your heart skipping a beat over him. He was kind, a gentleman, and never seemed desperate or overbearing. He was confident and comfortable with himself and where he was in life.

You quickly learned that Iwaizumi was 27, almost 28 and worked as an athletic trainer so he traveled a lot.

For a while, your relationship seemed one sided with him. You'd text him and he’d reply but he rarely ever actually reached out to you. You tried flirting with him, asking him out for drinks, but it never seemed to pull him in.

It was frustrating. In basically no time at all, you had developed a stupid puppy dog crush on him. You felt like a middle school girl with a crush on a high school senior - like he was never going to give you the time of day. You were simply too young for him.

You eventually stopped trying with him, choosing to delete your message thread with him and continued on with your life.

You went through more college-boy hookups - all of them ending in disaster. Quite frankly, you were fed up with mediocre cock and being treated like shit when they were done with you. It wasn't a nice feeling, being kicked out after they didn't even bother trying to make you cum.

You couldn’t help but wonder what Iwaizumi would be like in bed. He was just so attractive, you knew he had gotten his dick wet more times than he could count. He definitely seemed the type who preferred relationships over hookups.

That's when it occurred to you.

You pulled out your phone and scoured your contacts. It had been a couple weeks since you spoke but you couldn't resist bugging him just one last time. You opened a new message thread with him and quickly typed the question that was now plaguing your mind.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

It was the question that had changed the course of your relationship with him.

When you asked, it was like everything fell into place. Perhaps it finally relayed to him the interest you had. All that really mattered was the fact he suddenly began talking to you, starting conversations and even venturing into phone calls with you.

You lost all interest in those college boys you once hung out with and went home with to get laid. None of them made you feel the way Iwaizumi could with a simple text message. He was everything a girl could ask for and you were shocked he was single.

Which was why you were quick to ask him on a date, not caring if it made you look desperate -- you practically were. You would be damned if he went off the market while you were busy beating around the bush.

Going on a date with Iwaizumi was like a dream. You were so used to dates at sleazy bars for a couple of drinks just so they could hurry up and take you home for a quick fuck.

Iwaizumi took the time to take you on several dates -- dinner, movies, walks around town to obscure shops he thought you might like, before it finally led to the bedroom.

You had never been nervous with sex but with Iwaizumi it was different. The routine was dumb college boys who usually fawned over your tits for a few minutes before their hard ons became the center of their brain function.

You found yourself completely bare on his bed as he stood at the foot, fully clothed. The way his eyes raked across your body like a lion eyeing its next, delicious meal had you curling in on yourself shyly.

His lips quirked up as your arms came across your breasts, shielding them from his predatory gaze, “Oh now, you know better than that, don’t you? What kind of good girl hides herself, hm? Acted so eager for my cock all this time, now you wanna be shy?”

You gasp, cheeks flushing hot as you register his words -- he’d known you wanted him that badly all this time?

He clicks his tongue, “You didn’t think you were subtle did you? Bet you would have done anything to get your paws on my dick when I got off work early the other day, hm? Showed up at your apartment...you were starin’ real hard at me, I’m right aren’t I?”

You think that to that day, lashes fluttering against your cheeks at the memory. He was wearing loose gray sweats and a muscle tank top that showed his biceps flexing with every movement he made. Your eyes had immediately been drawn, however more down to his crotch instead. Where you could clearly see the outline of his cock through the material.

You had stuffed your little fingers in your cunt for hours that night, thinking about how big he looked -- even soft, couldn’t imagine if he was hard.

“Ah, there you go again,” he muses, snapping you out of your haze, “Maybe if you ask real pretty for me, I’ll give you just what you want.”

“Please,” you immediately gasp, “Want you so much Hajime, i-it hurts. Can’t stop thinkin’ about you…”

“It hurts?” he huffs, finally reaching up to pull his shirt off, leaving you to ogle his pecs and defined abs, which flex as he works on removing his jeans, “Needy little cunt hurts ‘cause you don’t have a nice, fat cock stuffing it full? Such a dramatic little baby. I just know your phone is full of some little college boys’ numbers...why don’t you give them a call?”

You shake your head, “Don’t want them! I just know they’re not as good as you, Hajime, please...please make me cum, I'll do anything?”

“Aw, those idiot little boys don’t know how to make a pretty girl like you cum, is that it?” he asks, climbing onto the bed, making the mattress dip beneath you as he slots himself between your thighs.

��No,” you pout, letting him spread your legs, hands under your knees to open you up to his greedy gaze.

“So compliant with me, you just need a real man to get you off, huh?” he smiles when you nod, “Don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of you.”

Oh, you knew. Just from the way he moved his hips against yours, parting your folds so the head of his cock glided from your clenching little hole, dragging your slick up to your clit -- you just knew that he knew what he was doing.

As you looked between your legs, you felt yourself gush at the sight. His cock was so big, long and fat, drooling precum over your slick little slit, making a mess. He wrapped his fist around his length, making you whimper as his fingers couldn’t even wrap around the girth of him. He slapped his cock against your cunt, groaning at the strings of your slick that clung to him.

“Such a messy cunt,” he sighs, making sure to spank your clit with the head of his cock, laughing breathlessly when your thighs jumped in response to the sudden stimulation, “So fucking eager for me, aren’t you?”

“Uhuh,” you sigh, arching your hips, “Want you to fuck, please, Hajime, need it so bad.”

Much to your dismay, he shakes his head, “Can’t just put it in, pretty baby,” the pet name makes you whimper, “It’ll hurt too much, want you to feel good, yeah?”

“I can handle it,” you breathlessly reassure, canting his hips upward once more to drag your clit against that ridge on the crown of his cock, “Jus’ put it in…”

He doesn’t respond this time but still makes no move to put his cock inside. You’re distracted, however, by the way he now focuses on playing with your clit. Using his cock, he drags the underside across the hard little bud, slaps it once with the tip and before you know it your body is seizing up and you cum.

You let out a string of curses, falling limp against the bed as he works you through the quick high.

“See, that was so easy,” he chuckles, “Those stupid little boys you’ve been letting screw you have no idea what they’re doing, do they? Little cunts so sensitive, I barely even had to do anything to make you cum.”

You’re still trembling when you come down, licking your lips as you give him a dopey little smile and a nod at his cooing. He can’t resist leaning down, and pressing his lips against yours almost desperately. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him in a deep kiss while his hand finds its way between your legs, two fingers sliding easily into your slick little cunt.

You moan into his mouth, “Hajime ah! ...please, make me cum again.”

“Fuck, you’re so desperate for me,” he hisses through his teeth, “Clenching around my fingers so tight. If I crook my fingers...right here...I bet you’ll just…”

As if on cue, his fingertips hook on your g-spot and you squeal, legs kicking out as you gush around his fingers. He bites his lip and continues to fuck his fingers against that spot, watching your eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as you cum for the second time in mere minutes.

“Y-You’re so good, Hajime…” you praise softly, “Fuck, please, give me your cock now!”

He laughs and sits up properly again, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He examines them for a second, slick with your cum and streaks of cream covering the digits before he pops them into his mouth with a moan, savoring the taste of you.

“Alright, baby,” he sighs after pulling out his fingers with a pop!. He grips you beneath the knees again and scoots closer until his tip prods at your entrance. You shudder at the feeling, “Relax for me, pretty girl, let me in…”

Iwaizumi begins pushing in, letting out a soft groan as the head finally buries itself in your cunt. You squeal at the feeling, pulling your knees closer to your chest. The sound of you moaning and whimpering just from his head has him throbbing almost painfully against your tender cunt.

“Almost there…” he huffs, grinning at the sight of your eyes rolling back, “Ah, does that feel good?”

“Yes!” you cry out, “Biggest cock I’ve ever had…’s full…”

“Yeah, baby? It feels so good to finally get your cunt filled with a nice, big cock huh?” he laughs when you nod eagerly, “It’s alright, baby. You won’t have to deal with any mediocre college boys anymore, yeah? This cock’s all yours now…you hear that? All yours.”

Your hand flies down between your legs, finding your clit. He watches with lidded eyes as you circle the little bud and squeal, keeping his hips still to let you cum around his cock nice and hard like you need.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he hums, “Get yourself off, you know what you need...atta girl…”

You sigh happily at his praise, licking your lips and relax against the bed once more. He takes that as his hint that you were ready, pulling his hips back before roughly slamming back inside your sensitive cunt. It knocks the air from your lungs and you cry out, unable to hold back your noises as he fucks you senseless.

He uses his strength to keep you pinned, forcing your knees against your chest, leaving your cunt open and vulnerable to his pistoning cock. Iwaizumi is so big that the stretch burns every time he sinks back into you, the tip touching your cervix with every calculated thrust, making your entire body ache with the deep pain of it.

But it all feels so good, you’d never been fucked like that before. He knew exactly where to aim his cock, keeping his eyes fixed on your face to watch your reactions, gaze flicking down to where his cock stuffs your cunt full to watch you coat him in your cream whenever he grazes that sweet little spot deep inside you -- a spot no other man had ever tried to find before.

“Feel good?” he questions, though he knew the answer even before you cry it out.

“Ah, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” you sob, “I-It feels so good, Hajime! Fuck, you’re so good at fucking me! You make me feel like a virgin all over again!”

He grins, “Yeah, I know I am, baby.”

His cocky, confident response would have been a turn off with any other man, but with him -- it only made you moan. He had every right to be cocky, he knew just how to use his cock and it was exhilarating.

“You gotta cum again for me, pretty,” he pants, “Cum again, one more time, let go.”

Your throat burns from how much you scream for him, the messy noises coming from him fucking your sloppy cunt should be embarrassing -- you’ve never made such a mess before. You’ve never been so wet, creaming and gushing all the way down his balls.

He didn’t seem to mind, instead he seemed to only be turned on by it.

“I want you to squirt, can you do that for me? Make a pretty mess for me.”

You shake your head, “D-Don’t know how...Can’t.”

“Yes you can, baby,” he purrs, “I can make you, you know that I will.”

You didn’t but, you couldn’t help but nod -- immediately believing him and trusting him. He shifts his knees just slightly, changing his center of balance before his palm curls over your pubic bone, thumb effortlessly finding itself pressed against your clit.

The change in angle lets him hit your g-spot even more brutal than before. You’re immediately arching and crying out for him, eyes rolling back into your head as you feel your orgasm slam into you faster than you’d ever experienced.

Instead of slowing you down, he works you through it, keeping the same, animalistic pace and keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, the rough pad of his thumb has you ogling. If anything, the calloused hands of Iwaizumi proves to you how much of a real man he is, those college boys have nothing on him.

“Give it to me, c’mon,” he urges, clenching his teeth together from the effort it takes to keep going to this hard and fast pace.

“H-Haji…” you cut yourself off as you feel yourself get thrown over the edge again. This time, something feels different and you can’t help but sob, “Please! I-I’m gonna-!”

“That’s it, fuck!” he moans, pace stuttering when you squirt -- your cum splashing against his abs as you shudder and squeal, “Good fuckin’ girl, my good girl. Shit, where do you want me to cum?”

“I-Inside! Fuck, please! I need your cum!” you immediately sob, nails biting in his biceps where you reach out to grip him -- trembling and crying from overstimulation as he works towards his own high.

“You sure? Shit,” you nod, breathless pleas falling from your lips as he finally stills, spilling his load deep inside with a long, drawn-out groan.

Everything is still for a moment and then he’s pulling out with a hiss. You whine at the feeling of your cunt gaping, yearning for his cock again, as his cum leaks out.

He hums, “Sorry about that, let me get you cleaned up.”

You sigh, and close your eyes, trying to relax and let your body settle its trembling. He comes back and quietly works on cleaning the mess between your thighs.

“Alright, up you go,” he sighs, taking your arm and helping you to your feet. You whine and wobble for a second, making him laugh, “You good?”

“Y-Yeah…” you stumble a bit and lean against his dresser, looking for your discarded clothes.

He has his back to you as he strips his sheets. Suddenly, you feel shut out -- like you shouldn’t be there anymore.

He brushes past you to his closet, pulling out some fresh sheets. You feel silly, standing there naked while he gets ready for bed. You bend down and grab your panties, clumsily putting them on before moving to pick up your dress, where it’s crumpled on the floor.

“What’re you doing?” he laughs, “That won’t be comfortable to sleep in.”

“Huh?” you tilt your head to the side and he pauses fluffing his pillows.

“What...you didn’t think I was kicking you out, did you?” he asks and scoffs at the face you make.

“Well I...usually I…” you shift on your feet nervously and he frowns, walking up to you.

He cups your cheeks and makes you look at him, “Jesus, who have you been fucking?” he laughs and gently nudges you towards the bed, “Lay down before you fall over.”

Fighting back a smile, you do as you’re told and sit on the bed, watching as he puts on a fresh pair of sweats, waiting for him to join you. When he does, he immediately pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Take a nap, and then we’ll take a shower.”

“It’s 11 at night, it wouldn’t be a nap,” you counter with a giggle.

“Well,” he sighs, “Take a shower in the morning then, and then we can go get breakfast, yeah?”

You smile and relax against him, “Sounds good.”

seita © 2020 | all content and its rights belong to me. do not modify or repost

[sugako]

practicum

supervisor!nanami x intern!reader sum: your internship is cruel and boring, but your primary supervisor and his lingering touches are enough to make you stay for the decadence collab by @sugawara-sweetheart cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, smut, power dynamic (boss/intern), slight age gap implied, semi-public sex/office sex, Dom/sub themes, fingering, slight dumbification, cervix kisses, size kink, creampie, reader is in their 20s, inexperienced reader (sorta/idk its up to interp), reader wears a skirt/has a vagina but no gendered language used wc: 2.3k

You knew the moment you stepped into the stiff, grey office building that this wasn’t what you wanted to do, but you had to complete an internship and this had been the easiest place to get into. At first, you hadn’t been sure if it was worth the experience, or the long hours, or the complicated work that really should have been given to someone with twice the experience as you and probably another degree or two.

Truthfully, there wasn’t much keeping you there. You had the opportunity to find a new place within the first week, but you hadn’t. The little steel string that kept you clinging onto this awful, stuffy job was him. Nanami Kento.

Or, as you usually addressed him, Mr. Nanami. He was your primary supervisor after all. The moment you decided to stay was the moment you realized your little crush had gotten out of hand, not that it stopped you. It was impossible with all the sharp angles of his pretty face, the whisper of his baritone voice when he kindly corrected any mistakes in your work and the lingering touches of his fingers across your shoulders as he leaned in to assist you.

Despite his demeanor, you discovered he wasn’t too much older than yourself, at least within ten years of your own age, that had been the tipping point. Your crush quickly got out of hand. Most nights you spent thrashing around in bed imagining your own hands to be his as they left hot trails down your body, but it was never good enough.

For a while, you resigned yourself to lonely nights and soft brushes of skin, but then one day after he caught you in the middle of twisting your ankle up the steps to the office, it was as though a switch flipped.

Nanami had always found you attractive and he appreciated your work ethic, even if he was well aware this wasn’t a place where you would thrive. He knew he spent a little too long explaining certain things to you, letting his body graze yours whenever given the chance, but he felt you enjoyed it. The way your shoulders tensed and you let out a little shuddery gasp that you thought was silent, when your pretty thighs clenched together under whatever cute skirt or pants you had on that day, the light in your eyes that brightened whenever you looked into his eyes - it all made his heart race even if he kept a straight face.

Seeing you so helpless, if even for a short moment, and the delicious whimper you yelped out had broken his resolve. Sure, he was your boss, but not really since you didn’t permanently work here, he reasoned.

“Come to my office so I can check that everything is okay.” He said, taking your elbow into his hand. “It can be easy to fracture the bones in your ankle and foot, and those injuries shouldn't be taken lightly.”

“Uh, okay.” You stuttered back, heat rushing up to the tips of your ears at the subtle contact. It was early, very early, and there were only a handful of people sleepily milling around. Not enough to be a problem, he thought, silently locking the door behind the both of you.

A bit awkwardly, you situated yourself in the middle of the room, bending your knee to slightly lift your foot off the ground. The ache wasn’t terrible, it barely stung, but who were you to argue with a superior?

“Sit on my desk.” He instructed, shucking his suit jacket off and draping it over the back of the plush chair adjacent to the desk.

Nodding quickly, you scampered into place, perching on the edge with your feet dangling above the floor. The straight line of his mouth just barely quirked up as he sat before you. Your mind spun, unable to help but notice how his knees spread wide apart, and the tightness of his pants around his thighs and hips.

Some little part of his brain was telling him to stop, but his body kept moving, fingers rubbing up against your bare ankle. He had to hold back a low groan when he felt you shiver under his touch and your thighs twitch open just the slightest. Glancing up at you only confirmed what he already knew. The way your eyes drooped down, lips parted as you breathed in those cute, shallow breaths, holding yourself up so nicely for him.

Your breath hitched when he looked at you, his hands sliding at a painfully slow rate up from your ankle. They ghosted over your calves, so steady but so cautious, and all the while his eyes stayed anchored to yours.

“How does it look?” You finally breathed when he reached the backside of your knees. Clenching around nothing, but feeling so on the edge of what you longed for, you let your legs fall open just a bit more, knowing he could see your damp panties if he even flickered his eyes down.

When it took him a moment to respond, you worried you had crossed a line, but after a handful of long seconds, the gears in his head stopped turning when his eyes were cast downward. He didn’t make it to your ankle, vision stopping short when he registered how far your cute skirt had been pushed up and the way he could see the perfect outline of your dripping cunt imprinted against the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Very good, but…” Nanami trailed off, kneading your thighs higher and higher.

“But what?” You asked, voice coming out all breathy and needy. The way his touch sent sparks of electricity cascading down your spine was a sin. Hungry with need, the muscles in your thighs and stomach twitched, the cool air of the office breezing against you.

With curious eyes, you watched as he swallowed hard, his gaze flashing back up to you. “You have a different problem now.” Letting out a small sigh, he stands, caging you in with his arms and looming just centimeters away from your face. “I see how you look at me. How you dote on me, ask me for help even when you don’t need it, how your legs shake when I sit a little too close,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as though to make his point, “and now you’re making a mess on my desk and spreading your legs to show me. Do you really need your boss’ cock that badly?” The way he coos the last question fills your body with heat, but you struggle to look anywhere except directly at him.

“Y-yes, please, want you.” When you stutter out your answer, he squeezes his hips between your legs, the growing bulge in his pants pressing against your thigh.

“You’re very cute, but you act as if you have never been touched properly.” He whispers, letting his head fall against your shoulder, hands pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched up around your hips, completely exposing you.

“They… uh, sorta, but not like,” you shudder out a gasp when his fingers tap against the soaked fabric, grinding your hips into his touch, “...not as good as you.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He moans, ignoring his own words as he pulls aside the flimsy fabric and spreads your slick around, circling your clit.

“But I-!” Your words get choked off when he eases a long finger into you, curling it against your spongey walls. “Want you to fuck me, please!” You whine, hips bucking into his hand while you chased release.

He presses a chaste kiss against the side of your neck before he gently pushes you down so your back is flush against the desk and he pulls your hips to the edge, holding your knees wide enough for him to fit. Barely lifting your head up, you watch him as he stands before you. With quick-moving hands, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, pulling his cock out and palming it lightly before he leans over you again.

Faintly, you’re aware that you’re in his office, in the office building and if anyone were to walk in there would be a disaster for your work and academic life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Especially not when Nanami’s heavy cock is resting against your cunt and he’s kissing down the column of your neck.

“Since you’ve never felt a real man, tell me if it’s too much,” he says hoarsely, pulling aside the fabric of your panties again before he lines himself up.

Blankly, you nod at his words, struggling to relax your body as the fat tip pushes past your tight entrance. It’s enough to make you flutter around him, an action he desperately tries to ignore. Your little cunt is gushing, sucking him in and clamping around him so tight he’s worried he might break you. The inside of your lip aches from biting them so harshly, waiting for him to slowly bottom out.

“Happy? You’ve wanted this for so long.” He breathes, looking down at where the two of you are connected and the pretty shine of your wetness under the lamps and early morning sunshine that filters through the window.

“Y-yes.” You answer unsteadily, wrapping your knees around his lower back, needing to feel him more, deeper, harder, anything.

“Usually such a smart person and now all you can say is yes and nod?” He pulls back, nearly slipping out with the way you’re creaming around him, and slams back into you.

“Uh-huh!” Comes your squeaked response, unable to answer properly. Slowly realizing what you said, you attempt to backtrack with a weak, “I mean-” before the words gurgle off into nothing when you feel him hit you deeper than anyone ever has.

The sound of skin slapping and the resounding squelches that fill the space cloud your thoughts up, and all you feel is him. Every movement he made was fast but evenly paced and purposeful and you wondered how he could fit so well against you without ever having known you intimately before. His hands burning against your skin, brushing against your stomach as they hold your hips in place, how he perfectly fills you out, and in the next moment how your chest fills with warmth when his thumb brushes against your aching clit.

“You want to cum?” His voice is far strained than it was when he began, his low breathy moans getting louder by the second.

“Please!” You cry, arms shaking as you held yourself back from grabbing onto him.

All he did was give you a sharp nod, but his fingers were suddenly focused, stroking you so exactly you found yourself at the brink of orgasm in short minutes encouraged on by the way he continued to steadily fuck into you.

“Good,” he whispered as he felt you flutter around him, sucking him in impossibly deeper. Those words were the final straw for you. Before you realized what was happening, you could hear yourself faintly crying out like a far-away echo, body jerking and trembling beneath him as he worked you through it, only taking his hand away when he knew you were spent.

“Such a perfect cunt.” You barely heard him, dazed in your own little world, only feeling now, mumbling out something about how you wanted him to cum inside of you.

He slowed, barely, but his steadiness remained, the only indication that he was close was his cock twitching against your still fluttering walls. Letting out a long, hissed groan he finally let himself go, shuddering against you as he came, filling you up even more from the inside. His body pressed into yours as he simply held you, listening closely to your whimpers and gasps.

As you slipped out of your own brain, coming back to reality, you moaned at the weight of him against you, wrapping your arms to rest around his shoulders. Your legs shook around him, barely staying looped around the back of his thighs now.

Gradually, he propped himself up, almost painfully pulling out of you. Although his cock was barely half hard now, the stretch pulled at you just as much as it did at the beginning. He quickly pulls out the neatly placed pocket square from the jacket draped behind him and cleans himself off while you lay there, still winded and trying to process what happened.

Waiting for you to say something or do anything, he drinks up the sight of your glistening cunt, his cum pooling between your legs as it slowly drips out. The small groan you let out as you sit up with unsteady motions gets his attention, prompting him to lean back over you and clean around your thighs, purposefully ignoring the mess between your legs. You watch his actions, dread creeping in as to what happens next, but all he does is adjust your panties back into place and help straighten out your skirt when you wobble off the desk.

Silently, he holds your hands as you regain your footing.

“Um, thank y-”

“Your internship ends next week, correct?” He cuts you off, taking his hands out of yours and rounding the desk to sit at his chair.

“Yes, it does.” It’s obvious he knows the answer, but you reply anyway. You swallow, clasping your hands together to keep them from shaking.

“Alright,” he says, scribbling something on the back of a business card, “feel free to call me after your last day.”

A little surprised, you take the card from him and hold it tight, a weight being lifted from your chest. With a little nod, you go to leave.

“Oh, and y/n?”

“Yes, sir?” You chirp. He takes a deep breath, wondering how it would sound if you called him that next time.

“This didn’t happen.”

[eatommo]

Send you Flowers [j.g.]{kd20}

Infidelity / Cunnilingus

Cw: infidelity, cheating, Javi is married, implied age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, Javi the pussy eating king, power imbalance (she’s his assistant/manager), kissing, title and story both reference face/off not sorry,

Javi was married, and that didn’t stop you as quickly or as assuredly as it should’ve. He flirted with you, and you flirted back. He was your boss and a sick part of your brain wanted to know how far you could push him before he fired you or gave in. There was honesty in your relationship, the connection never was severed but nursed, treated like an integral part of your job.

Make Javi laugh, make Javi show up on time, make Javi drool. You excelled.

At first you felt the heat in your body and stamped it out, afraid that you’d develop some schoolgirl crush on the man. When the conversations of your life, of your confidence, of your body grew to have a haze of admiration, and when you couldn’t tell if he was just flattering you for his own selfish gain, or because he actually believed you were the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, regardless you broke.

It was quick and slow at the same time. You were in a hallway talking about the days agenda, you’d be by each other's side, press releases and interviews stretching well into the night hours. You could still smell his morning shower, his lose curls falling onto his forehead as he leaned against the doorframe with his hip, arms crossed as he kept your eyes engaged with his listening intently. “I’ve picked out a few outfits for you to try for the meeting with paramount.”

His eyes knit together, as he looked down at his half buttoned tropical shirt and his tiny European shorts you still hadn’t gotten used to seeing him in, “Why not this? It’s a zoom meeting.”

You don’t hide the way you let your gaze wonder, “It’s nice Javi, if they had already hired you, but for a pitch I think you should have something a little more sophisticated on.”

He tilts his head in consideration, “You think this is too casual? This is a 1,000 euro shirt.” He looks you up and down, “I think those clothes work for you.” he leans in ever so slightly as if whispering the next word into your ear, “Too well even.” He smirks, chewing on his lip “But I am a simple man to work with, ask nicely.”

You bite your own lip in mock frustration, “Please Javi, they should be on your bed.” You point past him, seeing the grey blazer folded neatly untouched at the foot of his bed. His head falls in an exaggerated sigh, before traipsing back into the room with you hot on his heels.

He holds up the fabric and for a moment of horror you think he’s going to put it over the loud fabric he’s already wearing, he tosses it back to the bed and begins to undue the buttons on his shirt.

Seamlessly you busy yourself with the itinerary on your phone, ignoring his undressed figure to the best of your abilities, and thinking about how he said he liked when you dressed professionally for a day of interviews.

He puts the blazer on alone, and doesn’t bother with more than two buttons, the clean plain of his chest is tantalizing and looks effortless and sharp at the same time.

“Have you seen Face/off?” Javi gets your attention quickly, you’ve seen it of course, multiple times, even more than once with Javi on planes.

“You know I have.” You smile fondly at the memories of working with Javi on his first film, and the ‘required’ viewing of his favorite Cage films.

Javi muses, “We’ve seen many good movies together.” He steps closer and your breath catches in your throat. “We’ve done many great things together.” You nod quietly, enraptured by the husky seriousness, “What’s one more?”

You let your brows pinch together, not wanting to commit fully to anything, before the air is stolen from your lungs in a deep sensual kiss. He licks into your mouth as if he’s been craving your taste for years. You can’t get enough of him, your phone falls onto the bed on top of his shirt, and you press up against him. When he touches you it’s like all those conversations have been replaying in his head on loop. He knows you like your hair pulled, he knows your neck is sensitive, he knows you like it when a man is rough with you.

If those conversations felt like a sin then, they sure as hell are feeling like heaven now. He pulls your head to the side with a fist knotting against your scalp, and scrapes his teeth down the side of your neck. The movement causes you to shudder, taking a deep breath as your heart hammer away in your chest. You want him, lord have mercy you want him, the hang up on your professional relationship has been all but gone for the longest time. You’ve been waiting for him, the married man to make the final move. He’s done with waiting.

He takes the collar of your blouse in his free hand tearing it from your body in a cacophony of buttons clanging onto the floor of his room. He grunts, letting the skin of your chest warm his hands as he strokes over the top of your bra, teasing the flesh of your nipples to a peak without even touching them.

He can mark you, he knows you want him to, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your breast he pins your body to his. The swell of his cock so strikingly obvious in his tiny shorts. You reach for him, losing your logical brain with each flick of his tongue against the bruises he leaves on your chest.

He knows so much about you, and in return in the same immoral way, you know how much he likes to eat pussy. It’s no surprise when you’re on your back, his hands running over the pantyhose, digging his nails into the thin fabric and tearing small holes into it. You protest but he shushes you. Kissing your ankle, he grips your leg bending it to his will, and tucking himself between your legs. “I bet I could make you cum just like this baby, with your clothes still on.” You groan, the thought as pleasant as it seems was also likely tangible, you were feeling like a hot coil had settled into your belly and that you were ready to burst at any given moment. “We don’t have time Javi.” You speak merely in interest of wanting to get done before you were interrupted one way or another.

“I know baby.” He kisses the tops of your thighs, you can feel the plush skin of his lips through the tears. “Next time.” He tears a hole through one leg, immediately kissing and laving at the supple skin with his tongue before tearing the other leg free and throwing the ruin pile of pantyhose over his shoulder.

He continues to press your legs open, strong hands gripping onto your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He kisses over your sex, letting the scrap of underwear dampen the feeling until he can feel you tilt and cant your hips against his face. Begging silently to experience everything he’s put in your mind over years of sexual tension and stories under the guise of a casual friendship. Your underwear is off the second you ask, his mouth is on you as hungry as the first kiss.

Licking flat stripes up your center, dipping into your sex and gathering the sweet taste of your slick on his tongue before letting it dribble over the tight swollen bud of your clit. He circles it with his lips, sucking and flicking with his tongue until your hand finds its way into his hair and not letting up until you beg for him to stop, spent and grateful.

[sugawarassoulmate]

omg please please PLEASE let us in on your akiteru brainrot... indulge it, write something for him

hello there fellow akiteru simps 😭pls enjoy whatever this mess is

words: 1.9k (what the fuck)

cw: fem!reader, slight age gap (reader is 18/19, akiteru is 23/24), masturbation, implied voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), pet names, akiteru loves calling you “pretty”, minors dni

your crush on akiteru was no secret, kei has teased you about it ever since high school. it’s never going to happen, you told yourself and once you went to university, you thought you’d get over it. coming back home for summer break proved you totally wrong. your parents were away but the tsukishimas had always been family friends, so it was no question that you’d be staying with them.

akiteru wouldn’t be home for a few more days and until then, kei had kept making jokes about your feelings for his brother. you brushed them off, surely there’s no way you’d still feel that way for him.

so why did you immediately tense up the second akiteru walked through the front door? why were there butterflies in your stomach when his brown eyes flicked in your direction, giving you a once over before greeting you with a familiar smile. “is that y/n?” he asks, crossing the threshold to get closer. “look at how pretty you are.”

you do your best to roll your eyes over his corny compliment, hoping the look of annoyance stops your cheeks from turning red. “hey, aki,” you mumble, turning to head back to the kitchen where kei is definitely snickering at you two. a hand stops you, though, and you look back to see akiteru with his arms open.

before you can think, akiteru’s arms circle your waist, pulling you into an embrace. “good to see you, pretty girl.”

how stupid were you to believe your years long crush on akiteru would disappear? especially when he’s asking endless questions about your life at school — “how are classes going?”, “what’s your major like?”, “are there any cool clubs?” or begging you to watch him and kei pass the volleyball to each other. after a few days, kei couldn’t even be bothered to tease you anymore, it was too easy for him.

there’s another thing though, since he’s been home, akiteru can’t seem to keep his hands off of you. whether it’s running his fingers through your hair, throwing an arm over your shoulder, or placing his hand on your thigh, aki makes a point to be near you these days.

and having him so close to you has, obviously, made you incredibly frustrated. so much so that you kept tossing and turning in bed one night, long after everyone had gone to sleep. huffing out a breath, you slipped your fingers past your shorts, eager to get yourself off.

you were embarrassingly wet already, thinking about aki’s strong arms around you. if only it were his hands touching you right now, his fingers circling your clit and fucking your dripping cunt. “aki…” you mumble, hoping your voice isn’t too loud. maybe there was a reason it didn’t work out with any of your boyfriends. no matter how they touched or kissed you, all you could think about was akiteru.

even when they fucked you, it was akiteru who was on your mind. you think about how his cock would feel inside you, his lips against yours, his voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear. you could be so good for him.

would his fingers feel better than yours? reach places that you couldn’t? every time he placed an innocent hand on you, you wished he’d touch you somewhere else. “aki, please,” you whimper, riding your fingers. akiteru always liked to tease, would he do that in bed? edge you until you were begging to cum? or would he overstimulate you until you were shaking and crying?

you cum with akiteru’s name on your lips, breathing heavily as you think of all the ways you can’t have him.

“you have the worst taste in movies,” every other night, you and kei got blankets and snacks to laze around for a movie marathon. whenever it was your turn to pick the movie though, kei would complain. you don’t let it bother you, especially when he’s going to fall asleep halfway through the third movie like he always does.

sure enough, kei is snoring on the other side of the couch a few hours later. finally some peace and quiet, you think as he had spent the last two movies mocking the plot lines. you don’t get the chance to enjoy the silence that long. aki wanders into the living room, noticing his brother and chuckling. “kei knocked out on you?”

“he always does,” you shrug, noticing how close akiteru is when he crouches down by the couch. “do you wanna watch?”

akiteru glances at kei again and shakes his head. “don’t think there’s any room for me,” he smiles and you turn your attention to the screen, ignoring how his hand rubs down your back. it’s never going to happen. “we can go to my room? i can keep you company.” he suggests. “i’m conscious at least.”

maybe kei’s snoring is starting to annoy you or maybe it’s aki’s fingers making circles along your spine but somehow you end up in aki’s room, hovering around his desk and avoiding eye contact with his bed. he quirks his brow, “getting shy with me?” he asks, reaching towards you until you’re sitting with him on the mattress. dressed in only a tank top and sleep shorts, you’re painfully aware of how much bare skin is on display. “comfortable?”

you nod, not quite trusting your voice just yet as aki scoots closer. “you’ve changed so much since leaving for school. i can’t believe it,” he continues, giving you all his attention. “bet you’ve had a bunch of boyfriends hm?” he leans in, eager to know the answer.

“only a few,” you huff. talking about your previous relationships doesn’t really interest you right now. they never lasted longer than a month or two and it was all because of the smiling goof laying next to you. “nobody special, honestly. don’t really wanna talk about them.”

“i only bring it up because there’s something i wanted to know.” he shrugged.

“what’s up?” you ask, crossing your legs.

aki scoots closer. there’s a big, teasing smile on his face. “do you always say my name when you touch yourself?”

you freeze, eyes going wide at his words. mind going back to the other night when you had three fingers inside you, wishing they were his. he heard me? you made sure to be quiet, didn’t you? aki’s cups your face, somehow managing to still tower over you despite both of you sitting. it makes you feel pitifully small.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he says, thumbing your cheek. akiteru’s gaze becomes too overwhelming but his hold hinders you from turning away. “you sounded so pretty. i wish i could’ve helped. would you have liked that?”

this is so humiliating but his words have your cunt throbbing. you’ve wanted him to touch you like this for days — years if you were being honest. feverishly, you nod your head it’s not enough for him. “you need to tell me, sweetie. do you want me to touch your pretty pussy? make you cum with just my fingers?”

tears sting in your eyes but akiteru kisses them away, never breaking eye contact. “yes, aki, please make me cum.”

he hums at your obedience, laying you on your back so he’s hovering over you. akiteru rubs his hands against your thighs, spreading them so he has enough room to sit between them. his movements stop when you make grabby hands at him, motioning him to kiss you. akiteru presses his lips against yours, chuckling as you whine into his mouth. “such a needy little thing,”

with one more kiss akiteru pulls away, ignoring your cries. “wanna see all of you, sweetie. lift your shirt for me.” your cheeks flush at his request, hesitantly reaching for the hem of your shirt before taking it off, revealing your breasts. akiteru’s eyes darken, hands immediately cupping your tits. “fuck,” he breathes, bending down to bring one of your nipples in his mouth.

the sensation has you whining, tangling your fingers in his dirty blonde hair. “aki!” you cry. he bites and sucks at your chest, rolling and tugging at your nipple with his free hand. all of it has you grinding into him, humping your cunt against his thigh in between your legs. “more,” you beg, hoping that kei can’t hear you from downstairs. “aki, please, i don’t wanna cum like this. want you to play with me, please.”

“ahhh, thank you for using your words, cutie.” aki says, rewarding you with a kiss. he continues his movements, kissing down your neck, chest, and stomach until he reaches your frilly sleep shorts, tugging them down along with your panties. “all of this because of me?” he says, staring at your glistening folds.

you pout. “akiiii,” does he get a kick out of embarrassing you? must run in the family.

“i can’t help it. you’re just so cute,” he says, fingers ghosting over your cunt. “fucking your little pussy to the thought of me. i’ll take care of you, honey.” finally, akiteru touches you where you need him, capturing your wetness between his fingers before lapping at your cunt with his tongue.

you weren’t expecting that, nobody’s ever gone down on you before and the feeling forces a surprised gasp from you. “ahh, fuck,” you cry as akiteru hums against you. this was the kind boy who you always had a crush on, who would harmlessly tease you, tousle your hair, and pull you into warm hugs. here he is, stretching your cunt with his fingers as his tongue circles your clit. he wants you too.

“so fucking good,” he groans, thrusting his fingers inside you. it’s better than you imagined, none of your previous relationships can compare to the feeling of akiteru kissing your inner thigh and gazing at your cunt as if it were a gift from heaven. “bet you’ve wanted this for so long, hm? think i didn’t know about your little crush?” akiteru frantically sucks on your clit bringing you closer to the edge with each thrust of his fingers.

“my cute, little y/n. always turning red when i tell her how pretty she is,” his eyes flick up to see the tears streaming down your face. your shaking thighs and short breath signal to him that you’re gonna cum soon. “you don’t need to touch yourself anymore, sweet one. i’m right down the hall if you’re feeling needy. i’ll fuck you with my tongue until you’re crying. maybe next time i’ll send you to bed full of my cum.”

akiteru adds another finger before returning to your clit. you’re properly riding his tongue, thinking of nothing else but the way he’s making you feel. “can i cum? please, wanna—fuck! wanna cum, let me cum.” he doesn’t answer, just continues his assault on your cunt until your vision goes blank. all you can manage is a weak chant of aki’s name over and over until you cream against his mouth. he doesn’t let up until he’s sure you’ve finished.

“s’too much,” you complain and akiteru pulls away, coming back up to kiss your tears away.

“such a good girl,” he praises, wrapping his arms around your waist to spoon you. however, as you come to you feel akiteru’s cock pressed against your ass, straining against his sweats.

“you didn’t cum,” you point out, trying to turn in his embrace but he tightens his hold on you.

akiteru shushes you. “don’t worry about me, pretty,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “wanna wait ‘til you’re not as sensitive and then i’ll fill you up with my cock, okay?”

the way he says these things so casually catches you off guard, blushing in his arms. “okay,” you mumble.

“that’s my pretty girl.”