#does this count as body doubling lol

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

That one trend but it’s one increment at a time bc rejection sensitivity dysmorphia has me scared of looking like an idiot with 4 notes ahaha

50 notes & I will

drink more water (easy since I drink like none ever)

regularly post lil hydration reminders

set a new goal

[janumun]

Misty Affections [The L&DS Boys - NSFW]

Rated: NSFW/18+ 🌶️ (Take note of all warnings before you proceed) Pairings: L&DS Men/Reader Word Count: 6k+

Tags: polyandry/polygamy, bath/shower friskiness, multiple orgasms, oral, anal and vaginal sex, body worship, porn with little plot, double penetration, consensual somnophilia, edging, passing hints of breeding, scent kink

Summary: At the eve of your anniversary, you let the men, most precious to your heart, show you exactly how they love and cherish you. Slow and measured. Piece by piece.

Author’s Notes: I have been driven so insane ever since the drop of that crazy trailer, all I’ve been able to fantasize about are these beautiful men. Did so individually at first before they eventually converged within my mind into this behemoth romantic-sexy fest. (If you know me or my stories, you know I cannot go a second breathing without a little love in my sex LOL) 

This one’s for all my harem loving folks who’ve been left thirsty after the “Misty Invasions” trailer. Happy reading!

You oscillate at the entrance to the penthouse suite, fingers tracing the sleek outline of the key card your boyfriend had provided you with, earlier; eager gaze skittering back towards the door. Heart within your throat and a swarm of butterflies flittering within the base of your stomach.  

An entire year had passed you by; the day of your relationship anniversary upon you now. And you’d decided amongst you, in distinct words and heated whispers, that you’d make it a day well worth commemorating.  

You smile at the recollection of Sylus’ amused gaze — blood-red garnet — as it had met your surprised one, a few days prior. He’d had you search up his entire house for an elusive Mephisto, on the pretence of having lost sight of him. Finding him at last, perched atop the silken pillows of his bed. And held within his beak, a sleek black card the bird had let drop into your palm, obedient, before taking flight.  

A key access to the penthouse suite of one of the most luxurious hotels in Linkon City.  

Sylus had tugged you close — his warm breath, a sweet caress against the shell of your ear — stating the date and time for you to be there, without questions asked. Your heart had thrilled at the time in nervous anticipation.  

Just as it does now as you move to hoist your umbrella — damp still from the outpour outside — onto your arm, clutching a bouquet of flowers close to your chest.  

Reaching to swipe your card, at long last, against the room’s digital pad—  

Before the door sways open on its own. Your gaze skipping, immediate, to meet the owner’s: scarlet, warm in amused affection. “How much longer were you planning to dither at the door?” His hand curves about yours as he steers you inside. Reaching to help you out with your coat and umbrella.  

“How did you even—”  

Sylus angles his face in mute indication, at the door, just in time for you to catch sight of Mephisto sweeping across the hallway, disappearing just as swift around a corner, with a triumphant crow. 

“I am going to cook that bird one of these days,” you mutter, discomfited at the thought of Sylus having been standing privy to your entire vacillation session outside. 

A large hand curls about your jaw, insisting your gaze upwards, just as you feel the heat of Sylus’ mouth on yours. “Don’t fret any longer,” his lips brushing each word right against yours. Every stroke tending sparks of fire against your skin. “you’ll make me want to tease you. And I promised them I’d be kind to you today.” The thick baritone of his quiet laughter sinks, hot, into your chest; down into the depths of your belly.  

Your hand curves about the back of his neck, heaving that infuriating mouth back against yours. “Please do be quiet for once.” Fingers grazing at the base of his hair before they card upwards, tugging at the strands.  

His mouth pulls into a wider smile, just as you all but force the large bouquet of flowers you still carry, against the firm expanse of his chest.  

“Happy anniversary, Sylus.” You murmur softly, flushed gaze fixated upon the flowers — snowdrops and lilies, roses and clematis — a representation of each of their colours that had painted your life brighter, over the course of your years together. You truly hoped your boyfriends would love them.  

Garnet gaze narrowing in quiet affection, Sylus coaxes your attentions back to him with a call of your name. “And to you.”  

“Now,” He winds an arm about your waist, dragging you flush against his torso. “let me find a place for these beauties while you go hop into the shower. You’re cold to the touch.” And when you move to protest, he silences it with a delicate brush of his thumb against your lip before he too bows forwards, to murmur, just shy of your mouth. “I promise you won’t miss me long, sweetheart.” 

Leaving you in the stewing solace of your own indecent thoughts. 

Your relieved exhale breaks in soft wisps of white curling into the air, well comforted by the heat of your quick shower. Your eyes drifting absently towards the bath you’d drawn, your favourite scent now permeating the space of your bathroom. 

Petals rippling across the surface of placid warm waters; you knew how your artist appreciated the romanticism of your relationship. When you let yourself go and allowed yourself free expression of your adoration, for your Lemurian beloved. The colour, it never failed to bring flush to his cheeks at your simple gestures of affection, he so deserved. He had waited, and for so long.  

A mere speck of his patience, against your current restless wait, ever since his message had lighted your screen earlier this evening, indicating he’d be there to join you, soon.  

Sooner, you whisper into the air, slinking a cautious hand down the line of your stomach and towards your mound.  

It was so incredibly difficult to have all your lovers, gathered together in one place, owing to how busy each of you were with your respective schedules. Tonight, hence, was a rare, precious occasion and you intended to make the most of it.  

“Why so distracted.” A deep voice resonates at your back; a swift curl of pulsating red capturing your wrist before your fingers have the chance to brush in between your legs. Heaving your wrist up and back, depositing it prisoner into Sylus’ waiting palm. “You barely noticed me.” The roughened pads of his digits graze at the tender skin of your wrist in soft warning, before he lets go. “Couldn’t wait even a moment for me, huh?” 

You turn to face him, a puckish smile you know is already teasing at the corners of your mouth. “Just engaging in some personal time.” 

Sylus stands before you, body bare, save for the towel that keeps him from you, wrapped about his waist. A sturdy arm reaches past your shoulder, turning the shower off. Motions entirely unhurried. Deceptively tranquil, you do not miss the blood-red heat that simmers at the edges of that observing gaze.  

“Oh?” He crowds you a step closer into the wall. Your fingers coast in tense anticipation about the knot of his towel. “You wouldn’t mind if I turned that into a private time for two, would you, kitten?” 

You put on a deliberate show of pondering the question; a patient raised brow your lover keeps focused upon you. 

Until you tip a coquettish gaze his way and answer. “I suppose I would no—” Your response, Sylus pilfers from your tongue before you can utter it, pulsing a quick kiss of violence against your lips. 

Your digits impatiently work to release him from the final confines of his towel, absently tossing it aside. And onto the gnarled vines of red lurking at the edges of your vision, immediately reach to snatch up the cloth, discarding it into a wash bin close by.  

Laughter in between heavy breaths; coveting fingers, free at last, skate down the strength of his thighs, skimming past his stiff arousal. A small gasp of appreciation you break against his mouth just as Sylus lurches his hips forward, once, into your grasp to better let you admire the effect you have on him.  

“It’s been too long.” you murmur into the space he spares you in between wet kisses. 

“Darling,” he exhales; a small, rough sound of pleasure. “Not yet.”  

Sylus’ hands stir down the length of your body, fingers finding target, and pulsing into the soft of your ass before you can try and bribe your case with him, to give you what you want. Hefting you up entirely onto the corded strength of his arms, stifling your sound of surprise against his mouth. 

He bids you wrap your legs about his waist, as he walks you both over towards the luxurious bath. “Now,” Settling down into the warm, scented water, he eases you back against himself. “Let us get you washed properly.”  

You eventually relent and let him do as he pleases for the next several minutes. 

Drifting a careful hand about the expanse of your legs, you try not to squirm too much when that devious hand skirts about your inner thighs. Across the arc of your clavicle, down the slope of your breastbone. His palms bear down against your abdomen in provocative press-release motions. You're not quite sure what kind of bathing Sylus assumes he’s doing except just keying you higher, the longer you endure his hands upon you.  

Hands that grow unrepentant and bold with time, the self-pleased skew of those infuriating lips following soon after, down the slope of your neck, along the curve of your shoulder. You tip your face sideways, smoothing a quick kiss onto his jaw. “You keep this up any longer and you’re going to have an incredibly frustrated woman on your hands.” 

He buries his grin into your shoulder.  

“And I’m not sure what I’ll do then.” you threaten mildly.  

“Is that so? I’d certainly like to see you try.” He accepts your provocation.  

You reach an arm up, winding it about his neck. Fingers splaying against the damp brush of his hair as you angle your head up and he obliges, head canting for your mouth to catch against his. His tongue sweeps against yours in immediate insistence, your eager allowance in the slack fall of your mouth as he presses into you.  

Sylus’ indolent digits change tune then; a large palm he curves about the weight of your breast and squeezes. The roughened pads of them toying at the pert apex, until he coaxes your moans out for himself.  

The muted click of a lock sounds within your surroundings; quiet, save for the gentle ripples of water and your damp sounds of pleasure.  

“Ah,” Sylus murmurs in between kisses. “He’s here now. We would’ve ended up using the little princeling’s entire bath for ourselves if he’d turned up any later.” 

A thrill of pleasure and adoring desire crests itself within your chest, calling your approaching beloved’s name on a long sigh of pleasure Sylus wrenches out of you. “That’s it, sweetheart, tempt him on higher sounds next.” 

Restless within his lap, you wrench your mouth away from his, raising yourself onto your knees to turn, capturing him in between your thighs. 

Just as Rafayel steps past the threshold of the baths, appearing to be in the midst of wresting himself out a long sodden shirt. You absently muse how he must’ve forgotten to carry an umbrella with him, yet again, out on one of his painting expeditions, despite your reminder to him just last night. “It’s pouring crazy out there and I’m drenched to the bone—”  

His words nicked mid-sentence with the slow rise of those bluish-florid eyes — taking in the lascivious scene in front — along with your thoughts torn into jagged shards of pleasure with the firm catch of Sylus’ teeth against your breast. A large hand he splays at your back, enticing you closer into his mouth. 

Your eyes, refusing to stray from Rafayel’s, even as he remains rooted to the threshold. A flush beginning to colour against the arch of his cheeks to witness how Sylus augments your pleasure further underneath his enraptured gaze. 

Pleased joy ripples through you, to be putting on a tantalising show for your beloved Lemurian, entreating him closer on soft sighs and broken moans of his name.  

“Please,” your next gasp of pleasure scatters under the prick of stimulated tears. “Rafayel, my heart, come to me.” 

And like a beautiful marionette pulled upon by its strings, he obeys your request, striding towards the two of you. Bestowing mercy upon your poor heart, you feel, could pound right out of your chest.  

He tips downwards, long, graceful digits sweeping delicate beneath the cut of your jaw to raise. Brushing a sweet kiss of greeting against your mouth. “I’m here, beloved.” 

Fingers refusing to cease his exploratory touches, his thumb glides past your cheeks, dusting right beneath your eyes at stray tears.  

“Welcome home,” you greet, your own fingers curving about his jaw in hazy affection.  

“You’re late,” Sylus speaks, his hand trekking a careful path about the flare of your hip.  

Rafayel frowns at that. “I know. Not like I didn’t try to be here sooner.” Fingers tinkering at his belt buckle before he slides it, smooth out of its confines. Your eager hands reaching to assist, rushing down the line of buttons at his shirt, divesting him of his impediments.  

“You’re freezing, Rafayel.” You observe, palms pressed up against his naked abdomen. 

He catches one of your hands within his, feathering a kiss onto your knuckles. “Warm me, then.” An irrefutable instruction as much as it is his soft request.  

Relieved entirely of his clothes, he steps into the bath, fingers entwining against yours in a firm hold, coaxing you onto his body instead.  

“You're so cosy.” He appreciates in between hungering kisses. “Share more of your heat with me.” The soft squish of your breasts mould against the solid expanse of his chest the deeper you try and press against the other, your arms encased about his neck, fingers carding greedily through the wet strands of his hair.  

Rafayel shifts your positions, guiding you back against Sylus’ chest by your threaded digits. The hard heat of Sylus’ cock presses against the cleft of your ass as Rafayel drives you further in by the urgency of his kisses. 

His bond shimmers to life — a scarlet vow — right above his heart, your own thrilled by the rapidly dissipating chill of his body, replaced with passionate warmth. 

“I’ve missed you.” He drags your intertwined digits closer, directing your hand to press against the thrumming of his heart. “And especially today, being so important. I wanted to be next to you for the entirety of it.” 

Rafayel’s eyes, misted in desire and affection so acute, your breath catches at your throat at the sheer intensity of it. He secretes a gentle kiss into the fold of your palm. “I want us to make this a memorable anniversary.” 

“You already are.” You keen softly, in assurance, fingers stroking down the length of Sylus’ thigh. “I desire you both so very much right now.”

He returns your fervent regard in the thick digits that skim past the curve of your spine, fingering in sparing strokes at the rim of your ass. You gasp at the sensation, body clenching in on the emptiness it has long been subjected to. 

You need them both; the carnal strength of your want winds you breathless. 

Sylus had left you suspended upon a torturous precipice for so long, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on for.  

“Hey,” Rafayel prompts. 

Garnet binds immediately spring to life, streaking towards the bottles lined up neat atop a marble slab. Plucking one up as if by rote memory, before depositing it into Rafayel’s grasp. “As our princeling desires,” Sylus speaks; the raw amusement you can hear within his words.  

Rafayel’s response is all but a raised brow — they have learned to synchronize well against each other, you realize with a shaky exhale. You are glad, as you are nervous, for the state of your body; the havoc they wreck onto you, once your boys are in tandem.  

The lubricant well-smeared across Rafayel’s digits, he reaches in between your bodies to run his fingers against the same place Sylus does, two sets of different fingers they ease, gentle, into your ass. Rafayel’s low groan of pleasure, you lunge forwards to drink against your lips.  

“I need—” you cry out against him, just as Rafayel withdraws from you entirely to leave Sylus to press his fingers deeper into you, a slow, caressing slide; eased by their gentle loosening of your hole.  

Rafayel hums a low, euphoric sound. “Do you need him deep inside you, my love?”  

“Yes.”  

“You’re almost there for me, sweetheart. Breathe.” Sylus’ grunt of approval at your compliance, he drowns into a relishing bite at your shoulder.  

Rafayel’s mouth descends upon your breasts, pulsing open mouthed kisses right above the expanse of your thundering heart, his fingers finding their way towards your neglected slit, mercifully pressing into you. A loud, broken moan wrenched out of your throat, pleasure now far palpable after having been edged for so long.  

“You’re so wet. So very captivating when you are like this.”  

“I love you, Rafayel.” you gasp, tears gathering at your eyes to feel so full of them both.  

He pulses a kiss against your mouth in heated devotion, tongue warming against yours in between urgent breaths, “I am yours. Call for me, my beloved bride.”

“Rafayel.”

“Ah. Once more, so I know I am entirely yours to have.” he entreats, gaze heated. 

His fingers gather pace — in tandem with Sylus’ controlled assault — striking rhythmic against your frontal walls on each thrust. A spot he gathers at, one that incinerates itself against his adept motions, insistent thumb gliding its touches about the sweet area of your apex, hurtling you faster towards a vehement finish.

“And that you are mine. Call my name, call for me.” 

“Rafayel, my Rafayel.” And you tumble over the edge at that final delightfully sensual push, quivering nerveless, in between your lovers.  

“There’s more of where that came from, kitten. Don’t give up on us now.” Sylus coaxes, extracting himself from the instinctual clench of your body, whimpering at the keen emptiness of his loss.  

“Give yourselves to me,” you beg, “I need to feel you inside me.”  

“And you shall have us,” Rafayel soothes, pressing the head of his cock against you.  

“As many times as you need.” Sylus allows; the swell of his arousal striking heavy against the cleft of your ass.

The slow ingress of their cocks deep into your body, sends explosive stars skittering across your vision, the overwhelming fullness already throttling you into another orgasm so intense, they have to hold your body still against theirs. Propelling into you in tandem with each other until they set a rhythmic, burning pace within your swollen holes.

Rafayel’s fingers cup about your jaw, dragging you into a fervid, wet kiss. His moans of pleasure he drowns against the heat of your tongue. 

Before Sylus lunges forward in a demand for your attentions next, strong digits threading through your locks to guide your head towards him, catching the string of pleasure that stretches thin in between your and Rafayel’s lips, as soon as it forms, against his mouth in a violent kiss.

The thick strength of his cock pulses firmer within your body, each swollen stroke of arousal you feel zip right up across your spine from how Sylus has taught your body to fit his daunting size, well. Each propulsion he carves deeper into your walls, a striking reminder of how intimately your body remembers the shape of him.   

Rafayel takes to painting littered marks of pleasure against your neck, their lengths already throbbing in impending release, searing within you. 

You squeeze about them at the sole, ruinous thought of their wet heats, flooding you soon. Moaning against Sylus’ mouth when their pacing turns reckless.

“Close,” Rafayel grits in need, cleaving your thighs up and open to constrain against Sylus, the man behind spares no mercy; hot scaffoldings of his own palms, he curves above Rafayel’s, so your sole choice is but to take. 

“I’m almost, fuck—” Sylus groans a filthy, guttural sound, “you’ve gone so tight, sweetheart.” Burying his face into the stretch of your shoulder, just as Rafayel’s mouth finds yours at the apex of his pleasure, spurting hot within you. 

Sylus’ own release, almost immediately after, his cock pulsates its thick release into your body, surge after surge of it, your body unable to accommodate it entirely. Their combined pleasures, the frenzied brush of both their fingers against your clit, sends you hurtling into your own orgasm, sobbing against Rafayel’s mouth.  

Emptying them both, of their seed, for yourself.

You fall breathless against Sylus, strength and consciousness both seeming to flee with the final sparks of quivering pleasure that jolt about your limbs. Letting yourself rest against the strength of Sylus’ body as he soothes a kiss onto your damp temple. “A job well done, sweetheart.” 

His final words, you accept in immense bliss, before entrusting yourself to your men in your vulnerability.  

A long time has drifted by you, it seems — minutes or hours — you cannot quite tell the difference as your mind edges the cusp of awareness. You recall the sensation of your lovers’ hands upon you, phantom breaths that persist against the expanse of your skin, still. Words of adoration, grunts of desire, the press of their lips you feel within each sweet ache of your body.  

The glancing touch of a hungering mouth, at the places you were weakest. The luxuriating stretch of silken sheets at your back — body coddled in soft fabric — as you shift, eyes drifting open on a haze of lust that still chokes your mind, a simmering wet heat kindling in between your legs. Flowing from you and onto an insistent tongue.  

Your breath catches in your throat at the sensation, gaze rushing down the expanse of your body to snag at the sight of a silver-haired head buried in between the space of your legs, moon-pale strands brushing the skin of your thighs in ticklish strokes. “Oh. You’re awake.” Xavier speaks, right into your pussy.  His fingers pulse about the catch of your legs, keeping you steady for a slow sweep of his tongue into your slit. Sending your fingers grappling forwards, into his hair, your hips lurching up into his mouth. 

Cheeks flushing fast into crimson at the realisation of how wet he’s made you, in your slumber alone. 

Xavier relents at last, rising from in between your legs. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” Your slick drenches his lips, smeared across his jaw; the sight sending a fresh jolt of arousal straight in between your legs.   

“Xavier,” your voice sounds hoarse to your own ears. “starlight.” 

He nuzzles his cheek, obedient, into the palm you stretch out for him. Pulses a wet kiss onto the expanse of sensitive skin. “We’re home.” He murmurs, clear cerulean eyes meeting yours. 

“How have you been?” The quiet baritone of Zayne’s voice reaches your ears from above, you notice your head lies cradled within his lap, the pads of roughened fingertips scraping gentle circles into your scalp. You shift yourself upright onto the bed.  

“Well. Now that you’re both here.” You curve coveting fingers about his jaw, luring his face closer to brush a gentle kiss against your lover’s mouth.  

Zayne’s long changed out of his stifling attire, clad in a loose robe — he’s eased himself by your side. Carding absent fingers through the fall of your hair to hold steady, as you greet each other in chaste kisses.  

The day’s harsh lines marred across his bow, softening with each kiss you flitter against his mouth, his cheeks, his lids apiece. He hasn’t had a proper weekend off from the hospital in ages; you’re determined to make the most of it now and help ease your beloved’s nerves tonight, and over the course of your rare days off. 

You all deserved it, this short moment of reprieve, a chance to celebrate and enjoy what was purely yours.  

You inch up across his lap, body much too aware of the moisture that soaks past swollen folds and leaks onto your thighs, an obscenity barely concealed by the flowing frills of your flimsy nightwear, caressing just past your ass. A fact, Xavier has not let you forget, owing to how his hands haven’t deprived you of their warmth, even when his mouth has — slow, stimulating touches across the stretch of your thighs, fingers tickling at the sensitive skin underneath your knees.  

Xavier advances up the length of the bed, with you. His torso draping onto your back, careful hands gathering your hair to shift onto your other side, he grazes a demure kiss onto the crescent of your exposed shoulder. 

You sink down upon Zayne, securing your much needed support, in the palms you press against the hard expanse of his chest. “How was your day?” Murmuring the question into the give of his neck.

“I had a graft and by-pass surgery planned earlier this afternoon.” Zayne replies, fingers trekking a measured path from your throat, down, along the slope of your clavicle; you shiver underneath his scrutiny. “It went well, so I was able to join you sooner rather than much later.”  

“Owing all to your brilliance surely, Dr. Zayne.” Your affectionate smile, you secrete against his mouth. “Xavier, however. I expected you sooner, starlight.”  

He hums — a sound of morose defeat — into your skin. “I nearly dozed on my feet during that unnecessarily long briefing.” Burying his face into the side of your neck, to breathe; his next murmurs stifled. “They could’ve just mailed the mission details to me. I wanted to head back with you too.” 

You laugh softly, sinking your fingers indulgently into the silken strands of his hair. “Captain Jenna would be so upset if she heard you right now.” 

“And you.” Large palms cup about the pliant flare of your waist, your breath hitches at Zayne’s provocative touch. “It certainly looks like those two did a somewhat decent job of taking care of you in our absence. The colour’s back in your cheeks.” 

You smile, sheepish, at the remembrance of your last meeting; his displeased frown, vivid, from across the barrier of his work desk, as he’d prescribed a few vitamins for you to take, owing to the sallow pallor that had taken your face, an aftermath of long sleepless nights chasing Wanderers.

“Oh, they have.” You assure, “Speaking of, where are my missing two?” 

Xavier’s teeth sink into a testing bite at the flesh of your neck. “Fixing a meal I think, Sylus mentioned.” He murmurs absently. 

“Ah. We should all have—” your voice fractures. “dinner together.” 

“Later.” Zayne leans forward, mouth skimming a gentle kiss in between your breasts. “Right now, I require you sate a different hunger of mine.” Teeth catching at the gauzy fabric of your lingerie. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” The low rugged quality to his request, pooling arousal deep into your belly.  

“I like how she looks in this,” Xavier smooths a touch down the length of your thigh, fingering, gentle, at the frilled garter of the stocking encasing it. ���I’m almost jealous of you, Doctor.”  

“It is becoming on her,” Zayne agrees, large fingers cupping about the shape of your breasts, rolling at the peaks. You shift your hips in a grind upon his thigh, in an anguished effort for further stimulation. “But does the recipient herself approve of my gift?”  

“She does,” you gasp. “If it gets you looking at her with such need, she does—” The rest of your words, Zayne pilfers right into his mouth in an engulfing kiss. 

Strong fingers ghost the pliance of your body, down in between your legs to meet Xavier’s. Hot, glancing touches across your quivering pussy, coating their fingers in copious slick.  

“The doctor looks so wound up,” Xavier comments mildly. “Help him relieve some of that pent-up stress, baby.”  

“You—” Zayne grunts, just as Xavier steers your bodies until you lie, pliant, upon Zayne’s lap, the straining outline of his arousal barely concealed under the modesty of his robes. You moan enthusiastically, fingers undoing the fastenings of his robe to release him, free against eager lips.  

“That looks painful,” Xavier comments with an insouciant shrug, hands firming their grip about your ass to raise. “How long have you been holding back?” 

“Quiet, Xavier.” Zayne reproaches, voice throttled in raw need. 

Your heart and body immediately melting for him, you put your mouth to the head of his cock, taking him in.  

A quiver rips across his abdomen at the first lap of your tongue on him, his fingers gentle, encouraging within your hair. A vehement desire cascades forth: to see him make more of that expression, just for you.  

“Wet him for yourself, just like that.” Xavier encourages on a soft catch of breath, tapered fingers curving into your drenched slit to stroke against your frontal walls. 

Working your tongue steadily, about the generous girth of him — Zayne’s digits remain a patient point of pressure against your scalp — until he hits your throat, pleasant and full, at long last. You groan around him, Zayne swallowing heavily at the vibrations of your throat.  

“Don’t be gentle.” Xavier speaks, releasing himself from the wet confines of your clenching walls — fingers he unfurls forwards, to smear across the free length of Zayne’s cock, your throat could not accommodate.  

You feel Xavier settle heavy, upon the cleft of your ass; the head of his own cock he glides, indolent, in between your dripping folds.  

And just as your insides flutter in impatient emptiness at the baiting stimulation, he enters you on a swift stroke, your garbled sound of pleasure, sending you deeper onto Zayne.  

Xavier sets a furious, punishing pace for the three of you, your mouth working diligent against the hard strain of Zayne’s arousal. Your smothered cries of delight mixing with theirs, heated into the air; Zayne’s low guttural groans stirring deep into your belly, within the same space Xavier works open with his cock.  

Your silver beast descends upon you, mouth working a steady path along the length of your spine, tongue sweeping a cool, wet trail in its wake.  

His fingers reach to tuck stray strands of hair away from your face — easing them behind an ear before he gathers the fall of your hair into a gentle fist, granting an obstructed view of your ruination, to your lover in front. 

The pleasured flush dashed across Zayne’s cheekbones, hurtles higher to witness the wreck of desire you know is upon your face. He looks at you as if he wants to love and ruin you, it sends a jolt of inundating slick, right between your legs.  

Xavier grunts at your tightening walls, licking a strip up the curve of your ear. “Can I—” His voice ruptures in overwhelming arousal. “—inside? I want to. Let me?”  

Your answer; a moan of vehement assent, intermixing with Zayne’s responsive groan. Come for me, Xavier.  

His grip upon your hips turns bruising, pelvis driving hard against your ass until he’s releasing himself; hot, pulsating strokes of come, painting into you.  

He pulls almost immediately out of your quivering walls, palms shifting underneath your body to lift, until he positions you, right atop Zayne’s drenched cock. His seed still spilling out onto the swollen head of him, just as he coaxes your hips down to take Zayne in, the two of you groaning out in concert at your union.  

Zayne surges forwards, sweat soaked forehead pressing against yours; a low, inarticulate curse tumbles from his lips at the clench of your walls, still sensitised from Xavier’s release. 

“You’re burning up.” Long, thick digits curve beneath the nerveless stretch of your thighs, guiding you in deep, measured thrusts over his cock.  Xavier’s ministrations having had you well-prepared to accommodate Zayne in a single stroke. 

On usual days, your body able to accept him only in gradual, pleasurable propulsions, he works deep into your pussy.  

“Lean on me.” Zayne speaks.  

You do as he asks, appreciative of the reprieve allowed to let go and let Zayne guide you both into bliss. His fingers stroke about your entrance, a thumb he grazes against your clit, in an electrifying jolt of pleasure. 

“Come now.” He instructs the man at your back. Soothing a hand down the curve of your spine when you feel Xavier’s arousal, firmed into solid stone once more, at your entrance. You moan at the prospect of what’s to come. Never having accepted any of your lovers into the same space, when Zayne is inside you. 

“Breathe for me.” He asks of you. “Look at me.” And you do, in willing love; gaze finding his, coddled in the comfort of his verdant eyes — steady — even in the heated throes of your combined passion. “I am here for you.”  

Just as the head of Xavier’s cock presses, insistent at the base of Zayne’s, your body beginning to give into him. Zayne hastens to curb his grunt of pleasure into your mouth, tongues moving against the other as Xavier steadily strokes a slow path into you. 

Both your men settling whole and so incredibly full within your body, you sigh in shuddered stimulation when they navigate a rhythm in between your bodies, never leaving you empty for even a moment’s reprieve. A stretch so good, it stirs satisfaction deep into your stomach. The desire for them to leave you drenched up to your womb as you voice it on incoherent whispers, head rolling back onto Xavier’s shoulder.  

Their hands; gripping about the shell of your hips, down upon the flare of your thighs. Across the pinching stimulation of your breasts, your throat. Xavier’s fingers brushing to feel the desperate thrumming of your carotid beneath his hold.  

Sweeping an index across your damp lip, end to end, before he slips a finger into your mouth, toying at the pink of your tongue as it darts out for a taste.  

The fever of your desire streaks higher, passion so incinerating, it only takes Zayne a thumbing caress across your clit before you are convulsing, violent about the two of them in a loud, sobbing cry. Wetness slicking down your thighs despite the way they plug you, their pacing climbing faster with each swift second of inundating pleasure your clenching walls force upon them, chasing a high they seek to release into your body alone.  

And when they come with bated breaths and strangled groans, your combined essence overflows from in between your legs, staining the sheets wide and dark beneath. 

It is only several breathless moments later that you are able to move, body wasted and draped upon your chosen seat — Zayne does not look as if he minds much, smoothing a kiss onto the sweat-slick stretch of your breastbone. “Happy anniversary, my reckless Hunter.” And then in slower, softer words. “I love you.” 

You kiss your response against his mouth; a happy, languorous sound leaving your throat. Curving an arm tighter about Xavier nuzzled into the side of your waist, your gentle beast having settled into a short slumber, after having murmured of needing your warmth close by.  

The doors to their bedroom slide open just then, to admit Sylus, carrying what looks to be an expensive bottle of wine and a set of glasses, nestled onto a salver perched across his arm. Rafayel, following close on heel, with a large tray on hand; the pleasant scent that wafts from the steam laced spice off the fresh spread of food, triggers your bout of hunger.

“Reckless brutes,” Sylus comments, an amused brow he raises upon witnessing the utter disarray of your wrecked states. A smile that skews only wider with the distasteful knit to Zayne’s brow.  

As if he was one to speak, you would’ve snorted in defence, if you weren’t so drained. 

Xavier, too, stirs beside you at the commotion just as the last two men of your heart move to join you upon the vast bed. “Get up and eat.” Sylus instructs, rapping his fist against Xavier’s prone form. 

“You alright?” Rafayel questions, the moment he is seated at your side, reaching to entwine his fingers in between yours, a hoarse sound of approval you respond with, at his pleasant touch.  

In between Zayne and Rafayel, they guide your body into an upright position. 

Your head coasts sideways and onto Rafayel’s shoulder, in languid stupor, as he brings a spoon of hot broth to your lips. “Start with this, you’ll feel better once warmed from the inside.”  

“Warm her, they did already… from the ‘inside’ that is,” Sylus’ licentious whisper reaches your ears from the side, setting your face to an incandescent glow at the recollection. 

“Crude.” Rafayel reproaches — you do not, however, miss the scandalised red that seeps across his ears at his provocations.

You join in quiet laughter at Sylus’ words, burying your face deeper against Rafayel’s skin. A cosy arm he immediately brings about your shoulders to hold you close, as he continues to satiate your other, necessary hunger. 

His scent soothes and settles deep into your lungs, gaze trekking, absent, to the stretch of skin exposed beneath his unbuttoned shirt, from where you smell his perfume strongest. A sudden, stray thought of wanting to lap a path up against him, assaults your mind, sore body responding in feeble protest.  

A shadow falls upon you; Sylus’ thumb brushing, delicate, at the corner of your lips. “Eat well for now. Replenish your strength.” A kiss he nips onto your ear, you shiver at the muted stimulation. 

“Sylus—” 

“You’ll have your fill of us, as much as your heart desires, after.” He promises in decadent whispers.  

Your men, proving true to his words; the rest of your long night spent in seeking love against each other’s skins and within their embrace. 

Until they engrave proof of their existence — devotion and desire — scattered like scarlet jewels along the canvas of your body.

End Notes: This is my first foray into writing this kind of relationship for my favorite media and I enjoyed each excruciating second of agonizing over positions and 🍆s. Although I adore a hot poly romance just as much as the next person (cough Him&Him&Him), it certainly isn’t something I’ll personally be trying again any time soon LOL.

Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated, if you are so inclined, and never fail to put a smile on my face.

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[cannibaliist]

Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)

One shot | Part 2 soon??

Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x

Word Count: 3.6K

a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!

cross posted on AO3

title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean

Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right. 

You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather. 

Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night. 

“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you. 

So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.

Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.

She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket. 

When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep. 

Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.

But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”

Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”

“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer. 

Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter. 

Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”

You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”

Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.” 

You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”

You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”

Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?” 

“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.” 

Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”

You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”

Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones. 

She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.

“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you. 

You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before. 

She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming. 

Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.” 

Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way. 

Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.

Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”  

Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.

You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”

“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you. 

“Hurry, please.” 

“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her. 

Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate. 

Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.  

“Use your words, baby.”

You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”

Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”

You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”

Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt. 

She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her. 

“Another please, Sevika.”

One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.

Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps. 

“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble. 

When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth. 

Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.

A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine. 

You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”

Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her. 

She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her. 

She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue. 

“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego. 

“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”  

Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.” 

He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it. 

You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”

She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.

It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra. 

Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”

You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”

Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind. 

Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both. 

With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob. 

Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips. 

“Please don't stop, please.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point. 

She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else. 

She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again. 

Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust – but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.

When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you. 

Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again. 

She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.” 

Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress. 

“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”

You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard. 

————

When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw. 

“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion. 

After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic. 

“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you. 

There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.  

“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again. 

“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.” 

Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly. 

“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.

One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”

You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep. 

~~~~

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 10)

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: oral, bathroom sex, strap-on, smut, mommy kink, little bit of angst at first

Author's note: so sorry this took so long to post lol things have been crazy

Taglist (hope I didn't miss anyone, and if I did, I'm so sorry!): @stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi@ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet@polaris-likethestar@ahintofchaos @dorabledewdroop @toomanylesbiancouples @accidentally-made-a-sideblog @chiar4anna @lonelyhalfwitch

When you had found out your dad was cheating on your mom two years ago, you could feel the numbness seeping into every crack and crevice in your body. You remember looking at his phone while you two were watching a tv show and seeing the dirty texts he sent to a woman he used to work with. He was never very subtle about texting her, and you just had a feeling. Deep down, you knew what you were going to find. 

That didn’t mean it still didn't hurt. 

The betrayal, the anger, the sadness. They all rushed over you but you’re still not really sure if you actually felt any of it. You were in a daze for the rest of the day, the need to scream building in your throat gradually. 

You finally couldn’t take it anymore and you went for a run the next day, which is something you never would usually do. The thumping of your feet against the pavement sounded like why? why? why? Why would he do this? Why would he choose her over his family? You ran until it felt like your legs were on fire and your lungs were about to burst until you finally doubled over, bit down on your hand, and let the guttural scream claw its way out of you. Your teeth had broken your skin and you could still see the small white scar if you flexed your hand just right. 

After that, you locked the pain somewhere deep down inside you. You hadn’t even gotten to really confront him about it.

But when Agatha says that your dad is having an affair, you feel your stomach drop and somewhere, the buried feelings start begging to get free, rattling on the bars of their enclosure. 

“What?” You ask quietly, a lump growing in your throat as you crane your head up to look at her. Your hand on her stomach stalls. She has a distant look in her eyes. 

“Monday night after you left, your dad couldn’t find his phone so we were looking for it. I found it on the kitchen table while he was looking in his office and he had just gotten a text. I glanced at it and it was from a woman.” Agatha doesn’t continue, but you can only imagine what the text said. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the lump getting bigger. You remember making that mean comment to her the first night you got dinner about him cheating again. 

She laughs ironically. “I guess I can’t be mad. I mean, look at us.”  

You glance up at her to meet her sardonic eyes. “Yeah, but look at who you cheated on versus who he did. I’m sure this other woman isn’t even half as hot as you are.” 

She softly smiles and then leans down to peck your lips with hers. “That’s sweet of you to say, honey.” 

“So what are you going to do?” 

She sighs deeply and starts gently tugging on the ends of your hair. “I don’t know. Confront him? Get a divorce? I’ve spent the last two days just trying to figure something out.” 

Her cold silence makes sense now. So does the way she fucked you earlier. 

You turn your head and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, because what else is there to say? “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Her fingers tighten in your hair and they pull to tilt your head so you’re looking right at her. “I can think of something,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. 

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow raises and she smirks with a daring nod. “Anything for my step-mother.” 

You kiss down her stomach, making sure to sink your teeth into her delectable abs and suck hard. She moans and arches her back off the bed. Soon enough, her midsection is littered with red marks and fuck, it’s hot. 

If your dad is too much of a fucking idiot to appreciate this woman, you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands. 

You settle between her thighs on the bed and slowly drag your tongue up the inside of her right thigh. A noise slips out from her lips and you do the same thing on the other side to hear it again. 

“Stop teasing, baby,” she warns in a low voice. She’s glistening. 

You chuckle and then lick up through her folds. She groans and raises her hips so you can get in closer. Your tongue swirls around her clit. 

“Fuck,” she swears under her breath. You begin to lap at her, heat growing between your own legs at the way her breath stutters and her thighs begin to shake. 

“Did he ever make you feel like this?” You ask, words garbled since your mouth is full of her cunt. But she rolls her hips on her face seemingly involuntarily, so you know she understood. 

“Never,” she says breathlessly and you pick up the pace, swirling and sucking, wanting her to feel good. 

She cums quickly and then she pulls you up into a deep kiss, tongue moving over yours to taste herself. 

“What does this mean for us?” You wonder aloud after she cleans your face and you both are cuddling again. If Agatha and your father get divorced, will this affair end? Will it become more?

“What do you want it to mean?” 

“I don’t know,” you say, because you don’t. “I like this, though.” 

She kisses your forehead and you can feel her smiling against you. “I do, too.” 

***

Dinner tonight with Agatha and I? is what your dad texts you the next day while you’re at school. You frown and quickly shoot Agatha a text about it. The two of you hadn’t spoken any more about what she was going to do about your father’s infidelity so you just want to be aware if you’re walking into a trap. You’re not sure you can take another dinner where your dad sits you down and tells you that he’s getting a divorce. 

Agatha responds that she hasn’t talked to him yet. You did know that he was away on business – although, that could just be code for having an affair – so he hasn’t been home. And you don’t think Agatha would be one to confront him over the phone. 

You text your dad back that you’ll be there. You’re curious to see what it’s about. 

The rest of the day passes quickly while you worry about what dinner could bring. You take a quick shower when you get home from school and put on a casual black dress. You don’t really care about looking nice for whatever restaurant you go to, you just want to look good for Agatha. Your mouth almost waters at the thought of whatever she will wear. She always manages to look ethereal. 

Your phone buzzes with a message from Agatha. Your father is meeting us at the restaurant. I’m outside. 

You can sense the tension radiating off the older woman the moment you step outside. She tersely watches you walk over to her car and slide into the passenger seat. Agatha’s wearing pants with a silky button down shirt and she looks hot. 

“Hey, baby,” she says, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. 

“You okay?” 

She grimaces and puts her sunglasses on. “I’ve barely talked to him since he left on his trip. He just asked if the three of us could get dinner.” 

Your brow furrows. “Are you going to say anything tonight?” 

Agatha purses her lips and reaches over to pat your leg. “I wouldn’t do that with you there. I’m not putting you in the middle of this.” 

Your heart warms because your mother did not hesitate to put you in the middle of her problems with your dad. She had broken almost every boundary and turned you into her therapist, and it now fills you with immense gratitude that Agatha won’t do that. 

Even though you are very much in the middle of it, with you and her having sex and all. 

“Thank you.” 

You both launch into small talk until you pull into the restaurant parking lot, where you see your dad waiting out front. Your stomach begins to sink just at the sight of him. 

You can’t believe he did it again. 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Agatha asks, voice tight with worry. She must see how you’re looking at him through the window. You’ve never opened up about your parents with her, but you can tell that she at least partly knows how you must be feeling. 

You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. “I’m good.” 

You try to not get angry when your dad’s face lights up at the sight of the two of you. 

“My favorite girls!” He booms and pulls you both into a hug. You can feel how tense Agatha is and you’re sure you feel the same. “How are we?”

“Good,” you mutter and Agatha says something along the lines of that as well. 

He made a reservation so you’re immediately led to a booth tucked in the back of the restaurant. You sit opposite your dad and Agatha doesn’t hesitate before sliding in next to you. 

“How was your trip?” Agatha asks, tone laced with something sharp like she’s trying to catch him in an act. 

Before he can answer, the waitress comes over. She looks a few years older than you, with brown hair and pretty blue eyes. Almost like a younger version of Agatha, you think. She takes your drink orders, her gaze lingering a bit too long on you as you ask for a sprite. 

You can see Agatha scowling at her out of the corner of your eye. 

Your dad starts talking about his work when she leaves but you suddenly lose all focus when Agatha slowly moves her hand to your thigh and grips it possessively. 

She clearly does not like the waitress, who comes back a few minutes later with your drinks. Fully aware of this, you reach out to take your sprite from the waitress and your fingers brush right in front of Agatha’s face.

Her nails dig into your leg and you subtly smirk at her. Her eyes have completely darkened. 

After everyone orders food, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’ve started throbbing from the tight hold Agatha has on you – both literally and figuratively – and you’re not sure you’ll last another minute without some relief. 

Just as you push open the door, someone grabs your wrist and shoves you inside. You gasp and whirl around, fear clenching your heart, only to find that it’s Agatha. 

She closes the door behind her and locks it. You’re so thankful it’s a single-person bathroom. 

Agatha advances and you step back until you hit the sink. 

“I know what you’re doing,” she hisses, trapping you against it by putting her hands on either side of you. 

“What do you mean, mommy?” You ask innocently, enjoying the way her dark eyes flash. Her hand comes up to wrap around your throat and a thrill runs through you. You’re sure you’re absolutely dripping now. 

“You were making eyes at that dirty waitress,” she accuses. “Looks like you need a reminder of who you belong to.” 

Before you can ask what she means, she flips you over so the sink is cutting into your hip bones and you can see the reflection of you both in the mirror. You look like a mess. And she looks like she is enjoying every bit of it. 

And then she grinds her front against you and you feel something hard in her pants. You watch your mouth fall open in the mirror. 

“You-” You don’t even have the words and the ache inside you is only getting worse. A smug smile spreads across her face as she reaches down to unzip her pants. Her other hand moves your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take it off.

She drags her strap-on up and down your slit, laughing cruelly at the way your hips move to try to get her inside. 

“Please,” you whine, feeling empty. 

She leans down so she can whisper in your ear, “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, mommy,” you say desperately and you let out a loud moan when she finally pushes into you.

“Be quiet,” she jeers and spanks you hard. You bite down on your lip to keep from moaning, but also to keep from telling her that spanking makes noise, too.

She sets a rough pace from the beginning, grabbing onto your hips with bruising force. You let out little gasps as she thrusts into you, over and over, already bringing you close to the edge. She reaches around you with one hand and starts rubbing your clit and your head falls forward in pleasure. 

Agatha pauses for a second so she can yank you back up by your hair. “Look at yourself,” she says, forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror. She resumes her fast pace. “Look at how well you’re taking my cock for me. Look at how much of a slut you are for me.” When she calls you a slut, you physically can’t stop the sound that comes out of your mouth. 

“Mommy, please,” you pant, your entire body feeling like a livewire. “Wanna cum.”

“Do you think a brat like you deserves to cum after making mommy jealous like that?” 

“M’sorry, mommy, I’ll be good,” you practically cry. You meet every thrust, eyes rolling back in your head from how perfect she feels. Your body is on edge from all the effort it’s taking to not cum. “Need to, so close.”

“Who do you belong to?” 

“You, only you,” you sob. 

“Good girl,” she says, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Cum for me, sweetheart.” 

Two more thrusts and a rub of your clit and you cum all over her cock. It’s explosive and you bite on your lip so hard that you taste blood. She begins to slow down as you come back down to earth and you rest your head against the mirror to recover. 

Someone knocks on the door and you freeze since your step-mother is buried to the hilt inside of you at this current moment. 

But she just sweetly calls, “Occupied!” and you can’t help but laugh breathlessly. She pulls out of you and you wince. 

“Wow,” you say as she helps you clean up. “You know I wasn’t flirting with the waitress, right?” 

She smirks and pulls you in for a deep kiss. “I know, baby. I just couldn’t spend another minute listening to your dad talk.”

“Join the club.” 

You feel like everyone is watching the two of you as you make your way back to the table, but in reality, they’re not. Your dad is on his phone texting someone – you think you see a woman’s name at the top – but he quickly swipes out of it when he notices that you both have come back. You glance at Agatha just in time to see her eye twitching. 

“There you ladies are! I thought you had gotten lost. Everything okay?” He asks. You think you’re just imagining the condescending tone, but Agatha stiffens next to you so maybe not. 

“Actually yeah,” she says. “I’m filing for divorce.” You gape at her as she spins on her heel and walks away. 

You turn your head back to your dad, who looks back at you, dumbfounded. 

“Sweet pea-” he starts but you hold up your hand to cut him off. 

“No. Fuck you. You don’t deserve anyone.” 

And then you leave to follow Agatha, feeling suddenly like the weight inside you has finally lifted. 

[honeyshiddendesire]

Cold Carrots

Warnings: trouble/mentions of infertility, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of menstrual cycles, Law being an overprotective wacko lol FLUFF and maybe some ANGST

Summary: more dad headcanons

🥕 So everyone in these Headcanons had a smooth run but why not make it more realistic!

🥕 So despite his devil fruit what if he struggled with weak and low sperm count. Both of you banging raw for yearssss!

🥕 When you tell him you're pregnant all he replies with is a simple "I know. You missed your period weeks ago" So much for a cutesy announcement lol

🥕 Yes Law is beyond ecstatic but because of his weak sperm he tries to remain neutral incase of the sad chance your child doesn't last in the womb.

🥕 But your unborn child has your strong will and his stubborn attitude and takes wonderfully.

🥕 Because this is the first time his sperm has actually took expect him to be super OVERPROTECTIVE!!

🥕 Honestly you should've known that he knew you were pregnant since he didn't let you out of his sight.

🥕He needs CONSTANT reassurance that you and the baby are okay. He worries double than the usual amount

🥕 Works harder but less if that makes sense lol

🥕Like the man will not pause for food breaks just to finish as much as possible so he can hurry up and get back to you

🥕BUTTTT!!! You have prenatal anxiety which causes you to forget to eat which makes him remember to eat so that you eat lol (that's a mouthful lol)

🥕 Will make you the most nutritious foods, snacks, teas and drinks all throughout the day

🥕 Since he knows the human body well, him and Zoro are massage kings. Except unlike Zoro he won't get handsy as fast lol

🥕 Does all the ultrasounds and checkups don't even tell him no or he'll throw a fit lol

🥕 Best believe he delivers his own baby lol

🥕 When the baby is delivered and he feels the weight of his little bundle of joy in his arms he finally gives a sigh of relief.

🥕 After you have the first hour of skin to skin as mother and child then Law will also do the same knowing that it's also important for father and child as well for bonding.

🥕Will totally slip the baby inside of his sweater against his bare chest and zip it up to keep the baby warm

🥕If you so much as see a tear leave his eyes then no you didn't lol

🥕 If you do mention the tears then he'll come up with some sassy response, "Oh please of course I'm crying it's a biological response when one holds their own child from the first time."

🥕 I can see his favorite picture of the baby would be when you fall asleep the first night shes born and the baby opens her eyes to stare at him.

🥕 Even though she first opened her eyes to look at Law he will deny it just so he can see your excitement in the morning when the baby looks at you and you think it's the first time

🥕 As much as he likes being right there's some things that aren't worth debating especially seeing how happy you looked when you shed some tears at her pretty eyes opening

🥕 Since his sperm was weak he wouldn't expect another kid, nor would he think it was possible so he would be one of those parents to make all the little crafts.

🥕 Paintings with the baby's hands and feet, or the ceramics of her feet that you hang on the wall or his desk all sorts of things.

🥕 Has a bunch of pictures of you and the baby but probably has more with her and Bepo lol they're just so cute lol

🥕 Bepo will take the baby for naps so you and Law can have a moment to relax and since the baby thinks Bepo is a walking blanket you both have no issues with him and your child

🥕 Law is supportive if you breastfeed or if you need formula for the baby but if you do breastfeed he will share a bunch of recipes that help with production.

🥕If you just pump and don't breastfeed then he will take over all nighttime feedings for you with no worry.

🥕Diaper changing is easy for the man, any bodily fluids will be no match for the pirate surgeon

🥕 Would totally bring the baby with him into his office so you could rest or do whatever it is you want to do

🥕 Prioritizes your mental health probably the most out of all the girl dads because he understands the chemical response that pregnancy and hormones can cause.

🥕 LOVES your changed body but if you ever feel insecure he will know all the right exercises that will help you get fit will also preventing strain on your body that just endured labor.

🥕 He's always had issues of when to call an end to his work and go to you in bed but now he doesn't mind leaving his office to cuddle you and his baby to sleep.

🥕Follows all the rules of when and what to introduce your baby. Will only pick the best fruits and vegetables to offer to her

🥕 Will panic like you've never seen before when months pass and shes not eating any food for him. He tries everything, even going against his own wishes of adding a sprinkle of sugar to some carrots that he made

🥕 Totally wants to give up and wait another year until shes ready but one morning walks into the kitchen to see you feeding your daughter carrots.

🥕 "Don't worry Law it just takes some trail and error." You tell him and he gasps in shock. "How! How did you?" Law will ask as he watches your daughter smile and babble away. You laugh and explain that she only likes her veggies cold, no matter the sugar he adds to them it still doesn't compare to the yummy taste of it being chilled. "Guess she's like me. I lovvvve cold carrots." You laugh and Law will smile as he looks at the both of you. Yeah she was definitely like you.

🥕 Will sneak a picture of you feeding the baby for the first time that she actually enjoys it, her smile wide and toothless, skin orange with mashed carrots smeared all over, chunky fingers wiggling in happiness.

🥕 It was moments like these that he didn't mind one bit not being King of the Pirates

🥕 Teaches your daughter to read early on and is excited to see how smart she is.

🥕 First word is totally Bepo lol dont fight me on this

🥕Next word is 'captain' for sure lol can totally see her looking at Law and being like "Captain!" Law's face would pale as you and the crew burst out laughing. "Dammit." He'll sigh as he runs a hand along his face as you pat his back

🥕 Will try to play it cool when she finally shouts a happy 'daddy' upon seeing him after he leaves for a few days. You and Bepo would deny that you constantly said it all day for days lol

🥕 You will catch him in his office having conversations with her but its just random babbles mixed in with a few words that she's learned lol "Baba dada bado dobadee daddy" Law would push up his reading glasses with a head nod and write in his note pad as if he's taking down notes like a therapist. "Then what happened dear." He'll say back and it would take everything in your power not to burst out laughing as you hear her continue on.

🥕 Will try and help with her hair and outfit choices but he has no fashion sense when it comes to his princess. Her hair will look like a rats net but he makes up for it with cute accessories that he buys her.

🥕 Will leave the outfits to you but takes control of the training

🥕 Without a doubt buys her play doctor sets after he gave her a real set and discovered the horror of all her dolls being pried open as if she was preforming heart surgery.

🥕 Plays doctor with her as much as possible "Daddy tweezers!" "Yes doctor. Tweezers!" "Scalpel!" "Scalpel doctor!" Her gasp as she performs her surgery makes you hold in a giggle. "Gauze! Gauze stat! We have a torn artery!" Law wants to jump for joy at her naming correct organs and tools but takes his role as a doctor seriously even if it is playtime. "I'll page the other doctors right away."

🥕 Gets her a lab coat lol

🥕 Your daughter takes to all thinks medicine and Law just eats it up lol

🥕 Since they live on the submarine your daughter also turns out to love marine life which Law fuels her passion of course by getting her as many books as he can. He thinks she'll be a vet but he doesn't worry as long as she's happy and flourishing.

🥕 Your daughter gets his brains, your strong willed attitude and Law's stubborn spunk which makes for a whirlwind as she gets older.

🥕 When your daughter gets her period he will literally put a hand to your shoulder and say , "Don't worry I got this."

🥕 Will have no issue with the menstrual cycle/ puberty discussion UNTIL he mentions how often it happens

🥕 You'll walk back in hearing lots of crying and see Law in a panic lol "I know it sucks baby but the cool thing is~ daddy will buy you all the chocolate, ice cream and steak you want!"

🥕 Every bathroom on the Polar Tang is stocked lol even gives his little girl an emergency kit in a cute discreet bag

🥕 Will teach your daughter to use a sword but its not her thing unfortunately

🥕 As his daughter studies all her books she will snack on cold carrots and other raw vegetables and still it makes Law smile remembering his little baby.

🥕 When his daughter is around 13 you announce that you 're pregnant with another and Law practically faints. It was a miracle to have his daughter with his weak sperm but now years later you give him another miracle?! Yeah expect him to pass out.

🥕 Your daughter totally gets jealous hearing that she'll have to share her father. Then enters the MOODY TEEN PHASE.

🥕 Despite her moody attitude to your pregnancy Law tries his hardest to always be there for the both of you.

🥕 His usual office buddy now holes herself up in her room but Law will knock on her door with a plate of her favorite veggies "Hey princess. I brought you a snack and a new book I thought you'd like it." As stubborn as she is she can't say no to her father she loves him too much

🥕 Those stubborn guards around her heart will crumble when she holds her little brother for the first time.

🥕 As much as Law and you want to hold the baby you have to pry it from her hands lol that's her baby now

🥕 (sidenote if your teens aren't compassionate for their family members then I feel sad for y'all 😭 cause my teenage nieces and nephews are the sweetest ppl you'll ever meet)

🥕 Your daughter will be caught holding her brother every chance she gets. Feeding him and dressing him up but will totally pass the baby off to her dad when it's time for a diaper change

🥕 Law now has two office buddy's lol

🥕 Totally gets her brother to like cold Carrots too and as she feeds her baby brother with a 13 year age difference, Law can't help but snap a photo to add to his collection

🥕 Law didn't think he'd have a son 13 years after his daughter but he definitely didn't think that same son would go and marry one of Kid's daughters

🥕 Totally gets backed into an alliance with Luffy and Eustass but what can you do?

When you have little carrot cuties as adorable as his how can you say no to anything that involves them?

[topherwrites]

𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘛, 𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙

summary - a saturday morning, and I love you on the tip of both your tongues.

pairing - bob floyd x (gn!)reader

word count - 2.1k

rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni!

content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / fluff / slightly h*rny fluff / bob's love language being acts of service / the peak fantasy of homeownership / bob floyd being the ideal man™ / lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: time for my bi-yearly fic drop, lol! i wrote this in semi-conjunction with this moodboard. (a.k.a i started this months ago.) everyone who said they want to live in it... same. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Your boyfriend has disappeared.

Even before your eyes are open and your brain is semi-functioning, you feel the lack of his presence, the sheets next to you devoid of his usual space heater existence. You touch the left side—his side—double checking—hoping, really—that you won’t have to peel yourself out of bed to search for him.

A cascade of orange and pink spills through your curtains, painting your room in soft light, letting you know it has to be before seven. With a groan, you check your clock, confirming your suspicions. The time reads a quarter past six—far too early for you.

Not nearly as agonizing for him, one of those irritating early riser types, but Bob is diligent about letting you know when he’s leaving for his early morning runs, a kiss planted to your temple, and a ‘be back soon’—just a little moment in case you have to leave for work before he gets back.

But it’s Saturday, and you had plans of lazing about in bed until at least eleven, preferably with him. 

Your brow creases as you push up onto your elbows, slowly blinking around your room as if your boyfriend will just appear in front of you, and you won’t have to pull yourself out from under the covers to try to coax him back to bed.

As of late, it’s like he gets struck by a whim, and his body is overcome with the need to check it off a list, unable to rest until he does—changing your oil at ten o’clock at night, fixing the light in your fridge that flickers before he heads off for a run, trying to fix the leaky pipes under your en-suite sink—he did eventually give up on that one and call a plumber. Thank god.

Part of you has just taken it as part of his job and personality—he likes getting up as the sun does, he likes fixing things, and his job is a stressor, you're sure. But it doesn't feel work-related, so part of you is beginning to wonder if it’s you. 

An ugly little thought that you can recognize has no factual basis. He’s never been anything but honest with you, open and vulnerable, even when you’ve guarded yourself.

As a result, you tuck it away, considering that he’s off on another one of his little quests. They’re things that always make you feel cared for and thought about—weeding or checking the pressure on your tires or rearranging his kitchen so you can reach the things you frequently use.

So, as you begin to pressure yourself to leave your cocoon of early morning sleepiness, a quiet metal-against-metal clattering floats down the hall and through the crack in your bedroom door, catching your attention.

Slipping out of bed, you pad down the hall, sleep shirt brushing your thighs. Growing nearer to the sound of the soft noise—clearly being sensitive to try not to wake you—-you catch soft guitar strings and the twang of John Prine and Iris DeMent coming from your grandma’s old record player.

You cringe as your foot touches the cold tile lining the floor and immediately regret not rummaging around for your slippers.

You find Bob there, posted at the counter as he cuts something at a butcher board, only wearing the sweats he went to bed in. He's still warm despite the lack of clothing and the countertop fan blowing at him.

At the arch entry, you stop and watch him for a moment, entranced by the way his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back move with the motion—by the sight of him in your kitchen. Something so distinctly domestic and intimate about it.

Completely focused on his task, he doesn't hear you come up behind him. He slightly jumps under your touch as your hands slip around his middle, his stomach beneath your fingertips.

He makes a short noise of surprise that washes into a gentle greeting, his voice low, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You press your lips to his shoulder blade, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

You've clearly ruined some sort of surprise, but you can't feel too bad at the sight of his eyes still clouded by sleep and the odd angles his hair sticks up.

Keeping his eyes on the cuts he’s making, Bob briefly twists around to press a kiss to your temple as he mumbles, “Go back to bed.”

You just hum, beginning to press kisses to the freckles that scatter along his shoulders, deepened by the tan he’s obtained from working in the flowerbeds that sit alongside your front door. The beds were slightly tragic before you began dating, some sort of sparse bushes planted there. They were alive at one point, you assume, but lying half dead and bare when you bought the place.

In no time at all, he had the beds torn up and replaced with bright white hydrangeas that now sit in full bloom under your front windows. Pink zinnias, sunny yellow goldenrods, and pale milkweeds—all chosen by him because they attract monarch butterflies during their migration—flank either side of the brown brick pathway. Cheek pressed to his skin; you cast a glance outside just as a small orange and black blur flits by the glass.

“So… where is it?”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Bob casts a lost glance around the plant nursery’s vast outdoor gardens—bright pops of color among vast expanses of green, the high afternoon sun beating down on them—the acreage of it is astounding and certainly a workout.

You’re supposed to be picking up some mulch for the beds—but you keep getting sidetracked. Half your fault; you beeline for every slightly pretty plant, balancing it on the cart that’s rapidly becoming overloaded. The wheels digging heavily into the gravel pathways, little trenches left in your wake.

It’s early days with Bob Floyd, but he’s sweet and helpful and easy to get free labor out of—a big plus in your book.

On your first date, when he walked you to your front door, sweet and gentlemanly, you made a quick joke, a callback to your hinge profile. There, you had answered the prompt, I'm looking for…, with, ‘someone to put together my ikea bookshelf. seriously.’

Because, after two unsuccessful attempts to put it together and three months of it languishing in the corner of your living room, you were tired of feeling a pang of guilt every time you piled another book on top of the precarious stack teetering next to your reading chair.

Of course, on the date, you didn't actually expect him to do it. You made the joke as a way to test the waters, to see if he was open to coming inside without fully putting yourself out there that way.

But then he followed you in, sat himself down cross-legged on your living room rug, and got to work. You stood there in the doorway for a moment, warming even further to him. 

You poured a glass of wine for each of you, and watched his hands as he set joints together and tightened screws with a furrow between his brows. And despite his serious focus on the job, he continued asking you questions about your taste in books, your favorite bands growing up, what you liked about San Diego as you sat near—your only real contribution being the wine, simple conversation, and occasionally handing him a screw.

He’d finished near midnight, asked if you wanted help sorting your books, and when you said no, already mildly abashed at the fact that you’d set him to work on your first date, he’d given you a kiss goodnight on your cheek—chaste and unpresuming—and left it at that.

You’d fallen for him a little bit then and there.

Blinking, he stares down at the map once again—same furrow in his brow—turning it in his hands. Not sounding any more sure than he was a second ago, he points slightly westerly of you, “That way. I think.”

It draws a slight laugh from you. You lightly hip-check him, teasing over your shoulder, “Come on, farm boy, you’re supposed to be helping me.”

The scent of lemon carries inside from the open window over the sink, summer ripening the tree planted in your yard. That’s also when you spy past his shoulder a small stack of the same yellow fruit on the counter. A pancake crackles away on the stove.

Your voice is quiet—reticent to break the seal of this hushed moment—as you ask, “What are you making?”

Hands wandering mindlessly, your touch follows the trail of hair from his belly button, fingers sneaking only just under the waistband of his sweats, loosely hung on his hips. 

He seems to part with the idea of whatever he’s doing being a surprise, clear that you’re not going to accede to his request and tuck yourself back into bed, too awake now to do so.

“Pancakes,” he reveals, continuing to whip, “with lemon ricotta whipped cream.”

“Trying out a new recipe?”

His throaty laugh reverberates into your chest, shaking you. Your smile hikes higher before you even know what he’s laughing about—just enjoying the sound, the melody and the slight grit to it.

“Emphasis on trying,” he says, scooping a bit of the whipped cream onto his finger, offering it to you to taste. “Would you?”

You draw his finger into your mouth. It’s slightly sweet with a burst of tang, the sugar and cream mellowing out the sharper edges of the lemon flavor. A success, you think. As you draw back, you flash your gaze up and find his eyes unabashedly caught on your mouth.

You pull off and without breaking eye contact, breathily tease, “Lech.”

With a slight flush to his ears and cheeks, he laughs and leans in, nose brushing yours as he presses his lips to yours. His mouth slants over yours, insistent, his hand finds its way to cradle your jaw, tilt your head just right. It catches your breath, makes your toes curl against the tile.

You're still not entirely used to this, the sweetness of Bob Floyd. His eyes are soft as he pulls back, his thumbs sweeping along your cheeks. He clicks his tongue, cheekily muttering, “I think it’s good.”

His lips move to your cheek next, mumbling between a kiss there, “You're distracting.”

The gesture, so simple, makes your heart flip.

By this stage of dating you're usually spiraling, finding reasons that it won’t work out and tallying up slights so when the expected happens, you're not blindsided. Like it's a game you’ll win; perpetually preparing yourself for heartbreak. 

And it’s often been easy, dating men who were noncommittal or uninterested or flippant with affection made it so. They were easy to write off— jettison them from your life and think, onto the next. 

But everything has changed with him. There’s an ease to the intimacy, a frankness to him that makes that defense mechanism very difficult to muster. You're… settled.

And it should scare you, the way your heart is fully on the line, but then you catch sight of one of his dogeared-to-hell paperbacks in the living room or the little date night notes he leaves scribbled on the calendar that hangs next to the fridge or his mismatched colorful socks mixed in with your laundry and it doesn't. As simple as that.

You haven’t said the L word yet. But it’s there, dancing on the tip of your tongue every time you look at him.

Bob is near certain that this is love.

No, he supposes, he is certain. He’s mulled this particular topic over too much in his mind not to be.

It's love—the big kind. He’s just not certain when he should let you in on that fact. Release it out to you and see if it comes back returned.

In the past five months he’s undertaken a million little projects to keep his hands, mouth, and mind busy, working out all that excess energy. All he’s doing is kicking the can down the road, trying to find “the right time”. 

He's gotten close more than once, yet every time it catches in the back of his throat, his tongue an uneasy ally in the venture. The words, three simple ones, are left as something uncomfortable to swallow down at each abandoned attempt.

And yet, virtually all that discomfort is eased by the way you say his name, catching his attention when they nearly slip, nearly an endearment all on its own. 

His call sign being his name means that Bob hears it alot, from a considerable amount of mouths. Shouted, whispered, whooped. In a variance of forms, he's heard it. But it's never sounded so important, so weighty, then it does as it falls from your lips. Like you're speaking a dialect only the two of you hold knowledge of, his name equivalent to the word in the forefront of his mind.

"Bob."

He hums, certain that his face gives him away; 'Whipped' as Mickey called it or 'in love' as his mother did the first time you met.

This is the sort of thing that his parents have, the ease, the humor, the affection. It permeates every space of his life, the knowledge that you're here, with him, choosing each other easily.

Eight letters.

I love you.

He lets temptation run wild, hands glancing down your back and tugging you right into him. He takes a moment just to look at you, your bright eyes, and the sweet shape of your lips as you smile up at him. Your hands slide around his neck, gently teasing the hair at the nape of his neck, his stomach swooping at the feeling.

Three syllables.

I love you.

He lets them swirl in his head, settle in the back of his throat as he prepares his tongue.

Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and he opens his mouth, readying himself, just as your lips part, and twice at once, I love you, becomes tangible reality.

Like a held breath released, a smile, broad and uncontrollable, spreads over his face, mirrored on yours as everything comes into view.

Just as Bob leans in to brush his lips against yours, higher than he’s ever felt, the smell of rapidly burning batter hits his nose. 

"Oh, shoot."

a/n: thank you for reading!

[sceletaflores]

working it out (on the remix)

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. you should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t going to get the three of you anywhere.

—or: three tennis players walk into a hotel room.

word count: 5.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, fighting as foreplay, mean!reader my beloved, the patrick and art gay agenda, threesome, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!), not quite hate sex more like angry sex, double penetration, oral sex (m!receiving), choking, finger sucking, degradation, creampies, lowkey sub!patrick coded, switch!art ofc, porn with a plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: oh em gee part three is here!!! i literally always say this but i had so much fun writing this one lol thank you so much for showing this series so much love right off the bat! i've loved loved loved reading all the ideas you guys have sent me for future chapters and trust when i say that i'll definitely be featuring as many as i can. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

tftw series masterlist!

Art is fuming. You keep glancing over at him to check that smoke isn't starting to blow out of his ears. It doesn't, but he's just as mad every time. Standing in the doorway huffing and puffing, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Patrick down from across the room. 

Patrick is the complete opposite, all relaxed body language and easy half-smiles as he coolly stares back. You’d make a fire and ice joke if you didn’t think it would send Art over the edge.

He’s sitting in the room’s single chair, window cracked open so he can smoke. He’s practically naked, wearing an unbuttoned long sleeve and the tiniest boxers you’ve ever seen. His bare feet are propped up on the corner of the bed you’re sitting on. 

You’re perched cross legged on the mattress, basically stuck in the middle of them.

You’re still surprised you even got Art to show up at all. You thought he almost flipped the table when you brought up Patrick at lunch, casually mentioning that you’ve been texting him for the past couple of days and you think the three of you need to talk. He was quiet for a long time before he finally asked if that meant Patrick was, has been, in town. You just shook your head yes.

You didn’t tell him you and Patrick slept together, you didn’t need to.

He went quiet again, stood up from his chair with an excuse of being late to class and stomped out of the dining hall. You texted him the address to Patrick’s hotel an hour later.

Art never responded, but his jeep was still waiting for you outside the biology building after your last lecture got out. He would always drive you back to your dorm since you’d get out so late, but this time he turned out of the campus lot and silently drove until you realized he was going to the hotel.

Now you’re here, and it's been almost ten minutes since you knocked on the door to Patrick’s room. And no one has said anything the entire time. No one has even moved, only Patrick every so often when he needs to flick his ashes out the window. A thick blanket of tense silence falls heavy over the three of you. It makes the room’s temperature feel that much hotter. The shitty air conditioner hums faintly in the background.

“So,” you say slowly, voice finally piercing through the quiet, “Am I gonna have to be the first to talk again or–”

“God, I don’t know,” Art cuts in tersely, not looking away from Patrick as he does, ”I can’t believe I don’t have anything to say to the guy that fucked my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Both you and Patrick ask sharply, opposing tones of shock and amusement blending together.

Art's eyes narrow, a storm brewing in the blue of them. He’s still looking at Patrick, talking about you like you’re not sitting right in front of him. "Yeah, my girlfriend. Did I stutter?" His chest is puffed out just enough for you to notice, his mouth pulled down at the corners in a deep frown.

You blink, caught off guard. Art’s never asked you to go steady with him, you’ve never even been on a date. Unless you count fucking in the back of his jeep at a drive in theater a date, then sure, you’ve been on one date. Regardless, the possessive timbre of his voice has something warm simmering under your skin.

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “Well, this is fucking news to me,” he says through a chuckle, eyes flicking between the two of you bemusedly, “I didn’t realize you guys were playing house, but that does makes a lot more sense now.” He gestures to your chest with his free hand, pointing out the dark blue sweatshirt you’re wearing.

‘Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy’ is stitched across the front in thin black thread; you'd stolen it from Art’s closet when you slept over at his dorm a few nights ago. He never asked for it back.

“It’s cute that you kept my shirt, Donaldson.” Patrick teases, lolling his head to the side lazily so he can look at Art through his lashes. A plume of smoke billows from between his lips, slipping through the open window slowly. “Even after you tried to turn my girlfriend against me and fucked her behind my back first–”

“Fuck you, Patrick–” Art starts, face twisted in a scowl. His hands ball into fists at his side, jaw ticking with anger.

Patrick doesn’t look deterred, leaning forward in his chair as he tries to talk over Art, “You’re such a fucking hypocrite–”

“I’m not anyone’s girlfriend,” you cut them both off, brows drawn together in frustration, “—and I’m not going to let this turn into some weird pissing contest between you two. We’re here to talk.”

Art scoffs agitatedly, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Looks like the two of you have done plenty of talking without me,” he says bitterly. “Do you get off on this shit or something? On sticking your dick where it doesn’t fucking belong?”

Patrick smirks, leaning back in his chair, arms draped lazily over the armrests. “God, you really do think you’re innocent in this,” he laughs incredulously, leaning back in his chair. “You’re acting like you’ve got some moral high ground, but you don’t. You’re just as guilty of playing the game as I am.”

Art’s face darkens further, anger threatening to boil over. “This isn’t a game to me, Patrick,” he spits, tone hard and low, “I’m so sick of you treating everything like a goddamn joke.”

Patrick’s smirk doesn’t falter. “I never said it was a joke,” he says with a shrug, tone easy and nonchalant. “I’m just saying, maybe you should take a good look in the mirror before you start pointing fucking fingers. I’m not the only one who’s played dirty here.”

“Patrick–” you warn, sitting up straighter. You can feel the way the air changes, the way the animosity gets turned up. The last thing you need is for them to start throwing punches.

Art cuts you off, shaking his head in contempt. “You’re so full of shit. You don’t fucking care about her. You never did. You just want to win, because you can’t stand the thought of losing to me.”

Patrick groans loudly, throwing his head back with it. “We’re really going back to this again? Jesus Christ, give it up man. It’s not like she was ever really yours to begin with.” He takes another slow drag from his cigarette, eyes never leaving Art.

The jab hits its mark, you can see it on Art’s face. In the way he physically recoils, the way he takes a ragged breath through his nose, the way the muscles of his jaw work furiously. For the first time since you fucked Patrick, you feel like a fucking bitch. The familiar feeling of guilt wraps its tendrils around you, weighing you down into the mattress like a physical force.

It gives you an idea, the guilt. It's a filthy idea, one that has heat stirring between your legs at just the thought. It’s a good way to make this whole situation up to Art, a good way to let him get under Patrick’s skin the same way he’s getting under his.

You sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. You should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t getting the three of you anywhere.

You sigh, overly dramatic and long suffering, scooting down until your legs are hanging over the edge of the mattress. Art and Patrick watch you the entire time, eyes finally leaving each other to watch your hands settle on the hem of Patrick’s sweatshirt.

“You guys are being so difficult. Why did I think that you could behave enough to talk this out like big boys?” You tug it off in one swift move, tossing it to the side carelessly. Two sharp gasps ring out, two sets of greedy eyes roam the bare expanse of your torso. You hadn’t worn a bra today.

You smirk, standing from the mattress and hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your sweats. You push them down your legs slowly, making a show of it until you're only in the pair of light purple panties you slipped on this morning. Patrick smirks, flicking his cigarette butt out the window and yanking it closed. He goes to stand, Art pointedly takes a single threatening step forward as he does but you stop both of them in their tracks. 

“No.” Your voice rings through the small room, loud and commanding. Patrick sits back down almost immediately, his brow raising in confusion. Art does the same, freezing with one foot in front of him. They’re both hard, cocks tenting the fabric of their bottoms. Their boners point towards each other, you bite your lip to hide your smile. 

“You’ve been so bad, Ricky.” you scold softly, voice syrupy sweet as you lean back on the bed. “Dressed up like an easy whore in here waiting for us, being so mean to Art, fucking his girl…” You trail off boredly, palms braced flat on the bed behind you so you can lean back as casually as you can muster. You let your legs fall open, spread enough to let Patrick and Art see the wet spot slowly seeping into the fabric.

You can hear Art’s sharp inhale from across the room at your words, his girl. You’re still careful not to say girlfriend, that’s a whole other talk. Patrick squirms in his chair, practically itching with the need to say something. You level him with a hard look, a firm shake of your head keeps him quiet. When you finally turn your attention to Art, he meets your gaze easily, eyes already blown out and glassy. Even from here you can see the way his pupils swallow the pretty blue color.

You smile, lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Art,” you coo softly, reaching your hand out in offering, “come here.” 

Art’s walking towards you without a second thought, crossing the room in just a few large steps. You smile at him, patting the spot next to you. The bed creaks as he sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight slides you closer to him. ”I think,” you say slowly, resting your hand high up on his thigh, so close to the hard line of his cock straining against the fabric, “that we need to teach Patrick a lesson on manners.”

“What! No fucking way, that’s bullshi–” Patrick fusses from the corner, sitting up straighter in seat, the armrest gripped tight in his left hand.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, whipping your head to the side to glare at him. “This isn’t about you.”

He frowns, pushing out his bottom lip like an actual child. You just barely fight the urge to roll your eyes, an evil smile spreading across your face as you watch him honest-to-God pout.

“This is about Art,” you slide your hand up higher, cupping him through his loose shorts. You can hear his sharp intake of breath, a quiet ‘fuck’ falls from his lips as you apply more pressure to where your hand is steadily rubbing him up and down. “Plus, you’re already in the cuck chair,” you aren’t able to stop the small chuckle that falls from your lips, “you’ve got a perfect view.”

His pink lips part ever so slightly, eyes going wide and hungry at your words. You throw him one last devilish smile before you’re sinking to your knees in front of the bed. The scratchy carpet digs into your knees but you don’t care, not when Art is towering in front of you with the ceiling lights shining around him like he’s an angel.

You smile up at him, dragging the palms of your hands up and down his thighs. “Take your shirt off,” you encourage, slipping your hands up to toy with the hem of his shorts.

He complies beautifully, pulling his shirt up and over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the lean, toned muscles of his torso. You let your eyes linger on him for a moment, appreciating the sight before returning your attention to your task. Your fingers deftly undo the drawstring of his shorts, and start tugging them down. Art lifts his hips enough for you to drag them all the way down his legs, taking his boxers with them to free his hard cock.

Again, you slide your hands up the bare skin of his thighs, inches away from where he wants them. He’s so hard, cock standing straight up in an angry red line against his stomach. The tip drools pre-cum that leaks down the length of him slowly.

Art's breath hitches, his eyes locked onto you with a mix of anticipation and desperation. Your fingers brush lightly over his upper thighs, before you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the heat of his arousal pulse against your palm. His gasp is sharp, and you silently revel in the power you hold over him in this moment.

You glance over at Patrick, who is staring wide-eyed, his earlier irritation replaced with a raw, unfiltered hunger.

Your lips curl into a smug smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. “See something you like, Patrick?” you taunt, giving Art a slow, deliberate stroke that has him groaning softly. Patrick’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching, but he stays silent, his gaze locked on the two of you.

Art's hands grip the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning white. "Fuck," he breathes out, his voice strained, "you're killing me."

You laugh softly, a dark, melodic sound, and lean forward, letting your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip of his cock. Art moans, the sound vibrating through you. You glance up at him through your lashes, seeing the way his head tilts back, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

You slide your lips up the length of his leaking cock, teasing and slow. Art stares down at you, not breaking eye contact as he breathes raggedly through his nose.

“Tell him how it feels,” you whisper against the pink tip of his cock, sliding it back and forth across your lips teasingly. Art swallows hard, skin flushing in embarrassment.

“So good…” he whispers, eyes still locked onto yours. His blush goes from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, spreading pink and warm across the strong muscle of his pecs.

You smile, shaking your head softly. “Don’t tell me, tell him.” You jerk your head in Patrick’s direction once before you sink down until your nose is nestled against the soft blonde hair at the base of his cock, working your throat around the length of him. 

Art moans loudly, his hands coming up to tangle into your hair. You keep going, fighting his grip on you as you start to bob your head over his cock in a steady rhythm, working your hand in time with your mouth.

He forces himself to look at Patrick, catching his eyes.

Patrick looks fucked, lips slick and dropped open as he stares back Art, hungry gaze not wavering. His cock is still hard, pressed against the seam of his boxers and leaking a steady patch of wetness around the head. 

A silent challenge seems to pass between the two of them.

We doing this or what?

Art refuses to back down, hardening his resolve. “Feels so fucking good,” he groans, not looking away from Patrick, “her throat’s so tight, so– God, it’s so good. Best I’ve ever had.”

He’s rambling, not even making any sense but you hum in approval all the same, your tongue curling around the crown. Patrick doesn’t look like he minds too much either, pink tongue coming out to swipe along his bottom lip. "Please," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. "Let me..."

You pull off Art with a wet pop, turning your head as best you can with his hand still tangled in your hair to fix Patrick with a steely gaze. "You don't get to make requests," you say, your voice hard. "You get to watch and learn."

Patrick's eyes darken, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he doesn't protest. Art lets out a low growl, his hand tightening its grip on your hair and dragging your mouth back to his cock.

“Stop fucking talking to him,” he demands, hips thrusting to fuck back into your mouth. You choke on the sudden fullness, wetness floods your panties as you moan around him.

Yes, you think, eyes squeezing close as you force your throat to relax around his cock, this is what I wanted.

You were waiting to see how long it’d take Art to snap, he lasted longer than you thought he would. The head of his cock punches against the soft, spongy part at the back of your throat. You fight to not gag around him, hands scrambling for purchase on his thighs. His balls slap against your chin roughly, sticking wetly to the drool that's starting to fall from the corners of your lips.

Art meets Patrick’s eye again, a smug smirk on his face as he jerks his head in a clear invitation, “Come here.” He grunts simply, dragging you up and down the length of his cock by his tight grip on your hair.

Patrick practically sprints from the chair, ripping his shirt off while he tries to kick his boxers off before he reaches the bed. He sits next to Art, chest heaving as he stares down at where your lips stretched obscenely over his best friend's cock. 

Art pulls you off by your hair, holding your face a few inches away from his spit covered cock. He tuts at you sympathetically, tilting his head to the side with a tiny frown at the sight of you all teary eyed. “Bet you feel real empty, right?” he asks sadly, shaking your head back and forth like a dog. “That greedy pussy wants our cocks stretching her open, doesn't she?”

You whine loudly, nodding your head as best you can as the meaning of Art’s words sink over you. You feel far away, like you’ve already been fucked six ways to Sunday. You cunt clenches around nothing, aching for Art and Patrick’s cocks bullying their way inside you. You’ve never done anything like that before, taken two guys at once, but God do you need it.

Art nods back, brows pulled together in faux pity. “Pat and I will help baby,” he says sweetly, “You just gotta get nice and stretched out first, need to fuck yourself open on Patrick’s cock so you can take us.”

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick breathes, already moving up the bed to lay flat on his back agasint the pillows. His cock sticking straight out from his body, pointing to the ceiling desperately.

Art lets go of your hair, cupping the side of your face tenderly. His thumb rubs against the soft skin of your cheekbone a few times, you know it’s a question. 

Do you want this?

You smile, nuzzling his palm and giving his thumb a playful nip. The answer to his question written all over your face.

Fuck yes.

Art smiles back, nodding his head once. You take the hint, rising from your knees to climb onto the mattress. You slide your panties off, tossing them aside as you crawl up the length of Patrick’s body, straddling his hips and wasting no time in sinking down on his cock.

Art settles next to the two of you, hand loosely gripped around his cock as he starts to lazily stroke himself to the sight of you and Patrick.

“Fuck!” Patrick hisses, his hands coming up to grip your hips fiercely as you start to ride him, not giving either of you anytime to adjust. The stretch burns, the lack of prepping before hand makes it sting. You don’t mind, too worked up to care. 

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” He tries, but you cut him off bringing your free hand to wrap around the column of his throat just like he did to you back in the shower.

“You’re the slut,” you growl, fingers digging into his skin roughly. His eyes widen, plush lips going slack. You speed your hips up, the loud smack each time you drop down onto him echoes through the room. “You’re the easy fucking whore that soaked your panties watching your best friend fuck my throat."

Art huffs out a breath, hand slipping over his cock faster as he watches you ride Patrick. His eyes are trained on the way your hand is wrapped against Patrick’s throat. He slips his free hand down, pressing two fingers against Patrick’s cock so you slide down onto them on the next bounce.

“Fuck!” You keen loudly, grip tightening on Patrick’s throat. Art’s fingers add to the sting of your cunt, but your hips don’t stop moving, even as he slips in a third just as fast.

You get lost in it, in the feeling of Patrick’s dick fucking into you so deeply you swear he’s hitting your cervix with every roll of your hips, Art’s fingers stretching you that much wider.

Suddenly, Art drops his cock so his free hand can latch onto your hips, his strong grip forcing you to stop your desperate bouncing. His fingers slip out of you, you immediately miss the stretch.

Patrick groans in displeasure, his hips buck up like he’s trying to slide back into the warmth of your fucked open cunt. His leaking head bumps against your sensitive clit a few times before Art’s dropping his hand down, gripping Patrick’s cock to line it up with his own.

Art slides up behind you, his sweaty chest pressing firmly against your back. “Should be stretched out enough,” He whispers into the nape of your neck, pressing both tips against your fluttering hole.

The shock of it has your hand slipping off Patrick’s throat to anchor onto his shoulders in a feeble attempt to brace yourself. He sucks in large gasps of air, chest heaving as he stares down to where his cock is pressed snug against Art’s, his hand big enough to almost wrap around them both. He throws his head back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, “Fuck, I can’t watch,” he gasps, voice low and ragged. 

Art laughs smugly, but it’s breathy around the edges and you can feel the way his hand shakes on your hip. “Close already, Pat?” He asks condescendingly, as his fingers dig in a little tighter. “You’re not even doing any of the work.”  

You try to focus on the sensation of Art’s grip, but your mind is a haze of overstimulation and the throb of Patrick’s cock against you. Art’s mocking tone sends a shiver down your spine, making you acutely aware of how close you are to the edge yourself. Your greedy cunt clenches around them, trying to suck them in you.

Patrick’s breath stutters, his hips jerking up involuntarily, making a strangled noise that’s half-groan, half-whimper. “Fuck you, man,” he manages to grind out, but his voice is trembling and strained, the bite in his tone gets undercut by how wrecked he sounds. You can feel the barely there twitches of his hips, like he’s physically pained from having to wait any longer.

A sharp cry rips from your throat as they finally start to slide in, both heads popping into your tight hole all at once. Your eyes screw shut at the stretch, thighs shaking where they’re spread over Patrick’s hips.

“Someone kiss me,” you gasp desperately, chin lowering to your chest. Art’s moving before the words finish leaving your mouth, gripping a fistful of Patrick’s hair and dragging him up to your lips. You whine into his mouth, letting his tongue slide between your lips to claim your mouth.

The familiar feeling of his lips on yours relaxes you the tiniest bit, letting Art lower you down a few more inches. It feels like hours as you sink onto them, Art’s big hands gently massaging your hips while Patrick’s greedy fingers pull and paw at your thighs.

It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard Patrick. His lips going slack in awe against yours as Art’s cock slides up next to his, moaning into your mouth when your hips go flush with his.

They feel so huge inside you, so thick you swear you can feel them in your stomach. Bullying your insides into making more room for the both of them.

“Fuck," you gasp, nails digging little crescent moons into Patrick’s shoulders. Every inch of you is alive with sensation, a burning mix of pleasure and pain. Art’s breath is hot and ragged against your ear, whispering sweet encouragements, “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, taking us so fucking good–” 

You nod, slowly starting to grind your hips back and forth, gasping when they rub up against the soft spot inside of you that has you clenching in pleasure– practically choking them off at the base. A high moan falls from your lips, hips swirling the tiniest bit faster that have both Art and Patrick growl out matching groans of approval.

“Just like that,” Art whispers into your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Gonna make him come first, or are you gonna beat him to it?” The challenge in his voice sends a jolt of heat through you, your thighs starting to shake with every pass of them over that spot.

“God, ah! Art– fuck, mh, Patrick–” You slur, head already starting to go fuzzy

“Fuck,” Art gasps out your name sharply, pushing you down onto Patrick’s chest so he can start fucking into your loose, sloppy cunt. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” his hand grips the back of your neck to pin you down, throwing all his strength behind the snap of his hips.

“Shit, look at you,” Patrick chuckles weakly pinching your hips hard, trying to seem less affected than he really is. “You’re so fucking gone. All that attitude needs is some dick to fix it, huh?”

You crack your eyes open, blearily searching until you zero in on his face. He’s smiling smugly, eyes blown out and hazy.

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit weakly, raising your hand to shove your index and middle finger between his parted lips. You push back far enough to feel his throat constricting against your fingers, letting him gag on you. Your eyes trace the side of his face, down the slope of his nose to where his cherry red lips are lewdly spread around your fingers.��

You can distantly hear Art groan behind you, his hips speeding up impossibly faster. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers digging into your sensitive skin meanly. You hook your fingers behind Patrick’s teeth, dragging his face to the side to meet your eye. Patrick moans around your fingers, gazing at you pleading through half lidded eyes. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, drenching your wrist. His hot, wet tongue sliding along the pads of your fingers feels scalding.

Patrick's hands are everywhere, pulling, pinching, caressing, his touch a maddening mix of rough and tender. The feeling of him inside you, alongside Art, is almost too much to bear, making you gasp for breath. Your moans are a symphony of pleasure and desperation, each one a plea for more, more, more the closer you get the edge.

“Shit, ah, Art, ah!” Your feet scrabbled uselessly against the sheets, the fingers of your free hand twist Patrick’s hair roughly. “I’m gonna come— Mm, ah! I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Art goads, the rhythm of his hips not faltering, “Come on baby– fuck yeah– fucking soak these dicks–”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, your vision whites out around you as the entire world shrinks down to the stretch of your gushing cunt around Art and Patrick. The slight burn of them, the fullness, the unrelenting pace of Art’s hips stinging the skin of your ass on each thrust. 

Patrick bites down on your fingers with a broken whine just as Art sinks his teeth into your neck, both of them groaning so loud it’s all you can hear. That and the faulty rhythm of Art’s hips snapping against the meat of your ass in loud ‘cracks’. 

They come together, and you can feel it.

You can feel every twitch and jerk of their cocks inside you as they spray the walls of your cunt with their releases. Spurt after spurt of hot come claiming you as theirs, filling you to the brim. Art doesn’t stop, working the three of you through your orgasms. Each thrust fucks more of their come out of you, the lewd squelch of it leaking from of your loose hole to gather around the base of their cocks in two matching creamy rings makes your ears burn.

Just as it gets to be too much, when the pleasure starts to give way into biting overstimulation, Art stops. You’re slumped against Patrick, shaking like a leaf when Art starts to pull out as gently as he can. You hiss when the head of his cock slips out, thighs clenching together.

“Sorry,” he whispers sweetly, giving your shoulder a gentle kiss. He practically man handles you off of Patrick’s cock, lifting your hips up and off of him.

Patrick groans, stomach twitching in oversensitivity as your slick walls slide against his spent dick. Finally he slips out, his drenched cock falling to slap onto his stomach. There come rushes out of you, dripping sticky and thick down your inner thighs. 

There’s sweat dripping down your temple when you fall onto the mattress, your back sticks to the sheets but you’re too out of it to care. Art collapses next to you, sandwiching you between him and Patrick. The three of you are quiet, chests heaving as you catch your breath. Patrick’s hairy thigh is pressed to yours, firm and toned. Art’s got an arm slung over your waist, his breath puffs hot against your neck.

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” you say breathlessly, voice raspy and hoarse. “It could work. We could make it work, the three of us.”

Art and Patrick are quiet, their silence heavy with contemplation. You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling, more nervous bringing this up than you thought you’d be. The room is filled with the sounds of your collective breaths, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and sex.

Patrick chuckles, you can feel his curls brushing against your shoulder as he shakes his head in dry amusement. "Yeah, because everything about this screams 'healthy relationship,'" he quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Art lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he says, his voice low and steady. "Let's just...see where this goes."

You feel a rush of relief at his words, but Patrick’s hesitancy still gnaws at the edges of your mind. Patrick shifts beside you, his hand skirting lightly over your arm in a rare moment of tenderness.

"Guess we're in uncharted territory, huh?" he murmurs, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

You laugh, finally daring to glance at both of them, a tentative smile forming on your lips. "Yeah, but maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Art and Patrick look back at you with matching grins wide enough to show their teeth, blonde and black hair fanning around their faces like halo’s under the room’s shitty fluorescent light. Your heart swells under the intense stare of two pairs of eyes, one blue and one green. You can feel the room start to fade away until it’s just the three of you and nothing else seems to matter.

Art leans down, giving your right shoulder a quick kiss. “If we’re doing this, we have to be honest with each other.” He looks between you and Patrick pointedly, but he’s still smiling. “No more bullshit games.”

Patrick snorts, letting his head fall back onto the pillows, “Yes sir.” 

You nod, not bothering to hide your smile. "No bullshit, no games," you agree, moving to squeeze Art's hand. He squeezes back in a silent promise.

The three of you lie there in a comfortable silence, the weight of your decision settling over you. It's definitely not going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it could work.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[giuliettagaltieri]

A Bouquet of Honeysuckle

Pairing: Dad!Gojō x Lactating!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is a baby in more ways than one.

Warning: breastfeeding, lactation kink, hint of dub/con, hungry Gojō, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink

Word Count: 1219

8 of 9

It is painfully clear to you that your husband might have developed a certain fondness to your bosom.  Or your carry-on breastaurant, as he insisted on calling them.

Whenever you nurse Satoshi, Gojō finds a way to lounge next to you, making up excuses about needing to have a conversation with you about the most tedious or ludicrous of topics.

Your bashfulness after catching his sticky gaze directed on your milky nipples, wearing off with how often it happens.

But the way you caught him staring in the gardens has done something to you.  It flattered you that your husband finds your motherhood appealing.  But the adoration he offered then was not soft, it was not sweet.

It was pure and unadulterated lust and hunger.

When he starts steering you to your shared quarters after putting Satoshi in his crib, you know you are about to see the breaking point of Satoru’s self-restraint.

You are aware that he was never good with sharing in the first place.

When Satoshi was born, you had no problems with your husband.  Your son slotted himself right in the middle of it all with no hitches.

Yet it happened twice already this week.  How your husband’s back leaves whatever it was he was leaning on to stop your son from pulling at your kimono to get to your breasts.  Gojō often manages to resume his previous position and pretend the past five seconds did not happen at all.  But he cannot shake off your startled expression.

Your baby just wanted to be fed.

You must have forgotten that Satoshi is not the only baby that you are taking care of.

Your husband, the head of your clan, the strongest sorcerer, the honored one, is now lying on his stomach, between your thighs as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Have you fallen asleep, Satoru?”  You ask, all the while attempting not to break into giggles.

You got comfortable leaning against the headboard, your back sinking on the softest of pillows that your husband insisted on buying for you while you were carrying his child.

His chin rested on your plush belly, his hooded eyes focused on the wet patch that seeped on your nursing bra.

He looks quite drunk with the subtle redness tinting at his cheekbones.

His shirt has long been discarded on the floors of your quarters.  Your kimono has been parted already.

But his vigor seemed to have evaporated from his body as he came face to face with your barely covered teats.

His mouth was not a stranger to the perky buds.  But all he has ever done was to suck on them.  Never suckle.

Gojō started with a kiss.  The simple gesture had your heartbeat doubling.

He stared at the buttons of your nursing bra and he looked at you briefly, as if trying to recall how you undid it.

Is he supposed to tug?  Will the buttons pop open right then?  He wouldn’t want to ruin them, it took a very long time for you to find a nursing bra that you were comfortable in.

Now gone tired of watching him do nothing but stare, you guide his larger hands on your bra to get his fingers to pull and with a sharp pop, your breasts come spilling out.

Gojō is in a trance.  Your already pebbled teats from months of nursing your son were quick to leak with milk, his throat has gone dry with the sight.

Your cunt clenches as his tongue lols out, drool lining his path as he haunches over you, head dipping to drag his wet appendage on your sensitive bud to catch the leaking milk.  The sight of him was incredibly primal.

“Ahh!”

Gojō pulls back, eyes wide in surprise as he watches you throw your head against the pillow.

He does not recall your teats being this sensitive.  Even when you were pregnant.

With searing curiosity pumping through his veins, he licks at the other nipple, his eyes never leaving your pleasure twisted face.

The low chuckle he makes has your spine freezing.  You were panting as you looked at him.

“Tastes good.”  He grins at you before his lips presses a smack on your lips.  The smile on his handsome face only widening as he showered your leaking buds with kitten licks.

And his supple lips form an o and captures your nipple like the ripest of cherries as he smothers your breast with his face, the plump of your breasts cushioning against his cheeks.  Your thighs immediately tighten around his torso.  As you mewl out his name, hands messing up his hair, scratching up his back and deltoids.

He was not being gentle, his lips forming a tight suction as he gulped down your milk, his hand had your breast on a tight squeeze, coaxing your lactation so he could drink more and more.

Gojō Satoru is a greedy man.

And you were the sole focus of his greed at the moment.

You were tapping his shoulder to let up, to give you a brief respite but he only slaps your hand away, an annoyed frown on his brows.  He was groaning out in pleasure from having your teat on his mouth.  Tongue darting out to lick his lips as he switches to the other breast.

You can only take it all.

And when he unbuckles his pants and his fingers hook on your panties to the side so he can slip in his cock, you erupt just from the feeling of being full.

A rumble from his chest would have startled you if only you were not sprawled on the fluffiest of cloud nines.

Gojō was relentless, but your body responds to him like it was his…and indeed it is.

One strong arm was hooked under the small of your back so he can fuck into you harder, your plush thighs creating a lewd noise as it slaps with his.  The wet noise of your cunt joins your wonton cries and Gojō’s guttural groans.

You have never seen him act in such a way, jostling you so roughly, as if moving on pure instinct.  Your cunt gushes as you watch him, breath hitching at every drag of his intensely hard cock on your soft pulsating walls.

By the time he slowed down, your lips were bloated from you chewing on it, your lashes had clumped up, and your teats were sore. You worry how you will nurse your son come morning. 

Gojō pulls out from you and watches his seed trickle between your thighs then his eyes travel to the swell of your breasts.  His cock twitches and he groans, reaching for a bottle of water and gulps it down as one hand rests possessively on your thigh.

You mewl out a protest when he turns you so you are lying on your stomach and slips a pillow under your belly to raise your hips to him.  And he slides inside you once more, his pace ever as rough, creating a bump in your belly with every thrust.  You sniffle as your sensitive buds brush on your soft pillows, your milk seeping through the fabric, creating an uncomfortable dampness.

Gojō wishes that you would never stop lactating.

Perhaps he’ll leave another bun to bake in your belly.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[soapybutt17]

The Doctor Is In

Summary: Simon was not one to look to get himself involved with women that was also part of his line of work. May it be women also in the field or anyone working in the background. But somehow, even he would eat his words at times as he was now dealing with the fact that he is far too enormed with the infamous doctor in scrubs that liked her coffee with tons of sugar and a dash of cream who also happens to be the little sister of his ever gruff of a Captain, John Price. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Price!Female!Reader Word Count: 3,958 Chapter Warnings: General Chaos. Sibling Bantering. Unedited. Lol. Author's Note: for @glitterypirateduck;s #Ghost Challenge Scenarios:

Soft Simon

A Kiss on the inside of the wrist

"They are right behind me, aren't they?"

You're Price's sister

Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist

“You good?”

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley was a big tough man, but in your care, with your touch he was the biggest baby. If he knew you would be the one attending to any injuries he might accumulate during missions, he would showcase each and every single wound or bruise he might have in his entire body, some imaginary ones to just to prolong his time with you. You knew as much and you enjoyed the fraction of time you get to spend time with him because of it.

“Just one thing left.” Simon finds himself answering, eyes peering along the now empty medical room. When the coast was clear, he had lifted his mask halfway off to showcase his lips. “You missed a spot, Love.” He smirked, full of himself at this point.

“You’re impossible, Riley.” You rolled your eyes making your way to the door and locking it just for safe measures before making your way towards him.

Arms rested on his shoulder before you pull him in for a kiss. Simon has had his fair share of kisses in his life, some memorable and some that he wished never to remember, but nothing could truly compare to your kiss, your lips were soft and tasted so much of the coffee that he was certain filled your veins. Overly sweet with a hint of cream—just like what you always want in your coffee. It was you and he would not have it any other way.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Smirking into your lips as you left out a surprised yelp for him as he continued to consume you with his lips. He took everything from you in that moment, your voice, your breath, and your bloody sanity as you moaned further into his kiss.

The sound of the knock on the door and the voice of his Captain had you pulling away and fixing yourself up from his lap. You glared at Simon then even with shit eating grin on his lips as he finally pulled his mask back on as you opened the door to the sight of his Captain—and your older brother.

“What is it now, John?” You questioned your brother and to this day it still amazed him how easy you could return back to this little character of professionalism to anyone that might come your way—even after the make out session that just occurred between the two of you.

“Wanted to check if Ghost would be indispensable for the time being?” Price inquired turning his attention away from you and right back to Simon that was still seated on the chair, didn’t even bother with the pleasantries.

“All cleared, just double checking for any hidden wounds he might have under his sleeves.” You answered turning your attention towards Simon too. “Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Doc.” He nodded. A good thing he has his mask on with the smirk resting on his face.

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” You spoke turning towards your own brother now. “Both of you.”

That was Simon’s cue to stand in his full height, he looked right down at you. A knowing was shared between the two of you before he followed his Captain out of the room.

“Bloody woman thinks she could boss the both of us around.” Price muttered under his breath as the both of them walked away from the medical area of the base.

“She does, you know.” Simon supplied.

“Whose fucking side are you on, Lieutenant?”

“Happy Doctor, happy soldier.” Simon shrugged knowing how true that statement truly was.

~                                                   

You tried your best to comb your hair after the mess that one Simon Riley had caused your current state and your entire life to be more specific. You were uncertain how and when this relationship with the Lieutenant had started but you had decided since then that it wasn’t something you’d want to deal with knowing anymore.

You were happy with this relationship with the man and that was more than enough and what was important.

“Will you be bringin’ that boyfriend of yours home for Mum’s birthday?”

You practically jumped at the voice of your brother. You turned, glaring at the man and slapping him on the arm for surprising you. This was what you hated about him, even with how different your lives has turned out him being a man that took lives if the circumstance was needed and you being the person that save lives whatever means necessary—he felt no separation between the two of you because of it. It only your sibling relationship with him grow stronger. You trusted him as much as he trusted you with his own life. It’s just too bad that you had your own secrets you weren’t so ready to admit to him just yet—or if ever.

“Who said I had a boyfriend?” You quipped subtly trying to fix the shirt you had on.

“I think the hickeys and the whispers around base is indicator enough you are seeing someone on base.” He spoke calmly, but you know him enough to understand that he was anything but calm.

He was being an overprotective older brother.

“John.”

“I want to know the name before you even think about letting the family know about him.”

You raised a brow at him, unfazed by the underlying threat in his words. You weren’t scare of his threats and you were more certainly sure that neither would Simon be. You were both consenting adults and were more than certain that whatever relationship you might have would never affect your work.

“No.” You answered.

“No?”

“What is it with men and not understanding the word no?”

“Give me a name.” He repeated.

“Really John?” You looked at him in disbelief. “Will this be the hill you die on, Jonathan?” You questioned him.

“You are my sister and you are the sister of the Captain of the Taskforce. What goes in this base is my problem.”

“I will cut you off for less, John. Do not make me do so.” You warned him, walking away from him without giving him even a single about the identity of the man.

But you knew your brother, you know him well enough to understand that he would not heed into your warning, instead finding himself getting his most trusted men involved. Little did he know that one of his most trusted man was the very person they were looking for.

“You really sure you’re not set on letting your brother know?” Simon had inquired the moment he had arrived in your apartment—shared apartment now that you both decided he could move in here on a more permanent basis.

“And give him the satisfaction of me agreeing with him? No.” You answered already handing him his tea. “And I love see him suffer from time to time.” You grinned knowing that Simon was getting bolder with the hickeys and making your brother more agitated.

“One of this days, a bullet would be placed on my head because of you.” He granted pulling off his mask and pulling you in for a kiss, a welcome home kiss. “Hi, Love.”

“Hi, Handsome.” You smiled, rubbing his chest before pulling away and plopping down onto the sofa with your boyfriend following besides you, his free arm wrapped around your waist. “Any new gossip I need to hear about?” You inquired.

“Your brother is zoning in on some poor private and I am washing my hands from whatever shit he has planned for the bastard.” Simon muttered taking a sip of his tea.

“You really have the actual balls to join him on this witch hunt?” You snorted knowing the man wasn’t innocent in all of this.

Your brother trusted every single one of the main members of his taskforce—Simon most especially, but to have him be the very man he was haunting down was just ironic for so many reason.

“Until you tell me otherwise.” He admits. “And I think it’s good to have me cleaning my tracks when I can along the way.” He pointed out.

You nodded, diabolic this man was when he wants to be.

“I wanted to ask…” You trailed off remembering the conversation you just had with your mother before he got home. “My Mum is inviting me and my secret boyfriend for her birthday and I wanted to know if you’d want to join or not?”

You looked at him more intently now. It was a subject you didn’t truly want to have with him especially when you had both decided to begin your relationship. But at the same time, it’s just been a long time coming. You loved your family, but you wanted to set a new boundary when it comes to your boyfriend and how he would be comfortable with interacting with your family going forward—especially when it comes to his past.

“If you’d have me, then I’d love to go.”

You smiled kissing him on the cheeks.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to force you into anything you are not comfortable with.”

“As long as you can promise me that your brother wouldn’t place a bullet in my head, then I don’t think we’d have much of a problem.”

“Can’t promise that, I’m sorry.” You giggled but knowing the worry was all the more lingering in you at the possibility. “You think if I bring Johnny and Gaz along, it wouldn’t be as awkward?”

“I’d actually like that.”

~

Simon Riley did not fear anything in his life—well, he had a few that were more irrational than anything. But something that he truly feared in this moment was the fact that he would be meeting his girlfriend’s family—who one-third of the member wasn’t so much of a stranger to him. His superior, more specifically.

“You alright?” In the car ride from your shared apartment to your childhood home, the question was almost like a broken record in your lips. Always ensuring his comfort and safety when you could.

“I’m fine.” Simon tried to reassure, hand tighten around your own. Both of you stood in front of your childhood home, a home he was certain held so much good memory of yours—something he never truly had in his own.

“Fucking hell you two, you beat us here!”

He pulled his hand away from your own as the sound of an all too familiar Scot’s arrival. Soap and Gaz had arrived as late as the two of you had. He wondered if to this day the two have yet to know about him and you being in a relationship even with the few unintentional slip ups.

“I drove that’s why.” You had quipped immediately wrapping an arm around Gaz’s waist with a smile. “What took you two so long?” You inquired.

The duo lifted a gift wrapped box on each of their hands. A playful smile resting on their faces.

“Can’t join a birthday party without a gift for the Mum.” Soap explained all too proudly.

Simon looked back at you, a playful eye roll escaping before you had pulled away from Gaz to finally open the door to your childhood home. The smell of food consuming him and making it all the more evident that he hasn’t even had breakfast because of his nerves for being here.

“Darling!” A older version of you stepped out of the kitchen. She was shorter but was a spitting image of you that scared him for a moment. “And you brought friends too!”

He watched you wrap your mother into a tight hug before ushering everyone into the living room to the sight of your father that was a spitting image of the Captain and the Captain himself surprised by the sight of not only him, but as well as Soap and Gaz.

“What are you Muppets doing here?” John questioned, it spoken to be amused by his tone, but the look on his eyes was showing something else instead. He was hiding his annoyance from the looks of it.

“I invited them, John.” You were quick to answer hand holding onto Simon’s own.

“I’m surprised you didn’t invite that plaything of your instead.”

That certainly hit a nerve out of you but you were quick to wear a smirk on your face.

“I brought three of them.” You quipped right back in the same breath that your parents began scolding your brother for his words.

“Why don’t you introduce your friends?” The Head of the Price household had interrupted what he was certain would be a cat and mouse fight between siblings.

You did just that, introducing Soap and Gaz fairly easily before your attention solely turned to him and what would now be the very reason why this small celebration for your mother’s birthday would turn to the worse.

“And this is Simon Riley—my boyfriend.”

“WHAT?” All three heads turned to you in question even in the delight and humor that laced in both of your parents’ face. This was the first time that you had introduced a boyfriend to them from how they talked.

“Let’s eat. It’s a good thing I made food for an army—pun intended for this.” Your mother insisted, dragging both you and Simon along as an excuse to help her with setting the table for everyone else.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Simon.” Your mother explicitly states handing him the plates to set up the table. “And I’m happy to see my daughter happy again.”

Those words shot straight to his heart. He did his best on most days, if you weren’t patching up his injuries, you were the comfort he had in the nightmares of his past. He never thought that you would be happy with someone like him—sometimes he even wonders why you would be with someone like him.

“She makes me happy too.” Simon admits, the blush was all too present in both of your faces at his little admission.

“When can I begin expecting grandbabies then?”

“Mother!” You were quick to protest, the blush on your face grew deeper.

You’ve just moved in together, began a routine for yourselves, a child might not be in the picture just yet.

“Maybe marriage first, Ma’am.” He placates instead.

“Call me Mum, Darling. You are now part of our family.” Your Mum spoke and the way his heart tighten almost had him in tears.

It’s been years since he had his Mum in his life and how easy it was for her to give him such a privilege. He will put a ring on your finger one day. He already knew when or how, it was just the opportunity to deal with everything else that he needed to fix beforehand.

“Thank you—Mum.” He whispered his eyes glazed turning away and focusing with setting the plates on the table, hiding away the tears that were fighting to fall as you began arguing with your mother about such things so early on in your relationship.

“Your brother and that girlfriend of his are taking it too slow and if I can’t have him give me grandbabies, you might have hope before me and your father are long gone?”

“Girlfriend?” Simon smirked at that. Your brother, his Captain had been so deadset in the secret relationship you had but somehow he had his own secret that was unintentionally spilled.

The pot calling the kettle black.

“I don’t understand it with you kids this days. You’re both already showing a few grey hairs, but no kids. You two will be the death of me.” Your mother continued to rant playfully as one mother does and you were left to just deal with it.

He wasn’t much help, the revelation of the Captain hiding his own girlfriend was still had him reeling in at the moment it was something he will be making good use of if the need arises—which would be today now that the cat was out of the bag.

Your mother announced it was time for lunch and immediately the rest of the men was barreling into the dining room. He could feel the intensity in the eyes of his Captain but you were quick to pulling him besides you, as far away from the man and his peripheral.

“So how long have you known each other?” It was your father that finally broken the ice of the little secret Simon was keeping with his daughter.

“When he first stumbled onto the infirmary with an open bullet wound to the shoulder.” You answered without a hitch.

“Where are your table manners?” Price immediately retorts.

“Oh shut up, we fucking talked about worst.” You quipped right back not taking your brother’s shit.

“Children.” Your father’s voice was quick to stop the banter that was about to come between the siblings. “Behave, we have guests.”

That was quick to halt the two siblings from their argument.

“Now, once this meal is over, I would like to talk to you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Simon was quick to answer realizing it wasn’t his Captain that he needed to actually worry about, it was your father that would do so much worse.

Lunch would be any longer as Simon now finds himself in the garden with you trying and failing to convince your own father not to go through with his talk with Simon and your own brother giddy and wanting to join in on the mess.

“Inside. Now.” Your father’s voice boomed had both you and the Captain running with your tails between your legs back inside the house. Who would have ever thought that at your ages, you both still feared your father?

“Now, where were we?” The man smiled, a sheer contrast of him in front of his own children only moments ago. “I’ve learned so much about you from my son, how much he cares for you after your own past.”

Simon was left wordless wondering why his Captain would even think it was a good idea to ever tell anyone else about his life. He had no right whatsoever, as a captain, a friend, nor the brother of his girlfriend.

“My son, he might not show it as much as he cares for you lot and he treats you like his own sons without even realizing it.” He chuckled and it irked him why he would continue this conversation.

“And I know for a fact that my son would not place you on his team and his circle if you weren’t good at your job and a genuinely good person.” The man’s smile slowly fell as he got more serious with his words. “But I want you to also know that if you even think about hurting my daughter in any shape, way, or form, you do not need to worry about what my son or my daughter might do to you when I find you.”

Now Simon understood where his Captain got his personality and aura from.

“I promise I won’t hurt your daughter, Sir.” Simon finally had the strength to answer. “I love her too much to even think of hurt her. I want to marry her someday and I’m doing my best to ensure that when I ask her to marry me, she would never have any doubts about me and my love and devotion to her.”

He still didn’t have the ring, nor did he think it was the right time or place to say such words especially to your own father, but it was what he felt needed to be said. He loved you, more than he would have ever loved someone in his life and after all the shit he has experience in his life, all he would have ever wanted was to have his own peace and his peace was with you.

“Well, you have my blessing, son.” The man’s face lit up now at his words. “I don’t need to tell you how much my little girl means to me and I still think no one would ever deserve her, but you’re close as it could possibly get.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Please, call me Dad.”

Again, his chest ached. The connotation of a father only brought so much bad memories for him and his childhood, but in this very moment it was a new memory and a new family he never thought he would ever need in his life.

“Thank you…Dad.” Simon spoke hesitation still lingering in his words.

The shared smile between the two men were finally interrupted by you and your insistence that you wanted some private time with your boyfriend before throwing him to the fish (the rest of the taskforce). This time, your father had happily accepted heading back inside leaving him all alone with you—finally.

“You good?” You asked, immediately cupping his cheeks and looking for any visible signs of injury on him. The pros and cons of dating a doctor.

“Took it like a champ.” He tried to downplay everything including the threat that was somehow all too common for fathers to make when it comes to their daughter.

“Tell me if its too much and we can leave, alright?”

He nodded arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“Simon…” You warned.

“I’m okay.” He reassured holding onto one of your hands still on his cheeks. He placed a kiss on the inside of your wrist, he was still uncertain if this was an appropriate place to pull you in for a proper and much needed kiss. “I promise.” He continued to reassure you.

“I’m sorry we have to spring our relationship out of the blue but I honestly just wanted you to meet my Mum and Dad.”

“It’s fine.” Simon smiled down at you, swaying you slightly in his hold. “At least now I don’t need to deal with your brother at the base with everything out in the open.”

Simon knew he would deal with something worse now but he dealt with worse and he has you, if it comes to him getting beat up by your brother he has you to tend to the wounds and bruises like you’ve always promised.

“You’re gonna tell me if he ever does anything to you.”

“He won’t.”

“I think you and I know how petty that bastard could be.”

Simon rolled his eyes being reminded of such a moment in their earlier times on missions together.

“I can handle it, I promise.” He continued finally pulling you in for a kiss taking your breath away in the process.

Simon’s heart skipped at beat at your kiss. There was always something special about you and your lips against his own, and without hesitation he gently lifted your chin and pressed his lips deeper into your own. His arms wrapping around your tightly.

“I owe you tonight.” You gasped for breath as he finally pulls away. “For keeping up with me and my entire family’s shit.”

“You keep up with my shit and more and your head is to die for.” He quipped wanting to end all the seriousness.

Unfortunately the moment was ruined at the sight of you looking over his shoulder with widen eyes.

“They’re right behind me, aren’t they?” Simon resigned knowing what was bound to happen now that he can hear the Captain’s array of profanities all directed at him.

“You good?” You asked ready to defend his honor.

“I’ve got it, Doc. Just tend to the wounds after.” Simon sighed finally turned to see his Captain fast approaching with Soap and Gaz trying and failing to keep the man at bay.

[fayes-fics]

Textual Encounter

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Text fic. Wrong number meet-cute over text.

Warnings: none... this is fluff and humour.

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Fic request fill for Anon (HERE). I kept it fun and fluffy, but yeah, I can see a sequel where they sext. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy! <3

Y/N: Hey Liz, it’s y/n y/l/n. Kindle Spa gave me your mobile. Said you had moved to another salon. I don’t trust anyone else to wax me tbh. Big date this week, kwim 😉 Can I get an appt? I’ll come to you. Doesn’t matter where. 

BB: Errr, I think you have the wrong number…

Y/N: Not Liz?

BB: Nope, Ben here. 

Y/N: Not a waxer, I presume?

BB: I may have waxed lyrical in my time, may even have lit a few candles. Have not waxed anyone no - my own body or anyone else’s. Yet. But I’m game to try anything once...

Y/N: Lol.

BB: Big date, eh?

Y/N: ….Yeah. Not that it's any of your business, stranger Ben.

BB: Fair. BB: Does it hurt?

Y/N: ??

BB: Getting waxed.

Y/N: Oh. Yeah. Like a motherfucker. But you sorta get used to it, tbh. And it’s so much less itchy than shaving regrowth, especially in sensitive areas… Wait, why am I having this convo with a complete stranger?!

BB: We don’t have to be strangers. BB: I’m Ben, 33, London. BB: I have no strong opinions on hair removal methods.

Y/N: lol. K. I’m y/n, 28, also London. Y/N: I, as you can see, do have some opinions.

BB: Hi y/n 👋 BB: I hope you can find Liz. Or someone else to assist with your hair needs.

Y/N: I would like it stated, for the record, I’m not hairy like a troll. I just like to keep things neat.

BB: The lady doth protest too much…

Y/N: You are cheeky for a stranger.

BB: Hey, I thought we agreed. Not strangers. Me Ben. You hairy troll.

Y/N: BLOCK.

BB: Just typing it doesn't work, you know.

Y/N: You should work at the Apple Genius Bar.

BB: Hmm, possibly. I do look good in blue. Or so I've been told.

Y/N: Always glad to provide career counselling.

BB: 🫡

4 days later.

BB: How’d your date go?

Y/N: That's odd. I don’t see a Genius Bar appt in my calendar…?

BB: iCal is a lying bastard. BB: I also assume you now can move faster through water.

Y/N: ??

BB: Waxed smooth like a dolphin…?

Y/N: 😆 Y/N: Entirely none of your business, but yes, actually. Well mostly. I leave some. Why am I telling you this?! Y/N: The guy was such a dud tho, I didn't get to show it off 🙁

BB: Please don't stop on my account. This is just delightful.  BB: I apologise on behalf of all men.

Y/N: For what?

BB: Having 4 sisters, I find the safest answer here is usually… everything, of course.  BB: But specifically, your rubbish date.

Y/N: Apology conditionally accepted. Y/N: 4 sisters?! 

BB: Only conditional? What do I gots to do to make it unconditional? BB: Yeah, I know… I’ve got 3 brothers too. My parents were really into each other. 

Y/N: IDK, serve a mean martini? Y/N: Understatement.

BB: That could be arranged. I took an online mixology course during lockdown.  BB: My sister El declared I'm better than Stanley Tucci. Admittedly, that was after 4 espresso martinis… but I'm taking it. She's opinionated but the best one. They are a weird bunch tho 🤔

Y/N: WOAH WOAH WOAH. That's a bold claim.

BB: Well, there’s only one way to dispute it: try one for yourself…

Y/N: Smooth, Genius Bar, smooth.

BB: I do my best 🤷

1 day later.

Y/N: I can't get my AirPods to work.

BB: You do realise I didn’t actually follow your career advice?

Y/N: Urgh. Inconvenient. What use are you then?

BB: As I said. Cocktails. I’ll try my hand at waxing if you want.

Y/N: Best stick to the day job. Which is…?

BB: Graphic design.

Y/N: Oh, that’s quite cool. 

BB: It pays the bills. You?

Y/N: MI-5

BB: Wow, you're a shit spy.

Y/N: It could be an excellent double bluff…

BB:

Y/N: Oh, we’ve graduated to memes now, have we, Genius Bar?

BB: It was called for.

Y/N: I’ll take it. Purely cos it's a Hemsworth.

BB: I would too, tbh.

Y/N: Bi?

BB: For a Hemsworth? Always.

Y/N: Anyone else?

BB: I’ll keep you posted.

Y/N: I'm on the edge of my seat.

3 days later.

BB: Oscar Issac.

Y/N: Good non sequitur evening to you, too, Genius Bar Ben.

BB: For the bi thing.

Y/N: Ahh. Got it. I can respect that.

BB: This is me, btw: www.instagram.com/benbridgerdesign.  BB: Figured you can decide for yourself if I'm a creeper.

Y/N: Appreciated.

3 minutes later.

Y/N: You paint?

BB: I dabble

Y/N: Modesty will only make me like you more.

BB: You like me?! 🥹

Y/N: You didn't mention you were handsome.

BB: There is no way to respond to that without me sounding like a twat.

BB: But thank you 😊

Y/N: This is me: www.instagram.com/ynhandle 

7 minutes later.

BB: Oh, Amalfi is so beautiful, isn't it?

Y/N: Wow. That's a deep cut. How far did you scroll back??

BB: 👀

Y/N: Yeah, it's beautiful. Shame it's tainted for me now. Was there with an ex.

BB: I saw. Very handsome.

Y/N: Are you sure you're not just into men full-stop?

BB: 🤷 BB: You’re very pretty, too.

Y/N: I’d believe it if you didn't mention my “very handsome” ex first…

BB: I call it like I see it. BB: I have had 4 whiskeys, tho, so make of that what you will.

Y/N: On a school night?!

BB: It’s my brother Ant's birthday. This is like non-optional drunk, I’ll have you know.

Y/N: Happy birthday to him. 

BB: He says thanks. He’s also told me to get off my fucking phone. Which is rich. He is texting his wife nonstop.

Y/N: Hah! Safe travels through Whiskeytown, BenBridger 🫡

BB: I kinda miss Genius Bar…. 😞

Y/N: I can't win…

2 days later.

BB: Settle an argument for me.

Y/N: 🍿

BB: Col, younger brother, never stops eating... He claims Katz Deli is overrated. I argue it's touristy but still good. You’ve been. Where do you sit on this matter?

Y/N: You really did go thru my Insta, didn't you?? Y/N: Thanks for the follow, BTW.

BB: It's a compliment, I assure you. BB: Welcome. And same.

Y/N: Not complaining. And yeah, I agree with you, actually.

BB: Hah! Excellent!!

Y/N: Wait… your older brother is Ant, and your younger brother is Col? You’re Ben. So, like ABC?

BB:  … I already warned you my family was weird.

Y/N: You did. You did.

BB: Now, please excuse me while I go gloat.

Y/N: ��

5 mins later.

BB: Hi. This is Col. You must be the famous y/n. Ben’s in the bogs, and the mug left his phone on the table unlocked, so this is on him.  BB: He like really likes you. Like a lot. Will you go on a date with him pls? 

Y/N: Err, ok, hi Col. Y/N: Umm, I think Ben should be the one to ask me that. Don’t you?

BB: He’s too scared you’ll say no.

Y/N: I won't…

BB: EXCELLENT.

2 minutes later.

BB: I am so SO sorry about that 😬 He’s such a shit. BB: But… do you mean it?

Y/N: Ask me properly…

BB: Would you, y/n, like to go on a date with me? Please?

Y/N: I would be delighted to Ben. 😀

BB: 🙏 BB: Are you free on Thursday? Could I take you to dinner?

Y/N: Sounds wonderful. 

BB: 7pm? Meet at Picadilly Circus? By Brasserie Zedel?

Y/N: I’ll be there 😀

BB: 😀

10 days later.

BB: I think you should know… Liz is an artiste 😮‍💨

Y/N: Stop texting me from my bed, you dork. 😘 Y/N: How do you take your coffee?

BB: I'm like 10 meters away. Why not just ask me?

Y/N: You started this, Genius Bar…

BB: Come back to bed, Mostly Hairless Troll.

Y/N: I asked for that, didn't I? 🤦

Benedict taglist, pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Vil x Reader -- Body Swap Pt 2

Part 1, Part 2

Recap and Summary: You and Vil swapped bodies at the beginning of VDC. After a brutal confrontation in the last part, Vil found himself on the other end of his insensitive behavior. He's left in shambles. You run your first rehearsal, Epel goes on an adventure, and you're determined to pick Vil back up.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Author's Note: It's finally here! I had way too much fun writing Epel's part. I feel like I nailed the emotional scene at the end. I was a concerned about the characterization, but Vil's having a hard time. He'll get more sassy and on his feet later on in the series. Shout out to @solxamber for commenting on some little post I made and reigniting my interest. You have done a deep service for everyone lol. Also comments are always appreciated

Tags: @solxamber @marsinrain @roseapov @kj-turned-pink @knorreine @twistedpink @red1sg0n3 @nimko @l00naverse

You don’t have time to worry about Vil once you leave Ramshackle. You’re on a tight schedule. You use all your brain power to get through the day. By lunch, you have to meditate in Vil’s room to recalibrate. You don’t bother checking out his room other than observing that his bed is soft and comfortable. You almost fall asleep from exhaustion. Thankfully, Rook is your personal alarm clock now. 

You stop an explosion in potions. You scold the offending party, while Crewel praises you. It feels good. By the end of the day, nobody suspects you. You catch the person you’re looking for to help Epel, before slipping away to meditate in peace. By the time practice rolls around, you’re prepared. You hope Epel likes his surprise.

——————

Epel waits in the courtyard. [Y/N] didn’t say who he was meeting. 

“It would be more exciting for it to be a surprise,” they told him.

A face pops up in front of him with a wide grin. Epel yells, jerking back. They’re hanging upside down and have a mess of black hair with a shock of bright pink. The last distinguishing feature is their big, red eyes. Epel does a double take. He knows this person. 

“Hello!” Lilia Vanrogue greets, “Your dorm leader informed me of your situation. I agreed to offer my assistance.” 

Lilia flips around, landing in front of the boy. The Diasomnia vice leader grabs Epel’s hand and tugs him along. 

“I’m going to teach you the advantages of being short!” he declares, looking back with a grin. 

—----------

Epel’s mouth falls to the floor as sparks fly through the air. Green, pink, and blue magic clash lighting the cloudy sky. Epel watches Lilia slip underneath Malleus’ defense to land a shocking blow. Is this what [Y/N] wanted him to see?

“Fa–Lilia used to be much stronger than Malleus,” Silver informs, “This match will probably end in a tie.” 

As soon as he finishes the sentence, Lilia calls out to Malleus. 

“I think that’s enough for today. I have to teach the little one how to fight,” Lilia tells him. 

Malleus hums, stopping his attacks. Lilia skips back over to the half-terrified, half-awed Epel. 

“I’ll be teaching the basic moves, my dear,” the third-year chirps, “Come along, Child of Man.” 

—----------

“How about we test your skills by sparing with Sebek?” Lilia suggests. 

The green-haired boy gasps in offense.

“How can a mere human compare to me?! I’m Malleus’ guard. This pathetic prune is not worth my time!” Sebek refuses.

Epel’s face darkens and his eyes sharpen into a glare. He doesn’t like being taken lightly. He’ll put this cucumber in his place.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Sebek. This is good for you. You don’t have any friends,” Lilia tells him, “I’m worried about you.”

Sebek pauses at the statement. He harrumps, crossing his arms.

“I would never want to concern my teacher so I will spar with you, human!” Sebek declares, “You won’t hold a candle to the years of training I’ve had with Lilia!”

The Diasomnia freshman puffs out his chest and struts to the makeshift dueling ground. Lilia dons a mischievous smile. He leans over to Epel. 

“Remember what I taught you,” he whispers. 

Epel gives a sharp nod. He’ll employ Lilia’s suggestions. He has an ability Sebek doesn’t have and Epel will use it to his advantage. 

The Pomefiore student steps into the arena. Lilia counts them down. 

“3, 2, 1, Start!” 

The duel begins. There’s a short flurry of green and purple. Epel ducks and dodges out of the way. His breath quickens as he uses his agility to his advantage. However, his stamina is less than a guard in training. Sebek knocks him off his feet with a well-timed spell. Epel crumples to the floor as the other laughs with triumph. 

“HAHA! I told you, human! You’re no match for me. Do you surrender?” he questions, approaching the lavender-haired boy. 

Epel waits until Sebek is close enough. Then, he pounces. He uses everything he learned growing up as a country boy to tackle his opponent to the ground. Then, he does the unthinkable. Epel sinks his teeth into Sebek’s cheek. 

Sebek screams.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!! THIS IS BLASPHAMY!” he shrieks. 

Epel’s ears ring with the volume. He hears Lilia cackling in the background. He thinks he makes out, “This is hilarious! Can we keep him?” 

Epel rides out the wave, holding on tight. Sebek bucks and thrashes like a bull, but this is the Pomefiore student’s territory. Sebek takes the hint and forfeits. 

“I surrender! I surrender! Just get off me, you cretin!” he cries. 

Epel releases his hold and stands up. He grins at Lilia. The older student clutches onto Malleus, leaning onto him for support. He cries with laughter. 

“How dare you, human! That was a dirty tactic!” Sebek protests, stomping up to the shorter boy. 

It’s hard to take him seriously when he has huge teeth marks on his face. For a moment Epel feels guilty, but then he sees Lilia and doesn’t feel bad anymore. The older fae doubles over, smacking the giant Malleus’ arm. Epel contains a laugh. 

Malleus chuckles, “Come here, Sebek. Let me heal you.” 

Sebek’s jaw drops and his eyes well up with tears. 

“I don’t deserve Waka-sama’s blessing,” he says, choking up. “But I will gladly and gratefully accept it if you offer it.” 

Malleus shakes his head. Before Malleus can snap his fingers, Lilia stops him. 

“Let me—Let me get a photo of this,” he wheezes.

He pulls out his phone, snapping a photo of Sebek scowling alone. He urges Epel to get in the photo. 

“Don’t you want to have a commemorative photo to take to your friends?” Lilia questions, before waving him over to urge Epel. “You have to! Vil would be disappointed if you didn’t show proof of your encounter. This is legendary.” 

As the Pomefiore student steps next to a frowning Sebek, Lilia praises him. 

“Epel, you did a fantastic job!”

Epel beams. 

Afterward, Malleus heals Sebek with a snap of his fingers. Lilia addresses Epel.

“You’re a delight, Child of Man. You’re welcome to train with the boys anytime. They need a little chaos. It’s good training,” Lilia invites, “I believe you’ve learned the perks of being short and dainty. I look forward to seeing you around. Again, please visit us. I haven’t laughed like that in ages.” 

Epel gives a satisfied grin. 

“Thank you. I will,” he answers. 

He’s glad [Y/N] sent him on this adventure. 

—-------------

You leave Vil’s dorm room and catch a few Pomefiore students on your way out. You adjust their uniforms and give them a few stern tips. They take your advice before skittering away. You’ll work on redefining Vil’s character into something more natural for you later. You head to the studio. 

The room is empty when you enter. You set up the equipment and start stretching. Rook appears behind you. 

“Trickster! Your performance today was fantastique! I heard all about your escapades,” he praises. 

You laugh, “Thank you.” 

More people trickle in. Epel is absent, but that’s expected. The only person missing is Vil. You frown. 

“Did Vil skip classes today?” you question the other freshman. 

“Yes,” Deuce replies. 

The others quiet down when the leader of Pomefiore is mentioned. You purse your lips. You’re not surprised. He took a huge blow this morning. There’s no point to drag him here. Vil already feels humiliated. You'll talk to him after rehearsal. 

You gain everyone’s attention and begin rehearsal. 

—------------

Your eyes widen as you stare at Jamil through the mirror. He adds a stylistic flair to part of the footwork. You pause the music from your watch. You give him an intense look. 

“Jamil, do that move again. I wanna see if we can alter the choreography to add that style in,” you explain.

He glances at you, stunned. Jamil regains his composure and repeats the move. You spin around to face him. 

“Jamil, what are your favorite songs to freestyle dance to? I want to watch,” you demand. 

He freezes while Kalim brightens. 

“Jamil, you should do Walkin’ on Water by Stray Kids! (author’s shameless plug. go listen to them. they’re my favorite artists…this is the one song from them where i’m like, yeah, u could probably freestyle dance to this low key lol)” he suggests, “Your breakdancing is fantastic when you dance to that.” 

“Breakdancing?” you question, “You breakdance?”

Jamil hesitates, “Yes, but it’s only a hobby.” 

“We’ve already established you’re a fantastic dancer,” you tell him, “Breakdancing is popular and crowds love it. They also won’t be expecting it from a Vil performance. Do you rap?” 

Jamil does a double take. 

“I… dabble sometimes, but not as much as dancing,” he admits. 

“That’s fine,” you reply, waving him off.

You run to your phone to type a few rap lines from one of your old hits. You send it in the group chat. 

“I want all of you to try your hand at rapping,” you instruct.

You repeating the rhythm several times for them. “You have ten minutes. Then, I want to see it.”

—------------

You sit, reviewing your notes. You address the group.

“Jamil, you’re an all-rounder. You excel in every aspect. I could put you anywhere, but I’m keeping you on vocals because of the team’s composition,” you explain. 

You pause, looking up at him. You fold your hands and lean forward.

You continue, “Jamil, you have proven to be competent in and out of the performing arts. You take directions quickly. You’re diligent, responsible, and reliable. I need help with this production. I have too much on my plate. Out of everyone here, I trust you the most to take my instructions and help the others improve their skills. Would you like to be a team leader?” 

Jamil’s eyes widen with a calculating spark in his eyes. 

“I would be honored,” he agrees. 

You smile back at him. “Thank you. We’ll discuss the details of your responsibilities after rehearsal. I look forward to working with you more closely.” 

Jamil nods with a small smile. It doesn’t go away for the rest of practice. 

“Ace and Deuce will be our rappers. Both of you are strong in that aspect. You work well together, so I plan to have a back-and-forth. It will hype up the audience.” You glance at them with critical eyes. “Jamil will work with you on your tone. It’s a little too biting at the moment.”  

You continue, turning to your vice leader. 

“You’re interesting as always, Le Chasseur D’Amour,” you chuckle, as the man lights up at the name. “You have a distinct mix between singing and rapping. I like it, so I’ll put you somewhere near Epel and my part. I want the Pomefiore trio to stick together.”

“That’s cute!” Kalim coos. 

You pause at the comment before giving a soft smile. “I hope it brings up morale. Plus, I plan to rope Vil into it. He’s the true leader of Pomefiore. He deserves to have support too.” 

The group falls silent.

“I... I thought you hated him,” Kalim comments. 

You tilt your head. 

“No,” you reply, “I feel irritated and annoyed with some of his behaviors, but I don’t hate him. He’s a remarkable individual. However, we all have our vulnerable moments. Vil is no different. He just needs some help learning different life lessons.”

The Scarabia leader nods. 

“I’m glad you care about him. I was worried you’d exclude him,” he voices with a relieved smile.

“I won’t. Vil needs help, not judgment. He’s been through a lot today,” you say before dropping the bad news on the last member. “Kalim, you’ll work with Rook on your demeanor. I don’t know where to put you. The concept for the song is more serious than your usual sunshine nature. Until it’s toned down, I don’t know where to put you.” 

Kalim’s face falls. Jamil perks up.

—————

You text Epel to skip private lessons. You direct him to Rook who will catch him up on what happened. You talk to Jamil, laying out your expectations and your notes for the members. He takes them with ease. It takes a load off your mind. 

When you arrive at Ramshackle, it’s already dark. You sigh, staring at the stars. You have much to do. You need to remix Vil’s song, work on homework, and maintain some of Vil’s strict habits. It’s a lot. 

You glance at the familiar rickety manor you call home. You’re proud of it. You wouldn’t trade it for anything because it’s yours. It’s a place where anyone can come and feel welcome. It’s for the lost souls, but you don’t want to go in yet. Once you walk in, you have to face your reality and responsibilities again. 

It’s wild to think you woke up in Vil’s body this morning. It feels like weeks have passed. You wonder where Vil is. 

A gentle voice comes from behind you. The hunter’s frequent and sudden appearances have become normal. 

“Trickster,” Rook calls out. 

A smile graces your face. You pull yourself away from the sparkling stars. A crisp wind meets your back as you turn to acknowledge him. Rook holds out two Pomefiore dorm uniforms. It’s just the outer robe. His other hand presents a pair of Vil’s tennis shoes. You understand the silent implication. 

“You’re always prepared,” you comment with a tired smile, “I don’t know how to put it on.” 

You take the offered robe and drape it over yourself. Rook busies himself with tying the altered obi for you. You use him as a stand, stabilizing yourself as you change your shoes. Rook hands you the other outfit, before leading you into the tree-line. 

“How long has he been out here?” you question, following him through the dark woods. 

You’re not surprised the vice leader has some form of dark vision. You fish out Vil’s phone, turning on the flashlight. Using a hunting knife, Rook turns to mark a few trees with an X, so you can find your way back.  

“Roi de Poison has retreated into the forêt since the others came back,” he explained. 

You hum in response. The two of you walk in silence. Rook stops. 

“He’s just up ahead,” the hunter discloses. 

You nod, giving your thanks and striding forward. It isn’t far before you stumble across a figure. Vil is curled up with his knees to his chest. He’s facing away from you.  

“Here to mock me?” Vil snips. 

You raise an eyebrow. You sit beside him. He glances at you before resolutely staring forward. You turn off your phone, listening to the music of the night. Crickets chirp. You hear the hoot of an owl. You bask in the quiet nature. 

“Why are you here?” Vil asks. 

His voice edges on the brink of defensive, but you notice he’s holding back from his usual scathing and critical remarks. You glance at him, intrigued. You were right. He’s already changing. He’ll be fine if you give him the right support and direction. 

“I need your help,” you tell him.

Vil tenses and snaps towards you. He reminds you of a hurt and scared animal in this moment in the woods. 

The dorm leader doesn’t immediately answer. He watches you. You’re languid and relaxed. Your vital points are open and unguarded. You lean back on your hands. It leaves your torso vulnerable. Your head is tilted to the side, exposing your neck. There’s a faint smile on your face as you stare back.

“You don’t need my help,” Vil degrades, before spitting. “I’m sure you’re just fine on your own.” 

You raise a tired eyebrow. 

“I made Jamil into a team leader. I can’t do everything by myself, so I’m delegating tasks” you tell him, before poking his chest. “And I need your help too.”  

Vil glares at you. However, you catch a tinge of wariness. It makes you internally perk up. If he’s willing to listen, this will be easier. 

“What do you even need my help for? It seems like you have everything covered,” he counters. 

“I need your help remixing your song,” you tell him. 

He opens his mouth with a terrified and hurt expression. You put up a hand before he can speak. 

“It’s not bad. It’s a wonderful base, but we can make it better,” you reassure, “I have more experience in this area than you. However, you’re the creator. I need your help. If I’m going to alter the song, I want you like it as well.” 

Vil stares at you. He looks away, confused and conflicted. 

“I… I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You humiliated me this morning and now you’re asking for my help,” he replies, scrunching his eyebrows together.

You press a finger against his forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles. He instinctively understands what you’re doing. Vil doesn’t resist, but his eyes are still upset and conflicted. 

“You learned something, right?” you confirm. 

Vil scoffs. 

“Obviously. I was sent into an internal crisis about my identity, how I’ve been acting and affecting people, and how easily I can be replaced. How can I not learn something?” he retorts, growing emotional.

His voice is filled with pain. Vil is on the verge of crying. He buries his head in his knees, humiliated at his feelings and reaction. You slide closer and drape the extra Pomefiore uniform over him. He stiffens but doesn’t look up. You observe him.

He’s never gotten this treatment before. If he has, it’s been too long. Vil’s suppressed his feelings for so long that he had to be broken with the harshest words to get through to him. It wasn’t how you wanted it to be. It was too harsh for your taste. However, you got through to him and that’s what mattered in this moment. You rub his back.

Vil keeps his head on his knees but turns toward you. 

“Why are you doing this?” he questions. 

“Because I believe in you,” you answer honestly. 

He frowns. 

“But you told me how useless I was this morning,” Vil replies. 

“I pointed out your problematic behavior,” you correct, “I never said that I didn’t believe you can’t change. If anything, that’s something you’re rather good at. You always strive to improve yourself. If anyone can do it, it’s you.” 

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him into you. You press your lips against his temple. 

“Now, put your arms through your sleeve. You’ve been out here since rehearsal ended and that was hours ago,” you insist, “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Vil slips his arms through the holes. You wrap the cloth tighter around his torso, before placing your hand back around him. The two of you sit in the chilly night for a long time. You feel Vil lean and relax into you. You turn your head to bury your head into his hair. 

“Let’s get you home,” you whisper. 

He hums in agreement. You pull out your phone, turning on the flashlight. Vil doesn’t protest as you slip an arm under his knees. You keep a firm hold on his back as you pick him up. You follow the marks Rook left for you. Walking carefully to not wake him, you emerge from the forest to meet the hunter. 

He gives you two a soft look, before escorting you to Ramshackle. Rook opens the door and ushers you up the stairs. You take Vil into his room. You pause. Your room, you suppose. 

You set Vil down on one side of the bed. You busy yourself with taking off his socks and shoes. Rook assists, plugging both of your phones. He sets your alarm, as you rummage through Vil’s bags. You find the dorm leader’s pajamas and pull out two pairs. You turn to find Rook staring at you scandalously. 

You smirk with a smug shrug. With a raise of your eyebrows, you gesture to the sleeping Vil. You silently ask him if that’s not attractive. Your hand gestures down the body you occupy. Rook contains a laugh, surrendering. You smile, before shooing him. 

He wiggles his eyebrow and you roll your eyes. Rook closes the door behind him. Turning off the main light, the bathroom glows from the other wall. You slip inside, completing Vil’s night routine. 

You walk out, nudging your body awake. 

“Vil,” you call out, “You need to wash your face.” 

The man groans but pulls himself up. 

“Everything’s in there and ready,” you tell him. 

He gives a noncommittal, sleepy nod and shuffles to the bathroom. You lean against the bed frame, scrolling through your phone. You wait for him. Vil comes out in his now oversized pajamas. He stares at the bed for a minute, before turning off the light and walking forward. You feel the Pomefiore student slip into bed. He turns away from you. You place your phone down, sliding into your position as well. 

You reach out and drape an arm over him, watching for any reaction. He scoots closer to you. You pull him closer and drift off to sleep. 

[madamechrissy]

But it's Better if You Do

ৎ୭ Pairings ৎ୭ Nanami Kento x Fem Reader

ৎ୭ Warnings ৎ୭ MDNI- This chapter- Rough sex, overstimulation, forced orgasm, choking, lap dance, edging, two girls making out bc why not lol

ৎ୭ Word Count ৎ୭ 7.3k 

ৎ୭ Summary ৎ୭ Every weekday for a year, Nanami Kento comes into the coffee shop you work at, and he orders the same damn thing. You have it bad but are too nervous to do more than doodle on his cups. You have a double life, because you're also 'Foxy' a featured dancer at a strip club once a week. A bachelor party for Satoru Gojo has you dancing, and he's there. Nanami fucking Kento. You end up both in a VIP room, awkward, nervous, but then... it's your chance. He doesn't know it's you, right? What harm can a lap dance do? Surely won't be awkward the next day...

Chapter 5 Masterlist

Chapter 6

Nanami Kento stares down at you as you sleep, the lights from the blinds illuminating your glowing skin, shining on your messy hair, curling in places after the shower you all had taken last night. It had not been long and you both had crashed out, and here he was, an arm around your waist, hand wrapped up right under one of your lush breasts, nearly spilling out in your tank top.

He pauses, aching, his cock hard again, the thoughts of you cumming around him last night driving him fucking insane as he is pressed against your round ass, right on where he was throbbing. But it was more than that, Kento had experience, he loved the female body… but something about you…

As ‘Foxy’ or just as you, he couldn’t get you out of his mind, the constant thoughts, wanting to see you, all those times he’d fucked it up he’d wanted to talk, he just hadn’t known how to. Those doodles on his cups made him smile, the little yawns you made as you made his coffee were so cute, but now he knew your moans, your sighs, your cries.

You stir in your sleep, pressing your ass more against him, pulling his hand gently around to yourself, murmuring something. He feels such a tenderness he cannot describe, he’d just stay here forever next to you and watch you. That thought scared him a bit, but if you were going to be brave and open, he would try to be as well.

Railing you on a wall sounds fun to him.

But so does kissing you.

You awaken against a hard, warm body, smiling contentedly when you realize it’s Nanami Kento, snuggled up behind you, his cock eager against your ass. You wiggle a bit, enjoying the catch in his breath, before you peek back at him, smiling, realizing he’s wide awake. He smirks back at you, hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts, fallen out of your top now.

“You stayed.” You say softly, and he nods, kissing the side of your head, your temple, your cheek. You sigh happily, enjoying each caress far too much, the scent of him, the feel of him…

“Of course I did. I have a lot to do today but I wasn’t leaving until you woke up. You’re too pretty when you sleep.” He muses, as fingers casually pluck one of your little nipples, bringing it taut and eliciting a gasp.

“I was worried you’d be gone. Run away from me.”

“Why would I?”

“I’m kind of crazy, you know.”

“I like it.” His laugh tickles your ear, and you’re growing wet between your thighs, the heat against his cock in his boxers, between your thin little shorts apparent, he slides a hand down your tummy, making it tremble, finding your clit. “Fuck… you just wake up this wet?”

“Next to you, yes. Mmm.” You hiss in pleasure as he runs those lazy little circles on your clit, making pleasure run through your body, trembling for more. “Kento…” You whisper. He moans.

“Yes, darling?” His voice turns you on more, the little growl when he continues to press hard behind you, but gentle against your clit, so light.

“Fuck me, please.” You ask, looking up at him, seeing his sleepy hazel eyes and messed up blond hair, falling just so, you arch and brush it back, he has your shorts down in seconds then, and you’re soaking now. “Mnh, yes, please.”

“Put your leg up.” He orders softly, you do as he says, one leg up and around his thigh, and his finger sinks in you deep, making you clench around it, tight, when he massages that spot you can’t even see. “Can you take another in this tight little cunt?”

He’s playing too gently, too easy, torturing you, teasing you. You nod eagerly, as he slides another in you, stretching out your sore cunt, and yes, you were sore… Nanami was huge. But it was a delicious ache. Well fucking worth it, and you want more. All of him envelops you, your every sense as he sucks on your neck and fucks you with his fingers.

“Please, Kento… I can take it.” You murmur, then he is sliding his fingers out and shoving them in your mouth.

“See how good you taste?” His cock is thick at your entrance, making you moan around his fingers, so deep down your throat. You taste your desire, taste his skin, sucking them clean and hearing him grunt then, that hand now lifting your leg, and he’s pressing into you.

“Yes, yes… so good. Ah!” You nearly scream, hips bucking as he presses in deep all at once, so different from the bit by bit last night. “Too much, fuck!” You are shaking, so full, pussy stretched more, and he’s still inside you, so deep you can’t fathom, fingertips sliding up your thigh.

“You said ‘I can take it’ huh? So bratty. And stubborn.” He admonishes in a husky voice, sliding out then back in, and you cry out, one hand clutching the pillow under you, the other on his forearm, trying to breathe.

“I can… just a minute… Fuck.” He guides your hand, pressing your fingertip on your clit then, and you gasp.

“Play with her for me, would you darling? I want her even wetter around my cock.” 

You do so, fingers trembling, and he slides out and in again, the force knocking you forward, so good but so painful. An insane mix of sensations, all while you try to rub your clit.

“Mnh! Ah.” You never have words around him.

“Ready for me to move, love?” You nod, eagerly. He grips your thigh tightly again, spreading you wider for him. “Don’t stop playing with yourself.”

“Yes. Yes. Won't. Hmm.” He starts fucking you now, from behind, and it starts to feel too good, too much, goosebumps everywhere he touched, pressed against, breathed on. Your entire body is hypersensitive as he hits your cervix with that thick long cock of his.

He’s moaning, and your hands struggle to move, just staying there now, head tilting back for more of his possessive kisses, marking you his… so gently but so furiously at the same time. Making you cry out with every thrust, every grip, his cock hitting places that made you see stars, losing focus. You’re close, so close, tightening around him and making him tense.

“Darling, I didn’t say you could stop.” He says softly, pressing your fingers back, and now your wetness is all over his fingers too, dripping down on his cock as it stretches you out with every movement. You scream, starting to lose it, and he stops, making you ache.

“Kento! I’m close, so close.” You wiggle back, but he holds you, making you sigh in frustration, pussy pulsing around his thickness.

“You can’t come if you don’t listen to me, darling, you need to learn this.” You scowl up at him, angered by his smirk, pussy hurting now.

“My fingers can’t work, they’re too shaky. You do it.” You put his fingers on your clit, crying out at the sensation, but he puts yours back then. “Ugh! Kento, you’re so sadistic! Let me cum.”

“Do as you’re told. Or I’ll pull out.” He starts to do so, and you panic, putting your finger back, annoyed by his laugh. “Good girl.”

“Meanie.” You grumble, but start to move your fingers, and he’s fucking you again, bringing you close with ridiculous speed, and soon he has a hand around your throat, and you gasp, hands stopping again.

“Ah-ah.”

“Fuck…” You struggle as you grow slippery now, little fingers falling off your swollen little clit, but you keep on, and then you’re cumming around him, blinded, and your tired hand falls. “Kento… Ah!”

“Good girl, cum all over my cock. You feel so good.” He says, taking your sore little fingers and sucking on them, groaning.

“So good. So good.” You’re shaking, hard to take a breath, and his hand is back up your chest, resting on your throat. You wildly think that you want him to choke you, that possessive hand so big around your throat. “Kento…”

“Mmm, yes? Fuck.” He pushes deep, and you both cuss out loud, so deep in your cervix it’s almost too much to take.

“Choke me, please.” You say softly, and his hand slides up more, encircling your delicate throat, and putting the slightest pressure, easing out just a bit and sliding in slower now, you’re soaking the bed and his cock.

“Are you sure, darling… I don’t want to hurt you.” He hesitates, and you look back at him, his eyes lidded like yours, pleasure and desire mirrored in their reflection, just like you. You smile.

“You’d never hurt me. I trust you.” His lips part, then he nods, kissing you softly first, the first kiss this morning.

“If it’s too much please tap my arm.” You nod, eager, and then he’s squeezing your throat with that strong hand, fucking you again, and you fall deeper into the mind numbing pleasure, screams stuck in your throat.

He’s railing you, fucking deep, sliding in and out easier as you grow impossibly wet, as he grows impossibly hard, the only sounds in your room were your choked out moans and his quiet groans, along with the wetness and the snaps of his hips, slamming harder and harder. You’re about to cum again, losing your senses aside from how you feel, brain going fuzzy.

You feel yourself fading as you reach your peak, his hand on your throat firm as it sucks away the air from your lungs, and you fall apart, screaming but sounds don’t come out, it’s just choked gasps. You throb around him, wetness slicking from you, body on fire as pleasure like you hadn’t known consumes you, and you can’t even fucking breathe, it’s all Nanami.

He eases the hold, and you gasp for air greedily, body humming and pulsing, electrified as oxygen comes back in, little black spots as your vision comes back, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply, easing his thrusts. You’re crying, tears hot and sticky, mingling with the taste of his lips, owned by his every move. He presses deep, you scream into his lips.

“You feel fucking exquisite around me.” He says, and you giggle breathlessly, kissing him again, arching your ass back.

“You’re so fancy, Nanami.” He laughs a bit too, nipping your shoulder

“Hmm… So fucking good, that better?”

“I liked exquisite. Ah!” He starts thrusting again, and you feel another orgasm about to hit your exhausted body, clenching your tummy.

“I’m close, darling…” His movements are jerky, his hands gripping tight, your waist, your rib cage, not the gentle touches, he was consumed in you too. You moan, nodding.

“Do you want to… cum… in me?” He freezes, grip so tight you actually wince in pain, breathing heavily behind you. “Fuck… don’t if you- too much?”

“No… I want to cum inside of you so bad.” He says, reassuring you, and then he has you flipped, under him, pulling out and pushing back in, a leg over his shoulder, hazel eyes studying your every movement. You moan, reaching up to cup his face, hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Do you want it?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes. Please. Cum inside me.” You whisper, wildly, knowing how intimate it was, knowing you hadn’t done it, but you wanted it, as you were watching his brows lower over his eyes, the muscles in his arms flex, and he’s fucking you hard now.

“So eager for me to fill you up, darling?” He says softly, dominating you as he started fucking so hard your headboard smacked against your wall, you had to hang on tight, nodding again. “Will you take all this cum like a good girl?”

“Yes, fucking all of it. Please. Unh!” You start screaming out as he has you rising again, more intense, thicker and harder in you, then you feel him, pulsing in you, hot cum shooting up to your cervix, filling you, and you’re cumming around it, eyes shutting, he squeezes your cheeks.

“Look at me when you cum.” You struggle to keep your eyes open, cumming all over him, now you’re pulsing around him, and he’s pressing in one more time, teeth gritted, creased forehead, kissing you. You drink his moans, his sighs, wrapping your arms around him, legs shaky, arms trembling, struggling to breathe.

“Fuck.” You manage to say after a moment, he eases off you, looking down and brushing your hair back, kissing your forehead. You sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut, enjoying the feeling of his warm lips, as you both come down.

“That was perfect. You took me so well, even though she’s so tiny.” He encourages you, and the words make you ache more, he’s still inside of you, your cum starting to slide out around you both.

“That was perfect. All of it.” You kiss him, little pecks on his firm lips, smiling a little shyly up, and he has a flush to his cheeks too. “I haven’t… done that.”

“No?” You shake your head. “Did you like it?”

“Oh I loved it.” He smirks, pleased clearly, and you giggle. “Have you?”

“No, actually… I usually wear condoms or pull out.”

“Oh, a first for you too?”

“Mmhmm.” He eases out, and you wince a bit, feeling him pouring out of your pussy lips now, along with your wetness. 

“I am on birth control. It didn’t sound hot to say in the moment though.” He exhaled, and nodded, pressing little kisses down your cheek.

“I find it very intimate, so I just never have.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“It is really intimate…” You agree, and you’re just looking at each other, silent words spoken through looks, things that neither of you were sure how to say, or what to say, what you were feeling…

It was intense.

“I’m glad you did.” You say, clearing your throat, looking down for a moment at his chin, the little cleft in it, but he tilts your head back up.

“I am too.” His words make you smile, tremulously, realizing just how nervous you were about it then, you relax, grinning now.

“Good.” You kiss the chin you’d been focusing on, and he eases back, then frowns as he looks at your body, naked save for a tank top barely hanging on under your tits. “What’s wrong?”

He sits up, you study his naked body, lovingly, but his face is tense. “Did I hurt you?” His words are through gritted teeth. You shake your head.

“No, not at all! Why?”

“You’re covered in bruises.” He points to your thighs, then your hips, your waist even, little circles where his strong hands had gripped you. You shrug a shoulder, smiling at them. “It’s not funny.”

“No, they’re hot. Marks from you.” You lean up to kiss him, but he pulls back a bit, and now you scowl, angry. “You’re mad I have bruises? That’s stupid.”

“I should be more careful with you… you’re tiny and I’m too strong, let myself get too into it. Now you’ll bruise here too.” His words are husky, his eyes narrowed, fingertips touching your throat where he’d choked you. “Unacceptable.”

“What the fuck? I like it. Stop.” You get on your knees, cupping his face, but he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are on your reddening throat.

“I don’t lose control… never have before. I never want to hurt you.”

“Nanami! You can lose control with me. I like it. I can take a lot, do you know how many bruises the pole gives?” He sighs, and you feel emotion in your throat. “Fuck… I guess we don’t know each other a lot yet, do we?”

His eyes are lidded, his mouth a tight line. “No. We don’t yet, and I don’t want you hurting.”

“I don’t!”

“You’re not sore?” His eyes meet you again, and they’re pained, and you actually hate it.

“Sure, but who wouldn’t be? You have a huge dick.”

“It shouldn’t hurt-”

“Oh god, I like some pain, do you know what I read? It’s way freakier than anything we just did.”

“Those are books.”

“Wow… you’re killing my buzz, ugh!” You sigh, frustrated, then start sliding on your shorts, standing with trembling legs, irritated. Nanami puts his head in his hands, as you go to the bathroom, feeling his cum sliding out of you. It feels deliciously naughty and you want to enjoy it.

It’s quiet for a moment, after you go to the bathroom you brush your teeth, opening the door and looking at him. He’s dressed, fully dressed, as if he’s about to leave, and you rinse out, your heart pounding in your chest, confused and hurt, not knowing what to say as you two stand there.

“Nanami…” You come up to him, tiptoeing, looking up at this gorgeous man, wishing you could make him understand. “I loved it. Best night of my goddamn life, do you understand?”

He exhales, bringing you against his chest, brushing your hair gently, and you ease into the embrace, clutching to his shirt. You feel his heartbeat against your cheeks, his strong arms embracing you tightly, you could stay there forever in his arms, sore and bruised and happy as fuck.

“I didn’t wanna kill your buzz..”

“Oh stop! You are the buzz.” You peek back up at him. “Nanami, truly I feel so good, I swear. You could never hurt me, you would never, it’s just who you are… so careful and gentle. I liked you letting go.”

“You did?”

“Fuck yeah. Could’ve been even rougher.” He snorts at that, shaking his head. “Maybe when you get more comfortable with me, you’ll let go more.”

“More?”

“Mmhmm, there’s more in there. You enjoyed smacking my ass yesterday. Any bruises there?” You turn, lifting your shorts, he laughs softly, shaking his head. “Damn, do better daddy.”

“Brat. Don’t call me that.” You shove at him, and he yanks you against him, kissing you deeply, you fall into it. “I am very comfortable with you.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like something. Be open with me. Be you, Nanami Kento, not what you think I want. Okay?” He nods, then picks you up, your legs are dangling, you hang on to his shoulders, and fall deeper for him. So deep that just looking at him makes your chest tighten.

“You know what you want, that’s for damn sure.” You grin, nodding. “I should trust that. Just please if I ever do hurt you-”

“You won’t. You can only hurt me if you just disappear one day.” Your emotion in your voice makes him pause, easing you down, but you’re still pressed against him.

“I would never do that.” His strong hands ever so gently hold your face. “You worry I’ll disappear?”

“Too good to be true.”

“No, not so. That’s you.”

“A part time stripper barista?”

“Mmhmm, perfect.”

“Yeah right. You’re sucking up.” He shakes his head. “I have auditions for that school soon… will you go with me? They do theater dance, like musicals and plays… it seems silly? But-”

“I would love to go watch you when you do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You bounce up and down eagerly, and he just watches you, amused, but something deeper, a puzzle you want to put together. Where you were an open book, you realize it will take some time to truly learn more about him, but you’d take however long he wanted.

“Do you have to go?” You ask, and he nods, reluctantly, caressing your jaw with his long fingers. “Breakfast first? Or coffee?”

“I will definitely take some. You worked up an appetite in me.” You blush at that. “You’re so pretty with pink cheeks.”

“Am I?”

“You’re pretty all the time, I just enjoy making you blush. Come on, then, let’s forget my moral conundrum.”

“Nanami, you’re silly. I’m not ignoring it, it’s how you feel.”

You both kiss, and you realize you want to know everything about him, what makes him tick.

“I’ll make some eggs for us!” You yank him by the hand, leaving the tense energy of the room.

****

The week at the coffee shop is filled with secret kisses, touches, before you both have to work, every morning when you open he’s there, and you devour each other, you in your apron, him in his fancy suits. You ache to do more, but you’re both insanely busy all the time, planning for the weekend, but those little kisses and caresses every day ignite a flame in you.

It’s Friday, and instead of coming in alone, Satoru Gojo is with him, a big grin on his pretty face as he greets you with a peace sign.

“Heyy Foxy!” Nanami smacks at him, you just laugh.

“Hey Gojo. How's the wifey?” You start making two cups for him and his wife as Nanami comes behind the counter and kisses your cheek.

“Aww, you two are so cute.” You both flush, smiling at each other, you swirl the crazy amount of sugar Gojo likes in his coffee.

“How do you stay skinny with this?” You ask, adding more syrup, he shrugs, leaning forward on the counter.

“Good genes. The wifey is good by the way, you’ll be seeing her tonight.” You hand him the coffees, tilting your head curiously.

“Where? At the club?”

“Mmhmm.” Gojo points out to the chocolate muffins, you grab a few of them along with some other sweets. “Remember you said you’d give her a lap dance, right? Well it’s on.”

You turn even redder, looking at Nanami, who’s rolling his eyes. “Yeah, apparently we’re all coming tonight.”

“Oh! Oh…” Gojo laughs at your expression.

“It’ll be hot as fuck. This is so good.” He’s nibbling on one of the muffins, stuffing his face really, you hand him napkins to clean the crumbs off, smiling at how different him and Nanami were.

“Well I’ll be sure to put on a good show.” You start to make Nanami’s coffee now, and Yuji and Nobara come out, starting to chat with Gojo. Yuji seemed as if he wanted to be Gojo, while Nobara seemed to find him amusing.

“Shit, we’re too busy or we’d come.” Nobara says, and you tilt your head, smiling at them.

“Plans tonight?” You ask teasingly. Nobara flushes.

“Just seeing Yuji’s stupid double feature movie.” She mumbles, and Gojo points at them, laughing.

“You two are going on a date! Aw, love all around me.” He twirls, eating another muffin, and you all eye roll at him.

“Not a date…” Yuji rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, then clears his throat, looking at you and Nanami. “Shouldn’t you two be in the back making out?”

“Gojo’s here.” Nanami grumbles, then you snort in laughter, enjoying the little coffee shop more and more, as your friends and… Nanami… convene together, it feels so peaceful. You feel Nanami wrap an arm around your waist, Gojo’s bright blue eyes go to it, then he salutes you two.

“Don’t let me stop the horny teenagers.”

“Gojo!”

“What? Anyway, see you tonight ‘Foxy’.” You and Nanami shake your head, and you lead him back to the little break room, where you all frequently made out, literally every morning.

“Are you cool with this, Nanami? Me giving her a lap dance.” You ask softly, he smirks a bit, shutting the door behind you, stuck in the itty bitty room with not much more than a little fridge, counter and microwave.

“I am a man, so of course it’s going to be hot.” You giggle, yanking him close against you, his hands are on your hips, he bends down low.

“You used to like her though, yeah? Is that why it’ll be hot? Want two girls making out in front of you?” You are running your hand down his hard abdomen, down to his pants, feeling him grow hard with your touch, as his hazel eyes stare at you behind those shades.

“Are you teasing me? Brat.” He murmurs, you giggle, biting your lip, but then gasp as he sits you up on the little counter, between your thighs, shoving your skirt up, your heart races. You all had not had sex since last weekend, and even kisses didn’t go further than touching.

“You like the idea. Freaky Kento.” He has his hand under your skirt in moments, and you cover your moan with your hand, slick against his fingertips. He yanks your hand down, lips covering your mouth instead, drinking in your cries as he gently runs little circles on your clit, making you wetter by the minute.

“It’ll be hot because it’s you.” He whispers, reassuring you more and more as he wrecks your mind. “Just like he’ll think it’s hot because it’s her. Also, we have dicks… so there’s that.”

You laugh softly, then gasp again when he starts flicking side to side, your hands grip his black suit he wore today, growing hot in the little room, against his hard body, his kisses making you lose it. You know you all don’t have much time, you never do, but it feels so good…

“Now, since you like to tease me…” He takes his hand away, you cry out, yanking it back, and scowling as he smirks.

“Nanami! That’s so mean! Put it back.” You plead, arching your hips up, completely wanton, thighs spread on the counter, he moans, as you move his finger to your entrance.

“You’re always so wet for me. Does it hurt, wanting me so bad all week?” He’s fucking with you, and you melt, nodding, pressing his finger in, shivering at the tiny bit of contact.

“Yes, it hurts… you’re so mean to me.” You pout, he laughs breathlessly, kissing down your jawline, your head falls back. “I have to use your fingers myself. It’s so cruel, what a mean daddy you’ve become.”

At that he loses it, yanking you down and spinning you, your teeth leave little indents in your lower lip, ass arching up, and he smacks you, hard, you barely manage not to yelp. You’re shaking, pussy dribbling, ass stinging, and he smacks the other cheek now, before wrapping an arm around you, finger on your clit again, his other hand on your mouth.

“Do not call me that.” He whispers, you yank his hand down, turning to him and grinning. He scowls.

“You like it.” You reach back and feel him rock hard. He yanks his hand away again. “No, no, sorry!”

“Too bratty this morning. You can just hurt until tonight.” He sucks you off his fingers as you turn back around, and his smartwatch starts beeping.

“Fuck… Kento…”

“Ah-ah. Did it to yourself.” You glare, and he just smirks at you, kissing the tip of your nose. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“You’re so mean! I’m totally gonna kiss Gojo’s wife and torture you.” His brows raise at that.

“You, torture me? No, you’ll beg for it tonight.” He cups your face, you hate that he’s right.

“Nope. Wanna bet?”

“I’ll take the bet.” He is laughing, and you are still scowling. “You okay, darling, not hurting are you?”

“Nope! Go to work.” You shove past him, but he catches you, you fall against his hard chest, and he’s kissing you, so sweet again. You melt.

“I…” He trails off, and it grows quiet in the little room, you two are just looking at each other, mouths an inch away.

“Yes?” You ask softly.

“I miss you… all the time. It’s… concerning.” He clears his throat, and you feel emotions hit you, hard, mixing with that desire that consumed you.

“I miss you all the time.” He exhales, shoulders relaxing a bit under your palms, as you tip toe, kissing his chin. “It’s not concerning. It means we like each other, right? I mean I really like you. A lot.”

You feel yourself overheating as he takes that in, then he sighs, brushing your hair back. “I like you a lot too.”

“Then why are you so evil!” He chuckles, and his watch beeps again, he curses, straightening you both up.

“I just enjoy watching you as you ache for me. Maybe I am a little sadistic.” He is fixing your hair now.

“You are! Okay, get to work now, before you’re late because of me. I’ll see you tonight right?”

“Absolutely. My place after?” You nod eagerly, probably too eager, but the thoughts of being alone with him and having time… were perfect. “Bring something to sleep in.”

“Yeah? Staying at Kento’s place hmm?” He rolls his eyes at you, and you both walk out, hand in hand. “I feel so special.”

“You are.”

“Oh shit, wait, let me make coffee!” You rush over, but Nobara already has his coffee and croissant, grinning at you two. Nanami takes it thankfully, kissing Nobara’s hand, and you smile.

“You’re a lifesaver. All right, see you tonight.” He kisses you again, rushing out, and then Yuji and Nobara look at you with shit eating grins.

“We heard that smack.” Yuji says, and you cover your face, groaning, knowing now you’ve gotta spill some details.

“Do you all do some dom daddy shit?” Nobara asks, you shake your head with a laugh, tying on your apron.

“He hates being called daddy. I wish he’d accept it.”

“Hmm… am I a daddy?” Yuji asks, and you and Nobara both shout no at the same time, he scowls, crossing his arms.

“You’re just Yuji.” You both hug him, but he shrugs you two off. “Oh, wait, I’m not spilling my details until you all tell me about this date!”

“Not a date!”

***

The music thumped, the lights flashed, and the crowd cheered as you begin your dance. Your body moves fluidly to the rhythm of the music. You spin and twirl on the pole, gripping it, pulling yourself higher and higher off the ground, arching your back in a perfect curve as you fall back down.

The costume you wore tonight hugged every inch of your curves, revealing just enough skin to be tantalizing, but still covered the important bits, a little high waisted as you didn’t like your tummy just all the way out, but your ass cheeks definitely were. You may have ordered this to show off for Nanami.

It was a glittery little outfit, blue and purple like a mermaid, and you wore a long red wig, in your Ariel era, it all made every movement more slinky, more seductive. You knew every move to drive everyone crazy, every angle and pose, and you opened your eyes to see them there.

Gojo and his beautiful wife, who was dressed in some gorgeous little black dress that accentuated her own curves, matching Gojo’s black dress shirt and slacks. He was kicked back, and she was up near the stage, eagerly watching, his arm was possessive on her waist. They both grin at you, and you ease down for a moment, waving, taking tips as you walk around the stage from the crowd.

You hop back up, then watch Nanami walk toward you from the bar, with his neat whiskey, looking fucking gorgeous in a white dress shirt that clung to his muscular frame, a skinny little black tie you wanted to yank him by. He smirks as he watches you, coming to sit by Gojo and his wife now.

You begin to spin again, as the song is ending, your breasts brushed against the cool pole, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as thoughts about Nanami swirled. Your hips swayed in time with the beat, legs wrapping around the pole, and Nanami’s gaze followed every movement, his expression a mix of admiration and desire, it was so heady to have him watch you.

He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the stage, fingers tentatively twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch you. You swirl onto the floor, feeling your nipples harden against the fabric of your costume, imagining him touching them, kissing them. You struggle to get back to Earth, and everyone claps as you drop down, tossing more money, and soon it was just you four.

You slide over to them, to Gojo’s wife, and she flushes nervously even under the red lighting, eyes going to Gojo, he was just watching her, nodding, and you realize she is nervous too. You take her hand, which had cash in it, and slide down your bra, revealing your tiny nipple that had been rock hard. You can feel Nanami’s eyes zoom in on it, and your chest heaves a bit at the thought.

You slide her hand to your bra, and her soft hand touches you a bit, her eyes are glittery as she looks up at you. “You’re stupid hot.”

“You’re stupid hot.” You reply, and she giggles, sliding out another tip that Gojo hands her, you guide her hand to your thigh, and she eases it on your garter. “First time here?”

She nods. Gojo’s grip is so tight on her, his knuckles are white, and he clears his throat, sliding in close. “She’s kinda a nun.”

“Am not! Dick.” She shoves at him, and you laugh at the two, who seemed as if they couldn’t get any closer.

“Don’t be nervous. I don’t do much crowd stuff, I really made an exception because Gojo convinced me…” You smile at Nanami now, who’d just been watching you interact.

“I’m a matchmaker, if you will.” Gojo sips casually on some sweet looking drink, and his wife rolls her eyes at him, looking back at you and playing with the wig you wore gently.

“Go on to him, I know you want to.” She whispers, and you grin, coming back onto the stage and crawling seductively over to Nanami, you see Gojo and her making out heavily at the corner of your eye.

Your thighs are spread wide, and you bend over in front of him, ass in the air, shivering in delight when he slides a tip in the waistband of your panties. You turn back around, grinning down at him, easing your bra down, to where your breasts were mostly bare, right in front of his face. You watch his jaw clench, his hands tense, hazel eyes locking on to them.

“How’s the show?” You ask softly, bending forward so more of your breasts spilled out, and enjoying the reaction, the desire, knowing he could not touch you right there was fucking thrilling.

“I want to throw you over my shoulder and take you home, fuck you so good you’re crying.” He whispers, casually, sliding another tip in your garter, your eyes are wide, mouth wide, in shock. He clears his throat, smiling up at you. “You did great, though.”

“I… fuck…” You are trembling, sliding up your straps, just staring at him, cunt slick against the little costume. “Let me… ahem… I should freshen up a bit before the dance.”

“Mmhmm.” His hands are on your waist, and you shiver. “I’ll go head in there with them and we’ll be waiting.”

“Kay.” You manage, and then struggle to stand on your ridiculous heels, grabbing the money off the stage and cleaning the pole. You wave hi to the other girls, let the manager know about another VIP, which surprised her but she was fine with it, then you’re in the little locker room alone, huffing.

Fuck.

You couldn’t be all horned up on Gojo’s wife…

Then again…

You wipe down, spritzing perfume at your pulse points, then going to touching up your makeup and brushing your wig. After sufficiently cleaning up, you grab a drink from the bar, needing just a little courage. You walk into the VIP room, and Nanami and Gojo are sitting across from Gojo’s wife, on the other bench, while she was sitting where Nanami had sat last week.

She was nervously fidgeting with the straw of her drink, smiling as you walked in, the VIP room was awash in red light and you could still feel the throbbing bass of the club's music. The air was thick with anticipation as Gojo grins at you, Nanami just seriously staring.

“The party’s here.” Gojo raises his drink to you, and you giggle, sipping your drink then setting it on the table. You come to Gojo’s wife, who’s looking so nervous. “Isn’t she pretty blushing?”

“She is pretty altogether.” You agree.

“Oh stop… the red lights hide it.” She mumbles, and you all laugh, you take her drink and sit it down too. “I have no clue what we’re doing. But you look really hot, and I think our men are excited?” She whispers in your ear.

You nod. “They’re going to be more excited. We’re both getting good dick tonight, promise.” She giggles behind her hand.

“I like you.” You grin at that.

“Hey, stop flirting so much!” Gojo chides you two. “Whispering about us, two little brats.”

“Shut it, Satoru.” She flips her husband off, he blows her a kiss, you just smile at the two, shaking your head.

“She is a brat.” Nanami agrees, and you turn in surprise, Gojo laughs, legs spread wide as he shoulders Nanami.

“Knew it. I know the type.” You flush red under the lights too now, and you and her look knowingly at each other.

“Brats, huh?” You decide to start dancing then, moving your hips suggestively to the rhythm, eyes locked onto hers. She was a mix of delicate and wanton, licking her lower lip and watching you, as you felt their eyes on your back. You bend down and brush her long hair back.

“Jesus fuck.” Gojo mutters, and his wife peeks at him.

“It hasn’t even started and you wanna leave and fuck me huh?”

“Yep.”

“Well you have to wait, I’m enjoying it.”

“Brats.” Gojo huffs, and you smile conspiratorially, easing the straps of her dress down then, feeling the air tense in the room.

“This okay?” She nods, knowing where you’re going, you slide the dress up a bit too, revealing her pretty thighs, and you place your hands on them, bending over, breasts brushing against her face.

“Fuck…” That was Nanami’s voice now. You thrive off the energy as the eagerly move to the side of you all now, to the chairs in the room, getting the full view of you both.

“Aw, need a closer look huh?” You tease with a wink, but they don’t even respond, enamored as you dance between her thighs, you felt a surge of confidence as you began to dance for them all, weaving your body between her spread legs. The fabric of your skimpy outfit caresses her skin, and she gasps a little bit.

You notice Gojo and Nanami’s faces flushed with excitement, hands gripping their drinks tightly. You could see the desire within them, feel it emanating from her too, and it only fuels your performance. You turn, and grind your body against hers, so soft and different from what you’re used to, and your movements growing more daring.

Her fingers gently grip your hips now, urging you on, letting you know she’s having fun and comfortable too. The energy in the room was palpable, electrifying, breaths from all four of you. You turned back around, bending low, teasingly kissing her thigh, and now Gojo is literally groaning, his head in his hands.

“This is way too fucking hot, I can’t.” His voice is hoarse. Nanami also groans, brushing his hair back.

“Yeah, same. Too much.”

“You’re turning her on more than me! Not fair.” She laughs at that, peeking at Gojo mischievously.

“Maybe she does.”

“You’re so bratty!”

“I’ll show you bratty.” She pulls you, and you straddle her carefully, arms braced on either side of her, and Gojo and Nanami slowly lose their shit as she grabs your face gently.

“Oh god… have I died and gone to heaven?” Gojo is so dramatic you two burst out laughing.

“Probably hell.” Nanami’s words make you all laugh more.

She leaned forward to you, her lips brushing against your ear, and whispered so soft and seductive that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s make out, it’ll make them lose their shit.”

“Fuck yeah.” You both look at them, and their brows are low, Gojo is staring at his wife, and Nanami is staring at you.

You lean in, your lips barely touching hers in a ghost of a kiss feeling the warmth of her breath mingle with your own. “You better fucking love me, Kento, because this dream is because of me.” Gojo says, and Nanami is silent, you see him in your peripherals, dying to touch you.

“I totally love you at this moment, Gojo.” You two laugh against each other’s lips, your hands slide down the sides of her breast.

“Fuck…” You hear them both say it, then you two kiss, softly, as her hands slide up your waist, and yours slide up to cup her face.

The bass of the music fades as you’re kissing Gojo’s wife, in front of Gojo and Nanami’s shocked selves, and everyone in the room was full of desire, you could feel her hard nipples against your own, her heat matching yours in your laps. Your tongues gently meet, just playing, and you both gasp a bit, before easing back, a little bit of saliva between you two.

You both grin, looking at your men, and within moments Nanami has snatched you off her, and Gojo has snatched his wife up. Nanami has you on his lap, kissing you, and you see Gojo has her lifted and pressed against a wall. His kisses are aggressive, she’s falling into it, and the whole thing makes the situation between your thighs a million times worse.

Nanami’s grip is tight, his eyes hooded, and you feel him rock hard between your thighs, groaning. “Fucking tease.”

“Got you back for this morning, hmm?” He yanks your hair, and you hear lewd moans, as Gojo has his wife’s thighs wrapped around him.

“You’re so getting railed tonight.” Gojo says, as he eases her down for just a moment, coming to hand you money. You shove it off.

“Just pay the VIP fee up front. That’s too much fun to get paid for.” He grins down at you, patting your head.

“You’re getting railed tonight too, huh?” He grins at Nanami, who is too enamored with you to say shit. You ease off him for a moment, coming to give Gojo’s wife a hug.

“Way too fun! Oh my god. Thank you.” She kisses your cheek, and you kiss hers too, before your men snatch you again.

“That’s enough I need to get to the fucking car, now. Kento, Foxy, later!” Gojo picks her up and they’re gone in a flash, leaving you and Nanami alone, your hands on his face, gripping your ass hard.

“They’re so fucking in the car.” You muse, Nanami grins.

“They absolutely are. That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen, I think I could just die now and be happy.” You shake your head, wet and hot against him.

“Better not. I need you around, you know.” The words are serious, soft, and you’re both kissing, falling into each other, his grip so tight you can scarcely move, breathe but you want it, you want more.

“Let’s go to my place. Now.”

“So eager?”

“Don’t play with me, darling, you know how that goes.” You grin, excited, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Now.”

“Yes, sir!”

You’re dying to go to his place… to get this frustration fucked out of you… and Nanami seems to feel the same way.

Chap 7

Ao3 link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56003029/chapters/143664823#workskin

[msmk11]

The Hufflepuff Code

James Potter x gn!Hufflepuff!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 3.6k

CW: Use and discussion of weed, mentions of alcohol, light kissing, reader under the influence of weed, mentions of food and eating

Summary: You have a secret.... Or, at least, your Hogwarts house, Hufflepuff, does, and you can't tell your Gryffindor boyfriend James. Only problem is, your boyfriend is very charming and has an inclination for mischief. What could go wrong?

A/n: Hiiiii, I hope you enjoy! This work is vaguely based off the Harry Potter discourse on TikTok a few months ago, about what parties would be like in each Hogwarts house! Please don't take offense if you're a Gryffindor lol, I love them. Also, until I find a fancast for James Potter that I like (I imagine him as desi), I will be using ATJ.

Going to Hogwarts requires a lot of studying….something you are trying to do but failing, because a pair of hazel eyes can’t help but bore into your face. You double down into your books to avoid your boyfriend’s gaze, but his intensity only increases. He shifts from mute staring to pokes and silent whispers of your name. 

Finally, you snap your head up and look at him, “what?!” You whisper. 

“Just missed you s’all,” James says sheepishly. 

Your heart can’t help but melt a little, “sweetheart, I’m right here.”

“Yeah but you’re studying and not paying attention to me.” He whines. 

“Well, I did invite you to the library to study, not snog or make small-talk.”

James eyes light up, “oh that sounds like so much more fun. We should do that instead.”

“Sorry Jamie, as much as I’d love to, I can’t. Gotta study.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes dramatically, “fine. But I expect your full, undivided attention later.”

You cringe a little and guiltily avoid his sweet, beautiful face. “I-I’m sorry I can’t hang out later.”

“Baby,” he says rather loudly. 

You shush him a little and grab his hands in apology, “I’m sorry, I made plans earlier this week.”

The brunette pouts at you and shakes his head, his mop of curls falling into his eyes as he does so, “with who?”

“My friends-“

“Friends? What friends?!” Your boyfriends protests. 

You glare at him a little. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, “I just mean, what friends could you possibly be hanging out with instead of me? I mean, I’m the bestest friend.”

You kiss one of his hands intertwined with yours, “I know, sweetheart, you are. But I need a little non-boyfriend-friend-time sometimes, you know?”

“Well-uh I can pretend to not be your boyfriend for a night,” he disagrees, “I can gossip and, do whatever your friends do.”

You chuckle a little, “I know you can, and honestly, I’m sure they will be happy to have you in the future. But that’s not the type of hangout we’re having.”

“Okay, so then what are you doing?”

“Burying bodies, holding seances, the likes,” you tease, trying to avoid a serious answer. 

James just glares at you, not impressed by your jokes. 

“Sweetheart, don’t be mad,” you plead, bringing out your puppy dog eyes, “promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he answers, dismissively waving his hand. “That I’m not concerned about anymore. What I really wanna know is what you’re getting up to tonight,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. 

You’re pretty sure his eyes peer into your soul, trying to unleash all your secrets. It makes you shiver and look down at your paper. 

“Oh you know, typical Hufflepuff things.”

“Hmmm?” He asks, shifting closer to you. “Like what?”

“Uhhh eating food, potting plants, being loyal.” You mumble out. 

He gets closer and lifts your chin to make you look at him. James, the bastard, knows the effect he has on you. Teasing you with your closeness, knowing his cologne drives you crazy, his eyes make you melt, and his lips leave you defenseless. He licks his lip a little and you slightly groan. 

“So you’d rather pot plants than spend time with me?” James asks quietly. 

Words leave you at this moment and you only stutter a little. You try to lean in for a kiss, the tension unbearable, but he pulls back. “Nuh-uh.”

“You don’t get a kiss for lying.”

You whine a little. “I’m not lying, I’m just concealing some of the truth.”

“Why, love? Do you not trust me?”

Your face softens, noticing the slight sadness in his voice. You grab his face and brush his dark curls away from his eyes. 

“No Jamie. It’s not that, it’s just- well it really is sort of a Hufflepuff thing. A code of conduct, you know?”

He furrows his brows, “uhh, not really, no.”

“Well, I’m sure Gryffindor has some traditions, right?”

James shakes his head, “well it’s sorta the same thing for Hufflepuff, just more secret.”

“But I won’t tell anyone” your boyfriend says softly, kissing your hand, “promise.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s not that I can’t tell you, it’s well, I can’t tell-“ you hesitate. 

“Who?”

“Gryffindors,” you say, quietly. 

Confusion clouds his pretty face, “what d’you mean you can’t tell Gryffindors?”

You cringe and pull away, “I’ve said too much already, sweetheart. Sorry, house loyalty.”

He scoffs, “what about loyalty to me?” 

“Don’t do that,” you tsk, “it’s really not that serious. Just silly house traditions, a little bit of rivalry, yeah?”

“Well then if it’s not that serious, just tell me,” he counters. 

You groan. He’s really not gonna give this up. 

“Fine,” you mumble. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.”

You gather your books and motion for him to follow. He stands up obediently and packs up his things before taking yours from you. As you walk down the halls, you find an empty classroom and push the two of you inside.

“You know if you wanted to get me alone, you could’ve just asked,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes and slap his shoulder playfully, “pervert…just wanting to get in my pants.”

“Can’t help it when you’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

You hum in content and lean into the kiss, holding onto his arms gently. 

“Could keep you here all night,” he sighs against your lips, as his warm hands wrap around your waist. 

You huff in disappointment and pull away a little, “you know you can’t Jamie baby.”

“Worth a shot.” He sits down on a desk and spreads his legs a little, letting you stand between them, “so if I can’t convince you to skip this tradition, then tell me what it is at least. And why can’t Gryffindors know?”

You sigh a little, “okay, don’t get mad, because I didn’t decide this, remember, it’s tradition.”

James pauses and then shakes his head for you to continue. 

“So, basically, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw have this arrangement to have three annual parties. One hosted by Hufflepuff, one by Slytherin, and one by Ravenclaw.”

“And why not Gryffindors?”

You wrinkle your nose in awkwardness, “well…cause the other houses don’t really like Gryffindor all that much.” Before James can protest you add, “it’s not that we don’t like Gryffindors at all, it’s just, we don’t like when you’re all together. On your own or in small groups you’re fine. But in large party settings you guys get loud, and stupid, and well…..annoying. And, the other three houses got sick of it, so they decided to start hosting a few no-Gryffindor-allowed parties every year.”

James simply stares at you in silence. “And this has been going on for how long?”

“Uh, 20 years at least,” you say. 

The boy’s mouth drops, “and no Gryffindor has ever found out?!”

“Not really, no. We keep it super secret.”

James scoffs, “I mean, well that’s sort of ridiculous don’t you think? Hosting secret parties just to keep us out?”

“Look,” you say gently, grabbing his knee, “I didn’t say I agree or disagree. It’s just tradition. And well, I’m not gonna be the one to break it.”

“So what do you even do at these ‘parties’?” he asks with a huff.

“Well Ravenclaw hosts the first, in the Fall, a sort of poker, gambling game night, but with lots of booze. Very classy actually, typical Ravenclaw. And Slytherin hosts next, right before Christmas. It’s a sort of Christmas, bougie, boozie party. Very swanky and jazzy. And Hufflepuff, well, that’s the crowd favorite. Held in second term.”

The brunette raises his eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Basically we get a shit load of weed from our secret plant stash, and everyone gets high and eats food. We like, raid the kitchens before hand.”

“WHAT?!” James almost shouts. 

You put your hand over his mouth to quiet him. “Shhh, people could hear.”

He takes your hand off. “Hufflepuff has a secret drug stash?! And you hide it from us?!”

“I mean, why do you think we’re so happy all the time?” you say, laughing a little. 

“So you-but.”

Your boyfriend’s brain seems to malfunction, “damn, Hufflepuffs are druggies? My partner is a druggie?”

You let out a laugh, “I wouldn’t say druggie…just…plant-positive.” 

“So…there. That’s my secret. But you can’t tell anyone. I have my dignity to uphold.” You warn. 

“Can I at least come?!” 

“No! I’m not even supposed to tell you. Let alone bring you!”

“But-“

“No. Im sorry James, I don’t make the rules.”

“But I wanna get high…and see you high.”

“Well, another time.” 

Your tone was final, but James did not take it as such. Instead, he became more determined to find his way in to this mysterious party. 

*****

After making James promise to not impose, you left him behind in the classroom with a kiss and a lot of regret. On one hand, you had just broken so many Hufflepuff rules… if anyone were to find out, you’d be shunned for sure. On the other hand, you also felt incredibly guilty for leaving James out. Your sweet boy with his soft eyes and kind smile… but also his loud personality and pranks. You knew he’d never mean any harm, but the likes of him at this sort of party would not be welcome. He’s the definition of Gryffindor. And of course you love him for it, but you’re not sure your peers would. 

Back in your dorm, you throw your books down on your desk and then plop onto your bed. 

“Long day?” Your friend Emmeline asks. 

You groan, “terribly.”

“Good thing we have a chill night ahead of us,” she reminds you, plopping down next to you on your bed. 

“Touché Emmy. I’m very ready for an edible and a bag of flaming hot Cheetos.”

“Mhmmm, and those chocolate chip cookies from the kitchens?”

We both sigh in content. 

I can feel her staring at me. “Something’s wrong…”

You turn on your side and look at her, “yeah… I just, well, told James I couldn’t hang with him tonight because I had plans and I feel sorta bad… being all secretive you know? We don’t keep secrets.”

She hums in acknowledgement, “hmmm yeah, I get that. But I mean, it’s not like a bad secret y’know? Just tradition.”

“Which is what I told him but still..”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” She asks, slight mortification on her face. 

“No, course not,” you lie, turning back on your back. “Hufflepuff code n’all. Just hard having a Gryffindor boyfriend.”

“Yeah, babe, I know. But you only gotta lie a few times a year, he’ll never know the difference, yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m overthinking this, I know.”

“Indeed,” the brunette answers, shoving your shoulders lightly. “Now come on, lighten up, we’ve got a fun night ahead of us.”

You smile and sit up, “yes you’re right.”

“Now, I know the vibe is obviously cozy, but I still wanna look cute y’know? What should I wear?”

You hop up and walk over to her closet. “Oh babe, you gotta do your yellow Hufflepuff sweatshirt. With your brown curls and pale skin, you look like freaking Belle from that muggle movie.”

She gasps, “a whole princess?! Wow, I’m flattered. And what about pants?”

“Leggings maybe? Something that makes your ass look good?”

“Take me to dinner first!” She squeals. 

You laugh a little and wink, “sorry baby can’t help it.”

Her shoulder length curls bounce a little as she shakes her head at you. 

You go into your own trunk as you strip off your school uniform and instead opt for black pajama pants and one of James’ t-shirts that has some muggle band on it. It still smells faintly of him and your heart aches a little at leaving him behind. You brush it off, though, when your other two roommates come in the room, grocery bags in hand. 

“We’ve got the goods!” Amelia and Trinity cheer. 

“My hot Cheetos?” You ask. 

“Course,” Trinity answers, rolling their brown eyes, “this isn’t our first rodeo.”

You squeal and peck them on the cheek before giving Amelia a hug too. 

“You guys are my favorite, you know that?”

“Better be,” Amelia huffs. “Otherwise we’d have words.”

You all excitedly chatter as you go through the groceries and get ready for the party. 

Trinity ends up in Ravenclaw blue, which looks fantastic against their dark brown skin. 

“Trying to impress anyone?” Emmy asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Hmmm, maybe a certain Pandora Lovegood?” Amelia quips. 

Trinity tries to hide a smile but can’t, “duh! She’s just so cute, especially when she’s high.”

“And Amelia? Trying to impress anyone?” You ask, scanning her dark gray sweater and black leggings.

“Nope!” She says, popping the p, “only here for me, myself, and I.”

You force everyone to gather on your bed and hold up your disposable camera, “smile everyone!”

You take a few photos, cute and silly, and then wander down to the common space. 

The common room remains mostly the same, besides a few added bean bags and blankets for comfort. 

A low, quiet base thumps in the background as people from all three houses lounge around. Amos Diggory, a seventh year, sits at the contraband table. 

“What can I do for you folks tonight?” He asks. 

Emmeline asks for a blunt, Trinity and I take an edible and Amelia shakes her head, motioning to her pen instead. We crash on the carpet, waiting for the weed to kick in. Everyone around us is laughing, chatting, and snacking, at different levels of gone. 

When Pandora walks in, Trinity waves and motions her over. She’s followed by a few of her friends, including Regulus, Rosier, and Crouch.

“Baby Black?!” You cheer.

He rolls his eyes as he sits down next to you. “I thought I told you not to call me that?”

You shrug your shoulders and pat his cheek, “yeah, but I chose to ignore you. I love how cute you get when you pout.”

He can’t help but blush a little and he softens. You have a way with that boy, and he with you. Surprisingly, you are very close friends. 

You turn and nod in acknowledgment to the other two, “Rosier, Junior. How’s it going?”

“Better once I’m high” Barty answers. He turns to his friends, “what do you want?”

They tell him and he stalks over, giving Amos a glare while he’s at it. 

“Always the delight he is,” Amelia teases. Her eyes are a little heavy, telling me the pen is already working. 

“So, Black? What brooding have you been up to recently?” Emmeline jokes.

You swat her arm and can’t help but giggle, maybe a little too hard. “Be nice.”

“Oh you know, just planning your demise” he answers with a smirk. 

“I’m the subject of your brooding?” Emmy fake swoons, “I feel honored.” 

You laugh again and hug Regulus around the neck, “am I ever the subject of your broodings?”

He looks at you with a small smile, “course. I think about killing you once a week.”

You gasp in fake offense and stick out your tongue. Barty, who’s back with the weed, hands Regulus a blunt. He takes it between his fingers and inhales. Then he looks at you and rolls his eyes again. 

*****

James Potter is usually good at keeping promises. However, he’s even better at making mischief. So despite his promise to you to not come to the party, he finds himself a little while later outside the Hufflepuff dorms, albeit hidden under the invisibility cloak. From outside, the hallway is quiet. Any passerby would be oblivious to the party going on within- must be a silencing charm. Unsure how to get into the common room, realizing you hadn’t told him before, he waits outside for someone to, unknowingly, open it for him. He, luckily, doesn’t have to wait long, as two unsuspecting Slytherins stroll past him and up to the barrels sitting outside. In quick succession one pulls out their wand and quickly taps it across the barrels. The brown barrels jump apart, revealing a door. As the two walk in, James closely follows behind, assuring he doesn’t remain locked out. 

Though you briefly explained the parties to James, his imagination far underestimated the reality. When you said all three houses went to these parties, you weren’t kidding. The place was packed, with every 4th year up from all three houses lounging around the badger den. The room was thick with smoke and reeked of marijuana. Students were everywhere, standing, lounging, laughing, eating, and even sleeping. Music played in the background, but no one was dancing, seemingly too high to really notice it. He scanned the room and found you in the thick of it all, seated on the carpet by the fireplace. You were with your dorm mates, Emmeline Vance, Amelia Bones, and Trinity Taylor, and also a few Slytherins. He recognized them all actually, one being Sirius’ little brother, who he knew you were actually good friends with. Also Rosier and Crouch, who he wasn’t as fond of, and Pandora, the one Ravenclaw he sorta knew. 

Still hidden under his cloak, he weaves through the crowd, careful not to bump into anyone, afraid of getting caught. He throws himself into a corner by the fireplace, listening in on your conversation. 

“But Reggie, you’d look so cute with dyed hair!”

The Black boy scoffs at you, “yeah right. What should I go for, bright pink?!”

Your eyes light up as you giggle, “yes! And I’d start calling you baby…. pink? Instead of baby black, cuz you know-“ you giggle again, “your hair would be pink!”

Your words sort of slur together, not that you realize it, and so Regulus only nods, himself also struggling to comprehend what’s happening. 

“Wait, I think I have some dye, let me go get it!”

“Wait-“ Regulus calls out but you’ve already gotten up. 

James’ heart jumps as you come closer to him, weaving through the crowd on the carpet…

*****

As you stumble towards the stairs of your dorm you freeze. You could’ve sworn you smelt... James’ cologne…..

You shift backwards a little and sniff again. Sure enough, his fancy cologne, one you love but always tease him about, permeates the air. Either you’re really high or….

You suddenly fling your hand outwards to the left. Though there is nothing next to you, you make hard contact with something in the air, and hear a small “oof” from next to you. 

A chill runs down your spine and out of the corner of your mouth you mumble, “James. My. Room. Now.”

You don’t bother to hear an answer, knowing he’ll follow you like a lost puppy. 

When you’re in your room you shut the door firmly behind you and whip around “James- what the hell.”

Your boyfriend appears before you, taking off the invisibility cloak sheepishly. “Hey, baby.”

“Don’t fucking hey baby me. What are you doing here?” You slur together. 

“Uh, missed you?” He says hesitantly. 

Your nose flares and you stalk towards him. “You. Fucking. Missed. Me?!” Each word is punctuated with a smack to his chest.

You don’t realize in your unsober state how hard you’re hitting him or how loud you’re talking. He tries to minimize his flinches as he grabs your hands and holds them together. 

“Love I-“

“What? Wanted to risk me getting shunned?! Jamie I asked you not to come! I trusted you!!”

“I know lovie. I’m sorry, I just got jealous… and curious. It’s no excuse I know but…”

You huff and throw your head in your hands. It’s spinning for more than one reason, and the weed keeps you from thinking clearly. 

“We’ll talk later. You, just stay here with your cloak, yeah?”

He sighs and nods.

His sad puppy dog eyes get to you and you soften a little, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. 

You then walk towards the door and open it, only to find the whole of Hufflepuff standing outside your door, staring in shock. 

“You, you broke tradition!” Amos Diggory yells, pointing at James. 

“I- well- shit” you mutter. 

“This is like, breaking the law,” another Hufflepuff argues. 

You feel tears prick at your eyes, “I’m sorry guys I- uh.”

“Wait,” your boyfriend says. 

Everyone goes quiet. 

“It’s not their fault, honest.”

No one seems to believe him. 

“Look, I got suspicious of what they’re up to, so I followed them, with my invisibility cloak on. Swear!” He even holds up the cloak, demonstrating its invisibility. 

Everyone gasps, “no way, that’s fucking sick.”

“Please don’t punish them because I’m stupid and nosy! Please!” He pleads. 

Diggory turns to the head prefects of the other two houses and quietly confer. After a few minutes of quiet whispers, Diggory turns back. 

“Fine, fine, you’re off the hook,” he says to you. 

“And as to you Potter, well, I guess you’re officially inducted into our little secret now. We can’t have you going around spilling. And I swear, if you tell any one of your little Gryffindor friends, all three houses will rain hell. Understood?”

Even you turn to James and raise your eyebrows. He really does feel a little threatened and nods. “Uh, yeah. Course.”

Diggory claps his hands together, “great! Well then, get Potter some weed.”

As everyone files out, James turns and looks at you nervously. 

“Well?”

“You heard the man, let’s go get you some weed.”

“Okay, just- wait.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you flush into his chest. 

He kisses you deeply, “love you, baby.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

[kithtaehyung]

and f*ck you, too (m) (teaser) | pjm

title: and f*ck you, too (m) (teaser) pairing: fuckboy assassin!jimin x assassin!reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; work rivals!au, assassins!au, enemies with benefits  summary: you despise each other. and yet, you can’t seem to stay away. which is fine, since both of you are completely fine walking the line where it’s drawn. fic warnings: (smut warnings under the cut) language, violence, angst, blood/wounds (reader’s, jimin’s, and others’), cocky!jimin, cold!jimin, baddie!reader >:)), weapons: knives/guns, alcohol/drug mentions, reader has fast cars :))), ties to chairs, chains but who is shocked??, jimin has fast motorcycles🙄, angst, yoongi as a weapons specialist gets his own warning a ha ha, jimin looks too good in tanks, and without a shirt at all, this jimin is a warning in itself, did i mention angst? note: lmfaooooooo this is just assassins getting in each others’ ways with a generous splash of filth and a side of angst :)) WE ARE GETTING A PROPER JIMIN FIC, Y'ALL!! est. word count: 15-20k | teaser wc: 908 est. drop date: oct 2023 18+ taglist: sign up here (i check all blogs)

smut warnings: explicit scenes, biting, bondage (ropes, pillowcase), scratching, angst, slapping, hickies, body worship, piercing play, spit play, orgasm denial, pussy spanking, voyeurism, exhibitionism, face riding, slut/whore mentions, edging, oral (m/f rec), thigh riding, possessive but they won’t admit it</3, choking, angry sex, angst lol, hair/head pulling, protected/unprotected sex, praise kinks galore, easy access, cowgirl, hitting from the back, rough sex, spanking, teasing, creampie, chains (stay on!!!!), multiple orgasms, aftercare when it’s least expected👀 

Glass. 

Bullet casings.

So much broken glass.

As you listen in the scattered silence, you’re careful to skirt around the tiny shards making an ocean out of your villa.

Well. It’s now more of a wreckage than a beautiful seaside vacation home, but nuances mean nothing when you’ve only used it to store an eighth of your arsenal.

And your fucking pink McLaren that’s now face down in the nearest reef.

You are going to end this man. 

“Come out, my love…” 

Fuck him for double-crossing right when you were getting along.

At least, you felt like you were.

Maybe it was just a lapse in judgment, and the last goddamn mistake you’ll ever make around Park Jimin—assassin, playboy, sole occupant of the top of your hit list.

“Your target’s on the run, you know.”

Of course you’re fucking aware. But he won’t trick you a second time.

As soon as he gets a clear shot, he’s taking it.

And despite rivulets of sweat and blood running down your arm and a fresh gash on your upper chest, you are poised to do the exact same.

“Shouldn’t you be following them? Awhh, wait, your ride… What a shame.”

The gritting of your teeth almost gives you away. 

Think.

Based on where you hear Jimin and the layout of your place, he’s somewhere around the foyer. 

And hiding in an open hall next to your kitchen, there’s no way you can get him from where you’re poised.

So wait.

“What to do… Ah! I can call a taxi to pick you up! How does that sound?”

Wait, goddamn it. 

Don’t fall for his shit.

Watch for any dark waves in the debris-riddled floor. Hold off until he’s in a good sight line. 

Fuck, your wounds hurt. 

Hot exhaustion warms your mouth as you wince, blood starting to harden along your slick skin.

“Or you can just let them get away. This would be Chance Zero, though, so. You’d end up getting a geo-bounty on your file… but it’s your decision!”

Breathe.

Geo-bounties aren’t too bad if they’re low. 

Only when they evolve into Global status should you be worried. And that only happens if the Council deems it. 

You’ve stayed on their good side… other than screwing up the missions Park Jimin has ruined. 

“Come on, love.”

He sounds closer.

“Be a good girl.”

A lot closer.

Now you just have to wait until he… rounds the… corner.

…What happened?

Where the fuck did he—

Your body reacts before your mind does, ducking to avoid a strike into hard spackle. 

Twisting, your forearm prevents the next swipe of Jimin’s blade as you retrieve your side dagger, and four boots trample the glass below in a violent dance of combat.

Above below swipe left dodge right parry parry lunge parry.

When you aim at his chest, your gun is quickly shoved, bullet firing into one of the last kitchen cabinets left standing.

And your opponent has the nerve to look appalled.

“You were gonna shoot me?”

All you do is tsk.

Clashes ring out again as you dart forward, and you go for a opening while mapping out how the hell you’re gonna catch up to your target before—

Fucking hell! 

Chilling pain sears across your shoulder from the cut Jimin makes, and you half-stumble, half-crouch to avoid his killing blow. 

Taking the risk and rolling across your favorite broken vase, you slide and fire again, the kickback hurting your arms like a bastard. 

“Fuck!”

Finally.

Through slitted eyes, you can tell you just grazed Jimin’s thigh, and he collapses to a knee while you struggle to stand upright. 

Crinkles of glass echo throughout the hall as you both haphazardly collect yourselves, with him breathing hard and you grunting through stinging pain.

Shit, he’s cursing like you’ve never heard before. 

But you can’t let that distract you from your goal. 

Up first, you aim your weapon just in time to face his expression.

Those wide eyes.

You have the perfect shot.

And yet…

You hesitate.

Time bends as you vascillate between decisions, your moral compass going haywire and refusing to align with any direction. Electricity fizzes and pops while another patch of your ceiling falls, but neither of you move.

Spare him. End it. Kiss him. Finish the kill.

Your heart squeezes the trigger.

And you fire at the light fixture above him before fast limping out to your garage. 

Curses ring in the falling shards while you make your getaway, fingerpainting the walls with swift red strokes.

Get there get there get there. 

Jimin won’t be far behind.

Ripping open the back door, you grit through the pain while swinging a heavy hand onto a glowing pad. 

After the blooming beeps, you swipe in a password before hitting Floor, and find ponderous support on the door while you wait.

Breathe. Breathe. Holy shit, everything hurts. Breathe.

At your feet, the solid garage foundation slides open to reveal a car rising on a platform. 

The other McLaren that Jimin didn’t launch off the nearest cliff.

Lamenting the leather interior already, you drag yourself to the drivers side with a series of groans, swiping a roll of wrappings and a couple gun magazines from a counter along the way. 

Run run run.

He’s probably right behind.

In seconds, you’re zooming out of the driveway.  

And with a bruised as fuck heart, you blast holes in Jimin’s motorcycle wheels for good measure.

-

-

tbc. :)

-

what do we think bc i already wanna fight this man lol | join the taglist!

a/n: thank you all for reading! if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, and messages are super super appreciated :D see you at the droppppp hehehe ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ writing updates board

[dwaekkicidal]

Day 3

˚ʚSeo Changbin x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Day 3 of my 1K follower celebration! Today is praise with Changbin ♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: ~1k (950)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, praise kink, bin yaps a whole lot, rough sex, creampie (pee after sex pls<3), breeding mentions

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes:  i usually write bin getting praised/worshiped but ill switch it up this time around :3 also sorry if this feels sloppy, i had a bad day and couldn't proofread it as well as I wanted lol

Read the other days here!

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

It started a few months ago. You were on your knees with Changbin’s hands wrapped in your hair and his dick down your throat. It was going like usual until he got lost in the pleasure and found himself mindlessly throwing praises at you. It wasn't unlike him to do so, but the sheer amount was more than you've ever experienced. “Atta girl, Bunny. Fuuuck. You’re so good at this-” He saw the way you reacted as well as the way you were extra insatiable later that night. Changbin might be your silly little boyfriend, but he is a very attentive person. So from that day on he slowly started doing it more and more, even more so outside the bedroom.

If he caught you right out of the shower he would run his hands all over your body and tell you how much he loved it. “Bunny, your skin is so soft! You’re so beautiful. I love you so much.” Or, if he was balls deep in your mouth, he would never shut up about how good it was. “You’re doing so well, Bunny. Ahh~ You take such good care of me-” 

It was small statements, sure, but over time he did so often until the point where all his conversations with you ended in some sort of praise. You loved it! But you also hated the way it made you dripping wet and brainless the second it left his mouth. You just could never get used to it or be normal about it, no matter how hard you tried. So when you finally sat him down for a talk about it, he made a promise to always take care of you when he "accidentally" put you in that mindset. Which is exactly how you’re in your current situation: with blurry, teary eyes and your cunt spread wide open on his dick <3

“Look at this pretty pussy… All. For. Me.” He enunciates each word with a sharp thrust, hitting your G-spot directly each time and causing you to clench tightly around him. He throws his head back, groaning loudly at the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. His tongue pokes his cheek and his eyebrows furrow as he pounds into you with more force.

“Keep taking this dick. Juuust like that, princess. Fuck..” His voice sounds so desperate and it does nothing but make you wetter. The sight of him is drool-worthy enough, but the way he holds you down and fucks you like a toy is enough to make you start drooling. His eyes eventually flick up to your face to check on you and he does a double take when he realizes that you’re actually drooling.

“Aw, my Princess. ‘Binnie’s dick feels too good, huh?" He bites his lip and leans forward, folding your legs into your chest. "Hmmm?~” “B-Binnie-” He thrusts roughly, cutting you off and making you gasp. “God, I love the way you say my name. Tell the whole world who gets to fuck this perfect fucking body of yours.” You throw your head back, your mind feeling foggier with each word out of his mouth.

He could tell it was affecting you and his chest inflated with pride at the fact that he was the one doing this. You were his perfect girlfriend, his pretty baby, and his sexy fucktoy. Nobody was allowed to see you like he was, and the fact only encouraged him more. His hips continued to slam against yours as you both held eye contact. He pushes his lips against yours and mumbles against them. “Gonna cum for me, Princess? You feel so perfect around me. 'Gonna make me cum too.”

He whines loudly when you pull away from the kiss, only to falter his hips when you start to beg. “B-Binnie, ‘want you to cum inside. Please! I’ve been good, Binnie, please-” His hips slow and he looks down at you with blown-out eyes. “Yeah? My pretty Bunny wants to be bred?” You nod your head frantically and grind your hips against his as much as you can, desperate for him to move faster. He sits there quietly for a few seconds as you whine.

He suddenly pulls out and flips you onto your stomach. You squeal and crane your neck to look back at him confusedly, only to be shoved into the sheets by a hand on your nape. “Oh, my sweet Bunny…” He slips inside your walls again and goes at an unforgiving pace right off the bat, desperately chasing both of your highs.

Your orgasm didn’t get the chance to fade so you cum around him suddenly, squeezing him like a vice and making him double his efforts against your suffocating walls. “You sound so fucking hot when you beg. Don’t worry, Bunny. Binnie’s gonna take good care of you.” Your nails claw the sheets and you wail into the mattress as the pleasure turns to overstimulation. He seemingly goes deeper and slams his hips against yours harder.

“Gooood girl… Gonna pump you nice n' full, maybe even give you a kit or two.” His moans pitch and his thrusts become sloppy as he starts to fill you. His previously erratic thrusts turn into meticulous, sharp ones. Ones that shove him as deep as possible with the promise of a problem for future you, as he promised. But in the meantime, present-you is too focused on the way his cum drips from you, only to get shoved back in by two fingers that curve into your G-spot.

He smirks widely. "Mmmm.. Think you need another load. Need to make sure your sexy body is thoroughly claimed."

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina @rylea08

@grandma143 @caught-in-the-afterglow @yaorzu-blog @jabmastersupriseee

[winniefrezcomics]

(Not sure if this is a sfw question 😅) but do Perry and Iris ever have any kids or adopt any in the future?

Tysm for adhering to the rules page mwah mwah 😙💕, this IS sfw but this was def the right blog for it lol (questions about the future directed AT the ask blog boyos will probably just confuse them and make Dev’s head hurt wheeze)

ALSO thank u for finally giving me an excuse to finish this wip I’ve had sitting around forever wheeze, the answer to wether or not Perry and Iris ever have kids is a RESOUNDING YES- eight of them, to be exact! (And that’s NOT counting the ones they fostered!!! If you ask IRIS how many kids they have he’ll say ‘DOZENS’, and he has the majority of them in a group chat ;w; 💕)

These fam-babies are all human versions of designs belonging to beloved mutuals!! 💕

(please comment to claim your babies djdndndjdjdjdjd I don’t know all y’all tumblrs 😭)

Also More rambling and doodle comics under the cut bc I need to put all the Dad content in one place wheeze

Perriris’ co-parenting journey started after one of Perry’s students had to be rescued from a terrible home situation, but was having so much trouble in the foster care system that Iris (who had been wanting a baby for DECADES anyway) BEGGED his husband to just adopt her themselves, and it went shockingly well!!

However, once thier daughter started asking about a baby sibling, Iris suggested that he and Perry try for a biological child again, despite having never succeeded in the past. Perry’s retirement from his teaching job was fast approaching anyway, but as much as he loved the idea, he knew that is was possible his body just couldn’t do it…

So he does what His older brother Timmy did, back when he was only ten, and wishes on a star.

This wish leads to the birth of WESLEY AND ANNIE, thier biological twin babies! Fun fact about them: because PERRY is a wish-baby (wished for by human Timmy, granted by fairy Timmy) that makes the twins DOUBLE wish babies! (Wished for by Perry, granted by Dev 🥺) so the two of them have a ton of residual magic in thier systems, much like thier daddy! I imagine when they were newborns is when it was the strongest, and Wren would always be the ONLY one to see them do anything unnatural, so she’d constantly be Candace-Flynn-style trying to convince her parents the babies were magic lmfao

Once they start fostering more regularly, Perry and Iris Fairly quickly develop a reputation for being excellent foster parents, especially when it comes to children other fosters have deemed “difficult”- any child that is enough of a little shit to remind Iris of himself as a child gets IMMEDIATELY scooped up be he and his husband, and several of them have never left 💕🥰

MIDDLE PIC DRAWN BY @zennyzach / @perisprinkles - THANK U AGAIN SOBS I STILL SCREAM CRY AND THROW UP ERERY TIME I SEE IT // V POS 😭🥺💕💙💜

They also designed Annie, and Wesley was designed by @phobylee / @theharbingerofdoomtime ! 💙💜

(This second comic is no longer canon bc this was before I decided Wes and Annie were bio children but I included it bc it’s still cute ;w;)