#every line I make something up in my head but I feel like I will be surprised when the secrets will be revealed

[winterlico]

GORGEOUS ★ when they're feeling protective & possessive ｡

.🎠 ݁˖ ꒰ you look stunning in that dress ꒱ ──── ft. enhypen ( 엔하이픈 )

﹙ masterlist ﹚ fluff , mention kiss , slight possessive , jealousy ✿ 満足 ◦ aprox 950 wc ‼

feedbacks ୨୧ reblogs / a/n : thank you sm for 100 folls >ᴗ<

| LEE HEESEUNG ( 이희승 )

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of your dress, making sure everything looks just right. It’s bold—a bit more daring than usual—and the way it hugs your body has you feeling confident. The neckline plunges just enough, and the hemline sits a little higher than you’d normally go for. You love the way it looks on you, and it’s not like you’re trying to cause a scene, but tonight you want to feel good.

You catch your reflection one last time before hearing Heeseung’s footsteps coming closer. Your heart skips, and you turn, expecting him to be all smiles and excitement, but as soon as his eyes land on you, his smile falters.

He doesn’t even speak, just stands there, his gaze moving from your face to your dress, back to your face again. His lips press into a thin line, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as his brows knit together, just a little.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the situation light. “You like it?” you ask, spinning around playfully, watching for his reaction.

Heeseung stares at you for a second longer before finally responding. “Yeah… I like it a little too much,” he mutters, his voice low. There’s that edge again—the one you recognize when he’s trying to keep himself from saying too much, but still letting the words slip out.

You can’t help but tease him a little. “What’s wrong? You don’t think I look good?” You take a step closer, fluttering your eyelashes just to play with him. He doesn’t look amused. In fact, you could almost swear you see a hint of frustration flicker in his eyes.

“Good?” He scoffs lightly, but the intensity in his gaze doesn’t shift. “I think you look too good.” His tone has a playful challenge to it, but there’s no mistaking the possessiveness behind it.

You take a step back, feigning surprise. “Oh? Too good? You don’t think I’m allowed to wear something that makes me feel good?” You cross your arms, leaning against the vanity with a cheeky smile. “I thought you liked when I look this stunning. Isn’t that what you tell me all the time?”

He takes a couple of steps toward you, the space between you shrinking quickly. “Of course I like it, but I’m not about to let every guy in that party think they can stare at my girlfriend like she’s some kind of prize to be ogled.” His voice softens, but you hear the underlying edge, the protective growl. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, Heeseung’s all business.

You can’t help but laugh, and he eyes you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or if you’re actually testing his patience. You take another step back, teasingly swinging your hips a little more than necessary, enjoying how it flusters him.

“Aw, come on, Hee. They’re just looking. You’re not actually going to start a scene, are you?” You throw him a playful wink, but you can see the gears turning in his head. He’s getting protective, and you’re enjoying pushing his buttons just a little.

He lets out a breath, clearly trying to hold back, but the possessiveness in his eyes doesn’t waver. “You don’t get it, do you?” He steps forward again, his voice soft but firm. “I don’t just want them looking at you—I don’t want them touching you, or even thinking about it. You’re mine, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting anyone forget that.”

You grin, clearly loving how riled up he’s getting, but you can’t help but soften, sensing the sincerity in his words. “You’re cute when you’re all jealous,” you tease, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing it gently.

His lips twitch upward, but his expression stays intense. “Jealous? You think this is jealousy?” He shakes his head slowly, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes now. “No, this is just me being… protective. And if you think I’m letting you go out there wearing something like this—” he motions at your dress with a soft, teasing smirk, “—you’ve got another thing coming.”

You laugh, your hands wrapping around his neck as you pull him close. “Fine, fine, Mr. Protective. You win. I won’t be the center of attention. But… you are going to keep me close, right?”

His arms wrap around you, and his lips press gently against your forehead. “Of course, always.” There’s still a bit of that fierce edge, but it softens as he pulls back to look at you. “Just remember, no one else is allowed to even think about getting close to you. Got it?”

You roll your eyes playfully but give him a wink. “You’re a bit much sometimes, you know that?”

He grins, shrugging as he pulls you towards the door. “You’re lucky you’ve got me then.”

And as the two of you walk out together, you can’t help but smile at the way Heeseung’s protective streak is wrapped in a mix of possessiveness and that playful affection he always has when it comes to you. Tonight, you might be wearing a dress that makes heads turn, but it’s clear who you're going home with.

| PARK JONGSEONG ( 박종성 )

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of your dress, a little unsure but still confident. The deep neckline, the short hemline—it’s bold, but you like it. You want to feel good tonight. It’s a party, and you're ready to enjoy it.

But as you turn, you catch Jay standing in the doorway, watching you. His eyes narrow slightly, a mix of surprise and something else flickering in his gaze.

"That’s what you’re wearing?" His voice is calm, but there's an edge to it that you immediately recognize.

You turn to face him, still holding the hem of your dress. “Yeah, why? It’s cute, right?”

His jaw tightens as he steps closer, his gaze fixed on the fabric of the dress like it’s a personal challenge. He’s not looking at you with admiration—not yet, at least. There’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes.

“You look… amazing,” he starts, his voice low. "But that’s not the problem."

You feel a pang of confusion. “What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, taking a slow breath, as if gathering his thoughts. “You’re mine, and I don’t like the thought of other people looking at you like that. It’s too much.”

You laugh, though it sounds a little nervous. “Jay, it’s just a party. I’ll be fine. People are just going to look. Who cares?”

Jay’s expression hardens, his eyes flicking from your exposed neckline to the way the fabric clings to your figure. There’s a quiet, simmering frustration in his gaze. “I care,” he mutters under his breath, his tone low and serious.

You bite your lip, sensing the shift in his mood. You’ve seen him protective before, but this? This feels different. His voice grows firmer, and his steps move toward you, closing the gap between you both. “You’re mine, and I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine in a way that I can’t control.”

You stare at him, realizing how intensely he’s staring at you. He’s not angry, but there’s a possessiveness to his tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “Jay, it’s just a dress…”

Jay reaches out, gently cupping your chin and lifting your face to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and his gaze softens just a fraction, though the intensity never fully fades. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. Especially not tonight. Especially not when I know what it’ll do to people.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he places a finger gently on your lips, silencing you. His eyes are dark now, filled with something deeper—something that sends a pulse of heat through your body. “I don’t want you changing for anyone else. But for me? I need you to change.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his request hanging in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been protective, but the possessiveness in his words is unmistakable.

"Jay..." you start, but his hand moves from your chin to your waist, pulling you closer. He places a soft kiss on your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

"Please," he murmurs, "For me? Just this once?"

His voice is low and tender now, and you can hear the quiet plea in his tone. A part of you wants to argue, to defend your choice of outfit. But another part of you can’t deny the way he’s looking at you, his eyes full of raw, unfiltered emotion—protectiveness, desire, possessiveness.

With a sigh, you nod, unable to resist him. “Okay, okay. I’ll change.”

Jay’s face softens, his grip loosening as he steps back. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice still filled with that possessive edge.

You smile, though the tension still lingers in the air. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Jay grins, the possessiveness fading into a more familiar warmth. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. And that everyone knows you’re mine.”

| SIM JAEYUN ( 심재윤 )

The moment Jake walks into the room, his gaze immediately finds you in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of the dress. He pauses for a second, his breath catching, eyes darkening as his heart skips a beat.

The dress you're wearing is beautiful, no doubt, but it’s also more revealing than he’s comfortable with. The deep neckline, the slit that shows just a little too much leg—it’s everything he’s always admired on you, but right now, in the quiet of your shared space before the chaos of the party, it’s making him feel something he can’t quite ignore.

You look up and catch his stare in the mirror, your smile faltering when you see the look in his eyes. The softness, usually so easy-going, is gone, replaced with a hard, unyielding expression. His jaw tightens as he takes another step into the room, the air suddenly feeling heavier.

“Jake?” you ask, a little confused, already sensing the shift in his demeanor.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he crosses the room, his gaze never leaving your body as though he’s studying every inch of it. He stops behind you, his reflection joining yours in the mirror. His hands move to your shoulders, his touch gentle but firm, as if trying to ground himself.

“Are you seriously wearing this to the party?” His voice is low, but there's a sharpness in it that catches you off guard.

You turn to face him, a slight frown on your face. “It’s just a dress, Jake. I thought it was cute.”

“You’re too cute,” he mutters, his eyes flickering down your body again, something dark and protective flickering in them. “It’s not that, it’s—" He cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm inside of him. "It’s just too much. This... too revealing for my liking.”

You laugh softly, taking a step back to give him some space, but the way his eyes follow you only makes you feel more exposed. “It’s just a party. I’ll be fine, Jake,” you say with a shrug, hoping to brush it off, but his hands on your shoulders tighten just slightly, stopping you from moving further.

“I don’t like it,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper now. “I don’t like anyone seeing you like this. You’re mine, and I want to keep you to myself. Don’t you think this is a little much for a party full of people?”

You blink, taken aback by how possessive and raw his words are. It’s not like him to get this worked up, but you can see how much it’s affecting him. The darkening of his gaze, the way his grip subtly tightens—it’s like he’s trying to hold onto something he’s afraid of losing.

“Jake,” you murmur, reaching up to touch his cheek, trying to soothe the tension between you two. “It’s just a party. I’m not going to flirt with anyone, okay? I’m with you.”

He looks down at you, the possessiveness still simmering in his expression, but it softens slightly at your words. He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment of quiet, as if to reassure himself.

“I don’t care,” he whispers. “I still don’t like it. You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else looking at you like they have a right to.”

You smile softly, the words tugging at something deep inside you. You can feel the weight of his protectiveness, the fierce way he’s watching out for you, and it’s both overwhelming and comforting.

With a soft chuckle, you step back just enough to meet his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll change into something else if it bothers you that much.”

Jake exhales, his body still tense as if he's trying to calm himself down. "You don’t have to change. Just… next time, maybe pick something a little less… exposed?" he says with a small, almost embarrassed smile, though there’s still a possessiveness in his gaze that doesn’t waver.

You laugh again, the tension easing between you two, and pull him into a tight hug. “Alright. I’ll keep that in mind. But no promises, Jake.”

He grumbles playfully against your neck, pressing a kiss to your skin. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget.”

As the moment passes, you both get ready to leave, the warmth of his arm wrapping around your waist as you head out the door. He might not admit it openly, but it’s clear he’s going to keep an eye on you the whole night, making sure no one else dares to look at you the way he does—like you're his.

| PARK SUNGHOON ( 박성훈 )

The moment you slip into the dress, you feel a mix of excitement and a twinge of doubt. It’s daring—exposing more skin than you’re used to—but you can't deny how stunning it looks. You turn to face Sunghoon, who's been unusually quiet as you finish getting ready. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his jaw set as his eyes slowly scan you from head to toe. The tension in the air thickens, and you can almost feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts before he says a word.

"Are you sure about this?" His voice is soft, but there's a trace of something darker lurking in the tone.

You look at him, meeting his eyes, and you can see the way his gaze flickers over your outfit, a silent assessment running through his mind. The dress you've chosen for the party is undoubtedly stunning—sleek, bold, with a daring cut that shows off more skin than usual.

You shrug lightly, trying to play it off. "Yeah, I think it’s fine. It’s just a party, right? I want to look good."

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walks toward you, his movements smooth but calculated. His eyes never leave you, his expression unreadable, and you feel the weight of his stare, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re really okay with this. His fingers reach out to adjust the hem of the dress, and his touch is gentle—almost too gentle.

“I just don’t like how much attention you're gonna get tonight.” He says it under his breath, but it’s loud enough for you to hear. The protectiveness in his tone is unmistakable, and you can feel the tension in the air.

You laugh nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Sunghoon, come on. It’s just a dress. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He steps closer, his jaw tightening. “It means something to me.” His voice drops an octave, the seriousness settling in. His gaze drifts down to your exposed shoulders, and you feel the heat of his gaze even though he’s silent. “You’re mine, and I’m not letting some strangers think they can look at you like that.”

You feel your heart race a little at his words, a mixture of affection and something else curling in your chest. His protectiveness is something you’ve always known, but there’s something more intense about it tonight. Something that makes you feel both safe and wanted.

You step toward him, reaching for his hand. “You know I only have eyes for you, right?”

His fingers curl around yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something else, but then his expression softens just a fraction. He takes a deep breath, eyes meeting yours. “I know. But I still don’t want anyone looking at you like you're... theirs.”

You laugh, a little teasingly now. “Well, lucky for you, I’m yours.”

He pulls you closer, and his lips brush against your forehead in a quick, tender kiss. “Damn right you are.”

Before you can say anything else, he takes a step back, giving you a lingering look that’s part admiration, part something much deeper. He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, sliding it over his shoulders with a determined look on his face.

“Let’s go, but if anyone steps out of line tonight, I’m not afraid to remind them who you belong to.” His smile is a little wicked, and you can't help but laugh. The way he looks at you—possessive, protective, but with a love that's all-consuming—makes your heart flutter.

And as the two of you head out the door to the party, you know one thing for sure: tonight, no one will be getting too close.

| KIM SUNOO ( 김선우 )

The sound of your heels clicking against the floor fills the room as you finish adjusting the straps of your dress, feeling the fabric stretch and settle against your body. It’s bold, a bit daring, and definitely not something you would usually wear, but you wanted to feel confident tonight.

The deep neckline and high slit were just the right mix of elegance and allure. However, as you catch your reflection, a feeling of doubt creeps in, and that’s when you hear his voice, low and almost apprehensive, coming from the doorway.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulls you out of your thoughts, and you turn around to see Sunoo standing in the doorway, his eyes scanning your outfit with an unreadable expression.

“Are you really wearing that?” His voice has an edge to it, though it’s soft. Almost like he’s trying to control it.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a small knot of uncertainty. “What’s wrong with it?”

He steps closer, his gaze now darkening, though there’s a slight tension in his jaw. “It’s too revealing, don’t you think?”

A quiet chuckle escapes your lips as you cross your arms, trying to brush off the tightening feeling in your chest. “It’s just a party, Sunoo. It’s not like I’m doing this to get attention.”

His eyes soften slightly, but his arms fold across his chest, his stance protective, as if he's already anticipating something you haven’t yet seen.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with other people seeing you like that.” His words are calm, but there’s a flicker of possessiveness underneath, as if the idea of you in such a revealing dress doesn’t sit well with him.

You tilt your head, unable to resist teasing him. “What, are you jealous?”

Sunoo sighs, stepping closer until he’s right in front of you. His eyes lock with yours, and there’s a soft but undeniable intensity in his gaze. “I don’t get jealous, babe. I just want to make sure you're safe. I don’t want anyone looking at you like you're something to be ogled at. You’re not some decoration, you know?”

His voice is gentle, but the edge remains. You can see how much he cares. He doesn’t like the idea of other people seeing you in a way that feels too exposed, too vulnerable.

You sigh, stepping closer to him. “It’s just a dress, Sunoo. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours in a tight grip. “It means something to me,” he admits, his voice quieter now, softer, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“You mean something to me.”

You smile, reaching up to trace his jaw, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. “I know, Sunoo. I know you care.”

He gazes down at you, his protective instincts still very much there, but there’s a flicker of warmth that follows. “I’ll let you wear it, but I’m not going to let anyone make you feel uncomfortable tonight. Not even for a second. Understand?”

You laugh softly, feeling your heart flutter at his words. “Understood. I’ll keep you close, don’t worry.”

He pulls you in closer, resting his forehead against yours, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, almost possessive embrace.

“Good. Now, let’s go show them who you belong to,” he whispers, a playful glint in his eye, though his arms tighten a little more.

You chuckle, your heart swelling at the sweetness of it all, knowing that no matter what happens at the party, Sunoo will always have your back. And, in return, you’ll have his.

| YANG JUNGWON ( 양정원 )

The soft rustle of fabric fills the room as you slip into the dress, adjusting the fit one last time. It’s daring, far more than anything you’ve ever worn before, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous. The black fabric clings to your curves, and the neckline plunges just enough to make you wonder if it’s too much.

But tonight’s supposed to be carefree, right? Just a party with Jungwon’s friends. You glance at the clock—he’s probably waiting for you. But as you take one last look at yourself, you hear the door creak open. Jungwon’s voice breaks the silence, and you turn to find Jungwon standing in the doorway, eyes locked on you.

His lips part as if he’s about to say something but hesitates. For a brief moment, his gaze softens, but you can’t ignore the way his jaw tightens. The room falls into an uneasy silence as he steps forward, his usual calm demeanor replaced with something sharper.

“Are you gonna wear that?” His voice is quiet, but there's an edge to it, something protective and possessive that you haven’t heard in a while.

You raise an eyebrow, half-amused, half-nervous. “What’s wrong, Wonnie?”

His gaze flickers to the dress again, and you can practically feel the weight of his thoughts as they shift from concern to frustration. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “It’s... a lot. Too revealing.”

You smile, though it's a little shaky, stepping closer to him. “Come on, love. It’s just a party. I want to have fun. You know I’m not doing this for anyone else.”

He doesn't seem convinced. Jungwon takes another step towards you, and you can sense the tension in his movements. His hand comes up, gently brushing over your arm, though it feels almost possessive, as if he’s making sure you’re still his.

“You know how people look at you, right?” His voice is lower now, almost a growl. “How they’ll look at you tonight. And I... I don’t like it.”

His gaze softens a little as he looks at your face, his voice taking on a quieter, more serious tone. “You’re mine, and I want to protect you.”

You can see the conflict in his eyes—on one hand, he wants you to feel confident and beautiful, but on the other, he’s struggling with the idea of anyone else seeing you the way he does. Jungwon’s always been calm, gentle even, but in moments like this, his protective side comes out in full force, and it’s overwhelming, yet undeniably endearing.

“I know you want to have fun,” he says, his voice softening, fingers tracing the fabric of your dress. “But I also don’t want you to be uncomfortable or feel like you’re being... ogled.”

His eyes darken just thinking about it. “It’s not fair to you.”

You step closer, placing your hands on his chest, trying to ease the tension you can feel radiating off of him. “I’m not uncomfortable. I promise. It’s just a dress, Jungwon.”

He exhales, still not fully convinced, but he seems to relax just a little when you look up at him, eyes soft and sincere. Jungwon’s hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline gently. “Just... promise me you won’t let anyone get too close. Alright?”

You laugh softly, leaning into his touch. “I promise. Now, can we go to the party before you keep me locked up in here all night?”

He smirks, a little less tense but still not fully letting go of the feeling that he needs to guard you. “Fine, but if anyone dares to cross the line...”

You chuckle, kissing him on the cheek before pulling away. “I’m yours, Jungwon. Always.”

With a final glance at your dress, Jungwon nods, but his hand lingers on your waist, pulling you into a protective embrace as the two of you head out. And even though he's trying to let you be free, you know his heart is right there with you—holding you close, looking out for you, as always.

| NISHIMURA RIKI ( 西村 力 )

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind made you pause, the fabric of your dress swishing softly as you adjusted the final touches. The evening air was crisp outside, and your dress felt daring—perhaps a little too daring for what you had in mind.

The anticipation of the party was building, but when you turned around to face him, the look on Ni-ki’s face stopped you in your tracks. His eyes were locked on you, and there was something about the way he stood that made the room feel heavier. His lips were pressed in a tight line, and his brows furrowed slightly as if he was trying to process something.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” His voice, usually so smooth, carried an edge. It was a simple question, but the way he asked it made you feel like you were under scrutiny.

You turned to face him, giving him a playful smile. “What’s wrong with it? Don’t you think I look good?”

Ni-ki took a step toward you, his gaze not leaving your dress for a second. “You look… stunning,” he said, but his tone wasn’t entirely approving.

His eyes were filled with a mix of admiration and something else, something that made you feel both flattered and a little uneasy. “But that dress... it’s too much.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Too much? It’s just a party, and you know I want to look good. It’s not like I’m going to a club or anything.”

He stepped closer, his presence making the air around you heavier. His hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“I don’t care if it’s a party. It’s not about that. It’s about other people seeing you like this.” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his possessiveness seeping through the words.

You swallowed, feeling the heat of his stare burn into you. You knew he was protective—Ni-ki had always been like that with you. But something about this moment, the way he was looking at you, made your stomach churn.

"Ni-ki," you said softly, your voice a little unsure. "I’m just going to have fun. It’s not like I’m trying to grab attention."

He shook his head, his hand moving from your cheek to your waist, pulling you gently towards him.

“It’s not about grabbing attention, princess,” he said, his voice low. “It’s about the fact that I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I do.”

You felt your heart race at the intensity in his eyes. His protective nature had always been comforting, but now it felt a little different. He wasn’t just protective. He was possessive, in a way that made you feel both cared for and slightly trapped.

“I don’t want anyone to think they can get close to you," he added, his hand sliding around to your back, his fingers pressing gently against the zipper. "This dress… it’s too revealing. People will look, and I don’t want them to think they have a right to look at you like that.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers through his hair, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the tension in the air. “I’m yours, Ni-ki. Only yours. No one else has a chance.”

His expression softened just slightly, but there was still that protective fire in his eyes. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“But sometimes, I need you to remember that too. You belong to me, and no one else is allowed to take that.”

With a sigh, you stepped back and grabbed the hem of your dress, pulling it down just a little. “Okay, okay. I’ll change it. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

Ni-ki relaxed at your words, nodding approvingly, though his eyes still held that possessive gleam.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice softening, though there was still an undercurrent of protectiveness in his tone. “Just… don’t wear anything like this again. Not when we’re around other people. You’re mine to protect.”

You smiled, letting him pull you back into his arms for one last hug before heading out. “I’ll remember that, Ni-ki.”

As you two walked toward the party, you felt the warmth of his hand tighten around yours, his protective gaze never leaving your side. In a way, it made you feel safe. And in another way, it made your heart race just a little faster.

[littelovelunette]

The War Trophy

Ambessa Medarda x War Trophy Wife!Reader

Contains suggestive themes, amab!Ambessa, virgin!r, bleeding from hymen breaking, slight nipple play, praising, breeding

A quiet afternoon. The birds were chirping and you were silent as you were guided into Ambessa Medarda's quarters. The marriage ceremony was extravagant according to you, you never even wanted it in the first place anyway.

Everything had crumbled, Piltover was reduced to ashes and rumble. You were forced to be her servant for a while before Ambessa expressed a certain… interest towards you. When you said you didn't feel the same way for her, the warlord said, “I don't care. All I require is your servitude and devotion.” as her fingers ran through your silky hair.

The marriage was a grand spectacle, a ceremony meant to showcase power rather than love. You were adorned in regal attire, your every movement dictated by tradition and expectation. Gold-lined fabrics, heavy jewelry, and a veil that felt more like a shroud weighed you down, but not as much as the knowledge that this was never your choice.

Ambessa stood tall beside you, exuding authority, her eyes filled with something unreadable—possession, perhaps, but never affection. The vows were spoken, though they felt hollow to you.

There was no warmth in her touch when she took your hand, only the firm grip of someone who had won a battle. That was all this was to her—a conquest. And as the celebration continued, the reality settled in: you weren’t a spouse.

You were a prize, a symbol of her dominance over the ruins of Piltover. But when the both of you were to kiss, your heart dropped but then Ambessa's hand slowly holding the back of your head grounded your sense of reality. Ambessa's lips felt so warm over yours and for a second it felt like real love.

After that fleeting moment, the warmth disappeared as quickly as it had come. The cheers of the onlookers echoed distantly in your ears, but you barely heard them. Ambessa pulled away first, her expression unreadable, though her grip on the back of your head lingered a second too long before she let you go.

She turned to the crowd, basking in the victory, while you stood frozen in place. That kiss—it had felt real, but was it?

Or had it simply been the mind’s desperate attempt to find comfort in something inescapable?

The night carried on in a blur of lavish celebrations, toasts in Ambessa’s name, and the heavy weight of expectation pressing down on your shoulders. Servants moved around you, ensuring you never had a moment alone, and when the festivities ended, you were guided to your new chambers— her chambers.

Ambessa was already there, sitting in a grand chair by the fire, golden armor set aside, leaving her in a silk red robe that draped loosely over her frame. She gestured for you to come closer, her gaze steady, unreadable.

"Do you know what your duty is now?" she asked, her voice even, as if she were discussing politics rather than the reality of your marriage. And in that moment, you knew—you were no longer just a servant, nor entirely a spouse. You were something in between, bound to her will, her presence, her desire.

“My duty.” You repeated in a whisper. “To please you?” You asked, voice a little more timid than you had initially intended.

Ambessa simply extended a hand towards your direction, silently commanding you to come closer to her. You did as it was asked of you.

“How do you feel, my love?” Ambessa's fingers rubbed on your crotch making you instinctively move away but then you corrected your motion by moving closer.

“I feel violated.” You whispered although a sick, twisted part in you wanted her to devour your body and mind both.

“Do you, now?” Ambessa cooed as her fingers hooked around the crotch of your panties from underneath your sheer dress. “See this wetness? You want me, don't you?” Ambessa looked up at you slowly, a slow smirk crossing her lips. You couldn't lie to yourself anymore, you slowly placed your hands on Ambessa's muscular shoulders tentatively.

“Please.” You pleaded aimlessly. “Please, make me feel good.”

A slow smirk spread on Ambessa's lips and she nodded, “Very well,” she pulled your panties down exposing your sleek wet pussy, “Strip. Lay down,” she gestured to the bed.

You nodded, stripping and stepped back to lay down on the bed with your legs spread, exposing your most sensitive part to the Noxian warlord. You would be lying if you said you weren't scared of what would happen now. Ambessa's big fingers held your pussy lips and gently parted them to see the small slit protected for so long.

A slow smile played at her lips, "You're a virgin, I see." Ambessa said in amusement before she let her robe fall to the ground revealing a huge, veiny cock underneath which was hard and twitchy. "You will bear my children, and serve your role as a wife to me. Do you understand?"

You nodded earning a tsk from the older woman. Her big hand grabbed your jaw, squishing your cheeks as she brought your face closer to her own to the point you could smell the wine on her hot breath. "I asked you a question. And when I ask you a question, you answer me with your tongue, child. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand." You stuttered out. "Very well." Ambessa pulled her hand back and palmed your breasts, turning and twisting your nipple between two fingers. Ambessa movements were slow and patient, you knew she'd take her time with you. You hesitated but wrapped your arms around Ambessa's neck, making her lean closer to you. Her scarred lips hovered over your smooth ones before slowly coming down.

The kiss this time was much more loving than the one shared during the wedding. It felt real. "I shouldn't." You thought. "She's forcing me to do this. I shouldn't." Your eyes were squeezed shut when you felt Ambessa squeeze your breasts, not too hard, not too soft— just the right bit. "But why am I enjoying this?" You thought, your indecisiveness was killing you.

"Ambessa." You spoke, your voice soft. "You can put it inside." Ambessa's golden eyes gazed up at you before slowly fluttering down to your lower parts. Wordlessly, Ambessa traced your pussy lips, parting them so she could place the tip of her cock against your slit.

"Are you ready, my love?" Ambessa asked, pushing slightly but not enough to drive her tip inside.

"Ready as I'll ever be." You murmured before spreading your legs a little more to accentuate your consent. You nipped at the side of Ambessa's neck making Ambessa chuckle. She slowly sunk in the tip of her cock making you whimper and throw your head back. "It's big."

"It's not even inside properly yet." Ambessa said, hands cradling your back and stroking the skin comfortingly. "It's okay. You can take it, my sweet virgin wife." "I'm scared." You admitted, hands locking around her a bit tighter than before.

"I know." Ambessa said, placing one big hand over your lower abdomen, "But you have to relax or this will hurt more than its supposed to when you lose your virginity." You knew she was right so you just nodded and took a deep breath before gesturing her to continue.

Slowly, Ambessa pushed her shaft inside causing your bottom lip to tremble. It wasn't excruciating but it definitely was some level of pain. Mainly just discomfort at being stretched out. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself.

Well, atleast losing your virginity wasn't as scary as some novel writers made it out to be. You heard Ambessa cuss and you lifted your head. "Mm..?" You looked and your heart dropped. Yeah, losing your virginity was a big deal now. Blood trickled out from your pussy when she pulled her length back. "Why's there blood?" You trembled.

"Because your hymen broke." Ambessa answered patiently. "But it's supposed to bleed so it's fine." Ambessa saw how you kept looking down to see how much blood was leaking, so she tilted your head up and gave you a brief kiss. "Shhh, angel, eyes on me, yeah? You're doing well so far. Tell me when I should move." Ambessa trailed open mouthed kisses down your neck, leaving to form a dark hickey making you moan.

"I think you can move now." You said after a bit, your hole fluttering around her. Ambessa gave you a last kiss before she started moving, gentle at the start before picking up a generic pace. You gasped with every thrust, eyes rolling back due to the pleasure of penetration. Your legs were soon to react, wrapping themselves around Ambessa as if you didn't want her to leave your hole.

You moaned out, saying, "Ambessa, please, it feels very good. You feel so good inside." "You feel great too, sweet wife." She kissed the mid column of your neck, moving to suck your nipples as she continued thrusting. Her pace wasn't something too fast or too rough. Slow and deep strokes were the perfect phrasing for it. You were so impossibly loud too, your own voice making you blush. "Ambessa." You moaned her name.

"Yes, my angel?" She smiled at you. She fucking smiled at you. You wanted to say something, something about how good her dick was inside you but this moment didn't call for inappropriate talk. It was love. Intimacy.

You buried your face in her neck. "I love you." Ambessa was taken aback. She'd expected anything but this, not that she was upset by it or anything. In fact, the brief love confession sounded so much more fitting given your position as her wife. At that moment, Ambessa didn't care that you were simply a war spoil— atleast that's what others saw. But in Ambessa's eyes, all she saw was an angel, a pure angel waiting to be tainted by her.

"I love you too, my queen." She whispered and you felt her twitch inside you. Your eyes widened a little. You hadn't expected her to reply to your confession with one of her own. But what shocked you was her member twitching inside. Was she about to—

A lewd sound escaped you when you felt her semen filling your pussy up. Your head was thrown back, neck exposed with hickeys and love bites littering every surface of it, nipples adorned with the distinctive bite mark of the warlord.

"I'm yours." You said before exhaustion overcame you.

Tags: @spookyyouthperson @fruitfulfashion @natashalance @superobservationdreamwitch @hell0-ki55y @chaosisclassy @tojisbestslut @iamaboringrattat @stmvivs @marcotucker99 @justhereforvibesxd @kati3snothere @flurryfro @whiterooses @gabriellaisthatyou @megamultifandomtrashposts @refl-ction @terez-004 @langedelalune @happysmappy @theluckymania

[paxtito]

make a mess, lioness

PAIRING - tara x g!p!reader (req) | WC - 3k

WARNINGS - smut. some oral sex (r receiving), orgasm denial, p in v, tara is a power bottom

A/N - i stayed up until 5am to finish this ☹️ questioning my life choices— but at least finished it before friday. yay.

You’re trying so damn hard to focus on the game, but Tara isn’t making it easy.

Her fingers brush over your thigh, light and teasing, barely there. “You always get this tense when I touch you?” she muses, her voice dipped in amusement.

You clear your throat, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’m trying to concentrate, Tara.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced. Instead, she shifts closer, pressing against your side, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re really bad at pretending this isn’t getting to you.”

Your grip on the Switch tightens. “You’re annoying.”

Tara just hums, sliding her hand up a little higher. “And yet… here you are, rock solid.”

You nearly choke. “Tara.”

She grins, smug as hell. “Yes?”

Before you can even think of a response, the bedroom door swings open.

“Jesus Christ—” Sam’s voice fills the room. “Do you two ever stop?”

Tara doesn’t move an inch. She just tilts her head, throwing her sister a look that’s far too innocent. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, right.”

You quickly hit pause, setting the Switch aside. Because let’s be real—Tara isn’t stopping anytime soon.

As soon as Sam walks out, you turn to Tara with a deadpan look. “For the record, I’m not even rock solid.”

Tara barely holds back a laugh, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh?” She leans in closer, fingers dancing up your arm. “Rock soft, then?”

You sigh. “Flaccid as hell.”

She snorts, finally breaking into laughter. “Damn. That bad, huh?”

“Tragic, really.” You shake your head, feigning disappointment. “You should work on your technique.”

Tara gasps, shoving you playfully. “Excuse me?”

You grin, picking your Switch back up. “Just saying.”

Tara huffs, crossing her arms. “Alright. Challenge accepted.”

You try to keep your focus on the game, but Tara isn't having it. In one smooth motion, she pulls the Switch right out of your hands and tosses it onto the bed. Before you can even protest, she's straddling your lap, knees bracketing your thighs, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders.

"I think you're distracted enough," she declares, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Her eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light of the TV, and her cheeks are flushed a soft pink.

"Tara..." you warn, but your voice comes out softer than intended. Your hands come up to rest on her waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin beneath her tank top. She's so warm, so soft.

Tara leans in closer, until her forehead is resting against yours, until you can feel the whisper of her breath against your lips. "What are you afraid of?" she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. "That I might actually make you feel something?" Her fingers dance along your collarbone, tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your ear.

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your ribs, the way your skin feels too tight and too hot. "I'm not afraid of anything," you say, but it sounds like a lie, even to your own ears.

Tara just smiles, a slow curve of her lips that's somehow both innocent and wicked all at once. "Good," she whispers, and then she's pressing her mouth to yours, and you can't think of anything at all.

Tara grins against your lips, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. She nips at your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp as she tilts your head back, deepening the kiss.

She takes her time, exploring your mouth like she's trying to memorize every inch of it. Her tongue traces the curve of your lips, the hard edge of your teeth, the soft cushion of your tongue.

When she finally pulls back, you're both breathing a little harder, your chests heaving against each other. She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "I can feel how much you want this, how much you want me. Don't try to deny it."

Her hand drifts down your chest, fingers splaying over your stomach, your ribs. She traces the lines of your muscles, the dips and curves of your body. Her touch is electric, setting your skin ablaze, making you ache for more.

"But I want to hear you say it," she murmurs, her voice a low purr in your ear. "I want to hear you beg for it, beg for me."

She rocks her hips against yours, a slow, deliberate grind that has you gritting your teeth, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. She's not even trying to hide how much she wants this, how much she wants you. And fuck, the way she's looking at you, like she wants to devour you whole... it's enough to make you forget your own name.

Tara grins wickedly as she feels you start to respond, your growing hardness pressing insistently against her core. She grinds down harder, relishing the way you gasp and tense beneath her. "There it is," she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I knew you couldn't resist forever."

She leans back slightly, looking down at you with a smug, triumphant smile. Her fingers dance along your chest, toying with the hem of your shirt. "Come on, baby," she coaxes, her voice a low, teasing lilt. "Don't be shy. I want to hear that pretty mouth of yours begging for what it needs."

You try to hold out, to maintain some semblance of control, but Tara isn't making it easy. She rolls her hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding down on your now fully hardened length. It's almost too much, the way she's touching you, teasing you, pushing you to the brink of desperation.

"Please..." you hear yourself whimper, hating the neediness in your own voice but unable to stop yourself. "Please, Tara..."

She hums, a sound of pure satisfaction, as she leans in closer. "Please what, baby?" she murmurs, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Tell me what you need. I want to hear you say it."

"Please, Tara..." you breathe out, your voice strained with need. "I need you. I need you so fucking much. Please, touch me... taste me... anything. Just please, don't make me wait anymore." The words spill out of you in a desperate rush, all thoughts of holding back forgotten. You're completely at her mercy now, ready and willing to beg for whatever she wants to give you.

As Tara moves off of you, you feel a pang of disappointment, of loss at the absence of her warmth and weight in your lap. But that feeling quickly turns to awe and desire as she starts to undress.

She pulls her tank top up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. She's not wearing a bra underneath, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her bare breasts. They're perfect, and you can't look away as she reaches for the button of her shorts.

Slowly, teasingly, she pops the button and drags the zipper down, revealing a sliver of skin inch by tantalizing inch. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and her panties, and with a wicked little grin thrown your way, she tugs them down and steps out of them, leaving her completely bare.

Your mouth goes dry, your heart pounding against your ribs as you take in every inch of exposed skin, every curve and line of her body. She's stunning, a work of art, and the sight of her standing there, unashamed and unapologetic in her nudity, makes your cock throb almost painfully against the confines of your jeans.

As Tara crawls back onto the bed, your pulse races. She kneels between your spread legs, her bare skin brushing against your jeans-clad thighs, sending sparks of electricity shooting up your spine. Your breath catches as she reaches for your fly, her fingers undoing the button and dragging down the zipper with a low, deliberate hiss.

She doesn't say a word, but her eyes speak volumes as they meet yours, dark and smoldering with lust. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your boxers, and you lift your hips instinctively, allowing her to tug them down and off. The cool air hits your heated skin, and you hiss at the contrast, your cock springing free, hard and aching and already leaking at the tip.

Tara wraps her hand around the base of your shaft, stroking it once, twice, before slapping the swollen head against her tongue, smearing the bead of precum that's already leaked from the tip. The sensation is electric, sending a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, and you can't help but groan at the feeling of her wet, warm muscle against you.

She holds your gaze as she does it again, and then again, each slap of your cock against her tongue sending waves of heat coursing through you. She's looking at you with pure, unadulterated desire, her eyes hooded and dark, her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink. She's enjoying this, enjoying the power she has over you, the way she can reduce you to a needy, desperate mess with just a touch and a look.

She parts her lips, her tongue darting out to lick a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of your shaft, from base to tip. She swirls her tongue around the head, lapping up the precum that's leaking steadily now, before taking you into her mouth, just the tip at first, her lips sealing around you like a tight, wet heat. 

She suckles gently, her cheeks hollowing as she takes you deeper, inch by inch, until you feel the head of your cock hitting the back of her throat. She holds you there for a moment, her throat constricting around you, before pulling back and starting all over again, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every second.

Tara takes you deep, her nose pressing against your pelvis as she swallows around your length, her throat a tight, rippling heat. She holds you there, keeping you suspended on the brink of ecstasy, refusing to let you tip over the edge. 

After long, agonizing moments, she pulls back, releasing your cock with a lewd pop. Before you can catch your breath, she's crawling up your body, straddling your hips, and grinding her bare, slick folds against your shaft.

“God….”

"Don't you dare come until I do," she warns, her voice a low, breathless rasp. She rocks against you, coating your length in her arousal, using it to slide herself along your cock with shameless abandon. "I want to feel you throbbing inside me when I let go. I want you to fill me up, baby. Can you do that for me?"

Tara moves off of you abruptly, leaving your aching cock throbbing and bare, slick with her saliva and arousal. Before you can protest the sudden loss of contact, she flips onto her back on the bed, spreading her legs wide. She's glistening, swollen and ready, her pink folds just begging to be filled. Tara crooks a finger at you, a wicked grin playing on her kiss-swollen lips.

"Come here," she purrs, her voice dripping with lust. "Fill me up like you promised, baby." She reaches down to spread herself open with her fingers, revealing the tight, clenching entrance of her pussy. "Hurry up and give it to me."

You move over Tara with a whimper that turns into a low, almost feral growl as you settle between her spread thighs. You line yourself up with her entrance, the head of your cock nudging against her slick, swollen folds, and with one hard thrust, you bury yourself inside her to the hilt.

Tara lets out a small cry, her back arching off the bed as you fill her completely. She's so tight, so hot and slick and perfect, her walls clenching down around you like some sort of trap. You have to grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the sheets to keep from coming right then and there.

"Fuck, yes," Tara hisses, her nails raking down your back, leaving red lines in their wake.

Tara's hands move to your ass, gripping the firm globes tightly as she guides your movements. She urges you on, pulling you harder and deeper into her with each powerful thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with both you and Tara's moans.

"Yes, just like that," she pants, her hips rolling to meet yours, taking you impossibly deep. "Harder, baby. Fuck me harder." Her nails dig into your ass, no doubt leaving crescent-shaped indents in your skin, marking you as hers.

You comply, pouring all of your pent-up desire and lust into each forceful, driving thrust. The bed creaks and shakes beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as you lose yourself in the heat and tightness of Tara's body. She's like a drug, and you're addicted, craving more and more of her with each passing second.

After a while, you feel your release approaching, your hips starting to move erratically as you near the edge. A desperate whine escapes your lips, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as you try to hold back, to delay the inevitable.

"Please..." you beg, your voice strained and high-pitched. "Tara, I can't... I'm going to..."

"No," she snaps, cutting off your pleas. She squeezes her legs around your waist, holding you deep inside her as she grinds her hips against yours, chasing her own pleasure. "Not until I do. Don't you dare come before me."

She's ruthless, focused solely on her own climax, using your body to bring herself closer and closer to the brink. Her walls flutter and clench around you, and you know she's getting close, but she refuses to let you find your own release until she's satisfied.

You grit your teeth, trying desperately to hold back, to keep yourself from falling over the edge. Your hips jerk and stutter, your thrusts becoming sloppy and uneven as you fight to keep control. Lewd, choked sounds spill from your throat - whimpers, whines, and groans as you struggle to do as Tara demands.

"Please..." you pant, sweat dripping down your face and back as you continue to move over her. "Tara, I can't... I'm trying... but you feel so good..."

She just shakes her head, her eyes squeezing shut as she loses herself in the sensation of your body against hers, your length stirring her insides. She's close, so close.

"Touch me," Tara demands, her voice urgent and breathless. "Rub my clit, baby. Make me come."

She reaches down and pulls your hand up between her legs, pressing your fingers against her swollen, throbbing clit. It's slick and hot, and slick with her arousal. She rubs your fingers against it in tight, quick circles, her hips bucking up into your touch.

"Don't stop," she pants, her eyes squeezing shut as she grinds herself against your hand, against your still-throbbing cock buried deep inside her. "Keep going, just like that. Fuck, I'm so close..."

"Please, Tara," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. Your hips jerk and stutter, your length pulsing and throbbing inside her as you struggle to hold back your impending release. "Please, I need to come. I can't... I can't hold back anymore."

Tara just shakes her head, gritting her teeth as she grinds herself against your hand, chasing her own pleasure. "Not yet," she grits out, her voice strained. "Don't you dare come until I do. I'm so fucking close, baby. Just a little more, please..."

With a sharp cry, Tara's body goes rigid, her back arching off the bed as her climax crashes over her. Her inner walls clench down around you like a vice, rippling and pulsing as wave after wave of pleasure consumes her.

"Fuck, yes!" she groans, her fingers digging into your wrist, holding your hand firmly against her spasming sex. Her hips jerk and shudder, grinding herself against you, prolonging her intense orgasm.

"Come," Tara demands breathlessly, her voice ringing in your ears as she rides out the aftershocks of her intense climax. "Come inside me, baby. Now."

With Tara's permission and the feeling of her still fluttering walls, you finally let go. Your hips jerk forward one last time as your orgasm overtakes you, your length pulsing and throbbing as you empty yourself deep inside her. You groan long and low, your body shaking with the force of your release.

"Fuck, Tara!" you grunt, your vision going white as sparks of pleasure burst behind your eyelids. Your cock twitches and jerks inside her as you fill her up, just like she demanded, your hot seed painting her walls.

You collapse on top of Tara, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking. Your softening length remains nestled inside her, plugging her up, as the last spurts of your release dribble out. Tara wraps her arms around you, holding you close, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your sweat-slicked back.

"That was... incredible," she murmurs, her voice still breathless and sated. She tilts her head up to press a soft, languid kiss to your jaw. "You did so good, baby. I'm so proud of you for holding out until I was ready."

After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, you carefully pull out of Tara, both of you wincing slightly at the sensation. You collapse onto the bed next to her, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Tara rolls onto her side, curling up against you, her head pillowed on your chest.

You reach for your Switch, picking it up and turning it back on. The game loads, the characters frozen on the screen in the exact moment Tara interrupted your gaming session. You glance down at her, taking in her satisfied, contented smile and the flush still dusting her cheeks.

Tara looks up at you curiously as you fiddle with the Switch. "What are you doing, baby?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbow to get a better look.

"Just... getting back to the game," you mumble, pressing buttons and navigating menus. "I don't want to lose all my progress."

Tara rolls her eyes but can't help grinning. "Seriously? We just had mind-blowing sex and you're worried about some stupid game?"

“Mhm.”

[clockwayswrites]

Mx. Minx: ch2 p3

You all voted yesterday, so Minx is back! masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

Danny pushed the shirt up and off in one motion. There was the sharp hiss of a breath. Jason closed his eyes.

“Oh Boss, they really did a number, didn’t they?” Danny crooned.

“Sometimes it’s easier to take a hit than dodge,” Jason replied.

“I know.”

Jason hated that Danny knew.

“I’ve got some amazing bruise cream though,” Danny continued. “And luckily none of these have split so we can just do that. Sorry that it’s going to be a bit cold, but I’ll warm it up if I can.”

Jason hummed to show that he heard, but he didn’t talk. He was too afraid that if he talked, he would break the spell in place that was keeping Danny from mentioning all the other scars that lined Jason’s body. He heard a jar open, Danny moving, and then cool cream and hands pressed against his sides. A shudder of a shiver ran through him and then relief. Jason sighed and let his head drop back against the couch.

“Told you it was good,” Danny said smugly. “I took a recipe that another working girl had and tweaked it this through a lot of trial and error. Next time I make some, I’ll make you up a pot too.”

“I won’t turn that down.” Jason wondered if he could even get the recipe. It beat the stuff in the Batcave, which was really saying something, and easily beat the stuff Jason used when he hadn’t raided a Bat safe house recently.

“That’s because you’re not an idiot,” Danny said. “At least not most of the time.”

Jason gave an incredulous little snort. He got no respect in his own damn area.

Just about every other inch of his torso had been dealt with when Danny’s hands finally touched the autopsy scar. Jason flinched. He couldn’t help it.

No one touched it.

“Does this still hurt?” Danny asked, which was an easier question than any of the ones that Jason had been fearing.

“Only in my head,” Jason answered too honestly.

“Okay.” Danny leaned back and started to clean up. “I don’t have anything that will fit you, so you’ll have to go shirtless or put your old one on. If you leave it off, I can toss it in the wash.”

Jason finally opened his eyes and blinked up at the hideous popcorn ceiling and the pink neon like that raked across it. “Wash it, I guess, if you have a dryer too.”

“Yep. First big splurge was to get the units put in,” Danny said. “They’re stuffed in the kitchen, but at least I have them, you know?”

Jason did. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Open up the blue thing, it’s a pill container. Everything’s labeled so take some pain meds, okay?” Danny ordered.

The trash and Jason’s shirt went to the kitchen while Jason did as he was told and tossed back some Advil along more of the drink. Again, Jason was left feeling weird about nudity. He didn’t mind at all being shirtless, other than his scar being out, but there was something oddly intimate about it there in Danny’s apartment.

“Will you be ready to eat or do you need to sit a bit?” Danny asked, interrupting Jason’s thoughts.

Jason shook his head. “No, food would be good. Can I help get it ready?”

Danny tilted his head before shrugging. “Sure. Cabinet to the left of the sink there’s the bowls and stuff. Silverware is in the drawer. You can missing the serving spoons on the counter.”

“Got it,” Jason said and headed through the opening to the kitchen.

It was a tiny room. Two walls were taken up by the cabinets and appliances. Danny’s table, which had only two chairs, was pushed into the corner against the same wall as the door. The only window was over the sink. Despite that, the room felt almost blindingly bright with the pastel pink cabinets, blond butcher block counters, and minty walls.

Or maybe it was the discoball that hung over table that made things blinding.

(Jason tried not to be too distracted by it, he had a job to do.)

Everything was right were Danny had said it would be and he indeed could not miss the old ceramic pot crammed full of spatulas, serving spoons, and the like, so Jason got everything out before he opened the rice cooker to check if it was done. It seemed good enough, so he made a bed of it in the bottom of the bowls. The lid to the crockpot came off next and the small space filled with the smell of spices, meat, stewed vegetables.

“Not bad for barely any work, is it?” Danny asked as he appeared in the kitchen.

“Pretty damn amazing,” Jason corrected as he spooned the goulash like mix over the rice.

“I have water, tea, or some craft beers,” Danny said, arm resting on the fridge door as he frowned into it.

“Water’s fine.”

“Ice?”

“Nah.”

It took a bit of shuffling around each other to get everything and themselves to the table, but nothing spilled so Jason figured it worked. And the food was damn good.

“Thanks,” Jason said, head bent over his bowl. Thanks for the help. The food. The meds. Thanks for caring.

“Anytime, Hood, anytime.”

[nonville]

⟡ ׅ non speaks! i blacked out and wrote 2k+ ... nsfw ahead. three shots for pussy enthusiast hyuck! for the anon that asked what it would be like if he came on to reader! enjoy～

office assistant!hyuck is... well. the best word to describe him is greedy. greedy for your attention, greedy for your approval, greedy for your time. he scowls behind the backs of the people who hit on you before plastering on a smile when they turn around and see him. he hates when he's talking you about work and someone butts in to ask you for a quick favor. the worst of them all has to be your boss—all saggy skin and a few weeks shy of decrepit—and he's so shameless about the way he ogles your legs when you choose to wear skirts. if looks could kill, the company would have one-fourth of its staff remaining.

you've been somewhat entertaining his... advances. particularly the instance of getting him off underneath your desk—you'd learned he loved being edged, gagged, and then overstimulated all within the better part of two hours. it's a bit thrilling. his overzealous interest in you makes you feel good. being so overtly desired by someone else. someone... younger.

you're already threading the line of an hr meeting. so you keep the public affection to a minimum and chalk it up to cuteness aggression and his already known adoration for you. even if he has to shift in his seat every ten minutes to hide his boner every time you so much as smiled at him.

it all comes to a head when your boss flirts with you grossly again. hands on your lower back, a sleazy grin oozing with ill intentions, and the most disgusting way you've ever heard a man ask anyone out. you're so shocked you can't even come up with an answer, and before you do, donghyuck finally buts in.

"sorry to interrupt." his voice startles you. when you look towards him, the smile on his face is stretched impossibly thin. "i don't understand something in one of the databases and i need my supervisor's help. if you don't mind."

your boss frowns, disgruntled, but you're already tuned out of the conversation. "it must be important if such a diligent worker is confused, then," you take the outing with stride, offering an barely apologetic smile to your boss before parting ways.

donghyuck's smile is nothing but cheshire-like when he agrees, nodding like the cat that got the cream. he prattles off a long enough excuse that makes the older man disinterested in sticking around, and you watch him watch your boss stalk off dejectedly. when he turns to face you, your smile is knowing.

his face immediately flushes. but instead of allowing you to poke fun at him, he blurts out a 'have dinner with me' before you can get a word out. it surprises you. you think it surprises him, too, with the way he gets impossibly redder.

and... it wasn't like you were doing anything after work this week. but you can't resist—"are you asking me out?"

it's teasing. lighthearted fun. nothing you haven't before in a joking manner. this time though, his expression looks a bit too serious for someone with an office crush. or whatever the two of you were doing.

"if you want it to be a date, it's a date."

—

you don't even make it to the parking lot.

he's unusually quiet as the day draws to an eventual close, watching you make your rounds and say goodbye to the people that walked by your desk. like hours earlier, his stare bores holes into your skin the more you move around and interact with the people around you. soon enough, it's just you and him on the floor.

you hum as you pack your things for the night, already thinking about the plans you'd make with the younger for this 'date'. you can finally justify buying those shoes from two week ago, maybe pair it with something classy and sleek if the two of you end up somewhere high end—

a warm hand rests on your lower back as your clearing your desk. it makes you pause, looking back to see... oh.

he's not even looking at you. his gaze is glued to the swell of your ass in your skirt, lips parted and cheeks tinged pink. both hands now move to hold your waist, sliding behind you before he lets out a shaky exhale.

"i've been good," he murmurs lowly, and your stomach takes a sharp nosedive at how deep his voice sounds. his movements become a little more frantic, his grip tightening. "right? i've been really, really good. but i can't hold back anymore. 'm sorry. i want you so bad."

his hips press against your ass and you finally feel the swell of his growing erection. your sharp hiss of surprise is answered by a whine near your ear, his chest pressed against your back as you prop your arms up against the table. "please? just wanna feel you. just this once? only once. won't ask again, i promise—"

you hush him before he accidentally alerts anyone else about your presence. the lights on the floor are dimmed, giving his flushed face a half glow. he has been good. one of your best assistants in a long while, really—why not indulge him a little?

the sound of you hiking your skirt up makes him moan lowly, desperate hands helping you tug the material up to your waist. the sight of your panties makes him choke. thighs pressed together, the outline of your pussy seen through the fabric. before you can even offer to get him ready, your chest is pressed against your desk, his cock sliding between the gap of your thighs.

"every night i fuck my fist thinking about you." the confession makes your eyes widen, your gasp making him laugh shakily. he thrusts into the shallow space and shudders at the friction your panties cause against his skin, hips beginning to rut against your ass at a growing pace. "sta-ahh-started when you smiled at m-me on my first day."

he doesn't even give you a moment to process that information, panting lowly into your ear as his hips move faster. "you were sooohh nice to me. and it made me hard. it made me s-so hard. would fuck my hand over a-and over thinking about how your pussy would feel on my cock, didya know?"

you're leaking. the slide between your legs becoming easier with a mix of precum and your arousal, donghyuck moaning in your ear everytime he feels your pussy clench through the now sheer and glossy fabric. "can feel how bad you want it, too. nobody else in the office gets to see—fuck me—gets to see this pussy but me. it's mine."

the possessiveness in his voice makes you shudder, squeezing your thighs together. his answering whimper is like a reward. you're sure you'll feel the weight of his grip for days after. his cock his heavy between your thighs, the glide slick and smooth, and when you look down—the bulbous head peeks through the gap and spurts out precum with each thrust. your clit feels like it's on fire. never before have you felt so empty.

clawing out through your own cloud of arousal, your voice is like music to his ears when you begin to whisper sweet words of praise. his hands wrestle with your shirt, popping buttons as he wrangles his way underneath to fabric to grope and squeeze your chest. his moan is louder that yours, burrowing his face into your neck.

"that's it," you hum softly, pressing your ass back on him in time with his thrust. the strangled sound against your neck makes you smile. "feels good, right?"

his drawn out whine of yes is cut in half by a hiccup, sniffling back—is he crying? desire hits your stomach like a shot, clenching yet again. he lets out a garbled moan, hips stuttering. "good—so good, don't wanna stop, wanna stay here f-forever! fuck, please, please—"

it takes a moment before you realize he's begging for permission, inhaling sharply before matching his pace once again. "go on and cum, baby. you deserve it. you've been so good."

you learn he bites when he cums. not hard enough to hurt, but you still hiss when you feel teeth against your shoulder as cum soaks your panties. a hoarse moan is muffled against your skin as his hips jerk. there's so much of it. his cock twitches madly between your legs. cum seeps into your panties and runs down your thighs, the mess just narrowly avoiding your desk.

he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling incoherent words against your skin as his hands slide from your chest all the way down to your underwear. the rough pad of his fingers against your wet skin makes you jolt—unable to stop yourself from bucking into his palm as he rubs his fingers against your entrance. every part of your body feels charged.

"you didn't get to cum?" he pouts when you shake your head, lips then parting around a moan when his fingers begin to toy with your clit. tight circles that nearly make your knees buckle from the sudden onslaught of pleasure. you can already feel him getting hard again. "can i—wanna taste.."

you blink and you're splayed out on to your desk, skirt hiked up even further. desire makes your ears sing as your beloved assistant stares down at your spread legs like it'll be his last meal. his hands fumble with your ruined panties, brows furrowing as the offending material refusing to let go of your soaked mound, tugging and tugging and tugging until—riiip!

you gape at him as the sound of fabric being torn to shreds fills the air. but you don't even have time to process even the cold air that makes your shiver for less than a second, his mouth settling on your clit and sucking like a man starved. you're thighs clamp around his thighs as you shudder, his hands fumbling to squeeze around his girth as his cock twitches a mile from the taste and sight of you. his eyes roll back as you use him, stiffening the wet muscle as you drag your pussy over his mouth.

each time your clit catches on his nose, pleasure zips up your spine like an electric current. it's maddening how good it feels. he switches back and forth between fucking his tongue inside of you and sucking your clit between pink lips, humming everytime you cry out in pleasure.

your voice slurs when you speak. "feels guh-good, baby, you're so good—" his eyes flutter open at the praise, darkened eyes meeting your from between your thighs. "mnngh—gonna m-make me—cum!"

how was it that the boy between your legs was the first time you've succumbed to pleasure so maddeningly quick? he ate pussy like it was his god-given purpose on the earth to do so, moaning and watching your expressions to drive you over the edge with a startling quickness. you don't ever think you've wanted to cum so badly before. it's exhilarating. it's fucking enlightening. it's-it's—

your hips stutter as your orgasm crashes into your without warning, all the air wooshing out of your lungs as your body locks up and bows off the table. you think you even see heaven for a split second—spots of white clouding your vision before your legs lock around his head again you cum. hard.

the momentary air loss to his head makes his own hips stutter, squeezing around his base as he licks and sucks at your pussy to get allll the sweet juice you offer. his head is cloudy, like he's floating above his own body, his anchor the sound of your sobs as your thread your hand through sweat tousled hair and tug. his vision whites out as well, coming back to thick white ropes of cum splattered against the tiled floor.

panting is the only thing heard for a while. you look down to see him nuzzling into your inner thigh, eyes fluttered shut as he catches his breath. the sight tugs at your heartstrings, moving to sit up on shaking arms. he lets out a soft sound of confusion when you motion for him to stand up, his cock half spent and leaking on your tight when he moves to stand between your legs.

the kiss your share is hilariously innocent compared to the double orgasm the two of you had just shared. he flushes bright red when you pull away, chasing your mouth for another. you oblige, and you kiss until you can feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones. still, ever insatiable after finally getting a taste of what he'd been longing for months over, you feel his cock twitch and get harder the more you kiss him. when you part again for the second time, his pupils are dilated, his expression dazed.

"wanna go again." he blurts out the confession with jumbled speech, hands pawing at your thighs again. "know i said just once b-but you tastesogood, 'n i just wanna—just wanna, mmmnn, i wanna taste—"

he's so greedy. but after he sucks another orgasm from the sopping mess between your thighs, moaning a promise to really take you to dinner around time between your fold, something akin to fondness builds a nest next to your growing desire for him.

[brattyspence]

memory serves | s.reid

summary: in which spencer is keenly aware of all the little details. based on request from anon.

word count: > 600

tags: fluffy as fuck, smut adjacent, giggly reader, minor teasing, reader has freckles/birthmarks, spencer is a little shit

a/n: this one is a little self indulgent sorry not sorry. anon sorry this took 87 year i hope u like it <3

masterlist

Spencer has always been patient. 

Maybe too much so. He’s damn near obsessive sometimes. It never ceases to please you, even when it frustrates you. 

From your position, it’s like you can see him tick. His eyes are busy scanning every inch of exposed skin like it’s all new to him, although that’s far from the truth. You don’t understand his need to take his time and be patient. With your back against the sheets, legs carefully draped around his body as he stands over the edge of the bed, you’re not sure you could show him that you’re any more eager if you tried. 

His hands are somewhere under the hem of your shirt, trailing soft fingertips along your skin in a way that toes the line between welcome and teasing. Goosebumps rise in their wake, leaving you simultaneously shivering while burning up in need of something else. When you decide you’ve had enough, you grab onto his hand, tugging him down over you in hopes to move him along. 

“Eager,” he smiles. 

“Not eager,” you protest. “You just like to take your time. Maybe too much.”

“Lots to take in. Can’t miss any details.”

A slight giggle is stifled by another kiss to the corner of your mouth, which turns into two and then three trailing their way along your jaw. 

“Okay, eidetic memory. We get it,” you hum. “You can just take my shirt off.”

He laughs softly, more of a slight huff of air than anything. The feeling tickles your skin and makes you shift under his touch. 

“If my memory stands correctly, which it does, that means you have new freckles.” 

“You don’t memorize my freckles.”

When he pulls away this time, his face hovering mere centimeters above yours, it’s almost like he’s offended. 

“Of course I do.”

“Spencer,” you giggle. 

“I do,” he nods. The hand previously cupping your head slides up to your cheek instead. “These are permanent. But it’s summer, which means sun, and so these are all new.”

You scrunch your nose for a moment as you feel his thumb run across your cheek, first on one spot and then over another. Suddenly, it’s much harder to tease him when he’s being so sickeningly sweet.

“If you say so.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t done. You also have freckles here–” another kiss to your jawline, “two here, actually–” a kiss to your shoulder, “and one here,” he places one final kiss over your stomach. 

“You missed a few.” 

“I was getting there. We could go into detail, but since you’re so impatient…” One hand tucks itself under your knee, drawing your leg upwards. “I’ll just remind you of my favorite.” 

Before you can respond, he places another kiss against the fabric of your jeans, right along your inner thigh, exactly over the birthmark that hides there. You can’t hide the way your cheeks flush from the attention.

“You’re so weird,” you smile. Your hands find their home back in his hair, guiding his return back to you.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he replies. “I have freckles memorized that you don’t even know about.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm,” he nods. His hand makes its way back to your waist, softly guiding the fabric of your shirt up and out of his way. “I can finish pointing them all out to you, if that would make you happy.”

He waits for the witty remark, or the teasing comment. This time, though, you only pause for a moment and nod before tugging off your shirt the rest of the way, tossing it aside on the bed.

dividers by @esote-rika

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Amazing Pitt fanfiction! Thoughts on maybe Robby and an old fling from med school winding up in the Pitt? I’m all about the angst!

thank uuuuu!! did a little spin on it and added an ER reference! hope you enjoy!

Second Shift

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinivitch

Summary: You and Dr. Robby were once inseparable—two brilliant, wildly competitive med students who fell in love between rotations and sleepless nights at Cook County General. But that was years ago. He went to Pittsburgh. You stayed in Chicago. And that was that. Until now. You’ve just been offered the department head role at a top trauma center in Pittsburgh. And on your first day, you finally realize why the offer sounded so familiar.

You should’ve put it together sooner.

The trauma center in Pittsburgh. The opening in the surgical department. The vague mention in the offer letter of a “well-established trauma attending with seniority.”

But you didn’t. Not until you walked through the automatic doors of The Pitt, stepped into the hallway, and ran face-to-face into him.

Dr. Robby.

Older. Still sharp around the eyes. Still annoyingly unreadable. Still the man who once fell asleep on your shoulder in the med school library after pulling a thirty-six hour shift—who once kissed you in the supply closet between rounds and whispered, “Don’t fall in love with me,” like he didn’t already know you had.

You both froze.

His gaze dropped to your badge, flicked back up to your eyes.

“You’re the new chief of surgery.”

You exhaled slowly. “You’re still terrible at hellos.”

He didn’t smile. Not really. But there was a flicker of something familiar in his expression—something halfway between curiosity and regret.

He stared at you for a long moment. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

You stared back longingly, taking all his features. “I didn’t realize I had to.”

And then you were paged. He nodded once and the shift began.

It was awkward as hell.

Consults were sharp, clipped, too professional. He stood just a little too straight when you were in the room. You kept your notes a little too neat.

He referred to you as “Doctor” like the word burned his tongue. You didn’t call him anything at all.

And yet—You still noticed the way his hand brushed against yours as you reached for the same chart. He still waited for you to finish speaking before jumping in, even when he disagreed. You still caught him watching you as you examined a post-op trauma case. He still leaned in just a fraction too close when he passed you in the hallway.

Like muscle memory. Like nothing had ever changed.

By the time your shift ended, your shoulders ached from the weight of it—of old tension, of unspoken things.

You turned down the hallway toward the staff elevators, just wanting to make it to your car before you fell apart—

“Wait.”

His voice behind you.

You turned. Slowly.

Robby stepped toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

“What changed?” he asked. “You wouldn’t leave Chicago for anything. You—” He paused, jaw tightening. “You wouldn’t leave for me.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Sharp.

You swallowed. “That was a long time ago.”

“You came to my hospital.”

“I didn’t know it was yours.”

His eyes darkened. “You didn’t know it was me? Not once in the interview? In the paperwork? Pittsburgh didn’t set off any alarms?”

You exhaled. “I knew I was following a ghost. I just didn’t think it’d still be you.”

That stopped him. For a second, he looked almost — hurt.

“Why now?” he asked. Quiet. But firm. “Why Pittsburgh?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. He was older. Sharper. The lines on his face deeper. But the way he looked at you — that hadn’t changed.

“Because it’s been long enough,” you said, voice softer now. “Because Chicago didn’t feel like home anymore. Because every hospital started to feel the same. And maybe…”

He tilted his head. “Maybe what?”

You hesitated. Then stepped in. Close. Close enough to smell the soap on his hands, the exhaustion in his shoulders.

“Maybe I was done running.”

A breath caught in his throat. “You left me.”

“I stayed,” you corrected. “You were the one who took the offer and left.”

“I asked you to come with me.”

“I asked you to wait.”

The air between you crackled.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Robby,” you whispered.

“I don’t either,” he said, hoarse now. “But you’re here. And if there’s even the smallest chance…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to. You leaned up. Pressed your lips to his — soft, certain, final. He froze for half a second. Then kissed you back.

When you pulled away, your voice was low. Steady. “Pick me up Friday. Eight o’clock.”

He blinked, stunned.

You gave him a faint smile and turned to walk away, calling over your shoulder—“We can talk all night.”

And just like that, you finally left Chicago behind.

[222col]

i need bimbo!reader with patrick zweig🧎🏻‍♀️

bimbo!reader x fwb!patrick zweig

summary: patrick can't stand to watch another minute of the movie you've forced him to watch, he has other things in mind

cw .ᐟ nsfw, f oral, facesitting

꒰ notes ꒱ had this one sitting in my drafts hehe, hope u luv <3

you'd be patrick's worst nightmare if you weren't such a good fuck. he hates everything about you, until it comes down to it. that whiny voice, that stupid pout that gets boys falling at your feet— he hates it all. always forcing him to carry your bags, stopping every five minutes to take pictures of you, never letting him choose where you go. he hates it.

"turn this shit off," he groans, the two of you squeezed into your twin-sized dorm bed watching some movie that patrick would never even heard the name of if you hadn't have put it on. "no," you grumble, arms folded over your chest, eyes glued on the screen in front of you. "m'not watching that shit."

"hmph—" that fucking pout, the scrunch of your nose, patrick wants to slap the look off your face. the tv screen goes black as patrick tosses the remote to the foot of the bed. "you are such a fuckin' brat." he murmurs, shaking his head before turning to look at you.

his hand forces itself under your t-shirt, groping at your chest, chuckling as you gasp at his suddenness. "patrick!" you murmur, pulling at his wrist to remove his hand. "c'mon, princess, don't ya wanna suck my cock?" his words were filthy, they always were when talking to you. he didn't care for formalities when it came to you.

"ugh, no," you mumble, pushing him back by his wrist. he knew full well you were lying, you were just too fuckin' prissy to admit to something so vulgar. "let me eat you out then." he smirks, pushing his messy curls back.

biting back your giggles as you gently nod your head, unable to stop them as patrick rushes to shimmy the boxers of his you had on down your legs. his curls tickle the insides of your thighs whilst patrick's tongue licks a line up through your folds, hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face.

patrick's always sloppy when he goes down on you, all slobber and spit, making out with your cunt like it's his last meal. his tongue plunges in and out of you, rubbing his nose back and forth over your clit. hand clutching at his hair, your sharp manicured nails digging into his scalp causing a ripple of moans to vibrate on your heat from patrick.

huffing at the loss of contact when patrick suddenly pulls his face away, looking up at you with his blown out blue eyes, chin slick with your wetness. "d'you wanna sit on my face?" patrick smirks as he peppers kisses to the inside of your thigh, still looking up at you through his lashes.

"o-okay," you hum, nodding slowly. it wasn't that you'd never done it before, just not with patrick. he quickly maneuvers on the bed, laying next to you, patiently waiting.

tentatively shuffling your body to position yourself over his face, knees either side of his head as you slowly lower yourself down. hands tangled through his hair, patrick's grip returning around your thighs. his tongue meets your cunt again, lifting his head up from the pillow to meet your heat.

"stop goin' easy on me," he mumbles into your folds, pulling you by the thighs further down onto his face, forcing more of your weight onto him. tongue darting in and out of you again, his nose bumping your clit as he does. "princess, ride my fucking face." he orders, words muffled against you whilst his eyes meet yours from below you.

a soft blush on your cheeks at his words, but you slowly start to do as instructed. your hips moving tantalisingly slowly against his face, hands spread against the wall in front of you in attempt to balance yourself, still hovering slightly. patrick groans into your sex once he feels you grinding over his nose. his hands begin to guide your pace, whilst further pulling your weight onto him. fully forced down now, any space between the two of you completely gone.

patrick's smiling into you when your pace increases, feeling you start to let go, allowing yourself to fully use his face, just as he wants you to. moans leaving your lips as you lean back slightly, one hand reaching behind you to slip into patrick's boxers. pumping his hardness as you fuck your hips against his face, only causing more muffled groans to vibrate through your clit.

his tongue flicks over your bundle of nerves, before flattening it underneath you, allowing you grind your way towards orgasm. patrick's hands reach up your body, groping at your chest whilst his own hips buck up into your touch. his fingers pinching at your pebbled nipples, pornographic moans falling into the room from your lips.

patrick soaks up every drop of your release as you ride his face through your orgasm, your hand slipping from his boxers to pull at the messy curls on his head. knees weak as you slide from his face back to your position next to him. his face slick with your juices, a fucked-out smile across his face as he wipes his chin on the back of his hand.

"'bout that blowjob then?" he smirks, only to be met with a swift pillow to the face. "fuck off, wanna finish my movie."

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Can I request a Telemachus x reader smut? Specifically after the slaughter of the suitors while Odysseus and Penelope reunite. Hehe thank you!!

A/n: YES! He's such a cutie.

Warnings: p in v , telemachus is covered in blood, telemachus dirty talks ( this man letting out his years of frustrations on you 👀)

The halls of your home still reek of blood and vengeance. The air is heavy with smoke from overturned torches, and the cries of dying men still echo faintly in the walls. But it’s over now.

Odysseus has reclaimed his throne. Penelope has wept and clung to him like a woman reborn.

And Telemachus?

He finds you in the shadows of the corridor, just past the carnage.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but his voice is low, almost trembling. You can see the red on his hands—some of it is his, most of it not. There’s a storm behind his eyes. Too much death. Too many years. Too much waiting.

“I stayed,” you say, stepping closer. “For you.”

His breath catches. For a moment, you think he’ll walk away, disappear into the dark to let his parents have their story.

But instead, he reaches for you like a man who’s finally allowed to feel. His mouth is on yours before you can say another word, and his hands are rough and trembling, pulling you flush against him.

It’s frantic. Desperate. He backs you into the wall of the hallway, the cold stone against your spine making you gasp—and that sound drives him wild.

“Say my name,” he growls against your throat.

“Telemachus,” you breathe, your fingers sliding under the hem of his tunic, feeling the muscles still tight with adrenaline. “I thought I lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me.” He grips your thigh, lifting it around his waist. “Not now. Not ever.”

His armor is half-undone, and he fumbles with your clothes like he’s afraid this is a dream, like you might vanish with the dawn. But the heat of your skin against his is real, and when he finally thrusts into you, it’s with all the pent-up rage and longing of a man who’s waited his whole life to be seen as more than a boy.

The corridor is silent now, save for the soft sound of your bodies meeting, your stifled moans, and his whispered promises in your ear.

“You’re mine,” he says, over and over, voice breaking. “Mine.”

And when it’s over, you’re still pressed against the stone, breathless, trembling, and utterly wrecked—in the best way.

Oh, you want spice? Say less.

Here’s a spicier continuation of that scene—still right after the slaughter, but now the intensity and detail get turned up. We’re leaning into the tension, dominance, and raw need Telemachus has been holding back for far too long.A

You’re still pinned against the cold stone wall, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. Telemachus’ hands are everywhere—rough with blood and battle, claiming you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You waited for me,” he murmurs against your neck, voice low and dark. “Now I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

His words make your knees buckle, but he’s already hoisting you up—your legs wrapped tight around his waist as he carries you into one of the unused rooms off the corridor. The door slams shut behind you, and he sets you down only long enough to rip the bloodied tunic from his chest. You drink him in—his broad shoulders, the scars, the raw power in his frame. He catches your gaze and smirks.

“See something you like?” he taunts.

You don’t answer—you just slide your hands down his chest, grazing the line of dark hair below his navel, before sinking to your knees.

He hisses through his teeth as you take him into your mouth—he’s already hard, thick and pulsing in your hands, and the way he growls your name as his head tips back has heat pooling between your thighs.

But he doesn’t let you finish.

“Not like this,” he growls, dragging you back to your feet. “I need to feel you.”

He strips you bare, not gently, but reverently—like he’s unwrapping a gift meant only for him. His hands roam your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch, and then he bends you over the table behind you, one hand pressing into your lower back.

“You have no idea how long I’ve imagined this,” he whispers into your ear, lining himself up at your entrance. “How many nights I stroked myself thinking of how you’d sound when I finally—”

He thrusts in, deep and hard, cutting off his own sentence and drawing a loud cry from your lips.

He fucks you like a man possessed—deep, relentless, his hips slamming into you with wild rhythm. One hand wraps in your hair, tugging your head back so he can bite your neck, your shoulder. Marking you.

The table creaks beneath you. Your moans echo in the dim room, along with his grunts and filthy praise.

“So fucking tight,” he pants. “So good for me. You’re mine. Gods, you’re mine.”

Your climax builds fast—sharp and burning—and when it hits, you shatter, calling out his name like a prayer. He’s not far behind, pulling you flush against him as he spills inside you with a deep groan, holding you through it like you’re something precious he almost lost.

After, he presses kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your lips—softer now, but no less possessive.

“We’ll clean the blood tomorrow,” he murmurs. “Tonight, I’m not letting you leave this bed.”

And he doesn’t.

He takes you again. And again.

Until you’re too sore to move, too drunk on him to care,Your thighs are trembling. You’ve already come twice, and your body feels spent, marked, owned.

But Telemachus isn’t finished with you.

He’s sprawled beside you now, chest slick with sweat, hand lazily tracing circles over your thigh as he watches you catch your breath. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips—like he’s not done proving something.

“You look ruined,” he murmurs, voice rough from growling your name for the last hour. “But I think you’ve got more in you.”

You whimper as he trails his fingers between your legs, brushing your oversensitive core. Your hips jerk, and he laughs low in his throat, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“What’s the matter, little one? Too much for you?”

You blink up at him, dazed and flushed.

“No,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good girl.”

The tone shifts.

Suddenly, his hand is around your throat—not tight, but firm. Dominant. He pushes you back into the pillows, hovering over you like a predator. His other hand slides down your body, spreading your thighs apart once more.

“You want more?” he growls, voice dripping with sin. “Then open those legs for your prince like the needy little thing you are.”

Your breath catches. You obey.

“That’s it,” he praises, voice like silk and smoke. “Such a pretty little slut. All mine.”

And then he’s inside you again.

This time, it’s rougher. More controlled. His hand stays on your throat, his thumb brushing your pulse while he ruts into you with long, punishing thrusts.

You cry out—half moan, half sob—and he loves it.

“Gods, listen to you,” he pants. “So fucking loud for me. You want the whole palace to know how desperate you are? How wet you get for your prince’s cock?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please—please don’t stop—”

He growls and fucks you harder.

“Of course you like this. Filthy little thing. You like being used, don’t you?”

You can’t even form words anymore. Your nails rake down his back, and he groans, dropping his forehead to yours as your walls flutter around him.

“Come for me,” he growls. “One more. I want to feel you fall apart."

And gods—you do.

You scream his name as your body clamps down on him, spasming with a white-hot rush that steals the air from your lungs. He follows with a snarl, biting down on your shoulder as he spills into you, deep and possessive.

When it’s over, you’re both gasping. Shaking.

He doesn’t move for a long moment—just holds you close, forehead still resting against yours.

Then his hands soften.

He eases out of you, cradling your body with almost reverent care. He grabs a cloth and cleans between your thighs, kissing your hip as he does.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs. His voice is tender now, barely above a whisper. “My perfect girl. My goddess.”

You can barely keep your eyes open as he wraps you in his arms, pulling a blanket over the two of you. His lips brush your forehead, your cheek, your collarbone.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Sleep, sweet thing. I’ll protect you now. Always.”

And you do—drifting off to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, knowing you’re safe.

Loved. Owned.

[xislyns]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader where they encounter an enemy who’s devil fruit makes people reveal the truth which ends up with Luffy confessing his feelings for the reader and leaves him all embarrassed and the rest of the crew in shock. maybe he even says something along the lines of “I think y/n looks cute when she’s wearing my straw hat” idk, I just had this thought I hope it makes sense cause I feel like it would be super adorable! thank you!!

AWW WAIT I SEE THE VISION thats so fucking cute , 😭😭

𐙚Luffy's confession..

characters : Monkey D. Luffy x Reader

summary : The strawhats were met with an Enemy who has came onboard on the sunny, wielding the truth-truth fruit, the fruit that causes the victim to speak out the secrets hidden in the depths of their heart.

── .✦ The Thousand Sunny was alive with its usual chaos, Zoro was napping in the sun, Sanji was cooking up something delicious in the kitchen, and Nami was scolding Usopp for his latest invention that had somehow messed with her map collection. You were perched near the bow of the ship, enjoying the breeze and smell of the ocean waters. Luffy, as always, was sitting high on the mast, grinning like the dork he was, with his iconic straw hat sitting nicely on his head.

but the environment suddenly turned gloomy, The sea turned eerily calm, a dark figure had emerged from the mist. the same figure who is the cause of the sudden change, stood on a small boat, his strange appearance made even more unsettling by his wild grin.

“I am Verità, The wielder of the Truth Truth Fruit,” the man announced, his voice echoing unnaturally. “Anyone within my aura cannot tell a lie. Beware, Straw Hat Pirates, for your secrets will betray you!"

“Oh, great,” Usopp groaned. “Another weird Devil Fruit guy.”

Before anyone could act, Verità raised his hand, and a shimmering wave of energy washed over the ship. It was subtle at first, but then you felt a strange feeling in your stomach.

“I’ve always hated Sanji’s soufflés,” Zoro blurted out, his eyes wide in horror in his own words.

Sanji dropped his spatula. “WHAT?!”

“I think Chopper’s transformation is creepy ” Nami yelped, clapping a hand over her mouth too late.

The chaos spread quickly, and you tried your best to stay quiet, but your gaze was drawn to Luffy. He stood frozen, looking unusually serious for once. You could see redness creeping up his neck and ears. Then, in a voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant, he said:

“I think Y/N looks really cute when she’s wearing my straw hat.”

The chaos seemed to stop. almost tso silent that you can hear the dropping of a needle. Every eye on the Sunny locked on to Luffy, who now looked like he wanted to disappear forever.

“WHAT?!” you and the crew exclaimed in unison.

Luffy yanked his hat down over his face, his voice muffled as he continued to speak, completely unable to stop himself. “And… I like her smiles. And I think about holding her hand a lot. And I want her to stay by my side forever because I… I love her.”

The silence was deafening. Luffy’s words hung in the air, leaving everyone in stunned disbelief. Sanji’s cigarette fell from his lips. Usopps eyes looked like they were going to bust from their sockets. Even Zoro’s usual stoic demeanor cracked with raised eyebrows.

You, on the other hand, felt your face heat up as you stared on at Luffy. He peeked out from under his hat, his cheeks bright red. “Uh.. I didn’t really mean to say all that. but, I mean, I did, but-”

Before he could dig himself into a deeper hole, you stepped forward, your heart pounding. Reaching outto him, and took his hand. “Luffy… I think you’re cute too,” you said softly, smiling at him.

His eyes widened, and then his signature grin broke out across his face, despite the embarrassment. “Really?!”

“Really,” you replied. And, without thinking, luffy picked up his straw hat and placed it on your head while his smile got bigger and his head tilted slightly

The crew erupted into laughter, and teasing. Sanji dramatically declared he was robbed, while Robin and Franky exchanged knowing smiles . Luffy just stood there, his grin stretching wider than ever as he took your hand and held it tight.

Verità watched the scene with an amused smirk, his presence seemingly forgotten in the midst of Luffy’s unexpected confession. He cleared his throat dramatically, pulling attention back to himself.

“Touching , But don’t think this little love story will be able to save you "

“Ugh, can’t we have one peaceful moment?” Nami groaned,rolling her eyes.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Zoro replied, cracking his knuckles and stepping forward, his normal stoic look returning to his face.

As the crew fought , the two of you couldnt help but stay side by side, Luffy’s hat resting comfortably on your head while you fought.

even though this wasnt how he thought it would happen, He cant lie it certainly was easier!

[artsninspo]

010 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 009

♠ summary: Lorence is confronted with the realities of her current predicament, unchartered territory with her Boss. Her past and present collide while Terry is away on business. But, when he returns - old habits die hard. ❤️‍🩹 🌶️

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ warnings: NSFW, mature themes

♠ word-count: ~5K

I walk alongside Joel with a smile as he holds Beau’s leash. The past week and a half he’s kept my dog to keep up with Beau’s physical needs, and allow me rest and recovery. My good boy Beau is having the time of his life with Joel’s kids, but now he won’t stop looking back at me. His usual brisk pace is moderate - it’s like he knows I’m hurt and his exuberance is why we’re a part.

“The wife keeps asking when you’re gonna let him sire a litter” Joel asks as we walk to the dog park.

“You know I’ll want to keep every single one of those puppies or make sure they’re close by and I don’t have six people who want a larger dog” I tell him.

“No working lines?” Joel asks to be funny.

“No, none of Beau's babies will be doing any scary shit” I tell him and he laughs.

“You’re not limping as much,” he says.

“I’m feeling better” I tell him honestly.

“And your wrist?” He asks.

“Seems a bit slower to heal” I admit holding up the brace. “Have you heard anything?” I ask and his expression told me he has.

“Rich’s furious” he sighs, talking about the Boss but since that night on the beach I haven’t seen anger from him.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s his own personal project. Everyone’s talking about how he didn’t even wait to get war ready. He just went in there without protection and a handgun after you.” Joel says with eyes trained on me. He’s capable of sensing deception, and I’m no master at it so I swallow hard to give myself time to choose my words wisely.

“It wasn’t the smartest thing to do” I admit. Joel nods and I don’t realize I’m anxious until Beau puts his muzzle against my hand. I smile looking down and pet his head.

“I’m glad he did, sorry I wasn’t there” Joel says again.

“You’re taking care of Beau and I’m glad you were safe. You followed protocol” I remind.

“Emerson said he saw you and Richmond leave the Monaco accommodation together the night before.” Joel trails openly fishing for information..

“After three years of being a tyrant and an asshole he showed me he can be nice. It was surprising, we walked my routes together. He was trying to help me calm down.” I tell Joel and he nods. There’s no happiness in his expression. I swallow bracing for a lecture and he sighs.

“I know you and I know Terry…” He starts.

“Joel-”

“Let me finish” he says in a tone he doesn’t use often. I stop to look at him. “I know you’re type and Richmond isn’t that.” Joel sighs, letting Beau off his leash in the empty dog park. I watch my dog bound away freely. “Are you listening to me?” He asks.

“Yes, you said Richmond isn’t my type” I repeat beginning to shut down.

“He’s not a fling abroad, or a ‘call me whenever you’re in town’ kind of guy. I’m not judging you Lorence.” Joel says knowing me well.

“Sounds like you are,” I mutter.

“I’m not Lorence, I get it. I do. I’m a man. I get wanting freedom. I get that you’re independent and I respect it. But if you think for one minute whatever’s going between the two of you is something you can put away when you’re done I’m letting you know it isn’t that. I had a feeling Terry liked you but fuck did I underestimate how much. The man was willing to take on fire. He’s not the free spirited type you're comfortable with” Joel says stressed.

“Terry and I aren’t sleeping together” I tell him and he puts his head into his hands, sighing. “What?” I ask.

“That’s even worse” he exclaims.

“How?!” I respond.

“We all put ourselves in danger daily. If you meet a soldier who can keep it in his pants, the man is in love. If the display in Monaco isn’t enough - there it is. You need to be straight with him, Lorence. Tell him what you want and what you’re used to. Because Richmond’s not the kind of man I can say I can confidently protect you from” Joel says having had to play the role of crazy ‘older brother’ for me once or twice.

“He wouldn’t hurt me” I say before I can process it. It’s something I know deep down. Joel looks at me like I’m hopeless. It’s new territory for us and somehow this conversation has aged him. My happy go lucky friend is now a concerned father figure. “I’ll talk to him” I concede wanting nothing less than to air out my attachment issues to Terry. Beau comes back from his patrol of the area and Joel tosses his ball for him. I watch beau bound after the ball and retrieve it with a proud prance completely unaware of life's challenges.

“Lorence I’m not trying to beat up on you, okay?” Joel says and I sigh.

“I know, you're a good friend.” I sigh.

“I think you and Terry would be good together if that’s what you wanted. But I also know it takes you longer to settle and trust people.” Joel says knowing the number of men I’ve kept at arm's length, how many girlfriend requests I've declined over the years. I prefer to keep my romantic life as far away as possible from my personal life.

“I don’t even know how to cook well, Terry’s all distinguished company and social commitments. He’s probably like you and wants kids for his family name and I don’t” I start on all the reasons we wouldn’t work long term aloud.

“Stop it Lorence. You learned how to be an agent, you can learn how to cook but you have enough money to hire a live-in chef or order in every day. I’m not telling you to cut it out or end it. I’m telling you to think. You can’t do things the way you normally do. Rich’s your boss and you’re the best at what you do. Figure things out and move forward accordingly. Dont fuck up your work life for some excitement you’ll want to run from in a week. Maybe have Richmond go off on a tirade or two on you so you can figure out what’s going on between you without whispers. Just clean it up” Joel advises reading me for filth and giving me options. I smile appreciating that he doesn't coddle me.

“Okay”  I concede. “Have you ever seen Richmond with women?” I ask, wondering if there was an ex wife or someone else.

“Not seriously, not without a reason” he says.

I raise a brow, “what’s that mean?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Joel says and I give him an exasperated huff.

“So he’s never asked about me?” I ask.

“Oh he did, but he asks about everyone so I thought nothing of it.” Joel says.

“What’d he ask?”

“If you were single, then if I thought pairing you with some of our colleagues would lead to intimate affairs,” he says. I smile at Terrance’s futile fishing expeditions.

“If you were me, what would you do?” I ask Joel.

“I can’t put myself in the shoes of a woman” he says and I push him playfully with my good hand..

“You know what I mean”

“I know you’re happy and your life is full already but I would like to see you with someone. Someone who loves you and takes care of you. Someone that's always there and you can't avoid. I don't know if that's Terrance Richmond but if it is you deserve it all. Just know that he’s not your usual free spirited guy that’s gonna sit around when you don't call back. He’s a grown man and your boss” Joel says and I sigh with a lot more than I bargained for on my plate. Joel pulls me into a caring hug and I know I’m lucky to have him even if it’s not what I want to hear. He’s right. He’s never steered me wrong before and he’s partly to thank for where I am now in life. So I heed his advice.

…

I’ve been sitting in it all day. From the moment I got home to right now, after midnight I’ve been ruminating on my discussion with Joel. I wish he was wrong about me or Terry but I know deep down he isn’t. Terrance Richmond is a grown ass man with his shit together and isn't chasing his peak. By all means he’s already settled and successful. That’s the kind of resume that would usually keep me away. I’m the girl who likes a summer fling or a vacation romance every now and then. I need the predetermined start and end dates to keep me grounded and sane. That way there’s not too much room for distraction - that way I never end up like my mom. I sigh, wishing Beau was here as I sit alone in my house. Typically it’s my safe space but right now it feels haunted with visions of what was and what could be. Terrance grilling with my father, getting along with my mother - us kissing. 

I close my eyes wishing it wasn’t almost two in the morning and I could call Sin. I make my way to the kitchen for some melatonin when my phone rings. I frown seeing Terrance is calling. 

“Hey” I respond.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” he asks and I frown.

“Can’t sleep” I confess and I hear a car door close.

“What’s wrong, are your injuries keeping you up?” he asks.

“No,” I sigh. “How was your flight?” I ask, hearing a knock at my door. I pull up the security feed.

“It’s me” he says just as I confirm it. It’s like my brain shuts off in a second and I’m heading to let him in. He’s been gone for the past three days. I know now it was to do reconnaissance for what happened in Monaco but we haven’t talked about Monaco since the safehouse. He hugs me gently before putting a kiss on my head.

“Thought I’d drive past your place on my way home” he says, it would be weird if it were anyone else.

“How was your trip?” I ask.

“Could've been better, how are you feeling? If the meds are keeping you awake maybe have them adjusted” he says but I stopped needing my meds two days ago. 

“It’s not the medication - I don’t want to be here alone tonight and I realized it after Sin went to bed” I tell Terry.

“I can drop you off there if that's what you want?” he asks.

“Not it's okay” I sigh looking up at him. Finding peace in his light eyes is the very last thing I thought would ever be possible. I feel my nerves settle and he smirks leaning in to give me a quick kiss. 

“If you want me to stay I can or you can come over to my place” he offers. 

“Let me pack a bag” I smiled, letting go of him. I head up to my room and throw everything I’ll need in an overnight bag. I realize I've been advised against lifting and call him. He emerges moments later looking around at my bedroom. I realize the decor isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but I’m still finding my signature style. 

“Are all these plants real?” he asks.

“Yeah” I nod, getting my slippers and putting them in my bag. When I look at him he’s looking at the plants with a smile again.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he yawns.

“You don’t like it, do you?” I ask, thinking of my father who still doesn't understand why I have so much ‘dirt’ in my room. 

“I didn’t say that” he says coming over to my vanity as I pack my makeup bag. He dips his head sniffing my neck before placing a kiss on the same spot. 

“Which one is that?” he asks, looking at the perfume bottles in front of me. I hand him the bottle.

“Sin and I did a perfume workshop in Paris. I made this” I say.

“Is Sin your best friend?” he asks.

“Yup, my mom was the babysitter while aunt Kaye was out, so we’re very close” I explain.

“Pack a swimsuit,” he says.

“Why?” I ask heading over to my drawers to find one.

“I have a pool and water therapy is good for recovery,” he says. Of course he has a pool.

“Of course you have a pool, how else would you come up with sick and twisted water endurance tests for us” I tease getting my swimsuit and putting it in the bag. 

“Swimming is perfect low impact active recovery, that’s why I have a pool” he says as I zip my bag. He takes it with ease adding me to his load and descending the stairs. I lock up and I head to his car with him. I schedule send a text to Sin that I’m with Terrance so someone knows by location. My conversation gnaws at my consciousness as I get in with him.

“If you're having flashbacks from Monaco you can tell me, PTSD is better treated sooner than later” he says resting a hand on my thigh. 

“I’m not” I tell him truthfully.

“Lorence, I know what you look like at peace and I know how you look stressed,” he says. 

“The car is in darkness” I state matter of factly.

“Not dark enough” he responds.

“So the pretty cat eyes come with night vision?” I ask turning to his shadowy shadowy silhouette.

“I pay attention,” he says at the stoplight. Red hues are cast into the car and I make out worry in his expression.

“I’m just having a bad day,” I confess.

“Anything I can do?” He asks and it makes my heart swell. I lean on his shoulder.

“This is good” I admit and he gives my leg a squeeze. We drive for another twenty minutes in silence. I watch closely and find us in the most expensive residential part of town. I sit upright looking at the gorgeous homes as we enter the gated community. It’s not full of cookie-cutter houses; but architectural feats that are unique in their own way. We turn off the main road into a driveway lined with trees. We drive for another minute before arriving on a lit driveway and a castle-like house. I look at Terrance and wonder how much he actually makes. It makes my home look like a toy. He opens the garage and we drive in. He gets out with my bag and I follow suit. When we enter his home I step back and look around at his manor. It’s not that I didn't expect him to live in a nice place but I definitely didn't expect this. The room is white with black and grey accents all over. There are high ceilings and top of the line furnishings. Not a single thing is out of place and it’s classic but elevated like the man himself.

“Come on, let's take the elevator” he says. Of course he has an elevator. I follow him to a hidden elevator door that seamlessly integrates into the wall.

“DId you buy or build this?” I ask as we step in.

“I built it” he responds, pressing a console that takes us up. But the door in front of us doesn't open. One does to the side of us. He steps out first and by the scent of his cologne I know we’re in his closet. We enter the main part of his bedroom and his bed is bigger than any I've even seen before. “Let me get a shower, then if you're hungry we can get something to eat or drink.” he says leaving me to my own devices.

I’ve never been so out of step, actually Terrance Richmond keeps me in a state of frenzy. If he was a gentleman, he’d have offered me my own room. But we’re past that now aren't we? Joel's warning comes back to me as I change into pj’s instead of the silk negligee I packed. I sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and take it all in. I take off my wrist brace and massage the area as I take stock of his home. Why would he want me when he has all this and my own mother didn't want me? There it is, the thought that’s ruined every single one of my relationships. The pain that’s never really gone and keeps me in safe comfortable solitude. I wipe the silent tears and stand going to his full length mirror to wipe them away. I put on a brave face and sit back on the bed. Terry comes out minutes later smelling heavenly and with black silk pants.

“Your eyes are red,” he says.

“The tiredness hit me” I lie and he nods, pulling back the sheets for me to climb in. I do, facing away from him and he turns off the light. A moment passes before he reaches out and pulls me back against the heat of his bare chest, wrapping his arms around me. It takes a few minutes before our breaths sync and our chests rise and fall in tandem. It’s the most non sexually intimate exchange I've ever had with a man I don't consider family. I place my hand over his and he pulls me even closer.

“Feeling disoriented after a traumatic experience like what you went through in Monaco is normal. You don't have to be strong around me if you feel down” he says. “I know you’re crying - you don't have to tell me why. Just know I’m here” he says before kissing my cheek. He has the patience of a saint putting up with me like this when we should be keeping things light and fun.

“I’m sorry for ruining-”

“Lorence being real with me won't ruin anything” he says.

“Yes it will” I tell him.

“You’ve had a stressful few weeks. From Switzerland to now. In part because of me. You're having a bad day and telling me why won't ruin anything” he says in his usual cadence like he’s commanding time and there's no rush.

“Can we talk about it later? Or never?” I propose and he scoffs letting me go. It’s happening faster than I could have even imagined. He sits on the edge of the bed. It takes me a moment to swallow my fears and try to fix it.

“Tell me a joke, make me laugh” I say to break up the silence and distance but it stretches on. The rejection starts to sting until he clears his throat.

“What do me and elephants have in common?’ he asks, turning to me. It’s a trap, a well laid trap and I can't help but smile.

“You're tall and strong?” I propose not playing into it.

“What else?” he asks with humour in his voice. I shake my head not wanting to give him a complex about his ears anymore than I already have. 

“I don't know” I lie.

“We both never forget” he says, subverting my expectations and I laugh relieved to have not said the wrong thing. “And we have big ears,” he adds. I sit beside him and he taps on the sconces above his bed giving us dim light.

“What do you call a cow with no legs?” I ask.

“No clue” he shrugs.

“Ground beef” I respond and he shakes his head. “Your’s was worse” I snicker.

“It still made you smile,” he shrugs. 

“I hope you know I didn't mean anything by it. I just felt cornered and was popping off at the mouth” I apologize. 

“I know you weren't being malicious. I’ve heard much worse from people I pushed less. It’s pretty wholesome stuff for an agent” he says. 

“Here I was feeling bad” I shrug and he takes my chin kissing me softly.

“I’m not someone you have to handle with kid gloves Lorena.” The look he gives me is both scathing and sympathetic. My shoulders fall and I start to feel bad for my emotions today. Here I have this man that’s asking to be there for me and ran into a life threatening situation to rescue me, and I’m allowing the actions of others who never showed me that same concern decades ago ruin things.

“I’m so-”

“Let’s start tonight over” Terry says, cutting my apology off. I can’t help but smile.

“Okay” I nod and he lifts me off the bed and sits me across his lap.

“I missed you” he says, smothering me in quick kisses.

“I missed you too” I take his chin, bringing his lips to mine.

“When you miss me, call me, as long as I’m not in the middle of something I’ll answer”  he says.

“Okay”

“Got you something” he says and I sit up.

“Really?” I ask and he nods.

“It’s in the car let me go get it” he says standing and setting me down gently.

“Okay” I agree and he leaves. I look at my bag before going into it and grabbing the negligee. The bathroom lights flick on as I enter. It’s as impressive as what I've seen of the rest of the house. I rid myself of the pajama pants set and put on the night dress. I look myself over before walking back into the bedroom. I sit on the couch in the sitting area instead of the bed and he emerges with two bags. He looks up after setting them down. It takes a moment for him to locate me. His eyes focus on the change and he comes over holding a frame and something wrapped.

“The dress is nice,” he comments, drinking me in with his eyes.

“I don't sleep in pants usually - unless it's winter” I tell him as he takes the seat next to me.

“Good to know,” he says, placing the wrapped square on my lap. He turns on another lamp and I tear the brown wrapping paper. A night scene is in front of me and I smile the moment I recognize it. The beach at night, in Monaco where we sat together. I run my hand over the coarse texture of the sand.

“The artist used sand from the beach,” he says, confirming that’s where he spent the last few days.

“It’s gorgeous” I smile and he does too.

“You like it?” He asks and I nod. Getting this made for me only confirms I was on his mind while he was away.

“I do, thank you” I smile giving him a hug. He kisses my cheek before pulling out the frame housing the caricature art of us. In the chaos of my stuff being cleared out I thought for sure that art piece was left behind.

“I can't believe you had this framed” I laugh looking at it.

“The person at the studio said a frame was the best way to preserve it” he says and I kiss him.

“Now I’ve got to find somewhere to put this. I know where I’m gonna put the canvas” I tell him. “Thank you for thinking of me” I tell him and he seems to take a back.

“Lorena, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you walked into my office wearing that striped blue shirt and grey slacks.” he says stopping time. I turn to him and try to go back to that day. My heart races as I come up short on the memory. “Your hair was straight, parted in the middle and you smelled like flowers” he says. I swallow hard, blinking fast to keep the emotions at bay. My favorite perfume then was Miss Dior. Guilt swells as my appreciation grows and my emotions are a seesaw. “What?” he asks.

“I was doubting the logistics of us today. Not because I don't want to see where things go but … Terrance this is new for me. Not just that you're my boss and the CEO of the company I work for - I have to figure out to toe the line there. But even this; the sharing space … I probably don't make any sense. You already know I avoid uncomfortable situations and I like to run but I know I can't run from you … not that I want to but today it’s felt like my head wa in a pressure cooker” I confess struggling to articulate my complicated feelings and fears. Terry looks at me. His usual expression is replaced by an empathetic one. He reaches for me and places a kiss on my forehead instead of responding with words.

“What do you think?” I ask with a racing heart.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day” he says holding me instead of taking issue with my honest emotions. He’s so different from who I thought I knew him to be.

“You're not upset?” I ask.

“No” he says without needing to consider it. I take a moment before pulling back to look him over. He's resolute in his answer, his hand slides down over my dress resting on my hip. “You’re here now - in my arms, in my home, telling me how you felt, smelling good and looking better. What do I have to be upset about?” he asks, surprising me. “I’m not a CEO in this dynamic,” he says, placing a kiss on my shoulder. 

“Your dominance is not something you can turn off” I tell him and he smiles. “I’m not asking you to either but it's there” I tell him and he takes a moment smiling again. 

“What?” I ask.

“It’s not productive” he says, keeping whatever it is to himself. 

“Tell me”

“There are better ways to clear your head,” he advises. After our walk on the beach, I sit forward ready to hear his advice.

“I’m listening?’ I say and he comes in for a kiss, when he pulls away he gets up  and then somehow ends up on his knees in front of me. His eyes tell me where his mind is. I take a breath more familiar with this territory. He kisses each of my inner thighs.

“You have the CEO on his knees” he says, still dominating me in a submissive position. My heart races as passion pools in me. He waits for permission and I nod giving him the green light. His hands slide up my legs and under my thong, grabbing the sides he pulls it off. He scoots me forward gently on the side of my injury, he places kisses on my inner thighs sliding me onto my back comfortably before setting my legs over his shoulders so he’s locked in to my center and I’m locked in his hold. Terry caresses me, upping the tension and kindling sparks I didn't know existed. It leaves searing anticipation igniting all the parts of my body that drive sensory pleasure. He gives me a final look at the same time he takes my hand - our fingers interlock and his head dips out of sight and under the hiked up negligee. His beard tickles my center as he parts my other set of lips with his tongue.

The kiss builds to one of the ones my mouth is used to being treated with. My body’s reaction to him is something new as the tension builds. My hand caresses his waves in a gesture of encouragement and appreciation. There’s nothing to be said as my breaths grow increasingly more shallow. I go to cover my mouth but his fingers don’t release their grip on mine, not allowing the contact to break.

“Be as loud as you want baby” he says, giving me the green light. I swallow my moan and he blows on my clit sending a wave of pleasure through me. My moan is inevitable and when he starts sucking on it I'm finished. I squirm but he has me locked firmly in position giving me more and more. 

“Stay still for me baby” he says, sounding so patient. I moan trying to oblige him but it's so much and so good.

“Let me hear you Lorence” he says pausing, before I can obey he adds one of his long fingers into me sucking and fucking me. Taunting me. My nipples are harder than ever. The nerve endings in my core are stimulated to the point of delirium. 

“It feels so good” I praise his efforts.

“You’re perfect” he whispers finger fucking me as I come. His eyes are on me as I try to handle the sensations from the orgasmic relief. My body is several degrees hotter and I know he can see my nipples fighting to be seen and tended to under the silk dress. He keeps his eyes on me, letting one of my legs down and allowing me to watch him lap up my pleasure with the same attention to detail as he has for everything else. He's a perfectionist and that was nothing less. I sit up needing to kiss him, I pull him up to meet me so we’re face to face. Terry obliges the heat of his bare chest radiating into me, melting the apprehension away. I wrap my legs around his and feel his manhood poking me in my sternum through his pants. I want more, I need him. His eyes tell me we’re just getting started when the kiss is broken.

“Did you like that Lorence?” he smiles, licking what's left of my orgasm from his lips. His eyes spark as my expression changes. We’re so far gone from like, it’s time to practice making love.

authors note: sound off in the comments and let me know how you felt about getting to know Lorence's softer side and insecurities and how Terry's handling everything on his plate. Also, yes theres more 🌶️ 🌶️ 🌶️ in the next chapter - had to break it up because it was getting too long.

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[lila-lou]

✨Rise and Shine, Darling - 2/5✨

Summary: You play for the love of it. He hears something more. A chance meeting, a shared song, and a connection neither of you expected. Music brought you together. Now it might change everything.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 5351

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

The days after that first studio session had been filled with texts—mostly about music.

Jensen wasn’t the kind of guy to text back and forth all day, and you weren’t the type to push for conversation. But somehow, it happened anyway. Ideas for melodies, song structures, lyric inspiration—it all flowed easily between you. Sure, sometimes something personal slipped in—like him sending you a picture of the ridiculous coffee he made that morning, or you mentioning how you nearly missed a flight to Tennessee—but it was always music that pulled you back.

Then four weeks passed.

You had finished your gigs in Tennessee, played your heart out for new crowds, and when you finally returned to Austin, it wasn’t even a question—you and Jensen were going to meet up again. And then it happened again. And again.

Neither of you talked about why it kept happening. Neither of you questioned the way you worked so damn well together, how easy it was to fall into rhythm, how every session turned into hours that felt like minutes.

Now, you sat across from each other in his studio once more, both with a notepad in hand, working on your first song together. A love song. Neither of you had actually said that’s what it was, but as the lyrics started forming between you, there was no denying it.

“Alright”, Jensen said, leaning back in his chair, tapping his pen against the pad of paper. “We’ve got a solid melody, but what the hell is this song actually about?”.

You smirked, biting your lip. “You mean besides the obvious?”.

He raised a brow. “And what’s the obvious?”.

You flipped through your notes, reading back some of the lines you had jotted down.

“I wasn’t looking, but somehow you’re here…”. “I tell myself it’s nothing, but damn, it’s getting clear…”. “Every time you leave, I swear it don’t feel right…”.

Jensen exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Shit”. You chuckled. “Yeah”.

Neither of you had intended to write about this—about whatever had been quietly growing between you since that first night. But here it was. Written in ink, undeniable.

Jensen set his notepad down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, so… hypothetically speaking—if we were writing about two people who were, I don’t know, pretending this thing wasn’t happening between them…”.

You leaned back against the couch, twirling your pen between your fingers. “Alright, so hypothetically speaking… what would these two people be feeling?”.

Jensen grinned, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. He tapped his pen against the notepad, gaze flickering to the lyrics scattered between you. “Well, if they’re pretending there’s nothing there, then there’s gotta be some denial, right? Like, maybe one of them keeps making excuses for why they keep coming back. And the other… maybe they don’t even realize why they keep letting them”.

You nodded, scribbling a note. “Okay, so something like…”. You hesitated for a second, then spoke the words as they came to you. "I tell myself it’s nothing, but you’re under my skin…".

Jensen’s head snapped up, his green eyes lighting up. “That’s good”. You grinned. “Yeah?”

He nodded, already picking up his guitar and strumming a soft melody beneath the words. “Yeah. And maybe the next line… something like… `One foot out the door, but I’m walking back in…’”.

You froze for half a second, the words hitting you in a way you couldn’t quite place. Something about them felt too real—like a mirror you weren’t ready to look into. But instead of questioning it, you just nodded. “I like that”.

For the next hour, you and Jensen fell into a rhythm, bouncing lyrics back and forth, each line coming easier than the last. Every word felt effortless, like the song was already there, just waiting to be put on paper.

It was all there—the push and pull, the hesitation, the magnetic pull between two people who refused to acknowledge what was right in front of them.

At one point, Jensen sat back with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You ever get the feeling a song’s writing you instead of the other way around?”.

You laughed, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Yeah. This one’s kinda eerie, though. Like… how the hell do we know exactly what this feels like?”.

Jensen shrugged, strumming a soft chord. “Guess we’re just that good”.

You smirked. “Or maybe we’ve both been there before”.

“Maybe”, he agreed, but there was something unreadable in his expression—like a flicker of realization that almost surfaced before he brushed it away.

Neither of you said it out loud, but the truth sat between you like an unspoken lyric. You weren’t writing about someone else. You were writing about yourselves. And neither of you had figured it out yet.

Another session. Another day in the studio.

By now, meeting up with Jensen felt routine, like something you did without thinking, without questioning why it kept happening. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t scheduled, it was just… natural.

The song was coming together faster than either of you expected.

You sat cross-legged on the studio couch, a notepad balanced on your knee, while Jensen plucked at his guitar, fine-tuning a chord progression. The two of you had been at it for hours, tossing around lyrics, adjusting the melody, getting lost in the process.

You had just started humming a new line when Jensen’s phone, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, started buzzing. He glanced at it, about to ignore it, but then the screen lit up with a FaceTime call. JJ.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the phone and answered. “Hey, baby girl”.

Your heart stuttered. You knew Jensen had kids. But this was the first time you’d actually seen that side of him. And it threw you off completely.

On the screen, a little girl’s face lit up, her blonde curls slightly messy, dimples showing as she grinned. “Daddy!”.

Jensen’s entire posture shifted. His features softened, his voice warmed, and for a second, the man across from you wasn’t the guy you had been writing love songs with—he was a dad. “Whatcha doin’, bug?”, he asked, leaning back into the couch.

“Mommy let me have extra screen time”, JJ announced proudly. “And I wanted to call you!”-

Jensen chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you did. What’d you do today?”.

As JJ launched into a full, excited story about some game she had played with her siblings, Jensen listened intently, nodding along, asking questions. You couldn’t look away. This wasn’t something you were used to. You had spent so much time with Jensen the musician, Jensen the creative. But this? Jensen the father? It was… something else.

It shouldn’t have made your chest tighten. It shouldn’t have made you smile. But it did. You kept quiet, not wanting to intrude on the moment, but as JJ continued rambling, her eyes suddenly flickered toward the screen, and she noticed you.

Her tiny face scrunched in confusion. “Who’s that?”.

Jensen blinked, glancing over at you as if remembering you were there. Then he smirked, turning the camera slightly. “That’s Y/N. We’re working on a song together”.

JJ’s eyes widened. “You’re making a song?”.

You smiled, waving a little. “Yep! Your dad’s pretty good at it”.

JJ gasped dramatically. “I know! Daddy sings in the car all the time”.

Jensen groaned, covering his face with his hand. “JJ…”.

She giggled. “It’s true!”.

You laughed, unable to help it. “I believe you”.

JJ beamed. Then, before Jensen could stop her, she leaned closer to the camera, stage-whispering, “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?”.

Your entire body froze.

Jensen’s eyes widened. “JJ!”.

“What?”, JJ giggled, completely innocent. “You said she’s pretty”.

Oh. Oh. You didn’t know whether to laugh, blush, or crawl under the couch. Meanwhile, Jensen let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “Alright, bug, I think it’s bedtime”.

JJ pouted. “But—”.

“Nope”, he cut in quickly, eyes flicking to yours for half a second. “Say goodnight”.

JJ huffed but gave you another mischievous grin. “Bye, pretty lady!”.

Before you could respond, Jensen hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. A heavy silence followed. You were still reeling. JJ’s innocent question had stirred something—something you weren’t ready to unpack.

Jensen ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “Jesus”.

You finally found your voice, teasing, “So… you think I’m pretty?”.

Jensen groaned again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I said you’re pretty talented”, he corrected quickly, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. “Kids just… they hear what they wanna hear”.

You smirked, tilting your head. “Mhm. Sure”.

He shot you a pointed look. “Don’t start”.

But you weren’t about to let him off that easy. “Hey, I’m not the one getting flustered because my kid just called me out”, you teased, crossing your arms.

“I’m not flustered”.

“Uh-huh”.

Jensen exhaled, shaking his head, but there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “JJ’s got no filter. If she has a thought, she says it. No warning, no hesitation—just right out into the world”.

You laughed softly. “Honestly? Kind of admire that”.

He huffed. “Yeah, well, she also thinks I’m a superhero, so I wouldn’t take everything she says too seriously”. There was something fond in his tone, something unshakably warm when he talked about her, and damn, if that didn’t make your stomach twist just a little.

You tapped your pen against your notepad, deciding to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “So, what now? Are we gonna pretend that didn’t just happen, or do we write a song about it?”.

Jensen let out a dry laugh, picking up his guitar again. “Oh yeah, because nothing screams hit song like ‘My Kid Just Called Me Out’”.

You grinned. “Could be a country song”.

He rolled his eyes, but you saw it. The way his shoulders relaxed, the tension from JJ’s little slip-up fading as he settled back into something more comfortable. Jensen strummed a few aimless chords, his voice casual. “Look, let’s just finish the song. We’re almost there anyway”.

You nodded, picking up your pen again. “Alright, but just so you know… I’m totally telling JJ next time I see her that you were blushing”.

He stopped playing. “I was not blushing”, he argued immediately.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you totally were”.

“Y/N”, he warned.

You grinned, enjoying this way too much. “Relax, big boy. Your secret’s safe with me”.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath before shifting the focus firmly back to the song. But something had shifted. JJ’s words still lingered, even as you both pushed forward. And maybe, neither of you were ready to admit that she had hit a little too close to the truth.

Another hour passed, the music flowing between you both like second nature. It was easy—too easy, really. The song was nearly finished, the melodies in place, and the lyrics? They told a story neither of you had dared to admit was your own.

But right now, Jensen’s stomach had other plans. A loud growl broke through the quiet, and you snorted, glancing up from your notepad. “Was that you?”.

Jensen groaned, rubbing his face. “Unfortunately, yeah. Guess I forgot to eat today”.

You smirked, setting your pen down. “Wow. Can’t remember basic survival skills?”.

He shot you a look. “I don’t need a lecture, I need a burger”.

You laughed but leaned back against the couch, watching as he carefully set his guitar in its stand. It was still a little surreal, sitting here with him, watching him as just a guy, not the larger-than-life version of himself the world knew.

A few days ago, you had finally found out exactly who he was.

At first, it had thrown you completely off balance. You had gone home, done your research, and realized exactly what kind of career this man had. The shows, the conventions, the fanbase that still adored him even years after Supernatural ended.

It had intimidated the hell out of you. You were just a nobody in comparison. A musician trying to make it in an industry that ate people alive.

But when you saw him the next day, he had immediately caught on to the shift in your energy. You weren’t sure how, but he had. “You’re acting weird”, he had said, leaning against the counter with that knowing smirk. “What happened?”.

You had tried to play it off, but eventually, you admitted, “I Googled you”.

And instead of getting awkward about it, Jensen had just laughed. A real, belly-deep laugh that had made you roll your eyes. “Damn. Knew this day would come”.

After that, he had put you at ease within minutes. Made sure you understood that yeah, he had a career, but that didn’t mean you weren’t just as important in your own right.

And now, a few days later, the nerves were gone. It was just you and Jensen. Writing. Singing. Arguing about lyrics. Giving each other shit. Still, as he stretched out, arms behind his head, you found yourself curious. “So”, you said, tilting your head. “When do you leave for that convention?”.

Jensen let out a breath, rolling his shoulders. “Couple of days”.

“Where’s this one?”.

“Chicago”.

You hummed. “And what exactly do you do at these things? Just sign autographs and take pictures?”.

Jensen smirked. “That, and answer very serious questions like ‘What’s Dean Winchester’s favorite pie flavor?’”.

You snorted. “Oh yeah, that sounds exhausting”.

“You have no idea”, he deadpanned, but the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

You studied him for a second, realizing something. “You actually love it, don’t you?”.

Jensen didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I do”.

There was no arrogance in his tone. No forced humility, either. Just honesty. And you respected the hell out of that. You nodded. “That’s pretty cool”.

Jensen raised a brow. “Yeah? You don’t think it’s weird?”

You smirked. “Oh, it’s definitely weird. But, like… the good kind of weird”.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll take that”.

Silence fell between you for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came when two people were just comfortable existing in the same space. Then, Jensen stretched his arms again, sighing. “Alright, I need food. You coming, or am I gonna have to suffer alone?”.

You grinned, grabbing your jacket. “Depends. Are you paying?”.

He scoffed. “Please. I’ve seen your guitar case, I know how much cash you’re pulling in”.

You rolled your eyes but stood anyway. “Fine. But I’m picking the place”.

Jensen smirked. “Deal”.

Jensen had insisted on staying low-key, so instead of sitting down at a restaurant, the two of you grabbed takeout from a small burger joint a few blocks from the studio. You had quickly learned that privacy meant everything to him—especially when it came to being seen in public with someone new.

He hadn’t made a big deal out of it, just explained it casually while waiting for your food. “You know how it is”, he had said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Cameras, rumors… doesn’t take much for the media to run wild with something that isn’t even real”.

You had nodded, understanding. “Yeah, last thing I need is some headline calling me ‘Jensen Ackles’ mystery woman`”.

He had huffed a laugh. “Exactly”.

Now, back inside the studio, you sat across from him at the small coffee table, unwrapping your food while the low hum of classic rock played softly in the background. It was comfortable—easy. Jensen took a big bite of his burger before letting out a satisfied groan. “Damn. I needed this”.

You laughed, shaking your head. “What, don’t eat real food often?”.

He smirked. “Not as much as I should”.

Silence fell for a beat, but not awkward—just the kind that happens when two people settle in. Then, the conversation drifted. Not about music this time. Not about lyrics or chord progressions or melodies. Just life.

Jensen told you about growing up in Texas. You told him about your family, about how you had always known music was it for you. “I don’t think I ever had a backup plan”, you confessed. “Guess I should’ve, huh?”. He shook his head. “Nope. If you had a backup plan, you might’ve used it”. That made you smile.

Then, in between bites of food, you let it slip. “I actually just got my first real offer for a deal”. Jensen froze mid-bite, blinking at you. “Wait—what?”.

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Yeah. Some label reached out after one of my Tennessee gigs. Said they’re interested, but nothing’s final yet”.

Jensen set his food down, suddenly all in. “That’s huge”.

You scoffed. “It’s something”.

“No, Y/N, it’s big.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “What label?”.

You told him the name, watching as he mulled it over. After a moment, he nodded. “They’ve got a good reputation. Solid roster. You thinking about it?”.

You hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, I always said I wouldn’t just sign the first deal that came my way, but…”. You exhaled. “It’s tempting. Stability, resources, a team backing me up—it’s a lot”.

Jensen studied you for a moment, then said, “What’s your gut telling you?”.

You glanced down at your half-eaten burger, thinking hard. Your gut? Your gut was telling you this moment—sitting in a private studio at 11 PM, eating takeout with a guy who somehow felt like he’d always been in your life—felt a hell of a lot more real than any contract ever could. But you couldn’t say that.

So instead, you looked up and answered honestly. “I don’t know yet”.

Jensen nodded, like he respected that. “Good. Don’t rush it”.

His voice was steady, reassuring. Not pushing, not overstepping. Just genuine.

And maybe that’s why you suddenly felt the urge to say, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing to have someone like you helping me figure it out”.

Jensen’s lips quirked, something unreadable in his eyes. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere”.

Something in your chest tightened. Neither of you addressed it. Instead, Jensen grabbed another fry, smirking like the moment hadn’t just shifted. “Now eat your damn food, rockstar”, he teased. “Can’t have you passing out before we finish this song”.

And just like that, the conversation slipped back into something familiar.

But later—long after the food was gone, after you had left the studio, after Jensen was home alone in his quiet house—he found himself thinking about that moment again. And wondering why the hell it mattered so much.

It had been weeks since that night in the studio. Since late-night takeout and quiet conversations that stuck with you long after you left. Since Jensen had casually—too casually—told you he wasn’t going anywhere. And somehow, you believed him.

Now, you were back in his studio, sitting with him on the couch, whiskey glasses in hand, celebrating the fact that your first song together was finally recorded.

Jensen had brought in a friend—a producer he trusted—to help lay it down properly. And damn, if it didn’t sound better than you ever imagined.

Now, as the final mastered version played softly in the background, you took a sip of your drink, letting the warm burn of whiskey settle in your chest.

Jensen exhaled, swirling his own glass. “Gotta admit… this turned out better than I expected”.

You smirked. “Wow. Such high expectations”.

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Nah, you know what I mean. I figured it’d be good, but this?”. He gestured vaguely toward the speakers, where your voices blended seamlessly. “This is something else”.

You grinned, leaning your head back against the couch. “Yeah. It is”.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke—just sat there, letting the weight of what you had made sink in. Then, Jensen shifted slightly beside you, clearing his throat. “So…”, he started, casual. Too casual. “Saw that picture you posted the other day”.

You blinked, looking over at him. “Huh?”.

“On Instagram”, he said, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “That one with you and… what’s his name?”. It took you a second before you realized what he was talking about. “Oh”, you said, snorting. “You mean Miles?”.

Jensen lifted a shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant. “Yeah. That guy”.

You smirked, watching him carefully. “You stalking my Instagram, Ackles?”.

He scoffed. “Please. It just popped up”.

“Mhm. Right”.

He rolled his eyes, taking another drink. “So, what’s the deal with him?”.

You raised a brow. “You asking if I’m dating him?”.

Jensen didn’t look at you when he answered. “Just wondering”.

Something about the way he said it—casual, but not quite as detached as he wanted it to be—made you bite back a smile. “Nah”, you finally answered. “Miles is just a friend. Another singer I met in Tennessee. We played a couple gigs together, that’s all”.

Jensen nodded, staring into his glass like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. “Figured”.

“Did you?”, you teased.

He shot you a look. “I was just curious”.

“Right”.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t tense. If anything, there was something almost amusing about the way Jensen was so obviously trying not to make it a thing.

You let him sit in it for a moment before leaning in slightly. “Why?”.

His gaze flicked to yours. “Why what?”.

You smirked. “Why’d you ask?”.

He paused. Just for a second. Then, with a smirk of his own, he tipped his glass toward you. “Just making sure you don’t have terrible taste in men”, he said smoothly.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous”.

Jensen grinned, but something in his expression was different. A little too satisfied with your answer, a little too relaxed now that he knew Miles was just a friend. And you? You noticed. You noticed everything.

The way he leaned back into the couch, shoulders looser than before. The way he took a slow sip of his whiskey, as if his interest in the conversation had suddenly vanished. The way his smirk almost covered up whatever had been sitting behind his curiosity. And you couldn’t resist.

Tilting your head slightly, you swirled your drink, letting your voice slip into something playful. “Besides”, you mused, pretending to be completely casual, “Miles is kinda too old for me anyway”.

Jensen froze for just a second. It was barely noticeable—the slight pause before he lifted his glass to his lips, the flicker of something in his eyes before he covered it up. But you caught it.

He took a sip, then raised an eyebrow. “Too old?”.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, he’s thirty-five”.

Jensen’s jaw twitched. “Huh”.

You bit back a grin. Thirty-five. Ten years younger than Jensen. You had dropped it deliberately, just to see how he’d react. And damn, if it wasn’t entertaining as hell watching him try to play it cool.

Jensen set his drink down, stretching an arm over the back of the couch, his fingers drumming idly against the cushion. “So, what’s the cut-off then?”, he asked, voice perfectly neutral. “At what point is a guy too old?”.

You smirked, leaning into it. “Oh, I don’t know… thirty-seven? Maybe thirty-eight?”.

His fingers stilled. You nearly lost it right then and there. Jensen let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”.

You grinned. “Just messing with you, Ackles”.

He huffed, grabbing his whiskey again. “Uh-huh”.

Silence fell again, but this time, it was charged. You could feel it crackling between you, humming in the air like a song waiting to be played.

Jensen rolled his shoulders, exhaling deeply. “You really think thirty-five is old?”.

You laughed. “Oh, now you wanna have this conversation?”.

“Just trying to understand your expert analysis on aging”, he deadpanned.

You smirked. “Okay, fine. Thirty-five isn’t old. But for me? It’s up there”.

He squinted at you, lips twitching. “Uh-huh. And yet, here you are. Writing songs with someone way past your so-called cut-off”.

You leaned back into the couch, sipping your whiskey slowly, pretending to consider his words. “Well”, you said, drawing it out, “dating someone and spending time with someone are two different things”.

Jensen’s lips twitched. “Oh yeah?”.

“Mhm”. You nodded, your tone casual—too casual. “I mean, just because you’re fun to hang out with doesn’t mean I’d date someone your age”.

His eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t take the bait immediately. Instead, he matched your energy perfectly. Jensen exhaled through his nose, taking another sip of his drink before speaking. “So let me get this straight”, he said smoothly. “I’m good enough to spend hours alone with—writing songs, late-night studio sessions, drinking whiskey, having deep conversations—but if I so much as took you on an actual date, that’d be crossing the line?”.

You bit back a grin. Oh, he was good. “Exactly”, you teased, watching him over the rim of your glass.

Jensen let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn. That’s cold, sweetheart”.

You shrugged, all fake innocence. “Hey, I don’t make the rules”.

Jensen shifted, resting an arm on the back of the couch again, his body turning slightly toward you. “Yeah? Then what are the rules?”.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well, for one, older guys are usually too… I don’t know, set in their ways. Less open to new experiences”.

Jensen laughed, full and deep. “That so?”.

“Mhm”, You smirked. “They just don’t have the stamina to keep up”.

Jensen’s grin sharpened instantly. And you knew the second you saw that look that you had just set yourself up for something. He took his time finishing his drink, setting the empty glass down before turning his full attention to you. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he said, “Sweetheart, if there’s one thing I’m not lacking, it’s stamina”.

Your breath hitched. Just slightly. But Jensen noticed. You saw it in the way his smirk deepened, in the way his eyes flickered with something just beneath the surface.

Alright, fine. He wanted to play? Two could play.

You met his gaze, tapping your fingers lightly against your own glass. “Oh, I’m sure that’s what they all say”.

Jensen exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s adorable”.

You feigned offense. “What?”.

“The fact that you think I’d be one of them”. His voice dipped slightly, lower, rougher. “Trust me, sweetheart, I don’t say shit I can’t back up”.

Your stomach flipped. Oh. Okay. You had been teasing him just for fun—but now? Now it was something else. Something thick in the air, settling between you like a slow-burning fire. You licked your lips, watching him carefully. “That so?”.

Jensen hummed, leaning back with that same infuriating smirk. “Mhm”.

You tilted your head, considering him. “Shame I’ll never know if that’s true”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, real shame”.

He didn’t break eye contact. That damn smirk of his stayed right in place—relaxed, confident, like he had all the time in the world to see how far this would go.

And you? You weren’t about to be the first one to blink.

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the back of the couch, letting your fingers lightly trace along the rim of your glass. “You know”, you mused, tilting your head just enough that the space between you shrunk, “for someone who doesn’t seem to care what I think… you sure are putting in a lot of effort right now”.

Jensen chuckled, low and deep. “Oh, this isn’t effort”.

You raised a brow. “No?”.

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Nope”. His gaze dropped—just for a second. Just long enough to flicker over your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Trust me, sweetheart. If I was putting in effort, you’d know”.

You reached out, letting your fingers drift over the fabric of his sleeve—barely touching, just enough to make him aware of it.

Jensen’s breathing slowed. But he didn’t move away. Your fingers trailed up—lazy, teasing—just the slightest brush of skin against skin as you traced along his forearm, barely skimming his wrist. “And what would effort look like, exactly?”, you asked, voice soft, curious.

Jensen hummed, tilting his head. “You really wanna know?”.

You smirked, your fingers still idly tracing patterns against his skin. “Enlighten me”.

Jensen’s free hand lifted—slowly, deliberately. He didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. Just let his fingers skim along the outside of your knee, featherlight.

And damn it, you felt that everywhere. Your stomach tightened, heat spreading through your limbs too easily, too quickly.

Jensen must have noticed because his smirk deepened just slightly. His thumb brushed once—just once—over your knee, casual as hell. “Effort”, he murmured, his voice just a little rougher, “would mean I’m actually trying”.

You swallowed, keeping your composure. Barely. “And this isn’t trying?”.

His fingers drifted higher—so, so slightly—just to the edge of your thigh. “Not even close”.

Your breath hitched, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Good to know”, you said, voice steady, even as your pulse pounded.

Jensen chuckled again, low and knowing. “Mhm”.

The whiskey was doing its job. You could feel it. The warmth spreading, the way everything felt just a little looser, a little bolder. “You really think that’d be a shame?”, you murmured, tilting your head slightly, just enough to get closer.

Jensen let out a low chuckle, but there was something rougher beneath it now, something that wasn’t just playful anymore. “I think you already know the answer to that”.

His voice had dropped—lower, slower, that gravelly edge making your skin heat.

And hell if the whiskey wasn’t working overtime now.

Because you were leaning in just slightly, drawn in by that undeniable pull that had been sitting between you for weeks, growing stronger with every teasing remark, every late-night studio session, every damn second spent in each other’s space.

And Jensen? He wasn’t moving away. He was watching you, waiting, testing you in the same way you were testing him. His breath was warm against your lips, the scent of whiskey and something undeniably him making your head spin.

“You’re still holding back”. It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.

You swallowed, heart hammering. “And what if I am?”.

Jensen’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened slightly.

“If you weren’t…”. His fingers traced up, barely skimming over your thigh, slow and teasing, his touch warm against your skin. “…we wouldn’t be talking right now”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[blainesebastian]

yes is a world

word count: 8,043 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Nick rarely finds himself saying no to you, but there is one instance in which he does. notes: title is from 'love is a place' by e.e. cummings. gifs are from this gifpack! i also have a nick leister x reader masterlist here! notes 2: mentions of domestic abuse between reader's parents

Everything about Nick Leister screams yes, you noticed that the moment you met him. 

It’s in the firm lines of his body, broad shoulders, toned waist. The way he wears rings on his hands, his hands in general. It’s how he holds himself, it’s in his well-placed smiles and the curved syllables of his accent. This is someone who knows how to get exactly what he wants, when he wants it. When you first met him, you remember thinking that this was someone who was rarely told no. At first, you thought he was a spoiled brat, silver-spoon engraved with the word yes tipped into his mouth since birth. 

You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, about him, but it takes barriers coming down and masks removed to see that. 

It takes a long time to wriggle through the cracks, for Nick to trust you. A friendship between shared circles sprouts into something else, mutual attraction, an easiness that was somehow not there before. Or perhaps it’s always been there, just transformed into something else. Nick has always been someone who’s touchy; you’ve teased him that it’s his love language—hands brushing fingers, your lower back, dragging across your shoulders, playing with your hair, or rubbing up and down your spine. But him talking in a way that mattered? Sharing things? It was always one-sided. 

You’ve shared and gave and pried yourself open, and Nick’s always listened, been there for you, supported and protected you. But there was never a moment in which he cracked his ribs open either, shared vulnerabilities, until—

Seated on a small swatch of roof outside your bedroom window, you tug a blanket further around your shoulders. You and Nick are just hanging out, watching the dark clouds move across the midnight sky, attempting to count stars. It’s been a long fucking week of parties and obligations and…sometimes that’s fun? Other times it’s exhausting. 

He’s seated close enough that you can feel the heat of his body alongside your own, smell his cologne and something purely him. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and are kinda dumbfounded, all over again, by how beautiful he is. 

“You know what’s weird?” You ask. 

“That you insist on putting peanut butter on Oreos?” He volleys back, a twinge to his lips as you scoff. 

“I regret sharing that culinary masterpiece with you,” You don’t, “But no. I fucking hate my birthday.” 

Nick doesn’t say anything, but knows your birthday is at the end of the month. 

You tip your head back, eyes following a few stars that get stuck under moving clouds, “I know it’s bizarre. But I just—I feel like every year I’m supposed to be different, or something? One year older and I end up just feeling exactly the same.” 

You’re not sure if it makes sense or if it’s just some sort of deep-seated insecurity that’s been passed on from your parents to you. They’re not divorced, but they should be. They’re not fucking happy. And yet every year passes and things stay the same. You think most kids would be thrilled that their parents were sticking it out together, not cutting up a marriage. Except they’re not trying to work together or figure out how to fix things. 

They’re just making it worse. 

Nick’s hand brushes over your back in silent comfort and when he turns his head, he brushes his lips into your hair. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the sourness from sticking to the bottom of your ribs, attempting to change the subject. “Anyways,” You mutter, straightening your shoulders, “How’s Maddie?” He went to visit her this past weekend and while he didn’t say much about it, you’re hoping he had a good time. You know how much she means to him. 

When Nick stills beside you, you steal a glance at him and can see that he’s upset. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, brown eyes clouded over and…

“You don’t have to tell me.” You assure him, because obviously whatever happened is bad enough to cause this visceral reaction. 

You don’t expect him to say anything, his body is so tightly wound up in what feels like the word ‘no’, and yet—

Nick draws in a slow breath into his lungs, swallowing before— “I can’t see Maddie for her birthday.” 

Fuck. That’s next week. Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, trying to figure out how this happened. Nick’s been to a few parties, sure, just like anyone else in their friend group has…but he’s been really good, meticulous, about not involving himself in anything that could get him into trouble. He hasn’t stepped foot in a bare-knuckle boxing match or a racing event in a long while. Not even just to watch. 

You shift just a little to face him, “I don’t understand, what did your mom say?” 

Nick holds your gaze but he doesn’t reply, just licks his lips. Your eyes search his until they land on a fading bruise on his cheekbone and oh…oh fuck. 

“It’s my fault.” 

“It is not.” Nick counters, making you scoff out a soft sound. 

“You wouldn’t have that bruise if it wasn’t for me.” 

When some guy grabbed your ass at a party, Nick shoved him so hard he tumbled into a table. Before you could get in the middle, assure Nick that you were fine and that maybe it was best to leave, the guy got up and suckerpunched with a sloppy fist at Nick’s face.

“My actions are my own.” He replies, his hand slipping into your own and squeezing your fingers. 

“Which you wouldn't have done if it weren’t for me.” 

“And I’d do it again.” Nick counters, finality in his tone. 

You can’t help but sigh, frustrated for him. Knowing Nick, when his mother assumed he was doing something troublesome thanks to the bruise on his face, he never tried to correct her, refusing to drag you into it. 

Well. You can drag yourself into it. “I’m gonna talk to your mom, tell her what actually happened.” You tell him, “And before you start—‘my actions are my own’.” You parrot his words back to him, looking pleased as hell at the look on his face. 

Surprise, maybe, amusement definitely. His lips twitch into an almost smile at your determination. He doesn’t tell you no or try to talk you out of it. But he does lean over and kiss your cheekbone. 

—

That’s the first time that Nick finds himself unable to say no to you. And it’s not the last. 

—

Nick stares long and hard at the ball of wriggling fur in the center of his comforter, one of his hands coming up to rub the lower half of his face. 

“It’s a cat,” You smile, opening your hands wide and motioning to the orange, striped little thing with honeysuckle colored eyes that’s playing with a loose string on a blanket, “Or well…a kitten, I guess, is more specific.” 

His eyes flit up to yours before looking back down, “I know what it is, why is it on my bed?” 

“Because the floor is cold?” 

“Y/N.” He sighs out, slightly exasperated, which causes your lips to pout. 

“Oh come on,” You sit down on the edge of his bed, “I found him outside in the garbage. Someone threw him away.” And you’re trying not to sound hysterical here—the thought that someone could just toss a baby kitten, or any animal for that matter, into the trash if they didn’t want it—you shake your head. 

No need to cry. The kitten is going to be just fine. You smile a little as it rolls on its back, catching his own tail. 

“And you brought him here?” 

Your eyes flicker up to your boyfriend. You haven’t been together for very long but if Nick knows anything about you, it’s your soft spot for animals. This should not be a surprise to him. 

“I can’t keep him at my house—my parents would flip. And they’re already miserable, they don’t need the help.” 

“I don’t like cats.” Nick replies, the tone of his voice leaving little room for nonsense. 

You tilt your head at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Since when? “You’ve never told me that.” 

The orange kitten gets up and wobbles on its four legs to wander towards Nick…except he’s moving too fast and nearly does a nose-dive off the bed. Nick’s reflexes are fast, catching the fluffy ball in his hands and lifting him up and holding him against his chest. The kitten squirms but then starts to bat at the strings of his hoodie. Your lips curl up in soft amusement and Nick opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. 

Instead, he sneezes, right into his shoulder, barely turning his head in time. He blinks, like it caught him by surprise but then the next one doesn’t. He hands you the kitten, moving towards his bathroom, and your mouth forms a soft ‘O’ as you get up and follow him. 

Leaning against the doorframe as he blows his nose, you raise your eyebrows, “You’re allergic?” You had no idea. A soft, entertained noise leaves your lips as the kitten reaches for a strand of your hair and Nick sniffles. 

You give him an innocent wince as he takes a step towards you, gazing at the kitten like it’s personally offended him somehow. Well, it was a nice try. “I’ll take him to Jenna’s, maybe she can keep him.” 

You look down at the kitten and give him a soft smile, scratching underneath his chin. Nick tips his head back, sighing audibly, before gently taking the kitten back into his hands. He moves to sit down on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he watches the orange little thing play with the silver bracelet around his wrist. 

“We’re naming him Garfield.” 

You grin—we. You move to sit down next to his legs. The name Garfield is perfect. 

—

Nick has to start taking daily allergy pills but he never complains. He starts feeding Garfield special treats right from his hands, sitting on the floor with him. And you kiss him a little harder and longer for that. 

—

You rarely allow yourself to get drunk when you’re out at the club with Nick and your circle of friends. It’s not that you look down on it, or anything, it’s just that you know your hangovers are the fucking worst. There’s no in-between to how it treats you the next day (sometimes in the middle of the night). You’re either completely fine, or god awful sick—nauseous, headaches, body aches and promises that you will never allow yourself to get so shit-faced again. Until you inevitably do. 

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve pushed past your limits. You’re not incredibly sloshed, or anything; you’ve ironically always been a rather respectable drunk. Just enough of your wits about you to brush your teeth and text your mom that you’re okay before passing out. But the room is definitely spinning and your heart is beating in tandem with the music pulsing through the speakers onto the dance floor. 

Nick isn’t as far gone as you, just toeing the line of buzzed and seeing everything rose-colored, a state in which you probably should have kept yourself at but it was someone’s birthday at the bar. Everyone close by got a shot. Then Lion ordered another round. And then another. That on top of the two mixed drinks you already had. 

You’re off the dance floor, waiting at the bar, leaning against the edge of it. Nick has created a cage around you with his arms, body pressed against your back. You bop your head to the beat, chewing on a straw, waiting for the bartender to free up. 

“We should get another shot,” Jenna declares, finding a stool to slide onto. 

Your eyes widen as you turn to look at her because suddenly that sounds like a great idea, “Yes.” You wave your arm a little, attempting to grab the attention of the bartender, “Sir!” 

Nick reaches up for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and tucking it down against your body. You rotate to face him. 

“How am I supposed to get the bartender’s attention if I don’t have a hand to wave?” 

He presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, making you melt a little. “How bout some water instead?” 

You pout, jutting out your lower lip. You can’t hear Nick laugh but you can feel it, that tell-tale rumble in his chest. “No, no, just one more—one more.” You hold up the finger of the number in case he’s confused. 

He shakes his head but he’s smiling, his hand now curling around that one too. “One more,” He relents, “Then water.” 

Grinning, triumphant, you turn to Jenna and call out one more, making her cheer. You lean over Nick’s arm and wrap yours around your friend’s shoulders, a set of giggles capturing you both as Lion orders the shots. Your boyfriend doesn’t let go of you, helping you remain balanced and upright as you tip that final shot back into your mouth. 

—

Drinking water until you leave the club, while needed, unfortunately does not restore your equilibrium. You don’t remember going home with Nick, or him helping you out of your shoes and dress, or taking your makeup off, or helping you crawl into bed. All you remember is the sour taste of shots in the back of your throat as a sharp pain in your stomach wakes you out of a dead sleep. 

Glancing over at Nick, he’s asleep on his stomach, his one arm stretched out near his head along the pillows. He’s beautiful when he sleeps, though you suppose that shouldn’t be surprising. His eyelashes rest gently against his cheek, his back rising and falling as he breathes—and a twinge of amusement battles out your nausea as you see Garfield tucked into Nick’s neck, purring. You brush your fingers through his curls and shift to carefully pull the covers back, moving as quickly as you can to the bathroom. 

Your knees barely hit the floor before you’re vomiting into the toilet. It’s all liquid, which unfortunately does not make you feel any better as your stomach lurches its contents forward. Until there’s nothing left but dry heaves. 

You feel him before you hear him, the measured steps of Nick’s feet against the marbled floor. He then crouches down next to you in a pair of sweatpants, no shirt. The heat of his body feels nice alongside your own given the way you’re shaking in a cold sweat. He carefully gathers your hair up, holding it with one hand as the other rubs down your back. 

You cough, trying to get yourself to stop gagging long enough to breathe deeply in through your nose. Your eyes slip shut, focusing on Nick’s calm breathing, his hands massaging your spine. When you seem to be done, and god—you really hope you are, you close the toilet lid and Nick reaches to flush the toilet. 

“Never let me insist on one more shot.” 

Nick smirks a little, as if you could be told what to do—you know he’d never do that anyways, but he leans forward and helps you up off the floor. He sets you on the closed toilet seat, Garfield trotting into the bathroom like he owns the place. He’s getting a little bigger, chasing Nick’s shadow on the floor as your boyfriend wets a washcloth in the sink and brings it back over. He crouches in front of you, gently tipping your chin up. 

“On second thought, never let me drink ever again.” You mumble. 

He wipes the sweat off your cheeks, forehead and the sides of your neck. “Yes ma’am.” He teases, focused on the task at hand. Garfield attempts to crawl up Nick’s leg by using his sweatpants as leverage. That kitten is obsessed with him…though, you suppose you can relate. 

When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth towards the hamper, picking Garfield up and standing to his full height. “You gonna get sick again?” 

You try to suss out how you feel. Definitely not as terrible as before when you first woke up but…still kinda queasy. No reason for him to stick around though when he could go back to sleep. 

“I dunno, you mise well leave me here to die.” 

Nick smiles, rolling his eyes before returning to the bedroom. You sigh softly, standing from the toilet to at least wash the taste from your mouth with some mouthwash. You then settle on the floor in front of the glass shower, using the door to prop your back up. Your eyes slip closed for a moment, only opening again when you hear Nick come back into the bathroom. 

You expected him to crawl back into bed but instead he…he places Garfield into your hands and sets the one pillow down that was under his arm, then encourages you to sit up while he places the other behind you. He sits down, his thigh pressed into yours, spreading out the comforter over both your legs. 

You should not be getting so emotional about this man creating a makeshift bed in the bathroom. You can’t find the words to explain, either, behind what feels like cotton in your throat. So you lean your head on his shoulder instead as Garfield curls up on your lap. 

—

Your entire body is trembling as you lay back on your sheets, tired, sated, pleasure swirling as it licks at your nerve endings. Nick’s on top of you, inside of you, no one moving as you both come down from your high. Your throat is dry as you swallow, but fuck, you wouldn’t move for anything. He tips his chin down, nipping at your jawline, leaning up just a little to put weight on his arms so he doesn’t crush you. 

“Don’t—” You mumble, hooking a leg around his own, “Don’t move.” 

He smirks softly, his hand moving to tangle itself in your hair, “Weren’t two orgasms enough?” He asks, cheeky little shit. 

“You tell me,” You whisper against his mouth, rolling your hips up to meet his. Your body clenches around his cock and you can feel him stir with interest again, pressing against that deep spot inside you that makes your toes curl. 

Just one more. Nick leans down and nips at your lower lip with his teeth, shifting so he can use momentum to thrust forward. He swallows your moan, turning the kiss into something deeper. 

One more—and who’s Nick to deny you of that?

—

You’ve known Nick a long time, friends far before you were together. Because of that, you know that you can read one another fairly well. Even though you tend to wear your emotions right on your face, heart on your sleeve, he’s always been rather attuned to you. Nick, however, takes a bit longer to figure out. Anyone who doesn’t know him well would miss small signs when something is wrong. He keeps people at a distance on purpose, never letting anyone close enough to get a good look at him, to realize he’s wearing a mask. 

But you know. 

It takes a little while to spot it with a trained eye, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, his smile a little too forced, his body coiled tight with tension. When you touch him underneath his jacket, you can feel it in the muscles of his back, the way he doesn’t relax into you like he usually does. The way he avoids your gaze. 

He’s upset about something. 

You’re almost certain that’s why he picks a fight with Lion in the middle of this party that you’re at. He’s been short and a little rude all night, but sometimes, admittedly, that’s just how Nick is. He’s a hothead, he sometimes says things without considering consequences. But tonight feels different, you watch him carefully, like he’s a powder keg ready to explode. 

You and Jenna both get in the middle of an impending fist fight and you drag Nick outside until he’s forced to get into his car and take you home with him. You’re hoping that the tension will dissipate by the time you walk into his bedroom, but unfortunately it gets worse. You wrap your arms around yourself, watching as he begins to undress, removing his leather jacket. 

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” 

“Think it was quite obvious, I'm tired of Lion dragging me into his messes.” His accent is slightly thicker than usual because he's agitated, running both hands through his curls, “And you don't need to defend him, he's got a girlfriend for that.” 

Your eyebrows lift, “I'm on your side.” You say it a bit slowly, pointedly, because clearly whatever he's wound up about is not Lion. 

He scoffs, tugging his shirt over his head to toss in the hamper near his bathroom, “Right. That why you were hanging on him all night? That’s you being ‘on my side’?” 

You draw in a careful breath, looking away from him. Not because you feel like you’re embarrassed, in the wrong, or because you have something to hide. But because Nick is trying to hurt you, he’s trying to push you away. 

And you’re not going to let him. 

“Now all of a sudden you’re upset when we all dance with eachother?” You ask, trying to point out the faults in his so-called argument. 

A tight-knit circle of you and Lion, Nick and Jenna drinking on the makeshift dance floor. Consistently spinning and interchanging couples and…you didn’t think anything of it. It’s something the four of you have always done. Tonight was no different. You didn’t touch Lion in a way that could be construed as anything other than friends, and he was a perfect gentleman with his hands. He’s in love with Jenna. 

You refuse to call Nick ridiculous or begin some sort of name-calling back and forth because that’ll just make things worse. You are not the one that Nick’s upset with. 

You center yourself, squeezing around your midsection, “I know you’re frustrated that Lion pulls you into things without asking, but—”

“He’s not the only one who does that.” Nick interrupts, his words wrapped in barbed wire. 

You lift your chin, “You’re saying I do that too?” 

“Well I couldn’t explain a bruised face to my mother and now I own a cat I never wanted.” 

Fucking ouch. You can tell the exact moment when his words land and the gentle regret in his eyes, his breathing a little heavy. He suddenly glances away and you try to ignore the tingling at the bridge of your nose. You’re not going to cry in front of him, you know he’s yanking on insecurities of ‘what if’s, trying to grasp at anything that’s not the real problem. 

You smooth your hands over nonexistent wrinkles in your shirt, “Alright, when you’re ready to talk to me about what’s really bothering you, I’ll be in the living room.” 

You only let tears slip down your cheeks when you’re far away from his bedroom. 

—

You curl up on the couch downstairs, taking your jeans off and pulling on one of Nick’s hoodies that you find on the back of the chair in the kitchen. Angry at him or not, the man still has comfortable clothes that are hard to resist. 

Frustration sits heavily in your lungs, making your chest hurt. You know that sharing things that hurt isn’t always the easiest of things. You’ve been there. It’s difficult to trust people, especially when they have a habit of letting you down. You know have struggled with that before—not just with one another, but in your own lives with your family. You feel like you’ve tried to promise yourself that it’d be different with Nick, that despite patterns of predictability, that you’d both work on letting the other in. 

Or was that just something you made up for yourself that night on the roof? 

You hope your boyfriend will take those steps forward even when it’s hard, that yes, he’ll come talk to you about what’s really going on. 

But he doesn’t show. 

—

At some point you must fall asleep, because the next thing you know, you’re rolling over onto your back and trying to adjust your eyes to…Nick. Nick seated by your hip, his one arm resting on the other side of you. You can tell that he’s showered, a warm hue to his skin and his hair slightly damp, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. There’s an inward curl to his shoulders though that makes him appear smaller than usual. 

“What time is it?” You croak out, clearing your throat. You sit up a little, leaning against the arm of the couch. 

“Just after two,” He says softly and it’s quiet for a moment as you sit with one another. 

You watch him carefully, the way he holds himself. You can see him clamp down on an emotion so he can speak, though his voice is slightly strained when he says, 

“Fuck, I’m sorry—about what I said upstairs. I—”

You shake your head, your hand reaching for his. You squeeze, running your thumb back and forth over his knuckles, “I know.” It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he’s down here, trying to talk to you. 

“Nick,” You say gently after a moment, “What’s wrong?” 

Nick swallows, letting out a long breath as his eyes fill with unshed tears. It guts you, punches you right in the chest, seeing him like this, struggling with being able to talk about his emotions. He’s got them so tightly under lock-and-key, so buried underneath himself that he’s not sure how to let them out easily, which is how it ends up like this. A dam breaking open. 

“It’s—this is the day my mum left when I was younger, and I don’t know—I guess I think each year will get better, feel different. It never does.” He sniffles, quickly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, “And I know she’s worked hard on herself, why she had to leave—and yet I’m still so angry with her. And that feels awful too.” 

Your chest splits wide open, hurting that he’s hurting. You sit up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, encouraging him to lean into you. He’s tense for a long few moments before he melts, lets go, his arms sliding along your back and holding onto you tightly, like a lifeline. You can feel his face press into your shoulder, tears wetting your skin, dragging a ragged breath in as you stroke his back while your other hand threads into his curls. 

You hold him until he’s ready to pull away. 

—

A few days pass and you don’t bring up what Nick said to you about his mother. There’s no need to break it down further—what he was feeling, what he probably still is feeling, is valid. You’re not sure that one conversation is going to fix everything, but you hope he knows that someone is there for him, someone to listen. Someone to hold his hand next year when those ugly feelings visit his doorstep once again. 

Nick apologizes to Lion, who tells him it’s not a big deal, that it’s already forgotten. You’re just glad things return to as normal as they can around here. 

You dive under the water in Nick’s pool, kicking underneath until your lungs burn a little for oxygen. When you make your way to the surface, Nick is coming out from around the hedges in a red swim trunks and a white t-shirt. 

“Got something for you.” He says, motioning for you to get out of the pool. 

“Is it ice cream?” You call out, floating on your back towards the ledge to exit, “Cause I love ice cream.” 

“Easy to please, I’ll remember that for next time.” He teases, setting some towels down on a glass table. 

You pull yourself from the water, adjusting your swim bottoms as you round the edge of the pool to stand in front of him. He looks…he looks better. There’s a lightness that’s returned to his eyes, the smirk more genuine in the corners of his mouth. His shoulders are relaxed too and you swallow the urge to kiss him. 

You purse your lips, “I’m still not convinced it’s not ice cream—”

And then, from a small, blue, velvet bag, Nick pulls out a silver chain that has a tiny key on the end of it. It’s dainty, beautiful, the key top shaped like a heart and no bigger than your thumb nail. Your mouth falls open and then a wide smile spreads across your face as you reach out and take it from him. 

“Nick,” You whisper.

He hums and then reaches into his shirt, pulling out a similar chain. But instead of a key on his, he has a silver lock relatively the same size. It’s clear—they go together, yours unlocking his, and the weight of that sits heavy and low in your chest. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, watching you, “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” You reply instantly, turning and handing it back to him, “Can you put it on me?” 

Nick opens the clasp and moves his arms around you, resting it against your chest as you move your hair aside for him. When he’s done, he puts his hands on your shoulders, squeezing, palms traveling down your arms. When you turn back around, he’s smiling, gaze wandering from the key on your sternum and then back up to your eyes. 

Then, in one giant swoop, he lifts you into his arms to haul over his shoulder, a squeal leaving your lips as he jumps into the pool. 

—

Nick’s a great cook, which you suppose shouldn’t be surprising, because he’s good with his hands. It’s like a state of fluidity you can’t begin to understand, the way he moves in a kitchen. It’s like he has a sixth sense of when to add seasonings, when to fix a temperature for something he’s making, when a recipe calls for one thing but he substitutes another. He’s also mesmerizing to watch when he prepares things—cutting strips of chicken, rolling noodles in sauce, mincing garlic and herbs. 

Probably something that shouldn’t be attractive but it is. 

On the flip side, you’re not the most organized in the kitchen. You know how to make the basics, provide for yourself if you’re not ordering UberEats. Your one aunt didn’t know how to boil pasta until she was seventeen so…safe to say you’re not that bad. However, baking is another story. Your grandparents owned a little bakery before it went up for sale when they passed away. One of your regrets is that you were never old enough to take it over, that your parents didn’t save it. 

Regardless, baking is in your blood and you want to be good at it. 

Though…if Nick’s face is any indication as he bites into a cookie you’ve made, maybe you should quit while you’re ahead. Or behind, in this case. You chew on your lower lip, leaning against the counter as he chews…thoughtfully. 

“Not good? Are they awful?” 

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “I don’t know if I’d say that.” 

You groan, tipping your head into your hands, “They are, they’re terrible.” You lift your gaze to his, a soft pout on your lips, “I don’t understand, I followed every step of the recipe.” 

Nick smiles a little, licking his lips, setting the cookie down on the plate. It makes a conk noise, which indicates they’re far too hard. And you like crispy cookies! Like a snickerdoodle that’s soft and gooey on the inside but has a good crust on the outside. But this…isn’t that. 

You pick one up and bite into it. It’s supposed to be red velvet chocolate chip but it kinda tastes…bland. Except at the end where there’s a salty, burnt chocolate flavor. “Oh no.” 

“Really hope food poisoning isn’t involved.” 

“Hey,” You kick his shin under the table even though you’re laughing, “Shut up.” Sighing dramatically, you place the cookie back on the plate, “I guess it’s good I didn’t try out one of my grandparent’s recipes, would have ruined their memory along with the cookies.” 

He shakes his head, his hand reaching for yours on the table. He smiles as he brushes his thumb along your knuckles, your fingers dragging across the silver ring he’s wearing, “You can always try again. I can help you next time.” 

“I wanted to do it by myself,” You grumble—you already know they’re going to turn out good if Nick helps. But that’s not the point. Or…maybe it is. Having edible cookies. 

He stands from the counter, shifting around the island to plant a kiss to your cheek. He then dips his chin, peppering kisses along your face in rapid succession until you laugh, your hand falling to his chest to playfully push him away. 

“I’ll just throw them out, then we can watch a movie or something.” You move to grab the plate, but Nick gets there first, picking it up to carry it into the living room. He selects one of the less sad-looking ones on the outskirts. A small smile blooms over your cheeks as he decides that, yes, he’ll eat another one, despite how awful they are. 

—

Nick rarely finds himself saying no to you, but there is one instance in which he does.

—

Admittedly, this is not how you usually handle situations like this.  You know that when you’re on the outside looking in, it digs under your skin when people you care about try to shove you away from trying to help. When they put up walls around themselves, refusing to let anyone close to help. You’ve always been a problem solver, driven by solutions, or at the very least being available to listen, because sometimes having someone to vent to is more than enough. 

You never want someone to close themselves up to the point in which they push anyone they care about away, building a box inside to shove emotions into because it’s easier not to feel anything at all. 

So maybe that’s why this is so ironic—because now when you’re faced with something you’re not sure how to handle, you cut everyone off like a gangrenous limb. 

You’ve expressed frustrations before about your parents, about how despite the fact that they should be divorced, they’re sticking together for god knows what reason. It’s made their once tolerable relationship ugly, it’s turned them into people who hate one another. And that toxic relationship finally bubbles up one night—

Your dad hits your mom. 

And you’re not talking about a gentle tap, it’s a backhanded strike that knocks her into the table. There’s instant regrets, there’s begging, there’s crying, and all the while you just kinda stand there, staring at the spot where your mom was. It shuts a door inside you, it pushes everything you’ve ever cared about right into your ribs. 

It makes you never want to trust another person again, it makes you never want to be in a relationship because things can sour far too fast. Two people who loved one another, who had a child together, turned into something ugly. You’re not saying you’re destined for that same fate, but it doesn’t inspire comforting feelings about being with someone either. 

This might not be a small town, but drama spreads like a virus in private social circles, and suddenly everyone knows about what happened between your parents. Your mother’s doctor visit, your father at a bar—it’s all too much for you to deal with, that downward spiral making you feel like you’re stuck even though what’s happened doesn’t directly impact you. 

Especially since both of your parents are acting like it never fucking happened. They never mention divorce. It makes you irrationally angry, almost to the point where you want to drive your fist through your bedroom mirror. 

Jenna blows up your phone with calls and texts and you manage to send a few that respond to her questions. You have no idea how to answer, are you alright? Or is there anything I can do? 

You don’t respond to Nick at all. 

—

In the back of your mind, you know you should have seen this coming. Nick wasn’t just going to take to being ignored. You can picture the concern swimming in his brown eyes, the frown tugging his handsome mouth down, the surge of protectiveness to just fix whatever’s wrong. You hate worrying him, but you just…can’t find it within yourself to make a different choice. It’s like you’re sitting in the rafters watching this all play out, a spectator in your own life. 

You’re folding laundry when Nick shows up, letting himself into your room. He’s wearing a large gray hoodie that makes your chest ache with how comfortable it looks, tugging the hood off his head when the door closes behind him. He lets out a soft sigh, reaching into the large pocket in the front and—

A ball of orange, fuzzy fur mewls. 

You pause as he puts Garfield down on your bed, the kitten instantly rushing to greet you, rolling into piles of laundry you’ve created to put in your closet. Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, gaze lifting to your boyfriend, 

“Not keeping him anymore?” You ask, voice a little rough from lack of use. 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together—you suppose you wouldn’t be surprised if he was breaking up with you, given the radio silence you’ve created. “No. I figured you might miss him. And since you won’t text or call me back, I assumed you wouldn’t be coming over any time soon either.” 

You swallow over a foreign emotion in your throat (you know exactly what it is) and look down at Garfield. Your heart clenches—you did miss him. The kitten isn’t the only thing you miss. Your eyes flit up to Nick again, who’s hovering near the door, eyes assessing. He’s trying to get a read on you, trying to figure out what he can do to help. You’re sorry that he’s wasted his time. 

Setting down a shirt, you pick up Garfield and bury your nose in his fur for a moment. He kinda smells like Nick’s sheets, like the comfort and warmth of his bedroom. Your eyes close. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

You lower Garfield a little, scratching under his chin, “I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Your eyes flash as you lift your chin, a scoff tumbling out, “What, is that not enough? What else should be wrong, Nick?” 

“Y/N,” He starts and you shake your head, putting your hand up as you gently drop the orange kitten to your bed. His voice is too soft, too gentle, it hurts to hear. 

“No, I’m curious—please elaborate. Is my dad hitting my mom not a wrong enough reason to not respond to your calls or texts?” Your voice is heightened, slightly pinched and you hate how it sounds borderline hysterical, but what the fuck? When he showed up, you didn’t expect that he’d be calling you out on your emotions. You figured he might listen, try to help, even though you weren’t interested in talking. 

But this? 

“Get out.” You state, voice calmer than before. 

You stare a hole right through him and you can tell the moment that Nick strengthens his resolve, digs his heels in, the asshole actually has the audacity to cross his arms over his chest. 

“No.” 

You blink at him, your breath coming out short, nearly a gasp as your heart begins to hammer in your ears. No? No? Nick has been the type of person to be completely supportive to the point where he nearly bends to your every whim, your every request. He says yes like he was made for it—it’s in every smile he gives you, every lingering touch, every kiss of a promise. 

You do not expect him to say no. 

“Nick, I’m not—” You shake your head, rounding the bed to stand in front of him, not close enough to touch. Not yet. “I’m being serious.” 

“So am I.” 

That just serves to piss you the fuck off, “Get out,” You snap, no longer worried about being cordial, about sounding a certain way. Your voice shakes and you can feel the bridge of your nose tingle, your eyes stinging, “Just leave me alone.” 

Again, Nick looks at you with an utter calm that makes you want to slap him across the face. He breathes in through his nose and then lets it go. He shakes his head, 

“No.” He repeats. 

You swallow what feels like glass in your throat. Why is he doing this? “I don’t want you here.” 

“I don’t care,” He volleys back, determination strengthening his entire stance. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

That statement hits you square in the chest, a roar that sounds like the ocean crashing in your ears. I’m not going anywhere—it repeats a few times, a cycle bouncing off your ribs, capable of ripping you wide open. Your jaw sets in resolve and you’re not even realizing that you’re moving until you take two steps forward and put your hands on his chest, shoving him towards the door. 

Nick’s mouth falls open, more surprised than anything else, as you throw him off balance. He quickly rights himself, that boxing training coming into handy as he anticipates your next push. 

“Stop,” He says softly, nowhere near as pissed as you want him to be. How you feel. 

You don’t listen, hitting his chest again, throwing your body into it to try and force him through the doorway. Out. Away. “Get out.” Your hands curl into fists, throwing them against him, your cheeks burning with effort. Your vision blurs, pent up tears beginning to spill down your face. “I–just leave.” 

Nick shakes his head again, his hands moving to gently clasp your wrists. His body is immovable despite how much power you’re trying to put into each movement. He squeezes you but not in a way that’s painful, just trying to keep you still. You draw in a haggard breath, 

“Nick—”

His features scrunch at the pain in your voice and he attempts to wrap his arms around you to draw you close, even though you won’t let him, taking a step back,

“I know,” He whispers, cupping your cheek and thumbing away tears, “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” 

A pinched whimper leaves your lips as you give in to what he’s saying, your body pitching forward, Nick firmly keeping you in place against his chest. The tears are relentless as they stream down your cheeks, plopping into his gray hoodie, all of your frustration, anger, hurt, emptying against him. He tries to support you the best way that he can, pressing his lips and nose to your temple, murmuring that he’s there, that you’re going to be okay, that he loves you. 

And for once? You’re glad he didn’t listen. You’re glad he said no. 

—

Seated in bed against the headboard, Garfield finds his way onto your stomach, making biscuits with his little hands. For something so tiny, he’s a loud purrer. You glance up as Nick comes back into your bedroom, a mug of hot tea in his hands that he places into yours before crawling in beside you. 

“Were they downstairs?” 

Nick adjusts a pillow near you, leaning back and angling his body a bit towards yours. He smiles a little at Garfield, reaching over to pet between his ears. 

“Your mom’s in the living room. I didn’t see your dad.” 

Probably out again to avoid the gravity of his mistakes. You feel so tired, exhaustion sitting in your chest like cinderblocks. Heavy in a way you’ve never felt before. You hold the mug of tea carefully, blowing at the steam that’s curling out of it. 

Sometimes your parent’s problems feel immovable, like you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past it. You’re scared it’s going to get worse if it’s not addressed. You let out a slow breath out of your mouth—you suppose you can’t allow yourself to think like that, you’ll drive yourself crazy. 

Besides—at least you have people who care about you, who can help, even if it’s just to be here. You glance over at Nick, his gaze already on yours, mapping along your face. A gentle smile tugs the corners of his lips, his hand moving to rub your thigh gently. 

“Can I do anything?” He asks. 

Your fingers squeeze the hot ceramic. “You already have.” And lean over to kiss him. 

—

There’s this poem you like that reminds you of Nick—one of the lines says, yes is a world. And despite how often he says it? You realize you should be saying yes to more things too. Yes, you will have that extra scoop of ice cream. Yes, you’ll spend a lazy Sunday watching crime documentaries. Yes, it’s okay to feel frustrated that the trust you put in the adults around you has been mishandled. That they’ve hurt you in doing so. Yes, it’s okay to admit you need help. That you need someone to lean on. 

It’s a work in progress, but maybe if you start living more in that world of yes? Other people might too. Like your mom, who will hopefully discover one day that, yes, she deserves better. 

So when Nick asks you if you’d like to come with him to visit Maddie, you smile brightly and say yes. 

Despite everything you’ve heard, you haven’t met Maddie. You’ve briefly interacted with Nick’s mother a few times, but not the sister that is so near and dear to him. You know how important this is, can feel it fill up your chest like a hot-air balloon when pulling into the gravel driveway. There’s this unfounded worry that his sister will somehow not like you, even though there’s no reason to think that. You know Maddie knows who you are—Nick’s told her. 

You watch as Nick gets out of the car and crouches low to scoop his younger sister up into his arms, doing a small spin that makes her giggle and you smile. He’s so good with her, your heart hammering in your chest as he sets her down and ruffles her hair. He motions a little over to you, putting his hands on his knees so he’s eyelevel with her. 

“That’s Y/N.” 

She gasps in pure excitement, “Your girlfriend?” Nick laughs a little before nodding, standing to put his hands on her shoulders and turn her in your direction. “She’s so pretty.” 

He hums in agreement. “She is.” 

You smile, wandering towards the pair, “It’s really nice to meet you Maddie. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Instead of replying, she rushes forth and captures you in a hug, squeezing you tight enough to envy her big brother. You can’t help but laugh, hugging her back—you decide you like her. A lot. 

—

After a big dinner, two pieces of chocolate cake, and playing hide and seek (quite terribly, you might add) you and Maddie lay in a hammock under twinkle lights with a book in the backyard as Nick helps his mother put away dishes and clean up. He glances outside the kitchen window at you two, a small smile on his face. The fondness in his eyes is almost enough to take you out at the knees, butterflies skittering into your ribs. 

Maddie turns the page, reading outloud, “It was then the princess said that the prince was her home, even if they were miles and miles apart.” 

She pauses, fingers playing with the page. She tips her head back to look at you, her hair smelling like daisies and citrus. “Can home be a person?” 

You smile a little, your gaze finding Nick again, “Yes,” You nod, “I think it can.” 

[sevsprincess]

Mirrors

Sevika x reader

Contains: smut /MDNI

Standing infront of your mirror, poking at your tummy and sighing wasn’t how you usually spent your nights. But at times there were and you hated it, you hated how thought of your weight would consume your mind and take over for a bit. Until Sevika came. She always made sure to make you know she loved every part of you including your chubbyness.

So when Sevika walked in the door frame and saw you standing there, she

Was irritated. Irritated with the fact you were doubting your beauty once again. Sevika walked up behind you bringing one hand to tenderly wrap around you throat while the other rested on your lower hip.

“When are you going to stop doubting your beauty hm? Don’t you know how fucking sexy you are baby?” Sevika rasped. “Do I have to fuck these thoughts of you?”

That certainly snapped you of your thoughts.

Without turning around quickly tilted your head back looking up at her. “Maybe you do.” Smirking up at her.

“Strip. And don’t move stay right here in front of the mirror.” She left to go retrieve the strap most likely. Your thighs rubbing together just at the mere thought of it.

When she came back with the purple strap on, you had no idea what she was planning but you were absolutely ready to pounce on her.

“Kneel for me baby, and face the mirror.” You didn’t waste not a single second to obey her. “Play with yourself for me..”

Your hand reaching down to your folds spreading around your slick before finally lightly circling your clit. You could see your chest arise quicker with every stroke of your finger against your clit, and god did you look delectable right now.

After a couple of minutes of watching you squirm and play with yourself, Sevika kneeled down behind you. Her breath against your ear. “You see how fucking sexy you look baby? What you see right now, is what I see every second looking at you..so fucking delicious looking I get horny like a dog in heat just by watching you.”

Her hands grabs you by the wrist forcing you stop. A whine coming from your mouth at the loss of your own touch. Sevika tsks behind you. “Don’t worry baby I got something for you.”

Her strong hands lifted you up by underneath your thighs. “You ready baby?” Your head shamelessly nodding wanting her to hurry up and sink you down on her strap.

She aligned the tip with your entrance rubbing it along your slit to get it wet before sliding you down onto it. You softly moaned at first when just the head was in waiting for her to continue. Instead she slammed the rest up into you. Your hips bucking and mouth agape at the surprise.

“Aw baby look at you..all full of my cock.” You looked forward in the mirror your hair was coming undone, there was already a bit of sweat forming at your hair line, and Sevika had the most shit-eating grin in her face ever.

Sevika still held your thighs open, and in this new position it felt like she was deeper than ever with each thrust. Her mouth on your neck sucking and biting while she rhythmically pounded into you.

“Oh god sev please ple-mm” you couldn’t even get your sentence out before you were moaning. Your hand came up to play with your breast, pulling and tweaking your nipple. You moaned out and closed your eyes at the sensations.

“What did I say. Watch yourself, open your eyes.” She said with a slap to your clit.

You jerked your eyes open letting out a loud moan. Your eyes immediately training on the way how her strap slipped in and out of you. Everytime her hips slammed up into you, you let out one of the most dirtiest little moan ever.

“Look at you.. my sexy little angel. You’re taking me so good aren’t you?” Sev chuckled. Her free hand going down to rub tight circles on your twitchy clit.

“Sev please oh god please I’m so c-close I can’t take it.” You were blabbering at this point and you were so close, the familiar feeling in your stomach. You looked up to Sevika following her eyes to your stuffed pussy.

“Look at how cute you look angel..your pussy is taking me so well aren’t you?” Sevika laughed and thrusted up harder making you scream her name as you came hard. She slowly lifted and pulled the strap out of you watching as it all came creaming out.

“You took me so well baby and you looked absolutely beautiful while doing so.”

She picked you up to take you to the bathroom and clean you off, massaging your thighs while doing so. “Next time I see you in the mirror like that I’m not stopping only after you come once, remember that angel face.” You ducked your head down, your cheeks flushed knowing Sevika loved you regardless of how you looked now.

Sdt: @abbylvr69

[salemrph]

The note

Character: Sylus x MC/You

Genre: Fluff, Unresolved Romance / AO3

A/N My head started to dream and this just come out while I'm working. So no fancy picture or word counting. Just raw material straight out my head.

This is you, one night, sitting in front of your desk, in the Sylus's guest room. Tara had told you if your feelings are stacked in your throat and nothing comes out... You should just write it down. You spent a while looking at the white page of your notebook. That's expensive leather, hand-made, personalized gift Sylus gave you, weeks ago. Of course, with a beautiful pen with a sweet and simple engraved message: I adore you. Something that makes your heart ache, your chest tight and you cheeks glow.

The pen is still in your hand when Sylus walks in, after knocking at your door. You sleep safe and sound on the desk. A few hair covers your eyes. Sylus smiled softly, ready to lift you up and place you in your bed. His eyes flies briefly over the desk.

What were you doing, kitten?

He pats you head in a delicate way. Then he notices the notebook open next to you. He shouldn't read it but something catches his attention. Sylus let out a short laugh. His heart races more than normal, he feels the warmth of the words spreading in his chest. Every time he thinks you can't be cuter, you top it. You rip his heart out and you make a mess in his mind.

Sylus closed the notebook, neatly lined things up on the table. Leaving it organized. Before lifting you up, you whimper and complain without fully waking up.

His eyes are even softer than before. He turns off the light and carries you to his room. There's no way he can leave you alone for another second after reading that.

You'll surely be fussy tomorrow but... It doesn't matter even seeing you flustered and angry at him, is better than not waking up at all by your side.

---

Ugh.

Why do you always have to lean in like that? You get too close, and my brain, my heart...

When you look at me, I forget the world’s on fire. When you touch me, I forget to be afraid.

I think...

God, I don't want to write it even down. I would be so real...

Stop smirking. Stop being smug. Stop making me want to kiss you every time you breathe.

I hate you.

---

[romancherry]

caged in silk (3) — picnic date

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ a nice picnic during a perfect sunny day is turned into something unexpected when javier starts to seduce you. and when he is done, it's joel's job to clean it up.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, soft!dark content, fingering, oral (f!receiving), pussy eating, squirting, overstimulation, heavy praise kink, breast play, nipple play, pet names (especially good girl), guiding and talking reader through orgasms, kissing and making out, all of this happens out in the open in their backyard so it's immoral public behaviour, dirty talk, swearing, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 4.900

author's note ➝ hello everyone i'm back with another update on this story! never thought i'd make it lol. i've been busy with college and my inspiration dimmed but i finally gathered the time necessary to write another chapter. it's a bit on the longer and more descriptive side. i tried my best to incorporate every detail i had imagined and i hope i didn't confuse you. if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or repost! my heart fills with love every time i read your supportive reactions 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

it had been a week since your failed escape attempt. a week since you had fought tooth and nail, trying to slip away from them, only to be caught and dragged right back where you belonged. 

you had been defiant, full of fire, spewing curses at them and threatening to make their lives hell. but now? now, you peacefully sat between them in the backyard. 

a picnic. their attempt at smoothing things over, at making you comfortable. 

the checkered blanket beneath you was soft, and the spread they had laid out was impressive: lemonade, fresh fruit, cheese and pastries, along with some beer bottles for them to enjoy. 

it was domestic, almost normal. if someone looked from the outside, they’d think this was just a group sharing a lazy afternoon together.

but you knew the truth. 

javier sat on your left with a protective hand resting on your thigh, thumb lazily tracing circles over your bare skin. marcus was across from you, sitting comfortably on a folding chair, reading a newspaper through his sunglasses with a beer in his hand. and joel was just a few feet nearby, tending to a couple of pork ribs on the grill.

it was almost laughable how much they tried to make you feel content here. it’s absurd how they went back to playing house after filling your mind with honeyed threats. don’t try to run again, sweetheart. it won’t end well for you. your place is with us. you belong here, you just don’t see it yet. 

“you’re awfully quiet, sweetheart,” joel said, turning his head towards where you and javier laid on the blanket, studying you.

you stabbed your fork into a piece of fruit, shoving it into your mouth before responding. “what am i supposed to say?” 

“attitude,” marcus warned.

“looks like someone’s feisty today,” javier teased, and you could peak with the corner of your eye just how smug and amused his smirk was displayed on his stupid face.

“why don’t you try an’ relax, hm? it’s a beautiful day, baby. sunshine ‘n all,” joel suggested. and he wasn’t wrong. today’s weather is indeed the only reason to smile. the grass is greener, butterflies are in the air, the sunrays are glowing upon you, making your eyes hurt a little. the colours are vibrant and the ocasional breeze makes it a little easier to breathe through the smell of barbecue and smoke.

too bad the company’s ruining everything. this would’ve normally been the perfect day for you if you hadn’t been in the presence of your captors who changed the course of your life drastically and expected you to fall in line quickly. bend and mold to their every decision and routine while learning to not cross their boundaries.

“what’s in that pretty little head of yours, darling?” javier interrupted your train of thought, his hand smoothing over the plump flesh of your thigh, a bit too uncomfortable for your liking. “i don’t like seeing that frown on your beautiful face,” he added, his words almost genuine. with his hand still warming your thigh, his other hand came up to brush a stray hair off your face and lock it behind your ear, revealing more of your cheek to him.

“eres tan hermosa, mi amor,” he whispered sweetly, and you just realized how close he got to you.

you slightly and carefully turn your head in his direction, and your nose almost brushes his. his gaze immediatelly follows your mouth and studies your anxious breathing. the way your throat barely constricts when you swallow. how you try to make yourself seem unaffected by his presence; not only the warmth and confidence he emanates, but how he’s so open with his desire and admiration for you just by the expression of his eyes alone.

his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, and before you can shy away from the overwhelming eye contact, he gently cups your cheek and brings your lips to his.

your shock comes to life through a light squeak, a sensible moan, and javier proudly swallows it whole. he doesn’t wait for you to give him permission. the moment his tongue breaks the barrier of your lips and meets your own, his chest fills with lust.

he kisses you like he’ll never get another chance; greedy, passionate, posessive. he makes love to your mouth, worships your tongue and ocasionally moans shamelessly at how warm and familiar you feel, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. he laps at every inch you didn’t willingly give; teeth crashing, lips burning, noses touching – and before you can stop yourself, your hand unconciously grabs his shirt, and his body moves itself by instinct, scooting impossibly closer to yours, searching for more. demanding more.

he forces himself to break the kiss, and he does it so annoyingly slow. his teeth drag your bottom lip with him as if daring you to seek his touch further. his lips completely depart from yours and create distance between you.

his eyes run over your every feature, taking in your shaken state. you’re obviously dizzy and flustered, your glossy eyes and slightly red cheeks giving you away to his predatory gaze.

“seems like someone’s having fun,” marcus breaks the silence, the deep, intimidating tone in his voice snapping you out of the trance javier put you in.

you can see in the corner of your eye that joel’s attention shifted as well, from the preparation of the meal on the grill to the heated situation between you and his younger brother.

you search for a glimpse of jealousy and posessiveness in his gaze, but you don’t find any. he looks… interested. amused. curious to see if you will let your guard down again.

his eyes roam over your body and analyze the slight tremble in your naked thighs. you silently curse them for the creativity they put into choosing the delicate sundress for you today. yellow, thin… questionably short.

you realize the choice for your attire is no sudden coincidence. they planned on making you give in. how much, you didn’t know. it was up to them to decide on how many bricks they were going to knock out of your walls. their games of seduction were limitless, and if you weren’t careful… if you let them have their way with you – you know they’ll absolutely ruin you. and you didn’t want that. didn’t want them to have that power on you.

you snap out of deep thought and carefully shimmy away from javier’s body. but he’ll have none of that.

“where are you going, princesa?” javier asks, placing his hand on your thigh. he doesn’t need to apply any pressure to let you know you can’t go anywhere further.

“nowhere,” you fake confusion in your voice, trying to hide your true intention. trying to hide the fact that you indeed wanted to get away from his overwhelming attention.

of course your lies couldn’t get past him. he’s a former agent, for fuck’s sake. if you’re searching for a master manipulator in this house, first person you think of is javier peña. you play his games; he doesn’t play yours.

“now, now, hermosa… you gave me a taste, you know you can’t leave me like this,” he taunts, his intentions clear.

“what would you want me to do?” you question, your irritated tone making it clear you won’t break easily. that you’re not his puppet, his personal hooker that he payed for in order to forget about his problems.

“attitude, sweetheart. watch your tone,” marcus warns. of course he had to lecture you.

“it’s alright, brother,” javier excuses you. he is being suspiciously sweet. “i don’t think our sweetheart meant any harm. did you, baby?” his question is a test. a subtle dare – act impulsively on your frustration and feel the consequences. play his game, by his rules – and maybe you’ll have a shot. maybe you’ll rise in his eyes; make him proud. make yourself worth accounting for next time marcus wants to teach you a lesson.

“no. i meant no disrespect,” you comply. and you don’t miss the growing smile on javier’s face.

“good girl. very good girl,” he appreciates, running his hand through your flowing hair as gentle as possible. a gesture of kindness. a praise. a glimpse of what could happen – what could be – if you choose to submit. “why don’t you come sit between my legs, hm, baby? you’ll be more comfortable here.”

his invitation makes your stomach turn in disgust. you know what he wants, what he seeks. he moves his legs apart to make room for you and you don’t let him wait, moving carefully in the space he created. you’re grateful he didn’t demand you to straddle his lap.

you place your ass as far away from his crotch as you can while you gently lay the weight of your back on his chest. you position your head on his right shoulder, urging him to cradle you, which he does. he removes the barrier your hair created between your faces, guiding it on the opposite side. his breath is heavy and heated on your cheek, and as if the situation couldn’t get more overwhelming, he sneaks his left arm around your waist, circling it, sticking your body to his, making it harder to breathe, to move, to escape him.

you need some means of grounding. a way to cope with the anxiety buzzing in your bones and boiling your blood, your patience. how dare he touch you this way? make a show of your submission and compliance in front of his brothers, for the first time ever? what does he hope to accomplish?

you gather in fists the material of the dress which innocently rests on the side of your thighs, right below the delicate curve of your hips. it’s a way supposed to help you calm down and stop anticipating what’s to come next. to sway you from the overthinking train of thought which is threatening to keep rising your panic.

javier notices the way your body tenses, and he frowns. he doesn’t like it – doesn’t enjoy the fact that you’ll think he’s going to hurt you, violate your privacy and independence. he merely wants to take care of you and help you relax. he quickly figures that maybe this isn’t the best place to do it – in front of the watchful and hungry eyes of his brothers. but he can’t take it back now. all he can try is to make the pain go away. to coax you into opening up and become vulnerable for him – for them.

“shh, baby, relax. relax,” he whispers while carefully massaging the length of your arm with the unoccupied hand. gentle strokes of his fingertips rise goosebumps in their path while going up and down, up and down, doing a better job than you expected. “don’t be afraid, i won’t hurt you. i could never hurt you,” he promises, but his words feel empty to you. meaningless. deceitful.

you feel the wet press of his lips right on your temple and you shiver. he is so gentle, too gentle. treating you like a fragile piece of ancient, romantic sculpture. he surely must think of you like that – consider you something, someone, worth protecting and appreciating. worthy of love.

“you smell divine, mi amor,” he inhales ocasionally, taking deep breaths of your scent – the floral detergent in your dress, the remnants of the shampoo and conditioner in your hair. even the natural scent of your skin, though subtle, is enough to make javier’s head spin.

his hand removes leaves your arm and trails dangerously lower, tracing the line between the bottom of your dress and the inside of your thigh. the occasionally cool breeze flows in your direction, bothering your thin dress and lifting it merely an inch off of your legs. each time that happens, you’re sure that marcus can see the center of your panties and the way they stick like second skin to your pussy, squeezing your throbbing clit.

javier struggles to hide his amused smirk each time he touches you, teases and plays with your imagination by threatening to dip his fingers lower. to enter new territory and sink between your legs to where you want him most.

“so soft, baby. soft as silk,” he murmurs into your ear, his praise followed by a gentle peck to your earlobe, “can’t believe something as sweet as you rests in my arms. you like that, baby? feel safe?” he urges you to answer, to respond in kindly to his advances so he can take your pleasure as a sign to go further.

you shudder at his honeyed praise and force to swallow a lump down your throat so you can speak. “yes,” it’s more of a moan than a proper word, “feels… nice.”

“good, baby. i’m glad you like it,” he nips at your earlobe, and the unexpected distraction presents an open door for his hand to quickly trail further down your dress and dissapear right between your legs. you only notice the sudden intrusion when you feel your body moving without your own accord – your legs slightly parting, making room for him to graze the tip of his index down the center line of your pussy, nudging your clit, and then pressing on your hole, through your panties.

you gasp in both pleasure and anxiety at the gesture, so you try to protect yourself. to shield what little dignity you have left by ending things before they progress into something worse, more serious.

in a pathetic attempt to close your legs, he intervenes by syncing the tight hold his arm has around your waist with the quick move of his feet rising from the blanket and surround your own from the inside, preventing you to close them further.

once you’re securely caged between his frame, he nudges your feet to open up more. encouraging them to move, little by little, towards the edge of the blanket. towards the exterior.

you saw this coming. and that’s even worse than being clueless and not anticipating it – because you knew what he would do, and you did nothing to stop it.

“please, javi. you said you won’t hurt me,” you pleaded, and you hated the inevitable tremble in your voice.

“poor baby, no. this isn’t what you think it is,” he reassures, his words matching his attempt at grounding and soothing you in his hold by kissing all over your temple and massaging the inside of your thigh, backing away slightly from your dripping pussy to make you feel less threatened. “i don’t want to hurt you, baby. i swear. if you let me, i’ll make you feel so, so good.”

you feel the way his heart beats against his chest, the rhythm vibrating in your backbone. he is equally anxious too; he really wants you to enjoy this. to not view it as a punishment. because even if you did nothing extraordinary to earn this treatment, you deserve to feel good too.

“i’ll make this pretty pussy so happy, sweetheart. make you happy too, happiest you’ve ever been. if you’ll just let me…” his promise ends with a pause, giving you time to think if you really want to give in.

the question is – are you stupid enough to refuse, or so weak you just approve?

is it really a sign of weakness, though? to just give in? to let yourself be caressed by him and feel the pulsing desire of his brothers who are desperately waiting for their turn?

all of this is under your control, if you think about it. they punish you for your dissapointing behaviour and shower you with affection as a reward for behaving like a proper lady. like how their proper lady should behave.

you don’t need a gun to assert dominance or make them listen. you hold their wills in the power of your hands.

“yes, javi. please,” you whisper.

“what did you say, baby? please repeat, i didn’t hear it, i swear,” he pleads with you, sounding desperate, not taunting, like before. he genuinely didn’t hear you – or he did, but he just didn’t expect you to comply so easily. so willingly.

“please, javi. wan’ you to make me happy,” you lick your lips, turning your head so your lips ghost his earlobe, and he shudders slightly at the brief contact. “make my pussy happy. pretty please?” you plead innocently, the tone of your voice rising slightly, sounding as if you’re the spoiled daughter of a rich man. pairing your encantation with the submissive doe eyes you present, you give him an impossible deal to refuse.

“good girl, baby. the best girl,” he lets out a ragged breath in relief, his fingers making quick, delicate work of arranging your panties to the side, moving the obstacle out of the way. “don’t have to ask me twice, babygirl. would do anythin’ for you and your pretty pussy.”

a surprised gasp leaves your lips as he guides two fingers through your slit from bottom to top, gathering the wetness he encountered at your entrance to the surroundings of your clit. “oh, mierda, cariño. you’re soaked. is it because of me, hmm?” he presses a kiss to the corner of your eye while rolling your clit between his index and middle finger.

“ah, yes javi. yes,” you admit shamelessly, moans blessing his ears each time your little bundle of nerves receives additional stimulation when he pinches your clit.

“that’s right, baby, sing for me,” he urges you, his patience slipping with each passing moment as his resistance crumbles. the resistance implies forcing your legs even wider, making your knees bend abruptly before shoving you full of three fingers and making you scream while squirting all over his hand and the blanket below.

your eyes go wide when he eases his middle finger inside your tight hole. you’re both surprised that the act itself met not one single obstacle; his finger just made its way in like your walls were invisible, like your pussy saw it coming and decided to expand itself to make room for him, to accommodate everything he had to give.

“please, oh fuck yes,” you moaned shamelessly now, not bothering to hide the building pleasure javier caused right in front of his brothers in their own backyard. he responded in kind, loving the way you felt so comfortable letting yourself go – letting him know you love the way he touches you.

“such a tight pussy, baby. see how she hugs my fingers? hm? imagine it was my cock instead,” another finger joins in, making it two – stuffing you full, yet you can’t get enough. “would you prefer my cock, sweet girl? do you think it’ll fit?” his teases are back, but you pay them no mind. in fact, you love them. paired with the expert moves of his fingers fucking your vagina until your eyes roll in the back of your skull – it’s fucking amazing.

a soft laugh escapes his lips when you don’t bother to answer his question. you actually can’t seem to, really – he can tell you’re on the brink of orgasm by the way your chest rises and falls and your abdomen constricts along with your toes curling.

“no, i guess it won’t fit, cariño. not when you’re this fucking tight, sweet girl. jesus fuck,” the hand which was previously surrounding your waist changes its location to your right breast, squeezing it through the fabric and causing your soft nipple to rise to a little peak. it wasn’t enough, though. he needed to feel the softness of your skin and properly pinch your nipples. so his hand makes its way to your neckline and shimmies right underneath it in a desperate hurry to cup your naked breast and feel the angry little nipple in the palm of his hand. he gives you a squeeze which is a little rougher than intended before caging your nipple between his thumb and index to give it a proper rub and twirl, making you choke on your own moan.

“yes, javi, yes! please, more! don’t stop, don’t ever stop. gonna cum so hard…” you sob, feeling your vision blur and your cheeks getting wet a second after that.

fuck, you went feral. him and his brothers are so grateful they all witnessed the fact that you’re visibly into nipple play, and not only – breast play entirely. he makes quick note of that and stuffs it deep into his memory before continuing his rough administrations to your nipple compared to the loving strokes and poundings of his fingers in your cunt.

“then cum, sweetheart. go on. go on, little dove. thaat’s right, give me what i want. let go, let go. such a sweet little girl, lettin’ me take care of her. wanna see your poor pussy cry too, baby, not just your eyes. come on, baby, soak my fingers.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice. even though the rhythm of his fingers did not (thankfully) change, keeping you right where you’ve been all along, on the bridge of bliss and orgasm, his words were enough to send you over the edge as you closed your eyes and came around his fingers violently, your whole body trembling in his careful hold in contrast to your throbbing pussy pulsing out your release, gushing around his fingers and wetting the blanket with splash after splash as he guided you all the way through it, his arm tightening around your breast, making sure you never leave this safe heaven.

after you came down from your high, your body gradually relaxed and his fingers sadly parted themselves from their home. he let you close your legs and he even pulled the bottom of your dress as low as he could afford it, since most of the material was bunched underneath your bare ass sticking embarasingly to the wet blanket.

you open up your eyes to see marcus turning his gaze from you and back to his newspaper, trying his best not to seem affected by what just happened. but you know better, and judging by the immense bulge he unsuccesfully hides from you, you just know he wants nothing more than to make his way between your legs and stuff you full of his cum until you’re left shaking. he wouldn’t even need to take down his pants all the way through from how quick it would all be over. he practically witnessed how javier struggled to fit two fingers inside your cunt – his cock would basically choke.

joel was none the wiser. he was struggling to hold back even more than marcus; his fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched, mouth closed shut along with a voluminous jugular vein pulsing furiously right beneath the tanned skin.

but you caught the red in his cheeks. he was visibly flushed, nervous and needy. eager to get a taste of you.

and so he did.

you stop breathing the moment he stalks towards you with a predatory look on his face, determined to dull the curiosity, grasping for something to claim from you.

all air is suddenly knocked out of your lungs when joel kneels in front of you and manhandles your legs apart, revealing your glistening pussy to his own gaze once more. she was all puffy and a bit swollen from before, the walls around the entrance pulsing and clenching around nothing as the opening looks much more evident and even wider than a few minutes ago.

“javier treated ya well, babygirl. took care of this lil’ girl jus’ right,” joel says, his deep, dominating tone making shivers crawl up your spine. “should clean her up. can’t leave her all messy.”

it’s all he says before diving head first into your cunt and licking all the juice dripping down your thighs and pussy. your ragged moan urges him to press on, despite your desperate attempts at begging him to take it slow on your overstimulated pussy. he doesn’t give a damn about your hands tangling and pulling his hair; he thinks it’s so fucking hot and it turns him on impossibly more, his cock aching for release in the confinement of his annoying boxers.

“mmm, ‘s right. goood girl,” he moans into your pussy, the vibrations adding more intensity to your building orgasm.

“you’re gonna cum on joel’s tongue, cariño? make a mess all over his face just like you did on my fingers?” javier whispers into your ear, the hand that warmed your breast starting to stir over the plump flesh to gather attention to your tortured nipple once more.

“yes… mmm, fuck yes. p-please, feels so, so… ah!”

“shh, that’s right, babygirl. let go. give it to joel, niiice and slow, thaaat’s it.”

your second orgasm practically makes you see stars. it comes fast and unexpected, crashing over you in the blink of an eye and lasting so long you wonder if you’ve gone blind. joel’s tongue fucks in an out of you, your poor hole trying to clench onto the thick muscle in an attempt to grab him and never let him go as he patiently laps up all your release with a content hum.

he presses a gentle kiss to your clitoris when he’s done. you can’t, won’t, open your eyes again. you don’t need to look at him to know the painful look he probably has on his face because he wishes he could do it all over again. never depart his face from between your legs.

his mind races to various ways and possibilities of making you cum on his face. next time, he’ll definitely make you ride his nose while making love to your pussy with his tongue and mouth. bringing you to several orgasms until you beg for him to put you out of your misery and sink himself into your tight warmth until you’re nothing but a whimpering toy.

one day, he thinks. one day, you’ll succumb to all of their wants and desires.

because you’ll be addicted. to how they make you feel, how they take care of you. to their smell and touch. to them. it’s all just a matter of time, which you and them have plenty of. because you’re never leaving them again.