#fuck that damn space tower man

[mrsparrasblog]

Tf141 x Introducing your Boyfriend after they fucked up.

So I was thinking about a reader who kinda fell in love with her whole squad. You didn't want to.

At first, you fell in love with Johnny, the obvious choice. He was always flirting with you, calling you all these cute Scottish pet names like "hen" and "bonnie", and taking you on dates.

It was perfect until your feelings grew for the stoic, fatherly captain. He was mature, so much more mature than Johnny. He fixed your half-house when you were on leave, always checking if you were safe and making sure you drank enough. It was the perfect combination between Johnny's golden retriever behavior and his strong personality. It was okay in your books to fall in love with two men. It wasn't the first time it happened to someone, right?

You thought you were crazy when the scary lieutenant found his way into your overcrowded heart. He was like a guard dog for you, protecting you from all the creeps on base. And how couldn't you fall in love after he protected you from two men at the bar? Many men said, "I'd burn the world down for you", but the fact about Simon was he really would.

You thought you finally lost it when you were cuddling with your best friend Kyle again, like always. He grew up to be your safe space after a while. You never thought there would be more than platonic love. He was your platonic soulmate until you were pinned under him, getting fucked, with slow thrusts while he repeated over and over again how he loved you since day one. Yes, you're in a fucked up situation.

How could you approach this? After overthinking for straight months, you finally managed to tell them. "You can't love us all, that's batshit crazy," they mumbled, and god, it broke your heart as much as theirs. They never thought about a poly relationship before, but they all loved you and none of them wanted to give up their spot in your heart.

it took you several months to get over this embarrassment. The feelings never left, but you found a new boyfriend who was completely different from all of them. That was good, right? After a while, they got you to introduce your boyfriend to them after a deployment in an overpriced bar your lawyer boyfriend picked in Canary Wharf - The first mistake in their books. Of course, John fit in there with his neat whiskey but come on, this wasn't the place for you guys.

Johnny was the nicest of all of them; he at least had the courtesy to greet your boyfriend and be nice to him. You just didn't realize how he pulled as many jokes as possible, making you laugh for hours, how James couldn't. He was just nice, nothing to worry about, James, you said to him all over again.

Simon took his hand and almost broke it while shaking it, his 6'4" frame towering against your 5'6" boyfriend. He always had a grip on James, whispering in his ears, "And how is a twig like you able to protect my girl?"

By accident, your tires were slashed. "No, James, why should John have done this?" you rolled your eyes. Even worse, your boyfriend didn't know how to change a tire, so you stood there in the rain changing that damn tire while James stood under the umbrella until John came up, "Lovely, go sit in the car, I'll change it." He pulled his sleeves up, flexing his muscular arms while he fixed your problems like always. He was your husband after all, at least in his books.

Kyle hit it off when he walked towards James and whispered in his ear, "I bet you don't satisfy her, does she still taste sweeter than cinnamon there? Does she still get the whole bed soaked in squirt? Does she beg for you?" You didn't believe James when he told you Kyle said that, your Kyle, your best friend? The nicest man on earth ever.

"You're paranoid, James. I think it's better if we call it off," he accused all of your friends of things they never would even do. How could you be with someone so jealous?

"Mhm, broke up with James," you said.

"Was too boring for you, Bonnie",

"was too short for you and couldn't even throw a proper punch",

"couldn't fix a damn tire",

"you deserve someone better, not some jealous loser, what do you even want from a lawyer?"

[ivysoul]

⋆ ★ 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐅. includes afab!reader, doggy, mating press, a bit rough n unprotected sex, light degradation, light edging, squirting, size kink.

930 words.

༊*·˚ The mission went south near the end. It started out strong, with the intel you all had, you were able to locate the man you were looking for without any complications. However, just as you were about to escape, you got cornered. You fought it out as best you could, but there was no escaping with him. You had to leave him and slip into the woods behind you. Sure, you were lucky you were all alive, but there was still that frustration on the surface of everyone’s mood.

Everyone had their own method to taking out their frustration. Some took to the gym, pushing themselves to their limit with weights and cardio. Others pushed themselves to their limit in other ways which in included alcohol at the bar.

Simon, however, looked to your cunt as a relief.

The gym just wasn’t working anymore after being in there all day. He’d used every machine twenty times over, lifted the heaviest he could, beaten every punching bag in there, yet nothing was satiating his frustration.

Until you walked up to him, offering him a sandwich you had made for him, muttering a small “Thought you might be hungry, that’s all,” and turning around to leave with a flustered look on your face. He knew right then that he was in trouble. He knew that once he tossed the sandwich to the ground and moved to throw you over his shoulder and made his way back to his barracks that he was going to have to deal with shit from Price later. But he didn’t care. How could he, with the way your cunt squeezed him like vice as he pounded into you from behind?

It was forceful and rough, the way he bullied his cock into your tight cunt. He watched the way the flesh of your ass jiggled every time he pushed his pelvis against it. The way your back arched impossibly further, wanting everything and more that he was giving you. It made the warm feeling in his lower stomach start to burn. Groans and moans left his throat, unfiltered words spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“Such a good little thing,” he grunted. “Lettin’ me use you like this. Like you’re jus’ some toy, hm? I know ya fuckin’ love it. Y’such a cockwhore. S’all you are.”

The pleasure you were feeling was indescribable. Every push of his hips had his cock somehow going deeper than the last. You could feel his veins, they were probably imprinted on your walls by now. The squelching sounds were enough to give away how fucking needy you were if nothing else.

He brought one hand up to the space between your shoulders, pushing down on it roughly and thus shoving the side of your face against the pillow. His other hand stayed on your hip and massaged the flesh. The way his hand in between your shoulders took up most of the space there had his head spinning. God, he loved how he was so much bigger than you. Towering over you at any given chance always made his chest burn with lust, but this, finally having it happen and realizing just how much bigger he truly was than you, spurred him on to no end.

His hips were moving erratically. They snapped against you harshly in quick motions. You felt like you were being split open with his girth and you were honestly surprised he even fit inside you, considering how you reacted when he initially pulled his pants down. All he said was “I’ll make it fit,” in response to your concerns about him being too big to fit inside you. And damn was he right.

He moaned deep from his chest at the feeling of you tightening around him. “Y’close, baby? Can feel you squeezin’ me tight. I can barely even move, you’ve got me sucked in so much,” he mocked, lifting his balaclava to rest over his nose so he could place sloppy kisses along your neck. He moved to have his mouth beside your ear, and you could feel his warm breath tickle your skin. And in between his low whimpers and groans, he said: “Too bad you ain’t cummin’ till I say you can.”

In one swift motion, he flipped you over onto your back and pushed your knees flush against your chest, moving onto his heels. All the air was pushed from your lungs as he shoved himself back into your pussy in one go, no regard in going slow for you. He cared more about his own pleasure than yours right now, if he was being honest.

With the new position, you could feel him up to your throat. He was so damn deep, fucking into you expertly and having you see stars. All you could do was grab onto the sweat-drenched blankets below you and scream, begging him to let you cum, over and over. He didn’t budge.

“You’re such a—fuck—such a needy fuckin’ whore f’me, aren’t ya? Impatient. Can’t even wait a few more minutes like a good girl. Go ‘head, then. Cum if you wanna cum so badly.”

Your body didn’t miss a beat after he gave you the go-ahead. Within seconds, you were spasming on his cock, legs shaking in his hold, vision going blurry. You could hear him chuckle above you, the faint sound bringing you back to earth.

“This fuckin’ pussy… You just made a right mess everywhere, sweetheart,” Simon mused. “But you still want more, don’t you? Yeah. Y’can’t get enough of my cock, huh, baby?”

☆ — © saintlulls, 2023 - don’t repost, translate, copy, or claim.

[kbwrites]

OFFICE ESCAPADES WITH NANAMI

Synopsis: Ever since Nanami hired you you’ve done nothing but stress him out. You’re infuriating… And he just can’t seem to get enough of you.

⚝a/n: I don’t usually write smut so I decided to give it a shot.

⚝tags: Porn with plot, Nsfw, Companyman! Nanami, Semi-Public Sex, Enemies to Lovers

⚝wc: 2.4k

Nanami was a gentleman, arguably the perfect one. He shows up to work on time, early even. His hair was neatly combed, his dress shirt pressed, leather shoes shined. He was the pinnacle of discipline and control.

However, every time he was in your presence. That control would slip, little by little.

He hired you fresh out of college. Top of your class, all of the firms in the area had given their offers; but Nanami snatched you away.

He soon began to think that maybe you were more trouble than you were worth..

You were brilliant, there wasn’t any denying that. You were gorgeous, couldn’t deny that either. But that damn mouth of yours.. was going to be the death of him and you…

You strutted into the older man’s office, ‘he’s told you multiple times to knock first…’ Nanami peels his eyes away from his laptop to look at the woman standing in front of his desk. His eyebrow quirks up as he notices her visibly pissed-off vibe.

“Something wrong?”

You scoff in annoyance “You denied my contract?”

He looks back at his laptop, stealing glances at you.

“Did you even read over it before you sent it to me?”

“Excuse me-”

“The terms in this contract… Do you have any idea what kind of position it’ll put us in?”

“Are you suggesting I don’t know how to do my job?”

Nanami shoots you a sidelong glance, a hint of irritation flashing across his face.

“I’m not suggesting I’m telling you. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you this big a project so soon.”

You huff in annoyance. Your boss knew just what to say to push your buttons. You slam the papers you were holding onto his mahogany desk. Looking down at your senior… he was so.. So.. infuriating. Nanami leans back in his chair, hands folded against his chest as he looks up at you.

“You arrogant-”

“Arrogant?” He laughs, his voice laced with annoyance.

“You come in here with a horrendous contract, even worse attitude, and think you’re in the right?” He rises from his desk, striding over to you. You never noticed how much Nanami towered over you, and now he was inches away from you. He smelled like… Vanilla and cedarwood, his cologne making you dizzy. But no, you needed desperately to try to control yourself. Make it seem like he wasn’t having such an effect on you.

“That contract is getting sent out.” You inch in closer looking up at him, failing at being intimidating.

“No, it's not.” Nanami says firmly, his eyes locked onto yours. An intense, almost magnetic pull between the two of you. He continues to invade your space.

“You’re not sending anything out until I’ve reviewed and approved it. Understand?” He pushes his glasses up his bridge.

Being this close, you can feel his breath on your skin, the heat radiating off his body.

Nanami takes a deep breath stepping back just enough to create some distance, he takes the papers you previously slammed on his desk and shoves them into your hand.

“Come back when you’ve made the changes I highlighted.”

You roll your eyes before bowing, your formal gesture cannot hide how much you want to ring his neck right now-

“Yes. Sir.” You turn on your heels, leaving his office. Slamming the door on your way out.

Nanami lets out a deep, shaky breath.

“Fuck… She’s gonna be the death of me.”

He runs his hand through his golden locks, trying to compose himself. Why did you have to be so irritating? He would love to just put her in her place. Shut that pretty little mouth of hers… Have her on her knees taking his-

Wait.. What?

Nanami shakes his head, trying to reign in his desire. ‘She’s a coworker’ he tells himself. ‘It would be highly unethical’

And yet you plague his mind, every waking moment. How it would feel to have you underneath him, begging for mercy.

His hands move lower, palming his semi-hard erection through his cotton twill dress pants. The otherwise put-together businessman groaned at the friction delivered from his hand… Imagining it was you, splayed out on his mahogany desk..

He unzips his pants, loosening his yellow tie…

Your blouse discarded and pencil skirt… that damn pencil skirt-- He always warned you it was just a little too short.

His length springs free, slit already leaking. He wraps one hand around it, pumping slowly.

“S-shit… (Y/N).” He lets out a shaky breath. He shouldn’t be doing this, it's shameful to even be thinking about you in that way. He’s your boss.

He tightens his grip, hips bucking into his hand. Nanami’s head falls back to his office chair, this is so wrong.. This is so wrong…

“Ff-fuuuck…”

He hisses through clenched teeth, you’re just on the other side of his office door. If you only knew how he really felt about you. That during all your arguments he’d want nothing more than to bend you over his desk and fuck you until you couldn’t remember your name.

He pumps faster, wanting desperately to release the pent-up frustration. He’s close. His breath quickens, his cum spills out, hot sticky ropes flowing down his hand.

Fuck.

He grabs some tissues cleaning up the evidence of his transgression. Straightening his tie and zipping up his pants, Nanami clears his throat trying to regain some semblance of control. Guilt washes over him.

His work… yes maybe if he focused on that-

But nothing seems to work, he’s bewitched. Intoxicated by you, in all his years working for this company no one had ever challenged him. Questioned his authority, called him a “self-centered bastard” but you… you did all those things. He wanted more, he needed more.

Suddenly the doorknob turns

Nanami sits up in his leather chair, pretending to type away at his computer.

You enter the room, holding another stack of papers. Nanami sighs.

“I’ve told you countless times to knock-”

The stack of papers drops to his desk with a loud

THUMP.

“I revised the contract” You reply placing your hands on the desk, flashing him the fakest smile. He looks up at you, leaning down over the desk his eye flicks down to your slightly exposed cleavage.. A peak of your lace bra showing from under your satin blouse.

Black lace underwear huh?

He clears his throat… Looking back up at you. He pulls the stack of papers towards him, rifling through the pages. Desperately trying to ignore your luring figure looming over him. It’s a marked improvement from the last draft, but where’s the fun in praising you?

“Its… passable” He looks up at you, smirking.

“Bullshit!” You snap, that was it. It was one thing if you made a mistake, but that revision was flawless. Just what exactly was his problem?!

Nanami’s eyebrow quirks up, amused at your outburst. “Did you expect a gold star for doing your job?” He slowly rises from his chair, his hands now also on the desk. Looming over you.

“I don’t need a gold star” You scoff “Especially not from you.”

Every snarky remark, every biting word from your lips ignites something in him. Primitive, possessive, a pull that he can’t seem to escape. He leans in closer, both of your bodies still separated by his desk.

“You clearly need something to adjust that attitude of yours.”

Your heart is running a marathon right now, your arguments were always heated but this… this felt different. You decide to take a chance, your knee comes up to lean on the desk, and your other stiletto-clad leg now dangling off the edge. Your face mere inches from your boss’.

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” You stare into his honey-colored eyes, filled with fire.

And right there, months of profanity-filled disagreements, heated screaming matches.. It all boiled down to this-

Nanami grabs you by the neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His tongue greedily entering your mouth, tasting every corner. He bites at your bottom lip roughly, your eyes flutter shut melting into his firm grasp. Time stops, but starts again when he pulls away, forehead resting against yours. Your mind is an infinite void, millions of thoughts run through it but no words can come out. Did he just? Did you just? Then he speaks.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since you started here.” He manages to get out through labored breaths. His attention moves to your neck, he pulls your head up exposing more of your skin to him, he trails hot open-mouth kisses up and down your throat. Your breath hitches.

“And what about you? You think ahh you’ve been a box of daisies?” He grabs your legs, pulling you to sit on the other side of the desk, the papers and pens once occupying the surface now hit the floor, your legs now on either side of the tall blond. Damn, he's strong-

He lets out a dark chuckle, gripping your hips tight, trimmed nails digging into your skirt.

“You’ve made it almost impossible for me to get any work done.” He continues his attack on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. He kisses and sucks lightly on the delicate skin.

“You’re always so uptight Kento~ I was wondering if it was because you haven’t gotten laid.” You smirk, proud you were still able to quip back despite the growing heat between your legs.

His lips leave your chest and move to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Careful sweetheart, unless you want me to find a use for that filthy mouth of yours.”

Nanami licks the shell of your ear, grabbing your wrists and roughly pulling you up off of the desk. Body now flush against his. One large hand grips your hip while the other reaches under your satin blouse, cupping your breast through the lacy material of your bra. His fingers ghost over your hardened bud.

“You’re the only one reduce me to… this, have me fuckk misbehaving at work” Your hips roll into his, feeling his growing arousal.

“Is that what you tell all your girls?”

He growls at this, craning his neck back down to your chest, biting and sucking at your clavicle. Your hands rake through his hair, tugging, manicured nails scratching at his scalp. He lifts his head just enough to say

“There are no ‘other’ girls” Before continuing his assault on your skin. He lifts your blouse over your head, discarding the lace bra. He groans at the new skin exposed to him, capturing your bud in his mouth.

“Oh? Not even that cute receptionist?” You moan as his tongue swirls around your nipple “I’ve seen the way she looks ahhh at you ”

Nanami rolls his eyes at this, he knows exactly who you’re talking about. Sure she was cute, always making sure to tell him “Good Morning” and “Good Night” Begging to hear about his day, boring him with office gossip. Looking up at him with innocent puppy dog eyes…

He never was a dog person…

He releases your bud from his mouth, looking up at you through his hazel half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t need a pushover. I prefer a woman with a little fight in her” He moves to give your other bud the same treatment “Someone.. who’s going to challenge me.” He mumbles in between kisses.

His large hand gropes the other breast as his mouth works, thumb flicking over the sensitive spot. He leans back up, back to towering over you. He takes in the sight before him, you struggle to catch your breath, glossy lips parted, your pupils blown with desire. He wishes he could replay this image in his mind for the rest of eternity.

“Get on your knees.” He says flatly.

Your eyebrow quirks up in challenge. “Excuse me?”

“Told you… I want to find a use for that mouth of yours.” He looks down at you, his eyes dark.

You slowly sink to your knees, not breaking eye contact with him. His breath catches in his throat, he fiddles with his belt buckle. The sound of the zipper filling the otherwise quiet office. The tent in his briefs now on full display in front of you. He looks at you expectantly.

You tug at his waistband his cock springing free from its confines. You see your boss in all his glory, his blushing pink tip, heavy balls and his perfect curve upwards. It was a masterpiece.

You loll your tongue out, swiping at the precum leaking from his mushroom tip. The salty sweet taste making you moan softly. Nanami shudders at the sensation, moving his hands to the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair.

You slowly take his length into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head. Your hand wraps around the base as you incorporate more and more of his swollen cock past your bruised lips.

Nanami subconsciously spreads his legs, hips twitching as you bob your head at a steady rhythm.

Nanami’s grunts and moans mixed with your obscene gags fill the soundscape of the office.

He roughly grips your hair, taking control of your pace. Oh if you only knew how sinful you looked right now.

Your hollowed cheeks, expensive mascara pooling at the corner of your eyes as tears welled up. It’s all too much.. too fucking much.

Fuck.

Nanami feels a familiar pressure building up in his lower abdomen.

“I-if you keep going like that s-shit I’m going to“ He looks down at you, half desire half concern on his face.

You only encourage him by picking up the pace, spit dripping down your chin as you pump his base and suck his length.

The rubber band finally snaps, Nanami bucks his hips into your face, his strong hand pressing your head flush against his pelvis.

You choke as his seed hits the back of your throat, eyes fluttering shut. If you died right now there would be no complaints on your end.

His breath slows, releasing your head. You come up for air, coughing and wiping the excess drool and cum from the corner of your mouth.

His hand reaches to cup your cheek, stroking it gently, a silent thank you in his mind.

He picks you up with a gentleness previously unknown and sets you right onto his desk,

The roles now reversed with Nanami positioning himself between your legs. Kneeling down, ready to worship you.

He hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling it to the side, humming in satisfaction as he takes in the sight of your sopping wet cunt. Your boss tears his eyes away for a second looking up at you and smirking.

“You did such a good job, it’s only fair I reward you.”

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Make Me Beg

Ghost x Reader

Ghost had been curious to see if you could be the one to make him beg for a change, in which to both his pleasure and dismay, you oblige.

NSFW 18+, Shameless Smut, Porn w/ little Plot, Explicit Description, Graphic Language, AFAB Reader, P in V Sex, Teasing, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Slight build-up, A lot of edging, slight Nipple-Play, Tit-Fucking, Handjobs, Kissing, Blowjobs, Fingering, somewhat Touch Starved!Ghost, Dom!Reader (in essence), One Shot, Somewhat proofread

WC: 3.4k~

A/N: I haven't written anything since November. Trying to dust off the old bones. I hope you enjoy~

Masterlist

"Go on then," Ghost challenged you, this towering mass of man now looming in the doorway to your apartment like an impending shadow. "Make me beg for it."

You scoff, the remaining space between you two growing smaller by the second. You had been joking earlier (and a bit tipsy) when you claimed you could make him beg for you if you tried hard enough; a fast-growing habit, teasing him ever since you learned of his interest in you. To be fair, he'd been rather shy about it. But it seems it only took a few drinks and some jeering from the others tonight for him to finally do something.

He closes the door behind himself, still masked and in his boots, as he saunters towards you, his height and size growing more massive at every lost inch of space. His olive eyes, near black in the muted lights of your living room, seem to be devouring the entirety of your form before him, standing idle with your heart thumping within your throat. The smirk on your face can only hide it so well.

"Make you beg?" You cross your arms and start to lean on your hip rather provocatively. "Why? Do you want to beg for me, Simon?"

Ghost chuckles, his eyes dipping between your lips and collarbone, and noticing how you swallow at the sight, as your skin calls to him like a siren's song. In reality, it wouldn't be a hard thing at all having him beg for you, but did you know that? It's what's got him so curious to find out.

"I want to see if you can make me," he says. "Since you seemed so confident earlier. Or was it just talk?"

The way his voice rolls from his tongue like a husky growl has you near weak in the knees. Making him beg you seemed more daunting at every second, but you always loved a challenge. You lick your lips and step even closer, leaving your body just barely out of reach. You can tell he wants to lean in just from how his head is ducked down at you, eyes having been locked on yours since stepping in. Like a predator in every way, wanting to work for his meal.

“How exactly do I make you beg?” you ask him.

“I can't give you all the ideas,” he teases.

You pout. “And I'm guessing you're not gonna make it easy for me then.”

“Where's the fun in that, love?”

You cross your arms and think, tilting your head to the side and looking him up and down. All the while you felt his body heat radiating before you, his rainy pine-like scent from outside filling your nostrils. He keeps his hands at his sides, however much he wants to let them rest at your hips and pull you in, having you begging him instead.

And then it hits you.

“I know just the thing.”

By the fifteenth-minute mark of Ghost not-so-patiently waiting alone for you to emerge from your restroom, he’d begun wondering what it could be that you were cooking up for him tonight. No doubt, it had something to do with this little idea that had suddenly popped into your head.

“How much longer?” He calls to you from by your dresser, having just started curiously looking at all the little souvenirs stacked there.

More thumping erupts from your side of the door, as though you were hopping about. “Just… give me a few more seconds...”

The bathroom door swings open, sweet scents and perfume pooling out behind you as you slowly step out. Once Ghost has laid his eyes on you, however, all the blood in his body damn near rushes to the lower halves of himself, his skin catching aflame like napalm. He knew you would give him your best shot, but he hadn't expected you to be so prepared.

You'd put on lingerie, a pair you'd been saving for a night special like this. It fits your form more perfectly than Ghost felt he deserved to bear witness to, from the way the lace meshes with the most supple parts of your breast, rising and falling at every breath you make, all the way to how your panties hug your hips, just screaming to be tugged away. How you could have been hiding a body as fine as this from him for so long would be a mystery forever lost in time.

Watching his eyes bounce up and down on your body makes you damn near want to burst into laughter. Maybe this will be easier than you initially thought.

“Was it worth the wait?” you ask.

Ghost slowly steps forward, looming, as his eyes haven't wavered once. “It’s about to be.”

And then you smirk. “Good. Now for the rules.”

Ghost pauses. “Rules?”

“That’s right,” you nod. “Since you want to challenge me. We have rules now.”

Ghost stands there slack-jawed beneath his mask, all the ideas he had running in his mind translating into a less-than-excited glare. The rules couldn't be all too bad, he imagined. And it wasn't like you were turning him away either. So he'll bite.

“A’right, let’s hear ‘em.”

“No touching.”

“Wha’?”

“No touching.”

“What’s so ever?”

“No, no. I get to touch you.” As you speak, letting your words ooze off your lips like honey, you close that last little bit of space you two had, finally letting a single hand rest on his boulderous chest. It's enough to make the man ready to tear your clothes off right then and there. “I get to touch you all I like,” you say. “However I like, for however long I like. But you… no touching. Not unless you beg me. And if you don’t listen, you'll have to beg me to forgive you.”

Ghost gives you a more lustful stare, feeling how your fingers curve over his broad muscles even through his coat. You look up at him, having bit your lips and exhaled ever so dauntingly, silently telling him how much you were about to enjoy yourself with him.

So he can't touch you? Very well then, bring it. Let's see what tricks you had under your sleeve.

“Such a tricky woman you are,” he all but purrs. “Very well then, I’ll play your game.”

“I thought you might.”

Gently, you guide the man back until his large legs had brushed your bed, where he willingly sat before you. Your hands then slowly slide across his body, his eyes not being able to help but take in the fullness of your own. But it wasn't until he'd felt this itching urge to reach out and feel your skin for himself that he began realizing just how difficult this challenge might be. It wouldn't help that his pants were growing uncomfortably tight, just begging for your touch of relief.

You would oblige him, somewhat slowly, however. You get down to your knees and work your way towards undressing him. First removed are his boots, then his coat, his pants, soon to be followed by his shirt. It's at this point you take a small step back to look at your new plaything for the night.

Ghost's body already looks good even in uniform, so seeing this muscular and scarred mass of man before you, all tatted and warm-blooded, felt just as surreal and awe-inducing as it had in your dreams. It didn't make you any less wet seeing him like this either.

“You want the mask on?” he asks you, breaking that little trance you were in. The man already couldn't touch you, he wasn't sure if he could sit through these temptations much longer.

You begin your answer by resting both your hands on his knees, letting yourself lean further in. It almost makes you laugh when you feel the hairs on his thighs begin rising from your touch, his body reacting against this cool demeanor you continued masquerading. “I'll take it off when I feel like it.”

“As you wish,” he teases. “I'm at your full disposal tonight, love. Both mind and body.”

“That you are.” You gently separate the man's legs, leaving before you a massive canyon of muscle leading toward an almost distractingly large bulge. It practically throbs beneath the fabric, already hard and aching for you. The longer your eyes linger there, the longer Ghost feels his breath trapped in his throat. Your sudden smile brings him back to, nonetheless, if rather anxiously so. “Now, be a good boy and keep your hands at your sides. That's something you can manage, yes?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

It's the way he doesn't argue with you, following your command as obediently as he would on the job that has you so excited to get started. You just couldn't wait to finally break that unshakable composure of his; making a play-toy out of him was just the added bonus.

Your hand reaches between his legs, cupping over his cock and taking a hefty but gentle handful, as the entire mass of it all was already too much for a single hand. His breathing comes low and shaky like small huffs from the nose, biting back moans as you slowly pull him free of his trousers, his cock spilling out large and ready. It was taking all of him not to have his eyes already rolling back behind his skull from your touch, and even more so not to lift a finger and join you.

“Goodness gracious,” you say teasingly. “How long have you been hiding this?”

Ghost begins to quip, only to have the words catch in his throat as you let your two fingers trace up his shaft, brushing against the soft, throbbing skin of his cock like feathers. You let your touch teeter between teasing and pleasing him, your index finger playing with his tip and smearing slick across the head of his cock and your thumb. Your other hand soon joins, before gently taking the base and dancing your fingers over him. It makes his entire body shiver, a moan trapping itself in his throat.

Of course, you do everything in your power to try and force those moans out of him; it had been the best part of this. You wanted the sound of his lust-drunk voice to soothe the back of your mind for all your future days to come. But even now, you knew he was holding some part of himself back, if not to challenge you in return.

"Don't be shy now, Si'," you said. "Let me hear you."

"You'll have to make me," he said back. "If you can manage that."

"I'm just warming up, in fact."

You begin jerking him off, only you do it so lightly, with gentle tugs and swipes of your finger, that it wouldn't be enough to finish the job, instead overstimulating the man and sending his body into an impatient frenzy. Despite his continued refusal to let his lips part and moan for you, the low hums he released and the heavy breathing of his chest let you know well enough that it had been taking everything in him not to. And seeing him start to squirm only makes you giggle devilishly.

You go at this inconsistent and playful rhythm for about seven minutes, though for Ghost that had felt equivalent to a half hour of pure sexual torture. And the worst part of all of this had been his hands, balling the sheets within his fists at his sides so as to not reach over and take hold of you.

No touching, you told him. He should have guessed it wouldn't be so easy.

“We'll be ‘ere all night at this rate,” he quips, though his words come out so stifled they're nearly at a whisper.

You giggle in response. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Maybe not for you,” he says. “You're the one having all the fun.”

“Aw, this isn't fun, Si’?”

Ghost gives you the most deadpan look when he speaks, his voice low and filled with hunger. “Fun would be me throwing you on this bed ‘ere behind me and fucking you ‘til the sun rises.”

Ghost leans in now, letting his masked lips get so close to you that you could practically feel his breath in your ear. “You know you like the sound of that,” he growls. “Having me fuck you all night. Just bouncing up and down on my cock while I rail you good and deep. You want that, don't you love?”

You push him back against the bed, giving him a smug look as your grip on his cock grows more firm. Suddenly you've used your other hand to reach behind yourself, letting your bra unclasp and spill to the floor. Your breasts, now naked to him, look so moldable to the touch, the light curving off your skin so mouth-wateringly; Ghost wanted to do more than just touch you at this point. And even beneath a mask, you could tell. You could see it in his doe-like gaze.

“Just say the magic words then,” you smile. “Beg me.”

“What should I say?”

“I can't give you all the ideas.”

Not letting up your teasing, you finally take your hands away from him, your fingers now wet with spit and slick, rubbing over your breasts. Your fingers dance across your nipples before hugging your tits together and squeezing them with a light hum. You then lean forward and let the head of his cock gently press at your nipple, pre-cum webbing between you two as your hands to continue making a mess of yourself.

If he stared at you playing with him any longer, then the aching pain in his groan may just drive him insane. He hadn't cared any longer that your toying had his knuckles near white gripping the sheets, nor that the heat from your body had his toes curling, words barely able to process without coming out in a breathy grunt. He could watch you at his knees playing with him all day, if only this unbridled arousal could finally be released.

A bright idea crosses his mind, and then he closes his eyes. Your actions wouldn't go but the sensations wouldn't be as crazy if he weren't looking into your seductive gaze as you did them. For a few seconds that worked… until he felt something warm and wet engulf him, sucking lightly and making his hips begin to buck.

He opens his eyes and sure enough your mouth had gone over him, but only over the tip, as you let your drooling tongue circle about his cock like ice cream.

Your eyes meet his, and then you take your mouth away, replacing your look with a cheeky smile. You aren't about to let him off the hook so easily.

“I was just checking to make sure you were still awake,” you say.

“Fuckin’ evil, you are,” he grunts through another moan. “Not even a hint?”

“Say please.”

Please? It felt like such a simple thing to say now, though the more he thought about it the more he could feel his pride getting punched. You continuing to let your tits rub against his shaft made for a nice way to mend that pain, however, your breasts doing a better job at jerking him off than any hand he's ever felt before. 

“...Please.”

You gasp playfully. “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he said.

“Is that all?”

You never did like to make it simple. Ghost shakes his head and grunts. “‘Tis not all...”

“I'm listening.”

Ghost sits up again, towering over you once more as he looks you in your eyes, skin damn near burning with heat.

“Let me fuck you,” he said. “I wanna make you feel as good as you’re doin’ me now. I want to have your body shaking-- aching for me. I want to hear your voice cryin’ out my name ‘til it gives out and it's nothin’ but gasps and hiccups. Need I say more?”

You sit there motionless for a moment just taking in the words, as Ghost's eyes all but devoured you, waiting feverishly for your reply. You'd been smiling all night, but this had really brought the shine to your lips.

You lift your hand and reach out, until you've clasped the top of his mask, before finally unveiling the blond and facing a hardened and scarred face flushed with lust. The second his mouth was bare you finally let your lips taste his, as you pulled him into a sloppy kiss still slurred by your earlier drinking. A few pecks are left before parting ways, letting your legs straddle him as you nibbled at his bottom lip on the way out. For a moment he had seemed hesitant to kiss you back, if only for two seconds, before his kisses grew so overpowering that you’d almost forgotten who’d initiated this in the first place.

With one final smirk, you say, “OK.” And like a starved beast, he takes hold of you, quickly reversing the roles and placing you onto your back. As he was now towering over you, suddenly you feel as though you might regret all the teasing from earlier.

Ghost takes a moment to himself just to look at you, his eyes slowly traveling up and down your body, and his heart rate increasing. He then lifts a hand and reaches out; you half expected him to touch you in the obvious areas, however, he surprises you when his hand cups your cheek, simply bringing your gaze to his.

“Now,” he lets his thumbs gently caress you. “I was thinking on giving you a taste of your own medicine… at first.” His thumb now glides across your lip as he speaks, slowly trailing down your body, past your collarbone, and then your naval, before finally forcing their way past the seam of your panties, large fingers now teetering at the edge of your clit. He holds himself there, just knowing his hand being only inches from your pussy was already driving you mad, your little lip-bite proving as such.

“You could do that, yes,” you nod.

“I could,” he agreed, his two fingers now curving over your cunt and teasing at your dripping hole, making a soaking mess of his fingers almost immediately. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to bring those fingers over your clit and go to town, yet he kept his hand still, his eyes remaining firmly on yours. “I'd have you beg me now; you wouldn't last a minute I reckon.”

“You want to bet?”

Ghost brings those same wet fingers back to his cock, where he slicks the mess you'd made over his pulsating erection, letting his large, rough thumb swipe at your dripping slit for more lubricant every so often, until his skin was damp with you.

His hands grip your thighs like play-doh as he gives them a light squeeze, pushing your legs back until your knees were at your ears and your cunt was spread bare to him like a juicy, pink desert. He can't keep himself away after witnessing such a maddening sight between your legs, pulling himself closer and letting his cock rest heavily below your navel. The sheer mass of it made the weight against your belly unavoidably heavy, your lower halves throbbing in ways you're sure he'd grown recently familiar with.

“I already told you what I want to do,” he says, while just as casually taking hold of himself and rubbing the tip of his head roughly against your clit, flicking and massaging it teasingly. You've barely any time to let your lip quiver in delightful anticipation before the walls of your pussy are suddenly and slowly penetrated. Ghost has already started a brutally long thrusting in and out of you the second that wet heat cups over his cock, making sure you felt every girthy inch of him on the way in. With a final shaky breath, before he puts his full efforts into making a mess of your body, Ghost brings his lips to your ear, letting his teeth and warm breath tickle and graze at your earlobe, wanting you to hear him clearly as he tells you, “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til my name comes out your mouth like hiccups.”

And he does just that.

Between the sound of his name bubbling out your throat at every deep thrust he made in you, and the harsh smacking of his lower half against yours, giving you that pleasurably rough grind with each impact, you’d been drooling with tears falling down your cheeks by the tenth consecutive minute. All the while, Ghost took advantage of his newfound ability to feel you, his large hands cupping and pawing at your breasts like stress balls, kneading at your flesh, and imprinting the very shape of you into his palms. When he grew bored with one position, he’d only flip you over and let you ride him next, watching you bounce on top and take all of him in like you’d been born to do so.

Your body quivers and shakes above him with pleasure as you feel his hands slide up your torso, taking another handful of your tits. You begin to fold above him, your face burying itself in his chest from the overwhelming sensation another orgasm had brought you.

Now it had been his turn to laugh. “Don’t tire out now, love,” he teases. “There’s still a few more hours ‘til the mornin’.”

(^3^) it's good to be back~

[honeyedmiller]

Checkmate | Joel Miller

pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader

warnings: dbf!joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s, joel mid 40’s), reader is depicted as shorter than joel but otherwise has no other physical description (picture in mood board is for aesthetic purposes only), mutual pining, making out, smut (thigh riding, brief mentions of f oral receiving, unprotected [bc] piv, slight cockwarming, riding), reader’s best friend’s name is hailey, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.

huge thank you to my baby @party-hearses for beta reading this for me. i love you to a million pieces 🖤

a/n: also this is my 900 follower celebration?! i still can’t wrap my head around the fact that so many people follow me and enjoy what i reblog / write. i love u all so, so much. i also feel kinda bad bc i hyped this one shot up a lot only for the smut to not be that descriptive, but this is more about joel and reader’s feelings than what they essentially do with each other. hope y’all still enjoy it :’)

word count: 4.6k

synopsis: you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.

dividers by the lovely @saradika

You wiped your sweaty brow on your forearm as you lugged a fifth box into your new apartment. You’d finally saved up enough to move out of your parent’s place. Your master’s degree had paid off after all, landing you a job in the heart of Austin, Texas. You were only a thirty minute drive from your parent’s house, which your mom totally loved. She couldn’t wait to help you decorate your place and hand you down the pots and pans that’d been in the family for quite some time. 

The move wasn’t necessarily a tough one, because you were ready to get out of your parents’ hair. You all got along well, but you were dying for your own privacy and space that you could call your own. You couldn’t be happier now that you had it. 

In the midst of the move, your dad insisted he’d phone his best buddy, Joel. You’d only heard about him a handful of times while you were away at college, and in the months you’d been back with your parents, your dad always went over to his house to watch sports or hang out. When the whole family was invited over to his house for barbecues, you always found yourself either already having other plans with your friends, or you were working. Today was finally the day you’d meet the mystery man that is Joel Miller. 

And that’s when you saw him. Tall, broad, ruggedly handsome, body clad in an army green shirt that showcased his biceps and veiny forearms, dark jeans that showed off the muscle of his thick thighs, and scuffed up boots from plenty of days, weeks, hell–months of hard work that added an inch or two to his already towering height. 

He must’ve been in his forties if you had to guess. His dark brown hair was dusted with slight specs of gray, the  scruff on his jawline mirroring the hair on his head. His nose was strong, and was perfectly fitted with his face. He had dark brown eyes that were kind yet held some kind of sternness—a look that made your panties easily dampen. His mustache framed his lips that were pursed into a slight frown, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like all over your body. 

He looked at you just the same, all but hungry eyes roaming your body as he caught a glimpse of you for the first time. Like a damn deer caught in headlights. 

He was your dad’s best friend?

Oh, you were truly, utterly, royally fucked. 

You introduced yourself to him and he shook your hand, the calloused pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin sending a string of butterflies through your stomach. 

You genuinely don’t think you’d ever been this attracted to someone at first glance. 

After he and your dad helped you move all of your stuff into your new place, you’d concluded two things: one, Joel Miller was a man of very few words–at least, around you that is, and two: you were sure he was attracted to you just as you were to him. 

Was it so wrong to want someone a little bit older? Perhaps not. What was wrong was that he’s your dad’s best friend. You shouldn’t want someone like that. Someone you were absolutely sure could handle you in the best way possible. 

About a month after you’d finally gotten settled into your apartment, you invited your best friend Hailey over a movie night and a glass of wine. You told her about your predicament, to which she couldn’t help but be the little devil on your shoulder and encourage you to go after Joel. 

“Look, I know he’s your dad’s best friend n’ all, but what he doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?” She questions, legs tucked underneath her body as her lips curl into a sly grin before she takes another sip of her wine. 

“I mean yeah, but I’ve never done something like this before. An older man, who’s closely acquainted with my dad? I oughta be out of my damn mind.” You sigh, rubbing your temple. 

“Live a little, babe. You’ve been a good kid to your parents your whole life. It’s time you do something for you for once and go after it. Make a subtle move on him next time. That might spice things up a bit.” She suggests, pursing her lips. 

“You’re right. But if I make a move and it backfires, I’m completely fucked and I’m moving to the other side of the country.” You laugh exasperatingly. 

She reaches over to pat your thigh softly. “Only one way to find out.” 

-

You hadn’t seen Joel as of late, but you weren’t phased by it. It’d been a really busy couple of weeks at work, and you were joining your coworkers tonight for a celebratory t.g.i.f. drink. 

Hailey was over at your apartment getting ready with you and you both were already two shots of tequila in. You weren’t much of a drinker, but truth be told, you needed this night out. 

“So I’m either between this dress or this one.” You explain to Hailey, and she studies the options you held up for her to thoroughly inspect. It was either between a black satin mini dress with sparkly straps, or a strapless maroon bodycon dress 

“This one,” She points at the black dress. “With your red kitten heels.” 

You toss the maroon dress onto your bed and take the black one off of the hanger, changing into the dress after Hailey goes to pour herself another shot. You slip aforementioned heels on and give yourself a once over in your full body closet mirror, satisfied with your appearance. 

You wanted to look and feel hot tonight, and it was safe to say you achieved just that. Maybe you’d pick up some hot guy at the bar tonight. He may not be no Mr. Miller, but anyone to take the tension of the past couple of weeks away would suffice. 

You were applying one last layer of lipgloss when Hailey’s knuckles rapped on your door twice, head peeking into your bedroom. 

“Uber’s here. Let’s go get fucked up.” 

You laugh at her enthusiasm, hot on her trail as you locked up and headed down to your Uber. 

The ride was only fifteen minutes before you pulled up to the bar that was already packed. You both slipped inside, spotting your coworkers at a table. They were laughing about something when you and Hailey walked up, and they all cheerily greeted you with hugs. 

It wasn’t long before the DJ was playing some line dancing songs, and multiple people made their way to the dance floor to move their bodies. You and Hailey were the only ones left at the table as you laughed at your coworkers trying to keep up with the beat of the song. 

“Mr. Hottie over there has been checking you out for some time now.” Hailey leaned into you, nudging your side with her elbow as she jutted her head toward a man at the bar. 

You felt your body drained of warmth as you saw none other than Joel Miller standing at the end of the bar, sipping on his beer tentatively. His eyes were locked on you, and the stupid butterflies rumbled around in your stomach once more. 

“Hailey, that’s him.” You say, swallowing thickly. 

“Who?” She gives you a questioning look, the drinks she’s had tonight making her mind a bit fuzzy. 

“My dad’s best friend. That’s Joel.” You say, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head. 

“Oh, girl, if you don’t make your move I’ll force you to make one. He’s a fucking hunk.” 

Your eyes trailed back over to him, taking in his appearance. He switched out the green t-shirt for a gray one, dark wash jeans, and the same boots he wore when he showed up to help you move into your place. 

The way he was looking at you made you want to do extremely sinful things with him. Fuck. Now or never. 

“I’ll be back.” You tell Hailey, and her expression brightens up and cheers you on as you slip off of your seat. 

You saunter over to Joel, drink in hand, and you sip on it through the straw as you approach him. He looks down at you amused, eyes nearly black as he scans you from head to toe. 

“You stalking me now, Mr. Miller?” You tease, leaning up against the bar top. 

Joel scoffs a laugh and sips on his beer once more. “Y’think I don’t have something better to do with my time than to see where you are on a Friday night?” He retorts, but it wasn’t mean. You were sober enough to hear the hint of playfulness in his tone. 

“Mm, not really.” You shrug, feigning an innocent smile up at him. 

So you could be a brat. He bet he could fix that attitude in no time. 

He chuckled at his own thoughts, finishing off his beer as he set the empty bottle down on the sticky bar top. 

“You caught me, darlin’. Any woman as ravishing as you is worth stalkin’.” The slight curl of his lip made you smile. You sipped on your drink some more as you watched the patrons of the bar dancing to the current song. Your eyes avert back up to his gaze, and you step closer to him. 

His eyes move down to your glossy lips wrapped around the straw, wishing so badly that your lips were wrapped around something else right at that moment. 

“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Miller?” You ask, reaching a hand out to touch his bicep. His body goes rigid at your touch, and you fear you’ve gone too far so your hand immediately drops. Joel does a quick scan of the bar before wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his sturdy body. 

“My brother’s best friend’s birthday.” He shrugs, and you nod. You felt like a fucking hummingbird with how fast your heart was beating, and you were sure Joel could feel it with the close proximity between the two of you. 

The air became thick and heavy. Your breathing accelerated, looking up at Joel and into his lust-clouded eyes. His grip on your waist tightened in the slightest, and you nearly whimpered as you felt his bulge through the denim fabric of his jeans. 

“Joel.” Your voice was merely a whisper, and he smirked down at you. 

“Care to line dance, darlin’?” He asked nonchalantly. Your eyebrows furrowed as disappointment shot through you. Were you reading the situation wrong? 

“I don’t really know how.” You say, setting your now watered-down drink on the counter. 

“I’ll teach you.” He shrugs, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor. He showed you step by step how to move, but your mind was so hazy with lust that you could barely even focus. 

It’d been months since someone touched you in an intimate way, and the burning need and desire was aflame through your body. All you could think about was Joel’s hands and tongue on you as you moaned his name. The thought nearly made you pout. 

“You even listenin’ to me?” Joel pulls you out of your daydream, and you look up at him with half lidded eyes. He was teasing and holding out on you and he knew it. 

His face held pure amusement as he watched you squirm under his stare uncontrollably, fidgeting like a little kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to stop by. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You sigh, walking back to the table Hailey was waiting at.

“What happened?” She asks, looking behind you at Joel who was burning a hole in the back of your body. 

“No idea. Guess I’m not getting lucky after all.” You shrug with a disappointed huff of a laugh. You looked back to see if Joel was still there, but he seemed to have disappeared. 

You grabbed your purse and made your way to the bar, leaning over it. The back of your dress rode your thighs significantly, barely covering your ass at this point. Before you could get the bartender’s attention again, you felt a hand on your shoulder pull you back and press you into their body. You were about to mouth off on this person before you realized it was Joel. 

“Fuck, c’mon.” His hand slid down to your wrist, gently tugging it. You looked at Hailey as you started to follow Joel and pointed at him discreetly, and she gave you a thumbs up. 

Joel led you out into the cool air of the night, immediately chilling your whole body. Goosebumps raised onto your skin as he led you to his truck, your heels clicking against the unevenly paved asphalt. 

“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask as you stop in front of a dark truck. 

“I’m about to give us what we both want.” He said before trapping your body against his truck and between both of his strong arms that landed on either side of you. You cocked an eyebrow up at him, eyes and lips glossy underneath the dim parking lot lights. 

“Can’t believe I’m fuckin’ doin’ this.” Joel murmurs before leaning down, smashing his lips with yours. You moan softly into the kiss, carding your fingers into his longer locks. You give the ends a slight tug and he moans into your mouth. You feel the arousal pool in your panties and your untouched core starts to throb. You whine into the kiss, and Joel takes that as an opportunity for his tongue to invade your mouth. 

He tastes like mint now, probably having popped an altoid in his mouth before coming back to get you from the bar. His hands travel downwards and find purchase on your thighs underneath the dress, rubbing circles into your soft skin. He starts to rut his hips into yours, the bulge in his jeans catching onto your clothed clit deliciously. 

“Joel, please.” You choke out as his lips disconnect from yours, hot kisses traveling down your neck and onto your collarbone. 

“Please what, baby?” He asks, voice raspy and muffled as he breathes against your neck. 

“Need you. Fuck, please, just touch me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound to him at this moment. His touch left a trail of flames everywhere his hands landed, and you couldn’t get enough. 

Joel wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you away from the back door of his truck, opening it and helping you slide in. He got in right after you, closing and locking the doors. Your chest was rapidly heaving up and down, trying to catch your breath from the intense moment. 

Joel didn’t give you much leeway, though, because as soon as he spread his legs to get comfy in the backseat, he was pulling you on top of him. You closed the gap between you two this time, rutting your hips forward so your heat sat right on top of his bulging crotch. He groaned lowly, looking down to where your dress had ridden up. He saw your pink lace panties that you had on, and god were you grateful you chose to wear those tonight.

Joel hummed in appreciation as he slid his calloused hands up the smooth skin of your thighs, looking back up to meet your gaze. Your lipgloss was nearly gone off of your lips and onto Joel’s, and he had to admit he liked the sticky cherry flavor. 

“Your daddy would kill me with his bare hands right now if he saw what I was doin’ with his darlin’ daughter.” Joel chuckles, shaking his head. 

“That’s why he won’t find out,” You shrug. “Besides, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions and decide what I want… and what I want is you, Mr. Miller.” 

Joel raises an eyebrow and huffs a small laugh. “That right?” He questions, grip getting slightly tighter on the soft flesh of your thighs. 

“Mhm.” You nod, hand cradling the back of his head. 

“What we’re doin’—this is bad.” Joel chastised, mostly to himself. 

“Relax, Joel. I won’t tell if you won’t.” You twirl the hair at the nape of his neck through your fingers, applying more pressure onto his groin. He grunts in response, adjusting himself slightly as the confinement of his jeans was nearly torturous at this point. 

“Fine. But we’re endin’ this whole hookin’ up thing if anyone gets even the slightest bit suspicious.” He negotiates, and you nod. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Miller.” 

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, leaning up to capture your lips into his once again. You hum against him, hands moving down to his chest as your nails scratch over the thin fabric of his shirt. 

You start to grind yourself onto him again, and he groans once more before separating his lips from yours to mumble against them. “Use my thigh, baby.” He shifts you onto his left thigh, and you steady yourself on him by gripping his shoulders. 

“I don’t wanna ruin your pants.” You sigh, the pressure of your clothed clit on his thick thigh already providing the tiniest bit of relief. 

“I don’t give a shit about my pants, baby. Soak ‘em for all I care.” He presses his lips to your neck once more, and you shiver at the contact. You’re shy at first, not ever having gotten yourself off on someone’s thigh before. 

Joel senses your hesitation, so he moves his hands back up to your hips and shifts them forward, causing your soaked cunt to glide along his jean-clad thigh. 

You take over yourself, rocking your hips back and forth at a languid pace. Desperate moans are falling out of your mouth as you fist his shirt into your hands, feeling yourself so close already. 

“Joel, feels so-so fucking good.” You whine, head dropping back. Your jaw goes slack and eyebrows thread together, picking the pace of your hips up. 

“Yeah? Such a good fuckin’ girl, takin’ what she needs to get off.” 

“I need you, Joel, please.” 

Joel moved his hands to fumble with his belt buckle and jeans button to take his jeans off in the slightest, finally relieving his erection. You moaned at the sight of his thick cock, pre cum gathered at the tip. You brought your thumb to his slit, gathering the pre cum onto your finger before bringing it up to your mouth to gently suck on it. 

Joel’s jaw ticked, resisting the urge to bend you over the back of his seat and fuck you senseless then and there. Luckily, he had a lot more restraint than he thought, because all he did was just stare at you sucking seductively on your thumb. 

You shifted yourself so you were straddling both of his thighs now, and you grabbed his cock into your hand to give it a few slow tugs. Joel sucked in a breath at your touch, head being thrown back onto the headrest of the seat. You tugged your panties to the side before you ran the tip of his weeping cock through your slick folds, a lewd wetness sounding throughout the cab of the truck. 

You moaned as Joel hissed at the contact. It’d been awhile since Joel had been with someone, so he prayed to whatever god was out there that he’d be able to last. 

“C’mon baby, don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” Joel grunts, fingertips digging into your hips. You look down at him with half lidded eyes as you sank down onto his length without much resistance. 

The stretch was fucking heavenly. Your lips parted as you puffed out a pant and sucked in a breath shortly after, reaching the hilt. 

“So fucking big. Fuck.” You mewl, fingers digging into his shoulders for balance once more. 

“Stay still for a little.” Joel’s voice was strained, sounding nearly pained as he choked out his words. You felt so good wrapped around him that he just wanted to appreciate your warmth. 

Joel slid the sparkly straps of your dress down your shoulders, tugging down the neckline of your dress to reveal your breasts. His tongue darted out of his mouth to briefly wet his lips, large hands moving up to gently squeeze the soft flesh of your chest. 

“So fuckin’ perfect.” Joel whispers, moving his head down to envelope one erect nipple into his mouth while his thumb and index finger toyed with the other. You moved one hand up his chest and to the back of his hair, threading your fingers through the thick locks once more as you pushed his face deeper into your pillowy flesh. 

The feeling of his expert tongue and heavy cock in you was beginning to be too much. You needed him to move, or at least let you move. You weren’t above absolutely begging him until he gave in, but he seemed to have the same idea as his hips thrusted into you. 

You took that as an initiative to move, so you began to slowly glide yourself up and down on him. You sucked in a sharp breath as the feeling of him repeatedly filling you made your legs shake. He took his mouth off of your swollen flesh to avert his gaze to yours, eyes locking as you moved up and down. He moved a hand down to generously rub at your aching clit, causing your cunt to deliciously clench around him. 

“Gonna ruin this tight little pussy. Just you wait.” His voice is throaty and deep, sending shivers down your spine. The dangerous glint in his eye let you know that he was dead serious. 

You wanted Joel Miller to ruin every other man for you. 

That’s how this, the dangerous thing—the game—started. 

You both were determined to win at something that wasn’t even tangible; something so lucrative to both of you that the consequences wouldn’t even fucking matter. 

It didn’t matter as he took over and fucked his hips up into you at a brutal pace, causing you to orgasm violently on his cock within minutes. It didn’t matter when the windows of his truck fogged up and the drag of your fingertips adorned the glass. It didn’t matter when you reassured him he could cum in you because you were on birth control. 

As months went on after that night at the bar, him fucking you up against the wall of his shower or pounding you into your bed or eating your pussy until you physically could not breathe anymore was all that dazed your mind. 

Fuck the consequences. 

None of it fucking mattered. 

Because, over the months, Joel Miller was the kind of man you didn’t mind having in your bed after you two’ve fucked. You didn’t mind when he slept over, or when he wanted to be the little spoon, or when you both went out on dates like a normal couple would. 

The euphoria of it all didn’t last forever, though. You knew it wouldn’t, but the heavy weight and reality of it all came crashing down on you one day when Joel was buried deep into your warm cunt, both of you teetering on the edge of a climax, when your dad came knocking on your front door. Pure panic seized your body and you had to make Joel hide in your closet like a fucking teenager. 

That’s when you realized you both were way in over your head with this whole thing. Getting caught was going to be inevitable if it kept up like this. 

You were eternally grateful that your dad was a man who didn’t hover. He left your apartment after fifteen minutes and when Joel came out from hiding, you told him that it was way too close and it was too risky to keep doing what you both wanted to never put a stop to. You’d silently promised yourself that was the last time with him. 

Joel tried to argue against it, but you put your foot down. That is, until you got slightly buzzed one night and begged Joel to come fuck you. Truthfully, you didn’t even really need the sex from him. It was just a plus. You just enjoyed being around him so much that having him in some way, even if only physically, was to suffice. 

Little did you know, he felt ten times stronger than what you felt. Joel Miller would worship the ground you walked on, if you allowed him to do so. 

He was at your doorstep in no time, pushing you against the wall and kissing you with such neediness as if you’d disappear right beneath his fingertips. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties to which Joel discarded immediately. His thick fingers rubbed against your slick heat, hips bucking to meet the languid pace he set. 

Joel shouldn’t be here.

You promised yourself the last time would be the fucking last. 

And yet, you found yourself willingly shoved up against the wall of your living room by none other than the man you swore you’d stay away from as he leaves hot, fervent kisses along the slope of your neck.

“Joel, we—fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this. We have to stop.”

“Yeah? Not what you were sayin’ when you were practically beggin’ me to fuck you again over the phone.” He grits. He sinks his fingers into your aching cunt, prying a strangled moan from your throat.

He’s frustrated with himself. 

Frustrated that he so easily succumbed to you, allowing himself to wrap himself in the greedy need and carnal desire he had for you. Frustrated that you were twenty years younger than him, and frustrated that you should’ve been off limits.

You were supposed to be off limits, god damnit, but Joel Miller was a greedy fucking man. He just had to have you in a way that nobody else could. 

He really didn’t blame your father if he strangled the man  with his own bare hands if he ever found out what you two did behind his back, in secret, and for months at that. 

Joel knew better. 

He fucking knew better and still decided to get a taste, get a feel, fuck you like no other man had. Something his greed deliciously sunk its teeth into, allowing himself to indulge in the forbidden realm you offered to give him. 

You knew better, too. But you did get one thing you wanted, after all. 

You’d be a fucking liar if you didn’t admit that Joel Miller had officially ruined every other man for you. 

The dangers of the game had sunk its teeth so deep into both of you. It was like the world’s most impossible chess match, and one of you was finally waiting for the other to say “checkmate.” 

 The thing is, Joel lost a long while ago. 

He fucking lost the game. 

He couldn’t stay away from you no matter how hard he tried, and when you called him begging him to fuck you tonight, his need for you practically drowned him in his weakness. 

Joel Miller was not a weak man. You had him under a fucking spell that he couldn’t seem to reverse. 

It’s like you were his fucking kryptonite. 

He was the one that royally fucked in the end. 

Joel wished he didn’t have these feelings that clawed at his fucking rib cage every time he glanced at you, some sort of animalistic creature trying to escape when you were under him, legs spread wide, your warmth wrapped around his cock as he buried himself in you.

Every single time he had you like that, had his lips on you, had you moaning his name like a prayer on Sunday mornings, saw your sweet smile, smelled your perfume that he loved so much, heard your contagious laugh, he knew he lost.

Checkmate. 

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @amanitacowboy ; @holesandlividity ; @planet-marz1 ; @joelmillers-whore ; @cool-iguana ; @janaispunk ; @freakygothgirl ; @survivingandenduring ; @clawdee ; @danaispunk ; @kiwisbell ; @untamedheart81

[prozackitty444]

" Just want to get back at him! "

slash smut; he gets on your nerves after he lets a groupie get all over him, you decide to get your revenge on him by talkin with another guy at a party.. he ends up fucking some sense into you.

You didn't have a clue what went wrong, and it all started when you started a little conversation to get back at Slash. The night before at an after party, this groupie was all over him! Bastard even gave her an autograph. Fuck, you were fuming- But you couldn't confront it like a normal person, no. You needed to get him wrapped around your finger.

"Hey, whats a pretty thing like you doing all alone?" A husky voice spoke out from behind you. You were having a drink to yourself while Slash was off doing whatever with the boys, literally at the moment contemplating what you should even do with Slash. You perked an eyebrow at the voice, turning over to the advance. It was some dude, you could hardly even tell in the light. You were quick to dismiss him, at first. "Don't bother." He gave a shocked expression, though you noticed that it was sarcasm. "Ouch! Feisty one, aren't ya'?" He spoke with a smirk. The cocky little smirk caught you off guard, looks like this guy didn't wanna give up. Off in the distance was Slash, laughing off with a group of guys with a beer bottle in his hands. Thaat fucker. You glanced back over to the man. He held a liquor drink in his hand casually, his demeanour seemed quite confident as well. Not too buff, not too lean. You smirked to yourself. This was perfect. "My bad, my bad. Your name is?" You spoke with clear intent in your voice, leaning into him with a small smirk. He clearly enjoyed your quick change. "Oh, you can call me Daddy anytime, doll." God. Maybe you should've thought this through.. The alcohol wasn't helping, clearly because his hand seems to be whisked around your waist now. You chuckled out in nerve, giving him an off-putting, uncomfortable smile. As you opened your mouth to speak, you felt your body being pulled back, and you stumble on a nearby counter. "What the fuck is this?" A rough voice yells out. You place your drink on the counter, turning over to find the commotion. Yep, it was Slash. He looked beyond pissed off, and that tone of voice sounded unforgiving. Shit.

Before you knew it, you were being dragged outside the house. Slash had a tight grip on your wrist, beginning to hurt. He shoved you off his grip, you stumbling onto the wall of the house. He brought you to the side, it was hard to even see your surroundings- once again, the alcohol in your system making it worse. You turned over to see Slash, practically fuming. "What the fuck was that?!" He roughly spoke out, stepping into your personal space. He was towering over you, you'd hardly seen him this mad. "Fucking answer me." He grabbed your cheeks roughly, forcing you to look up at him. A lump forms in your throat, and the guilt was really starting to sink in. You wanted to cry. "I…" You breathed out, struggling to find your words. You were not used to this type of treatment from Slash. "'M sorry, Slash.." You choked out, struggling to keep eye contact with him despite him having his aviators on. He scowled out at your apology, keeping the grip on your cheeks. "Do you like making me fucking lose my mind over you, Huh? Cant fucking leave you alone for one second." You fell silent, before remembering why you tried such a stunt in the first place. "I didn't mean for it to happen like that, I-I just," You let out a shaky breath, trying to find your composure. "I was just trying to get back at you.. Cause, last night and all." He stared at you dumbfounded, taking a moment to listen to your words. "The hell you mean last night?" You let out a sigh of irritation at the fact it seemed either he forgot or didn't bother it as a big deal. "When that damn groupie was all over you." You grumbled out with a tense face. He stared at you for a moment, before letting go of your cheeks and shaking his head. "So, that's what the issue was." He sighed out, looking at you with small guilt, but he still didn't approve of your way of getting this conversation out.. "So you decided on being a fucking whore?" He scowled out in irritation, and you gave a small smile in shame. He took quick notice, before he took another step closer and wrapped his hands around your waist. "Just wanted my attention, huh. Is that it? Youre such a slut." He spoke lowly against your ear, causing you to shudder. As this situation unfolded, you couldn't help but notice how shamelessly wet you were getting. He smirked, pressing up his body against you.

This soon lead to his hands whisking up your shirt and kneading the flesh. His bulge was poking against you, causing you to blush. "You need everyone to know your mine, huh?" He spoke in an amused tone, his hot breath on your neck was making it hard not to let out all the noises you've been holding back. He soon took ahold of you, bending you over onto the wall as he groped your ass. "Such a slut." He spoke with a smirk, his bulge against your heat made it hard to think. "Bet you wanted this." He lowly said, his hands finding the waistband of your bottoms. He pulled them down just to your knees, limiting your movement. You shrieked against the cold of the wall, using it as support to hold you up. "Tell me you wanted this." He demanded, god, the roughness in his voice made you throb. "I wanted this, Slash," You breathily huffed out. He groaned in response, pulling down your panties. The air hit you, and you writhed your hips in helpless discomfort and pleasure. You heard him spit out, assumingly onto his hand. He soon took his spit coated fingers, rubbing it along your folds.. It was almost too much lube, causing you to whine out. He chuckled, slipping a finger in you and starting a slow pace. "Slash.." Slash was all you could think about, especially with his thick finger pumping in you. He pushed another thick finger in, digging in deeper. His fingers enough could make you cum undone.. But the slow pace was becoming too much. Your hips wiggled in need, you whining out for more. He make quick notice of that, unbuckling his belt, pulling his jeans down enough whilst keeping his fingers pumping in you. "Slash, please, I want you inside." You whispered out, it was hard to keep your words together. "Fuck, you're such a cockslut." He huffed out, pulling out his hard member, pulling out of you and gripping the base of his dick. He stared down at you in lust, the view of you being in so much need for him made him want to fuck you senseless.

He let a hand grab onto your hip, and another holding his dick at your entrance. You whimpered out as the tip of Slash's cock started to enter you, causing you to shudder against the wall. "F-Fuck, Slash!" He groaned out, sliding further in you. "Everyone's gonna know you're mine." He pushed deeper in you, till he filled you up all the way with a groan. You helplessly moaned at the feeling. He grabbed your hips forward, starting a rough pace. He began relentlessly drilling into you raw, each thrust causing you to yelp out. "S-Slow down!" You cried out, his thrusts not slowing down one bit. "This is what you- you fuckin' get." He groaned out, his hand finding your hair and bunching it up in a grip. The stretch burned, but pleasure easily overcame it. He violated your cunt with every rough thrust, rough groans falling past his lips as he pulls on your hair. As he pounded deeper into you, his tip was hitting your cervix and it made you into such a mess, crying out, moaning his name. His thrusts began to get more sloppier, his groans getting more constant. "Fuck fuck, you feel too good, you're all mine." He pounded deeper and deeper, it all becoming too much. "Slash, please! I'm yours, yours, please!" You helplessly moaned out, he let go of your hair to grip your hips, his paced becoming faster then ever as you moaned incoherently. "Gonna make you mine, fuck, I'm gonna cum." He groaned out, soon enough he deeply thrusted into you. You moaned out, feeling his cum fill your insides. The feeling was too good to describe, and it left you both sweaty and panting for air. He slowly pulled out of you, caressing your hip.

"Now everyone definitely knows your mine." He spoke with a grin. Yeah, you guys were loud as hell..

[juanarc-thethird]

What can I get you? #7

Bleiss is once again spying on Jaune as he works to find more of his housewreckers admirers . She wears a costume like last time. A large khaki trench coat, sunglasses and a discreet black hat that covers her hair.

Meanwhile, Jaune continues doing his job normally. While out of the corner of his eye he watches Bleiss sitting at the back of the restaurant eating her seventh hamburger.

Jaune: (Does she really think I don't notice her in that costume?)

He says to himself

Then a new client appears in front of him. A girl a little taller than normal, wearing a green dress, a green beret that she matches, and very round black glasses. But what caught her attention the most was her long curly reddish hair that reached the middle of her back.

She looked a little shy, as if this was the first time she had come to a place like this. She prepares to speak and says…

Random guy: You're taking too long, girl!

A man says as he cuts the line and stands in front of her. Pushing her back from such action. Luckily she doesn't fall, just her glasses get loose a little.

Bleiss: (What an asshole!)

Random Guy: I want an enlarged number 9 and a chocolate shake, pronto.

Jaune: I'm sorry but you will have to wait your turn. The young lady behind you was first.

Random guy: Come on boy, she was taking too long. Just give me what I order and I'll get the hell out of here.

Jaune: I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait like everyone else.

Random guy: Listen to me asshole, I'm starving. Give me my damn food and I'll get the fuck out of here.

At that moment you could see a vein forming on Jaune's forehead. His co-workers notice and move away a little.

Jaune: I'm sorry, but as I mentioned before, the lady behind you came first. Once she finishes giving me her order, I will gladly help you.

Random guy: Don't you listen to me, you moron! I'm starving here! Give me my fucking food!

Jaune: Sir, I can't...

Random guy: I don't give a fuck! Give me my food now!

At that moment Jaune's smile disappeared and his face changed to anger.

Jaune: *Furious* I don't give a flying fuck about your food. I mean, who the fuck do I look like? Your goddamn servant?

Random guy: W-What?! You can't talk like that!

Jaune: Bitch, I can talk to you any way I fucking want! But fuck it, if you really want your food so bad. Then let's go to the parking lot, and I'll drag you all the way to the dumpster so you can eat something. But if you don't want that, then Wait. Your. Fucking. Turn. Got it?!

Random guy: Y-Yes, sir.

Bleiss: *Blushing* (Fuck~💕 That was hot~)

Jaune: *Smiles* Good. Now can you give the lady some space, please.

Random guy: O-Of course.

The guy moves out of the way and the girl walks to the counter.

Jaune: What would you like to order, Miss?

Taking her gaze away from Jaune's. She hugs her book tightly and looks hard into Jaune's eyes. She looks nervous and her face is completely flushed. She tries to say something but it's hard for her.

Jaune: It's ok, take your time.

He says with his bright smile

?????: M-My...

Jaune: Yes?

Penny: M-My n-name is Pe-Pe-Penny!

Jaune: Nice to meet you Penny. My name is Jaune. What would you like to order? Or do you need help with the menu?

Penny: I...

Jaune: *Smiling*

Penny: I...!

Jaune: Hm?

Penny: I NEED TO GO!

Penny runs towards the exit, leaving Jaune confused.

Jaune: Did I scare her?

Unknown to him, Penny was outside against the wall of the restaurant. He hugs her tightly while she breathes softly. She then moves the book away from her body. And as she looks at the cover she says.

Penny: I finally found him~

Revealing the cover that says "Rapunzel"

Showing a girl trapped in a tower with very long hair, being rescued by a knight using said hair to climb.

-------------- Housewreckers Admirers: ?+1

[orionlain]

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏: link

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: reader is of age note: do not let his dick fool you he is a bad man

𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞? 𝐍𝐨, 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

As you went in, William had his arm around your body which was covered in a towel. He held you close, while your wet feet slowly stepped onto the carpet. From an outsider's point of view, William seems like a friendly older man helping his son's friend. But you knew better. And he knew better too. Only Michael would stare at you two, with a small flash of alarm in his eyes, while the rest of the kids stare at the television. His father gave him a smile, which felt genuine, but Michael felt an uneasy feeling he couldn’t explain. Williams' smiles always left him unsettled. Always had him thinking. It had been since he was young. And this was no different, as he sat on the couch powerless. 

As you went into the bathroom to change from your purple swimsuit, you heard the door locking behind you. You glance to the source of the sound, there stood William eyeing you up and down, leaning against the tiled walls. “Now. I wanted to be with you privately.” He says, deeply in his baritone voice. 

“Didn’t want to have a conversation with all those interruptions. Can you blame me dear?” A rich chuckle left out of his mouth. It sounded comforting, but the way he peers at you could say otherwise. He gradually walked closer, and once he was finally near you, his stare went down to your doe face. “I just wanted alone time with you, love. That’s all.” 

You nodded to his words, however it almost made you nervous. But you can trust Mr. Afton. Right? He was such a nice man. His praise, and his charm. His touch, and his words. You can trust him. Right? 

“Do you need help with those straps?” He said kindly, his figure towering over you. Dwindling you so much more– his company becoming domineering. You look up at him, and give him an awkward nod. “That be.. Uh, great.” He hums in response and comes closer to you, putting his fingers right near the tight ribboned straps on the shoulder. You could smell the wisp of cigarettes and whiskey from him, reminding you of the time he made you moan in the kitchen months ago. Reminding you of the time of how he deflowered you on that damn table. You look down to the ground, trying to shake off the thought, but you could feel your cheeks becoming heated. It also didn’t help that you could smell the scent of his cologne. Expensive, refined and strong. Fitting for him. 

As he unties the straps of your swimwear you could feel yourself being backed against the marble countertop where the sink resided. The space between you two is becoming less and less. The deafening silence between you two is becoming more and more. The only sounds were your breath and the rustling of fabric within his hands. “You know..” William suddenly said, breaking the tension. 

“I missed you.” You immediately look up to him as he says that, your eyebrows in a confused furrow. “Missed me.?”

“Yes. Missed you.” He answered, with a smirk on his face. He then chuckles harshly, “God, I missed you.. I missed your face, your smile, your eyes. That scent. That voice. I missed it all– I was loosing my fucking mind.” Your mouth agape, as you continue stare eye to eye. 

“Do you know how hard it is for me? Do you know how much I crave you? God.. Every night without you, I was stroking myself thinking about you. Thinking about that first time, where I saw your pretty face in tears and your pretty body all covered in marks.” 

He started to hastily take the straps of your swimsuit, as he continued to hushedly speak. Impatient. Starved. “I dreamed about you, you and your lips screaming my name. Your eyes rolled back, your hands trembling, your thighs all slick and wet. Love, do you understand how I have to take you again? 

Nothing came out of your mouth. But you stared at him, face all red and body against the counter. Like the time he trapped his body against you to take the flour from the cabinets. Like the time he held you against the kitchen table. He took the last strap off, and finally your top was exposed. He stared at your chest for a good second, until he looked up at you. A smile spread upon his face, but it wasn’t a polite one. A more, perverse one. It was a wolf in bunny clothing. 

“William, I-” And before you could even speak in response to his question, he held your wrist and planted his lips against yours. Hungry. Famished. He continued to kiss you as you were pressed against the sink, while you breathed heavily. You could feel his hands trailing up on your body, and immediately starting to rub your tits in up and down motion. “Fuck.” He mumbled in between kisses, “Fuck, fuck. Christ! Do you know what you do to me? I’m a bad man, doll. You shouldn’t tease bad men.” 

You kissed back, trying to keep up but William kept on going deeper into your mouth. “I-I teased you?”

“Yes. You teased me. You teased me, when I saw you in that cute little white sweater and skirt of yours. You teased me, when I saw you in that purple swimsuit. You teased me when my son was all over you!” His hand on your wrist becomes even more tighter, and his words turn into harsh sentences, as he kisses you more and more. He laughed, sinister sounding. “I need to take you. I love pretty things, darling. And, you are a pretty thing I want to take. I have to.” 

“Will you let me, darling?” His voice suddenly turned into warm honey, as he gazed into your eyes. His mouth was still close to yours, but pulled away. You could see the trail of saliva between you two. His eyes, gray and piercing, almost sweet looking. But that sweetness was laced with venom. He knew it. You didn’t. 

You nod. He hums, and chuckles. “That's it, that’s my pretty girl.” He then put you against the counter, and plated his lips on your neck. Putting kisses one by one, trailing down from your collarbone, then down your chest. Marks all over you. It was a claim. It was a possession. His head was now near your lower torso, kissing your lower abdomen, then his mouth near your inner thighs. “I wonder how you taste.. Will you taste as sweet as I remember? Hm?” 

He then put your bikini bottom to the side, and started to insert his fingers right in. It was as tight as he remembers. 

“Oh darling.. I’m so glad. You really didn’t let anyone fuck you after I did.” He chuckles, and starts to move his fingers back and forth in and out motion. “H-ha.. M-Mr. Aftonn!” 

“Already whimpering? My, my.. You’re still so sensitive, even after all these months?” You nodded shyly but you continued to whine. Almost falling apart by just his hands. He laughs, amused from seeing how quick you were to give in. He then starts going into a faster motion, and puts his lips against your pussy. Putting his tongue, licking up and down. Your fingers clenched against the rim of the counter, your eyes watering as you pant. You could feel some of the pressure going against your clit. “Needy, needy. Aren’t you?” He tutted, still having his face between your thighs.

 

You could feel your feet standing up on its toes, as you grasp the sink. The noises coming out of you were lewd and filthy. He continues to chuckle from your reactions. “Oh bunny, I don’t think you’ll ever moan like this with a boy your age. They won’t ever make you feel this good. No, no, not like how I do.” 

You shake your head no. He was unfortunately right. You could tell that this was a man so experienced, dealing with your body which was untouched and untainted. Will a boy in your high-school hit your g-spot continuously with just his fingers? Will a boy your age make you squeal and squirm just from his tongue? Maybe, but it was much more certain that pleasure will come when an older man fingers and licks you stupid. All the while as you were hazed, he continues to plunge his tongue more, shaking his head down and up. “Mr. Afton— ghh, a-ah! ah- I’m gonna—“ 

You felt yourself tensing up, and your eyes water. The pressure getting worse, it was pleading for release. “You going to cum, hm?”

“Yes– yes! I’m gonna– cum! Mhm!” You practically plead under his touch and mouth. You couldn’t handle it. His tongue goes back and forth, while his thumb stimulates your clit. All you could do was whine helplessly as he worked on you. 

“Aww..” He stopped. “Too bad.” 

You felt his fingers and his tongue pulling away from you. You let out a sharp gasp, with tears streaming down your face, desperate and wanting from your ruined release.. “N-no.. no.. I was so close.”

“You think you deserve to cum, hm?” He laughed, as he pats your cheek in a mocking manner. “I don’t think you do. Not after being such a teasing little slut.”

“You’ll cum. But only when I tell you to.”

As soon as he says that, he grabs your body and makes you face your back. Your stomach laying onto the sink countertop, with the mirror in view. You could see yourself, flushed and dazed, almost dumb from his touch. Were you that easy?

“Look at you, sweetheart.” He said, a tone smug and proud. “So dazed. Your pretty little head couldn’t take much of it, yeah?”

You nodded, humiliated from his words sent to your ear in a whisper. He hums in approval, pleased to see you so obedient, so cute for him. Then, he wraps his fingers around your neck. His calloused touch against your soft skin, making your back jolt. You could feel it tighten around you. While it does, your eyes widen, looking at him in the mirror, seeing that cruel grin on his face. 

“When I’m done with you, I assure you, you won’t be able to say anything but my name.” He says, in a quiet voice behind your back, you couldn’t see him, but you could hear the lust coming out from his words. Immediately, he puts himself inside you- touching the deepest part. You let out a loud moan— eyes all crossed and teary. 

“Ah, ah, ah.. Shh. You don’t wanna let my kids hear you, do you? Keep quiet.” 

His hands tightened around your neck, almost choking your moans out. You could feel your chords restricting, your eyes being all fogged up, as you look into the mirror at your disheveled state. Every thrust, every inch sent a tingle down to your stomach, all the while his other hand covered your mouth. The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, loud– it was embarrassing. You felt shameful– but god, why did it have to feel so good? 

You could feel yourself turning pale, a bit lightheaded from the cut off air. “Look at you, turning a pretty shade of blue, hm?” He mocked.

Even if it was humiliating, you could feel more heat pooling down in between your legs. How could a man so seemingly polite, be so filthy with his words? He laughs at your response, going faster at you. The pace was brutal, hitting every ridge of your insides. You could feel yourself clenching around him, as you gripped the rims of the sink. He grabs your face, forcing yourself to look at the mirror as you get pounded against the counter. His touch is harsh and cruel, as your cheeks pucker up. 

“You see that?” He hummed, as he made you look at the glass. You see your state. Dazed, drooling, whimpering, whining. “That's the face of a little slut. A tease who likes to fuck older men, and pant just from a simple touch.” 

He pushes against you more, hitting your g-spot. “The face of a whore who knows that no boy her age will make her scream like I do. The face of a pretty little thing who knows that her best friend can’t fuck her like I do. The face of my girl who belongs to me.” He said against your ear, fanning his breath. He peppered your cheeks with soft kisses as you kept on whimpering and crying. 

“Mr. Afton- it’s so good! It's so-so– a-ah! S-so deep– so much!” You said between pants, a bit muffled from his hand covering your mouth. Tears streaming down your face. “I know, darling, I know.” He says sweetly, contrasting from the harsh grip and fucking he’s giving you, he kisses your tears away, licking them up on your cheek. 

He took his hand away from your mouth, taking the other away from your neck. Allowing you to finally whine and babble under him. Writhing beneath him as your breasts are pressed against you, your hands fumble against the surface, immediately reaching to grab the faucet. More tears fall down your face, as you feel his fingers interlocking with your hair, you could feel your scalp burning as he grabs it. You let out a sharp gasp- your breath becoming shorter every second. 

“That's it, cry for me, baby.” You keep on moaning out, all you could do was mumble his name over and over again. The only thing that was in your mind, was the way your pussy is being filled, the way his dick rides you in and out, the way your eyes were all crossed and teary for him. “Such a good girl, taking me so well. You were made for me.” 

“I can feel your pussy milking me– are you gonna cum, sweetheart? Hm?” He chuckles, you could see him in the mirror, towering your trembling body. “I-Im gonna cum–c-cum- Mr. Afton!” 

“Go ahead, pretty girl.” You immediately spilled all over him, the fluids dripping your thighs. His name being let out from your parted lips, your body shaking against the cold surface. But he keeps on going– oh god, he’s still going? You should’ve learned from your mistakes last time, you should’ve known that Afton wouldn't let you go for one round, but here you are, feeling your overstimulated insides thrusted in and out. 

“Noo- no- please, please, please–” You said in broken whines. “It’s so much, I can’t take it-” You feel your cheek being slapped, it wasn’t harsh, but it definitely made you let out a shriek. 

“Ah, ah, that’s not how it works. You keep on taking it like a little slut. Go on. Keep taking it.” He demanded, even trailing his other hand near your clit. Rubbing it up and down, just to get your body to shake more and more. Your words become even more incoherent, you let out only pleas and his name. “Mr. Afton! Mr. Afton- is that all you can say, darling?” He chuckles, amused from your needy state. 

“What a pathetic little thing. Earlier on, you were begging to cum when I was fucking you with my tongue- now you can’t take it anymore?” He taunted, his words feeling fire to your skin. “You don’t know what you want, do you, whore? You just get all so dumb and slutty for me.” 

You let out more whines in return, you could feel your head resting against the skin, as your drools seeped onto the surface. Your eyes were hitting the back of your head, your grip on the faucet being looser as you got used. His hand circles on your clit, eliciting even more sharp gasps, causing you to get tighter. His grunts can be heard behind you. 

“G-god.. Your cunt is getting real tight. M-mhm.” The first time you hear him break into a moan. You felt so good around him, he couldn’t get enough of it. If you weren’t in such a dumb state, you would’ve felt a bit proud for getting that reaction out of him. 

Both you and William, pant and whine. Bodies colliding, sweat rolling down from the face, lips parted and out of breath. You were in a much more ruined state though, as you looked at the mirror, body all splayed out and marked. Neck ridden with hickeys, thighs covered in bruises. Tears streamed down, as you felt your head becoming empty each second. All of his work on you. 

“I hear you getting louder again. So noisy. I can’t take it- it's so much! Do you hear how desperate you sound? How much of a slut you’ve become?” He laughs, but you could tell the brutal pace had an effect on him too. His breath became much more heavy, his hand around hair gripping a bit harder. He continues to go at full speed, his head against the back of your neck. “No man will ever make you feel this much, hm? You need this. Say it. Say it, whore.” 

And even in your incoherent, fucked silly state, you parted your lips and whined out to him as he commanded. “I need this– I need it.. No boy– no boy will make me feel this much– t-this- ah- good! I need you, need, need, please Mr. Afton- please, W-William!” 

“That's right. And you wont be such a slutty fucking tease, right? You’ll be a good girl for me?” He hushed, going in more and more. Rubbing your clit fast. “I’ll be a good girl– I’ll be good, I’ll be good! Please, please please– I need to-” 

“Cum?” He finished your sentence, with a wide smirk on his face. You frantically nodded your head and he hummed in approval. “Look at yourself in the mirror, as I count down.” 

“1.” His fingers stroked against your clit in circles. You see yourself, hiccupping with sobs.

“2.” His mouth against your neck, biting you as it spills a bit of red. You see yourself whining, your throat sore and weak.

“3.” His last thrust inside of you, hitting you deeply. You see yourself, mouth agape and eyes all stunned. 

You let out a loud whine. Your hands fumbling to grab his dress shirt, as you moaned into the sinks surface. Legs shaking, and hands trembling, feeling your body all becoming jelly and weak. You felt yourself slowly sliding down to the floor all tired and used. William puts a towel around you and makes you look up at him, with a big smirk on his face. “Good job darling. Now.. I think it's time to come along, no?

You nodded your head tiredly. And stood up with a stumble, the towel grasping around you. He opens the door for you, as he grasps your back softly. You came outside of the bathroom, and there sat Michael on the couch, sleeping peacefully. You feel the older man's hand on your shoulders as you look at his son, Williams' dark smile directed towards you, making sure he knows that you’re his. He whispers into your ear, “Don’t let Michael ever fool you, that I’m taking you away from him. Using you. That's a lie.”

Only he knew if it was.

[pastrydragon]

The BG3 Beef I wanna see shitpost

While I do love the idea of Tav/Astarion/Karlach/whoever getting more unique mean dialogue with Ulder Ravengard, especially when he has the audacity to take up space in your camp like that instead of someone cooler like Barcus or that one bullied hyena, I want very specific flavor text that you'd only get in the epilogue party if you pick a specific ending even more.

I think if you romance Wyll as Gale or Gale as Wyll and then you don't go to Avernus, I think it would be totally galaxy brain to have dialogue in the epilogue that reveals Ulder Ravengard and Morena Dekarios fucking DESPISE one another. Because they absolutely would.

We never get to meet Morena in game but you can tell from what Gale and Tara say about her and Gale's... Galeness that she is at least a part time passenger on the "Fuck you my child is fine" train. Her sweet little boy? Commit evil deeds? Never! There has obviously been a mistake. I mean she indulged that "Gale Of Waterdeep" nonsense and when Gale summoned a full on Tressym after being explicitly denied a kitten as a child, she just let him keep her. No repercussions.

And then her sweet boy brings home another sweet boy who is probably EXACTLY what she pictured Gale's partner should be like.(Because Wyll is the damn blueprint for "Guy you could bring home to mom") Wyll is ridiculously sweet to Gale, he's the perfect gentleman, he's very open to the idea of giving Morena the grandchildren she's been nagging Gale about in the very near future. Pinch her, she must be dreaming!

I cannot imagine her reacting to Wyll's backstory with any amount of empathy towards Ulder, obviously that man is a cruel psychopath to throw poor Wyll out like that after "a tiny misunderstanding" and Wyll is just too good of a son not to see it. Which is partially true, Wyll is definitely still in some kind of denial stage over what his father did but that's not the point of the post.

Then there's Ulder who probably thinks Gale is... Fine. He's not someone he ever would have pictured for Wyll. Gale is a babbling oddball, he has chronic foot-in-mouth disease and has only ever met the pointy end of a sword. But he can't say anything because Gale saved him, his son, and Bulder's gate, and a small army of tieflings, and apparently a bunch of mushroom people and blah blah more reasons he can never have the moral high ground blah. He's undeniably stuck with this fucking wizard, and his nightmare of a mother.

Morena firmly believes that since the Ravengard manor is technically Wyll's now, then it's also Gale's and thus is now hers as well. When I say she would walk through the doors like she owned the place I mean it very literally. Where did Ulder's old helmet display go? "They were rusty and it was ruining the wooden shelves, besides these enchanted swords go better with the new drapes we had to get, I don't know how you didn't notice how moth eaten they were getting." Everyday he wakes up and something about his own damn home has been changed to make it look more like a wizard tower. She doesn't even live here most of the time!

And it doesn't stop there, not at all. No this women has to make sure his son doesn't live there full time either. Every holiday and birthday she has to send Gale a letter about how much she misses him and you should visit so you can take a break from all that(Very important!) work and how she already has the venison just for Wyll.

And every time he's forced to interact with this harpy she looks at him with a sweet smile on her face, honey in her voice and the burning hatred of a thousand suns in her eyes then somehow managed to insult him five times in one sentence without ever explicitly insulting him. This women is a devil from Avernus sent to punish him for his sins and she's even won over the grandkids. Obviously that women is a manipulative psychopath for using her control over Gale to manipulate his son. Which, yeah Gale not being able to say no to his mom has contributed greatly to this and if Wyll knew what healthy boundaries looked like he probably wouldn't have put up with it but he doesn't so here we are.

Let these two be the Tom and Jerry style B plot to BG4 is what I'm saying.

[dianesdiaries]

what you are| Homelander x Y/n

-After getting ahold of Homeland's animalistic nature, Vought's international decides to hire a psychiatrist to examine his behaviours. But he can see right through yours

NOTE: no smut! this short fic contains convo w/tension, suspense/ js a fun piece on the boys!

In the three minutes it took me to take in my situation, I could feel his gaze getting warmer. The aroma filled with the silence of a faint fan, the distilled white walls that caved into his head. My eyes slowly met with his, intoned into the rage that conceived into madness.

"Surprise visit?", the supe seemed unamused with my presence, the silent creaking of his chair rocking back and forth. We both knew damn well those cuffs could come off any second. We both knew Vought could do nothing if he killed me. I think it excited him. I sat down cautiously, leaving a gradual space between his palmed hands and my worksheets. "You seem- out of it lately. More or so then often. I'm here to help you through these times but you need to cooperate with me", my words held stern through my fear. The rapid pumping of my heart thumped with every crack of a smile he made. "Fix.. You want to fix me? that's ironic", the man scoffed and leaned back into his chair. his eyes met mine once again, demanding an answer to the quiet that held curiosity. "You seriously think you can walk in here and try to fucking fool me? What a joke. They want to hold me in here like some sort of mutt- while you have more to be scared of then you think". The room fell still again. I desperately looked for somewhere to avert my gaze, but fell back to base one. But I held my ground. As long as he left me time to stall, I could do my work. And leave. I worked mercilessly at my sheet, writing down whatever could come to mind to seem productive.

"Wasting my fucking time with this..."

I darted up to check my client, watching him carelessly stare into space. The plan was working. The more he could keep thinking, the more I could write down. I never admitted it, but being a super in silence had more benefits than you think-

"I know what you are".

My vision blurred in circles. My heart was alive in my stomach. "Excuse me?..-"

"Let's be honest, okay?", his words were empty, his hair hung low below his eyes as I could feel my body overheating. "You were given the gift, of being a better being. Of being superior to a world of sheep. And you're fucking ashamed. Like a waste of good product". I slowly stepped back from my chair, collecting my sheets that scattered onto the ground in the whip of a chain. The cuffs dangled, and scraped slowly to the rhythm of its fall. The floor swarmed my gaze, small trickles of tears bubbling in my eyes. Torn cloth met the warmth of my body, his presence towered over me. At this point, his thoughts were unreadable. I couldn't possibly make out how he felt in this moment but vast- nothingness. His breath was cold, the brace of his hand on my shoulder gripping. "Look at me. I said, look at me when I'm talking to you". I could feel my breath tremble as I raised my head to meet his gaze, the grin he had wiped off slowly. Homelander laughed at his irony, the madness breaking with every breath. "You come in here, and you tell me I have fucking problems? You can read people's minds and still choose a minimum wage fucking job!", my tears looked crocodile in his presence. His fingers slowly met my chin, tilting my head upwards in a jolt. "But it happens to the best of us, right? Nothing wrong with some slack. You wanna live serving them? Or a life of serving your kind?", my head shook up and down vigorously at his statements, my words entrapped in my throat. "Then you'll do the right thing, yeah Y/N?", his eyes began to light a crimson red, a smirk drawing on his face at the sound of fear in my cries.

His hand slowly made its travel down to my throat, grasping at the grooves as my hands searched for my keycard in a survival instinct. His grip tightened at every second I wasted, his soft chuckles at the heinous act sent chills down my spine.

BEEP!

My body collapsed at the release of air, grasping onto every breath I could take. The vigorous buzzing of his eyes fell into a still blue, looking down at the fawn of a supe he was looking at. His steps marched slowly out of the room, the sound of metal the door cranking open at his sight. "Thanks for the chat. It was a cute try, at least".

[demonbanger]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ ♡ 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒 ♡ ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

sukuna x reader

Imagine you and your handsome pink-haired demon, in your room. Your walls have cute little posters, plushies lit by the soft LED lights. Your little collection of random objects sits atop your dresser and you have plants in every corner.

Vivid, alive, just like the girl who decorated her space. Your bed looks like it belongs to a princess with the sheer amount of pillows, the cutest decorations, the hanging sheer canopy with glow-in-the-dark stars, the adorably printed Sanrio covers. The Totoro ottoman standing guard at the very end. One little detail that stands out is how the bed creaks under the weight of two people.

Sukuna towers over you in your pretty little room on top of your squishy mattress, hands gripping the plush of your hips, his own pistoning into you. He’s thrusting so deeply into you, your brain turns to strawberry jelly. All you can do is whine and mewl for more, more, more, as he fills you so perfectly, bending you over in such an arched position, putting a soft pillow under your tummy so you’re comfy as he fucking destroys you with all the details of his pretty cock dragging against your sensitive walls. Your shiny nails are digging into your fluffy blanket and you sob as he hits your sweet spot, over and over again.

You turn your head back as much as you can as half your face is smushed against your pillows and see his red eyes smiling back at you from above. His skin as decorated with sharp tattoos as your room is with cat stickers. He leans down, continuing his thrusts that make you see more stars than those embedded in your bed canopy. Licks the shell of your ear. And deeply growls, “my sweet, sweet girl, letting me into her pretty little space, letting me fuck this sweet, wet, little pussy. How did a big, scary man like me get so fucking lucky, hmm?”

You moan at the praise, and a tattooed hand wraps around your throat , causing your pussy to flutter around him. He growls in your ear, the baritone vibrations going straight to your clit, and you shiver. You can tell he’s grinning, as his other hand lazily rubs your clit. “Damn you’re fucking soaked.”

He’s not wrong. Your juices are drooling so much they reach your bed covers, but you can’t help it, you just can’t help it. He’s going so fucking slowly and deeply into you and all you can think about it’s how good it feels. How full you feel, how great it is to have his weight almost crush you. His intoxicating smell mixed with the smell of home in your safe bedroom. In your relaxing room that gives you so much peace away from the world, this is your favorite activity.

____________________

tagging: @yuujispinkhair (thanks for inspiring me to think about sukuna)

[booksooks]

Oh oh!! Shiggy w/ a gamer gf but shes also super social?

(𝑵𝑶𝑻) 𝑺𝑶𝑪𝑰𝑨𝑳

Author's note: this was a request from an anon (🩸anon hi sorry this took so long) im not sure if this is where you wanted this to go but! here we are :)

Content: Shigaraki being jealous and a little manipulative, oops.

Word Count: 1342

Summary: Shigaraki doesn't like it when you talk to other people.

Shigaraki watched you chatter to someone over your headset in annoyance from across the room. Whoever you were talking to must have been the most interesting person in the world, he thought, because otherwise why were you straight up ignoring him? You were supposed to be paying attention to him. Were you mad at him? Were you trying to send him some weird, wordless subliminal message by keeping your back turned to him, talking to anyone but him? (To be fair to you, you had never done anything like that before, you were fairly good at communication.) 

Shigaraki shuffled his feet awkwardly behind you, trying to get your attention via vibrations in the floor that you… most definitely didn’t feel. Your feet were tucked underneath you on the legs of the chair, and even if you were solidly against the ground, it was not. Enough. 

Was he not enough?

The thought squeezed at his heart, hard, and he didn’t like it. It made his neck itch, made his hands feel like they were being torn apart from the nails and - oh wait, that was just him, picking at hangnails. Your giggle, quiet but still bright and bubbly, broke him out of his thoughts. He looked down at his fingers, red and raw and irritated, and he shook, trying so hard to not bring his hands up and itch and itch and itch and itch- 

Fuck it, he decided, nails digging into the soft, scarred flesh of his throat. This couldn’t be worse than you ignoring him. He didn’t like feeling this way, this anxious, this… left out. How the hell did you stand talking to people like that anyway? It wasn’t fair; if he couldn’t get the damn words out in real life, how could you? Over the internet? It wasn’t fucking fair. 

Shigaraki paced around in the minimally empty space behind his gaming chair, because at least you had the decency to come to his room, to play those stupid, attention-stealing games, (under any other circumstances he would tell anyone, who would have the lack of common sense to ask, that those were some of his favorite games and why in great detail). But you were still ignoring him, it wasn’t fucking fair, and he wanted to throw something. 

Actually. 

Not a bad idea. 

Shigaraki looked around his room for something to toss at you, something that wouldn’t hurt, necessarily, but something that would grab your attention. A pen sat on his rumpled bed sheets for whatever reason. Perfect. He snatched it up carelessly and chucked it at the back of your head. Only it didn’t hit the back of your head, it hit the back of his chair, making the fabric bounce ever-so-slightly before it smoothed out. You briefly turned around to look at him, curious, and still yapping. 

“Hold on,” you mumbled to whoever was on the other end. Shigaraki saw you hit the mute button. “What’s up? Need something?” 

Yeah, you. Need your attention, your touch, your scent, your-

“What? No.” 

You stared at him for a bit longer, suspicious but not enough to deter you from turning back around and unmuting yourself. “Sorry about that.” 

Shigaraki saw red as he faintly heard a guy’s voice on the other end, laughing. At him. Indirectly, of course, there was no way he knew what he was laughing at, but still. Shigaraki wanted to press all five fingers against the monitor, against your headphones, the tower, fucking everything just to get, and keep, your attention on him. Why hadn’t he said he wanted your attention when you asked? Because it was fucking pathetic, that’s why. No grown man should have to beg for attention from his partner. That would be ridiculous, childish, and Shigaraki was damned if he’d turn into some pathetic, sniveling, begging wimp just because he couldn’t handle you talking to someone else. 

He was scratching again. The sound of his nails, clipped but still sharp, against his skin was overwhelming, the dull, hrrrgtz hrrrgtz hrrrgtz making his stomach churn. No, it didn’t, he was lying. What made his stomach churn was the fact that you were so easily chattering away to someone online when you had a perfectly good boyfriend, right there! For all your wants and needs. 

Fuck you. 

Shigaraki stormed as quietly as he could over to you, and without thinking,  yanked his chair away from the desk. You yelped, outraged, as your headset was ripped from your ears, and your ass slipped forward and off the chair, landing on the hardwood floor. 

“Woah, what was that? You good?” Came the voice over- fucking Christ, was that Discord? You weren’t even playing a 1v1 a fucking one-round-only piece of shit game with some shmuck, and he hadn’t even noticed. That had to change. Shigaraki slammed his hand flat against the screen and watched in delight as it started to crumble from the inside out, the other person’s voice dying out from the inside of your headphones. He only felt minimally better. 

“Tomura, what the hell?” You asked, sore of ass and indignant of attitude. “What the hell was that? I was talking to someone.” 

“Yeah, some fucking idiot,” he snarled, picking you up from the floor under the arms, carefully, he didn’t want to decay you afterall, and just about threw you on the bed. You were too surprised to even fight back, only letting out a small, “woa-mfh?” when you landed. You glared up at him, confused and disoriented and-  fuck you were cute. 

Shigaraki smiled, he knew it was nowhere near comforting, and crawled into bed with you, pushing you back onto the pillows before collapsing on top of you with a satisfied hum. He felt you, stiff and full of apprehension beneath him, and that just wouldn’t do. 

“Fucking relax, would you?” He huffed, trying to bury his face deeper into the crook of your neck. It was safe, there, dark and warm and it smelled like you. So yeah, safe. “You’re stiff as a board.” 

“Are you going to explain what the fuck just happened?” You asked, disbelievingly. “I was talking to someone-”

“Yeah, like I said, a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve your time.” Shigaraki was pouting, he knew he was, but he didn’t care. He deserved your attention more than anyone else. 

“And you think you do? After the stunt you just pulled?” You were angry. Or at the very least annoyed as hell. 

Shigaraki stayed quiet for a moment. “Yeah.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

Things were silent for a few minutes, the only sounds being your breathing and his, mingled together. Shigaraki had even started to relax, letting his eyes fall closed when you spoke up again. 

“You can’t- Tomura, you can’t just demand my time and energy when I’m busy, and expect me to drop everything for you.”

Shigaraki felt his lip curl. “Why not? I’m your boyfriend, I should be your top priority.” 

“Okay, but I have a life, and friends. You get to talk to your friends, why can’t I?” 

Oh. Shigaraki hadn’t thought of that. Especially not in the way you had framed it. Was he in the wrong here? Should he apologize? Shigaraki scrunched up his face and thought back to all the visual novels he had ever played, all the manga he had read. Usually, when someone fucked up, for lack of better words, they apologized. That’s right. So…

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out against your neck. “For… being so aggressive.” 

He felt you shift beneath him, tilting your head one way and then the other in thought. “Just… don’t do it again, okay?” 

Shigaraki nodded subtly, wanting nothing more for the whole apologizing part to be over and done with.“Fine.” 

It was another few seconds before he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, and he sighed softly, feeling you loosen up and melt into his mattress. Finally. He felt, more than heard you utter a quiet, “love you,” before you settled back into silence. 

He had your attention. “Love you too.”

End Notes: thanks for reading!

AO3 Link

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

‘He Called It Jumbo’

CHAPTER TWO: The Johnson Treatment

Back in the 60s, I served as an aide to Lyndon Baines Johnson, often referred to by his initials LBJ, was the 36th president of the United States, U.S. representative and U.S. senator. Plus a philanderer of the highest order. Had a twenty year affair with one mistress, an illegitimate child with another mistress, and numerous brief affairs as well. And a few weeks ago, had me on his cock which calls "Jumbo." For obvious reasons.

Even after my encounter, President Johnson acted like nothing had happen and continued to rely on his bevy of babes referred to by the other his male aides as his harem. All of his secretaries, plus his two mistresses, got the Johnson Treatment. The Johnson Treatment you ask is when he'd corner someone, leaned his face into theirs and threatened, promised, flattered or cajoled, the person to give him what he wanted. This was the “Johnson Treatment.” Thanks in part to this tactic, Johnson would go on to become a powerful Senator and eventually President of the United States. Plus have a lot of sex.

And to give his wife, Lady Bird Johnson the illusion of being a faithful husband, he tasked the Secret Service with keeping his philandering from her. Even having a buzzer install to warn him when she's coming. Obviously, that didn't work as Lady Bird endured his behavior, with only occasional reprimands. One of which is having me work with him instead of one of his bevy of at secretaries.

For several weeks, I was tasked with working extra hours, including nights and weekends with President Johnson. Although he was crude as the day is long, I would find myself admiring his tall, lanky, 56-year-old figure. And of course, Jumbo. Meanwhile, I suspected he might be horned up, not having access to his harem. The tension I was feeling was distracting and unwelcome.

Just then, standing beside me, President Johnson openly rummaged around in his groin in a most histrionic fashion possible. I could see his cock straining against the material of his pants and I admit, I started to get pretty hard. I guess it was because I was surprised (and aroused) that I stared too long, and he noticed. I looked up and he was looking right at me, smiling.

"Damn, I could really use a good blow job. I'm so tense. Best medicine I know of, right son?" President Johnson flatly said.

By now, President Johnson is towering over me, invading my personal space as I uncomfortably lean back, clenching my arms to my chest, mumbling something inconsequential in response.

"You like sucking cock. Don't you Davis?"

"Ugh, er, I guess so Mr. President…", my voice trails.

"Get on your knees boy. Your President needs you."

I quickly went down to my knees and watched in growing excitement as he unbuckled his pants and pulled out a semi-erect Jumbo. I took a hold of his shaft, took the tip into my mouth and sucked on it, running my tongue around it and running the tip of my tongue along his opening, tasting the first bitter sweet drops of pre-cum. I did this till he began to stroke the back of my head, I then opened my mouth a bit further and went down his shaft. The old man moaned as I firmly sucked on Jumbo, feeling it grow in my mouth, mushrooming out.

Fully erect he was above average length at 12 to 13 inches and slightly above average thickness. It had been months since I had been with anyone else and it felt so good to a cock in my mouth again. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smell of his crotch and the wet sounds of my lips sucking an erect shaft. The sensation of that cock sliding almost out of my mouth then, back in till it touched the back of my throat was incredible.

“Hell, that feels wonderful.” He added as he suddenly reached down and grabbed me behind the head with his huge, weathered hands.

Then he started moving my mouth up and down his thick dick shaft as he fucked my mouth like he was fucking some pussy. I took his plunging dick and made love to it with my tongue as the old man repeatedly shoved it down my throat and pulled it quickly back out.

“Damn, this is hot! Shit your mouth is better than a pussy.” President Johnson called out excitedly as he fucked my mouth faster and faster.

I could hear him panting as I felt the head of his wonderful cock swell just before he tightened his grip and put it fully in my mouth and began to cum. I almost gagged as his cum splashed the back of my throat, I swallowed most of it but some dribbled down my chin.

"You really know how to suck a cock, boy. Didn't take you long at all to get me off." He said as he slid his cock in and out of my wanting mouth, finishing his orgasm.

I smiled up at him as I wiped his man cream off my chin. I continued to stroke him as he petted my hair.

"Stand up and take those pants off." He said as he pulled me up to my feet and smacked my ass.

I did as I was told and was standing naked from the waist down with my hands on the desk spreading my legs slightly. Then he slid his hands down to my round ass and squeezed it before getting behind me, gripping my hips and spreading my ass cheeks with his thumbs. He rubbed the head of Jumbo along my crack and especially my pale pink button of an asshole before I heard him spit into his hand. Then I felt the pressure as he pushed the head into my man pussy, stretching me as it slipped past my opening. I groaned half in pain half in pleasure as he pierced me with his cock.

"That's it. Let ol' Jumbo in." The old man said as he slowly pulled out till the head almost slipped out then thrust it smoothly half back in.

Each entry into me made me catch my breath and made my chest tight as his rhythm began to pick up speed, grunting with pleasure. I gasped out loud as I pushed back against his thrusts enjoying the sound of skin slapping together, and that hard dick pounding my ass. He fucked me with a desperate need as fast as he could for another ten minutes.

"Oh God, you're so fucking big! Fuck me damn it FUCK ME! Damn it, fuck my hole! Own it!"

Hearing that, spurred him to pump into me faster and harder, forcing more moans and gasps from me. "God yes! Fuck me Mr. President, Fuck me!"

President Johnson's rhythm became erratic, my dick was vibrating with excitement and my balls were tight to my body waiting to cum. Suddenly, he pulled out, pressed the head of Jumbo against my ass and came. The first stream of his cum bounced back to cover the head of his dick, he pressed his hot cock up and the next stream went up my back. The last stream went into my opened hole. President Johnson moved the head around smearing his cum on my skin before he slipped it back down to my sore hole. I had came without even touching my cock, but hadn't noticed while he fucked me.  

"Damn boy, that was better then any pussy I have ever fucked." He said still smoothly pumping my ass like he was working up to come again.

"Damn, Mr. President, how long can you go?" I said as he pushed that wonderful cock back in me as far as it could go, sending a shiver through my balls and up my dick and through my chest.

"With an ass this tight, I can go for a while longer. But as much as I love this, we better get cleaned up before Bird comes a looking." He said holding himself in me for a moment longer than with drew.

"But I will find a way to fuck you again. Count on it."

We got cleaned up and dressed just before Lady Bird came though the Oval Office door. Ben told him I was everything he was told I was and more. And they went outside and talked. President Johnson was a man of his word. Between his wife, virtually all of his secretaries, his two mistresses and I got the Johnson Treatment. Johnson was a sexual beast who'd screw anything that would crawl, basically. He was a horny old man.

[nanamisonholiday]

PervyDbf!Gojo pt 2

PervyDbf!Gojo x fem!reader

reader is Geto's daughter

Pt 1 PT3 do enjoy sluts

tw: fingering ;) just pervypervgojo

PervyDbf!Gojo who is fighting every living cell in his body not to act on his temptations, but it is awfully fucking hard when you prance around in your tiny lounge shorts set around your home. Sinful skin on full show when you bend over to pick something up. Or the way you paw at your sleeves as you lazily lean over the counter to steal some of his sweets. He should grab you and show you how fucking much of an oblivious tease you’re being

PervyDbf!Gojo who goes absolutely feral for the size difference between him and yourself. Even seeing other large men tower over you does something to his sick brain. All blood happily and hurriedly rushing down south. The fact you have to look up at him through your fluttery eyelashes everytime you speak to him anyone makes his skin hot and his mind blank. You would get anything you want when you look up at him like that. He’s not ashamed of it at all.

PervyDbf!Gojo who hates sharing your attention. Even a hint of jealousy lingers in his body when you pay no one any mind but your father. It’s gross- he’s your dad of course your a daddys girl. But Gojo can’t help it, the way his nostrils flare when he thinks you’ve spent enough time clinging to your dad than you have with himself- sends him into a mood that he has to check himself on. Forcing a smile with his pearly whites when you finally turn to look at him and usher him over to you. Finally- you’re giving him attention

PervyDbf!Gojo who insists on standing directly behind you on a train ‘f’safety reasons’ ignoring your furrowed brow and lets his large hands hold onto the pole to stay steady. His front bumping into you at nearly every given movement. The crowded train conceals his perverse movements when he subtly ruts his dick into your back. Rock solid by the time you both arrive to your destination with nothing but breathy sighs and a dust of pink on his cheeks to show he was being anything but innocent.

PervyDbf!Gojo who will do everything in his power to NOT dip his fingers under the waistband of your panties under the god damn soft blanket covering You, Nanami, and himself. You’re happily wedged between the two men, leaning towards Nanami as one of your legs is hiked up on Gojos thigh giving him space to happily rest his hand on your inner thigh. Fingers dangerously close to your core, only a thrust of your hips and he would feel the softness of your pussy. He was doing so well

PervyDbf!Gojo who internally screams with glee when your body jolts at a jump scare- thanking anyone and everyone who was watching over him when his fingers ‘accidentally’ poke and prod at your damp panties because of your own movements. It’s your fault really.

PervyDbf!Gojo who smirks to himself at your wide eyes as you clutch onto Nanami, the man unaware of whats goijg on under the blanket. Gojo ignores your looks to slowly test the waters by rubbing the stiff nub under your panties. You feel like screaming with the heat rushing up your neck and cheeks. Face nudging into Nanamis shoulder to hide away from the current pleasure you’re recieving from your dads oldest and bestest friend.

PervyDbf!Gojo who makes eye contact with your dad as he plunges two long thick fingers in your heat. Your dad not even noticing the secretive movement of his bestfriends hand too focussed on whispering some inside joke only Gojo would get. The pair of them laughing and snickering to each other all the while you’re getting fingered under a blanket as your smushed by two of your fathers friends

PervyDbf!Gojo who makes you cum on his fingers- Nanami noticing that familiar shudder of pleasure coming from your body. Only to give Saturo Gojo a death stare once he finally catches on to whats happened. Not Gojo relishing in the jealousy that’s coming off of Kento Nanami. Not that the blonde would admit it.

PervyDbf!Gojo who keeps his hand over your wet cunt during the rest of the movie. Ignoring your attempts to shift his hand away from you. Instead gripping you as a warning to stay still- to which you silently do

PervyDbf!Gojo who debates ruining his life for you- he would. He would lose it all for you. All you had to do was say the words

PervyDbf!Gojo who moans your name when he fucks other women. When he fucks his fists. When he humps the bed. It’s your name leaving past his shaky lips

PervyDbf!Gojo who is jealous of Nanami. The pair of them always in some sort of cockoff whenever you’re in their vicinity. It’s like you trigger the primal and feral need in them as soon as you give one of them more attention than the other. Everyone notices it- even your father at times

PervyDbf!Gojo who is showered in attention and gifts and affection and pleas from other women only for it all to fall on deaf ears as his eyes are only ever focussed on one little miss. His arm being clutched by some desperate woman who’s trying hard- very hard to inpress him with god knows what. Except he doesn’t care, he may entertain it, may indulge with a little flirting or a cheeky kiss. But at the end of the day it’s you he wants. It’s you who’s taking a cute family photo with your parents all dressed up in the outfit and shoes he had bought you. It’s you kissing Nanami’s cheek that he wants. It’s you draping yourself over a ‘pretend to be’ irritated Sukuna that he wants. Its you the boys nearer your age like Megumi and Yuuji fawn over that he wants. It’s you - the forbidden fruit that Saturo Gojo so desperately wants but can’t have.

Thanks for readinggg

feel free to msg/ask whatever- or don't <3

[heich0e]

BEG, BORROW, & STEAL - levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT wc: 13k tags: enemies to lovers, neighbours to begrudging friends to lovers, food and wine writer!Levi, catsitter!Levi, Pancakes is the Real Star of this show, frequent and gratuitous descriptions of food and drink, frequent mention and consumption of alcohol, singular mention of loud domestic argument, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, sensory deprivation play, blindfolds, hair pulling, no mention of condoms, honestly i'm not sure if fire escapes are actually safe to hang out on so tw for that too crossposted to ao3

Nestled in a quiet corner of Mitras’ budding east end, there’s a little five-storey building. 

It’s stout, brick, and decorated with ivy that creeps up along the mortar and underneath its windows. Along the side of the building not facing the two lane street, running just above a narrow back alley, there’s a labyrinthine set of old metal fire escapes—rusted and weathered but still sturdy, a standing testament to bygone craftsmanship. It all comes together in stark juxtaposition to the design of the towering structures of concrete, steel, and glass that have been steadily cropping up in the neighbourhood as of late. 

The architecture feels almost out of place among these new developments, understated and old among all the shiny and new, but it certainly has a lot of character.

The residents who inhabit the apartments inside are respectful, polite people, who mostly tend to keep to themselves—though they’re as a eclectic of a bunch as any, to be sure. Most have lived in their rent-controlled units for decades, made homes for themselves that they never plan to leave. 

Since moving into the little brick building two years ago, you haven’t had any notable issues with any of your neighbours.

Well, except for one.

The miserable guy in apartment 304—one unit down and slightly to the left of your own, 405. He’d nearly chewed your god damn head off for using his trash can one time when you’d first moved in. His trash can of all things. It had been an honest mistake on your part, and you’d sincerely apologized for it when he all-but cornered you in the mail room off the lobby a few days after the fact. But after the unpleasant exchange, the curmudgeon bought himself a padlock for his trashcan and has sent withering glares your way ever since. 

It’s been well over a year since then, but the chill has never quite broken between the two of you. 

The dark haired man, who seems to be perpetually suit-clad—or at least he has been in all the times you’ve spotted him—is easy enough to avoid given the floor’s difference between your units. But sometimes ill-fated meetings are inevitable in such close quarters. 

Your building (regrettably) only has one rickety old elevator. It’s an original feature from when the complex was first built, and it’s undergone minimal maintenance and sum total zero upgrades since it was installed decades prior. 

All of which is to say: it merits nothing less than being called a complete and utter death trap. 

And, as though the sluggardly descent from your apartment on the fourth floor down to the lobby isn’t harrowing enough, your ill-tempered neighbour standing less than a metre away from you in a tightly confined space surely makes it worse.

The elevator is old enough that it has two doors—an automatic door that opens on each floor, as well as a manual interior door that the passengers in the elevator are responsible for opening and closing themselves. Initially you’d found the antique system charming, quaint even, but after realizing that the interior door weighs about thirty pounds and only likes to open half of the time, it quickly lost its charm. You stare pointedly at the cursed iron grate of the aforementioned interior door as the elevator makes its slow downward journey to the lobby, cursing yourself for not just taking the fucking stairs. 

The lights on the side panel tell you you’re only one single floor away from your destination. If you just hold your breath and pray hard enough maybe everything will be fi—

“If you and your boyfriend plan to continue going at it like animals until four in the morning without any consideration for your neighbours, you should at least have the basic human decency to close your bedroom window.”

The elevator makes it to the ground floor just as his eviscerating remark draws to a close, the car dipping slightly upon arrival and sending your stomach sinking with it. Without missing a beat, your sour-faced neighbour pulls the confounded metal door open like it weighs nothing. You, in contrast, are frozen stock-still in shock, reeling in the wake of his words with a singeing heat flooding your cheeks. He steps off in the lobby without so much as a momentary glance in your direction, and you watch his back (in a crisp navy blue suit jacket) as he walks away.

You’re so completely stunned that you almost forget to get out too. 

Oh, you hate him.

You swear that you’ll forsake the cursed elevator entirely for the rest of your life, if only to avoid ever crossing paths with that bastard again.

Or, so you may have thought.

Weeks later, you find yourself on the fire escape outside your living room with tears drying on your cheeks. You sit quietly in the wake of a long, heated argument with your boyfriend. A loud argument. A relationship ending argument. 

Things have been bad for a few months. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. He’s always been a bit mean, a little careless, a little wrong—and you knew he probably wasn’t the one. But that doesn’t make the sting of yet another relationship crumbling in your hands any more bearable.

And so, not for the first time, you find yourself drowning your sorrows in a bottle of cheap, overly saccharine white wine and hiccuping in breaths of the fresh air as you try to soothe the ache while the sting of alcohol sears down your throat.

“Your boyfriend sucks.”

You jump a little, looking down the stairs to your right only to see your most loathed neighbour on his own fire escape with a glass of red wine in his hand. 

You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but you’re sure he heard most (if not all) of what had transpired in your living room if he had been home at the time. Your windows had been open, you realize too late to do anything about it.

“Yeah,” you scrub at your swollen eyes with the back of your knuckles, “he kinda does—”

You take a long, inelegant swig from the bottle of wine in your hand at the same time your neighbour lifts his own glass. This mouthful tastes more bitter than the last.

“—and he’s not my boyfriend anymore, in case it needs to be said.”

Your neighbour pauses with his glass at his lips. Based on the fact that your window had been open to the world at large, and your conversation with your now-ex had been less that even-toned, you doubt the point really stands to be highlighted.

“It doesn’t,” he replies, confirming your suspicions. “But sorry to hear that.” 

You snort mirthlessly. “Are you really?”

The man tuts, a little click of his tongue behind his teeth. But it’s not a sound that implies that he cares, just one that says he’s been found out. 

“No.”

You can’t help but laugh at his candour. It’s a nice reprieve from the tears.

And, strangely, things are almost… amicable after that. 

Now in the evenings when both of you sit quietly on your fire escapes, where once you’d skitter back inside to avoid his cold glare and oppressive aura, neither of you moves to silently retreat. 

Sometimes you even chat, as unlikely an occurrence as it once would have seemed to you. You talk about basically nothing—the weather, a new building that’s cropped up a few streets away, a noisy neighbour, the moon—and it’s usually just for a few minutes before you head to sleep. You tend to be early to bed and early to rise, but Apartment 304’s lights seem to be on at all hours.

Part of you wonders just how long he stays out on his balcony after you retire for the night. But, it’s sort of nice—this unlikely armistice you seem to have unspokenly signed.

You stick your head out the window one evening, a few months in to your ill-begotten amity, a little earlier than you normally would since you got home from work ahead of your usual return.

He’s already there. 

“Hey—” 

Your neighbour lifts his head to peer up from the pad of notebook paper he’s scribbling away on. He’s wearing glasses today. You’ve never seen those before. 

“—what are you having for dinner?” 

304 looks at you with a quirk of his brow. 

“A 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon.” 

You lean your elbows on the windowsill, angling yourself a little further out of it. “I just made a fuckload of food. If you split that red with me, I’ve got a plate for you.”

He eyes you, and seems to be considering your proposal. 

“What is it?”

“Roast chicken, some vegetables. Nothing fancy.”

“This wine pairs better with red meat.”

“Yeah? Well my last bottle of wine cost me 8 dollars and a 2-day hangover. Do you want the food or not?” you ask him, rolling your eyes lightly at his comment.

There’s a long pause. 

A sigh.

“Fine.”

You meet on the metal stairs halfway between your respective fire escape landings on the third and fourth floor; you're perched a few steps higher than your neighbour closer to your home, and he to his. 

He pours you a serving of wine into a spotless glass that he must have retrieved while you were inside plating up the meal, having evidently tucked his eyeglasses away at the same time as they’re nowhere to be seen. He accepts the plate of food you offer him and hands you the drink in exchange. Your plates are mismatched, so is your cutlery, and they clash with the delicate wine glasses he’s brought to your unexpected soiree. 

You watch cautiously as he takes his first bite, silently scrutinizing the way his brow furrows as he chews. After a moment the crease in his brow softens, and he seems content—or at the very least not repulsed. You almost laugh into the brim of your wine glass as you quietly read the expressions on his face. 

You tip your glass back and take your first sip.

“Holy shit, this is great,” you say, the flavour of the wine lingering on your tongue even after you’ve swallowed it down. It’s neither too dry nor too sweet, evenly balanced, and it doesn’t have the lingering tannic bitterness of the reds that you’ve tried before. Theres something rich but not heavy in the notes that first touch your palate, fruity but on the right side of neutral. You reach a hand out for the bottle and he passes it to you—albeit hesitantly. Reading the label, all you’re able to surmise is that it’s french. “This must not be cheap.”

“It certainly cost more than eight dollars,” your third floor neighbour snorts. He catches the flat look you shoot him, and suddenly is very preoccupied with cutting into his next bite of chicken.

And so from that point on you continue your evening chats, and even eat dinner together on a semi-regular basis. Apartment 304 has yet to turn down your offer of a free meal—and he always supplies the wine.

You’re not friends per se, but you’re certainly no longer mortal nemeses either. 

“Oi! 405!”

You hear your neighbour call to you late one afternoon, the sun rapidly slipping away along the city skyline outside, and rush towards your open window. You stick your head out onto the fire escape curiously. 

Your neighbour is standing on his landing, staring up at you with a quirked brow.

“Did you lose something?” 

That’s when you notice the bra dangling off his outstretched finger. Your eyes shoot to your laundry rack where that very bra had been previously pinned to dry, as though you really need to confirm where it had come from. There’s a clothespin resting on the grated metal deck of the fire escape beside the wire rack, having clearly blown off in the wind. 

You swallow a mortified groan. 

“How do you know that’s not Misses Miller’s from upstairs?” You sniff, unduly defensive. The argument is weak and you know it; Misses Miller occupies apartment 506, the unit at the top of the fire escape stairs connected to your own—she’s nearly 80 and likely requires a bit more support than what the dainty lace bra looped around your neighbour's index finger offers. 

The dark-haired man’s lips quirk into something you might think vaguely reminiscent of a smirk if you believed him capable of it.

“I’m happy to go ask-“ 

“You’re a real jerk, y’know that, Third?” you cut him off before he can finish the thought, pulling yourself out through the window clumsily in your newfound haste.

He seems to be contemplating what you’ve said as you make your way down the fire escape stairs towards him, footfalls heavy with your indignation.

“Third?” he asks, peering up at you with his head titled inquisitively to the side.

“Third floor,” you explain, like it should be obvious.

“I don’t own the entire third floor.” 

You lean down from your place on the stairs and snatch your bra from his hand. “Well you sure act like it.”

You turn and stomp your way back up the fire escape towards your own apartment, bra clutched in a tightly clenched fist.

“So, should I let Misses Miller know you’re returning that to her, or—“

You slam your window shut behind you before you can hear the end of his comment.

A few nights following The Bra Incident—or the deBRAcle as you’ve come to refer to it in your mortified inner monologue—you wake to the unpleasant sound of toppling aluminium in the back alley. Sleepily, you shuffle out into your living room and lift your window, peeking your head out into the cool night.

A quick glance to your right tells you that 304’s lights are off. It’s late, admittedly, and this should be normal—but you can’t recall a night you’ve peeked down towards his apartment and seen the window dark. It’s all a bit unusual.

What you hear next even more so. 

“God fucking damn it—shit, fuck—mother of—“

“You alright down there?” You approach the railing of the fire escape and lean over the edge to peer down towards the ground.

Below you, beyond all odds or reasonable explanation, is your third floor neighbour. He’s dressed in a nice suit as usual, with his hair neatly slicked back, and he’s standing beside a knocked over garbage can with trash strewn about.

He blinks up at you owlishly.

It’s quiet for a moment as the two of you hold eye contact.

He speaks first.

“I forgot my house keys in my office.”

You raise a brow, propping your chin in your hand as you lean against the metal railing. “And so you picked a fight with an innocent trash can?” 

304 narrows his eyes up at you, a resentful squint. The sharp line of his jaw becomes even more pronounced as he grits his teeth. “I’m trying to reach the fire escape.”

The ladder that connects the fire escape to the ground is retractable, and has to be pulled from the second floor. He’d clearly been trying to use the garbage cans as leverage to reach the lowest rung of the ladder and yank it down—a security measure that had clearly done its job.

You purse your lips, fighting back a laugh. “Are you drunk?” 

Silence befalls the two of you once more, and your neighbours eyes only narrow further. 

“A bit.” Reluctance weighs heavily in his monotonous words.

You push yourself off from the railing, heading back towards your window. 

“Where are you going?” 304 calls indignantly after you, like now that you’ve spotted him you’re somehow obligated to come to his aid.

“I gotta grab something!” you chirp dismissively as you crawl back inside over the edge of the frame.

Something being your cellphone. Specifically to take a picture and commemorate the ordeal.

“You’re cruel,” your neighbour snarls from his place on the ground as you gleefully snap a few photos with flash, quickly turning his back to you in an attempt to preserve whatever remaining shred of pride he has left.

“And if you want me to drop this fire escape ladder then you’re at my mercy—so smile!” you cajole with a giggle as you lean precariously over the railing, pinching the screen of your cellphone to zoom in on his figure.

He flips you off over his suit-clad shoulder and it makes you laugh again. 

Once you’ve had your fun, and taken (conservative estimate) 400 photos, you climb down the stairs all the way to the second floor balcony—creeping across the grated deck as to not startle your unsuspecting lower-level neighbours—and finally push down the fire escape ladder. 

304 makes short work of clambering up the rungs, pulling himself onto the balcony with a heaving sigh. He stumbles slightly, and you grab him by the lapels of his suit to steady him.

“Take it easy, Third,” you say quietly, letting your hands unfurl from his suit jacket once you’re sure he’s regained his balance.

He rolls his eyes and pulls the creaky fire escape ladder up behind him once more. You both wait with bated breath, pulse spiking, to see if the lights inside the second floor apartment turn on. Mercifully the windows stay dark.

The two of you make your way back up to the third floor, and you’re just about to step onto the stairs towards your own apartment and return to the call of your bed as 304 move towards his window. He places both hands flat against the glass and pushes up.

Nothing happens.

It’s locked. 

“Oh my god,” your neighbour groans miserably, letting his forehead rest against the fingerprint-smudged glass, his dark hair hanging around his eyes.

“Holy shit, did something just move in there?” You gasp in fright, spotting something streaking through the darkness of his apartment through the pane.

“Yes, the fucking beast that’s taken over my home.”

You tilt your head. “I’m lost.”

The man before you sighs, turning over so instead of resting with his forehead against the glass his shoulders are pressed to the brick just beside the window frame. He tilts his head back, and a strand of hair falls from his slicked back style and curls in front of his eyes. He breathes out frustratedly into the night. “I’m currently babysitting my acquaintance’s evil cat.”

“You have a cat?” you ask excitedly. 

“No,”—he shoots you a pointed, irritated look—“it’s my acquaintance’s cat. And it’s the weirdest creature on earth. She can open windows and eats all of my bread.”

You press a hand to your mouth to try and hold back your giggles.

“Bread?” you ask him incredulously.

He nods solemnly.

“Well,”—you drag the toe of your fluffy slipper idly against the grating beneath your feet—“what’s her name?”

He stares at you blankly. Utterly unenthused. “Pancakes.”

And at that you have no choice but to openly and unreservedly laugh.

When you finally manage to get your giggles in check—exceedingly conscious of how the sound of your laughter seems to ricochet down the narrow, brick-lined alley you find yourself in—you manage to ask him a pertinent question.

“Does anyone have a spare key to your place?”

“My colleague, Erwin,” the man in front of you mumbles.

Acquaintance. Colleague. You’re starting to wonder if 304 has no friends, or just refuses to refer to them as such.

“Ok, so call him,” you encourage.

He shuts his eyes, his head still pressed back against the wall of brick behind him.

“…My phone is dead.”

You wince. 

“Christ, third strike you’re out.”

Your neighbour looks ready to pitch himself clear off the edge of the fire escape. 

“Get it? because you’re—“

“I got it.” 304 finally opens his eyes to shoot you a glare.

You do him the favour of not openly laughing in the face of his misfortune again, wracking your brain for something that may actually be helpful.

“Er, do you wanna come up to my place?” you ask. “I probably have a charger you can use for your phone, or you could just use mine to call. What kind do you have?” 

The man in front of you rifles through the inside pocket of his suit jacket and hands you the dead device. 

You survey it for a moment, turning the bottom of the phone up towards you to squint at the charging port in the dim night. It’s different from yours but all hope isn’t yet lost. “I think that ex of mine you liked so much had the same one, he left a charger up there. It’s all yours if you want it.”

It’s not like he really has any other choice.

As 304 follows you up the narrow fire-escape stairs towards your window on the fourth floor, you realize it’s the first time your neighbour has ever been to your apartment. Or even crossed the halfway point on the stairs, for that matter. You turn just before you get to the window, and suddenly realize how close you are on the narrow balcony outside of your home. 

You pause.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be inviting a stranger into my apartment.”

Third tuts admonishingly. “We eat dinner together once or twice a week.”

“I don’t even know your na-“

“Levi.”

You’re a little taken aback in the wake of his offering, your eyes widening slightly.

“Levi,” you test the name over in your mouth like the wine the two of you so often share, and then you shrug. “Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Third, but I guess it’ll do.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he huffs.

You turn to crawl through your living room window when you feel a gentle touch on your hip calling for your attention. You look back, and Levi pulls his hand away quickly, like he’s realized what he’s done.

You can’t help but think he doesn’t need to seem so suddenly abashed.

He clears his throat a little as you look to him inquisitively. 

“Your name?” 

You smile a bit, your nose scrunching up at how shyly he poses the question, and you tell him.

He nods curtly, like he accepts it, and it almost makes you laugh.

You go about making two cups of tea while you wait for the phone to power back on once he’s plugged it into the charger—which you dug out of a box you keep shoved in the back of your coat closet full of things your various exes have left in your apartment over the years. Thankfully it is the right fit for the device.

A quick glance at the time on your stove clock as you’re boiling the kettle tells you it’s already well past two AM—far later than your usual bedtime, though you don’t feel particularly sleepy.

Once the tea has been prepared, you tote the steaming mugs into the living room where Levi is waiting. You sit curled in an armchair, while your unexpected guest rests perched on the very edge of your sofa closer to the outlet where his phone is plugged into the wall.

“So, what had you out so late tonight, Thir-Levi?” you ask, correcting yourself last minute from using the nickname you’re so used to. You blow over the surface of your very hot tea as you wait for his reply.

“Work thing,” he grunts dismissively, his knee jiggling impatiently while he cradles the still-dark cellphone in his hands. He picks up his own cup of tea and takes a sip. He seems pleasantly surprised by the taste.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, “and what exactly do you do for work?”

Levi looks at you over the brim of his mug, an almost skeptical expression on his face.

“I’m a writer.”

Your eyes widen. “No shit! Like a novelist?”

“Journalist,” he corrects you, his lips pursing forward like he’s contemplating whether or not to divulge any more. He decides to indulge you, evidently, when he further supplies: “I’m a food and wine writer.”

“Really?” You lean forward in your seat, suddenly very interested. “A critic?”

He looks like he wants to correct you, but doesn’t. “I write reviews among other things, yes.”

You slump back in your chair a little bit, kicking your legs up to loop over one armrest. 

“Wow, a guy who writes about food and can’t even cook.”

“I can cook, I just choose not to,” Levi says defensively, his tone sharp.

“Sounds like something someone who can’t cook would say,” you say, punctuating the statement with a long sip of tea.

“I’ve eaten at some of the nicest restaurants in the world—there’s nothing I can make myself that could compare, so why try?”

“How fatalistic of you,” you say with a snuffle of a laugh against the edge of your mug. “You know, if I’d known you had such a refined palate I might have been a bit more self-conscious about serving you my cooking.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “You’re a decent cook.”

Your brows lift in surprise. A compliment?

“But you use too much salt.”

You bark out a defensive laugh. “I do not!”

You hear a subtle buzz of vibration and a soft chime as Levi’s phone, left momentarily forgotten on the arm rest of the couch, powers on. It seems to take you both by surprise.

“Well then, time to call your colleague in shining armour,” you say with an encouraging wave of your hand.

Levi leans forward to set his cup of tea down on the table in front of him.

“Coasters?” He pauses, looking around the room. 

“I found this coffee table on the curb outside my dorm in college, I promise you it’s seen worse than a hot mug.”

Levi’s face pinches slightly before he sets the mug gently down atop the table’s edge.

You watch as he picks up his phone, tapping around the lit screen for a moment before holding the device up to his ear. He’s curved a little awkwardly towards the end of the sofa due to the power cord connecting the phone to the outlet, the material of his dress shirt pulling taught around his frame. His suit jacket hangs on the back of a chair at your kitchen counter, the knot of his tie is loosened at his throat. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Levi pulls his phone away from his face and ends the call.

“He’s not answering,” he says with a frustrated huff, as though not answering a phone call in the dead of night is somehow unreasonable. He dials the number again.

“Well,” you say slowly, watching as the same series of events plays out once more, “it’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans quietly, slumping back into your sofa. 

“Do you think the building Super would be awake?” you ask. The Superintendent has keys to every unit, so he’s the next most viable option. He’s a nice, helpful man, and only lives down on the first floor, but you suspect a knock at the door in the dead of night would be worse than an impromptu phone call.

“No, but he’d probably wake up if I called him,” Levi mumbles. He clicks his tongue behind his teeth in irritation. “How humiliating.”

He looks miserable at the mere prospect, but still reaches for his phone.

And maybe it’s because of how late it is. Maybe it’s how warm and dozy and pliantly agreeable the tea that you’d prepared for the two of you has made you feel. Maybe it’s just because there’s something inexplicably comfortable about being around Levi that has your guard lowered.

“You could always crash on my couch,” you find yourself saying before you really think it through. He looks up at you, clearly taken aback by the offer. “Then you can call your coworker in the morning and get your spare key.”

Levi appears uncertain. “You’d let a stranger crash on your couch?” 

“We eat dinner together once or twice a week, Levi,” you remind him with a little smirk, using his own words from earlier in your defence.

You bring out a pillow from your own bed covered in a fresh pillow case, and a blanket from your linen closet. You hand them to Levi, still seated in the same place on your sofa though a bit more at ease, and he dips his head in thanks while holding both items atop his lap.

“I have some clothes my ex left here that I would offer you, but he was a bit, uh…”—you make a vague gesture in roughly the same stature as your last boyfriend—“he had a different build than you.”

Levi looks at you flatly. 

“You’ve already done enough,” he says, though not altogether unkindly. 

“Alright, well… g’night,” you say with an awkward little wave, shuffling off in the direction of your bedroom. 

Levi calls your name just as you step across the threshold, and you peek back through the doorway towards him. His face is illuminated only by the glow of the lamp atop the table next to the sofa, and he’s looking at you with an unexpectedly earnest expression as he undoes the top button of his dress shirt, his tie resting undone around his collar. 

“Thank you.”

You smile, dipping your head in a little nod, and shut your bedroom door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, it takes a few languid blinks against the morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains and a couple moments more of proper consciousness to remember the events that had transpired the night before.

Well, that and the distant shuffling outside your bedroom door. 

You pull on a sweatshirt, pat your hair down into something you think (hope) is a little less dishevelled, and amble sleepily out to your living room. It’s empty, but Levi’s suit jacket is still hanging on your counter stool, his tie neatly rolled up on the corner of your coffee table, and your window is open. You can see the edge of his back seated just beyond the open pane. 

You poke your head out to see Levi on the fire escape. His button up shirt is undone to reveal the tight white t-shirt he wears underneath it, and his slacks are slightly creased from sleeping in them. His hair is messy—a hybrid between the loose hanging style you’re accustomed to, and the slicked back fashion he’d had it in the night before. He must hear you coming, because he turns to face you as you arrive. You look at him curiously as if to ask why he’s sitting outside.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he explains without you even vocalizing the question on your mind. His voice is still a bit hoarse from sleep, deeper and rougher than its usual smooth tone.

You crawl through the window, yawning a little as you take a seat cross-legged on the little balcony behind him. Levi turns to face you properly, shifting his whole body in your direction where he sits at the top of the stairs leading down to his own apartment. 

“Any word from your spare key courier?” You blink through the tears that sprang to your eyes in your yawn, rubbing them away with your fist.

“He’ll be here in half an hour,” Levi replies.

You nod, a little tug at the corner of your mouth. “Thank God. Pancakes must be so worried all alone in there.” 

Levi’s lip curls in an unhappy sneer. “I watched her eat half a loaf of three-day-old brioche through the window this morning. I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”

There’s no choice but to giggle at the image of a cat ransacking your excessively type-A neighbour’s home, even if he can’t see the humour in it.

“D’ya want some coffee?” you ask, pushing yourself up towards the window again.

“I’d take another cup of that tea from last night,” Levi replies, his tone almost hopeful, and you nod before pulling yourself back inside.

You return to your place on the fire escape a few minutes later, this time with two mugs in hand.

It’s quiet while you sip your drinks, listening to the building hum of the city waking up around you. 

“You always up this early?” you finally shatter the stillness with a question, but it’s not intrusive—slipping easily into the comfortable air around you.

“Yeah, usually,” Levi says, peeking over at you. He holds his mug a little strangely, you can’t help put notice—fingertips gripping the brim rather than the handle. It seems unduly precarious. “You wake up early too, huh?” 

You tilt your head, wondering how he might know that. 

“You sing a lot in the morning,” he explains, looking away by turning his gaze back towards the alley. “You’ve got terrible pitch.”

“Hey!” You reach out and swat at his shoulder. He’s warm to the touch, and even though it’s so basically human it still feels almost unexpected.

He huffs a little, neither a laugh nor far enough from one to discredit it; the sound is smug and indulgent.

“Yeah well you stay up too late,” you counter his observation with one of your own.

This time it’s his turn to be curious, lifting a dark brow as he peeks back at you over his shoulder.

“Your light’s always on,”—you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment down the stairs he’s seated at the top of—“and I don’t really take you for the nightlight type.”

“I don’t sleep much,” he admits.

You scoff. “What do you to with all those extra hours in the day?” 

“Writing, editing, researching, emailing my editor,” he explains with a shrug.

You roll your eyes a bit, taking a sip of your coffee. “So you’re a real workaholic, huh?” 

Levi drains the last mouthful of his tea, setting the mug down with a little clink as the porcelain meets metal. “There are worse things to spend your time doing.”

“There are better things too,” you counter. 

“Such as?” 

“I don’t know, socializing? Relaxing? Going out on a date?” You gesticulate with the hand not holding your mug as though to say ‘so on and so forth.'

“You think dating in this day and age is a fun way to pass the time?” Levi remarks flatly.

“Fine,” you concede, a sudden memory of your last ex coming to mind unwelcomely. You can’t help but note he doesn’t make mention of any partners of his own. “Don’t you have hobbies?”

Levi purses his lips, and seems to be wracking his brain. It takes a while. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “When was the last time you went to a museum? An art gallery? A play? The movies? Anywhere that wasn’t work related?”

“I went to the National Gallery downtown a while ago,” he offers.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, disbelievingly. “When?” 

“A class trip in ninth grade.”

Your laughter echoes through the alley as it spills from your lips.

“You know they’ve always got new exhibits on display,” you say, gathering your composure. You lean forward, knees pressing into your chest. “You should visit again, I’m sure something has changed in the past eighty years since you were there last.”

Levi watches you curiously, a little too intently to be considered casual.

His phone jingles.

He blinks, and there’s a brief delay before he looks down at the device in his hand.

“That’s my key,” he says quietly. 

You nod, standing. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares. You hadn’t even noticed how noisy it’s gotten in the time the two of you have been sitting together, but the city is well and truly awake now.

One at a time, you both climb back in through the window—him letting you go first—and once you make it back into your living room you take Levi’s empty cup from his hand to take it to your kitchen sink and wash while he collects his belongings. 

Levi steps towards your front door as you dry your hands off on a towel hanging from the handle of your oven. You watch as he buttons up his dress shirt—though he leaves it untucked from his wrinkled trousers.

“Thanks again for… y’know”—he stops buttoning once he gets about half-way up the row and gestures vaguely—“all of this.”

You lean your hip against your kitchen counter. “I’ll slip a bill under your door for room and board.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft sort of exasperation to his expression as he does it. 

“You could just knock.”

You smile, and you feel a pinch in your cheeks from how wide it spreads. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

You don’t see Levi again in the week that follows, as you’re stuck working late each night as you slog towards a project deadline. 

You leave for the office in the morning when the sun has barely crested, and come home long after it’s set. You’ve been eating mainly takeout from restaurants near your work, and whatever happens to be hiding at the back of your pantry since you haven’t had the opportunity to grocery shop—all interspersed with whatever mediocre, half-stale baked goods your coworkers have brought in and left in the staff kitchen for everyone to share.

After one particularly brutal day, you shuffle in the door with nothing but a day-old donut and three coffees in your stomach, though the clock has ticked past eleven. You drop your belongings on your kitchen counter and wonder if you still have that old bag of microwave popcorn kicking around in the back of your cupboard. You ponder this question as you cross your living room to crack the window and let in a bit of fresh air.

Outside, perched unexpectedly just below the window frame on the fire escape, is a brown paper gift bag.

You glance to the right and see Levi’s lights are still on, as usual, but his window is closed. 

Hm.

You pick up the bag and retreat inside, peeking at its contents as you go.

Inside you find a bottle of white wine—a nice bottle of white wine—along with a little piece of notebook paper, ripped along the edge and folded twice in half. You peel the edges of the page back to reveal neat scrawl in black ink. 

This didn’t cost 8 dollars. 

Thanks again for putting me up.

—3rd. 

(Levi)

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, what with all the late nights you’ve been pulling at the office, and you realize that your last encounter was the morning after he spent the night at your place.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head, and tuck the note back into the bag.

The next Saturday morning, mercifully freed from the project you've been slaving away at, you have every intention of sleeping in to makeup of the overtime you've been banking. Instead, you wake to a strange rustling sound.

It takes a moment for it to register to your hazy, barely conscious mind—a sound so gentle you hardly process that it’s unusual until it’s been going on for just a few minutes too long.

“Mrrrrphm!”

Your eyes shoot open.

Now that noise, you immediately know is out of the ordinary.

You creep out into your kitchen on your tiptoes, towards where the rustling seems to be originating from.

Perched atop your kitchen counter, you see the tail end of a four-legged, ginger-furred little creature—with its head tucked into the rumpled paper bag containing the croissant you’d been planning to eat for breakfast. Its long, bushy tail sways back and forth happily as it rustles around inside.

“Hey!” 

The beast—soon revealed to be a cat once it pulls its head from the bag—has the remnants of your (now mostly-shredded) croissant hanging out of its little pink mouth. One of its ears is folded unnaturally, the fur around its neck is scruffy, and you realize upon closer inspection of your half-eaten breakfast that it has a snaggletooth. 

The cat seems fairly sociable though, as it makes no move to run as you slowly approach.

“I’m guessing you’re the illustrious Pancakes, huh?” you say as you reach up to scratch gently behind her ears. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

The cat lets out a cheerful little chirp, your ill-fated croissant still hanging from her maw, bumping her head against your wrist. You pluck the bit of bread from her mouth and quickly scoop her up in your arms, heading towards your door as she squirms unhappily—you don’t quite trust yourself to descend the fire escape with such precious cargo in-hand.

Down on the third floor, you rap sharply against a door.

It swings open moments later to reveal Levi’s perplexed face. Glasses on.

“Your demon cat ate my croissant,” you say, holding the offender out towards him.

She meows innocently. 

“Not my cat,” he replies flatly, taking Pancakes from your hands and setting her down on the floor just behind him. She hits the ground on all fours with a little thump, and trots off happily into the apartment out of sight.

“But you two look so much alike.”

Levi responds only with a narrow-eyed glare.

Then he sighs.

“Sorry… she must have crawled out through the window when I wasn’t looking,”—Levi reaches up under the lenses of his glasses, pressing the tips of his fingers against his shut eyes as though they’re aching—“I’ll buy you another croissant.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a little laugh, and his fingers splay under the metal frames of his eyeglasses to peek at you through the gaps. You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s my own fault for leaving my window open last night.”

“That’s a good way to be home invaded,” the dark-haired man chides you sternly, a little furrow of disapproval making itself known between his brows. His hands drop from his face, only for his arms to cross over his t-shirt clad chest.

“Yeah, well they’d have to pass your window first—and it’s not like you wouldn’t spot them Mr. Sleep-When-I’m-Dead,” you say, shooting him a bemused look. “At least you’d have a description to give the cops.”

“All you care about is the killer being caught? Not avoiding being murdered in the first place?” Levi drawls.

“Well, at least I could end up on a true crime podcast, so long as you agree to be a good samaritan and assist the authorities in their investigation,” you joke. You peek over Levi’s shoulder to where his curtain is ruffling in the morning breeze. “Hey, do you mind if I just go out through the window?” 

He shrugs, pulling his apartment door open a little wider to let you through. “Be my guest.”

Levi’s apartment is tidy and sparsely decorated, but it’s nearly identical to your own in terms of general construction. Your eyes can’t help flitter around the space as you shuffle through it towards the open window, your nosiness getting the best of you. There’s a steaming mug on the edge of his kitchen counter that he must have set aside when you came knocking at his door, a closed laptop resting on the edge of his coffee table next to a notebook, and there are bookcases lining the walls as you walk through the living room. You can’t resist pausing to take a closer look as you pass by one, and find a diverse variety of cookbooks and reference books on food, as well as beer, wine and spirits on the shelves. 

Your fingertip traces the gold lettering adorning the thick spine of an immense tome—V I N.

“May I?” you ask, peeking over your shoulder as you pry the book from its place on the shelf.

“You already are,” Levi replies from the kitchen where he’s retrieved his mug, taking a sip. “But sure.”

You let out a little laugh, cracking open the inordinately heavy book. 

“You speak french?” you ask, your tone lilting in surprise as your eyes trail over the language on the page in front of you—foreign, but distinguishable enough thanks to a few words you recognize from classes you took back in high school. The book seems old, antique possibly, and evidently well loved.

“Only a little,” Levi says noncommittally, but judging by the notes scribbled in the margins of the pages (in the same neat script scrawled on the scrap of notebook paper tucked into the gift bag on your kitchen counter) you suspect he’s underplaying his abilities. 

You close the book and slot it back into its place on the shelf.

“Thanks for the wine by the way.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

“I haven’t cracked into it yet,” you admit, making the last few steps towards the open window. You tap your hand idly against the spotless frame, turning back to look at where Levi is leaning against his kitchen counter. “I had a big deadline this week at work so I’ve been staying late every day. By the time I got home it was all I could do to force myself to eat something before I’d pass out on my couch.”

Levi’s brows lift, though the rest of his body seems to untense a bit for reasons you can’t quite place.

“I’ll be sure to give you a full and comprehensive review of its bouquet—or whatever—once I finally get the chance to enjoy it,” you remark, half-teasing, and he rolls his eyes. 

He takes another sip from his mug. He’s still holding it in that peculiar way he held your mug the morning after he slept on your couch. There’s something about it that you find almost endearing.

You lift your hand in a little wave, he nods in acknowledgement of the gesture, and then you crawl out through the window without another word.

You’re on the second step up the fire escape when Levi pokes his head out after you.

“Do you have breakfast plans?”

You pause, turning back to look at him.

You find him peeking up at you with an unexpectedly hopeful look on his face, if not a little guarded.

“Well, my plans are currently partially digested in your feline ward’s stomach, so... no.”

Levi blinks.

“Can I take you out for breakfast to make up for it, then?” 

You tilt your head to the side, a flutter of something keen and eager tickling the pit of your empty stomach.

“Fine,” you concede, feigning as though you’re hard done by. “But I get to choose the place.”

Levi’s lips pull down in an unsubtle expression of his displeasure. “You know that it’s literally my job to—“

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him, waving your hand as though batting his interjection out of the very air into which he spoke it before it has the chance to reach your ears. “I don’t want some fancy micro-meal from whatever masters of gastronomy you write about. I want waffles. A lot of ‘em.”

Levi huffs, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath before replying a single, reluctant: “Fine.”

“Meet you in the lobby in 10 minutes?” you ask, your lips stretching in a grin.

His own lips purse, and you almost think it might be halfway to a smile. “Sure.”

The two of you wind up at an old greasy spoon diner two blocks away that you’ve been going to since college, where the staff always make sure to give you an extra perfectly golden-brown waffle. Levi sits across from you in a dark green knit sweater that looks incredibly cozy and, to your utter surprise, a pair of jeans. He looks more comfortable and casual than you’ve ever seen him.

“It’s good, huh?” you ask over the table as Levi bites into his own breakfast: 2 eggs, over easy, bacon and toast. You notice he’s carefully separated all three components of the meal on his plate so none of them are touching, and has liberally applied black pepper to the semi-firm yolks of his eggs.

He swallows the bite he has in his mouth, wiping the corners with his white paper napkin. “It’s food.”

You snort a little, shoving another piece of waffle into your mouth. “Are your reviews always so inspired?”

Levi shoots you an unamused look. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you only eat at fancy fine dining places?” you say, waving your fork around demonstrably. “This is what real food’s all about; little family run joints like this.”

Levi purses his lips.

“Have you ever even been to a fine dining restaurant?” he asks you skeptically.

“No,” you admit, drowning your plate in more of the cheap table syrup. Levi’s nose crinkles in disdain at the sight. The waffles are the same as always: just the right crispiness on the outside to not grow soggy too quickly under the river of syrup you douse them in, perfectly fluffy on the inside.

Fine dining, irrespective of being well outside your budget, has just never been your style.

“So who are you to judge?” 

Now it’s your turn to purse your lips. 

You stab your fork through a piece of waffle and syrup drips, slow and sticky, as you hold it up above your plate. You lift a brow challengingly as you stare him down across the table. “If you want to take me out to a fancy dinner so bad, all you have to do is ask.”

Levi’s expression doesn’t change.

“Fine.”

“Huh?” you nearly choke, though you haven’t yet put your next bite in your mouth.

“Go out to dinner with me,” he says.

“That’s not a question,” you remark, shoving your waiting forkful into your mouth just to give yourself something else to focus on.

Levi huffs exasperatedly. “Will you go out to dinner with me?”

You take your time to chew, the syrup making everything in your mouth indistinguishably cloying, and then swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

Levi’s jaw gapes, a look of betrayal flittering across his usually impassive features.

You laugh. 

“Fine, fine. But only if we can go to the national gallery first,” you say, enjoying every moment of Levi’s palpable misery, setting your fork down and reaching for your mug and taking a sip of coffee. It’s tempered down to a drinkable heat, a little bitter and burnt tasting just like it always is, and there’s something nostalgic in that.

Levi fiddles with his fork, cutting into his egg so the sunny yellow yolk runs across his white ceramic plate. “…I already went.” 

“Huh?” You place your cup back down atop the table, on the edge of your paper placemat.

“I went,” Levi repeats himself, though nothing is made clearer through the repetition. 

“When?” 

“A couple days after you mentioned it. I was reviewing a bistro down the road—terrible by the way—“ he interjects, though you didn’t ask, “and I had some time to kill afterwards.”

“So… what was your verdict?” 

“Boring.”

“Oh, come on!” you say with a warm, pealing laugh, throwing yourself back in your seat. “You’re so uncultured! Didn’t you like their new installation on expressionism?”

“It was a mess.”

“That’s the point, it’s abstract!”

“If I wanted to see a disaster on canvas I’d look at those sneakers you’ve got on,” Levi says with a click of his tongue, but his eyes are bright and mirthful.

You peek under the table at your well-loved tennis shoes, gaping but still laughing. “You are so—!”

“Can I get you two some top-ups on those coffees?” The waitress who has been serving the two of you steps up to the table, coffee pot in hand, but she seems almost apologetic for interrupting. 

It’s the first time you remember you’re in public, and you settle down a bit, covering your mouth to clear your throat bashfully. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” Levi declines politely with a dip of his head.

“I’ll take a little extra please,” you say, and the waitress smiles and adds another bit of steaming, bitter coffee to your cup. It darkens the last few mouthfuls left from your already milk-and-sugared first drink; the deep brown of the fresh brew swirling into the tawny room-temperature remnants of the last.

Your eyes meet Levi’s over the table, and both of you quickly look away, fighting back your smiles.

The two of you walk back home once your meal has concluded and your bills have been paid—split at your insistence, though Levi seemed prepared to physically fight you on it. 

Back at your building Levi gets out on the third floor after a brief goodbye, but before the door to the elevator can slide closed behind him, and you can close the steel grate of the interior door, his hand shoots out to keep them open.

You look up in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“I’m not kidding about dinner,” Levi says, standing just beyond the threshold to the ancient elevator, staring at you with an almost unnerving sincerity. 

You blink, taken aback by how serious he is.

“What’s your cell number?” he asks when you can’t seem to find anything to reply.

You relay the digits to him and he scribbles them down into a little pocket sized, softcover notebook he produces from his jacket pocket. You’ve seen him scribbling in it before out on the fire escape, and realize he must take it with him everywhere he goes. Given the shape and size of it—only a little larger than the palm of his hand—you don’t doubt it’s the very book that the note he’d left with your bottle of wine had been torn from.

“I’ll send you a message and we can make a plan,” Levi says, tucking the notebook back into his pocket.

“Alright,” you agree and finally Levi lets his hand fall from where he’s keeping the doors open. 

He steps away in the direction of his apartment.

“Be careful, Levi,” you say to his retreating back as you pull the grated metal door on the inside of the elevator car closed, “or I might think this is a date.”

He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. Your eyes meet through the gaps in the metal, and in spite of the distance you can see the mirth in his gaze. “That’s exactly what it is, and it’s what breakfast was too.”

And with that, the door slides shut between you.

One week to the day later, you find yourself sitting across from Levi in a restaurant that feels almost too nice for you to be patronizing. Levi is dressed in a nice suit, as ever, and you’re wearing in the only truly nice dress you own—one you’d bought for a friend’s wedding a few years prior and never had the occasion to wear again. 

Until now.

It’s nothing like the meals you’ve shared on your fire escape, or the boisterous breakfast at the diner on that Saturday morning. There’s no bitter coffee or table syrup to be seen, no mismatched plates and cutlery. It’s quiet, ambient even. All hushed conversation and warm candle light.

But you still enjoy yourself all the same.

And the food is really fucking good. 

“I’m devastated,” you breathe out miserably into the cool night air as the two of you walk side-by-side along the quiet sidewalk in the direction of your little brick building. 

Levi had offered to flag the two of you down a cab, but the evening weather was actually quite nice and the restaurant wasn’t far from home so you’d instead suggested to walk. Your heels are starting to hurt your feet a little bit, a pinch in your toes and the early-makings of a blister forming at the back of your ankle where the strap of your shoe rubs against your skin, but you still can’t quite bring yourself to regret anything about the evening.

Not the walk, not the dinner, not the company.

“You didn’t like it?” Levi asks, a lilt of concern in his voice.

You shake your head emphatically, turning to look at him with a grave expression. “It was too good.”

“That’s a new complaint,” he muses, his mouth pulling at the corner in thinly-veiled triumph.

“How am I ever supposed to enjoy any food again now that I know it can taste like that?” you complain, tossing your head back to look up at the night sky and passing streetlights overhead. Your shoes click against the pavement with every step, but otherwise it’s refreshingly quiet.

Levi laughs into his closed fist. “Now you see my problem.”

“Hey,” you say suddenly, bringing your chin back down so you can look at him, “can you bring me home your leftovers when you go write your little reviews for places like that?” 

���No,” Levi replies immediately, decisively shaking his head. 

You pout, sucking in a sharp breath as you prepare to plead your case.

“But I’d like to take you out again, if you’ll let me.”

He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed ahead on the pavement as the two of you walk side by side, but you can tell he’s anxiously awaiting your reply with the way his hand is flexing and unflexing at his side.

You feel heat climb in your cheeks.

“Well, if it’s the only way to keep access to that kind of food, I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”

Levi hums, his gaze sliding to meet yours from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

The elevator ride up to the third floor is quiet but not uncomfortable, though you both seem to be keeping your distance in the confined space—relegated to opposite sides, not dissimilarly to so many months ago when he was calling you out for fucking your atrocious ex-boyfriend too loudly. You could almost laugh at how much things have changed since then. 

He says goodnight as he pulls open the grated door, sending you a brief look as he steps out.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you return the sentiment, hesitating to close the inside door between the two of you once more. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, and there’s an almost disappointing finality to his words, though you don’t dwell too long on it. 

And then he’s gone.

Upstairs in your apartment, you kick off your heels as soon as you step through the door. You stretch your toes against the cool hardwood floor to let the blood flow back into them before padding into your kitchen. You drape your coat across the back of a barstool, and drop your purse on counter, pausing momentarily to eye the gift bag with the wine Levi had given you tucked away in the corner.

Maybe it’s time to crack it open—if for no other reason than to try and drown the niggling feeling of dissatisfaction you have squirming in your chest. 

But first, you pad across your living room to open up your window.

At the very same time that Levi opens his, a floor away.

You pull yourself through without thinking, shivering a little bit against the cool breeze as it meets your exposed skin. Levi—his suit jacket shed, his tie loosened and collar unbuttoned—does the same.

You kneel at the top of the stairs, the metal of the fire-escape digging into your knees, and peer down at him.

“Y’know, I still haven’t opened that bottle of white wine.”

Your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress—it’s crept a bit further up your thighs thanks to the way you’re sitting. Levi’s eyes have caught the subtle rise, and through you see his gaze on your exposed skin, it soon flickers up to meet yours. 

“It’s not really a nightcap,” he says quietly.

You huff, half frustrated and half amused, but the sound is entirely too fond. 

“Are you coming up here or not?” 

Levi climbs the stairs slowly towards where you’re seated at the top. That same feeling underneath your ribs that had once been dissatisfied blooms into something else entirely, crackling like a flame inside your chest as you catch his tie between your fingers.

You pull him down with your grip on the dark green silk—slowly, slowly, slowly—to press your mouths together. 

The kiss is sweet. Unhurried. Decadent.

Levi cranes down a little further, his hands settling on the landing behind you, caging you underneath him. His proximity is more intoxicating than any of the wine you’ve ever shared. The feeling of his lips parting against yours and the gentle imploring sweep of his tongue is more satisfying than any food on earth could hope to be.

One of his hands trails up along your thigh, across that same skin you’d caught him eyeing moments prior. His touch is cold but still it burns. He gives your flesh a firm squeeze.

“Inside now,” he murmurs insistently against your mouth, “unless you want the neighbourhood to hear this.”

You pull away, peeking up at him through your lashes innocently.

“And what if I do?”

He swallows visibly, his tongue darting out to lave across his rosy lips before it disappears once more to click behind his teeth.

“Knew you were an exhibitionist.”

There’s a graceless, frenetic climb back through the window—with Levi’s hand cradling the top of your head all the while so you don’t knock it against the frame—and then the two of you are toppling down onto the soft cushions of your couch.

Levi’s body weight presses into yours as he hovers over you, mouths rapacious, your hips flush and hands greedy. You’re grabbing anything and everything that falls within your reaches: his hands on your waist, your thighs, your heaving chest; your own hands in his hair, cupping his jaw, fisting the fine cotton of his dress shirt. Your dress has rucked up around your waist in the excitement, and after a few moments of exploration Levi slowly breaks your kiss. 

He sinks to the floor on his knees, and your thighs part for him without thinking.

His eyes trace the dark spot on the centre of the delicate lace over your aching cunt, his thumb soon stroking against it with the exact same eagerness as his eyes. 

“Levi,” you say his name pleadingly as your hips wriggle to get closer to his touch, squirming further down the couch cushion towards him. “Please… more.”

Levi huffs a little; not a laugh, but something a little more chiding—a little more mocking. He leans forward so you feel every hot breath break against your skin on his exhales, his eyes still fixed to that little patch of wetness that’s caught his attention, the spot only growing larger the longer he toys with you. “Let me savour this.”

“Like a nightcap?” you ask him, aiming for levity but toeing the wrong side of breathless as his fingers follow the lace trim of your panties up along the curve of your thigh.

“An aperitif,” he rasps as he snaps the elasticated band against your hip, a sharp crack as it hits your tender skin, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours when you hiss. He smirks. “It makes you hungrier.”

Not once in all the time you’ve known him would you have denied the truth that Levi’s tongue is quick and vicious, but never would you have imagined its sedulity between your legs. 

The flimsy material of your panties tugged swiftly down and kicked away, it’s as though the meal the two of you had shared that evening has been forgotten, a thing of the past.

Levi devours you like he’s been starved.

“Fuck, oh—“ 

Your hips jump on the sofa but his strong forearm slings across your lower abdomen to pin them down and keep you at his mercy. Levi glances up at you from his position on his knees, his head bracketed by your thighs, his eyelids hanging low over his hungry gaze. The tip of his tongue flicks against your twitching entrance, laving back up to your clit. The cycle repeats. It’s filthy and fascinating to watch.

“—Levi, nggh—oh my god.”

You grab for anything, borderline delirious. Your nails on one hand dig into the throw pillow at the end of your sofa while the other knots itself through Levi’s dark hair. You grip both with an equal roughness, but Levi doesn’t seem to mind—suckling with a renewed insistence at the swollen bundle of nerves between his lips.

He reaches up and pries your hand away from the strands of his hair, twining your fingers with his own as he pins it down to the sofa beside your hip. Levi pulls away from your pussy with a string of saliva keeping you connected, slick smeared along his mouth catching in the light of the lamp.

“Be gentle, would you?” he rasps, “I’d like to keep my hair for the foreseeable future.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, your chest heaving from the way your breaths come ragged. “It feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, slipping two fingers into his mouth. They shine with his spit when he pulls them from between his swollen lips. He leans back down towards your cunt. “How good?”

“So good,” you whine, his two saliva-slicked fingers slipping inside of you at the same time.

“God,” you toss your head back and gasp, those two fingers inside of you crooking in a way that makes you feel so good. 

“You’re close,” Levi hums, not a question but rather a factual observation, before dragging his tongue up towards your clit again. His fingers keep curling against your walls with an almost unfair degree of skill, leaving you shaking and breathless.

“Y-yeah, gonna cum,” you whimper. 

“You’re gonna cum for me?” he mumbles against your clit, goading you as he carefully watches the expressions on your face.

It's not as though you have any other choice with the way he’s playing you like an instrument he’s long-mastered.

“Yes, fuck Levi, there.”

One last gasp and the lewd, pointed suck with his lips wrapped around your clit has you melting, your thighs clamping against his ears as your back bows up off the sofa. A strangled, desperate little sound tears out of the back of your throat, and your fingers tighten around his own—still entwined beside you on the sofa.

As you come down from your high, you drag his hand up with yours to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your sternum so he can feel how fast your heart is knocking against your ribs underneath the fabric of your dress. 

Your heart rate has nowhere near returned to normal when Levi stands from his place on the ground, wiping at his wet mouth with the back of his hand as he takes in your spent, trembling state. In one fell—impossibly deft—swoop, he picks you up and carries you off towards your bedroom.

“How the fuck are you so strong?” you gasp as you wriggle in his hold—but his grip is tight and he doesn’t waver.

He drops you down onto your bed, and you bounce lightly as you come in contact with the springy surface. You fall back, staring up at him as he peers at you with affront.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You giggle a little as he crawls over your splayed form, his body warm as his lips find their way back to yours.

He kisses you again. And again. And again.

Your pretty dress comes off, finally—left discarded in a hapless puddle on your bedroom floor to be dealt with later. It's an end unbefitting of the nicest garment you own, though you can’t begin to bring yourself to care.

Levi’s fingers trace along the delicate lace of your newly revealed bra and you feel his lips curl up into a smirk against your own. He inches away, peeking down at your chest.

He dips down to mouth along the swell of your breast, his eyes still impossibly trained on yours, and your fingers tangle into the soft strands at his crown as you moan lightly at the gentle touch. 

He sucks against the soft flesh, before pulling off with a little pop!

“Does poor Misses Miller know you kept her bra?” 

You laugh in response to his teasing words, a reference to the early days of what you’d now call a friendship (if not something else entirely), tugging him away from your chest by your grip on his hair.

He quirks a brow at you with his head tilted back in your hold. 

You pout playfully, slackening your grip on his hair and letting your hand slip down along the front of his dress shirt, petting over his chest. “You know, I think I liked you better with your mouth full.”

Levi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, watching raptly at the flash of pink as your own tongue peeks out to moisten your swollen lips. Something shifts behind his gaze, and he leans back on his haunches beside you, reaching up and fingering the loosened knot of his tie.

“Do you trust me?”

The question is a little bit out of the blue, and relatively unwarranted considering only moments prior he’d been three knuckles deep inside of you, but you entertain it nonetheless.

Your head lolls to the side on your bedspread as you look at him curiously. “I let you spend the night on my couch when we barely knew each other.”

He rolls his eyes at your intentionally indirect response, leaning forward until your entire field of vision is filled with nothing but him once more. 

“Do you,”—Levi pauses with his lips ghosting over yours, soft as they brush—“trust me?”

A beat of tense silence stretches between you.

“Yeah.” You swallow lightly after murmuring the word. “I do.”

Levi pulls back again, and reaches up and tugs on the knot of his tie until it comes completely undone, hanging in two separated halves against his chest. Slowly he draws it out from under the fold of his collar.

“There was a trend in food criticism years ago,” he says, his grey eyes tracking up, up, up along your exposed body while you wait like eager prey beneath his gaze, “where critics used to think that you could taste better in the dark. Like the dulling of one sense would somehow improve the others.”

You swallow hard as he leans forward, moving slowly up the mattress towards you.

His tie is still in his hand.

He dips down and kisses you. 

Brief. Teasing.

“They thought you could taste more…”

Levi loops his tie around your eyes, and your breath hitches. You feel the soft slip of silk against your skin, the pressure tightening (though not unpleasantly) as he knots it at the crown of your head to keep it in place. You see only darkness.

“…hear more…” Levi’s lips are right next to your ear; just a ghost of warm breath and his rich, deep voice that seems a little more strained than it had before. 

You’re breathing heavier now, or maybe you’re just more painfully aware of the rhythm of your own respiration.

“…feel more.” 

Warm fingers dance up along your ribs and you gasp aloud, not expecting the sensation. But as quickly as it appears, that feeling of his skin on yours, it’s gone again. You swallow. His touch continues in much the same way, fingers disappearing and then reappearing somewhere else, leaving you guessing. Leaving you wanting.

You feel goosebumps prickle up along your skin.

“Is that true?” you whisper as you push yourself upright and reach out blindly in search of Levi, though you aren’t quite sure where to find him.

“I don’t know—” Levi admits airily from somewhere before you, both nearer and further than you expect him to be. He takes your outstretched hand in his, pressing it to his cheek. It’s warm to the touch, and he turns his face towards your palm, pressing a barely there kiss to it.

Unexpectedly your bra falls forward, cool air kissing heated skin as the straps fall down your shoulders, thanks to a talented hand that had slipped behind your back unnoticed. You feel Levi’s lips curl into a smirk against your palm. 

“—but let’s find out.”

Next is an obscured, indecipherable blur of hot, open mouthed kisses; of gentle grazes and rougher gropes; of moans, and groans, and needy whines that you aren’t sure are even yours anymore. Your pussy’s left a wet patch on the thigh of Levi’s slacks that you can’t see but that you can feel as the sticky fabric ruts against your clit, your hips grinding desperately against it as he consumes you and whatever senses he’s left you. 

It’s infuriating. 

It’s immolating. 

It’s divine.

“Are you ready for me?” Levi pants against your stinging lips, his hand cupping your chin to keep your face tilted towards his even if you can’t see him. 

“Yes,” you mewl debauchedly, rolling your hips against that same crease in his pant leg that’s been tantalizing you for what feels like hours. You should be ashamed—of your words, of your tone, of your actions—but you aren’t.

You feel every second of the stretch as the head of his cock presses inside.

You wonder what it looks like, what he must look like right now, but you’re left only to feel.

“Oh,” he groans, the deep sound sodden and drunk with pleasure. “Amazing. Fuck, you’re taking me so well. You’re perfect.”

The first proper thrust—the in and the out—almost pulls you under like the currents of a tide. You’re fighting a losing battle to keep your head above water, to keep air in your lungs.

The springs of your mattress creak as Levi picks up the pace and mercilessly fucks you down into it, your breaths coming in pants broken by moans. You feel your sheets against your sticky skin, his hands twining with yours, his breath against your lips.

“Is it good?” he asks, mouthing clumsily along your jaw as his hips rail down against yours.

“So good,” you babble in agreement, nodding dumbly as much as you can with such little control over your own body. “Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say that,” Levi rasps, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and letting his teeth graze over your racing pulse. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of it."

He groans as you clamp down on him involuntarily.

You’re close, and think he must be too when you feel the way his cock throbs inside of you.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breaking pathetically as you beg. It sounds like you’re near tears but with the silk still covering your eyes it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’s true. “I wanna see you.”

“Make a deal with me,” Levi grunts, his pace suddenly slowing to a torturous grind. You’re sure that you must be crying now with how devastating the change in pace is—still deep, but just languid enough that the cresting pleasure in the pit of your stomach threatens to recede. 

“A deal?” you ask, gasping as your nails drag along the musculature of his back.

“I’ll take it off,”—Levi’s touch trails up to your face, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your spit-slicked chin and searing cheeks—“but only if you let me take you out to breakfast.”

You’re in no position to be making counter-demands, or returning repartee.

“Anything,” you sob, clinging to him desperately. Your hips tilt up in a fruitless search for friction, your nails scrabble along his skin. “I’ll do anything. Please, Levi.”

He tugs the tie down, and your bleary eyes sting as they adjust to the light. 

Finally, you see him.

Levi is practically glowing, bathed in a sheen of perspiration that you can feel when your skin slips against his own. His dark hair is pushed back, away from the lines of his devastatingly handsome face; his strong cheekbones and the sharp line of his tensed jaw. His abs flex as he carves his way inside of you in that impossibly slow grind, a little trail of dark, coarse hair spanning from his navel to his cock, where you see a glossy ring around the base from you. 

He’s a feast to behold. To taste. To feel. 

“S-so?” he stutters, half-hissing from how viciously your core has tightened around him. His eyes search yours, avaricious and wild. “How does it compare?”

“Better,” you moan, a tear tracking back towards your hairline as you throwing your head back into your pillows, fighting as much as you can to keep your eyes open, “this is better.”

Levi laughs, breathy and wanton as the sound might be, and his hands grip behind your knees before peeling them away from their vice against his waist and pressing them back into your chest. 

He kisses you again—your mouths meeting desperately though they haven't long been parted—first chaste but then sloppily, bullying his way into your mouth like he wants to taste how sweet the words you’ve just said are off your own tongue.

He pulls back, a string of saliva stitching from his mouth to yours.

The corner of his lip ticks up in a smirk as his hips draw back, not in punishment but in preparation.

“Good.”

You wake the next morning with an ache humming in your bones and an effervescence sizzling in your chest. It takes you a moment to rouse, properly anyway, but when you do you feel the unmistakable weight of an arm curled around your bare waist, and a warm pressure perched atop your feet.

You open your eyes, blinking against the light that streams in through the curtains over your bedroom window—billowing gently in the morning breeze. You peek down towards the end of your bed, and see a little fluff of ginger fur sprawled out across your ankles. When you listen closely you can hear the little rumble of a purr.

Finally, you glance over to your side, and find Levi blinking back at you.

He looks sleepy and dishevelled, a sort of pleasant exhaustion in the rings beneath his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in the shadows of your own skin. His hair is sticking up unkemptly at his temple, and there’s a line imprinted into his cheek from where it's been resting against your pillow. It’s a version of himself that you suspect Levi rarely shows to anyone, and right now it’s all deliriously, deliciously yours.

“Good morning,” your voice is so quiet when you finally risk shattering the stillness of your bedroom with a greeting.

“Good morning,” Levi rasps with a commensurate tenderness, even through the hoarseness of his groggy morning voice.

The city is waking up outside your window, the steady build of noise that will crescendo to a dull hum once the world gets underway. But for now it’s still quiet. For now you can still hear Pancakes’ slightly-wheezy purr.

Levi’s arm around your waist tightens, shifting you a little bit closer to him under the soft cover of your blankets. The gesture is hesitant. Half-committed. Like he’s still leaving himself open to be rebuked.

You smile, and close the rest of the distance yourself like crossing that final step along the fire escape. Traversing that halfway point. You curl into him and tuck your head underneath his chin as you rest your cheek against his chest.

Levi seems to soften slightly. To ease. To welcome your intrusion.

If it was ever that at all.

“So… breakfast?”

[abellmunsonmovie]

Tears and Pancakes

Wordcount: 988 words

Warning: Reader is depressed, Eddie comforts Reader, no mention of Reader's race/gender, use of Y/N, pet names (Sweets, Baby, Sweetheart)

Eddie hasn’t seen you in two weeks, normally you can’t go an hour without seeing each other. Eddie tried to call you several times every week, he thought he had done something, he finally decides to call Steve and Robin to see if they knew anything.

“Hey this is Family Video, I’m Steve how-”, “Steve” Eddie interrupts, “Oh hey man, whats up?”, “Have you seen Y/N, I haven’t seen them in weeks” Eddie says clearly panicked, “Uh, no um…I’m gonna ask Robin maybe she has”, Eddie can hear Steve and Robin talking through the phone, then Steve goes back to Eddie, “Listen man, neither of us have seen Y/N, but I’m sure they’re okay…Have you called Nance?”, Eddie rubs his face in frustration, “No, I-i’ll try her…thanks”. Eddie hangs up the phone and calls Nancy, “Wheeler-”, “Nancy?”, “Eddie? No it’s Mike,” Mike says in a confused tone, “I need to talk to Nancy…I think Y/N might be mad at me”, “Oh um… okay hold on” Mike still has that confused tone, “NANCY”, “WHAT”, Eddie rolls his eyes hearing them yelling at each other. “Hey Eddie?” Nancy says worriedly, “Nancy…have you seen Y/N”, “I haven’t seen them in 2 weeks”, Eddie scoffs “Do you know anyone else I can call, I called Steve and Robin, I called you…If they’re mad at me I wanna give them space”, Nancy tries to reassure Eddie, “Y/N’s not mad at you, they-…”, “They what?” Eddie asks, “Sometimes they go off the radar for a little bit…it happens every now and then and then they come back fine…”, Eddie's eyebrows pinch together, “And why?”, “They never say…maybe you should go over there”, Eddie nods “Thanks Nancy, bye” he hangs up the phone and hurriedly puts on his shoes.

He gets to your place and unlocks the door with a spare key, the TV is on, the kitchen is messy, dishes towering in the sink, he walks to your bedroom, and through a crack in the door, he can see you curled up under the blankets, crying. He opens the door slowly and crouches down to your level, “Baby” he says softly, your head shoots up and your face goes red in embarrassment, he shouldn’t be seeing you like this, no one should. You haven’t showered in days, “Shit…Eddie why- how did you even get in?”, “You left a spare at my place…now come on…tell me whats going on”, your lip trembles, “Please just go” you squeak out, Eddies heart breaks a little more and his eyes start to sting, “Baby…I can help”, you shake your head, “I’m not a fucking kid Eddie”, Eddie holds your hand “No, your love of my fucking life and you need help…Nancy told me you’ve done this before…whats going on baby?”, you start to cry agin and you wrap your arms around Eddie, pulling him towards you, Eddie pulls you close and shushes you, “I got you baby…it’s okay, you’re alright…”, you snap, “I’m so fucking tired if this shit!”, he rubs your back, “You’ll get through it baby…”, “Why can’t I just be okay?! What did I do to feel like this?!” you say pulling away and looking at Eddie, he shakes his head and holds your hands, “You didn’t do anything…you just…you are you okay? And I know, trust me, I know…how fucking tiring it is…but you are not alone in this…you have me, you’ll always have me”, he holds your face in his hands, wiping your tears off his cheeks, “I don’t wanna burden you” you say, Eddie looks in your eyes, “Y/N…you are the best fucking thing thats ever happened to me in my entire god damn life…you could never be a burden”, you feel your eyes tear up more, “I don’t know why I get like this…”, Eddie kisses your cheeks, “It’s okay…just let me help you feel better…”, you smile weakly and nod.

Eddie goes and starts a bubble bath and calls take out, once you get in the bath he knocks on the door, “Baby…can I come in?”, “Yeah”, he walks in, “Here let me wash your hair,” he says softly, you smile, “You sure?” you ask, he nods and kisses your head before starting to massage your hair with the shampoo, “Y’know, you can come to me when you get like this?”, you sigh and nod looking down, “I just don’t wanna bring people down with my shit…especially you…you make it all less shitty…” you smile weakly, Eddie kisses your lips gently, “Well you aren’t gonna bring my down, I’m your fucking boyfriend…I want to help”, you nod and he finishes cleaning you.

After you get out of the bath and get changed into a big t-shirt and shorts, you walk out to Eddie finishing the dishes, “Eddie, you didn’t have to do that” you say smiling, Eddie laughs softly “I wanted to”, you walk behind Eddie and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back, Eddie finishes the dishes and dries off his hands, he turns around and rubs your back while kissing your head, “How you feeling, sweets?”, you shrug, “Little better…”, he nods and kisses your head, “It’ll get better, baby…”, you hear a knock at the door, it’s the pizza guy.

After you both eat and decide to go to bed, he makes sure you brush your teeth and starts a load of laundry before you both get into bed. Eddie holds your hand while resting the two if your hands on his chest as he rubs your head, “I’m so proud of you…you did really so good today sweetheart” he whispers, you smile softly “Thank you Eddie…for everything”, he smiles and kisses your head, “Get some sleep, sweet baby…what you want me to make in the morning?”, you shake your head, “Eddie…you don’t have to make anything”, “Y/N…what do you want?”, you laugh “Fine…Pancakes”, he kisses your lips, “Pancakes it is”.

Hey guys, sorry I literally haven't wrote an Eddie blurb in like a week, I have been so busy, but I decided to write a blurb where Eddie comforts depressed reader, and as a person who has depression I know how it can be, i'm sure it's different for everyone, so I just wrote from my experience, I hope you guys enjoy. -Bella<3