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feeder86 · 3 months ago

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Butt and Gut

Fresh out of the shower, Liam pulled out his lucky pants from the closet and grinned brightly. It felt like such a long time since he had been out to a gay bar. He’d been so busy (and so skint) for weeks ever since he’d moved out of his parents’ place and into the share house. The holidays hadn’t helped either, consuming his time and funds further. But now it was payday, and nothing was going to stop him having a good time.

There was something so satisfying about the way Liam’s lucky pants fitted. Ever since he’d first realised he was gay, Liam knew that he was going to be submissive. For the longest time, he’d fixated on the idea of being taken and pounded by a guy who truly knew what he was doing. The reality had yet to match up to Liam’s fantasies, but his pants were always the way to get the attention he craved. Snug-fitting and shapely, they emphasised the cute little butt he wanted to offer up. When guys saw him, Liam wanted them to imagine taking him and performing every last sexual kink they wanted with him. The pants had been instrumental in attracting Liam’s last boyfriend, as well as a few hook-ups in the past. But, that evening, as Liam pulled them up his legs, a sense of dread slowly filled him.

For the first time ever, Liam had packed on a few pounds over the holidays. Usually slim and twink-like, but for his bubble butt, Liam could feel the extra mass in his glutes and stomach. The scales had declared a nine pound gain and yet, it suddenly felt like so much more as he tried desperately to make the pants close. In the mirror, Liam could see the extra softness of his new love handles bulging slightly over the waistband as he finally completed the deed. He spun around, noting how obscene his ass now looked in such tight material. One wrong move and the fabric could blow at any second. He huffed, questioning whether he could really get away with them that night. The extra weight would have to go, that much was obvious. However, he couldn’t imagine a night out without the pants. No, he reasoned; he wasn’t about to go anywhere without his lucky charm.

Liam decided to stand at the bar most of the night, making small talk with some of the guys he had met over the years. When sitting, he’d felt the harsh, unsympathetic waistband digging into him, reminding him with every passing second of the added flesh on his body. A few drinks with his buddies had slowly helped him relax a little, although the creamy cocktails had bloated his stomach a little too much, making even his shirt appear too snug. With a pretty face, Liam could see guys checking him out, yet no one had come up to chat with him yet. He looked at his cell phone, seeing it was beyond midnight. Never ever had he gone this long without even a guy offering to buy him a drink.

Just then, a tall, strapping guy entered the bar. Dressed in a loose and unironed shirt, the man had all the appearance of a laid-back brute; with a powerful chest and strong hips that came from a naturally broad build and a clearly active lifestyle. With seemingly little thought placed into what he was wearing, the man was still, with minimal effort, the most handsome man in the entire bar. Liam had seen the guy only a handful of times before; always around this time of night and never for very long. As to whether he was gay or not, it was hard to tell. Liam had never once seen him take anyone home, or even flirt with someone here. He bounded up to the bar, getting served almost instantly despite theseveral others who had been waiting patiently. Then, with his bottle of beer in hand, the man turned and seemed to scan the room.

With his back turned at the time, Liam didn’t notice the man’s eyebrows raising as his eyes caught sight of the overly padded rear pressed into pants that were obviously too tight. Yet, the next time he turned, the handsome jock was suddenly standing right beside him. “I’m Jake,” the man declared, holding out his hand to shake.

Stunned by the approach, Liam placed his hand in the man’s large strong palm and gave his name in response. He hardly realised how expertly he had been led away from his friends and taken towards a high table in the corner where Jake could chat to him more privately.

Did Liam notice the jealous stares in his direction as he stood at the table, chatting with Jake? Of course he did. The music was loud, however, the muscular stud seemed to enjoy leaning in and speaking close to Liam’s ear. His aftershave was so alluring and his breath so sweet. After the initial small talk, the man explained how he worked in construction after having abandoned his semi-professional football career. Suddenly, every inch of his finely sculpted body seemed to make sense; the height, the build, the masculine authority. Liam had never been more aroused in his entire life.

“What about you?” Jake asked. “Do you play any sports?”

Liam couldn’t help but laugh. “No,” he replied instantly. “I was always picked last in gym class, back in high school. Sports aren’t really my thing. I think I’m a bit too lazy for all that.”

It struck Liam that he may have been a little too forthcoming. Perhaps it was his nerves. However, he was pretty sure that an athlete like Jake wouldn’t want to hear that the guy he was flirting with could hardly catch a ball.

“That’s alright,” Jake smiled back sweetly, now resting his hand upon the small of Liam’s back. “So you don’t do any exercise?” he asked.

His heart racing at the touch, Liam found his brain unable to conjure a lie, shaking his head with complete honesty. “No. I don’t do anything.”

Again, Jake smiled, his hand sliding further down onto Liam’s butt, rubbing sweetly in a circular motion on the stretched fabric of the lucky pants. “I like that,” he whispered. “You know… you’re pretty cute,” the man continued into his ear. “I don’t really go for guys who are obsessed with working out.”

Surprised but delighted that his honesty seemed to be taking him places, Liam leaned in a little more. “I don’t think I’ve done any exercise since I left high school over four years ago.”

Slipping his other hand onto Liam’s hip, the large man turned him into his body even more. With lustful eyes fixed on Liam’s lips, the dominant figure took him into a deep kiss; his big hands already exploring and pinching at Liam’s under-exercised rear. The pair breathed out with lust as they kissed further; Jake’s hands seemingly fixated by cupping the glutes, holding and owning them. “Wanna get out of here?” Jake finally asked, already taking Liam’s hand, ready to lead the way.

In no time at all, Liam was closing the door to his bedroom. Jake seemed to set upon him immediately, unbuckling Liam’s belt and unpeeling him from those skin-tight pants. Liam assisted where he could, standing there with his legs slightly parted as Jake went down on his knees and explored that butt that he seemed so fixated on. Removing Liam’s underwear and shirt, the man moaned softly as he sank his nose between the butt cheeks, gripping his hands against Liam’s hips and bouncing the glutes until they jiggled frantically. Liam had never felt chubbier in his whole life, yet it was exactly this softness that seemed to captivate Jake more than any other lover Liam had ever had. From having felt Jake up in the club, he knew how tight at pert the man’s butt was, yet his own felt, in that moment, like two heavy masses of pure blubber.

“You’re so fucking sexy,”Jake whispered as he slipped on the condom that Liam handed him. Liam had questioned the wisdom of allowing Jake to fuck him after only just meeting. But as the man had undressed and his incredible body came on display, Liam knew that this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity, never to be repeated. He breathed deeply and relaxed as Jake spread his doughy cheeks and pressed himself inside, significantly thicker and larger than any other man who had ever tried to do this. Then that glorious gentle thrusting started.

From the reflection in the mirror, Liam could make out the man’s incredible body, pounding him softly. In his wildest and kinkiest dreams, he could never have imagined anyone so stunning doing this to him, nor that they would seem to enjoy it so much. Jake appeared to be trying to control himself; trying to stop himself from climaxing too soon. Then, when the inevitable finally happened, Jake gasped, as if shocked by the violent power of the orgasm he was experiencing; collapsing with exhaustion next to the chubby boy.

Liam could hardly believe that Jake was still there in the morning. Usually, he had a habit of sleeping in very late. But with Jake’s hands exploring his body again, he awoke with a pleasant smile upon his face. Light was streaming in through the cheap curtains and there he was, being fondled beautifully by the most handsome man he had ever met.

“Do you, perhaps, want to meet up again sometime?” Liam asked nervously as he watched the stunning man pulling his underwear back on and re-buttoning his shirt.

“I gave you my number,” Jake replied, chuckling a little at Liam’s sudden insecurity.

“Yeah, but, to a lot of guys, that doesn’t mean anything,” he replied.

Jake smiled and pulled the still naked Liam up to stand in front him. “Look, I’m not like ‘a lot of guys’,” he whispered sweetly whilst reaching around for one final grope of Liam’s glutes. “I want to take you out for ice cream, fancy dinners and bring you doughnuts in bed,” he assured him. With his other large hand, he gently stroked Liam’s hair out of his face. “I want to spoil and pamper you rotten.”

Liam felt warm and fuzzy. How he wished Jake didn’t have something else on that morning. “I’d absolutely love that,” he nodded back, kissing the stud goodbye.

Despite his busy schedule. Jake was back at Liam’s place only two days later. The pair had been flirtatiously messaging each other almost constantly since their parting. Then, once Liam had sent the man a suggestive nude of his slightly oversized rear, Jake was unable to hold himself back. He arrived straight from his construction job, a masculine musk upon his strong, capable body, looking effortlessly muscular and imposing. Within five minutes, the man had slid his concreter erection straight inside Liam, pounding away until he made both of them climax.

Afterwards, he’d taken Liam out in his truck to a fast food place Liam had always loved but lived a little far away from to enjoy regularly.

“I’d bring you here every night if it would make you happy,” the gorgeous man declared, rubbing Liam’s thigh as he watched the boy consuming the many items that had been bought for him. “If you have a sweet tooth, I also know a great doughnut place not too far from here?”

Liam nodded, feeling luckier than he’d ever felt before. How was it possible that this incredible man was so ridiculously perfect? How was it conceivable that this hunk had actually just asked him to be his boyfriend?

Dating a man who was so good with his hands was remarkably useful in Liam’s new share house. With Jake so willing and able to fix all the little snags around the house, Liam found himself absolved of all the rest of the little chores by the others living there. Jake had been true to his word about spoiling him. Sometimes, he’d message Liam, telling him to look in certain drawers in his bedroom; whereupon Liam would find tasty treats and snacks that had been hidden there for him by Jake on his last visit. Nurturing seemed to be Jake’s love language. He appeared to revel in taking care of him and making his life as easy as possible. Then, back in the bedroom, he could take on the persona of Liam;s wildest fantasies, fucking him with every ounce of his brutish strength and stamina. Liam had been contorted into every strange pose imaginable whilst Jake set to work upon the ass that he simply could not get enough of.

Liam’s entire family had taken to Jake almost instantly. Even Liam’s father, who had initially struggled with his son coming out, beamed with pride as he introduced Jake to the neighbors at one of their backyard barbecues.

Your butt looks so fucking cute in those shorts,” Jake whispered as he felt up his lover once more.

“Thanks,” Liam smiled back. He didn’t like to say that these were in fact the only shorts that were fitting him comfortably at that time. He’d been quietly packing on weight at an almost alarming rate since the winter. He could feel an insidious oozing influx of blubber around his waist, building into his butt and making it softer than ever before. When sitting, he could feel the wider spread of his buttcheeks and a rolling mass pushing itself gently over his waistband. Liam found himself trying to disguise a notable paunch with his clever clothes choices. But even then, as he looked back at pictures from his first summer with Jake, he could see the new puffiness of his face, undoing it all.

“I look so fat!” Liam had announced, catching sight of his chubby body as Jake played with him in sight of the mirror. Without his clothes on, every last lardy inch of the forty pounds he had gained so far that year seemed to scream out at him.

“You look gorgeous!” Jake had countered, resuming kissing him and only stopping when it seemed like Liam needed more reassurance. “You just look like a guy who’s very content in his relationship. He smiled sweetly. “With this cute little tummy, everyone can see how well I look after you.”

Liam chuckled at that, rolling his eyes. There was no doubt that he had eaten a significant excess of calories the last few months.

“Oh, come on!” Jake had grinned, trying to pull Liam out of his sulky mood. “You really think I’m going to complain if that irresistible ass of yours gets a little bigger?” he teased, reaching down and moulding it into his hands before bouncing it gently. “You know the jiggle drives me crazy.”

Liam smiled at this. Despite how ridiculously mismatched he may have looked beside Jake, he at least knew that he had an ass that his lover found more fuckable than any other in the entire world. “I guess there is that,” he nodded back, never failing to get hard whenever Jake started playing with his butt.

“Exactly,” Jake nodded sweetly at him; his breath upon his face. “So stop stressing. You love how I fuck you, right?” he asked, sliding his hand into Liam’s pants, stroking a finger up his butt crack as the boy dutifully widened his stance for him; the light tickling of his hole.

Liam nodded, already feeling hungry to be taken by Jake again that night.

“So… just be a good boy and quit worrying about what you’re eating. The ice cream ,the pizzas and doughnuts, they’re all doing to help add a little extra cushion back here,” he declared, removing his hand but delivering a playful pat on his rear nonetheless. “Just… let me have some fun with you…” he teased, finally kissing Liam in a way that was simply irresistible.

Although Jake was a terrible cook, he was attentive enough to ensure that Liam had more than enough to eat whenever Liam stayed over at his place. An expert at heating up pizzas, chicken pieces and fries, Liam soon found that his own portions were now dramatically outsizing his muscular and highly active lover’s. “Oh, come on. I know you can eat all that…” Jake had teased once Liam had complained. “You want to keep that ass nice and plush and juicy for me?”

Jake’s excuses for the extra food seemed to play right into Liam’s own submissive streak. He started to care less about the excess weight he was carrying, knowing that at least his butt was shaping up in the way his lover seemed to find so amusingly enticing. As it had grown, Jake had been less and less able to keep his hands off it, caressing those glutes sweetly no matter where they were. Sure, he had a tummy on him not too dissimilar to the cousin he had watched piling on weight since having kids. But with Jake’s offer to let him move in with him, Liam was at last convinced that none of that actually mattered.

Unlike Liam, Jake had relatively few gay friends. Despite meeting at a gay bar, that wasn’t the type of place Jake often frequented. In fact, the only other gay person he seemed to even know was his buddy, Will. Just like Jake, Will was athletic and naturally sporty. When Liam had first seen a picture of him, he’d been nervous that a guy like Will could easily just snap his fingers and steal Jake from him in a microsecond. But as time went on, the more Liam realised he had nothing to worry about. Jake just didn’t seem into the clean-cut athletic types. Whenever they were watching something on TV and a handsome, hunky actor came on screen, Liam couldn’t help commenting and ceclaring his appreciation. Jake would smile, always enjoying seeing him getting a little turned on. Then he would check out the source of Liam’s arousal; usually some tall, built and lean hunk performing in yet another completely unnecessary shirtless scene. “Not my type,” the man would declare dismissively, leaning in to kiss Liam instead.

Liam hadn’t been sure of the sweatshorts he’d worn when he’d been taken over to Will’s place for the first time. However, Jake had insisted he looked great. In truth, his t-shirt was also a poor fit, being ever so slightly too short, and when he’d stood next to Jake at the doorway, he’d felt fat and dumpy.

“So this must be Liam!” Will had smiled after hugging his buddy. A little shorter than Jake and slightly less well built, the guy’s English accent was clearly a huge draw for him. He seemed to look Liam up and down, nodding with approval.

It seemed that Will had been busy most of the morning preparing an authentic British roast dinner, and the three of them settled down at the table almost immediately. Fatty cuts of pork were served straight onto Liam’s plate alongside glistening roasted potatoes, parsnips and carrots. Then a thick, oozing gravy was served all on top of the mountain of food whilst Jake and Will served themselves separately from a dish of boiled vegetables instead. “Does it taste good?” Will asked him after a minute or too.

“Delicious!” Liam had replied instantly, agreeing to some more slices of pork.

“I’ve been nagging Jake that he needs to learn how to cook properly for you,” Will smiled, turning then to Jake. “Liam’s your boyfriend. You need to look after him!”

“I do look after him!” Jake had chuckled back, having finished his much smaller meal and draping his long, muscular arm over Liam’s shoulder. “I’m just a dreadful cook.”

“You’d love it if Jake learned to cook for you like this every night, wouldn’t you?” Will asked Liam.

With his mouth full of food, Liam could only nod in hearty agreement.

Will’s dessert was an equally mouth-watering experience: a large slice of fresh apple pie drowned in an ocean of warm, creamy custard. It had all been served with such speed and efficiency that Liam’s brain didn’t seem to catch up with how full his stomach had become until it was far too late. Forcing down the last two spoonfuls, a mild panic set in as Liam realised how completely stuffed he was. The thick, oozing custard had seemed to fill every last gap in his stomach, sticking to his insides and making it so that even a sly burp wouldn’t cause any relief.

The three of them went to sit in the lounge area instead; Jake resting his arm over Liam’s shoulders once more, whilst perching his other hand on Liam’s stomach until the bloated boy had to ask him to remove it. Just the weight of that large hand on top had made him feel like his sides may split open at any second.

Will had seemed to pick up on how uncomfortably full Liam felt, addressing most of his conversation to Jake instead. There was even a blissful five minutes where the pair of them discussed supercars and Liam could rest easy, not having to contribute at all.

“So, eight months, huh?” Will had asked, smiling as they discussed how long Jake and Liam had now been dating. “Have you met Jake’s parents yet?”

Jake shook his head, answering for Liam. Jake’s folks lived in Florida and, with five other sons scattered all over the country, had not been over to see their son the entire time they had been together. “We’re hoping to go down and see them during the holidays.”

Liam nodded. “Although I do want to drop a few pounds before then,” he sighed, feeling heavy and lethargic still. “I can’t see me making a good impression given all the weight I’ve put on this year.

“It’s happy weight!” Will had shot back immediately. “It’s a fact of life. Everyone knows you put on a good amount of weight when you find the right person.”

“That’s what I tell him,” Jake nodded in agreement, lightly rubbing the top of Liam’s belly where a distinct shelf was forming. Jake wasn’t lying. Word-for-word, Jake would always tell him the exact same thing whenever he got a little insecure about his evolving shape: contentment always came with weight gain.

“Plus, you’re dating a big, strapping guy like Jake, who naturally eats more than most guys. So you will most likely be picking up those sorts of eating habits. My boyfriend is the same,” he added nonchalantly. “I eat a lot to keep up the muscle and so he’s automatically started eating more and carrying a little more weight. I think it’s cute.”

“Me too,” Jake smiled at Liam proudly. He tensed his bicep for Liam to admire; as if these strong arms were yet another reason why he shouldn’t blame himself for getting so lardy.

Just then, the door to the apartment gently opened and Will’s eyes lit up as his boyfriend arrived home from work. He bounced up with a sprightliness that Liam could no longer even imagine and raced to the door, returning with a short, portly guy under his arm. “This is Sam,” he announced, beaming.

Dressed smartly in a tight-fitting shirt, Sam’s stomach stuck out, protruding quite considerably in front of him. With absolutely no jawline remaining, the fat-faced guy stepped forwards and politely shook Liam’s hand. Round: that was almost the only word that sprang to Liam’s mind as he tried to comprehend the shape of handsome Will’s boyfriend. Fat had completely consumed the guy’s torso, bulging and rolling into incredibly robust-looking love handles that pushed gently over the waistband of his pants. He stayed only a moment before being taken off to the kitchen to have a full plate of leftovers made up for him.

“Sam’s such a sweet guy,” Jake smiled as he was left alone with Liam briefly once more. “I think you two will really hit it off.”

Liam wanted to whisper something about his surprise at Will’s boyfriend’s size. What was a handsome British guy doing with such a startlingly obese boy? Then again, he’d heard similar things being said about him in recent months; friends who had told him that he was letting himself go and putting his relationship in danger. Perhaps it was best not to question these things.

Will came back to join them, leaving his boyfriend to eat his dinner in peace in the kitchen. They chatted some more, until Will got up yet again to serve up Sam’s dessert. Then, about ten minutes after that, Sam came in to join them all. His face was one of strain, which Liam could fully identify with. Sam had overeaten, just like he had earlier. It had been the pie and custard that had done it, Liam could tell. Inside that tight shirt of his, Sam’s stomach had expanded and bloated, pressing against the shirt buttons. The man dropped himself onto the couch next to Will and groaned softly. At the same time, Will’s eyes seemed to light up. He leaned across and kissed his lover deeply, not seeming to care that others were there to watch.

Rather than feeling awkward, Jake turned to Liam and moved in for his own kiss; the two couples suddenly making out like pairs horny teenagers. Jake’s hand slipped under Liam’s shirt, rubbing the rounded stomach that had been packed so tightly that afternoon. With his portly gut on show, Liam looked across to the other couple even as he kissed Jake, worried that they would see how chubby he looked without a t-shirt to hide it all. Neither of them were looking; they were too engrossed in their own pleasure; Will’s hand mimicking Jake’s as he too rubbed the spherical shape of his own boyfriend’s fat stomach. To anyone else, it may have looked grotesque and unsightly, however Liam found the sight was actually turning him on, despite not being able to fully explain why. What was it about these two friends: Jake and WIll? Guys like these didn’t date such overweight folks. What was going on that Liam wasn’t picking up on?

In the coming months, Liam had packed on even more fat. He could feel his love handles bulging at the sides and the fat spreading from his chest and under his arms. Relatively new t-shirts that had fitted poorly before, now became obscene. After moving in with Jake before the holidays. Liam’s weight had skyrocketed, His butt had expanded with each passing day, pulling tightly against the material of all his sweatpants until even the pull string had no length left to give.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jake reassured him as he seductively fed him a large slice of a cheesecake he had picked up on the way home. It was obvious where things were headed as Jake took off his own shirt to make the moment even more erotic. The man seemed so built, powerful and dominant in these moments; contrasting to an almost insane degree with the blubbery, plush physique Liam had obtained in the last sixteen months. Yet, still Liam wanted to eat this for him. Food had always been the foreplay before a fucking, which Jake had showered and prepared himself for excitedly. There was a lust upon Jake that could not be matched through any other means; his dominance seeming to grow with each forkful he lifted into Liam’s mouth. Submitting to that, knowing that his ass was about to be pounded, felt like the most fulfilling thing Liam could ever do.

“Think you can finish off the whole cheesecake?” Jake asked seductively, already standing to fetch the final slice.

In previous times, Liam would not have been able to do such a thing, but something had happened to him in recent weeks, making him more capable than ever of consuming greater amounts in these types of sittings. “Do you want me to finish it all for you?” he asked, almost begging for Jake to turn on that fiercely dominant personality that he found so sexy in the bedroom.

Jake nodded, slipping off the remainder of his clothes before sitting down again, carrying the final slice of cheesecake and placing Liam’s idle hand to stroke his raging erection. “I want you to eat it all for me,” the man insisted just as Liam obediently set to work in stroking his man’s hard-on up and down. “I want your ass nice and big and soft before I fuck it.”

Fuck! Liam thought to himself. Why was that so fucking sexy?

Over time, Lima had lost track of his weight. His body had been changing and growing so much that standing on the scales seemed like an unnecessary chore to confirm something that he already knew. Jake had found him some pants for work that came with an unexpectedly useful elasticated waistband. However his shirts were always a constant snug fit, stretching across his chubby torso. At one time, the size had felt frustratingly large to cater for his stout stomach, with too much material flapping around in the chest and arms. But as time went on, Liam’s chest expanded, alongside the tops of his arms, which swelled with blubbery softness. There wasn't a scrap of visible muscle on his entire body and that seemed to be the way that Jake liked him. Having never obtained his driving licence, Liam had been used to walking in order to get around the city. But now, with Jake, the newly obese boy was quite accustomed to being driven everywhere. He was spoiled and pampered as Jake seemed to be getting the most intense satisfaction from seeing him living out a life that was so opposite to his own intensely physical livelihood and hobbies.

It was around that time that Jake had wanted to start recording them having sex. He’d set up his cell phone on the side and experimented with different angles as Liam generally crouched on the bed with his butt up and ready. Afterwards, they’d watch them back, touching each other with lust at the sight of themselves, so dramatically contrasting. However, for Liam, there was so much more to these recordings. Despite the weight he knew he had packed on, he hadn’t quite realised how much his body was rippling with each thrust, nor the satisfaction that Jake seemed to get in making it happen. Playing it back he could visibly see Jake getting off on experimenting with his thrusting to make the powerful vibrations shift in as many different ways as possible. There was a small area of back fat that Jake’s hands seemed to shift backwards and forwards to, as if he was desperate to grab hold of and pound even harder with. Liam could see just how lardy he was in certain areas, where it bulged in his stomach and sagged in his chest and turned his thighs into tree trunks. He could also see how Jake’s hands explored from one to the other; the man’s face looking down upon it with a mixture of pride, disgust and dominance. Gleefully, he would slap the wide ass as he pounded, never failing to climax in a manner that suggested he received pure bliss from every last inch of it all.

Home alone, Liam began to watch the videos back as he touched himself. He’d promised his parents only the night before that he was going to try and lose some weight, yet there he was, feasting upon the cheesecake Jake had bought him, knowing that it would make his lover unreasonably horny to come home and see that it had all be consumed in a single day. Such acts of greed always aroused them both. For Jake, Liam assumed it was the fact that he was maintaining that soft, contrasting appearance that he found so alluring. However, for Liam, indulging as he did felt like the ultimate act of submission, reshaping his entire body to suit the man who fucked him. All other consequences of it failed to surpass the drive he had to make Jake moan deeply from a powerful orgasm whilst buried deep inside him.. But as Liam watched back the videos again and again, there was always a look upon Jake’s face as he came close to climaxing: a look of power, amusement and wicked intentions towards him. Each time Liam saw it, he couldn’t help but squirt everywhere himself. If only Jake could express that side of his personality more, Liam would be helpless to resist.

“Jeez!” exclaimed Will’s rotund boyfriend, Sam, poking Liam’s tummy. “You’ve been eating well!”

“You can talk!” Liam shot back, noting that Sam had waited until they were alone to comment on his weight. It had been over eight months since he had first met Sam, rather briefly. Back then, he had been amazed by the sheer scale of Sam’s tummy. Now that stomach had clearly swollen to an incredible circumference, bringing along with the largest, puffiest arms Liam had ever seen.

“I’m starting to get that gut droop!” he chuckled, reaching underneath and jiggling the soft overhang that was almost visible under his t-shirt. “Will is in his element playing with it all.”

“Will’s really into it then?” Liam asked, feeling a spike of excitement as the conversation took this turn. He’d pondered for months about just how kinky the couple might be. Now he may finally get some answers.

“Of course he is!” Sam chuckled. “I could tell within five minutes the type of guy he was. My belly was relatively small back then too. It didn’t take a genius to work out what would happen if I dated him.”

“And you don’t mind?” Liam asked next, delighted with how open Sam was being.

“Look at them both,” Sam simply pointed to their muscular boyfriend standing in the queue for ice creams. “Those horny little fuckers are having the time of their lives packing the pounds on us. They think they’re so clever and cunning. Who could resist that?”

Liam turned, spotting Jake and Will laughing to each other. Perhaps they were making fun of how fat he had grown in the time since they’d all last seen each other. Then again, was he just imagining that because he was a little horny? The shorts he had chosen to wear for this weekend away with Will and Sam were more than a little fitted and revealing of his thick, blubbery thighs. So far, Jake had hardly been able to keep his hands off the wide load that had become his giant backside at close to 340lbs.

“Will told me he met Jake at the gym, but I reckon they both came across each other on some fat fetish website or something,” Sam continued to ponder, watching both of the boys enjoying each other’s company so much.

Liam flushed with a little embarrassment, noting how familiar he had become with such websites in recent months. Time and again he had crept back and climaxed whilst talking to guys about how much weight he had packed on since he had dated a guy who seemingly just liked to keep his well-drilled butt soft, fat and under-exercised. “Jake told me they’d met at a summer camp when they were in middle school,” he replied.

The pair of them chuckled, realising that they had both been misled by the rather obvious lie. “Those devious bastards! Will didn't even move here with his family until he was seventeen!” Sam smirked, enjoying the naughtiness of his lover just as much as Liam did.

Not long afterwards, the two men arrived back carrying giant ice creams for both Liam and Sam. Liam could feel Jake gently rubbing his wide back as he ate and noted the stares of passers-by as he sucked and licked at the fattening ice cream. Perhaps they could tell that he had fallen into the clutches of some kink-fuelled hedonistic relationship. Maybe they looked down on him, or felt sympathy? However, it was only lust that consumed Liam. Pure, inescapable eroticism at every last detail of his situation.

Despite his significantly larger stomach, Sam charged ahead with Will during the walk to the restaurant. Liam lagged behind, feeling the fat wobbling on his thighs and noting how Sam’s butt was comparatively slender than his own. The man continued to work in retail and was up on his feet most of the day. Whereas Liam had only ever worked in an office and, since dating Jake, had pretty much been dropped off and picked up from the door of his workplace every single day. He paused for a moment, wincing a little.

“My thighs are rubbing together like crazy today,” he grumbled. “I think these shorts were a mistake.”

“They definitely weren’t!” Jake shot back, giving Liam’s wide rear a satisfied pat. “It’s not much further to this restaurant and I’ll fetch the car afterwards so I can pick you up from outside.”

Liam nodded, pleased that Jake always found such simple solutions. He hadn’t really wanted to walk back on a full stomach. Especially not when he felt as ridiculously horny as he had that day. Even now, he could feel blood pumping towards his groin, ensuring that he would make an absolute pig of himself when he was finally unleashed upon the buffet.

“I think your boyfriend needs to get a little more exercise from time to time,” Will teased when Jake finally arrived beside a sweating Liam at the foyer of the all-you-can-eat place.

“Or maybe you should just pick restaurants that don’t involve such a trek next time,” Jake grumbled back, slipping his powerful arm over his exhausted lover as if proud of how out of shape he was.

Jake’s hand was never far from Liam’s thick thigh as they sat down at the table. After a couple of rounds selecting his own food, Jake had soon taken over. “Are you going to cut his food up for him too?” Will joked, seeing how dutifully Jake attended to Liam. However, Jake merely smiled back, rubbing Liam’s wide back encouragingly. If this had been a competition to see which of their fat lovers could eat the most, Jake was winning by quite a considerable margin. Despite the fact that Sam was at least 50lbs heavier, it was clear that he was less capable of consuming the vast quantities of starchy, bloating foods that had been Jake’s usual choice to serve up to Liam over the last couple of years. More than once, Liam caught Jake smirking with superiority at how much more obviously greedy Liam was than Sam.

After several desserts, Jake soon disappeared to collect the car, arriving at the front of the restaurant within a ridiculously small amount of time, only highlighting how insignificant the journey there had actually been. Will was trying to insist that large bellied Sam should take the front seat, however, Jake was having none of it, patting the prime position for his heavy reared boy instead.

Back at the beach house they had rented for the weekend, Liam settled down on the couch, now realising how much the bloat was setting in. Sam followed shortly, dropping his heavy body down and slouching back so that his double chin formed a giant framing ring around his entire face. “Your Jake was talking about us using the pool shortly,” Sam explained lethargically, grabbing the TV remote.

“I don’t know if I have the energy for that,” Liam chuckled back, rubbing his strained stomach.

“Oh, come on. You know he doesn’t actually want you to use the pool,” Sam smirked. “Jake helicopters over you all day long, trying to ensure you don’t move a muscle. He just wants to show off your body to Will. That’s pretty much the whole reason those kinky bastards booked this weekend. You wouldn’t believe some of the meals Will was cooking me in the last few weeks, secretly making sure I was in the best shape for it.”

“He fed you up good, huh?” Liam asked, getting aroused by the idea.

“He certainly did!” Sam nodded. “He thinks he’s so subtle about it all as well,” he laughed, glancing outside to where the two strapping boys were perched on the deck; laughing and enjoying each other’s company. In any other world, the pair might have made a really hot gay couple, fit to appear on the front cover of a steamy magazine. Yet, there they both were, most likely swapping stories of how they stealthily packed on pounds and pounds of lard onto the obese boys they got such a kick out of fucking.

“Jake gets so turned on by your sweet tooth, doesn’t he?” Sam continued. “At one point, I thought he was going to bend you over the table and fuck you right there in the restaurant after all those desserts you finished up,” the fat boy teased.

“Oh, I wish he would!” Liam sighed longingly. “When we’re at home together he can get so worked up that he needs to fuck me several times a day!”

Sam smirked back at him, enjoying the opportunity to speak so freely about their shared pleasures in dating such similar guys. “Don’t you wish they were a little bit more open about it though?” Sam asked. “I mean, it’s so obvious that Will is into this whole weight gain stuff, yet he never comes right out and says it.”

Liam nodded in agreement. “I’d be so turned on if Jake just told me he wanted me fatter,” he stated emphatically. For months now, he had dreamed and wished for such a day as that; when he could finally submit to those barely concealed kinks Liam had come to appreciate so wholeheartedly.

Despite their full stomachs, the two obese boys soon disappeared off to put on their swimwear; Jake and Will immediately swarming around them both as they emerged with all their flesh on show. Will’s hand was soon sliding to the fat that drooped from Sam’s belly, whilst Jake’s fingers flexed as they held Liam’s giant butt cheek. Therein lay the true difference between them: Will was obsessed with the size of his lover’s gigantic stomach, whilst, for Jake, it was all about making Liam’s ass as heavy and fuckable as possible.

With the hands of their lovers upon them, Sam and Liam glanced at each other. Were they actually going to do this? A final nod from Sam seemed to suggest so.

“We’ve got a surprise for you both,” Liam blurted out excitedly, already moving inside.

Sam nodded, pulling handsome Will in behind them. They led the way to the large corner sofa, each placing their lovers at either end. A cold beer was passed to them, then Liam eagerly trotted back to the refrigerator, pulling out the absolutely enormous cream-filled cake that had been bought for Will’s birthday the next day.

Sam was already on his knees on the floor when Liam brought the box down and joined him. He opened up the box, almost breathless with excitement as he saw Sam so excited to get started. Then, without a second thought, he plunged his chubby hand down into the cake, scooping out a giant handful and slapping it into Sam’s open mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” Jake gasped, twitching as if he had just been given the most instantaneous erection of his life.

With his hand pressed over Sam’s mouth, the large, blubbery boy was chewing and nibbling until he was at last sucking at Liam’s fingers to get at all the icing. “Eat up, Piggy!” Liam coaxed him. “We’ve got to get you nice and fat for Will’s birthday tomorrow…”

For the first time since Liam had met him, Will seemed utterly speechless, with a bemused look upon his face as Liam’s sticky hand grabbed at Sam’s lardy overhang and jiggled it for them all to see.

Sam smirked, reaching his own hand into the cake now, pressing it into Liam’s mouth whilst the guy ate enthusiastically at the giant serving pushing down on his tongue and prevented from escaping by Sam’s bloated fingers resting across his lips. “Come on, Fat Boy!” Sam whispered. “You’ve got some catching up to do,” he declared, clawing at a great roll of fat above Liam’s hip.

Again, the obese boys took turns feeding and jiggling each other. Now their lovers no longer hid the vertical bulges in their underwear as they watched it all from the couch. Will was the first one to dive in and start stroking himself under his clothes. With the floodgates opening, Jake pulled down his shorts, stroking his own shaft with a look of pure amusement and devilish delight on his face. He seemed so much more controlled than Will, who was slouching further into his seat, stroking furiously as he watched his 380lb lover being fed and deliberately fattened. Sam’s small, pig-like burp was all it took for Will to lose any inhibitions whatsoever, pulling off his shirt and pants before joining them both on the floor. Then Sam was taken into the most erotic kiss Liam had ever witnessed.

Liam watched on as Will and Sam became consumed by their own lust. Will had pressed his erection into one of Sam’s fat roles, gyrating his hips like he could climax at any second. The sight was so mesmerising that Liam hardly noticed that Jake had undressed himself.

“That was quite some stunt,” the muscular man chuckled, slapping Liam on his wide rear as Liam instinctively went onto all fours and allowed the swimwear to be removed.

“I think the birthday boy enjoyed it,” Liam teased back, still watching the horny couple as they moaned; Will’s hand taking over the task of pressing more cake into his lover’s mouth.

“What do you think is going to happen to Sam after tonight, though?” Jake asked. “Will’s a sweet guy but… you unleashed a monster. Do you think he can go back to subtly overfeeding Sam to cause a slow weight gain after you gave him this?” he chuckled, watching Will getting off on how obediently his lover was sucking every last crumb of the cake he was given. “Sometimes there’s a reason why these things aren’t said aloud. Now there’s nothing to stop him from making Sam as unreasonably fat and lardy as he wants. And trust me,” Jake chuckled, “he definitely will!”

Liam nodded, feeling a slight twinge of guilt.

“And as for you…” Jake continued, swiping his finger along the floor to gather the remains of the smeared cake frosting. “... now there’s nothing to slow me down either,” he grinned, painting around Liam’s mouth with all the sugary paste. “You forced my hand. Now I can’t hide the fact that, yes… I do want you fatter and greedier and lazier…”

Liam could feel his arousal spiking as the words dropped like tiny exploding bombs.

“I was prepared to take the slower path; overfeeding and pampering you… telling you that it’s okay that you’ve gotten a little big for your pants; cheering you up when you pop a button,” Jake declared, staring Liam straight in the eyes as he spoke. “But now I don’t have to. Now I can take you at my pace. I can show you what I really want to see… the giant sort of fatties I really get off to,” he nodded, reaching over and giving Liam’s wide, heavy glutes a firm slap.

Liam almost quivered with excitement, knowing that he was about to be fucked, right here in the lounge, in front of Sam and Will; his heart beating furiously with all the things Jake was telling him.

“I’m going to make you absolutely enormous…” Jake stated with complete seriousness. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the day I first clapped eyes on that chubby little rear of yours. You’re going to eat and grow… lay down on the couch, getting softer every single day. And I’m going to love every minute of it. Then I’m going to show you off and fuck you again and again.”

Liam moaned with pleasure, dropping his elbows to the floor so that his heavy, soft ass sat higher, waiting to be taken. He shuffled his knees wider, making his chest wobble and hang, preparing himself for what was coming. What had started as a little kinky fun that evening had clearly been so much more. He’d crossed a line. He could never go back now.

So, as Sam glanced across watching him as he was getting roughly pounded by his boyfriend, they could both come to one completely obvious conclusion: Things would never be the same again.

#gainerstory #gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic #gay feedee #gainer stories #gainer story #gainer fiction #gainerstories #gainer fic

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blade-liger-4ever · 8 months ago

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Why I think Miko Nakadai is arguably the best human character in TFP

Don't misunderstand, I know Miko was handled haphazardly throughout the series' run. That said, aside from her skipping off into the battlefield, she was actually a great character - and, in my personal opinion, the actual audience surrogate character in TFP.

Now, let me explain.

Although Miko's backstory is told and not shown - a rich daughter who had everything she could ever want, up to and including two pure-breed cats and piano lessons from age three onwards (which, coincidentally, tells us she's brainy despite her antics) - much can be inferred from what snippets of her past we get, along with her interactions with the Autobots. For one, she obviously can't stand most adult supervision, which is likely because of a few things. For one, back home in Japan, Miko would have had to be proper and polite, always restrained, and had to do what she was told. While this is normal (to an extent) in the West, in the East this is etiquette that needs to be obeyed, especially if you're as well off as she is; her actions, specifically in Japan, will reflect on her parents, but to a far lesser extent in America. Thus, when presented with the freedoms of the USA, Miko not only jumps at the chance for an exchange program that will give her the mobility she craves, she also chooses the place that has the least amount of glamor. By extension of choosing to settle in Jasper, Miko's also displaying two other traits: she's not afraid of going to a place vastly different from her home, and she isn't disgusted by a small town with very little monetary value to it.

Secondly, Miko's disregard for authority from adults but deference to the 'Bots teases us with an insecurity - namely, an insecurity that no adult ever gives her a chance to make her own decisions.

Just think about it: All the times Miko's blown off the human adults, it's when they've tried to decide her life for her. Miko has, from what we can see, had her whole life dictated, up to and including those piano lessons. She may be a prodigy at almost everything, but her preferred instrument is the guitar - and yet, she wasn't given lessons in that from the time she was a toddler. Therefore, she feels confined and controlled by the authority of her elders. And so, while Miko may be able to sway Bulkhead into getting her out of detention and consistently slip past the watchful eyes of the 'Bots, it's out of a desperate motivation to control her own life. Now, she does hold too much interest in the battles and getting to watch them, but wouldn't you have that same eagerness if Gundams or Jaegers came to life before your eyes? Yes, she knows their lives are in danger, that they couldn't come home, but there's still a fantastical element to all of this about the Autobots. And it remains so because while she loves them all, Bulkhead is the only one who, while giving her life advice and trying to keep her in check/alive, lets her make her own decisions and take control of her life and her actions.

And that's why she keeps going to the field. That's why she only listens to the reprimands with half an ear and why she recovers so fast from Optimus' near death experiences, as well as Raf's close call with death.

And that's why Miko's world shatters when Bulkhead is left in a half-dead coma from his fight with Hardshell. Because the one person in the universe who gave her freedom and care without deciding her life for her was not just seriously injured, but possibly on death's door.

That's why Miko runs around without a care until the S2 episode "Hurt": because she wants autonomy to decide her life, even if it's stupid choices that could get her killed.

And after "Hurt", we see a new Miko. Yes, she remains gung-ho and fierce, but she stops running onto the battlefield. She takes less enjoyment from the War. Because now, with the reality of war fresh in her mind, she knows the risks and the stakes involved, and she will never take that or her friends for granted anymore. This is further proved when Miko 'sneaks' along for "Chain of Command", but with a twist: she asks Wheeljack if she can come along - and if memory serves, this is the first mission Bulkhead's been on with herself present since the events before "Hurt". Clearly, Miko is still worried about losing Bulkhead - only, this time, she values the words of the 'Bots, and now seeks permission to join a mission, though she wisely asks Wheeljack for this blessing.

This is the beautiful part of her arc, crowned by her battle with Starscream and his Seekers (which is also just straight up awesome.) When she's kicked the afts of everyone, and Starscream tries to intimidate her with his usual "I killed Cliffjumper" speech, Miko's response is this calm, slightly rough, retort:

"Big whoop. I snuffed Hardshell."

In this moment, Miko Nakadai is shown to have grown from an excitable child into an unyielding, but mature, adult warrior. She no longer treats the War and the 'Bots like a game, or a release. She treats them as her friends who she will gladly risk her own life for.

And that, in my opinion, makes her the best human protagonist in all of Transformers: Prime, and Transformers media in general.

As for what I said earlier about her being the true audience surrogate, be honest with yourselves: If any of us were given the chance to meet the Autobots, wouldn't you be just as irrepressible as Miko, as eager to help as she was, and tempted to go to the battlefield to see the action/make sure your 'Bot wasn't going to die? That's what I mean when I say she's the audience surrogate - Miko acts like we would, and learns as we would about the War and the 'Bots if we suddenly came across them.

That's my two cents on Miko, and why she's the human character I respect the most in Transformers...probably of all time. If you liked it, I'm glad; Miko deserves better, and I hope I explained why well.

Til next time, folks!

"Autobots, transform!"

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cercandodiscrivere · 5 months ago

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Quod fata ferunt | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.3k

tags | @self-shipping-doll13

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, blowjobs, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side.

Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Geta is worried.

You don’t blame him; you understand.

You were present when he decided upon Acacio’s fate: all it took to turn the common people against their rulers where good words and a fleeting display of gentleness among foes – which ultimately meant nothing. Greater men have begged for mercy within the walls of the Colosseum, their distressed cries ignored by the spectators.

No, it wasn't pity that stirred the crowd: the anger had been simmering in their minds before, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to release itself.

A single withered leaf can ignite an entire town if placed upon an open flame.

Geta understands the significance of this – so he is worried.

It is an uncommon occurrence, which in turn worries you.

He paces around his chambers, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers – gold and gemstones and colored glass that send shimmering hues throughout the rooms.

The same hand he is torturing now condemned a man just moments earlier: and even as it happened, you couldn't help but wonder if Acacio would be the only one to bear the brunt of fate.

“You did what you had to do” you try.

There was no specific reason for why you were taken – dragged – to his quarters, other than the fact that you happened to be near him when the rebellion broke out. Amidst the chaos, two praetorians seized both you and Geta as their comrades protected Caracalla and Macrinus.

Oh, it was an incredible privilege to be invited to witness the fights from the imperial pulvinar: and yet, if you hadn't been busy serving wine to your domine the exact moment the revolt started, you would have likely been left to be trampled over by a raging mob.

Three other favorites of the Emperors were also present, but you haven’t seen them since. They weren't present in the chambers where the twins and their arms-dealer discussed what had occurred. None of them came running when Caracalla erupted into screams, nor when he stormed out of the chambers followed closely by Macrinus.

Alone with your master, you watch as he paces back and forth.

The argument with his brother left Geta in an even worse state, if that is possible. His mind seems to be pulled in two different directions, the distress visible on his face.

He knows some of the words spoken by Caracalla may hold truth, despite being laced with the poison of his illness.

Could he have made a mistake in his decision?

The Gods themselves communicate with him in ways that you could never comprehend – not with words, but through the sacred blood he shares with them. Did he misunderstand their wishes?

Even in his divine state, he may not be immune to the burdens of human existence. After all, despite sharing the same sacred lineage, Caracalla's mind is still plagued with flaws.

“There was nothing else to do” you say again. You feel a bit useless as you parrot his own words back to him, but in this delicate situation you fear saying anything that could be taken as an insult.

Geta is a pleasant companion and a passionate paramour – for those who know how to handle him.

From a young age, you have been taught how to play the lyre. Over time you lost the quick skilled fingers needed to captivate an audience, but the lessons learned still serve you in other ways.

In untrained hands, the instrument produces nothing but a jumble of harsh and unpleasant sounds: only those who have mastered it can create a tune that leaves others yearning for more.

During your initial encounter with Geta, you likened him to a lyre; a rather silly comparison, perhaps, but figuring out how to please him in order to gain his favor felt much like learning to strum the strings at the right moment.

And what a masterful musician you’ve been with him.

Still, the Emperor possesses the fiery temperament of a powerful man not accustomed to receiving criticism. He is quick to boast and show anger - but just as quick to calm down and become merciful again.

I play a lyre made of splintered wood, you think, but quickly push the image aside before a smirk can form on your face.

"You made the right decision" you repeat as you stand up, trying to infuse your voice with comfort.

Your movement catches Geta’s attention. He stops in the middle of the room, lingering, but not quite still. His hands continue to fidget and twitch: he looks at you as if he had completely forgotten of your presence.

Taking advantage of his confusion, you approach him and gently place your hand on his tense arm. “The praetorians are fulfilling their duty. Has any crowd ever been able to sway them?”

There have been past attempts at rebellion by the common people - their leaders too weak, too consumed by hunger to have the chance to succeed.

When Geta finally speaks, he does so while grasping your hand, his gaze fixed on the windows once again. “They listened to that poet’s words. That has never happened before.”

You refuse to acknowledge it, but he is right. It is not uncommon for gladiators to captivate audiences with their skillful use of spears and brutal displays of violence – but never with peace messages or pledges of liberation.

In another life, the man’s perspective would have seemed almost convincing. In this one, you've witnessed far too many good-willed revolutionaries meet a violent end.

“Gentle words can’t win a battle” you gently stroke his cheek, tilting his chin towards you so that he focuses on your face instead of the chaos happening outside. “Gladiators tend not to live long” you add to further placate his mind.

Geta’s eyes move, following your gentle guidance. He leans in and presses his lips against the inside of your wrist, sending shivers down your spine from the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side. Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core. Still, in moments like this one – when he stares at you with such vulnerability and openness, as if your voice is the only thing worth hearing – it becomes harder to contain your feelings to a level deemed acceptable for your position.

“The Gods have spoken through you” you reassure him once again, this time shifting just enough so you can pull him towards the lectus. “To attack you is to declare war on the deities themselves.”

“My brother…” he starts, but his voice fades. His eyes are shrouded in shadows once again; crammed amongst the pillows, he appears almost like a scared child, lying down but still far from being at ease. You gently twirl his ginger locks between your fingers, feigning a calmness that eludes you.

“He is scared” you murmur. You search for words that are reassuring yet respectful; it doesn't matter how much Geta favors you above others, you would still find yourself in the dungeons if you showed Caracalla any less devotion that what his status demanded.

“The mob is loud, but screams are nothing to arrows and swords” as you talk, you gradually lower yourself onto your knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. “The praetorians are loyal to you and you only, no pretty words can change that.”

He hums, a quiet sound. “What about your pretty words?” he smirks.

A mischievous grin creeps onto your face as you play with the delicate hem of the elegant ivory palla draped over his tunic. “All I say is for your satisfaction.”

From this angle, with white paint masking his features, he bears the same daunting presence as the marble figures that decorate the halls: a god once again, towering over his most devoted disciple.

“All I do, is to please you.”

It’s eerie how greedily his gaze seems to follow even the slightest fraction of your movement, yet he remains seated on the cushions without making a single motion. His breath escapes in short puffs, tickling your forehead.

Now it's your turn to take control: this is the moment when he abandons his all his titles and becomes nothing but a man.

You remain on your knees between his spread legs, lightly tapping your fingers against his inner thigh - but still, he does not budge.

The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable, as if he's daring you to do something - anything - without his assistance.

As you press your lips against his clothed cock, he lets out a loud grunt, as if there was no fabric between your kiss and his skin. The noise goes straight between your legs, but this evening is not meant for you.

You continue to tease him, kissing your way up and down his thigh, deliberately avoiding his erection. To his credit, he tries his hardest to stifle his groans as best he can, but you can sense his muscles tensing and his patience wearing thin.

You want to consume him. You tug at the fabric of his tunic; this time, he doesn't hesitate and quickly moves into action, removing his own clothes until his hips are bare.

He begins to mention something about comfort, gesturing towards the luxurious pillows that surround him - but you're already nuzzling at his exposed thigh and the words die on his tongue. With one arm slipping beneath his knee, your body presses closer to his, the other hand running along his skin, hot and damp with sweat.

It’s intoxicating how you can make Geta shudder even when you’re taking your time with it. Sometimes, you've questioned whether it's expected of you to just pleasure him as soon as he asks – but in truth, you enjoy taking your time, savoring the sound of his soft moans.

Mouthing at his pale skin, dragging your nails down his legs with enough strenght to leave a trail of soft red marks. You plant a kiss on the head of his cock, pleased to see that precum is already forming at its tip. You eagerly lap at it with your tongue, paying no attention to the way your actions cause him to grip the cushions of the lectus until his knuckles turn pale.

He lets out loud groan as you engulf him completely in the wet, slick warmth of your mouth. His legs shake on either side of you, his hips thrusting forward as your cheeks hollow, tongue curling as you suck him.

He keeps moaning, seemingly unconcerned about how desperate he must sound. Under different circumstances, he may have been more conscious of his tone. Perhaps, if your meeting had occurred after a triumphant war victory or a grand celebration in his honor, he would be as confident and arrogant as you are are accustomed to - but now all he craves is comfort, and you’re sucking him into oblivion.

Tracing the tip of his dick with your tongue causes him to bite down on his lower lip in response; licking along the underside has him closing his eyes and sigh. Your favorite moment, though, is when he's in so deep your chin rests on top of his balls - and he can't help but release a deep, raw moan of pleasure as he tries to thrust more into you.

You can tell he's already close just from this.

You peer out from under your lashes, eyes filled with longing, only to catch Geta's gaze fixed upon you with adoration. His mouth hangs open in a silent whimper, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows saliva. There is no being more magnificent than him in this right moment, neither god nor mortal.

Without warning, his hand shoots out and grabs onto your hair as you become more frantic. You whine, a mixture of pleasure and pain as his fingernails digs into your scalp, and he responds with even louder noises of his own.

His cock rests on the back of your tongue as he lets out rough and guttural groan and empties himself inside your mouth. His head falls back, his eyes fluttering closed.

You swallow it all, ensuring his eyes are back on you before nonchalantly wiping the cum from the side of yout mouth and licking it off your fingers.

Exhausted, you lean your head against his leg and close your eyes.

Geta's breathing is still uneven, but the haze of satisfaction is not enough to make him lose awareness completely – not when Caracalla comes back into the room, shouting.

"Get out!" he growls. The harsh order is directed towards you, still kneeling on the ground, but his gaze is fixed solely on his brother.

In the past few months, there were times when he had lost his temper. Servants, concubines, hosts: everyone was subject to his outbursts of rage – but those were short-lived explosions, like fires on wet sticks.

Caracalla's skin is now covered in red blotches, visible even through the numerous layers of makeup on his face. Whatever words Macrinus exchanged with Caracalla during their private conversation did not seem to have a soothing effect on his temper.

“Get out, leave!” he screams again, pacing back and forth in agitation. This time, Geta helps you to your feet before nodding towards the entrance. His expression is serious once more, a confident facade to hide his underlying concern.

You are dismissed.

A chill runs down your back: you have witnessed the anger of the ill Emperor before, but never in such a furious state. Caracalla is yelling, Geta stands with his hands raised in surrender.

A moment of panic overwhelms you - even greater than the fear induced by the riots outside, but you quicly manage to calm yourself and take a deep breath.

Just as you approach the door, you catch sight of Macrinus once more. He watches the twins from afar, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if ready to intervene at any moment.

He's a strong man; he'll have everything under control.

With that last comforting thought, you turn away and leave.

#emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x reader #geta x you #gladiator ii fanfiction

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woradat · 18 days ago

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SCENARIO: FIELD BUTCHER

PAIRING – first aid, ratchet, ambulon x reader

NOTE – literally just medbot-in-order. There's no Pharma because he's gone crazy. He's not a good-old-doc to be around here. So if I decide to do a Decepticon version, we might find him there instead

and none of them like mc at first I'm telling you

F I R S T – A I D

The lights in the Lost Light’s medbay were harsh in that painfully clean way—white, clinical, and far too bright for someone used to working in the shadowy wreckage of battlefields and abandoned storage bays

You stood still, bathed in sterile light, as if the room was trying to disinfect you through sheer judgment

The walls gleamed. The floor was spotless. Instruments were arranged in neat, alphabetized rows along the wall-mounted tool racks. You were fairly certain someone had even polished the oxygen scrubbers

You, in contrast, looked like a walking oil stain

Your plating still bore the smudges of a recent field repair —one that had involved a bent servo, a crowbar, and a lot of screaming (some of it yours). There was a rag tied around your wrist for no apparent reason. A wire hung from your hip. The tray you’d brought with you—holding a screwdriver, a rusted clamp, and something that may have once been a tooth—ticked every few seconds from residual static

Across the room, First-Aid stood frozen

Not from fear. Not quite. More like the horrified tension of a bot watching someone carve up a first-aid manual page by page to use as coasters

His servo clutched a datapad so tightly that the metal casing creaked faintly under the pressure. His optics darted back and forth over the text like he was searching for some line—any line—that would explain what you were and why the hell Rodimus had let you on board

And you?

You waited

Waited exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds—yes, you were counting—before breaking the silence with your usual charm

“So” you said, rocking back on your feet

“do I pass the inspection, or do I need to fail harder to really make an impression?”

Your voice echoed slightly in the too-quiet room. The medbay didn’t know how to handle that tone—wry, reckless, thick with the kind of confidence only the truly unhinged could wield comfortably. First-Aid blinked, his optics snapping up. He looked at you like you’d just walked in wearing a cape made of patient charts

“This says” he began, voice tight and rising slightly “you performed open spark surgery using engine coolant as a sterilizer—”

“I asked him if he wanted anesthetic”

you cut in smoothly “and he said no. Or, well, he passed out, which is close enough”

He stared. You smiled

“Besides” you added with a flick of your fingers “if your patient doesn’t scream at least once, how do you know the nerves are still working?”

He made a noise—choked, strangled, high in pitch. His hand dropped to his side, the datapad hanging limp now, like the weight of your words had physically knocked the strength out of him

“That is not how we—how anyone practices medicine!”

Your stride was unhurried, yet somehow radiated the same menace as a pressure gauge ticking toward red. Not loud, but felt. Like the moment before a sneeze, or the exact instant someone realizes they’ve left the surgical clamp inside the patient

“And yet” you said, almost to yourself, as your optics skimmed across a chart still glowing faintly on the screen “they survive”

There was no real context. Which made it worse

First-Aid startled like you’d slapped him with a used energon rag. He backed into the diagnostics table so fast he nearly knocked over a sterilization wand. One hand grabbed the edge like it might anchor him to reality. The other hovered mid-air like it couldn’t decide whether to call security or the clergy

“Rodimus… let you on board”

His voice had that brittle quality of someone trying to convince himself the building wasn’t on fire, despite the visible smoke — You turned toward him with a grin like a cracked energon cube—shiny, unstable, possibly lethal “He said I’ve got potential”

you chirped, cheerfully oblivious to the rising alarm in his optics “Also mentioned something about overflow triage, vent maintenance, and ‘creative solutions to personnel shortages’ I was flattered” You mimed placing a hand over your spark. It was unclear if you were pledging allegiance or checking for a heartbeat

“You’re a hazard!”

“A licensed hazard” replied proudly

“Well, semi-licensed. Regionally certified. Technically. Look, I passed a test. Might’ve been psychological. Or about my psychology” You said it like it was a party anecdote. Something between “I once dated a Decepticon” and “I ate a medgel cube on a dare”

He blinked at you

You blinked back—twice as fast, like a corrupted interface just to mess with him

Then you laughed — Oh, Primus, that laugh – It ricocheted around the medbay like someone had set off a proximity mine made of bad decisions and surgical anecdotes. Loud. Inappropriate. Joyous in a way that only made sense to people who’d once stitched a spark casing back together with their teeth

First-Aid realized it in the exact moment your smile caught the edge of his attention—lopsided, easy, and radiating a kind of mischief that had no place in the tightly regulated sterility of the Lost Light’s medbay. It didn’t match the gleaming metal surfaces or the scent of disinfectant that clung to everything like expectation. It didn’t belong. You didn’t belong

Everything about you—your stance, your grin, the way your optics flicked around like you were casing the place for fun—declared you as someone utterly outside of protocol.

You stood like a joke in a surgical ward. Like entropy had decided to walk upright and wear a field medic’s badge as a joke. To First-Aid, you weren’t just unqualified. You were an infection with vocal cords. A walking contradiction wrapped in self-confidence and duct tape

“You’re not touching any patients without strict supervision” he snapped, recovering his dignity like a dropped datapad—hastily, but with determination

“Perfect! I love being supervised. Makes everything feel so... official. Adds flair. Drama. Mystery” You leaned in just a inch, enough to trigger personal space alarms “You supervise. I improvise. You keep people alive. I keep things exciting. It’ll be like a buddy cop show, except with more bleeding"

He looked like he aged three upgrades just from that sentence. You tilted your helm, expression softening into something that looked, horrifyingly, like sincerity “Unless, of course… you’re scared?”

He straightened. Field tightening. Optics narrowing. Classic reflex. You knew the symptoms “I’m not afraid”

“Excellent” you whispered “Because I absolutely am. Isn’t that thrilling?” You stepped back just enough to give him room to ventilate again—bless his overworked filters—and smiled like you’d just named a scalpel after him

He stood frozen, halfway between protocol and panic, like someone trying to treat a patient who was also on fire and beneath it all, you saw it: that tiny, involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile but a crack — first one

And you were already getting out your chisel

“They’ll get someone killed one day. But they’ll probably save two more first"

"If I keep standing close enough.. I might learn how"

He don't like you. Not in any textbook sense of the term. He disliked your methods. Your hygiene was borderline offensive. You called him "Textbook" like it was both insult and compliment, and your favorite surgical instrument appeared to be a pair of rusted pliers you refused to throw away. There was, by every metric he knew, nothing about you that should have drawn his attention so strongly and yet

He found himself noting how you adapted under pressure. How quickly you moved—not recklessly, but responsively, like someone who’d memorized chaos. He found himself listening for your voice in the medbay. Not because it soothed him—but because it kept him sharp. Awake. Alive

There was something about you that defied logic in the same breath that it completed it

He saw hands—your hands—moving with terrifying steadiness in the center of madness. He saw logic surrender to instinct, and instinct thrive. He saw you rewire a collapsed spark chamber with copper wire and what could only be described as sheer nerve

He saw you whisper something ridiculous to a bot mid-panic— “If your coolant line bursts, I’ll tie it off with tubing. You won’t die. Probably” and watched the patient laugh through the terror

He saw you fail, once

And sit beside the body for two hours afterward. Not a word. Not a joke. Not even that crooked grin. Just your hands folded in your lap, and your optics dim with something First Aid didn’t expect you were capable of: stillness

That was the day something shifted in him—too quiet to name, but too loud to ignore

R A T C H E T

The medbay, for all its polished surfaces and antiseptic precision, felt unusually tense today—as though the very air was bracing for impact. Bright overhead fluorescents beat down on sterile countertops, illuminating every instrument laid out in methodical rows, each with its own assigned place, its own specific function, its own carefully maintained integrit and then… there was you — Standing like a conceptual glitch in the otherwise orderly space, elbow-deep in a patient’s chestplate and humming to yourself like someone rearranging furniture instead of vital systems

The patient—a junior security officer from Deck Seven—looked moments away from cardiac arrest. His field fluttered in anxious pulses. You, meanwhile, appeared serene. Playful, even. Your servo hovered over a critical energon valve with a laser probe gripped like a stylus

“I’m just saying-” you said conversationally, tilting your helm slightly “if I aim just right, the whole line depressurizes at once. Instant results. High drama. Very efficient”

You shifted your grip to emphasize the stab part of the process

It was at that exact moment that Ratchet—who had up until now been engaged across the room rechecking supply records—snapped.

“stop. Stop—Primus help me—STOP!”

The bark of his voice cracked across the medbay like a circuit surge. Several instruments rattled from their trays. Somewhere in the hall, someone dropped a datapad. He crossed the space in three thunderous strides, snatched the probe out of your hand with a snarl that suggested divine intervention, and inserted it himself with precise, scathing control—clicking the pressure seals into place as if punishing the procedure itself

He didn’t look at you

He didn’t have to.

“Sit and watch, don’t touch anything unless I hand it to you” There was a silence, then the dramatic creak of a stool as you flopped onto it with the practiced flair of someone deeply accustomed to being scolded. You sprawled like a guilty schoolbot in detention—arms crossed, legs swinging, dignity entirely unbothered.

“You’re no fun” you muttered, loud enough to be heard

“No flair. No edge. Where’s the danger?”

“This is not a carnival” Ratchet snapped, still working with ruthless efficiency “You don’t get extra points for flair. You get extra lawsuits”

The words were muttered through clenched dental plates as he handed you a sterilized injector. His tone remained clipped, professional, but his optics—those infamous optics—were starting to twitch “Now. Take this. Line it up with the main coolant artery. Slowly. Deliberately. Like someone who isn’t trying to impress a Wrecker with a death wish”

You took the injector with mock reverence, pinching it between two fingers like it was forged from myth. Your optics narrowed with exaggerated concentration. One might have thought you were defusing a bomb rather than delivering medication. Then—without hesitation—stab. Click. Inject.

Dead center

Ratchet froze mid-motion. His optics flicked to the readout. Then to the injection site. Then, slowly, to you “…Huh”

You turned your helm toward him with deliberate, theatrical slowness—like a drama-bot preparing for their final monologue—one optic ridge raised in exaggerated pride. The smug curl at the corner of your mouth was pure mischief, unconcerned, untouched by caution

“Impressed?”

Ratchet didn’t miss a beat

“No” he said flatly “Alarmed”

You handed the injector back with the kind of smug grace that bordered on performance art, your smirk still annoyingly intact. “What? I can follow instructions.”

He gave you a look

“So you choose not to. 99% of the time?”

“Obviously” you said with a shrug, as if the logic was self-evident “Where’s the drama in doing everything the safe way?”

Ratchet groaned then—low, guttural, and thoroughly exhausted—the kind of sound that belonged not to a medic, but to a war veteran on his eighth recitation of “Why are you like this?”

His servo came up, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge in a gesture that seemed less about managing his temper and more about holding his spark together with willpower alone

“You’re going to give me a stress reboot..”

You beamed, utterly unfazed “Aw, come on. Admit it. You love this. It’s like babysitting a grenade. A very enthusiastic grenade"

Every fiber of his deeply overworked frame screamed that you were a liability. A threat. A disgrace. You’d read no formal medical doctrine. You quoted battlefield myths like gospel. You told a patient—his patient—that if they died, you could “recycle the good parts" And yet. You saved them. Not with finesse. Not with dignity. Not with anything he would ever sign off on. But they lived. Their spark stabilized. Their pulse calmed. They breathed

He hated it — He hated how you looked at the result, not the method. He hated how you grinned afterward, like it wasn’t a miracle but a game. He hated how he couldn’t stop watching you work, because somehow, somehow, you understood something that textbooks didn’t teach. Worse still?

He hated how you reminded him of himself—before he got old and tired and afraid of trying things that weren’t already proven

He looked at you like one looks at a half-defused explosive with a smug attitude—and yet, he didn’t argue. Not really. Instead, with a resigned grunt and the heavy grace of someone who had long since accepted their fate, he passed you the dermal sealer. No lecture. No muttering. No carefully worded disclaimer about liability — Just a tool. And a sliver of trust—quiet, grudging, and far more meaningful than anything he’d said out loud

You accepted it with uncharacteristic silence. No sarcasm. No dramatics

Just the work

You sealed the incision with smooth, steady lines, each motion executed with a clarity that had nothing to do with instinct and everything to do with experience. The edges came together cleanly. The weld held. The patient’s vitals stabilized. Textbook

When you returned the sealer to his waiting servo, Ratchet didn’t speak right away. He examined your work with the same scrutiny he gave to battlefield casualties and self-diagnosed captains—careful, thorough, unwilling to be impressed without reason

But then, after a moment…

"That’s… good work” he said at last. His voice was quieter than usual, and it carried the faintest edge of something approaching reluctant approval

You responded with a theatrical bow—an unnecessary flourish, complete with optic twinkle “I learned from the best"

“You’ve never trained under me”

“Not formally” you said, lips quirking into a grin “But I’ve read your case files. Watched all your lectures. Stole a shrine someone made of you and rewired the lights. Y’know. The usual academic stalking"

He stared

You held his gaze like you were daring him to ask which shrine, or how recently

“You’re a legend, Ratchet” you added, tone somehow both sincere and wicked “I just prefer being a cautionary tale. The punchlines are better”

There was a long exhale through his vents—rougher this time, full-bodied with fatigue and disbelief. A snort followed, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, as though his processor had tried both reactions and settled for the only one that wouldn’t kill him

“Primus help me… I’m going to miss you when you’re dead”

“Aww. You do like me”

“No, I just like knowing where the trouble is”

You winked. And that, more than anything, seemed to unnerve him. But he didn’t take the sealer back. Didn’t snap at you. Didn’t say what was obvious in the silence between his words: That somehow, against all logic and regulation, you had earned your place here and he was starting to suspect—against all odds—that the medbay might just survive you

Maybe

“They’re everything I hate and somehow, they make me wonder if I’ve spent all these cycles doing it the wrong way" "..Maybe I’ll let them stay. Just long enough to prove them wrong”

He didn’t like you – Not in the way people liked each other. But sometimes, when he saw you work—with your smudged fingers, and your muttered jokes, and your solutions that made no sense but somehow stopped the bleeding— He didn’t stop you.. instead sometimes, he took note

You were worse than the stories. You walked into medbay like you belonged there, with grease on your fingers and a grin that screamed liability You waved off his stare, offered him a bent spanner like it was a gift, and asked if his cortical relays had “always looked this grumpy”

He’d threatened to throw you out. You’d laughed and asked if he needed help with the overflow. He should’ve said no. He didn’t

He’d tried to report you, once or twice.. or six times

Ultra Magnus said you weren’t technically violating any protocols. Drift said he liked your “energy” Even Rodimus, whose opinion mattered the least, somehow mattered more when he said: “They saved someone with cable ties and chewing gum. That’s genius, Ratch. You can’t train that”

Ratchet disagreed

Loudly

With charts and yet

He saw the way you looked at broken things. The way your optics narrowed in focus—not cold, not analytical—but alive. Invested. You did see patients as puzzles that you wanted to put back together. Even if you used the wrong tools. Even if your hands were too fast, your grin too wide, your ethics questionable at best

You cared

Primus help him again, you actually cared. And it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t orderly. It wasn’t the kind of “caring” you could measure in paperwork. But it was real

A M B U L O N

It happened mid-cycle, during what should have been a routine diagnostic on the starboard maintenance corridors. One moment, there was peace—a checklist, a loose panel, the quiet hum of the ship’s gravity stabilizers – The next, a shriek of metal. A pressure wave. A storm of sparks. Ambulon hit the floor as the emergency bulkhead slammed down behind him, cutting the corridor in two like a guillotine. He staggered upright, sensors ringing—and saw you

You were already on your knees beside the injured miner, whose leg had been crushed beneath a collapsed junction panel. Energon pooled beneath him in thick, syrupy waves, bright and bubbling. His ventilations came in erratic gasps, static-laced and shallow. His optics darted in panic

Ambulon froze

Not out of fear. Not exactly. Out of memory

The panel. The screaming. The way no one had moved for him. The way no one had thought to. He stood motionless as echoes of that past clawed up through his spark

And you— didn’t hesitate

You were already elbow-deep in the panel’s edge, stripping wiring with your teeth when your cutters couldn’t reach. Your voice cut through the din like a plasma torch “Hold him still or he’s gonna bleed out through ports he didn’t know he had, and I am not losing another leg-case today, I swear by Primus’ recycled panties— MOVE”

Your tone was wild. Sharp. Irrefutably commanding

He moved

His hands found the bot’s shoulders, pressed down. He murmured stabilizers, tried to regulate field output—anything to help. Anything to ground himself. Anything to distract from the fact that you were doing everything wrong

Unsterile tools. Unorthodox technique. No scanner, no chart

And still— The bot’s vitals leveled

The bleeding slowed

You rerouted two energon feeds using leftover wire from the collapsed panel and some insulation from your own armor. Your servos never shook. Your focus never wavered and when it was over—when the miner’s spark stabilized and his frame stopped twitching in pain—you sat back on your heels, fuel-streaked and grinning like you'd just cheated death at cards

“There. Still twitching. That means I did good, right?”

Ambulon couldn’t speak

He just stared at you—at your filth-smeared plating, your scorched fingers, the mess you’d made of the scene—and realized something deeply uncomfortable: That this wasn’t carelessness. It wasn’t showmanship. It was confidence. The kind forged in fire, in loss, in the terrible intimacy of holding someone’s spark between your hands and deciding, again and again, to try..

In his experience, the phrase “Just make do” translated with chilling consistency into “This is going to get someone killed". He’d seen it. He’d lived it. He was it—once. He still remembered the wrench.

when he heard there was a new medic aboard the Lost Light—a rogue practitioner with no license, no formal training, and apparently no discernible regard for sterile procedure– for two first weeks since you arrived, he didn’t so much as glance at you in the corridors. He refused to take joint rotations, changed schedules to avoid shifts with you, and logged three formal complaints that Rodimus may or may not have used as coasters

He’d vented to Ratchet. To First Aid. To anyone who’d listen “It’s reckless” he had hissed, servo trembling around a scalpel “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. It’s a sparkline drawn in graffiti"

You were elbow-deep in a dying technician’s chestplate when Ambulon entered—his silhouette framed in the medbay doorway like a portrait of disapproval wrought in steel. The light behind him cast a stark outline, and for a moment, he looked more like a statue of order than a living medic. Unmoving. Unyielding

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to. The air shifted the moment he arrived—cooling under the weight of his expectations

You didn’t look up. Your hands were too busy, navigating the chaotic ruins of another bot’s insides with the kind of manic grace that only came from far too many near-deaths and not nearly enough sleep. A half-sterilized patch cable coiled in your fingers like a snake you meant to charm

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said at last, his voice flat—sharp as a sterilized scalpel, but with none of the warmth of intent behind it

You snorted—unapologetic, unbothered

“Neither is most of his internal plating” you replied. “We’re all trespassers today"

Ambulon stepped further in, hands clasped tightly behind his back in a gesture so stiff it looked painful. Like every fiber of his being wanted to intervene, to stop you—but protocol had trapped him in silence. He watched as you worked: the way your fingers moved like they’d never been trained, only tempered; the way you anchored the junction in place with a firm tap of your knuckle

The mech on the table twitched. A spasm. A flicker. The faintest betrayal of life. You beamed like you'd just pulled a rabbit out of a collapsed spark chamber “See? That’s the twitch of life. Textbook success"

“That’s the twitch of residual nerve current from a poorly rerouted interface—”

“Semantics”

Ambulon exhaled through his vents—sharp, audible, like a hiss from a sealed valve being opened just a little too fast “You didn’t sanitize your tools properly. You didn’t even scan him before cutting him open—"

That made you pause. Not in guilt, but in irritation. You turned to face him, optics steady, voice edged with defiance that had been honed by far worse than judgment

“He didn’t have time for a scan” you said “He had five minutes before the energon starvation reached his neural bridge. I gave him six. That’s a net win where I’m from"

Ambulon’s jaw clenched—not visibly, but you could see it in the shift of his plating, the microadjustments of someone trained to hold still even when every part of them wanted to move

He approached slowly, optics darting between your hands, your instruments, the readouts flickering behind you—as though he could still catch the error that would make it all make sense

“Do you even remember his name?”

You blinked “Nope”

You wiped your digiy down your thigh plating, smearing a dark trail of fuel across the silver as casually as a chalkboard scribble “But I remember the position of his spark post-blast, and the way it started to slip into cascade. I remember exactly how to cradle it so it wouldn’t rupture the surrounding. That count for something?”

Ambulon hesitated, lips parted—searching for a definition, a category, a box to put you in “That’s not medicine” he said, voice low, almost lost beneath the hum of the medbay’s ambient monitors “That’s—”

He faltered

Because whatever he wanted to call it, it wasn’t wrong. You tilted your helm, a crooked smile playing faintly across your face “Field instinct. Improvisation. Controlled madness. Take your pick"

There was silence again—dense and hot between you. The only sound was the quiet tick, tick, tick of the life monitor behind you

Still alive

Still working

Ambulon’s shoulders lowered—not in defeat, but in something subtler. Something more human. The drop was minimal, almost imperceptible, yet it was there: a soft, unconscious collapse of posture that spoke of tension long held finally beginning to ebb

“I don’t understand how you do it” he murmured. The sharpness in his voice, once honed like a scalpel, had dulled—not into resignation, but into confusion, like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if what lay before them was the drop or the sky

“You ignore every established procedure. You tear up the blueprint and redraw it mid-operation. You never—never—repeat a process the same way twice"

He wasn’t accusing anymore

He was asking

You took a single step toward him. Measured. Gentle. Not to challenge. Not to provoke. But to meet him halfway. To bridge. Your voice, when it came, was quiet. Not diminished, but deliberate—as though shaped carefully around a truth you’d carried too long to let it shatter now

“Because every bot breaks differently” you said “They fracture in different places. At different angles. For different reasons. And if you treat them all the same—if you paste the same solution over every bleeding wound—you miss the thing that makes them salvageable"

You watched his optics flicker—register, resist “You think healing is math” you continued, your tone somewhere between a confession and a creed “But it’s not. It’s jazz"

Your lips curved faintly—not in mockery, but in reverence “It’s dirty, violent, brilliant jazz. You improvise. You listen. You adapt. You hit the wrong notes and find beauty in the discord. You keep going even when the rhythm fails"

He held your gaze now, steady as iron

“And yet” he said—this time louder, sharper, more certain, as if the weight of his argument was all that kept him grounded— “you treat them like scrap. Like spare parts you glue together with hope and hazard tape. You gamble with lives as if they’re puzzles to be solved, not sparks to be protected"

The words landed heavy in the air. You didn’t react. Not outwardly. You let them settle—allowed the silence to breathe around them

Then you inhaled. Long. Slow. Controlled

“No” you said at last

“I treat them like machines that deserve to keep running. Even when their frames are twisted. Even when their cores are cracked. Even when the files say they’re not worth" Your voice was soft, but it hit like gravity. Steady. Inarguable “Even when every protocol tells me to walk away… I don’t"

The room fell silent, thick with unsaid things. The soft electronic click of the life monitor behind you pulsed like a metronome for a song neither of you were quite ready to finish. You met his optics again—this time without posture, without pretense. There was no fire in your words. No sarcasm. No armor of wit — Only belief

Naked. Raw. Unshakable “Maybe it’s ugly. Maybe it’s not precise. Maybe it’s not what the manuals say it should be"

You glanced at the technician still breathing behind you “But it keeps them alive”

Ambulon didn’t respond immediately

His optics stayed fixed on yours, unblinking—like a mech trying to see through the dark and not entirely sure whether he wanted to find what waited there and then you saw it. The thing he didn’t mean to show – Not anger. Not rejection but fear. The quiet, aching kind that came from understanding—finally understanding—what you were, and what that meant for both of you

“…You scare me” he said at last

The words were barely above a whisper. But in their smallness, they struck with the clarity of truth. You didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk. You only smiled—a small, still thing, steeped in something older than pride and softer than defiance. A smile that didn’t reach your optics, because it came from somewhere far deeper. Somewhere that remembered every loss, every line you’d crossed to keep someone else breathing

“Good” you said quietly “That’s how you know I’m doing it right”

“I still don’t trust you. I still think you’re dangerous.. but maybe, just maybe�� you're the first one who’d know how to fix someone like me”

It had been jammed into his frame during a particularly violent triage attempt, back when he was less of a medic and more of a shape that could carry equipment. The others hadn’t known his name. Just his alternate mode. Just what he could turn into. That was all that mattered. Not who he was, not how he processed fear

They’d needed parts? He was spare

Ambulon had never liked improvisation. Improvisation meant danger. It meant desperation. It meant something had already gone terribly wrong and someone, somewhere, was about to pay for it in energon and trauma. Improvisation was not a skill—it was a symptom. A last resort wrapped in false confidence

That night, long after the alarms had quieted and the medbay returned to its usual order, Ambulon found himself standing outside its entrance — The lights in the corridor had dimmed into their late-cycle glow, casting soft amber reflections across the polished floor. Shift change had come and gone. No footsteps echoed through the hall now—only the quiet, ever-present thrum of the Lost Light’s engines, pulsing like a distant heartbeat against the walls

Ambulon stood perfectly still, his posture rigid, his arms tucked behind his back as though formality might hold back the tide of thought rising slowly inside him. He wasn't sure how long he’d been there. Minutes. Cycles. Time felt suspended—like the ship had graciously decided to grant him a pause in motion, in momentum

He stared at the floor

Thinking

He thought of how many times he had been overlooked. How often his worth had been calculated by usefulness—by utility. He thought of the term "spare part”—how it had followed him like a shadow

For all your mess—your irreverence, your recklessness, your maddening improvisations—you treated everything you touched as if it were reclaimable. As if being broken wasn’t a sentence – as if the fragments still meant something

You never said it outright. Never declared it but Ambulon had seen it. In the way you held your hands steady even as your mouth ran wild. In the way you muttered to the dying like they could hear you. In the way you never looked away from the aftermath — not even once — You believed, somehow, in rebuilding. Not because it was efficient. Not because it was clean. But because it was possible and in your eyes, even the worst-off patients weren’t salvage. They were worth it

Every single time

You treated every part—every bot—like they could be rebuilt. Even the broken ones. Even the one that others had left behind

Even him

#transformers idw #transformers x reader #first aid x reader #ratchet x reader #ambulon x reader #cybertronian reader #reader insert

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i-dared-myself · 5 months ago

Text

Instances

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: Hiii helloooooo 👋!! I know you didn’t even write this request yet 👉https://www.tumblr.com/i-dared-myself/773155354439778304/ BUT it inspired me to ask if you could do something similar but sorta like 'moments the 9th member questioned if her members were actually ✨️just friends✨️ of hers' or 'the members being too in love with her to be subtle and she questioning it all' ykwim??? 😋

The first instance in which you questioned your relationship with the other members was, unfortunately, on camera. It was to be edited before uploading, thank goodness, or else the shipping would have been off the charts.

The group had been given costumes for another one of the role-playing games, and everyone was arguing over who was to be which role.

“Obviously you’ll be the princess,” Jisung says as he hands you your dress. It’s big and poofy and a tiny piece of you is squealing that this is your childhood dream come true.

“Okay.” You accept the clothes and slip into a changing room. When you return, none of the others have gotten dressed yet. They’re still in normal clothes.

“I could totally take Jeongin in a fight,” Hyunjin exclaims, tossing his hip to the side.

Changbin gives him a skeptical look. “Still…”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Really? What about Chan? You think you could defeat him too?”

Hyunjin’s gaze flicks over the older man before he nods. “Yeah.”

Chan shakes his head and scoffs. “Just put the costume on. We need to hurry this up.”

Hyunjin groans, but obeys. He grabs one of the many sets of clothing and bustles off with it.

“Are you guys almost done yet?” you impatiently ask. “Hurry this up.”

Felix brightens. “Help us choose! Who should be the prince?”

You shrug and pull out your phone. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

You hear Seungmin mutter something before your chin is tilted up and away from your phone screen. You’re staring up at him, face burning as his tongue wets his lips.

“Help us decide?” His eyelids fluter almost all the way shut. “Please, princess?”

You regain your bearings and swat his hand away. You gather your skirts up and stomp away, sneering at him. The camera crew splits up so some of them follow you.

“What was that?” Jisung scowls at Seungmin. “You’re cheating.”

Seungmin’s shoulders shake as he laughs. He smiles enough that his lips lift up to show his gums, eyes wrinkling shut. “Maybe it wasn’t for the game. Maybe I did it for me.”

You choke on absolutely nothing and fumble with your phone. It drops and just before it hits the ground, Changbin scoops it up and presses it into your grip.

“Go get ready, okay?” He smiles gently. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

So you rush off to the set, sitting on the couch. It has been designed to look like a medieval castle, with a stone fireplace in the back.

Eventually the others file in, and you’re surprised at the costumes everyone has been forced into.

Chan appears to be dressed as a knight, although the chest plate is hanging at an odd angle. His eyebrows are pinched together slightly as he attempts to fix it.

Hyunjin is sporting a bright blue dress with more sparkles than yours. You’re instantly jealous, even more so when you notice his giant wings.

Changbin got the short stick. He’s dressed in a dragon onesie with the hood pulled up over his head.

Jisung sits next to you on the couch, a weird hat with a feather on it placed precariously on his head. He’s holding a strange instrument that resembles a guitar.

Minho has a wig on that flows down to his waist. His dress is a dark green and it’s rumbled near his shoulder from him constantly fiddling with it.

Jeongin is next to him, on a throne it seems. A crown sits atop his head as he adjusts his pants.

Felix sits at Minho and Jeongin’s feet, legs crossed beneath him. He has a smaller version of Jeongin’s crown and a tiny frown.

Seungmin has long black robes and a fake beard. He keeps tripping over the robes as he makes his way to his designated spot.

“Everyone’s here,” the manager says. “This is similar to the family video, but without the missions. Try to maintain your roles the whole time, but if anything happens we’ll just edit it out.”

“So we’re just chatting, in character?” Chan summarizes. When the manager nods, Chan smiles and faces the group. “Everyone introduce themselves!”

You slowly stand, smoothing out your dress. “I am the beautiful princess. I am the fairest in the land, well-known for my hotness.”

Seungmin strokes his beard, humming. “You’re lucky we don’t have any frogs.”

You stick your tongue out at him as you sit back down. Felix stands next, clearing his throat.

“I am Prince Felix!” he announces, spreading his arms dramatically. “Son of King Jeongin and Queen Minho! Fiancé to Princess-“

“Hold on,” you interrupt, making Jisung snicker. “When was that part of the characters?”

The staff all shrug and motion for Felix to continue.

Felix saunters over to you, kneeling and taking your hand. He raises the back of it to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses to it.

Then he looks up, and your breath catches at the intensity in his eyes.

“My son!” Minho snaps. “You little bastard, get over here!”

The staff wearily say a reminder to watch the language. But you know it will be edited out regardless.

“Who’s next?” Chan questions.

Jeongin gets to his feet and adjusts his crown. “I’m the king! I have announced his engagement to her, but um, I love harems. I’m still looking for my own if she-“

Minho slaps his arm, scowling. “And what about me, huh?”

Felix hides a laugh, ducking his head. “My father is trying to steal my fiancée!”

“Hey, maybe she’s into DILFs.” Seungmin shrugs. He clears his throat and deepens his voice in an imitation of a wizard. “I mean, maybe she’s down to fuck a daddy.”

The staff all facepalm and mutter out reminders to calm down a little.

“Wouldn’t that be me, then?” Chan lifts a hand into the air hesitantly. “I think I’m more daddy than Jeongin.”

“No. You’re the knight that swore to forever remain a virgin,” Jisung sternly says. “Stay in character!”

“When did I-“ Chan cuts himself off with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Whatever.

“Shut up, virgin boy!” Hyunjin waves his arms to get everyone attention. “What about me? Don’t I get a love interest? What if I run off with the princess? It could be so dramatic and scandalous and-“

“You can get the wizard.” Changbin points to Seungmin. “You both have magic.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and groans. “But I don’t want the old wizard!”

Felix gathers you in his arms, dipping you slightly. “Please don’t leave me for my father. Uh, he has herpes.”

Jeongin splutters out a protest. “I do not have herpes!”

“Maybe it’s from that harem you’re putting together,” Minho grumbles. His chin rests on his fist.

Felix falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around you. “Please! I can’t stand the humiliation!”

“Yes please,” Jisung randomly says from the back. When Chan narrows his eyes at him, Jisung’s face turns bright red.

“I think it would be even more scandalous if I ran off with the princess,” Minho chimes in. “Instead of evil step-mother, I’m the hot step-mom. Except not step-mom.”

“No,” Hyunjin immediately says. “It should be me since I’m supposed to get them their happily ever after. So it would be hilarious if she runs off into the sunset with me.”

“Or what if I don’t have an affair, and just marry the prince,” you suggest, much to Felix’s delight.

Seungmin considers it for a moment before snorting. “Nah. Boring.”

“I challenge thee!” Jisung shouts at Felix. “A duel to the death! For her hand in marriage!”

You’re still wondering what is going on, when you’re suddenly hoisted over Changbin’s head. Your skirts fall into his face.

“I am the evil dragon, here to kidnap the princess and keep her in my lair!” he cries. “None shall best me!”

Felix gasps and covers his mouth. “Someone kill him! He’s stealing my wife-to-be!”

Chan levels his sword (pool noodle) at the fearsome beast (Changbin). “I shall defeat him and regain your fiancée! For the low price of some gold and maybe her hand in marriage.”

Felix purses his lips before shrugging. “I can live with sharing. Do it!”

Changbin starts laughing maniacally and spins around to sprint away. Because he can’t see with your dress in the way, he promptly smacks into a wall and collapses on the ground.

Chan gently places his foot on Changbin’s back, lifting his weapon proudly in the air. “I did it!”

Half the staff have left at this point. The remaining ones seem to be on the verge of tears.

“What if we just all share.” Jisung looks to Felix with his suggestion. “We all marry the princess, and each other.”

Hyunjin wrinkles his nose. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Sure,” Felix relents.

“Let’s just scrap this whole idea actually,” the manager says. “Go home, everyone.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second instance was, unfortunately, on stage.

You had been unaware of changes to the set, and when you were about to make your entrance, smoke machines were activated. You wander out from the cloud, joining the others on stage. You wheeze slightly, which causes Hyunjin to side-eye you.

“Seungmin,” you mutter from behind him as everyone takes their places for the first song.

“What?” He gets into the opening position.

“The smoke machine triggered my asthma and I don’t have my inhaler,” you say as you mimic his stance.

“Huh?” Seungmin stumbles over the first move as the song begins. Throughout the entirety of the song, you struggle to keep up. It’s difficult when your chest feels so tight.

Not to mention the lack of air.

When it finally finishes, you slump, hands on your knees as you gasp over and over again. Jeongin pats your back worriedly, looking to Chan for guidance. Seungmin whispers into Chan’s ear as Jisung and Minho distract the crowd off to the side.

“Inhaler?” Chan rushes to you. “You have asthma?”

“It’s no big deal.” You wave a hand before sucking in as deep a breath as you can. It comes out of you in a desperate cough. “It hasn’t been bad for a couple years so I just-“

“Save your air,” Chan cuts you off. He straightens and checks for a staff member. When he finds one who’s close enough to the stage, he motions them over.

They seem confused, but do approach.

“Take her backstage and get her a medic,” Chan orders. He lifts a finger to brandish at you. “And fucking stay there until we get back.”

You wince at his tone, but walk away. You go down the steps and shuffle backstage. The crowd roars in bewilderment, but Felix diverts their attention with his abs.

The rest of the show goes by without you. You have your phone to amuse you, but it doesn’t help with the nauseating ball of nerves in your stomach.

Chan seemed really mad. What if you got kicked out of the group for this? You missed a whole concert.

Finally, they come back to see you. You can’t tell what they’re saying, since they’re all talking at once.

Chan stands there with his arms crossed. You swallow as you glance up at him, twisting your hands anxiously.

“You never told me you have asthma,” he eventually says. The others stop their rambling so he can speak.

You blink last the tears threatening to form. “I’m sorry, I just- I get it if you want to kick me out now and- and-“

“Oh!” His eyes widen and he wraps his arms around you reassuringly. “No, that’s not what I meant. We were just worried, baby.”

“The whole show, all I could think about was you,” Changbin adds.

“When are you not thinking about her?” Seungmin mumbles.

You’re still just staring at them blankly, because Chan called you baby. Did it slip out? Is there meaning behind it?

“Honey?” Jeongin places his chin on your shoulder once Chan steps away. “How are you feeling?”

Is this a thing now? Are nicknames what everyone’s doing these days?

“Better,” you respond. You push past the thoughts swirling in your head. “It wasn’t bad enough that I almost died, but I’ll be feeling it for a couple days.”

“Where’s your inhaler, love?” Hyunjin questions, circling his thumb over the top of your hand.

Your brain short-circuits. “Uh. In- In the dorms. But it expired a year ago.”

“We’ll get you a new one tonight, doll,” Minho promises.

“Will you carry it around at all times, angel?” Changbin asks softly.

You manage to whisper out an affirmation, unsure of what’s going on.

“Good girl,” Felix remarks, slipping on his jacket.

“I’m gonna-“ you cough, “go wait in the van.”

Jisung flashes you a worried look. “We’ll be there after we change, sunshine.”

“We have our phones if you need us, darling.” Seungmin smiles fondly at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the third was, fortunately, alone. It was when you finally addressed everything, as well.

About a month after the concert, the nicknames were still a thing. They used your name in public, but anytime you were alone they refused.

It was always Hand me the butter, baby or Wanna go shopping, doll?

But what makes you snap is when you break your wrist. Not just the injury itself, but how they react.

You come out of a turn unbalanced and fall, landing on your hand. You yelp at the sudden throbbing pain in your wrist once, and then they rush you to the hospital.

You are put into a cast and sent home, loopy on pain medication. You had apparently broken your wrist, although you found it hard to believe. No matter how many times they showed you your X-ray, you couldn’t comprehend it.

Jeongin said that was the medication talking.

So you sit on the couch, staring at the cast. It’s a pale blue colour that’s frankly depressing.

“You ready for bed yet, angel?” Changbin asks gently. He rubs your shoulder soothingly.

“Not yet.” You look up from it to the television, watching whatever show Jisung had thrown on.

“I’ll wake you when it’s time for your next dose of pain killers, baby.” The bags under Chan’s eyes have never seemed larger. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good.” You lean back against the couch. You slide off it after a moment, resting on the floor. “Tired.”

“Then go sleep, doll,” Minho chides. He sighs and shakes his head. “Honestly…”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” you stubbornly say. You try to cross your arms to further prove your point, but whimper when you bend your arm the wrong way.

Seungmin jumps to attention and whips around. He eases your limbs down and squeezes your non-injured hand. “You need rest! Just go to bed, darling!”

“I can’t tie my hair back,” you mutter angrily. Your face heats at the admission. “So I’m just going to never sleep and that way I won’t have to deal with it.”

Hyunjin squints at you. “Yeah, she’s out of it.”

“I’ll tie it for you, honey,” Jeongin tells you. He arranges himself behind you, running his fingers through your hair. “Does anyone have a hair elastic?”

Felix peels one off his wrist and hands it over. He strokes his thumb over your cheek comfortingly. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need your inhaler? Are you good to sleep alone tonight?”

You nod, making Jeongin groan as he loses his progress. “I’m fine, Felix. Jeez…”

Chan’s tone sharpens. “Baby, is something wrong?”

“You guys have just been so weird lately,” you slur, the exhaustion from the day and the medication getting to you more then you’re trying to let on. “Pet names and acting all worried and shit.”

Jisung splutters. “No we’re not! We’re normal!”

Hyunjin shoots him a filthy look. “Ignore him.”

“In truth, we’ve realized something,” Changbin carefully says.

Seungmin rubs at his face. “I guess we’re doing this.”

You’re limp at the feeling of Jeongin toying with your hair. You can barely put the thoughts together to say, “Huh?”

“We like you.” Minho pauses the show you had forgotten about. He faces you, expression serious. “And we understand if you don’t want to date because we work together.”

“Or because there’s eight of us.” Jeongin chuckles.

You swallow and glance down at your lap. “It’s okay.”

Felix shifts. “Uh, okay then…”

You stare into nothing for a second before standing, your hair complete. You lean down to kiss Jeongin. “Goodnight.”

Jeongin blinks after you pull away. “Uh… Sweet dreams.”

So you kiss everyone goodnight before wandering up the stairs to bed. They all watch you go before Changbin sighs.

“She’s too tired and drugged up to realize we’re not actually dating yet, isn’t she.”

Jisung hums his agreement. “We’ll tell her in the morning.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids #fluff #and maybe a little bit of angst but only if you squint #asthma #i have reader asthma because I’m projecting #everyone here is an idiot

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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

Text

Champagne Symphony, Caviar Dreams

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: you keep finding harry in these events. how long until someone gives in?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 1,815 words

side note: hi hello thank u for ur support my citizens!!!!!!! i hope you enjoy this random update even if the fandom is currently in shambles bc of tlou 2 and joel miller sexy old man with glasses atm,, just hi i'm the problem it's me late to the function as per usual. ps. if u want to be added to the taglist just lmk :) <3

part: prev | masterlist | next

The click of black shoes against wooden floors startles you.

"A White Russian, for the lady"

Before you get to ask, the waiter is gone. Rachel arches and eyebrow.

"If this was a bar, I'd be flattered. Right now, I'm just confused"

Your eyes search his in the bustling room, only to find him already staring.

You scoff. "That makes us two, then"

You raise your glass, wearing a daring smile. Drink for over ten seconds, holding his gaze across the room. If he wanted to play, so be it; didn't matter it was your father's birthday.

His eyes shine, amused. Harry Castillo likes to think he knows when a woman is looking for trouble. The faintest of a smile tugs at his lips when you lick yours. He's coming over. You're up to no good when you stare up, saying his name like a pebble on your shoe.

"I hope I guessed it right" it's what he says instead.

You finish what's left in one gulp. "Nothing too special about it"

He grimaces.

"Hello, Harry"

"Hello, Rachel" but he doesn't even bother to look her way, so unlike his manners.

"Dance with me"

As sudden as the shiver that runs down the spine. Rachel gives you a quizzical look when you turn her way for support.

"Alright"

The music is soft, an instrumental. Your dad hired an orquestra to play, the mellow sound of music filling the room he had rented, in the outskirts of the city. Annabelle wanted a DJ, said it was more modern. But your dad was always a classical man, and that was her way of calling him old, one of many. At least, she was older than you.

He guides you, hand on your back.

Somewhere along the sway, your steps get lost in the spaces between the chords of the violin.

"Why?"

You liked knowing. Answers.

"Because the music is nice" yet Harry preferred the unspoken of your relationship, if you could call it that. Strangers who knew too much about the other. Who revelled in the others' falter. Like a contest to win; you've yet decided the prize. "Don't you think?"

"My father likes nice"

Harry smirks.

"Cheers to David" he gives you a little spin, word reduced to a blur. It's just you and him, "and nice things"

You feel his body irradiate heat. Close proximity suffocating.

"We can't have nice things"

Harry shakes his head, something akin to disappointment circling in his brown eyes.

"Only if you allow yourself to"

Rage bubbles up your throat like champagne. This isn't like your father, who makes you feel small. Harry Castillo makes you feel seen, and that's worst.

He steps forward and you step back at the sound of the music.

"What do you want?"

His grip in your hands tightens, and then he drops you, but his hand on your back stays firm. It's like this with him: always on edge but never quite falling. Head centimeters above the floor, hair brushing the wooden floors; almost crushing.

You lose yourself in the white of his smile.

"To dance"

He pulls you up, face so close to yours. A faint smell of whiskey ghosts his breath.

"I think we're talking about different things"

He smiles, sadly so. He too pulls back, and you hate that small voice in your head that misses the proximity.

"You have yet to understand we aren't"

Anger rises again. You let go of his hands.

"Do you think it's funny to go around confusing people?" you spit.

He looks at you, stern gaze as the music stops.

"I've been clear since the first day"

People clap and the music resumes, but all you hear is the beat of your heart, ringing in your ears.

He leaves first.

Harry doesn't know when it started, but he knows the moment he knew.

You were late, sat next to him: with your long hair and tight black dress. Narrowed eyes as sharp as your fresh manicure. Judgmental. Appalled. Fresh out of law school, as David said.

It was during his fourth. Lasted less than a year; Harry can't remember her name.

He heard your venomous spit at his side: I hate weddings. Doesn't know if you were talking to him but listened.

How could he not? It was clear, in the way you reminded everyone what kind of lawyer you were. Jokes too rough, clipped laughs yet you didn't falter. Too obvious, refusal to be pictured in the family portrait when David married Annabelle the next winter.

But Harry too saw when you followed the bride with your gaze, something raw, not practiced nor learnt, imprisioned behind a neutral expression in your eyes.

It was summer when the wedding happened but Harry was drawn to your cold. The way you had mastered the common art to shove down any emotion, because to feel was to be human.

And to be human was to be weak. You loathed being weak.

Which is why, when you turned to him and mumbled a polite Excuse me to walk out during your father's vows, he understood.

There were dying stars in the dark scope of your eyes, begging to be pulled out of their slow death, pulsing with the same moribund sound of your heart. Hiding behind the sharp comfort of knowing no one would notice. A latent desire to be seen betraying the arm's length drive to keep people away.

Harry was one of those people. The type to notice the quiet breaths of the world that reminded of the painful experience it was to be alive.

And in that moment, he knew there was more to the carefully crafted you.

It was easy then, to figure you. To unravel the mystery of the one he had made to be impossible to decode.

You drank and mingled with the crowd, but each sip seemed labored, like you'd wish for it to be poison and kill you. You were focused, loved your career, but when the noise of the court died down, all that was left was mourning, even if he couldn't quite place your grief. You were all disdain and apathy, but hidden among your clipped conversations was the ravenous desire for attention.

Behind every fake smile and mascara layers, Harry saw the corners of your mouth twitch and the tired eyes.

It was there: the little girl he met, hiding behind mother's legs as if you took a step forward, the world would swallow you.

She was gone, and you had changed your approach: now you were to eat the world as revenge.

You could lie to everyone, yourself even, but Harry knew.

He wasn't a patient man, yet for you? He could wait.

Wait until you let him in. Until you take the hand he's been extending your way, hoping you'd take the leap and jump.

"Should I always chase for you?" Harry jokes after finding you. "Either you love running away or have a thing for balconies"

"Nobody obligues you" you turn to face him.

Harry couldn't voice out loud nor explain the pull he felt towards you. Like magnets. Moth to a flame; things meant to happen. Things that are unavoidable. Or just how easy it was to fall into your orbit. You were a black hole sun: burning and consuming.

"You dipped"

You dipped my head so close to the floor I thought I was falling. Dipped after making my skin feel like a burden and not the one I live in.

He's taken back by your barely concealed reproach.

"Would've you want me to stay?"

Life is a game, and you hate how he's the only one who makes you lose.

You scoff. "Bet that's what you would've wanted"

"You still haven't answered"

You rub your nose. "Is it so important for you that I do?"

For the first time, he doesn't know what to say.

"I'm not here to please you"

He smirks. "Do you ever aim to please anyone but yourself?"

"Are you calling me egotistical?"

"I'm not one to throw stones" he shrugs, then makes his way towards you.

"That's all I feel you do"

He let's his body rest against the marble of today's selected balcony.

"Are you accusing me of being disparaging?"

"I guess we're just throwing big words around" you laugh, dryly.

Harry exhales loudly. "Do you want me to go?"

Stay.

"It's fine" you shrug, nonchalant.

Some minutes fly by, the soft orchestral music from inside the only sound to be heard in the aphony.

"How long do you think this'll last?"

He turns to you, but before he asks for clarification, you're speaking again:

"Dad and Annabelle"

"You shouldn't be betting on your old man" he berates, but there's no bite in his words.

"It always ends"

He doesn't like the finality in your tone. Like you knew it all.

"At least you'll never run out of'a job"

"You're not going to correct me?" you snort at his attempt to humor you. "Tell me that love is real or some shit?"

Harry gives you a knowing smirk.

"Has it ever worked before?"

You don't quite smile, but your lips press together.

The music comes to a stop, people clapping and then a microphone turning on. It's your father's voice.

"Guess it's coming to an end"

Now it's his turn to speak. "Like everything else"

You're about to walk inside when he speaks.

"What about our dance?"

Your turn around. A soft breeze passes by.

"What?"

He gives you a half smile. "It hasn't finished"

Harry extends his hand towards you, waiting for you to take it.

"Shall we?"

You don't have the answer, but when the warmth of his hand covers your freezing smaller ones, you feel you've chosen the right one.

His steps are measured, each brush of your fingers and lingering touch deliberate. You lose yourself in the quiet of the night, the symphony of his heartbeat intertwined with yours, alike to that connection that holds your hands together.

"This is nice"

Outloud. You don't realize it's been you who has said it until he stops dancing, lips parted as he looks at you.

"Y/n-"

The brittle vulnerability is fleeting, like the laughs at your father's drunken speech. It comes and goes, the sound drowning each time you look at his eyes.

All words are futile devices. You're the one who knows such thing best.

"Don't"

Don't speak.

Don't ruin this.

Don't make me think of questions I'm too afraid to hear the answers.

"Okay" he coincides. "We won't"

We won't talk.

We won't ruin this.

We won't think about what this is and what it means.

But all the forbidden is lost when his touch and perfume stay in your skin even as you sink down on your lavender sheets and the feeling of knowing something you hadn't before remains.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

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requinoesis · 3 months ago

Note

Do you have a favorite among them? Or are they equally your children to your heart

I certainly love them all equally! But there's a funny story about it.

Originally the story I wanted to tell about the sharkfolk town called Reefhaven (or Reefside, I couldn't decide on a good name yet), would be through the lives of three juveniles, you may have seen them around. Hanna (Bonnethead shark) , Lucca (Zebra shark) and Macco as the main protagonist! (Mako shark)

It was a simple story about when we dream too big about what we want to be when we grow up and discover that it won't necessarily be what we imagine, but that realistically it could be related. Hanna dreams of mastering music and singing, but discovers that her talent lies in composing musical instruments. Lucca dreams of writing a fantasy or RPG book, but will discover that his talent lies in creating dungeons and organizing level design. Macco, being the most abstract, dreamed of being a racing pilot and created an extensive comic book about it, only to discover in the end that it wasn't the racing that caught his attention, but how much it opened up his imagination and he would discover that he would be a good art director! With these three, discovering that together, they could create a video game together!

The creation of this video game would trigger important events for the well-being of Reefhaven and these three children would become a symbol of hope, motivation and inspiration for the inhabitants of the town, who are recovering from a collective trauma.

And to expand the story to tell the lives of other inhabitants, I then thought of creating the “idols” of inspiration for these three children, which they created a lot of expectation so that in the end these idols would help them open their eyes to their real talents.

⭐Macco's idol was a famous shark mako racing pilot called Vicky Stormrider. She was facing her own problems of wanting to end her career but was feeling trapped by the high expectations of her supporters and admirers, until an accident changed everything.

⭐Lucca's idol was a famous whale shark writer called Julian Whalesong, renowned for a fantasy book. He also had his own problems because he missed his dead daughter and was facing a creative block and pressure to create a sequel to his books.

⭐Hanna's idol was a shark band called Dreamfarers, which, guess what, is Roberto, Tiago and Aria's band! They were facing problems finding support to bring their music to life in the city, and at some point these three children's idols connected at a common event.

But by strange ironies of the universe, my mind traveled deep into the characters of this band, especially Roberto, I decided not to censor my imagination so I just let it flow to see where it would go. I went so far with Roberto that I created for him: personal problems and the ways he found to overcome them or find escapism, conflicts and resolutions in love relationships, childhood traumas, likes and fears, supernatural and mystical events, ancestral memories and origins, complex families, etc.

I have no idea why this happened, but I'm having a lot of fun so far! I haven't forgotten the three children, they will play a part in all this at some point, I think. It's a shame that my physical ability to illustrate is disproportionate to my ability to imagine, I'm quite slow at manifesting art into reality, I still want to show a lot of things, as many of them are unknown to me because I'm a person, introvert, ace and on the autism spectrum, so having feedback from other people who better understand the construction of captivating characters is a great light for me!

I'm very grateful to everyone who shows support or interest in my shork creations! 🌊🦈✨

#shark #sharks #art #illustration #character design #ocs #sharkfolk #worldbuilding

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yapperblog · 9 months ago

Text

Red Red Wine

"Handing my boyfriend a spicy polaroid of myself while we are at dinner"

Tags: established relationship, excibitionism, brief choking, oral (m!rec and fem!rec), PinV unprotected, titjob. +18

Explicit RPF below, don't interact if you are not comfortable with that

You stand in front of the mirror, fixing your hair and checking your outfit from different angles. You and Joost are going on a date to a restaurant, there is no special occasion really, you both just wanted a reason to get dressed up and spend time together.

"You look great." you feel a pair of warm hands on your hips, your eyes meet Joost's in the mirror. He leans to kiss your shoulder.

You turn in his arms. "Speaking of looking great, look at you." He is wearing a fitted black suit, thick framed black glasses, his hair is freshly trimmed, and when he smiles at your compliment you notice he put in the grills on two of his teeth. He needed to add more personality to the suit. You fix his tie and smooth down the white shirt moving your hands from his pecs down his torso, stopping at the chunky belt buckle.

You turn back to the mirror checking yourself one last time. You are about to bend down to do the strap on your heels.

"Let me." Joost says and kneels in front of you. His hands gently move from your calf to your ankle, his touch is feather light, but still sends a shiver down your spine. He looks up at you and you move your foot closer to him. He puts his his head down to focus on the task at hand, you see a faint smirk form on his lips in the reflection of the mirror. He buckles the strap around your ankle and motions for you to bring your other foot closer. All of his touches are gentle, his hands so warm on your skin.

When he is finished, he leans in to leave a kiss on your exposed leg, just above knee, you feel your cheeks start to go red.

"Thank you." you say quietly as he stands up in front of you, you have to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes.

"My pleasure." he bows his head dramatically. He is joking, and his theatrics make you giggle, but it's true - caring for you is a pleasure to him, he would do just about anything for you.

When you are about to leave, you make sure you have the polaroid photo in your purse and rush out of the door, where Joost is waiting for you.

The restaurant you picked is fancier than the usual places you go on a date to, the reviews are great and the dim lighting with candles on each table is making it very cozy. There is a live band playing soft music on the instruments, which Joost is immediately impressed by. His usual music preference is fast and loud to match his energy and fast-pace thoughts, but he appreciates a good live instrument.

After getting seated and ordering, you feel yourself get more nervous about the surprise you prepared for him. You saw a trend of people getting their partner a spicy polaroid of themselves and decided to treat Joost to one too. You bought a new lingerie set, a lacy see-through bra and matching panties with a delicate bow, but one thing let to another, you started trying out new things and poses, so after looking through the results, you decided on the one where you are completely naked. It is on a riskier side, but the idea of him reacting to it here turns your nerves into excitement. But it is not the time to reveal it yet.

"What's on your mind?" Joost asks. He takes your hand in his, tracing his thumb on your skin. You are sitting in a small booth type table, he is on the opposite side of you.

"This handsome guy I saw, actually" you reply, your tone neutral.

"Really? Who is he? Should I check him out too?" he turns to look around the room.

"I think you might know him. He is wearing a nice suit, it looks expensive. The pants fit around his thighs so nice." you whisper the last part and he turns back to look at you. You are glad that your table is a little further away from others and it feels secluded. "And if you are lucky and get him to smile, you will see those silver grills, which make him even hotter, if that's possible." you see a blush spread on his cheeks, but he quickly regains his composure, matching your eye contact.

"Damn, hope he is taken by the prettiest girl, which caught my eye earlier, in this tight silky dress which challenges his willpower to keep his hands away from her in public and not take it off." he squeezes your hand, which he is still holding. "or else I might ask for his number, he sounds like a treat." he ends the sentence with a wink to you.

You both laugh at each others comments and turn the conversation to talk about what you both did that day, you haven't seen each other since the early morning when you left for work and until he came back from the studio in the evening, when you both got ready and left for the date.

You are discussing the documentary you watched last night together, when the waiter brings the wine. You are glad to finally have a drink, it will help take your mind off the surprise, which lays heavy in the back of your head.

"It's nice here." Joost says lifting the glass to his lips.

"It is. I'm glad we decided to go." you are happy he is enjoying it.

"Me too." he leans back on the chair, his stature seems more relaxed now. You fall back into the conversation again.

The waiter brings the pasta which you both ordered. As much as you would like to hate the overpriced food, you have to admit it's delicious. After the first bite, you close your eyes and a quiet moan slips past your lips. Joost looks at you, finishes chewing, and reaches his hand across the table to your mouth.

"You've got something here." he swipes his thumb across the corner of your lower lip, slowly on purpose. It feels so nice to feel his touch on you. There is a little bit of red sauce, which he brings to his mouth and licks off, maintaining eye contact, and continues eating. You swallow hard.

You are glad he is feeling as flirty as you, it makes you giddy to what the night holds. You continue talking, eating and drinking wine, the giggles start to escape both of you.

An idea pops into your head and you immediately act on it, as you start to move your foot closer to his. The first touch of the tip of the heel you are wearing is very light right above his ankle. You keep it there. He continues telling the story. You nod while listening and move your foot a little higher along his leg, you see a glint in his eyes appear, which are staring intently into yours. You act as if nothing is happening, matching his eye contact, while moving your foot up and down his calf slowly. You bring it higher, just under his knee, which makes him stumble over his words and loose the staring contest, having to look down into his now empty plate. He loves to act like he is in control, and you have fun pushing his buttons seeing how far you can go to make him break his act and show how he is truly wrapped around your finger.

"Having fun, are you?" he says leaning back on the chair, you notice the tips of his ears are red. He puts his hands under the table, finding your leg, holds your ankle, then moves further to message your calf. Your skin soft under his hands, he is just happy to touch you.

"I am." you reply calmly and give your opinion to the story proving you were listening carefully to the story he was telling and are unbothered. You count it as a little win. Making him flustered feels so good, knowing you have that effect on him.

"Do you want to order desert?" you suggest and put your foot down on the ground.

"Yes, I would love some." he agrees.

The dim light, instrumental music playing in the background, murmur of the conversations around you, and the nice buzz from the wine, makes you a little bolder. Everyone around seems to be in their own little bubble, focused on food and their company. You decide it's time.

You are laughing at the story Joost was telling from one of the times he went to Berlin with his friends, when the desert is placed on the table. You have to wipe the tears in the corner of your eyes from laughing so hard. He would tell you stories all night, if that meant he got to hear the beautiful sound of your laughter. Joost hands you one of the two spoons and waits for you to try first, because he knows you love the first bite.

"Actually, I have something else for you." you say and reach into your purse. You carefully take out the polaroid photo, holding it face down and sliding it to him across the table. You lift your hand and leave it front of him. You feel your own face going red at the excitement and nervousness. He looks puzzled, puts down the spoon, tries to read your expression, but you just motion for him to look at it. He takes the photo and flips in his hands to look what it is. His eyes immediately go wide, he quickly presses the polaroid to his chest, looking around to make sure no one around saw. You watch his every move, enjoying his reaction, you can't hold in a laugh that escapes you.

"Fuck." his voice sounds breathy. He looks at you exaggerating the shocked expression with his jaw open, you smile brightly. Not only his cheeks are flushed, but you see his neck slowly turn red.

He lets out a breath and looks at the polaroid, taking his time now. He leans against the back of the booth seat. You hear him swear under his breath as his eyes move across the photo, not even caring anymore if anybody walks by. He wipes the sweat the formed on his brow, trying to regain his composure. He looks at the photo again, the tips of his ears red, you are drinking in his every move.

"You did this for me?" he asks, as a little chuckle escapes him, when he sees how are excited you are.

"No, I did it for the neighbour upstairs. But he didn't answer the call in time, so I gave it to you" you say, your foot playing with his under the table again.

"Great thinking. That actually might have stopped him from complaining about the noise again." he matches your joke.

"Of course I did it for you." you touch the bracelet he got you with his initials. "Yours forever." your words make his heart race faster. He brings your hand with the bracelet on to his lips, kissing it softly.

A playful smile spreads across his face, he shakes his head and looks up at you.

"So that's what's got you so fidgety all night." he leans in placing his elbows on the table, turning the polaroid to you. It even takes your breath away, you look good in that photo.

"I wasn't fidgety." you say, defending yourself.

"Baby, I could see your hands shaking when we sat down." he says, sliding closer to you in the booth. "If I knew I had that on me, I would be nervous too." he is now only a few inches away from you. He looks at the photo again. "That is so fucking hot." he traces his finger along your body on the photo.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he takes one last look at it and puts into his card holder. To him it instantly becomes worth more than any card he owns. As much as he would love to stare at the photo for the rest of his life, he also can't believe you are sitting right in front of him, he is not possessive in a true sense of the word, but the thought that you are his, that you love him as much as he loves you, fills his heart with so much happiness.

"That's what I've been wondering too." you say, placing your elbows on the table, holding your head in your hands and turning to look at him through your lashes.

"So do you want the desert?" you take a spoon, swipe it across the white cream on the top of the piece of cake in front of you. He watches you bring the spoonfull of heavy cream into your mouth and lick it, closing your eyes, enjoying the taste. He knows you are trying to torture him and it's working.

You open your eyes, his eyes which were focused on your mouth meeting yours, his pupils are wide, the candle light reflecting in them. The fire matches his thoughts racing through his head right now.

He moves even closer to you, his lips close to your ear "I would love the desert." he whispers only for you to hear. You turn to face him, your faces only a breath apart. He almost leans in to kiss you, but you turn to the plate again, you dip your finger into the cream and bring it to his mouth this time. He looks into your eyes and takes it in without a second thought. His tongue swirling against the tip of your finger tasting the delicious cream, his tongue feels so wet and warm. You take it out as quickly, lick off the residue and wipe it on the napkin.

He brings a hand to your jaw, his fingers splayed on the side of your face, holding you this time, so you won't move, and kisses you. You let him and lean into him. His lips are soft against yours and you can still taste the desert. The closeness, his hand tight on your jaw, tilting your head the way he wants and the smell of his cologne almost makes you forget you are still in public and you can't do what flashes through your head.

"I'm gonna be right back." you end the kiss quickly and push at his chest, making him lean back. You stand up and head to the bathroom. You turn around the corner, down the hall and reach for the door handle, when you hear footsteps right behind you, a familiar cologne smell enveloping you again. Joost hurries you inside, locks the door, and pushes you against the wall, your chest flush against his.

"What are you doing?" you are breathless from all the sudden movements.

"I couldn't wait." he leans in licking his lips, you feel his breath against your lips. He smiles looking into your eyes for a silent confirmation that you are okay, you nod and catch a glimpse of his grills. He kisses you hungrily as he presses you into the wall with his full weight. You answer the kiss trying to keep up with his pace. You planned on teasing him longer, not letting him have his way, but you are so weak and his strong hold on your hips and warmth feels so good on you. One of his hands moves to grab at the muscle of your ass through the dress, you feel him breath heavily into the kiss.

You are getting dizzy, he seems to be everywhere all at once, it all feels so good. Your hands are around his shoulders, fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, you open your mouth for him, his tongue instantly finding yours, tasting you. He can't get enough of you, can't get close enough. You feel so soft under him, the prettiest needy sounds leaving your mouth in between kisses. He slowly moves his hand from your waist down to your hip, then your thigh, squeezing it, feeling the soft plush skin, earning more sounds. He doesn't have a plan, he just had to come with you here. He is happy with just a makeout session, but somewhere in between the desert and this moment he started to get hard, the pants getting uncomfortably tight. He wraps your leg around his hip to be even closer to you.

"Let me make you feel good." he tries to sound sexy, but it comes out more as a whimper.

You lean your head into the wall trying to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw leaving wet kisses on his path to your neck. With your leg wrapped around his hip, where he is holding it tight still, you can feel him hard close to your core. His other hand sneaks into the top of your dress, you are not wearing a bra, so it is easy for him to feel your chest, which he thought about all night. You moan under him, your nipple getting hard at the touch of his big hand. You feel his other hand leave your thigh and trail down your stomach closer to the slit of your dress.

"Joost." your voice is breathy. "Let's wait till we get home." his kisses on your neck slow down. You feel bad for denying him right now, but you need to stick to your plan.

He peels himself off of you, his soul coming back into his own body after what felt like intertwining with yours. "Okay" he leans in to kiss you on the lips again.

"I'm sorry." your eyes move down his crotch, his bulge visible in his suit pants.

"No, it's fine. We just have to wait here a little." his voice gentle.

"Um, I actually do need to pee." you say. This bathroom is not a big space, a sink with a big mirror and a toilet.

"Okay." he says matter of factly. "I'll turn to face the wall." he adds when he notices you raise an eyebrow. "I can't go out now like that." he points to his crotch. "Also as if I haven't seen you pee before." he says more quiet. He is right, while traveling by car with him from country to country for his concerts, you had to make some questionable stops in the middle of nowhere. Also living together for so long, you both are long past locking the door while showering, so the other can use the bathroom at the same time.

"You did this to yourself by the way." you motion to his dick.

"I know, but can you blame me?" he turns to look at the wall, his eyes closed, you are sure he is trying to think of something to make the boner go away. "Next time I will give you my nude photo at dinner." he jokes, but the idea actually plants in his mind.

You are washing your hands, fixing your hair in the mirror.

"I can't stop thinking about that polaroid. Can't believe you did that for me." his voice soft, full of love. He feels like that photo is burning through the card holder, through the pocket of his pants.

"I'd do anything for you, you know." you look at him through the mirror.

"Don't say that right now." he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, blood rushing back to his dick.

"I have one more, if you will be a good boy, I will give it to you." you turn to him, leaning back against the sink.

He looks into your eyes, a sweet smile on your face, a contrast to the words which just came out of your mouth, makes him close the space between you, his hands on your hips again, slotting so perfectly against your body. He is convinced you were made for him how good you fit on his hands.

"Will you be a good boy?" you look up at him, placing your hands on his chest, trying to feel his pecs through the suit.

He feels like a teenager again, trying not to get hard at every word a girl he likes says.

"You are torturing me, you know?" a potential image of another photo circulating through his mind. He leans in to kiss you again, slow and soft this time. Enjoying your lips on his. He bites your lower lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you gasp in surprise.

You lean back in his embrace, your lipstick all over his lips. You bring your thumb to clean it off.

"Want to go for a smoke?" you offer. "Might help your situation." you trace your nail slowly just under his belt.

He takes your hand in his and leads you outside, a cigarette sounds really good right now.

You go into an alleyway next to the restaurant. It is a warm evening, but you still shiver as soon as you step outside. He shrugs off his jacket, and puts it around your shoulders. He doesn't even need to look at you, already knows you will be shivering, he feels hot all over on the other hand.

He takes out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket, which hangs from your shoulders. Offers you one, which you take and place it between your lips. He lights your cigarette and then for himself. Joost inhales the smoke slowly, nice feeling spreading across his chest. You watch him roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, as you bring his jacket tighter around your shoulders. It smells just like him.

"So what's the plan?" you ask him.

"I don't know, you tell me." he smiles, now more relaxed, the grills shining back at you from his wide smile. "I'm at your mercy."

"We head back to finish the desert. I hope they are not looking for us by now, thinking we ditched the bill." you say.

"And what if we do ditch it?" he blows the smoke up into the night air. "Run away. Just me and you."

"It's always just me and you." you step closer to him, placing your hand on his exposed forearm, moving further up to play with his tie. He looks so good, the rolled up sleeves revealing his tattoos, which you always had a soft spot for.

He takes a slow drag, blows the smoke away from your face, even though you are also smoking. Then leans in, putting your hair behind your ear and off your shoulder, "Such a tease tonight." his mouth right next to your ear, "Do you want me to bend you over right here and take you against the wall?"

Your eyes go wide, suddenly the night breeze is not enough to regulate your temperature. He straightens up to stand tall in front of you, looking down at you. A surprised chuckle comes out of you. The real answer is: You do, but you will never admit that to him. Not now at least.

"When did you get so bold, mr. Klein?" you are still holding his tie loosely between your fingers. His cocky stage persona taking the light now, you love it.

"Learned from the best." he says and you try to pull him closer to you by the tie.

"You are right. Let's head back for the desert." he doesn't give in to your pull. Both of you playing this cat and mouse game, which makes the end result all the more exciting. You giggle and lead him inside by the tie, dropping it, as soon as you walk in. He still follows you blindly, as if bound by an invisible string.

You finish the desert, he pays the bill and you can't get home soon enough. His hand is trying to trail up further and further up your thigh, you keep swatting it away playfully.

"Be patient." you whisper to him. "We can do anything you want when we are back home." you make a promise to him. He loosens the tie around his neck at your words.

You open the door, he follows right behind, you can feel his heat behind your back. You turn around, facing him, now walking backwards slowly towards the wall, he is following you a few steps behind. You lean forward to take off your heels, kicking them to the side. relieved to finally fully touch the floor. Without the added inches, you are even shorter now, having to look up higher to face him. He is walking you into the wall like he is hunting a prey. You beckon him closer with your finger, as a giggle escapes you, sparkles dancing in your eyes.

Your back hits the wall, as he closes the distance between you, his eyes fixated on yours. You take a good look at him, a smile on his lips reveals the shiny grills, rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt make his shoulders even wider, the pants fit him so nice. He looks incredible, you should go out all dressed up more often. You take his tie in your hands.

"Come here." you bring him closer to you by the tie. He leans in crashing his lips into yours, a groan escapes his lips, which you can feel through your whole body. It excites you even more.

His hand is on your neck, applying a slight pressure, his fingers splayed on your pulse point, under your jaw, which makes you moan into his mouth, a sound so delicious to him, he drinks it all in. His hand feels so big and warm on you, you start to feel a pulse between your legs. You let go of his tie, when he uses the hand on your neck to turn your head the way he wants to deepen the kiss. His other hand grabs a handfull of your ass. Every time he is close to you he feels like it's not enough, wants to envelop you whole, there is so much space for love in him and it is all for you. You make him dizzy with just your presence, your perfume, your soft skin, the rapid pulse he can feel under his hand, it all makes him the happiest man on earth.

You break apart gasping for air, his hair messed up from your hands running through them. His lips are swollen, stained with your lipstick, you try to wipe it off, but end up smearing it even further, he follows your hand pushing his face against it, craving your touch. He kisses your palm, your wrist, your hand so much smaller in his. He takes both your wrists in his one hand and hold them above your head.

"So beautiful." he says quietly. It's just you two in the apartment, but he wants those words to belong just to you. His hand traces from your jaw down your chest, stomach, slowly tracing the curve of your waist, while you can't move, your wrists pinned above your head. He is eating you with his eyes, enjoying the view. He sees you every day, but it is still never enough. You try to wriggle your wrists.

"Joost. Please" you whine, getting impatient.

He leans in closer. "Get on your knees for me, liefje." he lets go of your wrists, you immediately follow his request, your knees hitting the floor, you can't wait to get your hands on him. You lift your eyes, while undoing his belt, slowly moving to the zipper. He is looking down at you, his hands softly petting your hair.

You palm him through his underwear, he is already half hard. He moans a sound of satisfaction finally feeling you close to him. You lean in to kiss his still clothed length.

"Go on, baby." you leave one last kiss right on his tip, before taking off his pants and boxers. His dick springs free, he feels so heavy in your hand. You place your other hand on his thigh, steadying yourself. You move closer placing featherlight kisses along his length, while he makes a makeshift ponytail with your hair to get it out of the way. You lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, spitting on it, mixing it with his pre-cum, now your hand slides so much better along him. You keep moving your hand up and down while looking at him through your lashes, his mouth is open, slight moans escaping his mouth, but you hear him. You cup his balls and his head falls back, you massage them pulling more sounds from him.

You feel him pull your hair tighter. "Open your mouth for me, schat." you oblige, sticking out your tongue. He takes his dick in his hand, slaps it on your tongue and pushes in. He lets you set the pace, but still keeps a strong hold on your head. You try to steady your breathing to take more of him. He feels your nails on his thigh, secretly loves that feeling, it feels grounding when he feels like floating away from the warm and wet feeling of your mouth, bringing him so much pleasure. You keep sucking him, hollowing your mouth, following the pulsing vein with your tongue.

You breathe steadily through your nose, looking up at him, watching the expressions on his face, when he starts to buck his hips into your mouth.

"Fuck, baby. Feels so- good." his voice is low. "Can I-" his words are not coming out properly, he is so lost in you. But you know what he wants, you hum a confirmation around him. He puts one hand on the wall behind you, the other hand on the side of your head as he starts thrusting harder. Tears are forming at the corners of your eyes. Drool coming out down your chin and around his shaft, your nose hits his pubic hair, and he keeps your head there moaning loudly. He is so close suddenly, you feel him twitch in your mouth.

He pulls you off of him, you try to catch your breath, wiping your mouth. You reach out to touch him again already missing the heavy feeling of him in your throat, but he brings you up.

"Let me have a taste of you too." he says quickly pulling up his pants back on not bothering to do the belt properly, when you are face to face with him. He kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue, a reminder what you just did. You keep kissing as he walks you into the living room, blindly stumbling towards the couch, but he catches you. His hands steady on you, always holding you and you trust him completely.

He spins you around, bending you over the back of the couch. He presses himself behind you, kissing your shoulder, his hands quickly moving to the top of your dress

"I need you so bad." he kisses along your spine, moving lower and lower. He bunches up your dress along your hips, exposing you to him.

"You have me." you say, turning your head to look at him, holding yourself up on the couch.

He exhales loudly, as he squeezes your ass, only a thong separating you from him. "I've been thinking about this all day" he says kneeling down behind you. He is so impatient, so pent up and so inlove with you, he feels everything at the same time. He touches you through your underwear.

"So wet." you feel his breath in between your legs. You've never been with someone who loves giving head as much as him, he would put your pleasure above his own any day.

After continuing to touch you through the fabric, feeling your folds, hearing your impatient frustrated moans spurs him on, so he finally moved your underwear to the side and dives in immediately. He pushes you further into the couch with a firm hand on your lower back, you arch for him to have better access.

"The prettiest pussy and all for me." He spreads you with his two fingers and licks a long stripe from your clit to the hole, he feels it clench under his tongue. He is obsessed with how sensitive you are, your taste the most delicious to him. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard, you buck your hips into him. You were already getting close by giving him head and all the pretty sounds you were able to pull from him, you feel like you won't last long.

He continues to make out with your cunt, his eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed, listening to every little sound you make, focusing on what makes you twitch the most, moan the loudest. He moves his head from side to side, which makes you arch even further.

"Please, Joost, don't stop. I'm almost there" you plead to him.

You feel him smile against your folds, it is so messy, you feel your thighs are wet when he pulls back and starts do draw fast wide circles around your folds, the sounds your pussy is making would embarrass you, if you weren't so lost in the building climax you feel in your lower stomach, pulsing through your whole body, your mind blurry, you keep repeating his name over and over, which makes him impossibly hard. You see him move his own hand between his legs, palming himself through the pants, groaning into your core.

"I need you inside of me. Please." you manage to say.

He would love nothing more in that moment, he stands up, pulls down his pants and underwear in one movement. His tip an angry shade of red, balls heavy, you turn your head forward, moving your hips closer to him, inviting him in.

"Quickly" you whine.

He is holding your hip with one hand, while he holds his dick in the other hand, slowly moving it through your folds, collecting your slick.

"Can you go again after?" he asks, his voice breathy.

"Can you?" you turn to him, placing your hand over his own on your hip, to feel more of him.

He chuckles. His tip catches your hole, pushing in. You both inhale at the same time. "You are in for a fun time today" he says, as he pushes in further, you are so wet, it is so easy for him. He bends over to be closer to you.

His heart runs like an engine as he bullies his drooling cock up against your soft cunt. His words close to your ear, nothing but filthy praise, about how you are perfect for him, that you were made for him, he loves you. His hips meet yours in a fast pace behind you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. As soon as he moves his hand to draw circles around your clit, you scream out his name and gush all over him, squeezing him impossibly tight, which makes him lose his pace. It triggers his own release, after a few more pumps, you feel his cum paint your walls, there is so much, it starts to trickle down your thighs. He collapses on top of you, barely able to catch himself putting his hands on either side of you on the couch. His white shirt is sticking to his skin with how sweaty he is.

You feel he is still not fully soft inside of you. The stamina he has today makes you excited, because you are also ready for more.

You wince when he pulls out.

"Was that not too rough? Sorry, we didn't even make it to the bedroom." he asks, while his eyes are trained between your legs, it is so wet and shiny with both of your releases. He is almost hypnotised.

"I can't even catch my breath still. I don't think we could have possibly made it to the bedroom." you say and you both laugh.

He helps you stand up, you stand in front of him, moving your hands behind you undoing the zipper and slipping out of your dress, leaving it on the floor. He watches you intently, your naked figure in front of him. It is dark in the room, only a street light coming from the window and low light from the hall illuminating you.

"You are so beautiful." he repeats the words he says to you every day, no matter if you are in your pyjamas or full make up and expensive dress, if he was a painter he would paint you and only you. He gives you so many compliments, you started to believe them, boosting your self confidence, which you are thankful for.

"It is your turn now." you undo his tie, throwing it on top of your dress. He starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, while you move towards the bedroom.

You are both completely naked when you fall on the bed. You lay on the pillows, he slowly crawls on top of you, kissing your calfs, your thighs, as you spread your legs apart, giving him more space. He continues kissing his way up, your stomach, stopping on your chest, focusing on your tits. He looks into your eyes, when he takes your nipple into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue, sucking in. You arch your back, whining and moving your hands to his head, holding him close. His hand moves to touch your other boob, squeezing it, twisting and pulling the nipple, enjoying your moans. You feel so good in his mouth. He moves to the other nipple, changing hands to play with the shiny wet nipple from his spit.

You start lifting your hips to meet his, his cock lays heavy on your lower stomach. You pull on his hair to get his attention, he moves his hands in between your legs, you are so warm and wet at his touch.

He looks up at you, letting go of your nipple, moving further up closer to your face.

"You ready to go again?" you ask him, placing your hand on the side of his face, wiping the residue of you on his chin.

He kisses you, and you melt under him immediately. His lips ever so soft capturing yours.

"Yes." he says sitting up. "Are you?" he moves his hands from your neck slowly down to your chest, feeling your fast heartbeat, matching his own, down to your lower stomach. His thumb presses on your clit, your hips lift on their own, a whine escaping your lips, still overstimulated, but it feels so good at the same time. He sees you clench around nothing, waiting for him.

"Don't tease, Joost. Put it in." you reach out to touch his cock. You move your hand up and down his shaft, but he takes control again. He holds himself by the base, leaning in closer, he aligns your hips, putting his cock onto your lower stomach, the tip almost reaching your bellybutton, seeing how deep it will go in. The sight makes his breath catch. The tip leaves a wet spot on your skin.

"I love you so much." he says as he finally reaches your hole, sliding in. He moves your thighs further apart, holding them. He watches your face, your expressions helping him set the pace, seeing what makes you moan louder and what movements make you clench around him. He builds the thrusts around your pleasure. Your arms cling to his on your thighs.

"Feels so good" your head falls back on the pillows.

"Look at me, baby" he moves your head back to look at him. "I want to see you when you cum on my dick." each word is followed by a harder thrust. One of his hands moves to touch your nipple, letting go of your thighs. The other hand draws fast circles around your clit. He rolls his hips just the way you like, you feel your climax envelope your entire body, from your toes to the tips of your fingers. He lets you ride out your high, your hips moving on him, his hands moving softly on your sides. His dick keeping you full.

"That's it baby. That's it. So good for me" he praises you.

You come to your senses and feel him pull out. You start to flip on your stomach, thinking he wants to change positions.

"No, wait." he stops you, laying you on your back. His hands come to your chest, squeezing your boobs together. You are confused for a second, following his gaze on your chest, when you realize.

"Do you want to fuck my tits?" you ask. You could tell he wanted to do it for awhile, but he wouldn't bring it up for some reason. You wish he would believe your words, when you say you would let him do anything. You trust him completely.

"Yes. Would that be okay?" he asks meeting your eyes unsure.

"Yes. Come here" you push your boobs together. He can't believe the sight in front of him. He gets even harder than before. He moves his hand to your pussy, covering his hand in your release, when he brings it in the valley between your boobs, making it slippery.

"You are so nasty." you say. He always loves it messy, even prefers to cum on your stomach or chest, spreading it after, but truly you don't mind.

"And you love it." he says and lets his spit fall on your chest, holding your boobs together, making it even more wet. He plays with your nipples, twisting them in between his pointer finger and thumb, as he moves to straddle you closer, making sure not to put his weight on you.

You help him hold your boobs, when he lines himself in the valley of your breasts. He tries to move, his head falling back with a loud groan, it feels so good. You watch his face contorted in pleasure. He keeps moving his hips, as you squeeze your boobs tighter around him.

"Oh fuck, liefje." one of his hands move to the backboard of the bed for leverage. You open your mouth catching his tip when he thrusts in. He moans at that, his mouth agape, looking down at you.

"Do that again." you oblige and keep your mouth open. He keeps thrusting in and out, his tip staying in your mouth. You move your hand to cup his balls, feeling the tender skin. You make sure to place your tongue on his slit on his next thrust.

"Feels so good. So good." his brain is a mush at this point, he starts to chase his high, moving faster. Your neck is getting tired, so he holds you by the back of your head.

"I'm so close, gonna cum." he warns you, in case you want him to move away. But you hum around him, sucking him harder. He shuts his eyes shut, after a few more thrusts he cums in your mouth, but pulls out and also finishes on your chest. His own chest is contracting in shallow breaths, he plops down next to you on the bed, his legs can't hold him anymore. You feel his warm release on your chest, which he can't stop looking at and starts massaging it into your tits.

"Joost." you whine. "You are such a freak." you swat his hands away laughing.

"And what if I did this?" he leans in quickly and puts your nipple into his mouth, feeling it wet with his spit and his own release. You squeal at feeling, pulling his hair.

"The biggest freak ever." a giggle escapes you. "Let's get in the shower."

After you get back all clean, you show him the other polaroids you took, but didn't end up choosing for the final surprise. He inspects every single one, commenting on what he likes about each one and makes you promise you will wear the underwear set you wore for it tomorrow.

He is already planning on giving you a nude polaroid photo of himself to match yours.

#joost klein #joost klein smut #joost klein rpf #joost klein x reader #yapperwrites

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iamespecter · 1 year ago

Text

TADC OCs: "The Die Quartet"!

"Oh but Ziku, who are these very handsome die?"

Well I'm glad nobody asked, because that would ruin the joke!

The Die Quartet are OCs of mine that I created for TADC, and for what purpose? Well, they're the minds behind show's music!

Hidden just behind a corner or two, or four, These obliviously mischievous and enthusiastic quartet play whatever music they can, one that certainly matches the current "mood" of what the cast is going through. Meet Cuba, Dodeca, Tetra, and Octa, The Amazing Musical Performers, for The Amazing Digital Circus!

LORE AND BOUNDARIES UNDERNEATH THE CUT!

When the Circus was initially created, it was feeling too barren for a place that's meant to be "lively". And so, Caine went and copy-pasted himself four times, while replacing the heads with some die props he found on the floor, retexturing and adjusting their bodies, to fit their new roles.

A little bit of a code rewrite to make them able of producing any sounds all on their own to be musically intertwined, and the quartet was basically ready to go: but there's only one problem.

Caine completely forgot to remove the admin privileges from their code.

So once the four spawned, they immediately began floating around, dancing and creating the main theme for the circus, and did it all perfectly. So Caine decided that as long as they don't interfere with anything major in the circus and did their job as the musical minds behind the show/game's soundtracks, he doesn't really care about fixing this error and would rather let these four run rampant to create more songs.

Ever since then, the Die Quartet has been messing with every circus members, most of the time playing obnoxious music that fits the "current mood". You'll even see their canes dance to the tempo they've set, like some backup dancers.

Think of it like: You now have x4 Caines with dice heads, flying and snooping around, so that they can "improve the mood" with their music! Ain't that swell??

(But really, all they do is just annoy the Circus members just like Caine does, for the better or the worse. Probably the latter.)

Fun facts about the Die Quartet!

Even though they've all been created at the same time and share the features of a die, they do not consider themselves as "brothers", and only see one another as colleagues instead.

Their names are related to the type of their die: Tetra (yellow), Dodeca (purple), Cuba (red), and Octa (green).

Despite being reused assets of Caine himself, they have distinct personalities that separate them from each other: Tetra is more joyful and playful, Dodeca is a more dramatic/theatric and over the top, Cuba is the natural lead and more stern than anybody, and Octa is the more closed off of the gang but willing to provide his best.

Yet, they all still lack awareness of personal space and boundaries just like Caine, and WILL be intrusive towards anyone they set their sights on, with the intent of predicting their mood and setting the current situation perfectly in musical form. (ex. if a character is sneaking, all four will follow "cautiously" behind while one imitates/pulls out a tiny piano playing to the theme of "tip-toeing". You know, like a cartoon gag.)

Although they can perfectly imitate ANY sound or instrument imaginable, They'll still pull out a "physical" instrument if the gag calls for it.

BOUNDARIES!

You can pretty much draw fanart of them! In fact I would REALLY love to see it and I encourage it! Really, just don't claim them as your own, or steal their designs.

NSFW of them is accepted, but please keep in mind that I have an SFW blog. Which means THERE ARE MINORS. Show them to me privately instead, I'd still love to see it <3

While NSFW is accepted (privately), please make it a morally decent one, because I don't really wanna see some disgusting stuff. This pretty much includes: non-con, scat, etc.

Aside from that though, I hope you all enjoyed these four! I really love how they turned out, and would love to draw them more. I was initially hesitant on showing my TADC OCs because I don't think people would like 'em, but fuck it.

My boys, they deserve to be seen even if just by a few people on the internet.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc oc #ocs #my ocs #oc info #the die quartet #the amazing digital circus oc #tadc original character #pomni #artists on tumblr #digital art #art #my art <3

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timbit-robin-art · 1 year ago

Note

I am loving your x-men art atm!! It is all so good and so cute!! Especially your chibi versions!! And I am very intrigued by your recent band au too! Logan as the reluctant yet supportive teacher is perfect! I'd love to hear more about that!! Xxxxxxx

More about Mr. Logan? Let’s see.

I think it’s a very funny idea that his backstory is the exact same despite it being an X-Men-less universe. He’s still Weapon X and did military work, it’s just that once he decided he was done with it all, he decided to become a teacher at the private school. You find this out when he’s whisked away for S.H.I.E.L.D shenanigans while the band is doing some mundane activity. Cue everyone trying to get Kurt’s chemistry grade up periodically interrupted by Mr. Logan going through actual hell.

I mentioned before that I think he knows the bass. It’s just a hobby of his, mostly to take his mind off of things, so no one else really knows he can play. Except for one specific alumni;

Mr. Logan actually recommended Rogue to Xavier’s mutant education scholarship after having a chance encounter with her. While she refused to take residency up in the Institute, she eventually gave into Mr. Logan’s urges to at least attend the school. This is the start of their delinquent-child-who-gets-adopted-by-the-gruff-old-man dynamic. Mr. Logan eventually teaches her the bass, and she really takes off with it. I can see her being a part of her own southern fem punk band after she graduates.

(I think it goes without saying that Rogue is the group’s vodka wine aunt that makes her occasional appearance. When Mr. Logan is preoccupied, leave it to Rogue to recklessly drive them to their gigs.)

Also, while we’re talking about the band universe, I think I figured out the eventual 5th member;

Meet Kitty Pryde, the freshmen that joins as their second guitar. She also knows how to play piano, but she prefers the mobility guitar grants her (she cannot stand still when she plays music). She probably met Kurt first in the music room while she was practicing for a piano recital. Though Kurt can recognize the musical talent she has, she can tell her heart isn’t into it. So now there’s a montage of Kurt and Kitty messing around with other instruments. Neither of them really know how to play anything besides piano, they’re just trying to see what feels right for Kitty. And that’s how she finds her interest in guitars.

I think it would actually take a while before she gets used to guitar. Hank would try to teach her, but Kitty’s learning style just doesn’t match well with Hank’s teaching style. So everyone thinks that she’s just not meant to play the guitar until some sort of epiphany happens, and suddenly she can absolutely shred.

She rounds out the group quite well, don’t you think?

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jensettermandu · 1 year ago

Text

beware - kim minjeong

genre; smut

pairing; tattooist!winter x rockstar!female reader

content; smut, cunnilingus (r. giving), fingering (r, giving), brief mention of choking and spanking, implications of an unhealthy relationship, winter and reader both have piercings and tattoos but it doesnt go too much into it!

wc; 3.8k+

masterlist.

Her feet came to a stop, looking at the tattoo place and hoping that Minjeong wouldn’t throw her out this time too, last time was in the middle of the night, out in the middle of nowhere in a cheap motel. Her eyes scanned through the big glass windows, seeing the shorter girl who was sitting on the saddle chair with her back facing the window.

Minjeong slowly finished fixing her station, cleaning every little thing and organising everything, hating when her workstation would be messy. It wouldn’t even pass by Richie if it was and she was sure she would get fired as the guy had a lot of high-end clients because the place was known and had celebrities stopping by.

She was somewhat underpaid despite having more clients than most of the other tattooists because of her designs and skill, but she knew that if she got hired anywhere she wouldn’t even get half the pay. It was a dog-eat-dog world in the end.

Her ears were being graced with the heavy instrumental and the aggressive vocal fry of the metal song playing, that was until they were graced with the opening of the door.

She was closing tonight and hated people who couldn’t read closing hours that were written clearly on the glass doors. “It clearly says that it’s closed.” She informed with an annoyed grumble, sighing as she waited for a response only to get none.

Her ears tried to catch any sound of whoever entered as she had yet to turn around which was difficult with the music distorted music. She at last decided to turn around only to get stopped, her heart jumped up in rate at the cold hand that clasped over her mouth, the yelp muffled—in fear the first thing she did was elbow the person.

“Fuck–” She quickly turned around at the familiar voice that groaned in pain. “You’re fucking strong.” Y/n whined as she crouched down, holding onto the side of her ribs after the powerful blow. She was aware that Minjeong was strong after being manhandled by her in bed, but she didn’t expect her to have such reflexes. If she knew she wouldn’t have tried to scare her.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Minjeong exclaimed, her hands wrapping around the girl's arms who looked up at her with her lower lip puckered. The girl’s heart eased from the galloping that it did when she thought she would die or get kidnapped.

“You should know the answer.” Y/n’s voice came out somewhat strained from the pain.

Minjeong helped her back up on her feet, dragging the frail girl up by the arms. The strong scent of vanilla on the singer invaded her nose as she hadn’t been around the scent for a while.

Minjeong sucked air through her teeth and shook her head, looking at the girl although her eyes trailed her stomach and the pierced navel first before going higher up. The band member was busy massaging her ribs slightly. “You’re a female yourself, you should know what is bound to happen if you think from my perspective for a second.” The girl complained and Y/n’s gaze fell on her at last.

“I’ve been told that I see from the perspective of an idiot and not a woman and anyone can be an idiot.” She said with a small shrug, fixing the leather jacket as it had moved around from how she tried to see if Minjeong managed to bruise her. It was just slightly red.

She hummed and turned back around on the chair to her station to finish up what she was doing. “Whoever said it was right,” Minjeong confirmed as the girl seemed quite reckless from what she’d seen on stage and now.

“It was Richie—Is he in?” Y/n replied and looked back, deciding to sit down on the tattoo chair.

“No, I’m closing tonight.”

Y/n looked around the chair that had a bunch of levers to be pulled and whatnot. The girl pulled one and reclined it further back before lifting her head and looking at the two separate legrests connected to it. “This could pass as some BDSM type of chair, would you let me eat you out on it?” Y/n questioned as ideas started to pile in her head about how she could position the girl in the chair or the tattooist position her.

Minjeong finished and she turned back around to see the girl playing around with the levers and adjusting the chair. “No, there are windows right there and stop before you break something.” She slid over on the saddle chair she was in and grabbed hold of the girl’s hand, making Y/n look back up as she had been looking under the chair.

The rockstar that had been plaguing Minjeong lately blew away the strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes and the two locked eyes, Y/n smiling at the girl. “But it could work if there weren’t any windows.” Y/n prompted as the idea as a whole didn’t have to be excluded if it hadn’t been for the windows.

Minjeong let go of her hands and manoeuvred around to be in front of the girl. “If you’d do this…” She trailed off as she grabbed hold of the girl's legs, making sure that each was on the leg rests. Y/n watched the girl with a small smile, both of them in a better mood than the last time they were together.

They had been able to wind down and relax after their latest rendezvous that had been intense with emotions; from the night they spent on the shitty mattress in the cheap motel to the constant fights they could have whenever they were together. Passionate, but in all the wrong ways as they both could still taste the bitterness of alcohol and the saltiness of tears on their lips.

“Is this what you had in mind?” She asked as she pushed each leg rest apart, biting her lip as she parted the girl's legs and slid closer. Minjeong’s hands trailed over Y/n’s smooth and long legs, the scent of caramel and vanilla lingered along her skin.

Y/n hummed as the fingers ran over her knees and to her inner thighs. Minjeong’s fingers gently traced up creating goosebumps while she watched her fingers disappear under the black mini-skirt. Y/n expectantly watched until Minjeong caught her lust-filled gaze.

“Too bad there are windows then.” Minjeong reminded as she wasn’t going to risk getting fired if someone saw them and wouldn’t mind their business. She slid right back, teasing the girl and Y/n frowned, pulling the seat back up to sit straight as it had been reclined.

“When do you get off?” Y/n asked.

“In 15.” She informed her and slid right back to her place. The heat that was pooling would have to wait a bit more, although neither knew how to make the time pass quicker because talking would mean having to beat around the bush of their last fight or talking about it which they never did. It was easier to fuck away the memories.

“I won’t need more to make you tremble,” Y/n said and hopped down the chair, Minjeong’s eyes widened slightly when the taller girl grabbed hold of her hand and pulled on her. The girl rolled a bit on the chair before she managed to get up–ignoring her chair that fell over in the process.

“Y/n–”

“It’s 15 minutes to waste doing something better than sitting around.” The lithe girl cut her off and Minjeong followed the girl who knew her way around the place.

They walked past the counter and pushed aside the grey curtain that hid the small corridor that led to the office, bathrooms, changing room, and the first door on the left that Y/n decided to push open to not waste time—the supply room. The girl opened the door and blindly reached for the small light switch while entering and pulling Minjeong in after her.

“I’m not trying to get fired for having sex in the supply room,” Minjeong muttered as all the ink, sanitisers and whatnot were stacked on the metal storage shelves. The door closed in the dimly lit room that just fit them both.

“Trust me—” Y/n started and turned the girl around, Minjeong somewhat squirming at how cold the hands that gripped the flesh of her ass were. “We aren’t getting caught.”

Minjeong didn’t get the chance to question the girl’s words when all she did do was push her tongue against Y/n’s tongue when their lips met in that familiar kiss that was needy and somewhat sloppy. The barbell massaged against her tongue, making Minjeong play with it as she tilted her head to get more of Y/n’s mouth and lip gloss that tasted of vanilla.

It was the least Y/n could do after their messy night.

Y/n squeezed the flesh in her hands, Minjeong hummed and ran a hand under the cropped tee. “You have a nice ass.” Y/n breathed out as Minjeong ’s fingers trailed up her ribs before she cupped the girl’s breast and ran her thumb over the hard nipple, this time the girl had simple barbells, making it easier for Minjeong to tug at the bud.

“I’d have to say the same to you.” The shorter girl replied with her face nuzzling into the taller girl's neck to leave kisses that sent shivers through her whole spine, her lip rings gracing Y/n’s skin with a slight cold.

Y/n bit her lower lip as she pulled the skirt up over Minjeong ’s ass who pulled away and looked up at her. The air was cold against their hot skin and the blonde’s ass was left exposed in the lacy underwear.

“But I love your hands on me.” The vixen hummed at Minjeong ’s words and pulled her right hand away, the other still gripping her other ass cheek.

The slender hand came to view, the same fingers that worked Minjeong’s pussy until it hurt and left her dripping wet onto her sheets, the hand that made her arch and squirm. Somehow just seeing the singer and guitarist's hand made Minjeong imagine what it had done and what more it could do.

It made Minjeong lean in as Y/n gripped the side of her neck, thumb caressing the thudding pulse below the soft and inked skin where a tattoo started and trailed down. Their breaths mingled the tattooist stared up at her scum of a girlfriend if she could even call the problematic rockstar that. At least she was her tattooist, wasn’t she? She felt at mercy under Y/n’s touch and gaze, it was predatory, but she found comfort in the danger.

Her peaceful life of tattooing people day to day turned into one of chaos drenched in ecstasy which made everything bearable. God, Minjeong despised her girlfriend as much as Y/n probably despised her, but at the same time, she loved just as much as she hated, the same way Y/n did.

Y/n’s tongue stuck out, smoothing her hand over the slim neck until it was in her hold, toying with the lip ring on Minjeong’s plump lips that were wet and swollen.

“Y/n.” Her voice was thick with lust, her cunt already throbbing as she wanted the fingers to work on her until her pussy was raw and aching from being at it for too long once again. A barely there whine at the teeth that tugged at her bottom lips, loving how the hand gently squeezed her throat while another kneaded her ass. Her nails dug into the side of Y/n’s ribs where her hand was under the girl's shirt.

The two pulled back into each other, tongues moving against each other in heat and slickness. A gasp followed with a hum at the stinging when Y/n’s hand harshly clasped with Minjeong’s ass cheek the sound bouncing off the walls, gripping it and pulling her closer while Minjeong squeezed the breast she cupped in her hand.

The two stepped back as Y/n guided the way between the two metal shelves with her hands letting go of Minjeong and moving to grip her slim waist. Their lips parted from the messy kiss, only leaving remnants of salvia after each other.

She slipped her hand from under Y/n’s shirt, running both her hands to her shoulders as Y/n leaned into her jaw, kissing along it with lips leaving a trail of shivers and goosebumps after, making Minjeong ’s chest heave a bit quicker.

“Fuck.” Minjeong sighed at the way Y/n nipped at her skin and moved her hand up to play with her nipples, her pace picking up as she kissed along her exposed collarbones. Her hand kneaded Minjeong’s breast through the spaghetti top that stopped right by her belly button, the hard and sensitive nipples protruding through the dark material as she was without a bra. Y/n pulled Minjeong closer by her waist, making it easier for her to lean down to her breasts. The blonde gasped when Y/n’s teeth tugged at her bud through the shirt, making her whine at the pain yet pleasure as she unconsciously tried to push Y/n to get down on her knees.

The singer hummed before pressing her pierced tongue against the same nipple through the shirt. It eased the pain and increased the throbbing of Minjeong’s clit who was holding back on moans because she had yet to touch her wet cunt and she already felt whiny. The words that followed from Y/n’s mouth made Minjeong push her onto her knees at last.

“Gonna spend all my love and money on you.” Y/n’s voice humidly left her as she got down on her knees in front of Minjeong who held onto the top of her head. Their words tended to be fabricated and Minjeong was tired of listening to them; she preferred to have Y/n show it even if it would be in a different way from what anyone would expect.

The tattooist only had herself to blame for falling and getting tangled in the web of an unstable rockstar who was running a reckless life. It left marks on Minjeong, probably scarred and the only marks she left were with a needle and ink.

“Shut up and show me instead.” Y/n looked up at the girl above her and smiled while running her hands up Minjeong’s smooth thighs which would have her in a choke hold while her face would be buried in her sweet pussy.

The girl pushed up the skirt before attaching her lips to Minjeong ’s thighs. She could feel the girl holding back from squeezing her legs shut as she continued to kiss the inside of them with her nimble fingers running to the hem of the black lace panties.

Y/n pulled away and pulled down the panties, seeing the clear spot of wetness that Minjeong had left after her. She helped her out of them before stuffing them in the pocket of her jacket.

“I want them back after.” The blonde managed to let out during her anticipation of getting her pussy eaten by the girl on her knees in front of her.

“Do I come off as someone who steals panties?” Y/n questioned as she made Minjeong part her legs, giving her a perfect view of the glistening heaven between her legs. The vixen licked her lips and guided Minjeong’s right leg, her converse covered foot planting on the bottom shelf of the storage shelves.

“You do, I’ve known you long enough.” Minjeong grabbed hold of Y/n’s head, her back pressed against the wall as her chest heaved.

“You’re not wrong.” A cheeky smile covered Y/n’s lips as she leaned back in and started to kiss along Minjeong’s right thigh, the leg being propped against the shelf.

“I know I’m not, I’m missing pairs.” The girl breathily mumbled.

Y/n didn’t reply and instead reached her fingers up to Minjeong’s puffy and swollen lips using two fingers to part them. She leaned in between her legs—Minjeong releasing a light moan at the tongue that ran up from her clenching hole up to her throbbing clit.

Y/n gathered the slickness around the bud that she swirled with her tongue before going back down and doing the same thing again. Minjeong’s juices gathered themselves on her tongue, the taste robust on her tongue and addicting, making Y/n dp it much messier to have as much as possible to lick up after leaving Minjeong a sopping mess.

The light moans and whimpers gradually picked up as Y/n continued to run her tongue along the lips she held spread with her fingers. As she gathered enough around the swollen clit she made Minjeong gasp, the grip tightening in her hair and Minjeong’s other hand quickly grabbed hold of the shelf post for balance. Things clattered as they fell from how abruptly she grabbed it, the shelf not being mounted to the wall. She hadn’t been prepared for the harsh suckling Y/n would provide with her mouth on her clit.

“Fuck—that’s so good,” Minjeong whined, her head slumping against the wall as she closed her eyes. Her hips gyrated into Y/n’s face, unable to even try and hold still at the tongue that was flicking at her clit while Y/n moved her fingers down, teasing around the grasping hole that seeped with more wetness, running down her thighs.

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers.” The girl moaned out, feeling Y/n tease around her hole with her fingers, remembering the view of them from earlier. The words made Y/n moan against Minjeong ’s cunt, the girl on her knees squeezing her thighs together. “To just play with my pussy until it hurts.” She spurred, wanting to get fucked until her vision would blur again, to get fucked over and over again as it made her forget everything.

Minjeong moaned, her back arching at the two fingers that pushed into the warmth of her walls that were thudding, tightly engulfing them as they got clenched around with each moan.

With her lips wrapped around the girl's clit she continued to suckle while flicking her tongue, Minjeong’s moans becoming louder and her grip on her hair tighter as her hips bucked into Y/n. She continued to scissor her fingers inside the girl, doing her best to adjust the tight hole more. The room filled with the moans, whines, whimpers and squelching of her pussy and the mess Y/n’s mouth was making.

The blonde could feel her body heat up at the firm yet soft muscle flicking at her swollen bud. She hummed, swallowing the dryness in her mouth as she tugged Y/n’s face more into her dripping pussy, the fingers stretching her out from the motion and being eaten out was one of the best things she could have gotten from her girlfriend at the moment.

“Can you take one more?” Y/n pulled away mumbling, making Minjeong look down. The heat crashed in her stomach at the lead singer who was so assaultive on stage but was on her knees with a glint of submission in her eyes that were circled by the smudged eyeliner as her chin glistened with her juices, looking like she hadn’t eaten in years. It made Minjeong believe that Y/n could be different to her compared to what she truly was in front of everyone else.

“Yeah, just keep fucking me.”

Y/n couldn’t have gotten a better confirmation as she leaned back in with her tongue licking up and lips wrapping right around Minjeong’s clit again. This time she slowly pushed a third finger inside Minjeong’s snug walls which was enough for them to tighten at the stretch. She slowly moved her fingers, massaging and pressing her spongy wall while her tongue worked quickly, contrasting the slow strokes of her slender fingers.

The pleasure overwhelmed the slight sting of three fingers being pushed right into her tightness. Her juices leaked, running down Y/n’s wrist who was lost in the way she had Minjeong so worked up.

The build-up was fast at how her g-spot was pressed at and the work of the quick tongue, the hard barbell occasionally massaging added to the sensations that were blurring her head. All that Minjeong could hear were her noises, Y/n’s purr-like hums and how messy it was. Her mind filled with black as her eyes shut tightly and she gripped the post hard—something shifting and falling once again at how her body spasmed and she accidentally yanked on it from how sudden it was.

Y/n glanced up at the girl who arched her back off the wall and threw her head back, her cunt pushing into Y/n’s mouth. A splatter of words fell from Minjeong and the girl couldn’t figure out what they were as they sounded more like whimpers.

“So good, I want to cum all over your tongue, Y/n.” It made Y/n moan once again, wanting nothing more than for Minjeong to let go of everything on her tongue and face.

Minjeong felt the tingling spread through her body, her legs trembling and her eyebrows furrowed. Her breath hitched and warmth washed over her like a hot shower. Crying out at the orgasm that was way more intense than she expected in these circumstances as she felt lightheaded and white flashed behind her eyelids.

Y/n tightened her grip on Minjeong’s hip, feeling the girl’s knees buckle. “Oh fuck…” Minjeong breathed out, the energy draining from her body as it relaxed. She blinked her eyes open—Y/n pulling her skirt back down as she pulled away, pulling her fingers out and helping the girl who unconsciously slid down to the floor with her. Her eyes shutting once more.

She looked at the girl in front of her whose cheeks were all flushed, her knees slumped against each other and her hands limp on the floor as she panted for air in the tight and hot space. Y/n leaned forward, restraining Minjeong of any possible room with her hands on each side of her on the cold ground.

Her eyes opened, coming face to face with Y/n and despite feeling like she was held down by stones her hand came up. The tattooist cupped the singer’s cheek and pulled her in as she couldn’t get enough, she constantly needed more of what they had.

It had all been so seemingly innocent, but before Minjeong knew it she was dragged into deep waters, drowning in Y/n's arms with no way out as it grew like an addiction. It had been too tempting no matter how many people told her to beware of what was disguised as innocence but only led to harm. They both dragged each other and what made it work was that it was always a one-way ticket to the gates of hell.

masterlist.

#aespa winter x reader #girl group smut #winter x fem reader #aespa winter imagines #winter imagines #winter x reader #winter smut #aespa smut #smut #aespa x fem reader #minjeong smut #minjeong x reader #kpop smut #winter x female reader #minjeong x female reader #kim minjeong smut #kim minjeong x reader #Spotify

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just1cefor4ll · 27 days ago

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Hiiii! Love your writing 💙 if you have time, can you write something about our beloved Lukas? Maybe how a relationship could start, if both parts are introvert 😅 like a meeting and then how it happened, you can decide who takes a leap of faith 😇

Lukas Radzevičius w/ a introvert s/o dating hc’s

pre-relationship

you meet at a festival where you both perform right after each other

as you put away your instrument backstage he noticed how you simply kept to yourself no matter who came to talk to you, answering shortly and honestly

he decided to approach you, careful to respect your space as he simply offers a compliment before sitting down across from you

“Loved the setlist, couldn’t imagine outshining that.”

“..Thank you?”

you notice how he’s a lot like you, quiet, quick with answers and doesn’t try to be this picture perfect version of himself poeple made up, which was refreshing to see

as your conversation progresses, you both start to get more comfortable and get more talkative

doesn’t ask for your socials, but in stead suggests you exchange playlists

“Why not get to know each other through the thing that brought us together in the first place?”

when you meet the next month at yet another festival you end up asking for his socials this time

compliments your music taste no matter what it is

isn’t the type to message everyday, but you’re both willing to reply whenever the other texts

doesn’t pressure you to hang out but when you do, he makes sure its in your comfort zone and vice versa

you would think that because he was the one that made the first move on getting to know you that he’d confess first too, right?

^^wrong, you did!

Lukas had asked if you wanted to go on a night walk, and as you felt a sudden confidence surge through you, you accepted and set your mind on telling him about your growing feelings for him.

As he stared at the starry sky, you looked at him in stead— and the moment he looked back at you, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Words get stuck in his throat, and so he pulls you into a hug, hiding in the crook of your neck before cupping your cheek and pressing a sweet, meaningful kiss to your lips— giving you the answer you so craved for too long.

during your relationship

you understand both of your needs for space so there’s no tension when you naturally want some peace and quiet

however after some time of being together you’re often times quiet together

^^meaning cuddling together, listening to music together, simply being on your phones as one of you lays against the others shoulder..

Lukas is a lot more expressive when you’re alone

^^that doesn’t mean he doesn’t express his love towards you when you’re out somewhere

for example when he brought you along to Basel he tended to stare at you with eyes full of love, hands around your waist and during interviews or the semi-final when you sat by him he held/played with your hand

if anyone tries to start something with you he steps in in subtle ways and redirects the attention to something else

if anyone goes too far he cusses them out with zero hesitation

^^that clip of him flipping off someone? yeah that’s the energy he’ll have going on

sometimes just talks about his dreams and thoughts as you lay on his chest with his thumb rubbing comforting circles on your arm

feels a strong sense of love whenever you speak up for him

to put it simply, dating Lukas as an introvert yourself feels like being understood fully— having a space place without condition

#⚖️just1cefor4ll #lukas radzevičius x reader #lukas radzevičius #katarsis x reader #katarsis #eurovision requests #eurovision x reader #eurovision 2025 #eurovision 2025 x reader #eurovision fanfiction

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polaroidpascal · 1 year ago

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paradise city || joel miller

AO3 || MASTERLIST || FREE PALESTINE

pairing : guitarist!joel x f!reader

summary : when you and your friends go out to a bar to see a local band gig, you can’t help but notice how the guitarist’s eyes somehow keep finding you in the crowd.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, i imagine joel is in his early 40s, no age gap mentioned, mention of reader’s breakup, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel starts off a little shy but truly there ain’t nothing shy about this man, size kink (kinda?? a little bit??) oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected p in v sex, dom!joel, joel gets a little possessive (you’ll see what i mean…), praise kink, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ofc

fic playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0afpHjoOFylI01OTbV5jol

(picture joel playing during the guitar solos in every single one of these songs 😁)

WC : 7.9k… (no one look at me. not a single soul.)

a/n : 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! i apologize in advance for all the song lyrics i’ve scattered in this fic… i opted to make a playlist of the songs i think joel’s band would play but there were just too many good ones to pass up and i was losing it a little bit 🫠 also, shoutout to @joelsdagger for constantly yapping with me about this idea and letting me tease her about this absolute menace of a man and also @haileymorelikestupid for beta reading for me 🥹😭 it feels extremely fitting to post a joel fic on international women’s day where he fucks you so good, so i hope y’all enjoy !! <3

You and your friends have had a week.

Deciding you all needed a night to let loose and have fun together, your friend Erica found out about this place hosting a local rock cover band called Fetters Whiskey and thought it might be nice to come see them.

Earlier, you had all piled into the Uber and were headed out, a low girly chatter filling the car. The three in the back harped on about their spouses and all the little things that annoyed them.

“He left the dishes in the drying rack!” “She helped me clean a little too well and used all the cleaner, now we’re all out!”

The complaining did help them destress a bit.

You and Erica were in the second row captain’s chairs of the car, the three in the back doing their pregame de-stressing. “Makes you rethink the whole marriage fantasy, huh?” she jokes, looking over at you playing with the rings on your fingers.

You look up and breathe a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” you say with a weak smile.

“Well… have you had any luck finding anyone?” she asks sweetly, sincerely. Genuinely hoping someone has caught your eye.

You had a pretty nasty breakup a while ago, probably about eight months by now. You two had been dating for a while and the breakup honestly seemed to come out of nowhere, like some switch flipped one day and nothing was really the same. Your friends stuck by you through every up and down you had. You felt really lucky to have them.

“No. not yet,” you tell her.

“Well, maybe tonight’s your night,” she says with a friendly smile. “You deserve to unwind and let loose a little, y’know what I mean?” You breathe another laugh. “You do!” she exclaims, hitting your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” you say, the rest of the car ride seeming to fly by, a part of you kinda hoping she’s right.

The bar is crowded.

You walk in, snaking the group between the crowd and making your way near the stage towards the back of the bar, men and women alike all brushing bodies the closer you get to the stage, drinks in hand, friends chattering away, everyone waiting for the show.

Two of your coworkers disappear to fetch everyone a drink while you and the others stake claim on a little area near the stage. A couple of guys are on the stage setting up the instruments and making sure everything is plugged in right, the lights dimmed enough to not really draw much attention to them. It’s not long before the others join them on stage and start playing. The girls return just in time, handing out the drinks as the music starts.

The band is pretty good (you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re more than pleased with how good they sound). They play some fan favorites like Wanted Dead or Alive and I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, and they mix in some random fun songs like Play That Funky Music.

The drummer is clearly in his own world, head moving at a velocity you would think could give him whiplash. And he’s absolutely killing it, hitting every beat with fervor. You can feel the strikes of the sticks on his drums in the center of your chest.

Another guy seems to be the swiss army knife musician: pretty good at almost everything, filling in wherever he’s needed depending on the song. One minute, he’s playing his keyboard and the next, he’s busting out a trumpet, and the next, he’s busting out a guitar. And no matter what he’s playing, he’s playing it with passion.

The lead singer clearly loves all of the attention he gets. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like a cat lounging in the sunlight, basking in every cheer and whistle and fist pumping in the air from the crowd. He practically lives at the edge of the stage, crouching down to sing with the girls but backing up to sing and dance with his bandmates too, bringing them in on some of the harmonies and tying the whole show together.

But by far the unsung hero of this group is the lead guitarist. He hides off to the corner, leg posted up on his amp with the body of his guitar resting slightly on his thigh. He looks down at the instrument carefully watching his fingers strum each cord perfectly, furrowing his brow in concentration during his solos and lifting his head up to the sky. He looks like he feels every note in his blood, expressing it through the expert strum of his fingertips on the strings. He doesn’t have a mic and the singer doesn’t make him sing alongside him very much, but you catch him mouthing all the words and getting into the singing as well.

He’s a particularly pretty man and your eyes linger on him more than the others, always finding their way back to him, and always during the more raunchy lines of the different songs…

Well, I am imagining // A dark lit place // Or your place on my place

I’ma paint his town red // Then paint his wife white

But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears // By now, no doubt we’re heading south // I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth

…but who can blame you when he has such a reserved, cool vibe. Plus, did you mention that he’s really pretty too?

And maybe it’s the couple of drinks getting to you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just crazy, but it seems like every time you look at him, he’s looking away from you. Like he’d been staring and you caught him. You swear he starts to look ever so slightly more flushed, but it’s practically impossible to see with the colored lights flooding the scene. No, you think, that’s crazy. You’re standing in a crowd of people, there’s no way he—

“Hey, I think the guy on lead guitar keeps checking you out!” Erica exclaims over the loud music and singing crowd.

You turn and look at her, eyebrows raised before you turn back to the stage. He does it again, averting his gaze the second he sees you look and you feel a flutter in your chest. He really is checking me out, huh?

You keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back in hopes that you’re looking away. When he lets his eyes wander back to you, you’re still staring. This time, though, he doesn’t look away. His eyes won’t let him now that you’ve caught his attention — like a fly in a spider web.

He turns his body ever so slightly, facing your direction more than anyone else as he plays the rest of the song. The lights focus on him, colorful spotlights of red and blue illuminating his face as he positively shreds his guitar solo. His fingers expertly tap dance across the neck of his guitar, his other hand working double time to strum on beat and hit every single note. You watch in a complete daze as he finishes, sealing off his musical escapade with the smuggest wink right to you.

He put on a show. All just for you.

Something stirs in your belly, a low heat kindling as the band continues to play. Their next song — god, their next song… — really puts the icing on the cake.

The jack of all trades band member busts out a sound board, the sampled sound of a snare drum filling the space, a warped, funky-sounding instrumental following.

You let me violate you // You let me desecrate you // You let me penetrate you // You let me complicate you

The guitarist shares a mic with the guy on the sound board, offering back-up vocals for the song. He’s getting a little bold now, you think.

I broke apart my insides // (Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell // (Help me) the only thing that works for me // Help me get away from myself

He’s locked eyes with you the whole time, changing the tides of who is winning this staring battle for dominance. Each second his gaze stays on you, you feel smaller and smaller, completely at his mercy. He backs away from the mic, preparing to play and licking his lips in a manner obviously made to make you even dizzier than you already are.

I wanna fuck you like an animal // I wanna feel you from the inside // I wanna fuck you like an animal // My whole existence is flawed // You get me closer to God

He glances back at you from his guitar, a smirk decorating his face before he turns to keep playing the song. You’re in a complete daze. He’s clearly won this battle, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.

You have to have this man.

Erica caught a some of his little show for you, watching him wink at you and the way your features fell to a focused stare at him. “Girl, get a room next time!” she teases and all you can do is smile back.

When the set is over, you and your friends walk back towards the bar, not wanting to leave just yet. You claim a few of the tiny standing tables, again gathered with Erica at one while the other girls try to cluster around another.

“So…” she starts, giving you a look of anticipation.

“So…?”

“What the hell was going on between you and that guitarist?” she asks, her tone of voice high with excitement.

You laugh, looking down and shrugging your shoulders. “I honestly have no idea,” you say, shaking your head and blushing a little thinking about his little performance. “I thought I was crazy until you said something.”

“Well, whatever it was, you should go for him!” she encourages.

“Please,” you scoff and laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious! While you were having your little… whatever you were having, I was watching the whole band, and the other guys weren’t doing what he did. And he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

You stare at her, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and that small fire in your belly growing a little bigger, a little hotter.

Erica looks up over your shoulder, “Oh my gosh, there they are!”

As if on cue, the band walks through one of the back doors. Having just put away their instruments and whatever other equipment they brought. They saunter in, hair wet from the sweat of performing and lifting all their stuff back into their van. Trailing behind the rest is that damn guitarist. He scans the crowd before he sees you, his expression opening with a bit of an urgency as he quickly finds the bar to grab a beer.

You turn back to Erica, mouth dry and nervous. “Please, you have to go talk to him,” she practically begs.

“No, I- I can’t. I don’t even know what to say,” you plead. “I’m so out of practice.”

“Oh, quit it. I saw you looking at him first. You had him going before he got bold with you. You still have game, go get that man!” she says.

“I don’t know, Erica—” you start, but youre quickly caught off by a tap to your shoulder. You turn around and it’s him.

“Hi,” you say, desperately trying to hide the nerves threatening your vocal chords and smile genuinely at him.

“Hi there,” he says. God, his voice is so deep. You couldn’t hear it in all of its beauty before, but it has a bass to it that rumbles in your bones.

You stare blankly at him for a second before you finally pipe up, “Um, that was a good set you guys played.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, looking down at his beer and leaning against the edge of the table.

Erica watches with wide eyes before announcing, “Well, I’m empty. I’m gonna go get a refill, okay?” She winks as she walks away leaving you and this mysterious guitarist alone together.

You turn your gaze back to him and fully take in his features now. His eyes have their own glow to them that persists even with the dim stage lights littered around this bar. His hair is patchy from sweat but still sits pretty. His strong features demand your eyes and you’re unable to look anywhere but him.

He extends his hand out to you, “Name’s Joel.”

“Hi, Joel,” you say, shaking his hand and telling him your name. He echoes it and it sounds beautiful off his tongue. “Listen, I--”

“Y’know, you’ve got one of those faces that stands out in a crowd, anyone ever told you that?”

You shake your head, “No, not necessarily.”

“Well trust me, we’ve played our share of shows and none of them had a pretty girl like you in the audience catchin’ my eye every two seconds.”

You blush, starting to gather your mind back from the sudden thrust into a conversation with who you think might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life now that you’ve had time to really study his features up close. “You’re no different yourself,” you offer.

“How so?”

“I’m just saying, you’d think the prettiest member would be the one front and center, not tucked in a corner by an amp.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between your own not breaking contact as he takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t want just anyone lookin’ my way, I guess. You gotta work to see this pretty face.”

“Pretty, indeed,” you agree, stepping ever so slightly closer to him. “You put on quite a show up there.”

He leans down just a bit, closing the gap between the two of you even more, “Well, I did have quite the eager audience, didn’t I?” he asks.

You stare at each other for a moment before Joel starts, never breaking eye contact, “Listen, I don’t really do this… but I also don’t get distracted like I did tonight…”

You inch closer to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… your friends bring you here?” he asks and you glance at the other table where Erica lingers around your other friends and they’re all looking your way, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.

“No, we took an Uber.”

“Well, what do you say to savin’ that money you’d pay for an Uber and lettin’ me take you home instead?”

Am I really gonna do this?, you think. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you may want, but the way Joel is looking at you, the way he put on a show just for you, how he spotted you in the crowd to strike up a conversation… Erica did say I need to unwind and let loose…

You grin back at him, “Whose home are we talking about?” you ask.

“I think you know, darlin’,” his tone drops low and deep.

A shiver runs up your spine, that ever-growing fire in your belly burning hotter and hotter. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, making it look miniscule in comparison, and walks you towards the back door he came through earlier. You glance back to the bar, the girls still watching and Erica flashing you a smile and a thumb’s up.

Joel leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. You see the backseat loaded with what must be his personal equipment before his door creaks open and he sits inside, the whole truck bobbing from the sheer size of this man.

He pulls you closer across the bench seat until your legs are touching, his hand snaking around your waist as you relax against his figure and his hands trace your sides.

“I meant what I said, y’know. That you stand out in a crowd.”

You turn to look at him as he quickly glances at you and you slowly bring your arms up, one landing behind his neck while the other cups his face. You slowly, softly, tenderly kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck leaving open mouth kisses all over. He tilts his head to the side just a little, humming at the feeling and settling his hand right at the swell of your hip, pulling you even closer into his side and squeezing just a bit.

The drive isn’t long at all. He pulls into a parking spot lining the side of the road and once the car is safely in park, he grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply. You hum into his mouth, not expecting the sudden movement, and melt into his lips. His soft, warm lips. Your hands trace his body, the two of you unable to get where you want to be from sitting in this truck.

You pull away from him. “Take me inside.”

He immediately leaves the truck urging you to hop out on his side, offering a hand to help you out but not letting go even typing the code for his apartment and after you walk through the door.

You giggle as he pulls you up the stairs of his complex, the two of you itching to have your hands all over one another. You reach the top and he twirls you around in his grip, grabbing you with one hand by the hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, like his life absolutely depends on it, as he backs you up until you’re pinned to the door with his entire body pressed against you.

He fumbles with his keys for the lock to his apartment door, lips locked onto you, eyes closed, lost in the soft sweetness of your lips. He snakes a hand behind the curve of your back to brace you as the door swings open and he pushes you inside.

Your hands tangle in his hair grabbing the soft, damp strands unable to pull him any closer but wanting every inch of him in your mouth, on your lips, practically in your skin. You bite his lower lip making him moan a little into your mouth and your hands reach around to his face, wanting to stay lost in the ocean of his tongue and cheeks forever.

He pulls you back and you whine, already missing the warmth and taste of his tongue, but your disappointment is short lived. “God, darlin’… Need to have you.” he says, voice low and completely feral as he grabs you under the swell of your ass and you jump into his embrace. Your hands wander back up to his hair, pulling and grabbing as he trails his kisses down your chin, your jaw, your neck, soft sounds escaping his lips with every tug and whimper you give him.

His legs mindlessly take him to his bedroom, knowing the pathway instinctively. His mouth leaves your body for just a moment when plops you down at the edge of the bed, but he’s right back on you in an instant, reaching down to the hem of your top. You lift your arms for him to pull it off and he removes it in one fluid motion. He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra next. “This okay?”

Your chest aches with these little moments of tender sweetness from him and you nod, letting him remove your bra and he does so with skill, not fumbling for even a second as he tosses it to the floor.

His eyes immediately dart down, taking you in. He’s all but drooling, his gaze burning hot against your skin. He sinks to his knees taking one tit in his mouth and sucking on your nipple. Your hands immediately run through his hair holding him onto you and humming at the feel of his mouth on you. His other hand grabs your other tit, massaging it and thumbing your growing bud before redirecting his mouth to the other side too.

His hands drop to your sides and run up along your ribcage trailing towards your back, closing you in and burying his face into your neck peppering kisses and licks and nips there.

“I gotta have you, baby…” he mutters into your neck. “Lay back on my pillows up there.”

You do as you’re told, lounging against his pillows and the headboard of the bed as he pulls his shirt off over his head and crawls up to meet you, hooking his hands in the belt loops of your jeans. He looks up, his gaze silently asking for permission and you nod. He pulls them down along with your panties in one smooth motion.

You didn’t think about how worked up you had gotten until your hot core, slick with your arousal, meets the cool air of the room sending a chill across your skin. You watch as Joel’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, subconsciously licking his lips and softly grunting at the thought of diving in.

You open your legs wider, inviting him in and he settles between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs locking you right where he wants you, all spread and open for him.

He immediately gets to work, unable to hold back anymore and expertly licks through your folds. His warm, wet tongue feels amazing on you as it dances across every nerve ending down there, each one sending fireworks across your skin. You whine and lean back, lifting your hips up to meet his mouth and squirming under his face.

His hands gently rub your thighs while he drinks you down, his nose occasionally hitting your clit making you whine. He draws flattened circles with his tongue, the surface area hitting you just right.

“Yes… fuck yes, that feels so good…” you moan.

He moans back, unwilling to leave you for even a moment and he keeps going. One hand falls from your thigh and you keep yourself open for him as best as you can when you feel his thick, calloused fingers teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in easily, so he adds his ring finger too, curling up and finding the softest parts of you. But God, are his fingers huge.

Your walls constrict squeezing his fingers and you leak more slick all over his palm. His other fingers flay across your lips and ass, gripping you slightly and he’s got you locked down.

His tongue continues at your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you, the tips curling up and stroking you perfectly.

“Right there, Joel… right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the flame burning in your belly all night erupting into a wildfire and igniting every inch of your skin. You feel a tightness start to grow in your belly, inching down your insides as he keeps going, and going, and going, never letting up and reveling in each twitch of your body.

You look up and see him lying flat, his hips subconsciously moving against his boxers and jeans and sheets, getting himself off just from your taste. Finally, he opens his eyes, dark with lust and locks his gaze with you with one especially deep push and curl of his fingers and another wink. That fucking wink.

“Fuck… fuck…!” It sends you over the edge. The coil snaps and a warm flood fills your body spilling out onto Joel’s hand and into his waiting mouth. He grunts and whines, his tongue never stopping, not even for a second, as he drinks every ounce of your slick getting drunk on your juices.

He only pulls away when you pull him off by his hair, a single line if your arousal still connecting him to you and a groan leaving his lips as he lets you go. You fall back onto the pillow, legs collapsing from their own weight and twitching from your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Joel sits up licking his palm and bringing his fingers up to your mouth, jaw slacked and panting. Your mouth closes around his fingers and he groans, “That’s it, good girl,” he coos and you hum around his digits.

When you fully come back down to Earth, you can’t help but chuckle in the afterglow of your orgasm. Joel rests on his heels gently stroking your knees and you cover your eyes with your forearm, one big sigh leaving your lips. “I guess I should have expected a guitar player to have some skilled fingers,” you joke and Joel chuckles. “That was so fucking good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done with you just yet, pretty girl,” Joel teases, holding out his hand to help you sit up. You do and he meets you with a sweet kiss, his hands cupping almost all of your face as he kisses you sweetly.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, you notice another amp sitting in the corner of the room. This one looks old, unused, and the cable management could use some work, to say the least.

Joel follows your eyeline. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“That’s a lot of cables for a little speaker like that,” you say, following the tangled mess of wires scattered on the floor. “Why don’t you use that one?”

“Jus’ got old. Bought a new one and I didnt need it anymore.”

A depraved idea pops in your head and the question leaves your lips before you can even fully think it through. “Those wires… how strong do you think they are?”

Joel looks back at your face, eyebrow cocked up slightly, “What d'ya mean?”

Your bashfulness catches up quick, a shy blush pricking your cheeks. “I mean… just the outside looks braided, almost… it kinda looks like… I don’t know, kinda like a rope…”

His face softens, a look of intrigue spreading across his gaze. “Go on,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, dripping with sultry tease.

You look up through your lashes feeling more vulnerable that you have to ask specifically (he seems to love it, though). “Well… I guess, how well do you think they’d hold a knot…?”

He bites back a smirk but can’t quite hide his excitement. “Kinky…” he says with a little nod. “I like it.”

He rises from the bed but he doesn’t turn to grab the wires. Instead, he reaches for his belt, the buckle clinking against itself. “But you gotta earn it first, sweet girl.” He pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the side.

He pauses a second before reaching for the button and zipper, enough time for you to crawl to the foot of the bed and rest your hands on his. You slowly move them away and take over, undoing his button and slowly zipping his pants apart.

You reach under his groin cupping his covered balls in your hand and he hums. He barely fits in your palm and you salivate at what could be beneath those boxers of his. You look up at him with another gentle squeeze before pulling both down, his cock springing out and up against his lower tummy as he steps out of his pants, the tip already red and leaking.

Your eyes widen when you really take in his size and you salivate. You wrap your hand around him and very slowly pump his length, getting a feel for his size and weight and staring at him the whole time.

He looks down at you, eyes still dark and mouth slightly open. “Go ‘head, baby. Kiss it.”

You feel a flutter in your belly again already and you do as he says, kissing the slit before taking the whole head into your mouth and circling your tongue around it. His eyes roll back and he lifts his head up to the ceiling with a groan, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

You slowly take him inch by inch making him slick with your spit and using your hand to pump whatever you cant reach. Your other hand gently squeezes his balls and you feel his grip on your hair tighten a bit.

“That’s it, baby… Mouth feels so good f’me…” He starts to slowly push you down his length, taking him deeper and deeper and being careful not to get ahead of himself.

But then you moan around his length sending lightning up his spine and it feels so fucking good… A guttural groan booms from his chest and he starts to slip, pushing you a little too far a little too fast and you gag, pulling off until it just rests on your bottom lip, spit gathering at his tip and spilling over the corners of your mouth.

Tears prick the sides of your eyes and his hand reaches down to wipe them away. “Shit— I’m sorry… are you alright?”

You cough and catch your breath, something new and hot burning through your veins. Something about the way he lost all control… “It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say when you pull yourself together a little bit. You wipe the corners of your mouth and reach up to slowly pump his length again. “Let me try again.”

“You sure, darlin’?”

“I’m sure,” you say, looking up through your tear-soaked lashes, a small smile ghosting your lips as you nod.

He nods back and you take him in your mouth again, closing your eyes and breathing through it, trying to focus on taking as much of him down your throat as you can.

His hands find the back of your head again, not pushing anymore but tangling through your hair as you work.

He looks down and sees your eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration and taking him so well. He drops a hand back down to your jaw, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”

You carefully open your eyes to look up at him and when you do, his brows furrow with desperation, unable to look away from you as you bob up and down his length, hands once again pumping the length you can’t reach and massaging his balls.

“Shit, baby… that’s it…” he moans, watching the way your cheeks hollow and lips flush red from taking him. He’s twitching in your mouth and you think you’ve got him, flattening your tongue when he touches the back of your throat and swirling up his length as you pull back.

His abs start to tighten and you taste the slightly salty precum leaking from his tip. You work up the nerve to suppress your gag reflex as best you can, taking a few deep breathes before pushing yourself all the way down, taking his cock up to the hilt.

You stay there, letting your protesting throat constrict around him and he whines, his hand in your hair tightening and making you moan, another bolt of lightning taking over his entire being. His cock jumps in your throat and you think he’s a goner for sure—

He pulls you off his length completely and you gasp for air while he catches his breath too. “Nuh uh, baby. It can’t be over yet,” he says breathlessly.

You pout up at him, your doe eyes almost black from how blown your pupils are.

“Get back on the bed,” he demands.

So you do, rising a little wobbly from your knees and crawling back up onto the bed. Joel walks to the corner of the room and unplugs some of the cords plugged into the old amp.

He digs around in his nightstand and pulls out a condom before walking back over to the bed where you’re kneeling on the mattress. He sees you eyeing the little packet pinched between his fingers. “What’s th’ matter?”

You look at him, a blush forming on your face. “Oh, I…” Your mouth goes dry and you clear your throat. “…um, you don’t— I mean, I’m on the pill so, um… If you don’t wanna…” you ramble, trying to find your words but failing in your shyness.

He smiles smugly, tossing the condom to the side. “’S okay. I hear you loud and clear.”

You take a relieved breath and watch him stand there as he starts separating the wires. He twirls his finger in the air and you turn your body to face away from him.

“Gimme your hands, darling,” he says, firmly but gently.

You obey, reaching your hands behind your back. His giant hand easily fits both in one grip and he wraps one cable around your wrists.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, facing away from Joel so he can’t see, but you’re sure it’s audibly obvious when you ask “So this must be where the band name came from then, hm?” as he ties a comfortable knot around your wrists.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Fetters. Like restraints. Usually they’re on the ankles but I guess it’s the same principle.”

He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t help with the name all that much, but I guess ya’ really do learn somethin’ new every day,” he says just as he tightens the loose, but still restrictive, knot around your wrists.

You shimmy in them a little, surprised at how well they hold together. His hands are still there, rubbing over the covering of the cords and brushing against the warmth of your skin.

“These look real pretty on you, y’know,” he mutters from behind you.

You chuckle and ask, “You tell all the groupies that?”

He grabs your chin to face him, eyes scanning over your face for a second and planting a kiss to your lips before a positively devious smirk spreads across his face. Before you know it, he puts his hand on your back gently pushing down so your chest hits the bed.

“No, I don’t,” he says and you hear his footsteps fade. You sit there, face pressed against the mattress and ass in the air, desperately trying to crane your neck to see where in the world he’s going leaving you like this, all out in the open and exposed.

He treads back into the room and climbs back onto the bed right behind you, calves brushing up against the inside of your own as he grabs your hips to straighten them.

“I don’t tell the groupies nothin’,” he starts. “Usually jus’ ask if they want an autograph.”

The unmistakable click of a Sharpie cap rings in your ears and you feel the cold tip of the pen dragging along the skin right below the small of your back. You gasp, surprised at the unexpected feeling, completely shocked at the sheer audacity of this man, and you can’t help the butterflies it gives you, the way you mewl so quietly at the thought of him marking you with his name — his signature, no less — in such an intimate place.

You need to find a way to keep this man.

The pen trails off at the end and he recaps the marker, tossing it somewhere to the side before you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. He lets out a low toned, one-note whistle at you, staring at the dark ink branding your lower back. “Now, what a pretty view I have,” he says, a tantalizing, saccharine sweet tone lacing his words.

You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth at his teasing, his big warm hands rubbing big circles over each cheek.

He sees you clenching around nothing. “Want me to fuck you now, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please,” you whine, earning you a light tap on your ass.

He pulls on the cords and wraps an arm around your torso, bringing you up flush to his torso and reaching a hand to your mouth. “Gimme some help.”

You spit into his hand and he hums in content. “Atta girl,” he says, gently laying you back down and pumping his length with the wetness. You feel the tip of his cock rub against your folds and you squirm. He grabs your hip with his free hand as he lines himself up to notch right at your entrance. He slowly pushes just the tip in, the pressure making you moan.

“I gotcha, baby. Jus’ relax f’me,” he coos, pushing inch by inch into you letting you adjust to his size. Your walls twitch at the intrusion and your breathing gets heavier, soft sounds escaping your lips. Eventually, he’s up to the hilt and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. You subconsciously swirl your hips, the movement inside making you whine.

“Shit, baby… so fuckin’ tight…” Joel breathes, squeezing your hips and trying not to lose his cool too quickly. His cock bounces and he grunts, taking a minute before slowly pulling out of you as you whine at the loss. It’s short lived, though, because he’s immediately pushing back into you, the stretch and burn pulling a desperate groan from your throat.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You like how that feels?” he moans, picking up the pace slightly with each thrust.

“Yes— fuck, feels so good…” you moan. The way his cock drags along your walls makes your belly burn hot. His grip on your hips tight and threatening to bruise if he squeezes any harder, but you couldn’t care less. Just another way for him to mark you as his.

“Squeezin’ my cock so good… she’s achin’, baby…” He’s very talkative, you think and decide to play into it.

“She’s all yours, Joel. Pussy belongs to you,” you say as you squeeze him again, the pressure in your belly growing with each gentle kiss to your cervix that his tip gives you.

You feel his pace falter for a second, his grip tightening at that. “Yeah? Say it again. Who’s she belong to?” he says, pounding into you now, unable to keep control of his pace anymore.

You whine loudly with one of his thrusts when he drags up a bit hitting something new inside of you, something your ex surely hadn’t ever found before. Something you definitely had on your own but never this deep…

“Theeere it is,” he coos, pressing your torso down some more to get the angle just right and he’s hitting that soft, spongy part of you with every snap of his hips. You can barely form the words to tell him how fucking good it feels, nonsense whimpers leaving your mouth instead.

“Answer me, baby… Belongs to who?” His pace doesn’t let up and you can’t get the words out. “C’mon, you can do it, gorgeous… tell me…” he insists, slowly rubbing his hand across his own signature that’s been staring back at him.

“Sh… fuck, oh my god… she belongs to you, Joel…”

“That’s my good girl,” he says, leaning down and planting kisses down your spine, snaking a hand around to your front and circling your clit.

You cry out in pleasure, all the sensations getting to be too much. A flood of wetness spills out with a twitch of your insides making Joel’s cock slippery, letting him push in and pull out easier than before. He picks up his pace again with ease, rapidly hurdling you towards the edge.

My good girl…

That one little word finally hits you after a minute.

My.

His unrelenting fingers on your clit… the way his tip hits your cervix with every snap of his hips… my good girl… it’s all too much. “Fuck… fuck… fuck, ‘mgonnacome…” you mumble in a high pitched whine.

“Fuck yes, baby… come all over my cock, that’s it… feels so fuckin’ good, darlin’…” he moans from behind you, the grip on your hips definitely bruising now as he keeps pounding into you. Your back arches and your whole body writhes as your walls squeeze him impossibly tight. Your vision blurs and you have no control over the downright pornographic sounds escaping your mouth. All you feel is warmth everywhere.

“Holy shit—” you hear Joel but he sounds far away, your head still spinning with pleasure. “Fuckin’ hell, baby…” When you feel like you can finally see again, you see a wet spot on the bed and your eyes go wide, quickly craning your head around as best you can and see Joel’s thighs soaked from you.

“Oh, shit— I-I’m sorry, oh my fucking god, I didn’t meant—” you stop mid sentence when Joel plows into you again bottoming out completely, your words trailing off into a wailing moan.

He drags out slowly but quickly regains his momentum. “Fuck, baby… Chokin’ my dick so good… So. Fucking. Hot,” he says, punctuating his words with the slap of his hips on your ass.

Your legs start to give out under you and it’s like Joel already knows you’re almost too gone to take anymore as he unties the knot at your wrists, your arms falling to the bed. He flips you over, managing to stay inside, and lays you on your back. Your hair lays messily on the pillow and Joel leans down to fix it, tracing his fingers along the side of your face and kissing you deeply.

When he pulls away, he stares at your fucked-out eyes, his own completely taken over by his pupils so much that you can barely tell what color they actually are anymore. “Baby, you gotta give me one more…” he begs.

You raise your eyebrows worriedly, unsure if you can actually take anymore. You whine at his ask and he gives you another quick kiss, resting his forehead against your own when he pulls away, your lips barely touching. He’s moving in and out of you at a snail’s pace, so close to his own orgasm that any extra movement would cause him to snap. “Please, baby, I know you can do it. Doin’ so good for me already, just one more…”

You nod weakly and stare through hooded eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he sighs, gently fucking into you a little quicker and peppering kisses at the corners of your mouth. Your hands trail up to his shoulders rubbing up and down on his soft skin. Forehead pressed to yours again, you feel him panting, small moans and whimpers filling your ears.

“Feel so good…” you use all your strength to whimper out, barely above a whisper. His eyes open, brows furrowed in desperation. You feel him twitching hard now, so close to his own orgasm but not wanting this to end.

“S’good, Joel… so big…” He whimpers at your words, his hips moving erratically, unpredictably. He’s close, you think. And it eggs you on.

“Want you to come for me… Please…”

“Yeah? You want it?” he breathes.

“Please…” you say again in a whimper, grabbing his face in your hands.

“Where, baby? Want it inside?”

“Yes, inside… please, please, please…” you beg.

“Come with me baby… wanna feel you squeezin’ me… fuck— c-can you do that?”

You whine and nod, having been teetering on the edge of overstimulation with another orgasm growing in your belly. You roll your hips slightly into him, the extra movement sending shivers down your spine.

“So close, baby, I can feel it… ‘s right there, she’s chokin’ me…” he grunts out, painfully holding back his own until you come undone under him again.

Which doesn’t take long, a flutter of your heart and one big wave of arousal covering you from head to toe making you see stars. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, unable to even make a sound as you come on his length all over again.

“Fuck… fuck… good girl, ‘m gonna come—”

Joel’s breathing quickens, becoming ragged and broken as he grunts and whines and spills inside of you. His lips press to your forehead suppressing his noises with kisses there as he empties himself inside of you, filling you up completely.

Your hands scrape his back at his shoulders, your senses all blurring into one another. Joel’s weight falls on top of you as he moves his kisses down from your forehead to your nose and finally to your lips, his tongue licking into you as you feel his cock finally stop twitching. He sits back to pull out of you watching as his cum leaks out of you. You whine at the loss feeling empty but still so full from him, shivering as you feel it dripping down your body.

Joel wipes his sweat-ridden brow and sighs with a goofy smile as he looks down at you. Your body is still jolting from your last orgasm. Any more and you would have been overstimulated beyond belief.

“Now that I definitely don’t do with the groupies, sweetheart,” he teases.

You give him a playful glare and chuckle at him. “What about all that autograph nonsense, then?”

“Well, you got the first of its kind. Never signed anyone there before.”

You blush and stretch a little, suddenly feeling that damp spot from earlier. You sit up in panic and sit back leaning against his pillows again. “Shit, Joel. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, I—”

“Stop,” he cuts you off. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Sheets can be washed.”

“But I made a mess—”

“C’mere, baby,” he says, extending a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you towards him, both of you on your knees facing each other as his arm snakes around your torso pulling you even closer into him. “‘M gonna get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got a spare bedroom we can use anyway.”

You stare into his eyes, his words bouncing around in your head. We can use. “We?” you ask.

He scrunches his eyebrows, raising one at you. “What, you wanna run away already? Was it that bad?” he jokes.

“Oh, quit,” you say, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, standing up at the end of the bed and holding his arms out to you. “C’mon, pretty girl, how’s a warm bath sound, hm?”

“Sounds amazing, actually.” You grab his hands and stand up, taking a second to get your balance before following Joel to the bathroom.

When you’re all cleaned up, you walk into his living room wearing one of his t-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and some very oversized socks that he left in the bathroom for you to change into, towel drying the rest of your hair so it's not dripping everywhere. He sits on his couch, fresh pajamas on and dampened hair from the shower he took in the other smaller bathroom.

He taps the space next to him inviting you to sit, TV on and low, playing some random movie he found to fill the silence around him while waiting for you. You curl up into him, you warm from your bath and him warm from relaxing. He squeezes you close, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

Erica was right. You really did need this. Maybe it's stupid that you're growing so fond of this guy and you've known him for just a night, but there really is something about him. Something you can't quite explain...

You spend the rest of the night curled up next to Joel, your entire being content and you can only think one thing:

You’re not letting this one go easily. This one’s gonna be yours.

All yours.

a/n : thank y'all again so much for 100 followers, it means so much seriously 💜🫶🥹 and thank you for reading this fic that absolutely got away from me in the end, this idea tortured me for weeks and hopefully letting him out into the world will give me some peace finally 😭 but really, thank you guys so much and i hope everyone enjoys !!

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