#hosing him down LOL

[willowser-but-nsfw]

love island bakugou is pretty reserved when it comes to expressing himself, only very rarely vocalizing how he feels in the confessional and to you, when he's certain no one else can hear. the one time everyone really sees how down bad he is for you is in some silly challenge, one that has you in a gimmicky, skimpy outfit to fit the theme, has you jumping into his arms for a big kiss, pushing him to sit down on something so you can make a show of grinding on his lap.

and he's completely red in the face LOL everyone's screaming and whistling and he can't even be mad about it, he's just trying not to smile akfhska and then in the confessional, he's all suntanned and shaking his head, running a hand across his face, still blushed up to his ears.

all he says is, "man," ducking his head to try and hide his grin, teeth digging into his lip. "she's somethin' else."

[trash-baggins]

Logically, Sanji would be an ungodly mix of smells, and that just breaks both of our hearts. Sure, Zoro smells, but that’s just because he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t believe in showers.

[highdensityrabbitsituation]

It's senior assassination at work and I've decided that I am going to win senior assassination by confiscating more water guns than any other teacher or staff member

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Harleys started watching horror game playthroughs with me lol

[ceilidho]

sirius c

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 7; ghoap x reader) [tags: noncon, implied cheating (in the context of Ghost's refusal to be a negotiation king lol), very nsfw] masterlist

-

No one tells you what to do when you finally notice the larger animal watching you from the thicket. 

It's been awhile now, you suspect. So long that it's managed to follow you all the way home.

Now they insist on helping you around the shop while you try to work. Try being the operative word. It’s hard to get much done with Simon scaring off all the customers and Johnny dogging at your heels, practically glued to your hip. You briefly consider stabbing him with the snips but then think the better of it. Simon’s stare follows you too closely for you to think you’d get away with it. 

Plus, after this morning—you cut that thought off at the root lest embarrassment make your eyeballs burn right out of your head. Despite the fact that he never brings it up, you can’t shake the thought that Simon knows. His face is just as expressionless with the mask off, which rests like a heavy weight on the kitchen table, imbued with a meaning too potent, too loaded, for you to fully digest or, really, understand in any concrete way. 

But the glint in his flinty eyes flirts with amusement. Brushes close to it. 

“What?” you snap, eggs dangling precariously from your fork.

His stare hasn’t wavered once since sitting you across from him. He doesn’t smirk nor snicker, but you can feel the laugh like a phantom limb that aches until you try to scratch it. He has a face carved from marble or granite, subject to some horrific fate. A statue pulled down from its pedestal and hauled into the river, now dragged out waterlogged and barnacle-crusted. Something terrible happened here and now something else wears its face.

His knees knock against yours under the table again, forcing one leg to spread to accommodate him. You stare at the elbow resting on your table as he chews off the end of a strip of bacon.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he must have heard you and Johnny in the washroom earlier in the morning. Simon hadn’t even attempted to feign sleep when you’d come out flustered and turned around, stomach in knots. 

You can’t even look at Johnny for help because he stands behind the two of you at the counter, no space for him at your small kitchen table. Your life isn’t built to accommodate two men of their size; it’s hardly able to hold space for just the one.

Nevertheless, they stretch it to fit their needs.

Begrudgingly, you have to admit that Simon does help you out around the flower shop. He fixes the door to the supply closet that always jams, hoses down the sidewalk in front of the store where someone vomited near the entryway the night before, and even gives you a couple hours alone to yourself when he drags Johnny with him to do the bouquet deliveries. 

They come back with coffee in takeaway cups and pastries in a waxy bag and you nearly moan when you notice the label on the cup. Coffee from the good coffee shop across town. You actually moan when you sink your teeth into an almond croissant and then blink your eyes open wide when you hear Johnny groan in response. 

You steel yourself to keep your knees from knocking together.

It’s been a week since you saw him last. Hard to believe. You’ve been distant, rightfully so, contemplating the state of your relationship and coaxing yourself to the brink of texting him that it’s over, only to give up at the last possible minute. The tides receding again. 

You don’t think about how much you missed him. 

Since this morning, you’ve been on edge. Half tempted to corral Johnny into your apartment upstairs for some alone time. You don’t think Simon would allow that though, whether out of some sadistic glee in seeing you squirm or out of jealousy. It doesn’t seem unlikely. He acts like Johnny is his to do with what he pleases, and Johnny beams up at him like the sun and lets him.

You hadn’t realized there had been a third person in your relationship. Now it feels like his presence has always been felt. You can’t imagine Johnny without the half-shadow cast over his face.

All day, you wait for Johnny to break. Part of you hopes that it’ll be sooner rather than later. Unless he’s been entertaining someone on the side—and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, you discount that thought the second it comes to you, sure that you’d know if there was another woman—it’s likely that he hasn’t fucked in a week. He acts like it too, hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Every accidental step back comes with a chance of landing straight into his arms. 

When you touch his arm gently to ask him to help you move a heavy flower pot, he looks down at you with irises gone black, ready to fuck on a dime. It’s not the right place or time, and you’re still tremendously pissed at him for letting his superior grope you in front of their whole platoon or whatever, but you’ve also gone a week without his dick, and you’re starting to think that your pride shouldn’t get in the way of good dick.

But then he looks over at the hulking figure haunting the doorway and draws back. The shadow on your relationship again. The tension breaks. Even though he postures and flexes when he helps you move the flower pot, it doesn’t come with an invitation to sneak away to your apartment upstairs. Johnny grits his teeth and holds himself back because Simon tells him to; because, in Simon’s own words, he’s a good lad. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask Simon when Johnny goes to take a leak, but he just stares at you with eyes still darkened by poorly wiped off eye black. 

The oxygen is sucked out of the room when it’s just the two of you. He’s imposing from afar, accentuated by the innate knowledge—gleaned just from looking at him, nothing more than that, just the size of him in his line of work—that he’s the most dangerous thing around, but with no one else to hide behind, you can’t help but feel like a trapped animal. 

“Means he knows who’s in charge,” he says. 

Like that’s supposed to tell you anything. 

The air still crackles with tension when Johnny comes back. He glances around almost nervously, pupils dilating. 

“The two of ye finally gettin’ on?” he asks.

There’s a moment where you consider ripping the veil down and saying, no, we aren’t, Johnny. You quisling. You can see exactly how uncomfortable I am. It’s more than visible; it’s oozing from my pores. You’ve let a wild animal into my house and now it won’t leave. In fact, it’s pissing on my sheets to mark its territory. You let it in knowingly, and even though you know something’s wrong, you’re letting it get worse.

Simon’s smile is severe and whetted when he cuts off your train of thought. “Reckon we're getting on like a house on fire, eh?” 

You can’t muster more than a weak smile and nod in response to that.

Around mid afternoon, a regular client calls in with a large, last minute order. You accept it because it’s nothing you don’t already have in stock, but it means you have to close the shop early to work on her order and then load up the van to drive to her place to drop the flowers off.

“I’ll come with you,” Simon grunts when you flip the sign and tell the two of them about your plans.

You freeze, a shudder rippling down your spine. “That’s not necessary—I can do it myself.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do it all the time when you’re not here!”

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, eyes going hard. Daring you to argue.

You’ve been getting the sense all day that he’s been trying to corner you, trying to get you on your own. You evade his efforts like a prey animal, but all that does is make him work harder for it. 

You look to Johnny for any kind of reassurance, someone to back you up and agree that you’re more than capable since you do this all the time, but he just grins from behind the counter where he helps cut lengths of cellophane and ribbon for the bouquets. “Aye, hen, let him help. Ye cannae carry all of that yourself.”

Your brain clicks back on when you’re barrelling towards your client’s place at breakneck speed, far too fast for a residential road. It’s not you driving though. Simon has himself parked in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other dangling loosely out the window. His driving makes your stomach churn, nausea brewing. You bone-knuckle the grab handle reflexively. 

“Could you slow down?” you hiss out through clenched teeth.

Simon ignores you until you start to scroll through your phone to distract yourself. He transfers the hand on the wheel to jostle your knee with his free hand. “Eyes on the road.”

“I’m not even driving you,” you squawk, heart thudding in your chest when his hand doesn’t lift off your knee. 

“Tell me when to turn, doll.” The pet name makes your stomach jump. When he says it, his hand tightens over your knee, thick fingers with scraped up knuckles curling around, the width of his palm wider than your kneecap and you stare down dumbly, rabbit heart careening at the same speed as the van. 

You’re so dumbfounded that you nearly miss the street. He takes the turn suddenly when you mention it instead of making the sensible call to go up the next street and then come back down, and you swear and yell when he nearly takes the van onto the right two wheels. 

The sweat is still dripping down the nape of your neck when he parks in front of the client’s venue.

Simon ignores any attempt of yours to help unload the van. All you can do is watch helplessly as he carries multiple arrangements into the venue at once, leaving you to handle the contract and payment collection. The situation is spiraling rapidly out of your control. 

Your client, a housewife about a decade or so older than you, eyes him as he passes with two flower pots tucked under his arms. 

“I didn’t know you changed staff,” she murmurs, eyes following him into the next room and lingering on the backs of his thighs when he bends down to deposit the flower pots, making the material of his pants strain tight around his glutes and hamstrings. 

“I didn’t,” you protest, shaking your head. “That’s—he’s my boyfriend’s coworker. Um, his boss, I mean. I think. He’s just helping out for the day.”

“Well, I know how I’d like him to help out,” someone else giggles. One of the venue staff, judging by her uniform. Even your client titters at that.

Simon’s more approachable with the mask off, it seems. Still verging on the preternatural, but at least without the mask he seems more human. All six-foot-five-inches of him, arms and legs packed with a generous helping of muscle and fat; a square jaw must be appealing to any sex-parched person within range. It makes your jaw clench.

“Here’s your receipt,” you grit out before ripping it off the payment terminal and handing it to her. She blinks at your dour mood, unused to a less than professional version of you, but that’s what Simon’s presence does to you. Sours you right up. A lemon squeezed right into the mouth.

He’s posted by the van when you come out still scowling and itching for a row. He frowns at the look on your face. “Fix your attitude. You’ve already upset Johnny enough.”

You halt in your tracks, dumbstruck. “I’ve upset Johnny?”

“Yeah. So fix it before we get back.”

You’ve officially reached your limit. All day, you’ve been waiting to go nuclear, bad mood settling deeper and deeper into you because you’ve never been good at managing your anger. The audacity to blame you for this whole situation nearly makes you lose your head. 

Simon looks almost bored when you stomp up to him and stab a finger into his chest. You pointedly do not let yourself focus on how little his chest gives beneath your finger. “All of this was your fault for sexually harassing me in the first place. I don’t even think you were ever sorry for that—this all just feels like some fucked up attempt to break me and Johnny up.”

He stares down at you. “You think I want Johnny for myself?”

Heat flares under your collar, but you push on. “I do. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t need this. Johnny clearly values your approval more than mine anyway or none of this ever would have happened once he caught you groping me in broad daylight. If you want him so bad, nothing I do is going to work, so why even bother? He’s yours. The both of you can fuck off when we get back—I’m sick of having you in my space.”

The tirade leaves you panting by the end of it, and then you look into his eyes. 

You wonder if it’s a universal phenomenon to sense the moment when you’ve made a grave miscalculation. It must be. The feeling is overwhelming; for you, it throbs in your very bones. 

Simon’s expression never changes, but the light behind his eyes starts to flicker in a different way, and you are suddenly conscious of him not just as a man but as a man paid to kill. A professional at that. At least a dozen bodies under his belt and likely more, and yet you stand chest to chest with him like you’re somehow tougher than that; like all those bodies mean nothing, like his knife hasn’t quenched its bloodthirst ad infinitum, like his arms haven’t felt a neck crack until it’s become a habit, an easy kill, a morning fix. 

You’ve never felt more like meat than under his gaze. 

“Get your ass in the van,” he commands, and you listen because your mouth has gone dry and you understand now, somewhere deep in your reptile brain, a little creature hissing at you to turn and run, that he doesn’t warn. He just does. 

Humiliation festers under your skin when he buckles you in. Your mouth opens on a smart remark until you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye and it’s all anger leaking tar, mafic lava dark and flowing, smooth and lobed and striated with hellfire. 

You think at first that he’s just going to drive you home. Your words might have offended him, but the lack of refutation makes you think that at his core, he must agree. Simon is just another man with an unholy allegiance to ego, an ugly incarnation of desire and pride that you might have briefly mistook as a person as complex as yourself until he snuffed that inkling right out with a hand on your ass. 

Then, lost in your thoughts, you miss when he pulls over and puts the van in park. 

You hear the click of your seatbelt, but your head doesn’t have time to turn before Simon hauls you over the center console and into his lap, a hand already clamping over your mouth to muffle your scream. 

“I’ve had enough of the fuckin’ attitude, girl,” Simon snarls into your ear, shoving his hand down the front of your pants without any preamble, the stretchy jogger fabric not putting up any resistance. “I haven’t got the patience for it. We’ll sort you out and knock these stupid notions from your skull.”

You must shriek under his palm because his fingers tighten, digits pressed into your jaw to the point of aching. It’s hard to tell under the white hot fear that washes over you, nearly blinding you. 

If it bothers him to find you dry under your panties, he doesn’t say anything. Calloused fingers spread your labia wide and trace over your clit lazily, trying to coax the slick out of you. You squirm in his hold, desperate to somehow wriggle out, but Simon chooses now to give you a glimpse of his strength, holding you tight to his chest. No matter how much you squirm, there’s no way out of his hold. Shouting behind his palm doesn’t help either; Simon just curls his hand tighter over your mouth. 

Horror blooms in your chest when your core starts to warm up at his touch. The first traitorous bead of wetness nearly has you apoplectic with rage. His fingers saw up and down over your slit until he thinks you’re wet enough to handle two fingers shoved knuckle deep. 

“Enough of that,” Simon grunts when you yelp and knee the underside of the steering wheel in your haste to get away. “It’s just two. You’ve been fucked before; you can take it.”

Your knee aches from slamming into the steering wheel, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of his fingers stretching you open, the skin around his knuckles delicate and febrile. For all his flaws, Johnny loves getting his mouth on your pussy before trying to cram his cock in, addicted to the taste of you on his tongue when he’s got you folded in half and taking his dick like a champ. Simon seems like he wouldn’t mind railing you in the back of the van without any prep whatsoever. 

“Can’t wait to break you on my cock,” he growls, his breath hot over your neck, and lust stinking up the van so bad that the air is nearly rancid with it. Sulfuric. “You think you’ve had it rough with Johnny? You don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re in for with me.”

His hunger is a noxious, billowing cloud. Miasma like. It threatens to smother you. His shaft is hard under your ass, evident when he thrusts his hips up. Your ensuing yip makes him grunt, gratified, like his pleasure comes part from your shock. 

“I’m not explaining this shit anymore. This is the way it’s gonna be from now on—no discussion, no arguing, no nothing. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Simon’s fingers piston into you without remorse, brutal hunger foisted off on your body. You again try desperately to push away from him, almost levitating out of his arms until he forces you back down and bites down hard over your clothed shoulder. The horn stays silent when you try to honk it, mocking you somehow. You wonder if anyone would hear your muffled cries from beneath Simon’s hand if they happened to pass by, or if they’d chance a glance into the van and see the devil himself playing with your pussy in his lap and keep on walking. 

Your body plays you for a fool though, sweltering under his touch. When he growls in your ear, your pussy clenches up nice and tight, and slick drips down your inner thighs. 

A third finger nearly makes you choke on your gasp. You go quiet after that save for the occasional whimper, all of your energy concentrated on accommodating his fingers, each as wide as almost two of yours. A fourth almost doesn’t feel fathomable, but then he sinks it into you and every thought leaks out of your head.

“Christ, you’re a dream when you shut your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” Simon breathes, nosing the corner of your jaw. “Johnny picked a nice little cunt for himself.” 

He doesn’t pick up on the irony somehow. Even shaking in his lap, your brows furrow at his words, a barb on the tip of your tongue until a glob of slick leaks from you and wrenches you back out of your head. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth all condescendingly when your breathing goes hitched and panicked, so close to coming that you feel a hairsbreadth from it. When you jump at the sound of his tongue snapping in your ear, he chuckles, the broad chest at your back shaking with his laughter.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over your belly. “Tired, eh? Just need to come and have a nap. I know Johnny left you hanging this morning. Poor girl.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his hand from your mouth to your stomach, but there’s nothing to do about it now. All you can do is lean back against him and stare at the fine, blond hair on his knuckles as he drags it over your belly button in slow, languid strokes. 

“Oh god—” you groan when he thumbs your pearled clit and sinks his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, your hole stretched too tight. 

Sweat beads on your hairline. It feels like tears might be leaking down your cheeks, but it’s hard to say. The only thing you can do is focus on not coming apart at the seams.

The air in the van is moistened by your breath, the windows almost completely fogged up. Your lower back aches from arching into his hand. When it comes out in a sob, he tells you he’ll have Johnny massage it when the two of you get home. 

“It’s always gonna hurt a little with me,” Simon says, and you almost mistake it for apologetic until he pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss that makes you twist your neck and ignores the way you whimper into his mouth.  

You nearly black out when he finally makes you come, your head tipping back and resting on his shoulder. You tense in his grasp and open your mouth on a soundless moan when your walls spasm around his fingers. Nothing you can do but let it happen. Like splintering down the middle. It hits you so hard that your belly cramps. 

Shame hits you so much harder. A half second after, like the sky splitting open and a voice thundering down, you know what you did. 

Your leg gives a feeble twitch when he pulls his fingers out, his palm soaked with your juices. You’re a limp mess of sour sweat and come in his lap, reeking of sex musk and a warm, spicy scent. 

You squeal and jolt back to awareness when he pushes a finger back in, sensitive to the point of pain. “Simon, I can’t—”

“Hold still; m’not done yet,” he cuts you off, irritation layered in his voice again. 

You don’t have to endure it for as long this time at least; he paws at your overworked sex and pants in your ear like a bear. Luxuriating in the soft, wet folds of your pussy. His touch isn’t clumsy, but it feels like he’s making up for lost time. It almost makes you wonder how long he’s wanting to get between your legs, but that thought evaporates when he reaches further down to press his fingers against the rim of your other hole, chuckling into your hair when you clench up. 

Then, after a few minutes, he pulls his hand out of your joggers and pats your belly with his wet fingers, leaving dewy strands of your juices on your skin before helping you back into the passenger seat. You don’t even have it in you to protest when he buckles you in again. You even accept it when he leans over to plant another wet kiss on your mouth, one with too much tongue and too much teeth, come drunk and aching for any kind of affection. 

“Sweet as pie, eh?” Simon rasps, eyes half-lidded and heady. Almost lovesick. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

You stare at the side of his head as he drives the two of you back to the shop, eyes glued to his cauliflower ear. Rough son of a bitch. Brute strength hewn into his bones, covetous need in his veins.

And this is what your boyfriend thought was appropriate to bring home. 

He stops one more time to feed his cock down your throat before you make it home. Your tongue curls around the mushroomed head of dick when he drags your head down, the wiry hair at his crotch tickling your nose. The scent of him here is pungent, musky. Old lichenous rocks and rust like blood on your tongue. You’re so pliable that you hardly even gag when it touches the back of your throat. 

His come is still hot and tacky on your tongue when he pulls you into his lap to let you cry it out, wiping up your tears with a rough thumb. It’s a while before you manage to settle down again. 

Johnny’s still beaming behind the counter when you come in, Simon at your rear to keep you from running, his hand planted firmly at the small of your back. You can barely look your boyfriend in the eye. You’re afraid he’ll see it plain as day on your face, hair mused and lips swollen from sucking his lieutenant off in the van on the drive home. 

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” he asks, either deliberately ignoring the obvious or naively trusting. You don’t know which would be worse.

You can hear the dry grin in Simon’s voice. “We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?”

All you can muster is a weak smile and croak, “Yep. We did.”

You hold off a flinch when Simon’s hand slips down and grabs a handful of your ass.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

could you speak more to the point you made about seals in your post about moo deng? i see a lot of videos of seals at aquariums and want to know like, bad things i should be looking out for. thank you for your thoughtful writeups!

Thank you for your question! It's just a pet peeve I've had about people "dog-ifying" seals so they ignore a lot of behaviours that are indications of stress or aggression. And as long as it's memeable the facility's conditions aren't questioned.

Like this:

That water is absolutely filthy and belly slapping (unless it's a cued behaviour) is a threat display. But these videos seem to still be considered acceptable meme content...

A lot of "funny seal videos" are of unsafe wildlife interactions, like divers allowing seals to chew on their gear or people letting their dogs chase and interact with seals. Because seals appear more dog-like and is cute, they are more "meme-able".

A big example of this is Neil the seal, a juvenile elephant seal demonstrating a disturbing level of habituation towards humans and, as he's grown up, is also showing signs of hormonal aggressive behaviour towards things like traffic cones, in preparation for future fights against other elephant seals for territory.

Because he's become a meme though, no one is taking his behaviour seriously and people get way too close to him, despite it being illegal to do so. He shows aggression towards to authorities trying to move him off the road and away from danger as well.

Marine mammal experts had to stop sharing his location so people would stop tracking him down to shove a camera in his face for their viral videos

His aggressive displays are still laughed off as "Neil just being silly and having fun" - but it won't be funny when he's a full grown elephant seal male body slamming cars and fences down. He has been relocated several times and continues to come back because he's been habituated so throughly by the locals.

That's a threat display. He's not a dog. jfc. This guy was even hosing Neil down with water, which was reinforcing enough that he kept coming back.

Remember who else got lots of memes for being so "iconic"?

Yeah.... Poor Freya. She just was looking for a place to haul out and rest and people wouldn't leave her alone.

But the reason why I feel this is similar to Moo Deng, is because she's also having stress and threat displays distilled to "haha she's so mad" memes.

lol it's so funny how mortified she looks..... probably because she's a baby being constantly poked, chased, prodded, picked up, hosed and harassed when she should be hanging out with her mother in peace.

Neil is showing threat displays and aggression, but being ignored and memed into obilivion.

Seals are unfortunately more vulnerable to social media hype, as well as any animal the public deems as cute and "marktable".

[mothhball]

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

 “Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

[corroded-hellfire]

I've got this image in my head of very pregnant!AYW reader sitting outside with her feet in a kiddie pool, letting the older boys splash around and keep her cool on a hot day. Maybe a cooler full of frozen treats at her side.

I have had this one in my ask box forever because I wanted to write something I’d be happy with and I think I’m there lol. I hope it makes you happy as well 😘

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Of course. The August that you’re seven months pregnant is the hottest summer Hawkins has had in over fifty years. Of course.

Eddie could see how the heat was getting to you. Sweat would dot your forehead just moments after you’d step outside. Your ankles had swollen to almost double the size. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you were a little more irritable than usual as well. But your husband wasn’t sure what he could do to comfort you. Usually, his way of comforting you included wrapping you up in his arms but the one time he’d attempted to do that you’d given him a death glare that blazed hotter than the weather. He’d learned his lesson after that: no touching when the temperature is above a hundred degrees. 

One early Saturday afternoon, you and Luke are eating lunch while Eddie and Ryan run a few errands. Luke had wanted to go too, but ever since you started your third trimester, Eddie didn’t like the idea of leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet between you and your ten-year-old son when the back door bangs open, making you jump and swivel around in your seat–which was no easy task. Perspiration runs down Eddie’s forehead, Ryan’s own golden brown hair plastered to his forehead from the moisture. Patches of Ryan’s gray shirt are black and clinging to his skin from the sweat. If Eddie’s black Iron Maiden shirt weren’t so dark, you know you’d see the same thing on him. Despite how hot and sweaty they both look, they both have smiles on their faces and Eddie looks quite proud of himself.

“I f’ought oo were goin’ to da store,” you say around a mouth full of pasta salad.

“We did,” Eddie said, breaths labored.

“And we set up a surprise for you!” Ryan adds, his beaming grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“And me?” Luke asks optimistically, craning his neck to look over at his father and brother.

“Actually, kind of,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Come on.” Your husband waves the both of you over towards the back door before remembering he should help you up out of the chair–even though you’re capable of doing it yourself. 

The boys both run ahead of you as Eddie stays back with your waddling pace. It feels like no sooner than your bare foot hits the grass of the yard than sweat begins to break out along your hairline. You swear you’ll never complain about the winter being too cold again. 

“It’s small,” you hear Luke say. 

Your eyes catch on the short inflatable kiddie pool set up in the middle of the backyard, two white and blue striped lawn chairs set up beside it, and a large red cooler between them. The garden hose is hanging inside the pool, the green tube writhing like a snake as the water whooshes in to fill the empty space. 

“Cause it’s a kiddie pool, duh,” Ryan replies to his brother. 

“I thought,” Eddie starts, reaching up to rub your shoulders before catching himself, not wanting to make your discomfort worse, “you could sit out here with your feet in the nice cold water. Might help your ankles, too. And you know these two monkeys are always splashing so you’re bound to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Hey,” Luke protests, but Ryan nudges him with his elbow because they both know that their father is right. 

“And…” Eddie takes your hand and gently leads you closer to the chairs, where he opens the cooler that’s nestled between them. Inside there are different flavors of ice pops, ice cream bars, and cold drinks, all enveloped in gallons of ice that have a pleasant chill wafting off them. 

Words become trapped in your throat. Your wonderful husband did all of this for you just because he knows how the heat has been making you feel lately. And after you’ve been a pain in the ass. This would’ve made you emotional even if the hormones didn’t beat you to the punch. 

“Eddie,” you say, all other speech cut off as your bottom lip begins to wobble.

“Uh oh,” Luke whispers.

“No, could be a good thing,” Ryan mumbles back quietly. He was slightly better at understanding the emotional aspect of hormones than his little brother. 

“This is so sweet,” you say, turning to cup your husband’s face in your hands. 

“You’ve been hard at work cooking that bun in the oven,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Oven needs some cooling down though, she’s getting overheated.”

“Ahem,” you hear from behind you. Ryan moves into your peripheral vision, and you turn your head to look at him, sliding your hands down to Eddie’s shoulders as you do. The eldest brother is clearly holding something behind his back, and you scrunch up your brow as you look at him.

“Whatcha got?” you ask.

Eddie huffs out a small chuckle and presses a kiss to your temple before saying, “Ryan found something at the store he says is on every ad for the beach.”

“You bought me sand? The ocean?” you tease the boy.

Ryan rolls his eyes, another reminder that he’s a preteen now. 

“No,” he says. From behind him, Ryan brandishes a floppy hat, and he is certainly right—a woman is wearing one of those in every ad for the beach.

“Ryan, I love it!” you exclaim with a giggle. The grass crunches beneath your feet as you waddle over the few steps to the boy. He holds the straw hat out to you, a bright grin on his face at your happiness. 

“You know,” you say as you accept the hat from him, “I’d bend down so you could put it on my head but then I wouldn’t be able to stand back up.”

“Like crowning a princess!” Luke adds as Ryan laughs.

“Well,” your husband says, coming up behind you, “it’s a good thing I’m taller than Ryan then, huh? Or we could’ve just made Luke help you back up.”

Eddie plucks the hat from your grasp, the straw scratching lightly against your fingertips as he pulls it away. He steps in front of you, and you keep your head level, only raising your eyes to watch Eddie’s pale, toned arms lift to place the floppy hat on top of your head gently. 

“Your Highness,” Eddie says, bowing his head. Your giggle makes Eddie grin as he gestures towards the lawn chairs. “Your throne awaits.”

Twenty minutes later it’s as if the summer heat were merely an annoying insect that you’re only somewhat aware of. Even though the chill water of the miniature pool only goes up to midcalf, sloshes of water have hit you all the way up to your neck. The cool beads of moisture feel like heaven as they meander down your red tank top, though. The denim shorts you’re wearing will weigh a ton later since the boys’ splashing has gotten them so wet, but Eddie’s such a pro at taking your clothes off that he could use a little challenge this time. 

Luke and Ryan manage to find games to play in the small pool—after Luke’s failed attempt at Marco Polo, anyway. Toy boats glide through the water, a few of them on the grass from flying overboard. The two boys shout but they’re outside and having fun, and it’s nice to hear. 

The sound of the back door slamming shut reaches you as you tilt your head back, protected from the sun by Ryan’s thoughtful gift and the sunglasses you grabbed when you got changed. Eyes closed, you listen to footsteps in the grass as Eddie walks your way from the house. They come to a stop and you sense as he crouches down next to you. Lazily, you loll your head to the side and crack your eyes open. 

“How’re my girls?” Eddie asks, placing his right hand over the soaked red shirt covering your baby bump.

“Mmm, good,” you hum. “She’s very happy you bought strawberry shortcake bars.”

“I’m glad she liked them,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “What about you, princess? How do you feel?”

You pretend to consider his question for a moment before speaking.

“Kiss me?” 

You pucker your lips and there’s no hesitation as your husband leans in and gently presses his own against yours.

“Perfect. Now I’m perfect.”

[charmercharm3r]

doing everything together

BC

Masterlist

wc: ??

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, bf!chan x afab!reader, porn no plot, shower sex, piv, oral (f receiving), cream pie, he’s so cute i love him

definitely not proofread, entirely self indulgent lol

☆ﾟ

He was very particular about the bathroom. Chan didn't care so much about the house hold appliances when you were looking for apartments together, except for the shower. This was the one area he showed true interest in, so you let him take the reigns entirely when he said he wanted to change the shower head from the original that came with the place.

You didn't know what he had chosen, only that he mentioned how good the water pressure was with the silliest, horniest smirk you'd ever seen.

As soon as the shower head he ordered arrived and he installed it, Chan wasted no time in getting you stripped and soaked. You got lucky that there was a shower bench, which was not what had initially drew you to choosing this apartment, but it was definitely a perk.

Lips everywhere, hands roaming, taking in the warmth of his body and the steaming shower, you couldn't help but giggle at how excited Chan was to show you the reason he chose this specific shower head. You broke away from his eager kisses to glance at where it was mounted, seeing the extra cable connected to a handheld head.

"That seems great for hosing down the walls," you thought for practical uses, not looking any closer and trying to capture his lips once again. Chan redirected your kiss to his cheek and grabbed the handheld.

"Just look," he asked, to which you playfully groaned into his neck before looking. There was an extra hole in the very top and a switch on the side. Chan reached up to the mounted shower and twisted something to turn on the handheld, then made eye contact with you while wiggling his eyebrows. Just as he did, he tipped the handheld towards the ground and flipped the switch. A stronger stream shot out from the top, and it all clicked.

You didn't get a word out before he was kissing you again and blindly leading you to sit on the all-the-more convenient bench. God, you would be dripping if you weren't already wet, Chan sliding to his knees in front of you. Of all things he wanted to be involved in, this was entirely unexpected-- though, not unwelcome whatsoever. He made himself comfortable, thick lips never straying from your skin even whist spreading your knees and fingertips toeing across your thighs.

Just to hurry things along-- you were impatient now that his grand scheme had been revealed-- you scoot forward, pushing your exposed cunt towards him hoping to entice him. Chan laughed into the meaty flesh of your thigh, lightly biting wherever he could and fully appreciating your newfound enthusiasm. Not that you weren't before, just even more now that there was a new and potentially mind-blowing sensation that he could inflict onto you.

He took your hand and let the stream from the handheld hit your palm, asking, "good pressure?"

"If you don't put that between my legs right now--"

"Okay, okay," he giggled again, "needy tonight, hm?"

"Yeah, and it's your fault," you emphasized your point by hooking your knees over his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his head.

"If I had known this is all it would take to have you borderline trying to mesh bodies, I would've upgraded the shower at our old place a long time ago." His hands kneaded at your love handles to displace his own needs for now, too excited to try this almost as much as you were. The sight of his slender, pretty fingers so close to your core was maddening and you failed holding back a slight rut of your hips.

"I would love to live inside you, actually."

"I say the same thing every time I see this pretty pussy of yours, baby." Chan wasted no more time and practically fell into you, first his tongue licking a cautionary stripe up your center, then suctioning his lips around your clit when you involuntarily threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned into you, vibrations of his constant vocal pleasure making the introductory feeling even better.

This was just a warm up for him, just the prologue to the real fun he'd have when he thought you could handle the lovely pressure of the handheld shower head. Part of you wished he'd give it to you already, but another part never gets tired of how good he is with his mouth. If Chan could, he'd live between your legs and have you for all three meals of the day. And what a blessing those lips are, already having you curling your toes and tugging at his wet curls within the three minutes he'd been on his knees.

Slowly, his fingers tiptoed their way to join his mouth, spreading you wider with two fingers for more access for his lips, then gently moving to circle them around your entrance. Your head fell back against the tiled shower wall, whimpers not ceasing anytime soon.

Just as you were gonna ask him for more, he pulled away, but not without replacing what he'd stole. Chan pushed two fingers into you right when the stream grazed your clit, lightly and calculated as not to do too much. He glared up at you with concern when you slammed your head back against the wall much harder than before, Chan stammered to pull away but backtracked when you cried his name, "don't you fucking dare."

"I do love when you boss me around, darling," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his perfect lips. The teasing came with retaliated pleasure, maneuvering the stream so it hit your clit more straight on. You moaned louder, shuddering and wanting to pull away at how much more intense the feeling was than before. "If you're gonna talk like that to me, then take it like a fucking champ. Don't let me down."

Oh, it was a challenge, now. There was no backing down, you were gonna be fucking good and take whatever he wanted to give just for the sake of being able to rub it in his face later that he couldn't break you. Just don't let him see how badly you wished it was his cock in you instead-- that'd be the real tipping point.

"That's right, baby, I knew you could do it," he praised, mouthing and teething at the flesh of your thigh, slight pinching making the pain mix with the pleasure much, much too well. His fingers started to slowly move, adding the needed friction from within and it had you sob, just once. "Hm, I don't think this is enough."

Oh no, don't say it. "Maybe you need something bigger."

Fuck, he's gonna say it. "Think you can take my cock, too, baby?"

And you're gonna say yes. "Please, yes, please."

Chan pulled the stream for a second to give you a comforting, pillowy soft kiss to your clit and stood. He hung heavy, swaying and glistening and so mouth watering. Somehow, everything was just the right height for him to easily find his reddening tip at your hole and push in. The stretch, a welcome sizzling burn that soon turned into nothing but tingling euphoria, coupled with the returned stimulation of the jet stream, you were floored. It was written all over your face.

He laughed and hid his face in your neck as you adjusted to the all of the new feelings. "God, stop fucking clenching like that," he whined, sending a light slap to the outside of your thigh, which only made you clench harder. He slapped again, a little harder, then groaned when your whole body twitched. "You're killing me here."

"Then make me cum already, unless you wanna die a slow, wonderfully warm and wet death."

"I love when you talk dirty to me."

"Chris, shut up and fuck me."

He shrugged, pecking your lips lovingly and resting his hand on your hip bone to keep the stream pointed just right on your nerves. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew the spot that made you want to claw out of your skin because the pleasure was too great, and he hit it every time. Only now, he could fuck you at the same time.

And fuck you, he did. He was slow and precise, just as ever, wanting to hit the right spots that caused you to contracted hard and practically milk him, that was his favorite feeling. Getting this little appliance did half the job for him, all he had to do was hold it steady and move his hips.

The sight above you was heavenly, his wet abs right in front of your face while his soaked curls would occasionally drip onto your face and cause you to look up, then be met with his sculpted features. God-- if there is a god-- it could very well look like Chan. The way he looked at you could make you cum by that alone.

It took another four minutes, tops, of him barely rocking into you, tapping at the soft spot within you and keeping the stream satisfying the pulsing along your center. You reached up for his biceps, lightly scratching and pulling him down for a slow, sloppy kiss, mumbling against his lips how close you already were. "Whenever you want, darling," he cooed back, entirely satiated already.

Chan did what he always did when you were close, and that was rapid fire. He quickly shook his wrist to let the stream run over your clit, back and forth, the feeling getting more and more intense every split second it left and returned tenfold. Until you were clawing down his forearm and abdomen, back arching against the tile with a last cry of his name and a string of whimpers.

Another minute passed before the oxygen returned to your brain and you could think clearly again. Chan was looking down at you with his forehead leaning against the tile as well, buried as deep in you as he could go and a silly smile plastered along his lips. Oh, how you loved his lips.

"I think our water bill is gonna be incredibly high," you joked, kissing the darkening red lines along his wrist.

"Just means we'll have to shower together. Y'know, to save water."

"I won't complain about that." Chan's eyes crinkled as he came down to press a kiss to your forehead in return.

"Doing everything with you is the highlight of my day. Even washing your stinky feet," he gently slid out of you and tickled the bottoms of your feet, getting you to kick him away while trying to crawl under the shower again. Chan caught you by the waist and held you from behind, once again hiding in the crook of your neck and simply enjoying having you in his arms.

[rubiehart]

Jj taking care of drunk reader at party or something lol

he’d kept half an eye on you all night, partly for your safety, knowing you have a knack for getting hammered, and partly to watch the way your body swayed to the music, almost in slow motion to jj in the soft orange glow of the bonfire.

he engages in lazy conversation with a group of people, pogues and tourons mixed but he wasn’t too focused on what the conversation was about, watching as you stumbled over to the keg for the umpteenth time that night, licking over his lips as he watched you struggle, concealing his smirk.

leaving the group and making his way over to you, combat boots crunching the sand underneath him as he neared, hearing you mumble to yourself as you fiddled with the tap, chuckling to himself and you turned around with furrowed brows, ready to argue with whatever asshole was laughing at you, liquid courage coursing through your veins.

spinning on your heel with eyes squinted angrily, losing the anger automatically when you see the face of your blonde haired friend, dropping your red solo cup to the sand and practically jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you chirp. “hi jj.”

he pulls you away after a few seconds, keeping his on your upper arms with a soft smile on his face. “someone’s a little drunk, huh?” and you roll your eyes, smiling mischievously and shaking your head, bending down quickly to retrieve your solo cup from the ground, spinning on your heel to attempt to refill your cup again.

before you can even pick up the hose, the cup was plucked from your grip by a tanned arm, holding it high above his head so you couldn’t reach. “hey!” you groan in frustration, spinning back around to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“give it back, i need that.” and he just shakes his head, still smiling. “think you’ve had enough of the good shit, yeah?” and you just shake your head, eyeing him up and down as he chuckles.

pouncing on you, lifting you up over his shoulder as you flop down against his muscular back, thumping your fists weakly against his shoulder blades in protest. “put me down! being such a party pooper jayj.”

and he shakes his head, adjusting you on his shoulder, harsh ringed grip on your thigh as he does so, boots crunching as he ventures up the sandy bank back towards where the twinkie was parked, lowering you into the passenger seat and fastening your seatbelt for you as you slump against the seat with a groan.

he rounds the bonnet, sticking his tongue out at you as he slumps down into the driver’s seat, turning the key and stepping on the gas. “loser.” you mumble, arms still crossed over your chest, gaze fixed on where the headlights light up the quiet street.

he grins and raises his eyebrows, reaching for the radio volume and twisting the knob to lower it down. “what was that sunshine?” and you sigh. “nothin’.” he nods his head with a chuckle. “thought so.”

[chamomiletealeaf]

This was kind of inspired by the conversation @captainswhore and I had about Price getting horny watching you wash his car in a bikini lol but I decided to write this with Soap.

Warnings: tit fucking, playful banter, suggestive gestures and innuendos, Johnny makes reader orgasm from water pressure from a hose 🫣

Soap on leave seeing you, a cute little thing at a charity car wash washing someone's car and imagining how you'd look all soaked and wet from the sudsy water while you washed his 4 Runner (@brewed-pangolin has me fully convinced Soap has a 4 Runner).

You're wearing a white T-shirt and a pretty little yellow bikini underneath it while you and your friends wash people's cars for donations for veterans.

Soap sees the sign and smirks to himself, knowing he could probably get himself a private show watching you wash his car if he pulled the military card on you.

He pulls up and you go up to his car letting him know about the cause and asking if he'd be willing to donate in exchange for a car wash.

He smiles at you and says:

"Of course lass, I'm a soldier myself. This is very sweet of you." He says as he shows you his identification.

Your eyes light up as you smile big.

"Oh! Then you don't need to pay anything! I'd be happy to wash your car for you for free sir!" You say so enthusiastically it almost melts Johnny's heart.

Then he smirks devilishly as he lowers his voice a little bit.

"Say, if you insist on washing this dirty ol' thing for free then I gotta give you something in return at least huh bonnie." He says and you blush, noting the smirk on his face and tone of voice in his suggestive statement.

"Oh no sir, don't worry about it, I'd be happy to do it for nothing in return. Least I can do for all of your service." You say, then add one more thing quietly after looking around to see if anyone would hear, but your friends are busy with other customers.

"If you'd like, you can drive around back and I can give you a private show." You say, feeling more confident and he smiles.

"Sounds lovely lass." He says, and you bite back a smile then direct him around to the back.

You grab a bucket and sponge and walk back to meet him.

When you get back there, you're surprised to see that he's outside of his car, leaning against the wall waiting for you and he notices your shock.

"What? I'm getting a private show, might as well make sure I see all of it." He says and you giggle, the handsome man making you feel ditzy.

You turn on the hose and spray his car, not giving him what he wants just yet.

"So, what exactly do you do in the military?" You ask him, trying to start conversation.

"Classified honey." He says, crossing his arms and you try to discreetly rub your thighs together at the pet name.

"Ok well, how long have you been in the military?"

"Since I was a lad. Been there for a long while." He says, and the hose suddenly changes pressure and spats out water against you, wetting the front of your white t shirt.

You yelp as the water seeps into your shirt, exposing your yellow bikini underneath which makes Johnny bite back a smile.

"Sorry." You giggle. "Wasn't expecting that."

He watches you rinse down his car then you grab the soap bucket and wring out the sponge, some soapy water getting on your thighs and dripping down.

"You know, my callsign is Soap." He says, and you look at him puzzled.

"Really? Why's that? Or is that classified too?" You say smugly teasing him, and he laughs.

"Smart wee thing aren't you." He says and you wink at him.

"My real name's Johnny." He says, and you say your name back.

"I'm y/n." And he repeats it back with a smile.

"Pretty just like you." He says, and you blush.

The sight of your white shirt being soaked, sticking to your chest and the sudsy water dripping down your thighs making your skin glisten has Johnny adjusting his pants where he stands watching you, and you notice, but you love it. He was so hot. It's not everyday you see a man as fine as him, so you took advantage of the situation.

"Ugh shirt's getting in the way." You say, and slowly strip the now soaking shirt off of your body.

Johnny then takes a seat by the lawn chair next to him and leans back with his arms crossed and legs open, really taking in the sight in front of him.

"Fuck" He whispers under his breath as the water and soap drip down your pretty body.

You walk around the car in front of Johnny and lean forward, bending over to exaggerate your scrubs of the sponge on the hood of his car giving him the perfect view of your ass and covered pussy obstructed by the yellow fabric.

You bend down to dip the sponge in the bucket and stay bent over for as long as you can, really letting Johnny get a good look at your ass and thighs before you come back up to continue washing the car.

Johnny watches with his lips slightly parted and he adjusts his hips in his seat with a grunt, his pants getting more and more uncomfortable by the second.

You then move to the hood of the car so Johnny can see the whole side of your body as you seductively wring the excess water in the sponge out onto your chest, the soapy water running down your body.

Johnny reaches a hand down to palm the bulge in his jeans as he grunts out an audible "fuck" and you giggle again, pressing your chest against the hood of the car as you wash it.

You continue teasing Johnny as you wash his car, then go to grab the hose to rinse the soap off.

You then move to the side of the car in front of Johnny again after turning on the hose, and rinse the soap off your ass before rinsing the car.

"You wanna help me rinse?" You turn back with puppy eyes and ask Johnny, and in record timing he's stood up and pressed to your back.

He watches the soapy water run down your ass and the backs of your thighs and he can't take it anymore. He grips your hips and makes a satisfied grunting noise.

"Well fuck me dolly, aren't you a little tease." He says into your ear as you push your ass back into him with a giggle.

"C'mon, help me out. Can't wash this car all by myself, sir." You say, and Johnny moans at you calling him sir and wiggling your ass against his now rock hard dick.

Johnny lets go of your hips and goes to unbuckle his belt and pulling his thick cock out of his jeans, and you giggle again as you feel it slap against your lower back.

Johnny kicks your feet out and slaps your ass, the suds sticking to his hand from the impact and flying off from the speed he takes his hand away.

You yelp and Johnny laughs.

"Aww wasn't expecting that were you bonnie?" He says as he slides his cock between your thighs, making you moan.

"This ok?" He whispers, and you whimper, pushing back against him, urging him to continue.

Johnny smiles against your ear and he begins to thrust, fucking your thighs nice and good, the soapy water making his cock slide easily between them.

Johnny leans back gripping your hips as he watches how the impact of his hips against your ass makes your ass and thighs jiggle and he grips your hair, pushing you down against the car hood.

"Such a fuckin' tease aren't ye." He says and you moan, his cock sliding between your thighs hitting your clit perfectly through your yellow, skimpy, bikini bottoms. "Such a bonnie little thing. Bet this pussy is even prettier aye?" He says then smacks your ass again before he continues to fuck your thighs harder.

You grip the sponge in your hand and push back against him with a whimper, blissed out from the feeling of him and his words.

"Turn around. Need to see these tits." He says, then grips you by the shoulders to spin you around, suds sticking to your chest.

"Fuck me." He says, and you smirk, pushing your tits together to tease him yet again, which sets him off.

His eyes darken as he grabs you by your elbow and pulls you to the chair behind him as he sits down.

"On your knees. Gonna fuck these perfect fuckin' tits. All soaped up and ready for me."

You get on your knees and tug the tops of your bikini top down a bit so that your nipples are barely peeking out of them. You then grip Johnny's cock and give it a few tugs before sliding it between your tits, the string of the bikini restraining his cock from moving out from between them.

You start to bounce up and down on your knees, not caring about the painful gravel digging into your skin as you titty fuck him.

"Oh my god fuck. That's it. Bounce those tits on me." Johnny moans and throws his head back.

You continue to fuck him with your tits, looking up at him with puppy eyes and a smirk, the soapy water beginning to soak his jeans under your breasts.

You look down and watch the tip of his cock appear and disappear between your tits covered in soapy water and you moan at the sight.

Johnny is a mess above you, panting like a dog with his cheeks flushed and he watches you titty fuck him in your skimpy little bikini and he swears he's never seen anything so fucking hot before.

"Cum on my tits." You whimper out, and Johnny moans.

"Want you to cum all over my tits. Please sir, need it so bad." You say, and Johnny moves your hands from your tits so he can squeeze them together now to fuck them himself. You move your hands to his thighs and let him use your pretty body.

Johnny squishes your tits together and thrusts his hips up into them and you stick your tongue out, catching a tiny lick to his tip every time he thrusts.

"Most perfect fuckin' tits I've ever seen. Gonna make a mess of them. Gonna cum all over these bonnie tits hm? That what you want dolly? Want me to fuck your tits nice and good?" Johnny moans out to you and you nod with a whimper.

You go to untie your bikini top, letting it loosely fall around your tits, and Johnny grunts at the sight of more of your chest being exposed.

"Yeah just like that. Such a good girl, makin' herself all pretty for me." He says, his thrusts getting messier and the mixture of water, soap, and precum smacking against your tits making a loud sloppy noise.

"Open your mouth honey. Stick out that tongue for me. Thaaat's it. Such a good girl aren't ye. Fuck I'm gonna cum. Such a bonnie fuckin' sight." He says as you stick your tongue out, waiting for him to shoot his cum all over your mouth and tits.

Johnny thrusts a few more times before his cheeks flush and he cums so hard he shoots his cum onto your tits and tongue, and some even getting up onto your cheek, which makes you giggle.

He's vocal, and loud, but you think it's adorable. He looks so fucking hot sitting above you like this, his cock nestled between your tits.

"Fuck lass. That- You're fuckin' amazing." He says as he bends down to help you off the ground and into his lap.

You place your forehead against his as he comes down from his orgasm.

"Wanna rinse me off?" You ask, nibbling his ear.

"Fuck you're dangerous aren't you dolly. Dirty wee thing." He says with a smile and you giggle.

You get off his lap to hand him the hose but he grabs you by the hips so you sit down in his lap, back against his chest.

"Wait you're gonna get wet!" You exclaim to him with genuine concern and he pinches your cheek, thinking you look so fucking adorable looking at him like that.

"Don't you worry about that lass. Lemme take care of ye now. You've been so good to me now haven't you." He says as he spreads your legs to rest each one over his knees.

He brings the hose up to your chest and watches over your shoulder how the mess he made along with the soap washes away and he coos at you.

"See? Isn't that better honey?" He says, and you moan at the feeling of the nice cool water against your skin during the hot summer day.

Then, Johnny moves the hose down your body slowly, rinsing off your torso and thighs and making you wiggle as he gets closer and closer to your pussy.

He smirks as an idea pops into his head.

"How 'bout we move these out the way hm? Let me make you feel good yeah?" He says into your ear as he plays with the bow on the side of your bikini bottoms and you nod in anticipation of what he's going to do next.

Johnny unties the bow holding your bikini bottoms up on your hips and he pulls the fabric away from your pussy. You blush as you realize you're on display for him and he laughs darkly at the sight of how wet you are.

"Can tell yer so fuckin' wet even with all this water on ye."

Johnny rubs your thighs and playfully pinches and smacks your clit before he runs the water stream over your pussy.

"Oh fuck." You moan and arch your back against him.

"Uh uh, sit still for me aye?" He says as he grips your thigh from under your knee to keep it open.

Then, Johnny turns up the water pressure on the hose and directs the stream over your clit and you yelp in pleasure.

"Ah oh my god! Johnny!" You say in surprise but you can't help your eyes from rolling back from how good the water pressure feels against your clit.

"That feel good bonnie? Feels nice up on your cute wee clit like that doesn't it." Johnny coos in your ear as you whimper.

Johnny's pants are completely soaked but he doesn't care, not when he's got a sweet pretty little thing like you wiggling and moaning in his lap.

"Yeah that's it. Keep those legs open for me. Wanna see you cum." He says, hand still holding your thigh open against him.

It doesn't take long for the pleasure to build and your at the edge.

"Oh Johnny. Fuck I'm- Oh my god I'm gonna cum." You whimper out with tears pricking at your eyes from how good it feels and how hot it is to be held in his lap like this.

Johnny turns to whisper in your ear but he keeps his eyes on your pussy being sprayed by the hose.

"Do it bonnie. Cum for me. Been so good. Lemme see that pretty little pussy throb." He says, and that's all it takes for you to cum.

You throw your head back and your eyes unfocus as you cum, legs shaking in Johnny's grasp.

You cum so hard you feel your cunt pounding between your legs and Johnny watches as your clit twitches.

"Yeahhh that's it. Yeah just like that dolly. Cummin' all nice and pretty for me." Johnny says, talking you through your orgasm.

Johnny leaves the stream going for a few seconds before turning it off.

"You ok lass?" He asks, and you nod panting, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"C'mon, let's get you a dry shirt. Don't want you to be cold." He says as he strips off his shirt and pulls it over your head to dress you.

"There. Looks better on you than me." He says with a smirk and you laugh.

Johnny ties your bikini bottoms back up and you then try to get up but your legs shake, so he catches you and holds you up.

"Woah careful now." He says, strong arms wrapping around you.

You compose yourself and you both walk towards the car. He walks you to the driver's side then open the door, rummaging through the glove box for something. He pulls out a notepad and pen and writes something down before ripping the page out and handing it to you.

"Here. Maybe we can go on a proper date sometime." He says, and you take the paper, realizing it's his number.

"I'd love that." You say, smiling up at him. "Considering you made me cum my brains out." You add, making him laugh.

He hops into his car and turns to you to say something before closing the door.

"Oh and uh, hopefully your friends don't notice your shirt. Or the state your legs are in." He says smugly, and you playfully hit his chest while rolling your eyes.

"Ugh, get out of here, before they actually notice." You say, and he closes the door and rolls down the window.

"Hopefully your friends don't notice your pants." You say to him referencing his soaking wet jeans.

"They'll probably be too blinded by how shiny my car is to notice." He says with a wink and you blush.

"Call me tonight?" He asks, and you nod. He then starts the engine of his 4 Runner and drives away after blowing you a kiss jokingly and you roll your eyes again.

You made your way back to your friends and they were so busy with customers they didn't notice you were gone. Hopefully they don't notice the paper with a certain soldier's number sticking out of the bow of your bikini bottoms, or the way you had a silly smile on your face for the rest of the day.

Washing cars was the best thing you and your friends ever did.

[babyjakes]

a diamond's gotta shine.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | toys

pairing | soft!daddy!lloyd hansen x little!reader

warnings | ddlg (daddy!lloyd, little!reader.) super soft!daddy!lloyd, just how we like him! butt plug (and me not knowing shit about luxury brands lol.) reader has an oral fixation; sucking and licking. anal prep/fingering/stretching. clit rubbing <3. mostly praise and encouragement. an orgasm as reward, yay!! implied aftercare. err hints at exhibitionism later? idk just to be safe.

word count | 1,425

an | this wasn't really the plan for this prompt originally, but i woke up today and decided i wanted a fic of lloyd gifting reader a luxury butt plug so we're just rolling with it lol. this one's dedicated to my sweet sweet angel sabby @hansensgirl hope you're well bby, and happy holidays to you!! <33

"C'mon, princess. Up on my desk."

Lloyd was gently nudging you toward the large surface, which he had suspiciously cleared off from its usual state of mild disarray. You lifted a curious brow at the broad man, earning a pearly grin as he gently stepped in to sweep you up in his arms. Lifting you effortlessly onto the desktop, he set you down with care, as if you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world. He trailed a playful hand up your thigh, fingertips teasing at your skin through the silky fabric of your nylons. "Daddy," you hummed eagerly, letting out a soft squeak as he gently pinched at your tender flesh.

"Panties off, baby. Lay back for me," Lloyd instructed steadily. And he sure as hell didn't have to ask twice.

As you moved quickly to remove and discard your hose and panties, you couldn't help but try to sneak a peek at what your daddy was up to as he made his way to the other side of the desk, opening up a drawer and pulling something out discreetly. He then strode over to one of the couches in the middle of his office, grabbing a few throw pillows before returning to you. "Here you go, angel. Let's get you nice and comfy," he murmured, propping you up with the pillows supporting your back.

"Daddy," you whined again, a hint of neediness now present in your voice. Lloyd smiled as he brought up the gift to finally show you; the contents of his hands made you gasp. A beautiful plug, shiny gold, with a stunning ring of crystals embedded along the base. "Oh Daddy," you breathed, unable to take your eyes off the glittering piece.

"Genuine Winstons," Lloyd told you proudly, taking a small bottle of lube from his pocket and placing it on the desk beside you. "Only the best for my princess, of course."

"So pretty, Daddy," you remained in awe, earning a loving chuckle from the man as he watched you be entranced by the gift.

"I'm glad you think so, sweetheart. Now be a good girl and open up for Daddy, need you to get this nice and wet for me while I'm prepping you." He teased the tip of the plug against your glossy lips, guiding one of your hands up to hold the base. You sucked and licked happily at the metal's impressive curve as Lloyd got to work between your legs.

He parted your feet, bending your knees up to lie at either side of you as your dress slipped up easily in cooperation with his efforts. Pausing, he took a moment to revel in the sight of you. His gaze fell to your perfect folds as they sat before him on display. With a low hum of approval, he brought a gentle hand up to smear your wetness around teasingly. "Look at you, already getting wet for Daddy. That's my good girl," he smiled as he brought a finger down to begin gently prodding at your tighter little hole.

Still working the toy you'd been given between your pouty lips, you let out a whimper at your daddy's tentative nudges. You gasped softly at the feeling of a cold glob of lube being dripped onto you. Heat rose up through your cheeks in slight humiliation as the slippery mess was worked thoroughly over your puckered rosebud. "Okay baby," Lloyd hummed encouragingly, "time to open up this pretty little hole. Are you gonna be good for Daddy and take it?" You offered the sweetest nod you could manage, earning a beaming grin from the mustached man. "Of course you are. My sweet little girl," he crooned lovingly, giving no further warning before starting to push his first digit past your difficult outer ring.

You squirmed gently, big pleading eyes looking up at Lloyd as you let out a weak whine. "Hmmph... Daddy..." your voice wobbled.

The tall man brought his unused arm up to stroke back your hair in a calming manner. Furrowing his brow in gentle concern, he did his best to soothe you. "Shhh, my love," he cooed as his large finger worked up to the first knuckle, then the second, gradually stretching out your sensitive walls. "That's it, see? Nice and gentle. Look so pretty like this, taking Daddy's fingers up your sweet little bottom. My pretty girl," he kissed your forehead, holding you steady as he began introducing a second finger.

It was a slow, steady process; Lloyd knew that it had to be. He rarely played with you like this, mostly due to how much you struggled to take anything up your poor little ass. But he hoped that getting you a toy like this might help you adjust to the unfamiliar sensations; you had discussed prior that you'd like to do some proper anal training and play. Needless to say, you both felt this was the perfect first step in that endeavor.

Once you were comfortably and confidently taking two fingers, Lloyd finally felt ready to transition you over to your shiny new toy. "That's it, sweetheart. Fuck, so perfect for me," he was chuckling as your hips bucked up to meet his hand, his digits driving steadily into you. Much of the initial discomfort was gone, replaced with the most deliciously sinful burn blooming in the base of your tummy. Your eyes were shining with pride as you looked up hopefully at your daddy. Kissing your forehead again, Lloyd nodded as he slowed his fingers to a stop, retrieving the now-soaking plug from your drooling lips.

"Okay princess. Here we go-" You hummed eagerly as the tip of the gold bulb was rubbed up against your slippery opening. Lloyd surprised you a bit by bringing his free hand up to gently dip into your leaking pussy; much to your daddy's delight, you had made quite the mess during his generous preparation period. He dragged his fingertips up further, liberally smearing your glistening arousal over your clit to coax the tiny pearl out from under its protective hood with his expert touch. Your knees were trembling as he began working the nub in steady circles, while finally beginning to ease the large plug up into your awaiting walls.

"O-oh my- Daddy," you mewled as the warm, slick piece of metal stretched you out across its broad curvature. At its widest circumference, the object's insertion was bordering on painful. Lloyd's eyes never left you as he did his best to rub your clit faster, hoping the added stimulation would help ease the burn.

"Almost there baby, almost there," he promised, letting out a breath of relief in tandem with your own as you finally made it past the peak, the rest of the toy slipping perfectly into its place with little effort. As the glittering base nestled itself between your smooth cheeks, Lloyd looked on in pleasure and pride. "There," he hummed lowly, gently giving the center a few taps, earning the sweetest little whimpers from you. "What do you think, angel? Has someone earned an orgasm?"

His pace was quickening over your clit before you could even process his words. Hands flying down to grip the edges of the desk below you, you nodded desperately. "Y-yes Daddy, please Daddy!"

Your daddy smiled as he continued his steady rubbing, finding your sweet spot with ease. It wasn't long before you were reaching up to cling to his sturdy arm, your breaths stuttering as you chased your release. "That's it, baby. Go ahead and come for me. Been such a brave girl for Daddy," the man allowed, nodding as your high ripped through you.

"Daddy, o-oh Daddy! Aahhh-" you cried, the plug lurching within you as your poor little cunt clenched down on nothing. You were carried lovingly through your high, Lloyd's fingers only slowing as your spasms and contractions finally began to cease.

"That's my girl," he murmured gently, reaching up to brush your hair back out of your face as he gave your pussy and puffy button a few playful pats. "Now what d'you say we get you cleaned up, huh princess?" You were too weak to respond, only managing a lazy nod as you slumped against the pillows behind you, struggling to catch your breath.

He moved from your side momentarily to grab a cloth from one of the desk drawers. "Oh, but sweetheart- the toy stays in," he informed you with a wink. "We're having guests over later; Daddy wants his pretty girl to shine."

[nicherayyy]

can you do headcanons with La Squadra with a member that's like Power from CSM? 👀

Absolutely!

La Squadra & Power-like teammate hcs

No one in La Squadra really expected their new teammate to be this UNHINGED

And here they thought that they saw everything with Formaggio😭

Like, the newbie gives no shit

But as long as Risotto pays them, they’ll just do their job

Honestly, I’m wheezing just imagining this interaction

Risotto: So, tell me about your stand. Because I hope you understand that if you want to join the team like ours you need at least—

Reader: Yeah-yeah my stand is super-duper cool you have no idea. It’s like much better than yours in every way. So.. how much do you pay?

Prosciutto is still shocked that Risotto hired them.

I imagine that teammate wouldn’t even care about bonding with their teammates at first

Seriously, you’ll only see them on mission

And MAYBE, JUST MAYBE you might see them on the meeting

If you do count your lucky stars

You’ll literally never see the day like that ever again

(Yeah Prosciutto made them go)

Most of the time La Squadra doesn’t even know where they are

They just randomly materialise smelling like they were dumpster diving😭😭

Illuso: is that… a piece of salami on your shoulder?

Reader: …mind your own business

So yeah I feel like it would take at least a few months before they bond from anyone from La Squadra

And it would look like:

“Yeah you’re kinda cool I guess, so.. wanna hang out?”

(I’m sure that’ll be Formaggio lol)

He’s like the only person I could see this happening with

Yeah, he’s probably the only one who finds their shenanigans funny

Prosciutto would definitely hate the way they smell

Prosciutto: don’t you know what a shower is?

Reader: shower is for loosers, like you for example

After that he force-sprayed them with a garden hose.

Ghiaccio thinks they’re weird, illogical, rude, dumb, crazy, unprofessional, uneducated—

When the newbie realised they could make Ghiaccio rant about anything and everyone ohohohohhhhh

Ghiaccio: DON’T YOU REALISE THAT THE EARTH IS NOT FLAT??? IT’S NOT!!! IT’S A SPHERE!!!

Reader: no it’s not

Ghiaccio: I SWEAR TO GOD YOU IDIOTA—

Pesci is kinda scared of them

So he tries to stay away as much as possible

Illuso’s another person who’d hate their smell

I can see him gifting his teammate a bar of soap

The teammate ate the soap. In front of Illuso.

In all honesty it was a nice soap

Melone finds their weirdness funny

But he definitely won’t hang up with them

But I mean, they’re kinda funny when the two of them paired together on missions

Another thing is, he finds their unhingeness interesting

He likes not knowing what they’ll do next

Eat another bar of soap? Burn the house down? Commit an arson?

The possibilities are endless

[starhvney]

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: laurance, zane

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: drabble, fluff

𝐂𝐖: none!

𝐀/𝐍: these have been sitting in my drafts for a while lol

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ☆ playing about you by the 1975

little hands and feet dig relentlessly through grass as you and laurance search for any sign of a tiny amphibian hopping through the dirt. it was the nicest part of summertime to be outside, and the both of you had bounded out of the back door as soon as the small rain shower stopped. (despite his adoptive mother’s complaints about the mud that the two of you would inevitably track back inside.)

the sun was out again, though, beating it’s sun rays down on your little heads and warming the dew drops that had landed on your clothes. could she really be mad, when it was the perfect conditions to find the slimy creatures?

your eyes drift away from the task at hand, gazing up at the fluttering wings of dragonflies that flew by, racing around the sun rays that filtered through the large trees above your head.

a little “woah!” leaves laurance’s mouth—interrupting your childish wonder as he suddenly lifts both of his hands up to reveal a large croaking frog between his fingers.

“you caught one!” you squeal, hopping through the short distance of long grass and grabbing onto his arm to take a closer look.

“wanna hold it?” he offers, squinching his face as it begins to wriggle in his clutches.

you nod hesitantly, making a noise of discomfort as you feel the wet skin of the frog beneath your fingers. laurance makes a small noise of boyish disgust and amusement, leaning down to take a better look at it’s beady little eyes.

“will it turn into a prince if i kiss it?” you suddenly ask, turning the frog around to look at its wide face. 

the boy wrinkles his nose, giving you a funny look. “no. why would you want to, anyway?”

“so i can become a princess!”

laurance’s round eyes roll up, dark lashes stuck together from the humidity and sweat. you both had spent a lot of time outside this summer, so the ends of his hair strands appeared more sandy blonde than brunet.

“you already act like one, so why’s it matter?” he jokes in a silly voice, his hands sassily placed on his hips.

“hey!” you start, before a disgusted squeal leaves your lips as the frog pees on your palms. “ewww! he peed on me!”

you drop the frog to the ground, releasing him from his temporary prison as he hops away into his muddy freedom. laurance sighs as his new friend disappeared as soon as he came. 

“cadenza said that frog pee can give you warts,” he says, still staring at the place where the frog had left. “so you’ll be a scary witch instead of a princess.”

tears gather in your little eyes, and as laurance looks back at you, his own eyes widen in panic.

“i was just kidding!” the poor boy scrambled. “don’t cry!”

but it’s too late. tears fall down your round cheeks as you look down at your hands, blabbering about how you “didn’t want warts” and “didn’t wanna be a scary witch”.

he freezes for a moment, before grabbing your arm and guiding you to the hose faucet on the side of his house. turning on the faucet, your hands are doused into the cool water with his as he uses the pads of his fingers to scrub your hands clean.

“see? you’re a princess again, so don’t cry.”

𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐄 ☆ playing treehouse by alex g

“just leave me alone!”

you freeze from your spot at the top of the treehouse ladder, peeking up through the hole in the floor to where zane was pouting in the corner. his chubby round cheeks are red, embarrassed tears pricking his eyes as he scratches at the freckles that spanned across his face.

“but why?” you ask, crawling up to the spot next to him.

“because! i don’t want to talk to anyone!”

“because garroth was being a butt head?”

the boy’s pouted lips pucker in amusement—poorly veiled as annoyance as he glances to you through his messy black hair. 

“yeah...”

“well i think freckles are cool, so don’t listen to him.”

“you’re the only one who thinks that.” he mutters, shoving the lower half of his face into his grass-stained knees.

you cross your arms with a huff, hopping up to your feet. “nuh uh! do you think your mommy’s freckles look stupid?”

blue eyes go wide, zane’s head shooting up and mouth blubbering like a fish out of water.

“wh—no! of course not!” he shouts, the red from where his short fingernails had dug into his cheeks blending in with the blush that splotched across his face.

you stare at him with your hands on your hips, a small mischievous smile growing on your face. “well, apparently garroth does.”

dark eyebrows turn up on his forehead as he looks up at you in confusion, completely lost on your plotting line of thinking.

“…miss zianna would be upset if she found out garroth didn’t like her freckles.”

realization dawns on his face, eyes shining with a newfound eagerness before he slumps down again. “but then garroth will be upset that we tattled.”

“so? he’s the one who said freckles are stupid! we’re just telling her that’s what he said.”

you hold out you hand to his, and after a moment of hesitation he takes it, his pale and tiny chubby fingers wrapping around yours. the two of you practically tumble your way down the ladder and into the house, out of breath as you both sprint right up to zianna’s feet.

she’s lounging in one of the patio chairs, sipping on iced tea as she soaks up the sunshine. she didn’t have her usual gold jewelry on or any makeup covering her skin—revealing the few freckles that dotted across her own face.

“miss zianna, garroth said freckles are stupid!”

a small gasp leaves her lips as she brings a hand up to her chest, pulling up her sunglasses to get a better look at you. “did gargar really say that?”

you eagerly nod, zane following your lead

“no, no i didn’t!” shouts of protest travel across the yard, as the bright haired older brother tumbles his way through the grass to his defense. “i didn’t say that mommy!”

zianna turns her head to look over at the now flustered blonde, and you turn your head to zane with a wide cat like grin. “now run!”

the two of you burst into giggles, sprinting back to the treehouse as giddy adrenaline fills your little legs. you hear garroth whining to the boys’ mother as you both clamber back up the “secret” hideout’s ladder, catching your breaths once you reach the top.

zane no longer has that displeased look on his face, his grin wide in satisfaction at the tiny victory as he clasps his hands with yours.

“we got him!”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @valentique

[solardrop]

I wanted to post some excerpts from two of my Hotch wips to see which one people find more interesting! I included a poll at the bottom because I know a lot of people don't like commenting but I'd appreciate comments, asks, etc about the one you like more as well! There are a lot of typos and issues in these but they are just first drafts!

Both of these will end up being nsfw stories so minors please do not interact with this post (because you won't be interacting with the actual fics anyway)

this one is the first hotch fic I ever tried to write. I abandoned it because I felt like my first fic being a smut was too horny (only for my first posted fic to still be a smut...lol). But rereading it I actually still really like the idea I just need to actually figure out where I wanna go with it. Its currently very lovingly titled: "A sad attempt at a hotchner fic". WIll definitely be changed before I actually post it LMAO. Maybe to "strawberry salt" or something

He grabs you by the hips as he leans against the headboard. Sliding you until the soft curve of your belly meets his, and the swell of your breasts push against his collarbone. The wiry hairs across the top of his legs tickle your inner thighs. His eyes drift downward for a brief moment, distracted from his original mission, before he places a quick kiss on your sternum. “What was that again baby?” He smiled up at you. An absolute shit-eating grin if you say so yourself. Trying to sweet talk and ‘baby’ you out of this wasn’t going to work. Neither was the mischievous hand sliding under your robe towards the curve of your ass. “Aaron,” you swat his hand from below you, “how many times are you gonna use my body wash  and leave me with nothing!?” This makes him grin wider, his dimples teasing and tempting for a kiss. Your belly warms as you look at him beneath you. How could a man so damn infuriatingly be so annoyingly sexy? His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, it takes all your self-control to stop from moaning at the sight. You force yourself to look up from his lips and raise your hand to lightly pinch the very tip of his nose. A soft blush forms on the skin there when you remove your fingers. “Not funny Aar! Now I smell like Alaskan sea salt and thunderstorms instead of Strawberry sugar.”  “Well. I think you smell amazing.” He buries himself in your neck, inhaling deeply. “If you think so, then use your own body wash!”

This second one is just called "shower" it's my longest wip so far and I like it a lot but I need to rework a lot of things about it because its a lot of word vomit right now:

Your thoughts are interrupted by Aaron reapproaching you, still dressed in his button-up, the sleeves now rolled up his thick forearms. He tries to get the detachable showerhead when you reach up — with your good arm— and stop him.  “What are you doing?” you question. “Getting the showerhead so I can help you shower?” “Your clothes are still on.” “Yes? What’s wrong—” He pauses, face marked with confusion until he slowly pieces together your meaning, “Honey, you’re injured. I’m showering you, not showering with you.” He laughs reaching for the hose again before you stop him. “I’m not a patient. I’m your fiancee,” you seethe, “You’re not gonna scrub me down like I’m some sweet little old lady. Get in here, Hotchner.” His arms cross over the expanse of his chest, staring you down like he was giving you a field order to comply to. Too bad you weren’t scared of him. You stare back at him, the water streaming down your body as the moment passes. He breaks eye contact and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Alright,” he sighs, “but we’re just getting clean and getting out.” He shrugs off his shirt, revealing beauty of his broad body to you. You eyes travel, admiring the way the muscles move under his skin as he scratches the soft pudge of his belly. He unbuckles his belt and pants. You bite your lip as he finally hooks his fingers in his pants and boxers, sliding the fabric down, slowly exposing the hair lined down his lower belly before his hands just stop. Your eyes flick up to his at the clearing of his throat. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “No funny business. I promise,” you whine.

[thescarletnargacuga]

Human!Caine trying to bathe puppy!Bubble! (You can make it showtime, if you wish lol)

A/N: AWWWWWW!!!

BATH TIME

A HUMAN!SHOWTIME ONESHOT

WARNING: none! Just slice of life domestic fluff

~~~

"Come on, Bubble! Work with me here!" Caine struggled to get his medium sized, mud covered mutt through the bathroom door. "Alright, you've forced my hand. Come here!" He picked up Bubble, smearing mud down the front of his shirt.

Bubble braces his front paws against the doorframe in defiance.

Pomni giggles from behind her phone, recording her husband trying to give their dog a bath. "Why didn't you hose him down out back first?"

"Because he wouldn't stop eating the water." Caine tried maneuvering Bubble through the narrow threshold without getting too many marks on the walls. "Are you going to stand there laughing the whole time or are you going to help?"

"Hmmmmm, I think you've got this."

Caine playfully glared at his wife as he finally got Bubble through the door. Pomni came in behind him and shut the door. The tub was already running with warm water, dog shampoo bottles at the ready.

Caine set Bubble down inside the tub. "Come on, boy. You love water. You'll be fine."

Bubble immediately tried to get out, whining. Caine put an arm around Bubble, preventing escape. Bubble looked to Pomni with sad puppy eyes.

"You're okay, buddy. Daddy's gonna clean you up." Pomni spoke in a soothing voice to calm the pup. "How did he end up like this anyway?"

Caine used the shower extension to start rinsing the mud out of Bubble's fur. "It rained last night and he found every mud puddle at the dog park."

"Aw, buddy. Did you have fun?" Pomni kneeled down to record Bubble's adorable face.

Bubble wagged his tail and tried to lick the phone.

"He had so much fun, he didn't want to leave. If you think getting him into the bathroom was difficult, you should have seen me trying to get him in the car." Caine chuckled, then realized. "Uh... Don't use the car anytime soon."

Pomni laughed. "It's that bad?"

"The backseat...the front..."

"What?" Pomni continued to laugh.

Caine grinned. "The steering wheel....the roof..."

"Oh my god!" Pomni almost dropped her phone in the tub from laughing.

"Yeah, I get to add car detailing to my to-do list." Caine took off Bubble's collar and hung it over the edge of the tub before grabbing a bottle of doggy shampoo.

"I'll help you with that. It's needed in deep cleaning anyway." Pomni kept a hand on Bubble so he wouldn't be tempted to jump out.

Bubble shook, sending muddy water everywhere.

"Ah!" Pomni trying ducking below the tub to get out of the line of fire. It didn't help much. She still got dirty dog water in her hair and on her back.

Caine just sat there on his knees and took it as he poured shampoo in his hand. "And now the bathroom too. Looks like today's going to be a cleaning day." He massaged the shampoo into Bubble's fur, getting him all lathered up.

Pomni grabbed a hand towel and dabbed the water off of Caine's face.

"Thank you, dear." Caine smiled.

Pomni gave Caine a kiss on the cheek. "You're welcome." Bubble whined and tried licking Pomni. Pomni pushed him back. "Nooo, not yet. You're all soapy."

Bubble have a small bark and shook again. Suds covered the couple, as well as the counter and mirror behind them.

Caine spat away suds covering his mouth. "Forget the car, I need a bath now."

"I think Bubble is already obliging." Pomni put her phone away to protect it from further spray and helped keep Bubble still as he was rinsed.

Bubble shook twice more through the rinse cycle, drenching his human caretakers. He jumped out of the tub when they finally let go of him.

Pomni grabbed to towels. One for Caine, and the other she used to dry Bubble. "Who's a good boy? Yeah, you were so good." Pomni praised as she toweled him down.

Bubble excitedly wagged his tail and wiggled under the towel, panting happily.

"Yeah, you're a good boy that deserves a treat for taking a bath." Pomni clicked Bubble's collar back on and opened the bathroom door.

Bubble zoomed out, rubbing himself against the floor and furniture.

Caine stood, drying his hair. "That went surprisingly well. Remember the first bath we ever tried to give him?"

"When we first found him in our garbage bin? Poor thing probably thought it was the end of the world. Now, look at him. Our Bubble-headed boy is just enjoying life." Pomni watched Bubble roll around on the carpet.

Caine put his towel down, his red hair all disheveled. "As all dogs should. Now..." He hugged Pomni from behind. "I don't know about you, but I smell like wet dog. Care to join me for a shower?"

Pomni leaned into him. "I don't know...you always make it so hard to get clean." She smirked.

"What can I say, I'm a happily married man." Caine kissed her cheek.

Bubble bolted out the dog door to the backyard. At first, Caine and Pomni didn't think much of it. "Wait..." Pomni said. "Didn't you say it rained last night?"

"Yeah...oh no!" Caine and Pomni ran to the back door, watching in horror as their best boy dove right into a giant puddle.