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meowdei · 1 month ago

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(temporary) birthday blues — ft. sylus

tara doesn’t mean any harm when she tries to set you up on a blind date—she doesn’t know it’s sylus’s birthday, or that he’s yours. but the thought of you sitting across from someone you’re actually allowed to be seen with hits him harder than he wants to admit

word count. ❤︎ 6.6k words — at least it’s an even number

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; takes place after sylus bday card but you don’t need it to understand ; reader is a hunter and is implied to have his myth’s lore ; jealous and slightly insecure sylus ; hurt/comfort ; praise (lots actually. almost corny amounts) ; reader wears lingerie ; he picks reader up ; cunnilingus ; hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; painfully soft sex ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ happy birthday to my angel boy ever. but more importantly — I MADE IT IN TIME LETS GOOOOO

You and Sylus return home from his birthday date just a couple of hours after the sun sets.

By Sylus-standards, the day has hardly begun—he still has roughly a little under half the day left before it’s his (ridiculously late) bedtime. By your standards, since it’s your boyfriend’s birthday, you have to spend his entire day with him, even if his clock works a little differently than yours.

Will you be staying up until six in the morning? Yes. But you planned accordingly. You took an entire extra day off just to sleep in with him tomorrow and spend as much time together as possible. It’s your first birthday with Sylus. You’re the only one who knows it’s his birthday at all. Work is important, sure, but sometimes you have to reevaluate your priorities a little.

Boyfriends are a pretty important priority—well, only if they’re Sylus. He’s the only boyfriend that matters. The rest of the boyfriends in the world are not quite so impressive, so they don’t deserve the same privileges as your uniquely, one-of-a-kind special one.

“Did you have a good day today?” you ask softly, curling your arms around his neck as soon as you both enter his bedroom. (Your bedroom—you practically share it like it’s co-owned. The only thing that fully stops you from moving in with Sylus is that it would make your work commute a very tiresome one. Other than that, you’re here every chance you get.)

He hums, hands planting themselves on your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze, pulling you close and flush against his chest as he pecks the corner of your mouth. “I did,” he murmurs, “although I don’t think having a bad day is possible with you—unless you’re being moody. That’s another story.”

“I would get moody with you just for saying that, but I am a firm believer in being nice to birthday boys. Wait until I get my hands on you once today is over.”

“Oh?” he grins, chuckling as he kisses along your jaw, “I should prepare myself for the claws of a feisty little kitten, then?”

“You should prepare yourself for some groveling to get on my good side again,” you huff. “And maybe some expensive gifts.”

He laughs—not that low, deep, rumbling sound that sounds like light amusement. It’s that loud, booming laugh that sounds like joy and warmth and falling in love over and over again every day. Feeling it start to bubble and fizz as the sun rises, and watching it overflow from the top by the time the moon is out. You grin at the sound, pulling him into a kiss where you giggle in between the presses of your mouth to his, and he laughs because your joy is too infectious not to fall victim to.

“I have to shower,” you whisper between his hungry bites on your lips. He hums in protest.

“Is that really a necessity right now?”

“Yes, I rolled in the grass with you.”

“Fine, we can—”

“No, no,” you push his mouth away with a palm, feeling his lips practically pout against your skin as you do, “we are not going in there together. That will take way too long because you never behave, and I still have plans we have to get through.”

“What sort of plans,” he grumbles, “surely they can’t be that different from what the shower would bring.”

“You are shameless, Sylus,” you scold, slapping his shoulder with hardly any bite at all, “you don’t get to know until it’s time. Now be good while you wait—and charge my phone while you’re at it. It’s about to die.”

With that, you leave him sulking alone in his room, watching your figure as it retreats into the bathroom without him. Grumbling to himself, he grabs your phone to charge it like you asked—he knows better than to make you hiss at him when he wants things. (He wants a lot of things tonight. Quite a lot of things that require your good side, and he intends to milk this nice, spoiled treatment out of you with that innocent birthday boy charm, so staying in your good graces is his wisest option at the moment.)

He grabs your phone and plugs it in…and then he wishes he didn’t. As soon as he does, and the screen lights up, he thinks his birthday is ruined for the next decade with how bitter a taste the messages on your screen leave in his mouth.

Tara💗: don’t be mad. i set u up on a blind date

Tara💗: well not exactly a blind date. a double date with me and that guy i met when we were out the other day. he has a friend

Tara💗: u can’t say no he’s cute and he has a cat. you’ll like him i promise

It’s official. Sylus does not like this Tara girl anymore.

He’s met her briefly before, and vaguely, he’s introduced himself, too. She doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend because Sylus is at the top of your job’s wanted list. Telling a girl who is, arguably at this point, your closest friend that you have a boyfriend while having to keep that boyfriend hidden to a certain degree is not a plausible set of wishes. Tara will naturally want to know more. She’ll ask to see pictures of your dates, perhaps. She’ll invite him for drinks, and activities, and parties, and after-work events because she’s the kind of person who cares about the people her friends care about. And Sylus? Well…again, he’s at the top of your job’s wanted list. You can’t let Tara, who is your coworker first and foremost, get to know your boyfriend’s voice and face too closely unless you’re asking—practically pleading—for trouble.

So she doesn’t know you have a boyfriend.

It’s a lie that is for the betterment of everything all around. Instead, she meets him once fleetingly, and she thinks he’s your friend who sells fruit and makes a pretty penny off his business that’s taken off. That’s about all she knows.

At first glimpse, she seemed like a nice girl. A friend whom Sylus was grateful you had and could count on if things got heavy in your line of work. She seemed kind. Dependable. Trustworthy. Maybe not the strongest physically, but certainly a good friend to ease his mind that you have good people in your circle. (Although, he does hate your stupid partner—but at least that loathsome sleepy bastard who rots in bed for half the day is strong. If worst comes to worst, Sylus can at least bet that the boy would sooner let his own head get ripped off than let anything happen to yours. He’s at least grateful for that.)

But he hates this Tara girl deeply now, and hatred for someone he hardly knows is not a common feeling for Sylus. That’s irrational, and he’s hardly irrational. In fact, it’s because he is so rational that he’s so level-headed when he deals with threats. He hardly hates his “enemies.” Most of the people who make an enemy out of him amuse him—they don’t particularly pose a threat to him, and he has quite a bit of fun making an example out of them for the next bothersome bunch that wants to try something with him. Being enemies with Sylus is usually a one-sided thing—he may be someone else’s enemy, but they’ll always just be a fool to him. A regular sorry little idiot who got a bit too cocky and decided to try their luck against him.

He barely has enemies. The few people he does hate are people who deserve it. Terrible, evil, sinister people who go beyond an ethical code that even Sylus will not cross.

He barely has enemies. He’s a businessman. A leader. A good fighter. A good boyfriend, too, if he gives himself a little bit of extra (but honest) credit. All of which require a good head on his shoulders, a calm demeanor, and a very, very adequate sense of rationality. Sylus is rarely ever irrationally emotional—unless it has to do with you, of course. And this time, it does.

So he hates this Tara girl. He hates her deeply. She’s landed herself on his enemy list.

Just as he sets your phone down, you step out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel as your skin glistens from the fancy little lotions and body care items he has lying around in his bathroom that you help yourself to. Any other day, he’d tease you about it. About using him for his fancy, lavish lifestyle. About that skimpy little towel that you choose to step out in when half of his loungewear is in that bathroom for you to also help yourself to. About how cute you look when you walk out looking like a small, wet kitten.

But none of those things happen—red flag number one. Red flag number two is that when you go to poke at his side and give it a pinch, he doesn’t stop you right away before you can.

Something’s on his mind. You know that as soon as you see him.

“Hey,” you cup his cheeks, “miss me that bad for fifteen minutes? You look like you’ve aged ten years instead of one with that expression.”

“Very funny, sweetie,” he hums, clearly still distracted, “I thought you made it a point to be nice to the birthday boy.”

“I am being nice to the birthday boy,” you say to him, cheekily leaning up and kissing his jaw, “this is a very nice view to give to a birthday boy.”

He smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something is wrong—something so, so painfully obvious happened while you were in that fifteen-minute shower. As far as showers go, it might not be the shortest amount of time, but it’s certainly not a long one. What could have possibly happened in fifteen whole minutes to make his eyes clouded with that look? A look that looks so stormy and upset and irritated.

Something’s on his mind. You know it by simply looking at him.

“Hey,” you pull him closer by the hands on his face, pressing his forehead to yours, “Sylus, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” he breathes, hands squeezing your hips as he pulls you close. “Just distracted by what a pretty little kitten I have.”

And then he kisses you. It’s…a kiss unlike any you’ve ever had with him. Not bad, of course, but different. Sylus is a confident guy. A terribly cocky, self-assured, and secure guy. He knows he’s handsome by most people’s standards (and definitely by yours), he knows he’s smart and intelligent, he knows he’s strong and capable, and he knows he’s stable in his lifestyle. He’s a confident guy, and you’ve always known him to be.

But he’s kissing you pretty desperately. Not the kind of desperation when he’s just plain needy, or when he’s been worried about you, and rescues you just in time, or when you’ve been away for too long.

No.

This kind of desperation feels like he has something to prove. Like he needs to kiss you so well, you never want to kiss anything else. It’s a sort of desperation that almost feels…scared.

“You’re not yourself,” you breathe in between presses of his mouth, gasping when he leans down to nip at your collarbone. “Hey—”

“You’re overthinking it,” he mumbles, “just let me have you to myself, sweetheart—”

“Sylus,” you say firmly. He pauses. “No.”

He lets go as soon as you say the word, letting his hands drop while you gently take them off your hips. He looks unhappy about it—maybe even a little rejected, but he doesn’t protest. He never does. Not if it’s something you say. Some boundary you set. Some line you draw.

“What happened?” you ask gently, hands returning to his cheeks and gently rubbing the skin tenderly with your thumb, “this is supposed to be your day. I…I didn’t mean to upset you if I did. I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted it to be special—”

“It is,” he interrupts, planting his hands on top of yours and keeping them in place, “it’s been great. It always is with you—I promise.”

“Then what changed?” you frown, “and don’t say it’s nothing. Don’t give me that unbothered, nonchalant attitude and pretend to shrug it off—I know you. I know you better than anyone else does, so don’t even think about lying to me like I won’t see right through it.”

He’s silent. For a second, you think he’s not going to say a word. That he’s not going to open up and share and trust you like you wish he would when things are clearly sitting heavily on his mind. Sometimes he gets a look—one that feels like he’s lived a life you don’t even know about. Like it haunts him and curses him and weighs down on his chest. He never shares. Not about his burdens—not with you. You don’t think it’s because he doesn’t trust you, but because he thinks he shouldn’t have to. That he shouldn’t trouble you with things about him because he lives for you.

You wish he didn’t do that. You wish he’d change that habit. You wish he’d live for himself and let you live for him, too.

But then, he quietly asks, “Do you ever wish you could tell your friends about…us?”

“Huh?” you frown.

“We go back and forth between the outskirts of Linkon and the N-109 zone, and we don’t ever get to do things that involve the people you care about—doesn’t that bother you?”

“...No?” you say in confusion, “does it…does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” he says instantly. He throws on that smug, carefree face again, even though you see right through it. Some people just don’t like putting their defenses down when they’re cornered, no matter how safe they are. Sylus is one of them. “Now, why would I want to share my little kitten? Not everyone can handle her sharp claws.”

“Sy,” you let out a breath, “you know I can see right through you. Just talk to me—telling me how you feel is something you’re usually good at. It’s what I like most about you…why’s it so different this time?”

Telling you how he feels about you is easy. It comes naturally like breathing. It’s as simple as using his evol to move something through the air, manipulating energy to surround you and show you the depths of his feelings. Telling you he loves you and cares for you is a vulnerability that he takes as a privilege. Telling you that the thought of you being with someone more practical, more fitting than him…it’s not as easy. It’s too vulnerable in a way that makes him pathetic, not devoted. You chose him, after all, didn’t you? Isn’t it questioning your own devotion and your own loyalty to him to tell you: I hate the idea of someone deserving you more than I?

That’s what he’d be doing, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t it be to question you, to doubt you and your love and your choice, all on the same day that you went out of your way to make him feel special?

Telling you this is not so simple. Not to him. Not when you love him, and he knows it, and yet, for some reason, he can’t help but feel like you’re making a mistake by loving him. Him. The top wanted criminal on your organization’s list. Most targeted person in the N-109 zone with the most “enemies” after his back. A guy that, against every principle that tells you: no, you choose to be with.

He should just be grateful that you say yes. And he is. But also, he can’t help but wonder if you’d be happier if you didn’t.

“Don’t you trust me?” you whisper.

He breathes—slow, shaky. “I do,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “I trust you the most. You know that.”

“Then tell me. Please? I just…I worry about you.”

You shouldn’t. But you also should. You were always meant to, right?—even if it wasn’t always supposed to be that way. You did. Once upon a time, you only worried about him. And you do. And you will. And he wants it. Needs it. Craves it. Craves you and your attention and your care and your concern. He should be the one you’re concerned about—but maybe concern is all he ever brings over.

It’s silent for a moment longer before you gently kiss the tip of his nose and say sweetly, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I love you, so if you ever want to share something, I will always—”

“Your friend Tara seems to be tired of your stagnant love life, sweetheart,” he interrupts. He doesn’t really mean to blurt it out like that—Sylus is usually rational about what he says and when he says it. But…well, the idea of you sitting across from some normal guy with a normal life alongside your normal friend on a normal date has him acting very abnormal. “She’s…well, you go ahead and see for yourself.”

Your phone is pressed to your hands. You look at him in confusion, but his eyes all but beg for you to just look at the screen and end his pure misery by not making him say the words out loud. So you look. The first things you see are her messages on your screen, sitting there as unopened notifications.

Oh, you think as you read them. Oh.

“Oh, Sy,” you say softly, setting your phone down. “You know I’d turn that date down in a heartbeat for you—”

“It’s not about that,” he grumbles, swallowing thickly. This is a type of vulnerability he hates. The type of vulnerability he doesn’t ever have to feel. The type of vulnerability where he feels less than—not deeply devoted and open, but just…not enough, despite his devotion. He isn’t used to ever being not enough. At least not when it’s with you.

“Then what’s it about?”

“Your friend is a meddler.”

“She doesn’t know about us,” you defend Tara gently, “you know she’d never if she did.”

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls with a tight, bitter smile, “I suppose she never will, so I might have to get used to worrying that you’ll need to save a few dresses for some other blind dates here and there, don’t I?”

“I’d never go on a date with someone else,” you reason, “you know that, right?”

“How long are you going to pretend to be single?” he points out blandly.

“Forever,” you say confidently. He wavers, eyeing you in weariness. You cup his cheeks and squeeze them together as you murmur, “I would pretend to be single for the rest of my life for you if that’s what it takes. As long as you’re mine, as long as you stay mine, I don’t care what I have to tell everyone else.”

“That’s not very practical,” he grunts.

“I don’t think we’re a very practical couple, but I don’t think that’s ever been bad,” you chuckle, “I think we’re good. Really good. As good as things ever get.”

“But not great?” he teases, cracking a small, taunting little smile. You know him well enough to soothe him with another kiss to his nose.

“Perfect,” you hum, fingers toying with the small hairs at the nape of his neck, touching him so casually, so absent-mindedly, it’s almost like it’s ingrained in your nature. In your DNA. In your biology to be his and to want him. “You’re perfect. To me. For me. With me. You’re perfect and I love you. I love us. We are perfect, and it doesn’t matter if other people see that or know about it. As long as you know, then I’m good.”

“I don’t like your friend Tara,” he breathes, burying his head into your neck, “she seems like trouble.”

“She’s harmless, you big baby,” you tease. Because that’s what he needs—to be teased into knowing he’s not so fragile. Too much of it makes him turn around and retreat, like an animal that’s shown its belly for too long and is at risk of its fragile, precious organs being torn apart from limb to limb.

You give him a teasing little nibble on his nose, and he cracks a small smile that pulls him out of that weird space in his head. Because that’s you and that’s him. That teasing banter that folds love and devotion in between every taunting remark and every smart little retort. Every second you spend getting under the other’s skin is spent making home there—nestling under that layer of each other, and crawling into the parts that no one else has ever seen. No one else has ever been in. No one else has ever been allowed in.

“Oh?” he murmurs, “you’d side with your friend over your boyfriend on his birthday? Your priorities are intriguing, sweetheart.”

You’d say something equally as playful back, but instead, you say: “I love you.” You remind him with an awed smile as you take him in. Him and his brute strength and his carefully built empire and untouchable self. Him and his gentleness and all that love he holds in his large hands that no one can take away before he slips it into yours. You remind him. You don’t want him to ever forget.

“I love you, too,” he chuckles, closing his eyes as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw. Your hands grab his own from your waist, pulling them up to the top of your chest where the towel wraps around you.

“You have one more present for tonight, you know—if you’re up for opening it.”

“Is that right?” he grins, “I’d never turn something down from my sweet little kitten. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“You’ll like this one,” you beam, “I picked it out just for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he eyes the small, peeking bit of red lace as his hands slowly unwrap the towel, pupils dilating as he slowly exposes you from its coverings. “You always do know me so well, don’t you?”

A red lace set that hugs your curves perfectly. The stockings are just tight enough around the middle of your thigh that the skin bulges just a bit at the top, spilling over it with pillowy flesh that he wants to spend hours digging his fingers into as he holds you close. Here. With him, right where you belong. Where, whether anyone knows it or not, you are happiest and safest and tailor-made to belong. You always belonged with him—alongside him, where you can be his and he can be yours, and the world would have to stop spinning on its axis before he was convinced that it was wrong.

“Well,” you pout playfully, “you’re not saying anything—do you like it? There’s still a return period, I think I could make an exchange if—”

“Don’t always be such a tease, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning down to pull you into a slow, meticulous kiss. Unlike that last one, this one is desperate to know you exist. To be slow and take his sweet time and know that you’re here and you exist in the same timeline as him, and you’re not going anywhere. To rush it would be to waste the seconds he was given to savor.

Sylus is a man who savors things he likes. Good wine. Good music. Good company—he savors every little part of you like it’s a luxury he shouldn’t take for granted.

“Happy birthday, my birthday boy,” you whisper, “I’m all yours tonight. Every night. All yours, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he groans, nipping at your collarbone. “All mine—aren’t I just lucky?”

Suddenly, you’re picked up with one strong, muscled arm, the bicep curling around your thighs and hoisting you up faster than you can process as the world is suddenly lower than you remember it. Two seconds later, and your world shifts some more as you’re suddenly eye to eye with the ceiling, and there are soft, satin sheets under your back with a soft mattress to curve around your spine.

Sylus is hovering over you, hungry and excited, and his eyes lit up like a kid ready to blow out candles. You giggle, holding his face and bringing him close, pressing a kiss to his nose, to both of his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth before the center of his lips, to his forehead until he’s laughing that sweet, happy little laugh that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” you confess, so quietly, it’s like you don’t want anyone but him to know because it’s only for him. Only for him to hear those words because no one else should know what your love feels like, what it sounds like. “Love you so much, Sy. My perfect boy.”

“If I told you my birthday was actually tomorrow, would you be this sweet to me all over again?” he grins in amusement. You huff, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss the purse of your lips before he mumbles against them, “I love you, too. No one will love you as pure as I do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “I know.”

That’s all it takes for him to finally snap into Sylus. Your Sylus. Cocky, self-assured, confident Sylus. Sylus, who takes what he wants because he knows nothing can stop him from having it. He wants you—and you’ll never tell him no.

He’s moved to bury himself between your legs in a split second, so that you hardly have time to process that he’s moved in the first place at all. By the time you attempt to argue that it’s his birthday, and it’s about him, he’s already huffed something about getting the final say as the birthday boy, and this is what he wants.

And…well, who are you to deny him?

“Fuck, sweetie,” he groans, pressing his nose against your clit through the fabric. He plants a gentle kiss on the delicate bundle of nerves, smiling when you twitch and whimper at the sensitivity. “All this for me? I’m a spoiled man, aren’t I?”

“S-Sylus—”

“You smell good,” he breathes, inhaling the sweet, rich scent of you, “bet you taste even better.”

With that, he gently peels the lace panties down your legs, little by little, inch by inch, discarding them from you before carefully tossing them to the ground as your bare cunt is exposed to him. He runs a large hand up and down your thigh, squeezing the plush skin just where it collects at the top of the stockings.

“Mine,” he breathes, “just for me, huh?”

“Only for you,” you pant, impatiently bucking up into the air and waiting for his touch.

He chuckles, but doesn’t have the heart to tease anymore. With a quick motion, he’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, hands cupping your thighs and holding them in place as he buries himself into your core. You’re dripping—the sweet slick pooling and coating your inner legs that he licks off before licking a stripe between your folds.

“Fuck, Sy,” you gasp, “o-oh—”

He’s good with his tongue. Expert at devouring you the way you need to be devoured and going between fucking his tongue into you and lapping away, and flicking it over your clit and teasing it with his wet, warm muscle. You squeeze your legs around his head, and he groans in approval at the pressure to his skull like it’s a gift to be crushed between your thighs. (It is. To him, anything you give him when you’re pleased is a gift. He likes gifts from you—he takes them readily.)

“You’re sweet, you know,” he sings against your heat, “taste good—we should skip the cake next year. I just want this, yeah? I’ll lick you clean.”

“Stop,” you whine, “you’re being filthy!”

He laughs, the low, deep rumble of his voice vibrating against you and making you shudder. “Yeah? If you don’t like that, then why are you pulling me closer?”

He’s right—you are. Your hands are tangled into his hair and you’re pulling him impossibly closer to your pussy, grinding against his face so his nose bumps against your clit as his tongue fucks into you and explores your folds and licks them from the dripping essence of your arousal.

“S-Sylus, ‘m…‘m s-so close—”

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he groans, “that’s exactly what I need. Can you do that for me? Let go? Let me taste you, yeah?”

Those words against your cunt, spoken through warm breath that lingers over your sensitive heat makes the steadily building pressure in the pit of your belly snap, a soft, delicious ache spreading through your walls as they quiver, through your lower belly as it flutters, through your spine and every nerve as your back arches off the mattress and you whine into your mouth and chant his name.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—’s so good, make me feel so good, Sy. Hah—”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he moans, licking the last drops of your release and pressing a kiss to your fluttering cunt before the waves of your high finally retreat.

Your ears are ringing, and your eyes are blurry, but you can still hear the praise and make out his contented, dazed expression as he rests his cheek against your thigh and looks up at you. Your fingers card through his hair, smoothing through the soft locks as you ground yourself with the feeling of them while you catch your breath.

“Hi,” you breathe, staring at him in awe.

He grins, lazy, smug, and bright. “Hi. Back down to Earth with us?”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” you huff. And then, with a gentle tug to his locks, you signal him to crawl up, face to face and eye to eye with you as his body hovers over yours.

You reach over, rubbing over his clothed erection and feeling him shiver as his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a soft, breathy moan. He’s so pretty like that—when pleasure is easy to see on his face, and he feels good, and he lets you see it. You love it when you get to see him. All of him.

It’s a slow, intimate thing, removing his clothes. You bring his shirt up over his abs, gently pulling the fabric over his shoulders, before he helps you tug his arms through the sleeves and expose that chiseled, slightly tanned skin (despite never being in the sun) to you. He’s pretty. Gorgeous. You hum in appreciation as your hands run along the planes of his muscles, raking your nails along his abs and rubbing up and down his sides while he breathes heavily over you. It’s slow—there’s no rush despite the lingering, building ache between both of your legs. You want to admire him, and he wants to let you.

You want to feel him, and he wants to bask in the feeling of being wanted.

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, “happy birthday. I’m glad it’s me, you know? That gets to say that. And be here.”

“It was never going to be anyone else,” he pants, groaning as your hand finds the tent in his pants and gives a soft squeeze.

Unbuckling his belt and taking his pants and boxers off is less of a slower ordeal than his shirt—he’s a little more quick to get rid of them and let his hard, leaking cock finally be free of its confinements. He hisses when the cool air hits the warmth of his length, but you’re quick to bring the warmth right back as your hand wraps around him, smearing his pre cum along the tip and shaft, stroking slowly as he shudders over you and moans.

“Feel good?” you kiss his nose.

“Mmh,” he nods, swallowing thickly as you run your thumb through the slit and feel him twitch in your hand. “Y-yeah. Good.”

“Good,” you smile, “it’s about you tonight. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grunts in time with a squeeze of your fist around him.

He lets you stroke him like that for a bit, just the feeling of you touching him. Just the feeling of you surrounding him and undoing him slowly, gradually, just the way you know he likes. You know him so well, and he likes being reminded. Know what makes it feel good for him and what doesn’t—know that he likes when you speed up and focus around the tip for a bit before switching to long, languid strokes along the entirety of his length before giving his base a small squeeze.

“Ngh,” he pants, shuddering over you as his face twists into a pretty little scrunch of pleasure, “I…I think that’s—that’s enough, sweetheart. I want you now—the real thing.”

He’s close when he says it. You can tell because there’s a small twitch in your hand of his heavy cock that lets you know the build-up is about to hit the crest of good and fall over the edge and into better. You stop, looking at him fondly as he shivers at the feeling of it all coming to a halt before you press a kiss between his furrowed brows to soothe him as he holds onto his composure.

“Then take me, my birthday boy,” you coo.

“You want it, sweetheart?” he asks softly, just to be sure. “Tell me now before I lose my mind.”

“I want you,” you plead, “want you so bad—give it to me. Please.”

He does. As soon as you say it, it’s like a switch is flipped and he can finally do as he pleases—so he grabs your hips and leans in to kiss you deeply, a hot, open-mouthed clash of lips and teeth and tongue as his fat tip presses against your entrance. He’s pressing into you and splitting your folds open—one inch, then two, then three, and slowly, he’s fully filling you to the brim. His tip presses delicately against that soft, spongy part of your walls that’s especially sensitive, and you mewl at the feeling while he groans at the tight fit.

“Fuck,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight—take me so well. Fit me like I was made for you. I was, wasn’t I? Tell me I was—that we were made for each other.”

“We were,” you whine, nodding as your fingers dig into his shoulders and leave small crescent indents into his skin, “we were—we were made for each other. You’re mine, Sy.”

“I am,” he inhales sharply, “all yours. Always.”

The first snap of his hips is slow. He pulls out almost fully, until just barely the tip is still buried into you, before he slides back in with a firm, swift thrust of his hips. It leaves you lightheaded, wind knocked from your lungs by how good it feels to be split open by him and feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls. You feel like you’re floating—suspended somewhere between pleasure and bliss as nothing but his body cages you into the mattress, and nothing but him invades your senses.

Then the second snap of his hips comes in, hard and fast and rougher than the initial, and he starts to set a pace that’s not as gentle. You don’t want it to be—you want to feel him raw and hard and fast.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper, “like that…just like that—hah.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, “already so fucked out? You feel that, don’t you? How good you take my cock? You’re taking it so well—that’s a good girl. My good girl.”

“S-so deep, Sy,” you sob, “more. Please, more—more!”

“More?” he raises a brow, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as you clamp down on him at a particularly rough thrust. He groans, the sound tapering off into a shaky little exhale. “You want more, huh?”

“Yes,” you stare up at him with plump, pouty lips and wet, teary lashes. It’s enough to make him snap and lose the last bits of his composure.

Sylus has always needed you.

He was born into this world to find you, and he needs you before he can leave this world, too. He needs you if he wants to find something worth living for. He needs you if his heart wants to find some form of peace and rest. He’s just half of a soul tethered to this planet with longing and no purpose without you. He’s always needed you—body, mind, soul, heart, everything. When you’re gone, he hears the echoes of your laughter in his empty halls. When you’re here, he feels human only when you smile and press your skin to his. It feels like his flesh is not rotten or tainted, only when it has the privilege of touching the soft, precious silk of yours.

Sylus has always needed you. His purpose in this world is to love you. To be loved by you. To do it right because that’s what you both deserve. He’s nothing if not an empty body with a broken soul taking up the space of him without you.

Shakily, he whispers, “I love you. You’re all that I love—I…I love you.”

Distantly, he hears you repeat the words back to him. Soft hands are roaming his skin, gliding along the curves and dips and contours of his body, and mapping every detail to memory through your warm palms. Gentle pressure coaxes his head into your neck, letting him take sanctuary in that spot that lets him hide away and be free of whatever clings to his back like a second, haunting skin.

“I love you,” you both whisper in breathless, heated exchanges. Because there is nothing left in your brains—no other coherent thought besides the fact that there is love and that’s it. You love and he loves, and that’s all that holds you together.

It’s enough. This time, in this life, it’s enough.

You come undone first—when his thumb finds your clit and rubs a few quick circles, you fall apart while whining with your head pressing back into the pillow. Your legs wrap around his hips and pull him forward, further and deeper into you as his thick, blunt tip drills into your sweet spot and pulls yet another orgasm out of you. This one is more devastating—this one makes your body still, quivering under him with a force that almost makes it hard to breathe.

The pressure of your walls spasming around him pulls him into his own release, a low, deep groan that draws out as the first few twitches of his cock start to fill you with thick, hot ropes of his cum. He pants, rolling his hips in messy, rhythmless motions as he desperately tries to work you both through the highs of your pleasure.

“S-so perfect,” his voice comes out strained, “you…you feel so perfect—ngh.”

“S-Sylus—oh.”

He paints your walls white with more of his seed, spilled into you and fucked deep into the back of your cunt with every sharp slam of his hips until finally, with a shaky little breath, he finishes and rides out the last earth-shattering waves of his orgasm.

He slumps over you. You welcome his weight with open arms, rubbing over his back with shaky fingertips.

“I love you,” you remind him again—because really, you can never remind him enough. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder blade, nestled close and deep where only he fits.

Next year, he’ll fit just as well—maybe even better.

FOR ONCE I POST A BDAY FIC ACTUALLY ON THE BDAY HAHAHAHAHA I WIN

#meowdei.writing #meowdei.longfics #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #lads x reader #lads x you #lads smut #lads x y/n #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader

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mercy-burning · 2 months ago

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Backseat Benefits

"You are the sun and I am the moon; What light you see in me is merely yours, reflected across the length of night" --William C. Hannah

——————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: On your way home one night, Spencer innocently wonders aloud about the benefits of a car's backseat. You aim to show him what they might be. Category: Smut (18+), Fluff Content: Making out, Heavy petting, blowjob, vaginal fingering/oral, good ol' fashioned car foolin' around. Baby Spencer is low-key insecure but fighting through it Word Count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Yeah, so what Spencer wonders about backseats is the thought I had while loading in my groceries this morning LMAOO, and then Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae came on shuffle when I got in, and I started this in the Walmart parking lot. Therefore this is not proofread. I briefly skimmed after I finished, but that's IT. Enjoy!

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You like to think you know Spencer pretty well; Two years of being friends and two more of a relationship under your belts has more than proven your mutual knowing and loving and understanding of each other.

Still, he manages to find ways to surprise you every day without even trying.

Tonight, you're on your way back to his apartment from seeing a movie a few towns over. The moon flashes in and out of view as tall, full trees whip past you in the night. You think Spencer might be staring, craning his head and trying to focus on the moonlight, but eventually you notice his eyes are trained on the rear view mirror.

"Something on your mind, Sunshine?"

His nose crinkles affectionately at the pet name you've coined for him. While you're sure there are more poetic ways to describe his aura and the way he makes you feel, there wasn't a better word in the moment you could have come up with to fully encapsulate his warmth. He was pure sunshine incarnate, and so the first week you'd known each other, it became clear that there was no other option. The nickname slipped past your lips without a second thought, he looked panicked and flushed for a moment before bumbling through his response, and it stuck.

The memory of it makes you smile as he answers you.

"I was just thinking... A large percentage of vehicles have backseats, but I wonder how many of them actually get used... I mean, sure, children basically only know the backseat, and families and friend groups will spend time there... But if you're the owner of a vehicle, chances are you haven't sat in your backseat. And after all, why would you? But it makes you wonder, how many vehicle owners are truly familiar with the backseat of their car?"

The momentary silence between you feels almost comical, but you're only trying to process. Is it a truly curious statement, or...

"Are you asking if I'm familiar with my backseat?"

The suggestive implication in your tone completely goes over his head, answering your question. "Well, no, that wasn't my intention, but... Are you?"

"Kinda," you answer truthfully. "I mean, I've loaded groceries into the backseat, and I've... Spent some time back there."

Spencer looks to you and raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious and asking for elaboration. It hadn't clicked yet.

Another silence falls between you for a while before he understands, his features contorting with realization and then embarrassment. "Oh..."

You can't help but laugh. "I mean, it's been a while, but... Yeah."

"I mean, I suppose it is a cliche for young lovers to hook up in the back of a car... But I didn't even think about it..."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, this car has only seen one rendezvous in my lifetime with it, and it has been heavily sanitized since then. So if you're curious about the backseat of my car, you're welcome to sit back there anytime you like."

He groans, scrunching his nose again, only less affectionately and in that way you've come to recognize as embarrassment. "I'm sorry. That was an odd conversation."

"Hey. I'm serious. Don't you ever apologize for being curious, especially not around me, alright?"

"Yeah, alright."

You can tell he's just trying to move on but that he doesn't actually believe you, and it breaks your heart a little—another thing that's surprised you tonight. After all your years as friends, his inability to recognize precisely how much you adore literally every facet of him never seems to go away. It's gotten better over the years, but on occasion, like now, he fails to believe that someone like you could truly love someone like him. His sunshine slowly starts to disappear behind a little cloud, and though it doesn't happen for very long, each time it does, it makes you want to curse the world and whatever forces have sprung him with storms of sorrow.

And it's happening now.

You make a quick decision to pull over, and he looks over at you quizzically as the car comes to a complete stop.

"Is everything alright?" he asks, concerned more for you than himself.

"No. You put the thought in my brain, and now I just wanna sit in my backseat and see what's going on back there."

Spencer's eyes drop. "You don't have to do that..."

Instead of responding, you unbuckle your seatbelt and leave the car running, opening the door. "C'mon."

He tries to stop you, but you climb out away from his hand and close the door behind you, bracing yourself against the gentle summer wind. And now the thought really is running rampant in your head; You'd never thought about it before, but merely opening the back door feels different in your hand than when you open the driver's door. You don't know if it's just a trick of the mind—a product of the task at hand—or if there's any technical difference in the way back and front car doors are designed.

When you finally sit down in the backseat, you're about to tell Spencer about your thoughts on it only to find out that he's gone, but only for a few seconds. He climbs in beside you, his hair astray from the wind.

You smile. "Welcome to the backseat, Sunshine. Take off your jacket, stay a while."

Your words have managed to make him laugh. A small victory— a beam of light protruding from his little cloud.

"It's roomy back here," he muses, looking around, his smile still lingering.

"It's like a whole new world."

Spencer laughs again, and then you follow, and before you know it, the both of you have fallen into a small cyclone of laughter that parts the clouds and lifts the mood entirely.

"I love you," he says at last, scooting in closer to you, your legs touching now.

You reach your hand out to grab his, bringing it to rest on your chest, right where your heart sits beneath flesh and bone. "I love you, too, Sunshine. Don't you ever forget it."

Your faces have drifted closer now, noses nestling against one another as one more silence befalls you. Only this time, the thing forming in the midst is a different kind of storm. Electric, gravitating, and warm.

His lips find yours with ease, and what a gentle endeavor it is; A small gesture of gratitude and adoration that makes your heart flutter like it had the first time you kissed him. Your hand tightens over his, a squeeze of affection that lets him know you're embracing his warmth, and that you can only hope to return it to him in full.

When your lips part against his, however, something shifts in his gentleness. It firms and grows bold, pressing into you with a desperation that isn't necessarily surprising, but igniting.

You admittedly never pictured yourself making out with Spencer Reid in the backseat of your car, but now that it's happening, the low hum of the air conditioning rumbling through the space between you and the wind rustling outside, you fully embrace the pang of need that takes hold in your body and spreads to every limb.

Wandering hands, curious tongues, and saccharine sighs become your whole world for what feels like hours. Cars occasionally whoosh by, but you pay them no mind, too entirely wrapped up in your boyfriend and the way he's loving you to even consider them. Though, the thought of two government employees being caught for public indecency briefly crosses your mind and makes you huff a laugh into Spencer's mouth.

He breaks apart. "What is it?"

You kiss him again, humming mischievously into him. "Ohhh, you know."

Another kiss, slow and deliberate...

"Just thinking."

Your kisses travel along his jaw, and then his neck. His pulse under your lips is a thrill in its own right, a tangible reminder of the life he so beautifully offers you.

"About the benefits of having an unexplored backseat."

You feel his whole body sigh as your hands untuck his shirt from the band of his pants.

Then he laughs, the sound strained and desperate, and you want to bottle it up and keep it forever. "I thought you've already... explored this backseat."

In another life you would have laughed back, but there is absolutely nothing funny about the way you want him right now. Your body is on fire, screaming at you, begging to please him and feel the weight of him in your mouth, aching for the sounds that slip past his pretty, pouty lips.

Fuck.

"I want to explore it with you," you nearly whine, unbuckling his belt and licking at his collarbone. "God, Spencer, I want you so bad..."

You're not entirely sure what sound escapes him then, but once again he sounds desperate and unbelieving as your hand dips into his pants and palms him over the gray boxers you watched him put on this morning.

It spurs you forward, his desperation feeding your own, and your hand tightens around the length of him, feeling how hard and aching he is.

"Mmm, you want it too, don't you?" you moan into his chest, sinking yourself lower and lower, crawling down his body until your crouched half on the floor of the car.

Spencer swallows hard and tries to control his breathing. "Always want you..."

You grin, satisfied with his state. A man of many words, reduced to half-sentences and mindless whines of want at your mercy. Your sweet, bright boy is putty in your hands, and it's utterly intoxicating.

He manages to lift his hips enough for you to wrestle with his pants and move them down enough so you can slip his cock out of his boxers. Once it's out, firm in your hand and glistening with need, he sits back down and throws his head back.

The sound of your name falls short on his lips the second you put your mouth on him, like he's stopped thinking all together. His world stops, frozen in time as your lips wrap perfectly around him and sink down slowly. Your tongue lays flat under him, firm and wet and warm, and only when he hits the back of your throat does he let out a sound.

You hold yourself there as long as you can, gagging around him briefly before lifting your head and coming off of him with a pop of your lips. A trail of spit comes with them, which you use to help your hand glide smoothly up and down his shaft as you look up at him.

He's watching you work with disbelief, and you're about to say something about it when he surprises you yet again.

"A-Aren't you... uncomfortable? Crouched down like that?"

"Maybe a little," you tell him, squeezing his cock and working the tip in your fist. His eyes squeeze shut, trying to restrain himself from feeling pleasure when you're down here, contorted with uncomfortable limbs. "But that's the whole point, I suppose..."

"I don't follow," he breathes, a whimper chasing after his words when you lean down and press an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock.

"When you're young and in love... Hooking up in the backseat... Desperate and passionate for someone..." Your tongue comes out and teases under the tip before you continue, his eyes straining to keep open as he writhes underneath you. "If it means finding a little thrill with the one you love... What's a little discomfort?"

You take him fully in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down when you see him finally submit to it— the pleasure, the thrill...

Spencer moans, loud, the sound vibrating through you and settling deep in your core. You squeeze your legs together grind your hips into the cramped air, seeking friction in nothing but the fabric clinging to your thighs. Quite literally the living breathing definition of hot and bothered, you can't help but slack your jaw and drool on his cock, reveling in the way it glides over your tongue and repeatedly hits the back of your throat.

"I—I can't... I'm gon—na—"

You moan your approval around the length of him, reaching up to hold Spencer's hand as he twitches and writhes in your mouth. With a final squeeze of his hand, he cries out and lets go. You swallow as much as you can, but with the small space and limited room for precision, it gets messier than you figure he'd enjoy. Still, he sighs blissfully as his load lightens, and when he's orgasmed out, you make quick work of cleaning him up.

He watches you in reverence, softly whimpering at every slow stroke of your tongue as it cleans him. You take your time, leaving no inch of him untouched, uncared for...

Your cunt is practically throbbing by the time you come back up, the sensation only intensifying when Spencer pulls you into him immediately. His lips move over yours wildly, a languid labor of love that isn't laborious at all. In fact, he kisses you like he's been doing it his whole life, with no hesitation or question, and with every ounce of enthusiasm one could possibly carry.

Sunshine radiates through his fingertips, hot and enveloping as they slip under your shirt and against the skin of your lower back. You climb over him instinctively, straddling his lap and kissing him back with that same desperation that had infiltrated his kisses earlier.

He's tired from coming, you can tell, but his love for you doesn't waver— it urges him forward, carries his hand down to the front of your pants, and offers the same relief you'd gifted him.

"Please, baby, I need your fingers in me," you whine into his mouth, helping him unbutton and loosen your pants.

"Anything you want," he responds in earnest, finally getting into a comfortable enough position to slip past your underwear and touch you where you want him the most.

He kisses you through a whine, gliding through your cunt with ease.

"Mmm that's what you do to me, Sunshine," you tell him, grinding into his hand. "You make me feel so good."

His middle finger is precise, circling your clit as you try not to fall over on him. Your pants hanging around your thighs make it hard to give him more than restrictive access, but as you told him before, it's all part of the experience.

It certainly adds to your desperation, your kisses becoming urgent and sloppy, and then he manages to slip a finger inside. The fullness isn't stimulating enough to get you off necessarily, but it's welcome and hot all the same. You help him out, softly lifting and dropping your hips to meet his rhythm, and then you reach down to frantically rub your clit.

"Fuck it," he finally breathes, pulling away from you and shifting his weight. "Can you lay down?"

The two of you shift and struggle to position yourselves more comfortably, another fit of laughter tangling between you as you attempt it. Eventually, Spencer is able to remove your shoes and slide your pants down over your ankles, and then he's throwing your leg over his shoulder and bending down.

Even though you have more room, the car suddenly feels cramped, sweat gathering on your body and your muscles cramping from contorting so oddly just minutes before. And now, with your boyfriend's mouth and fingers working in tandem to get you off, you're exerting yourself even more.

It doesn't take very long to approach your orgasm, the evening's built-up tension finally coming to a head.

It also helps that Spencer knows what he's doing— That had been another surprise at the start of your relationship. He was so shy and awkward and prone to bumbling when it came to dating you at first, that the first time you had sex with him, you weren't expecting to be so exhausted that you'd slept straight through three alarms.

His tongue flicks over your clit with rapid, even strokes, meanwhile his fingers accompany them with long and meticulous accuracy that makes for the perfect orgasm. It builds and builds, until your head thumps back and hits the hard plastic of the inside of the door. You laugh through it, your body shuddering under Spencer's care, and you can feel him laughing, too.

As you come down, your body relaxing, he helps you sit up. "Are you okay?"

You can help but giggle, taking his face in your hands and kissing him firmly. "Absolutely. It's all part of the backseat charm."

He considers this with a grin that makes you weak. With one simple smile you've fallen in love with your Sunshine boy all over again. "After all, they say nothing worthwhile comes easy..."

"Mmm..."

He helps you put your pants and shoes back on, then tucks himself back into his own pants and fixes his shirt. And in comfortable, loving silence that needs nothing to fill the gaps, the two of you make your way back to the front of the car, ready to journey home.

The moon sits higher in the sky, not as disguised by the trees, and you look up at it and think about what Spencer said, not pulling the car out of park just yet.

"I don't think it's true," you say, prompting him to tilt his head.

"What's that?"

"That nothing worthwhile comes easy. I don't think it's true at all. Do you know why?"

Again, he ponders, not with a grin but with thoughtful eyes and the pout he pulls when he's considering but coming up empty handed. He shakes his head. "Why?"

"Because I love you. It's the most worthwhile thing I've ever done, and it's not difficult in the slightest."

His brown eyes, impossibly big and always brimming with wonder, have started to also brim with tears. They don't fall—they only well and glimmer in the wake of your words, until he blinks and forces them out.

Your hand reaches for his and he squeezes.

"I love you, too. More than you will ever even begin to comprehend." His voice breaks and puts itself back together through each syllable, and in doing so, chips away any sort of belief that he may not truly be lovable. Day by day, moment by moment, you continue to prove to him just how bright and deserving and inherently good he is.

A direct reflection of the two of you suddenly embalms the car— his bright smile that radiates like sunbeams and the glow of moonlight through the windshield that reminds him of your opaline heart.

Spencer lifts your hand to his lips, and in that moment, you vow to yourself that for the rest of your life, you will do everything to keep the clouds away.

And silently, in the gentle press of his lips to the palm of your hand, he vows the very same.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #mercy after hours #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader smut

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sugarwarachan · 3 months ago

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I NEED THE TROPE FOR VALENTINE'S OF EX TO LOVERS W BAKUGO

the one that goes like “ i wanted to treat you how i should’ve before.” pleaspleaseplease

when i think about this man groveling a part of my brain starts purring on low. based on this prompt list! "i wanted to treat you how i should’ve before."

ex-husband!bakugou who knows how badly he fucked up. he's obsessive by nature and the fact that he let down the person he loves most in this world doesn't sit right with him

ex-husband!bakugou who hates his empty apartment but slowly starts filling it with furniture and things that remind him of you. daydreams about the day he can bring you back here

ex-husband!bakugou who starts calling you to check in, savoring your voice even if it means you might yell at him

ex-husband!bakugou who simply starts listening more. he becomes thoroughly invested in everything you tell him, no matter how small, "your boss still being a dick, baby? pretty sure that fuckin' extra doesn't hold a candle to your talent, ya know that?"

ex-husband!bakugou who falls in love with you all over again through cautious text messages and late-night phone calls. he stays up late just to stream reality tv with you in his ear making commentary, his heart aching in his chest because this is all he really wants

ex-husband!bakugou who sees the upcoming Valentine's Day as a chance to win you back

ex-husband!bakugou who invites you over for dinner and sets up his apartment to look as romantic as possible: candles flickering, wine poured, your favorite meal on the table

ex-husband!bakugou who nearly falls over when you show up wearing his favorite dress. he fidgets throughout dinner, trying not to stare at you but finding it impossible

ex-husband!bakugou who dribbles wine down his chin when you moan around a bite of chocolate cake. when you laugh in response something loosens inside him and he allows himself to relax. he can do this; he can win you back

ex-husband!bakugou who lets you take the lead, blood rushing in his ears when you smooth your hands up his chest and kiss him. he can't help but attack you, one large hand palming your ass, the other pulling you as close as he can get you

ex-husband!bakugou who fucks you slow. he hears you begging him to go harder and leans down to kiss your forehead, smirk on his lips, "sorry princess—gotta make up for lost time and get you stupid on my dick" (you cum like six times that night)

ex-husband!bakugou who wakes you up with coffee the next morning, blond hair hanging messily in his face. you cock your head in question and he just shrugs, a blush stealing across his cheeks. "just wanted to start treatin' ya like I should have when we were married"

happy early valentine's day, loves!! more content to come. ˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are so appreciated <3

#sugarwarachanwrites #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #mha smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bakugou katuski x reader

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snickerdoodlebaby · 3 months ago

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She Likes Them Mean - Namgyu x reader x Minsu [SMUT]

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (between you & Namgyu), dub-con, dark themes, cuck Minsu, exhibitionism, voyeurism, degradation, choking, slapping, you & Namgyu are exes

Basically sweet innocent Minsu has a crush on you & is forced to watch you get fucked by Namgyu. I’m shocked I haven’t seen a fic of this yet & couldn’t get this idea out of my head, it’s way too hot frrrr enjoy <3

Minsu is always so nice to you. That pretty much sums up how you feel about him — he’s nice. You can tell the shy boy feels more for you though. The way he stares at you when he thinks you won’t notice, looking down quickly when you turn to meet his soft eyes. Choosing to be by your side in every game and sitting close to you at lunch time. The weak smiles he sent your way and how his face would turn red when you accidentally brushed up against him.

The feelings would never be reciprocated, but you enjoyed being friends with him, his quiet presence was somewhat soothing in this godforsaken hellhole. You felt pity for him, especially when he was bullied by Thanos and your ex-boyfriend.

The bullying seemed to increase dramatically once you joined their team.

Any quiet comment or slight touch between you and Minsu was immediately followed by a brutal shoulder-check or insult from Namgyu. “Fucking pussy.” Namgyu spat as his shoulder bump nearly threw Minsu to the ground.

The two of you had dated for over a year before things got messy and fell apart. And when shit hit the fan, it got ugly. The departure was far from civil, you leaving his apartment in a rush of back-and-forth yelling with suitcases full of your stuff after another fight — not uncommon with you two.

It seemed like Namgyu thought he still had some sort of weird ownership over you. This time you had enough — it’s not like he had any say in what men you spoke to or interacted with.

“Leave him alone, dickhead...” You’d say under your breath, glaring at the back of Namgyu’s head as he stopped in his tracks. You hear him curse under his breath, recognizing the korean word for “bitch.”

He didn’t hesitate to turn back around, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and walk directly up to you. His black eyes narrowing as he searches your face. “Huh?” His eyebrows raised, “Why are you standing up for this dork? You like him or somethin?”

A short breath leaves your nose in a humorless laugh. You didn’t justify his questions with an answer. The close proximity of Namgyu’s body to yours almost had you dizzy, reeling from the memories the faint smell of his cologne brought back.

Namgyu’s eyes flicked to Minsu sizing him up, who was cowering and making himself as small as possible next to you.

“If you think being nice and sweet is gonna get her to spread her legs, it won’t.” Your mouth dropped open at his lewd words, he said it low enough so that only you two could hear.

“She doesn’t like weak pussies like you. And don’t think I didn’t see you take the bed next to hers.” He nodded in the direction of your bunks. He looked back down at you and leaned forward with his lip curled in a sneer, enjoying how uncomfortable Minsu was getting and the incredulous look on your face. “Bet this bastard jerks off to your sleeping face every night.”

The vulgar words made Minsu visibly flinch and he couldn’t look anywhere but his own shoes. Hearing Namgyu make these crude accusations so openly made his face burn. He had never thought about you in such a filthy way, truly! He was petrified in embarrassment.

You were fuming, astounded at the audacity of this man. Namgyu has always been a sleazy asshole so you should’ve seen this coming. Of course he would try to put poor Minsu in his place while claiming his stake on you. Minsu would probably be too terrified to even glance in your direction now.

Namgyu went further than that, of course. He had a point to prove to this pathetic loser who had no chance in hell of getting with you.

That same night Namgyu had you face down and ass up in your bunk, his favorite position to take you in. Your sweatpants were pulled messily to your ankles along with your panties, your shirt bunched above your tits as they bounce with each rock of Namgyu’s hips against your ass. “Yeahhh…that’s how you like it huh? Bet you’ve missed it.”

His veiny ringed hand was threaded through your long hair, pushing your face into the thin mattress below. Your eyes fluttered and rolled back into your head, your cunt squeezing the life out of your ex’s cock you missed so much.

The two of you weren’t the only ones awake. There was a third — Minsu, the next bunk over, frozen. His blanket was pulled up to his chin, his eyes wide at the debauched scene happening in front of him. The girl he had a crush on getting absolutely railed by the guy who constantly bullies him. The darkness did little to hide the two of your activities, your bunk squeaking and bodies rocking together in a lewd slapping sound disrupting the silence.

Namgyu suddenly wrenched your head up by your hair, making you cry out. He was forcing you to look at Minsu a few feet away, the two of you making eye contact as you moaned and panted. Guilt mixed with pleasure surged through you in waves.

You thought you saw tears well up in the quiet boy’s eyes. He was such a sensitive soul, you didn’t want to hurt him… Namgyu’s next words were venomous as he uttered them.

“Yeah, look at ‘er…” He directed at Minsu. “She’ll. Never. Want. You.” Each word was punctuated by him jackhammering roughly into your abused cunt.

His hand comes up to grip your throat tightly, cutting off your moans and pulling you tight to his chest against your back. “Yeahhh fuck. Y’ always come crawling back, need your cunt fucked nice n’ hard n’ I’m the only one who can do it right, huh?”

You couldn’t breathe and you swear you’ve never felt so good, you couldn’t tell what planet you were on or what nonsense was babbling out of your mouth. Namgyu always had a way of making your head empty and your pussy full, so fucking full.

He released the hold on your throat, a huge gasp of air rushing into your lungs and he’s at the nape of your ear, breathing you in deeply like he was trying to savor the scent of you after being away from it for so long. His hand came up to your cheek in a sharp slap. “Fucking freak can’t get off unless I slap her around.” You moaned loudly at that. Your brain could barely comprehend what he was saying to Minsu. You couldn’t deny the way the extra pair of eyes sent more slick seeping out of you.

You think Minsu really might be crying now, confirmed by what Namgyu said next. You feel his sadistic snicker against your ear, his breath hot. “What? Sad your crush turned out to be a nasty shameless whore?” Namgyu couldn’t stop running his mouth when you were under him.

With blurry half-lidded eyes you glance at Minsu. His gaze was locked onto your bouncing tits squished against the bed. “He can’t look away. Fucking pervert.” Cold fingers clamp down on your clit, pinching it in rapid vicious pulses. A choked scream left your parted lips, quickly muffled by two ringed fingers. Namgyu wanted to make sure you came hard while the shy boy was watching.

“Tell him I own your pussy.” Namgyu’s words were gospel when he was fucking you, and you couldn’t do anything but follow.

You hadn’t been fucked — no, you hadn’t been fucked like this in so long. None of the guys you slept with after the breakup compared, none of the orgasms even came close to how easy Namgyu had you shaking and creaming. At least that’s what you told yourself, to justify why you were about to cum so hard and easily around him.

“Namgyu owns my pussy! Namgyu owns my pussy!!!” The chant left your mouth in a desperate mewl over and over.

Clear liquid gushed out of you, spraying Namgyu’s thighs and dripping down his balls that were still slapping against your ass.

Namgyu cursed when he realized what was happening, rutting his cock into you a few last times before he stilled as deep as he could and came. God, it felt like he was trying to push into your womb. You felt shameful that Minsu had to see you like this, in this debauched state.

He couldn’t bring himself to talk to you or look you in the eyes for the rest of the games. Especially because he came twice in his sweatpants watching you get fucked that night.

#namgyu x reader #squid game fanfiction #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #x reader #nam gyu x reader #smut #squid game smut #nam gyu x reader smut #min su squid game #min su x reader #park minsu #namgyu x you #namgyu x reader x minsu #squid game #squid game x reader smut #squid game headcanons

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inhogf · 4 months ago

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the salesman nsfw hcs.

· contains: purely nsfw, gun-play, he has a thing for your period UMM · note: its like 5 am but i HAD to post this

·⠀the salesman/gong yoo's not the type to call you ‘baby, princess, honey’ during sex. no; his dignity is higher than that. he'd be more of a name user or would call you his ‘slut, whore, bitch’.

·⠀barely has personal preference for positions, as long as he’s in full control. just as eager to have you ride him as he is to flip you over. just as long as he's inside you. big fan of face fucking though! holds your hair as you're doing it :3

·⠀has a libido bigger than his dick. practically using you almost every night as his sex doll; his stress relieve toy. makes sure to use you till the last drop when he finally gets his hands on you, due to the disappointingly lack of free time to sate his urges w/ you. has a shocking amount of stamina too :3. he definitely initiates things more than you do. he's suuuchhh a horny little boy for you OMDSSSS.

·⠀not a surprise but he's totally into gun play— fucks u w/ his glock, adoring the expression you make as he thrusts every single length of the gun into your pussy. holds his gun against your temple as he makes you bounce on his dick, getting off to your increasing fear. may even shoot a single bullet across the room to show you that the one against your skull is still functional and still a threat to your well-being.

·⠀i feel like he'd have a fetish for periods. doesn't like eating you out but as soon as he finds out you're menstruating, he'd BEG you to let him give you head and always find a way into your pants strategically. keeps a tight grip on your waist to hold you against his mouth ♡ & the mere smell of your blood is enough to get his dick sprung up.

·⠀this MIGHT be controversial but he'd be the type to beg you to send him nudes of your bare body. especially when he's out at work. his gallery is all pictures of your body and he's always shamelessly scrolling through them— palming away vigorously at his dick, wishing it was your mouth wrapped around his tip instead.

·⠀he's 100% a moaner. not high and squeaky moans, low ones; groans low enough only for you to hear. very vocal and mouthy, he's not scared to let you know how much of a good job you're doing, how pretty and fuckable you look doing it.

·⠀he's sooo harsh with you, spanking you on your plump ass until there's a visible red handprint, manhandling your hips off the bed to get a good angle to fuck, slapping your face every chance he gets. he's so mean.

·⠀he's big on degrading, is talking shit any chance he gets. “you can't even take me properly, useless little thing.“ and he's soo mean and criticizes every move you make. by the end of it all you’ll be nodding with tears streaming down your face (he gets off to it), lost to the pleasure he’s giving you and only able to apologise for being such a pathetic and stupid little baby!

·⠀owns multiple toys— gags (dog bone gags to be specific), ropes, blindfolds, vibrators, beads, dildos, you name it. he's a spender. ties you up with his ropes to feel the control that he craves so much.

cr @inhogf dont steal

#squid game s2 #squid game x reader #squid game smut #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo smut #salesman fanfic #salesman x reader #salesman smut #the salesman #the recruiter x reader #recruiter squid game #recruiter x reader #the recruiter #squid game 2 #gong yoo x you #salesman x you #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you

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ttsukiimi · 1 year ago

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───〃★ WE F⍣CK OFF & ON, OFF & ON .ᐟ

〃★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ As the campus’s well known f⍣ckboy, Satoru Gojo wasn’t known to stick around for more than one night in one bed. Well, that unspoken rule just didn’t apply when the bed was yours.

〃★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, uni au, smut (mdni), protected s⍣x, f⍣ckboy!gojo, hair pulling, p⍣ssywhipped!gojo, mentions of alc⍣hol & bein’ drunk, dirty talk, slight dumbification.

〃★ 𝐚/𝐧 ⎯ Thank you so freaking much for 1.5K!!! 🥹

Absolutely unbearable.

If there was any way to describe the campus fuckboy, it’d be that.

He was known—infamous for his unique way of fucking women and somehow leaving them attached, yearning for him once more after just one night, while he only left unscathed with his balls empty.

Satoru Gojo was insatiable. And you hated him.

You failed to see what everyone saw in him—he was a total idiot for fucks sake! Granted, he had a pretty face and could be quite charming, and you really couldn’t say for yourself if he was that good in bed, but good things about him paled in comparison to his horrid personality. He knew how attractive he was, and used that any chance he got.

How did he manage to talk his way into and out of anything? You simply didn’t know. But you hated him.

That was…until you yourself finally had a taste of Satoru Gojo.

Drunk at a party and so utterly wasted, you’d failed to acknowledge who was hitting on you, who you got into the taxi with to drive back to who knows where. His hands all over you—so rough yet inviting, even after the alcohol in your system had gone you still found yourself pulled into a trance.

A trance that seemingly pushed you to his bed and under him. Seemingly had you moaning his name all night and for more to come.

And seemingly, now, opening the door to your apartment so he could come in. So he could come in and fuck you like he’s been doing for the past months. Well, that’s just what he thought would happen anyway.

“Satoru,” you huffed, watching as the tall freak plopped himself onto your couch, momentarily jerking his head back before he responded with a hum.

“Can you stop acting like a fool and try not to break anything for once?” You chastised, pointing to a hand of his already playing with the flowers in your prized vase—he hadn’t given you those and had no right to taint them.

The white haired man groaned, rolling his eyes and following you down the narrow hallway to your bedroom. Your steps halted at the doorway and so did his, a low snicker leaving his lips as his hands slid to your waist.

“So,” he sighed in your ear, brushing his soft lips past the skin of your neck, big hands squeezing the flesh of your ass as he snaked them down. “Y’just gonna keep on being grumpy or you gonna let me fuck?”

“Satoru,” you exasperated for what seemed like the umpteenth time, though you didn’t dare take his hands off your body, already surrendering to the feeling. “Just because we’ve been fucking doesn’t mean that I only invite you here because of that.”

You turned around to face him. “We have a project to do, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll start after I start.”

And what was Satoru’s definition of that?

It was pushing your head further down into your pillows as he absolutely ravished your cunt, simultaneously holding both your hands back with just one of his.

His thrusts were deep and calculated—to the point where it felt like he knew where every pleasurable spot inside you was. Perhaps he did.

“Dick’s got you all quiet now, hm?” he smirks, sliding his free hand up your back and to your head, pulling your hair back as he speaks. By then you were a drooling mess and as much as you’d hate to admit it—you’re practically dumb on his cock, moaning incoherent little babbles of his name and how big he feels.

Satoru grins behind you, smug because he’s got you, the most prim and proper girl on campus choking on her own saliva. It all felt so surreal, you felt surreal—your soft hips, the succulent ripple of your ass as his hips connected to it, your moans—fuck everything you did was driving him crazy. Even though it was supposed to be the other way around.

He was the one who was supposed to be ingrained in your brain—but here he was, inches deep inside your wet, reeling pussy after he swore the last time he was in your apartment would be the last.

But there’s always a reoccurring cycle with you. He just can’t stop.

“Hah—mph—slow down, S’toru!” you mewl, fat tears swelling in your waterline, your ears perking up at the rhythmic plap! plap! plap! of your sweaty bodies colliding. “If ‘m too loud my neighbors might hear,”

“Yeah? Let them hear how good I’m makin’ you feel then,” he breathes, shallow and unsteady, his toned chest moving in tandem with his inhales. The deep tremble of his voice seems to move throughout your body, vibrating through you in such a maddening way that you’re almost cumming from the feeling alone.

What was even more provoking was the way he pulsed against your gummy walls, thumping and pulsing inside you loud enough that it seemed you could hear it.

And—god was Satoru close, so close he could feel the static of his high zap though his fingers. He groaned, head thrown back in bliss as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so deliciously.

Your head was spinning from the mind-dizzying pleasure, eyes rolling back in what Satoru can only admit is the most remarkable expression he’s gotten out of anyone he’s fucked.

His hair was sticking to his forehead now, sweaty from how fast he was working to thrust into you at his abnormal pace. “Can I—“

“No.”

A defeated sigh and a pained grunt as he pulled out just as he was about to teeter off the edge of pleasure, taking himself in his hands and finishing the job. Satoru jerked himself as he watched you shake and convulse in euphoria, your body unwinding as you let your limbs go limp.

Cum seeped from your pussy, dripping down to your clit and sheets—and that sight was all he needed before his hot seed was spurting all over your back, the sensation causing a broken cry to leave your lips.

“Fuck,” Satoru mouthed, breathing hard as he gave your ass little smacks of approval. “That was—shit—so good.”

You nodded, head turning to the side as you watched him take off his cum-filled condom, and dump it in the trash. Satoru plopped back on your bed once he was done.

A smirk graced his lips and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, knowing nothing good could come out of that look.

“When do you think we could do it raw, hm?”

“When you get tested for every type of STD.”

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superhoeva · 2 months ago

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𝐣. 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭 – 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | worked on this instead of sleeping but it might be one of my favorite things i've ever written. very overwhelmed by this man and how self-destructive i feel like he can be. warning(s) include: language, fluff, angst, smut, very little dialogue, penetrative sex (mentioned, m + f), handjob (mentioned), bodily fluids, jack being back (whatever that means), attending/resident relationship, fwb vibes, also there's fluffy parts, i swear.

The room stinks of sex–of lingering musks and a slowly-dampening heat that serve as memorials to another night spent losing yourself in the surprisingly tender hands of Jack Abbot. A pulse between your legs, also a reminder. The heat there has far from subsided, lingering and still dancing itself through your veins.

You feel nice. The window on the far side of your room is cracked to stop the smoke from your cigarette you’d finished a few minutes ago from persisting for too long. Sounds from the city flutter in just under the floating chords of Nude by Radiohead.

In Rainbows, track three. Jack fucked you, face to face, the night he learned you knew every word of the song by heart. Then hummed the first verse with you while you rode him to his own peak.

Jack sits against your headboard, sheets hanging at his waist to shield his softening cock from the air of the night. His face is the better version of an already faultless story in this low lighting, the edges of his jaw and cheeks promising something dangerous.

You’ve chosen to rest on a pillow instead of Jack’s thigh, but lay halfway on your side to face the man. Makes it easier to stare at him as you fall asleep. He doesn’t let you get far, fingers of one hand coiling with yours as you play with the digits that started the night feeding you the fruit he bought three days ago. The old lady at the berry stand think ‘m cute, and always gives me extra Jack explained after turning up at your place with an extra carton of some of the sweetest tasting produce you’ve ever consumed.

You smile to yourself, thinking. He fed them to you. The scowling, rugged, sarcastic attending had fed his fourth year resident strawberries.

Jack squints at you, ignoring how his own mouth wants to twitch upwards. “What’re you grinning about?”

You shake your head. He accepts your answer with a rolling of his eyes, untangling his fingers from your and running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip before you get a chance to pout at the loss.

He’s been like this a lot recently–softer, warmer. Eyes overcast with… fondness? The hands that used to yank you into him tug at your body, now. Dragging and trailing at your skin like he’s memorizing the map of your body for when you aren’t near. You’ve wholly accepted the change, letting his grip linger and kisses lengthen into something that burns up your insides.

Grabbing his hand, you snuggle it to your face and close your eyes. He watches you with a still stare, waiting until your breaths even to let his eyes shine with silent tears. His mouth quivers as he makes sure to keep his sniffles quiet, rolling his head with a sigh.

He feels good. Too good, and it didn’t take more than three of his weekends off to get there. Hiding it used to be easy, swearing to himself that the reason you make his chest tremble is because of that trick you do with your tongue. Because of how snugly he fits inside you and how cockdrunk you get. Because of how pretty you beg when he makes you stretch your pussy out with your own fingers instead of his.

Those were the reasons he masked himself with. Forcing himself to go blind at how you snore even though you say you don’t, and wouldn’t look him in the eye after seeing the tiny spots of dry drool you left on his shirt despite his promises that it was alright. Ignoring how he ached through the seven days of shifts, doing his best to treat you like he hasn’t been balls deep inside you every weekend for the past year. Stuffing aside how he thinks of you even when you’re not around, how he almost mumbled I love you into your mouth as you jerked him to a lengthy completion across your stomach a month ago.

Jack’s fucked, and he knows it. He knew it when he woke up seven Tuesdays ago and reached out for you. It took him an embarrassing seven seconds to remember he wasn’t in your room, that you weren’t there. It takes him longer to realize how chilly he keeps his place.

That’s another thing about you, you’re always so damn warm. With patients and him, and so is your room.

He’ll miss that. It’ll take him a while to get over it, too. He’ll snap at residents and smile less but he’ll get over you. He has to. Regardless of how many tears he lets fall tonight as he thinks of the look on your face when you wake up not find him not in your kitchen making Saturday morning coffee but gone. Not letting you see him until the following Monday, and making sure to add a little edge to his voice when speaking to you.

No jokes. No touches. No winks from across the room. And no more weekends.

Wiping his face, Jack sucks in a deep breath and dips his head to look at you. A sad smile warps his face at the drool already leaking out onto your pillow.

Too wired to sleep, he spends an hour listening to your snores and studying your face with watery eyes before slipping his hand from your grasp with a sniffle. The man freezes when you shuffle, holding his breath until you nuzzle into the pillow. He finds his clothes after a few seconds of searching, hoping the quiet music still playing from your looped playlist is enough to cover the clinking of his belt and shuffling fabric.

Jack’s halfway out of your room when his body forces him to pause. It’d be so easy to give in. To concede, and peel off the clothes so he could slip back into bed with you. You’re always so tired after he fucks you, all you’d do is whine and tug him closer before returning to your sleep. Hugging him into you even though he always complains about waking up sweaty.

He stands in the doorway of your room for a long two minutes before turning to face you. Tipping to the bed with long strides, Jack swallows.

You wake six hours later. Music stopped, and Jack long gone.

#the pitt x reader #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot fanfic #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr abbott x reader #dr abbott x you #jack abbott smut #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbott #dr abbott #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction

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bunnygirllover45 · 6 months ago

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— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?”

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.”

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.”

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.”

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips.

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter.

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center.

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.”

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.”

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.”

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

#ah yes #is that #“the author's thinly veiled fetishes“ moment #anyways hope u guys don't mind me nerding about hunting...#male yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #chrona... writes stuff?#johann the bastard

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pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | You end up in the backseat of Joel's car, for a few reasons.

author's note | a sequel to drive. sorry the insistent posting, a girl's head is full of words and ideas and they gotta go somewhere. unbeta'd but i went through this five times, i pray there's no typos.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, girthy age gap (early 20s, late 50s), car troubles, silent yearning, internal conflict, still sad hot grieving dads gone wild, is this real love or a mid-life crisis, teasing, daddy kink, degradation, unprotected piv, eating from the back, the slightest hint of ass play, all of this is definitely bad for his knees, joel is a gentleman first always

word count — 5k

Joel hands you the keys to his car without a single hesitation.

Your eyes widen, still rousing from your sound sleep in an unfamiliar home, an unconventional way to spend your night as you’re standing in front of the man who made you come without a single touch on his behalf.

The shame never surfaces, replaced with a strong surge of confidence.

“Are you sure?”

“Can you drive stick?”

You nod, closing your fingers around the keys placed in your palm.

“I’m sure,” he responds with ease, hair wet from a fresh shower and combed back, dressed in a fresh set of clothes while you’re still stuck in your clothes from the night prior.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t give you a distinct feeling of exhilaration, shaking with a subtle excitement as he follows you closely to his car, slightly hesitant as you adjust yourself in the driver’s side until you’re comfortable, his hand curling around the open window to close the door.

With the early drive, it was clear open roads and the quiet hum of nature, and Joel’s wordless encouragement to enjoy yourself, only driving recklessly enough that it makes your heart race for a moment before you’re reminding yourself that it isn’t your car—as fun as the joy ride is.

“How often do you let strangers drive your car?” you ask as your drive has tripped over the halfway mark and transitioned into more busy streets.

“Strangers? Never,” he tells you, “Pretty girl like you? Also never…well, ‘til now.”

“Careful,” you warn him playfully, patting the steering wheel gently, “I might come back for her,”

“Just her?” There’s a hint of something unrecognizable in his tone, not able to put your finger on it, but you turn to him briefly, a kind smile on your face, utterly relaxed.

“Just her,” you jest, hardly meaning the words, knowing the chances of ever seeing Joel again were slim to none and frankly, you were settled with that fact.

He’d given you a night, healed what had been ruined, and didn’t judge you once.

Joel would be a fond memory, though one you would revisit often.

–

You're engrossingly aware of the watchful eyes as the engine roars into the parking lot of your dorms, slowly and simmering to a low roar as you turn off the ignition and pass the keys into his waiting hand before you reach for the handle, a noise of disapproval coming from Joel’s throat.

You bite your lip to subdue the smile as he exits the car and swiftly jogs to your side, opening the door and lending a hand to help you out, Joel nods politely as you laugh despite your efforts.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks curiously, leaning gently against the open door.

“It’s just, so…gentlemanly,” And nothing you were used to, always settling for less—it wasn’t what you deserved, you knew that, but your pickings were slim and frankly, it sucked, “—I’m being rude, sorry—thank you.”

Joel goes silent for a moment, his gaze watchful as you shift from foot to foot and adjust your bag and wrinkled clothes, meeting his eyes briefly again with a smile that breathes nervousness.

How the hell was he supposed to admit he wanted more of you?

Fuck it, he was going for it.

“I’m picking you up next weekend,” Joel asserts, your eyes widening with genuine curiosity.

“I’m–oh—okay?” you agree like it was instinct, “I guess I can shift around some plans?”

Not that you had any.

“Perfect,” His charm is unmatched and your initial reaction is to laugh, mostly out of disbelief but there’s a hint of joy in your face as you look at him, “I’m gonna kiss you now, alright?”

You clear your throat habitually and nod, a shaky jerk of your head as the entire world fades away, his palm curving around the side of your neck as he leans into you, a gentle press of your lips.

It was respectful, quick, the moment leaving you before you can even recollect it was happening, eagerly chasing his lips as he parts from you.

“So, now you touch me?”

Joel chuckles lowly, feeling his lips brush yours as he nods.

“S’not how I wanna, but I’ll settle.” The words make you want to melt away, “Next weekend, Saturday. Six in the evenin’, I’ll be waiting here.”

"Six in the evening," you repeat, the words tasting sweet on your lips where Joel’s had just been, laying your words on thick as your fingers drag down his chest. "Is that all, daddy?"

Joel makes a noise, unintelligible but his eyebrow twitches in amusement.

“Cut the shit,” he warns, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing over the tip of your chin as he taps it admonishingly, “Can you give me your number?”

Caught up in the moment, you had nearly forgotten.

“Fuck—yeah, I guess that is a good idea, isn’t it?”

A quick exchange and Joel is on his way, disappearing from view and leaving you with the nothing but wistful feelings inside and judgemental eyes at your back.

And the week crawls by, each day stretching into eternity as Saturday approaches.

You find yourself checking your phone more than usual, a small smile forming whenever Joel's name appears on your screen with some mundane question or comment that somehow feels significant.

As easy as asking how your day was or the wish of a hopeful good one, filling a void that you didn’t realize you were missing, waking up with the expectant text and falling asleep with the promise of hearing from him the next morning.

It’s not supposed to feel this way, especially not with a man like Joel.

He’s troubled, clearly clouded by life. Older, wiser, more experienced.

This was undoubtedly a mid-life crisis, but you couldn’t even feel offended.

It felt fucking amazing, the obvious need in his eyes as he watched your fingers play between your legs, how lustful he looked—it was bound to drive you insane if you let it.

Saturday finally arrives, and you spend an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear.

You wanted something casual but alluring, something that says you didn't try too hard. It was the same giddiness that approached with any first date you had, hopeful despite the amount of times you’ve been disappointed. You settle on an outfit that feels right against your skin, something that gives you confidence. And truthfully, easily accessible.

If there was one thing for certain, you were determined to get his hands on you.

Joel arrives two minutes before the hour, hearing him halfway down the block and biting away the amused expression as he pulls to a stop at the stairs that led up to your dorm building, windows rolled down and watching as he reached over the console to open your door from inside, the force of his fingers pushing it open as you quickly take a seat, his arm leaning over your lap to yank the door closed, smelling of a subtle cologne, familiar to the first night you had met him.

"Hi," you say, a little breathless despite your attempt to seem casual.

His eyes catch yours, and there's that smile again—the one that makes your stomach flutter in a way that's both thrilling and terrifying. It's the kind of smile that makes you feel seen, genuinely, rather than the men who look straight through you.

"Hi yourself," Joel replies, his voice low and warm. He doesn't immediately pull away from the car door, his proximity making the small space between you pulsate with tension, "You look nice."

As he shifts the car into drive, his forearm flexes, and you catch yourself staring at the veins mapped beneath his skin, wondering how they'd feel under your fingertips.

The thought sends heat crawling up your neck, aware of his eyes as they trade between the road and you, exploring the exposed skin of your neck and thighs, hands tucked between your legs for warmth but the edges of your skirt rolling up your thigh, looking enticingly indecent.

Joel would get through this date before touching you if it killed him.

But, even you can feel his resolve weakening with each passing minute.

It was unfinished business.

“So, where are you taking me?” you ask curiously, talking gently over the low hum of the radio as he reaches for the dial to lower the volume at the sound of your voice, “Or was this just a ruse to get me alone again?”

Your tongue catches between your teeth in a delicious smirk that makes his insides stir, shaking his head as he neck strains with the turn of his head, your chest presses against the pressure of the seatbelt as you shift in your seat, spreading your legs apart to sit straight, hands curling over the edge of the leather.

The long, winding road you were going down felt like it was stretching on for an eternity, blanketed by trees and overgrown foliage, lit by the headlights of Joel’s car and the quickly setting sun, casting an ominous shadow of his features as he finally chuckles, relieving the tension.

“Those boys never treat you right, do they?” He can see how they’ve tainted your perspective, settling for whatever satiated the moment, even if the sex was lousy and the food was cheap.

“All a girl wants is a nice meal and an orgasm, is that too much to ask for?”

The words flow so innocently Joel has to grip the steering wheel to resist the urge to slide his hand between your thighs and discover just how bad that want is.

As you come around the bend, there’s a strange rattle to the engine that catches both of your attention and a look of disdain and annoyance on Joel's face as he regrettably pulls off to the side of the road.

“She’s out to get me,” Joel swears, the car stalling as he safely pulls off into a shaded area.

“Does this happen a lot?” You ask, feeling a tinge of disappointment at the date going ary, knowing it would be just your luck.

“Only when it’s an inconvenience it feels like,” Joel admits, “S’probably an easy fix, though. Pop the hood for me, sweetheart?”

Joel exits the car and heads toward the trunk, grabbing a few supplies as you reach over the driver’s side and pull the lever, leaving him to catch the sight of your ass in the air as you peer over your shoulder, receiving a dangerous look of warning before he laughs.

“Can I help at all?” You ask innocently, suddenly appearing to pop your head out of the passenger window as he peers around at the sound of your voice.

“You like gettin’ dirty?” Joel asks, not inclined to order you to stay in the car if you were genuinely eager to lend a hand, responding with an enthusiastic nod that has plenty of unaddressed double meanings, not enough time to address them at the moment.

"I'm not afraid of a little grease," you say, stepping out of the car.

The evening air is cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the car's stuffy interior.

Joel's already got the hood propped open, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. You find yourself studying the way his hands move with practiced confidence over the engine, the slight furrow of concentration in his brow. It was all so natural.

"Hand me that wrench?" he asks, pointing to the small toolbox he's placed on the ground.

You crouch beside it, fingers hovering over several tools, fidgeting until you find the correct tool and stand to hand it over, replacing it with the flashlight he offered silently.

“Oh, such a prestigious honor,” you say jokingly, clicking the flashlight with your thumb as you smirk, shining the light over the spot his hands were working at.

“Just hold it steady,” he orders casually, surveying the area until he finds the culprit, or at least what he thinks it could be.

“Yes, sir,” you agree playfully, body pressing against his own purposefully as you invade his space.

Unphased, he effortlessly removes the spark plugs and gives them a quick wipe down with a rag, only appeasing the car enough for the night—hopefully, at least.

He silently reaches for the flashlight and trades the appropriate tool and spark plug into your hand, waiting expectantly with watchful eyes. You hesitate, turning the spark plug over in your palm. It's heavier than it looks, coated in a film of oil that makes your fingers slick.

"You want me to...?" your voice trails off, uncertainty creeping in.

"Put it back where it belongs," Joel says, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "Don't worry, can't mess it up too bad with me watchin' you."

His confidence is contagious.

You lean in, the scent of motor oil and his subtle cologne mingling in a strangely intoxicating way. Your hands aren't as steady as his, but you manage to position the spark plug correctly, glancing up for approval. It shouldn’t surprise you that his eyes have trailed, the skirt showing a peek of your ass as your bare thighs pressed against the cool metal of his front bumper.

"Now twist it in, gentle but firm," he instructs, his voice dropping lower, eyes locked on the site of your soft thighs and the peek of your panties and your carelessness that you were exposing yourself to him currently, dutiful to your destined task at hand, working through the motion with ease as his voice comes through again, “yeah—just like that, sweetheart.”

"Like this?" you ask, voice deliberately innocent as you twist the spark plug into place, making sure your movements are slow and deliberate. The position is awkward, forcing you to bend further over the engine, your skirt riding up another dangerous inch, shirt following as he glances at the peek of your spine and curses under his breath, gripping a flashlight that was no longer pointed at the engine.

Joel clears his throat, stepping closer under the pretense of supervision.

Your fingers work the spark plug into place with growing confidence, twisting until you feel the satisfying resistance of a proper fit.

"There," you announce, unable to keep the pride from your voice. "How'd I do?"

Your smile is beaming as Joel shuts the hood, peering up at his pensive face as you hear the sound of metal against metal as the flashlight rests against the car, his hand smoothing over your backside to fix your skirt back into place, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek with the gesture.

He was touching you and he hadn’t fully realized it or that he’d broken his own rule.

You don’t dare speak, afraid he might recoil.

"Perfect," he says, his hand lingering just a moment too long against the fabric of your skirt, like he’s trying to convince himself to let you go, "You're a natural."

The compliment heats your skin, though you know it's just a spark plug—nothing complicated.

Still, there's something about the approval in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.

Aside from that, the feeling of the grease on your fingers is slightly unpleasant, something that Joel notices in your face as he nods toward the backseat, “I’ve got a clean rag in the back, go on and grab it while I start ‘er up,”

You nod and follow his order, hearing the tell-tale roar of the engine and noise of delight from Joel as you lean into the backseat and search the seat for the fabric before coming up blank, squinting to search the dark floorboard as you hand slips, tumbling down with a yelp as Joel is quick to turn the car off, pushing out of the driver’s side and suddenly his hands are at your hips, his knee fitting in beside your thigh as he pulls you back, unable to hold back the laugh at your own clumsiness.

Another touch, the feeling of him crowding behind you sends your mind reeling.

“I can’t fucking find it,” you say with a dramatic sigh, pushing back against his groin from where you’re crouched, acting completely innocent as you blindly pat around for the rag, “Joel, do you see it?”

His hands tighten at your hips, a moment of tension settling between you as your body pressed against his. The innocent search for a rag suddenly feels like anything but—his fingertips are against your hips, squeezing into the flesh and you’re feeling particularly coy.

"It's, uh..." Joel clears his throat, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that makes your skin prickle with awareness. His hands are warm, one reaching past you to feel on the floor for the fabric, "should be right there under the seat."

You feel him shift behind you, the hard press of denim against the back of your thighs as he stretches to retrieve the rag, fumbling until his fingers catch. The car suddenly feels impossibly small, the air thick with something unspoken.

"Got it," he murmurs, but he doesn't immediately move away.

Sure enough, the blue fabric contracts brightly in the dark, resting in his palm.

He doesn't immediately hand it to you, though.

Instead, he slowly pulls you both upright, your back still to his front, the two of you half-standing in the open doorway of the car, your eyes fixed on your hands as you wipe them clean of any grease or oil, ignorant to the internal battle happening in Joel’s mind as he hovers behind you.

You lean more of your weight to one side, hip cocking out slightly as you lean down momentarily to toss the dirtied rag away, fumbling hastily with your skirt to readjust your clothes.

Joel shifts behind you, and you can feel the tension in his body—restraint barely contained.

His hand returns to your hip, this time with purpose, thumb tracing small circles against the exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up still.

"You're doing that on purpose," he says, voice low and rough against your ear.

It's not a question.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his gaze from the corner of your eye. "Doing what on purpose?"

His jaw is tight, eyes darker than usual as they flick from your face to where his hands rest on your body.

“What is it, Joel?” you ask with innocent curiosity, though you know exactly where his words would land, his actions speaking for themselves, “What’s bothering you?”

“Don’t play clueless, sweetheart,” Joel retorts, “ain’t becoming of you,”

“Last I checked, you barely know me,” you respond with a similar bite, turning to face him now, chest to chest, “frankly, the whole saint act isn’t very attractive when all I have to do is get on my knees and beg for daddy—I mean, should I?”

He’s pensive, neck pulsing as he swallows and you shrug, “Whatever—you’re bandaging up my knees then—”

You start to sink slightly, but his hand catching around the expanse of your throat stills you, gasp slipping from your lips as it pushes the air out, eyes locked with his own, his tone taunting, “Yeah,” he nods slightly, eyes squinting as he deciphers your suddenly meek expression, “you gonna let me fuck you out here? S’fuckin’ pathetic, can’t let me treat you like a lady? Take you on a nice date first?”

“Tell me you don’t want to,” you reply softly, choked up with the pressure on your neck, slackening slightly as you land softly against the side of the car, both of your crowded by the open car door, “like you haven’t been touching me all night, what happened to your rules?”

“Different touches, kiddo,” he smoothly corrects and you nod mockingly, a smile slowly morphing on your face, hand move slowly to palm him over the front of his jeans, hard as fucking rock and warm, fingers curling over the thick waistband with a grin that continues to grow, a semblance of wonder on your face.

“Like this?” you ask, squeezing at his cock and his hand leaves your neck, arms bracketing your head as they curl around the frame of the roof behind your back, watching the careful ascent of your hand as it slides underneath his shirt, curling around his abdomen and your blunt nails digging into the skin, earning a soft grunt, “Or, like that?”

You let the moment linger, trailing touches.

“Fuck me out here,” you plead into his mouth, hand back on his jeans and working them open with deft fingers. You don’t give him time to protest before your palm is under the fabric of his briefs, skin to skin and touching him how you know he wants but won’t ask.

He shifts, breath short and hot. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” His voice is low, a rumble against your cheek as he leans in closer, like he might kiss you or devour you whole.

Both would be fine.

His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s all teeth and heat, hands mapping your body with a kind of frenzy. “Goddamn,” he mutters roughly, like it’s a revelation. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You smile wickedly, arching into his touch, “How do you want me, daddy?”

“Get your ass in the backseat, hands in—,” you move accordingly, giggling at his forceful touch as you lean inside, stopped short of your knee touching the seat as he keeps you upright, fingers curling around the damp, sticky fabric of your panties, glistening as he shifts your skirt up, “and—fuck, there’s my goddamn meal.”

You giggle airly, moving your legs as he drags the fabric down and doesn’t give you any time to react before he’s spearing you open with his tongue, growling into your cunt as he presses you forward, raw hunger in every movement. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, but you crave it, tangling your fingers in his hair as you reach for him from behind, dragging him closer still.

“Fuck,” he groans into you, voice vibrating through every nerve, “ain’t nobody out here to hear you—wanted this so bad and you’re quiet as a mouse,”

It isn’t purposeful, your moans are soft but genuine, eyes drifting shut as he licks through your pussy, feeling the gentle graze of his tongue over your clit as his fingers dig into your flesh tighter.

“Talk to me, baby,” he encourages, a gentle slap to your ass as he squeezes your cheeks and surprises you with a gentle bite to follow the sting before he’s diving back into your cunt, two fingers alongside his expert tongue, “how’s it feel?”

“So good, daddy—oh, fu—” Two fingers, fully engulfed, walls squeezing tight around him and you’re surprised by the sting of it, thick digits a precursor to his even thicker cock, desperate to have him inside of you, “s—so good, I want you to—tofuckme right h—here, please—please?”

The words spill out, moaning as his fingers curl against a particular spot deep inside of you, vision blurring as your teeth bite into your forearm. It’s overwhelming—too much and not enough. You push back against his face, finding leverage in the chaos of limbs and fabric until his name is spilling from your mouth, coming with a weak moan as he licks through your slick, the deft sound of his jeans shuffling down his hips as he’s pushing you further inside the backseat, ass still raised as one of his knees settle into the cushion.

He moves his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of kisses, hot and wet, sucking at the skin just above the waistline of your skirt before straightening up enough to pull it off you completely.

The car cocooned with heat and want, both of you desperate to touch now that Joel’s resolve has disappeared, encouraged by your unabashed need, he’s still finding himself hesitant.

“Don’t worry,” you quell, reaching for the hand tight at your thigh, turning your head back to catch sight of him, his eyes roaming the expanse of your body “I’m clean—safe, it’s not like you have to worry about—”

“M’not,” he chuckles slightly, “I’ve been outta commission for a while—just...wonderin’ if you’re sure about this, don’t want you think I’m just preyin’ on you—”

You shrug, indifferent but your laugh is breathless, high with anticipation and impatience. “I’m preying on you, Joel,” you say. “Now please—”

The words hang between you, a palpable plea that dissolves his resistance and has him settling into you from behind, the weight and press of his hips and hands a burning promise.

He pushes forward slowly at first, teasing your entrance with shallow nudges, driving you wild until there isn't any more space between your bodies and he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, every inch of him thick and pulsing as pleasure overtakes the sting from earlier, Joel makes a choked noise as if to return the sentiment.

“Christ,” he groans through gritted teeth, both hands finding leverage at your hips as he thrusts into you hard and fast, setting a dizzying pace.

It makes your brain melt, any rational thought disappearing as you moan lewdly into the cushion of his backseat, shifting with every sharp thrust, fingertips pressing into the interior of the other door to meet Joel’s eager, forceful thrusts as you push back.

“Fuck, you’re tight, honey,” he mutters, the words a low rasp in your ear as his rhythm grows more frantic, desperate. His grip tightens on you, pulling you closer with each stroke until it feels like your bodies might combine.

You writhe beneath him, desperate for more— the friction, the heat, the way he fills you completely, satisfyingly so. “Don’t stop, daddy,” you plead, and it’s not even a coherent thought anymore, just a raw need that spills out between gasps and broken, pathetic whimpers.

He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh as he obliges, hips snapping against yours as he pistons into you with an urgency that leaves you breathless. It’s brutal but perfect, the windows fogging up around you as the car rocks under the force of him.

His voice is distant as he speaks, but somehow entirely overwhelming, “Knew you wore this for a reason,” His grip on the fabric of your skirt is tight, pushed out of the way to get a clear view of your cunt as it sucks him in, “beggin’ daddy to look up your skirt, weren’t ya?”

You nod weakly, gasping as he thrusts into you pointedly, somehow more forceful, “You’re makin’ it real hard to be a gentleman ‘round you, baby—use your fuckin’ words.”

“Yes, f—yes, I was,” you whine softly, his thumb grazing over your puckered hole, a soft test of your limits.

“Was what?” he growls, voice thick with hunger. He grips your hips even harder, angling up to hit the sensitive spot that makes your vision blur with each stroke.

The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on too much but just as it nears, Joel yanks you back from the edge and pulls out, swiftly guiding you onto your back, squeezing into the backseat with you enough that he can easily slot himself back between your legs and push inside, this time slow and deliberate.

“I wanted—to, oh—to t—tease you, daddy,” you admit, “I’m s—sorry.”

Joel chuckles at that, a satisfied nod as he guides your hand up around the back of his neck, his hand finding the small of your back and angling you up slightly, “You’re gonna look at me when I’m fuckin’ you senseless,” Joel demands against your mouth before sealing it with a feverish kiss.

You feel weightless as he pounds into you, gripping tight at the back of his neck as your lips part, moaning into his mouth as he swallows up your cries with his tongue, “This what you want?” Joel breathes, his warm breath mingling with yours. “You want daddy to fuck you until you cry?”

You nod frantically, clenching down around his cock in response.

“Let me fuckin’ hear it,” he orders, his own grunts becoming more frequent, restraint waning.

“Yes—yes, daddy, please,” you say softly, weak as the sensation of his fingers fit between your body, his fingers dragging over your clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a practiced precision that you’ve never felt before.

“Then fuckin’ take it, baby” he growls, grinding against you with a relentless rhythm that has you seeing stars, eyes prickling with tears as your orgasm crests unexpectedly, your voice pitching high as you cry out Joel’s name. He groans as you tighten around him, his thrusts jerky, close to losing it completely.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and you watch his eyes roll back, jaw going slack as he comes hot and thick inside of you. He groans deep in his chest, slamming into you one last time before collapsing against you, bodies slick with sweat.

His breath is hot against your neck, and he gives a final shudder before pulling back slightly, still buried inside you. There’s a beat of silence as you both catch your breath before you’re giggling softly against his ear where he’s slumped against you and he huffs a weak chuckle of his own, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, voice teasing but edged with something real, something raw that makes your heart skip a little too fast under your ribs as he pulls out of you, a devastating loss. “I think you’re tryin’ to kill my old ass,”

You shrug once more, “A beautiful way to go, don’t you think?”

His hand is gentle now as he nods with a smile, skimming down the side of your body as his eyes meet yours, “I hope you’re still hungry,”

“Starving,” you respond in a sultry tone as Joel makes a face, amused but unimpressed by your antics, “Yes—I am,” You try again, clearing your throat, “hungry.”

“Like I said, a piece of work,” he laughs, shaking his head at you, and you feel that warmth blooming in your chest again, “c’mon—get in the front.”

You scramble slightly, watching as he readjusted his jeans and you search for your discarded underwear, luckily finding it with little issue as it was tucked between the crack of the seat.

“Can…I drive the rest of the way?” you ask sheepishly and Joel’s eyes crinkle at the edges with a subtle grin before he’s tossing you the keys.

“Careful with her, probably gonna have to give her a tune up over the weekend,” he tells you, fixing the button on his jeans.

“Need any help?” you ask eagerly, walking backwards toward the driver’s side.

“From you?” he asks in a teasing tone, “Of course, sweetheart."

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #fic: drive #fic: in the backseat

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aaksuitac · 6 months ago

Text

[04:24 am] “what are we?”

wc: 2.3k

a/n: [fluff viktor brainrot thanks to @dilemmars. t dije q me vengaría baby, así q zas, un payback por tus podcasts jdjfjjsd. hope u like cause its ur fault]

he’s humming something you don’t quite understand, a distant tune that sounds familiar —probably you’ve heard him sing it before—, and even if you don’t recognize the melody aside from that, you can’t help but appreciate it.

his hands fidget with whatever he can reach as he sighs once more, as if he was stealing breaths from the world, heavy, almost as lidded as his eyelids. his hair falls on his eyes and in between his slender fingers while he curls the untamed strands, and you fall into an endless pit of staring at him as he scribbles, grunts, sighs, and finally pinches the bridge of his nose.

“statistically speaking, i’m starting to feel like the chances of me getting this right are adversatively proportional to the chances of you accidentally swallowing a fly.”

and you just blink, once, then twice.

he stares at you, gives you a pointed look. he can’t really say if you understood that you were just staring at him with your mouth parted, but you squint at him, snickering.

“what,” his low voice fails to ask, unbothered, knowing that you’ll answer regardless.

and you do, answering. “you haven’t even uttered a word in a while. i was just surprised that you could still talk, is all,” you grin cheekily, playing with a screw on the table as you turn left and right on the chair you’re sitting on.

viktor looks at you, and he can’t help but crack a smile. point for you.

“what you laughing for, mhh, mister science?”

“isn’t it enough to bother me from the moment i get inside the lab in the morning that you need to do it at night too?” he pretends seriousness, side-eyeing you teasingly.

“fair enough. i will consider your offer, man of fleeting memory, and take it upon myself to bother you longer.”

his mean stare wouldn’t even make a kitten mewl, but you take you hand to your heart, pretending to be wounded.

“don’t look at me like that! you’ll hurt my feewings,” you pouted, much to his amusement.

“fleeting memory?” he scoffs, accent rolling off his tongue. “when’s the last time you lost a hairtie, mmh?” he mocks.

“unfair!” you can’t help but giggle as you pretend to hide your hair from his view. point for him. “besides. i take better care of my hair than you do of yours.” you pouted smuggly. “mine looks prettier.”

“what?” he finally asks, letting out a chuckle this time as his eyes land on you for the first time in the good part of an hour.

you play with your hair to style it, and funnily pose, hands on your cheeks as you lay your elbows on the table.

“what, don’t I look pretty?” you smiled, letting out a cheeky giggle.

yes. he doesn’t say it, but his eyes haven’t dodged back to his papers just yet. it’s another point for you. so very pretty.

he doesn’t dare. he knows it. his mind, or at least the small portion of his mind that still ties him with the occasional reminder that he’s human, looks at you and wants you in a way that he’s never wanted before.

so viktor resolves in looking at you. maybe only for a moment, maybe only on those fragments of time when he’s tired enough that he looks at the stars and at the moon, yearning to reach them, only to think he’ll miss the moonlight, finally blinking to the realization that he had been staring into your eyes for too long.

his eyes are dull as he stares at you, and your expression of worry at the fact makes his heart skip a beat. “viktor?” you mumble, softly, sleepily, warily. he can’t stop staring at you, and while he supposes success and defeat can look the same in a mirror —therefore, he doesn’t really blame your confusion—, he finds no words to explain which one he’s feeling as you move your chair towards him by a push against the floor, solely accompanied by the sound of the little wheels rolling to him.

he grabs his walking stick and turns it around, pretending to poke at your chair, as if to teasingly shove it away. if you realize that he settles the walking stick just in the correct place so that your stool can’t move back, he doesn’t know. viktor just stares at the floor, to pretend that maybe the way your eyes turn tender when his reflection shines on them has nothing to do with what you’re about to say.

tsk, tsk. clueless viktor.

he’s expecting it, yes, but even with that on mind, he can’t phathom how your course of action chooses laughing as you fidget with the loose button on his vest, the second one from the top down. viktor purposely forces himself to stable his breathing, worry seeping into him, thinking that maybe you could feel his heartbeat grow faster beneath the layers of clothing.

and he feels like the remnants of a cheap ring that stain a finger blue, when comparing himself as he stands —sits— close and next to you. maybe its because you usually wear rings, and he can feel the ghost of them as your hand trails up and absentmindedly fixes his collar.

he can almost see it. your mind working, the pieces falling into place, the—

“either my eyes are deceiving me or yours have been on my lips for a rather long time.”

and he can just. blink. as if that could break how mesmerized he feels, how his heart swells up and covers his throat, how inexplicably he feels when you’re with him, near and alone. the need to know more. the need to use every trinket and screw to map out your body for him to explore, and to map out the wonders of your mind for the world to admire and maybe then find out the reason of his inability to look away.

he was so focused before. used to be.

he is. now, at you. of you. on you.

you.

another point for you. he isn’t keeping count, but something tells him he’s losing.

and as his gaze falls back to your lips in between a battle against your eyes, lost in which to stare and sink into their devotion, he hesitates again.

he thinks its funny. so funny, viktor holds back the dry chuckle that threatens to go past his lips. how to cherish you in a way that matters. how to love, the scientist wonders. is there a way that would allow him to unveil and unravel himself to you? could there be some kind of language, able to express the depth of his insides, that you, too, could understand?

what is love, anyways? is he in love with you because his coffee tastes better when it matches the dark of your pupils? because when he takes the mug from your hand and his fingers brush against yours, it seems warmer? because he notices how the dark shade in your eyes seems to mix with that of your irises, and the way the black eats the colour when you stare at him? because he claims to hate company while he studies alone, but one chair remains empty as he works, waiting for who it was meant for? because when he fails and surrenders himself to the fall, throws his walking stick against the wall, he yearns for your embrace and how your hair smells in the evenings?

is that love? and if it is, could you understand it?

if it is love, and he could say it, would such a short word convey its meaning, or was he speculating just a couple of paragraphs ago? was he assuming the meaning of what love entails?

even so. if he said it, would you repeat it? would you claim you love him because he loves you, claim to love him too? would you instead claim to love him despite everything, even the uncertainty of love itself?

…does he accept it himself?

he’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount of voices in his head. there’s too much chatter. too many questions he can’t answer, too many commas, too many question marks. too much, too much, too many.

so he silences them. makes the voices dim to a deep silence. and when his lips find themselves suddenly against yours, he finds out the true, effervescent meaning of quietness.

his hand fails to pull you closer because of the damn walking stick that gets in the way. or maybe its the chairs you’re both on that clash against each other. maybe its matter itself. for a while, its the first time viktor doesn’t want to know.

in a bold statement, he couldn’t give a fuck.

he’s kissing you.

and it should be bad because of all the unanswered questions. he’s skipping procedure. he’s gone from the fuck around to finding out and he doesn’t know where he is at this point.

what he does know, is that your hand pulls him by his necktie, and he’s gone. science? yours only. the science that he’d study all of the nights he may have left. the science behind what makes you. the science behind how your hand craddles his face while stroking his cheekbones. the science behind how you’re the closest you’ve ever been to him and somehow still not close enough. the science behind the reason why when you pull away makes his heart beat so loudly, as if it had forgotten how to a second ago.

your forehead rests against his. he shouldn’t have done that. he just… did it. maybe that was bad. was it? could it be? he had been waiting for so long too. he never thought he would…

“viktor, what are we?”

and he’s dead. he knows what the question implies, but he doesn’t want to answer. he could follow you like a lost puppy through piltover and zaun and hell knows where else. if he wasn’t dead now he would die right there and now without a second thought, because the feeling that overcame him was that love was suddenly a sentence or two away.

he knows he doesn’t dare. it’s one of the only thing he knows, one of the things he’s sure of.

but somehow, he moves. he stands up, takes the walking stick, and attempts to walk out the feeling that bounces inside him.

the walking stick always makes a noise when he walks, one with dificulties to interpret in terms of onomatopeia. not quite a thud, not deep enough to reach that quality. not a clack, for it is not entirely made of metal. still, as if it was a mix of both, he keeps walking.

viktor is nervous. thud-clack. he’s not moving far from his chair, nor is he going somewhere else. thud-clack. he still keeps pacing. thud-clack. maybe the answer is somewhere in the room. thud-clack. maybe he can reply.

thud-clack, thud-clack, thud-clack.

only does he then realize that he hasn’t answered your question. and a non-answer statement might as well be a rejection.

no. no, no, no. fuck.

he’s sitting again, but you stand up. your hair follows, long. moving and brushing against the skin of your shoulders in a way that he can’t help but claim it to be endearing.

you’re walking. you don’t make any kind of extra sound when you walk. your heels reverberate against the floor like any other, yet also they mark the beat of his heart.

he can’t reach for you. you walk too fast.

you stop when you feel the walking stick on your side. the part made for him to lean on as he walks hooks you, and you stand, not facing him.

he doesn’t use the walking stick as he stands. no, he keeps it hooked to your core, scared that you might leave. you could, he wouldn’t blame you. but he can’t allow it.

he holds it in the air as he takes one step. another step. you’re turning, surprised to see him standing, and you gasp when he lets himself fall on you.

your touch surrounds him. yes. that’s the closeness he needed. he drops the walking stick, his hands slithering on your body, pressing you against him, for no reason at all yet because it is all needs.

“what can we be?” he whispers. he takes the science approach. the viktor approach.

he isn’t too clueless after all.

he raises enough to look at your darkened, sleepy eyes. he wants to drown in them.

“if i wanted to kiss you everytime you hand me coffee, wanted you to sit on the same chair as ne and hug me from behind as I work, wanted you.” he swallows dry. “then, what can we be?”

he doesn’t want to say the words, and its petty.

it’s the 31st when the clock strickes five am and your hands travel through his hair to kiss him again. to unbalance him enough that he falls back on his chair and you follow him, sitting on his lap.

and as he kisses you, his hands worshipping the skin he can touch, the warmth he can feel through layers of clothing, he feels like maybe there’s a life worth living, so he can’t ask.

he’s heard boys and girls when he was young talk about it. “he didn’t want to celebrate our month-versary,” a girl cried as he played with his little boat, watching from afar as she was comforted by her friend.

it’s the 31st. and he can’t really ask the question now, because if he says it, how could you celebrate each month?

he moves the chair and holds you in his arms as your back falls against the table before him. maybe he can kiss you until next month. until the clock strikes and it’s the 1st.

he smiles as he kisses you, feeling you pull his necktie off. he thinks it’s the best idea he’s had in a while. and a true scientist always tries out their hypothesis.

~k.k. (☆) have fun!

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor #victor arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane x female reader #arcane show #arcane fluff #viktor machine herald

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kenacoki · 7 months ago

Text

Tease Me Please Me

//Pairing// Eddie Diaz x Fem!Reader

//Summary// If there’s one thing you love more than firefighting it’s getting under Eddie Diaz’s skin. That, of course, can only end one way for you.

//Word Count// 5.40k

//Request//

//Warnings// munch!Eddie Diaz, recording during intercourse, borderline exhibitionism, dirty talk, kitchen sex

//Dividers// sister-lucifer

Entering the station, you take a moment to yourself to bask in the quietness of the house. The fire station was fairly empty at the moment, with it being morning and all. The only person seemingly out is Eddie, who’s cleaning the firetruck.

You smirk to yourself as you approach him, "What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” You call out, before leaning up against the side of the firetruck.

Eddie, who’s focused on his work, seems to pause for a second at your voice, before realizing it’s you. He looks over, shaking his head with a small scoff, his annoyance not being genuine.

"That’ll never get old to you, will it?"

You smile up at him, crossing your arms as you lean your head on the truck.

“Of course not; Nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, Eds." You chuckle to yourself as you begin to admire his appearance, watching the way his muscles flex as he works on polishing the firetruck.

As you call him by the nickname you’ve picked up from Buck, he once again pauses, this time fully turning to look at you.

"Harmless for you maybe, I’m the one who has to actually deal with it."

You tilt your head to the side as you shrug, your grin growing larger as you continue to tease him, "Come on Eddie…I’m not that bad, am I?"

Eddie’s eyes meet your gaze as he sets down his rag, "(Y/n). You flirt with me every chance you get. I’m pretty sure that Buck, Chim, and Hen have a bet on when you’re gonna jump me."

You hum, acting oblivious as you shrug again, “And here I’d hoped I was subtle.”

“Yeah,” Eddie lets out a low chuckle, his eyes never leaving your face as he leans against the firetruck as well. "About as subtle as sirens in the dead of night."

You fake a pout, “I mean, it’s not my fault you’re insanely attractive, Eds.” You take a step closer to him, sticking your hand out as you lightly brush your fingers against his mustache.

“So, do you plan on keeping the ‘stache?”

Eddie’s eyes widen as you touch his face, the light, delicate caress sending a shiver down his spine. He sighs, keeping his eyes on yours.

“I-I don’t know.” He stutters out, the sudden proximity and the way you’re looking at him makes his breath catch in his throat for a brief moment. His gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second, before he clears his throat and pulls away. “Why? Don’t like it?”

Your face softens as he leans into your touch, your heart practically pounding as your eyes lock onto each other’s.

“Oh no,” You pause for a moment, letting your hand fall away as you admire his face, “I like it. A lot, actually.”

Surprise flickers in his eyes, but only for a moment. Still, you notice it. Before he can say anything else, the sound of footsteps echos from behind you guys

You turn to look behind you and see Bobby emerging from his office, a small grin on his face.

“Good morning you two. Did I interrupt something?”

“No, Cap,” Eddie instantly straightens, clearing his throat and glancing away, trying to act casual. “Just finishing up here.”

Bobby hums, seeing right through Eddie’s act, his smile growing as he turns to you. “And what about you?”

You chuckle, sending another smile in Eddie’s direction, a hint of mischief in your eyes. “Just keeping him company.”

Eddie glances back at you, eyes narrowing slightly at the look on your face. He opens up his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Bobby continuing.

“Listen, I’m gonna have you guys hang back if we get any fire calls today. Eddie, I want you to be able to show (y/n) how the ambulance works on medical calls.”

You give Bobby an affirmative nod, “Sounds good to me. Hear that Eds? Sounds like you’re gonna be stuck with me all day.”

“Great.”

Bobby chuckles again, shaking his head at the two of you as he grabs a clipboard for his office and walks back inside.

The smirk immediately reappears on your face as you take a step closer to Eddie, looking up at him with wide (e/c) eyes.

“Aw come on, don’t look so grumpy.” You give his shoulder a playful shove; trying not to let your thoughts linger on how hard his muscles feel under your touch. “You get me all to yourself, shouldn’t you be happy?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, shaking his head in mock annoyance, though he can’t help the smile that curls at the corner of his lips. “Oh, I’m ecstatic.”

You grin wider, knowing you managed to get him to smile. You give his shoulder another pat, letting your hand linger for a moment, before stepping back again. “That’ll work for me.”

You give him a wink before turning and heading in the direction of the locker room to change.

Eddie watches as you walk away, a mix of amusement and irritation playing across his features. Suddenly the sound of Buck and Chim’s voices breaks his gaze, and he quickly averts his eyes, getting back to work on cleaning the truck.

A few moments later, you reappear, now in your uniform. Leaving the top unbuttoned just enough to barely expose the skin of your chest, but still technically fall within the dress code.

You open your mouth to call out to Eddie when the station alarm suddenly starts ringing.

Eddie’s head snaps in your direction at the sound of the alarm, immediately noticing your outfit. His eyes roam over the exposed skin of your chest for just a second before averting his gaze. Buck, Chim, and Hen appear from the loft and rush past you guys to the fire truck.

Chim, Hen, and Buck are about to hop in the truck when Bobby stops them, averting his attention over at you and Eddie.

“(y/n) Eddie, dispatch said that this call was just a small structure fire, and no injuries were reported.”

You nod as you glance toward Eddie, “So you want us to stay back?”

Bobby nods, “That’s right. If we need anything though, we’ll let you know through the radio.”

Eddie lets out a small sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Got it.”

You glance over at him, your eyes lingering on his for a moment before looking back at Bobby, “We’ll be on standby then.”

Bobby nods again, patting the side of the ambulance before turning to get into the firetruck. Buck sends both you and Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows as he follows Hen and Chim into the back of the truck.

Eddie ignores them, moving to lean against the back of the ambulance, crossing his arms.

The sunlight makes his brown hair almost shine. His dark brown eyes have an almost golden look. Despite having been up since the early morning, he is still somehow effortlessly attractive. His uniform shirt hugs his upper body in the most delicious way, his muscular build being noticeable through the thin fabric.

You're snapped from your daze as Bobby flips on the lights and sirens and swiftly pulls out of the station.

You let out an internal sigh as you drink in the sight of him, your head filling with thoughts of how the fabric would feel against your fingers. You had only been on the job for a few months, but you somehow already wanted to do unspeakable things to this man. You take a step closer to him, leaning on the back of the ambulance.

“What do we do now? Just…wait?”

As you step closer to him, Eddie’s head turns to you, his eyes roaming over you for a moment before he speaks. There’s a slight hint of tension in his voice, though he tries to play it off.

“Yeah.” He lets out a huff of air, his eyes darting out to the street before settling back onto you.

You hum, looking over at him and tilting your head slightly so that you’re looking at him dead on. You continue to admire him, your eyes slowly raking over his face.

“So…how long do you think they’ll be gone for?”

Eddie sighs as your gaze lands on him, your smirk already telling him that you most likely have something in mind.

“If it’s just a small fire then I’d say probably an hour and a half.”

A mischievous look fills your eyes when he says an hour and a half. You bite your lip to suppress a smile as you push yourself up off the ambulance, moving to stand directly in front of him, your bodies nearly touching.

“An hour and a half, huh? That’s an awful lot amount of time for us to be…alone.” As you speak to him, your voice has a low, almost sultry tone to it; it takes everything in him to not shiver.

He lets out a shaky breath, glancing around for a brief moment before focusing back on you and clearing his throat.

“And what do you suggest we do?”

Your smirk softens into a more suggestive smile. You reach up and brush a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers ever-so-slightly grazing his skin.

“Well, I could think of a few things.”

He lets out a quiet gasp at your touch. His muscles are coiled, and you can see the way his jaw clenches in a halfhearted attempt to stop himself from reacting.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly, "You really need to stop doing that, (y/n).”

You move even closer to him, closing the tiny amount of space that was left between your bodies. Your hand moves, instead coming up to rest on his chest, just above his heart.

"Doing what, Eddie?" You look up at him, feigning innocence as you tilt your head to the side.

He can feel your body against his, the warmth from your skin sending jolts of electricity up his spine.

He looks down at you, a look of frustration and desire in his eyes, “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

You bite your lip, holding back a chuckle as you see the look in his eyes. You can tell he’s fighting a losing battle, slowly giving in to his desires. You brush your thumb across the logo printed on the fabric of his uniform, feeling the hammering of his heart.

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” You hum.

"(Y/n)." he mutters, his voice a low, strained warning.

His resistance just adds fuel to the fire inside you. You want to see him lose control, want him to finally give in to the obvious tension between you two. You let your hand slowly trail down his side, lingering on his hip before coming to a rest on his thigh.

“Yeah?”

Eddie's breath hitches as your hand trails down his body, his hips twitching involuntarily when you rest your hand on his thigh. He swallows hard, the feeling of your body so close to his and your hand on his skin sending a shiver through his entire body. Your breath on his face does absolutely nothing to help him.

It takes every last ounce of restraint he has to not spin you around right here and—

“Well,” you abruptly distance yourself from Eddie, a sly smile curling on your lips. “I'm starving, so I'm gonna go fix myself something to eat."

He looks at you, blinking rapidly, his mind fighting to come up with a response while you smirk at him. However, all he can manage to say is a quiet “uh”

"Have fun being all alone, Eds." you wink, before waltzing away towards the kitchen.

He lets out a frustrated huff of air, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Half torn between wanting to give in to your games and wanting to just grab you and slam you against the nearest wall.

Reaching the loft, you open the fridge and pull out a small pack of bacon. Cutting it open, you plop a pan onto the stove and lay a few slices onto the hot metal.

As you wait for your food to cook, you pull out your phone. You scroll through your Twitter to pass the time; completely oblivious to Eddie’s figure sneaking behind you, until it’s too late.

“You think you’re so damn funny, huh?” His breath feels hot against your neck as he murmurs in your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

Your eyes widen slightly, but before you can muster anything his body is pressed up against your back, his arms caging you against the counter in front of you.

A chill goes down your spine as you hear his voice, low and gravelly in your ear. The feeling of his body pressed against your back makes you shiver, the combination of his words and his breath on the sensitive skin of your neck makes you go weak in the knees.

“Depends on what you think is funny.” You manage to gasp out.

"You're a tease, (y/n). A goddamn tease." He growls in your ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, sending a wave of heat through your body.

A shiver runs through your body when you feel his lips press against your neck, the feeling of his teeth nipping at your skin making you let out a sharp gasp. Your head tilts to the side almost involuntarily, giving him more access to your neck.

You grip the edge of the counter in front of you, trying your best to keep yourself upright.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" Eddie mutters against your neck

You let out a shaky breath as you turn your head towards him, the look in his eyes dark and full of desire. His thumb moves from your chin to your bottom lip, gently tracing the soft skin there.

You know you should reply to him, say something clever to keep up your usual attitude, but your mind is suddenly empty of anything but him.

His teeth lightly nip at your skin. You arch your back as best you can with the way he has you pinned against the counter.

"F-fuck, Eds—"

“I'm about two seconds away from bending you over this counter, don't push your luck." Eddie grins against your neck, his lips moving to bite at the sensitive spot just behind your ear.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?" He murmurs, his voice low and full of desire. "Bent over the counter for anyone to see."

"Eddie, I-You can’t—" You gasp out, your back arching farther into him. You can feel his body pressed up against yours, his hips grinding into your backside.

Eddie hums against your neck, his hands running down your sides until they find the edge of your shirt, slipping underneath and trailing up your stomach. His touch sends jolts of electricity through you.

"Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? You wanted to drive me crazy, to have me lose control?" His breath fans against your skin.

Eddie's words make your head spin as your body responds almost instantly.

"It worked though, didn’t it?”

Before you can even realize what’s happening, Eddie’s spinning you around and bending you over the kitchen island so that you're facing the entrance of the station.

The feeling of his hips pressing against your backside makes a full-on moan escape your lips, his body heat almost overwhelming.

“Voy a hacerte comer esas palabras, princesa.” He growls into your ear.

Jesus Christ.

His Spanish makes your head spin, the low, sultry tone of his voice as he murmurs the words into your ear nearly sending you over the edge. You feel him press up against you, his hips rolling into you, the feeling of his growing arousal against your backside making a shudder go through your body.

You let out another moan, his name on your lips between gasps for air, “Oh my god.”

"You never know when to quit, do you?" He mutters against the back of your neck, his lips delicately trailing kisses down your spine.

You whimper at his touch, your body responding to him as if he's a drug and you're hopelessly addicted.

"It’s like you enjoy being a little minx, huh? Teasing me all day, getting me all bothered.”

Your mind is hazy, your thoughts consumed by the feeling of his lips on your skin, the sound of his voice in your ear, the touch of his hands on your hips.

"F-fuck,” you stutter out before biting down on your lip, trying to hold back another moan.

He rolls his hips into yours again, his body grinding against yours.

The friction from his hips against your clothed core has you gasping again, your hands gripping the edge of the counter for support. You feel like you're on fire, your entire body thrumming with heat and desire, and all you can think about is him.

“Eddie, please...” you gasp out, your head spinning from the combination of his touch and the sound of his voice in your ear.

Then suddenly, you feel him shuffle behind you. Confused, you crane your neck over your shoulder only to see him grabbing your phone. He leans back over your shoulder, bringing your phone up and holding it to your face. You can barely focus on the screen, your eyes unfocused and dazed.

"Unlock it."

You blink, the request taking a moment to register in your foggy mind. Still, you unlock your phone with shaky hands, managing to type in your passcode through your daze. You don’t know what he’s planning, but at this point, you’re so far gone you don’t even care.

He opens the camera app on your phone before propping it up a few inches in front of you; it perfectly captures the two of you.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice low in your ear. “Now let’s see just how much you regret your little game.”

Your eyes grow wide when you comprehend what he’s doing. The thought of it has you suddenly even more turned on. He hits the record button and roughly tugs down your tight uniform bottoms and sinks to his knees.

Your breath hitches at his actions. You can see yourself on the phone screen, your face flushed, your (e/c) eyes darkened with lust, your hair already slightly messy from the way he had you pinned down against the counter.

You try to turn around to look at him, but his hand finds the back of your head, "Keep your eyes on the camera, carñio."

Your breath catches in your throat at the pet name. You'd never seen this dominant side of Eddie, not to this extent at least.

"Y'know, you didn't even ask me if I wanted anything to eat."

Your mind is a hazy mess, your eyes half-lidded as you keep them focused on the camera. You’re at his mercy, and you find that you don’t mind it one bit.

You let out a gasp as you feel his hands move up your thighs, nearing where you need him the most, your breathing stuttering and your body shaking with anticipation.

“But that’s okay,” he continues, “I think I’ve found something much better to eat.”

You hear his words, but you’re too caught up in the feeling of his touch to process them, your mind still trying to regain some lucidity as his hands move even farther up your thighs, just barely grazing the lacy hem of your (f/c) underwear.

“God, you’re beautiful, sweetheart.” He murmurs, voice low and full of need. His hands grip the skin of your thighs, his touch slightly rough.

“And look at that, you’re soaking through your panties, carñio.” Carefully, he drags your underwear to the side, exposing your soaking folds to the cool air.

The feeling of his hands as they slide your underwear to the side has you trembling, your legs shaking as you try to keep yourself upright. You feel him sink to his knees behind you, his breath fanning against your skin, the proximity of his face to the core of your being has you clenching your teeth.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel his presence, and the anticipation is nearly enough to make you cry out.

Eddie runs his hands up your thighs, his touch firm and sure. Then, you feel his hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. You shiver, your body growing hot in anticipation.

You can’t help but gasp as he lets his tongue run up your thigh, so close to where you need him most.

"I swear to g-god, Eddie. If you don't do-" Your words fail you as his tongue slowly breaches your wetness. He holds your hips steady as his tongue dips deeper, just barely breaching your slit.

"M-Motherfuck—" You moan out, your voice growing louder from the sudden pleasure.

Eddie pulls away from your folds with an obnoxiously dramatic pop, "You gotta stay quiet, princesa. Don't want the team to come back and hear these pretty noises, do we?"

You bite down on your lip again, trying to restrain your moans. But it's practically impossible with the way he's slowly teasing you.

"Y-you're being mean." You say, your words coming out shaky from your attempts to stay quiet. You can feel your clit throbbing with desperation.

"Mean?" He mutters, his breath fanning against your skin. "Me? Not at all. I'm being...very generous."

At an agonizing pace, he slides his fingers through your wetness, just missing your sensitive bud before bringing his fingers to his lips, his tongue licking around the digits.

"You taste so sweet...como el cielo.”

You let out a strangled whimper, your body begging for more as his hands continue to wander. He presses a kiss against your clit, the friction of his mustache making your eyes roll back.

“Please,” you gasp out, your voice just above a whisper. “Please, please, please…”

Eddie hums at your words, letting his tongue just barely brush against your sensitive bud. You swiftly cup your hand over your mouth to muffle your noises.

You look absolutely debauched as you catch sight of yourself in the camera. Your hair is falling in messy wisps across your forehead, uniform bunched around your hips, face flushed, and eyes darkened with lust; The sight of yourself only serves to heighten your arousal. Before you can say anything, you feel two of Eddie's thick fingers press into you, drawing a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat.

"F-fuck—" You bite down on your hand to keep yourself quiet. "More, Eddie—Now."

“Bossy little thing,” He growls as you speak, his fingers curling inside you. “You're not the one in charge here.” he gives a harsh suck against your soaking folds.

You glance at the camera, still recording the two of you. Eddie’s right; and that made something in your stomach turn violently.

You grip the counter, your fingers clenching and unclenching at the edge. You let out another moan, your eyes squeezing shut from the immense amount of sensation.

“So beautiful like this, sweetheart,” he mutters, his words partially muffled against your skin. “Aching and dripping for me. All mine.”

He curls his fingers again, pushing into the spot that makes you cry out, and you barely manage to muffle your cries against your hand.

“God, you’re so loud.”

"Eddie! P-please, please! M’sorry for earlier." You slur deliriously with pleasure, eyes brimmed with hot tears.

He can practically taste the desperation in your voice, feel the tension rippling through your body as he pumps his fingers inside you. He pulls away, standing and smirking, watching as your walls flutter around nothing.

“Are you?”

You nod eagerly, your head hazy with lust, but your mind is just lucid enough to know that your answer will have an effect.

“Yes—” you gasp out, your breathing heavy. “I’m so sorry! Please, Eddie, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t tease you anymore, just please!”

Eddie hums, low and satisfied. He runs his hands up your thighs, watching as they shake in his grip.

“We both know that's a lie, cariño.” He says, his tone slightly mocking. He leans in closer to you until his mouth is right by your ear.

“You know what they say, cariño. Payback’s a bitch.” He gives your shoulder one last teasing bite before dropping back to his knees.

Your mind is still reeling from his words, trying to catch up with the events that just took place. But that all quickly changes the moment you feel his tongue thrust into your soaked slit; replacing where his fingers had previously been.

You wail in delight. Your eyes clench tight once more as Eddie lets out a deep moan from behind you, your sweet taste flooding his tastebuds once again.

He grips your hips to keep you from moving too much, his mouth working you with a newfound fervor as you struggle to keep yourself upright.

"Jesus…just a little more, m'so close—"

This only serves to ignite Eddie. Hearing you admit how close you are, all because of him. The way you’re now falling apart at his touch makes him growl against your skin; the vibrations almost send you over the edge.

He reaches around, harshly rubbing at your sensitive bud as he pulls his mouth away, "Fuck, best meal I've ever had..."

“Oh god—“ You try to choke out, but the words quickly devolve into another whine. “Please, E-Eddie, I’m gonna—”

And right at that moment, a loud, familiar sound fills your and Eddie’s ears; the sound of the firetruck pulling up outside.

"Oh shit." You mutter, your (e/c) eyes growing wide. You glance back at Eddie, your breath catches at the sight of his face.

Eddie’s pupils are blown wide, his face red and sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. He gives another shaky breath before his eyes lock onto the camera still pointing at your form. For a moment, he considers stopping the recording, but...

Maybe it’s the way you look, all breathless and needy. Or how your uniform is pulled down, completely exposing your bottom half. All Eddie knows, at this moment, is that you two can’t stop.

“Eddie, W-We can’t—“

“We can.” Eddie says, his voice firm.

He reaches out, grabs the camera from the island, and holds it inches from your face, his voice still firm.

“You see this? You see what you look like all flushed and whiny, princess?” You can hear him give a low noise, his voice slightly shaky. "tan hermosa, tan perfecta, toda mía."

You spare one last look over your shoulder to Eddie. His chin is practically dripping with your juices, his lips red and swollen.

His dark brown eyes meet yours. As you open your mouth to speak, he suddenly dives right back in. Going to work with a newfound vigor.

You feel your hips arch slightly against his mouth, your legs shaking and your breathing coming out in quick gasps. You clench your teeth, trying to keep yourself from crying out.

Your hands, which had been gripping the counter, quickly move to cover your mouth, trying to muffle your series of pathetic whines.

You bite down on your hand, as hard as you can to keep from moaning, but the more you hear your teammates' voices, the harder it is to keep yourself in check.

You listen to Buck's laughter, you hear the deep rumble of Bobby's voice talking about dinner plans, you hear Hen's voice as she enters a conversation with Chimney—

All you can think about at that moment is that at any second, any one of them could walk into the kitchen and see the two of you.

Shamefully, that thought is enough to send you over the edge.

Your body feels tense as your climax washes over you, "F-fuck—E-Eddie!"

Your legs are shaking more than ever, so much so that you're sure if Eddie wasn't holding you up, you would have fallen to the ground. Wave after wave that rolls through you, Eddie’s tongue is there to accompany it.

It’s too much. Everything’s overwhelming. You’re overstimulated, your brain is fuzzy, and your body is hot. You’re sure if this continues any longer, you’ll break. The sounds of the team outside seem to fade into the background for a moment.

"Goddamn Eddie, p-please.” You can barely hear your voice over your ragged breathing.

The rest of the team's voices echo through the station, you swear you can hear footsteps coming closer to the kitchen. You feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he finally lets up.

He pulls away, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, his face flushed and sweaty. You breathe heavily, leaning forward on the counter, your body still shuddering from the aftereffects of your orgasm.

You're about to try and fix your uniform, to make yourself look at least a little presentable when suddenly, you hear footsteps clambering up the loft stairs. You panic and start to scramble to pull your pants back up and as you manage to, Eddie swiftly slinks beside you so they don't suspect anything.

You see Buck’s head of curls as he clambers up the loft stairs, "You guys cooking?" he chirps.

Before you can open your mouth to speak, Eddie pipes up.

“Yep, figured that we’d go on and get a head start on dinner.” He says, leaning casually against the counter. Y’know, his tone is surprisingly calm for a man who had just had his head buried between your legs.

Buck smiles right back, seemingly clueless to what had been going on mere seconds before.

"Alright! Lemme know when it's ready, I'm starving."

He quickly turns back around and disappears, and you let yourself breathe again. You feel Eddie's hand fall to the small of your back.

"You did so well." He whispers in your ear, his voice low and gravely. "I'm proud of you."

You give him a weak smile, trying to keep your breathing under control, but it doesn't help that every nerve ending in your body is still on fire. Everything is still so sensitive, and you can't help but shiver at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

He turns you so you're facing him, and you practically collapse into his chest. Immediately, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him. You bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his sweat and cologne.

"Y-you're a dick, sometimes.” You mutter, still trying to calm your breathing as he steadies himself, you look down at the front of his pants and then back up to him. "Do you want me to...?"

Catching your drift, Eddie's cheeks suddenly flush with a light pink dusting.

"I uh—I a-already..." He stutters for a moment, trying to find his words.

You raise an eyebrow at his reaction, and your lips pull into a sly smile.

"Really? I didn’t even touch you.” You tease him, your finger slowly moving down his chest.

He swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat as your hand slowly makes its way down his chest. He looks away, his cheeks still a dusted pink as a shiver goes through him.

"Yeah well,” He stutters, "Can you blame me?”

You can't help but giggle at his response, your face splitting into a grin as you look up at him. You reach up and pat him on the cheek.

"You're cute when you get all flustered."

His blush deepens at your touch, and he lets out a huff, trying to hold on to any shred of composure he has left.

“I am not flustered, I-I don’t get flustered.” He says defensively, finally meeting your gaze.

“Really? Cause you look pretty flustered to me.” You say smugly.

"Oh, shut up, cariño." he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You give a soft hum, "Never, Eds. I'm gonna enjoy this for as long as I can."

"I'm gonna make you eat those words later, princesa."

You raise an eyebrow at him, fighting the shiver that runs down your spine at the nickname.

"Is that a promise?" You say, leaning your body a little closer to his.

He grins down at you, a cheeky look on his face, "It's a guarantee."

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