#i probably am around the same hour length

[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

The time when your father is out of the house is always the most peaceful. All the same, the anticipation of his return keeps you on edge. You never really know when he’ll be back. He could be gone for days at a time or only a few hours. With news of his new out-of-town assignment, you can at least breathe for a moment. 

He leaves without a goodbye. The word sentimental has never been used in the same vicinity as your father. You and your sisters watch him go, less forlorn than you may appear. Relief washes over you as the door closes. 

“Can we go shopping now?” Adrienne asks. She’s the youngest at eighteen. 

“We should,” you say. “Kitty, you have the money?” 

“In my purse,” the eldest assures you. Kitty, thought your mother always insisted on her full name, Katherine, is almost thirty and wears it plainly. “More than enough.” 

“We should try to buy extra in case he waits again,” you say. 

“Yeah, you always are the most practical.” 

“Can we go to the bakery?” Adrienne asks. Mr. Mulano gave me some money the other day for helping her air out her townhouse. You wouldn’t imagine the dust. I still have a rash.” 

“If you have the money,” Kitty resigns. 

“I do and I want to spend it on us. We’ll get canolis. They were always ma’s favourite.” 

You give a glum smile. Kitty is the most like your mother. The sweetest. Always thinking of others. And she looks like her too. It’s probably why you and Adrienne get in front of her when the storm starts or even why your father doesn’t tend to go after her as much as you. 

And she took your mother’s death the hardest. You grieve more for the life she lived than the life that she lost. She had a monstrous husband and three helpless daughters. She spent her days scrounging despite having a made man and was battered to the bone in trying to protect what little she had. When she died, there was no shield left between you and your father’s temper. 

“Yes, let’s go to the bakery,” you agree. “I’ll pay for coffee. I have some change in my purse.” 

You get dressed in a carefully picked outfit. It’s warm out but you wear a long-sleeved white blouse. You balance it with a tea-length beige skirt. The shirt covers the bruises mostly, though you have to blend a bit of makeup around your neck and your face as always is painted to hide the darker spots. Not much can be done for the split in your lip. 

You go out and the sunshine feels warmer than usual. That shadow still looms. His shadow. No, not your father’s. Barnes’. You’re as embarrassed as you are terrified. Why did you do that? Your father? Dead? You must have seemed so naive. That’s not how it works. 

You shrug it off and go about your day. It’s a rare occasion that you can just enjoy being with your sisters. You do the shopping first. You fill the cart with all you need, and a few extra staples just in case, then go to the bakery. 

Nova is always busy and for good reason. They have more than just coffee cakes and pastries. They have a full sit-in deli and coffee roasted in Sicily. 

You offer to sit with the cart as Kitty and Adrienne stand in line. Kitty wants to look at the delicately iced specials through the glass and Adrienne wants to be sure she only gets decaf. You’re all too happy to have a seat. 

You sit with one hand on the cart and the other on your purse. You look down at the worn leather. The brown bag was your mothers. You didn’t get a lot of what she left behind. Your father threw most of it out, though you know he hawked her jewelry when he got his new car. As much as he proclaims his love for her, he doesn’t show it otherwise. 

The bell above the door rings amidst the buzz of the closed space. They’ll have to open the windows soon to let the heat escape. You glance over carelessly at the new entrance. You snap up straight as your eyes meet the bright blue ones. As if looking for you, the boss finds you, a calm, unreadable expression beneath his dark beard. 

You stare back at him and squeeze the strap of the purse. He fixes his tie and nods his head at you. Your lashes flick in surprise. Then, he faces the horde as they start to quiet. Those ahead of him take notice nd hush, stepping aside to let him through. 

Kitty gasps as Adrienne grabs her arm and moves her away from the front of the line, giving up their turn for the mafioso strutting toward them. He stops before he reaches the counter. The entire place watches. 

“Go on, ladies,” he insists, “it’s on me.” 

You blink and shrink back against the metal frame of the chair. Your sisters don’t move at first and when they do, they use the same caution as when your dad’s huffing and puffing in the corner. They speak to the cashier in low tones and turn to Barnes. They thank him with their hands clutched. 

He placidly puts in his own order and digs out his wallet. The cashier tries to wave him off but he insists. You only catch a few words from your vantage. 

He gets his coffee first and box of pastries. You never imagined him having much of a sweet tooth. The sight of this deadly man in his dark suit in this place is absurd. He doesn’t come to collect the protection fee, men like your father do. No, he’s there for a coffee and dessert. At least, you can’t believe that it would be for any other reason. Especially not you 

It can’t be. 

He turns and struts out without a look back. You stare after him as a low murmur crawls through the bakery. You peek through the window as he passes. His blue eyes glint in your direction and his cheek dimples. Your world is small, too small for coincidences. You’re starting to think there’s more going on than just a job out of town. 

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: Office Sex w/ Aaron Hotchner

a/n: okay, why do i kind of love this? i've been a little under the weather recently so kinktober updates will be a little slow and probably off by a day or two but i'm trying!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

You make Aaron act out of character.

He doesn't do PDA, nor is he an insatiable man, but he often finds himself thinking of you and the curves of your soft body. 

He can barely focus knowing that there was no else in your unit besides you and him. You were down there in the bullpen tempting him with your presence, lingering at your desk doing paperwork as well. 

The clock ticked tauntingly, signaling that the time had struck 12 AM. 

He felt his hands twitch, the one clad with a pen turning almost white. There was no one else here and he needed you. Badly. Technically it wasn't unprofessional because the two of you were in a consenting sexual relationship, and it was after hours.

You couldn't focus knowing that Aaron was up there, the deep orange glow of his desk lamp bleeding through his barely opened blinds. Your core ached and your stomach tightened with indescribable need. There were only so many times that you could cross your legs and squeeze your thighs against your sex before you got restless.

You hadn't realized how deeply you'd zoned out before your eyes met with your boss's, who peered down at you from the top of the staircase.

He called your name, "I'd like to see you in my office for a moment." Was all he said before departing back through the door ajar he left ajar.

You tried to hide how fast you had gotten out of your chair, though the length in which it shot away from your person was a dead giveaway. Your shame melted away when your foot met the first step, descending up the stairwell in a hurried manner.

You hadn't even had the chance to enter through the door before Aaron's large, warm hand gripped you by your wrist, pulling you into the room before shutting the hardwood with your body.

"Aaron!" You yelped in surprise. "Need you." Was all he mumbled before slamming his lips down onto yours, hands gripping at your waist. Your eyes quickly fluttered shut, your nails digging into his hair to keep him anchored to you. 

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, nearly shoving itself down your throat in an attempt to swallow you whole. A loud whimper crawled out of your throat and into Aaron's, the man swallowing it with lustful fervor. Your lungs were constricting in pain at the lack of air, spit bubbling at the corner of both your lips due to the sloppy makeout session.

You had to yank his head away from yours to swallow lungfuls of air.

"I wondered how long it was going to take you to come and get me." You said breathlessly. "I didn't come early enough." He said with the same amount of breathlessness. "Good thing were the only ones here, huh?" You teased with a slightly wolfish smile on your face. "Yeah, good thing." He said before joining your lips together again.

He was careful as he swayed you over to his desk, carelessly knocking things out the way so he could sit you upon it. You jolted at the sound but nonetheless kept your lips locked with his, your fingers making quick work to push his suit jacket off his body. 

Your pencil skirt was tight around your thighs, but that didn't stop him from forcing it up your hips. Your panty clad lower body was now exposed to his frisky touches, a large palm coming to cup your sex.

You gasped, arching your back slightly, your grip on his tie tightening. 

"Fuck…" You whined, gyrating your hips desperately in an attempt to grind down on the skin. "That feel good, sweetheart?" He asked roughly, his voice strained with need. "So good, baby." He watched you feebly try to get friction, only to see you grow frustrated. 

"Aaron please— 'Need you to fuck me now." You begged, yanking at his tie in an attempt to undo it. His bushy brows furrowed, "Are you sure?" He asked unsurely. "Yes, I'm sure. I know you can feel how wet I am, please…" To emphasize your point, you took it upon yourself to shove his hand down your panties, the pads of his fingers gliding over your soaked folds.

"Okay, okay," He reassured you with gritted teeth, his voice strained. "I got you, honey." He could feel his self-control chip away at every exposure of your boldness. 

He unbuckled his pants, sliding the leather out of their loops before unzipping his and successfully ridding himself of his slacks. You shucked your panties down your full thighs, the lace getting caught on your high heel for a short moment before fully slipping off.

He spread open your legs.

"Goddamn, sweetheart." He murmured in fascination. The sight of your glistening labia made his cock pulse. He felt the same sense of urgency that he felt not only minutes earlier rush through him. The fire in his veins coaxed him out of his underwear, hand stroking his cock to full hardness.

"Can I?" He asked. "Yes." You breathed.

With a teasing tap of his tip to your clit, he prodded at your entrance, slowly slipping into you. You moaned loudly, nails coming to dig at his button-up covered shoulders.

"Aaron baby…" You mewled, walls clenching down on him in an attempt to suck him deeper. "Shit." He choked on a curse. He pushed farther before completely bottoming out.

"Move! I need you to move." You cried. Who was he to deny you?

Pulling out swiftly, he slammed into you. Your legs tightened around his waist as he set a brutal pace. You leaned back on your elbows, neck extended and exposed. If only Aaron could bend down to mark up your pretty, soft skin.

Your heel was hanging on by a thread on the tips of your toes, with each rattle of your body when he fucked into you threatened to knock the damn thing off.

"You look so gorgeous, honey. So fucking pretty." He groaned. The feral noise drove you closer to your end, along with each jab of his tip to your g-spot. 

"You're so deep, Aaron, fuck!" The coil in your gut was tightening dangerously. He raised your hips a bit and that sent you reeling, a pornographic moan tearing through your throat and piercing through the serene air of his office.

Usually when you got this loud in places where you could get caught, he'd slap a hand over your mouth, but he didn't bother, because there was no one there. There was something erotic and scandalous about the fact that he was fucking you in his office where he'd have meetings or interviews. 

Just thinking about the fact that no one would know what happened here besides the two of you sent his hips pistoning into you harder; his eyebrows furrowing.

"Gah! I- I'm gonna cum!" You squealed, nails attempting to grip onto the wood of his sleek, dark mahogany desk. You didn't care if there'd be marks there.

"Please can I cum?" You asked through the blinding pleasure that nipped and frayed at your nerves. You couldn't bring yourself to disobey him because of how needy and demanding you've been since you'd gotten here.

"You can cum, my sweet girl." He grunted, a bead of sweat running down his temple. 

With a few more strokes your orgasm overtook you. Your body shook uncontrollably, your eyes screwing shut at the feeling as you creamed all over his dick.

His thrusts grew sloppy before he slumped forward, emptying himself inside of you. The warmth of him made you shiver, your womb feeling nice and full. He stopped his thrusting when he heard tiny whimpers of overstimulation leave you.

"You okay?" Aaron asked gently. You nodded, your chest heaving up and down.

"Can we go on the couch next?" You asked through a sleepy smirk.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @zippertwat @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

[golden1u5t]

addiction | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: fluff + smut + angst

ꨄ summary: spencer's working through his addiction and you hate to see him in pain. you was to try and take his mind off of things, even if it'll only last a little while.

he'd been awake for hours past the time he usually went to bed, you had already gotten comfortable in bed after he told you that it would only be an hour before he joined you. you knew he was going through a lot and you were there to help him through but the only problem was that he tried to push you away every chance he got.

you glanced at the clock on your nightstand, it was almost 3 am, before you decided that you couldn't let him stay awake any longer. you got out of bed and walked to the living room, the sound of your feet on the floor was silenced by the carpet so spencer wasn't alerted of your presence until you stood in front of him.

"spencer, it's almost 3 am. you should come to bed." you sat down beside him and put your hand on his arm. the book he was reading was still on the same page as it was when you'd left him to go to bed, your heart sank as you realized that it meant he'd been sitting in the same spot probably staring off into space for hours.

"i'm not really tired." he mumbled, his voice cracking as he spoke. his hands slightly trembled as he flipped the page on his book. you gently placed your hand over his to stop it from moving over the page, you took the book from him and placed it on the coffee table.

"you don't have to sleep but i would like it if you'd come to bed with me, you've been sitting here for hours." spencer didn't bother saying anything else, knowing that you were right. so, he stood up and latched onto your body and let you guide him to the bedroom. "i know it's late but would you like a shower or a bath?"

"yeah, i- a shower would be nice." he nodded and sat down on the bed while you went into the bathroom to start the shower. after a few minutes you called him into the bathroom.

spencer started to undress to get into the shower so you turned around to leave, wanting to give him his privacy but he grabbed your arm before you made it out the door. he asked you to stay and there was no way you were going to say no to him.

he stepped into the shower while you stripped your clothes from your body. pulling the shower curtain back, you stepped in behind him and placed your hands on his back. you could feel the tension leaving his body as your hands traveled over his skin.

this was the first time since everything happened that he could say he felt relaxed, your touch was like heaven to him, healing him of all his pain. your voice sounding like an angel to him, gentle and full of love.

spencer he melted back into your arms as you pressed your lips to his shoulder. you moved your hands down his front side until you got to his lower stomach. you hadn't exactly planned for this to happen when you ask him about a shower but when you placed your hands on his back and could feel how tensed he was, you knew that he needed something to distract him from everything.

"is this okay?"

"yes, please." he breathed out, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand to his hardening cock. you wrapped your hand around his length and swiped your thumb over the tip, to which a whimper fell from his parted lips.

any other time you would have teased him a bit, just to rile him up, but you knew that he couldn't take that at the moment. you moved your hand over his cock at a leisurely pace. you squeezed his cock ever so often to mimic how it would feel if he was inside of you, the feeling of your cunt contracting around him.

"mommy.." he gasped and grabbed onto your wrist, his hips stuttered forward as he started to fuck your hand. you pressed your lips to the shell of his ear and trailed kisses all the way down to his shoulder.

"i got you, baby. you're okay." you mumbled, swiping your thumb over the head of his cock once more. spencer doubled over as his pleasure peaked, not caring about the water that was getting in his face. his cock twitched in your hand as his cum spurted onto the shower wall, thankfully the water washed it away.

spencer stood back up straight as you let go of his cock, he moved behind you so the he could catch his breath without the water streaming down his face. you turned to face him and placed your hands on his face, leaning up and pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

[deansbite]

AFAB READER!! 18+ mdni

alec had been leaning back on the couch, you've been sat on his lap, his cock has been sat in your cunt nicely. It'd been god knows how long since your walls had adjusted to his length. and ever since then, he hadn't moved an inch.

unless — you were actually done whining and moaning about his dick lodged in you and were focusing on the show, then he'd intentionally thrust just a tiny bit deeper before retracting.

you could barely even handle his full length, much less having him go deeper — you didn’t even know he could go deeper than he already was.

and that would repeat until now. you were settled and finally could get your mind off of the fact that you were cockwarming him. but alec.. well, he had other plans.

“i can barely see the tv screen now. c’mon, baby lean back, that way you can lean to the side and i’ll be able to watch.”

“but you already.. uh — nevermind.”

“i what? c’mon you want to talk back, so go on, i’m all ears.”

“alec i didn’t mean it like that —”

“ohno, nono, don’t take it back, tell me.”

and as you opened your mouth to oblige and continue, alec raised his hips — quick, with his superhuman speed.

you yelped when his tip rubbed against your cervix — which was probably bruised with the amount of times he thrusted up into you in the span of god knows how long.

“speak up, come on.” alec urged, his smut tone evident. his hands eventually rested on your hips, guiding you to bounce up and down on his length whilst he assisted with some occasional thrusts.

you instinctively clenched around him. “so fucking tight.” he gasped out.

“c’mon, i know how much you enjoy this, hell, i do too. but, i am gonna need you to finish that fucking sentence of yours.”

“i can’t —” you yelped as he slammed you down on his length whilst raising his hips at the same down.

you weren’t paying attention when one of alecs hands went up and he stuck his fingers into your mouth. you immediately swirled your tongue around them. alec seemed pleased — considering his fingers were like a plug to make you shut up.

both you and him knew he had a lot of stamina so he would go on for however long he wanted — which usually ended up with you so fucked out you can barely even form coherent sentences.

“that’s it, atta girl, finally taking the hint and closing that pretty mouth of yours.”

all you could do was whine which was just a slight bit fainter and much softer with his slender fingers in your mouth.

alec kept the same harsh and quick pace of you bouncing and him thrusting up occasionally. which caused a few groans to escape alecs mouth.

he could immediately tell when you were close. “hold it.”. he knew if his fingers weren’t in your mouth and you weren’t currently sucking him into your warmth, you would probably stomp your foot and complain.

but he could really care less. “i wantcha to fucking control it. if you can control how whiny and how much you complain, the least you could do is hold your goddamn orgasm.”

he was slightly annoyed. and both you and he knew if you didn’t listen, he’d make sure you’d regret in one way or another.

“shit, could fuck this soaking pussy all day. you’re so warm — fuck.”

and so he did, his thrusts not coming to a halt no matter how long he’s made you hold in your orgasm and even if you did cum at least six times within the span of an hour, he kept going.

that was simply Alec McDowell.

um!! yea this is not a lot because i wasnt in the mood to write a lot but i hope. this is good enough

tags: @fallbhind @beausling @gibson-g1rl @dollsltt @psychicnatural

special tags: @pearlzier @deanswidow (cause from what i know they love alec!! (not as much as me but</3))

uhh yea this was fun to write

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"Prom Gone Wrong"

“I’m not showing too much cleavage, am I?” I ask my friend Cassy, pulling up on the silky  red dress I was wearing to cover my breasts. It was prom day, the same day I was dreading since Ollie asked me to go with him.

Don’t get me wrong, going out in a beautiful dress was my dream since I was a little girl. It was just the fact that I didn’t want to go with Ollie. 

He wasn’t my type, and he was known for not actually dancing with girls at prom and taking them in a janitor’s closet to fuck them instead. He’s never piqued my interest, but since nobody else asked me to go, I accepted.

“Honey, you look gorgeous! Let those girls free, the world needs to see how hot you are.” Cassy said before throwing her head back and taking a shot, her favorite thing to do before a party. I nervously smiled at her and fixed my hair before leaving the bathroom.

“Yeah, I just don’t want that creepy English teacher to dress-code me.” I walked to my vanity and sat down on the stool, pulling out a tube of lipgloss from my purse and applying it to my lips.

Cassy shrugged and sat down on my bed, bending over to put her black heels on. “If he looks at you weirdly, I’ll beat his 62 year old ass.”

“Thanks, Cassy.” I roll my eyes and laugh, reaching forward on the vanity to open my jewelry box. When I did, a polaroid of me and an old friend fell out of it, and I picked it up and stared at it.

Me and him used to live in the same neighborhood before I had to move away, and we were the greatest of friends. Sure, he was a bit of an oddball, but it never deterred me from him. We grew apart, though, and went our separate ways throughout highschool. Now that we were both seniors and could attend the senior-only school dance, I had a small amount of hope that he’d ask me. I wasn’t sure why, but I just did. 

“All right. I think we’re ready.” Cassy stood up and smoothed out her dark green dress in my full length mirror, and shortly after putting the photo away I did as well. “Let’s go dance.”

–

The DJ was playing Again by Noah Cyrus when we arrived, and the lights in the cafeteria room were red. That seemed to be the theme as Cassy and I walked around trying to find our dates. It took a couple of minutes for her to find West, and she bid me goodbye while interlocking her arm with his.

It was well into the night and I couldn’t find Ollie, and I had accepted the fact that he probably stood me up for another girl. I was leaning against one of the tables that held fruit punch, and I downed the last drops of the drink in my cup before deciding to step away from the ear-damaging crowd.

Making my way out of the cafeteria, I sighed when I walked out of the doors and entered the empty hallway. The sound of all the others were muffled, and the only thing that you could hear were the soft tapping of my heels. 

Wandering aimlessly through the quiet highschool, I walked past one of the closets in a darker part of the building. A loud thump against the door and a couple of moans told me all I needed to know, and I scoffed at their lack of decency. 

“That’s it, take this big dick!” I stopped in my tracks when I recognized his voice. 

Ollie.

Now, I know I had tried to convince myself earlier in the night that he did in fact stand me up, but a part of myself also didn’t quite believe it. I had thought of multiple excuses he could’ve had, and even though this one had the biggest chance, it still hurt. 

Was I not good enough? Not pretty enough? I still would’ve turned him down if he asked for sex, but why didn’t he even try?

Spirals of thoughts turned and twisted in my head as I continued walking around the school, except this time I had a place I wanted to go. Me and my old friend used to hang around the place after hours when we were younger, and there was a girls bathroom that was supposed to get renovated decades ago. Of course, the school board never got around to it, so it was a good place to skip and hide away in. It was on the second floor of the school, directly above the cafeteria. 

A remix of 180 by Bastián and Glory Box by Portishead seeped into my ears as I opened the door, and it continued to echo around when it closed. It was a larger bathroom than the others, and I walked up to the mirror that took up half of the wall. There were scarce lights, so it was rather dim around the other areas of the room.

I looked at my face and touched up on any makeup that faded, and then took my hair out of the low bun it was in. I played around with my hair, and scratched at my head, softly moaning at the self-massage I was doing. 

I froze when I heard the door creak and close, and then I locked eyes with the intruder in the mirror.

“Patrick?” I muttered, spinning around to face him. He wore a black suit with a red undershirt and a black tie, and I made a small note that the same color matched my dress. His hair was slightly tousled, and a stranded curl rested on his forehead. 

We both took in the sight of each other before I cleared my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I tilted my head, staring into his green eyes. 

“‘Could ask you the same thing.” He stated simply and started a low stride towards me, his eyes roaming over my body once again. It made me feel bare, to be on such a display for him. I remembered how low chested my dress was and pulled it up nervously, and even in the dim lights I could see his smile.

Patrick had always towered over me in height, and he took advantage of it now while circling me. I folded my hands in front of me and played with fingers as he did, waiting for him to be done with his inspection. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” He stopped in front of me and grinned. It was obvious that I was nervous, even a blind person could see it. I hadn’t talked to him since middle school, and seeing him now intimidated me in a way. 

“‘Could say the same thing to you.” Shrugging, I turn around to look at myself in the mirror again.

Patrick huffed out a laugh and stepped behind me, placing his hands on my waist. Being so close to him made my breath hitch, but I couldn’t let him know. I pretended it didn’t affect me and pulled out my lip gloss, reapplying it to my lips. It was red and shimmery, which was one of the reasons I had chosen it out of the many others in my purse. The other reason was that I knew it was his favorite.

When we were in middle school, my mom had bought it for me for my birthday. Patrick and I were hanging out one day, and I had decided to put it on because I thought it was pretty. He of course noticed, and asked me a simple question that led him to be my first kiss.

“Can I try some on?” Patrick whispered in my ear, his thumb rubbing circles on my hip. I froze again, and put the applicator back in the tube. I locked eyes with him again in the mirror, and he kissed at the spot on my neck below my right ear. His soft but chapped lips caused goosebumps to run all over my body, and a warm feeling to form in my stomach. 

“Well?” His rough voice sent shivers down my spine, and I turned around and backed away from him. He stepped forward towards me, and the cycle repeated until my back hit the edge of one of the sinks. I swallowed down the lump in my throat that caused me to be silent, but before I could speak, he did instead.

“Jump.” It barely registered in my brain what he wanted me to do, but it clicked when his hands grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the sink. My legs wrapped around his hips, and my arms went around his neck. 

I didn’t think before I did, but before I knew it my lips were on his. It was sloppy, hungry, but it fit with how we felt. I grabbed at the hair on the base of his neck and he grabbed at the red fabric of my dress.

We didn’t pull away from each other, but probably for different reasons. I had a thing for Patrick since I’ve known him, and I didn’t want to pull away and have him disappear again.

I didn’t know why he was so frantic like me, though. Maybe he felt the same, or maybe it’s all a heat of the moment kind of thing. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to end. 

Patrick’s hand moved slyly up and down my body, and mine stayed in his hair. I always liked how long it was, it matched his face shape well. And since he hated going to the barber, it worked out for the both of us. 

I whimpered when his fingers pinched my thighs, and finally pulled away to breathe while he smiled at my reaction. We both panted and looked at each other, eyes filled to the brim with lust. Patrick licked his swollen lips, tasting the flavor of the gloss.

“Cherry?” He asked with a toothy grin.

I nodded breathlessly, my mouth dryer than a desert. “Your favorite.” 

He hummed and pulled me in for another kiss, even more eager than the last. My hands left his hair and roamed down to undo his tie, and I cursed into the kiss when I couldn’t get the knot undone. Patrick snickered and reached his hands up to do it himself, my own hands cupping his face. 

When he took the tie off, he pulled my hands away and placed it in them. Confused as to why he was pulling away, I opened my mouth to ask, but stopped immediately.

He kneeled in front of me, mischief flooding his green eyes. Patrick grabbed my legs and spread them, and he kissed at my ankle. He continued his charade of leaving marks all over and up my left leg before switching to the right one.

His hands roamed behind me to pull me closer to the edge of the porcelain sink, and then they moved back down to the insides of my thighs.

They reached up for my underwear, and he didn’t even need to tell me to lift my hips. It was like an automatic response to his touch, one that I couldn’t help. He noticed as well, and swiftly pulled down the damp red fabric and threw it aside. 

“You’ve got quite the theme goin’, huh toots?” He laughed and placed a kiss on each of my knees. I ticked my tongue and lightly tapped his side with my red heel, urging him to hurry up.

“I like to match.” I lean back onto the sink and run my fingers through my hair, biting my lip as he shuffles closer to me. 

His eyes were trained on mine, and he lifted up my dress, disappearing under the silk. I gasped when he blew air on my groin, and threw my head back when I felt his tongue on me.

Patrick ate like a starved man eating his last meal, not even coming up to take a breath. His hands held my thighs apart so that they didn’t clamp around his head, and all that could be heard throughout the bathroom were my moans and the soft sound of music.

Panting and gasping when he sucked on just the right spot, my fingers went under my dress and tightened themselves around his hair. He groaned into my cunt, and that was what threw me over the edge.

“Patrick, I’m gonna-” He didn’t let me finish my sentence and his thumb on my clit, rubbing it in just the right way to make me scream his name.

He let me ride my high, slowing down a bit, but not stopping. I whined and tried to tug his head away, but he didn’t let up. Finally, after a couple of complaints, he pulled back, leaving a few last licks and standing up. 

His face was stained and shiny, and he wiped it away on his sleeve. Embarrassed, I looked away while he did. He took off his blazer, and grabbed my chin. He kissed me once again, and the warm feeling came back shortly. He grasped my hands in his and guided them towards his shirt, and I caught on. I unbuttoned it and he tossed it away from us, ignoring my grumbles of how dirty the floor probably is.

Patrick unbuckled his belt and let it drop, and then unbuttoned his pants. He pulled them down just enough to where he could let his cock out, and once again pulled me closer to him. Wrapping my legs around him and putting my face into his shoulder, he started to align himself with my entrance before I yelped,

“Condom! Use a condom.” I pulled away from his shoulder and looked at him, my concerned expression opposite of his unamused one. He rolled his eyes and started rocking himself against me, sliding in and out of my folds. 

I moaned loudly and grabbed his shoulder, covering my mouth with my other hand. Patrick smirked and went faster, a knowing look on his face.

“Still want a condom?” He asked, and I shook my head with doubt. 

Patrick was smug as he lined himself up again, and his lips caught my whine as he thrusted inside slowly. He kept going until he bottomed out all the way, and he cursed the whole time.

“Fuck. Ease up on me, dollface. You’re real fucking tight.” He groaned, and pulled out almost all the way. I whined and scratched at his back, and he rammed himself back in. The process repeated, and the bathroom was filled with moans and swears once again.

I could feel him twitch inside me, indicating that he was close. I had already come twice around him, and was crying at the overstimulation.

“Patrick, it’s too much.” I cried against his neck. 

“I know, fucking hell, I know. Just a little longer, you can do it. Just give me one more, baby.” He reached his hand down and thumbed at my clit, making me fall off the edge once again. The constriction around him made him moan loudly and pull out of me, leaving a mess all over my thighs. 

We sat there for a couple minutes, breathing in each other's air. I leaned my head back against the sink’s mirror and stared at him as he stepped away to pick up his tie, wiping away the white liquid on me with it. He tucked himself back into his pants, put his belt on, and the rest of his clothes. He threw the tie into the small, empty trashcan to the left of us and kissed me. 

Patrick didn’t pull away until we both couldn’t breathe, and then he stepped away from me, and walked to the door.

“Eleven PM tomorrow, here.” He opened the door and walked out.

Patrick left me alone with my thoughts, and I stayed sitting on the sink for a while longer. Thinking over my night and what he and I were now, I realized that we were still at the school dance, and that I had to find Cassy and drive her home.

[sometimesanalice]

Leave a Light On {vol. i}

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all! This will be a 2-part series.)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s. 

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy. 

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.  

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.  

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[axxa-the-allikatt]

PILLOW PRINCESS~

***

Trust, these are 3 am thoughts and I barely understood it when I reread it, probably cuz my brain was already asleep. So if you understand it, hope you enjoy 🫠.

***

Top Male reader X Dom boyfriend Nagi Seishiro

***

Nagi was a sub top in the relationship. At least that’s what everyone expected.

M/n had the same expectations, until him and Nagi had actually gotten into bed for the first time, drunk and mindless. It had begun with Nagi leaning in for a rough kiss, hastily swallowing M/n’s tongue. Before M/n could figure out what was going on, he’d felt his back crashing against the wall, leaving him breathless, both due to the force and the unusually greedy kisses.

Now, as M/n’s hands gripped the white haired boy’s lean hips, he heard the boy let out a high pitched moan into the kiss. After what felt like an eternity, Nagi finally pulled back, his hands messily tangled around the taller boy’s neck, before he began leaving feathery kisses along M/n’s jaw, down to his collar bone, then farther down his torso, until the white haired boy was on his knees, looking up at M/n through hazy, lust filled eyes.

“Mhmm~ Lemme suck you off? Pretty please?~” he whimpered, his hands clenching by his thighs, his expression making M/n lose any shred of self control. “Go on, pretty boy~” M/n cooed, but made no attempt to take off his trousers. Nagi leaned forward, pressing his cheek against M/n’s inner thigh, as he bit onto the zipper, pulling it down using his teeth, then pulling down the boxers, as M/n’s cock sprang up slightly.

Nagi stuck his tongue out, licking the tip, eliciting a low moan from M/n. Little by little, he took it into his hot, wet mouth, until he was sloppily bobbing his head up and down the taller boy’s now rock hard cock, mouth barely going past half of the length before it grazed the back of his throat, his gag reflexes kicking in.

He brought up his hands, wrapping them around the remaining length, moving them in rhythm with his pretty pink lips. M/n’s hands were tangled in his fluffy hair, gripping it with such force, as though his soul would fly away if he didn’t. Nagi’s little moans and gags vibrated against his shaft, sending shivers up his spine, as he felt the heat pooling inside him.

As M/n felt his mind start to get mushier than it already was, he sensed the feeling of something wet under his bare feet. Looking down, he realized that Nagi was barely conscious, sticky white liquid dripping down his thighs, collecting on the floor. He let out a frustrated whine, as Nagi tried to pull back. No! Not yet! He was so close!

Grabbing a fist full of his hair, M/n yanked Nagi back, his cock hitting the back of the boy’s throat with such force, it was enough to snap him awake. As Nagi gripped at M/n’s thighs, M/n bucked his hips, reaching for the climax that seemed so close, yet was taking so long, which in reality hit him like a freight train not a minute later.

M/n pulled back, his milky liquid splashing to the floor, a few drops landing on Nagi’s face, which the boy made a show of licking off. Both of them froze as a knock sounded at the door right beside them, bringing them back to reality. An half hour ago, after a get together party, both of them had realised how drunk they were and had booked a hotel room right beside the bar and arcade.

The person at the door knocked again, this time asking out loud whether anyone was inside, and would they like dinner in bed? M/n cleared his throat, before stuttering out a ‘no thanks’ and that they would rather not have dinner. The person at the door replied with an okay and the footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

The two boys let out a sigh neither of them knew they had been holding. “Uhh, well, looks like we’re not going home tonight” M/n muttered, reaching down to pull his pants up. His movements were abruptly stopped as Nagi grabbed his wrists. “Let me ride you? Pretty please?”.

Oh fucking god. Where had he learnt to say pretty please so sweetly? “Are you sure, snowflake? I mean, it’s our first time, you sure you’re not tired?” M/n asked gently , standing back up, hands playing with Nagi’s fluffy hair.

“Mhm~ You always make me feel so good. Lemme do this, N/n?~” He replied, his voice low, what with all that throat fucking.

And who was M/n to say no to his sweet, sweet boyfriend? Especially when he was acting so unusually energetic when it came down to sex.

Oh well, M/n would be more than happy to be a pillow princess if his pretty prince was willing to take the lead.

[d1s1ntegrated]

shiggy with a s/o who’s equally as much of a loser as him :3 like they probably met in a discord vc (he’s the mod) or a league of legends match and he probably hates them at first and then gets a lil crush on them when they helped him mid-game or smth!!

thank u <3

hi love! i am working on a full-length fic where this is literally the entire plot omgomgomg, i'll post a little snippet here!

its still a wip so it wont be perfect but its first person perspective in this part, and i'm thinking of going back and forth between povs to show shig and readers sides equally.

also, reader is fem/afab, same age as shig, and alt. she has a quirk, too (not a healing one either).

this one does include quirks also! but it doesn't get into them for a bit, just a few convos.

some tags for the work entirely: slow burn, enemies to lovers, dabi x reader, shiggy x reader, reader is Not mentally stable, but no one else is either, the server is all the LOV and some others, incel behavior, boys being gross

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i slide my headset off as we log off for the night and head to my bed, yawning as i climb in. i turn my lamp off and from my bedside table, i hear the infamous chime of discord as my screen lights the room. i groan and roll over, checking the message.

𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱2𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱

↪thx 4 playing tn, u weren't half bad

↪btw sorry for threatening to ban u for posting memes in general

i read the messages slowly and type out my response.

𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖘𝖙

↪gg dude, and np.

↪promise i wont spam ur precious server w memes again

↪gn bro

i turn my phone back off and close my eyes, only to hear my phone go off again. i sigh, contemplating on ignoring it, but i lazily grab it anyways.

𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱2𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱

↪would u ever wanna vid call :)

↪u can say no. its ok

i frown at the message for a minute. this is the same guy who, about an hour ago, was screaming at me for not being fast enough in game, calling me a fucking pleb.

but other than that...he was funny. and nice to talk to.

𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖘𝖙

↪for sure, we can tmr.

i type out a half-assed response but feel a ping of excitement inside of me. i fall asleep with my phone on my chest, waiting for a reply.

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

i wake up around 1pm, the daylight searing through my curtains. i feverishly reach for my phone, only to find it flung off the bed. i drape myself off the side to reach it, eager to read any messages.

i flit through the random notifications, only to find disappointment. i open up discord, wondering if maybe i just fell asleep with my phone on, but there's no response from him. i see him active and type out a message, ultimately deleting it. if he wants to respond, he will.

i haul myself out of bed and head to the shower, leaving my phone behind, slightly jaded knowing i was left on read. i let the warm water wash over me, soaking up the few minutes of peace before i exit and get dressed. i continue ignoring my phone until i hear a ping. i rush over to it, feeling slightly embarrassed that i'm this concerned already. i open discord again, expecting a message from him, but it's not there. instead, a string of messages from someone else sits unopened. my brows furrow and i open the dm confused.

𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚

↪yo

↪u played ovw w us last night right

↪u should play again tn w me, pretty.

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again this is just a snippet >_< but i hope it tickles some anticipation ahhhhhhhhh. ik there isnt a lot sorry ;-;

[roosterforme]

One Night in Vegas | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: After you move in with Bradley, it doesn't take long for you to settle in to your life together. He makes dinner, you eat it. You make a mess, he cleans it up. He proposes in the most endearing way, you say yes. And then both of you spend one perfect night in Vegas. 

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request.

Check my profile for my masterlist

You were so close to your winter break, you could almost feel it. Your first semester teaching math at San Diego State University had been wild. At times, it was very rewarding, and you didn't want to be anywhere else. At other times, you were holed up in your office, working late into the night grading papers and planning out your lessons. 

But the one constant thing had been Bradley. 

"Hey, Sugar," he said, knocking softly on the open door of your home office. "Dinner." You stood and practically ran into his arms as you glanced at the office door on which you had written SUGAR LOVES BEER BOY.

"I don't want to grade any more exams," you whined loudly against his solid chest while he laughed. 

"I told you not to wait until tonight to finish them."

You glared playfully up at him and tried to escape his arms, but he held you tight. "You're terrible," you informed him. "It's entirely your fault that I'm still working on them. You spent the whole weekend luring me back into our bedroom!"

He smirked at you and said, "It didn't take much convincing, Sugar."

You rolled your eyes and let him lead you out of your office and through the kitchen. "Oh, are we eating in the dining room? What's the special occasion?"

But you stopped in the doorway, heart pounding a million miles per hour as tears sprung to your eyes. "Bradley!" you gasped. There were five white doors lined up on the far wall, and each one had a single word scrawled across it in Bradley's big, tidy handwriting. 

SUGAR 

WILL 

YOU 

MARRY 

ME?

When you spun to face him, you found him behind you, down on one knee. He looked blurry through your tears, but he was holding a ring between his thumb and index finger. You barely saw it though as you half sobbed and half shouted, "Yes!"

And then you were on top of him on the hardwood floor, straddling his waist and kissing his face while he smiled and held you tight to his chest. "I love you," he managed to say as you smashed your mouth against his. "Wait, wait," he whispered, reaching for your left hand. "Let me put this on you before it gets lost."

You let him slide the ring onto your finger as you said, "I love you so much, Beer Boy." And then he pulled you in for more kisses.

-----------------------------

On New Year's Day, you and Bradley were curled up together on the couch, watching his vintage DVD of The Grateful Dead concert footage and nursing your hangovers. 

"What are you going to do all week while I'm at work?" he muttered against your neck. 

You shrugged in his arms. "Probably visit you and Nat on base one day and just mess up the house so you have something to complain about."

"Remind me again... why am I marrying you?" 

"Because you can't live without me," you whispered as his nose skimmed the sensitive spot behind your ear. 

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled. 

The five doors on which Bradley had written his proposal message to you were now a permanent feature in the dining room. And you took your dinner in there most nights to enjoy them while you ate, even if Bradley was on base late. Even the ring he got for you, which he was currently spinning around your finger, was perfect. 

You didn't want to go back to work at the end of the month without having selected a wedding date. But every time you and Bradley talked about wedding plans, he told you the same thing: "Pick a date, Sugar. Vegas is available 365 days a year."

You wiggled yourself around on the couch until you were facing him, and he sang along softly to the DVD while you closed your eyes. When the song was done, you asked, "How serious are you about Las Vegas?"

He studied your face. "To get married?"

"Mmhmm."

"So serious," he replied, but he was looking at you a little skeptically. 

But as a smile broke out on your face, he started kissing your cheeks. "Let's do it, Beer Boy," you told him with a laugh.

And soon he had you pinned underneath him on the couch while he sang Viva Las Vegas by Elvis and unhooked your bra.

-----------------------------

When Bradley got home from work on Friday, the house was a damn mess, and you were looking at him with barely concealed excitement.

"What?" he asked cautiously. And then you started bouncing around. "What happened? Did you hire someone to clean up after you so I don't have to?" 

"No!" you exclaimed, rolling your eyes. "I spent the entire day planning our wedding!" 

Bradley's heart skipped a beat. "For real? When is it?"

"In two weeks."

He had your sweatpants off in an instant, and he bent you over the dining room table and fucked you while you told him the details. 

"It'll be perfect," you moaned as he rocked your body with his thrusts. "Elvis and the Vegas strip and a heart shaped bathtub."

You were everything he had wanted for more than ten years, and the fact that you were letting him have this silly, no nonsense quickie wedding made him so happy. Neither of you had much family, and the only person he really cared to invite was Nat. But she'd give him a pass on missing his big day if she knew going to Las Vegas would make him happy.

"You're perfect, Sugar," he grunted, kissing your neck and eyeing the five doors lining the far wall. "I can't fucking wait, baby."

Bradley started packing that night, laying some of his favorite tropical print shirts on his open suitcase. But as the days wore on, you started to add some cold weather clothing into his bag for him. 

"What's that for?" he asked you when he noticed you had folded up his heaviest coat and placed it on top of his short sleeved shirts. 

"Our honeymoon."

He raised one eyebrow at you. "Are we not staying in Vegas for that?"

"Nope."

"Where are we going?"

"Not telling."

Bradley looked you up and down as you stood next to the bed in his favorite tie dyed tee shirt. "Do I need to fuck the information out of you?"

Your eyes went wide and your lips parted on a needy gasp. "I'd like to see you try."

After nearly an hour of giving you his hands, mouth and cock, you were a sweaty, gasping mess beneath him.

"Chicago," you managed to say as your eyes drifted closed. "Honeymoon in Chicago."

Bradley collected you in his arms and pulled you beneath the covers with him. You and he had made all those plans for Chicago together before you broke his heart more than ten years ago. And now you were really taking him there. The city where you lived when you were missing him. The city where you got your second tattoo. The city that haunted his dreams when he was twenty two years old and so lonely. 

"I love you so much, Sugar," he whispered over and over until you fell asleep in his arms.

--------------------------

"Aren't we supposed to not see each other before the wedding?" Bradley asked you while you got dressed in the hotel bathroom. "Isn't that a thing?"

You rolled your eyes as you pulled on your white sundress. "I'm sure Elvis won't mind!" you called to him where he was getting ready in the bedroom.

"Speaking of Elvis, we need to be there soon, Sugar!"

Your flight from San Diego had been delayed, and now you were cutting it close for your appointment at the Chapel of Neverending Love next to Caesars Palace. "Grab the wedding bands!" you told him while you fixed your makeup. When you walked out of the bathroom a minute later, Bradley was standing there in a white linen shirt and pants with a huge smile on his face.

"You look beautiful."

Your dress was simple, and your engagement ring was your only accessory. But you did feel pretty, and you knew Bradley was eager to marry you today. "So do you, Beer Boy."

You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his mustache, and when you got to the chapel, Elvis was already waiting for you. The entire ceremony took fifteen minutes, and that included your wedding photos. And then they were ushering you out for the next couple to come in. 

But the two of you were laughing and smiling nonstop as you looked at your rings and made out in front of the chapel.

"I'm ready to take my wife back to that heart shaped bathtub and have my filthy way with her."

But you looked up at his handsome face and shook your head as he held you close. "Not yet. It's time for your wedding gift."

--------------------------

Bradley thought he was going to faint from all the excitement. You and he were married. You and he were about to enjoy your wedding night. You and he were flying to Chicago tomorrow. 

But then you told him the most magical words: Grateful Dead cover band.

"How the fuck does this day keep getting better?" he asked, kissing your neck and hugging you as you led him down the lit up sidewalk of the Vegas strip. Soon the two of you were surrounded by a bunch of hippies in tie dye. And Bradley knew all the words. And you held him tight the whole time. 

"This is our wedding reception!" you told him over the loud music. And then the band started playing the song with the lyrics from your tattoo. The one you got because of Bradley. 

You grinned at him as the singer said, "This song is for the newlyweds."

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and sang to you while you danced with him. "You don't know how easy it is to love you."

You were wound around him, singing the lyrics back to him as well. Perfect. You were perfect. And somehow, you were his. 

When the song ended, he tipped his head back amidst all of the applause and cheers. "I fucking love my wife!" he shouted. "Seriously, Sugar! I love you so much!"

And he was still saying those words back at the hotel when you changed into your 'wedding night lingerie' which was just his old Grateful Dead tee shirt. 

And he was whispering, "I love you," as he carried you to bed. When you pulled him closer and let him settle against your body between your spread legs, he paused with his lips just barely brushing yours. 

"Sugar, I know we didn't have proper wedding vows, because Elvis only let us speak in his song lyrics, so I have a few things I want to tell you now."

You giggled, and said, "But I liked it when you called me your hunka hunka burnin' love."

He ran his hands all over your body and smiled. "Listen, you're definitely that, baby. But you're also the only woman I've ever loved. And I fell in love with you as soon as you spoke to me."

"Bradley," you whispered, running your fingertips along his scarred cheek and neck. Your pretty face was always so open and honest for him, and he loved you for that, especially right now.

"And I've been loving you for eleven years, nearly to the day," he told you, kissing the tip of your nose as your eyes filled with tears. "You changed my life. Twice. And getting a second chance with you is the most important thing that ever happened to me."

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm so happy I found you again, because I never stopped loving you either. How could I have?"

Bradley pulled your left hand to his lips and kissed your rings. "My vow is to keep loving you just like I did the night I met you in my disgusting fraternity house, and just like I did when we parted ways, and just like I did when you found my again, and just like I do right now. Because I'm better at loving you than I am at doing anything else." 

"You are," you promised him as you sniffed. "You're so good at it."

And then Bradley spent the whole night loving you and your body and your voice. And it didn't matter if you and he slept at all, because you had the flight to Chicago for that. 

---------------------------

Thanks for sending in this request! I laughed and I cried. I just love Beer Boy so much! I love how happy they make each other. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[dollwrites]

— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!

all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + probably dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. noncon, dub con, and other triggering content may be present, read with caution ( enjoy your experience <3 )

just think about being femto’s chosen pet.

a hawk that should’ve been sacrificed with the others, and yet you lived. your former leader, the same as your former lover, was gone and in his place stood a looming, dark winged angel of death. however, a soulless crimson gaze remains fixed on you for what seems like hours and hours. clawed hands wrapped around the large, domed cage he’s trapped you in, as if he wants nothing more than to rip the door off and grab you.

at first, you cried and beg to be freed. you call his name in desperate shrieks. “Griffith, please! Let me out!” but, eventually, you realize that it will do no good.

femto has no reaction to your begs for mercy. he is stoic and silent, with ever-watching eyes that follow your every move. he doesn’t try to stop you from pulling at the bars- no, bones, of your cage. oh no, femto reaches his shiny, black arm into your cage, sharp claws extended, grasping for you.

though, of course, you stumble to the back wall of the cage, it is nowhere near big enough to hide from him. you turn your face, feeling the very tips of his claws, like daggers, drag along the fleshiest section of your cheek. you whine at the sensation, certain that if he applied any pressure at all, his claws would pierce your cheek. one, large thumb hooks against your jaw, pulling your face back towards him. you squint, but your body is too weak to fight against his command, and with a small sound of protest, you look up at him. he towers over your cage by at least a full head and shoulders, but his face is leaned so close to the bars that it is nearly pressed against it— his feline eyes pinned out. he looked like a beast, and you were almost surprised that he didn’t snort like one. but, you’d noticed, that femto’s chest didn’t rise and fall with breath, at all.

his obsidian talons scrape along the shape of your jaw, his thumbnail dragging against your trembling, lower lip. you wonder, as you cower in front of this demon king, if there’s a single inkling of Griffith left within him. did he, somehow, recall the taste of the lips that he touched, now? there was a glittering possibility in his eyes. as if he were deep in thought as they focused on your lips. however, his pupils started to dilate the lower his gaze, and his claws, traveled. tearing open your top with ease— as if shredding old parchment.

your chest heaved, up and down with ragged breathing as you whined and begged him under your breath not to hurt you, but he wasn’t listening. by the time his massive palm envelopes your bare breast, his pupils were so blown out that they possessed the entire eye, making them abysmal pools of wicked intent. he teases your taut nipple with his thumb and forefinger, squeezing experimentally before the sharp end of the nails poke and prod at the bud, causing you to squirm and pant, nervous. they nick your flesh, whether he means to or not, and a thin stream of rubies drip from your chest, running down the length of your belly. you gasp, and try once again to recoil from him, but the closer you press yourself into the opposite side of the cage, the closer he leans, until his body is up against the bone bars, and they creak from his weight.

“Don’t… touch…” you whisper, desperately, but it’s much too late. closing your eyes as you feel his cruel fingers tread lower, smearing your own blood into your skin before they delve between your quivering legs. you try to close them, but even his fingers are too strong to defy, and they press against your tender button hard. “A-agh!” you’re forced to bite back the sound of discomfort, the tips of his talons scoring at your most vulnerable core, the slick pads of his fore and middle finger pushing at your nether lips to spread your pussy open. your thighs, shaking but wide, do little to cover the full view of your cunt to the monster, whose smile is faint, and his tongue flicks at his own, vermilion lips. with the length of his ring finger, he rubs between your folds, pulled apart to grant him the access that he wants, and you feel the pressure from every inch of his long, thick digit. “M-monster…”

it doesn’t seem to bother him. in fact, you wonder if he even heard you. his eyes glued to your cunt, his finger rubbing from your clit to your hole, that clenches unwilling at the rough treatment. you hate that your clit swells and throbs against his finger, and that when he realizes, he focuses all of the pressure there, until you’re moaning and squirming, with tears in your eyes.

you don’t want it to feel good, but it does.

you don’t want to cum, but you do.

and you don’t want that to seal your fate as femto’s fragile, little fuckdoll. but it does.

[skeletorrito]

NSFW itafushi fic (wip, 18+, 4k worth of spicy smut)

For the purposes of self-indulgent smut, this is a Jujustu College AU. Characters are aged-up, but other canon events remain the same. Thanks for reading!!!

Summary: 

“When I said ‘I love you,’ I meant it, Megumi. I really do love you, in every way possible.” Yuji’s grip on Megumi tightens, as if he never plans on letting go.

“I don’t believe in love,” Megumi replies, harshly, immediately, an automatic response because every time he hears Yuji say those three little words, his brain echoes back to him:

You don’t deserve to be loved. 

Megumi always wakes up early. 

It doesn’t matter if he’s had eight hours of sleep or eight minutes, his body never lets him sleep past 7 AM.

Yuji, on the other hand, would probably sleep until noon if didn’t set at least fifteen blaring alarms. He sleeps like the dead, which Megumi, an incredibly light sleeper, always feels a little jealous about. When they share a bed, a frequent occurrence as of late, their mismatched sleeping patterns usually don’t bother Megumi. On their days off, he’ll shimmy out of Yuji’s grasp (he was a cuddler, too, no surprise there), make coffee, and read, play on his phone, listen to music, or sometimes even crawl back into bed and do these things while watching Yuji sleep peacefully. 

Today, however, they both have classes in a few hours and Megumi never wants to listen to the same siren alarm playing on repeat until Yuji finally rolls over, smacks his phone, and springs out of bed. 

The problem is… Yuji’s incredibly difficult to wake. Megumi oftentimes resorts to punching him or furiously shaking him just to get any sort of reaction out of him. Violence seems to be the most effective way and it’s frustrating. Yuji doesn’t care, but tired, grumpy Megumi does. 

And, well, there is one other way to get him to wake up. 

Yuji likes this particular way the most. 

Megumi wakes to Yuji’s stiff morning-wood pressed against his ass… which happens almost every single morning they’re in bed together. 

(Megumi doesn’t really mind this, either.) 

He flips around in Yuji’s weak hold, admiring the way soft sunlight hits his sleepy smile, and palms his arousal over his boxers. Yuji stirs slightly, letting out the softest of groans as Megumi teases him through the fabric. His fingers slip inside, stroking him and watching curiously as Yuji’s eyebrows pinch together.

He looks really cute like this… Megumi thinks with a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to Yuji’s lips. Yuji moans, still unconscious, and tightens his grip on Megumi’s waist. His hips start to roll into his hand, becoming louder and more animated yet still just as blissfully asleep. Megumi sighs defeatedly, expecting that this endeavor wouldn’t be so easy. At this rate, he’ll only give Yuji a 4-D wet dream and why would he want to wake up from that? 

Prying Yuji’s hands from his waist, Megumi slides down the mattress under the duvet they share until he’s at eye-level with Yuji’s sizable erection. He yanks Yuji’s boxers down to his knees and licks a stripe up the length, his eyes darting up to gauge any sort of reaction. 

Still nothing. 

Groaning sleepily, unconscious Yuji rolls onto his back and spreads his legs open. Rolling his eyes, Megumi takes him into his mouth, tongue toying with the leaking tip until Yuji finally blinks awake.

“Huh?” He murmurs in a haze, disoriented and aroused, which is even more confusing for him. He feels a hot tongue flick against the head of his cock and moans loudly, pulling the covers off of them. “Oh fuck, Megumi,” he groans surprisedly, his foggy brain finally realizing what’s happening to him. Yuji weakly threads his fingers through Megumi’s soft, dark hair, and Megumi looks up at him in a heated gaze, jade green eyes locking onto honey-brown ones. 

Yuji comes undone as he watches Megumi take his cock and, in return, Megumi watches him lose his mind with prideful amusement. As he’s moaning and babbling nonsense, his grip on Megumi’s hair grows tighter and pushes against his head. Cheeks hollowing, Megumi sucks and slurps with renewed fervor now that Yuji is a conscious participant in this game he initiated. 

Yuji’s a talker in bed. 

Sometimes it’s kind of annoying but, most of the time, Megumi finds it entertaining and endearing. 

“Oh my god, it feels so good, your mouth is amazing,” he cries, his words stringing together lazily, “Oh, Megumi, yes, keep going I’m so close, fuck.” He pants as he rocks his hips up into Megumi’s waiting mouth, eyes rolling back and head thrashing against the pillow. 

Megumi bobs his head in time with Yuji’s shallow thrusts, nearly choking as he attempts to take him all the way in. He pins Yuji’s hips to the bed, trying to keep him still, but it’s only wasted effort as Yuji continues to fuck his mouth with more intensity. Megumi’s eyes sting as Yuji’s cock rams at the back of his throat. 

“Megumi, I’m gonna- ah! Fuck!” He shouts in warning, feeling Megumi gag around him as he comes, hard, toes curling and hips jerking. Megumi swallows with a shudder, gasping and coughing as he pulls off. 

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Yuji asks with immediate concern, pulling his boxers on and sitting up quickly, resting a gentle hand on Megumi’s back. Megumi wipes a few tears from his eyes, rubbing at his throat. It’s not a bad hurt, but Yuji’s touch comforts him nonetheless.

“Aside from nearly choking to death on your cock, I’m alright,” Megumi jokes dryly with a smirk, crawling up Yuji’s body to straddle him. Yuji flushes and murmurs a sheepish apology, and Megumi leans down to kiss him softly in response. “Good morning, by the way. Took you long enough to wake up.” 

“Good morning.” Yuji grins widely, all dimples, as his hands come to rest on Megumi’s thighs. “Can you wake me up like that every morning?” He asks and stretches up to kiss Megumi again, fingers sliding up to Megumi’s hips and fidgeting with the waistband of his boxers. 

“Don’t be greedy,” Megumi chides playfully, returning the kiss and deepening it, his tongue swiping along Yuji’s bottom lip. Yuji notices that he can taste himself in Megumi's mouth. 

He’s a little embarrassed by how much it turns him on. 

“Class starts in 90 minutes, by the way,” he warns as he feels Yuji growing hard again underneath him. He grinds his own half-hard erection into him, moaning softly. 

“That’s plenty of time,” Yuji murmurs into Megumi’s neck as he kisses and sucks at it. He pays special attention to the tender spot just above his collarbone, giving it a gentle nip. 

Megumi stifles a moan in his throat. “Not for you, you insatiable idiot,” he grumbles, “You’re going to make us late again.” Despite his harsh words, he doesn’t attempt to climb off, and Yuji knows it’s because Megumi wants this just as much as he does. He continues to argue, but his tone is indifferent now as he comments, “Gojo won’t let us hear the end of it if we’re late for the third time this week.” He closes his eyes and sighs, leaning into Yuji’s touches. 

“Eh, he’s always late to everything, anyway, so we’ll be right on time,” Yuji argues with a shrug, unbothered, because time stands still when he’s with Megumi. His fingers slide into Megumi’s boxers, taking a firm hold of his ass as he continues to latch onto the porcelain expanse that is Megumi’s neck. 

“Keep it below the collar, asshole,” he snips, groaning softly and tipping his head to the side as he melts into the feeling of Yuji’s lips and hands on him. 

They’re definitely going to be late. Again. 

But, fuck it, because sex with Yuji is just so insanely addicting that Megumi can’t even seriously consider stopping now. 

Gojo can get a taste of his own medicine for once. 

They shed the rest of their clothes haphazardly and return to their original position, with Megumi sitting in Yuji’s lap and Yuji kissing on his neck, shoulders, anywhere he can reach, leaving blemishes and marks under Megumi’s neckline. He dips his head down to flick his tongue across one hard nipple, then the other. Megumi gasps and moans in response, making delicious noises that he attempts to hold back. 

Knowing his chest is sensitive, Yuji exploits it for all it’s worth. He wants Megumi loud and unabashed, letting go completely, losing himself in pleasure, because that version of Megumi is his favorite version. So raw and unfiltered. No thinking, just feeling, which is so very unlike his typical icy, calculated, closed-off demeanor. 

They’ve been hooking up for long enough now that he has a pretty good idea of how to push Megumi’s buttons. 

Yuji begins sucking, his teeth grazing across sensitive hard nubs. Shivering, Megumi takes a fistful of dusty pink hair, attempting to pull him off. “Hey! Don’t- mm. Stop, that’s so- ah- that’s too embarrassing!” He exclaims through moans and whines, cheeks flushing bright pink and mouth agape. But Yuji doesn’t budge, despite his efforts, and continues to mouth his lithe chest. 

“But you like it,” Yuji retorts between his teasing licks and bites, eyes flicking up to admire Megumi’s flustered, blushing face. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” 

Megumi doesn’t respond, gaze averted, his face growing hot from self-consciousness and arousal. He still grips onto Yuji’s hair and scowls, but can’t muster up the will to fight because Yuji reads him like a book. He doesn’t just like it, he loves it, which makes him even more embarrassed. He’s achingly hard at this point, mortified that his body is telling on him like this. He writhes as Yuji takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks harder. He presses into Yuji’s hard body, their arousals shifting against each other.

A loud, surprised gasp escapes him as Yuji suddenly grabs both of them and strokes. “Yuji!” He cries, hips rocking into Yuji’s grasp desperately. Yuji lifts his head, his free hand caressing the back of Megumi’s neck tenderly, and pulls him into an open-mouth kiss. He devours him, sucking on his tongue as they smash their lips together in a lustful frenzy. He savors Megumi's moans and whimpers against his lips like his favorite meal as their cocks slide together, still slightly slick with precum and saliva.

“What is it?” Yuji pauses to murmur and rests his forehead against Megumi’s, feeling the tickle of soft bangs against his face. “Tell me. Just talk to me, Megumi. I wanna make you feel good, but I can’t read your mind.” His gaze searches Megumi’s expression, seeking anything to latch onto that might tell him what his friend is thinking. 

“I…” Megumi finally starts, immediately feeling shy under his teammate’s intense gaze. His heart thumps in his throat because the intimacy he shares with Yuji is still so new and vulnerable to him, but also warm and safe and so, so good. He leans into Yuji’s ear, because somehow whispering makes it a little easier, as he says under his breath, “I want to ride you until I come and then… I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think straight.”

Yuji grins ear-to-ear. “Yeah, that’s more like it,” he encourages, a pleasant shiver running down his spine at Megumi’s vulgar whispers. He eagerly grabs the bottle of lube from the drawer of the bedside table. Slicking two fingers, he reaches back and circles Megumi’s entrance before pressing inside, slow and controlled like he’s done this a hundred times before (Not a hundred, by far, but let’s say… a number in the double digits at least). Megumi tenses, gripping Yuji’s shoulders as he slowly pushes back with staggered, forced deep breaths. He shifts around, playing with angles, until he feels Yuji’s fingertips brush against a sensitive area inside him. He groans, pushing back harder, and Yuji follows his lead as he curls and rubs into the spot.

“Right there, yes! It’s so good, Yuji,” Megumi can’t help but sob. He wraps his arms around Yuji’s shoulders tightly as fingers pump in and out of him now. His cheeks warming at the praise, he buries his face in Megumi’s neck. Yuji slides in without resistance as Megumi bears down now, so he eases another finger in, stretching, massaging. Megumi whines, “I can’t wait anymore, please, let me put it in.” His eyes flutter closed, melting into a puddle against Yuji’s solid frame, bucking his hips and shuddering at each pass against his prostate.

“You’re so cute when you beg,” Yuji comments into Megumi’s neck with a wide smirk, pulling his fingers out slowly. 

“Shut up, or I’ll kick you out,” Megumi grumbles an empty threat in response, which only makes Yuji smirk wider. He pours more lube on his palm, stroking himself hastily. Megumi watches him intently, eyes half-lidded with lust, and unconsciously licks his bottom lip in anticipation. 

Megumi has fooled around with guys before Yuji, closeted jocks in high school, random guys he met online (mostly disappointing experiences, but experiences nonetheless), but Yuji was on an entirely different level above the rest. Though this was his first sexual relationship with another man, Yuji learned extremely fast. He always put in the maximum amount of effort to please Megumi. It never stopped at just one orgasm; “quickies” did not exist in their situationship. He just kept giving and giving and giving until it got to the point where Megumi felt like his soul was being sucked out of his body through his dick. 

And it was exactly what he wanted.

  Yuji was everything he needed him to be: sensual, strong, caring, open-minded, and, well… big. 

Actually, huge. 

Bigger than Megumi had ever witnessed in the flesh. It was startling at first, seemingly impossible too, but now, even just thinking about Yuji’s massive cock makes him incredibly, shamefully horny. Megumi would never identify himself as a size queen but, damn, does it make a difference. 

Because when you get a taste of Wagyu, do you ever really want to go back to regular beef? 

So when Megumi sinks himself onto Yuji’s erection, the noises that tumble out of him are throaty, unavoidably loud, and pornographic, and Yuji absolutely loves it. Warm hands rest on his thighs as he adjusts to the feeling of being stretched and filled. He clings to Yuji’s shoulders tightly as he grinds and rolls his hips, his swollen arousal slipping against Yuji’s abs as he does. 

“God, that’s so fucking good. You’re squeezing me so tight,” Yuji groans, a deep flush spreading across his cheeks. It takes everything in him not to thrust, but he’s patient and aware. He kisses Megumi’s throat again, murmuring sweet nothings that encourage Megumi to start moving with more intention.

Once he finds the perfect rotation of his hips, and the deep pleasure within him swirls throughout his body, his busy brain shuts off and he lets lust take over. Bouncing his hips now, he drives the head of Yuji’s erection against his sweet spot until he’s nearly incoherent, moaning Yuji’s name on repeat. 

Like a puppy wagging its tail, Yuji babbles excitedly, “You like that, huh? Fucking yourself on my cock, using me like a sex toy. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He leans back for a better look at Megumi’s flushed expression, so cock-drunk and bleary, with his pretty lips hanging open and dark hair sticking to his delicate, glistening face. 

“Oh god, ye-yes, Yuji! I love it!”  Megumi sobs, digging his nails into Yuji’s shoulders as he slams himself down. He’s trembling, teetering on the edge of release, seeking any sort of friction on his neglected arousal. “More, I need… deeper- ah!”

“God, you’re so hot like this. Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need, baby.” Yuji’s grip on Megumi tightens as he thrusts up to meet his movements, driving himself up as Megumi pulls himself down. Megumi’s cries of pleasure vibrating through him with each movement, he hooks an arm around his thin body so he can reach between them and stroke Megumi’s leaking erection. 

That drags Megumi over the edge almost instantly. 

“Yuji- Oh god- I’m-,” he yells in broken phrases, his hoarse voice cracking as he spills himself all over Yuji’s knuckles and stomach. His whole body tenses and shakes, riding the wave of his orgasm, and then, he lets everything go. 

He’s lulled into a euphoric state, chest heaving, burying his face in Yuji’s hair as he catches his breath. It smells like sunshine and coconut shampoo. 

It smells like home. 

But Yuji isn’t done. Of course, he isn’t. 

He’s Yuji Itadori, and his stamina is immeasurable. 

Yuji suddenly flips them over, never managing to pull out, and folds Megumi’s body in two as he hoists his legs over his shoulders. 

Megumi gasps, his face bright pink in this vulnerable position, as he protests weakly, “Wait- Yuji, wait I just-” 

“I’m sorry, Megumi, I’m sorry, I just can’t wait anymore,” Yuji whines as he presses in, deeper than he’s ever been, and kisses Megumi sloppily, testing the limits of Megumi’s flexibility. “Just- just slap me if I get too carried away, okay?” Yuji moans into his mouth and grinds his hips harshly, and Megumi groans gutturally in affirmation. 

Yuji doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes. 

And most of those times are in moments like these when he’s totally about to lose his mind and fuck Megumi like an animal.

 His hips snap into Megumi with an unreal amount of force, and Megumi forgets he knows how to breathe. As requested, Yuji fucks him so hard, he no longer forms coherent thoughts. He delivers brutal, punishing thrusts deep inside of him at angles he never knew existed, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. The overstimulation is bordering on painful, but the pleasure and bliss he feels being so thoroughly destroyed by Yuji’s cock clouds his mind. His brain screams at him, more, more, more, so greedily, he feels like he could die. 

Among all the ways he’s fantasized about dying in his lifetime, being fucked to death by Yuji Itadori is now moved to the top of his list. 

Yuji is on his mouth, taking all of his air, and he melts into the mattress underneath him. He wants to savor the moments when he forgets who he is or what responsibilities he has on his shoulders. 

Because in these moments, it’s just him and Yuji feeling good together. 

And that makes his life worth living.

Yuji groans into his mouth, his pace quickens, and Megumi knows that he’s close when he starts saying anything and everything that comes to his mind. 

“Oh fuck, Megumi, it feels so good, you’re so good, oh god, I love fucking you,” he strings together in choked gasps and moans. He’s buried so deep, hitting all of the right places. Megumi doesn’t need a hand to get himself off because the assault on his prostate is enough. 

And then, all of a sudden, it just… stops. Too quickly, too short.

“Oh shit, are you okay?! Why are you crying?!” Yuji looks at him with fear in his eyes, pinched eyebrows and all. Megumi gazes back, dazed and stupid because, honestly, he didn’t even realize hot tears were running down his face until now.

He can still feel Yuji’s cock throbbing inside of him as he starts pulling out. 

“It’s just a reaction, it’s good, I’m so good, Yuji,” he breathes in response quickly, trying to reassure his worried friend, also trying very desperately to get off. “Please don’t stop, I’m so close, please,” he begs and clings to Yuji, tears still falling.

His thumbs swiping away the tears, Yuji’s voice is soft and gentle as he replies, “Okay, okay, anything you say.”

Yuji pushes inside of him with one last, deep thrust, and Megumi climaxes with a scream that leaves his throat raw. Yuji feels the quake of his orgasm clenching down and he follows suit, coming inside as he says it. 

The thing that lives between them that they never address.

“I love you.” 

Megumi’s stomach clenches in contrast to his jello limbs when he hears those words. Those three little words that sometimes slip out of Yuji’s mouth and give him a spike of anxiety Every. Single. Time. He hears them uttered. And then it slips away, fading into the background, pushed down deep, passed off, and dismissed as Yuji being “in the moment.” He doesn’t bring it up. Yuji doesn’t bring it up, either, because he knows he won’t hear it back. At least, not right now. Not yet. 

Because Megumi holds onto a firm, stubborn belief that he can’t possibly love and be loved. 

He doesn’t even know what that means. 

It’s just… not his reality, not something made for him. 

So Yuji waits and tries to enjoy right now. 

Yuji collapses on him like a weighted blanket, comfortable, heavy, and warm. They lay for minutes, unmoving, spent. And then Yuji grows restless.

He pulls out slowly, pushing Megumi’s hair away from his face. “Hey. You good?” He kisses him softly, sitting up on his heels. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to pull out, I got a little carried away…” He rubs at the back of his neck, an embarrassed smile on his face. 

“I really don’t give a shit right now, Yuji,” Megumi responds in an exasperated tone, seriously considering swallowing his pride, skipping class, and saying he’s sick because holy shit, Yuji is actually going to kill him one day. They definitely can’t do this on mission days for this very reason. 

It’s not even 9 AM, for fuck’s sake!

Yuji chuckles and stands to grab a water bottle and some tissues to bring Megumi. “Should we shower?” Yuji asks as Megumi haphazardly cleans himself and chugs half the bottle immediately. He doesn’t move much, his entire back screaming at him right now.

“Just lay with me for a minute,” He requests with a sigh and peeks at the clock on the nightstand. They have about… twenty minutes? Whatever, he doesn’t care. He’s still in an apathetic, oxytocin-laced haze as Yuji snuggles next to him, pulling him into his arms. Megumi nearly slips back into sleep during Yuji’s warm embrace for about ten minutes. Then, Yuji’s loud alarm rips them out of the moment. 

“Oops, sorry.” Yuji scrambles to shut it off, and Megumi sits up with a wince, rubbing his lower back.

“Fuck, Yuji, it’s too early for this.”

“Sorry, sorry, let me get you something.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll be good after a shower…” 

They chat as they pull on random, discarded clothes to walk to the bathrooms.

Megumi throws open the door and nearly bumps into a tall figure just standing in the hallway, arms crossed, a smirk plastered on his face. 

Oh, fuck, no, no no! Not him Definitely not now!

“Gojo-sensei! Hey what are you-” Yuji starts cheerily, but Megumi interrupts quickly. 

“Why are you lurking out here? How long have you been standing there?!” He scowls, flush creeping up on his cheeks. 

Gojo flashes a toothy grin. “Well, to be honest, Megumi, I heard you screaming from down the hall and I was a little concerned at first… but then I heard Yuji’s voice and figured it might be better not to knock, just in case. Don’t want to interrupt. That would be rude, don’tcha think?” 

Megumi is mortified. His eyes are like angry, green saucers. 

Yuji is behind him, also very pink in the face and unusually quiet.

“Well, now that you’re both finished,” Gojo continues, laughing dryly, “I just wanted to stop by and let you know that class is canceled. Sorry for the short notice, I just got pulled into some business. But, you three have a mission tomorrow. Here, check it out.” He passes them the reports to review and turns around sharply, giving them a quick wave. He adds in, mischievously melodic, “Better take it easy tonight, boys. Call me if you need anything.”  

Megumi wishes for death. Preferably by Yuji crushing his pelvis, but honestly, anything will do at this point. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You Make Me Wanna 6

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend’s dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

As unsurprised as you were when Faye shunned you, you’re even less put off by her sudden reappearance. She does this. There was a whole month in high school when suddenly she was too busy trying to fit in with the local Regina George and her minions. You know she only came back then because she had to work to impress them. 

You’re not insulted. You know who and what you are, even without her father reminding you. You reread the text, tempted to hit those three dots and tap gleefully press ‘block’. You’re still friends, even if she can be a shitty one. You care about her.  

‘Can we meet?’ 

You already have your response typed in; ‘where?’ You’ve been trying to send it for the last hour. Something keeps you from push your thumb against that arrow. Is it worth it this time? 

Before you can think too much, your phone vibrates again. Almost as if she can sense your doubt. ‘Please. It’s serious.’ 

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. As if you don’t have enough to deal with. 

You send the text and grab your bag. The kids are already asleep, your mom’s here, probably sleeping too. You hurry to the door without a response. This is it. The last time. You’re going to tell Faye exactly that. Next time she can call her dad. You don’t need the trouble. Besides, she’s doing all this to piss him off, it has nothing to do with you. 

You put your shoes on and leave as quietly as you can, double checking the locks behind you. You stomp down the front walk as the streetlights shine down and head down towards the bus stop. Your phone shakes. What the hell? 

At least it’s close. You read the address again. You know it. Two blocks away on Wilmington; dealer district. This isn’t good. 

You put your chin down and set your eyes ahead of you. Don’t look at anyone, just keep going. You sling your purse around your body, keeping your hand on it. You have your phone firmly in the other. 

Wilmington. Even your mother has enough sense to warn you against going around there. You head down and count the numbers from the corner of your eye. You slow as you near the house in question. What do you do? Knock on the door? You don’t know if that’s a great idea. Looks like a flop house. 

You hear your name and a shadow ripples on the crooked porch. You look up as a dark figure staggers to  the top of the steps. Faye looks willowy and drawn out as the moonlight hits her skin. The skin around her eyes baggy and discolored and she’s wearing the same outfit she wore to the club. 

“What the hell?” You hiss as you march forward. She stumbles down the stairs and you barely catch her, “Faye?” 

“I’m sorry. I was scared,” she murmurs as she latches onto you, “you gotta help me.” 

She reeks, she’s shaking, and she’s slurring her words. 

“Are you high?” You whisper at you hold her at arm’s length. 

“Not anymore,” she sniffles, “please, my head is killing me.” 

“What the fuck?!” You barely keep from shrieking, “how-- why the fuck would you do that?” 

“That guy... we were just snorting a little and then... I don’t know. I can’t remember.” 

“Faye,” you whine, “are you out of your mind?” 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t...” she shakes her head and her voice drifts off, her frazzled eyes dimming, “I don’t know...” 

She scratches her arm and you notice the scabbing there. You sigh and shake your head. You’re so tired of this. As if you don’t have enough to deal with at home with three siblings. Faye isn’t your problem, she won’t be after this. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home. Your dad can deal with you--” 

“No, please. You can’t,” she pleads and grabs you again, “I can’t-- He’ll kill me.” 

“Faye, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I don’t have anywhere else to take you.” 

“I’ll stay in your room--” 

“No,” you say bluntly, “I have work and my siblings can’t be around you like this.” 

“Why are you being so mean?” She whines. 

You grit your teeth and look around as you hear voices from unseen mouths. You exhale and grab her wrist, dragging her hand from your arm. 

“Let’s get out of here first,” you turn and tug her after you. “Fucking Wilmington? Wilmington?” 

“Please, don’t be mad,” she snivels, “my dad’s gonna lose it if he knows. I need you. I need you to be nice--” 

“I need you to stop fucking me around,” you snarl, “don’t you understand? Every dumb shit decision you make her brings down on me?” 

“Huh?” She staggers heavily in her dirty wedges. 

“Your fucking dad. Thinks he rules the whole damn world. And who is he gonna blame for this? You’re in my neighbourhood. You think I want to deal with him?” 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. 

“You’re not,” you insist, “this is the last fucking time.” 

“Please--” 

“No, Faye,” you spin on her as you turn off of Wilmington. You have to keep yourself from shoving her, instead letting her go and throwing up your hands. “You have everything. You get to go back to school, you get to go home to your nice little suburban castle, you get to have your dad pay for it all. I have to go work at the goddamn grocery store and watch my life spin down the fucking sewer. I get to lay awake at night and worry if my siblings are gonna end up over here or if my mom’s going to come home at all when I haven’t seen her in two weeks!” 

You ball your hands to fists, overwhelmed by the eruption of repressed emotions, “you get to smile and cry and get out of it all.” 

“I...” she breathes, “I... didn’t know--” 

“You never cared. Never listened,” you drops your arms and slump. “Go and live your life. Live it up in college, move somewhere nice, get married, do all that fun shit. I’ll stay. I don’t get that choice.” 

The roll of tires near as you stand in tense silence. Faye mopes and hangs her head, swaying and scratching, “can I just stay one night?” She whispers. 

You sigh again. 

You sense a car draw up to the curb. Great, some jackass thinks you’re a street walker. You’re ready to tell him to fuck off but swallow the sneer. You could still say so. 

Walter steps out on the other side of the car, “Faye,” he snarls. 

“See,” you turn to her again, “don’t you realise who he’s going to blame now?” You face the man’s broad shadow, “don’t worry, Mr. Marshall, I was just telling her to go home and never come back. You win. I quit.” 

“Both of you, get in,” he growls. 

You scoff and Faye cowers behind you, “daddy--” 

“Faye, just go,” you try to nudge her ahead of you, “I have to go home.” 

“I said both,” Walter stomps around and rips open the back door. “In.” 

“Here, she can go--” you urge Faye towards the backseat as she fights weakly.  

As you push her head down and she surrenders, curling onto the seat, you’re shoved from behind. You barely keep from hitting your brow on the metal and throw your arm back at Walter. He catches your wrist and twists your arm behind you. 

“It’s late. I’m on duty. I can’t leave you here,” he insists. 

“What do you care?” You hiss and fight him. 

“Don’t make me get the cuffs.” 

You recoil at his threat and fall inside the car. You turn back to sneer at him but his face in covered in black shadow. Your nostrils flare and you shake your head. You bite down on a million insults and pull your legs inside. 

Once he has Faye safe, you’ll figure a way out. 

[in1-nutshell]

What if Maxima got the matrix of leadership during RiD.  Grimlocks reaction to Maximum Prime

...oh no...

Somebody's not gonna like this...

Anyways, Hope you enjoy!

Maximum Prime and Grimlock

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Angst, Cybertronian reader

RiD2015

The team noticed the changes with their unofficial official Second in Command ever since Optimus had returned from his first away mission.

At first, they believed that it was just her getting used to having him back.

It would have made sense seeing what happened when the pair had first reunited.

But there was something different about this time around.

For one, Maxima looked much more tired.

Probably caused by her wandering around the scrapyard from the late hours of the night to the early hours of the morning.

Grimlock had often woken up to find Maxima sitting next to him wide awake and just tracing little shapes on his frame.

Grimlock groggily opening his optics.

Maxima was sitting near his side gently rubbing circles around his joints.

“Hmm? Maxi? You good?”--Grimlock

Maxima looks over at him.

He can’t exactly register the look she was giving him, blaming it on the sleepiness.

“I’m fine Grimmy. Just go back to sleep.”--Maxima

Grimlock gently moves his tail, so it slightly encircles Maxima.

“Y’know you ‘an tell me if ‘ers somethin’ wrong…”--Grimlock

Maxima leans to his side and vents softly.

“…Just gets some sleep Grimmy.”—Maxima

• Then it was the strange looks she was giving the team. • Most of the team couldn’t exactly pinpoint what exact emotion it was and partially brushed it off. • Bumblebee, Optimus and Ratchet had different gut feeling about those looks. • It looked almost like… aching.

Bumblebee comes over to Maxima’s side.

“Hey, you doing, okay? You’ve been acting… strange.”--Bumblebee

Maxima tenses a bit.

“I’m fine Bee.”--Maxima

“Is it about Optimus being here? I know it’s a bit of a rough transition, but—”--Bumblebee

“Its not that Bee. Trust me, its not something you or anyone can do.”--Maxima

“Then what is it?”-Bumblebee

Maxima vents a bit before giving Bee a sad smile and patting his back.

“This one’s on me Bee. I’m figuring somethings out. Its something that doesn’t concern you, Dad, Ratchet or the Team yet.”--Maxima

“Yet?”--Bumblebee

“It will come up soon, I’m just trying to make it as smooth transition as possible.”--Maxima

“Transition? Maxima what are you talking—”--Bumblebee

BEEP! BEEP!

BEEP! BEEP!

“Guess that’ll have to wait for later then.”—Maxima

Then a week later Maxima hugged everyone goodnight.

Something that wasn’t completely out of character.

But the length of the hugs were defiantly longer than normal.

The next morning the team took notice that Maxima hadn’t left her habsuite yet.

Optimus had offered to go see her, which eventually ended up with him being accompanied by Ratchet.

When the two hadn’t returned after a couple of minutes, the rest of the team decided to go see what the problem was.

But they didn’t need to as the pair began walking back with someone else behind.

The Bee Team looks up at the taller bot behind Optimus and Ratchet.

She looked strikingly like Maxima, but at the same time extremely different.

It was almost uncanny.

The bot steps forward.

“My name is Maximum Prime. I am here to aid Optimus in training as well as work with your team to defeat the oncoming threat.”--Maximum

“What threat?”--Bumblebee

“It is a threat that the other Primes’s have yet to tell us. But until then, I am here to help you all in your missions and training.”--Maximum

“Another Prime? But what about the Matrix?”--Bumblebee

“The Matrix I am holding is a near replica to the one in Optimus’s Matrix of Leadership. The only difference is that this is simply a temporary fix.”--Maximum

Bumblebee’s optics go wide.

“Lieutenant?”--Strongarm

“No… She would never… But he’s still here…”--Bumblebee

Grimlock looks around.

“Umm, has anyone seen Maxima around? She’s missing all this information, and I don’t think—”--Grimlock

Maximum looks at the dinobot and vents softly.

“Maxima is not here. She bonded with my Matrix to create… me.”—Maximum

Grimlock feels everything stop for a split second.

“What?”—Bee Team

“To be able to create me, Maxima had to bond with the replica Matrix. Giving me life… putting Her’s on pause.”--Maximum

Everything in the dinobot’s frame goes stiff.

“She isn’t gone. More, ‘on hold’. She will be back as soon as the threat is dealt with.”--Maximum

“And how long is this gonna take?”—Grimlock

Maximum gives him a sad smile.

The same smile that Maxima had.

“I am not certain Grimlock. As long as the threat is here, is as long as I will stay.”--Maximum

Maximum turns to Optimus.

“We need to start the training as soon as possible. There is much we still need to discuss.”--Maximum

The two Prime’s walk off leaving a very confused team and distraught dinobot behind.

The team did adjust to the new Prime and her presence in the Scrapyard.

But it didn’t feel right either.

Don’t get them wrong, the new Prime was a great assest and a good friend to the team, but there was a Maxima shaped hole missing.

Grimlock was especcialy affected by this new change.

He had just lost his best friend.

His partner.

His future Conjunx Endura.

Gone, at least for now.

Grimlock figured that until then he could practice asking Maxima the question.

The Dinobot was determined to get the moment right and hoped she’d say yes.

[bmbochangetales]

Being a witch is a powerful thing. You can do pretty much whatever you want with a snap of your fingers. Sure causing death and destruction will get you as enemy #1 but most things will fly under the radar.

Savannah was going out for drinks alone. It had been that kind of week. None of her friends were available so she decided to have fun with it. She used her powers to grow her chest. A very manageable D cup. Just a bit more padding on her butt with more shapely hips.

One more snap and she had flawless hair and make up. Her normally frizzy black hair become a sleek style. Her make up was very glamorous. It would have taken hours. She completed the look with a dark red knee length dress and a pair of manageable heels.

The bar was decently busy. She was sure someone would buy her a drink. She sat at the bar with her cheap vodka soda waiting for a poor chump to come along. After a bit, a middle aged fellow sat next to her. He wasn’t the perfect ideal but free drinks were, well free drinks. His back was slightly to her in the bar chair. She was formulating a plan for how to work it when he ordered his drink and a second one.

He turned to her and said "Bartender said you were drinking the cheap stuff, I've upgraded you. No one should drink that stuff." This was easier than she thought. A glass was placed in front of her she inspected it and it seemed normal. She tipped her old glass back to chug the contents. She didn't catch him slip something into her previously safe cup. she lifted it to her lips and enjoyed much better taste.

"Tell me about yourself girl" he prodded her after she had a few sips. She normally made u stories for the men at bars but she found herself telling him her real life story. He asked more questions and she answered truthfully.

"Tell me what makes you special girl" he leaned back in the chair.

"Well I am a witch" she had never revealed that to anyone. She was shocked at herself even. He just laughed a bit but gave her a suggestion.

“Why don’t you give yourself huge boobs if it’s true? Like a solid J cup? I’m sure you’ll love them” He prodded her.

“Well okay” it wouldn’t hurt to show off a bit. She pointed at her chest and they began growing. She thought D cups were large before. These were comically so. She loved them though. A massive pair of tits looked so good on her. She should have done this way sooner. She was made to have j cups. Bigger boobs are way better.

She proudly showed off her tits to the stranger. Not caring that he knew her secret. That he just made her grow her chest to enormous proportions. She just simply listened. It felt good, She was rewarded with a shiver that began at her warm wet cunt.

“I think more jiggle and sensitivity will make you enjoy them more. Try it out” He calmly stated as he gestured to the bartender for another round. He was probably right as she worked her magic again. They didn't get any bigger but they felt so much better as the moved around and bounced. FUCK they felt good now. Why did she never do this before? This man was so smart. Fuck these tits were great.

She never thought about using magic to permanently change herself. It was silly really that she waited for this man to tell her. Why was she listening to him even. He noticed the confused look on her face. Like a thought was fighting to get through. He motioned to the bartender. He quickly gave a shot and he was able to slip the powder in as she fought with her thoughts.

"Drink this, and enjoy it like a good girl" She took a shot that had the same shimmer as her drink. She slowly took it to her lips making a show of staring him down. She tilted the shot glass in her lips and moaned like it was the best thing she ever tasted. She started licking every drop from the shot glass.

“You really love being controlled, don’t you pretty witch?” the words should have triggered her but she just giggled and stroked his arm. "It is super fun. I want to be a good little witch for you."

“Obedience powder. It’s so great, isn’t it?” He held a glittering powder in a bag in front of her face. It was so pretty. And it made her listen to master. She loved being controlled, there was something so sexy about.

[discount-shades]

Contract Spouse Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Past

A/N: Nervous and excited. This whole series should be about 9 chapters.

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning:  Angst, brief mentions of child abuse

Length: 2900 ish

Summary: A bit of back story and we find out who Pip is.

Previous     Masterlist     Next

The first time Jake saw you you were five years old on the school playground. At eleven he had felt all the responsibility of a big brother to look out for his little sister, Sami, on her first day of kindergarten. So when recess came around he was watching for her.  

Sami had come charging up to him and tackled him with a hug, knocking him to the ground and pushing the wind out of him. You had come sprinting after her, bruised knees, skinny arms, and big eyes in a too thin face. You had looked so short compared to his little sister who, even at five, had the tall Seresin genes, though in reality you were probably the same size as the other five year olds. 

You had grabbed his sister and pulled her off of him. “Sami! Be careful we can't get in trouble!” you had glanced around for teachers, a worried look on your face. Sami had introduced you, “this is my brother, Jake!” She had laughed then, "I am allowed to crash into him.”

“You should listen to Pipsqueak.” He massaged his ribs as he got up. “She'll keep you out of trouble.”

“That's not my name!” your indignant answer had made him smile. 

“Yeah, but it suits you.” He had chuckled and it was the name that stuck. In time more people knew you by Pip than your actual name.

That's how it had always been, Pip and Sami. Everyone would always comment on how his little sister was the bad influence for poor little Pip. He understood, Sami was reckless, she always had been, with just enough regard for rules to keep her out of serious trouble. And you were always by her side, usually with a plausible enough excuse or alibi to get them out of the impending consequences. You knew the school conduct policy to the letter and used every loophole you could to get out of trouble. It didn’t always work.

He would know. His Dad had gotten sick when he was sixteen. It had been Jake who drove to the elementary school to pick the two of you up from detention or from whatever unofficial community services style reparations the two of you had been assigned to make up for Sami’s shenanigans. 

All of his mothers time had been taken up by working at the diner and caring for his father in his final year. Jake had gotten an after school job to help out and worked nearly thirty hours a week on top of school and all the extracurriculars he could fit in to pad his application to the Naval Academy. He knew it was the only way he could afford a university education with his parents' hospital bills.

In that time you were his sister's rock. Ten years old, going on fifty. You spent more time at his house than your own and he never questioned it. He never questioned the bruises that you claimed were from being clumsy despite the fact that he never saw you fall. He never questioned how you flinched at loud noises or waving arms, he would just laugh at how easy you were to startle. 

You were there when his father died and held his sister together as he tried to keep his mother from falling apart. 

You had been the one to talk his sister out of taking a baseball bat to her first boyfriend's car when he cheated. He was, however, pretty sure it was your idea to shred ten bubblegum air fresheners and stick them in the heat vents, though no one could prove anything. You were the sober one at all the parties, making sure Sami got home. He had been at the Naval Academy by that time but had never felt the need to worry too much about Sami, after all, she had you.

He was in flight school when his sister had called him in a rage on January 2nd of her senior year. “They kicked her out, Jake!” Sami had ranted. “Like she’s a piece of trash, they just threw her out the day she turned eighteen.”

“Woah,” he said placatingly. “Who kicked who out?”

“Pip!” Sami exclaimed. “Today is her eighteenth birthday and her parents kicked her out.” He could hear heavy breathing through the phone. “They said she was an adult and she wasn’t allowed in their house anymore! She hasn’t even graduated!”

“Mom took her in, right?” Jake couldn't help being concerned. He didn’t think of you as a sister but you had been a constant in his life and were family, even if he couldn’t explain how. 

“Obviously,” Jake smiles at Sami’s dramatic enunciation of the word. “But that's not the point! It’s Pip, and it's unfair.” 

“I get it,” Jake reassured, “but it might be for the best, her parents suck, I don’t think it was a good house to grow up in.” As he got older Jake began to recategorize the things you would do as a child. Sami didn’t respond and the conversation lapsed into silence.

“Well I have good news.” Jake changed the subject. “I’m going to be doing my advanced training at Kingsville.” Jake was excited to be living a half hour from his hometown for the first time since he left for the Naval Academy six years before.

“That's really great, Jake!” Sami exclaimed, “but we did give Pip your bedroom.”

Jake laughed, “No worries, I’ll be staying on the base, but I’ll visit, I’ll be there in two months.”

– – –

When he did finally manage to make it home everyone was sitting quietly on the couches with pinched brows and worry on their faces as he walked through the door. “What's going on?” he glanced around and saw Pip looking at Sami and shaking her head ever so slightly. 

“Oh for fuck sakes, Pip!” Sami declared to his mothers squawk of offense. “Pip just found out she has thyroid cancer and because her piece of shit parents kicked her out she doesn’t have any health insurance and can't pay for treatment.”

Jake looked over at your set jaw and mutinous expression. “Jesus Pip, what can we do?”

“You are going to marry her.” Sami stated it like it was an observation on the weather. 

“What!” Jake's jaw dropped, confused. “What's that going to solve?” 

“Your military health insurance, Nimrod!” Sami rolled her eyes like it was obvious. “If she is married to you she has access to your healthcare!”

“Sami, I told you, contract marriages are illegal,” you spoke up for the first time rubbing your temple. “I’ll figure something else out.”

“Nope, you are marrying Jake,” Sami counters. “You are not going to jail, and you are not going into medical debt before you have even graduated. I told you to come up with a plan to make the marriage seem real and you probably already have one to get away with it.”

Jake watched you reluctantly nod. “Good,” Sami continues, “You're over eighteen and Jake’s military so the 72 hour wait time can be waived.” She relays the specifics of the paperwork needed and Jake sighs rubbing his head, his mind spinning at how this day was going.

“Jake doesn’t want to marry me.” Your voice is soft and placating, directed toward his sister, your eyes shifting to his.

“Like HELL he gets an option,”

“Samantha!,” your voice is scolding.

“No, I'll do it.” Jake sighs. 

“Jake,” you sound so sad it physically hurts his chest. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jake said, “I want to. You’re family Pip, you’ve always been there for us, it's the least I can do.” 

Jake groaned and sat down next to you on the couch. “Guess I gotta go buy an engagement ring.” He sees a ghost of a smile on your lips. 

“I don't need an engagement ring,” you respond, and Jake really looks at you for the first time. You have dark circles under your eyes and look wan. “You should save your money.”

“You might not need an engagement ring,” Jake's mother spoke up for the first time. “But you need some type of wedding rings if you are going to sell it.”

“Well let's go wedding ring shopping,” Sami stood up, pulling Jake to his feet. 

“Are you up for it?” Jake asked softly, his eyes searching your face. You shake your head sadly.

“I’ll make sure he buys something that won’t turn you green.” Sami declares dragging Jake out the door. “Plus we have the same finger size so it will fit.”

– – – 

When he returned from ring shopping with Sami you had a marriage plan neatly typed out on your old laptop. He sat alone with you in the living room planning out his fake marriage.

“OK, first I think we should have a shared bank account.” You are beside him, cord stretched across the room because the laptop couldn't hold a charge. “I have an excel spreadsheet all set up so I can keep track of how much money is mine so I won’t spend yours. We can get a prenup if you want, but that might look suspicious if we get investigated.” 

“Pip, you once paid me back a quarter when I bought you a gumball.” Jake sighs, “I don't think you are going to take my money in the divorce.”

“Oh,” you give an embarrassed chuckle and quickly move on. “Another thing that I thought would sell it was to have one or two pictures of us together on social media.” you pull out your phone and Jake can see the cracks in your screen. “There are a few group photos of us with your family, but one or two of just us would make it more believable.” You scroll through the pictures on your social media of you with the Seresins during Thanksgiving and Christmas. “The pictures can have intentionally vague captions so it won’t throw off your dating life.” You grin at him wryly. “Neither of us post many pictures of other people so that helps.” Jake nods in agreement.

“Finally we should have some kind of phone contact, texts can be read so if we just called each other every day or so it would look like we are in contact.” You are wringing your hands together. “You can just put the call on mute and go about your day but it will look like we are talking.”

Jake shakes his head and rubs his forehead. You are putting way more thought into this than he is and the idea of calling you just to mute you doesn’t feel right. “I could just talk to you when I call.” You look startled at the prospect. “Unless you don’t want to talk to me?” He says it as a joke but he is slightly hurt by the idea of you not wanting to talk to him. While he has never been as close to you as Sami is, he still knew you and talked to you quite often when he was home.

“I want to talk to you!” You answer in a rush, “I just don't want this to mess up your life.” Looking at you then he can see the deep heartbreak and stress in your eyes and he thinks about how you haven't even graduated and are facing adult problems. 

Jake pulls you into a one armed hug and, as with every other hug he has given you in the past, you are rigid for the first few seconds before relaxing against his side. “Don’t worry about me Pip, just promise to handle all the paperwork and give it to me with the ‘sign here’ stickers so I can’t mess it up.”

“Thank you Jake.” Your voice is sincere and you look up at his face. “I mean it, I can’t ever thank you enough.” He waves you off but you persist, “I’m serious, if you ever need a kidney, or to bury a body, or an alibi, I’m there for you.” He laughs at your declaration, happy to hear your old self coming through. 

– – –

“Hey Javy, What are you doing on Tuesday at 3PM?” Jake stands awkwardly in the doorway of Javy’s room on base.

“It is the one day we have ever gotten off early, so I was going to run personal errands.” Javy frowns at Jake in suspicion. “And yet, now I feel like that will not happen.”

Jake checks up and down the hallway before lowering his voice. “I need you to witness my wedding.”

“YOUR WHAT!?” Javy shouts out and Jake shushes him and quickly tells him about you and the situation he has found himself in. 

“How old is she?” Javy asks in confusion, “isn’t your sister still in highschool?”

“Yeah, Pip is too, but she is eighteen so it’s technically legal.” 

Javey lets out a low whistle, shaking his head in disappointment. “That’s some serious cradle robbing man.”

“It’s not going to be that type of marriage.” Jake sighs, “and the extra pay will help me pay off the hospital bills from my Dad’s death. It’s win-win.” 

Java nods. “Do I get to plan your Bachelor Party?” Jake lets out a reluctant chuckle. 

“Let's save that for my real wedding.” Jake says, defeated. “Can I count on you?”

Javy holds his hand out for Jake to shake. “Always, man.”

– – – 

The wedding had been a quiet affair at the local courthouse. Javy and Jake’s mother serve as witnesses, and Sami tags along. You had worn a simple white sundress that fell past your knees, hair down. He told you that you looked beautiful, because you did, and he figured every bride needs to hear that on her wedding day, even if it was a marriage of convenience. 

After they had gone back to his mothers house and filled out all of the paperwork that the Navy required to get you as one of his medical dependents. Honoring his request, you had put a little red ‘sign here’ sticky tabs everywhere he was required to sign. And just like that in the eyes of the Navy and the government he was married.

– – – 

“Well it’s been a year and the Doctors say I’m in remission.” Your voice is happy through the phone and Jake smiles. 

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!” Jake lies back on his bed as he does every day he is stateside. It has become a daily ritual when he gets off duty. Lie on his neatly made bed and call you. “Well there goes our marriage, at least it was successful!” He says it with a laugh but a hollow ache springs inside him when he realizes that your clean bill of health means a divorce. 

He knew the day that you no longer needed to be married to him would come but he couldn’t help being saddened at the prospect. He squashes his disappointment down feeling guilty. It was stupid, he knew why you married him. Hell, nothing about his life had changed other than his daily phone calls with you. And he refuses to admit to himself how much he looks forward to those phone calls.

“Yeah, it was a success,” you agree and he thinks he is imagining the regret in your voice. “The doctors say that it is unlikely to recur but if I make it four more years cancer free I’m basically good to go!”

“Well…” Jake hesitates before committing. “We might as well stay married,” he can hear a sharp inhale through the phone. “I mean unless you don’t want to, or are seeing someone,” he adds as an afterthought. “But it would be best to wait until you get the all clear, then we won't have to remarry if the worst should happen.”

You are quiet on the other side of the phone and he wonders if he has overstepped. Maybe you were ready for this charade to be over. “Yeah,” you agree softly and he feels his spirits rise, “that makes sense. Plus you can keep sending your housing allowance bonus to your Mom.”

“You know about that?” Jake is pretty sure he has never told you what he does with the extra money that comes with being married. 

“Jake, we share a bank account.” He lets out a huff of laughter at how unimpressed you sound. He is not a big spender so beyond a cursory glance he rarely paid much attention to his money. 

“Oh, I forgot, I’m married to a business major.” You laugh and he smiles at the sound. “So how was your day, other than the big news?” he asks, settling in for his daily conversation with you.

After hanging up he goes to get ready for his date. His marriage with you had actually worked out better than he ever expected. The daily phone calls provided him with the default person to talk about his day with. It also gave him the freedom to sleep around with whatever woman caught his fancy with no strings attached. All the benefits of a long term relationship without the guilt of cheating. It was the best of all worlds.