#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.”

[zephyrchama]

(Obey Me! Belphegor and MC. The problem with naps.)

You were in trouble.

It had been several hours since you were able to move. Your legs were heavy, most likely numb. You wanted nothing more than to kick and stretch out your neglected muscles. The battery on your D.D.D. was running low.

Belphegor was deaf to the world, his nose buried in your naval with arms coiled around your waist. He was the world's clingiest lap blanket. Despite bending his knees, Belphegor's feet stuck out over the edge of the couch. You had tried fruitlessly over the hours to wake him, but things were getting dire.

You poked at his cheek. Slow and soft at first, but with increasing intensity until you reached a point where Leviathan himself would have recruited you for a button-mashing game.

"Belphie. Belphegor. Belphegor. Belphie. Belph. Belphegor. Hey!!"

You whacked his forehead with your D.D.D. There was no response. You sunk back into the couch cushions to create a bit of distance between your stomach and the demon's face. The next plan was to pinch his nose.

This was also futile. Belphegor clearly stopped inhaling and appeared fine, but such a length of time without breathing would cause brain damage in humans. It disturbed you. He was probably fine, being a demon and all. It was still concerning. You squeezed his nostrils until the excessive passage of time made you uncomfortable and let go. A couple of seconds went by before Belphegor breathed in with a loud snore. Any sense of relief was quickly and easily washed away by annoyance.

You groaned and leaned forward over the demon's head, placing your elbows on the edge of your knees to better cradle your face in your hands with despair. You balled your hands into fists, pressing them against your forehead, and let out a wail.

"Belphie, I'm begging you. Wake up."

Silence. You felt like you were going to explode.

"I have to pee."

You might as well have been talking to a large rock. The demon's weight on your lower stomach was not helping the situation. In an ideal world, you would have reached the bathroom over an hour ago. You leaned back once more and stared dismally at the sleeping figure in your lap. You were running out of options.

"Hear me, Denizens of Darkness. I am Master of Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth. Heed my call and do as I command. Get off of me!"

Wisps of magic curled up your arms, dancing across your neck and face. Its light made everything brighter. Traces of powerful energy - Belphegor's own energy - blew through your hair, whooshing past your ears. Belphegor was forcefully shifted into his demon form and rolled off the couch with all the grace of a baby chick learning to fly.

A deep rumble escaped his throat at the rude awakening. Belphegor lifted himself up in a daze. The fluff on his tail stood on edge as it swung turbulently from side to side. He clenched his jaw, barring his teeth menacingly. "What are you doing?"

You had already seized the chance to leap up. Only, your legs betrayed you. There was no strength to stand and you fumbled over onto Belphegor, colliding with his back. You both momentarily flailed on the ground.

"Explain yourself," he growled while you struggled to stand. Blips of magic were evaporating off your clothes, adding to the disorientation.

"Carry me!" you demanded. "That'll be faster, you've gotta carry me."

Even if you buckled your legs together to hold things in, you worried that wobbling down the hallway with jelly legs would be an impossible endeavor.

Belphegor looked at you the same way he would look at a diseased toad. With no context, he was wholly confused.

"I need the bathroom, now!" It was all you could think of. Magic started swirling at your wrists again as you began to chant, "Heed my words, in the name of the sorcerer..."

"Ok, ok! Wait!" Belphegor scrambled to his feet. He winced at the thought of being commanded again. His chest tightened, already afflicted by the start of your spell.

You had your knees locked together, digging your nails into your palm in a desperate attempt to hold your bladder in. It wasn't the best pose for being picked up. Belphegor did his best. He couldn't carry you in the elegant, suave manner he liked to dream about. Instead, he held you with both arms like an oversized bag of potatoes.

"Go, go, go!" Time was of the essence. He was slow to get a move on, so you beat on his shoulder with your fist. "This is all your fault!"

Belphegor blew a strand of hair out of his face. His expression was a sour frown. He was still cranky from being woken up. "Fine. Just hang on."

You don't get to see the demons use their abilities often. They like to play human in front of you. Unfortunately, with your head buried in Belphegor's hoodie and your mind occupied with other worries, you did not have the luxury to admire the way he bounded through the house with hardly perceptible speed. In just a few quick steps, not even five seconds later, you had arrived at your long-awaited destination.

You rolled out of Belphegor's arms and hastily slammed the door shut in the confused demon's face.

The Avatar of Sloth skulked across the hall to lean against the wall opposite the bathroom door. Now alone with his thoughts, he had ample time to get his mind in order and plan out exactly how to get revenge when you came back out.

[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

[frracturedjaw]

Hi Hope u already did one but maybe s/o sleeping without pants because it's hot af and I am dying here :,)

Have a great day/night/morning :D

unspecified so i just did a few short ones for bo, vinny, and tommy.

warning(s): a little suggestive in some places

a/n: sorry this took nearly four months teehee

bo sinclair

* he could care less about nudity. he grew up with brothers, louisiana is hotter than hell. he gets it. however…

* he sees you half naked in any context and his mind is already going two hundred miles an hour into everything he wants to do to you. zero filter zero hesitation.

* assuming you’re already asleep, he’s not going to act on those thoughts. but he’s definitely chewing his lip and gripping the front of his jeans like the pervert he is.

* when you groan and twist around on top of the sheets, something changes, though.

* he’s still imagining himself pressed up on you. but he’s thinking more about how your legs would feel tangled up with his own.

* the twin pumping of your hearts. the feel of your breath fanning across his chest. each other’s hands curled up into one another so hard that his knuckles get sore.

* he wants the marks he leaves on you to be not from his tools, his pliers or his tape or his knife, but from him. his skin on yours. the pressure of your weight on him.

* you wake when he drops his belt and it clinks loudly in the little bedroom. there’s a mild panic in your expression that makes his chest twinge.

* but when he slips into bed and you shift to press the entire length of your body against him. when you fit your chin over his shoulder and hook a leg over his hip. when your breathing returns to the slow in, pause, out.

* that night he dreams of the usual things. his parents, the tourists, the museum. but also of you. just you.

* you making breakfast

* you sitting on the back porch

* you laying with your head in his lap

* for the first night in a very long time, bo sinclair sleeps peacefully.

vincent sinclair

* you’d been wandering around the basement all day in an effort to stay cool, but all the hot wax made it fruitless. eventually you’d vanished upstairs to one of the empty bedrooms.

* he comes up to find you later on, finally peeling off his sweater and tying his hair back for a moment of relief.

* he walks into the bedroom and freezes at the threshold.

* you look straight from a botticelli painting. you look like Bouguereau. you look like Picou and Matisse and Klimt

* you look cut from marble and silk cloth, crystal and soft earth and sun

* you look like sky and sweet and home and being held and warm breath and moving water.

* his breath hitches when the bed creaks under his weight.

* he counts. you breathe two, three, four long lungfuls of the cool blue night air. then you reach up at him.

* vincent gathers you in his arms like you’re quicksilver. like you’re going to dissolve through the bed and deep into the earth if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. like he’ll die without you.

* (he’s convinced he might)

thomas hewitt

* he’s wracked with guilt when he first walks in on you asleep without all your clothes on. Luda Mae taught him better than this.

* but… you’re in his bed.

* he has half the mind to go sleep on the couch, but the heat would be even worse downstairs.

* he says a quick prayer for forgiveness and walks in with his eyes averted and does his best to go about his business getting ready for bed.

* he himself usually sleeps in just a shirt and boxers, but for whatever reason, you doing the same feels… intimate. you’re not exposed in that way, but at the same time, it’s still vulnerable.

* after standing (looming) over the bed for longer than is probably appropriate, he eases himself into bed beside you.

* his eyes wander to the tender apex of your thighs, admiring the soft flesh usually hidden from sight

* you adjust in your sleep, rolling to your back. he watches the lengths of muscle in your legs flex, then relax. your shirt rides up somewhat, revealing more supple skin

* he squeezes his eyes shut and leans back. he shouldn’t be taking advantage of the situation like this. if he has any respect for you, he should be showing it here.

* he tucks his hands underneath his legs for good measure and examines the speckled darkness behind his eyelids until sleep finds him.

* naturally, he wakes up the next morning with you on top of him.

* your head is turned to the side, your ear to his chest. your limbs have fallen to either side of him, but his shirt is clutched tight in one of your hands.

* where your skin meets his, he doesn’t feel the usual startling, crackling sensation of being touched without warning.

* he just feels warm. weight. the pink mark on the side of your face where you’ve been pressed against him makes his mouth twitch with a smile.

[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

[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.

[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. 

[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

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

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.

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

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

[coldfanbou]

Raffle Winner

Time for Day 7 with a blindfolded and almost completely free use Viviz

Length 3K

Viviz x mreader

It was difficult to believe the streak of luck you just had; first, you managed to get into a fansign to meet Viviz, then you won a special raffle they held. You would get your prize at the end, so you just relaxed and enjoyed the fansign for now. When it was your turn to talk to them, Eunha was up first. “Congratulations on your win today.” She chirps, her smile reminding you of a rabbit’s. “I hope you’re looking forward to your prize; it’s something extra special.” SinB elbows Eunha in the side before putting her finger to her lips. “Yah! I wasn’t going to tell him. I just wanted to tell him he should look forward to it,” Eunha whines as she rubs her side. “You didn’t have to hit me.” The eldest member begins to cry crocodile tears, making you laugh along with the other fans. You can hear Eunha kick her feet under the table, the tip taps of her heels hitting the floor. 

You move on to SinB next, and she quickly gets to work signing your album. She glances at you before quietly saying, “You better enjoy your prize. It’s rare.” She says in slight annoyance. Eunha takes her chance and elbows SinB, and Umji gets involved, too, doing the same when SinB turns to the eldest. “Agk, hey!” The two women giggle, seeing SinB get more annoyed. 

“You’re the one who wants to keep quiet, Unnie,” Umji reminds her. Seeing their playful natures in person fills you with joy, and you move on to Umji next. She’s careful to keep the discussion away from the prize; she nervously looks to her side, seeing both Eunha and SinB ready to jump her the moment she says something. You try to drag the conversation in that direction, but Umji manages to escape saying anything. Even though she avoided mention of the prize, Eunha and SinB decide to attack her anyway, poking her sides and making her body jerk in one direction before it jerks another. “I didn’t say anything!” Umji cries as she gets prodded by her members. You laugh at the sight and etch it into your memory before being ushered off the stage. When the fansign finally comes to an end, you’re told to stay a bit longer, and soon enough, a manager comes to get you, leading you backstage.

He knocks on the door, and from the other side, you hear Eunha say they’re ready. He opens the door and closes it behind you. You don’t see anything in the room at first, but turning to the right, you spot them. Eunha, Umji, and SinB are standing before you naked and blindfolded. “Is he in here?” Eunha asks, looking in the direction of her younger members. 

“I am,” You say before either woman can respond.

“Oh, okay. Welcome!” Eunha says, taking a hesitant step forward. 

“Your special prize today is getting to have sex with us,” Umji says, doing the same as Eunha. She slides one foot forward along the floor, trying not to bump into anything.

“For five hours, you can use our bodies as you like. You just can’t hurt us or take any pictures.” SinB says as she steps forward. You nod your head before realizing they can’t see you. You give them an audible response of agreement. Each woman provides small claps before SinB asks who you’d like first. Your reply with Eunha and she thinks about jumping up to cheer, but with the blindfold on, she becomes too scared. As you approach the blindfolded woman, you take in her body. Eunha’s wide hips and thick thighs immediately attract you. Her breasts were probably the biggest of all the members, too. You stand in front of her, and she can feel your presence. 

Starting at her shoulders, you move your hands down her body, feeling her soft flesh. Eunha shivers at your initial touch and giggles. Your hands swiftly moan over her chest and reach her sides; you move them up and down before returning to her breasts, cupping them softly. Eunha gasps softly as she feels your thumbs move in small circular motions around her nipples. The light pink nubs are flicked side to side. Eunha places her hands on your arms. Her small hands squeeze your biceps lightly whenever you flick her nipple with your thumb. Once satisfied, you move your hands down the side of her body again, feeling her smooth skin until you reach the midpoint of her thigh. You squeeze it and hear Eunha moan. You glance at Umji and SinB, seeing a smile on both their faces after hearing their eldest member moan. Pulling your hand away from Eunha’s body, you tell her you forgot to undress. She tries to hold back a laugh and lets go of your arms. You quickly undress before walking over to Umji and SinB and finding them a place to sit while they wait for their turn. With them comfortably sitting, you head back to Eunha. You stand before her and place a hand on her outer thigh. You raise her leg and slide your cock between her lips. Feeling your cock slide between her legs, Eunha begins to moan. 

You whisper to Eunha about how beautiful she is and how much you want her. She nods in response, trying to hold back a moan. She’s slowly getting wet; you feel her cunt coating your cock in her nectar the more you slide between her lips. The small woman’s hands wander your body, trying to learn more about you via touch. You can’t wait any longer. You angle your cock and push the head inside. She gasps when she feels you enter. You push more of your cock in before grabbing her other thigh and lifting her. Eunha immediately wraps her hands around your neck; she casts a wide net so she doesn’t miss you somehow. You shift your hands to her ass as you adjust. It’s soft but still toned from years of dancing. You dig your hands into the soft flesh. Eunha tilts her head back as she moans, leaving it in prime position. You kiss it softly, your tongue licking at her skin. You pull Eunha in close, burying your cock inside the small woman. You both moan. Eunha feels your cock spreading her lips and stretching her; though the pleasure is great, she grinds her hips on you without thinking. “You’re so big.” 

You turn in place to face Umji and SinB, watching the women as they start to play with their bodies. SinB slides her fingertips along her folds while using her other hand to pull on her nipples. Umji does much the same, but she’s more intense about it. She’s slipping her fingers inside every so often, just the very tips of them, before pulling back and tracing her folds. You get harder watching them, and Eunha feels it. You start moving, pushing your cock further in before pulling out slowly. As you do, Eunha lets out a long, drawn-out moan. You enjoy hearing her voice and drive your cock back into her cunt. You feel her walls being split apart as you drive your cock inside. You get a shiver down your spine as your bodies meet. Your hands dig into her as you start thrusting in earnest. Eunha’s modest breasts bounce with every thrust; they mesmerize you. Leaning down, you start sucking on them. Eunha’s moans grow louder as you wrack her body with pleasure. She wraps her legs around you, squeezing your sides.

Umji and SinB’s moans grow louder as they continue to play with themselves. The sounds of Eunha’s moans turned them on. You near your first orgasm; your thrusts bring you and Eunha tremendous pleasure. “Eunha, I’m going to cum.”

Eunha presses her chest against yours, “Cum inside my pussy. Fill me with your love,” She whispers into your ear. Eunha follows that  with a giggle, “Is that what you want to hear?” 

“Yes, yes.” You moan loudly. “Say it again.”

“Give it to me, cum inside me!” Eunha practically shouts. You slam your cock into her and unleash a wave of cum into her cunt. Feeling your hot cum spew into her triggers Eunha’s orgasm. Her legs tighten around you, and you feel her walls clench down on your cock, milking you. You press your head forward and capture her lips. Eunha returns the kiss. Her tongue slips out of her mouth for a second, and you take the chance to meet it. You remain together while your orgasms last. Eunha rocks her hips, giving you both small bits of pleasure. You lift Eunha off your cock and let her down gently. Eunha wobbles on her feet briefly before heading to her members with you. Umji and SinB have continued to tease themselves. Keeping themselves close to cumming but not going through with it. You walk to Umji’s side and take her hand, placing it on your cock. It’s coated in Eunha’s juices and your cum. Umji licks her lips and starts stroking your shaft, covering her hand in the mixture. You get Umji onto her knees, and Eunha takes her seat beside SinB. 

You look down at the blindfolded Umji, watching her stroke your cock. She stops, licking her hand clean. You watch her small tongue gather your cum before drinking it. You get turned on and put your hand on her head, guiding her to your cock. The youngest member follows along and accidentally presses her lips against the head of your cock. She recoils from it. A tiny bit of cum got onto her lips. She licks them and tastes the salty liquid. You guide her back to your cock and watch as she kisses your tip. She grasps your cock gently, her hand glides on your shaft as she strokes you. Umji wraps her lips around the head of your cock; you feel her small tongue take small licks. You groan from the pleasure. Umji takes her time enjoying your cock. She slowly pushes more in your mouth, stopping often to swirl her tongue around your cock. Her small mouth is stretching to fit your size. She suckles on your cock, and as much as you want her to do more, you let Umji work at her pace. Soon enough, she has your cock down her throat; it’s expanded because of your size. You never expected Umji to be so skilled. Umji pulled back to your head and started to bob her head quickly, her tongue running along the underside of your cock as you near your climax. “Umji, I’m going to cum.” She doubles her efforts, placing her hands on your thighs as she rubs the head of your cock with the inside of her cheek. She swallows your cock whole and strokes it quickly as she releases it from her mouth. At your edge, you let go and cum onto Umji’s face. She opens her mouth, some cum lands in it, and Umji enjoys the taste of what she can get. 

You help Umji to her feet before pinning her to the wall; you’re beside Eunha and SinB, who keep themselves on edge. Eunha feeds herself your cum, sucking on her fingers after scooping some out of her cunt. You’re pressing yourself against Umji’s back, feeling her ass rub against you. Placing your cock between her juicy thighs, you start thrusting. Umji moans as your cock rubs against her lips. To give her more, you snake your hand between her body and the wall until you reach her clit. You use your fingertips to rub around it before flicking it quickly. Umji shudders every time you do it. You’re coating Umji’s thighs in cum as you thrust. Umji’s thighs were amazingly soft as they surrounded your cock. She pressed them together, making it that much more pleasurable. You hear Umji whimper as your cock brushes against her lips. “I want it.” She says quietly. You slow down and come to a stop. Moving your hands up, you cup her breasts and squeeze them softly; they were a little smaller than Eunha’s but felt just as nice in your hands.

You align your cock with Umji’s cunt and push in. You feel some resistance as you do. Umji was a bit tighter than Eunha, making it difficult to push your cock in. Still, you manage, Umji groans as you struggle to push more of your cock. Once the head is in, the resistance fades, and you end up ramming your cock deep into Umji’s pussy. Her voice rings throughout the room as she cums from insertion alone. Her body shakes, but you keep her pressed against the wall. Her walls try to milk you, but you’re not close to cumming yet. That being said, the sensation pushes you closer. You give Umji a second to recover before thrusting into her. Her ass presses against you with every thrust; it jiggles as her body lurches a bit. Between you and the wall, Umji’s moans come quicker. “Are you going to cum again?” You ask her.

Umji nods her head quickly, whining as she does. You start thrusting quickly; Umji’s tightening cunt drives you crazy as you feel her walls try to keep you inside. Your quick thrusts are working against you as you’re nearing your climax. “I’m going to cum soon; just hold on.” You moan. Umji cums first, she couldn’t hold on any longer. Her whines bounce off the walls as she milks your cock. This time you bury your cock and give her cunt what it wants. You’re seed spills into her pussy. You both lean against the wall, tired and recovering. You thrust a few more times, and Umji’s walls return the favor by tightening and loosening around you. You pull out slowly, cum runs down Umji’s thighs. You turn her around and kiss her. Her tongue lazily returns the passion you put into the kiss. Umji stumbles to the other members as you aid her. She ends up sitting on Eunha, prompting the elder to feel around Umji’s body as she tries to figure out who’s on top of her.

That left SinB; you had special plans for SinB. You wanted to edge her for the duration you had left. You take her hand and help her up. “I was getting tired of waiting.” She says while continuing to rub her lower lips. You place your hand over hers and push her fingers inside. She moans quietly as if trying to hide them from the others. You smile, and though she can’t see SinB comments about how you must enjoy teasing her. You give her ass a squeeze with your other hand while she speaks. The blindfold looks good on SinB, and you’re tempted to take it off her so she can see what Eunha and Umji have gone through. You don’t, though. You abandon SinB’s hand and let her finger herself while your hands wander over her body, touching every part of her as you stare her up and down.

SinB had the smallest breasts of the bunch, but they suited her.  You take her other hand and place it on your cock. SinB understands quickly, and she jerks you off while fingering herself; she imagines what you plan to do to her, not knowing you would deny her any orgasm. SinB moans a little louder as you kiss her neck. You ask her if she’s going to cum, and she replies with a yes. You pull her hand away and pin her to the wall, kissing her at the same time. You hold the kiss for some time and leave a trail of kisses down SinB’s body, wasting time to make sure her body calms down.

Once you think she’s ready, you place your cock at her entrance. You tell her to lower herself onto your cock, and she does. SinB slowly sinks onto your cock. You feel her walls surround you as she swallows you with ease. Her walls caress every side of your cock and cradle your head as you knock against her womb. You both moan and after a second, you start moving. Every thrust you drive impale SinB with your cock. You enjoy the feeling of her cunt wrapping around you and revel in the knowledge you're going to deny her any orgasm because you find it fun to tease her. SinB holds onto your shoulders as you thrust, gripping you with all her strength. You kiss her to keep her moans muffled. Turning to the others, you see Eunha playing with Umji’s body, fingering the maknae of the group with great eagerness. Your thrusts get more powerful and come quicker until you feel SinB tightening around you. You slow down, bringing the pace back to a crawl. Every thrust still has power behind it, though; you watch SinB’s small tits bounce as you slam your cock into her. She whines about you, slowly down, telling you how close she was. 

Feeling like you could start again, you speed up, making sure SinB got to feel the pleasure of being fucked. SinB lifts her leg and places it on your shoulder, allowing it deeper. You begin to near your climax, and SinB knows it. She can feel your cock twitching inside her. “Why don’t you cum inside me?” She says to you. She’s trying to goad you into continuing and making her cum too. You consider it. “Breed me, make me a mommy.” She whispers. SinB is saying whatever she needs to in order to get her orgasm. Her words turn you on, and you repeatedly drive your cock into SinB. 

It’s at that moment there’s a knock on the door. “Your time is up. I’ll let you get ready,” says a staff member. You turn back to SinB and pull out without either getting to cum. SinB complains about being the only one that didn’t get to orgasm. She removes her blindfolds and sees Eunha and Umji filled with your cum. 

“What if you came back with us to our dorm?” She asks.

“Really?” 

“Yes, I won’t spend the night frustrated because I didn’t get to cum.” She replies. You happily agree; excited that you’ll get more time with Viviz.

[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

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[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.

[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.

[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. 

[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.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 8: Tipsy

You, Joel and Tommy go on patrol. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-7 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of past SA (minor details, not majorly described); light smut (in flashback); canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 7.1k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Y’all always miss the easy shit or am I just lucky?” 

You were stopped on your horse, waiting for them to pay attention. 

“Bullshit you found somethin’ easy,” Tommy gave you a cocky half smile, shaking his head. “No way.” 

You shrugged and smirked a little back. 

“Not my fault you’re slacking off, Miller.” 

Tommy pulled his horse to a stop and jerked his head at Joel to do the same before they both turned their horses around to face you. You leaned forward onto the saddle horn, arms crossed, smiling. 

“Alright Bambi,” Tommy said. “Enlighten us.” 

“Y’all are so busy watchin’ for footprints, you’re missing the other shit,” you said, nodding to a tree trunk just off the trail next to you. “See that spot there? Where the moss is gone? Right at shoulder height or so, not in a pattern that makes sense for somethin’ eating it or climbing it. Too small to be a bear. That’s a human hand that grabbed that tree. Probably headed that way, leaves are just too generally disturbed to see a pattern. Guessing infected that tripped.” 

Tommy frowned but nudged his horse toward the tree and you watched, still smirking, as he examined the spot. 

“Shit,” he shook his head, smiling. “Alright, lead on Bambi, let’s see what we find.” 

You nudged Renaissance in the right direction and you could tell Joel was trying not to smile as you took the lead. 

It was your third time out on patrol with the Miller men, going out on 12 hour shifts with them every other week. 

You’d had to force yourself to go at first, shoving the panic down deep as you rode out of town with Joel and Tommy. 

It hadn’t seemed to matter that you’d spent at least a few hours a day every day at Joel’s house since you first borrowed his guitar or that you’d had dinner with Joel, Tommy and Maria three times `now. It didn’t matter that the logical part of your mind felt they were safe and trustworthy, the part of you that was on the edge of panic was screaming. 

That part of you was loud and desperate and insistent. It wasn’t like what had happened to you was something that was talked about. No one had equipped you for it - you weren’t sure it was possible to be equipped for it - but it was hard to not be mad at being so ill-prepared for the fall out. Mad at going through life when your body was a crime scene and there was perpetually some part of you scraping and clawing to keep it from ever happening again. You didn’t want to keep your distance, not from Joel in particular. He was one of the first friends you’d had in so long, you wanted to be able to do things like have his arm brush yours when you walked down the street and make it so you didn’t jump away from him. 

But while part of you didn’t want to keep your distance from Joel, the rest of you needed the distance. So the distance remained and the clutching fear made you almost vomit on your way out of Jackson with Joel and Tommy the first time.  

“Doin’ OK Bambi?” Joel frowned in the early morning sun as he rode alongside you. 

“Fine,” you said, looking straight ahead, the grip on your reins tight. You could tell he didn’t believe you. 

You were jumpy all morning, fighting to pay attention to what they said as they explained how patrols worked and why they did it the way they did. It was hard to absorb the information through the haze of the heady, high-alert feeling that thrummed through you. You were aware of everything about them, every breath that came a little quicker, every sharp move of an arm, every look in your direction. You couldn’t shake the screaming alarm inside you, the shrill yell of “danger” drowning out everything else. 

Around lunchtime, Tommy excused himself, wandering into the woods alone to use the bathroom, leaving you and Joel on your own. You resisted the urge to get back on Renaissance or at least go press yourself against her side, borrowing her strength and safety. Instead, you stayed on the ground, back against the tree, Joel a few feet away from you. 

“I know it probably don’t mean much but you don’t need to be afraid of us, Bambi,” he said, watching you carefully, an almost sad look in his eyes. You frowned at him. He seemed to know why. “I can see it, how tense you are. Don’t need to be. We’re not going to hurt you. I understand you’re scared but you don’t need to be. It’s OK.” 

You looked at him for a moment before you just nodded. He was right, it didn’t mean much. He was right, you didn’t need to be afraid of them. You knew that, some part of you knew that. You held onto that, focused on it, tried to force the pulsing fear out of your body when Joel was close. 

It got better as the day went on and, at the end of it, you settled the horses and went to Joel’s. He brought you his guitar and you sat against the tree, playing until your fingers were too sore and you were falling asleep sitting up. 

The next time out, you were less tense from the start. It felt familiar and comfortable now and you were able to fall into a comfortable rapport with the two of them. 

You were almost surprised to find that you liked Tommy. He was kind, funny, sarcastic and it felt like you could trust him. Or almost trust him, at least. 

By the third trip, it was easy. Almost easy, anyway. You found yourself smiling and joking with them in ways you hadn’t in years. You felt like yourself. Almost like yourself, anyway. You’d missed that.

You spotted more marks on the trees as you worked your way slowly through the forest, your rifle at the ready, until you spotted movement ahead. It was far enough out that it wasn’t distinct at first but it was something. You held your hand out and you heard Joel and Tommy come to a stop behind you. 

“Binoculars?” You asked, not looking back at them, just turning your palm up. You felt Joel’s fingers brush your own as he put them in your hand and you didn’t flinch away from him. You could see the infected clearly now, more than a football field away through the brush. You smiled a little. 

“Think it’s just the one,” you said quietly. “But should be ready, just in case there are more. Y’all OK for me to handle it since you’d have just let ‘em run amok anyway?” 

“You go right ahead,” Tommy said. “Just don’t get mad if we’re the ones who clean up when you miss.” 

You scoffed and handed the binoculars back to Joel before raising your rifle and lining up the shot. It was tricky, the infected was on slightly higher ground and you had branches to contend with. But you thought you had a clear path. You took a deep breath and then breathed out as you relaxed before you fired. You watched through the scope as the bullet hit its chest and it dropped. 

“Nice shot,” you could hear the smile in Joel’s voice. 

“No way,” Tommy said. “No way she hit that fucker.” 

“She dropped it in a shot,” Joel said, proud. “Did real good, Bambi.” 

“Hear that Tommy?” You said, twisting in the saddle and flipping him off. “Did real good, Joel said.” 

“Oh yeah, because Joel’s the arbiter of good,” Tommy rolled his eyes but he was smiling a little all the same. 

“Start shootin’ as good as me and you can be the arbiter of good,” Joel smiled at you. 

“Please, I can hit an infected from half a mile…” 

“No way,” you said at the same time Joel said “Bullshit.” 

“Just because you ain’t ever seen it…” Tommy began. 

“Because you can’t do it,” Joel said. 

“I’m with Joel,” you said. “Bullshit.” 

“See, I’m real glad this is your last patrol with us, Bambi,” Tommy shook his head. “Can’t take gettin’ ganged up on like this. The guy saves your life one time…” 

“Two,” you replied.

“One time, two times,” Tommy said. “Basically the same thing. Don’t mean you’ve gotta take his side even when he’s wrong for the rest of your life…” 

“Ain’t wrong,” Joel said. “You’re not that good a shot.” 

You tried to not audibly laugh. Tommy was right, it was your last patrol with the two of them. After this, you’d be out with just one patrol partner. You weren’t sure when that was starting or who it would be - something that made your stomach knot to think about - but you were going to miss going out with Joel and Tommy. 

“Feel like we should celebrate,” Tommy said as the three of you got close to town. The sun was dipping low on the horizon. “Bambi’s graduating from patrol school, going out into the wild blue yonder, the great unknown if you will…” 

“It was three patrols!” You laughed, looking over at him. “Not that I ever went to college or some shit but somethin’ tells me it was a bit more than that…” 

“This still deserves some recognition,” Tommy said. “Friends are watching William tonight, Maria and I were going to the Tipsy Bison, why don’t the two of you come, too?” 

“Tommy,” Joel gave him a look. “C’mon…” 

“It’ll be fun,” he ignored Joel and looked at you. “There’s booze and there’s music…” 

“And people,” you scrunched your nose at that. 

“Yeah but we’ll be there to keep any of ‘em from doing somethin’ you don’t want,” Tommy said. “We didn’t let any infected get you…” 

“No, I didn’t let any infected get you,” you corrected him, smirking slightly. “Seem to recall my bullets being the lethal ones…” 

“Today maybe but we can’t know with the one two weeks ago,” Tommy protested. 

“Oh please!” You scoffed. “You shot first, first shot winged the fucker’s shoulder, the second shot - my shot - hit ‘em in the chest…” 

“Arguably my shot kept us from getting ripped apart by infected…” 

“It was one infected and it was my shot!” 

“And I say we can keep you safe from all the assholes in Jackson,” Tommy finished, looking smug. “Tipsy Bison’s fun. Promise.” 

You looked at Joel for a second. He was glaring at Tommy before he looked, apologetically, at you. But you wanted to be able to do things like go to a bar. You hadn’t since the night of the outbreak. In large part because you didn’t have a bar to go to and, since you’d come to Jackson, the thought of being near that many people made your skin crawl. But you’d had dinner in the mess hall with Joel a few times since then. It had gone well, you were a little more relaxed each time. A random woman had come up and put her hand on you and Joel’s backs once and you’d jumped but you hadn’t grabbed the knife from next to your plate to defend yourself from her. 

Joel had noticed. The second the woman was out of earshot - what she’d come to say, you had no idea, the roar of blood too loud in your ears - he leaned over, careful not to touch you. 

“You’re OK, Bambi,” he said, his voice low and calm and steady. “You’re in Jackson, you’re with me, you’re safe sweetheart. Just breathe, OK? You’re safe.” 

You just nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching your teeth together like that might keep you from biting into something that you couldn’t rip and tear your way through. You could feel him there next to you, the heat of him, the comforting smell of him so close, close enough that it kept you from spiraling into the bleakness of panic. 

Joel had called you sweetheart once before, too. You weren’t sure why but you liked it. It felt like something solid, like you could lean into Joel’s presence because of it. It was what you called something you cared for, something you’d protect. You liked it. 

“Tommy,” Joel said, a warning tone in his voice. “Told you not to push…” 

“We can go,” you said, only catching a glimpse of Joel’s brows going up as you looked to Tommy on the other side of you. “But I’m only stayin’ if the whiskey is decent.” 

“It ain’t bad,” Tommy winked. “Definitely worth a night out.” 

You returned the horses to the stables, Olivia - a girl you were training to help run the stables - taking Tommy’s as you started to take the tack off Renaissance. 

“See y’all there,” Tommy clapped Joel on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go grab Maria. No wimping out, Bambi. Know you’re just dyin’ to be a chicken shit…” 

“I’d need you to teach me how to do that, Miller,” you shot back. He barked a laugh as he left and you shook your head, smiling a little. 

“You really don’t have to humor him that much,” Joel said, smiling a little himself. 

“I like it,” you said, bending low to unbuckle the saddle. “He reminds me of my brother.” 

“You have a brother?” Joel asked.

You froze for a second before scratching Renaissance’s chest and standing up again. 

“Had two,” you said. “Richie and Brendan. I was the baby of the family. Richie was a lot like Tommy, always giving me shit. But he could take as good as he gave. Our mama didn’t understand it, she always thought we were inches away from brawlin’ when all we were doin’ was teasing the ever loving shit out of each other. Not that we didn’t brawl every now and then but usually it was just mocking the other one relentlessly. Brendan was seven years older than me, didn’t know him as well, really. He moved into the bunk house when I was 11 and I didn’t see him as much after that. But he taught me the first things I learned on guitar. ” 

“Sounds like you miss them,” Joel said softly. 

You nodded. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I do.” 

“You really don’t have to go tonight,” Joel said after a moment. “I warned ‘em not to put pressure on you, I know you don’t like people…” 

“I don’t,” you nodded, pulling the heavy saddle into your chest. “But, believe it or not, I really liked bars before the outbreak.” 

“Really?” You could hear his raised eyebrows. You smiled a little to yourself. You liked knowing someone well enough that you could hear their facial expressions. You hadn’t had that in so long. 

“I was at a bar the night of the outbreak actually,” you said. “Listenin’ to a band fuck up some of my favorite songs. Got in a brawl with a woman, smacked ‘er upside the head with a beer bottle. Turned out she was infected. Didn’t know it at the time but… Anyway, I liked bars. They were fun. I want to be able to go to them again. I know it probably doesn’t seem like it but I am trying…” 

“I know you are,” Joel cut you off. “Trust me. I know you are. And I think you’re brave as shit for doin’ it, but that’s why I warned him not to push you because you shouldn’t do anything you’re not ready for.” 

“Well, you’ll be there right?” You asked, pausing for a second to look at him as you carried the saddle to the rack. 

“Yeah,” he nodded after a second. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Then I’m ready for it,” you shrugged, going for the rack and putting the saddle up. 

“You know,” he said, breaking a moment of awkward tension as you went back for your horse. “Tommy did somethin’ similar on outbreak day.” 

“Yeah?” You smiled a little. 

“Had to bail that fucker out of jail that night,” Joel laughed darkly. “It wasn’t the first time, figured he was just causin’ trouble again. By the time we got back to mine, the neighbors were turned… Anyway, there was a guy who was roughin’ up a waitress, actin’ crazy, Tommy stepped in and knocked him out. Didn’t know until later that he was infected.” 

“So before Tommy was a dad he was someone who picked fights in bars?” You asked, brows raised as you took the bridle off Renaissance and gave her forehead a scratch. 

“All the fuckin’ time,” Joel laughed, shaking his head. “He was such a damn hot head. Kept tellin’ him he was a bad fuckin’ influence and it didn’t matter…” 

“Bad influence on who?” You laughed too. “You’re the older one, were you that impressionable?” 

He paused for a second, the shadow of something sad and terrible ghosting over him before he answered. 

“Just in general,” he said. “Doubt Maria’d look twice at him back then. Except maybe to prosecute him…” 

You laughed and Joel smiled and you decided not to ask about whatever haunted him. He didn’t ask about your ghosts, seemed only fair to not ask about his. 

Joel volunteered to go grab sandwiches for the two of you while you brushed down the horses and you took the time to try to settle and calm yourself before you knew you’d have to go be around a bunch of people. 

Renaissance seemed to sense your unease, lowering her head and pressing it to your chest and stomach and giving a soft whinny. You kissed the place between her ears and gave her a nice scratch. 

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” You said softly. She chuffed. “You just know, don’t you?” She nuzzled against your body and you smiled, putting your arms around her. “He’s a good one, right? Joel? You can tell, can’t you?” She breathed out in a little huff and nuzzled closer. You scratched deeper on her neck. “Yeah, you know. Can’t get anything past you.” 

Joel came back with sandwiches and apples that were still hanging on from fall’s harvest and the two of you ate sitting on the floor outside Renaissance’s stall. You ate half your apple and held the other half over your head, the horse coming and taking the rest gently from your outstretched hand. 

“You were always meant to work with animals weren’t you?” Joel asked, watching you for a moment. 

“As much as someone can be meant for something,” you shrugged, looking up at Renaissance and giving the underside of her chin a scratch. “It’s why I didn’t bother with college. I was shit in school anyway, solid C student. It was boring as hell. The books in English class were never what I actually wanted to read, the shit in math never seemed like something I would use… But my counselor really wanted me to audition for some music school in the northeast but fuckin’ why? I could just be a rancher, knew everything I needed for that already. Why try to make it in music when that’s nothin’ but disappointment?” 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Joel laughed. “I wanted to be a musician for a while, when I was young and dumb.” 

“Really?” You looked at him, brows raised. He just nodded, a little sheepish. “What happened? You make a go of it?” 

“Nah,” he waved you off. “Life got in the way.” 

“What’d you do instead?” 

“I was a contractor,” he said. “Built shit. Worked with Tommy a lot, so that was nice.” 

“Family business can be fun,” you nodded. “Assuming your family aren’t shits.” 

You and Joel both laughed at that. Your body felt oddly loose there on the floor of the stable, nothing tense or strained. 

“Think Tommy will be pissed if I take half an hour to get cleaned up?” You asked after a moment. “I don’t think I can smell myself anymore but I’m pretty damn sure I smell like horse.” 

“He can deal,” Joel said. “If not, won’t be the first bar fight he loses.” 

You went to your respective houses and you took a quick shower, washing off the sweat and the dirt of the trail, braiding your hair and piling it on your head while it was still wet. There was one pair of jeans that fit you better than the rest, a pair you rarely wore because you knew they showed off things about yourself you’d prefer to hide. But you got them out of your closet this time and pulled them on, the denim tight over your ass and hips and thighs, highlighting your shape. You found a tank top that you usually just threw on under a button down and pulled it on, too, the dip in the fabric revealing a hint of cleavage. Looking in the mirror gave you goosebumps but you weren’t sure if they were from nerves or excitement or both. It took you a second to realize that you wanted to dress up, to look good. Desirable. It was such a foreign feeling that you hadn’t recognized it until you saw yourself. 

Joel showed up just as you were pulling your boots on and you opened the door as you ducked back to the hook just inside the door to grab the coat. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. “Just a sec…” 

You went back for the door and Joel was just… staring at you. There was a pull in your stomach, a tightness that felt strange yet familiar. 

“What?” You frowned, shrugging the coat on. 

“Nothin’,” he said, looking off to the side. “Ready?” 

“Yeah,” you said, turning on the lamp and locking the door behind you. 

You shoved your hands deep in the pockets of the coat, the shearling soft on your bare skin. 

“You gotta be warm in that damn thing,” Joel said after a minute. 

“A little,” you shrugged. “But I don’t mind being warm. Texan, remember?” 

“There’s warm and there’s that, Bambi,” he half smiled at you. “You’re gonna sweat to death in that sucker come July.” 

“Yeah,” you grimaced a little. “I’ll have to start leaving it at home soon, I think. Not looking forward to it.” 

“Why…” Joel paused, like he was rethinking the question, but then asked it anyway. “Why do you wear it so much?” 

You frowned. It wasn’t something you’d really thought about. It was more something you just did, the same as turning on a light in a dark room at night or looking over your shoulder when you felt a chill up your spine. It felt good and safe so you put it on and that was the end of it. 

“It’s just…” you tugged your hands together, still in the coat pockets so it was completely surrounding you. “It’s like that blanket you had when you were a kid, where you just had to haul it with you everywhere because everything kind of felt overwhelming without it? It’s like that.” 

“What… um,” he began, clearing his throat awkwardly. “What makes you like it that way?”

“Can’t make fun of me,” you said. 

“Won’t make fun of you.” 

“It smells good,” you couldn’t look at him when you said it. “Or, it did, anyway. Mostly worn off now. That’s what started it.”

Joel just nodded and didn’t say anything about it, to his credit. You stole a look at him as you walked. He’d showered, too. Changed into clean clothes, his denim shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair no longer unruly but slicked back. He looked good. Really good. But Joel always looked good, this was nothing new. It was just that you were connecting to it now. It was more than just a neutral observation, like the sky is blue or water is wet. Joel was handsome and you liked it, liked looking at him. 

You weren’t sure what to do with that.

“You clean up nice,” you said, giving him a small smile. 

“Thanks,” he said, frowning a little, glancing your way quickly before looking back to the street. “You do, too.” 

The Tipsy Bison was busy. Not as busy as you remembered bars being before but on par with the mess hall at peak meal times - just rowdier. Music played over a sound system, people laughed and talked, you could smell the alcohol on the air. 

You tensed a bit. You couldn’t help it. There were just so many damn people. You’d gotten better with people over the months that you’d been in Jackson but being so outnumbered still left you uneasy at best, terrified at worst. There had been no indication that the people here wished you harm but you knew that, if they wanted to, you were too overwhelmed to do a damn thing about it. 

“You’re alright,” Joel said, leaning ever so slightly toward you. “Won’t let anyone hurt you, promise.” 

You just nodded as you caught sight of Tommy and Maria flagging you down from a corner table. 

“We were startin’ to wonder!” Tommy said, sliding off his chair at the high top table to hug Joel and clap him on the back. “Glad y’all could make it.” 

Maria got down, too, only to sit with her back to the door. Tommy sat next to her, also not in his original spot. You frowned. 

“Figured you’d want your back to a wall, Bambi,” he said as he got settled back in. “But couldn’t see ya come in from over here so we traded.” 

“Thanks,” you frowned a little as you sat down, oddly touched. Tommy shrugged and took a sip of his beer. 

Joel went and got you both drinks at the bar and sat next to you, his elbows on the small table. The bar was warm, warm enough that keeping the coat on was starting to get uncomfortable. You were only half way through your first drink when you slid it off, draping it over the back of your chair. You felt Joel and Tommy watching you and you put your hands between your knees, covering your torso with your arms. You wished you’d bothered drying your hair before leaving your house or put on another shirt so you had something else to hide behind, feeling exposed. 

“Hear you’re about to go into regular patrol rotation,” Maria said, breaking the silence. “Also heard you’re a bit of a deadeye.” 

“Well, compared to Tommy maybe,” you smirked, reaching for your whiskey glass. Maria’s eyes darted to your wrist for only a moment and you resisted the urge to pull your hand back into yourself as quickly as possible, finishing your drink instead. You were so used to the scars there, so used to having as much skin as possible covered, you hadn’t thought about it. Now they felt like a neon sign, screaming and loud on your skin, advertising to the world everything Mitchum liked to do to you. Like Maria and everyone else here knew how he liked to chain you to a mattress for hours at a time, how he liked it when you made yourself bleed. 

“Need another drink,” you said, slipping off the stool and heading for the bar. You shoved your hands in your pockets, having to force them in the tight denim, and tried to think of anything but Mitchum on top of you as you waited your turn. 

“What can I… shit, hi!” Julie, a woman you’d seen at the stables when she came to pick up a horse for patrol was behind the bar. She smiled, wide and kind. “Good to see you somewhere besides the stables! What can I get you?” 

You blinked in surprise for a second before getting your bearings. It hadn’t occurred to you that people you barely spoke to would ever consider you outside of those interactions. Another adjustment, another thing you’d forgotten about being around people. 

“Can I get two shots?” You said. 

“Of?” 

“Don’t care,” you said. “And then two whiskeys, neat.” 

She poured you two shots and put them in front of you and you took them both one after the other, wincing as you did. 

“OK girl,” she said, eyes a little wide. “Sure you still want the whiskeys?” 

“Yes, please.” 

She gave you those, too, and you picked them up and turned to go back to the table before remembering that you needed to say goodbye to people when you stopped interacting with them. 

“Thank you,” you smiled tightly. “See you later?”

“Yeah!” She smiled. It looked more natural than yours felt. “Really, it was good to see you.”

You brought the drinks to the table and put one in front of Joel before taking your seat again, Tommy laughing at something Maria said just before you came up. 

“Aw, none for me?” Tommy pouted a little. 

“Yeah, yours is as real as the shot you made that took down that infected,” you replied dryly. Joel snorted and the song changed. 

“Oh, come on!” Maria grabbed Tommy’s arm. “I love this one!” 

“Fine, woman,” he sighed but smiled, letting his wife pull him out of his chair. “So demandin’…” 

You watched them dance and enjoyed, for a moment, that you could actually do things like make out the song over the buzz of general conversation. You couldn’t do that just a few months ago. You took a sip of whiskey and left your arms resting on the table. For some reason, you were fine with Joel seeing your skin. 

“So where’d you learn to dance, anyway?” Joel asked, looking over at you. 

“If I tell you,” you said, looking back at him. “You have to promise to not make fun of me. And never use it against me. If you do I swear to God I will trample you with a horse and make it look like an accident.” 

“I promise, Bambi,” he laughed a little. “Sure I can find somethin’ else to tease you about.” 

“My mama made me do cotillion when I was 16,” you said. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I am not.” 

“I cannot picture you doing cotillion,” he shook his head and took a sip of whiskey. 

“Oh I rebelled every step of the way,” you laughed. “They had to bribe me. Said I couldn’t do rodeo if I didn’t do cotillion so I did the bare fuckin’ minimum the whole time. And then, as a final fuck you to my mother, the night before we left for cotillion, I fucked one of the ranch hands just so I wouldn’t be virgin when I was up there in that stupid white dress.” 

Joel almost choked on his sip of whiskey and you laughed a little before patting him between the shoulder blades. 

“Doin’ OK there?” You asked, leaving your hand in the middle of his back, the pleasant haze of alcohol settling over you. 

“M’fine,” he managed, coughing. “Just… not what I was expecting out of you.” 

“Yeah, I was a hellion,” you laughed a little, rubbing his back as he started breathing normally again. 

“Well that part ain’t a surprise,” he gave you one of his half smiles that made cheek dimple. 

It was only then that you realized you were touching him. That you could feel the muscle of his back beneath his shirt, feel the heat of him. You were so close to him. Your heart beat faster. You took your hand back and cleared your throat before taking another sip of whiskey. 

“Anyway, that’s my deep, dark secret,” you smiled. “I was raised to be a southern belle and all I wanted to do was get thrown off fuckin’ horses.” 

“Better gettin’ thrown off horses than tryin’ to be something you’re not,” he said. 

Tommy and Maria came back to the table, laughing and breathless and you tucked your arms below the table again. But it was fun sitting there, next to Joel, laughing and talking with people. Even if you found yourself more listening than talking, you also found yourself drifting closer to Joel the more drinks you had, until your knee was against his thigh below the table. Your fingers brushed his leg when you brought your hands under the table after polishing off another glass of whiskey, your head fuzzy. 

“We should head out,” Tommy sighed, finishing his drink. Maria groaned and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. “I know, baby, but we gotta pick up William or Lisa is never gonna watch him for us again.” 

“I know,” she groaned. “Alright, let’s go since you’re apparently the responsible one tonight.” 

“Surprises me too,” he kissed her head. “Feels like some alternate reality or somethin’… Y’all have fun! Seriously, Bambi, it was good working with you the past few weeks. Hope I’ll get to again sometime.” 

“You too, Tommy,” you smiled and watched him help Maria off her seat and get her out the door. 

“I’ve never seen Maria that drunk,” Joel laughed a little. “Or you, for that matter.” 

“Yeah, I haven’t been drunk around another person in…” you thought about it, the math harder in your drunken state. “About 13 years?” 

The last time had been the night before Marisa had left. Marisa would have liked Jackson.  

You’d found her one day in the fall, her leg broken and a gash on her arm, just on the edge of what you considered your territory.

“Please,” she managed as you stood over her. “I won’t last out here. Please.” 

The smart thing would have been to shoot her instead of bringing her home. You had a lot to protect and the fewer people who knew how to find it, the better. But she was so vulnerable, so beautiful, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

Instead, you hauled her onto Nike and brought her home, doing what little you knew to set her bone and keep her wound from getting infected. 

She was just a friend, at first. It was nice, having another adult around to talk to and laugh with. Someone who remembered what life was like before, who could appreciate what was gone and what you had now. She was smart, bitingly sarcastic, funny as hell, kind almost to a fault. She was so easy to love.

Then, one night you were on the couch, snow falling outside and a fire going in the hearth and it felt like you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You leaned into her and she met you halfway, her full lips pressing against your own. Soft and sweet at first, then insistent, pressing you back into the couch until you were lying below her, your hands sliding below her shirt to trace her soft curves, slipping beneath her bra to cup her breast, her nipple firm against your palm. 

“Have you ever done this?” She asked, breathing heavily over you, her eyes tracing your face. 

“I made out with girls before,” you said, your face getting hot as you resisted the urge to grind your hips up against hers. “But anything more was with men. Is that… is that OK?” 

She kissed you and smiled as she did, her hand going to your waist, slipping below you to pull you a little closer. 

“It’s OK baby,” she kept her lips close enough to your own that you could feel her as she spoke. “I’ll take care of you. Promise.” 

She was true to her word. She undressed you slowly, kissed down your body to your wet and aching slit, the first person to ever taste you, moaning as she did. Her hands slid up your body, fingers sinking into your flesh as she drove her tongue deeper and you came against her mouth. Her body was both wondrous and new but familiar, so much more like your own than lovers you’d had before. She was soft where men were hard, full where they were flat and you relished it. You weren’t sure how long the two of you were entwined before you fell asleep, tangled up in her. 

She stayed for eight months. When she decided to leave, it broke your heart almost as much as killing Justin had. 

“Come with me,” she was begging, pleading, the night before she was planning to set off for San Francisco. The two of you had polished off a bottle of vodka you’d traded for a few months earlier and had been saving for something that felt worth while. This was nothing if not worthwhile. 

“You know I can’t,” you whispered, holding her close. “But you can stay…” 

“I can’t,” she brushed your hair back. “This isn’t… I need more than this, than hiding away from everyone in the wilderness. This isn’t the kind of life I was built for, baby, you know it’s not.” 

“Stay for me,” you were trying not to cry. “For us, please. I’ll try to be enough for you, I…” 

“You are enough,” she said. “And I really wish this was the kind of life I could lead but it isn’t. It just isn’t, it doesn’t matter how much I wish it was.” 

She left the next morning but you woke up, confused and wondering where she was, for months after she was gone. You’d never known if she made it to San Francisco. 

“Didn’t know you had friends then,” Joel said, sounding a little surprised and pulling you out of your own head. 

“I had a couple,” you shrugged. “Mostly folks I’d trade with, I wasn’t totally feral.” 

“News to me,” he winked and you rolled your eyes, laughing a little as the song shifted. “Can I ask you somethin’?” 

“Besides that?” 

He glared at you and you laughed. 

“Say no if you don’t want,” he said. “But… Would you dance with me? Doesn’t have to be any of the fancy stuff you were teaching Ellie…” 

“Sure,” you cut him off, before you could think better of it. “Yeah, let’s… let’s dance.” 

He smiled and you went with him to the dance floor, careful not to touch him, your head spinning. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor, looking at you for a moment. His eyes were soft and deep and you were having a hard time remembering why being close to him scared you. 

“Can I…?” He trialed off, but you knew what he meant. You nodded and the two of you stepped closer together. You reached up and slowly, hesitantly, put your arms around his neck as his hands found your waist, his wide palm brushing your ribs. He was careful to not have any more of his body touching you as the two of you started to sway on the dance floor. You were acutely aware of where you were making contact with him, could feel the line of his broad shoulders below your forearms, the line of his fingers at your waist. It was so intense that it took you a moment to even realize what was playing. 

“Always liked this song,” you said, looking up at Joel. 

“Hm?” 

“Hallelujah,” you said. “Always liked it.” 

“Me too,” Joel said, his eyes searching yours. “It’s… it’s beautiful. Always thought so.” 

“It’s been nice, patrolling with you,” you said, feeling yourself inching closer to him. You couldn’t help it. “Not sure going out there with anyone else will be even half as fun.” 

“I’m sure you’ll end up with someone good,” Joel said. “I’ve patrolled with most of the folks who go out, they���re all good people. All know what they’re doin’, too. You’ll be safe.” 

“I’m not worried about that part of it,” you smirked. 

“I am.” 

“Why?” You laughed a little. 

“Don’t want you gettin’ hurt, Bambi,” he said softly, his hold on you deepening. “They all know what they’re doin’ but… Not sure I trust someone else to look out for you.” 

“You think I need someone to look out for me?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“No,” he said. “But I like bein’ the one to do it.” 

Your front was brushing against his now and you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from his. He was so close to you but you liked it that way, liked that there was a pull in your stomach that wanted him even closer. 

“I’m going to miss it,” you said, your voice quiet. You were almost afraid to speak any louder, like that would break whatever was happening between you if you did. “Being out there with you.” 

You moved closer, so close now that you had to rest your head over his heart. Your hands slid down him, one resting on his chest, the other on his shoulder. He was so warm and solid and broad and his arms were around your waist, his hands splayed wide over your back. You could hear his heartbeat, feel his breathing, smell his skin. He was so close to you, so close that you could feel the line of his body and you liked it. Wanted more of it. 

The song ended and he held you like that for another moment, his nose brushing the top of your head. 

“I should get back,” you said, still in his arms, not wanting to move quite yet. “Have to be up early, I’m in the stables tomorrow…” 

“C’mon,” he said, stepping back from you but keeping his hands on your waist. “I’ll walk you.” 

You got your coat, draping it over your arms, and walked slowly, silently, with Joel back to your house. It was almost strange, having him not be close anymore. Part of you felt like he should be, that you should always be able to smell his skin and feel him breathe. His arm brushed yours as you walked. 

“That was fun,” you said, more sober as you stood outside your door. “Thank you. And if you see Tommy before me, thank him, too. I think I needed a nudge like that.” 

“May not want to thank him,” Joel smiled, his hands in his pockets. “It’ll go to his head, he’ll be even worse…” 

“Good point,” you smiled back. “Can’t let him get to be any more insufferable.” 

The two of you stood there on your porch, watching each other in the haze of moonlight and the glow of the lamp from inside your home. 

“I should go,” Joel said after a moment. “Don’t be a stranger just because we aren’t killin’ infected together anymore.” 

“I wont,” you smiled. “You’ve still got the guitar.” 

He laughed. 

“That I do,” he shook his head a little. “Night, Bambi.” 

“Night, Joel.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK

THEY LIKE FULLY TOUCHED GUYS I CAN'T.

Also, hi there! Bambi is bi :) She's been bi since I first thought up the character - her first kiss was with a girl she learned trick riding with - and we'll see a little bit more of Marisa in flashbacks later.

I do have a taglist, comment below if you'd like to be added. But the taglist gods are fickle beings so no promises. I will be starting a notifications blog soon and I'll let y'all know when it's up!

You can find me on Twitter (I refuse to call it that other stupid thing) at @AGalWhoWrites. Twitter tends to be slightly more unhinged, FYI.

Thank you so much for being here and following Bambi and Joel's story! I'm so excited to have people to share it with and you are so appreciated. Love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf