#i think it just fucked up her fingers instead

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 1)

Sequel to But you're my stepmom!

Picks up a few months later after your dad and Agatha get divorced and you've started college

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: fingering, mommy kink, slight angst

Fuck. You do not want to do this. 

It’s a Saturday night and you’re here. You should’ve said you had anywhere else to be, but instead, your car almost gets hit as you turn the corner in possibly the narrowest parking garage you’ve ever been in. It makes you swear and you stomp on the brakes so quickly you think you might have a bruise from the seatbelt. 

But luckily, you find a spot on the first floor and squeeze between two other cars, muttering a silent prayer that you don’t scrape against them.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans as you get out and walk into the lobby of the apartment complex. 

It’s nice, although you hate to admit it. You would surely not mind spending more time here if it didn’t mean having to see—

“Hey, sweet pea!” 

Him. You look to your right and plaster on a fake smile when you see your father standing there, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

“Hey,” you say softly, awkwardly patting his back with a hand as he embraces you. 

He had been asking to get dinner with you at least once a week for the past few months since he and Agatha got divorced. You’ve always found an excuse to get out of it — you had homework, you had exams, you had to work over the summer and you were so tired — but now that it’s your first weekend in college and he knows that you don’t have anything going on, he insisted. 

Plus your mom had sort of asked for you to go at least once. Your dad has been sending you updates about his apartment search and random internet posts that he found funny, and having lived at home all summer, you’ve kept your mom in the loop. She is still obsessed with him, always finding ways to bring him up in conversation, and you wish you were brave enough to tell her to just move on. She was absolutely ecstatic when you broke the news about him and Agatha and she’s been pressing you for updates ever since. 

Part of the reason she wanted you to go see him was to scope out his new place and see if there was any sign of a new woman. There was still no sign about the lady he was having an affair with, so you weren’t sure if things had ended. 

And when he moved out the first time, he took your mom’s can opener and she still won’t let it go. Before you left, she texted you that if you saw it, you should steal it back. 

After the divorce went through, your dad had decided to sell the house and look for an apartment a little closer to his work, and he’s lived in this place for about a month now. 

“How are you? How’s it going?” he asks as he leads you to the elevator. He presses his fob to the button inside and then floor six. You remember him being so consumed with having one of the top floors, like that would make him seem more important. 

You shrug and pick at the peeling skin on your fingers. It’s a bad habit — one of your many. “Pretty good. Syllabus week has been a breeze. Made some new friends.”

“Classes seem like they’ll be fun?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I hope so.” 

And then a tense silence falls over the both of you. You haven’t actually seen him since your graduation, which was a whole other level of awkward with your mom there too, and you both know that the two affairs and two divorces has put a strain on your relationship.

It does hurt a little. You wish there was a way you could reach over the cold gap between you and go back to how things were when you were a kid, when you actually liked being around him. 

But too much has happened. 

“Well, I’m really glad you were able to come down for dinner,” he says and you smile tightly. “I can’t wait to show you the place and then we can get whatever you want to eat.” 

The elevator dings and you follow him to an apartment a few doors down and he unlocks the door and lets you go first. 

The floors are a laminate gray, the counters in the kitchen marble white with black pendant lights over the peninsula. The refrigerator is stainless steel and there’s a completely stocked wine cooler fridge built into the cabinets next to the stove. You walk past the kitchen into the living room where the couches from his and Agatha’s house are set up around an entertainment center with a fireplace and a blue rug under the coffee table. 

“What do you think?” he asks, stepping next to you and putting an arm around your shoulders to bring you in close to him. 

You take his fancy bachelor pad in again. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Maybe just pizza for dinner? We can order and watch a show or something?”

Staying in and having the television as a buffer is a much better plan than going out and having to make small talk that will end up with him on his phone anyway. He agrees and calls to order the pizza while you perch on the couch and scroll on your phone. You already have a text from your mom telling you to call her when you’re done and your chest tightens at the thought of all the shit she’s going to say. It’s fucking exhausting still being in the middle of this — you really thought it would get better, especially now that you’re in college. And yet, here you are. 

“So…” your dad starts, plopping down next to you with a groan once he gets off the phone. He grabs the remote and turns the TV on. “You like your roommate?”

Your roommate, Alice Wu, is a sweet girl from out-of-state. You think that you and her will get along just fine and you’ve already agreed on all the rules of cleaning and having friends over. The first week has gone well and you’ve gotten close. “She’s cool. I think she and I will be good friends.” 

He nods and turns on a show you watched awhile and the two of you sit in awkward silence until the pizza guy rings from downstairs. You excuse yourself to the bathroom after your dad rings him in. 

The bathroom is through the bedroom and you take careful note of the sheets still strewn all over the bed and the two pillows at the top. One nightstand is cluttered with a phone charger, earplugs, a lamp, and a picture of you on your graduation day in a silver frame. It tugs at your heart and you instantly look away, not wanting to feel any more nostalgia. 

However, on the other nightstand, there’s just a matching lamp. No hair tie, no other chargers or personal belongings. 

But that stuff is easily hidden, so you go into the bathroom. One toothbrush, one retainer case, one razor. You can’t tell if you’re disappointed or glad. 

At least you won’t have to listen to your mom talk endlessly about a new woman. 

Your dad already has a plate with two slices on it for you sitting in your spot on the couch and you dig into it, suddenly famished. The atmosphere does warm up over time, and it’s no longer uncomfortable silence and you do end up talking a bit about his work and more about your school while the TV plays.

He doesn’t bring up your mom or Agatha at all, and neither do you. In a way, it’s nice to be removed from them for a few hours. Your dad has been villainized by both of them — and obviously he fucked up — but he is still your dad, despite your complicated feelings toward him. 

After a few episodes of the show, you shift to get up, grabbing your plate. “You’re leaving already?” he asks and checks his watch.

“Yeah, it’s getting late and I should really be getting back to the dorms,” you say, trying to sound apologetic. Even if the bubble has been nice, you have somewhere you need to be. 

It’s hard for your dad to hide his disappointment, but he gets it and grabs his keys to walk you down to your car. 

“How’s, uh, how’s your mom doing?” he asks. Still putting me in the middle of all the imaginary drama she’s creating with you is what you want to say. But you know that he’ll call her out for it and you’d have to deal. 

“She’s pretty good. Work’s been keeping her busy.” A safe answer. A true answer. 

“Good,” he says and shoves his hands into his pockets and you know what’s coming next. “And Agatha? Have you seen her at all?” 

Imagines of her hot body on yours flash through your mind. Her rosy nipples, her pale stomach, the heat that swallows up her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve seen her around. She’s doing all right, too, I think.”

Your dad nods and stops at your car. “Well, I had a great time with you,” he says and holds his arms out for a hug. You mutter something in agreement and give him an embrace with two pats — the way you’ve done it since you were a kid. “Let’s do it again soon.”

He tells you that he loves you and after you say it back, you get into your car and he watches you as you drive away. 

Begrudgingly, you call your mom and put her on speaker and not even a second later, her voice fills your car. 

“How was it? Did you see anything? Is there another woman? Did you find my can opener?” she asks all in one breath and you take a silent, deep breath. 

You can’t wait to be home. “It was a pretty nice place actually.” Your mom snorts. “There wasn’t any sign of someone else there and I didn’t have time to look around. We just watched a show and ate pizza.” 

She makes a sound. “Wow, father of the year. Maybe he cleaned up the place before you came over.” You hum noncommittally. “What are you doing tomorrow? Want to come over? I’ll take you grocery shopping.” 

“Yeah, let me just check my schedule. Alice and I might be doing something, but I’d love to go there for a bit. Especially for groceries,” you tease and she laughs. 

“I bet your father didn’t even offer to do that,” she says smugly and your face falls. Sometimes you wonder if she does half the things that she does for you just to one-up him. 

“Okay, well I’m almost back now, so I’ll let you know when I’m coming over tomorrow,” you tell her, eager to wrap it up, and about to turn in. “Love you.” You hang up before she’s even done saying it back. 

Once you park, you text your roommate saying that you won’t be back for the night — staying with family — and walk up to the apartment side door, letting yourself in with the fob on your key ring. 

Agatha’s apartment complex is smaller than your dad’s, but just as nice, and you prefer it a lot more. 

After the divorce, she stayed in a hotel for about a week before signing a lease on a place about ten minutes away from where the house used to be. You had helped her pick out the furniture and spent more time here than at your mom’s house the last couple months of school and she gave you a key to it the day she moved in. 

It got harder over the summer to hang out with her, as you worked at an ice cream shop in the afternoons into the evenings and she was working her normal nine to five, but you made it work. 

Things are really good between the two of you. There isn’t exactly a label on it, per se, but you both know that it’s a relationship. And without your dad in the picture and with her not being your stepmom anymore, there isn’t as much of a need to keep sneaking around — so when she puts an arm around you while you’re walking down the street and kisses your cheek when you say something cute and ghosts her pinky against yours, it’s okay. 

You know things might change a little with you in college now, but you’re ready for it. And if you spend more nights at her place than at your dorm, so be it. It’s not like anyone’s going to know, and Alice will just think you’re staying with family. 

Unlocking the door, you can practically feel the tension seeping away from your body. Agatha makes everything feel better. Even the house you grew up in, the one your mom still lives in, doesn’t feel as home as this does. 

You don’t see her when you first walk in and you walk into the living room to see her typing something on her computer, brows furrowed, and you can just make out the glint of a document through the reflection of her glasses. 

“Hey, you,” you greet, kicking off your shoes. She startles and looks up before slamming her laptop shut and smiling. 

“Hey, honey,” she says and pats the spot next to her while she leans forward to place her computer on the coffee table. “How was it?” 

Agatha had emphatically listened to your incessant complaining about having to get dinner with your dad, but in the end she had also pushed you to go. You groan and flop onto the couch, situating yourself so that your head is in her lap and you’re looking up at her. “It wasn’t that bad,” you admit and she smirks. “Don’t even think about saying ‘I told you so’. I will leave.” 

She tosses her head back with a laugh and you play with the strands of hair that’s falling over her shoulder and teasing your face. “I would never, darling. But I’m glad it wasn’t bad. How is he?” 

Your nose wrinkles. “Can we not talk about my dad? Although, I was just thinking about how much of a reward I deserve for going.” 

“Oh, you think you deserve a reward, do you?” she ribs lightly, raising an eyebrow and poking you in the stomach. You giggle and twist away from her finger before sticking out your bottom lip as pitiful as you can and giving her doe eyes, nodding your head. She rolls her eyes fondly. “What were you thinking, honey?” 

You shrug like you’re just now beginning to think about it. “Well, mommy,” you say, a thrill running through you at her sharp gasp. “I think since I was such a good girl, you should give me an orgasm.” 

“Oh, just one?” she asks playfully, and you surge up out of her lap, turn over onto your knees to face her, and pull her in for a kiss. Your lips move against each other with familiar ease, her tongue licking hotly into your mouth and you moan — her hands slide up under your shirt and rest on your bare skin before you reach down and take it off. 

“As many as you’ll give me, mommy,” you pant, and she grins before starting to suck open-mouthed bites onto your chest. You’re wearing green lingerie but she barely even looks at it before unclasping your bra from behind and tearing it off, throwing it somewhere on the floor. 

She swirls her tongue around your nipple before suckling hard and you whimper, holding her head right against you. It feels like there’s a wire running straight from your boob to your cunt and you quickly feel yourself becoming soaked. Agatha switches to the other one and soon your entire chest is sticky with her saliva and you’ve moved onto her lap, squirming. 

Her teeth nip at the underside of your breasts and you can’t take it anymore. “Mommy, please,” you beg, grabbing her hand and leading it to the waistband of your jeans. Her fingers rest there while you quickly unbutton and unzip and then you shove her into your pants, your hand circled around her wrist to just feel her. 

Agatha chuckles throatily and moves her fingers experimentally against you while you try to grind down for some stimulation. You suddenly feel so empty, a molten heat between your legs, and Agatha crashes her lips back onto yours. She sucks on your tongue and tugs on your bottom lip as she finally presses against your clit and your hips jerk. “So wet for mommy, aren’t you?” she huffs and you nod and try to move against her harder. 

When she finally pushes your underwear to the side and runs her fingers through your folds, you keen and bury a hand into her hair, face dropping down into her neck. She sharply gasps when you start breathing heavily against her skin, content to just keep your lips planted against her throat. 

She slides a finger into you and your walls clench around her, trying to draw her even more in. Each time she fucks you, it feels like the first time — the same energy is there, the same electricity. But at the same time, she knows exactly what you need, maybe even more than you do. 

Her thrusts begin to pick up and heat is rising through your body and you can see little indents in Agatha’s skin from where your teeth have slightly sunk in. 

“Mommy, mommy — please, I need more,” you whine and she obliges by pushing another finger into you and curling them just right. A high-pitched sound leaves your mouth and you start riding her fingers the best you can, rolling your hips to match her and get her even deeper. You’re clenching furiously around her as sparks begin to fly in your lower stomach and you can feel the beginning tendrils of your orgasm start to build. 

Agatha’s thumb circles around your clit without actually touching it. “God, sweetheart, you look so hot right now, taking my fingers like such a good girl. You feel so good, too. Never wanna leave you,” she babbles, making you convulse even tighter. There’s a slight pink tint to her cheeks and her breathing has picked up and you know she’s affected too. Her fingers are moving faster and she pauses for just a moment, making you whimper, before she stretches you out with a third. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swear, your walls adjusting, and the slight burn only adds to the immense pleasure you’re feeling. “Fuck, fuck.” Your head is spinning, completely drunk with her and her perfume that’s been invading your nostrils the whole time, and you can’t even form a single thought. 

She presses harder on your clit and with the hand that’s not currently inside you, grips your hair and pulls you away from her neck. You can see red blotches staining her skin and the thought of her wearing your marks around gets you even closer. “Look at me,” she grunts, her thrusts becoming more sporadic and you stare right into her dark blue eyes with your pleading wide ones. Your breaths intermix and she looks like she might also cum just from this. 

Agatha lets out a strangled gasp when her gaze flickers from your eyes to your swollen lips to your breasts that are bouncing with your movements in her lap. 

“Mommy, I need — right there —” You can’t even string together a coherent thought and she scissors her fingers inside you, the pressure making you see stars. 

She looks you up and down again, drinking you in like she might never get enough, and her chest heaves with each breath she takes. “Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” she groans and your head falls back as you keep riding her. “I need you to cum for me, okay? Cum for mommy.” 

“Mommy, fuck, I’m gonna — fuck I love you,” you groan, not even realizing the words slipping out of your mouth, the words neither of you have ever said before, before it’s too late and your orgasm explodes through your body in a way it never has before. You feel it in every crack and crevice inside you and she keeps fucking you just as hard while rubbing your clit and it quickly becomes too much, tears springing into your eyes. 

Agatha’s fingers finally slow down and she coos sweet nothings in your ear and you wonder if she even heard you. It’s been a few months since you’ve been together, but neither of you has really acknowledged the depth between you. 

And you just did, in the middle of sex. 

“You okay?” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you nod before she pulls out of you and you wince at the sudden emptiness. You fall back out of her lap onto the couch. She must not have heard it. 

There’s a slight gnawing feeling that begins to grow in your stomach — if you said it for real, in a moment that couldn’t just be blamed on a dopamine rush, would she say it back? 

Does she feel the same? 

Agatha kisses you before sticking her three fingers into your mouth so you can clean them up. “Good girl,” she purrs in a low voice. “Was that a good enough reward?” 

You’re still a little out of it, but you nod dazedly. “Yeah,” you say softly and she gets off the couch and walks over to the fridge to get you a glass of water. “My mom wants me to go hang out with her tomorrow. What are you doing at night? Can I come over after?” 

She pauses for a fraction of a second and then glances at you over her shoulder. “Um, sorry, baby. I have to work all day tomorrow. Some last minute things I’ve got to get done.” 

You hum, a little disappointed, but graciously accept the water. “No worries. Maybe Monday or something.” 

“Yeah, of course. Just a second, I need to go grab something,” she murmurs and then walks into her bedroom. You’re exhausted and you get off the couch, stretching your aching muscles, and you’re about to follow her when her phone buzzes on the end table. 

Thinking it’s just a work email or something, you glance at it and your stomach drops, heart lurches. 

It’s a text message from an unknown number. 

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Getting on your knees for Wanda, looking up at her and admiring the way her suit falls over her curves, her jawline sharp as she looks down at you.

"Baby..."

You just smile, slowly making your way between her spread legs, careful not to bump your head against the top of her desk. You can see it, the bulge in her slacks. Your fingers run along the smooth fabric, feeling the strong muscles of her thighs as they flex under your touch.

Before Wanda can say anything else, your tongue is dragging along the slight tent in her pants, a low moan escaping you as your eyes roll back. Fuck, all you can think about it her strap buried inside you while she pumps her hips and-

A strong hand in your hair brings you back to the present. You look up, prepared to apologize, but see Wanda's head thrown back instead.

"You wanted to be a desperate slut," she rasps out, meeting your gaze with blown pupils, "Then act like it. Suck my strap."

You nod, sucking with renewed vigor as she frees the dark red strap from the confines of her slacks. Your jaw aches, but you don't dare stop, slurping noises echoing around the office as she shallowly thrusts into your mouth.

"Make me cum, and I'll let you sit on it while I finish my work," Wanda mutters, her other hand gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles bleed white.

Well, that's all the motivation you need.

[prlssprfctn]

Jason Todd, who tries to do his Red Hood reveal in front of the whole family, all at once, but they are so sleep-deprived that instead of accepting an obvious answer, they come up with the most insane theories.

Jason, spreading his arms wide: The answer is already here, and you know it. Come on, the world's great detective — look at me, and tell, why would the random criminal lord avenge for your son? Hm?

Dick, snapping his fingers: You are his childhood friend! Right?!

Jason: What—

Dick: You knew everything about us. You knew Jason better than we did. It is obvious. You are a kid that he must befriended during his days on the streets. You are avenging for him because we failed him!

Tim, shaking his head: Dick, come on—

Jason: Yeah, exactly, just—

Tim, with the insane glint in his eyes: They were clearly lovers, not friends.

Jason: ...What.

Tim: It is obvious. Just look at him at his desperation. That's more than friendship.

Jason: Come on, Bruce, you can't possibly allow them to be this stupid.

Bruce, sipping on his coffee: No, I won't.

Bruce, turning to Dick and Tim: It is Willis Todd.

Dick, Tim, and Jason in the unison: What—

(Hours later, Jason's safe house)

Jason: ...And then he goes! (clears up his throat to imitate Bruce's voice) "Willis Todd's grave was always empty, but I hadn't paid attention to this fact!" What an insane thing to fucking admit, by the way!

Talia, on the Facetime, doing her nails: Perhaps it is a family trait - to leave the coffins empty... Anyway, what happened after?

Jason: They come up with another theory. Now, they think that Red Hood is "Jason's" reincarnation. Souls switched and stuff. Dunno. They planned to call Constantine, but I left.

Talia: I feel like a nap would resolve this issue.

Jason: Yeah, definitely. But that's not my problem.

Talia: Naturally. But you look happy.

Jason, smirking: I got to annoy the hell of this family without even getting revealed and dealing with the aftermath. Of course, I am happy. Also, Alfred clocked me, but just packed me a lemon pie and invited for a tea ceremony later this week.

[sluttysnowangel666]

sweet like candy - choi su bong / thanos

pairings : thanos/ su bong x fem reader

summary : despite only a few insignificant interactions with thanos, he grows jealous when he sees you talking to an ex marine, dae ho.

warnings: jealous thanos, use of drugs, swearing, violence, ooc thanos bc he’s kinda nice most of the time except for when he’s jealous, lowkey sub thanos idk how it happened but bros a good boy😭, oral(f receiving), hand job, sex(p in v)

ngl this is not my best work unfortunately:( it just feels like i rushed too much at certain parts but i just didn’t want it to be too repetitive to other stories with too much detail when we all know how the games work. send me some requests, i wanna do au or write for thanos where the reader and him are outside of the games

not responsible for the content you consume, use discretion when reading past the border. 18+

“Señorita, excuse me.”

You turn, an eyebrow already raised at the strange pet name you’d just been called. It’s a tall, young ish man. You take in his appearance; his hair is a bright shade of purple, slender fingers painted like infinity stones, marked with dark tattoos, chunky rings, and a cross necklace.

You don’t respond, instead continuing to walk in the eerie room painted like the sky, with a giant doll at the other side.

You sigh, still confused at how you ended up here with 456 other people in ugly green tracksuits and millions, if not billions, of won in debt.

He raps you a song, also stating his name is Thanos, which you try to tune out but its mediocrity makes you stifle a laugh. He notices, and your sweet smile makes him smile.

“I like you.” He says, flashing you a little heart with his fingers. You roll your eyes, walking past him as he lingers on your trail.

A man runs out, player 456, you note. He begins screaming, saying the game was “Red Light, Green Light” and the doll was going to kill us if we moved. His reaction makes you nervous, his fear seemed so genuine.

“My dad comes home like this sometimes,” Thanos says, noticing your shift in demeanor. “Saying there’s bugs in the walls and his phone’s been tapped by the government.”

“Do you think the guy yelling is high?” You ask.

He smirks a little before answering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Fuck no.”

The game begins, and Thanos takes your hand. You go to pull away but his grip is tight.

“Let go.” You whisper, on a red light.

“Come on, señorita. Let’s stick together.” He whispers back.

Before you can respond, the girl in front of you starts screaming about a bee landing on her. She faces you both and laughs a little.

“Oh, shit. I just moved, didn’t I?”

Bang.

Blood splatters on you and Thanos’ face.

“Don’t scream.” He whispers, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your body is in shock, frozen. You grip his hand in return now, trying to hold your shaking.

More rounds continue, but neither of you move. That is until the man tells you to finish you have to be behind the doll. Thanos moves you behind him, and you press your head into his back with your eyes shut tight, gripping his jacket. He slowly moves, pulling you with him.

A woman reacts to the body, and an another shot goes off. Panic ensues, as people run and shots fire continuously. All you can hear is screaming and shooting.

During the next green light Thanos doesn’t move, but you feel him fidgeting around. Two rounds go by of this before he finally moves again.

He lurches forward, and you feel him go “Ding” as he pushes a group of people down. Three shots ring off, and during the next green light you let go of him. He doesn’t even notice, skipping and jumping and dancing during every green light.

In the end, you survive. Splattered in blood, yes, but alive nonetheless.

You avoid him after that, feeling unnerved by the way he played during the games. You noticed him sharing a pill with a guy later, which made his behavior in the game make sense to you.

You sat on your bed, your face buried in your knees as you rocked back and forth. The lights were out, everyone going to sleep but, how could you? After everything you saw?

You glanced up at the piggy bank, glowing gold

and filled with won.

———

The next game was about to begin.

You had been brought into a room, eerily similar to the one with the doll, except the room had rainbow tracks and pink suit men standing around it. They ordered you to get into teams of 5.

You wandered around, searching for a group of people who wouldn’t kill you for fun.

“Hi.”

You turned, facing a handsome dark haired man, his hair half tied up. He was neatly kept, carrying himself with confidence and grace, despite everything.

“Hi.” You respond, meekly.

“Would you like to join our group?” He motions to the 4 men behind him. Their faces are stoic, but they look friendly enough. You notice the one man on the team was the one who warned everyone about the last games. You accept their offer; it’s not like you really had a choice anyway. Besides, why not let them pity you if they felt sorry enough to offer you a spot? No one else was itching to have you on your team…

Or so you thought.

On the other side of the room, Thanos was searching for you to be in his group. He felt inclined to protect you now after the events of the first game. The drugs were fueling him into wanting to be the hero of your story. He was convinced he could you get out of here, and you would tell the world Thanos the Great saved you with a snap of his fingers. Besides, such a sweet face like yours? It would be such a waste for you to die somewhere so silly.

He finds you, in the sea of people, talking to another man.

He fumes with rage, the ecstasy making him react more uncontrollably than usual.

He bites his lip, all of his prior convictions now forgotten. Let the bitch die then, he thinks to himself.

The games start, and players drop like flies from the first groups alone.

Thanos’ team goes, and you can’t help but cheer when you see them play successfully. You jump up and down, laughing and clapping at their win.

Thanos locks his eyes on yours, noticing your childlike joy at his win. It makes him strangely prideful, makes him forget why he was so mad at you in the first place.

He bows to you, like a musician after a performance. You blush a little, smiling at him, forgetting why he scared you in the first place.

Your team is last, and you’re up first playing ddakji. Your whole team plays successfully, and you survive another round of the games.

You go back to your bunks, Dae Ho wrapping a friendly and comforting arm around you as you both walk. You sit with your group, eating and laughing while you slowly forget the chaos around you.

Thanos watched it all play out with Dae Ho again. His palms were sweaty the whole time, hoping you’d survive and walk back into that room. The second you walked back through the door alive, his eyes were on you.

“Are you good?” Nam Gyu asks Thanos, noticing his eyes constantly following you.

“I don’t know what the fuck are you talking about.” Thanos spits, defensively. He takes another pill, needing the courage for his next move.

“Let me have one.” Nam Gyu begs. Thanos reluctantly hands one over.

Nam Gyu takes it with haste, as Thanos stands and makes his way towards you. He quickly gets up and follows his friend, ready for whatever fight may come.

Each time you laugh at Dae Ho, Thanos picks his pace up a little faster. He’s convinced that it’s like with each laugh that slips past your honey coated lips, then the closer Dae Ho is to getting to taste them. He sways his body unnaturally as he walks, wanting to appear more bad ass than he really felt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He says as he approaches you.

“Thanos.” You say, a warning in your voice to leave you alone.

“You good, bro?” Dae Ho asks.

“Why the fuck are you talking to my girl?” He addresses Dae Ho now. You and Dae Ho both scoff in disbelief, but this is how your reaction played out in Thanos’ mind.

They both laugh

“Dae Ho, you’re so funny.”

“Well, you’re sexy.”

“Let’s make out and fuck right here in front of Thanos.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

He reaches his hand out, grabbing you by your jacket and yanking you to your feet.

“Thanos!” You yell. Dae Ho and In Ho stand up to diffuse the situation. Before they can even intervene, you land a closed fist to Thanos’ eye.

He backs away, holding it as a little cut forms.

“Crazy bitch.” He says. He points at Dae Ho. “You stay away from her.”

“Fuck off.” You yell at Thanos. He backs away, still facing you and nodding his head in anger. His face reads This isn’t over.

“You okay?” Dae Ho asks. You nod, slightly breathless.

The way Thanos grabbed you was rude,

unnecessary,

controlling…

and hot.

You wanted to kick yourself for feeling so attracted to him in that moment. He was mentally unstable, high; everything that could be wrong with a man, he was.

Yet here you were, yearning for a piece of him just as he yearned for you.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep in your bunk. You were stressed with nerves, with the thought that each next day could be your last. You tapped your foot relentlessly against the frame of the bed, until a person above you made a threat.

You sighed, getting up and walking to the door to be let to the bathroom.

You washed your face again for what was probably the 15th time, feeling like the blood was still on you.

You didn’t even hear the door, didn’t hear him walk up behind you, didn’t notice he was there until his hands were on your hips.

You gasped, turning with your fist, ready to make a collision; but Thanos was quicker than you this time, catching your wrist before you could seal the hit.

“Whoa.” He said, “Relax, girl.”

“What are you doing in here?” You yelled at him. He shushed you, making a tcht tcht tcht sound.

“You embarrassed me out there.” He said, tilting his head to show you his bruised eye.

“You? How about you yanking me to my feet in a room full of people?”

He says nothing, but he smirks at you.

“You’re just so pretty. How am I supposed to sit back and watch my girl flirt with other men?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s what I know you are.” He says lowly, his hand resting against your throat. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours. You don’t ask, you just take from people. You’re a bully.”

“What are we, kids on a school yard? I’m a bully?” He steps closer than he already was, pressing himself into you.

“Yes.” You whisper out.

“Quiet now, aren’t we?” He teases, his voice low.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just fucking do it.” You say.

He laughs loudly, “Kill you? Get serious, girl.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You say nothing. Your hands are pressed against the counter top of the sink, and his body is pressed against yours. Chest to chest, you have nowhere to go.

“Move.” You say. Your eyes are locked, and you feel like prey being tortured by predator. Tortured in the way he’s doing nothing, just staring you down. He doesn’t budge still.

You grab him by his collar, pulling his face inches from yours.

“Move.” You say again, your voice pleading.

He notices. You’re not pleading him to move because of fear, you’re pleading for him to move because of lust.

His fingers trail up your arm, then trace your jaw to pull your chin up. He laces his fingers through your hair, pulling you so that your lips are on his.

He didn’t expect you to kiss him the way you did, it took him by such surprise, which he dared never admit because he was almost never surprised. But the way you grabbed his collar, trying to pull him so deep into you that you both might collapse into each other like stars.

“Where’d this come from?” He asks breathlessly, barely able to break away from you to get the question out.

“Can you just shut up?” You say quickly, pulling him back into you.

“As my queen commands.” He says, matching your ferocity with the kiss.

Both of his hands rest on your cheeks while he kisses you, but you take one and slowly push it down to your sweats.

“Why so eager?” He asks, breathlessly.

“You’re talking too much.” You say, pushing him off you. “Get on your knees.”

He scoffs, shocked. “Are you serious?”

You nod, and so he listens. He kisses down your body, tugging on your sweats when he’s on his knees. He kisses your thighs, mumbling sweet nothings about your body that were too soft to hear.

“Thanos-“

“Su Bong.” He corrects you, needing to hear you moan his real name.

“Su Bong, please don’t tease me.” You whine, so he concedes. Lifting up your leg onto his shoulder so he can kiss and lick and suck every part of you. You whine, pulling his purple tufts of hair.

“You are so sweet,” He whispers. “Sweet like candy.”

“Oh, my boy.” You moan, egging him on. His nails grip into your thighs unintentionally. He’s just so desperate for you, desperate to taste every drop.

Your nails dig into his forearm, scratching for release.

“Please, oh, please, Su Bong.”

He looks up at you, pupils dilated like the size of black holes. You throw your head back, grinding your hips into his mouth, chasing your release.

You pull his hair harshly, and he digs his nails into your thighs even more as you release. You cry out, repeating his name like a prayer, and he moans into you, fueling your release. He doesn’t miss a drop.

He comes off you, breathless. He sets your leg down, pulling your sweats back up as he stands.

You stare at each other, both of you panting in silence for a few moments. You sneak your hand down, resting it against his hard crotch. You smirk a little, and he mirrors it.

“I think I love you.” He moans as you rub him.

“I think you’re high.” You respond, and he laughs and nods. He leans down to kiss you again, gentler this time.

“Do you want one?” He asks, nodding to his necklace. You hesitate, but end up shaking your head no.

“I think we should head back.” You whisper, still rubbing him. He shakes his head no, moaning into your neck. He grips your jacket in desperate agony.

“I need you so bad.” He finally admits.

“Fine.” You fold, and he’s ever so quick to pull your sweats back down. He unhooks one of your legs from the pants, pulling it up so he can rest it around his hips as he pushes his sweats down just slightly so he can insert himself into you.

So, there you both are. Standing with one leg hooked around him and absolutely gripping the sink as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You don’t even try to hide your moans, throwing your head back in euphoria as Thanos buries his face in your neck with shameful whimpers. You grip onto whatever part of him you can for support. Your back is slamming into the edge of the sink over and over, surely leaving a bruise on your tailbone.

He kisses and sucks on your neck, leaving dark bruised purple hickeys on every inch. Marking you, so that you knew who you belong to and so that everyone else out there knew too.

His thrusts were relentless, and the angle he fucked you was crucial, hitting into your cervix each time. Your hands pushed on his hips, resisting his movements slightly, which only fueled him more.

“Stop it.” He moans.

“You stop, you’re being so rough.” You whimper.

“This is me being gentle,” He says. “You want something less than this, then I better not ever catch you speaking to another man again.”

You moan in defeated acceptance, grasping at his shoulders instead for balance. His perfect thrusts make you leak all over him, his pants soaked with your juices.

“You’re so wet.” He moans. “I think you’re gonna make me cum.”

You tighten around him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, and you yank him by the collar to pull his lips onto yours.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, oh please.” You beg him, between kisses.

“I’ve got you.” He manages to get out, holding you as you let out the most heavenly cry. Your moans send him over, and he pulls out to spill himself all over your cunt.

He smears it on your folds with his hands, and you smack his chest, giving him a push off you while he laughs at your irritability.

“You’re such a dick.” You say, wiping yourself with a paper towel from the dispenser. He kisses your neck with a smirk.

“Come lay with me when you’re done.” He says, walking out of the bathroom.

You roll your eyes, cleaning yourself up before walking out.

You re enter the bunks, searching the room for his bed. He’s in a lower ish one, laying down with hands resting behind his head and his eyes blissfully closed. Your eyes move back and forth between his bed and your empty one, until your feet start moving before your mind can even decide.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when you crawl in beside him. He just wraps his arm around you, kissing your temple as you both drift off to sleep,

both of you blissfully unaware of the horrors of tomorrow’s game…

Part 2?

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Your writing is mwah 💕 if you ever want, can you do a spoiled bratty femme who's possessive (for example: gripping abby's chin, leaving kiss marks, hickeys, sitting on abby's lap etc), mouthy, playful x possessive!dom!abby too? it starts sfw (with a light 'fight/argument' between them being both jealous and then turn into nsfw? ilyyyy 🫶🏼✨

also abby is too fuckin hot to handle ah...i need her carnally

content: 18+ content, possessive bratty reader/possessive dom abby (toxic duo), fem reader, hickies, nail scratches, and lipstick stains left on each other, mentions of possessive behavior at parties and during sex, reader likes to stalk abby's socials, ellie cameo (she is a friend of reader who abby is jealous of), argument and insults leading to rough sex, grinding, manhandling, clit stim & fingering (r! receiving), groping (tits and ass), strap-on sex, petnames (princess, 'abs')

word count: 2.7k

You don’t enjoy getting jealous, but it can’t be helped at times. Especially not the times when you are harmlessly stalking Instagram comments left on Abby's posts and see girls flirting with her in them. Not that she’d ever entertain it, of course. It's the fact that the comments are there is what gets you irrationally mad. You wonder if she has read them. You wish she would just take them down instead of leaving them up for your own humiliation, for others to see the way cherryvalentine_90 spams filthy things under your girlfriend's gym pictures.

Simply sitting on your couch, adorned in baggy pajamas and humble mismatched underwear, you spend your time sabotaging by taking deep dives through Abby's instagram. You eventually reach the bottom of her page, but not before you end up bitter. Reruns of an old tv show are only existing in the background now, leaving a tense feeling throughout the room that poor Abby is unaware of in her own house, probably thinking sweet thoughts of her pretty girl. 

You nearly drop your phone when Abby randomly calls you. Your brain goes through a small, impulsive thought process. You hit the red circle, and go back to doom scrolling. Your instagram reels are all shitty regurgitated tiktoks and you’ve never even cared to watch them before, but you’re hardly paying attention now anyways. You know Abby is going to worry. She will call again and text until she inevitably knocks on the door, and then the familiar cycle will pan out.

You don’t mean to be jealous. 

It’s rare in the past that you cared this much about trivial matters involving your partner. With Abby though? Things are entirely different. You feel the need to always kiss and love on her when you’re in public and other girls are staring, like at a party last week when she had her hands spread out around your waist the entire time as you sat on her lap to keep other girls from even looking at her. The constant need to remind her that she is yours lives within you, and it isn't a subtle one, either. But is it really so bad to cover your girlfriend's lovely tits in a hickey or two? Is it really the worst if you stalk her instagram, and often find yourself cupping her face while you look so intensely at her pouty lips, smashing yours onto them to imprint your own name into them through kisses?

Abby isn't a saint, either. Often will you feel her lips ghost over your neck, leaving dark purple marks and whispering to allege that you’re hers and nobody else’s. Reminding you that not another soul gets to touch you or fuck you, and not a single person in this party will be leaving with you but her. At the same time, Abby loves to make fun of you for getting jealous while she feels the same bouts of possessiveness. The only difference is, she is subtle and quiet about it. You don’t hesitate to make a scene over another girl even glancing Abby’s way.

You can’t be too surprised by the terse knock on your front door. You stand up, heading to the door with attitude-filled defenses prepared. 

You open the door to an Abby with her arms crossed, in a tank top that makes you want to pull her in and forget all about the grievances (of absolutely nothing), but you are unfortunately too much of a brat for that. 

“What did I do this time?” Abby asks, already sounding utterly exasperated. 

“Nothing you did, of course. I just don’t appreciate it when you don’t delete the countless comments other women leave on your posts. You must like the attention.” You state in a fake nonchalant tone, though you’re far from anything calm. Abby knows this, too.

Abby scoffs at you, but almost seems amused at your reasoning for acting out. “Seriously? You know I don’t check my comments like you do, babe. I don’t even entertain that shit, and neither should you.” 

“Oh, but when my friend Ellie commented on my post, you told me to delete it.” You argue back. 

“That was because I felt like Ellie was into you!” Abby retorts, getting more defensive now. She walks right past you and into your home, sighing. “You always get way too in your head, babe. I’ll delete the comments if they make you that upset, but I’m not putting up with the attitude.” 

You feel a little childish now, standing in front of her after a major meltdown. Still, you can’t help but push. “Yeah, well Ellie would have deleted them months ago.” 

Abby’s intentions quickly change from “we can work this out” to crazy, possessive thoughts of just fucking the name Ellie out of your system. She wants to make you forget Ellie even exists. So, she does what she probably shouldn’t do on impulse. She steps forward, entering into your space. 

“You really think Ellie is better than me?” She asks, voice low and almost dangerous. When you don’t reply, suddenly obedient, she instead finds it disrespectful. Abby leans in closer, lips nearly brushing against yours. The tension heightens by multiple levels. “If you really want Ellie so much, be my guest. But don’t come crawling back the next day begging me to fuck you when she can’t get you off. If you want me, I’ll fuck you right there on your couch, no bratty attention needed.” 

Her words send a wave of butterflies through your lower stomach and make your cheeks hot with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. You still can’t find your voice, tongue-tied by how quickly she shut you down. Words aren’t needed, anyway. In only seconds, your lips are on hers, your arms are wrapping around the back of her neck to allow for you to mold your body against hers. She kisses you back with equal intensity, a kiss that isn’t as sweet and tender as the previous, but instead a result of two very jealous people. 

Her hands slide down to cup your ass through your pajamas, earning herself a soft, desperate whine that she can swallow from your lips. Her tongue flicks at yours before just opting to suck on it, loving how you react to every little thing she does. 

Kisses grow more and more frenzied until Abby has enough of the touchy-feely. Her hands find your legs, hitching them up to wrap around her waist, and pick you up. You let out a surprised squeak, but don’t complain, and certainly don’t break the kiss. You crash down onto the couch in a heap, entangled, with hands roaming all over each other’s bodies. 

You are both possessive and desperate. Abby’s hands massage your hips and trail up to grope your tits through the thin fabric of your tank top, her lips nibbling on your bottom one. Your pink acrylic nails are digging into her back, scratching it up so that anyone who sees it knows she belongs to you. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” Abby says against your lips before attacking your neck. You moan, tilting your head back for more and tugging at her blonde braid, nearly yanking it when she sinks her teeth into your soft skin. She groans, leaning up above you to grab your wrists and pin them to your sides. She looks down at you with red, freckled cheeks. “Tell me what you need, princess.” 

You try to buck your hips to show her, but she tuts, firmly pressing her hips down to keep you from moving. “With words, princess. Tell me what you want, or I’ll just bend you over my knee and have my way with your ass before I fuck you.” 

You swallow at the threat. Part of you wants it, but another is too impatient. “I want you to fuck me right now.” You don’t plead your words nor grow shy on her yet, but you typically never do. No, with Abby you grow incoherent for different reasons. The dumber you grow dumber the more the evokes desperation within you, not shyer. 

Abby smiles, a hint of pride within the expression. She flips you onto her lap, your legs on each side of her waist. You don’t hesitate to grind on her lap, trying to feel friction. Along with that, you suddenly feel something in her pants. You pause, and she scoffs playfully. “What? I know you, baby. I knew how this little visit was gonna end.” She simply says, guiding your hips to move against it, making you breathless. 

“W-Well, I wasn’t exactly thinking about that.” You reply back defensively, leaning down to bury your face in her neck. You purposely suck hickies all over the expanse of skin until she pries your mouth off of her like a kitten being held up by its scruff, dragging your face to hers. 

Abby kisses you to distract you from her hand dipping into the waistband of your pajama pants. When you suddenly feel two fingers teasing your clit through your panties, you jolt and let out a shaky moan into her mouth. Abby teases, rubbing circles over the slightly swollen bud. When she trails her fingers down just an inch, all she can feel is wetness. Your panties stick to your pussy, and Abby can only imagine the lewd imprint of your folds against the fabric. 

She pulls away from your lips, but not too far. “You want me to fuck you? Wanna ride my fingers, get yourself ready to be split open?” You eagerly nod against her forehead, but she only cups your pussy. “Words, princess. Say you want me to fuck you.” 

“I want you to fuck me, abs. Please.” You plead the words, hips moving against her hand to find friction. Abby is too impatient to tease you any longer, yanking your pajamas down along with your panties and sliding her fingers through your folds. You wantonly moan, stabilizing yourself by placing your palms flat on her chest so you can grind your clit against her fingers. 

Soon, you feel two fingers dip into your pussy, opening your hole up and prepping it for her cock with scissoring motions. You just helplessly take it, letting out short pants as she fucks you open. You could cum so quickly with just this, and she isn’t even trying to feel for your g-spot. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” She asks demandingly. You gasp when she reaches down to give your clit a soft tug, rolling it between her fingers and relishing in the way you try to squirm away as if it’s too much. 

“It belongs, fuck!, it belongs to you, Abby. I’m so wet for you, abs..” You assure her, shamelessly desperate. Abby seems pleased by this answer, letting her fingers grow soaked with your juices that drip down her wrist until she flips you onto your back, making haste with unzipping her pants and taking out her cock, grasping it in her hand. You make a confused sound, reeling with her manhandling. 

“Belongs to me. Not Ellie, not some random bitch from a party, no. Just me.” She affirms this statement by letting the tip of the strap catch on your clit, pressing it upward teasingly. But her voice isn’t teasing–rather a dark, possessive tone she only uses when you have her riled up. 

Abby’s jealousy runs just as deeply as yours does, if not more. The only difference is time management. The when. When Abby isn’t in the most dominant mood and the both of you are simply making out, she will happily let you smother her skin in your lipstick stains, knowing you’re going through some possessive fit over her. She isn’t intending to go sing your name in the streets covered in red lipstick stains, but she doesn’t complain when you post pictures of the incident on your story for other people to understand that Abby is yours. 

Abby, however, doesn’t need to post the way your pussy wraps around the girth of her strap. She doesn’t tend to be as publicly explicit. But, when you rile her up, you receive what you ask for. You cannot count on your fingers the times that Abby has had you crying with the raw feeling of overstimulation because you pushed her so far with the bratty act, neither can you recall the instances of being denied orgasm after orgasm for even mentioning another woman’s name. 

So, you can’t be surprised when Abby’s girthy strap abruptly finds its way into your pussy, stretching you out, forcing more in inch by beautiful inch. You can’t be surprised by the way she forces your legs around her hips, that way she can feel connected and entangled to every inch of you. She wants you to feel her from the tips of your toes to the hairs on your head. 

Abby’s hips draw back, leaving just the artificial tip in you. Then she slams forward, burying herself to the hilt inside you. You cry out, but to no avail. 

“Bet Ellie wouldn’t fuck you like this. She couldn’t even make you cum once.” She spits, and the bitter tones in her words make your pussy wetter, easier for her to slide in and out of. She finds your clit with her fingers, harshly rubbing it but with a level of skill that leaves you already unable to take it despite not even cumming yet.

“S-So much, fuck!” You cry when you can feel her stroke your cushy insides, just where your sweet, vulnerable spot lay hidden. Her hands rest on both sides of your head, holding herself up. She starts fucking you at a relentless pace, slamming back and then into you to make your that gooey spot deep within you feel it. Nobody else gets to have you like this, and nobody gets fucked by Abby like you get to be.

“Ellie couldn’t handle you, not with the way you’re clenching around me.” Abby laughs, and she swears she can see the outline of her dick in your lower stomach when she glances down. She is in a trance watching the satisfying way the unnaturally colored dick simply gets swallowed up by your pussy. You have to glance down to see what all the fuss is about. 

Abby looks back up, leaning down to leave kisses on your collarbone. “None of those girls on instagram get fucked like this. Only mine.” 

"Abby, please. Need to cum for you, please..” You mumble in her ear, scratching up her back with your nails just to hear her breath hitch for you. Your words grow more incoherent, and you can only hope that she can understand you and give you what you're craving.

“Cum for me, princess. I wanna feel you make a mess on this couch.” Abby tells you, picking up the pace with her strokes. It only takes Abby’s possessive remarks of “mine��� muttered repeatedly in your ear to get you to the finish line. You cum around the toy, walls pulsing rhythmically. 

“Fuckkk,” Abby curses when your orgasm triggers her down, and you can feel her cum dripping onto your own pussy through the harness. She buries herself as deeply inside of you as she can, and you just feel her grind into you, trying to feel more and more sensations on her clit. Abby rides out the orgasm until you feel her come back down to Earth, breathless and sweaty. Your legs squeeze around her hips, and she soon lays on top of you like a weighted blanket. 

The silence that follows the intense sex is peaceful, Abby’s weight comforting, and your hands roaming over her biceps and back in a soothing manner calming her down back to Earth. Both of you simply bask in the aftermath of the chaos, and now the old-timey show in the background is rather comforting, not as tense. 

“Next time I do something stupid that you don’t like, just tell me please.” Abby mumbles in your ear, tone softer than previously. 

“I’m sorry for freaking out, I promise.” You say, kissing her cheek. 

Abby shakes her head, nuzzling into your neck. “I don’t mind your brattiness. Just tell me forreal, though. Don’t ignore my calls.” 

You nod, squeezing her tightly. Don’t ignore calls, got it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have an attitude over said phone call..

[taelortot]

The Sun and the Moon

Part zero: Introduction (four screenshots and drabble)

Characters are in college!!!!!

Megumi Fushiguro was not known to be the most patient person in the world. Growing irritated with those who took up too much of the allotted time he allowed for. This would apply to basically everything— getting ready for the day, deciding on what to order at restaurants, perusing the grocery store when only going in for one item— and the list goes on and on. His patience was limited, growing thinner and thinner as the days passed. Megumi was also not known to be the sweetest man in the world, no no no. Quite the opposite really. Snapping at those who interrupted him, growing angry with people who got off task, and frustrated when no one could pay attention for more than 5 minutes.

That applied to everyone. Everyone he’s ever interacted with his whole life. Everyone who has looked his way.

Everyone except y/n.

It baffled his friends. Seriously throwing them through a loop that the man who yelled at them for speaking over him, was now allowing this petite girl to interrupt him to say the clouds look pretty.

“They do, baby” he would smile, turning his full attention to his girlfriend, taking in her beauty as she looked towards the sky.

Huffs and sighs coming from his friends, eyerolls and arms crossing as Megumi allowed his girlfriend to point out little shapes she saw in the puffy white clouds.. instead of continuing to discuss the plan for the mission they were going on in a few days. When his attention eventually returns to where it should have been, his hands always find their way to the girl who is sitting as patiently as she can. Holding her hand in his, calloused thumb brushing over the pretty promise ring he purchased a few months ago. Or one hand on the back of her neck, fingertips massaging her skin, running his fingers through her soft vanilla scented hair.

It wasn’t always like this. It took time. It took time to realize she was always going to be 20 minutes late no matter how early she started getting ready because— “I couldn’t decide between this pink skirt or the other one” or “I couldn’t find my wedges so I had to change my whole outfit to match these ones” and Megumis favorite “I lost my cherry lip gloss that you love so much so I had to find it, doesn’t it taste good?”

So he learned to be patient with her. Only because y/n is hands down the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. AND, she always gave him road head when they are running late to make it up to him.

Oh and he’s so fucking in love with her it’s stupid.

So fucking in love with the vanilla scented girl.

Sweet and syrupy. Sticky and warm. Like sugar cookies and waiting for Santa to come down the chimney.

Giving Megumi a taste at the childhood y/n insists he should have had.

At first Megumi couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that y/n was definitely not all there—In a constant state of carefree living. At first, he truly wondered if she was dropped on her head a few times—only because the shit that came from her mouth were absurd most of the time.

“Do you think if I pet raccoon I could train him to dance?”

“I really wish I could see an alien and ask it if they like ice cream— oh my god what if they don’t even have ice cream? Should I buy some just in case they visit me tonight?”

“Do you think your puppies can smell when I’m sad?”

And that list goes on and on and on. Mostly consisting of questions Megumi has now learned how to answer. Even if the answers don’t make sense.

"I'm pretty sure he could learn to dance, sweet girl."

"What flavor do you think they would like, baby?"

"I think they can sense your emotions, pretty girl"

When I say it took time for Megumi to really understand y/n, I mean it took TIME. But, after finding out the girl has severe adhd, it all made sense. Now he can sit back and enjoy that funny things she does.

As well as relishing in the comfort she gives him. It's like no other. How understanding she is, how she cares for him, how she takes care of him in ways he cannot comprehend. No one has ever taken the time to understand him, to REALLY understand him. Growing fiercely protective of his baby, keeping her safe from those who wish to tear her down in any way they could.

"you're not stupid, pretty girl. they are just jealous of how beautiful you are"

Now... that's always a touchy topic for y/n. Sure, the girl may be a bit ditzy and unaware-- but, why would she need to have a brain when Megumi could do all the thinking for her? A word Megumi heard a lot was 'bimbo', a word he had to look up after some frat guy called y/n that. And... while that might be correct, Megumi didn't see anything wrong with that. Well, the only issue he had was that every person who saw y/n sexualized her. Other than that, he had no issue with how naive and attractive she is. Always making sure to grab a handful of her tits whenever any male looked at her chest a little too long. Earning a giggle and a-- "Gumi, that tickles!"

God she was so innocent. And soooo in love with her boyfriend of 1 year.

There was something about the way she looked at him. A twinkle in her eye or something. It started from when she first made eye contact with him, as if the word stopped and he was all that mattered.

As if he's the one who drags the stars out of the dark every night.

As if he is the reason the moon shines so bright in the dead of night.

Or maybe Megumi was the moon to her. Illuminating the dark to guide her home, keeping her safe from what lurks in the shadows.

Like the way the moon influences the tides with its gravitational pull, Megumi pulled her in whatever direction was best for her. And no matter what, with Megumi by her side, she knew there would always be another bight night.

Another night to sleep safely.

Another night to hear the owl's hoot.

Another night to stay up late talking to the love of her life.

Just another night to be with him.

His little innocent girl— well mostly innocent. The things he’s done to her would surly send them both to hell.

But!! We can discuss that later.

Anyway, there isn’t one thing Megumi wouldn’t do for y/n. He would go to the ends of the earth just to see that pretty smile. While he remained standing with a cool and calm exterior, his body vibrates when he sees his girl. His chest on fire when he sees her smile. Oh god, and don’t get him started on her laugh. When he dies, he hopes that’s the last thing he hears.

It’s like on a semi cloudy day, the way the sun peaks out from behind the clouds, shining rays bursting through to create the most elegant shadows. Or when the sun shines down on painted glass, a mosaic of colors dancing on the sidewalk.

Maybe she’s just the sun.. maybe y/n is Megumis' sun. The thing that keeps him warm, the thing he needs every single day to survive, the light in his dark heart, reminding him that there will always be another day.

Another day to see the sun.

Another day to hear bird chirping.

Another day to be see the love of his life.

Another day to kiss her.

Another day to hold her.

Just another day with y/n.

taglist: @vellichor01 @loveyislost @gradmacoco @koreluvsspring @ersharyzst

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE

My son Braden brought in a couple of beers - I'd been cutting back and was on a fitness kick, but this felt like a special occasion. But as he set them down on the side table he knelt down in front of the couch, his thick muscle filling out his black T-shirt and jeans.

I had a good idea what was going to happen. "Um, Brade... this is supposed to be YOUR homecoming," I said.

My son looked up at me. He had a killer smile, and some gorgeous looks he'd partly inherited from his mother, fair haired, ruddy complected, cute dimples. The square jaw, roman nose, and brown eyes were mine, though.

"It is, Dad," he said. God, somehow his voice had gotten deeper during his deployment. "I've been thinking about this for months." His hands reached forward and undid my belt then the button of my khakis.

"You sure, buddy?" I asked. We'd moved past the furtive, guilty phase, but this was incest, and I was always looking for a way to put the breaks on things with Braden.

"Sure, I'm sure, Dad." His fingers skill fully peeled down my briefs and pulled out my growing dong. I topped out at 7 and a half inches, and very thick. Braden had almost a carbon copy of my dick, just a smidge shorter, only I'd left his foreskin on. But he wasn't concerned about pulling out his own meat. Instead, he examined my heft and pulled it toward him. "Sit back and let me take care of you."

And like that my hunky Marine son started to give me a slow, loving blowjob.

***

I've made mistakes in life, God knows, but Braden wasn't one of them. Even if he was the result an unplanned pregnancy - wouldn't you know... my swimmers did the job the first time I got laid at 16. I did the right thing in marrying Susan, and we were a good team, at first. Me working full time even as I got my econ degree in college. And me somehow fitting in my CFA studying in between work and child care.

Susan and I made it work, until it didn't. There was no love and no sex, just a partnership in raising our kid. Braden was 8 when we divorced. The only bad part was seeing my son go through that, and visiting with him only on custody weekends and holidays.

He rebelled in his teen years. Brade was good at sports, or more accurate to say that's all he cared about. He refused to take school seriously, and the more I got on his case the more he actively resisted doing homework. Susan, god bless her, tried everything from punishment to incentives, but Braden was a solid C kid who failed sophomore English and had to do summer school.

I was pissed as hell and tried to give him a tough love lecture. Tell him he was going to fuck up his future if he didn't take school seriously. That was the first and last time Braden talked back to me. Calling me a dumb prick and a controlling asshole who wanted to be a parent only when I was in the mood to be. I was enraged, but I held it in.

After that, it was like something shifted. Brade never became a star student, but he apologized to me. He opened up about his emotions, and we talked through them. I assured him I'd be better about being there for him. I could be a workaholic and that was my way of dealing with divorce and realizing I was mostly gay. I finally told Braden that his dad was a homosexual and may at some point date another man. No time soon. I wasn't sure what I expected but my surly jock son clasped in me in a tight hug. "Me, too, Dad," he said. When he pulled back he was tearing up some. "I haven't told anyone," he said. "Don't have the guts."

That was an emotional connection with my son that I wasn't expecting.

I still had a demanding job but I made an effort to see all of Brade's football games and to catch some of his practices too. And then, in Spring, catching wrestling meets.

I'd been frustrated that my son was growing into a man very much the opposite of me. Then I came to love him for who he was. Custody visits stopped feeling like an obligation for him, and something he looked forward to.

Our first kiss just happened. Maybe there was a little sexual tension there, but Braden and I were hanging out and eye contact grew and a spark happened between us. I leaned in just a little. Braden leaned in the rest of the way. He was nervous, and so was I. But our lust took over. The forbidden aspect made us insanely horned for each other.

We made out and groped each other and stripped our clothes off. Right there in the living room, Braden made a beeline for my hard cock.

"God, I've dreamed of this, Dad," he whispered as he wrapped his fingers around the base and pulled it to his lips. "So much."

"Buddy...!" I urged in a tone that let him know he didn't have to do this. But that I wanted it.

It felt great. That was an understatement. It was the mind fuck of incest and the fantasy of seeing my jock son service me - all come to life. I wasn't Brade's first cock, I could tell, but he was still green. Innocent in his way.

I warned him I was about to cum. He sucked harder and moaned. I watched my hunky son take my load and swallow every drop.

I could taste my cum in our kiss when he finally pulled off and I gripped his neck to pull him in toward me.

"Let me do you, Sport," I urged. I was very much in the receiving is better than giving category when it came to sex, and it turns out there was a good supply of men on Grindr who were happy with that arrangement. But Brade deserved some recip head from his Dad.

That dick was a challenge, and I blushed at how much easier Braden had sucked my big cock than I was doing him. But it didn't matter. I loved the taste of him and the knowledge I had my own son's dick in my mouth. Pushing into my throat with each bob.

Brade went wild. He came buckets. I did my best.

As I finally pulled off and licked around his foreskin the best I could without overstimulating him, I heard him say simply and softly. "Thank you, Dad."

***

I took Braden's cherry the night before he shipped out to Basic Training. He didn't ask me to, and I didn't ask him if he wanted it. I just started rimming him, licking and feasting on his nearly hairless hole before I reached for the lube. As I locked eyes on him and slid one finger in and out, then two, then three, I knew Brade was ready. I wanted him so bad just then, but more than that I wanted to connect with him in the most intimate way before he went away.

Lord knows I'd lectured him about using protection. Even if Braden was the light of my life, I didn't want him facing an early pregnancy like I did as a teen. So I sheathed up my thick piece of dad meat before I slowly entered him.

I could tell it stung, maybe a lot, but Brade was a trooper. Holding on to me. Feeling up the chest muscle he loved. Focusing on the act he'd dreamed of. Pretty soon, he was feeling it, the pleasure of bottoming. It's something I'd tried only a couple of times before I realized I enjoyed topping a lot more. But Braden was getting very into it. His insides opened for me and his whole body seemed to receive the fuck, his thick athletic legs pulled back, his angelic face pleading with me as much as his deepening jock voice. "Fuck me, Dad!" he said aloud into private space of the master bedroom.

My hips began pumping for real. I'd never been so hard or so much in a sexual frenzy. I wanted this first time to last, but I knew it couldn't, not with how worked up I was and how quickly Braden was approaching orgasm. His 7-incher throbbed and jutted off his crunched abs, leaking like crazy, then quivering like his voice.

"Dad!" he hissed, his eyes widening in disbelief. I was gonna get my Brade across the finish line to a hands-free cum.

I powered the last strokes with that goal.

My son's grip on my body grew tighter, an eagle talon's grip, and his voice climbed to a high whimper.

It was a glorious sight watching that teen cock shoot unaided, all over his body. I could smell the fresh scent of sperm and see the light of the lamp make the white splotches stand out more on his still largely smooth body.

I'm the kind of guy who can't cum with a condom on. But I came inside one while I fucked my son. The sensation and physical thrill was incredible, but mostly it was the idea that Braden was fully a man now.

He loved watching me nut, and I could see a big smile sweep across his face, and a laugh came out of him. He was riding some major sex endorphins, too.

"Way to go, Dad!" he enthusiasm.

"Buddy..." I started. "Goddamn..." I reached down and held on to the rubber as I extracted my dick from my son's ass. No longer vice tight I thought lewdly as I watched my condom-sheathed head clear the breach, a heavy reservoir of cum at the end. Fucking Brade had inspired one of my healthier cum loads.

My son's eyes were on that bulbous tip. "Let me drink that, at least," he urged.

Jesus.

I nodded and scooted up in the bed, waving my still turgid dick in front of him. "Serve yourself, Sport."

His fingers peeled at the rubber and gingerly tugged it off. He brought it to his lips and up ended, taking the semen into his mouth like a shooter. Braden moaned excitedly as he swirled my cum in his mouth before swallowing it. That alone was enough to keep me rock hard.

Wide eyed, my son then discarded the spent condom and then turned back to take me into his mouth.

"You're too good to me, Sport," I hissed.

***

I told myself it was sex. Fooling around of the naughtiest kind. My own goddamn kid. The only thing that kept me from feeling completely guilty is that Braden wanted sex even more than I did. Anytime he came home we found ways to get it on nonstop. Long slow sessions at night. Him giving me road head. Us sneaking into a bathroom stall for a quickie. I got a big box of Trojans and learned to carry a couple on me at all times.

We had our first date night. And the next homecoming our first argument. We were still the odd couple, and Braden resented when I asked him what he wanted to do with his life after the Marines.

"You're just mad I didn't clear enlisting with you first," he said bitterly.

"Come on, Brade," he said. But he was right.

I was in the doghouse the next couple of nights, sleeping on the couch. Part of me resented the fact I was exiled from my bedroom, but the fact I considered it mine instead of ours - after all the ways Braden had given his body to me, after all the pleasure we'd had together - was part of the problem.

I apologized. A real apology, not a Bill half-assed apology. I told him I was in love with him.

My big tough Marine son melted at that. He got off of the kitchen stool and met me in a bear hug. "God, Dad. I love you so much. For real." My son didn't show emotion a lot but he was better at it than me. I hugged back.

Then we kissed. A real lover's kiss. A boyfriend's kiss. Soft, sensual. I didn't want that kiss to end, but it did.

"I'm gonna miss you bad, tough guy," I said, running my fingers along his square jaw.

"I'll miss you, too, Dad," Braden said. "A lot." His hand reached down to cup my crotch. I hardened up under his touch.

He gave a soft laugh. "You must think I'm some kind of nympho."

"I think you're perfect, son." I ran my fingers along his T-shirt, eager to feel the hard flesh beneath. "And I'm grateful for every way you make me happy."

Brade smiled but just took in the words. He looked down at my sweats, which were filling out big time with dad meat, getting harder by the second. "I'd so love to suck you off right now, Dad."

"Why don't you?" I asked, my voice croaking. I was getting very turned on now.

Braden's brown eyes looked up into mine. "Cause it's been three goddamn days since you're fucked me, that's why."

We kissed, harder this time, and began stripping one another. I wanted this to be romantic, a slow screw in the master king-sized bed I'd been exiled from. Braden wanted to be bent over the kitchen table and taken like a whore with just a little cooking oil for lube.

We did it Brade's way.

It was hot, crazy hot, and we'd gotten carried away. In my mind I knew we were fucking without protection. And given how much in heat my Marine son was, there was a good chance he was ovulating. But it felt so good being inside him raw. Intimate with my boy like this. My big hunky, muscled boy, taking my dick and asking for more. Calling me Dad as I railed him.

My Dad brain won out. I pulled out just before I came. I only had to give two tugs and I was firing out one of my biggest loads, all over his muscled back. Brade tried to wiggle his way back onto my but I held him apart. My son was definitely in full fertile heat.

I pulled him up and kissed his neck as he went for his cum, my own semen cementing his back to my chest as I growled how fucking hot incest was. How I wanted to fuck my son every single day. I got a little rough in my fantasy talk. Not only did Braden not mind, the scenario I was describing got him to shoot big. I loved feeling him orgasm as I held his body. Not seeing his face but knowing the intensity of his cum from the way his muscle tensed and shook.

We came down from the sex high and laughed at how carried away we'd gotten. I patted his chest and nuzzled my face against him. "All right young man," I said in a voice that was playful even as I meant every word. "You're going on the pill."

***

It was super hard to see him go off again. He had another year on his enlistment contract. I stayed off Grindr and all the apps. No hookups, no dates. Partly it was my desire to be faithful and monogamous with my son. None could compare to my Branden anyway.

My son made a show of pulling out his birth control pills when he was home next, setting him on the counter.

"I've been taking them, Dad," he said proudly.

I laughed, stepping up to him. "You didn't think I'd trust you?"

He shook his head in a way that maybe I didn't trust him enough. "You know I'm crazy about you, sir, but you got some control issues."

"Just wait till you're a father," I said.

Brade got a serious look on his face. "You won't let me be one." His hand was now reaching down to cup my crotch. I'd learned to go commando whenever Braden was home, with just some shorts or sweats that could come off easily. So my son was now feeling a very hard piece of dad dick through some flimsy gym shorts.

My heart pounded. It had never occurred to me that Braden would want to get pregnant, especially that he'd want to be knocked up with MY kid.

"You think about that, buddy?" I asked, looking into his hunky-adorable face and his soulful brown eyes. God, I was so crushed out on my own son.

"All the fuckin' time, Dad," he replied. His fingers now slipped beneath the elastic band of my shorts to make contact with my hardon. The touch of his fingers was electric.

He looked down briefly then back up at me. "I know you're gonna lecture me about responsibility and being ready for parenthood."

"Probably, yeah," I replied. This idea was so crazy, and I needed to put the breaks on it. But my dick sure liked it. And Braden could tell.

"You like the idea, though," he said. He was now frigging my dick as our eyes locked.

"I almost didn't pull out before..." I said with a croak in my voice, getting majorly turned on. "When we barebacked."

Our kiss was intense. And I heard Brade undoing his jeans and could tell he was shucking them down as he moaned into my mouth. He was crazy turned on when he pulled back, breathing heavy. "I wish you hadn't," he said with a half apology, then turned around. Between high school sports and Marine conditioning and plenty of leg day time at the gym, Braden had an incredible ass. Round, meaty, mostly smooth except for a dusting of light brown hair that got thicker in the crack. I'm not a religious man, but some god had given me a gift.

Instantly, my hand was on his buns, feeling up that warm muscle.

"I lubed up, Dad," I heard his masculine voice say.

I ran my finger into his crevice. Even before I got to his pucker, I felt the telltale viscous stickiness. It would be our first time with petroleum jelly. Turns out it wouldn't be the last.

I scooted up. I craved to have more foreplay time with Brade, but this wasn't the time. I lined up my prick into the tacky gel and rubbed it around his hole with my cock head.

"You took your pill today?" I asked. I wanted confirmation before entering him bare. But I also wanted to hold onto that idea of knocking him up.

"Yessir," he hissed. He was backing up some, trying to get me into him. He wanted this.

I reached around and held his body. Even through the T-shirt Braden's chest was hard and warm.

"And if you hadn't... would you stop me from being inside you, like this?" God, I was getting carried away by the fantasy. Particularly as I pushed in, about a half inch of raw dad cock.

"No, sir," Braden replied. Then "Fuck yes!" as I breached him all the way. A homecoming fuck that felt more intense than the ones before. Almost more intense than taking his cherry.

It was awkward fucking standing up. I was a couple inches taller than Brade. But bent my knees a little, and Brade leaned over to brace himself on the wall as I pounded him.

"Love ya, Sport..." I said as I fucked faster and deeper. Maybe it was in my head, but Braden's ass had never felt so good.

"Love you, too, Dad. So fucking much." His voice was needy now.

The words were what I needed to hear as I pounded us both to a heavy climax.

It took me a minute of the afterglow to realize Brade was crying.

"What is, buddy?" I asked with concerned. Jesus, if I'd gone too hard on the boy, I wouldn't forgive myself.

I could hear a laugh come through. "Just happy is all.. fuck! Sorry..."

I pulled him back against me tighter. My dick had slipped out and it all felt very lewd now that the act was done with. It only added to the emotional roller coaster we were both on. "Nothing to be sorry about. Let it out, Sport.... Guess it's pretty intense dating your old man," I said empathetically.

Braden nodded. "Pretty much," he said. "It's fucked up, right?"

I thought for a second. I mean, objectively it was. And yet... "Inside this house, inside these walls, it's not fucked up, Brade. It's what's meant to be, OK?"

He turned and looked at me with an emotional openness that melted me. I wasn't good at this stuff. Relationship stuff, emotional stuff. But I knew I could assure my son in this moment.

We kissed. Softly, like boyfriends.

Then we cleaned up and talked, for hours.

***

Braden was done with the active duty part of his contract and was living with me. Full time, day in, day out. It took some getting used to. I maybe had a loner thing going on, and it was hard to shift from the Dad role to the boyfriend role. And the honeymoon period of homecoming sex quickly wore off.

It came to a head one evening. I had to work late, later than normal, even. Brade had a dinner ready for me and plated it for us.

I was still preoccupied with work, though I gave a quick thanks before digging in.

Braden picked at his food but was sulking. Finally, he set down his fork. "I guess workaholic Dad is back now," he grumbled.

I felt both chastised and pissed off. "Forgive me for making a living, Son."

"It's all you think about."

"That's not true," I said sternly.

Braden shook his head and went back to eating. Maybe he was right, but he was acting like a sullen teen again, goddamnit. And here I was the father who didn't know how quite to handle that.

I did make a point of thanking him again for the dinner and of doing the dishes. "Go kick back, Son," I urged in my best contrite voice. Braden didn't even reply but just got up and left the room. I guess it was silent treatment time.

I'd dried the last of the dished when Brade came in.

"Sorry, Dad," he said.

I turned toward him. "Oh buddy... it's me who should be sorry. You do all this work, and I come home late."

I set down the dish towel and stepped toward him. He was stepping up to me, too. Our mouths met, hungry. This was gonna be me and Brade's first time having make up sex.

"Bedroom?" I asked.

"Yeah, Dad."

We were like kids jumping into a lake, rapidly stripping off our clothes and hopping on to the bed we now shared. His body felt amazing. I mean it always did but I craved the contact now. My hunky 23 year old stud in bed with me, his hardon battling mine as I started to roll him over.

Only he stopped me. "Let me ride you, Dad. Please."

"Pretty please?" I teased.

"Pretty please, sir. I wanna ride your cock."

This was a fun change of pace, my lying back and having Braden lube up my thick cock before straddling me. The penetration was quick, too quick for my son, and he had to rise up before trying again. The second time was a charm and I watched my hunky stud sink down on my bone.

I pumped up into him, but position equally allowed Brade to use his hips to work up and down my dick. It was magnificent, like a slow steady milking motion.

"Fuck, Son... so good, buddy."

"Yeah?" he asked with a smile. "I want it to be so good for you, Dad."

"You have no idea, Sport."

That increased his determination to ride me up and down. "I took my pill today... but if I didn't..." he said with a lust-filled voice.

I grunted. The idea was hitting me hard. We'd indulged some of this talk, but it was coming back even harder than before. "I'd feel a fertile ass riding me," I answered.

Braden had to let go of his cock to keep from coming. "God, Dad... this turns you on too."

"Damn straight it does, Sport. Fucking you... knocking you up..."

Even without stroking, Brade was getting close to cumming. "It's my biggest fantasy, Dad. Having an incest baby with you."

That tripped my trigger before I expected. I was fucking up into my son, but it was the mental shock as much as the physical sensation making me shoot a heavy series of cum shots into my son's bowels.

I could sense Brade was imagining it fertilizing him. His voice quivered and his body flushed pink. And I watched his dick shoot out its thick cum as he bounced up and down hard onto my still spurting prick.

"FUCK!" he gasped.

I patted his thigh. This was intense sex, for sure, and I was starting to return to normal. "Yeah," I said.

Braden eased off and slid down next to me, meeting me in a hot kiss.

After we made out he lay his head on my chest. Like that night I took his cherry. Before he shipped off. Life has a way of coming full circle.

His voice now seemed tentative. "Dad... you know I wouldn't do that, right? Stop taking the pills without your permission?"

I patted his back muscle. "I know, buddy. It's just talk... something to get us going."

"Yeah," he said. "Only if you ever decided it was right..." he said softly.

"I know, buddy. We'll talk about it, OK?"

"OK."

***

Like moths to a flame, we couldn't avoid getting deeper into the pregnancy talk. It spiced up our time in the bedroom, then became our fixation during sex. No longer occasional, it became every single time that me and Brade talked about having kids. Me impregnating him, us imagining his body being transformed by our kid.

I occasionally opened the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom to check that Braden was still taking his pills. I felt bad that I didn't 100 percent trust him.

We tried to mix it up. Braden gave me more blow jobs. He became an expert at edging me, and that felt new and exciting.

My son and I found our rhythm as a couple. Braden got used to my long work hours, and I did my best to make weekends about us. Brade would the first to point out that I wasn't good at romance, but Sundays were Brade Day, when he'd choose what we'd do. I was a big saver when it came to money, but I learned to relax a little. For Brade Day, I'd buy tickets for to catch a baseball game or go see the nearby city football team's home game.

Sometimes for Brade Day, he'd choose to do something I wanted, which was usually playing golf. I'd object, but he insisted that relationships weren't one-way things.

That stuck with me. I'd run through it all in my head why Braden and I couldn't have kids, why we shouldn't have kids. Incest was one thing, but having a child together was another. And the practical side of my personality was persistent. I knew raising a kid would cost money. I had it, but I wasn't sure what job or career Braden had in mind for his future. If we'd be on the same page in our parenting.

OK, my idle thoughts were no longer idle.

It was fun surprising my son. It was Sunday morning, Brade Day, and it took him a while to notice. Even after his cup of coffee he was still groggy.

"Um, Dad," he asked as he walked back into the kitchen. "Have you seen my pills?"

I nodded, with my best poker face. "Yeah, Sport. I threw them in the trash."

He was processing what I was saying. "You're joking."

I shook my head. "Nope. You can feel free to fish them out, if you like."

"Oh fuck," he hissed.

This was like make up sex on steroids. Me and Braden embracing in a bear hug and then a hot kiss. Then fucking on the kitchen floor.

I'd have felt bad if we'd conceived our son like that, but even lost in my fantasy I knew it would be a couple of weeks until Braden was fertile.

But it was decided now: we were gonna have a kid together.

[littlelamy]

hey babee!! I was wondering if you could do something smutty for Rafe and reader who is pressured to do well in school/uni and always be perfect and she has had enough and just needs to be present and not worry about things all the time and her loving boyfriend is here to help her, reassuring her and praising her, telling her she doesn't need to always be perfect and stress herself out, that he loves her always, no matter what. thank you so much in advance, I love your work 💖 this is just Rafe taking care of his stressed girl basically 😔

the lamp on your desk flickers, casting a dim glow over the stacks of notes, highlighted textbooks, and your laptop screen filled with more information than you can possibly absorb. your fingers grip at the edge of the desk, your breathing shallow, the weight of everything pressing down on you, curling tight in your chest.

rafe watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed as he studies you. he’s been watching for a while, waiting for the right moment. when you sniffle, rubbing your temples with a frustrated groan, he steps in.

“baby,” he murmurs, voice soft but firm, walking up behind you. his hands slide over your shoulders, thumbs pressing into tense muscles. “take a break.”

“i can’t,” you breathe out, shaking your head, still staring at the screen. “i have to finish this. i have to get it right.”

rafe exhales slowly, his grip on you tightening slightly, grounding. “who said you have to be perfect all the time?”

you don’t answer, just swallow hard, blinking rapidly as frustration knots in your throat. you always have to be perfect. that’s just how it is. if you’re not, then what?

rafe’s hands slide down, fingers brushing over your arms before tugging you gently to your feet. “c’mon,” he says, voice gentle but insistent. “you’re done for tonight.”

“rafe—”

“no,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “you’re done.”

he pulls you away from the desk, toward the bed, pushing you down onto the mattress before he’s crawling over you, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your forehead. “you don’t have to be perfect for me,” he murmurs against your skin, hands tracing slow, reassuring lines over your sides. “you don’t have to be anything but my girl.”

tears well up in your eyes, but they’re not from frustration this time. it’s something else, something softer, something that melts the tension in your bones.

“but—”

“no buts,” rafe whispers, lips brushing against yours, hands slipping beneath your hoodie, palms skimming along the warmth of your skin. “just let me take care of you.”

his mouth finds yours then, slow and deep, coaxing the tension out of you one kiss at a time. his hands slide lower, gripping at your thighs as he presses you further into the mattress, swallowing the little whimper that escapes you.

“there she is,” he mutters, smiling against your lips. “no more thinking. just feel, baby.”

his hands grip your hoodie, tugging it over your head before his mouth is on your neck, sucking and biting, marking you up like he wants everyone to know you’re his. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, pushing them down, groaning at the sight of you bare and needy beneath him.

“fuck, baby,” he breathes, pressing a knee between your legs to spread them wider. “been stressin’ yourself out when you should’ve been begging for my cock instead.”

heat pools in your belly, thighs clenching as he presses himself against you, the hard length of him straining against his sweats. “rafe—”

he shushes you with a kiss, tongue sliding against yours, filthy and possessive. “gonna fuck all those worries outta that pretty little head,” he rasps, rolling his hips against yours. “make you forget everything except me.”

his fingers dip between your legs, teasing, stroking, until you’re gasping, arching against him. he chuckles, low and rough. “so fuckin’ wet for me already. you needed this, didn’t you?”

before you can answer, he’s pushing inside, stretching you open, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he buries himself to the hilt. you cry out, fingers digging into his back as he starts to move, slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch of him.

“feels so fuckin’ good, baby,” he grits out, pulling back just to slam in again, harder, deeper. “this what you needed? my cock stuffing you full?”

you nod desperately, nails dragging down his back, moaning as he fucks you rough and deep, pounding every ounce of stress out of your body. “so good,” you whimper, legs locking around his waist. “need it—need you—”

“yeah?” he growls, grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head as he fucks into you faster, relentless. “gonna take it like a good girl?”

all you can do is nod, sobbing out his name as he fucks you right to the edge, pushing you over with a few more brutal thrusts, his name spilling from your lips like a sweet song as you come undone beneath him.

he groans, burying himself deep one last time before he follows, filling you up, breathless and shaking. he collapses on top of you, pressing lazy kisses along your jaw, humming in satisfaction.

“feel better now, baby?” he murmurs, smirking as you whimper at the overstimulation.

“uh-huh,” you breathe out, boneless beneath him.

he chuckles, kissing your temple. “good. now you can relax… ‘cause we’re not done yet.”

lamy's notes: i hope you liked it!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

credits for divider @jiyascepter

[satinkizzes]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐎, no i wouldnt do a thing like that.

PAIRING, cho sangwooxf!young!reader.

WARNINGS; dead dove, p in v, younger reader, reader is gi-huns adopted daughter, this is shitty i just woke up, spanking, sneaking out, punishment

WORD COUNT; 1,425

The night air was crisp against your skin as you slip through the streets, the neon lights of Seoul painting the pavement in hazy colors. Your heart pounded with excitement, the thrill of sneaking out pulsing in your veins. It’s not like you were doing anything terrible—just meeting some friends, maybe going to a bar or two. But if Gi-hun saw what you were wearing, he’d probably have at least two heart attacks.

Gi-hun took you in when you were young, a girl from a troubled family who was hopping from house to house a lot of the time. He was like a father to you.

You adjusted the low rise jeans, showing off your pink little thong, almost making it to the main road when a voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You froze, your stomach dropping.

Slowly, you turned, already dreading what you’d see. And there he is, standing under the glow of a streetlamp, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like you’re a misbehaving child instead of a college student who can make her own choices.

“Sangwoo,” you said with an awkward laugh, trying to act like this was no big deal. “I was just—”

“Going out,” he finishes for you, his eyes narrowing as they sweep over your outfit—skimpy jeans, tight top, all the things Gi-hun wouldn’t approve of. He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple like you were giving him a migraine. “Like that?”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not a fucking little kid.” Who was he to tell you what to do? Sure, he was your dad’s friend but… well, maybe he was in the right.

“No, but you’re still under Gi-hun’s roof.” His voice was calm, but there was no room for argument. “And if he saw you like this—” He shook his head, already over it. “You’re still in college goddammit. Get in the car. Now. And stop swearing at me.”

You groan, dragging your feet as you make your way over. There’s no point in arguing—you’ve already lost. The car ride back is silent, Sangwoo’s jaw tight, his fingers tapping against the wheel like he’s trying to keep himself from lecturing you.

The second you step inside, you know you’re in trouble.

Gi-hun is pacing the living room, running a hand through his hair like he’s already exhausted. The moment he sees you, he stops. His eyes flick to Sangwoo, then to you, then down to what you’re wearing.

“Where the hell were you?” His voice isn’t sharp—no yelling, no immediate anger—but it’s the disappointment that makes your stomach twist.

“I was just—”

“She was sneaking out,” Sangwoo cuts in, his voice void of any sympathy. Prick. “Dressed like that.”

Gi-hun lets out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N.” He says your name like it physically pains him. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

You shift on your feet, arms tightening around yourself. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big—” Gi-hun laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. He shakes his head. “I can’t do this right now.” His eyes flick to Sangwoo. “You handle it. Do whatever you think is best.”

Your stomach drops.

“Wait—”

But Gi-hun is already grabbing his jacket, muttering something about fresh air before he walks out the door, leaving you alone.

With Sangwoo.

You swallow hard, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know why he lets you get away with so much,” he says, his voice even, but firm. “Back in my day, if I had pulled something like this, I’d have been disciplined properly.”

Your skin prickles. “I’m too old for that, you prick,” you mutter.

Sangwoo raises an eyebrow. “Not in my eyes.” He sat down on the couch, manspreading just a little. “Bend over my knee.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.” What in the world was he thinking?

“I am.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, no room for argument. “If you don’t want to respect the rules of this house, you’ll learn another way.”

Your jaw clenches. Your fists tighten at your sides.

You glance at the door, but there’s no escape. Gi-hun left Sangwoo in charge, and if you defy him, it’ll only make things worse. Heat floods your face as you shuffle forward, your stomach twisting in humiliation as you made your way over to him, looming just above him.

He looked up at you, and then down at your waist, your thong clenching into your sides. God what he wouldn’t give to take that off. “Jeans off.” He muttered, sighing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You laughed, mostly in disbelief.

But he wasn’t joking. “You heard me.” You didn’t listen, just stood there, mouth wide, not knowing what to do.

“Don’t make me do it for you.” His voice was harsh, as he straightened up against the couch.

So, you slowly unbuttoned the jeans, letting them drop as you stepped out of them. “This is so fucking weird.”

He couldn’t smirk, not in-front of you, but it took everything in him not to let out a little sign of content as he saw your pretty ass in that thong.

“Good girl. Now bend over.” He ordered, eyes burning into you.

After you stood there for a little while longer, he got impatient, pulling you down himself, a little more harsh then need be.

The strikes weren’t hard—just enough to sting, just enough to remind you that in his eyes, you’re not as grown as you think you are.

Weirdly, you found a heat pooling in your stomach, his calloused hands massaging the skin of your ass with each hit.

You squirmed a little, growing wet with every minute. And you knew he’d noticed.

“What’s this?” He whispered, dragging his fingers to the cloth over your pussy, making you jittery. “Pretty little girls getting wet over an old man punishing her?”

You didn’t reply, too embarrassed to say a word. “Answer me.” He sighed, dragging a finger over the wet clothing.

“Mm.” You mumbled, eyes closed. You wriggled a little, trying to get some damn friction between your cunt and those fingers.

He let out a laugh, a laugh of mockery, letting two of his digits slowly rub your pussy as he mumbled something under his breath.

It didn’t take long before you were bent over the sofa, completely bare and humiliated, letting the man pound into your young cunt, his fingers rubbing your clit with precision.

“Such a little slut, making me stretch you out like this. Your dad could walk in any minute you know? And see you like this, all pretty and moaning for me.” He murmured into your ear, slowing the pace.

With each thrust you let out a cry, his big size stretching you out just right. “So tight.” He mumbled. “So fucking tight for me.”

Your face was pushing down into one of the cushions, his hand gripping your hair, shoving you down more.

“Be quiet. Be a good whore and stay quiet. You should be glad I found you in that alley dressed like a skank and not someone else, they wouldn’t have been so kind.”

His thrusts became more sloppy, his breathing heavier, and you could tell by the way his dick twitched inside you he was close.

“Good girl. Gonna fill you up. S’that good?” He was mumbling in your ear, trailing kisses down your neck, he knew this was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t have tried anything. But, gods, you were so perfect and sweet for him.

With one last tiny whimper, he snapped his hips into you once more, holding you down by your neck. Bastard. You didn’t even get to come, but he filled you up, biting down on your shoulder, leaving a mark.

“You tell your dad. I won’t be so lenient on everything else i’ve seen you do.”

Fuck. That could mean anything. The drinking, the drugs, the boys. How long had he been watching you? And now, as he traipsed hickeys down your back, you stayed silent, and nodded.

When he finally let you up, you wipe at your eyes, though you’re not sure if it’s frustration or embarrassment making them sting.

“Go to your room,” Sangwoo says simply. “And next time you think about sneaking out, remember this.”

Your throat burns with words you don’t say. You don’t look at him as you storm off, slamming the door behind you.

Behind you, Sangwoo exhales, rubbing his temples. He knows you hate him for this.

But someday, he hopes you’ll understand. You were just so perfect.

[butterflywingswrites]

reposting all my anon fics in one place. enjoy 🤗

(running out of fics, send asks)

revenge sex with caitlin part 2

you made out with caitlin and ran your fingers through her soft hair

“does your boyfriend kiss you like this?”

“no” she whimpered out between kisses “you’re better”

“i’ll show you how much better i can be” you kissed down her neck, biting and leaving marks to show how good you were making her feel. you grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off over her head. you raised your eyes at caitlin’s lacy bra underneath

“cait were you planning this?”

“well i wore it just in case” she said shyly “i wanted to be pretty for you”

“you’re always pretty” you put your hands under her bra and started massaging her tits, making sure her nipples were getting the attention they clearly weren’t getting before. with your hands still in her bra, you started kissing down her abs. you always loved when she showed off her abs and now you got the privilege to kiss them. you moved your hands out of her bra to pull her pants off

“matching set? damn caitlin you really did plan this” she looked absolutely stunning in her lacy set, but she covered her face as if she were embarrassed

“i just wanted to be prepared” she squeaked out

“babygirl don’t be shy. i love it. you look so sexy. but i want them off now” you tugged her underwear off her hips. you paused for a bit, potentially a second too long

“what’s wrong? do you not want me? we can stop—“

“you’re gorgeous and i want you” it was your turn to cut her off “i’m just thinking about how i want you. do you want my fingers or my tongue?”

“mhmm both” she moaned out. clearly she’s been deprived of the sexual attention she needs

“whatever you want my pretty girl” you rubbed two fingers on her clit, gently testing out how she wanted to be touched. she responded well to that so you continued while moving her bra cup to the side. you placed a gentle kiss on her hard nipple then flicked it with your tongue. caitlin let out a soft whimper

“more” you flicked her nipple with your tongue again

“do you want me to suck on your pretty nipples?” instead of answering, caitlin just pushed your head against her chest. you gently sucked on her nipple while continuing to rub circles on her clit. the sexy moans and whimpers that left her mouth were leaving you soaked. caitlin tugged on your hair aggressively, signaling that she was close

“feels so good don’t stop” her begging turned you on even more. you kept going until she came on your fingers

“that’s it, let go babygirl” you let her ride out her orgasm on your fingers and kissed her

“fuck that was so good” caitlin said breathlessly

“i’m not done with you yet” you kissed her again “i still need to taste you” you moved your head down her body so you could eat her out properly. the way she deserves

you placed her thighs over your shoulders and moaned when you saw how wet she was. you took your time kissing her pretty thighs, enjoying the moment. when you got to her pussy you gave her a slow lick up her entrance

“fuck caitlin”

“what’s wrong? do i not taste good?” caitlin confused your words of pleasure for distaste

“no babygirl. he never tells you, does he? you taste so fucking good. i can’t wait to eat that pretty pussy” you started to lick her slowly, trying to build anticipation for her and savor the taste for yourself

“i need more” caitlin put her hands in your hair and tugged. you quickened your tongue to try and give her what she wanted. the soft moans that left her mouth told you she was getting it. you brought your thumb to her clit, already sensitive from the first orgasm you gave her. when your thumb made contact, her thighs tightened around your head. her moans got louder and you knew she was close. with a loud moan and a tug at your hair, caitlin came on your tongue. you lapped gently at her pussy, cleaning her up while trying to memorize her taste

“i bet he doesn’t make you cum like that” you smirked. caitlin was totally fucked out

“no. he doesn’t make me cum even half as good as that. not even a quarter as good” she admitted

“don’t worry babygirl, i’ll always be here to make you feel good”

[thequeenofthewinter]

I swear I am normal...sometimes. Earlier I saw this post by @emmg and GLASSES, and I just...I am a degenerate. I am going to jail. I am not even going to try to defend myself. This is the second smut work I have written in two days (and I didn't even really truly finish this one but I was just possessed to write something.) Don't look at me.

“Leave them.” 

“I beg your pardon, Rook, but what—”

Emmrich had been sitting at his desk all afternoon, pouring over a new tome in his collection, half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and totally unaware of the world around him. As far as she could gather it was special edition on metaphysical properties of the Fade. How she had wished it were her instead.

Without answering him, she shoves the papers, quills, and ink to the side before sitting unceremoniously on the edge of his desk, thighs spread wide enough so that he can see a small sliver of skin. Just enough to temp, just enough to tease, just enough to see—

“Rook,” he swallows, “are you not wearing…”

Her lips lift into a teasing smile as she places a hand gently on his shoulder. “I have been thinking of you in those damned glasses all afternoon.”

No reply.

“You know,” her fingers trace their way up his collar until a hand cups his chin, “there are much better places where your nose could be buried.”

“And what would you suggest, darling?”

She spreads her legs wider, bearing herself entirely to him before running a finger over her slit. “Right here, of course. It only stands to reason, does it not? I have been tortured thinking about what it would be like to have you between my thighs, tongue deep inside of me for hours. The image is terribly arousing.”

"I--" Emmrich forces himself to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat.

“I know you are a gentleman and a scholar, so…if you need any proof, you can seek it out yourself.”

Maker, the implication of her words. He feels himself stir at the thought as he leans forward, eyes not leaving hers until he is halfway under her skirts. 

Deep breaths, Emmrich, he reminds himself, yet somehow that is worse. The scent of her skin, the arousal he can already smell wafting off of her, causes him to twitch again.

There is no flower more tempting, no bouquet more exquisite. Rook has already given him permission, so what could one taste hurt?

His hand reaches out, fingers curling into the softness of her thighs as he spreads her further.

A moment later she feels it—the warmth of his tongue along with the sharp edge of his glasses. “Emmrich!”

Already wet, and he has barely even touched her. His tongue dives in further as he presses the flat against her, running it until he finds her entrance.

Rook’s hips lift, rutting against him desperately as she moans. The combination of pleasure coupled with the bite of glass almost sends her over the edge.

“More.” Her hands fist in his hair, twisting into the strands as she brings him closer.

And who is he to deny her?

He dives in with fervor, tongue teasing at her before dipping inside. Hot, wet, and sweet, he thrusts inside her, tongue fucking her as she squeezes her thighs lightly around him.

What he ever did to deserve her he will never know. All that he can think about are the delightfully obscene noises she makes, and how hard his cock has become. 

For a moment, he pulls back to adjust himself only to notice the smear of her slick across the lenses of his glasses, Rook’s face a vague blur looking back at him. 

Just when she thinks he is going to wipe the surface clean, he lifts them to his mouth, the tip of his tongue licking herself off of them.

Fuck.

[nameless-jamie]

PR Disaster

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Jamie Tartt was a nightmare to work for on an average day. But on a day when he was desperate? He was unbearable.

Y/N had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get through her emails while Jamie sat across from her desk, relentlessly attempting to convince her to do something insane.

“Come on, love,” Jamie pleaded, drumming his fingers on her desk. “It’s just one night. Just a little thing. Barely even a date.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at a charity gala.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

Jamie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N, you have to.”

“Oh, I have to?” She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "M'not getting paid for this so I don't have to do shit, Jamie."

"Don't be difficult, babe. I beg you!"

“Let me get this straight. You, a fully grown man, need a date to some fancy event, and instead of—I don’t know—asking out one of the many women who throw themselves at you, you come to me, your freaking assistant?”

He sighed dramatically. “I can’t take some random girl. That’d make it worse.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Worse than what?”

Jamie slouched lower in his chair and sighed. “Some wanker journalist wrote a whole article about how I’ve ‘lost my edge��� since I’ve been single. Said my game’s sufferin’ ‘cause I’m too ‘unfocused.’” He made air quotes, looking deeply offended. “He said I'm too horny for the pitch or some shit. Like, I can’t be single and good at football at the same time. It’s bullshit.”

“That does sound like bullshit.”

“Right?"

"Too horny for the pitch, is my favorite thing anyone has ever said about you, though." Y/N laughed, wiping a small tear out of the corner of her eye.

"Y/N be fucking for real right now. The plan is, if I show up with a girlfriend, it shuts everyone up. And if I take you, it don’t get messy. No expectations. No awkward post-date texts. Just you lookin’ dead fit in a fancy dress and me lookin’ like a man not in the middle of a public downward spiral.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like you’ve thought way too much about this?”

Jamie grinned. “Because I have.”

She exhaled slowly, staring at him for a long moment. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Best ones usually are.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

"And if the press wants us to kiss it wouldn't be awkward because we already did that once!"

"Jamie, that is still a fucking accident. We don't talk about that!"

"I mean I want to talk about it—" Jamie couldn't finish that sentence before a pen was thrown his way.

"Pick me up at 7. Go away now!"

The night started when he picked her up for the gala, in a freaking stretch limousine.

Y/N opened her door.

Jamie’s brain short-circuited.

She stood there in a dress that was so—fuck. It was tight in all the right places, dipping low at the neckline, hugging her waist like it was personally designed to ruin his life. Her legs? Glorious. The slit in her dress? Criminal. Her makeup? Perfect.

He actually forgot how to breathe.

Y/N tilted her head. “Jamie?”

He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to speak. “Huh?”

Her lips twitched. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking like a fucking teenager. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, you look—” He gestured vaguely at her, struggling to find a word that wasn’t fuckable. “Good. Nice. Decent.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Decent?”

Jamie winced. Fuckin’ idiot. “Nah, not decent. I meant, like, proper good. Like, unfairly good. Like—fuck, what’s the word—illegal?”

She laughed, and Jamie swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Well, that’s good to know,” she teased. “Considering I’m supposed to be your date.”

Right. The fake date. The one that wasn’t real. The one where he definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how he wanted to keep her locked in his car all night so no one else could look at her.

Jamie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Get it together, Tartt.

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “You ready to go?”

Jamie didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he just opened the car door for her, staring straight ahead as she got in—because if he looked for even a second longer, there was a very real chance he’d be showing up to the gala with a boner.

And that was definitely not part of the plan.

Y/N soon realized that the problem wasn’t the gala.

The problem was Jamie.

Because he was apparently way too good at fake dating.

For someone who was supposedly just trying to fix his reputation, he seemed very committed to the role.

He kept his hand on the small of her back all night, his thumb moving in slow circles against the fabric of her dress like it was second nature. He leaned in close every time he spoke to her, his breath warm against her ear. And worst of all, he kept looking at her like that. Like she was the only person in the room.

He also seemed to be having the time of his life making up a fake relationship history.

“Oh, yeah,” he told an interviewer from The Athletic. “She played hard to get at first, but I wore her down.”

“She pretends to be annoyed by me,” he added later, “but really? She’s obsessed.”

Y/N had to bite her tongue multiple times to avoid strangling him.

But then came the real kicker.

“She makes me a better man. I mean fuck— have you looked at her. She is not going to her own flat tonight, am I right love?”

Y/N nearly choked on her champagne.

What the fuck was he playing at?

She was fully prepared to murder him the second they got into the car.

But before she could, the event photographer asked them to pose for a picture, and—

Jamie pulled her in, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers brushing the bare skin at her side.

Her breath hitched.

And then—

Jamie fucking winked.

The camera flashed.

And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a journalist called out:

“Jamie! One more shot—how about a kiss for the cameras?”

She froze.

Jamie, however, seemed thrilled by the idea.

“Oh, yeah?” He turned to her, smirking. “What d’you reckon, love? Give the people what they want?”

She stared at him, genuinely considering murder.

But the cameras were waiting. The journalists were watching. And it's not like it would be their first one...

Jamie—the absolute menace—was already leaning in, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a real smile.

She had two options: make it awkward as hell by shutting it down, or commit to the bit.

FUCK, she was his freaking assistant. And she's totally into him. But that wasn't important right now. If she did not kiss him the press would know that Jamie Tartt brought a fake date or worse they would think that his own girlfriend hates him. If she kisses him though, the PR disaster after that would fucking suck.

Fuck it. With a deep breath, she reached up, placed her hand on his chest, and let Jamie close the distance between them.

It was barely a kiss—a soft press of lips, just enough to make it convincing. But Jamie’s hand tightened on her waist, just for a second, and her fingers curled against the fabric of his suit before she forced herself to pull away.

The cameras loved it.

Jamie did too, judging by the way he looked at her afterward.

“Not bad, love,” he murmured, his lips still inches from hers. “Please tell me that one was an accident too. Or else I might have to take you home with me tonight.”

She just rolled her eyes and shoved him. Idiot.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to absolute chaos.

Her phone had exploded.

Twitter was going insane.

She clicked on the first headline that popped up.

"Jamie Tartt Goes Public With Stunning Mystery Girlfriend at Charity Gala—And We Have ALL the Details"

She scrolled down, her horror growing with every paragraph.

"From the way he looked at her to the way he kept a protective hand on her waist all night, Jamie Tartt was absolutely smitten. Sources tell us that he was completely devoted to her the entire evening, barely paying attention to anyone else. And let's not forget the viral moment when he told reporters, 'She makes me a better man.' Our hearts? Melted."

“Oh, for fuck sake. I knew it.”

She stormed into Nelson Road, phone in hand. “Jamie fucking Tartt!”

Jamie, who had been laughing with Dani, turned at the sound of her voice. “Mornin’, love.”

She marched up to him and shoved her phone in his face. “Do you know how many people think we’re actually together?”

He barely glanced at the screen before shrugging. “Yeah. Bit mad, innit?”

“Mad? Mad?” She scrolled further. “People are already speculating about a wedding! I just got an email from Vogue asking if we’d do a couples photoshoot and a fucking interview!”

Jamie grinned. “Vogue, yeah? That’s kinda sick. Let’s do it. I can tell ‘em about how you snore when you fall asleep on the couch.”

“I do not snore.” She gaped at him. “Jamie. This is not funny.”

“Babe, you do,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, "And it’s a little funny.”

She groaned. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You love me, remember? You make me a better man.”

“You fucking prick. You even liked a post that said, ‘Jamie Tartt and his girlfriend are the it couple of the season’!”

Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause we are.”

Her jaw dropped. “We are not.”

Jamie tilted his head, a playful glint in his eye. “You sure about that, love?”

She refused to answer.

Jamie must’ve noticed her hesitation because he leaned in, dropping his voice. “Just say the word, and I’ll post a proper ‘soft launch’ photo of us on Instagram.”

She shoved him away.

But later, when she caught him scrolling through a fan edit of them kissing with that smug little smile, she had the sinking suspicion that Jamie had no intention of letting this fake relationship die anytime soon.

And worse?

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She had to clear the air, though...And the PR of all of it was going to be a fucking disaster.

[doodle-pops]

Playing With Fire

Curufin x fem!reader

Request: Can I request a nsfw!fic for Curufin? Maybe late at night reader goes to the forges to bring him to bed and he decide instead to have some fun down there with her? I always see this kind of fic for Celebrimbor and Fëanor, I think Curufin too deserves this (I love this tsundere boy). Thanks!

A/N: I have been waiting to release this fic since it got sent in. I’m mad that I waited this long before posting it.

Warnings: fem!reader, smut, rough sex, dom!Curufin, hair pulling, spanking, pet names (good girl), praising

Words: 2.2k

Synopsis: Being a good wife always had its perks, especially when all you sought was the best for your husband.

Masterlist | Navigation

One hand locked in your hair while the other gripped your waist with a precision so deadly, it reminded you of how strong your husband was truly capable of being. A sharp tug to your head and you were being turned to meet his lips in a messy, heated kiss over your shoulder while he rutted into you with the same efficiency he placed into his craft. The table shook, knocking against the wall with a loud thump, yet neither of you seemed to care—too caught up and lost in the throes of pleasure as his cock drove deeper and harder with every thrust into your wet heat.

You struggled to keep up with his lips as they devoured yours in an all-consuming kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth, hot and demanding, swallowing the little noises you made as he drove his cock even deeper. His breath was hot and raspy against your face as his mouth dragged from yours, stopping at the corners of your mouth to lick at the corners when your pussy gave a particularly harsh clench around his cock. A dark string of laughter escaped his lips when your walls continued to clench around him, giving small kisses along the length of his cock and massaging him just the way he enjoyed. The action caused his veins to rub and glide so smoothly along your spongy walls, sending forth a gush of slick to slip from your pussy and coat the base of his cock.

“You should have stayed in bed,” he murmured against your lips. “But since you’re here, might as well put you to good use. Tell me, sweet wife, did you come here just to be fucked?”

You hadn’t the opportunity to reply as he pounded into you vigorously, making your eyes cross and a loud wail slipped out instead. To him, it was the perfect response, show him just how needy you truly were for him.

“You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” His voice was thick with want as he sent another harsh thrust, but this time, he held his hips still to grind the tip of his cock against your sweet spot. The way your body crumbled under him, his grip on your hair tightened as he pushed your cheeks against the cool table while he dragged his mouth to the shell of your ear. “Worried for my health, were you? Though I needed a reminder of why I should be in bed instead?”

His lips traced the outer shell, moving to your lobe to kiss the delicate and sensitive flesh before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. His head would occasionally dip to litter kisses across your shoulders, biting the skin as he pummelled into you with want. Your immediate response was a whimpering moan as you attempted to shift your hips to grind down on his cock, wanting him to move just an inch. But Curufin held you firmly, his fingers digging into your hips and leaving behind red bruises that would surely blossom into purple flowers in the morning. His fingers slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh while he pressed forward, applying more weight against your sweet spot as his cock continued to torture you.

Your nails scraped against the polished table for leverage but found none. And just when you thought you were done for, he decided to straighten up, dragging his cock leisurely with him, out your heat, leaving only his tip in. The hand that gripped your hair slid down to find purchase at the back of your neck, firmly keeping you in place. The moment he did so, a sharp cry escaped your lips as he drove his hips forward. With every slap of his hips, your body lurched forward only for him to pull you back onto his cock.

“Running from me, wife,” he hissed, his fingers digging into your flesh. “You should know better than to run from my cock—you came here for it. So you’ll take every inch of me.”

A straggled moan slipped passed your lips as your fingers clutched the edge of the table, knuckles tense from the sheer force of his newfound pace. The tools on his table rattled, but easily the sound of them drown out and replaced by the slick and sweaty sounds of his hips colliding against your ass. “Listen to that. Hear how wet you are for me,” he groaned, giving a small squeeze to your neck as a warning to be quiet and listen.

Following his command, you bit your lip at the obscenely, erotic squelching sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your wet and slick pussy. The pat-pat of his balls followed with each thrust as they collided against your clit, shooting tremors of vibrations throughout your body. You couldn’t believe your pussy was capable of making such lew sounds, let alone when combined with his cock driving faster with every passing second, you seemed to grow wetter, the lewd sounds increasing. Your pussy was greedily sucking his cock and refused to let him go which made perfect sense—your pussy knew that it was being fucked good and taken care of by your husband. It wanted his seed and wouldn’t let him go until he gave it.

You were gushing like a fountain for your husband. Seeing him all hot and sweaty, covered in soot as he hammered a piece of silver into shape, easily got you worked up as you attempted to convince him to come to bed. Of course he would take your concern for something else, otherwise, you wouldn’t be bent over his work table, taking his cock so perfectly and gushing all of his cock and thighs. A ring of cream wasn’t an unfamiliar sight the deeper he pushed the more you gushed.

“So needy, dripping for me so easily. And you expect me to resist this when you come in here dressed like that?” Your nightrobe was tossed over his chair while your nightgown was bunched around your waist. It was his favourite. One he gifted you as a wedding gift, and you’ve always worn it as a silent invitation that you wanted him. What else were you expecting when you wore that and came to beg him into bed?

A deliberate roll of his hips and he tightened his grip around your neck, keeping you needlessly pinned against the next thrust that had your toes curling. Every moan that escaped your lips, you didn’t care how whiney or incoherent they sounded. All that mattered was your husband giving you a good fuck and satisfying your needs just as much as his. You were being a good wife for him—caring for his health.

“You love it, don’t you? Coming in here all concerned, acting so sweet, but really, you just wanted to be fucked like this. Bent over my table, dripping onto the wood while I fill you up?”

“F-fuck…yes…” you breathlessly sobbed into the cool table, your eyes all teary as your tears spilt from the corners and pooled on the table. Curufin didn’t miss the sight of your tears and grinned, leaning down—the angle causing his cock to hit that right spot—to whisper against your ear.

“Crying for my cock, wife? Am I making you feel good?” His palm landed on your ass in a sharp slap, making you jolt forward, your eyes shutting and lip biting as you concentrated on the waves of sensation. The force of the slap prompted you to jolt forward only to be pulled back against him again, your back arched in a perfect curve. The sensation sent another rush slick between your legs leading to your walls clenching around his cock. He shuddered and groaned the tight squeeze, his fingers flexing into the softness of your ass before he gave another sharp and deliberate thrust. “Don’t hold back, my love. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

That was all needed before his name spilt from your lips like crazy. Every raspy gasp, every sigh, every cry, his name escaped your lips, and in return, he rewarded you by going deeper until you could feel the imprint of him in your stomach. With his lips hovering near your ear, the breathless groans as he went deeper or a particular clench from your pussy, echoed in your ear, your fingers dropped between your legs, rubbing your swollen clit in desperate circles, every touch making your coil tighter inside you.

“Good girl,” he praised, his eyes darkening even further as they flickered down to watch you pleasure yourself. “That’s it. Make yourself cum on my cock.”

“P-Please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for as the words left your lips, but you knew for sure that you didn’t want him to slow down or stop. Grinning at your plead, his hand slid to your hair and entangled deeply at your roots, giving you a good tug to lift your head off the table and push you into a deeper arch, forcing you to meet each of his harsh thrusts.

His lips came down to capture yours in a filth kiss, swallowing your moans and lips in one go. Tongue pushed past your lip with ease as his hips pounded away, jolting your body forward. Your tongues battled against each other, and Curufin dominated you easily, prying your mouth open to suck on the muscle. His other hand trailed to your grope your ass, squeezing the plumpness and mapping out the exquisite flesh before bringing a hand down to slap it. Breaking the kiss to let you gasp for air from his incessant pounding and spanking, Curufin kept your head tilted upwards and locked his eyes with your doe eyes—the little starry and distant look he observed swelled his pride as your husband, he was doing an excellent job.

Not once did his lips leave the shell of your ear as he kissed the entire length, nibbling at your lobe and sucking it between his lips. “Please what, little wife? Please fuck you until your ruined? Please make your pussy mine—as if it wasn’t? Please fill you up?.”

You exhaled intensely at the sudden dip in his tone when he bit the tip of your ear. You violently shuddered, your nails digging into the polished edge of the table as you fought to survive. On the opposite end, your pussy was tightening around his cock as your high was approaching, your fingers working tediously to bring you over the edge. “Hmm, so close,” you rasped, as you felt your jaw slackening at the increasing heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. “F-fuck! I’m cummin—”

“Don’t hold back,” he growled as he delivered another slap to your ass before pulling you closer and down on his cock. “I want to feel you cum around me. Make a mess all over me. Let me fill you up.”

Whimpering like you were the one in heat, his name fell continuously from your lips like prayers as you felt the fire tumbling and coursing throughout your body as his poundings had you seeing Varda’s finest creations in plain sight. You couldn’t resist his command when he ordered you so sweetly. The obscene squelching sound of his cock driving into your soaked pussy echoed in the dimly lit chamber, each thrust punctuated by the sharp slap of skin against skin. Your fingers curled around the edge of the table as your body shuddered with each deep, punishing stroke. His thrusts turned erratic, faster, harder, his thick length driving into you over and over, your juices coating his cock and dripping down your thighs. He was close, his breathing uneven, his grip on you almost bruising. The way he fucked you—raw, desperate, possessive—sent you hurtling toward the edge, and with one final stroke over your clit, you shattered around him.

“By the Valar, just like that. Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned as your walls tightened around his cock, milking him for everything he could give, his grip on you tightening as he drove into you harder, chasing his own pleasure and pushing you into overstimulation as your walls continued to flutter around him.

He could feel his hips stuttering, his cock swelling as he continued thrusting as he neared. One final time, his hips snapped forward, burying himself deep inside you as he spilt his cum, his body shuddering against yours. Your eyes rolled back at the extra sensation and prompted you to tremble under his larger body, convulsing against the table. He held you there, pressed flush against him, as you both caught your breath, his cock still pulsing inside your throbbing, slick heat. His hands smoothed over your hips, fingers tracing gentle patterns over your skin as he slowly withdrew, a satisfied hum leaving his lips at the sight of his seed dripping from between your swollen folds.

“Next time,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “just tell me you want me in bed with you, hmm? I’ll make sure you don’t leave it again.”

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[sevikasuggestion]

not quite pro

2nd person, 4k words somehow. 21+ and i loveee the block button

contains a not quite APA certified piercing that doubles as foreplay, some bloodshed, miiiild blood play, some praise, some low-key mocking, sevika playing mildly subby temporarily, reader with a vag, fingering, me getting real long winded idk how this got be so damn long but yayyyyy sevikaaaaaaa

you’re kind of a piercer with a massive crush on zaun’s finest. sevika lets you break her into a tattoo shop after hours for a couple of firsts.

“What if I get nervous,” she almost hums, a lovely timbre, deep and clear. Sevika’s creamy skin glows under you where you stand, burnished under bright oil lamp light, and her eyes make unerring contact with yours as she fights to keep the smirk off of her face.

That’s the only fight you can see Sevika losing, in a just world.

‘Nervous,’ sure. She’s so much unflinching challenge wrapped tight in leather crop top, and you snicker out loud at the absurdity. Imagine this tank of a woman feining shy or demure, batting those short dark lashes or pouting sweetly to get her way, instead of simply putting the world where she wants it.

‘Nervous.’ Maybe she’s making fun of you, but you’re sure you aren’t actually, like, trembling with want– you’d actually say you’re playing it exceedingly cool right now, in the muted quiet of this tattoo shop, out "late" enough that it may just be "early," prepping her for a piercing you can’t believe you talked her into.

“Do you need something to hold on to, sweetheart?” Not even your hands shake, and even though you almost whisper it, you are so fucking brave. You haven't kissed, just walked the streets together and chatted, ghosting touches and lingering looks, with no care for getting caught.

You keep playing along, an excuse to stroke your free hand, sans latex glove, through the lock of hair tickling her cheekbone. The gesture is entirely selfish, but it soothes you as much as you hope it does her. “Something to bite down on?”

Sevika leans her head’s full weight into your palm, like a puppy, and she must hear how your breath hitches in your throat at the sight. Her smile is a little devious, and her voice dips a little lower, settles deep into your gut as your heart climbs to your throat. But when you start again to sanitize the septum of her nose with the alcohol wipe in your other, gloved, hand, Sevika goes very still for you, like you asked earlier, stoic against the tickle. Still, except to ask, “so what if I do?”

Then again, a delicate Sevika doesn’t seem so far-fetched, now that you’re looking down at her. She’s humoring you more than you had expected she would, and you wonder if you’ve just gotten very lucky. Even so, every word has felt like a dare, one you desperately want to live up to. You had had to work up the courage to approach in the first place, after a few aborted attempts, but you got it done. Fine, you think. Since she bets you won’t.

Avoiding her eyes, you glide clean fingers down her warm jaw, relaxed and pliable in your hand. You almost massage her neck but run ahead, over her shoulder, down to cup the fraction of bicep you can actually get your hand around– does this count as feeling her up? because it should, the way your stomach is flipping– ‘til you’re all the way to her hand, a loose fist resting on her own knee. She doesn't move, except to dart her eyes up and down your body, no attempts at subtlety. You wonder if you've really talked her into anything she wasn't plotting herself.

Its endlessly exciting, touching her. It could go nowhere, and if all you can say is you got your hands on her, drew only a little bit of blood, you’ll chalk it up as sweet victory. Her prosthesis grips the arm of her chair a little– you hear it creak– when you guide her hand to the low swell of your hip and up your back. She needs no further urging, gripping you almost for support, and she’s sitting up straighter, and looking right up at you, chin tilted to show more of her face to the light.

“Hold on, then. As tight as you need.”

You could have called her to heel in so many words and it wouldn’t’ve felt half as perfect, but you do have to ruin it.

“You have to sit back,” you order, smiling ruefully as you widen the gap between you, pressing feather-light against her collarbone. She moves with no effort at all, easily cowed just by your voice, and the wash of warmth at how easy it is reaches your toes and back up to your stomach. Maybe she likes you telling her what to do, trusting you in your realm, a little novelty. You’re sure she sees the effort it takes to keep your head with her this close, maybe this obedience is a reward.

Sevika looks up through lashes now, almost contrite for having moved without permission, lowering her chin. You want to fall into her arms, but you have a job to do. “You don’t have to be nervous, but you will tear up a little. That’s normal.”

“S’ not likely, sweetheart.”

“It’s almost mandatory, actually. It's a face piercing, this close to your eyes, a tear or two is like, reflex. I know you’re plenty tough. We’ll keep it a secret, promise.”

This crush is weeks old, and in passing on the street, or at the bars, you haven’t ever heard her so soft with anyone, even when she’s flirting. She’s not quite voicing challenge, or denying you’re in charge, even though her expressive brow twitches at each order you’ve given since you led her into this studio. You’re clearly having fun, telling her what to do while your piercing needles are in reach waiting for use, and she’s content letting you talk her through it.

As you distract yourself for a moment of boldness, counting the sparkles in her slate eyes, she seems pleased to be here, sat with her strong legs spread wide open, calm and still, her knees loosely caging your legs where you stand facing her. You’re done wiping her down, and she takes a big breath as you pick up the straight needle in the gloved hand and piece of cork in the other, and start to line up. “Another big breath in for me. By the time you breathe out, it'll basically be done. You ready?”

Her grin is brief and treacherous.

“Do your worst.”

At the bar earlier, when you’d finally plucked up the courage to say something after a few weekends of staring at the back of her head, she had seemed pleased to see you. Maybe your attempts at walking up to her hadn’t gone unnoticed after all. She had complimented your piercings after trading hellos, and you had seized the opportunity, leapt at it, actually, almost knocking over your drink to offer her one matching the shiny silver hoop through your septum. She hadn't blinked when you clarified that you weren't a piercer for work, not quite a pro. More of an enthusiast. She’d seemed more skeptical at your suggestion of placement, and had brought up how badly that could turn for her in a fight.

You had made a play at her ego, insisting that you had never seen anyone get close enough to her pretty face for that to be a real risk.

“So, you have been keeping tabs, then?”

Now, in a shop you do not have keys to, the muscle of her thighs pressing against the outsides of yours, you breathe in with her, and she keeps her eyes on yours. The press of the needle, the pop of separating skin, and she doesn't flinch once.

“You’re doing so good for me, okay? Keep breathing.”

She’s only bleeding a little–you narrate every step, as is your professional protocol, very clinical and detached. Not breathy, almost panting with nerves as you swab away the smear of red, of course not; not resisting the moan at the back of your throat, laser focused on how her grip had belatedly tightened on your hips after you pierced her. You aren’t sweating a little as you chase the ring through, fasten the spike end, tell her again how good she’s doing. It’s quick and successful, and the relief of not having fucked up the face of the most dangerous person you’ve ever known pulls a sigh from you that fluffs her hair as you let it out. Her eye is watering, by the way, but you don't mention it, turning to her to wipe it away with a fresh bit of gauze.

“Keep your damn hands to yourself!” She halts her hand in its path straight to the new hole in her face, faces her palm to you in appeasement.

“I’m serious, Sevika, don’t touch. I’ve done my part, if you get an infection and your shit falls off I’m not liable.”

“Don’t touch, I got it. This what you’re always like with a weapon in your hand?”

“Sometimes, the job is to protect clients from themselves.”

“Job? Alright. Hands off, heard you.”

She’s keeping her hands occupied elsewhere, gliding them up and down your thighs, watching your chest rise and fall and little faster with each dip behind your knees. You feel like you're melting, like, it's a wonder you’re still upright with jelly femurs and a spine the autumn breeze could fold.

She’s moving up a little higher and down lower with each stroke now that you’ve cleaned her and up and shed the glove, eyes admiring your own piercings again, more exposed now with your hair pulled back.

“Your earrings are beautiful. I don’t know how you deal with so many. That can’t be it though, right?”

“Are you trying to catch up?”

You just sound excited, ready for more of her to look forward to. Would she really let you bring her back here and do this again? Lightning strikes twice all the time.

She lowers her lashes, leans back in the chair and slouches until almost eye-level with your exposed midriff, licking her lips.

She cants her hips further forward than ever, her pretty swoosh of wavey, soft-looking happy trail peeking over the cargos playing you a siren call, a posture you could see perfectly in place on some great throne, or at the head of a high end poker table-- somewhere you only get a seat if you can seize it. Gods, she's beautiful.

You’ve wanted to lick hearts into her bush for weeks, but now is absolutely not the time to tell her you’re batshit for her.

Now’s the time for Sevika to reiterate her grip on your hip with one hand, letting the cool metal of her other glide to your soft belly button, unpierced. You let her see you shiver, see your mouth fall open on another shakey breath. She looks back to your eyes instead of suggestively staring elsewhere.

“Are you holding out on me?”

Two options, and one slow, calming breath: whip off your shirt and flash her your nipple piercings, or play it cool? Be fucking cool.

“How about I’ll show you another one of mine for every one you let me give you?

“And I was right,” you sing, teasing. It’s your hand on her jaw now, guiding her very gently to look into the mirror to her left. “We’re a cute match.”

“That’s a shit deal if I’ve ever heard one. You’re way ahead.” Sevika smiles at herself with both corners of her mouth, brow soft and upturned, genuinely pleased to see your work done. You’ve started her with a gauge much larger than normal, closer to the thick hoop in your own nose. To your eyes, a dainty 14-gauge ring wouldn’t quite suit her, and she seems to agree.

“You love it.” At work, you’re nothing if not confident; this isn’t a question. Suddenly, she’s standing, and leaning into you, intent to answer without words. “Wait, no! Don’t–”

Sevika’s surprised, about to apologize, but then realizes what you mean. You both realize it at the same time, this has been a mutual act of self sabotage. You’re about a fingertips length apart and breathing each other’s air, but you’ve put your hands to her shoulders, blocking her advance, again. The urge, the want, rushes through you hot as brushfire, another spark to the grass every time you move against her full bust. As badly as you both want to, and goddamn do you want to, you really can’t jump her with a new nose ring.

“For at least a few days.”

The piercing, of course. She rolls her eyes and groans, slumps against you and rests her forehead on your shoulder, your heart soars at all this contact. She wants it as bad as you do, you think, as she sinks slowly back into her chair, never letting go your hips. She’s–do you dare think it?-- dejected, but pulls you back to start and then closer, hands curling possesive and hot on the backs of your thighs, kneading them almost apart.

“It's a– huh– a fresh wound…you have to promise to treat it like one. No mashing faces,” you prescribe while she spikes your heart rate with a few insistent touches. Sevika snorts and starts kneading you where she holds you, “or getting punched in the mouth. Don’t fuck up my hard work.” You think you kind of sounded stern there, at the end.

“Safe, huh? I will… do my best to respect your hard work.” She says it smirking, and you look away, suddenly shy now that the job is done. Then you hear your name from her lips, very frankly, so you let her catch your eye again.

“How’s it feel? Sore?” you ask.

She says your name again through a small smile, wincing a little.

“You were gentle, thank you. Really. I’ve had this in mind for… years, maybe, just couldn’t...well. Couldn't be bothered. Got busy. So, thank you. It feels…” she considers her reflection again as you take in her profile and commit every slope and sharp corner of her jaw, her nose, her brow, to warm-washed memory.

“Feels like me. Feels right. I owe you at least a favor.”

“Oh, I’m– uh– just happy I could–! Uh. Thank you for letting me be your first, hah.”

“Mhm, my first.” She sounds delighted at that. “That’s a big deal, isn’t it? I should thank you properly.”

She places a wginger kiss on your stomach, and from here you see her brow crease a bit. “You can't do that,” you breathe, helpless. Lying. “What did I just tell you?”

“‘No face mashing’,” she answers. She hisses in a breath, wincing again with another kiss, different angle, trying to mitigate the damage she’s probably doing. Clearly she’s knocked her now-sensitive nose again, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“I can be gentle too, sweetheart.” She keeps using your own words against you. This has been her plan, the reason for all this patience. She’s been collecting little weapons against you, waiting for you to clock out and come back to yourself for maximum effect.

“You're hurting yourself.”

“I can take it. Are you waiting for me to beg?” She raises one brow higher than the other, daring you to shut her down, but you’re already moving to straddle her, so done being in charge for the night.

“‘No sucker punches,' you said. I’m just following your rules, doll.”

The shock of cold against your back where she holds you up is such stark contrast to all the heat between you, and she’s finally, finally making her way between your thighs where she’s got you spread wide. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you gasp at the intrusion when she traces the slope of you through the thin panties under your hiked-up skirt.

You want to stop talking and communicate exclusively through whines and gasps, but you reach one last time for humility. What you’ve done is not that impressive, and all the glory you’d find at her fingertips would not be an even exchange the way she’s implying.

“Sevika-a-a, please. I swear you don’t– hm– owe me anything. This, huh, isn’tevenmyequipment, oh.” You’re fighting to get it all out in one breath, the shitty little people-pleaser in you getting its last useless word in before you wrap an arm loosely ‘round her perfect shoulders and give up the game entirely, give in to pleasure.

“You’re holding your breath.” You just squeak in answer, shoulders rising.

“You have to breathe for me, baby, you’re doing so good.” She laughs, and you grunt a little louder, and take a breath in– she’s not inside, not quite, just tracing a sopping wet circle around your entrance, just about brushing the underside of your clit with palm-heel. It’s a real onslaught, but one of frustration, two warring clusters nerves competing for heat, and all you can want is more, more, more.

“You want me to stop.”

Desperation seizes your throat– what a hateful thought, “no, god, no, Sevika, please.”

“‘No,’ what, doll?” says the evil woman.

“Do not stop, please, feels so good, Sev, could you–” and your boldness trips and stops short, you're frustrated out loud, not sure how to phrase it. You didn’t think this far, couldn’t’ve dreamt this far, and aren’t sure what would sound good to her-- you just know you need pressure. She lets her fingers circle your clit properly, lets you rub yourself against her in earnest, a delicious press pulling your hips forward and back almost involuntarily.

She’s a well of patience, this lady. Probably because watching you fumble is plenty entertainment, but she doesn’t stop either. You realize your hips have been moving along with her strokes the whole time, short rhythmic circles, a little faster than how she’s not just teasing, and you feel your face growing hotter. You can hear your own needy gasps getting higher, louder, and the sound of it turns you on even more. You wonder if she can feel the heart beat in your cunt where she's treating you so rudely.

“Could I…?” she prompts you to finish. Her chin knocks into your torso as she speaks, and from here you're not surprised to see a little blood trailing out of her nose. The sight of it heats you at your core, you want to lick her clean, but can’t risk scaring her off just yet.

“Just, could you–” and you run out of words again, instead reaching between you to flatten her palm against you. Now your cunt is covered by her, cradling you like a jock, like a shield, and she’s dripping wet with you. Your clit is buzzing against her calloused palm, hole clenching around nothing as you hump delicately above her.

It's good, so good, and still not enough of her. Sevika mouths at your tits over your shirt, leaving tiny blood droplets behind, and paying them no mind, and you remember refusing her permission to investigate your piercings further. She has to feel them though, has to know you’ll be laying this bloody shirt over your face when you fuck yourself and pinch, thinking of her mouth on the same spots through fabric.

“Keep breathing, sweetheart, you’ve got to keep breathing for me.” You are struggling to, and maybe she's mocking you, but all the fight you have is another desperate, sobbing, “please, please.”

“You ready?”

“Stars, Sevika,” you beg again. And she’s off, past the gate in one stride. She breaches and fills you full with two sopping wet fingers, the sweet burn of her stretching you has you flexing every muscle, yowling her name again in a long drag.

"Feels good, huh?"

"Stings," you huff, and she laughs, close-mouthed.

"Likewise."

Then, there’s the cold grip of her whirring metal arm across your waist, it's almost too much, it’s like an ice plunge, it’s like ringing crystal. The hand you aren’t supporting yourself with wraps around her leather wrist cuff between your legs, squeezing and using her. Sevika leans back a bit to watch your face contort and crumble as she fucks into you.

The wave builds quickly, you wonder if you should tell her you’re about to cum, her hums of encouragement too sweet against the vulgar squelch of you, dripping wet, she says, did me so right, baby, so how’s it feel? You can feel the chilling air hitting your thighs where she’s spreading your mess about, you feel filthy, exalted.

“That’s it, sweetheart, chase it,” and she coos it, cheery, like she’s telling you to go fetch, as she plunges in and out, hounding you, brows furrowed in focus on you, her grin devious. Her thighs clench below yours, keeping you stable, and yours flex in turn as you do as she says, chasing down your orgasm like mad. You’re on tippy toes in your seat, curling and arching your feet against the floor, and her long powerful fingers pull you along, racing you to your finish line.

You’re well past caring about safe protocol – you’re thinking only of having a taste of her when you lean down and lick her, lap sloppily into her mouth, tasting blood.

Something to bite down on.

She purrs deep and rusty, her long groan of pleasure and approval buzzing in your ear and down your spine, and she sucks your tongue to soothe before clipping your lip the way you just did her, harder than comfort. It just heightens the rush of blood in your ears, and her rhymth in your cunt is picking up to match your hips bucking against her.

Just before the wave crashes, when you know she can feel your walls stuttering around her, you pull her face away from yours and to your neck, pleading for her again with just her name, “Sevika, Sevika,” high and needful, and she hears you, she’s got you, bites down in answer as she plunges in and out of you through the orgasm ripping through your every nerve. You cum with her grunting in syncopation with your unsteady gasps, clamping your every limb around her, gasping and seizing, and she cradles you through it, suckling on the new bruise on your neck, tonguing the tooth marks she’s left behind.

As you come down, your seat shifting closer to her torso now that her hands don’t need the room, she winds her arms behind you in a hug, and you collapse a little against her chest, tired from all the tension you've been holding all this time.

Sevika leans back and lets you, chin on your shoulder. You're catching your breath as she takes another look at herself in the mirror, trail of blood drying down her lip and on the new ring in her nose. She's trying to recall the last time someone got close enough to do so much damage, and she's drawing a blank.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Checkmate: Book 3 of 3 BTR Series: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 11: Cal pt. 2

Meanwhile in an undisclosed location..

Valerie pressed the cold rag against Rhea’s burning forehead, her own hands trembling as she tried to keep her breathing steady. The fever had worsened over the past few hours, Rhea’s body convulsing in fits of shivering, her skin clammy and unnaturally pale. Valerie knew what was happening—toxic shock syndrome. The infection was taking hold, and if they didn’t act fast, Rhea wouldn’t make it through the night.

“Stay with me, Mamba,” Valerie murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from Rhea’s face. “You gotta hold on.”

Rhea’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her body trapped between fevered delirium and painful consciousness. She twitched, her fingers curling weakly against the sweat-soaked sheets beneath her.

Valerie bit her lip, her mind racing. They were running out of time. The man who took Rhea hadn’t exactly been kind—no proper medical treatment, barely enough water, and whatever wounds she’d sustained had clearly turned septic. Valerie had seen this before. She knew where it led.

The door creaked open, and Valerie tensed as a shadow entered the dimly lit room.

“What’s her condition?” The voice was deep, clipped, void of emotion.

Valerie didn’t bother looking up as she wrung out the rag and placed it back on Rhea’s forehead. “She’s dying.”

A pause. Then, a slow exhale. “Fix her.”

Valerie’s eyes snapped up, a glare cutting through the dim light. “She needs a hospital, antibiotics—actual medical care, not me dabbing her with a fucking wet cloth.”

The man—tall, broad, face obscured by the darkness—stepped closer. “That’s not an option.”

“She won’t last another twelve hours like this,” Valerie shot back. “You need her alive, don’t you? Then let me do my job.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, the man sighed. “What do you need?”

Valerie clenched her jaw. “IV fluids, antibiotics, something to control the fever. And I need her moved somewhere cleaner—this place is a breeding ground for infection.”

The man was quiet for a moment before turning toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As he left, Valerie let out a slow breath, her hands trembling as she turned back to Rhea.

“Just hold on,” she whispered, gripping Rhea’s hand. “Dustin will be back with everything.”

After some time, Dustin stood in the doorway, his presence looming as he tossed the supplies onto the small table beside Valerie. IV bags, a vial of antibiotics, syringes—enough to keep Rhea from slipping further into the abyss. He watched as Valerie immediately got to work, her hands moving with practiced precision as she prepped an IV line.

“I should’ve let her die,” Dustin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

Valerie’s hands paused for the briefest moment before she turned to face him. “This shit is getting—”

Before she could finish, Dustin moved. His hand shot out, gripping her hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Think long and hard about what you’re about to say,” he warned, voice dangerously low.

Valerie swallowed hard, but her gaze didn’t waver. Her scalp burned from his grip, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, she let out a slow breath and spoke evenly.

“Let me work on her.”

Dustin held her there for a second longer before releasing her, watching as she stumbled slightly before regaining her composure. She turned back to Rhea, rolling up the sleeves of her sweat-soaked shirt as she inserted the IV catheter into Rhea’s arm.

As the saline began to drip, Valerie murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

“You’re not dying today, Mamba.”

Dustin lingered for a moment before stepping back, his eyes flicking between Rhea’s pale face and Valerie’s determined one. Then, without another word, he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

After a few hours, Valerie exited the room after she managed to finally get Rhea’s fever down. She took one last look at Rhea, letting out a quiet sigh before stepping out and shutting the door behind her. She climbed the stairs with heavy steps, her mind racing, before finally reaching the surveillance room where Dustin sat, his eyes glued to the monitors.

“How long is your revenge going to take?” Valerie asked, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe.

Dustin didn’t look away from the screen, his expression indifferent. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft for The Black Mamba.”

Valerie’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Dustin let out a sharp chuckle, finally turning his head to look at her. “You should’ve thought of that before you approached me at Demetri’s funeral.”

At the mention of her ex-boyfriend’s name, Valerie flinched. Her eyes darkened, but she pushed forward. “There’s no use anymore! We could just put her in the van and drive back to Stamford.”

Dustin threw his head back in laughter. “That would be the day, huh?”

Valerie’s patience snapped. “We’ve done all we said we would do! For God’s sake, Dustin, her fingernails are gone! She’s bandaged up like a damn hospital patient! She is not The Black Mamba anymore!”

Dustin’s smirk wavered, but he stayed silent.

Valerie pointed at the screen, her voice rising. “That is not a trained assassin anymore! That’s a broken woman who probably doesn’t even have the strength to fight back. So tell me, Dustin, what more do you want?”

Dustin leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the desk. “You don’t get it, do you?” He nodded toward the monitor. “She doesn’t have to look like The Black Mamba anymore. She just has to be her. And if you think that part of her is gone, you’re dead wrong.”

Valerie shook her head in frustration. “This isn’t revenge anymore, this is torture. And I won’t be a part of it.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes at her, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Then I suggest you tread carefully, Valerie. Because walking away? That’s not an option.”

—

June 14th, 2025

Rhea rubbed cocoa butter over her large tummy, her fingers gliding gently over the stretched skin. A small smile played on her lips as she felt a strong kick from inside.

“Jeyson, stop superkicking me,” she murmured, shaking her head as another nudge followed.

She washed her hands and exited the bathroom, stepping into the dimly lit bedroom. Jey was already in bed, leaning against the headboard, his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he watched her with an easy smirk.

He clapped his hands together. “Get your sexy self in this bed now.”

Rhea rolled her eyes but obeyed, making her way over with exaggerated slowness. As she climbed in, Jey reached out, running his fingers along the side of her belly before resting his palm against it.

“Did I ever tell you how complete you look?” he asked softly.

Rhea snorted. “Completely overweight?”

Jey made a tsk sound and shook his head. “Nah, Mami… completely beautiful.”

His voice was full of sincerity, and Rhea felt her chest tighten. Pregnancy had made her self-conscious, but with Jey, she never felt anything less than adored.

She sighed as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her stomach. “You always know what to say.”

Jey smirked, looking up at her. “That’s ‘cause I mean it.”

She ran her fingers through his short curls, relaxing into the warmth of his body beside her. The kicks inside her softened, as if Jeyson knew he was safe too.

“How about me and you tomorrow before the party, we go and pick out Jeyce’s birthday gift?” Jey suggested, his voice filled with that playful tone that always made Rhea smile.

Rhea frowned a bit. “Baby, I already picked it out for him,” she replied, her words slightly casual, as if she hadn’t even realized Jey was going to suggest going together.

Jey’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. “Baby!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t even give me a chance to be part of the fun!”

Rhea tossed him an apologetic smile, before kissing him softly on the forehead “Well, you didn’t answer the phone, and it was the last one. So, I went ahead and grabbed it.”

Jey pouted. “What did you get him then?”

Rhea smirked and proudly said, “I bought him an all-black record player with the vinyl Louder Than Bombs.” She added, “Don’t worry, I put ‘From Bonus Mommy and Daddy’ on the gift tag.”

Jey’s expression shifted from playful to confused. “Louder Than Bombs?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that vinyl?”

Rhea’s lips curled into a smile, “It’s an album by The Smiths.”

Jey’s confusion deepened. “The Smiths?” he repeated, sounding incredulous. “What’s so great about a band from the ‘80s? That’s way before Jeyce was even born!”

Rhea chuckled softly. “I know, it’s an old band. But the thing is, Jeyce has been spending a lot of time with Demi lately, and he’s gotten into them. There’s just something about the way their music resonates. It’s soft, melancholic, and honest—just like Jeyce in a lot of ways.��

Jey tilted his head slightly, trying to understand. “So you’re telling me you bought him a vinyl from a band that’s not even around anymore, and it’s because of Demi?”

Rhea nodded, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of affection and understanding. “Yeah. Jeyce has been going through a lot lately, and I think The Smiths speak to him in a way that most music doesn’t. It’s not about being modern; it’s about the depth in their lyrics, the way they capture the complexities of life.”

Jey’s gaze softened as he processed her words. “I guess I never really understood why people like The Smiths. I’ve heard their songs before, but I didn’t get it.”

Rhea reached for Jey’s hand, holding it gently in hers. “It’s not just about the music, Jey. It’s about connection. The way we connect with things that speak to us—whether it’s music, people, or something deeper. Jeyce sees something in their lyrics, something he can relate to. It’s not about the time or era; it’s about finding something that speaks to who you are in the moment.”

Jey stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “So it’s more than just some vinyl. It’s about you understanding where Jeyce is at and showing him you get him, even if it’s through an old record.”

“Exactly,” Rhea replied softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Jey nodded slowly, finally understanding the thoughtfulness behind the gift. “You always know how to give gifts with meaning, don’t you?”

Rhea smiled, shrugging slightly. “I just want to make sure he knows we’re thinking about him, no matter how old he gets.”

Jey leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her stomach. “Well, I might not have understood the whole thing at first, but I get it now. And I’m proud of you for thinking about him the way you do.”

Rhea laughed softly. “It’s not about being proud, babe. It’s about being there for him when he needs us the most. And for now, music is his way of expressing it all.”

Jey wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Well, we’ll make sure he knows how much we love him—through vinyl and everything else.”

—

The next day, Jey and Rhea arrived at Sabrina’s Sweet Tooth, a cozy little bakery known for its irresistible treats. Rhea couldn’t help but smile as she stepped inside, the sweet smell of freshly baked goods wrapping around her like a warm hug. She approached the counter, looking at the young cashier with a pleasant smile.

“I’m here for a birthday cake,” Rhea said. “Should be under Fatu.”

The cashier nodded, gesturing toward the back of the shop. “I’ll grab it for you right away.”

As Rhea waited, she glanced around the bakery. But when she turned to look at Jey, he wasn’t standing beside her. Instead, he was bent slightly forward, his face inches from the display case. His eyes were locked onto something inside with a look of sheer wonder.

Rhea raised an eyebrow, amused. “Baby… what are you doing?” she asked, her voice playful as she walked up to him.

Jey didn’t even glance over at her at first. “It looks so good,” he murmured, clearly mesmerized by what he was staring at.

Rhea followed his gaze and soon found herself looking at a towering mountain of Oreo and chocolate chip cookie brownies. The perfect marriage of two decadent treats—brownies and cookies, piled high into what could only be described as heaven on a platter. The Brookie, as some people called it, was impossible to resist.

Rhea chuckled softly. “Which one, babe?” she teased, already knowing the answer.

Jey’s eyes stayed glued to the dessert, and with a small grin, he pointed toward the platter. “That glorious thing right there.”

Rhea tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “That one?” she asked, still teasing.

Jey turned to her then, his expression breaking into a wide grin. “I want the whole platter.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

Jey didn’t flinch. “I’m serious.”

Rhea sighed in mock exasperation, shaking her head with a smile. “You really want that much?”

Jey’s grin only widened. “Why not? It’s a birthday celebration. We’re treating ourselves.”

Before Rhea could respond, the cashier returned with the cake, just as she ordered. Rhea took the cake with a smile, but she was still eyeing the Brookie as she set it on the counter.

The cashier, noticing their interest, said brightly, “The Brookies are buy one, get one free today!”

Jey’s eyes lit up. “I’ll take the whole platter, please,” he said eagerly.

The cashier smiled and moved quickly to grab the entire platter of the decadent brownies, carefully packaging them up and totaling everything. Rhea couldn’t help but laugh, watching Jey’s excitement as he stood there, practically bouncing with anticipation.

She paid for the cake and the Brookies, amused by how quickly Jey had decided to indulge in the sweet treat. As the cashier handed them the packaged desserts, Jey grabbed them with both hands, his eyes practically glowing with happiness.

As they made their way out of the bakery, Jey grinned, glancing over at Rhea. “I can’t believe you let me get the whole platter,” she said, still surprised at his bold choice.

Jey shrugged playfully, his voice full of contentment. “I am content with life right now, Mami,” he said, holding the large platter close. “What’s better than cake, cookies, and spending the day with you?”

Rhea laughed, shaking her head at him, but her heart swelled with affection. There was something about Jey’s unapologetic joy that always managed to make her feel lighthearted. “You’re impossible,” she teased.

They made their way to the car, and Jey placed the cake and Brookies carefully in the backseat. As Rhea began to open the passenger door of the Tahoe, she hesitated for a moment, feeling the strain of her late trimester taking a toll on her body. Jey immediately noticed, his eyes softening with concern.

He quickly moved to her side and gently helped her into the seat, supporting her with his steady hands. “Got you, Mami,” he murmured softly.

Rhea smiled gratefully, leaning into him as he closed the door behind her. “Thanks, babe,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Jey gave her a wink as he made his way to the driver’s side. “Well, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

As he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at Rhea, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of her, even more beautiful in her pregnant glow. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Jeyce’s face when he opened his presents later, but for now, he was content to just be with Rhea. The road ahead was full of surprises, but with her by his side, Jey felt like nothing could stop them.

Rhea leaned back in her seat, feeling the weight of the day’s sweetness, both from the desserts and from being with Jey. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the calm, knowing that, in this moment, everything was going great.

—

The song ‘I Love You For All The Seasons’ by The Fuzz played in the backyard as it remained alive with laughter, chaos, and the unmistakable aftermath of a sugar rush. Jeyce and Demi bounced around like wild animals, their energy seemingly endless as they ran circles around the patio furniture, the effects of the Brookies hitting them in full force. Their giggles filled the warm air, making it clear they had no plans of calming down anytime soon.

Meanwhile, Jaciyah and his girlfriend, Daya, sat comfortably on the couch inside, lazily stroking Rhea’s fluffy guinea pig, Bartholomew. The tiny creature twitched its nose as Jaciyah ran a finger over its soft fur, while Daya rested her chin on her hand, watching the interaction.

On the patio, Jey stood by the grill, flipping the burgers with practiced ease. The scent of sizzling meat filled the air, mingling with the faint traces of chlorine from the half-constructed pool in the backyard. The ground was still a mess, dirt and gravel scattered across the yard, but Jey hadn’t let that stop him from throwing a proper barbecue. His patio was untouched by the renovations, and that was all he needed.

Beside him, their dogs Barry and Bella stood alert, their eyes locked onto the grill, tails wagging in anticipation.

Inside, Rhea held the bowl of seasoned steaks, waiting for Jey to be ready for the next batch of meat. However, as she took a step forward, a sudden sharp kick from Jeyson made her freeze. The unexpected pressure knocked the wind out of her, forcing her to clutch the edge of the counter.

She set the bowl down quickly, sucking in a slow breath as another strong kick followed.

Daya, who had been casually watching her from the couch, straightened up, concern flashing across her face. “Mrs. Fatu, are you okay?” she asked, her voice edged with worry.

Rhea groaned quietly, one hand pressing against her belly as she tried to breathe through the discomfort. “I’m fine,” she reassured her, though her voice was strained. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head as she gently rubbed her stomach. “Just baby Jeyson thinking it’s okay to kick the hell out of me.”

Daya gave her a knowing smile. “Sounds like he’s already trying to be a little wrestler like his dad.”

Rhea huffed a small laugh, still massaging the spot where her son had just launched his assault. “Yeah, well, he better save those superkicks for when he’s actually out in the world.”

Jaciyah chuckled from the couch. “Better hope he doesn’t come out putting people in the Uso Splash straight out the womb.”

Rhea rolled her eyes but smiled, finally straightening up. “If he does, I’m sending him straight to his father.”

She grabbed the bowl again, heading toward the patio door where Jey was still focused on the grill. As she stepped outside, she caught him in the middle of a conversation with Barry and Bella, who were both staring at him like they were deeply invested in whatever he was saying.

“No, y’all ain’t gettin’ none,” Jey was saying, pointing the tongs at the dogs as if they could understand him. “Don’t even try it.”

Rhea smirked as she set the bowl down next to him. “Babe, you know they’re not gonna listen, right?”

Jey turned toward her, eyes scanning her face with slight concern. “You good, baby?” he asked, catching the way she was still lightly holding her stomach.

Rhea nodded. “Yeah, just your son reminding me he’s in there training for his first WrestleMania.”

Jey laughed, flipping another steak. “That’s my boy.”

Rhea shook her head, smiling as she leaned against the counter, watching as their family and friends enjoyed the day. Despite the chaos, the half-finished yard, and the sugar-fueled madness, everything was nice.

Jeyce and Demi came running up to them, practically vibrating with excitement. Their eyes were wide, their movements erratic—the clear signs of a sugar rush in full effect.

Jeyce grabbed onto Rhea’s arm, practically bouncing in place. “Rhea! Can I cut my cake?!” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Jey, standing beside the grill, gave his son a pointed look. “Don’t even try it, lil’ man,” he warned. “You haven’t even had your food yet.”

Jeyce groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “But you gave us the Brookies!”

Jey narrowed his eyes. “I gave you each one Brookie. Just one.”

Rhea, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, turned to her husband, her brow lifting slightly. “You gave them one?”

Jey looked at her suspiciously, picking up on the shift in her tone. “Yeah… one.” His gaze sharpened as he studied her face. “Don’t tell me you gave them more than one?”

Rhea pressed her lips together, her silence saying everything.

Jey’s jaw dropped. “Baby!”

Rhea shrugged, feigning innocence. “They looked so happy,” she defended. “And they asked so nicely.”

Jeyce and Demi took that as their cue to bolt, giggling as they ran into the house before Jey could lecture them further.

Jey sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “See? This is why they’re bouncin’ off the damn walls!”

Rhea chuckled, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Relax, baby. It’s a party. Let them have fun.”

Jey exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, when they throw up from all the sugar, you clean it.”

Rhea smirked. “Deal.”

Jey shook his head again, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. This was his life, just like he wanted.

“UNCLE JON!”

Jey and Rhea turned their heads as Jeyce pulled his girlfriend, Demi, by the hand, both rushing toward the front door. Excitement radiated off Jeyce as he sprinted ahead, nearly knocking over a side table in his eagerness.

Inside, Jon and Trinity had just stepped in, pushing a sleek black double stroller where their twin baby boys, Jarrell and Judah, were comfortably nestled. The moment Jeyce spotted them, he wasted no time launching himself at Jon, wrapping his arms around his uncle in a tight hug.

“Hey, nephew!” Jon laughed, nearly stumbling back from the impact before returning the hug.

Rhea smiled at the sight and patted Jey’s arm. “I’ll go greet them, baby.”

Jey leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Go ahead, mama.”

He watched her as she walked toward the family, her pregnancy giving her an even more radiant glow. Jey let out a small breath, shaking his head with a smirk before turning his focus back to the grill. He flipped the burgers, setting them aside on a tray, then reached for the seasoned steaks, carefully placing them over the open flame. The air filled with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat.

Just as he settled into his rhythm, the patio door slid open, and Jey didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“What up, Uce?” Jon’s familiar voice greeted him as he stepped outside.

Jey smirked, grabbing the tongs. “Ain’t nothin’ much, just tryin’ to keep the peace before these kids burn my damn house down.”

Jon let out a deep chuckle, glancing toward the house where Jeyce and Demi were now chatting with Trinity. “Yeah, I saw Jeyce runnin’ on a sugar rush. Y’all let them loose on the sweets?”

Jey sighed, shaking his head. “Man, I gave ‘em one Brookie. Just one.” He turned his head and shot Jon an exasperated look. “Rhea? She prolly’ gave them three each.”

Jon let out a loud laugh, clapping Jey on the back. “Damn, Uce. You losin’ control of your own house.”

Jey scoffed, flipping a steak. “Man, don’t remind me. She always settin’ me up, then lookin’ at me all innocent like she ain’t just turn these kids into straight-up maniacs.”

Jon grinned, cracking open a beer and leaning against the railing. “That’s what happens when you marry a mastermind.”

Jey smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s my mastermind.”

Jon took a sip of his beer, his expression shifting slightly. “How she doin’, though? For real.”

Jey’s movements slowed for a second before he sighed. “She good. Just tired. This pregnancy hittin’ her harder than she lets on.”

Jon nodded, watching the grill. “You makin’ sure she takin’ it easy?”

Jey let out a dry laugh. “Tryin’ to. But you know Rhea. Telling her to rest is like tellin’ the sun not to shine.”

Jon smirked. “Yeah, well, she’s definitely one of us.”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head. “No doubt.”

Jon took another sip, then nodded toward the driveway. “Ma and Pops land yet?”

Jey flipped the last steak, watching the juices sizzle. “Yeah, they should be pullin’ up soon in a few minutes.”

Jon let out a low whistle. “Damn. Whole squad in one place.”

Jey smirked, tapping the tongs against the grill. “Ain’t nothin’ more important than family, Uce.”

Jon clinked his beer against Jey’s tongs. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“UNCLE OOOH AHH!”

Jey and Jon turned toward the front door as Joe stepped inside, his booming presence filling the room. His wife, Galina, walked in beside him, her warm smile already set on Rhea.

“Look at you,” Galina said, pulling Rhea into a gentle embrace. “You are glowing.”

Rhea chuckled, rubbing her belly. “You’re like the third person to say that today.”

Joe, meanwhile, scooped Jeyce into a bear hug. “Damn, nephew! You gettin’ big on me.”

Jeyce grinned. “I been eatin’ good, Uncle Joe!”

Joe ruffled his hair. “I bet. With your pops on the grill, y’all probably eatin’ better than me.” Galina gave her husband of ten years a playful smack on the his arm.

After giving Rhea a quick hug, Joe crossed the living room, heading for the backyard where Jey and Jon were manning the grill. As soon as he stepped outside, he took a deep breath, nodding in approval at the scent of seared seasoned meat.

“Aight, who’s on the grill?”

Jey smirked. “Who you think?”

Joe let out a deep chuckle, pulling both of his cousins into a quick, brotherly hug. “Man, it’s good to see y’all.”

Jon clapped Joe on the back. “Same, Uce. You know it ain’t a real cookout ‘til you show up.”

Joe grabbed a beer from the cooler before leaning against the patio railing. His eyes drifted toward the house, where Rhea was now sitting on the couch, her hand resting on her belly as Galina and Trinity talked around her.

“Yo,” Joe said, nudging Jey. “Your woman looks like she’s about to pop.”

Jey let out a short laugh, flipping the steaks. “Due date’s mid-August.”

Joe took a sip of his beer. “Damn, you ready for that?”

Jey exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the house before turning back to the grill. “Yeah. But I ain’t gonna lie, this pregnancy been different.”

Joe smirked. “She hit the I hate you phase yet?”

Jon let out a loud laugh as Jey shook his head. “Bruh…” Jey ran a hand down his face. “I accidentally ate one of her ice cream sandwiches, and I swear to God, it was like I started World War III.”

Joe nearly spit out his drink. “Oh, hell no.”

Jon was still laughing. “She probably looked at you like you committed a crime.”

Jey gave him a deadpan look. “She did, Uce. I ain’t never seen her so mad in my life. Talkin’ ‘bout how could you do this to me? Like I just betrayed the whole family.”

Joe was doubled over laughing now. “Yo, you never mess with a pregnant woman’s cravings, man. That’s a death wish.”

Jey sighed, flipping the last steak. “Trust me, I learned my lesson.”

Joe took another sip of his beer, shaking his head. “Man… fatherhood looks real good on you.”

Jey looked at him for a moment before smirking. “Yeah… it feels real good too.”

Joe took another swig of his beer, glancing around at the massive pile of dirt and construction materials in the backyard. “So, I don’t mean to be curious, but why the hell is your backyard gone?”

Jey let out a laugh, shaking his head as he flipped the last steak. “Man, ever since Rhea got her little inheritance, all she wanna do is spend. This woman wants a pool now.”

Joe smirked. “Shit, at least she’s giving back.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “Hell yeah, man. ‘Cause I’m takin’ off all these days to be with the boys and Trin’, and she got me doing seminars and meet-and-greets for her charity foundation. If anything, Rhea is helping us stay afloat.”

Joe chuckled. “Yeah, man. Ever since I stepped back from wrestling for a bit, she got me doing the same thing in Florida. I’ve been workin’ with her on some shit down there, helping set up events. Rhea’s helping the family more than you think.”

Jey looked toward the house, his expression softening. Through the patio doors, he could see Rhea sitting on the couch, laughing as Jaciyah excitedly showed off the guinea pig to Galina and Trinity. The warmth in her face, the way her body instinctively cradled their unborn son—it filled his chest with something deeper than love.

Still watching her, Jey’s voice grew quiet. “Thank you for saving her that day.”

Jon glanced at his twin, reading the weight behind his words. He knew exactly what Jey was talking about—Orlando. The blood transfusion. The day everything nearly slipped away.

Jon exhaled, rubbing his chin before responding. “Anytime, Uce.” He patted Jey’s shoulder, his voice steady. “She family for real. Not just ‘cause she carryin’ our blood now, but… somethin’ deeper than that.”

Jey nodded, swallowing back the emotion creeping up his throat. “Yeah… deeper than that.”

Jey continued, “But shit y’all I don’t mean to brag but you know she about to be in Forbes?”

Joe nearly choked on his beer. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Jey smirked, flipping a steak and nodding. “Forreal. They called her this past week, they wanna do a special edition.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “What they finna call that?”

Jey grinned, pride clear in his voice. “‘First & Only Female Billionaire of Sports Entertainment.’”

Joe let out a low whistle. “Damn. I thought she inherited nine-fifty?”

Jey nodded. “She flipped it. Now she got more than a billion, dude. I tell you, man… she is set.”

Joe leaned against the grill, smirking. “I like how you said she instead of we.”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s her money. I like what she’s doin’ with it. Shit… to be honest, money never really changed her.”

Joe grinned. “That’s good! That means the man who gave her that money knew what he was doing.”

Jey’s jaw tightened at that. His hands clenched briefly on the tongs before he relaxed. “Yeah… that fucker.”

Jon glanced at him, sensing the shift in mood. “Aye, man. He made sure Rhea was good before he bit the dust. Be thankful for that.”

Jey exhaled slowly, nodding. He didn’t want to be thankful—not to Morris. The mere mention of him annoyed the hell out of Jey. But still… he had to admit, the man secured Rhea’s future.

Before he could dwell on it too much, Joe perked up, his ears catching a familiar sound. “I think I hear that laugh.”

Jey and Jon turned toward the house and saw their father, Solofa, standing in the doorway, his deep laughter echoing as he hugged Jeyce. Beside him, their mother, Talisua, held Jeyce’s face in her hands, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Then Jey watched as Solofa wrapped Rhea in a big hug, his strong arms pulling her in like she was his own daughter. Rhea melted into the embrace, and Jey couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

And just when he thought the house was already full, their younger brother Joseph strolled in, his arm wrapped around his wife Almia.

Jon grinned. “Shit, we got the whole damn family here now.”

Solofa opened the patio door, taking in the sight of his sons gathered around the grill. A warm smile stretched across his face. “Mālō le soifua, boys,” he greeted before pulling all four of them into a tight hug.

Joseph dapped up his two older brothers before turning to their cousin. “Joe, what’s good, Uce?”

Joe grinned, slapping Joseph’s back. “Man, just chillin’. You know how it is.”

Solofa, ever observant, glanced past them and raised an eyebrow. “Son… why the hell is there a big hole the size of my ass in the ground?”

Jey, Jon, and Joseph burst into laughter.

Jey wiped a tear from his eye. “Rhea wanted a pool, so… we’re getting a pool, Dad.”

Solofa shook his head, chuckling. “I might just have to sell my properties in Florida and move here.”

Jey scoffed, flipping a steak. “Dad, there is no way.”

Solofa crossed his arms, his smirk growing. “And why not? Me and your mother will have fresh Pani Popo ready for you and Rhea every week.”

Jon raised his hands. “Shit, Pops, come to our crib instead.”

Jey smirked, side-eyeing his brother. “Yeah, Dad, go to the oldest twin by nine minutes.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Man, I knew you were gonna say that.”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Y’all still arguing about nine damn minutes?”

Joseph laughed. “Man, you know they never let that shit go.”

Solofa just smiled, shaking his head as he watched his boys bicker like they were kids again. “Doesn’t matter where we go—y’all all gonna be eating at our table, anyway.”

—

After Jey finished grilling, the scent of seared steak and burgers lingered as everyone gathered around the dining table. Laughter and conversation flowed freely, the atmosphere thick with the kind of love and comfort that only family could bring. Plates clinked, utensils scraped against dishes, and voices overlapped in easy rhythm, filling the house with a joyful hum.

Jey leaned back in his chair, his arm draped over Rhea’s shoulders, watching the scene unfold with quiet pride. This was what he had always wanted—a full house, family surrounding them, happiness radiating from every corner.

Rhea, cradling her growing belly, let out a soft chuckle as she watched Jaciyah and Daya sneak extra fries from each other’s plates. Across from them, Jon was bouncing one of his twin boys on his knee while Trinity wiped drool off the other twin’s chubby cheek. Joe and Galina were deep in conversation with Solofa and Talisua, reminiscing about old stories from Solofa’s time in the business. Even Joseph and Almia, usually more reserved, were fully engaged, laughing as Jeyce sat next to Demi, he animatedly retold some wild tale from school.

Jey let the moment sink in before clapping his hands together. “Alright, y’all, time for the main event.”

Jeyce’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with anticipation. “The cake?!”

Jey smirked, standing up. “Of course, the cake. You think we’d forget?”

Jeyce practically vibrated with excitement as Jey disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned, carrying the cake carefully in both hands. Gasps and murmurs of appreciation spread around the room as everyone caught sight of it.

It was a masterpiece—a cake designed to look like a stack of vinyl records, each layer crafted with meticulous detail to resemble Jeyce’s favorite albums. At the very top, Chewbacca stood proudly, holding a miniature version of The Smiths’ album cover. It was the perfect blend of his two greatest loves, Star Wars and The Smiths, and Jeyce’s eyes shone with disbelief.

“Yo, that’s so sick!” Jeyce gasped, practically bouncing on his feet.

Jey chuckled as he grabbed a candle, carefully pressing it into the cake before lighting it. The small flame flickered, casting a warm glow over his son’s beaming face.

Stepping back, Jey slid his arm around Rhea’s waist, pulling her close. She leaned into him, her own smile soft and full of love as she watched their son soak in the moment.

“Alright, everyone,” Jey said, his voice warm and full of pride. “Let’s do this.”

As the first notes of Happy Birthday rang out, voices filled the room, rising together in perfect harmony.

“Happy birthday to you…”

—

Present

Jey lunged forward, his entire body coiled with rage, ready to tear Brent apart. But Cal intercepted, gripping Jey’s arm with unyielding strength.

“Let me go!” Jey snarled, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Cal didn’t move. “He has information.”

Jey’s nostrils flared. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. “What fucking information?”

Cal turned to Brent, who refused to meet Jey’s eyes. Instead, Brent’s head hung low, shame carving deep lines into his face.

“Tell him,” Cal demanded.

Brent exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he was about to say. “They’re dead… the other two that helped me.”

Jey didn’t flinch. “I don’t give a fuck about them. Where is Rhea?”

Brent hesitated before shaking his head. “I—I don’t know. That wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan.”

Jey’s patience snapped. “What the fuck was the initial plan, then?”

Brent’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to say this.”

Cal picked up the cattle rod from the nearby table, the metal humming as he clicked it on. “You’re going to tell him.”

Brent’s eyes widened, his body stiffening. He licked his lips nervously before blurting out, “It was just supposed to be revenge! That’s all!”

Jey’s jaw tightened. “Revenge? On who?”

Brent exhaled sharply. “Adam. He was supposed to get back at Matthew, but Adam disappeared. Went into hiding. So Matthew took it upon himself.”

Jey’s stomach twisted at the name. “Matt? Rhea’s ex-husband?”

Brent nodded, guilt etched deep into his expression. “Matthew befriended Rhea at the gym on purpose. He was under the illusion that she stole Adam’s share of the money from her sale, and he wanted it back. He was only supposed to get close to her until he found the money.”

Jey’s heart pounded against his ribcage. “But what happened?”

Brent hesitated before continuing. “Matthew fell in love with Rhea. He stopped answering our calls. We didn’t hear from him for a while, but then, in February 2023, he came back to me, Adam, and Thomas. He told us someone sent him a picture of Rhea coming out of some wrestler’s hotel room… and from then on, Matthew changed the plan.”

Jey’s blood ran cold. He knew exactly whose hotel room Rhea had been in. His.

Jey’s voice was low and dangerous. “What plan?”

Brent’s fingers twitched as he rubbed his palms together. “Matthew decided he would marry her. Wait until she confessed the affair. And then…”

Jey stepped closer, his body radiating fury. “Then what?”

Brent’s lips parted, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

“Go on!” Jey barked.

Brent flinched. “Then… then he was going to end her life.”

The air in the room turned suffocating. Jey felt like the floor beneath him had given way, like the walls were closing in, but his rage anchored him. His fists trembled, his entire body vibrating with barely contained fury.

He forced himself to breathe through his nose, his mind racing.

“Just to be sure,” Jey said, his voice rough. “February 2023?”

Brent nodded. “Yeah… February 2023.”

Jey’s heart slammed against his ribs. That was the month their affair started. The month Rhea had chosen him over everything else.

His throat tightened, but he pushed forward. “So what was the end goal?”

Brent exhaled slowly, his face haunted. “We were going to eliminate Rhea and then go after Morris.”

Jey’s brow furrowed. “Morris? What the fuck does he have to do with this?”

Brent hesitated before speaking. “Well Matt knew of Morris and Morris knew of Matt.”

Jey’s head spun. Pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even know existed were falling into place. The inheritance. The power struggle. The threats that never made sense before.

His grip on his fury wavered as the realization hit him like a truck.

This wasn’t just about money. This wasn’t just about revenge.

This was about control. About legacy. About something much bigger than he’d ever imagined.

And Rhea… Rhea was at the center of it all.

Jey looked at Cal, “Just one more question.. who is this other man?”

[puppyscatorccio]

tfem lottie where she’s literally just too big… like yea u can get her dick all the way in if you really try, but it takes fucking forever and it’s a damn stretch

mdni

lottie who feels so proud whenever she sees you squirming, telling her that "it won't fit, it's too big." you can see it in her face, how it makes her practically giddy with excitement.

lottie who loves taking her time, stretching you out inch by agonizing inch, doing it as slow as possible to really drag it out. she's all affectionate while doing it, peppering kisses on your cheeks and neck, playing with your chest to distract you from the pain. but deep down, you know she loves seeing you suffer a little bit.

there's a lot of days, especially early in your relationship, in which you just give up, telling her that you just can't take it. she'll respect it, of course, but the urge to just force herself inside no matter how much it hurt for you was always there.

when you can't take her cock, she prefers to eat you out instead. lottie does enjoy fingering you, but nothing compares to tasting you on her tongue, salty and delicious. she eats you out like a woman starved, overstimulating you without a care.

got a little sidetracked. back to her dick, she drools whenever she watches it slide in and out of you, the way you struggles to take her in, the pain both delicious and excruciating. "it hurts? yeah? come on, i think you can take it, just a little more..."