#i think they might fall exactly into this dynamic

[revelboo]

I love the idea of Everything is Alright being a reverse haram with megs, but I see you said originally. So might not happened, which I think is fine. Star doesn't need anymore trauma, but I can also see the possibility of a simple human mending the tension between the higher ups. Just might cause star, and possibly sounds to be very worried

I may still include Megs later on, just wasn’t sure if I could balance all three. It’s a lot easier when the guys at least kind of get along and this dynamic… not so much

Everything is Alright Pt 55

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Keeping you cradled to him as he types one handed on a report, he’s aware of the warmth of you leaning against him, little head resting against his chassis. “You want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” You ask softly and his wings flick slightly, servos miskeying a glyph, because he should have realized you’d notice something is off. Always watching him, looking to him. You know him and it’s almost frightening. “You don’t have to,” you add when he’s silent too long, because how to even start? And there’s no way to explain how upset he is about finding out about your life span, without revealing that he cares too much. Without making himself vulnerable and risking rejection.

• Resting your ear against him to listen to the soft thrum of his spark, you don’t really expect him to answer. His feelings are something he hoards, keeping them to himself and only occasionally slipping and letting you see that not only does he care about you, but he needs you with him. “You know I care for you,” he says slowly, raspy words humming through you where you’re against him as one of his servos runs from your shoulder down your arm until you lay your palm against him and he vents. It’s not a question exactly, but not really a statement either. A reminder of how insecure he can be, as if trusting anything or anyone is almost impossible.

• “I care about you, too.” He knows. He really does, but something about hearing you say it settles warm about his spark. Tucking his chin so he can see you, there’s something uncertain in your expression that catches at him before you press your cheek against him so he can’t see your eyes, hiding your expression from him. “I like waking up against you. Like when you worry about me even if you don’t need to. Even when you get aggravated, I like the way your wings fidget.”

• Embarrassed, you keep your face hidden against him, trying to tell him how you feel without saying the actual words. Because telling him you think you might love him and you’re not sure when that happened? Especially if he’s only after something physical, needing someone to be there, but not the same way? It might just break you. You like his nervous tics, like the warmth of him and the way his servos feel absently stroking, touching you. You like him.

• Servos pressing you closer to him, grounding himself with the feel of you until you make a little noise of protest, mumbling that he’s squishing you and he relents. Again he thinks about how it would feel to entrust his spark to you, to feel you touch him that way. Would it only drive home the differences between you? Remind him painfully that there’s no way for this to ever be more, no spark in you to lose himself in? And so little time, he can feel it slipping away from him regardless. Head falling back against the back of his chair, he vents. Softly, hesitantly in Cybertronian, he begins to speak, knowing you can’t understand and feeling you shift to try and look at him as he shutters his optics so he won’t see your expression, because it’s hard enough to open up and this is the only way he can, this one sided conversation. Wishing for things not meant for him, swearing to protect you and cherish what time he has. That you’re his, spark or no spark. Regret and fear and love all tangled together. Feeling when you lay your head back down against him, listening to him without knowing how hard these words are.

Previous

Next

[thanotaphobia]

emizel tucker and shilo bathroy are sosoososos perfect in my mind. not like, morally, yknow, but they are two perfect characters to compliment each other.

emizel's a kid raised on the streets of LA by his gang brothers and he forced his way up the ranks by being brutal and unforgiving and not showing weakness. he's powerful because he refuses to doubt his own capabilities, and pushes himself past what he should be capable of, because he's cocksure and drowning in hubris. and then he gets turned into a vampire and all of the sudden he's in the middle of a brand new society and it runs on violence. and emizel knows violence! he's good at violence! literally this is all he's ever known!!! he's got this, he thinks he understands how to climb the ranks but in reality, he doesn't get it. at all. vampire society is this strange mix of posh old money and a violent underbelly and to really survive in it you have to manage both ends, but emizel only knows the violent underbelly.

and then shilo. shilo, who only knows the opposite: the grand old money, the power, the manipulation. and he's okay it at- he's better at it than he thinks he is, and he's way out of his depth when it comes to vampire LA. he grew up sheltered from the violence of vampirism- sure, death isn't unfamiliar to him but the really gritty stuff, the blood, even the point of not being able to feed without it being served to him has been withheld. but he knows, theoretically, how vampires are supposed to work. he's not at all confident in himself which is such a detriment because he is a manipulative little shit at his core, and if he wasn't so overwhelmed all the time he'd be pretty good at the politics thing. he's smart! he's personable! the reason he fails in LA like he does is the fact he doesn't understand the violence-

which is where emizel comes in.

they are literally perfect for each other. twin brothers, two equal sides of this fucked up vampire world, and if they worked together (and with arthur, i think arthur is key here for them not losing their humanity, y'know) i 100% believe they could take over the fucking world.

[seiwas]

omg i ran out of tags 😭 sorry for being so extra op 😭

but i just!! love the development he's had and how he no longer thinks about just himself and is starting to think about a life with you 🥺

your pacing in the bits that say 'he's so in love with you' and 'he likes you so so much' is immaculate!!!! truly felt that deep in my core and idk how you do it 😭 your writing truly has Magic!!!

and the end bit!! with october and the ring 😭 it just brings me back to their conversation: 'why grow something you're going to let go of' (or smth) and how maybe he's an answer to that :--( that!! the love has grown and both of them will have to let go but!! the fact is that the love has grown!! and it's there!! and it's the journey to that 🥺 idk i could be rambling but!!

op!! this is just truly!! thank you for writing this 🥺 i don't even know how to fully express how much i love your works!! i'll be thinking about this for a while, just like i think about all the other works of you're i've loved for a while 🥹

pairing : nanami kento/reader

rating : M tags : Strangers to Lovers, the butterflies are a metaphor, Caretaker Nanami, stalking mention, Soft Nanami Kento, vanilla sex, Nanami is a closet romantic i stand by that, bonding over reading and not talking about feelings

summary:

this never factored into his plan; meeting you is completely incidental. then again, isn't everything?

chaos theory (wc 4500) - ao3 mirror

[musicallisto]

hello beloved I hope your shoulder surgery goes well!!! as a little distraction can I please ask for a franco colapinto x driver!reader, enemies to lovers? love u and thinking of u always xoxo

· · · · ♡ BOOM, CRASH! (fc43)

… starring franco colapinto x f!driver!reader ... 2.4k words ... in which you get into a nasty crash, and the first person to visit you in the hospital is the last guy you'd ever imagined being worried about you. ... warnings for crash, hospital, injuries, blood, nothing too graphic i think! reader is a bit of a bully tbhh but it is a cutthroat sport 😌 ... if you haven't noticed already, these are all very self-indulgent for me, and this is no exception.

Ironically, the last words you remember telling Franco Colapinto before you barrel into the wall at turn 12 were “Don't crash it.”

“What?”

“Don't crash it,” you repeat pointedly. “Logan wasn't exactly irreproachable in that regard. Budget cap's drawing closer.”

Your smile is wide but dulcet, not quite reaching your eyes, and your teeth are sharp and gritted. To any inopportune cameras that would be pointed at you right now, you only look like a well-meaning driver giving your rookie teammate advice before his second-ever F1 race... but neither you nor Franco miss the electricity crackling in the hallway outside the driver rooms.

“What makes you think I'm gonna crash it?" the Argentinian bites back, all fluttering eyelashes and wolfish smile. Unfazed, as always. Grinds your gears like little else can. "If anything, you be careful to not crash into me. Since I'm starting ahead on the grid and all.”

“Right, I forget it's your first time in Baku. You'll see what I mean soon enough, anyway.”

Your steps lead you down the hallway and to the garages mechanically, a path you've taken dozens of times, wearing different colored suits, following behind different teammates in stride. And this year's Williams blue would've suited you perfectly... if it didn't come attached with the pretentious goofball traipsing behind you.

You don't even bother looking back when you speak again. You raise your chin and brace yourself for the artificial lights of the pitlane.

“Good luck, or whatever.”

“It wouldn't kill you to be nice, you know?”

“Wouldn't kill you to know your place.”

The door handle creaks beneath your gloved hand, drowning out whatever it is Franco mutters in Spanish on the other end of the hall—”re amargada la piba esta” he mumbles to no one but himself—, and at last you are safe, at peace in the nervous bustle of a garage entirely devoted to you.

Sure, getting a new teammate midseason is a tough predicament to find oneself in: a whole new dynamic to establish, a whole routine to fall into. And newbies always get the chance to make good first impressions; not the girl who’s been sitting in the car for two years. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t mind it—Carlos Sainz will be snatching your first driver privileges next year anyway—but it would be easier to comply if the aforementioned new teammate wasn’t an annoying pain in the ass, flirting and laughing his way through the paddock with that detached nonchalance that believes everyone must be wrapped around his finger, and then having the gall to outqualify you on one of your favorite circuits. On his first-ever time there!

So yes, maybe it’s your ego taking up too much space in the tight cockpit of your Williams, obscuring your vision. Maybe it’s the disastrous grip you’ve reported twice now on the radio—Okay, Y/N, we heard that and we’ll get back to you.

Whatever it is, somewhere around lap 20, your car oversteers into a wide spin right as you enter the rapid turn. The steering wheel snaps out of your hands, and it’s like a giant strangles you with all its might for a blink of an eye, barely even a second.

You only know you’ve hit the wall—hard—from the ringing in your ears and soreness of your jaw. What used to be your front right tire lies in front of your smashed wing, rubber and carbon scattered pitifully. Your finger shakes when you lift it and press the radio button.

“I’m OK… I think.”

A flash of red catches the corner of your eye. You’re not sure if it’s from the flag being waved outside of track limits, a Haas zooming past in the corner, or… it’s hot, and viscous on your eyebrow, dripping into your eyes. You bring your hand to your forehead, where your helmet is crushed inward, just above your left eye. Smashed into your forehead.

Then everything kind of blurs together. You vaguely feel someone helping you out of the wreckage, their distant yapping about concussion symptoms not helping your light-headedness at all. You think you slip out of consciousness for the first time then, on the track still, because your next memory is of an ambulance—or what you assume to be an ambulance, you’ve never ridden in one before, and you even think to yourself this new procedure is pretty excessive from the FIA, the medical car was quite sufficient—and then it’s back to nothingness until you wake up for good on a stretcher, hooked to some sort of medical tube—perfusion?—as you’re being ushered into a quiet hospital room.

The nurse who visits you is sweet, filling in the blanks in slow, accented English. The gash to your forehead is pretty deep, but nothing the surgeon doesn’t see at least once a week! (At that, you lift a groggy hand above your brow bone, where you feel a thick bandage.) A few stitches later and you’re good as new, though the blood loss and concussion combined left you pretty weak, and justify keeping you in observation for the night. It’s just protocol, you’re probably used to hospital visits in that line of work of yours, she jokes—and you know you’ve recovered almost all your mental acuity because you get offended at that. No, you don’t usually crash. In fact, you haven’t all season…

And it had to be today of all days, in Baku… after you told Franco to not crash it.

When the nurse leaves the room with the promise she’ll be back in an hour, you let out a long, dreary sigh. Fernando Alonso’s grainy voice over the radio comes to mind. ¡Karma!

Night falls quickly outside your window with nothing to kill time but your phone. After catching up on the race results—somehow you’re too exhausted to feel irritated at Colapinto’s points finish—and posting a reassuring Instagram story for your followers, you’re left to the mercy of your ruminating thoughts. Sleep is impossible to catch; the adrenaline of the race hasn’t worn off yet, and you’ve been knocked out so long now you’re desperate to leave this stretcher.

You’ve just about decided to call the nurse for an early discharge when a shadow appears behind the door’s little windowpane, hesitates for a second, and then knocks. Medical personnel wouldn’t bother; it’s probably your family, or maybe even Vowles, or…

“Hey, how… che, estás hecha mierda.”

You tense immediately when you catch the brown waves of hair and unmistakable accent as Franco walks into your hospital room. He looks genuinely stumped, like he hadn’t expected to see you in such bad condition, so much so he forgets to shut the door behind him.

For some reason, the sight endears you. Makes you want to take him in your arms, feel his realness in this hallucinatory evening. What a ridiculous thought!

“Stop it with the Spanish,” you protest, devoid of your usual fire however. “Maybe it works on your fangirls, but not on me.”

“I said you look like shit.”

“Oh.” You look him straight in the eye, the silliness of the situation dawning on you, and against all odds you start to laugh. A real laugh, more than a chuckle, one that sends phantom pains stabbing through your sore abdomen. “Well if that’s all you’re gonna say, you can stick to Spanish! I don’t want to hear it.”

What did the nurse say about the anesthesia’s side effects? Do they include feeling a little glad and relieved to see your detested teammate? To know he’s the first person to check up on you?

Whatever the reason, you’re laughing, absurdly, and so is Franco, chuckling to himself as he closes the door and drags a chair closer to your bed. His eyes crinkle like a little kid’s, and that’s when you notice his disheveled appearance. Cheeks a little flushed, hair tousled like he’s just run a marathon, he’s wearing a crumpled-up Williams shirt, no doubt the first thing he could get his hands on after the race. It hits you then that he’s probably just off media duties, and the fact he’s alone, with no team delegation in tow, indicates he left early. Just to get to you. To make sure you were alright.

You are a competitor, but you aren’t a monster. The idea Franco couldn’t be bothered to wait for James, or anyone else, tugs at your heartstrings.

“Thank God you told me not to crash it, huh?” he teases between chuckles.

“Shut up.”

“Careful, Y/N, the budget cap is coming for you,” he wiggles his fingers over your face like a looming ghost.

You turn your head away to face the wall, huffing in exasperation, but a throbbing pain traverses your skull, and you wince. Franco’s eyes darken, smile fading into a grave expression.

You rarely see him like this outside of the helmet. It’s novel, but it’s welcome. Almost attractive, in a way.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… My helmet smashed into my forehead. I was bleeding pretty bad, apparently, they had to stitch me up. I got concussed too. Aren’t helmets supposed to absorb these hits?”

“Concussed?” he repeats, and holds out his hand in a peace sign. “How many fingers?”

You stick out your tongue at the Argentinian, flipping him the bird.

“And now?”

“Ah, come on, don’t be so mean,” Franco chuckles, scooting a little closer to your stretcher with his chair. Unfazed, as always. But this time it doesn’t peeve you; you’re rather thankful for his cheeky banter, actually. For a moment, in the blur of cold white lights and carbon fiber debris, you’d started to fear you could lose it for good. “We were just starting to become friends!”

“That’s because I’m concussed. I don’t want to be friends with you, we’re rivals.”

“Well the whole rivals thing isn’t working very well for you lately. Maybe you’re better off being friends with me.”

You roll your eyes, but the gnawing anxiety that roars in your stomach whenever someone pits you against the rookie stays quiet for once. Perhaps you’re still under the influence of the tranquilizers… or perhaps those brown eyes holding you in their light, tender in a way you’ve never seen them before, make it harder to get mad at him.

“I’ll consider it.”

And you don’t mean it just yet, but you don’t don’t mean it. What do you even hate Franco Colapinto for? Stealing the spotlight from you just two weeks into his career? Flirting with every living being on the paddock except you? Or forcing you to up your game and face your fears?

A stabbing pain crushes your skull all of a sudden, and you shut your eyes, teeth gritted and muscles taut, to try and breathe it out… to no avail. When you open your eyes, Franco is staring at you, brows furrowed in that same serious, concerned expression that sends a wholly different type of pins and needles through your body.

“Everything alright?”

“No… The painkillers. I need another ketoprofen,” you whine, squinting your eyes against the harsh hospital lightning.

“Should I call the nurse?”

“No, they’re on the table over there,” you gesture blindly. “There’s a glass too.”

Only sounds inform you of what’s going on once you close your eyes, faint lights and colors barely piercing through your eyelids. The rustling of fabric, then someone fumbling with cardboard and pills, your sink opening, and then cautious footsteps stopping at the edge of your bed.

“Here.”

You take the pill between weak fingers and fight with all your might to sit up straight in the bed without moving your head… but the soreness and exhaustion from the race and surgery overpower you. So much for neck strength.

“I can’t,” you huff out in defeat. “I can’t tilt my head.”

“It’s okay. Take the pill,” Franco orders softly, and you put the drug on your tongue, too tired to raise the outrage of him bossing you around.

Slowly, carefully, Franco brings the rim of the glass to your lips, and you drink all that you can, training your attention on the medication going down your throat—and not on your teammate’s intense gaze fixed on your mouth, nor the proximity of your bodies or his slightly ragged breath.

“Thank you,” you exhale when you’re done.

Luckily for him, he has his back turned to you when you speak, setting the empty glass down on the table, so you don’t notice his bashful smile. He’s never heard you so docile, affable, even, and though he likes it when you bite back… it feels great, too, to know there is a way to pierce that armor of yours.

“Franco,” you call out to him, neither of you missing how this is one of the first times you’ve called him by his first name. “Do you mind… staying? Just until James or someone else gets here. It gets so boring.”

He spins on his heels in disbelief, scrutinizing you in search of mockery, or irony, or your usual callousness… but all he reads is earnest and the slightest hint of embarrassment, all he sees is your outstretched hand. So he brushes it with his, not daring to hold it purposefully just yet. Like he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome into your bubble.

“Yeah, sure. But only so you won’t get bored.”

“Of course,” you smile faintly as he sits back down on his chair. Your eyes meet in newfound amusement, maybe even temporary fondness. “Don’t go around thinking I like you.”

“Me? I would never. We’re rivals.”

You give a small appreciative nod, and after some instants of silence, clear your throat and ask him to recount the end of the race. Just as you expected, his storytelling is dramatic and entertaining, interspersed with words he doesn’t remember how to say in English and the unmissable zest of grid gossip Franco always brings to his tales. You chuckle, gasp, and pester even, as much as you can with your aching skull and limbs… and barely notice the minutes ticking by, or how you wish the rest of your team would never show up, your distaste for Franco slaking.

Maybe you can be persuaded into liking his presence, after all. So long as he stays out of the car, though… and remains your personal nurse.

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[inazuman]

i hope you find what you're looking for

☁  blade x f!reader s.mut, honkai: star rail ☁  reader is afab and goes by she/her. alpha/omega dynamics. blade helps you out during your heat, calls you “girl” “sweet girl” “baby”, consent is sexy and blade is very adamant about it. reader is jing yuan’s assistant. ☁  A/N: i cannot get sweet gentle blade off my mind after that car scene and this fic is what happened ☁ 5k words

“Watch where you’re going, miss.”

His hands fall to your waist as your back crashes against his front, attempting to blink away the frazzled state you’re in. Despite his warm hands, his touch feels like the first gulp of ice cold water on the hottest day.

Alpha, your head wants to reel. It’s sickening sweet, the way your slick pools at just a whiff of his scent.

It’s even worse when you turn around and realize who it is. Even with the mask and the sunglasses (does he really think that helps?), your heart drops.

Blade. The Stellaron Hunter who escaped from the Shackling Prison less than an hour ago.

Aeons, this really is the worst day to be getting your heat, isn’t it?

Blade immediately retracts his hands when he realizes your state. He’s been alive too many years to need to run away before his body starts reacting, but he’s still — at least partially — human. Your scent is sweet, almost needy, has his biology wanting to follow you wherever you go.

You whine at the loss of contact, your hand immediately slapping across your mouth as you come to terms with what just happened.

“I-“

“No need to apologize, it’s perfectly natural.”

This little alleyway is only used by those working with the Divine Foresight, and in the middle of a work day, nobody is walking through it. Nobody was supposed to walk through it. Maybe you should’ve figured a long lived, previously acclaimed man like him would’ve known about it and used it.

That thought would’ve been way more helpful when you were trying to track his movements earlier.

Blade’s in no rush. He hasn’t been for a long time. The time will pass anyways, after all. Elio makes no mistakes in his script, so he’s sure whatever happens here won’t affect the later situation. It’s whether you’re in the right mind state to know what’s happening, that’s his biggest concern.

“You’re-! You know rightfully, I should cuff you and bring you back to the Shackling Prison.” You try to be stern, but your core turns, causing you to buckle forward. Blade swiftly reaches across to hold you up.

“I… can help you get close to a medical bay. If your mind is still clear-“

“My mind is perfectly coherent,” you snap, and then your face immediately winces with regret. He might be a so-called criminal, but it’s not like he’s hurt you personally, and Jing Yuan strangely but oh-so-kindly asked for your understanding of him. “It only started today. My mind won’t fog until at least tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Hold up. You’re a criminal. On the run. And you want to help me get to a med bay? Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, running away?”

“All will come to be as it should.”

You roll your eyes. It’s like when Jing Yuan tells Fu Xuan that it’s “not her time” with some fancy words.

Blade rephrases. “I have nowhere to be, as of right now.”

You feel your knees threatening to buckle, wincing as your hand squeezes Blade’s shoulder tight. If it affects him, his face doesn’t show it.

“Fine. Since you’re the nicest criminal looking to be a Samaritan, please help me get home. It’s not far from here.”

~

Blade is surprisingly patient, even bothers to remove his shoes before coming into the house, gracefully placing you on your sofa.

“Thank you, wanted criminal.”

He scoffs at that, but nods politely. His sunglasses and mask are tucked somewhere away now, no need for them since you know exactly who he is.

There’s a beat of silence. He should leave. He’s done his job. But you’re an omega in distress, alone. And the worst part is, you’re not doing anything.

You’re not grabbing items to make a nest, or calling an alpha, or taking any medication. Are you waiting for him to leave? You likely would’ve said something, given your clear ability to clip back. Your scent most certainly tells him to stay, but he knows better than most what it’s like to be a prisoner to your own physical body, in more ways than one.

All you do is grip at the edge of the sofa and stare at your coffee table, like an endangered animal with nowhere to go.

Maybe it’s his biology talking, but he somehow feels like he should do something.

“Is there anything else you need?”

It’s your turn to scoff, doing your best to shake off your mind. “Wow, you really are nice.” You remove your shoes, slotting them under the couch for later. And then your eyes narrow. “Or were you just looking for a pretty little omega to fuck, hm?”

If this were any other situation, he would’ve taken this opportunity to turn on his heel and leave right out the door, but something about the situation prickles at the back of his neck.

“Is this your first time handling a heat?” He asks directly.

You wince at that, wrapping a throw blanket over yourself. “No… Is it that obvious?” You sigh, bringing your knees towards yourself and pressing them against your chest. “I’ve been on suppressants for a long time.”

Blade gives you your options sincerely. “There’s an app. For those in your predicament. Otherwise, you might want to consider a nest. If you have painkillers on you, that could help too. I’ve heard it’s not much help, but it’s better than nothing.”

You breathe. “Nest. Right.” Your eyes scatter around, holding the blanket around you tight. You look like you want to get up and then you don’t, mind volleying between thoughts and decisions that end up leaving you nowhere. Blade’s chest can’t help but tighten at how lost you look.

“May I?” he asks for permission to step further into your home.

What a criminal, you want to remark. But the way your heart is pumping both from the stress and the heat within you just has you nodding. He opens your bedroom door before walking back towards you and carefully picking you up, slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to interject. To your surprise, you let him, the omega inside of you feels like it’s almost cooing at his embrace. He places you down on the armchair in the corner, washing his hands in the bathroom before taking your blanket and bunching it up in a circular motion, propping up your pillows around it.

“Okay. This is a good start. Add things that bring you comfort around you. If you like soft toys, or something like that. If you’re up to it, it would be ideal for you to shower and get into something comfortable.”

Your scent peaks, making him turn around. Your knees are tucked close to you once more, your eyes glassy. You can feel yourself descending into something, more quickly than you realized.

“Whilst I’m still coherent… I would…” you swallow, your throat feels like you’ve drunken something sweet and forgot to drink water before falling sleep. “I would appreciate if you stayed. Since you said you’re not doing anything. Not that I’m pressuring you. Your scent is…” you feel your face get hot, but Blade just nods.

“I’ll be just outside.”

~

It’s perfectly normal.

Okay, that’s not the right word. Maybe more like, it’s perfectly natural. To ask an alpha to stay with you during your heat. There’s apps for that. That’s what Blade said, right?

The shower water beats over your skin as you lightly scrub it.

Definitely not embarrassing. Or strange. Even if he is a wanted criminal. What was it, something like 8 billion credits? Would Jing Yuan even give you that if you turned him back in?

You press the edge of your palm against your eyebrow. His scent, like the woods and bergamot and faintly of incense. The wanted posters did not do him justice.

~

Blade presses a hand to his pants the moment he closes the door.

Your scent, sweeter than any sin, the glassy look in your eyes that you were so desperately blinking away, the way you gripped him as you gasped into his touch… He is not someone who struggles with self-control, but he can’t deny the way his member hardens.

He desperately tries to think. What do omegas need again? Medication. Something soft. Water.

He hears you enter the shower, the thought of you naked passes quickly in his mind, but has him gripping your doorknob tight all the same. You said something about his scent too, didn’t you? He removes his outerwear, shuffling back into your room to place it on the armchair. Just in case.

He spots your laundry hamper on his way out your room, and forces himself to look away before he gets carried away.

~

As he places a jug of water and a couple glasses on your bedside table, you chuck your hand holding a towel into his field of vision.

He doesn’t take it, instead curiously arches an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, fine, I’ll say it, since the shower cleared my mind. I am aware that you are a big bad criminal. And we’re both aware I’m in heat. But you’ve been nice. So this is my official invitation. Stay with me during it.”

“That sounds more like a demand.”

You push the towel into his hands, and this time he takes it. “We both know you’re perfectly capable of leaving here if you wanted.” You stomp back to your nest, courtesy of the handsome man in front of you, and wrap yourself into your blankets.

“The jacket gesture was nice,” you add, “but you’ve been in the Shackling Prison. Aeon knows what’s down there. So shower, and come back here.” Maybe he’s right. This does sound like a demand. “Is this arrangement… okay with you?”

The corner of Blade’s mouth upturns just a bit, but he steels himself for what he’s about to say. “I’m one of the most dangerous men the IPC has a bounty on. You’re clearly under the influence of your heat, which means we can’t be perfectly clear of your consent.”

“My mind is clear. I’m Jing Yuan’s assistant. You might be strong, but I can take a fight too. Also…” you flush with embarassment, “I have no idea what I’m doing. You clearly know more than me, and I’m guessing I’m about to get worse. Also… Jing Yuan may have told me to be nice to you even though you’re a criminal.”

Blade laughs at that, a warm sound that hits straight to your core, your hand pressing against your stomach.

“You trust the General’s words that much?”

“There’s a lot going on right now! Just take the goddamn shower!” You chuck a pillow at him, which he catches with ease and throws back.

A closer whiff of your scent has him swallowing a noise in his throat. He rationalizes that he surely can’t leave you in the hands of a random Alpha who might take advantage of your lack of knowledge, especially not someone so close to Jing Yuan.

~

“Alphas can act more… barbaric, shall we say, the heavier an omega’s heat gets. You have to fight and say it straight if you don’t want anything, you understand?”

Maybe you should’ve thought this through a little more before, because now you certainly can’t. Blade is wearing nothing except the towel you gave him wrapped low around his waist, his muscles clear and evident, scars littering his body like streaks of comets. He’s stunning.

He watches you ogle him, sighing as he cups your face gently in his palm, forcing your gaze to his face.

“Did you hear me, girl?”

And oh, maybe that’s a mistake on his part, because the moment you make eye contact with him, his breath catches. Your lips are still slick with the water you’ve been drinking, your pupils widened and full of lust. That blank look that is clearly only thinking of him. How long has it been for Blade too, since he’s had a moment like this with someone else? Centuries? Your omega scent fills the air at the skin-to-skin contact, and it makes him feel like you’re a siren pulling him in.

He can see your mind working, doing your best to force your brain to think. “I’ll tell you. I will.”

It’s only then that Blade sits in your nest with you. He notices the way you lean into him, until your head rests against his shoulder, breathing his smoky scent in.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Blade chuckles. “My only concern is being able to control myself through this.”

You reach for him, press your face closer to his, until your noses are touching. He lets you lead, wants you to lead, so that he knows exactly what it is you want and what you’re okay with.

And you do, your mouth pressing against his, getting the first drink of what he has to offer. He thinks he could drown in you like this. His hand moves to the small of your back, his lips gentle and slow as they move against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and then you’re pulling him in, and it’s like a dam that breaks open. He’s careful not to rest his whole weight on you, one hand propping himself up against your headboard, even as you squeeze your arms tighter. You didn’t realize heats could feel like this, having someone with you to hold as it sinks you in deeper. You bring your nose to the scent gland at his neck, kissing it lightly, and your scent that fllls the room in return has him making a noise akin to a growl as he presses his hand into your waist.

“Careful, girl,” he warns, but you don’t care. God, you don’t care. You feel your heat settling into your body deeper, slick pooling between your legs as you wrap them around his waist. You’re sure he can smell it, especially from the way he tries to still you.

“Mm, a little fast, don’t you think?” His teeth nips at your ear as your hands trail down his chest, over his back, the bumps from scarring only making it clearer to your heat-addled brain that he’s strong, a strong alpha.

“It’s your-,” your words die down before you can say them. It’s your job to keep us in check, you want to say. But your body starts to warm uncomfortably. Blade runs a hand up and down your torso, thumb pressing circles against your waist. Your eyebrows cinch together, kicking of the sheets yet wanting the comfort of them close to you.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s called a heat for a reason.” He kisses your cheek gently, like a lover. You chase his lips, bringing him in for another kiss.

“You don’t feel hot,” you tell him as you break away, confused. Strangely enough, Blade’s body doesn’t add to your irritating warmth. If anything, it feels like the only relief. His body is warm, but where he touches you tingles softly, staving off the heaviness.

“Mm, that’s because I’m taking care of you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, dangerously close to nipping at your scent gland, before descending down your collarbone. His hands move under your shirt, a reprieve from the sweat that’s starting to sheenson your skin. You want to beg him like he’s a god to release you from the cage your heated body has become. Instead, you remove your shirt, pulling him into you once more, his skin against yours like a reverence.

He continues to kiss at the skin he’s been given access to, one hand moving to your breast, cupping it from below and pinching at your nipple. You arch into his touch, and his mind immediately goes to the thought of you arching your back as he presses his member into you.

He wants more. He wants so, so much more.

Does he dare let himself indulge? His thoughts flitter away as you release him from the death grip your arms had him in, allowing him to descend his mouth down to your breasts, to kiss at the skin, teeth scraping lightly over a nipple, his hands skating over your stomach and to the waistband of your pants.

You’re sobbing into him now, somehow he’s skin to skin with you and it feels like it’s not nearly close enough. Your head feels full of cotton, his body and the feeling of his wet tongue lapping at you, lips wrapping around your nipple, encompassing you so fully you sometimes forget to breathe.

You tap his shoulder as he kisses down your stomach, and he looks up at you with curious eyes.

“Can’t- can’t take it,” you heave, hands stroking his hair. “Take me now,” your thighs tighten around him. “Need- I need”

“No.”

His answer is so clipped that it shocks you, and you’re almost distracted by him removing your pants from you, leaving your soft panties for his view.

“Wha- Blade,” you sigh his name, you meant for it to be a scolding, but then he’s kissing right above the waistband of your panties and you feel the air rush out of you all too delicately. “You- don’t you want-”

“This is about what you want.”

“I just told you what I want!”

“You’re not ready.” His words are almost a whisper now, voice gruff between your legs, his hair tickling the inside of your thighs as he presses his nose to your clothed core and breathes you in. God, he feels like an animal, his member hardening at just the scent of your slick. Don’t you know he’s already holding back? Don’t you know the way you’re beckoning him to give it to you now is more torture for him than it is for you?

“What? Blade, you can’t be serious.”

He grunts. “I’m serious.” His saliva coats his mouth, gripping your thighs a little tighter. “May I?”

“God, Blade, yes. Do whatever you’re gonna do since you’re not gonna-”

He relishes in the way your breath catches and the words fall out of your mouth the moment he laps his wet tongue over your clothed core. The sound you let out is a wrecked thing.

You distinctly hear a ripping sound, the material giving way against your skin and chucked somewhere behind him.

“Blade!”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he groans, and then his tongue is pressed against your folds and oh, it’s like heaven’s greatest sin, so close to the relief you so desperately want. He doesn’t sound any better, moans falling from his lips that are pressed against your core, purposefully wrapping his arms around your thighs and pressing them towards his face so he can have you all around him, your skin and scent and sweat only adding to the way he has to grind his hips into your bed.

You intertwine your fingers with his, gripping tight, and he can’t help but feel his heart lurch a little at how cute the gesture is. You know exactly who he is, but the way you’re gasping his name asking him for more, more makes him feel like less of a monster and more like a lover, your lover.

He swallows every drop of pearly wetness you afford him, his suckles over your folds slowly growing more desperate. He wants to breathe you in, drink you up, give you all he can. He settles with splitting your folds with his tongue, flicking your clit over and over again, gripping your thighs tight, and mumbling into your skin about how “you’re so pretty like this, wanna watch you make a mess on my face” between breaths.

He doesn’t have to wait long, your grip on his hand gets tighter with each lather of his wet muscle, your core tightening as you try your best to tell him that you’re close, so close.

“Yeah, baby? You’re gonna give it to me?” he whispers against your skin, lips glistening as they delve back in. “Go ahead then, show me how pretty you look when you cum.”

He watches you as you cum, letting out a broken moan, your thighs pressing against the sides of his face impossibly tighter, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. You sob as your hips thrust into his face, his hands never letting yours go, tongue working you through every shock of your orgasm. He does his best to savor every drop. It’s for him, because of him, after all.

You’re shocked he’s still going when you come back to, your thrashing going from intense pleasure to overstimulation, your hands pushing against his in an attempt to get away from the way he’s still sucking on your clit.

“Too much! Blade, I’m so sensitive, it’s so much, oh, gods.”

“Mm,” he acknowledges you, but doesn’t let up, still holding your legs tight against himself. He’s not done, doesn’t want to be.

“Blade, BladeBladeBlade, I can’t, I really can’t, wha-“ Something shifts inside of you, and the feeling is like being choked, your lungs out of breath and desperately trying to take in air as the pain gives way to pleasure. Every wave feels like a drug, so quick to become putty in his hands as he drags you to another orgasm. This time it’s slower to build, but so much more intense, your body uncontrollable as it tenses harshly, gripping his hair, and you come undone on his tongue once more.

“Blade, holy, what-“ you try to catch your breath, desperate for each gulp of air you take in.

He groans in satisfaction, his grin carnivorous as he swipes his tongue over his lips, wiping the excess with the back of his hand.

“Good girl. Came so well for me, didn’t you?” His smirk is evident, canines pressing down just slightly against his tongue. He peppers kisses against your inner thigh.

“Gods, Blade. Just-“ your legs shake as you attempt to reel him in, grabbing his hand with yours, and this time he lets you, kissing you deep, his tongue grazing against the back of your teeth.

You lay your hand flat against his abs, sliding them down until your fingertips reach the towel, haphazardly pulling it off. He draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of the cool air on his member, pressing his hand down to your waist. His mind reels with just the thought of having you, the thought of his cock sliding into you, lubricated by your slick and his spit.

When he pulls his lips away from yours, you finally get to look at him, your hand wrapping around his dick as he exhales a soft ‘mm’.

You pump your hand up once, twice, before he’s taking your hand in his and putting it away.

“Blade, please. You’re so hard,” you’re sure between your legs is shiny with your slick and his spit. He doesn’t falter anymore, pressing your thighs back towards your chest, lining himself up with his cunt, gritting his teeth as the sensitive head catches against your folds.

“You’re-,” he grips your thighs a little harder, steeling himself against you. “Stay still, girl.”

“Please.”

“I’m getting there*.”*

“You’ve been teasing me for hours-”

“You’ve cum twice. Don’t make me show you what teasing really looks like.” He finally presses himself into you, a short intake of breath passes through his teeth as the head slips in. He plays with you, he has to be, sliding in and out of you, giving you just a little more each time.

You’re gripping his shoulders, pulling his body close to yours, his grunts so soft you might almost miss them if his mouth wasn’t against your ear. You’re faring no better, pressed chest to chest against him as he sinks into you.

“Oh,” you gasp, and he grunts in return, his forehead pressing against yours so he can watch and feel your every reaction. His hand grips the headboard, the wood creaks as if it’s about to give in to him, trying his damn best not to slam into you like he knows he wants to. He sheaths himself in whole, finally, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix. It feels downright cruel, the way you grip around him, your pretty whines against his ear.

“Are you-”

“Please,” you beg him, because nothing has ever felt so right and you think you might die if he doesn’t give it to you.

He huffs. “You’re not gonna die, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

“Well hurry up with it or I might,” you tilt your hips up, trying to move under his weight but he’s heavy, pinning you down and yet it’s exactly what you need. He moves off of you slightly only to bring his hands behind your knees, pressing them to your chest, and there’s a moment where you’re not really sure where he’s going with this until he-

“You’re so tight,” he grunts, and then he’s slamming into you hard. “Wanted to make this easy for you, ease you in, but you just had to go and be a brat.” You think your mind bluescreens from the pleasure-pain of his cock sliding all the way out to the tip only to press back into you, ramming against your cervix with every other press of his hips against yours, your heat coiling like a serpent in your core, like the slow drip of syrup through your body.

He brings his hand down between your bodies, fingers tapping against your clit. “Taking my cock so well, aren’t you?” His voice is low and heavy, and all you can do is say his name in return. “You’re a good little omega, aren’t you baby? Good girl, good fucking girl.”

You thought he’d be quiet, but something about his cock inside of you has the words tumbling out of his mouth. You can both feel his knot starting to swell, the heat of it making him sweat, the way it widens right at the base. It makes his hips stutter, more desperate, prevents him from sliding out all the way like he was before so he fucks you faster.

“Wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Your legs are over his shoulder now, one hand running circles over your clit, the other making its way around your neck. He doesn’t choke you, doesn’t press down, only holds you there as a show of power, but something about it has you arching your back into him.

He thinks it’s dangerous, makes him feel like you belong to him.

“Wanna cum around your cock,” you whisper to him in return, and he grunts.

“Yeah?” He smirks, but it’s gentle, almost like a smile, a soft upturn at the corner of his mouth. “Been aching for an alpha’s cock inside of you, haven’t you?”

“Just yours,” you tell him, your fingernails scratching at the nape of his neck. The confession has him pressing his teeth right next to your scent gland, making a mark where you can’t hide.

“This pussy belongs to me now, then,” he says it like something between a demand and a prayer. You gasp yes into his ear as you get closer to the edge, teetering off it. “Show me how my pussy cums for me. Cum around my cock, baby. You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?” You can feel the pulse of his knot, his adam apple jumping as he swallows, mouth dry. “Go ahead and cum for me then.”

It’s your alpha’s order, your body follows like it responds only to his demands, it feels like it’s being ripped out of you as your chest presses against his and your mind goes blank, your slick gushing around his knot. He’s only seconds behind, spilling into you with a groan, his face in your shoulder, his nose against your scent gland so he can memorize the sweetness of you right at your peak.

It’s with a deep intake of breath that you both relax. He’s careful to position his body next to yours, to make sure he doesn’t crush you, even as his cock stays inside of you, his knot still slightly swollen. He swipes your hair back, thumb tracing over your hairline as he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then presses his lips against yours for something saccharine sweet. You let him, drinking him in.

“Stay,” you tell him, and he chuckles, because it’s still more of an order than a request.

“Still got attitude,” he holds you close, rolling both of you over so you’re lying on top of him. “Not going anywhere, baby. Relax.”

“For my whole heat. Take my number too, while you’re at it.” Your words slur together, but the genuinity shows in your eyes.

“I’m a wanted criminal.” He says frankly.

“Oh yeah? Should’ve- fuck- should’ve told me that earlier. It’s almost like there’s a wanted poster on every street of you.”

“It doesn’t look like me.” He rakes a hand through your hair, his other massages the soreness in your thigh.

“Why’d Jing Yuan let you go anyways?”

“You wanna say another man’s name with my dick still inside of you?”

“Ah, sorry, so possessive. I think it’s going down now.” You lift yourself off of it slowly, and Blade watches with reverence as his seed slips out of you, milky white. He catches it on his fingers, pressing it back.

“S-Sensitive,” your nails press into his chest, and he kisses your shoulder in apology.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Can’t move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“We just showered.”

“Just a rinse. Then I’ll add your number, okay?”

“Okay.”

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

[spookwyrdie]

Riled Up.

{part 1}{part 2}{part3}

Bang Chan x Reader x Han Jisung

word count: 2.5k

summary: After your little performance on the dance floor with Jisung, Chan pulls you into a limo to teach you a lesson and remind you who's in control. Just as he's about to make you scream, his phone rings. Seems like someone wants to be in the audience for this.

genre: smut, power play

warnings: adult dialogue, explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, jealousy, phone sex, cunnilingus, oral sex [f receiving], edging, dacryphilia, some bratting if you squint

a/n: I got super excited to share this part, so here it is! Pt 3 is in the works rn and might take a little bit, please be patient for that one!

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

Chan grabs your elbow and steers you off the dance floor and towards the exit. You watch his jaw clench, sending a ripple of desire through you as he drags you out of the club. You can feel how wet you are between your legs, thighs slick with arousal from dancing with Jisung. You’re so amped up from the anticipation and he hasn’t even touched you yet.  

Once outside, he opens the door to the vehicle you arrived in - a stretch limo with the blacked-out windows. He gestures to you to slide in first, his eyes fierce with hunger. As you step in front of him, he lands a firm smack on your ass. You keen from the impact as it jolts through you, another gush of arousal drips out of you as you clench around nothing. Your dress rides up your thighs as you slide into the car, Chan quickly following behind you and slamming the door shut. 

“Roll up the partition and take the long way back. The very long way back,” he says to the driver. The man nods as the opaque screen between the driver’s cab and the rest of the limo rolls up. 

Chan’s eyes meet yours as he turns to you, leaning in until he’s a breath away. “Did you have your fun out there tonight?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him, “Of course. Ji’s a great dancer, don’t you think?” 

“I think you were putting on a show to get my attention.” 

“Maybe... Did it work?” you ask, looking at him with a doe eyed innocence. He’s not falling for it, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek.  

“I don’t know, did it?” he grits out, taking your hand and placing it over the firm bulge in his pants. You salivate as you palm him through his pants, and he hums at the touch. You’re about to wrap your fingers around him when he snatches your wrist and pulls you close to him. 

“I think I need to remind you exactly who you belong to.” 

His plush lips crash against yours and you sink into his embrace. He tangles his hands into your hair and grips hard. Your jaw drops open as you moan at the harsh touch; Chan takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue against yours, biting down on your plump lip, and wrapping himself around you possessively. You’re lost in the feel of his soft lips against yours, the push and pull you fall into naturally sweeping you away in the moment. 

His hand comes up to your chin as he pulls away, holding you in place while you try and chase his lips. He hovers above you, tilting his head like he’s going to kiss you again. You reach up to close the distance, but he pulls back, smiling at the way his denial makes you pout. His lips trail along your jaw to your ear, biting down on the lobe, laving over the pain with his tongue. You cry out as your hips spasm underneath him, your ears are one of your most sensitive spots and he’s using it to his advantage.  

“Chan, please,” you whisper, breathlessly. 

“You don’t get to ask for anything tonight, sweet thing,” he says in a low voice, tracing his tongue around the shell of your ear. “You had your fun, now I get to have mine.” 

Your hands at his shoulders clench into fists, balling up the material of his shirt underneath them, using this one point of contact to ground you. He takes your wrists and holds them with one hand. The other unbuckles his black leather belt, slipping it out of the belt loops of his pants. He wraps it delicately around your wrists, taking care to keep away from the cluster of nerves and tendons. He cinches it down, not too tight but definitely snug against your skin. You wiggle your fingers, reaching to touch him in any way you can, needing to feel as much of his body as possible. 

“Ah-ah, no touching unless I say so,” he says, lifting your wrists and placing them behind the headrest of your seat. Your body is on display for him again, at his mercy. 

A pathetic whine escapes you as he kneels down to the floor, slotting his body between your thighs and pulling you close to the edge of the seat, your arms still connected behind the headrest. His lips find yours again, gentler this time, as he presses his body into you, making you lean back while he trails wet kisses down to your chest. He tugs the top of your dress down roughly, pulling your breasts out from underneath the fabric. His plump lips wrap around one nipple, flicking his tongue back and forth on the sensitive bud as the other hand pinches the other. You arch your back into him with a whimper, rocking your hips into him, chasing any sort of friction to relieve the building tension in your core.  

He sucks hard on your nipple before pulling it out of his mouth with a loud pop! He looks up at you from below, chuckling at your whimpers. “Feeling a bit needy tonight, sweet thing?” he murmurs with a dangerous edge to his voice. 

“Mhmm,” you respond, failing to produce any words as he rolls your nipples under his fingers, watching you squirm.  

“Good.” 

His hands trail down your body to the hem of your dress, already pushed up far enough to see a peek of your panties. He drags his fingers down your thighs as he lowers his face down to your cunt. The sight of him between your legs, looking at you like he was going to happily devour you, makes you quiver. The throb of need throughout your body is strong, settling deep in your pelvis. You tilt your hips up towards him, begging silently as you bite down on your lip. Chan just laughs at you, hovering right above your panties, making sure you can feel his hot breath where you’re most sensitive, just out of reach.  

“Sit still,” he says, a hushed command in his voice. You instantly freeze in place, attempting to be good to get him to touch you. He hovers for a moment before he obliges. His eyes lock with yours, slowly pressing his tongue flat against the wet spot that has soaked through the fabric. The small amount of pressure already has you panting. He groans into your cunt, the sound reverberates and makes you wriggle around, whimpering helplessly. 

“God, you’re so wet already,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. He’s lost in his own desire from just the taste of you. For a split second, he forgets the white-hot jealousy he felt from your little performance earlier. He leans back, opening his eyes and looks over you again; you blush under his intense gaze, feeling so vulnerable and so desperate for him. 

Chan runs his hands up your thighs, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and slides them down leisurely, making sure to take his time. You feel a burning trail left over every inch where he has touched your skin. He drags the fabric down to your ankles and has you step out of them, shoving the garment into his pocket. His hands hook behind your knees and shifts them towards your chest, your glistening cunt on full display in the low light of the car.

Sitting back on his heels, he pulls his phone out, aiming the camera at you. “Say cheese,” he teases, sticking his tongue between his teeth and giggling. You bite your lip again, whining at the hot bolt of embarrassment that shoots through you, eventually settling deep in your core, the muscles spasm with want. 

Chan types out a quick message and hits send, his gaze lands on you again. His eyes are so dark, they’d be menacing if you didn’t know he was just as awash in lust as you. 

“W-who’d you send that to?”  

“You’ll find out later,” he purrs, flashing you a taunting smile.  

His hands grip onto your legs once more. He caresses from the back your knees to your thighs, thumbs meeting on either side of your lips, massaging but not making contact with your clit yet. The indirect pressure squeezing your sensitive clit has you bucking into his hands.  

After grinding into his touch, trying to chase any sort of real friction, he moves one of his thumbs and gingerly brushes over the swollen bundle of nerves, pressing gently into your clit without moving. It makes you yelp as you try to rub yourself against his thumb, but his other hand grasps at your hip, halting your movement. 

“I thought I made it clear I was in control tonight,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’ll get as much as I want to give you.” 

With that, he raises his hand, and slaps you right on your clit with a quick smack! Your whole body lurches forward, crying out, searing pain and pleasure mixing together as it rushes through your body. He lands three more slaps to your cunt, with each a lewd wet sound fills the cabin of the limo. Tears prick in your eyes as you blink, there’s a buzzing sensation building in your core.  

“Fuck, you take that so well,” he grits out from his clenched jaw. Both of his arms hook around your thighs, holding your hips down, as he presses a feather light kiss against your wetness. He loves taking his time with you - the needier you get, the more he drags it out.  

His phone rings in his pocket, and his eyes flash to yours, sin darkening his expression. He taps the button and holds it to his ear. You hear a tinny voice from the receiver say, “Hyung?”

“Look what you did to her, Ji. I don’t know whether to kill you or kiss you,” Chan says. “She’s so wet, her pussy is aching to be touched. Here, listen.”

Chan puts the phone on your lower stomach as his other hand languidly slips through your folds, still avoiding direct contact with your clit. You whine pitifully, trying to rut into his touch, slick noises fill the air again. He lands a few more wet slaps against your cunt again, each making you jolt and gasp at the sting. 

Chan picks up the phone again.

“Hear that?”

“Y-yeah,” Jisung says shakily. 

“Good listening skills. Let’s put them to the test,” Chan says, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down again on your chest.

“Ji….” You whimper.

“Y/n? Fffuck…” you hear him pant on the other end of the call. 

“Don’t hang up, Jisung,” Chan grits out. “You’re going to listen to her while I make her cum. That’s what you wanted, right?”

There’s a groan on the other end of the phone. Your eyes widen, landing on Chan. His gaze softens for a moment, searching your face for any hesitation. You pull your lip between your teeth and give him a small nod. Immediately, his demeanor shifts back into the domineering lust from before. He lowers himself to your core once more, holding your thighs open while pressing them closer to your chest. Sticking his tongue out, he lets saliva drip down the tip directly onto your clit.

You take a deep shuddering breath, but it gets caught in your throat when Chan wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard. You choke out a groan as your hips convulse underneath him. He’s ruthless with the slow, sedate pace of his tongue. His forearms come up to pin you in place while his fingers spread your folds open for more intense, direct contact to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your face scrunches up, a string of expletives leaving your mouth between whimpers. The lazy speed with deliberate, precise pressure of his tongue is enough to keep you teetering on the edge of an orgasm but not enough to get you over the crest. It’s driving you insane, the way that he’s playing with you like this. Any time you try to tilt your hips towards his mouth for more pressure, he backs away, anticipating your movements.

On the phone laying on your chest, you hear Jisung panting in unison with you. He echoes you, heavy breathing and grunting whenever Chan hits a particularly sensitive spot. Chan brings you to the brink again, the coil in your lower belly about to snap through you, when he lifts his head. 

“Can you hear this, Ji?” he says as he sinks a finger into you. You keen, your cunt sucking his fingers in eagerly. You nearly sob, wanting more, needing more, and Chan cruelly pushing you to the edge then denying you.

“M-more! Please, Chan,” you shudder out. 

“More?” he asks, sliding another finger in slowly.

You sigh at the stretch, still frustrated with the slow pace, not caring anymore how fucked out you sound as you whine. “Please…”

“I don’t know…” Chan muses. “What do you think, Ji?”

Jisung moans on the phone, “Fuck yes, more,” he says with a quivering voice.

Chan pauses, catching your eyes as tears start to stream down your cheeks. “Well, if Ji says so.”

Immediately, he fucks into you faster, fingers thrusting into your heat, tongue batting around your neglected clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, barely breathing from the sudden change of pace. You feel that coil tightening again in your lower belly, all your muscles taut in anticipation. Chan is brutal with the rhythm, racing you towards an orgasm, back to that edge faster and faster. 

When his fingers finally curl in that heavenly come-hither motion, the coil finally snaps. You scream, stars dancing in front of your eyes at the force of your orgasm as it pulses through you, fluttering your muscles around his fingers. Chan doesn’t stop, keeping up the intense pace of his tongue and his fingers, riding it out as long as he can. Your hips and legs are shaking. Your clit can’t take much more, the stimulation is too much. You writhe around trying to get away from his hand, but he doesn’t stop until you put a foot on his shoulder. He backs off, giving your clit one last kitten lick, making you convulse at even the lightest touch.

You slump back into the seat, trying to catch your breath, a thin sheen of sweat covers your entire body. You’re in a haze. The floaty feeling of trying to come back into your body buzzes in your ears. You barely notice when Chan picks up the phone from your chest.

“Did you catch all of that, Jisung?” Chan says, wiping your essence off of his chin.

A shuddering whisper of “fuck” comes from the receiver.

“You have ten minutes to be at my front door,” Chan says curtly. “...If you want another demonstration, that is.”

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii your marauders fics are AMAZING!! I’m truly obsessed with them. Would you ever do an aftercare fic where the reader is in sort of an emotional subspace and is just super clingy? Totally fine if not just curious :)

Hi, thank you! I realize you said "just curious" lol but I decided to try my hand at it. I'm not super familiar with this stuff, so it might be kinda cringey lol--sorry! Anyway, thank you for asking/requesting lovely :)

cw: smut mdni, p in v, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 605 words

Your forehead crashes against Remus’ chest, panting breaths blowing warmth back onto your own face. 

Both of his hands had been gripping your hips, but now one coasts up the ridges of your spine, coming to rest on your upper back. 

“You’re alright,” he murmurs. 

You hum in response. It comes out a bit like a whine. You’re feeling teary and torn open, the emotions that had been heightening as you inched toward climax now crashing into the gulley below. 

Remus’ lips press gently to the top of your head. “Was that good for you, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” you affirm readily. “Really good. Was it for you?” 

“I thought I made that apparent enough.” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, and you smile, turning your head to nuzzle your cheek against this chest. “Ready to get up?”

“No.” It’s almost a whimper. You needle your hands under his arms, wrapping yourself around him. “I wanna stay here.” 

He shifts, and you inhale sharply at the slight movement of his cock, still inside you. Shushes and apologies alike fall from Remus’ lips, but he leans up on his elbows, using one hand to tilt your face towards him. His expression shifts as he realizes your still-fuzzy headspace, lips pulling down.

“Oh, baby.” It sounds almost pitying, one knuckle stroking down your cheek lovingly. “You’re not going to feel better until you let me clean you up, dove.” 

Tears press at your eyes, but you do your best to sound reasonable. “I’ll feel better if we cuddle.” 

He kisses your forehead again. You recognize the apology in it and whine as he moves uncomfortably against your sensitive walls, sitting you both up. “We’ll still cuddle, I promise.” He slides you off his cock despite your protests. “Hey, you’re alright. I’ve got you, sweetheart. Not hurting, are you?” 

“A little,” you say, giving him doe eyes in hopes of some extra attention. But then Remus’ brow furrows concernedly, and you rethink it. “Not really, though. Not more than I wanna be.” 

He lets out a little sigh, pressing his lips to your forehead again. “You’re fine,” he says, seemingly to both of you. “Wanna have a bath, honey? We can cuddle in there, if you like.” 

“Or…” You give him a suggestive look, and he laughs. Not exactly the response you were looking for. 

“Sorry,” he says at your frown. “Sorry, dovey, you just looked too cute.” Admittedly, that softens you a bit. Remus squeezes your hip lightly, tilting his head as he considers you with an odd half-smile. “No, no more tonight. Think I’ve got you a bit too fucked out already, hm?” 

You pout. “Am not.” 

Remus hums, leaning forward to kiss your pushed-out lips. “Right, course not.” He lifts you up a bit, slipping out from under you. “You wanna stay here while I go start the bath?” 

“No.” Your tone pitches desperately, grabbing for his wrists as he stands beside the bed. Your vision blurs. “I want to be with you, Rem.”

“Okay, okay.” He brings his hands to your waist hastily, standing you up in front of him. “You’re fine, baby, you can come with. You gonna be okay with sitting on the counter while I get it all ready for us?” 

You blink at him interestedly. “Because I’m a good girl?” 

His chin comes down on your head and his arms wrap around your shoulders. You’re not sure what’s prompted the show of affection, but you’ll take it, nosing your way into the juncture of his neck. “Sure, darling,” he says, a definite note of amusement in his voice. “My good girl.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Take It Easy

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈10.2k

Summary: Your family throws an impromptu barbecue. You’re usually the one they throw every task on, but with today being your most painful period day, you say fuck it and leave them to fend for themselves. Only one other guest is invited today, and that’s Joel Miller.

Warnings: Age gap (23/43). Established relationship (to everyone but reader’s family). No physical description of reader besides outfit choices. Use of feminine pet names. LATINO JOEL MILLER (he’s canon in all my fics, sorry not sorry). Fluff with slight angst - getting caught, kinda (?) - happy ending, don’t worry. This version of Joel is always soft for reader, but I feel like he’s extra soft here. These idiots are so fucking in love (highkey jealous). SMUT 18+ MDNI: If you know the traffic light system for safe words, reader uses yellow at one point - but fluff & comfort happens immediately after. Dom/sub and Brat tamer/brat dynamics (subspace!). Daddy kink. Degradation kink (very brief). Making out/body appreciation. Masturbation (F). Oral sex (M receiving). Spit kink (I'm so weak). Exhibitionist kink - reader is being bold 🫣. Face fucking. Vaginal fingering. Lots of kissing (these two definitely have some sort of oral/kiss fixation istg). Soft unprotected p in v. Reader gets a surge of dominance, soooo ya get a glimpse of sub!Joel😏…...I think that's it. Let me know if there’s anything I missed. 🫶🏼

Author's Note: This can be read as a stand-alone, but I accidentally connected this a bit more than I intended to the What You Need fic. That fic talks a lot about reader's background/family dynamic and why/how Joel is the way that he is with reader. There's also some little details in here that might fly over your head if you haven't read What You Need. However, I genuinely don't think any confusion or such will occur if you only read this one shot. I hope you'll be able to enjoy all the same. Much love 💚

MASTERLIST || ONESHOT COLLECTION

“Can you prep the veggies?”

“Can you prep the grill?”

“Can you make the rice?”

“Why don’t I make the entire fucking dinner at this point?” You snap in the direction of the kitchen from your place on the couch, wrapped in blankets, snuggled with a heat pack over your lower belly. 

“Well, if you’re offering,” your brother smirks. 

You started your period yesterday, and the second day is always the absolute worst. Your flow is heavy, your cramps are excruciating, and your mood is all over the place. Today was not the day for an impromptu barbecue, regardless if there were guests or not. 

You promptly give your brother the middle finger then pull yourself off the couch to make your way to the bathroom. You’ve filled up an entire pad, yet again, in less than 20 minutes. 

You always do everything for your family, but today, you absolutely don’t give a fuck. Today is self care day for you — popping three painkillers then heading straight to the dark of your room. 

You’re not entirely sure how long you fell asleep for, but the smell of charcoal smoke and sizzling steak is what wakes you up first. The next sensation that fills you is the sound of heavy boots walking from, what you assume to be, the back door to the kitchen. Joel. You’d know that walk anywhere. He’s taking on the tasks for your family that usually fall on your shoulders. 

He called you this morning before everyone (including you) woke up, saying he’s excited to see you tonight. You grumbled sleepily, about to tell him you were just as excited when a searing pain ruptured in your stomach, causing you to gasp out in pain. 

“Baby?” Joel called out, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Fuck, sorry, baby, it’s nothing,” you shyly say. He says your name. You start to explain, “I started my period yesterday, and-” but Joel cuts you off. “The second day is always the worst,” he states factually. 

You smile to yourself, “Yeah, exactly.”

He tells you to get up and get a glass of water and some medicine to ease the pain, which you do, then he tells you to let yourself sleep in today, which you don’t. 

“Fine,” he relents at your stubbornness, “but at least take it easy today, darlin’, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Miller, loud and clear,” you tell him. 

You can feel his dumb fucking lopsided smirk through the phone, “Fuckin’ brat,” he snarls. 

“Mhm, but you’re fuckin’ brat,” you correct him.

“Yes. Mine.”

“Mmmm,” you let out a soft moan at that. Mine. You love the way it sounds, the way he claims you. “I love you.”

His cock twitches at the sound you make, but he wills it stay down. He takes a breath before he responds, “I love you, baby.” He can’t get ahead of himself today. He needs you to take it easy. So he tells you exactly that, again, for the last time before he ends the call and lets you take on your tasks for the day. 

Even though the mouth-watering scent of all the delicious food has completely pulled you awake, you stay in bed a little longer, basking in the sensation of absolute no cramping in the position you’re in. And as if on cue, Joel quietly knocks on your door, waiting for you to invite him in. 

“Come in,” your voice cracks, still groggy from the hours of no speaking. 

He enters softly, clad in that denim button up you love so much paired with some dark washed jeans. “Hi, darlin’,” he makes his way to place a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, then a longer one to your lips. “How you feelin’?” 

“Better now,” you coo, completely enamored by how soft your big, burly man can be. “Food smells good. You helped them?” 

He’s sitting at the side of your bed now, facing you, so he can rest his arm across you. “Only your old man. Carried in the food as he finished puttin’ em in the trays,” he says as he draws little circles on your arms. 

You hum in response, too content at his presence. Still unable to use your voice, you tug on his arm, silently asking for him to hold you for just a moment before you eventually need to get up. 

“They all left, by the way,” Joel soothes. 

You finally have the strength to lift your head up, a quizzical look on your face. 

“Your brother needed an herb, your dad s’more charcoal, obviously your mother drove ‘em. I don’t know where your other siblings are, though,” he explains. 

“Oh.” You look up at him. “So what you’re saying is,” tugging harder on his arm to pull him into your bed, “you can freely cuddle me until then.” 

He chuckles at that, giving into your pull, and wrapping his hand around your jaw to pull you into yet another sweet kiss. He’s laying down next to you now, and you take the opportunity to completely entangle your limbs into his, your head tucked into his neck. 

Your family is gone for another forty-five minutes from that point on, and you two spend each minute just completely wrapped into each other, sharing sweet, wet kisses everywhere both of  you can reach. His thigh supplying light pressure between yours at your core, spurring you both on just enough but not to the point where you lose all self control. 

There’s something about the way you two can touch each other like this. With past partners, they always wanted things to escalate. To undress you and devour you at any sign of affection. But with Joel, it’s natural. Of course, his body will react in ways that show he physically wants more, but truly, he just wants to adore you and appreciate you and love you. And in the moments where those three words aren’t enough, he shows it in the other pure way he knows how to. 

You’re too distracted being consumed by Joel’s touch, but as sharp as an eagle, he immediately perks at the sound of your family’s arrival. He slowly pulls away, trying to savor the kiss as much as possible. Finally it breaks, and you immediately pull your bottom lip into your mouth, trying to savor the way he feels and the way he tastes. He gives you a look of pure love and devotion—a look you know is only reserved for you, a look you’ll never get tired of. “Time to get up, darlin’.” 

“Ugh,” you whine out, “Okay, I’ll meet you out there. I’m just gonna change, baby.” 

He pulls you up out of bed and straight into another chaste kiss, “Want me to make you tea?” 

“That sounds lovely, baby,” you blush at his attentiveness. You’ve been spoiled rotten by him for the past year, but you still get so flustered every time. “But I think we’re out of what I normally drink-”

He stops you with yet another kiss. “I bought a box of that peppermint blend before I came.” 

You can’t stop the way you absolutely fold for this man, evident in the shaky breath you take and the way you completely stumble on your words, “Y-yeah, o-okay, yes, please.” 

He smiles and nods, walking directly to your kitchen without another second to waste. 

God, he deserves some fucking head right now, you think to yourself as you quietly giggle. 

You make your way to your bathroom, taking a quick body shower because those several hours of sleep, plus the way Joel was on you for 45 minutes, had you looking like a murder scene down there. You dry yourself off, lotion up, and change into some loose black sweats and a fitted, light blue baby tee. 

You look a lot brighter after your rest; Joel was right in telling you to sleep in, you needed it. Not that you’d ever tell him. He doesn’t need anymore ego boosts. Ya see, what’d I say, darlin’? you can hear his Texan twang scolding you already. 

He looks up from the kettle pot boiling before him to see you perched on the bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island, bright eyed and awake, watching him make your tea. “Thank you again, baby,” you softly say. 

He comes around behind you, setting your mug in front of you accompanied with three soft kisses peppered to the area where your shoulder and neck meet. “Of course, my sweet girl. You ready to eat? Everythin’ is set up out back, and everyone is out there, too,” he sighs, “already eatin’.” He says, annoyed at the fact that no one thought to call and check in on you, let you know that the ritual of eating together already started. You’re used to it by now, but seeing his reaction reminds you that it’s not normal for your own family to treat you this way. You smile a little sadly, trying to think of how you want to go about this. Usually you just wouldn’t eat, but with Joel around, you know that’s not going to fly. 

“How ‘bout,” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head still resting on your shoulder, “I go out there, make a plate big enough for us both, and I come back in and we share?” He could easily get you your own plate, but he knows your family. They’ll jump at any opportunity to shit talk you when they don’t understand the entire situation. Getting you your own plate and serving you when he’s a guest in your own home could inspire that, and he really doesn’t want you to experience that right now. 

You lean into him, turning your head a little to place a kiss to his cheek. “Okay, baby,” you smile, “yes, let’s share.” 

He comes back inside to you snuggled on the couch again with a pullout table propped right in front. He snuggles up right beside you, placing your legs right on top of his, keeping you secure with a hand on your thigh. 

The plate is filled with a mountain worth of food. You already know three-quarters of that is going down his bottomless pit of a stomach, laughing to yourself at the thought. One thing that wasn’t on the original menu for tonight was on his plate. It also just so happened to be one of your comfort foods whenever you weren’t feeling good. “W-who made the mashed potatoes?” 

Joel looks up at you sheepishly. He thought he’d be able to pull it off. He didn’t just go to the store, before he came, for your mint tea. He also went to get the ingredients for the mashed potatoes recipe you love so much. Within the almost two years he’s spent getting to know you, he’s recognized that every single time you’re feeling under the weather or falling into some type of depressive slump, you’re either eating or craving it. “I, uh- When I went to go get your tea… I figured I’d get ya your stuff for this, too. Made it before I came to wake ya up.” 

“Joel…” your voice cracks and your eyes tear up. 

How is it that after 23 years of life, you’re finally experiencing what it means when someone loves you? And you’re not talking romantic, you’re talking pure, genuine love. Love that you should’ve received from your parents, your siblings. They have never once shown you the consideration of making you your favorite meal, or fixing you a cup of something warm when you’re not feeling well. They have never shown you what it means to appreciate someone, in any of the love languages. The only person that has shown you remotely anything is your mother, but even that is limited because she cowers behind the directives of your father. You see her try, and you feel selfish not to appreciate it. But is it selfish to just want to be wholly loved by the people who created and raised you?  

You pull the fork out of his hands and set it back on the plate. And in an instant, you completely throw yourself on him, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, legs tightly hugged between his own. He loses his balance and lays straight back onto the couch, letting out a grunt at the landing, with you on top of him. You push into him for a kiss, your noses smooshing together as you lick inside his mouth with a sense of urgency to show him how much you love him. Once the initial shock of you pouncing on him wears off, he immediately wraps himself around you, tightening his hold to pull you in impossibly more. His tongue dances with yours, one arm wrapped around your middle and another secure around the bottom of your ass. 

You adjust to straddle his hips, sitting up and pulling him up with you by the collar of his denim. You break away from him just for a minute, heavy breathing and eyes dark, and you let your hand glide down his chest, swiftly undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses as you go. You make your way down to his belt, unbuckling it with such a need that he can’t help but just watch you. You slip the belt out of the loops, letting it fall to the ground, and you’re scooting back more to situate yourself in between the tight space of his legs. You palm him through his jeans, feeling how absolutely hard he is, which elicits a deep groan from the man above you. With that, the button and zipper of his jeans are undone. You bring your hands up back to the hem of his jeans, looking back up at him for his approval. 

“Sweet girl, ya know your folks are right outside,” he tries to warn but fails with the way his voice wavers with need. 

You look to the back door that’s twenty feet away, curtains completely drawn, and look back at him. “You and I both know none of them are coming back inside for a while,” you raise your eyebrows in defiance. 

He is truly at war with himself right now. He could let you do what you want, knowing you get off just as much as he does when you give him head. Or he could situate you back to your original positions and finger a few orgasms out of you, and he just pulls away from you if someone were to walk in — the safer route. Or. The safest option being he bids your folks goodnight and you let them know you’re going out for the night. 

Though, the latter would just be too easy. He knows you both revel in the risk, in the act of sneaking around. Which is why he finds himself scooting forward to the edge of the couch, and you take the hint loud and clear. He wants you on your knees for this. He meets your stare once more, both of you sparkling with mischief. “Well? Darlin’? Best get on with it then, huh?” Followed by him lifting his hips slightly so you can tug his clothing down, his tip red and aching. 

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp out, “been thinking about this since you left my fuckin’ room, daddy, I want you so bad.” 

Your admission spurs him on more, and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Go on, darlin’. Prove it to me. Show me how fuckin’ bad.” 

You pull yourself up to stand on your knees for a moment, and murmur a quiet come here to him, urging him to lean in for a second. He pulls closer, stopping an inch away from your face. You open your mouth for him, tongue sticking out and flat. He gets the hint, and before you can even register, his hand is on your jaw, tilting your head back and opening you wider, and he spits. 

You use all your self control not to swallow it right here and right now, desperate to feel any kind of warmth from him slide down your throat. You have other plans right now. You close your mouth and let your own spit generate, absolutely giddy with want to please your man. His eyes are fixed on you, knowing your next plan of action, but still stunned all the same at how fucking filthy his sweet girl is. You pull yourself back, hovering your mouth over his erection. 

You open your mouth and just let the combination of both of you fall from your mouth, sliding down his cock like the sweetest of syrups that you can’t wait to lick up. As the amount of spit starts to really gather, you grab him by the base and start stroking up and down his length, putting extra emphasis on his tip, running your finger over his slit for good measure. He lets out a stuttered groan at that, and you take that as your queue to finally put him in your mouth. Running your tongue in the same pattern your fingers did his tip, making him hiss in your ability to make him fold at the smallest of touches.

You keep this pace for a good while, using your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down in the speed and pressure that you know brings him to the edge fast. The sounds coming from your throat mixed with the slick feeling of your hand pumping him has your pussy absolutely dripping for attention. Fuck it. You slide your other hand down into your underwear, and begin to play with your clit, not wanting to go any deeper for fear of getting blood all over the place. Joel wouldn’t mind—of course, he wouldn’t—but you would, so you give yourself just enough to ease the aching need between your legs. Your moans get louder now that you’re touching yourself, your throat adding a delicious vibrating sensation to him. 

His eyes were shut at how fucking amazing you’re taking him, but with the sounds you’re making, he can’t help but make sure all his focus is on you. And god damn, when he sees you touching yourself so prettily while you’re being such a good girl making daddy feel so fucking good, he can’t help but cum at the sight. “F-fuck, sweet girl, holy fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, “It turn you on that bad to have my dick in your mouth, huh?” 

You pull off of him with a pop, making sure you keep as much of his cum in your mouth as you can—because there’s a fuck ton—and you fix your stare into his dark eyes as you swallow every last bit of him. “So fucking good, daddy, I-” you break off into a moan, your hand that was pumping him now gripping his thigh to maintain your balance as you continue the ministrations on your pussy. 

“Cum for me, baby, show me how good it makes you feel to be daddy’s little slut,” he demands. You gasp out at his words, that demand being what really throws you over the edge. Your clit pulses underneath your fingers, you feel yourself gush out, your blood and cum making you feel impossibly messier, and with that, your body goes rigid. 

Joel leans forward and grabs onto your jaw, keeping you upright while you come back down from your high. You’re so far gone that you don’t realize he’s peppering your face with kisses, uttering sweet nothings until you’re back with him. He gently pulls your hand from your pants and settles them into your lap.

“I’ve got ya, baby,” he kisses your lips softly. 

“My sweet girl,” he kisses your jaw, “I love you,” another kiss at your pulse point below your ear. He feels your body begin to relax. 

“Atta girl, baby,” he whispers before reaching down and settling his other arm underneath your legs, positioning himself so he can pick you up in a cradle position. He stands and carries you to your bathroom, settling you on your feet for one moment so he can pull your sweats and underwear off of you. He guides you down onto the toilet, kissing your forehead and muttering a quick one sec, baby before he steps out. He comes back two minutes later, and you’re still in subspace but slightly more grounded, and he kneels down in front of you, instructing you to lift one foot at a time. 

He went to go get you a new pair of underwear and some gray sweatpants. He already stuck another pad to your underwear, too. The action fills you with such an overwhelming feeling that you can’t help the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks. He looks up, knowing everything you’re saying and feeling by your gaze alone. He cups your cheeks with both hands, rubs his thumb to wipe the stray tears, and kisses your forehead, your left eye, then your right, your nose, and finally your lips, all in an attempt to seal every ounce of love and adoration he has for you.  

“I love you,” you finally say, leaning your forehead against his, and just take a moment with his hands on you. He pulls back again with a kiss to your forehead, and he grabs the wipes on the counter, encouraging you to lean back a bit, so he can clean you properly. 

“Wait, no,” you meekly say, trying to grab the wipes from his hands. He knows you get embarrassed at the fact that he sees you a little gross like this, and you know he truly doesn’t care. Usually he relents and lets you do it yourself, but tonight, he’s doing everything for you whether you like it or not. He raises one eyebrow at you, and that’s all you need to bring your arms back down in defeat. You lean yourself back a little, spreading your legs open, and let him clean you up. 

When it comes to other activities during your period, you usually are uncomfortable. But with Joel? With him, you don’t mind. You actually love it. It’s in moments like these that remind you how irrevocably in love you are with this man.

Afterwards he stands you up, pulls your bottoms on, and turns you towards the sink and washes your hands for you. He really wasn’t kidding at how easy he wanted you to take today.

He carried you back to the couch and wrapped a fluffy blanket around you. You threw yourself on him in the middle of your guys’ meal, so after he settles you into the couch, he transfers your shared food to a real plate instead of paper and warms everything up. He does the same to your peppermint tea. 

After everything is warmed, he settles back onto the couch beside you, pulling your legs up onto his thighs and holding you above your knee to secure your position. You go to reach the fork, but Joel is quick to swat your hand away, taking the fork and feeding you a bite of your mashed potatoes instead. 

“I told you,” he scolds, “to take it easy today.” 

You frown, “And I have been! You’ve literally been taking care of me since you got here.” 

He sets the fork down, reaching for your tea and lifting it up to your mouth. He’s not gonna respond until you take a sip, which was much needed as your belly immediately calms at the heat. You take one more sip as he begins, “You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy.” 

You cough on the fucking liquid still traveling down your throat. You were not expecting that to come out of his mouth. You try really hard to will yourself not to fucking burst out in laughter because you know how serious he was with this statement. So instead, you settle for your typical smart ass remark. “It wasn’t?” You asked. “Seemed real easy to me,” you add as you take the fork from his hand and take another bite of the yummy food before you. His eyebrow shoots up and you give him a lopsided smirk in return. 

“Watch it, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his hand up, thumb and forefinger pinching at your chin to force your eyes into his. He gives you a bruising kiss, one that entices him to bite at your bottom lip as he pulls away. You can feel yourself slipping again. He’s not done with you, he’s just giving you a moment to refuel. 

“I’ll be good,” you softly whimper as you chase for his lips. “I’m not so sure about that,” he responds as his grip on your chin gets tighter, forcing you stationary and a few inches too far from where you want him to be. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes gloss over as you whisper out a small I promise, to which he says, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He lets go of your face completely and continues feeding you, alternating between the food and your tea. As the next bite he prepares for you reaches your mouth, something that has never happened before decided to occur. Your mother comes inside the house, and her first sight as soon as she came in was you, completely wrapped around Joel, and him feeding you. 

Your jaw freezes, his grip on your leg tightens out of instinct to protect you, and it’s a staring standoff between the three of you. Joel doesn’t realize he’s still holding the fork up until his hand starts to shake, so he gently sets it down on the plate. It’s you who speaks first. “Mom, I-”

But it’s your mother who wants the first word. The first two words, actually. “How long?” 

Your heart is beating out of your chest, and the only thing keeping you from full blown panic is all the ways you’re in physical contact with Joel. “I can explain, mom, I-”

“Flower,” she says to comfort you. She’s not mad? you think. Your heart immediately calms, but now you’re just confused. Growing up, your mother always called you her flower. She used it predominantly when she wanted to help you regulate. You’ve always been full of anxiety and other strong emotions. Flowers are strong and beautiful, and show exactly when they need support. And when they are given the support they need, they flourish. That’s you. You are a flower. Her flower. But now she can see, there’s someone else tending to you. And she is not mad. 

“A year and some change,” you softly say. She looks between you two. Then she steps forward. “Look,” she breathes. “I know our family hasn’t been the best in showing love or appreciation. And they obviously haven’t been the best at fending for themselves-”

“Amen to that,” you say, and she chuckles in appreciation. She continues.

“Thank you, by the way. For everything you do around here. We both know none of it would get done around here if it weren’t for you. I try to help you as much as I can, but obviously not enough. If you can pull everyone’s weight around here, which you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, then I can at least pull my own and whip them into pulling their own, too.” 

Your eyes are watering, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Joel feels it. He brings his hand around to rub small circles into your back. You’re so grateful he’s here. “I love you,” you say to your mom. 

“I love you, too, flower, but I’m not done. I also know that I’m not too great at using my voice. Defending what’s right. But you’re the one person in this family that’s given me the inspiration to fight for what I believe in. You give me strength, and constantly seeing this family pull you down lower and lower as the years go by breaks me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.” 

Tears begin to fall, both on your face and your mom’s. 

“And in this last year, and some change, to be exact,” she smiles as she recalls your answer from earlier, “you have been the most vibrant flower of the entire garden. In the gloominess of this house, you continue to grow, and I’ve been dying to understand what changed. And now I see why. And I have never been more grateful for another human—the first one being you—until he entered your life.” 

You and Joel both look at each other, his eyes have a hint of gloss to them now, too. 

“So,” your mother says as she reaches for the tissue box on the counter and walks back to hand you the box. “I won’t tell a soul. It’s not my story to share. And remember. I will always have your back. Always. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to tell me about such a beautiful relationship, but we’re here now and I need you to know that I will forever support what makes my flower happy,” she looks to Joel, “and that’s you. I will support both of you until my flower decides on something different.” 

Joel’s face turns into a scowl, half joking and half pissed at the thought of you leaving him. “Which, I have a feeling isn’t gonna happen, so you can calm yourself, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” your mother adds after seeing his boyish reaction that would normally scare anyone but you, and apparently your mother. 

You lose your shit at his new nickname, and all the emotions just flow out at once. You pull yourself off of Joel and run into your mothers arms, needing her comfort. She holds you like that for a few seconds before she says, “Okay, go, I think Mr. Grump needs your comfort now. Absolutely no way I’m doing it.” You laugh and squeeze her one last time before she grabs something in the kitchen and heads back outside. You make your way back to Mr. Grump, straddling his lap. Before she opens the back door, though, she calls out your name. 

“Yes, mom?” 

“I’ll cover for you, hon,” she says nonchalantly as she goes back outside. 

You and Joel stare at each other for a moment, too shocked to take action on the opportunity that just presented itself to you. Then, it finally hits. You pull him into a kiss that’s downright feral, your hips grinding down on him on instinct. “Take-” you say as you try to break away from the kiss, but you’re too drunk on him to completely pull away, “t-take me home, baby.” 

He grunts in response, and stands up with you completely wrapped around him. He heads for your front door. 

“Baby, Baby, wait, not here,” you say breathily as you go back in for another quick kiss, “through the garage.” He looks confused for a second before he remembers. The front door camera. The left side of your driveway being the camera’s blind spot. Immediately he reroutes.

You would think the first thing he does is bring you to his bedroom, but no. He sets you on his couch, molding your body into his signature position for you that makes you sit on your heels, palms up on your thighs. He could’ve easily told you he wanted you in position, but again, he told you to take it easy. 

Although the position almost always forces you into subspace, you’re confused and coherent enough to question him, “Baby..?” 

He steps back, looking down at you with his eyebrow raised, “Don’tcha remember, sweet thing?” 

“You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy”, he said. 

You promised you would be good. 

To which he assured you, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He sees the moment it clicks in your head, and immediately his hold is on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He whispers, “Color?” Still demanding but with a hint of softness to it. You tilt your head further back, trying to make your lips touch him more, “Green,” you say. 

He pulls your chin into him and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue tangling with yours. He pulls away, breath slightly shaky, but he composes himself quickly and stands straight up, letting go of any contact with you. 

His couch is either really low to the ground, or he is just one big motherfucker. Either way, you sitting on your haunches on his couch like this while he stands straight up in front of you makes your head in direct eye line of his crotch. And you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from it. You see his tent forming, and you’re smart enough to realize what lesson he’s about to give you. 

“Told you to take it fuckin’ easy today,” he says as he slowly unbuckles his belt, “didn’t I, baby?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say quickly, not wanting to piss him off more. 

“But ya didn’t,” his belt falls. “Did you?” 

Your spit thickens. “No, daddy.” 

His belt is on the floor, and he’s reaching to undo his button and zipper. “My good girl was jus’ too fuckin’ eager to have my dick in her mouth, hm?” 

You lick your bottom lip, catching the drool you didn’t realize was pooling out of your mouth. Like Pavlov’s fucking dogs, he’s got you trained. You let out a whiny mhm in response, already completely blissed out at the prospect of what’s about to happen. He settles for it, this time. 

He pulls his jeans down, just enough to pull himself free. He leaves his boxers up for now while he explains. He walks closer to you, his hardness one lick away from you, and forces you to look up at him again. “You’re gonna take my cock in your mouth again, sweetheart,” he says. 

You eagerly cut him off, “Yes, please, thank you, daddy, I-”

He shuts you up by pushing his thumb in your mouth. “But you’re not gonna move or do anythin’, besides sit prettily for daddy,” his grip on your jaw tightens, “ya understand me?” He slides his thumb out and spreads your spit across your bottom lip and down your chin. 

“I understand, daddy,” you say, your eyes completely glossed over. Out of instinct, you fold your hands behind your back, signaling to Joel your complete submission to him. 

“Such a good girl when you remember how to be patient,” he says as he stands back to his full height again. He gets impossibly closer, crowding your face. He pulls his boxers down, and his erection springs free, the tip landing against your lips, smearing the pre-cum across it. It takes everything in you not to lick it up—you can’t, he needs to give you your next instructions. He hears your silent pleas, and as he settles his hand at the back of your head, fingers grounding themselves into the roots of your hair, he tells you, “Open.” 

Knowing how rough Joel can get, you take a deep breath, relaxing your throat, and you open wide, your tongue laid flat out, slick with the drool that’s been forming since the noise of the belt buckle hit your ears. 

His other hand is holding himself at the base, guiding himself into your mouth. He taps his tip on your tongue a few times for good measure, before pushing himself all the way in. You feel your gag reflex coming, but you take another deep breath through your nose, urging your throat to relax a little more. It does. He pushes slowly in until your nose is flush with the patch of hair above his length. All you wanna do is unclasp your hands and reach for his thighs to pull him into you tighter, wanting to engulf his scent into you, but you can’t. All you can do is take what he gives you while sitting pretty like the good girl you are. 

He starts to pull back a little, and that naturally makes your throat contract, forcing a groan out of him and more saliva out of you. He lets go of himself, and now both hands are on you. He taps your cheek, asking you to look up at him. “Hands behind the entire time. Any touch on my thigh signals red to me, okay?” 

You nod your head as best you can with his grip on you and let out a little moan for good measure. At your signal, he completely and utterly wrecks you with no hesitation. And you take it exactly as he gives it, just like you promised you would. 

The more he thrusts, the more spit that builds, leaking from your mouth and down your chin. Your eyes are shut at the feeling of him abusing your throat, but he won’t have that. You feel his other hand not tap your cheek twice. Your eyes fly open and land on his dark ones. “Those eyes stay on me,” he grunts out at a particularly rough thrust. You whimper out at his words, trying to convey your apologies for doing something that could make him mad. “No, it’s alright, darlin’,” he says, his pace never faltering. “I- fuck- wasn’t specific enough,” he grunts, “but ya know what I expect now,” his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. “Isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

Your eyebrows furrow and try to emphasize with your eyes that yes, eyes on you, daddy. He understands. “Atta girl, baby,” he breathes out, pulling out momentarily to give you a breath. 

You choke out a little as he pulls out. He softens, concern laced in his voice, “You okay, amor?”

“Yes,” you say weakly, “I promise, please. W-want more..” You open your mouth wide again, tongue positioned perfectly for him to slide back in. 

His eyes fall dark again and there’s that signature lopsided smirk. He guides himself back into you, completely, and his hand from your cheek glides down to wrap around your throat. “Shit, amor, you feel that?” He squeezes at the base of your throat. “I’m all the way fuckin’ in there, baby,” he says, falling back into a rough pace, feeling the outline of his dick glide in and out of your pathway. “You’re takin’ me so-” he lets out a pained grunt. He’s close. “-so fuckin’ good, shit, baby.”

Your throat constricts again, and that feeling is what sends him over. For the second time today, all of your senses are being consumed by everything Joel: his taste, his smell, his touch, the downright sinful sounds that grace your ears, and you take it all in, eagerly. Both hands release their hold on you as he pulls out of your mouth, and you’re quick to lean into his hips. His hand shoots back to the nape of your neck, pulling you back like a mother does to her puppy.

“You’re fuckin’ insatiable, you know that?” he says, out of breath, still trying to compose himself from the soul-sucking he just took from you. You give him a blissed out giggle, “You jus’ taste so yummy, daddy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “Well, so do you, babygirl, so it’s my turn now.”

Immediately your ears perk up and your body goes rigid. The thought of him giving you head with the flow you have right now doesn’t sit right with you. “Yellow,” you shakily whisper.

He lets go of the back of your neck and falls to his knees to match your eye level. “Oh, honey,” he cups your face, “Please tell me how to make it better. Do you wanna stop here, mi amor?”

Your body relaxes at his instant reaction. You’ve only ever had to use a safe-word with Joel twice. Today, included. And in each rare moment, he does what every caring partner and proper Dominant should: validate, comfort, and communicate. He has never given you any reason to be scared or feel disrespected. This is Joel we’re talking about here. You’re safe in his presence, always. The thought puts you at ease, but it also makes you feel a little ridiculous at using a safe word for something that could easily be communicated without it. 

“Wait, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you or anything, it’s something so tiny and stupid, I should’ve just communicated instead of going straight to the code-” you quickly start panicking as you ramble on, but he’s quicker. He pulls you off the couch and into his lap, holding you in a tight embrace, knowing the pressure is what helps pull you away from your panic attack. He’s muttering it’s okay, you’re okay and I’ve got ya, as he kisses the top of your head. As soon as he feels your body relax in his arms, he speaks. “Darlin’ girl, please look at me.” You do, teary-eyed.

“I completely forgot you were on your period. I was too in the moment, and I had a lapse in judgment in my words. I’m sorry. You should not be the one to apologize, ever, if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation like this. The safe words are there for a reason, okay? Use them. They are there to keep you safe, always. Thank you for speakin’ up, my love.”

You nod your head at his words, too emotion-filled to respond with anything else right now. The only thing you can offer is a whisper of a “Thank you, I love you,” but that’s enough for him. 

He gives you a soft kiss to your lips. “How would you like to continue, beautiful girl?”

You think for a moment, and the way that his hand feels wrapped around you starts to make your arousal build again. All you can think of are his big, calloused hands all over you. In your mouth. On your thighs. In your warmth. Screw the bloody mess, he doesn’t care. You squirm at the thought, and he feels you falling back into your space again. His cock stirs beneath you. He tightens his grip on you to coax you out of your thoughts. “Fingers,” you squeak out, your cheeks flushing red instantaneously. He grins, but his eyes stay fixed on you, hinting at you for something more. Then, it clicks. “P-please, daddy, need your fingers in me,” you say, voice trembling with need. 

“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he says as he pulls your thighs around him and brings himself to full height. He leads you to his bed, setting you down on the edge with a kiss to your forehead and a quick one moment, sweetheart. 

He leaves to return back with a large bath towel and lays it across the center of his bed, dark blue to match his sheets. He situates pillows for your head and leaves a smaller one out, just in case. You feel his weight shift the bed, and he’s walking toward you on his knees. You lean into his touch the moment his hand makes contact at your lower back, and he’s guiding your shirt off of you. He takes that same arm, wrapping it around your waist, and leans down to situate the crook of your knees over his other arm. He’s carrying you up higher to the center of the bed, completely removing any opportunity for a thought to run through that head of yours. He wants you focused on nothing but the way he’s going to make you feel. 

Once you’re laying down on your back, he makes his way down, placing soft kisses on your belly and all over your thighs while he slides your bottoms down your legs. Once you’re completely bare, Joel situates himself in a way that he’s never done before. He lays next to you on his side, shoulder propping him up, so his hand is underneath your head and he’s still looking down at you. He grabs onto your thigh closest to him, and he hooks your leg atop of his, opening you up. 

The level of intimacy and vulnerability of the way you two are positioned against one another has your mind reeling, absolutely aching to be consumed by him. Joel is always sweet and soft with you, but this is completely on another level. It doesn’t feel motivated by a feral need to rip each other apart. The motivation lies in the pure need to feel. To feel you against him, consumed in the entirety of love and raw emotion. To feel him against you, filling you with a genuine intimacy and devotion you both know only he can provide you.

He brings his other hand up to gently cradle your face, and he leans in to slot his lips against yours, his tongue running along your bottom lip, swallowing the faintest of whimpers that slip from your throat. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, keeping him close, deepening your dance of lip and tongue. His hand drifts away from your face and takes his time to grasp and show attention to the rest of your body. 

He takes one of your breasts in his hand, massaging it with a care that causes your fingers to curl tighter in his hair. He shows the same attention to your other one, then flattens out his entire hand to run down your sternum and belly, positioning his hand on the pathway down for his middle and ring finger to be the first that make contact with your sex. 

And when it does, neither of you can hold back the groan that leaves your mouths. He’s too enamored by you to let his lips leave yours, but you have a feeling your filthy-mouthed man would make a comment about how wet you are for him. You know you’re right when he completely bypasses your clit and down to your entrance, eager to get his fingers covered in you, so he can spread it all over you. 

You pull away for a moment, both of you out of breath and pupils completely blown. “You see how good you make me feel, daddy?” His fingers reach your clit again. “I’m so fucking wet,” you moan out, “and it’s all because of you- all for you, daddy.”

“Baby, please,” he grits out, his fingers leaving your clit after a few more circles, dipping into your entrance with ease. “So fuckin’ good to me, but fuck, stop talking,” he breathes, hips involuntarily thrusting into you, “need you to soak my fingers first, amor.”

You shoot him a smile that gives him butterflies, and then you’re pulling him back in, needing to feel him everywhere he can possibly manage. 

The pace of his fingers are perfect, constantly hitting the spot that’ll get you there in no time with the heated sensation of lips. His hand behind your head moves down and wraps underneath your waist, pulling you in flush with his body. He needs to feel every part of you. Your leg closest to him—the one hooked around his leg—comes off of him, and now you two are completely laying on your sides, facing each other. 

His fingers leave you for a moment to hike your other leg up and around his waist, your pussy inches away from his center. His fingers find you once more, and the angle is impossibly deeper. You’re whining out now as you rock your hips against his hand. He knows you're close with the way your breath shakes. He reaches his thumb up to circle your clit, and you break away from his lips, throwing your head back at an instinct, exposing all your sweet spots for his mouth to reach. As his hands continue working you to the edge, he gives you the final push when he latches at the base of your neck where your shoulder meets, and he litters the area in wet kisses and painfully delicious bites. 

Oh, fuck, daddy, yes,” you moan out, your vision going white and your body going rigid. Your climax hits you so hard that you don’t realize his fingers left you, your thighs still convulsing and hurtling you through your high. You can faintly hear Joel, muttering his sweet whispers, as he always does. 

“Oh, fuck, that was so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”

“You’re beautiful, yanno that?”

“I love you, my pretty girl,” he places a kiss right atop your heart.

Still, your mind is floating somewhere in narnia, so he understands when you don’t reply right away. You’re not even completely back from your orgasmic haze when he pulls his boxers completely off, throwing them somewhere in the room, and his aching cock is resting against your core. 

“Darlin’ girl,” he brings his hand up to guide your limpless head to look at him, “I need you to use your words f’ me, honey, please give me a color,” he says, the softest you have ever heard him. 

You give him the smallest smile back, but it’s so full of love and admiration. You’re lightly nodding your head yes, trying to will your vocal cords to respond. “G-gre..” you let out.

He stops you with a kiss, “Okay, honey, okay, that’s all I needed,” and another kiss, “Can I give my baby what she so desperately wants now?” 

The prospect of the sensation your body is about to go through because of him ignites a fire in you. It forces you to come back down from your haze, so you can register every second of him in his entirety. Your neck straightens and your eyes open fully, pupils blacker than he’s ever seen. “Yes, daddy, please give it to me,” you say with a neediness more than anything. His lip quirks up in a smirk. “What my baby wants, she gets,” and he’s pushing your hips into him as he pushes into you, his tip notching at your entrance. You hiss, reveling in the stretch he gives you regardless of how much he works you open. 

There’s a stigma with Dominants that they are always so calm and collected, always composed and never in a state of neediness and desperation like their submissive counterparts. However, that’s simply not true. In every please, in every whimper, in every cry; in every orgasm, in every act of brattiness, in each use of the honorific; in every demonstration of pure submission: there is a Dominant, willing themself not to give in and give their partner everything they need. There is a Dominant about to break because one more plea from the submissive’s mouth has them ready and willing to forgo every single plan they had for that particular scene. 

And that’s exactly what Joel does here. He had a plan for you, even after you used your yellow code, but with the way he’s wrapped around you tonight—you have the power. You’re calling the shots. He exists simply and solely for you and your pleasure. Nothing else matters. 

He bottoms out, and both his arms are wrapped around your waist, both of you completely aligned with one another. “How do you want me, baby?” 

“I don’t care,” your forehead falls into his, “I just need to feel you, please.”

With your words, he’s thrusting into you with a calculated intention. You needed to feel him, you said. So he pushes in not too fast but not too slow, and hard. He buries himself to the hilt every single time, and it’s like he put you in a trance. Your eyes softly shut, trying to stay open to look at him; your eyebrows are pulled together; and the only sounds falling from your mouth are moans and whimpers and sweet nothings only he’d be able to decipher with your babbling. You feel everything in this angle, with his rhythm. You feel every vein, every ridge, you feel his tip kissing every sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously stealing the oxygen from your lungs. He feels so fucking good. Your leg hooked around his waist squeezes tighter on instinct, and he groans at the feeling. Seeing you completely desperate and at his disposal nearly finishes him right then and there. 

Your hand is at its usual spot for tonight, wrapped tightly in the curls at the base of his neck. You're meeting his thrusts now, and it heightens the sensation tenfold. Both your breaths are hot and heavy, mingling into the thick air of Joel’s bedroom. You’re nearly at the edge again, you both are, but you need a little more of a push. “Baby, t-touch me, please,” you say with more breath than your actual voice. He sounds absolutely pained, “I got’cha, baby, I got’cha.” His hand leaves your waist, the other tightening around you to compensate for its absence, and his fingers are back on your bundle of nerves, circling at the same rhythm that he’s pulling in and out of you. 

A gasp leaves your throat, and every part of you that’s wrapped around him pulls him in impossibly tighter, “fuck, just like that, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you ramble on in an almost incoherent whine. You can feel your words and sounds spurring him on as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s close, too. Then it clicks, you realize what you meant earlier when you said you needed to feel him first.

His fingers speed up and so do his hips. “C’mon, darlin’, such a good fuckin’ girl, give it to me, soak my fuckin’ cock,” he grunts out, now chasing his own release. 

Not stopping your movements, you unravel your arms from him and you push down on his chest, pushing him onto his back. You’re on top of him now, your movements only faltering momentarily as you situated yourself to straddle him. You grab both his arms, the one working your clit and the other on your waist, and you bring them up above his head. You pin them there with your own hand, your body leaning over him and adding to the momentum as you bounce on him. “No,” you say, almost a growl, “Need you inside me first,” sucking his bottom lip. 

He fucking whines. “Need you inside me first, then I’ll give you what you’re looking for.” You switch off into a grind of your hips, moving back and forth as the feel of his pubic hairs rub against your clit causing your pussy to flutter on him. He feels it and his hands flex to move from your grip. Your hold on him tightens. You have the power. You lean down, licking a pathway up his neck and making your way near his ear. You whisper, “Stuff me full of you, daddy, and I’ll fucking soak you, I promise.”

“Fuck!” He growls as your hips speed up, and now he’s the one seeing stars. His face and neck flush into a bright red as he floods you with his release. And as if right on queue, the warmth and the feeling of him in you and seeping out of you is what finishes you. The constant stimulation on your clit from his pubic bone along with the angle his dick continues to prod at, you’re creaming and soaking him, just like he wanted. His thighs and even the area below his belly are drenched with the mixture of your guys’ fluids, and he can’t help but gawk at the scene before him. 

You are completely surrounded by the product of your two’s arousal (plus a bit of blood, but he doesn’t care), you continuing slow grinds as you work yourself through your orgasm, and the way that your head is thrown back in pure bliss—he’s entranced by it all. His cock is nearing the line of painful overstimulation with you still on him, but he really can’t find himself caring enough to get your attention. 

He thought he would never be into giving up his dominance, his yearn for control. But now that you’ve given him a taste at what you’re capable of, fuck, he feels downright insane if he didn’t want more of it. 

You realize he may not be used to the oversensitivity as much as you may be trained for, so you bring yourself to a halt and slowly slip off of him. You bring your eyes to meet his, and you can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth, seeing the goofy, blissed out grin on his face as he looks at you. You lean towards his head and give him a sweet kiss to his lips and his nose, and you softly tell him that you’ll be right back but to stay here with a slightly more demanding tone. 

You quickly go pee in his en suite bathroom and wipe your bottom half down. You grab a pair of his boxers he leaves for emergencies under the sink (you let out a little chuckle at the fact), and grab a pad from the box he also leaves under the sink, for you, and stick it onto his underwear before shimmying it up on you. You grab another washcloth and soak it in warm water and walk back to the bed. You sit yourself up next to him and start wiping him down. As soon as you finish, you try your best and throw the washcloth, aiming for the sink of the bathroom, but you fail, miserably. It lands with a wet plop on the side of the toilet, centimeters away from landing in the toilet’s bowl. “Eh, that’s good enough,” you say to no one in particular as you nudge him to bring his hips up so you can take the towel out that he placed earlier to catch any of your blood drippings. You place it in the hamper, then you bring yourself to lay back down, cuddling into Joel. 

He turns so you both are facing each other again. His head propped up on his hand. His other hand runs up and down everywhere he can reach. 

“W-was what I did at the end there… was that okay?” you ask meekly as you slowly bring your eyes up to his. 

He lets out a hearty laugh, shoulders shaking. You weren’t expecting that kind of reaction. “Honestly,” he says as his fingers come to a stop and he just lets his arm wrap around you lazily. “I was really shocked when you flipped me over, but then,” he pauses for a second. Really just to spur you on more than anything. “I was so fuckin’ turned on and achin’ for you. I’d just about let you do anythin’ to me if you treat me like that, darlin’,” he says as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips. 

He pulls back and your gaze is away from him and your cheeks are as red as he was earlier. A shy smile paints your face. He brings his fingers up to your chin, “Oh, come on now, no point in gettin’ all shy on me now is there, my dirty girl?”

You give him the best reprimanding face you can muster (which he finds beyond adorable), and you parrot a common phrase he uses with you when you’re a brat, “Watch it, big boy.”

He laughs at your antics, but you see his cock twitch at the pet name. Your eyebrows shoot up. “Joel!” you say, actually reprimanding him this time, but you genuinely don’t know what for. 

His hand shoots to cover his mouth, an attempt at stopping his burst of laughter at your reaction. He lets go of his mouth after a moment and pulls you closer to him. He places kisses all over your face while you both giggle and let yourselves fall from your high together. 

He abruptly stops his kisses to look at you. He doesn’t say a word. “Yes?” you ask, curious of that mind of his. 

“Ya know how much I love you, right?” he asks, genuinely. 

“I think I’ve got a pretty good hint, baby.” 

“Good,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I love you so much, you do know that, right?” you offer as you bury yourself into his chest, inhaling his musk mingled the faint aroma of you.

He repeats your response back to you. You smile in his chest. It’s you who places a kiss atop his heart this time. 

You both stay wrapped up in each other for a few more hours before your tummy begins yelling at you for sustenance. Though, until that happens, you two lie in each other’s arms, wondering what you did to deserve such an all-consuming, raw and genuine love. 

Your mother was right. You really were the brightest flower in the garden, and it was all because of your big, macho man, who was actually as soft and cuddly as the clouds that bring water for the garden. Ever since he entered your life, he made sure those clouds poured all their attention on you. Giving you all the water and nutrients, all the love and care that you would ever need. 

Forever. 

End note: Thank you so much for reading! As always, your support is always always appreciated. There's no amount of words to describe how grateful I am for how much love I receive from you all. You're all too amazing. Feedback is also greatly appreciated, whether it's praise or constructive! Anything and everything helps me to be the best writer I can be. I love you all so very much💚💚💚

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @janaispunk @teatree121 @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[nrdmssgs]

Dom König scenario

Masterlist

Ok, we had him soft and obedient, how about his other side? Because you don't call someone the King, if they are just tender little angels. Smut under cut.

You were sure, it was you, who actually initiated this all: after months of silent yearning, back and forth dynamics, pinning and practically burning alive with desire you ended up in his hands, your lips pressed against his in desperate attempt to put an end to this slow torture in any possible way: be it with or without him.

He doesn't answer on your kiss, doesn't flinch or frown. Just sits there with a half smile and looks down on you, not breaking the eye contact for a single moment.

Little did you know, you were never in charge. Every interaction, every smallest chat, every stolen smile, lingering gaze - it was all orchestrated.

König loved the good old hunt, thrived on the outrageous hopelessness with which his prey, without realizing it, rushed towards him. Tinkered little traps, mislead, confused, threaded illusions of one-sided hunger to drive you to absolute desperation for him.

He may have always been the quiet one, but one needs not many words, when he can get anything with the slightest brush of fingers, or an 'occasional' eye contact (and of course he squinted and tilted his head slightly to one side, not because he knew what it does to you).

König gradually let you closer and closer. Tricked you into believing that you're the one who's so fearless to fall for him: a living weapon of mass destruction. An absolute menace, turning friendly and smiling around you.

Little did you know, poor thing, little did you know... Until the trap was shut.

His hands barely touch your waist as if he was protecting you from falling off his lap, he doesn't try to pull you closer. You understand, that it is the end of you: he didn't react to your touch, kept silent, his heart was still and calm.

Blush washes over your face. "I'm sorry, König. Oh fuck, this is embarrassing. I didn't mean to... No, I actually meant, but not that. Sorry, I better shut up and leave you be. I promise, this won't happen ever again."

Your babbling amuses him. No, he doesn't want to harm your feelings or bully you, he knows exactly, what is going to happen very soon, but he can't help but indulge in those last moments of your alleged freedom.

It's when you try to pull away, you feel his hands clasp around your waist. "Who said, I don't want this to happen again?" His voice is quiet, lower than usual. Like honey from the Tyrolean forests, it covers your mind with a thick golden veil of lust.

You can't think straight, can't believe your own ears, and yet you dare not resist when he pulls you closer, letting you touch his lips again. Another lingering kiss.

But this time his smile widens. "Nochmal*," he purrs and lets out a low chuckle, when he sees your puzzled expression.

Don't worry, he will make sure you have enough opportunities to learn every single phrase, he might want you to understand and use on your own. He won't translate anything to you though - showing is always better than telling!

So he lets you kiss him once more. "Nochmal". And again. "Nochmal". And again... Till his tongue lazily rolls past your lips.

He tastes you like the most precious drink. Sip after sip, until you lay beneath him, trembling of need.

"My little sunshine, bearing so much love for me... Was it hard to dream of my touch every other night? Did it hurt, when you clenched around your thin, fragile fingers, fantasizing, how good can I make you feel in comparison?" You can't tell if he is genuinely concerned or just loves to fluster you that much.

And don't you even think to look away for a moment, to take a break and collect your thoughts - he'll grab your face while kissing you only to make his point: eyes on him until he commands otherwise.

Yes, commands come too pretty quickly in your life. But how can he possibly resist, when you're so eager to do anything, he lets you doing?

"You may moan into my mouth, meine Süße*, I don't mind some music*" While his fingers are knuckle deep in you. And moan do you, his sweet obedient angel.

He doesn't rush anything and more than happy to please you with his fingers and tongue first couple of times. This may come off as pretty humble, but he in fact just waits, till you are desperate enough to beg him to fuck you properly.

Poor thing too desperate, flustered and overwhelmed... Of course, he would fuck you absolutely incoherent if you ask nicely. He has such a soft spot for your wet eyes, he'd make you go limp, your eyes rolling back, little whimpers leaving your lips with every thrust, as he holds your hips tightly picking up the pace. Fucking your fears and anxieties away. Making you feel high.

Lots of reassurance, praise and confessions. Constantly. Even in the most extreme moments. "Who are you, little sunshine?" "Your fucktoy." "...and?" "Your treasure..." "Gu-u-u-utes Mädchen*... and?" "Love of your life?" "Liebe meines Lebens*."

*Nochmal - once again *meine Süße - my sweet one *Gu-u-u-utes Mädchen - go-o-o-od girl *Liebe meines Lebens - love of my life

[newtonsheffield]

Kate Sharma (Trouble) and Anthony (Edmund), Viscount Bridgerton in I fell in love with the fire long ago by Moomin_94 (newtonsheffield)

In some ways Kate had been lucky. In a lot of ways she’d been lucky in truth, even if it didn’t quite feel that way. A lot of people might not see it that way. They might not think it was lucky to have nothing but the middle name of a man who’d had so much sadness in his eyes when you’d sat down beside him in a bar with at least three empty glasses already in front of him. He’d barely looked towards her at first, which she’d been thankful for. There to have a quiet drink alone to celebrate the promotion she’d sunk so much time into that now felt a little hollow. He looked at her when she ordered, his eyes burning into the side of her face and she’d felt her stomach drop as she’d taken him in. A muscle clenched in the corner of his jaw and his hair was falling over his eyes as he stared at her.

“Are you commiserating or celebrating?”

His voice was like rough gravel and she found herself swallowing, “Celebrating. I got… exactly what I wanted, I guess. Got a promotion. I’m a solicitor.”

He nodded, “Congratulations.” He looked over to the bartender, “You can put it on my tab. Someone should be happy tonight.”

“Thank you.” Kate cleared her throat, “That’s nice of you.”

“Not really.” The man chuckled darkly, “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious you’re commiserating.”

His laugh was much brighter than it probably should have been as it echoed through the bar, “I have a good reason to commiserate.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Kate settled in, enjoying the strange dynamic she was striking up. “Come on, what happened.”

He took a sip of his drink, “Today is the anniversary of my father’s death.”

Kate’s heart sank, “I’m so sorry.”

“I told you it was good.”

“That is cause for commiseration.” Kate agreed, “I really am sorry.”

“This promotion pretty big?” He was changing the conversation and she knew it but she let him do it.

“Yeah. Sort of. Just became junior partner.”

“Well, congratulations. I’m very excited for you, random beautiful woman.”

“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”

He frowned for a moment, “Why don’t you call me Edmund?“

“Edmund.” Kate found herself frowning, weighing it on his tongue, “You don’t look like an Edmund, it doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s what everyone says.” He inclined his head, “It’s my middle name. And you are?”

There was something about his gaze flicking over her that made her feel more and more bold as she took a sip of her own drink. “What do I look like.”

His teeth bit into his lip for a moment and his voice was even deeper, “Fucking trouble in that skirt.”

“Trouble it is then.”

They’d agreed in the morning, as they’d eaten breakfast awkwardly in the restaurant of the Savoy Hotel that neither of them were in the position for this to be anything. So she’d left with just his middle name and nothing else to go on with no idea that a month later she’d be staring at a positive pregnancy test with no way to contact the father of her child. Maybe that wasn’t lucky. Maybe it wasn’t lucky that she’d had nothing to give her son of his father but that name. Edmund, Neddy. But she felt lucky to have Neddy. Nearly three years old now and so beautiful it made her heart clench to look at him. she was lucky to have him. In some ways lucky that there was no traumatic break up to have dragged them all through even if Neddy was already asking questions about his Dad.

The very last place she expected to find Neddy’s father was sat on her mother’s couch with Neddy on her lap half paying attention to a viscount trying to build a new library in his constituency.

“Well, you see Rachel-”

Kate froze at the sound of his voice, her mouth falling open as her eyes fell on the man that had occupied so many of her thoughts the last three years.

Anthony, The television said. Viscount Bridgerton.

“Holy Fuck.”

“Bad word!” Neddy said as Edwina and Mary both stared at her.

“What?”

Kate swallowed, the words choking in her throat. “That’s N-E-D-D-Y’s D-A-D.”

This is probably the most unlucky she’s ever felt, walking into the office of her former one night stand turned unsuspecting father of her child armed with nothing but her diligent google search from the night before. He had a right to know. Kate told herself again. Even if he didn’t want anything to do with them, she wasn’t looking for anything from him anyway. He should know that he has a child.

“Can I help you?”

Kate tried to smile at the receptionist. “Hello, yes. I was wondering if I could… speak to the Viscount? Please?”

The woman’s eyes flicked over her. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I… I don’t but it’s… very important.”

The woman frowned, “Are you a friend of his? Does he know you?”

Kate swallowed, “I… He might not remember-”

A door opened down the corridor and footsteps made their way towards them. He looked almost the same, other than his suit being much neater and his hair not a mess. He was just as handsome as when he’d hugged her before she’d left the restaurant and his eyes lit up as his smile grew into a slow, lazy thing.

“Hello, trouble.”

Kate’s laugh was a choked little thing. “You have no idea”

Now on Ao3

[emjayewrites]

hey there, delilah • jude bellingham (7/8)

SYNOPSIS: Real Madrid football star Jude Bellingham has had a big crush on Delilah "Lila" Hamilton, the younger sister of Formula 1 legend Lewis Hamilton, for a while. As their budding romance unfolds, will they be able to navigate the pressures of fame and family dynamics?

PAIRINGS: Jude Bellingham x Delilah "Lila" Hamilton (face claim Rayan Xasan)

WARNINGS: cursing, f1/football b.s., overly protective siblings, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @dreamingjude @foreverisntenough @nichmeddar @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @judesbabymamas @perfecttrashface @alika-4466 @cocobutterqwueen @leilaxaliel @ispywithmylileye @vile-harlot @bellinghaalands @certifiedlesbianbaddie @yeea-nah @empressdede @saturnville @pinkcatcus @shepgurl @trentswrld @taytropicana

A/N: Please note that this is a work of fiction and some things may not sound "exactly correct" but bear with me to make this work. Let me know if you like to be removed/added to the taglist.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of England's hard-fought match against Switzerland. The 1-1 draw left Jude with mixed feelings as he ran a hand through his damp curls, still catching his breath as he joined the line of players at midfield. As they went through the post-game ritual, shaking hands with the opposing team, Jude exchanged tired but respectful nods with the Swiss players.

"Good game, mate," he muttered to one of the Swiss midfielders.

"You too," came the reply. "See you in the finals, maybe?"

Jude grinned. "We'll see about that."

His mind, though, was already drifting away from the game. He had a day off tomorrow, and all he could think about was how he planned to spend it.

As he jogged back towards the tunnel, Trent caught up with him. "Big plans for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Jude nodded, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Heading to Silverstone for Lewis' race."

Trent raised an eyebrow. "Southgate actually agreed to that?"

Jude chuckled. "Barely. Had to promise I'd be back before dawn the following day."

In the locker room, as he showered and changed, Jude's thoughts were filled with anticipation for the next day. His relationship with Lila had blossomed in ways he hadn't expected. They had only been together for a month, but Jude was sure about her—more sure than almost anything else in his life.

Once they arrived back to the resort, he immediately packed his bag, and his phone buzzed with a message from Lila:

Great game! Can't wait to see you. Safe travels 💋

His smile widened as he typed back:

Thanks, babe. See you soon.

The journey to England felt both endless and too quick. Before he knew it, Jude was walking through the arrivals gate at Heathrow, scanning the crowd for Lila's face.

"Jude!" Her voice cut through the airport noise, and suddenly she was there, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Hey, you," he murmured into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent.

As they drove to Lewis' home in London, Jude couldn't help but marvel at how natural it all felt. "So, ready for your first British Grand Prix?" Lila asked, glancing at him as she navigated the London traffic.

"More than ready," Jude grinned. "Though I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous about meeting your whole family."

Lila laughed. "Don't be. They're going to love you. Though fair warning, my dad might try to grill you a bit."

"I can handle it," Jude said confidently, though his stomach did a little flip. He exhaled a deep breath. This was it - another step in their relationship, another piece falling into place. And despite the whirlwind pace of the past month, despite the pressure of the upcoming semi-finals and Southgate's warnings, Jude felt ready. Ready for whatever came next, as long as Lila was by his side.

When they pulled up to Lewis' house, Jude's eyes widened. The home stood in an affluent London neighborhood, its traditional British style exuding both elegance and charm. Jude couldn't help but think how posh yet cool it looked - not that he'd expected anything less from Lewis. His own place in Madrid was nice, and his mum had done some renovations, but it wasn't quite like this.

"You okay?" Lila asked, noticing his momentary hesitation.

Jude turned to her, his eyes softening. "Never better," he said, leaning in for a quick kiss before they stepped out of the car and as they walked along the gravel path to the front door, Jude's curiosity got the better of him. "So, what did Lewis pay for this place?" he asked, gesturing to the impressive façade.

Lila shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not sure. He bought it when I was about 13. I know it was a lot, but the exact figure? No clue."

Lila used her key to enter, and they were immediately greeted by the sound of barking. Roscoe, Lewis' English bulldog, came bounding towards them.

"What's up, boy?" Jude said, reaching down to pet the dog. But Roscoe growled, causing Jude to jump back slightly. "Jeez, he acts just like your brother towards me," he muttered.

Lila giggled. "It takes Roscoe some time to warm up to new people. Don't worry, he'll come around."

Jude wasn't so sure, but he followed Lila through the house, past the foyer, and into one of the living areas. His eyes were drawn to the family photos adorning the walls. One, in particular, caught his attention - a 20-year-old Lewis holding a tiny baby Lila inside a hospital's NICU.

"This you, innit?" Jude asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah," Lila confirmed softly.

"You were so small," Jude noted. "And Lewis was so young."

"But a bit too old to be a brother to a newborn," she added jokingly.

A small smirk tugged at Jude's lips. "Yeah, I guess you can say that, but he looks so proud here. You're really his baby, huh?" He glanced back at Lila, who tilted her head in confusion.

"What?"

Jude shrugged. "I mean, you were born on his birthday and more than half of these pictures on the wall have you in them. You're definitely his baby, and him acting the way he does makes total sense now."

Lila just squinted her eyes at her boyfriend. "Okay, Jude…" she said, trailing off, not sounding too convinced.

They made their way through a pair of sliding doors to the garden, where Jude spotted Lewis and other members of Lila's family near the grill area. Surprisingly, it was one of those weirdly nice days in London - less cold than usual and perfect for a summer evening barbecue.

As they approached the group, Jude felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. Lila started pointing people out. "Right, so this is everyone. Jude, meet Mumma Carmen, Lewis' mum." A warm-looking woman smiled at him. "And this is my mum, Linda." Jude noticed Linda was a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes - like a fair-skinned version of Lila, with the same nose.

"Over here's my brother Nicolas," Lila continued, nodding towards a guy who gave Jude a friendly wave. Jude noticed Nicolas moved a bit differently, probably due to the cerebral palsy Lila had mentioned before. "He races too," Lila added, sounding proud.

"Then we've got Samantha and Nicola, Lewis' sisters. I call 'em my sisters too," Lila grinned.

Finally, she gestured to a man by the grill. "And that's my dad, Anthony."

"Holy shit," Jude muttered, "that's a lot of people."

A few laughs rippled through the group, Nicolas chuckling the loudest. Lewis and Anthony, though, just kept staring Jude down.

Linda broke the moment of tension. "My, you are tall, aren't you?" she said warmly. "Why don't you take a seat, Jude? You must be tired from your flight."

Jude plopped down gratefully, Lila sliding in next to him. He could still feel Lewis and Anthony's eyes boring into him.

"So, Jude," Nicolas leaned in, "that was some game against Switzerland, eh? That assist in the 67th minute was ace."

Jude perked up, grateful for the familiar topic. "Yeah, it was a tough one. Switzerland's defense is no joke."

Lewis finally broke his silence, taking a seat on the other side of Jude and Lila. "So, Jude," he started, his tone casual but his eyes still scrutinizing, "how's the Euros camp treating you?"

Jude, feeling the weight of Lewis' gaze, tried to keep his voice steady. "It's intense, but good. Southgate's got us working hard."

Anthony approached, setting plates of grilled corn, aubergines, and asparagus on the table. "And how exactly did you convince Southgate to let you come here?" he asked, his tone light but probing.

Before Jude could answer, Carmen stood up. "I'll get the potato salad and other things from the fridge."

"Need any help?" Jude offered quickly, eager for a potential escape.

Carmen smiled warmly. "That's kind of you, love, but I'm fine. Samantha can help me."

"Peanut," Anthony called, "can you help your mum and Nicola with some utensils and plates?"

Lila glanced at the table, confusion crossing her face. "But Daddy, we have—"

"Come on, sweetheart," Linda urged, gesturing for Lila to follow.

As Lila reluctantly got up, Jude felt a wave of panic.

Oh, fuck me.

Jude's eyes followed Lila until she disappeared out of his line of sight. Left alone with Lila's brothers, father, and a still-growling Roscoe, Jude scrambled for something to say. "You've got a lovely garden," he commented, his eyes darting to the well-manicured lawn and the gleaming pool. "The pool looks great."

Anthony's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, it is. Perfect for family gatherings. Speaking of family, Jude, what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?"

Jude gulped, feeling like he was suddenly in the hot seat. "Well, sir, I—"

"Because Lila's special," Anthony continued, his tone measured but firm. "She's not just another fling. She's got her own career, her own ambitions."

Lewis chimed in, his voice deceptively casual. "Yeah, and she's been through a lot. We're all pretty protective of her."

Jude nodded, trying to keep his cool. "I understand that, and I respect it. Lila's amazing, and I—"

"You've been together what, a month?" Anthony interrupted. "That's not very long."

Jude took a deep breath, realizing this was his moment to stand his ground. "It might not be long, but I care about Lila. A lot. And I'm here because I want to be a part of her life - all of it. Including her family."

There was a moment of tense silence before Nicolas spoke up. "Give the lad a break, yeah? He's already facing Roscoe's wrath, isn't that enough?"

As if on cue, Roscoe let out another low growl. Jude couldn't help but chuckle nervously, grateful for the slight break in tension. He just hoped Lila would return soon - very soon.

Lewis let out a dark laugh. "He could use a bit more." He cut his eyes to Jude. "You can handle it, right, Jude?"

Jude rolled his eyes, feeling frustration bubble up. "You're something else, mate."

"Ooh, am I?" Lewis said, eyes wide with mock surprise. "I'm gonna let you have that one."

"I guess you are," Jude bit back, scowling at Lewis. Roscoe let out another growl and a sharp bark. His patience snapped. "I get it, okay? You love her, but I don't think you antagonizing me is necessary." Jude's eyes shifted to Anthony. "I honestly care for your daughter, Mr. Hamilton. Lila and I are growing into something serious, okay? I'm talking really serious... maybe marriage, who knows?"

All the men's eyebrows shot up at this.

"Yeah, I know it sounds weird, 'specially because we're both young, but it feels right," Jude continued, his voice firm. "And my mum likes her, and my annoying little brother too, so she's perfect in my eyes."

A tense silence followed, broken only by Nicolas' low whistle. "Well, damn," he muttered.

Anthony leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "That's... quite a statement, young man."

Before Jude could respond, Lila returned with her mum, Carmen, and the sisters. They started setting up the table, seemingly oblivious to the tension.

Jude's face softened as he looked at Lila. "This looks so good," he said, smiling up at her before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

Carmen, noticing the strained atmosphere, spoke up. "Are you lot gonna keep snarling at Jude or are we going to eat?"

Lewis cracked a smile, then proceeded to put food on his plate. Anthony followed suit, though his eyes still flickered to Jude occasionally.

As everyone started to dig in, Lila leaned close to Jude. "Everything okay?" she whispered.

Jude nodded, squeezing her hand under the table. "Yeah, just... bonding with the family."

Linda raised her glass. "Well, let's eat! And Jude, dear, don't let these boys intimidate you. We're glad you're here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton," Jude said gratefully, digging into his food while still catching occasional glances from Lewis.

"Daddy, can you pass the corn please?" Lila asked, and both Jude and Anthony reached for it simultaneously. Jude immediately regretted his unconscious reaction as he saw the confused and almost petrified looks on Lewis and Anthony's faces.

Nicolas doubled over in laughter. "Oh my god, I fuckin' love this so much," he said between gasps, holding onto his stomach as Linda nudged him. When Nic finally calmed down, he let out an exaggerated "Whoo," wiping tears from his eyes.

Jude let out a nervous chuckle and passed the corn to Lila, catching her subtle glare. He mouthed a "sorry," knowing he'd be hearing about this later.

As they continued eating, Samantha turned to Jude. "So, Jude, Lila tells us you're quite the foodie. Any favorite spots in Madrid?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Jude launched into a description of his favorite tapas bar. As he spoke, he felt the tension slowly easing.

Nicola chimed in, addressing Lila. "How are the new designs for Petite Soeur coming along? Any sneak peeks for us?"

Lila's face lit up. "Actually, I've got some exciting ideas brewing. I'll probably need to head to New York after the Euro finals to source some fabrics."

"New York?" Jude asked, surprised. "You hadn't mentioned that."

Lila shrugged. "It's still in the planning stages. But yeah, probably a quick trip. Maybe a week or so."

Jude nodded, trying not to show his disappointment at the thought of Lila being away so soon after the tournament.

"You should go with her, Jude," Carmen suggested. "New York's lovely in the summer."

Jude glanced at Lila. "Yeah, maybe. If I can get the time off."

Midnight approached, and the night was finally winding down. The once-lively outside dining area now bore the remnants of their family dinner, with empty plates and half-filled glasses scattered across the table. Jude, fighting against the weight of exhaustion, diligently helped with the cleanup, determined to make a good impression until the very end.

Lila made her rounds, hugging each family member goodbye. Her embraces lingered a bit longer than usual, promising to see them tomorrow at Lewis' race. She carefully packed some leftovers into containers, planning to take them back to her flat.

In the warmly lit living room, Jude found himself alone with Nicolas while Lewis pulled Lila aside. Despite trying not to eavesdrop, snippets of their conversation drifted over.

"Why are you leaving? You usually stay before the British Grand Prix," Lewis asked.

"Not this time," Lila replied. "What about Jude?"

"He could stay at your flat," Lewis grumbled.

"I might as well stay with Jude," Lila said firmly.

When they returned, Nicolas looked at Lila with an exaggerated pout. "Leaving, Li?"

"Not you too!" Lila exclaimed. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Come on, Li," Nicolas persisted, his eyes lighting up with an idea. "We're going to play Mario Kart. You and Jude can sleep over here. Right, Lew?"

They all turned to Lewis, whose expression remained impassive. "He's not staying here," he said flatly.

"Lewis!" Nic admonished, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Jude felt relieved. He had no desire to stay at Lewis' house either and was looking forward to returning to Lila's comfortable flat where he knew he was welcome.

"Alright, we're going to head out," Lila said, motioning for Jude to stand, making him practically jump up.

Locking eyes with Lewis, Jude said, "See ya tomorrow, mate."

"Mmhmm," Lewis muttered.

Turning to Nicolas, Jude said, "See ya, Nic," dapping him up in a bro hug/handshake combination.

"See ya, Jude. Nice meeting you. See you on the paddock tomorrow," Nic replied warmly.

At least one brother like me.

As they prepared to leave, Lila hugged both her brothers, saving Lewis for last. "Is Amara coming to the race?" she asked, her tone deceptively innocent.

Nicolas' eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Who the hell is Amara?"

Lila and Jude exchanged shocked looks before Lila turned back to Lewis, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, Lewis, you haven't told Nic about your new girl that's somewhat more than a friend? For shame!"

Lewis shot her a warning glare. "Lila..."

"Girlfriend? What?" Nic exclaimed. "Since when?"

"It's new," Lewis muttered, clearly uncomfortable. "And we're not even official."

"And apparently a secret," Lila added with a grin.

As they left, Jude couldn't help but feel a bit smug about the bomb they'd just dropped. Lewis deserved it for continuing to act like an asshole.

In the car, the soft melodies of Tems filled the silence as Lila navigated the quiet London streets. The tension from the evening slowly melted away, replaced by their usual comfortable dynamic.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Lila asked, glancing at Jude.

Jude chuckled, stretching his long legs as much as the car allowed. "Could've been worse, I suppose. At least your dad didn't actually grill me... on the barbecue, I mean."

Lila laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "You did great. And hey, Nic likes you. That's a win in my book."

The next morning, Jude woke to the gentle buzz of Lila's alarm. Silverstone awaited. As he stretched, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, he couldn't help but grin. Race day. With Lila. And her entire family. Again. No pressure, right?

"Morning, sleepyhead," Lila mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep. "Ready for some high-speed family bonding?"

Jude chuckled. "As ready as I'll ever be. Think your dad will try to strap me to the front of Lewis' car?"

Lila swatted his arm playfully. "Behave, you."

The drive to Silverstone was a blur of countryside and Lila's excited chatter about the race. As they pulled into the paddock, the roar of engines mingling with screaming fans, Jude felt a surge of adrenaline.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, taking in the chaos. "And I thought football fans were intense."

Hand in hand, they made their way through the crowd. Jude couldn't help but notice the double-takes, the whispers, the phones hastily raised to capture a picture of the footballer and the racer's sister.

"Jude! Lila!" Samantha's voice cut through the noise. She was wrangling two kids who looked like they'd mainlined sugar for breakfast.

"Hey, Sam," Lila greeted, hugging her sister. "Jude, meet Willow and Kaiden."

Jude crouched down, grinning at the kids. "Alright, you two? Ready to watch your uncle Lewis smoke everyone?"

Willow, the older of the two, eyed him suspiciously. "Are you really a football player?"

"Last time I checked," Jude replied, feigning uncertainty. "Maybe I dreamed it all. Quick, someone pinch me!"

Kaiden, never one to pass up an opportunity, obliged with enthusiasm.

"Ow! Okay, definitely not dreaming," Jude laughed, rubbing his arm dramatically.

As they made their way to the Mercedes garage, Jude spotted Anthony. The older man's expression was guarded, but softer than the previous night.

"Morning, Mr. Hamilton," Jude greeted, trying not to sound too eager.

"Jude," Anthony nodded. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log, sir. Your daughter's got a comfy flat."

Anthony's eyebrow twitched, and Jude immediately regretted his words. Foot, meet mouth.

"I mean, uh, the guest room was very nice," he backpedaled.

Lila, sensing the tension, quickly intervened. "Daddy, where's Mum? I wanted to show her something."

"Last time I saw her, she was with Carmen near the coffee station," her father answered.

"I'll be right back," Lila said, throwing Jude an amused look over her shoulder as she went to find her mother, and he found himself alone with the kids again.

"So," Willow started, her tone serious, "if you're really a footballer, can you do keepy-uppies?"

Jude grinned. "Can I do keepy-uppies? Watch this." He spotted a small stress ball on a nearby table and started juggling it with his feet.

"Not bad," Kaiden conceded, clearly impressed despite himself.

As Jude continued to entertain the kids, who had decided he was their new jungle gym, he caught Anthony watching him, a grudging smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Lila returned then, undoubtedly impressed. "You're good with them," she said softly.

Jude shrugged, trying to hide how pleased he was. "Kids are easy. It's their uncles I've got to worry about," he quipped, nodding towards where Lewis and her dad was chatting with his team.

Lewis glanced over, his expression unreadable. Jude gave a little wave, which Lewis returned after a moment's hesitation.

"Baby steps," Lila murmured.

The day stretched on, a whirlwind of pre-race excitement, strategy talks, and more family dynamics than Jude had bargained for. But as he stood there, Lila's hand in his, watching Lewis' car roar to life, he realized he wouldn't have it any other way.

"You good?" Lila whispered, squeezing his hand.

Jude nodded, grinning. "Never better. Though I might need you to protect me if Lewis doesn't win. I have a feeling I'd be the first one blamed."

Lila laughed, the sound almost lost in the roar of engines. "Don't worry, I've got your back. Now, let's watch my brother kick some ass."

As the race approached, Lila and Jude made their way to the Paddock Club, where they'd have a better view of the action. The walk there was like a red carpet event, with cameras flashing and fans calling out for autographs.

"Jude! Jude! Can I get a picture?" a young fan shouted, waving an England flag.

Jude obliged with a smile, posing for a quick selfie. "Cheers, mate. Enjoy the race!"

They settled into their seats, and the atmosphere was electric. The roar of engines filled the air as the cars lined up on the grid.

"God, I'll never get tired of this," Lila breathed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

The race was a nail-biter from start to finish. Lewis fought his way through the pack, making daring overtakes and pushing his car to the limit. Jude found himself on the edge of his seat, caught up in the family's tension and excitement.

As Lewis crossed the finish line in first place, Lila jumped up, screaming with joy, her eyes brimming with tears. "He did it! Oh my God, he actually did it!" She turned to Jude, pulling him into a tight hug, laughing and crying at the same time.

Jude smiled, holding her close. "That was huge, Lila. Your brother’s a fuckin' legend."

It was unreal—Lewis had done it. After 945 days since he last won a Grand Prix, he finally done it, and at his home race no less.

They rushed down to parc fermé, where Lewis was celebrating with their dad and his team. As soon as he spotted Lila, he broke away, and she collided with him in a fierce hug.

"I'm so proud of you," Lila sobbed into his shoulder.

Lewis held her tight, his own eyes glistening. "Couldn't have done it without my lucky charm," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

As they broke apart, Jude stepped forward, fist outstretched. "Congrats, mate. That was some drive."

Lewis looked at him for a moment, then bumped his fist. "Thanks, Jude. Appreciate it. Now you got to win Euros, yeah?"

Jude grinned, a mix of surprise and determination in his eyes. "From your mouth to God's ears, mate. We'll do our best to bring it home."

Lewis nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'll be watching. Don't let us down, Bellingham."

"No pressure then," Jude chuckled, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with Lewis for the first time.

Lila, beaming at the exchange, wrapped an arm around each of them. "My two champions," she said, her voice filled with pride and affection.

The moment was interrupted by a swarm of reporters and cameras, all clamoring for Lewis' attention. As Lewis was pulled away for interviews, Jude felt Lila squeeze his hand.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For being here, for trying with my family. It means a lot."

Jude pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Li," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and warm.

Lila smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with emotion. She reached up, cupping his face as their lips met in a soft kiss, but what started as something gentle quickly grew more intense. Jude's hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer as the world around them seemed to fade. Lila melted into him for a moment, feeling the heat rise between them, before gently pushing him back with a breathy laugh.

"Jude, we’re getting carried away," she whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention.

Jude pouted playfully, his lips grazing her ear. "Can you blame me?" he murmured. "I’ve missed you loads. Time with your family and Lewis’ race meant we didn’t get any… ‘special’ time." His tone was teasing, but his fingers traced delicate patterns along her waist, clearly eager for more.

Lila blushed, biting her lip as she leaned into him, whispering so only he could hear, "Don’t worry… I’ll make sure you get some later before you fly back to Germany."

Jude’s eyes darkened slightly, his smirk widening. “You better,” he growled softly, causing her to laugh.

"I promise," she teased, giving him one last lingering kiss before they both straightened up.

"So," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye as he nodded towards Lewis' race car, "reckon your brother will let me drive one of these things if we win the Euros?"

Lila laughed, shaking her head. "Let's not push our luck, Bellingham."

Jude grinned, undeterred. "Come on, I bet I'd look proper fit in one of those racing suits. Maybe I'll ask Toto for a spare suit."

"Oh yeah?" Lila raised an eyebrow, amused. "And what makes you think you can handle one of these beasts?"

Jude puffed out his chest dramatically. "Please, I can handle anything."

Just then, Roscoe trotted by, giving Jude a suspicious look.

"Well, almost anything," Jude amended, eyeing the dog warily. "Still working on winning over your furry bodyguard there."

Lila giggled, patting Roscoe's head. "Maybe we should start smaller. How about you learn to drive a regular car first?"

"Ouch," Jude clutched his chest in mock hurt. "Low blow, Hamilton. Low blow."

As they bantered, Anthony approached, overhearing the tail end of their conversation. "What's this about driving?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

Jude tried to look innocent. "Just admiring the cars, sir. Impressive machines."

Anthony nodded slowly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "They are indeed. Tell you what, Jude. You win the Euros, and maybe - just maybe - we'll let you sit in one. Engine off, of course."

Jude's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? I mean, yes sir, challenge accepted!" He turned to Lila, grinning from ear to ear. "Did you hear that? I'm halfway to being an F1 driver already."

Lila rolled her eyes fondly. "Don't get ahead of yourself, hotshot. You've still got a tournament to win."

"Details, details," Jude waved his hand dismissively, but his eyes sparkled with determination. "Just you wait, Li. I'll have that trophy in one hand and an F1 steering wheel in the other before you know it."

____________________________________________

Later that evening, back at Lila's flat, the playful banter from earlier still lingered in the air as Jude made himself comfortable on her sofa. The faint glow of the city filtered in through the windows, casting a soft light over the room. Lila sat beside him, her fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as they settled into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Jude, still riding the high from their day at Silverstone, looked over at her, his gaze warm and filled with affection. "You know," he began, his voice low, "I wasn’t kidding about missing you. Feels like we've barely had a moment to ourselves."

Lila smiled softly, turning to face him. "Well, I’m all yours now," she teased, leaning in to brush her lips against his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The tension that had been building between them all day simmered just beneath the surface. As their lips moved together, the kiss deepened, and Jude’s hand instinctively found its way to her waist, pulling her closer. There was a gentle urgency in the way they touched, an unspoken need to make the most of the time they had left before his flight back to Germany.

Lila pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, "I did promise you some special time, didn’t I?"

Jude grinned, his hands tightening on her hips as he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "You did," he murmured, his voice husky.

Lila slid off the sofa, standing up and taking Jude’s hand to guide him toward the bedroom. He followed her, his heart racing in anticipation. Once they reached the bed, she turned to face him, her fingers toying with the hem of his shirt before lifting it over his head.

Jude watched her, his breath hitching as her hands roamed his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. "Lila..." he breathed, unable to keep the need out of his voice.

She smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him. "Lie down, Bellingham," she commanded playfully.

Jude raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, doing as she asked, his long frame stretching out across the bed.

Lila climbed on top of him, straddling his hips as she leaned down to kiss him again, slow and sensual. Their hands began to explore each other, and soon, her kisses moved from his lips to his neck, making Jude groan as she nipped at his skin.

"God, I’ve missed this," he murmured, his hands resting on her thighs as she continued to kiss her way down his chest. His body tensed in anticipation, and when her lips reached the waistband of his pants, he let out a shaky breath.

Lila paused for a moment, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. "Still miss me?"

Jude let out a chuckle, his voice a bit hoarse. "More than ever."

She pulled his pants down slowly, her movements deliberate, and Jude's breath hitched as the cool air hit his skin. Lila leaned down again, pressing soft kisses along his lower abdomen, and Jude could feel his entire body respond, the tension between them reaching its peak.

When her mouth finally found him, Jude’s head fell back against the pillows, a deep groan escaping his lips. Her movements were slow, teasing at first, before she picked up a steady rhythm, her hand working in tandem with her mouth. Every flick of her tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, making his hips buck slightly in response.

Jude’s hands gripped the sheets, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as Lila continued, her pace quickening as his moans filled the room. He was losing control, the sensation overwhelming as she brought him closer and closer to the edge.

"Lila... fuck," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "You’re gonna make me—"

Before he could finish, his release hit him hard, and he came with a shuddering gasp, his body trembling beneath her. Lila didn’t stop, taking all of him as he rode out his high, her lips and tongue working him through it.

When she finally pulled back, Jude was left breathless, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover. Lila looked up at him, wiping the corner of her mouth with a small, satisfied smile.

Jude stared at her in awe, still catching his breath. "God, you’re so good at that," he said with a lazy grin, his voice laced with admiration.

Lila laughed softly, crawling back up to rest beside him, her head on his chest. "Told you I’d make up for earlier."

Jude wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You’re amazing," he murmured, still in a daze.

"Well," she teased, "I try."

Jude chuckled, his fingers trailing up and down her arm as they settled into the comfortable silence of the room. He knew he had to leave for Germany soon, but for now, all he wanted was to stay here with Lila, wrapped up in their little world, where nothing else mattered.

The Olympiastadion in Berlin was a cauldron of noise as the clock ticked towards the 90th minute. England and Spain were locked at 1-1, the match poised on a knife-edge. Jude's legs burned with exhaustion, but he pushed on, desperate to make something happen.

Suddenly, a teasing cross from Cucurella found Oyarzabal. Time seemed to slow as the ball nestled into the back of the net. 2-1 to Spain. The stadium erupted - half in jubilation, half in despair.

Jude's heart sank. He looked at the clock - three minutes of added time. It wasn't enough. As the final whistle blew, the weight of the loss crashed down on him. He fell to his knees, then forward onto his hands, his forehead touching the grass.

Tears stung his eyes as he pounded the pitch with his fist. So close. They'd been so close.

Around him, his teammates were in various states of despair. Some lay on the ground, others wandered aimlessly, shell-shocked. The Spanish celebrations seemed a world away.

As Jude finally lifted his head, the magnitude of the loss hit him. This wasn't just about football. He knew what was coming - the media frenzy, the scrutiny, the blame. And worse, the ugly side of it all - the racism that always reared its head in moments like these.

He could already imagine the headlines, the social media posts, the slurs that would be hurled at him and his Black teammates. The thought made his stomach churn.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. It was Gareth Southgate, his face etched with a mixture of disappointment and pride. "You did us proud, lad," he said softly. "Hold your head high."

Jude nodded, but the words felt hollow in the face of such devastating loss. As he slowly got to his feet, his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for one face in particular. He found Lila in the stands, her eyes red from crying but filled with love and support.

Without thinking, Jude jogged over, hopping the barrier with ease. Lila's arms were around him in an instant, her familiar scent a balm to his raw emotions.

"You were brilliant," she whispered fiercely. "So fucking brilliant."

His mum was there too, pulling him into a tight hug. "We're so proud of you, love," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jude nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The loss still stung, sharp and brutal.

Eventually, he had to tear himself away, heading to the locker room. The atmosphere was somber, heavy with disappointment. Jude showered mechanically, his mind replaying every moment of the match.

Later, Lila drove him back to the hotel. The silence in the car was punctuated only by Jude's occasional frustrated sighs.

Once in his room, the dam broke. "Fuck!" Jude yelled, grabbing a pillow and hurling it across the room. "We were so fucking close!"

He paced, a caged lion of frustration and regret. "If I'd just... if we'd only..."

From her perch on the bed, Lila watched him, her eyes soft with understanding. "Jude," she said quietly, holding out her hand. "Come here."

He hesitated for a moment before collapsing onto the bed next to her, his head in her lap. Her fingers carded through his hair, soothing.

"We were so close, Li," he mumbled, his voice muffled against her leg. "So fucking close."

"I know, babe," she said softly. "But you were amazing out there. All of you were."

Jude turned his head to look up at her, his eyes searching her face. "Yeah?"

Lila nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah. And you know what? This is just the beginning. You've got so many more tournaments ahead of you. So many more chances."

Jude let out a long breath, feeling some of the tension leave his body. "You're right," he said finally. "Doesn't make it suck any less right now, though."

Lila leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I know. But I'm here. We're all here. And we're so fucking proud of you, Jude Bellingham."

For the first time since the final whistle, Jude felt a smile tug at his lips. He lay there for a moment, letting Lila’s words sink in, her soothing presence like a balm to the raw ache in his chest. He closed his eyes, savoring the way her fingers gently ran through his hair, grounding him in the here and now, away from the chaos in his mind.

Jude turned slightly, shifting so he could meet her gaze, his face still buried in her lap. Their eyes locked, and the warmth in Lila’s gaze melted away the lingering frustration. Before he even realized it, he was reaching up, cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing softly against her cheek.

Lila’s lips curved into a small smile, and she leaned down, meeting him halfway as their lips pressed together in a soft kiss. It was gentle at first, more comforting than anything, but the electricity between them was undeniable. Jude’s hands slipped to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, their mouths moving together with a new urgency.

She responded just as eagerly, her hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers. She could feel the pent-up tension, the frustration from the game, the need to release all the emotions still bubbling just under the surface. Jude’s tongue teased hers, a low groan escaping his throat as he pulled her even closer, the heat between them building.

In no time, their movements became more desperate, their kisses fiercer as they lost themselves in each other. Lila shifted, climbing over Jude, her thighs straddling his hips as they continued to kiss, hands exploring, touching, needing.

Jude's fingers found the hem of Lila's shirt, pulling it up and over her head in one swift movement. His breath hitched as he took in the sight of her bare skin, the softness of her curves against him. He ran his hands down her back, fingers tracing the length of her spine, his touch both gentle and possessive.

But as the heat built and their clothes were discarded, leaving them bare against each other, Jude suddenly pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes locking with hers.

“Wait,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, the need still simmering in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t want to do anything tonight, Li.”

Lila blinked, her breath still coming in soft gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. “You don’t?” she asked, her voice soft, almost surprised.

Jude shook his head, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. “No,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her lips. “I just… I just want to be with you. Hold you. That’s all I need tonight.”

Lila’s heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his gaze stealing her breath. She could see it in his eyes—the exhaustion, the emotional weight of the loss still hanging heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t need more tonight. He needed her—just her, without anything more.

She nodded, her expression softening as she leaned down to kiss him again, this time slower, more tender. “Okay,” she whispered against his lips. “We’ll just cuddle.”

Jude exhaled a long breath, relief flooding through him as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down onto his chest. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, but without the usual urgency. This was different—intimate, comforting in its simplicity.

Lila nestled into the crook of his neck, her body fitting perfectly against his as she draped an arm over his chest. Jude’s hand moved in lazy circles across her back, the steady rhythm calming both of them as they lay there in the quiet.

For the first time that night, the weight of the world lifted off Jude’s shoulders. Lila’s presence grounded him, her warmth chasing away the frustration and disappointment. He closed his eyes, his fingers continuing their slow, soothing movement along her back as they settled into the comfort of each other’s arms.

And as they drifted into the soft silence of the night, Jude realized that even though they’d lost the match, he hadn’t lost everything. He had Lila—her love, her support. And that, for now, was more than enough.

__________________________________________________________

A week later...

Jude lounged back in the dim corner of the VIP section, his fingers idly scrolling through TikTok on his phone as the bass-heavy music thudded through the club. Around him, his boys—Trent, Marcell, Toby, and Noah—were in full party mode, mingling with groups of women, downing shots, and laughing loudly over the booming beats.

The original plan had been to celebrate winning the Euros, but since the loss, this trip had taken on a different vibe. It felt like a redemption tour, a chance for him to step back, reflect, and spend time with his friends. First, they were in LA, then it was off to Miami, and after that, Jude planned to fly out to New York to spend some quality time with Lila before training camp for the upcoming La Liga season. It wasn’t the summer he'd imagined, but he was determined to make the most of it.

Chilling in the cut, Jude glanced around the club, taking in the pulsating lights and the crowd swaying to a Future track that had just come on. He wasn’t in the mood to wild out like the others. While his friends, all single, were running amuck, flirting and vibing with girls, Jude was content sipping his drink, scrolling through his phone, and keeping to himself.

Suddenly, a woman brushed up against him. "My bad," she said, her voice slightly slurred from the drinks. Jude glanced up from his phone and was immediately met with a very direct line of sight to her cleavage, on full display in a low-cut dress.

"All good," he said, his eyes flicking up briefly before he went back to his phone, chewing idly on his straw.

The music thumped louder as Future’s hit track filled the room, setting a more charged atmosphere. "You want to dance?" the woman asked, stepping closer to him, her voice competing with the music.

Jude lifted his eyes from his phone again, this time actually looking at her face. "I'm good," he replied, raising his voice over the music.

"What?" she called back, leaning in even closer, her perfume invading his space. Jude subtly stepped back, trying to create some distance.

"I said I'm good," he repeated, his voice firmer this time. "I have a girlfriend."

The woman cocked her head, her expression shifting into something more sly. "Oh?" she said, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Where is she? Is she here?"

"Nah, but still—" Jude started, but she cut him off.

"So, she just lets you go out to clubs?" The girl smirked, inching closer again. "Not a great girlfriend, especially since you’re hot."

Jude sighed, shifting uncomfortably as she introduced herself. "I’m Kate."

"Not interested," Jude shot back, trying to keep his patience in check.

The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Good to know that I already know who you are, I guess. You're not a great talker. I'm just trying to say 'hi.'"

It took everything in him not to roll his eyes right back at her. He knew what this was, but there was no way he was about to mess up what he had with Lila for a one-night stand. It wasn’t even a question.

"I don’t want to talk to ya. I’m good," Jude said, stepping back even further.

Her expression soured as she pouted, almost as if insulted. "So, you don’t think I’m pretty?"

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jude thought, the ridiculousness of it all pressing in on him. Instead of entertaining her any further, he simply stood up and moved away, finding a spot in the opposite corner of their section. He sat down again, ignoring her as he resumed scrolling through his phone.

A soft ping vibrated from his phone, his notifications lighting up with a text from Lila:

Miss you 😥

Jude’s tense expression softened as he read her message. He immediately started typing back.

Miss you too, babe. Can you wait another hour so we can FaceTime?

He sent the text, glancing at the time. It was almost 2 a.m. in LA. He quickly did the mental math, realizing that it was nearly 9 a.m. in London. She’s up early, Jude thought with a grin, picturing Lila groggily reading his text from her bed.

He chuckled softly to himself, thankful for the escape from the madness of the club. The night might’ve started as a chaotic boys' trip, but he knew where he’d rather be—talking to Lila, even if it was through a screen thousands of miles away.

Lila: Of course I’ll wait up.

Before he could settle back into the comfort of scrolling through TikTok, the girl from earlier made her way back over, this time with a determined look on her face.

He barely glanced up, but she leaned closer again, clearly not getting the hint. “C’mon, are you sure you don’t want to dance?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

Jude sighed, feeling his patience start to slip. "I already told you, I’ve got a girlfriend. I’m not interested."

"She’s not here," the girl insisted with a smirk, ignoring the clear boundary Jude had set. "And besides, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her."

Jude clenched his jaw, annoyance flashing across his face. Before he could fire back with a more direct response, Trent suddenly popped up beside him, flashing a smile at the girl. "Hey, he's a no-no," Trent said casually, slinging an arm over Jude's shoulder. "But I'm available."

The girl’s attention shifted immediately, her eyes lighting up at Trent’s offer. She nodded and laughed, the shift in mood clear as she let out a flirty giggle.

Trent gave Jude a quick nod, signaling that their ride was here. "We’re about to head out," he said. "Let's round up the boys and go."

Jude exhaled in relief, glad for the escape, and stood up, following Trent as they gathered the rest of the guys, along with a couple of girls they’d met. Together, they made their way outside to the 'party bus' they had rented for the trip.

The vehicle, decked out with neon lights and plush seating, awaited them at the curb, the engine already purring as the driver waited. The girls squealed in excitement as they piled into the bus, while Toby immediately turned on the Bluetooth speaker, blasting some heavy beats that matched the mood of the night.

“YEAH!” the girls shouted in unison, dancing to the pounding music as the bus pulled away from the club, headed for their rented house in the Hollywood Hills.

Jude watched them for a second, shaking his head with an amused smile. Not tonight, he thought to himself as he made his way to the back of the bus, scrolling through his phone once again. By the time they pulled up to the house, he was already checked out of the night.

Their rented home sat atop the hills, a modern, multi-story villa with sprawling glass windows that overlooked the city lights of Los Angeles. It was sleek and expansive, with a pool out back and plenty of space for their crew to kick back and relax. The house exuded a luxurious charm, nestled in the quiet hills far from the noise of the city but still close enough to feel like they were in the heart of LA.

As they spilled out of the bus and into the house, Toby turned the speakers up louder, the music reverberating off the high ceilings.

"Let’s keep this going!" Toby yelled as the girls cheered, already dancing their way through the living room.

Jude laughed under his breath, shaking his head at the sight. "Yeah, I’m going to bed," he muttered, but his words were drowned out by the music. No one seemed to notice as he peeled away from the group and headed upstairs to his room.

Once inside, Jude locked the door behind him, eager for some peace and quiet. He kicked off his shoes, stripped out of his clothes, and headed straight for the shower. The hot water hit his skin, and he sighed, letting the tension from the night wash away. After drying off, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back to his room, pulling on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed.

He reached for his phone, turning off the lights as he dialed Lila’s number. It rang twice before she answered, her face appearing on the screen, lit by the soft morning light in London.

“Hey, you,” she greeted, her voice warm and a bit sleepy. “What time is it there?”

“Almost 2 a.m.,” Jude replied with a smile, settling back into the pillows. “How’s your day so far?”

“Lazy,” Lila said with a yawn, stretching. “Tolami’s coming over soon, and we’re getting our hair done. What about you? How’s LA?”

“Good,” Jude said, glancing at the ceiling. “The boys are wilding out, as usual. Toby just brought back a girl, and I think she’s already making herself at home.”

As if on cue, there was a loud shriek from downstairs, and Lila’s eyes widened at the sound. “What the hell was that?”

“Toby’s ‘little friend,’” Jude said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ew!” Lila laughed, scrunching up her nose in mock disgust. “You boys are a mess.”

Jude chuckled. “Wish you were here with me, though,” he murmured, his voice softening.

Lila smiled knowingly. “Mmmhmm, you wish I was in that bed with you.”

“That too,” he admitted, his voice low and teasing. “I can’t wait to see you in New York. I miss you so much, Li.”

“I miss you too, Judey Bear,” she replied, her tone softening. “Not long now.”

“We’re going to Disney tomorrow,” Jude added. “You want me to bring you back some Mouse Ears?”

“Absolutely!” Lila grinned. “I expect nothing less.”

They talked for a bit longer, the conversation easy and familiar, like always. Eventually, Lila yawned, stretching again. “I should get ready for Tolami,” she said, her voice still drowsy.

Jude nodded. “Yeah, I should get some sleep too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“For sure. Sweet dreams, baby,” Lila said, her smile lingering before the call ended.

Jude set his phone on the nightstand and lay back, a sense of calm settling over him. He might have been miles away from Lila, but just hearing her voice was enough to make everything feel right.

With one last glance at his phone, he closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.

TO BE CONTINUED....

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Bloodhound

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Summary: Before meeting the ghoul, you worked as a courier. After striking a mutually beneficial deal with him, you become a bounty hunter, but it’s clear that your dynamic is much more complicated than that.

WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, pet play (implied), porn with little plot, dom/sub dynamics, mentions of violence, both praise and degradation, light dehumanization, the ghoul calls you ‘mutt’, unprotected p in v (DO NOT), radiated creampie (dw they use radaway after the fic is over lmao), oral (m receiving), aaaand thats all i can think of but lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: Shoutout to @finniestoncrane who posted an amazing fic w/ the same kink that made me feel brave enough to post this dirty lil fic i could not get out of my head these past weeks :D

——————

A loud, high pitched whistle made you pause mid-sentence. You recognized it as a sign that time was almost up, and you better get some answers before he lost his patience altogether.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before looking back at the small shop’s vendor. 

“You said you heard he was going north?” You asked.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, heard him mention something about one of those mini-marts. You know the kind. There’s two on the way to Shady Sands that might be worth checking.”

You swallowed hard, but hid your discomfort. “And he was gone yesterday morning? Alone?”

“Yeah, as far as I know he arrived alone, too.”

“You weren’t curious enough to ask?”

“Not the kind to ask raiders more questions than I need to.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or not. He had no reason to be helping raiders, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have other reasons to lie. 

He cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. He’d been eyeing the clunky, collar-like tracking device around your neck, unsure of what it meant or who exactly was tracking you. Clearly, he didn’t intend to find out.

“Alright, I’ve told you enough. You better get out of here before anyone else starts asking questions.”

You nodded once, knowing better than to push your luck. You took three caps out of a hidden pouch on your belt and tossed them at him. 

“Thanks,” you said, turning on your heel and making your way back out of the narrow alleyway.

The ghoul was leaning against the wall just out of view, the brim of his hat pulled low. You caught the edge of his grin as you approached, and he pushed off the wall to fall into step next to you.

“Well?” He asked, keeping his voice low and casual.

You relayed the information you’d acquired about the target — a bounty he’d picked up a few days earlier, at another settlement. A raider had wreaked havoc there and killed two in the process, so the families were looking for some justice.

Easy enough to take care of, the ghoul had figured, and all for a decent price. So he’d immediately put you on his trail, as he always did. Much easier for smoothies to be asking questions and actually get some answers — Not everyone tolerated his kind.

You had a few opinions on what to do next, but you kept them to yourself, knowing he wouldn’t want them unless he’d specifically asked. He hummed, the gears in his mind already turning. 

You peered at him sideways, wondering what his strategy would be. He didn’t often let you in on them unless it was necessary, but based on what you’d experienced so far, you at least trusted his cleverness.

“Good girl, that’s real useful,” he said finally, seemingly satisfied with what he was coming up with.

He flicked your chin up with his knuckle in what could almost be called affection, but not quite. You carefully hid the secret pleasure you felt at his praise, averting your gaze. Somehow, even at his meanest, he always managed to make it sound so good — at least in the same way a bruise felt good.

Formerly, in your life as a courier, you’d been severely underestimated many times. Traveling alone, especially, had its disadvantages, but it wasn’t brute strength that had so far kept you alive. You were cunning too, in your own way. 

Always keenly observant of your surroundings, picking up clues that most would miss. You were generally pretty reserved anyway, preferring to stay quiet and listen. It was easy for you to blend in with your surroundings, seemingly harmless, and people often let their guard down around you. Big mistake on their part.

The ghoul had taken notice of you, though. It had been months ago, at some repurposed saloon further up north, where there was a lot of foot traffic. It was really easy to get jobs there, or exchange information, so you often passed through. As it happened, so did he, and he’d kept an eye out after you initially caught his attention.

Once he’d learned just how useful you’d actually be to him, well… he just couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. He had a certain way with words, exuding charm, knowing very well how to get what he wanted. Despite most people’s apprehension of ghouls, you didn’t really mind them as long as they weren’t feral and trying to bite your face off. 

Clearly, he wasn’t that type. So, you’d made an agreement of sorts with him, splitting the profits sixty-forty for every bounty fulfilled. Easy money, you figured, and some company to boot. More safety in numbers, after all, especially with someone as skilled as him. 

But from the get go, he always made it abundantly clear that he was the one calling the shots. There had been no room for argument on that, though strangely enough, you had felt a certain sense of freedom by submitting to it.

The tracking device he’d clasped around your neck soon after was just a little extra precaution, he had said. You had relatively free rein, but still he didn’t let you stray too far. And if you did, then his lasso would work as a makeshift leash to drag you back. 

Later on, when you’d developed a system of communication without words – especially for greater distances – you realized it’d felt more like training, in a way. Bending you to his will, sometimes with more charm, others with what he called discipline. And soon enough, after nights of growing closeness and a simmering tension, rewards also came into play. 

In the end, it all worked out, and before you knew it, the two of you were running like a well oiled machine. The hunter and his bloodhound. 

You started the trek north, taking advantage of the daylight. You kept your eyes peeled for any distinct tracks or other clues. When you saw an old, rundown shack in the near distance, you glanced back at him and then trotted off as soon as he nodded. 

Once you’d cleared it, you returned to where he was and continued on your way. Three more times, you checked abandoned buildings, but there was nothing of note in any of them. 

The first mini-mart you arrived at turned out to be more useful. The ghoul helped you interrogate a couple of raiders you’d found holing up there. They weren’t very forthcoming at first, but you left the jostling to him, given that it was his specialty. 

Soon enough, he managed to knock a couple of answers out of them, and then you were on your way again. You settled in an abandoned, half-collapsed house for the evening, a fire burning before the sun even finished setting. 

He sat on the other side of it, silently sharpening his machete, lost in thought. You looked off into the middle distance, unbothered by the quiet. It was a welcome reprieve after a long day, when all you wanted to do was unwind.

But that wasn’t to say it was always easy, even if you were on the brink of exhaustion. Sometimes you just needed a little extra help to get you there.

The ghoul noticed the tense set of your shoulders and your restless shifting. He heard the soft sighs you weren’t even aware you were letting out, short and almost impatient. But what could you possibly be waiting for?

His eyes lingered pensively on the tracking device, like a mark of his ownership, before trailing lower, towards your chest. He licked his lips, a few ideas coming to mind. 

“Say… how would you like a little treat for doin’ such a good job today?” He drawled, a roguish grin on his face as one of his hands came to rest heavily on his belt buckle.

Your attention was drawn there, but you quickly looked back up at his face. Instead of giving in to the impulse to nod eagerly, you bit your lip and decided to test the waters just a little bit.

“A treat, hmm?” you said, slightly tilting your head to one side, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded, adjusting his position lazily, hips bucking. “Oh yes, I’m feelin’ quite generous today, and you’ve earned it.”

This time you couldn’t hide the effect his words had on you, and he chuckled. Truth be told, you’d had this in mind all day, a craving that would not go away until you had him. It was why you’d gone the extra mile, knowing it wouldn’t escape his notice. He’d gotten real good at reading your moods, after all.

“Come sit pretty for me over here, why don’t’cha?” He said and tapped his foot on the ground, spurs jingling softly. 

You made your way over to him and knelt at his feet. He bent forward, looming over you, and grasped your chin with a gloved hand. 

“Well, ain’t you just the most obedient little thing? I’ve got you well trained, don’t I?” he said, his eyes roaming over your face. “Go on now, get your treat.”

He let go of your face and leaned back, adjusting his hips to bring them closer to you. Your fingers shook only slightly as you deftly undid his belt, then bent your head to undo the zipper with your teeth. There was a low sound of approval in his throat as you tugged his pants down, along with his underwear.

Your mouth watered at the sight of his hardening cock, the head of it lazily resting against his lower abdomen. You were about to curl your fingers around the shaft, but he shook his head.

“No hands,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You don’t need to use your hands anymore.”

You nodded, sticking out your tongue as your head dipped once more. You licked a long, languid stripe up the length of it, making it twitch in response. He sighed a rough good girl as his legs widened to adjust his position, a gloved hand resting on your head. 

Your lips wrapped around the tip, teasing it with little flicks of your tongue. He grunted, his hips jutting upwards. Your mouth was warm and wet and inviting as his cock slid inside it with ease. His head tipped back in ecstasy for a moment before he looked back down to watch you take it deeper into your throat. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “I must’ve been real lucky to find such a good lil cocksucker like you.”

You moaned around him, shifting your knees as you felt yourself growing wetter. Your head bobbed up and down at an almost hypnotic pace, hands straining at your sides to keep yourself from using them.

When you reached the base, his cock fully sheathed in your throat, he kept your head down for a moment. You fought the urge to gag, breathing slowly through your nose. 

Then he let you come up for air, the lower half of your face a slobbery mess as you panted. Your eyes were glazed over with desire as you looked up at him, and his cock twitched. 

“Such a pretty mutt, aren’t’cha? I bet you’re all soaked and ready for me,” he rasped, holding your gaze as your tongue lavished his balls with some attention. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, feeling himself start to near the edge. But he didn’t want to get there quite yet, and he didn’t want it to be in your mouth this time.

Still, he allowed himself a moment longer, his hand pushing your head to press your face against his cock, hips rocking slightly. Your tongue was still out, trying to catch whatever skin it could, and he let out a deep groan.

“Alright, don’t get too excited now. Turn around and let me take a look.”

You did as told, hastily pulling your pants and underwear down to your knees and presenting yourself for him. You watched him tug his gloves off over your shoulder, appraising you with hungry eyes, and then he knelt behind you.

“My, oh my…” he said as some of your arousal dripped onto the ground. “Just as I thought… Let’s see if she’s ready for me.”

You felt the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, slowly pushing inside. Eagerly, you pushed your hips back to take more of him, but he stopped you by grabbing your hips.

“Easy, easy,” he chuckled. “You want me to fuck you that bad, huh?”

You nodded, whimpering a little as he thrusted shallowly, stretching you further to accommodate him.  

“Please,” you breathed, your voice broken by desperation, and he pushed your head to the ground.

“It’s cute when you whine like a bitch in heat,” he cooed, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. “Now stay there and take it like the good girl I know y’are.”

Once he was able to fully slide in and out of you with little pushback, his thrusts gradually got faster. You moaned with each rough snap of his hips, deliriously chanting fuck, fuck, fuck under your breath.

He felt impossibly deep at that angle, practically driving you into the ground. One of his hands cracked down on your ass, making you flinch from surprise, your cunt squeezing him hard.

He growled at that, fucking you harder while tugging your hips backwards to meet his thrusts. He was repeatedly hitting a sensitive spot that had your vision going white, eclipsing everything else.

“God damn, this pussy’s so good to me,” he groaned, smacking your ass once more. “You enjoyin’ your treat? Huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, legs kicking slightly at the intensity, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “I-I’m gonna… Can I cum? Please?”

He was pleased that you’d still thought to ask, but he was too keen on pleasing you at that moment to deny you. “Go on, I’ve got you. Come all over my cock.”

The orgasm rocked throughout your body, every one of your muscles taut as you unraveled. His name spilling from your lips as a whimper, something to cling onto. The way your cunt greedily, and oh so sweetly, squeezed his cock then had him right behind you. 

A rough, feral sound escaped him as his hips snapped against you one last time, spilling hotly inside of you. Your walls continued to flutter in the aftermath, milking out his own pleasure. 

After, he pulled out to get a look at the mess he’d made of you. Hummed with self satisfaction as he saw his spend trickling out of you, like another mark of his ownership.

Your head swam as if you were drunk, but still you smiled at him over your shoulder beatifically. Mischief danced in your eyes, but he’d already known it had been your plan to end up there all along.

“Always so eager to please.” He returned the grin slyly. “Maybe I ought to give you treats more often, if you keep it up.”

Perhaps it hadn’t been his intention, but you took those words as a challenge all the same. 

--------

[oliviabear]

tbh i am not a fan of this weird narrative about osha that's being tossed around. saying she has no agency is such bullshit and saying that we fell for that by liking her dynamic with qimir is even more annoying.

osha's whole thing is agency. that is literally, in my opinion, the root of her character. in the coven, it is because of osha's own agency and need for independence that she hesitates saying 'yes i accept this life' to her own family. she's craving freedom she thinks the jedi can give her. her own curiosity and utter need to be her own person, to not be tied to her twin sister are so well portrayed in this desperate grasp onto what she thinks will offer her independence and some kind of understanding of her true self. and then she leaves the jedi order, because it's just another set of rules and ways she must abide to fit into it. just another prison for her because she can't be her own person; her true self. she literally left the one thing that caused the entire conflict with her family in the first place. if that's not agency, i don't know what is. when qimir asks her why she's not a jedi, osha doesn't blame the jedi for anything, she says "because i failed." once again, she's focusing on her own choices and actions, indicating she's very self-aware of her independency and how it may have harmed her. she failed because of her own emotions, also something she's aware of. these emotions she couldn't keep at bay because of her agency; they're a part of her and a part she could not ignore or suppress like the jedi needed her to. it can even be interpreted as the show almost portraying osha as selfish because of how much agency they've given her. i honestly want this to be the case, i need messy, flawed osha

not just that, but osha is constantly practising her agency in many ways; she's leading her life the way she herself has chosen. what she thinks of these choices is a different thing entirely and can be interpreted by however you see it but ultimately her own choices led her to where she is.

which is the same thing that happens with qimir. he literally gives her an option to leave and go after master sol and her sister or just do whatever she wants. she doesn't have to stay there. i know a lot of people think he was manipulating her because he would've trapped her if she had left anyway, but i think that's a wrong way to look at what's really going on here, especially considering osha's characterisation. osha makes the choice here again, implying she has a lot of agency, again, and it makes a lot of sense why she stayed. this is just another way for her to seek out the freedom to be herself. osha is curious about the dark side, whether she denies that or not, and she wants to learn about it in hopes of gaining a sense of who she truly is. it doesn't tie her down to anything and it doesn't take away her agency. seduction from qimir's side may be a part of it but that doesn't negate the fact osha makes her own choice to allow him to teach her. she literally puts on the mask herself, it's not like he forced her to do that. she does that because she is desperate to find her true self once again.

she has so much agency in all her actions i think it's rather frustrating to see people reduce her character to 'she's falling for qimir's seduction because she's such a weak, passive character' like do you hear yourselves... in my opinion the show has made a great point of showing that osha, even if repressed and hesitant/presented as passive, will act out on her choices. and i think that's exactly what she's doing right now. she could've killed qimir, but she chose not to. after he opened up to her, her own empathy and curiosity led her to make that choice. even if she knows he's on the dark side, she still chooses to hear him out. she puts on the mask because she wants to. a part of her can see it could potentially give her what she always wanted: to be herself.

you could say qimir might seduce her to want codependency as this is something he seems to seek, but to imply osha has no agency is to disregard everything that has led her to this point in the story lol.

[i-2hoon]

can u write hc's for sub!enha and their first time w their bf :00

no need to ask me twice ugh i love this

enhypen & their first times

pairings ᱖ sub/switch!enha x dom/switch!male!reader

warnings ᱖ explicit content, established and implied relationships, subtle sub/dom dynamics, conversations of virginity, underlying corruption kinks, sub!enha, dom!reader, subtop!heeseung + jay + jake, subbot!sunghoon + sunoo + jungwon

important notes ᱖ hi!! thank you so much for suggesting and i love this so much! you never specified top/bottom, so i did follow my personal preference. the oldest three are sub!tops, and the youngest three are sub!bottoms, however they are all still subs, i hope its not an issue!

heeseung 박희승 : patient

heeseung, compared to other members, may need a bit more time to be ready for anything sexual beyond making out and greedy touches. needless to say, you two will be taking it slowly and patiently. he has trouble relaxing and relinquishing any control to you, but with the way your fingers scrape against his scalp and the tone of your voice when you whisper in his ear.. ah, even if he wasnt ready, something switched in his mind. he wouldnt be one to lean back and let it happen; you would speak him through it all for him to be comfortable. this includes whispering sweet praises and reassurances as your fingers wrap around his cock, and interlocking your fingers with his when you move your lips to bite at the pale skin of his neck. just know that the moment youre actually on him he might fall into some sort of.. daze, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let you do all the work. you would have to be slow as to not overwhelm him or make him overthink, but itll be beyond heavenly for the both of you.

jay 박정성 : intimate

see, for him, jay never exactly wishes to be out of control. but theres something about you—his beautiful boyfriend—that allows him to give in. running your hands down his chiseled chest and nipping at his ear, it seems like majority of the night would be calculated foreplay. youd trace a line up his jaw and fuck would he have a hard time keeping his hands off you. simply send him that one glare, however, and hed put his hands behind his back if he had to. its your eyes that make him melt like that. hes never seen you like this before and that in itself was a turn on. when you ride him for the first time with a hand around his throat and lips against his (well, barely. your minds are too fogged you think you may be missing his lips when youre kissing), he thinks that theres nothing better in this world but to be like this with you.

jake 시재윤 : need

have you ever seen a man genuinely so eager to get you off that he forgets about his own raging hard on? ah right, thats jake. the second your makeout session morphed into something more, this man was putty in your hands. grinding on his thigh with your hands tangled in his hair.. well its certainly far from a romantic first encounter with sex, but the desperate whines and curses slipping from jakes lips are enough to make it worth it. you seriously could mold this man into whatever you wanted with your hands. when you told him to suck you off? he was on his knees before you could even finish the second. due to all the pent up frustration in him after a few months of not having any sort of sex, just know that hed come untouched in his pants just from blowing you.. and hed have zero shame about it.

sunghoon 박성훈 : lust

while a lot of people assume that sunoo would be the most of a brat or tease, i disagree. sunghoon is the definition of bratty when it comes to these situations, and youd only just get a taste of how he can be when it is your first time. it was like there was zero warning for how he would be, but part of you isnt complaining. how pretty he looks against the sheets, giving you that smirk and lidded gaze as you have two fingers knuckle deep in him. maybe you partially wanted to give up and give into him, but the way he taunted you with his words and his body was far too great of a reward to give up. overall, itd feel more like a game than anything; a back and forth until you snapped and pressed his face into the sheets. who said anything about first times being gentle? you probably only did it because he pushed your sanity just a bit too far this time.

sunoo 김선우 : playful

really, it started as a cute make out session. no more than pressing teasing kisses to each others lips and jokingly tugging at waistbands. so how did you end up here, with sunoo on his knees in between your legs? well, regardless of how, just know that itd all be lighthearted and playful. teasing insults, gentle bites, and maybe a bit of humiliation. it was more casual than you were expecting for your first time, but you werent complaining. the way he giggled when you bit his thighs was enough to ease any of your nerves and insecurities, truly. no need to even begin to speak about the way he looked at you and spoke meaningless insults to motivate you; some comments along the lines of "well? if you havent messed up my makeup already, you really arent that good."

jungwon 양정원 : affection

on the contrary, your first time with jungwon would be quiet and intimate. the only words that would leave your lips would be 'i love you''s and sweet nothings filled with praise. despite taking it slow, it was truly nothing but love and trust. he trusted you with his body, shivering at the way your cold hands felt against his bare waist. and you? you trusted him with your ego here, but that would be a topic for another time. gentle kisses against his chest that trail down to his hips and his feet resting on your shoulders—you were never a religious man, but you swore that this was heaven itself.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Late Bloomer 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You are as ever painfully early. It's a habit that often leaves you wandering or hovering awkwardly. You check your watch as you come up to the steps of the century-old building. You are in dread of your physics class but it turns out that all the easy electives fill up fast. 

Before you can start the ascent, there's a scuff of steps from the other side. The breadth of the stairs nearly spans a third of the grand facade. You glance over as a young man with a messenger bag rushes up the first few steps only to trip and sprawl over the concrete stairs with an oomph. Without hesitation, you rush over as he groans and clatters back to the bottom. 

"Oh my gosh, are you alright?" You scoop up the phone that flew from his hand, seemingly the cause of his accident.  

He grunts and struggles to turn himself over, clutching his chest as he can't even get a word out. You know exactly what's happened. You rub his back through his burgundy jacket and give a gentle lat. 

"Ah, you're fine, honey, you just got the wind knocked out of ya." 

He nods and gulps, a spiral of his reddish brown hair falling down his forehead. His dark eyes meet yours, their panicked sheen softening as his lips tremble in an attempt at a smile. 

"Thanks," he rasps at last. 

You pull your arm back and offer him your phone. 

"That was quite the tumble," you stand straight and extend your hand. He takes it and hauls himself up. 

"Yeah, this dang thing," he wiggles his cell and tucks it away in his jacket, "always getting me in trouble." 

You smile nervously and your eyes drift down as he favours one leg. There's a red splotch growing on his khakis. You pop your brows up in concern. 

"Er, think you got yourself good." You point and he looks down. 

"God! I knew I shouldn't have worn these ones. I told May, dark colours!" 

"Baking soda, maybe a bit of club soda," you assure him. "I got bandaids in my bag." 

"You-- do?" He's surprised. 

"Can never be too prepared," you smile. "Um, I guess.. 

We're in the way." 

You glance around as you sense bodies heading up the steps, a few glancing your way. 

"Uh, yeah, why don't we head inside," he takes a ginger step. "Uh, typical. My first day." 

"It'll get better," you say. 

"Hm, yeah, I guess it already has," he grins at you before he turns back up the steps. 

"You need help?" You ask. 

"No, no, I'm not a total disaster," he chuckles. "So," he clears his throat as you catch up to him, "what do you teach?" 

"Oh," you repress a strike of embarrassment. Of course he would assume you're a professor, or a TA at the very least. It's obvious you have a few years on him and most of your classmates. "I'm a student." 

"Nice," he nods, "wait, oh, gee, I didn't mean to imply-- ah, I'm sorry." 

"No, no, it's fine. It's my second year. First year all the freshmen called me mom," you shake your head. "But that might be the bandaids in my bag." 

"Maybe," he stops and squints, "right..." he points his finger around as he thinks, "this way." 

You let him guide you. You don't need to be in class for another half hour. You follow him up to the second floor. That's where your class will be. Convenient. 

When he stops at a door and digs around in his pocket, your heart drops. You look up at the room number as he takes out a set of keys and unlocks the door. You chew on your dismay. 

He lets you in ahead of him. You wait patiently and he heads up to the podium. He leans on the table next to it as he unhooks his bag from over his shoulder. He sighs and peers down at his knee. 

The pulls up the fabric and hisses. You approach as you sift through your bag. He bends his leg as he looks at the scrape. It's not that bad. 

You take out the little pack of alcohol wipe from the little emergency pouch. How many times have you played mother hen to drunk coeds? You're prepared for it all. 

"Wow, you got everything in that magic bag," he teases. 

You squat down and wipe the blood away. As you peel the bandaid wrapper away, you scoff, "I'm a pack horse. Utterly terrified of forgetting anything important." 

You cover the cut and run your fingers across the bandage to make sure it sticks. He winces. 

"Sorry," you apologise as you stand and crumple up the wipe and wrapper. 

You search around for the garbage and toss the waste. You fish again in your bag and take out your sanitizer. You squirt it onto your palm and drop it back through the open zipper. Your rub your hands together as he pulls his pantleg back down. 

"Well, since you got my blood on your hands, I guess you should get a name too," he chuckles, "I'm Peter. Er, Professor Parker. Still getting used to that." 

He offers his hand and you shake it, "Olive." 

"Olive. Pretty. Er, interesting. Oh no," he pulls back, "I went through sensitivity training. Can I say that?" 

"It's fine, professor. I'm not overly fond of the name myself," you shrug. 

"Right, well," he bends his arm and tugs up his sleeve to check his apple watch. "I hope I didn't make you late." 

"Well, actually, funny story," you scratch the side of your neck, "I'm enrolled in Physics 2." 

He tilts his head and his lips part on disbelief, "you're joking." 

"Nah, it's not exactly my favourite subject but I'll do my best," you say, "but er, if you need to get set up, I can wait in the hall." 

"What? No. You're early. Make sure you get the best seat," he insists. "I will say the front row is where you wanna be but I was a student not too long ago and I won't be insulted if you sit in the back." 

You laugh, "well, you know, I'm a late bloomer and these ears aren't so good." You kid, "front row's fine with me." 

His grin lingers, awkwardly as his forehead lines and he tries to come up with a response. You smile, "I'll go sit down." 

You give a little wave and go to find a seat. You settle in with your bag in your lap and slid out your notebook and the box of fresh pens. You tried your laptop for notes but you just find your eyes hurt from the blue light. 

You tuck your bag under your seat and unfold the small desk from the arm rest. As you peel back the cover of your notebook, your ears tingle. You glance over as Peter-- Professor Parker, peeks at you. You give a tense smile and pull out a pen, putting your focus back to your notebook. 

At least if you do crappy, you might be able to charm yourself into at least a passing grade.