#i’m not thinking dirty thoughts but i’m not not thinking dirty thoughts

[takeyourcyanide]

they were already incredibly suspicious to me, every last one of those supposed “professionals.” i think I’m more suspicious than I ever was now - somehow that was possible. I’m even more apprehensive, perhaps even fearful.

solidarity between people who want to take psychiatric meds to function and those who don’t.

What’s important is that we both have autonomy, informed consent and safe access to treatments we want, and to not be forced, coerced or pressured into those we don’t.

[i2sunric]

𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 (p.sh)

PAIRING: hockeyplayer!sunghoon x classpresident!reader (f)

SUMMARY: after an argument caused by his overwhelming jealousy, you decide to find him in the hockey changing rooms to show him your loyalty, by getting down on your knees.

WARNINGS: jealousy (borderline toxic?) argument, fighting, sunghoon has a bad temperament, smut (blowjob, deepthroat), dirty talking, dom!hoon but reader knows her way with him, cum in mouth, cum eating, high school au (but they’re both 19), hoon is slightly toxic, pet names (slut, baby), messy blowjob, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD

PUBLISHED: 27th November 2024

WC: 2.1k

TAGLIST: permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @destinyhoon @jakeflvrz @emislove @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvr r @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @senascoooop @mitmit01 @cloud-lyy @won4me @slut4hee @leov3rse @aanniikkaa @lvnglysunoo @lovingvoidgoatee @talesofthegreatest @yeonjunswife05 @soobieboo @llearlert @j1sb4e @roslayy @yunhoswrldddd @eneiyri @jakeswifez @malak13567889 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @hoonics BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED

a/n: peekaboo! guess who rose from not the dead but my drafts? yup, this fic i never actually had the inspiration to write. please REBLOG & COMMENT to share and lmk your thoughts.

The cold air from the rink clung to your skin as you stormed down the corridor, the sound of your heels clicking pounding in your ears.

Every word from the argument replayed in your mind, sharper each time, like tiny blades cutting into your chest. You’d always known about Sunghoon’s temper, how he buried that dangerous, jealous side of himself for you.

He was used to getting into fights and spending more time in detention than in class, but he had tried to change the exact moment you became his girlfriend.

He tried, but sometimes it slipped through the cracks. Sometimes it surged to the surface, fiery and unrelenting, like it had the day before.

For a moment, you just stood there, breathing hard. You thought you’d gotten used to it—the way his jealousy twisted into anger, the way he let it consume him.

It hadn’t, truthfully, but you were going to make everything right again, even if it meant swallowing your pride — and his dick — Because he was more important.

As soon as your council meeting ended, you decided to rush to the hockey changing room in order to get Sunghoon before morning classes.

You waited for everyone to exit, knowing that if your boyfriend was any the annoyed teenage kid he was, he’d take a long shower to calm his nerves.

You ignored all the wolf whistles and viscous smirk as you pushed the door of the male changing rooms open, after making sure everyone except Sunghoon was out.

And there you saw him, sculpted like a Greek god as his dignity was covered only with a towel while he dried his hair with another.

His eyes closed momentarily before quickly snapping back open as his head turned towards the door.

Sunghoon stepped forwards with the towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his hair but his muscles were prominent as he stared down at you

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he spoke, tone harsh and annoyed as he stepped closer to you.

You already knew he was mad, so be it. You stood in front of him with your backpack in hand, your hair perfectly combed and uniform neat “We need to talk.”

Sunghoon's jaw tightened at your words, his eyes narrowing on you as he continued to walk towards you while looking down at you like you were some kind of prey. "Yeah? Well, if you couldn't tell, I’m kind of busy here,"

You sighed, placing your backpack on one of the benches, side stepping him “I can wait.”

"And you think you're allowed to just wait in here? You shouldn't be in here in the first place," He retorted impatiently as he also turned around, walking towards his own locker to grab some clean clothes.

“Then I’ll just have to break some rules.” You replied, letting him know you weren’t backing down. “Why are you mad at me?”

Sunghoon clenched his jaw as he grabbed his boxers, pulling them on under his towel and removing it around his waist before reaching for his school pants.

He didn't bother to turn around to look at you as he was getting dressed, but his attitude changed a bit at your question, scoffing in response. "You really wanna know why I'm mad?" he retorted as he grabbed a plain black t-shirt to go over his head.

You eyed him shamelessly as he got dressed. "That's what I just asked."

Sunghoon couldn't help but notice the way your eyes remained on him, watching as he pulled the t-shirt over his head, his muscles straining against the fabric as he finally looked back at you, eyes dark and expression cold. "It's because of that prick from the council you've been spending so much time with," He responded with venom in his tone as he spoke.

“What about him?” You already knew what was the rant about, you had already heard all of his jealous tantrum the day before.

Still, you needed him to talk to you.

He clearly was not happy about the fact that you were acting clueless. "Don't play stupid with me," he sneered, "You know exactly why I’m mad. You've been spending so much time with that bastard from the council, right under my nose."

You sighed, hands resting on your hip “Because he helps me with my election campaign,” you filled in “Nothing more, don’t act like I’m hooking up with someone.”

Sunghoon couldn't help but scoff again, clearly not believing you whatsoever. "You really expect me to believe that bullshit?" he retorted, his tone cold. "You're constantly with that prick every time I see you. How am I supposed to believe you haven't been doing anything behind my back?"

You raised a brow at him. Clearly, what he had said wasn’t of your liking, “Why do you doubt me?”

"Oh, don't give me that look," He shot back, his expression cold and indifferent as he stared down at you with narrowed eyes. "I have every reason to doubt you. Everytime I see the two of you, you're all chummy, standing way too close together."

You walked close to him, slowly, like a panther ready to attack; waiting for the right time.

“Choose your words carefully.” You said, lowly “Because you know well I would never cheat on you.”

His nostrils filled with the smell of your perfume that he always loved.

He was about to attack again but your words shut him up immediately, his eyes locking with yours as he was slightly intimidated.

However, he still tried to keep his cold, indifferent façade, scoffing again as he leaned against a locker. "I can say whatever the hell I want," he retorted stubbornly.

You looked up at him “What do you need?” you asked “Do you need me to prove myself to you?”

Sunghoon couldn't help but notice the way you stared up at him, and as much as he wanted to keep his cold facade and be stubborn, he was also slightly affected by the fact that you were making it so difficult for him to stay mad at you.

“What are you getting at?" he asked, his tone still harsh as he kept his eyes locked on yours, his arms folded as he leaned against the locker.

Your tone was low “You need my reassurance, Hoon?” his heart skipped a beat as you called him by his nickname, something you never did when you're upset.

"What kind of reassurance?" he questioned, “My loyalty.” you replied.

“And how do you plan on showing me?” your hand slowly travelled up his thigh to squeeze his groin.

Sunghoon reached out for you, his hands gripping onto your hips tightly as he pulled you closer so your body was now pressed against his. "Is this you being loyal?"

You smirked and squeezed him, nodding your head, making Sunghoon suppress a shiver. A mocking scoff left his lips “Yeah? You think that is enough?”

You rolled your eyes, “You think so lowly of me.” you slowly sank down to your knees.

Your long socks weren’t long enough to cover your knees and neither was your skirt, which meant you’d have some serious sore knees later. But it didn’t matter, not when you needed to redeem yourself to your boyfriend.

Sunghoon's eyes widened as you sank to your knees in front of him, now face to face with the prominent tent in his pants he had tried to hide from you moments ago.

“This isn't proving anything yet," he managed to spit out, his tone shakier than ever.

Instead of verbally replying, something you know would only lead to yet another fight, you decided to lower his pants.

Sunghoon wasn’t average, he was thick and long, something you had tried to cope with over the time you dated. Because it hurt, but it hurt so good.

As his boxers and pants fell down to his ankles, his cock sprung free, proud and red in front of you.

“Are you such a slut?” He asked, even if his hands gently gathered your hair so you wouldn’t dirty them “Going to your knees to resolve everything, uh?”

You rolled your eyes and began giving kitten kisses to his prominent bulge, making Sunghoon shiver.

Your hand wrapped around his cock, and you pumped him painfully slowly.

He let out a soft groan in response, especially when your finger brushed against a certain vein that had his hips buck.

Your lips enfolded his angry tip, tasting the salty precum “Fuck,” Sunghoon sighed.

Impatient, and still irritated by your argument, he gripped your hair and pushed his length deep inside your throat.

You gagged at the sudden action, trying to take deep breaths not to actually retch your breakfast.

You looked up at him with an annoyed gaze, making your boyfriend chuckle “Can’t take it?”

You hummed, sending vibrations through his whole body as you bobbed your head back and forth.

Sunghoon leaned his own against the locker, his other hand flexing as he got lost in the pleasure you were giving him.

You pulled away to gather your breath, saliva and spit coating your lips. It was such a hot sight for Sunghoon.

You cleaned your mouth and used your saliva to lubricate his shaft, pumping him and then taking him again.

You tried not to gag again around him, using one of your hands to help you where you couldn’t reach.

“Good girl.” Sunghoon murmured, slowly going back to his usual self.

You smirked around his cock and pushed your head deeper, feeling his thick tip hitting the back of your throat.

Sunghoon let out a low moan, “Fuck, just like that.” he breathed out, “Bet that guy would dream of having you like this, mh? Should I take a picture and send it to him?”

You shook your head, but at the idea of Sunghoon being so jealous he’d even snap a picture while you were sucking his dick aroused you. You squeezed your thighs together to soothe the aching feeling in your core.

“Keep going,” Sunghoon changed as he matched your pace with his own thrust, each one almost making you gag, “Your mouth was made to suck my dick.”

It was a challenge, but you’d endure it if it meant soothing the beast that lay under his skin. Your beast, your demon.

When you felt his legs tremble, you knew he was close, so you hollowed your cheeks and let him fuck into your mouth.

One of your hands dropped limp while you used the other to palm his balls, adding to the already overwhelming pleasure he was feeling.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.” He said, trying and failing to get you to move away.

You were all dolled up for school, and he had already messed up your hair, he didn’t want to stain your uniform with his cum, however erotic such an image was.

You let out a disapproving hum, which was enough to send him over the edge.

“Ah— Shit.” His cock twitched in your mouth as you wrapped your lips around his length and swallowed all off his seed, greedily taking every drop.

His hips bucked weakly a couple of times before you pulled away and licked your lips.

Standing up on wobbly legs, you took a tissue from the pocket of your skirt and cleaned your mouth, as well as some smudged make up.

“You didn’t have to swallow it.” Sunghoon said as he tucked his softened cock inside his pants, “I know how much you don’t enjoy it.”

It was true. You thought it was gross to swallow whenever you gave him head, but you also knew how much he loved it. He loved when you took his cum, when you gave him a reason to claim you.

“If I didn’t want to swallow, I wouldn’t have done it.” You replied, fixing your hair and taking your discarded backpack.

Just in time, the bell rang. Being the (hopefully) soon-to-be school president, you couldn’t manage to arrive late to class, so you tiptoed and pressed a quick peck on Sunghoon’s lips.

“I’ll see you after school, yeah?” You murmured, smirking when you noticed how flustered he was, “I’ll let you take me in whatever position you want.”

Sunghoon shook his head, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and pressing a hot kiss to your mouth. Argument long forgotten, “Where did I find you?”

You wiggle your brows “In your wildest dreams.”

[sanarsi]

Bitter

older boyfriend!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: You came to make his break more pleasant. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (not specified), old man!Joel, contractor!Joel, there is an introduction to smut, Joel is a big strong man so he can lift reader Wordcount: 0,8k An: This is a part of 24 hour writing challenge by @iamasaddie I promised myself that I wouldn't write anything except unfinished projects, but I saw this moodboard and this challenge and I just HAD TO (but 1k words is definitely not enough for my dirty mind)

A cloud of dust rose behind the car as you sped down the final stretch. The house that stood at the very end was finally starting to look like a house and not like a haunted ruin. All thanks to the man who was standing in the middle of the yard, watching out for anyone who had blown into these backroads.

A wide smile spread across your face as you turned down the radio and pulled up nearby. You looked out the window, sliding your sunglasses down and smiling even wider when you saw Joel in just his jeans.

“What’s up, cowboy?” you shouted, to which he snorted and shook his head in amusement.

You turned off the engine and grabbed a case of drinks. You jumped out of the jeep and slowly approached the man whose chest was shining with sweat more than the Texas sun.

You wrinkled your nose looking up at him and allowed yourself to admire the wrinkles by his eyes for a moment.

“Shouldn't be at work now?” he asked as if he wanted to scold you for it. You just shrugged innocently and moved closer to him and his arms wrapped around your waist without hesitation.

“I’m on a break,” you replied, your gaze sliding down to his lips and chest. “And from what I can see, you could use one too.” You locked eyes with him again as a smirk crept across his lips. You knew that expression too well to believe in his pure intentions as his face approached yours.

“Yeah?” he asked in that damned tone that sent butterflies through your stomach.

“Yeah,” you nodded before his nose brushed against yours. He was playing dirty and he knew it from the moment your gaze fell on his bare chest.

Oh yes, he knew what he was doing to your young mind.

“I don’t know,” he smacked his lips in disbelief, “I have to build ya a house.”

You swallowed hard, feeling your pulse quicken and Joel felt it too; the way your breath bounced off his lips and your body grew warmer from the sun that hitting his back.

Even after all this time, he couldn’t fight the pride he felt when you reacted like this to his closeness.

“But I see ya brought me some drinks, that's so kin—”

“You know what, old man?” you interrupted him, so he fell silent, watching those little fires in your eyes that he adored so much.

“Know what?” he asked trying to hide his amusement. He loved teasing you and even more so the way you looked at him then.

“I have twenty minutes and the house a little more,” you noticed and he didn't even try to hide his amused smile.

“Okay, so here’s the deal.”

You raised a curious eyebrow and allowed yourself to run your hand over his arm. The hard muscles under the hot skin only inflamed your thoughts more than allowed to focus on his words.

“I'll make you in ten,” he whispered with that unholy look of his, catching your attention. “And then you'll put some cream on me ‘cause I burned my back a little.”

You blinked twice before you could understand the meaning of the last sentence.

“Joel, I told yo—”

“In ten minutes,” he interrupted you before you could get fired up with anger. “You can yell at me all you want.”

You fell silent, thinking about his words but it was hard when he looked at you with those big, shiny, brown eyes.

Fucking Joel Miller and his eyes like a wounded deer.

“Damn you,” you cursed under your breath, knowing there was no point in fighting him, because when he wanted to make you, there was little that could stop him.

“I knew we’d understand each other,” he said smugly, taking the case of drink from your hand. You didn’t even have time to blink as he leaned down and lifted you up with his other hand.

You hugged him tightly as he started walking towards the house, leaving the drink on the table with the construction plans on the way.

“Your back,” you noted, a hint of concern managing to reach his ears. He just smiled, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, and stepped onto the porch.

“You massage like a pro, so I guess you can let me treat you like a princess from time to time.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth his words brought. “Yeah, bu—”

“Shh,” he interrupted you, reaching for the doorknob. “In ten minutes,” he repeated, looking at you until you finally gave in, sighing heavily. “Good girl.”

Without waiting any longer, you buried your fingers in his hair and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. You melted into the taste of him, allowing yourself a moment of oblivion as the door slammed shut behind you.

[lolana101]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒

⤷ VIKTOR: SLOPPY SECONDS

⤷ feat. viktor (arcane league of legends)

cw: 18+ , oral stimulation (m), edging, dirty talk, dom! f reader, saliva, nsfw, angst? enjoy!!

“i don’t do this.”

viktor’s accent was heavy against his tongue, his gaze weighted with an unsure haze. his now useless cane clutched in his hand as he stared down at you, between his legs. you knew you’d find him here, working late, jayce long gone. was hexcore even a shared project anymore?

his bad leg dangling over the work bench, his weight crushing the onslaught of papers and tools beneath him.

“i’ve never- done this.”

his breath hitched, as you softly caressed his thigh. a soft, hum arose from your throat in understanding, as you looked fixedly up at him.

“say something.. please.”

the cane clatters against the floor as he hesitantly reached and touched your cheek - a soft poke. did he think you weren’t real? he probably thought of that possibility once; he is always thinking.

“what do you want me to say?”

tour voice was soft, eyes never leaving his. his gaze flickered at the hexcore, the room enclosed in a soft blue hue.

you continued to softly rub his thigh, inching up and up.. you could feel the soft twitching of his thigh, the needy yet silent urges emanating from him. what did he look like voicing those sins?

then again, that’s why he liked you. you could practically read through him. you started to fiddle with his belt, sliding the leather off with practiced ease.

“you’re hard.”

you voiced, slowly rubbing the bulge through his pants. his breath paused, a soft buck up into your hands.

you leaned down, pressing soft kisses against his twitching, clothed need, humming softly. Your fingers slid up to his zipper, tugging it down and pulling away. With his jeans open, you could get a look. a soft dark patch forming as his pre-cum weeps through fabric.

his face was red now, those soft blemishes over his face highlighted with the blue. he looked gorgeous. his mouth was agape, silently begging. I guess he waited enough.

your hand softly jerked at the pretty, pink mushroom tip. his length astonishing, not too thick but freakishly long. your fingers slick with his arousal as he let out almost pathetic whimpers. his eyes fluttered close, his thick brown eyebrows curving at the softest stimulation of your hands. his semi - hard member rose up quickly, your finger slowly pumping, pulling up the shaft until your plant wrapped around his head, then moving down.

leaning closer your tongue swiped at the base, slowly trailing up until you could taste the salty need pouring out from him. he let out a shaky sigh, as your plush lips wrapped around his head, sucking and licking. your tongue swiping curiously at his hot need, your hand still gently stimulating him, though gradually gets pulled away as you take him deeper.

it felt so good, his legs twitching. deeper, is all he wanted. you soon obliged sinking down onto him, until your nose was pressed against the soft hair of his stomach, your throat contracting against him. he smelled good, the soft hairs under his stomach and lower smelled of soft musk. so manly.

“fuck..”

a breathless whisper, as your head bobbed on his throbbing cock, spit dribbling down his base only to get slurped back up. every movement had him twitching, he swore he would cum under the first minute. he couldn’t help it, his hand grasping at your curls, swiping them up into a bun to aid you into drilling his length into you. his dick twitched, heat pooling in his stomach threatening to spill.

“I-i’m..”

In an instant he twitched, though as the pleasure washed over him he let out an uncomfortable whimper, your tongue pressed roughly against the slit, humming. he huffed, staring down at you with pure need. his body was hot, needy. his hips twitching, your fingers moving to softly caress his bad leg easing the act muscles.

“please..? why..”

you smiled up at him, his thighs twitching, as you kissed his base, sucking on his balls for a little before letting them go with a pop if your lips.

he was begging, you could see it. your wrist flicked at his head again, twisting, the lewd squelching echoing as he stared down at you. He was going to cum again, as he started to slowly fuck himself up into your palm.

he was getting more vocal, those sweet huffs turning into pliant begs, your wrist not moving anymore as you felt a familiar twitch in his base, before your thumb pressed against his tip.

“….f-fuck please-“

he whimpered, staring into your gaze, you were so evil. not letting him cum, not letting him desperately release that sweet orgasm he’s been holding - saving up for.

after a moment you remove your thumb, pressing a soft kiss against his tip before staring up at him, fingers skipping up his chest to grab his tie, hauling him down and pressing a sloppy kiss against his lips.

that taste, fresh black coffee. he chased your lips like a lost puppy, sloppy, licking up the dried drool off your lips, tasting the salty goodness he left on you.

“want me to make you cum yeah? fully?”

you asked, nipping at his neck before letting hip sit back up, your gaze down at your twitching cock.

“please? please please..”

he begged, your name rolling off his tongue, so close to sweet melody. you smiled up at him, before your gaze snapped back down, his hand wrapped around his base, as he pointed his needy dick to your lips.

that thick accent rolled your name off his lips for one last time, as you leaned down. your lips wrapped around him, head bobbing sloppily around his dick. you could hear him moan and groan, his hand sinking ti your scalp to guide your movements.

you were still in control, you both knew it. yet his needy whimpers allowed him to soften you just a little, to let him fuck your throat. his tip hitting the back of your throat, your hands splayed on his thighs. You could feel your own heat growing wet, pussy twitching just from him fucking his brains out into your mouth.

he let out a almost howl, your gaze snapping up at him, your eyes watered as you gaged slightly. you could feel warmth deep down your throat, his pretty pink cock twitching in your mouth. you came a a little too, your clothed clit twitching softly.

“…nng.”

he was still going through the after shocks, poor little viktor twitching, not even having the energy to form a sentence. he eased his cock out of you, It growing soft as he pulls you up, kissing you softly. he whined softly, feeling your hands softly jerk at his overstimulated sex.

“…good?”

“amazing.”

he pants out, nuzzling himself in your neck.

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

happy thanksgiving y’all !! hope he on my plate 😫 and about that aki 2nd part, still writing it cuz it’s longggg so sorry for anyone waiting!!

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 ꕥ MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary. celebrating max’s 4th title was not in your plans.

warnings. piastri!reader, max is kinda obsessed with reader, public s3x (?), unprotected pinv, fingering, just straight up dirty.

gabri speaks! i’ve been thinking about mexico gp max and las vegas sealed the deal for me.

THERE’S A BRIEF moment of silence, of anticipation, and of complete confusion. The DJ had paused the setlist less than an hour in announcing there was a special guest appearance. Then as if on cue tonight’s race is plastered on the giant screen behind him and the words, “Max Verstappen,” echo throughout the nightclub. You resist the urge to roll your eyes knowing someone might be recording you, or your brother at least.

“I thought he was flying back?” You cover your mouth with your hand as you talk with your brother.

“I thought so too.” Your brother hums in your ear trying to hide his annoyed tone. Your brother got along with Max just fine but all he wanted was one night without F1 getting mentioned.

You on the other hand…

You’d only been in the paddock a handful of times but every race weekend you had managed to have the worst encounter with the dutch man. The first time had been incidentally, you faintly recall the energy drink splashing all over your new dress. You knew from the get go that it had been an accident but when Max didn’t as so much as a muster a quick sorry and instead went on his way you had no choice but to hate him.

“He’s such a dick.” You murmur to yourself unaware your brother catches your words.

“Be nice.” Oscar motions towards the countless people recording him.

“I’m gonna get another drink.” You sigh.

The music resumes and you find yourself into a crowd of dancing couples. Your short orange dress sticks to you as you walk towards the bar. It’d been a long night with your brother not getting the result he hoped for. The post race recap inside the garage had been brutal as well. You had watched as the championship slipped from Lando’s hands and Max claimed victory once again. It had been the worst two hours of your life to say the least. You’re way too frustrated to even notice the man approaching you. In a split second you’re covered in something that smelled similar to…

“Asshole.” You mumble.

“Mini Piastri?” He gasps dramatically. “Why are you here? I wouldn’t think you’d be celebrating after tonight.”

“Well, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” You scoff. “Does it Max?”

“I’d argue that it does actually. Considering your mood, you’d be happier if your little boyfriend had actually managed to have a good race.” He taunts you.

“Look, can you get out of my way? I have to go clean up the mess you made.” You point towards the huge spots of alcohol on your dress.

You don’t even wait for him to respond before pushing past him, brushing shoulders in the process, to head straight to the bathroom. You do your best to dodge those who already have had a bit too much to drink, unaware that the dutchman is right behind you. It’s not until you’re opening the door and notice it takes a minute too long to close that you turn around and spot him. His white dress shirt is already half unbuttoned while his hair is a mess. You stare at him incredulously as he leaned against the sink.

“Max, you can’t be in here.” You state bluntly.

“I don’t recall you telling Lando to piss off when he followed you into the bathroom in Austin.” He counters.

“How do- What?” You’re taken aback by his words. How did he know?

He ignores your question choosing to walk towards you instead. You’re now face to face with the man that had taken away your team’s championship. His eye bags are dark and you can tell it’s been a while since he’s gotten a good needed break. His tousled hair falls perfectly on his head and by the way his arms flex you can tell he’s been putting extra effort into them at the gym. All of a sudden you’re nervous to be under his glare.

“Does your brother know what you and Lando do in secret?” He questions.

“You should leave.” You try to sound confident but your faltering voice exposes you.

Max just smirks at your words knowing he was getting under your skin. He still recalls the first time he ran into you, when he spilled half a can of red bull on you. He doesn’t know why he didn’t apologize but when he saw the anger in your face he realized why. You had looked so beautiful that day with the short orange sundress that did nothing to hide your cleavage. He still remembers the disappointment he felt when he saw you and Lando walk out of the restroom all disheveled. So, when he beat Lando tonight he felt absolutely no remorse.

His lips ghost yours for what feels like an eternity. You’re frozen in place wondering how his lips would taste against yours. Maybe it was the alcohol or the way his arms flex around you but suddenly you needed to know what he felt like. His arm tentatively grazes yours as it sneaks down to your knees. A gasp finds itself leaving your lips as your legs spread open instinctively. He wants to make fun of you, of the way you melt under him so easily, but he knows better. He can’t risk ruining the moment. It’s when Max inches his fingers closer to your thighs that you suddenly realize what’s happening. In a matter of seconds you push him off you and head out the door.

You’re barely four steps out when Max yanks you back and you hit his built chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate and grabs your jaw pulling your face towards his. Your lips meet in a heated kiss as his arms find their way around your waist. This time you’re the one that moves his hands from your wait to your ass. The confidence was beginning to build up and soon enough you’re tugging on his hair as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Max…” You moan and somehow it becomes the indicator that you want this. That you want him.

He pushes you flat against the cold brick of the hallway, the dimmed lights helping hide your bodies from the crowd. You’re lucky he holds you up because your legs feel like jello and if he lets go you might lose your balance. His hands roam your waist, back, and neck before he moves your hair out of the way. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses around your neck as his hands work their way down to your legs. They slowly glide up until he’s playing with the hem of your short dress. You can already feel his growing erection press against your ass.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He groans against your ear.

You really want to tell him to fuck off but your body reacts differently. You’re shocked when instead of telling him to call it a night all you murmur is keep going. In a matter of seconds your dress is being pulled up towards your waist. You can’t help the whine that escapes your lips as he rubs your aching core through your panties.

“So wet already.” He groans. “For me or Lando?”

“Shut up.” You still find it in you to annoy him.

To your surprise he doesn’t hit you with another remark. Max had been an asshole to you long enough. Now, that you were in front of him practically falling apart he didn’t want to ruin the moment. There’s a brief moment of silence before his hand carefully moves your panties to the side exposing your core to the cool breeze. Your legs spread instinctively as his fingers tempt your folds. His fingers collect your slick as he explores you, the wet sound making him groan against you. Slowly, he brings one of his fingers to your hole entering it carefully.

“Fuck.” He moans against your ear as your cunt wraps tightly around his finger.

“Ma- Max. So close.” You’re barely able to say.

You let out a loud whine as he curls his finger inside of you leading to your climax. You come around his fingers as you coat them with your wetness. His fingers slowly move toward your mouth and you don’t hesitate as you take them into your mouth, tasting yourself. He almost comes undone as you lick his fingers seductively. Aggressively he grabs your jaw and kisses you. He groans as he tastes you.

You feel the tip of him first as he runs it up and down your folds teasing you. Your hands are weak against the wall as his tip approaches your aching hole. He enters you slowly, holding you tightly in the process. He stops halfway through not wanting to hurt you but when he hears your dirty moans he continues. Your nails dig tightly into his arms as he fills you up completely. He’s quite big and the new sensation has you spiraling trying your best to not fall against him. He takes advantage of your weakness and attacks your neck again making sure to leave love bites around your collarbone.

“Fuck, Max. You’re so big.” You whine without thinking.

You feel his dick twitch inside you at that. Your voice has him in a trance as he tries his best to not just start thrusting inside of you. It’s not until you start pushing your ass against him that he almost pulls out fully before thrusting back into you. His hands grip your ass tightly—surely leaving marks for tomorrow—as your cunt squeezes him. He’s never felt such a thrill, at least since Abu Dhabi, you were your own feeling. He couldn’t believe you had finally opened up to him in many ways you were way better than winning another trophy. Many curses escape your lips as he finds the perfect pace inside of you.

He manages to bend you over leading to the perfect position and somehow he’s even deeper inside of you. He grips your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he speeds up inside of you. His hand trails back to your cunt and slowly he starts playing with your folds. The feeling of his cock inside of you and fingers rubbing your folds is intense and you find a camisole feeling in your stomach approach you. You squeeze him tightly as his dick hits the right spot and you find yourself coming undone. You’ve never had an orgasm so intense in your life you don’t even notice how you coat his dick with your wetness.

Max isn’t far behind and speeds up at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him tightly. Your nails dig behind you at the overstimulation and stretch of his cock. Max hisses at the sensation finding it the tipping point. It’s not long before you feel his dick twitch inside of you and in a matter of seconds you feel him spill his seed inside of you. He grunts as he empties himself and as he pulls out. He pulls you up adjusting your dress in the process.

You bite your lip as he zips up his pants. The aftermath of your little rendezvous is different. Usually with others you don’t stay long enough to watch them dress themselves. But then you notice Max struggling with the buttons on his dress shirt and you find your hands on his chest again. You only button half of the shirt before stepping back. Neither of you say a word but the silence manages to speak for you both. You decide it’s time to go back but before you can take a step Max pulls you in for a final kiss before he leaves.

You’re barely able to walk back towards the VIP lounge and stumble multiple times in the process. You try your best to brush your hair down and fix your dress as you come closer to your brother’s booth. You sit down carefully unaware your brother is staring at you wide eyed and wondering why it took you almost an hour to get a drink. You shift awkwardly in your seat as Lily begins telling you both about her mixup at the airport. You turn around briefly as she goes into detail when you notice Max walking past your table. You keep your composure not wanting to expose your actions of the night but you should’ve known better. Oscar almost bursts out laughing at Max’s completely unbuttoned shirt.

“Lando’s gonna be pissed.” Your brother smirks.

“How do-” Did everyone know? “Oh, fuck off.”

The night progresses with your brother ordering countless bottles of Dom Pérignon. It’s almost five in the morning when Max takes the stage again with the DJ playing a remix of Super Max. As if on cue someone hands him a bottle of champagne and it doesn’t take long for him to start spraying it amongst those on the dance floor. You watch attentively as his chest shows the marks you left completely unaware of how your phone buzzes for the hundredth time that night.

9 missed calls from Lan

Lan: Tonight was shit.

Lan: Come over?

[affableramen]

no nut november. when they try to unnoticeably watch you undress

ᡣ𐭩 mature themes, spicy but not smutty, pre-relationship

ᡣ𐭩 neuvillette, pantalone x fem!reader

Neuvillette

“Here, I wholeheartedly hope you’ll find them to your liking. I’m deeply sorry the rain soaked you, you must have least expected that.”

“It’s alright, though I’m soaked to the bone, I have monsieur Neuvillette taking care of me”, you smile widely at him as he hands you the bag full of clothes. The sovereign dragon had no problem flying to the nearest mall and buying you new clothes in order to replace your soaking ones. You can’t fly, but he doesn’t want you to catch cold right in front of his eyes.

You opened the bag and took a look at the clothes. They were really fancy ones, and Neuvillette’s sharp intuition guided him into the right size.

“Wow, monsieur Neuvillette they are all my size. They should all fit.”

“I’m extremely glad in that case”, he clears his throat. “I will leave you to change. I’ll wait in the vestibule.

“Of course.”

He reached the exit and closed the door behind him but a really thin hole could give a quick peek to someone who was in the room. Neuvillette was above taking that chance and did not plan on witnessing you get rid of your soaked layers of clothes—he’s already probably seen too much, given how your white tight shirt would stick to your cleavage.

He sighed. Perhaps you already started undressing. These nasty thoughts wouldn’t come off from his head and would not leave him alone. Neuvillette entirely missed the moment when he started thinking dirty of you. All this sexual stuff was so new and unlike him. But knowing that you were soaked and changing in his office made him experience the most obscene thoughts lingering on the bottom of his mind.

“Please tell me once you’re finished”, he cleared his throat. “Unfortunately we’re so busy today I cannot give you more time than I would prefer.”

“I understand”, your voice sounds louder, you must be heading right to the door. “I finished, monsieur, and I thank you so much for getting me those.”

Once you open the door you’re met with an incredibly perplexed and almost embarrassed stare.

“Do leave me a receipt, I shall cover them all.”

“Nonsense. It was a gift.”

“I’m afraid I cannot accept gifts from my employer.”

“Please do, after all I’m partially the reason you’re caught up in the rain; had I not asked you on your day off you would not have gotten targeted by unappealing weather conditions.”

“You’re too kind to me, monsieur.”

You go back to your cubicle not realising how deeply Neuvillette experienced desire to see more of you—a single more inch of your delicate skin.

Pantalone

“Here, this should be your size. You agree how this one is less tight and more comfy than your original outfit, don’t you?” Pantalone gives you a sweet smile, his eyes shut when he does so, and his long black eyelashes stand out proudly on his face.

“This should do. If I knew we had a training today, I wouldn’t wear my formal dress at the first place.”

You take the neatly wrapped training sport suit from his indigo-gloved hands and give it a quick quality check.

“This one is really well made. I truly like it.”

“Did you doubt our private tailors?”

“Not one bit, Regrator”, you turn away from him, facing the window, your skin glowing lit and bright in the face of Pantalone’s dark figure.

“Your formal tight-fit dress deserves a reward, sweetie, but you might have difficulties fighting in it.”

“I have no problem wearing the outfit you provided me with”, you say as you start quickly changing. Regrator’s interest is picked when he hears the ruffling of clothes. His ears perk up to each sound coming from you, but he stays turned away, with his back facing you.

“I’m glad if so.”

Just when what seems to be heavy fabric sound dropping onto the floor grabbing Pantalone’s attention, he swallows a heavy feeling in his throat. He knows what part of you is presumably naked right now and fight the urge to not peek. He is a gentleman, not a dog in heat.

But when you unclasp your bra to put the sport top on, Pantalone’s head slowly turns to your side. He takes a very subtle, quick look of the curve of your shoulder and arm. Your back muscles fascinate him. Afraid that you might notice him—what are you going to think?—he immediately looks away and forces a fake polite smile as usual.

“Well, how long am I going to wait? Tick-tock, my dear.”

“Have you never undressed a woman before? Surely you know it’s difficult to be quick.”

“Oh…”

The later process is surrounded by utter silence. Upon you finishing, Pantalone who has been dying every second while you were changing, says at last:

“Not bad.”

“Think so too.” You aim to the exit, but he grabs your shoulder. You’re suddenly stopped, but he immediately softens his touch and loosens his grip, his hand rubbing your shoulder as if giving you a massage. The gesture feels somehow encouraging and intimate at the same moment.

“Be careful, alright? I fancy seeing your body back in one piece.”

[greengoblinswifey]

Hit My Line—Fratboy!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you and nicholas are on thanksgiving break away from each other so he hits your line for help in his time of need.

warnings— switch!nicholas, L bombs, fluff, phone sex, male and female masturbation, dirty talk, praise kink, degrading kink.

a/n— happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate but be careful with the turkeys, the men are fucking them apparently <3

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

This was the longest stretch you would ever be away from Nicholas, and every minute would seem to drag. But as you pulled away from the college campus, you turned back to reassure him, fighting the tears in your eyes.

“It’s just a few days, baby. You’ll see me soon,” you whispered softly, trying to ease the ache in his heart. “And if there’s anything—anything at all—hit my line.”

His voice was thick with emotion, but he nodded, a soft smile breaking through his sadness. "I’ll miss you so much."

The few hours apart felt unbearable, even though they weren’t even a full day. As soon as you arrived home, your phone buzzed with a message from Nicholas:

“I miss you already. I can’t stand being away from you. I just want to hold you.”

You smiled, typing out a quick reply: “I miss you too, baby. We’ll be back together before you know it.”

Thanksgiving morning came, and you woke up with a yawn, your phone ringing beside you before you even had the chance to fully roll out of bed, his name flashed across the screen. You smiled, picking up.

“Happy Thanksgiving to my incredible girlfriend,” Nicholas beamed over the phone, his voice warm and full of affection.

“Good morning, baby,” you whispered, your heart fluttering. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too.”

“I'm so thankful for you,” he said, his tone deepening. "You mean everything to me, I love you.”

The words hit you like a wave. It was the first time he'd said it though he had showed it in other ways, and the tears that threatened to well up in your eyes couldn’t be held back. “I love you too,” you said, voice cracking.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, baby,” he cooed. “I’m just so glad I have you.”

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm yourself. “It’s okay. I’m just so thankful for you too. You're the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.”

He chuckled softly. “I miss you so much, and Mom wishes you were here with us for Thanksgiving. I really want you to be a part of the family.”

“I promise, next time,” you said, wiping away your final tear. “Tell her we’ll make it happen.”

You both hung up after a few more heartfelt words, and as the day went on, you spent time with your family. But your thoughts often drifted to Nicholas. The love between you felt so deep, even with the miles separating you.

That night, you made sure to text him. “How’s Thanksgiving going, baby?”

His reply came quickly: “Great, but I have a bit of a problem, I’ll tell you about it later.”

Concerned, you quickly typed back: “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s nothing serious, just something I wanted to talk to you about later, when we’re alone.”

You smiled, having an idea of exactly what he meant.

After a while, when your family was settled and you were tucked into your childhood room, your phone buzzed. It was Nicholas, his voice lower than usual.

“Hey, baby,” he said, sounding a little—off.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s the problem you were talking about? You’ve got me worried.”

He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Well—uh, to be honest, I’ve been really horny all day,” he admitted with a slight laugh. “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You felt a surge of heat at his confession. “How can you be thinking about that when you're with your family?” you teased lightly, but there was something about the way he said it that sent a shiver down your spine.

He hesitated for a moment, before confessing, “I don't know, I just—I’ve been thinking about you nonstop. I wish you were here.”

You let out a soft laugh, heart racing. “Well, baby, what do you want to do about it?”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then he whispered, “I’ve never done this before, but I wanna try phone sex. I’ve heard the guys in the frat talk about it, and I don’t know—I just really need you.”

“I’m down if you are, baby,”you said softly, feeling your body react. “But I don’t have my vibrator with me.”

Nicholas chuckled. “Well, I don’t have anything but my hand, but that’s enough as long as I hear your voice.”

Your breath hitched, and you could practically feel the tension between you two building on the phone. “I think that’ll do just fine,” you said, a teasing smile playing at your lips.

“Wait fuck, I forgot I had facetime, wanna switch?” he suggested.

You hung up immediately and called him on facetime, a small smirk on his face. There he was in all his glory, hair messy, shirtless with just his pajama bottoms on and his hard dick printing.

You had your bonnet on, bare faced and draped in a silk, two piece pajamas. “You look beautiful,” he said, admiring you as the red of your LED lights lit up your face, “the red lights are fitting.”

He propped up a pillow in front of him, skillfully angling the phone so that you could see his entire body. He was gorgeous as always, the dim light cascading over his shirtless body, his abs, his pecs, those fucking biceps. You wanted him on top of you crushing you. He was built like a Greek God.

You did the same, propping up the pillow and angling the phone so he could see your figure.

“You’re so fucking beautiful baby,” he grunted, bucking his hips. You could see the outline of his cock pressing against his pajamas.

“Tell me all the things you want to do to me baby,” you whispered, just loud enough so he could hear over the phone.

Nicholas pulled down his bottoms, his hard cock springing out, the sight made you bite your lips as you stared at his body through the phone screen.

His hand slid down his chest, teasingly close to where he was already hard, and your breath caught in your throat. “God, I miss that body,” you breathed, your voice a little shaky.

Nicholas’ gaze darkened, his lips curling into a smile as he ran his fingers over his abs. “You like what you see, baby?” he asked, his voice husky, each word slow and deliberate. “You’re driving me crazy here. I’m so hard for you, you have no idea.”

You shivered at his words, “I think you’re forgetting who has the real power here,” you teased, your smile playful yet full of the same heat that you felt building between you both.

He let out a low laugh, clearly appreciating your confidence. “You know you’re just as beautiful as always,” he said, his eyes never leaving you. “I can’t stop imagining the way you’d feel with me inside you right now.”

You grinned, “Is that so? I think I could help you with that. If only you were here.”

“I’d be all over you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. His hand moved lower again, teasing his cock, though he didn’t touch fully. “I’d show you just how much I miss you.”

You bit your lip, unable to stop your pulse from quickening as his voice made the moment feel even more intimate. “If I were, I’d make sure you never wanted to leave me again.”

Nicholas groaned softly. “You’re playing with me, aren’t you?” His eyes flickered as his breath quickened, clearly lost in the moment. “You’re making me wish we weren’t miles apart right now.”

You smiled, a sense of power blooming within you as you responded, “Trust me, baby. I’d make it worth your while.”

You pulled off your satin pajama top, revealing your boobs, your nipples hard. Your hands went to them groping them as you bit your lip.

“Fuck, keep doing that baby, grope those fucking tits for me,” he moaned, his hands now stroking his painfully hard cock.

“I wish you were here to do it for me baby, I love the way your tongue flicks my nipples,” you said.

Your hand went down your abdomen and you heard Nicholas moaned, his movements speeding up. Swiftly, you slipped off your shorts and your panties, your pussy glistening in the light.

“Fucking hell baby, I’m gonna be so fucking deep inside that wet pussy when I see you,” he gasped, his hand moving to caress his balls.

“I’m gonna ride that cock so good, make you cum deep inside me.” You moved your fingers to collect the wetness onto your fingers before rubbing your clit. Your back arched off the bed and you did what you could to make sure you moans were soft enough so only Nicholas could hear.

“Fuck, I need that so bad right now baby, keep rubbing that clit, tell me more.” He spread his pre cum on the tip, a sweet whimper leaving his lips as his body shuddered.

“I want you to choke me while you fuck me, hard while you tell me how much of a slut I am,” you murmured, rubbing your clit in rough circles.

“I can do that baby, I can tell you how much of a dirty slut you are, fuck, you’re such a slut right now for doing this with me,” he said. The words uttering his lips were foreign to him, he was more inclined to have you do the degrading and taking the lead—unless you asked of course.

“Oh— baby, I wish you were here to fuck me hard from behind, I know how much you love this ass slapping against you,” you breathed out, your efforts speeding up, you were right on edge.

“Make sure you keep that same fucking energy when I see you, ‘cause I’ll be the one in control,” he said, tilting his head back slightly as his eyes averted to your fingers moving between your legs and his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, “you see how fast I’m stroking this hard fucking cock? That’s how fast I’ll be fucking you.”

“Baby, I think I’m gonna cum, can I cum for you?” you asked, now slipping your fingers inside your pussy.

“N-not yet, take those fingers out and put them in your mouth and then fuck yourself with them again,” he demanded, stroking his cock even faster now, “then I want you groping your tits.”

You did as you were told, bringing your dripping fingers up to your mouth and moaning around them as you savored your own tasted. Your hand went to your boobs, groping them as you imagined they were Nicholas’ large hands. As you did, you slipped your fingers back into your pussy, the sound of squelching the only thing that could be heard apart from your boyfriend’s breathy moans on facetime.

“Fuck, be a good fucking girl and cum for me, cum for me baby,” he gasped.

“Oh, Nicholas,” you moaned, your back arching from the bed as you finger fucked your pussy. Your juices spurted from you, coating your phone screen and the pillow in front of you. You moved your fingers to your clit, rubbing and guiding yourself through your orgasm, trying your best to quiet your breathy moans.

“Fucking hell baby, you’re so hot, squirting like that—shit, oh God, I’m gonna cum, can I cum baby? Please, I’m your good boy, I wanna cum for you,” he gasped, his body trembling as his hands moved quickly up and down his shaft.

“Cum for me baby, let me see that load all over your hand for me,” you uttered, groping your boobs as you watched him through the phone.

You got more than what you bargained for as Nicholas came all over his hand and even more so on his abdomen. “F-fuck baby, that was so hot,” he moaned breathily.

You both took a moment, panting as you stared at each other, your naked bodies rising and falling.

“I really enjoyed that baby,” you smiled, “shit, my screen’s all messed up.”

He laughed, rubbing his cum all over his abdomen, “I enjoyed that even more sweetheart, but now we gotta get cleaned up and you need your beauty rest.”

“Well, I guess this is goodbye until I call you next morning?” you giggled.

“No problem baby, I love you so much, never forget that and I miss you so much, I can’t wait to see you,” he said, his hair sticking to his damp forehead.

“I love you too Nick, I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll see you soon.”

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

Girl I need to know what happened at home in "Playing Dangerously" bring a second chapter home please

Part 1: Playing Dangerous

THE END OF THE GAME

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: a lot of tension, +18 content, p in v, unprotected sex, dom!Jude, dirty talk, possesive behaivor, and probably mistakes since english is not my first language.

summary: After a night of shameless teases that push Jude to his limits, you think you've won. However, the anger between you is still there, and you both prove it in a battle for control, releasing all the unspoken tension with touches instead of words. Every gesture becomes a declaration, every caress, a fight. In the end, all he wants is to hear you say it—to speak the truth: that you are his and he is yours.

Jude´s kiss wasn’t gentle—it was all fire and frustration, an explosion of the tension that had been simmering between you two all night. His lips claimed yours with a desperate sort of hunger, his hands framing your face as if to keep you from escaping this time. You gasped against him, startled by the intensity, but the sound only seemed to spur him on, his grip tightening, his lips demanding every ounce of your attention.

Your hands found their way to his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren’t sure. Anger still lingered within you, but desire burned even stronger. But as his lips moved against yours, all traces of anger were swallowed by the sheer heat of the moment. His kiss was a mix of punishment and possession, and you felt it in every brush of his lips, every sweep of his tongue, and every barely restrained sound rumbling from his chest.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead pressing against yours as his hands slid down to your waist, holding you firmly in place. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and searching, as if trying to read your every thought. He could do it if he set his mind to it.

“You done playing games yet?” Jude asked, his voice rough, laced with challenge and desire. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against your hip, his touch warm and electric even through the thin fabric of your dress.

Behind you, the car’s cool metal frame pressed into your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you. The glossy black paint gleamed under the soft light, creating an almost cinematic reflection of the two of you locked in this intimate, charged moment.

You bit your lip, struggling to catch your breath, but the defiance in your gaze hadn’t faded. “Not even close,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but still firm.

Jude let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver through you. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours again, teasing, as if he were testing your resolve.

“Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” you shot back, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “All worked up over me.”

Jude’s mouth twitched into the barest hint of a smirk, but the fire in his eyes never wavered. His fingers slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you—woodsy with a hint of spice, intoxicatingly familiar. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath brushing against your skin. “Oh, I’m worked up, all right,” he said, his voice low and filled with a dark promise. “But you’re not going to like where this leads if you keep pushing me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the warning in his tone sending a thrill through you. But you weren’t ready to back down—not yet. “I´m sure I will,” you challenged, your voice softer now, almost a whisper.

His smirk returned, sharper this time. Without another word, he opened the passenger door and gestured for you to get in, his grip on your waist lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You hesitated, searching his face for some hint of what was going through his mind, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

As you slid into the car, he leaned in close, his hand bracing against the doorframe. “You’re in so much trouble,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear in a way that made your breath hitch. Before you could respond, he shut the door with a quiet finality, rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat with an air of calm that only made your nerves buzz louder. He took his time and you were hating his pace.

The drive home was silent, but the tension between you was almost unbearable. Every glance, every shift in his posture, every brush of his hand against the gear shift seemed deliberate, calculated, as if he were silently daring you to speak first.

When he finally pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, he turned to you, a flicker of something unreadable—mischievous, almost predatory—dancing in his dark, unrelenting eyes. "Inside," he said, the low, commanding tone of his voice making your pulse race. The corner of his mouth quirked, just slightly, as if he was savoring the way your breath hitched.

You hesitated for just a second, your defiance flickering, but the look in his eyes left no room for argument. Swallowing hard, you stepped out of the car and walked toward the door, aware of him following close behind. The heat of his presence was almost suffocating, and your heart raced as you fumbled with the keys, finally pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Jude’s hands were on you again, spinning you around and pinning you against the wall. His lips crashed into yours, this time even more intense, more urgent, as if he couldn’t stand the distance any longer. His hands roamed your body, sliding over your hips and up your sides, pulling you against him with a desperation that left you breathless.

“You think you can play with me like that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, each word sending a shiver down your spine. “Flirting with him, touching him, laughing like that—like I wasn’t even there? Y/N, you made me watch every single one of your fucking movements.”

Your hands gripped his shirt, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his words and the heat of his touch. “I wasn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, his teeth grazing your lower lip in a way that made you gasp.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice a soft growl as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he searched your gaze. “You wanted to make me jealous. You wanted to get under my skin. Well, congratulations, love. You got exactly what you wanted.”

His words sent a rush of adrenaline through you, your heart skipping a beat as his lips trailed down to your neck, leaving a trail of heated and wet kisses that made your knees weak. “Jude…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he didn’t stop, his hands tightening on your waist as if to anchor you to him.

“Say it,” he murmured against your skin, his lips hovering just below your ear. “Say you’re mine.”

His words weren’t a request—they were a command. As much as you wanted to fire back with that undeniable truth, you clung tightly to your anger and defiance. “No,” you whispered, your voice quivering, caught somewhere between anticipation and need.

Jude leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes ablaze with frustration and something deeper, something that sent a sharp ache through your chest in the most intoxicating way. “If that’s how you want this to go...” he muttered, his voice low and heavy with emotion.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out, but surrendering to him—at least, not yet—wasn’t an option. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help blaming your hormones, your curiosity, and whatever god had blessed Jude Bellingham with the face of an angel and the body of a god of wanting to give up. But the night was still young. The leather of the nearest couch you two found, groaned as you shifted closer, your knees brushing against his. The moment you were within arm's reach, he hooked one arm around your back, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap.

Jude’s grip on your hips was firm, his lips pressing hard against yours as if he was trying to erase every thought from your mind. The intensity in his touch sent shivers down your spine, every brush of his hand leaving trails of heat in its wake. His fingers slid up, curling into the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. The kiss was relentless—no room for air, no chance to think. It was all Jude, all consuming, and you couldn’t help but respond, your own hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to hear the low groan that rumbled in his chest.

His mouth trailed down to your jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before finding the spot at your neck that made your breath hitch. The sensation was electric, your body arching into his instinctively, your head tilting back to give him more access.

Your breath came in uneven gasps, your head spinning from the intensity of his touch and the heat of his breath against your skin. Part of you wanted to argue, to tease him further, but every inch of your body was on fire, his dominance leaving you no room to think. Still, you weren’t about to surrender so easily—not without one last shot.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Your lips curved into a playful smile, the mischief in your eyes igniting a flicker of challenge in his. “You’re awfully bossy, you know that?”

Jude’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement, his hands tightening on your hips. The possessiveness in his grip was thrilling, his strength holding you in place as if daring you to keep pushing. “And you’re a brat,” he shot back, his voice low and laced with a mix of annoyance and adoration. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The tension crackled between you. Every inch of your skin was alive with anticipation as Jude’s presence seemed to take up every corner of the room. His voice, soft but commanding, lingered in the air. “This is what you wanted, isn´t it?”

Your breath hitched, and despite yourself, you nodded. It was a dangerous game you were playing. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull away, to put an end to it—but the pull between you were undeniable. His eyes never left yours, like a predator studying its prey, and you could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

He took a step forward, his every movement deliberate, measured. His fingers brushed against your cheek, a featherlight caress that sent a shiver through you. “Don’t play anymore,” he whispered, almost tenderly.

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you refused to speak. Instead, you clenched your jaw, trying to hold your ground. His smirk deepened, amusement dancing in his eyes as he saw the battle within you.

His hand slid down the curve of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse, sending a rush of warmth straight to your core.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me, do you want this?”

His words wrapped around you like a chain, but still, you couldn’t find your voice. The space between you seemed impossibly small now. His hand traveled lower, skimming the edge of your clothing, and you sucked in a breath as the pressure between you mounted. His closeness was overwhelming, suffocating, yet you didn’t want him to pull away.

You closed your eyes, but the image of his smirk, that knowing, teasing grin, stayed with you. You wanted to break. You wanted to submit. But pride kept you on the edge, unsure whether to give in completely or to keep fighting.

Jude stopped then, just as you felt you might drown in the heat of the moment. His lips hovered inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours in the stillness. His eyes searched yours, waiting for you to make the first move.

You stayed silent, your lips barely parted, your body aching for more. He smiled, a slow, wicked curve of his mouth, and his fingers brushed over your jawline, tracing the curve of your face like a forbidden promise. “You’ll break,” he murmured, the words a low, knowing promise.

The game was no longer about control—it was about surrender. And as much as you fought it, you felt yourself slipping, falling into his hands.

Jude’s teeth skimmed your bottom lip, tugging just hard enough to draw a gasp from you before his tongue swept over the tender spot, soothing the sting. His fingers tangled in your hair, his grip firm yet achingly gentle as he pulled back, his lips hovering over yours. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough, laced with undeniable conviction. “Only mine.”

The words sent a wave of nervousness through you, raising goosebumps along your skin, igniting something deep and unshakable. You tried to stifle the teasing retort forming on your lips, but defiance slipped through unbidden. “Then deserve it,” you blurted, the challenge clear in your voice.

Jude's jaw tightened at your words, the challenge in your tone igniting a flicker of anger in his eyes. He stopped smirking, and bit the inside of his cheek. His lips hovered close to your ear, his voice low and rough as he murmured, “You never learn, do you?”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him with finality, the sound echoing through the room. He set you down with a harsh press against the matress, his hands still gripping you with an iron-like hold.

As Jude’s hands roamed your sides, his touch shifting from heated to deliberate, his gaze bore into yours, dark and unrelenting. He was holding back just enough to tease you, to make you feel the weight of his control. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, tugging it down in one smooth, almost punishing motion. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet as his eyes raked over you, predatory and sharp.

But when he saw the bare skin beneath, his hands froze for just a moment. A sharp, almost feral grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “No underwear?” The amusement in his tone sent a shiver through you, and the heat of his gaze made it impossible to look away.

Your cheeks burned as you stammered, “I didn’t want lines showing through the dress...”

He leaned in, smirking, his lips a breath away from yours, his voice low and rough, each word like a match striking against your resolve. “You’re such a tease,” he said, the words dripping with a mix of annoyance and raw desire. “Did you want me to loose my mind?”

Your blush deepened, but the challenge in his tone reignited the fire in your chest. “Did you?”

Jude’s gaze darkened, the flicker of anger in his eyes giving way to something far more dangerous. “What am I going to do?” he repeated, his voice a low, predatory murmur. His fingers slid up your bare skin, his touch igniting every nerve as he leaned in, his lips grazing your neck before finding the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Oh, love,” he said, his voice a mix of threat and promise, “I’m going to ruin you.”

All feminism had apparently left your body, because the way he grunted that crude declarations made your thighs shudder with anticipation. Sexual repression was something you had lived with for the last couple of weeks since you two started fighting and his hands around your body felt better than ever.

Your legs opened wider for him as he left kisses along the valley of your breasts, his tongue sweeping down below your erected nipples. The room began to spin, all your senses completely tethered to him. His hands groped at your ass, using it as leverage to rock his covered length into your center. The delicious friction builds as butterflies swarmed your stomach. God, it has never felt this good.

Craving more, thirsty for more than foreplay, you dropped your hands to his lap. Your nimble fingers work on his button and zipper. You ghosted past the shadows in his pants, feeling him, knowing he wanted this just as bad as you did, but he was refusing to help you pull his jeans off, or at least down enough so he could be exposed.

“Jude, some help?” you groaned, hating how gutted you sounded, how needy.

“I’m not doing shit until you tell me what I want to hear.” His mouth continues to assault your neck and chest, the cool air making goosebumps race across your body as it hits the warm places on your throat where his wet tongue had been.

“You want me to tell you⁠—”

“Confess,” he butted in, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “I want you to confess me the truth. The undeniable thruth. That you´re mine, only mine.” That tone again, rubbing you in all the places you never knew you needed. It was obvious that he didn’t like the stunts you’d pulled during dinner.

Your breath shook as you looked up from his waist, diving into his hellfire eyes that spark and sizzle in the dim light. Such a unique version of brown. “Then tell me you are mine,” you whispered, pressing your mouth into his for a kiss that felt like falling. Your heart raced inside your rib cage, thudding over and over again. “Tell me you´re mine and not hers.”

His nostrils flare, and his hands grabbed you harder, as if holding onto control—or maybe letting it slip. The argument was still fresh in your mind, the reason why all of this had started, like a wound that refused to close. The campaign. The model. His silence was worse than all the yelling from weeks and hours ago, and you could feel your stomach sink.

The seconds stretch, his eyes still locked on yours, and when he finally spoke, his voice is a low, smoldering growl. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

He grunted, raising his hips to shove his tight jeans down his waist enough to release himself. You widened your eyes, looking down as his hard cock rested against his stomach.

You raised your hips, directing his cock to your entrance. Lowering yourself onto him gradually, you felt every single inch enter you at your own pace. You whimpered as you felt him stretch you open, forcing his way into your dripping walls. You couldn’t help but look down, watching the process. It’s almost an unbearable amount of pleasure that rides through you when you´re fully sitting on his lap.

The sound of him groaning turns your attention back to him. Beneath you, his head presses into the pillows, his toned arms gripping you as his fingers clutched at your hips, all the veins in his throat bulging as he flexes his jaw, grunting out, “Fuck.”

You were at a live wire of sensations in this moment that you couldn’t fathom happening with anyone else. Eager to please him and craving release, you started to lift your hips up and down. His length rubbed every inch of you on the inside, tickling that sensitive spot along with every other spot. It was touching everywhere all at once, so many places, it was overwhelming. Your limbs felt light and heavy at the same time as you rolled your hips against him.

A groan rumbled in his chest, letting you know what you were doing was working for him just as much as it was for you. “Look at you looking so good ridin’ my cock,” he mumbled, full of rasp, low eyes watching you. His hands were now occupied touching your breasts as you rode him.

You were soaked, thoroughly stretched and perfected for him. You had him exactly where you wanted—beneath you, pinned, with you in control. The rhythm you set was intoxicating, a slow burn, a tease that left both of you breathless. But then his hands lowered and tightened on your hips, a subtle warning that sent a shiver cascading down your spine, you knew that his restraint was slipping, his patience worn thin.

In a single fluid motion, he reversed the tide, his movements deliberate, commanding. The haziness of his earlier submission vanished, replaced by something raw, undeniable, and entirely him. He had let you play, but now it was his turn to have fun.

He encircled your waist, forcing you down his shaft. Your bodies scoot to the edge of the bed so that he could piston his hips into your hole. With hunger and traces of rage, he grabbed again your exposed tits. He did not give you a single moment to settle because soon, your nipple was between his teeth, his soft tongue spinning circles around it.

“Jude, oh my God,” you panted, sweat already sticking to your forehead.

You moved together in sync, rocking your bodies into one another. You felt every single thrust, letting your bodies slam together over and over again. Your head lolled back while your fingers buried themselves into his shoulder blades.

He growled, the sound reverberating through you like a primal command. His hands tightened their grip, driving him to thrust into you with an intensity that left you gasping. You let him guide you, manhandle you, surrendering completely to his control. “See? You’re my good girl.”

His pace was merciless now, a rhythm that left no room for thought, only sensation. Your legs trembled, teetering on the edge of collapse, but his firm hold kept you exactly where he wanted you. Tears welled in your eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming flood of pleasure coursing through you.

He had promised this—promised to unravel you, to leave you utterly undone—and now he was keeping that promise with devastating precision. He was ruining you, in the most exquisite way possible.

“I’m going to come. Make me come, Jude, please,” you cried wildly, suddenly not caring about anything else but the pleasure.

“Beg for it, baby, beg for it. Only I can make you feel like this.”

You nodded eagerly. “Please, please, Jude, please.” His hands went down to trace circles in your clit, and it was unberable.

You were aching all over. Fire, consumig you as you climbed higher towards your orgasm. You quivered, the air taken out of your lungs as ecstasy pumped in your veins. All that came from you are broken cries as he continued to plunge, flutters and spasms racking through you. Pleasure thrummed through your body, toes curling as you drift through the most intense orgasm of your life. Now, the heat that once consumed you was replaced by a deep blush spreading across your tear-streaked cheeks, the salt of your tears mixing with the lingering haze of pleasure. Each shaky breath drew attention to the raw vulnerability etched into your expression, a testament to how completely he had undone you.

“Beautiful,” he uttered huskily. You were not even sure that’s what you actually heard, too numb from bliss to truly comprehend.

Your limbs felt heavy and your eyes were shut tight as he raced after his own release, pumping with ruthless thrusts that made your core tighten with indescribable pleasure. Jude’s fingers delved between your thighs, finding your clit again and immediately applying pressure.

“Wait, wait, I can’t. S-so sensitive,” you whimpered, your hand shooting down to his wrist, gripping it to try and prevent him from making your entire body combust.

It’s so intense that you could feel your eyes starting to water. Again. His fingers didn’t stop, and neither did his hips, “One more. Be my good girl. One more.”

He moaned, his thumb speeding up to match his thrusts. That familiar build hit your core, a long whine falling from your lips. “Fuck, I can’t,” you mewled, but your body said otherwise, tightening around him once again.

“You can. You can because I said so.”

And you did. You came again, your body gripping him with a desperate intensity, drawing him deeper, tighter, until every inch of him was enveloped in your heat. Your cries turned into broken whimpers, the sound raw and helpless as your second climax tore through you, leaving you trembling and breathless.

Jude’s growl turned into a guttural moan, a sound that reverberated through his chest and into yours as he thrust one final time, burying himself fully. The moment he stilled, his lips claimed yours with fervor. The kiss was searing, full of hunger and release, his mouth devouring yours with no pretense of gentleness. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before his tongue swept in, deepening the kiss as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go.

You melted into him, your lips moving in perfect rhythm with his, matching the intensity of his passion. Your fingers tangled in his curls, pulling him closer as he tilted his head to kiss you deeper, exploring every inch of your mouth with aching thoroughness.

As the storm of sensations began to settle, his lips softened against yours, the urgency ebbing into something slower, more tender. When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressing together as your shared gasps mingled in the stillness. His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the lingering tears as his lips ghosted over yours once more.

His long eyelashes tickled the side of your face. You could barely feel his fingers when they started playing with your hair, twirling around your strands. The room was quiet now, the intensity of moments before replaced by a soothing calm. A warm glow from a bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the room, and the air felt thick with the intimacy of the moment.

He lay beside you, propped up on one elbow, his other hand brushing delicate fingers over you. Your eyes fluttered closed as if you were savoring the way his touch made you feel utterly cherished.

“You're it for me,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. It was as if the words carried the weight of his entire soul. “There's no one else. There couldn't be. You're all I want, all I’ll ever need.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down, pressing the sweetest of kisses to your forehead. It lingered, firm and grounding, as though he wanted to etch the moment into your skin.

“You’re my world, you know?” His lips moved to your temple, then to the corner of your mouth, each touch more tender than the last. “I couldn’t love you more if I tried. I don’t even think it’s possible.” His words were laced with conviction, yet there was an almost boyish softness in the way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

You let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed due to the sensations that you had felt but comforted. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and brought it to your lips. “You don’t have to try,” you whispered. Your voice trembled, but your smile was radiant. “I love you so much, Jude...”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward but rich with meaning. You could see how his eyes softened, how his features eased into an expression of pure adoration.

“And you know what?” you added, your tone more playful now, but your words brimming with sincerity. “I’m yours. Every part of me. Always.”

He cupped your face, his lips pressed to yours, soft and lingering, a kiss that was less about passion and more about everything he couldn’t put into words. You snuggled closer to him, your bodies fitting together perfectly, and he tucked the blanket around you both, holding you as if to shield you from the world. His hand found yours, fingers entwining naturally, and as your breathing slowed, he pressed a final kiss to your hair.

"Goodnight, my love," he murmured, his voice warm and tender. "I’ve got you."

And in his arms, you felt it—safe, loved, and utterly complete.

a/n: omg.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER ELEVEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l

warnings angst, allusions to sex, more julian mentions

kalena speakss 🪽! yall will hate me and thank me for this chapter, sorry :(

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut 

“Nuh uh! I’m standing next to Boogers, she was my senior!”

“She was everyone’s senior, she was here for too damn long.” Sarah responds, making the bunch of my former teammates laugh.

I don’t even bother to fight back. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss these girls until I was across the country. Connecticut has become home to me, five years of lessons and friendships that I’ll hold into forever. It’s my first time back in Connecticut since the national championship, and the feeling is unreal.

The amount of UConn jerseys is unreal, cheers each time I checked in, after every shot. It became normal to me, loudest crowds in LA, then Minnesota, and now Connecticut. My third home.

We all stand at center court at Mohegan Sun, all of my former teammates excluding Aubrey who’s in New York and Kaitlyn who’s in San Francisco.

We take the picture and everyone disperses, breaking into a multitude of conversations.

“So, we going out tonight? Like old times?” Ice is beaming at me, a smile fitting her face as she tugs me down with an arm around my neck. 

I chuckle. “I’m too damn old to be showing up at Ted’s again.” I mutter. My shoes squeak against the hardwood with each step I take to get out of her hold.

“No, not Ted’s, a different— that doesn’t matter. You coming? Please?”

I nod, tugging on the gatorade towel that accumulates the sweat around my neck. “Cam’s coming too.”

“Perfect! The more the merrier.”

—

The more the merrier was right.

The club was loud and fucking packed, from athletes to college kids, anyone that you could imagine. My leg bounces along to the music playing while Allie and Azzi talk about God knows what a few feet in front of me. The beer I’m drinking glides down my throat while I look around.

“This place is jumpin’.” I murmur to Caroline next to me.

She nods, the hair that frames her face swinging over her shoulder as she looks at me. “I know. Maybe you can get some play tonight.”

“You think I’m not gettin’ any in LA?” I laugh, taking another swig.

“I know you’re not getting any. I have my sources.”

I roll my eyes, spinning back around in my bar stool for another drink. 

There was definitely enough alcohol in my system. Tequila burning in my chest and a couple beers downed as well. I’m well beyond thinking straight, which to me is fine since we don’t play again for another two days.

“Lemme get a dirty shirley.” I tell the nice bartender who’s probably cringing at my alcohol breath.

“Can I get one of those too? And two shots of vanilla crown, please?”

The voice literally makes me freeze.

I know it well, so well, that I’m not even surprised when I look to my right and Nyla sits there with a smile towards the bartender. I haven’t seen her in what feels like years, even if the last time was in Tampa during the tourney.

She looks good. I mean, she always does. It’s why I let her walk all over me for so long. Why I kept going back no matter how much it hurt.

Nyla wears a blue corset top, it contrasts beautifully with her brown skin and cups her breasts in a way that drags my eyes down to them. Sober, I wouldn’t have paid her any mind. But right now my head is spinning and I can’t help it.

“Good to see you.” She feeds me a tight lipped smile.

I look over my shoulder at Caroline, who is no longer paying any attention to me.

“You look good, Ny.” I say through squinted eyes.

The bartender slides my drink to me over the table, her’s as well. And when Nyla picks up her drink, and her lips purse around the small black straw, my mind immediately goes to Maraye.

I haven’t thought about her in a while, not since she left my apartment. Yet, the second I look at Nyla I think of her. The way her hands, done up with pretty french tips, would wrap around the glass cup. Or the way she smiled at me when I bought her a drink that night in Atlanta.

I turn away, feeling the wood of the bar dug into my back as I watch Allie, and now Cameron and Caroline. They’re inebriated, definitely more than me, and dancing freely to Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. 

“You don’t wanna talk?”

“What’s there to talk about, Nyla.” The statement navigates through the air, and the second it reaches her ears she huffs.

“You’ve never been good at talking about things.” Nyla laughs.

I’m quick to scoff and take another hefty gulp of my shirley. “I’ve always been good at that. You just don’t seem to listen to me.”

We sit in an uncomfortable silence, her heal taps against the tiled floor in a rhythm I wish would stop.

“We should talk, P. About Tampa, about everything. You ghosted me the morning after.”

“And you ghosted me after I told you I had feelings for you.” I returned. “It was forever ago, Nyla. Move on.”

I see her down one of her shots before slamming the small glass down on the counter. She takes in a sharp breath of air, swiveling in her chair to look at me. Nyla’s upset. 

So many months of me getting angry, then realizing how badly I need her, then going right back. Countless times spent having sex with her rather than realizing how much I was letting myself go by just being around her.

She ruined me, and now that I’m not falling for it, she’s upset.

“Why’re you being such an ass about this?” She yells, the music drowns out the noise but I can still make out the bass in her voice. “It’s that bitch in LA, huh? That’s why you can’t talk to me?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” I snap almost instantly.

It’s too often that I forget that Maraye and I aren’t the only two people in the world. That everyone around us still sees the way we look at each other or act around one another. 

We co-exist with everyone else. They are also affected by the shit we do. The things we say.

The way we kiss each other.

“Oh so she is your girlfriend?”

“You’on’t get to be mad about shit. I’m setting boundaries with you.” I say, refusing to bring Raye’s name up again and make things worse. I care about Maraye, obviously, and if I had to hear a girl who literally ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it repeatedly call her out of her name again, I might get suspended.

I finish what’s left of my vodka filled drink, mouth tasting of grenadine and tingling faintly from the sprite. 

“I want you, P. Y’know that.” Nyla hums. She’s so damn sadistic. She knows the exact way to get under my skin all the while turning my brain to mush for her.

“No you don’t.” I scoff. “You don’t know what you want, Ny. That’s why I ended all this shit.” 

This conversation is entirely reminiscent of the one I had with Raye earlier this week. Which makes me think that she didn’t do anything about the pressing Julian-situation.

Then I’m getting angry all over again. Pissed off that not only is the girl that I want is probably at home pillow talking her boyfriend, but that the girl I once was fucking helpless over is sitting in front of me telling me everything I want to hear from her. Not her–Nyla, her–Maraye.

Even though I have on shorts and t-shirt, my body still feels like I’m on fire as if I was wearing a full snow suit. The alcohol and combined anger has my brain running in laps, from Maraye to Nyla to the fucking flight I have to be on time for in the morning.

And it’s hard to keep it all intact with the way Nyla fucking looks at me. Like she hates me but there’s still a glint in her eye that reminds me of the first time we met. When I saw her in the stands sophomore year, her hair was short and brown with blonde streaks. She was everything then.

“Paige.”

“No, Nyla.”

But now, I don't even recognize her. Her voice sounds like a fever dream, or a fragment of my imagination.

“I can fix this.”

Her hand rests on my knee. I should jump or push her away but I just stare at it like an idiot.

My legs spread apart subconsciously, welcoming her between them. And I am an idiot, allowing her to stand in this place that I have decided belongs to Maraye. 

“Lemme fix it, P. Like old times.”

We’re at eye level like this. Her hand trailing up my thigh and to my shoulder. I need to push her away. Tell her to get off me, and then head back to the hotel. By myself.

But I can’t.

For whatever damn reason. I can’t.

—

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

I rock awkwardly on my heels, bottom lip tucked between my teeth so tight it might bleed.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest while I wait for the door to swing open. I can hear the hum of the air conditioning system blow through the hallway and the sound of my breaths coming out heavy and ragged.

The lock click echos when the door finally does pull open and there he stands. Hand stuffed in the pocket of his black dress pants. 

It’s crazy, that just months ago I was head over heels over this man. The sight of him like this would’ve sent me into orbit, but now it’s like he’s just here. Just another person in my world.

“We need to talk.” I stutter, eyes glued to him.

“Yeah.” Julian responds, turning around and walking into his apartment. He doesn’t close the door, leaving it open for me to follow him, I do so not forgetting to lock it behind me. 

“This needa be quick. I got a meeting.” He murmurs as we approach his bedroom. 

I haven’t been here in forever, and that’s totally and completely my own fault. I’ve been so damn avoidant. Sure I was always working, but I made time in my day to go see Paige or Rickea or my sister. But with Julian I just chose not to.

“That’s fine.” I say. “We uh, Ion think this is working, Ju.”

He hums, nodding and throwing on a button up shirt over his wife beater shirt.

I don’t even think he’s surprised, more content with the result. Like he expected this the second I rang his doorbell. Maybe even earlier than that.

“Damn.” It’s not a disappointing damn, quite the opposite actually.

“I’m sorry. I just— I can’t give you what you want. We’re one opposite ends of life right now, and I don’t wanna hurt you. Really.”

I don’t know how much is the truth and how much is meant to be a lie to get him to not talk about our last argument. I know I can’t give him what he needs, it’s not because of my alleged time management struggles. 

My heart wasn’t in it. Even if it wasn’t for Paige, I’d be calling it quits because I’m not into him the way I should be. She taught me that. The lengths I’d go to for someone I had feelings for, I simply don’t think I could do for him.

“That’s it? Y’just can’t make time for me?”

I huff at the undertone of his voice.

“Nah, this isn’t me arguing. You really think that?”

I nod. “Among other things, yes.” I can’t look at him. Because even though I think he doesn’t, Julian knows me well. He knows my tells and the way I react under pressure. “You deserve better than me, Julian.”

His cologne burns through the air when he sprits it out across his skin. I’m sure that the second I leave, that damned scent would be ingrained into my mind forever, I’d never forget it.

“And this has nothing to do with her?” 

Julian doesn’t look away from me for a second, staring holes into my soul that make me feel naked. My hands sweat, and I stuff them in the back pockets of my jeans.

I’d be dumb to stand here and keep lying. I’m already an idiot for thinking that everything would be peaches and cream after this. So I take a breath of air, which basically confirms any doubts Julian has running in his head.

“I— Ju.”

“I fuckin’ knew it. You sleepin’ with her?”

“No. No, Ju. She just— it’s so easy to be myself around her, and I feel like I'm always fighting to be myself with you.” I explain, partially trying to save my ass. “I dunno.”

“So that’s it. You cheat on me and think shit just gonna work out with her?”

“All I can control is this. We aren’t working, so we’re breaking up. That’s it, Julian.” I say, fully aware of how disgusted he looks with me right now.

Never in a million years did I think this shit could happen to me. I’m so conflicted, I don’t deserve whatever happy ending may come with Paige. I don’t deserve his forgiveness either, that’s for damn sure.

“Whatever.” Julian shrugs, walking out of the room with his shoes in hand. I follow behind him, trying to meditate the situation any way I can. It doesn’t work, as I expected.

He trots to the door, unlocking it again and pulling it open. He stands in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. His height looms over me as he waits.

Words form on my tongue and instantly die there. I shut my mouth, slipping through the corridor and hearing it slam behind me.

And for a brief second, I feel good. Like everything is going the way it’s supposed to.

Then the reality of it all hits me, and I feel like I want to run into a wall.

—

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut

My heartbeat rings in my ears while I make an attempt to catch my breath. 

Nyla lays next to me, sweaty and naked, and months ago I would’ve been completely enamored by the sight. But now I’m just fucking disgusted.

She’s gorgeous, always has been. That’s not the issue.

The issue is her lips don’t taste like that vanilla sweet cream I would always taste after being with Raye. It’s almost bitter, just pure alcohol.

I eagerly throw my legs off the side of the bed. We’re at her apartment, not too far from my hotel. I feel her stare into my back, piercing through me and suddenly I’m well aware of my own nakedness. I toss my bra followed by my shirt over my head before picking up my boxers and putting them on too. The bed shifts, dipping slightly before I feel her hand on my arms.

The events of the last hour have sobered me up tremendously, her hands that once were burning hot to the touch are suddenly freezing. Almost dead.

“Where you goin’?” Nyla asks. Her voice is raspy from the screaming of my name. It should make me feel good, as it always seems to no matter who I’m with.

This time it doesn’t.

I shrug her off of me standing up from the bed and searching for the rest of my clothes. My shorts, socks, shoes all scattered somewhere. I threw the hair tie that kept my hair in a ponytail somewhere too, and Nyla was definitely crazy enough to use it to make a clone of myself.

“Paige, I said—”

“I heard what you said. I’m getttin’ the fuck outta here.”

“You’re not doing this shit again.” She grumbles, pulling on her panties and trying to chase after me. Nyla grabs my arm as she spins me around, looking up at me while I stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid her tits in my face.

“This was a mistake.” I explain, pushing her off of me and finally putting on my shorts. My shoes follow. “You and me are fuckin’ done. Ion know how many times I gotta say that for it to click in your damn head.”

“‘Cause you say shit like that and then come crawling right back!” She’s yelling now, and I can only imagine how irritated her neighbors have become with us. “You wanna act like you didn’t just fuck me? Or that you didn’t tell me you missed me.”

“I’m fucking drunk! That’s the only reason why I do any of this shit with you.” I yell, back. “Ion want shit to do with you, Nyla. I’m moving on.”

“Moving onto that ho, in LA? Is she better than me?”

“You got one more fuckin’ time to—” I cut myself off with a heavy breath, shaking my head and grabbing the rest of my belongings off her nightstand. “Get over it. We’re done. This is never, and I mean never, fuckin’ happening again.” I muse. I’m quick to rush out of the apartment, phone in hand, while I shut the door.

I feel dirty. Like I just committed a fucking felony and was on the run. 

The cool air finally hits me like a breath of fresh air when I finally touch the streets. My hotel wasn’t far, a block, maybe more, away.

I’m ashamed of myself, for going back to Nyla and falling for her dumbass words as if they meant something. They never did. 

Then it hits me.

Maraye.

I nearly stop in the middle of the street before picking up my pace and walking into the hotel building.

God knows what decision she’s made. She could be with Julian right now telling him everything he wants to hear. Or she could be waiting for me. To call her, to text her, to tell her that I miss her.

And believe it or not, I do. I fucking miss her crazy. Her voice and those gorgeous fucking eyes. The way she listens to me like I’m the only person left on Earth, like it’s just me and her. I miss her smell, the Chanel no.5 combined with some vanilla body spray that she almost always seemed to have on, that permanently left its mark on my nose and my soul. Everything about her being, I miss it like crazy.

I’m in the elevator, the hum of the gears and the corny ass elevator music that plays only leaves me with my thoughts. Feelings of disparity and fucking anger.

How could I be so stupid. All it took was a few drinks and a fucking glare and now I’ve made arguably the biggest mistake of my life.

My phone starts ringing when I pull out my key card. I stand in the hallway, flipping the device over and staring at it.

Her name, in bright and bold font with the anatomical heart emoji next to it. It’s so intimate, an emoji that I think I’ve only ever used in correspondence with her. The picture is recent, I changed it after she left my place that night. It’s the two of us seated on my couch, her head resting on my shoulder with her lips in that cute pout she does in almost all her photos. My eyes are red from sleep but I still keep a nose-scrunched smile on my face.

I catch myself just standing there, looking at her looking at me until the call goes to voicemail.

I’m glad that it does, because I know that if I were to pick up the phone and hear her voice as she talks I might break down.

I unlock the door, kicking my shoes off the minute the door closes. I rest my back against it, head tossed onto the white painted portal. 

Then my phone buzzes again.

i miss you. call me in the morning k?

I fucked up. Fucked it all up.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

hey bby, hard thought of the day from domm1etae (this message is anonymous bcs i’m on my other account lol) but anyways—yunho 100% chokes himself while jerking off, no doubt about it

well fuck. now you've got me thinking about camboy yunho🧍‍♀️and how he's blessed that his hands are big enough to wrap around his throat perfectly.

and i can just imagine him trying to take it slow. he loves to tease his audience. he won't cum until he reaches his tip goal.

god he just gets so sweaty in the low blue light of his bed. jerking himself off. making sure to grunt and moan and talk dirty to his babies that so eagerly watch him in hopes of seeing him cum.

one day he sees a new commenter/viewer ask if he's ever tried choking himself. and he just smiles and says "no, baby, i never have. would you like to see me try?" and the comments and tips go crazy, so he just chuckles. "ok, loves. i'll do it for you."

and from the first moment, he wonders why he's never done this before. the feeling of his airways being restricted while his orgasm just builds and builds faster than it has in a very long time (especially without a partner). he doesn't even watch the chat for a good several minutes until he's a whimpering mess, cumming all over his stomach and hands. and he's out of breath by the time he turns back to the chat. smiling at them and asking if they enjoyed the show.

but he makes sure to privately message the viewer that suggested he choke himself. asking if they want a private show. or "do you have anything else you'd like me to try, pretty?"

[therealcocoshady]

Hey coco I seen your latest story and I was wondering if you could do the complete opposite where reader and Marshall are in a long term relationship and they have sex and he’s in a rush and he doesn’t clean reader up at all and kinda leaves really quickly and reader feels like a hoe and gets in her feels about it .

A/N : thank you so much for your request ! I really liked the idea so I came up with a little something. I hope you enjoy it ☺️💕. Please don’t mind the title. I’m exhausted and I wrote the first thing that comes to mind 🤣.

The Birkin Diplomacy

CW : Eminem being a really sucky boyfriend and a cocky bastard 😅 ; reconciliation

Marshall leaned against the headboard, the low hum of the city filtering through the slightly cracked window of your bedroom. The sheets were tangled around your legs, still heavy with the warmth of your embrace. He pulled a hand through his messy hair, damp from sweat, as he exhaled. For a moment, he seemed present—his gaze fixed on you in the dim light, the edges of his sharp features softened by exhaustion. You studied him, your head resting on his chest. You couldn’t help but think there was something mesmerizing about your man. You always found him fascinating, but orgasm always gave him a nice glow. In the dim light of your room, he seemed even more ethereal. If it weren’t for his heartbeat, steady and strong, you could have sworn he wasn’t really. You basked in this delicious feeling for a while, catching your breath, enjoying the comforting feeling of his skin against yours. But then, right as you were about to fall asleep, he pulled away. 

« Gotta go, » he mumbled before getting up. « What? » you asked, propping yourself up on an elbow, in a voice edged with disbelief. He simply shrugged before answering, not exactly apologetic. « Late-night session. Dre’s in town. Can’t leave him hanging » he explained as he slid out of bed. How movements were quick, almost mechanical; as he started to put his clothes on. You frowned and watched as he moved around the room. You body was still aching from him, from your connection. You had given yourself to him completely, as you had always done and yet… He was leaving. You couldn’t help but feel your heart break a little. « Marshall… Can’t it wait? » you asked, your voice breaking slightly. « I feels like I barely see you, these days ». 

He sighed and looked at you. For a moment, it seemed like his icy blue eyes were softening. But then his shoulders sagged, and the weight of his responsibilities seemed to settle on him again. « You know how it is, babe. I’ve got work to do. We’re close to finishing the album ». And just like that, he was gone—out the door with a rushed kiss on your forehead, leaving you alone in your bed, body still marked by his touch. You stared at the ceiling, your chest tightening as frustration and hurt bubbled up inside you. Nearly two years of being babe. His girlfriend. His source of comfort and support. Almost two years of sticking with him through thick and thin. Two years of him calling you his princess, his queen… And now, he had you feeling like a cheap whore, your cozy bedroom reduced to a vulgar brothel. He didn’t even help you clean up. Yet, somehow, it was the fancy bracelet he had gifted you a couple of days ago that had you feeling dirty. When you had opened the box, you had been mesmerized by the way the diamonds caught the light but now, it felt like a bauble, a weak attempt at making up for the attention he didn’t give you. And if he thought you were one of these hoes that would turn a blind eye to their bed being empty as long as they had tiny things to look at, he was dead wrong. This, you were about to remind him of. 

The idea came to you as a sharp, defiant spark. Sitting up, you wrapped yourself in the sheet, your resolve growing stronger with each step toward the closet. Marshall had showered you with lavish gifts over the course of your relationship—designer handbags, sparkling jewelry, even a pair of limited-edition sneakers he’d bragged about snagging before anyone else. You gathered them one by one, piling them into an empty box from a recent delivery. Each item carried a memory, a moment when you’d thought you were his priority, his anchor. Now, they felt hollow, like symbols of a love that had become one-sided. Next, you opened the drawer where you kept a spare key to his house. Your fingers trembled as you placed it on top of the pile. You’d carried that key everywhere, a token of trust and commitment. Now, it felt heavy with the weight of his neglect. And for all you cared, he could give it to someone else. Someone who would be willing to put up with the disrespect. But that someone wouldn’t be you. You had many flaws, but being unaware of your worth certainly wasn’t one of them. The final touch was a deliberate act of rebellion. Pulling out your phone, you searched for the number of a high-end escort service you’d once overheard a friend joking about. You scribbled it down on a sticky note in bold, dark letters, then stuck it to the top of the box. « Here » you mumbled. « Now you can save on presents and have a cheap hoe ». 

The next morning, the courier arrived promptly. You gave the box one last glance, your heart thudding in your chest. A small part of you hesitated—did you really want to do this? But the memory of his hurried departure, of the way he’d made you feel so disposable, spurred you forward. « Delivery for Marshall Mathers, » you said, your voice steady as you handed it over.

Later that day, Marshall was at his studio, downing what seemed to be his hundredth can of Redbull, trying to stay awake. Dre had left the studio shortly before, and he was trying to go over the track they had recorded. He groaned as the receptionist came to him and handed him a package addressed to him. « Who’s it from? » he asked, his brows furrowed. She simply shrugged, mumbling something about a courrier. He sat the box on his desk and opened it slowly, his confusion growing with each item he uncovered. The bracelet, the earrings, the sneakers, the bags… All these were presents he had gifted you. His breath caught when he saw the key, glinting under the soft light of his studio office. But it was the sticky note that stopped him. A phone number. Of course, he didn’t waste any time and immediately took out his phone to dial it. 

His heart pounded as he hit the call button, curiosity and dread warring within him. The line rang once. Twice. « Hello, » a smooth, almost rehearsed voice answered on the other end. « You’ve reached Luxe Companions, Detroit’s premier escort service. How can I help you today? » He froze. « Wait—what? » he stammered, his voice pitching higher than usual. « This is Luxe Companions, » the voice repeated, professional and patient. « Would you like to make a booking? » Marshall’s mouth went dry as realization hit him like a freight train. His eyes widened, and his grip on the phone tightened. No. No way.  « Uh… nah, » he muttered, struggling to form coherent words. « I think I… uh… I think I got the wrong number. » There was a brief pause on the other end, as if the operator was used to this sort of reaction. « Very well, sir. If you change your mind, feel free to call back. » Marshall ended the call abruptly, dropping his phone onto the desk as though it had burned him. His jaw hung open as he stared at the offending sticky note, now armed with a whole new layer of meaning.

« She didn’t, » he said aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. « She wouldn’t. » But you absolutely had.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the office. His mind spun in a chaotic loop: you were pissed, and this was your way of making sure he knew it. The message was loud and clear now—if you don’t make time for me, someone else will. The audacity of it stung, but so did the truth behind it. He collapsed into a chair, still holding the note as if it might give him more answers. Less than an hour later, Marshall was standing outside of your door, the sticky note still crumpled in his fist. Maybe it was a side-effect of the exhaustion or the energy drink, but his lips were twitching with a mix of frustration and amusement as he knocked. He had to admit there was something about the audacity, the sheer, unfiltered nerve of your move. He wasn’t sure whether he was mad, impressed or both. 

The door opened just wide enough for you to peek out. Your eyes locked on him, cold and unyielding.  « What do you want, Marshall? » you asked, your voice clipped.  « Well, » he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, « I came to return this. » He held up the note. « Thought maybe you’d accidentally sent me the number to a… uh… high-end hospitality service. »  Your eyes narrowed, your poker face slipping just enough to show a hint of satisfaction. « Accidentally? No. That was very much intentional ».  He let out a chuckle and shook his head. « I figured. You really went there, huh? ». 

You pushed the door open a little more, standing tall with your arms crossed. « You left me in bed like I was nothing. No cuddling. No conversation. Just ‘wham, bam, thanks, ma’am,’ and out the door. » Your voice was calm but laced with venom.  He winced, raising his hands in surrender. « Okay, I get it. I was a jerk. A giant, oblivious, selfish jerk. But damn, sending me to call an escort service? That’s cold, Y/N. »  You couldn’t help but scoff at his audacity. « Was it, now ?! » you shot back, your tone sharp. « I thought it was rather creative ». 

Marshall bit back a grin, trying to stay serious. « Alright, look, » he said, stepping closer. « I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been all over the place, and I’ve been taking you for granted. That’s on me. But come on, babe. You really think I’d go through with calling someone else? ». You leaned against the doorframe, studying him. « I don’t know, Marshall. You’ve been treating me like an afterthought lately. I had to remind you I’m not some cheap hoe. »  At that, his lips curved into a slow smirk. « Cheap? Nah. You’re way too high-maintenance for that. »   Your eyes narrowed, but he pressed on before you could retort.  « Not to be that guy, but… Birkin bags aren’t exactly cheap »  He gestured to your living room, where the infamous orange box your bag had come in sat on a side table. « You’re not a cheap hoe, baby. You’re an expensive one. Top-shelf. »  The audacity of his words made your jaw drop. « Are you fucking serious right now? » you hissed, though your lips, betraying that you were fighting a smile.  « I’m just saying, » he said, raising a brow. « If I’m gonna grovel, might as well acknowledge you’re in a league of your own. »  

As much as you appreciated witty banter, your faint smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. You pulled back, crossing your arms over your chest. « You think this is some sort of joke? » you asked coldly. « You think you can insult me twice in a row and that a clever wording is going to make it ok? ». He blinked, caught off guard. « Woah, hold up » he started, but you cut him off.  « No, seriously, Marshall. You think calling me ‘high-maintenance’ or joking about Birkin bags is cute? I never once asked for any of that stuff. »   Your words hit him like a slap. The air between the two of you grew heavier as your frustration spilled over.  « Do you think throwing expensive gifts at me is some kind of substitute for actually being here? » you continued, your voice rising. « You waltz in with flashy things like it’s gonna make up for the fact that you’re barely present anymore. And then you have the audacity to crack a joke about it? Like I’m some gold digger you need to bribe? »  He opened his mouth to respond but faltered, realizing he had nothing to say that wouldn’t make it worse.  « You know what I value, Marshall? Time. Effort. Real things. Not overpriced bags or shoes or necklaces that just sit in a closet. If I wanted someone who could buy me things, I wouldn’t have chosen you. I wanted you. But apparently, that’s asking too much. »  

Your voice cracked on the last words, and you quickly turned away, your hands gripping the doorframe as you tried to regain some composure.  He stared at you, guilt gnawing at him. Every word you’d said was true, and he knew it. You weren’t materialistic—you never had been. The gifts had always been his way of showing love in the moments he couldn’t be there, an attempt to show that he thought you deserved the very best, but now he saw how empty they must have felt without his presence to back them up. « Hey, » he said softly, stepping closer but keeping his distance. « You’re right. I messed up. Again. »  You didn’t respond, your back still to him. « I thought the gifts… I don’t know… I thought they’d remind you how much you mean to me when I wasn’t around. But I see now that it probably just felt like I was buying my way out of being a better boyfriend. »  You turned to face him, eyes glistening but fierce. « Exactly. I don’t care about the money, Marshall. I don’t care about any of it. I would have loved you just as much if you’d been broke. What I care about is feeling like I actually matter to you. Like I’m not just here for when it’s convenient. » 

« You do matter, » he said, his voice thick with emotion. « More than anything. I know I’ve been screwing up left and right, lately, and you deserve way better than the half-assed version of me you’ve been getting. » You studied him, your walls still up, unsure if you wanted to believe him. « Words aren’t enough, Marshall. You know that. » He nodded with understanding. « I know, » he said quickly. « And I’m not gonna stand here and tell you I’ve got all the answers or that I’m magically gonna fix everything overnight. But I’m gonna show you, piece by piece, day by day, that you’re not just some afterthought to me. I can’t lose you. Not over this. Not over anything. »  The raw sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to hold on to your anger, to make him work for it. But there was something in his eyes—a mix of regret and determination—that chipped away at your defenses. Damn baby blue eyes. « You’ve got a lot to prove, » you said after a long silence.  « I know, » he replied, nodding earnestly. « And no more Birkin jokes, » you added sharply. He raised his hands in surrender. « Scout’s honor. »  For the first time in the conversation, your lips twitched into an actual smile. « You’re lucky I care about you, you know that? »  He exhaled in relief, stepping closer. « Nah, I’m lucky for a million reasons. But mostly because you’re still willing to give me a chance to fix this. » Your eyes softened, though you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. « Don’t make me regret it.»  

« I won’t, » he promised, taking your hand. « And for the record, you’re way more valuable than a Birkin bag. Like… priceless. Top-shelf, remember? »  You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull your hand away. « You’re really pushing it. » He couldn’t help but give you a shit-eating grin. « Yeah, but that’s why you love me, right? ».   

[krirebr]

Thanksgiving with the Barbers

Pairing: dark!Andy Barber x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: You and Andy celebrate Thanksgiving. Part of the Trapped AU.

Warnings: Dark elements, kidnapping, references to punishment, isolation, solitary confinement, hunger, negative self-talk, manipulation, angst, mental breakdown - This is a rough one, guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Masterlist

A/N: So... remember this part from I Don't Want a Lot for Christmas?

"Don’t you want this Christmas to be better than Thanksgiving?” It took everything in you not to grimace. You still felt the marks from what he’d done to you after Thanksgiving dinner.

Yeah. This is that Thanksgiving.

Big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who read so much of this and always encourages me to go as dark as my twisted little heart desires.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Andy’s soft murmurs traveled down the hallway to you from the entryway as he said goodbye to his guests. You couldn’t tell how things had gone. He’d seemed happy enough but as he’d started introducing you to his life outside these walls, you’d learned quickly how easily he could have one face for the world and a different one for you. He’d stressed many times all week how important it was that your first holiday together be perfect. Was it? Had you done enough?

You busied yourself with cleaning up the dining room, trying to ignore the churning dread in your stomach. The leftover turkey, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables had already been moved to the kitchen, waiting to be put away in the fridge. Then you’d start on the endless dishes. Hopefully, that would buy you some time alone, while Andy went back to the football on TV. 

You kept your head down and continued gathering the discarded plates as Andy’s heavy footsteps came down the hall. He entered the dining room and leaned against the old-fashioned buffet that took over one wall, his arms crossed over his chest. You felt his eyes on you, but you kept your own eyes down and didn’t say anything. You knew better now. 

You had a tall stack of plates now that you wanted to take into the kitchen, but you were afraid of turning your back on him and leaving the room. So, you stood where you were, and you waited. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. You looked up. “You were awfully quiet at dinner,” he said, softly, but there was an edge of steel in his tone. 

“No, I–” you started and immediately regretted it. That was a bad word. “I just didn’t have much to add to the conversation.” The guests were all Andy’s colleagues and their spouses. It’d been too much shop talk to keep track of. On top of being so many more people than you were used to.

Andy made a thoughtful little hum before he continued. “Barbara commented on it, as she said goodbye. Wanted to be sure you were ok, hadn’t felt left out.”

You forced a smile, trying to stop your hands from shaking. “Yes, I’m fine. I had a nice time. It was a good dinner.”

He pushed himself off of the buffet, straightening to his full height. “Really, you thought it was a good dinner? With a dry turkey and an unfriendly hostess?”

You couldn’t help the way you blanched. You’d never cooked a whole turkey before or anything like it.  And you didn’t have access to the internet right now, so you were limited to the highbrow cookbooks Andy had bought for you. While those recipes were detailed, they didn’t exactly have tips and tricks for beginners. You’d tried your best. And no one at dinner had complained. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. You’d thought it was ok. But he didn’t want to hear you defend yourself, so you said nothing. 

He looked at the dirty dishes spread across the table and scowled. “Finish cleaning this up,” he said. “We’ll continue this conversation when you’re done.”

You nodded quickly with a quiet, “Yes, Andy,” trying to keep your sigh of relief inside. He hadn’t said you’d continue the conversation downstairs, hadn’t said anything about a timeout or a punishment. You might be ok. You might get off with just a lecture. You could handle an upstairs lecture—kneeling at Andy’s feet while he listed all the ways you’d disappointed him and everything you needed to do to be better. Sometimes you even got to stay fully clothed. Lectures were fine. Lectures were easy. As long as you got to stay upstairs, you’d be ok.

Without another word, he moved into the kitchen. You heard him opening and closing the fridge as you continued organizing the dishes into neat stacks to hopefully make cleaning up a little easier. He came back with a beer in his hand, moving through to the living room to watch the evening game. As he started to walk by the table, the movement drew your eye to something, his reflection caught in the shiny steel. The carving knife. Just lying there next to the turkey.

The knife block had sensors in it, just like all the doors downstairs or the front door of the house. You had to scan your wristband every time you needed to use a knife while cooking and it would send an alert to Andy’s phone, letting him know whenever you used one, for how long, and when you put it back. But the carving knife, he’d taken that out himself today. As the man of the house, he had to be the one to carve the turkey. And then he’d just left it there, forgotten about it. The carving knife.

As you stood there, staring at it, it was like all of the parts of yourself he’d worked so hard to turn off, suddenly came roaring back on. How much you hated the dress you currently wore. How exhausted you were after working in the kitchen all day without a single thank you. The lecture that you knew awaited you, being forced to kneel at his feet. All of your own holiday traditions that had been stolen from you so that you could accommodate his. Everything he’d taken from you. The rage bubbling up inside of you was cleansing. You felt it giving you new breath, new life. You felt yourself coming back.

You looked up at Andy as he continued to move, his back to you now. That perfect, broad expanse. You could see it so clearly. The way you’d bury that knife between his shoulder blades. You lunged across the table.

Andy spun around as soon as he heard you move, his bottle of beer slipping from his hand, it’s contents spilling everywhere. Somehow, in that instant, he saw what you were grasping for and lunged for it too. Oh god, he was so much closer to it. You'd timed it all wrong. You were stupid in your desperation and anger. Oh well. You'd already made the choice. There was no turning back now.

You threw yourself onto the table, arm outstretched, dirty plates beneath you, just as his hand wrapped around the handle of the knife. You let out a guttural scream as he threw it away from you and it clattered against the baseboards. 

A beat too late, you tried to crawl backward, your knees struggling for purchase on the tablecloth, plates crashing to the floor, but Andy had already grabbed your still outstretched arm, dragging you towards him as you flailed, trying and failing to grab onto anything that might help you. 

He pulled you over the edge of the table and you fell to the floor, landing harshly in a jumble, more plates falling around you. He loomed over you, face completely overtaken by rage. But it couldn’t compare to yours. You kicked out wildly, indiscriminately and you’d never felt more satisfied than when you landed a few hits to his shins and he grunted in pain. Your satisfaction was short-lived, however, as he recovered and reached down to wrap his hands around both your wrists, even as you struggled as hard as you could to get away from him. 

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you across the floor. That was fine. You had no problem filling the silence. “You fucking motherfucker!” you screamed, the frustration and terror and anger of the last several months finally finding an outlet. “I hate you! I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna burn this house to the fucking ground!”

Your struggles kicked up a notch as he opened the door to the basement with one hand, the other now holding on to both of your wrists. “No!” you yelled. “You can’t fucking do this! I’m done pretending to be your perfect little wife! You can’t–”

He wasn’t gentle at all as he yanked you down the stairs. You had to pause your fighting and screaming as you fell, the breath knocked out of you. You tried to protect your head, tried to protect any part of your body you could as you hit every step. Your dress did nothing to help as it gathered above your waist. You were exposed and vulnerable. But what else was new? You were immune to it now, after being debased every single day for months.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs to adjust his hold on you, using both hands to drag you again. Still, he said nothing. But you caught your breath and resumed your litany of hate. “You’re so fucking weak. You’re pathetic. Of course, you had to buy a wife. Who would love you willingly?” The carpet burned your skin as he dragged you across it, but you continued to struggle, continued to scream. Nothing would stop you now. “You’re disgusting. Embarrassing.”

He stopped in front of the door to the quiet room and you almost laughed. Did he really think this was just some little tantrum a time-out would fix?  Did he really not understand the rage and power that flowed through you now? Did he really think a few hours in the dark would quell this? No way. After everything you’d been through, everything you felt now, you could handle the quiet room.

He threw you in and closed the door behind you. You sank down into the darkness. This was fine. This was great. The darkness couldn’t hurt you.

You’d forgotten what it was like to have no understanding of the passage of time. It’d been hours. It had to have been hours. Right? 

He would come get you soon. What would you do then? Attack him as best you could. The rage still coursed through you. You were done laying down for him.

It must be getting late. It’d already been evening when the guests left. You were so tired now. Exhausted. But you had to be ready when Andy opened the door.

You startled awake as the furnace whirred to life. You were slumped over against the wall, your face pushed into the cinder block. It felt grimy.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Where was Andy? Whatever tenuous grasp you’d had on what time it was was completely gone now. That was ok. Andy would come soon and you’d beat the shit out of him, and then you would know what time it was.

It was the hunger that hit you first, but the thirst hit you harder. You knew now that this was the longest he’d ever left you here. You’d never gone hungry like this before. Well. He would let you out soon. He had to.

Your stomach hurt with how hungry you were. Your throat ached. Would he just let you die down here? Was he that angry? So angry that he’d decided to cut his losses. Start over with someone new. Was starving to death better than your life upstairs? Or the basement? You honestly didn’t know.

You were sprawled across the floor, as much as you could in the small space. What was the point of being upright? You could barely even tell which way was up anymore. It was all just darkness.

Suddenly, you were hit by a sliver of blinding light. What was happening? It took you embarrassingly long to realize it must have been a slot in the door you’d never seen before. Then something slid through it. You blinked at it, trying to get your eyes to focus, trying to make sense of what you saw. Oh my god, it was food! You lunged for it and tried to pull the tray to you, but it wouldn’t budge. That was better anyway. You needed the light to eat.  

On the tray was a small plate of leftover turkey and green beans and a bottle of water, along with a small plastic fork. You went for the water first, downing it, and then scarfed up the food, not even tasting it. After a few minutes, on the other side of the slot, you heard an alarm go off, and the tray was pulled back, a few bites still on the plate. “Andy, wait!” you called out, but the slot slammed closed and you were in the dark again.

You didn’t have anything to do. You couldn’t remember the last time you had nothing to do. Before Andy brought you here. Evenings in your little apartment, watching TV and eating takeout, fucking around on your phone. You hadn’t done that, hadn’t even thought about doing it in months. 

When you first got here, when your list of chores felt insurmountable and ridiculous, you would’ve given anything for the chance to lay around and do nothing. But now, it didn’t feel right. You should find a way to be productive. Andy was going to be so disappointed in you.

You hated yourself for thinking it.

You tried to do some yoga. You were so stiff from laying on the floor, but it was too hard when you couldn’t see how much space you had and were too scared of hurting yourself on the furnace or hitting the wall. So you went back to doing nothing.

The worst thing about waking up in this room was that you had no memory of falling asleep. It was all just darkness. Maybe there was no real difference between sleeping and being awake. How could you even tell anymore?

Andy brought another meal. Well, you assumed it was him. There was no one else. But you didn’t see him. He didn’t say anything. The tray was pushed through the slot, you ate and drank as fast as you could, the tray was pulled away. You didn’t say anything to him either.

You were so fucking bored. You’d tried singing to yourself. Running through old movies you remembered watching on TV as a kid. Reciting passages from old books. You felt like you were running out of thoughts.

There’d been three meals. If you could count the meals, that was sort of like keeping track of time, right? Even though you had no idea how often he brought them. Still, it had to be something.

The furnace was going to drive you insane. That whirring, whirring, whirring. White noise that wouldn’t stop. So loud you were afraid that the noise was just inside your head now. Maybe the furnace wasn’t even on.

“Andy,” you called out when the slot opened. “Andy, please.” He didn’t say anything. He never said anything.

The timer must have gone off sooner this time. The tray was pulled back when you were only halfway done. You started crying as the slot started to slide closed. Your stomach felt too empty.

You realized your mistake after he was gone. You had to call him sir when you were in the basement.

You started talking to yourself. Just to hear your voice. Any voice. You didn’t have anything to say, but you just couldn’t deal with the silence.

It wasn’t worth it. You saw that so clearly now. What did you really think you’d gain? You were never going to kill him. You couldn’t even hurt him. You were never going to win and you’d lost even more by trying.

You couldn’t remember whether there’d been six or seven meals. You’d lost count. And they were all the same. Nothing differentiated them. There was nothing to hold on to. This was the one thing tethering you to anything real and you’d lost it. There was no getting it back. You didn’t know how long you’d been crying.

He was tired of you. He was done. He was the only thing you had in the whole world and you’d lost him. You’d fucked it up. You were going to rot away in the Quiet Room until you were nothing. There was no getting out.

You crawled over to the slot when it opened and put your head right in front of it, keeping your eyes closed to avoid the burn of the light. “Sir,” you pleaded, your voice raspy, “sir, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sir. Please.” You were crying. You couldn't stop. You couldn't hide it. 

He paused before he pushed the tray through, but he didn't say anything. 

You were lying on the floor, trying to figure out whether you were awake or dreaming when everything was suddenly bathed in light. You must be dreaming. Oh, but would a dream hurt so much? You rolled onto your stomach and curled up in a ball to try to shield your eyes from the light. Wake up wake up wake up, you chanted to yourself.

And then– Then, as you were curling up, tighter and tighter, on the floor, someone touched you, lightly, gently on your back. When was the last time you’d been touched? You didn’t know. You started crying, even as you pressed up into the soft caress.

“Oh sweetheart,” someone said. An angel. But wait. You knew that voice. “Look at you,” Andy said, “we’ve both had a rough few days, huh?”

You slowly rolled back over, wincing harshly at the light. There he was, crouching over you. You squinted at him, trying to make out his features. You started to sit up, but it ached to use your muscles that way.

He reached out a hand to help you. “Go slow, honey,” he said, and his voice was so gentle. “Give yourself a minute to adjust.”

“Sir?” you rasped. Was he really here?

“Hi sweetheart,” he cooed, as he carefully pulled you into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“How–” you blinked up at him, feeling so disoriented. “How long?”

“Too long,” he answered sadly. “But we both needed time to calm down, didn’t we?” 

He stroked your back, and you whimpered. It felt so good. You’d been alone for so long. You nuzzled into his chest, the tears still streaming down your face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t– I shouldn’t have– I don’t know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand. Please forgive me.”

“Oh honey,” he sighed. You wished that you could drink up his gentle voice after so much silence. “I know. I know. It was a hard day. I understand. I’ll forgive you. After your punishment, it’ll be like it didn’t even happen.” 

“Punishment?” you looked at him in horror. “But– This– I–” You’d already been through so much. How could there be more?

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice picking up a firm edge. “This was just a little timeout. For both of us. So that we could both calm down and think about what happened. You know I never want to punish you when I’m angry.”

“But I’m sorry,” you cried, grasping at his shirt. You didn’t think you could handle a punishment. You were afraid you’d break into a million pieces in that room.

“You tried to hurt me.” All of the gentleness was gone now. “You have to be punished so you learn.”

You barely nodded as you curled up in his arms, crying quietly. You’d been so stupid. So, so stupid. It was such a mistake.

“I’ll tell you what, honey.” His hand resumed its stroking, up and down, up and down your back. So gently. “If you’re very good for me, if you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can go right back upstairs when it’s done. We won’t have to spend any more time down here.”

“Really?” You’d been so afraid that you’d doomed yourself to months down in the basement again, even worse than before.

“Really. Neither of us wants to be down here, do we? We both want to be happy upstairs, don’t we?”

“Yes, sir. Please, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl.”

“I know you will be, sweetheart. Let’s go get it over with, huh? Then we can take a nice long bath to get all this grime off of you. Can you move? Can you get up?”

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled into his chest, but you didn’t make any effort to move. Not yet. You wanted to savor this for a few more moments. You knew that as soon as you got into the punishment room, all of the gentleness would be gone. He’d be the figure from your nightmares again. And you knew you deserved it. You were so stupid. But you needed a couple more minutes of his soft touches before you’d be ready.

Tag List

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @foulpersonahandsvoid @alexakeyloveloki @spiderwebbedhearts

[nahoney22]

Hello there!

Congratulations on 4,500 followers!

May I request a NSFW prompt 30: come closer and keep me warm or something like with F! Reader x Mayday, please?

He needs more love!

Warmth in the Night*** 🌊

🫧 pairings: Commander Mayday X Female!Reader

word count: 1.9k

prompts:

• “Come here and keep me warm.”

plot: Trapped with nothing but a lousy flickering fusion lantern to keep you both warm, yourself and Mayday decide to take advantage of this time alone.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Established relationship, cuddling (amongst other things) for warmth, kissing, consensual sex, p in v sex, cock warming, dirty talk, explicit sexual content language, praising, fingering, trapped in a snow storm.

authors note: im so sorry for the wait @ladypunz and I apologise it’s short! But you’re right, he does deserve some love!

“Do you think it’ll hold?” you ask, your voice trembling as much from the cold as the worry gnawing at you. Together, yourself and Mayday had managed to barricade the rickety door of the abandoned shack you’d stumbled upon, but the raging blizzard outside wasn’t letting up.

Mayday steps back, eyeing the door with his hands on his hips. “Should do,” he says, his tone calm but a little cautious. “And if not… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

You try to laugh, but the bitter cold seeps into every part of you, stealing the sound before it can form. Stars, the bitter breeze stabs at your skin like little needles.

Pushing aside your discomfort, you move to help him gather whatever scraps of blankets and fabric you can find and then drape them around a fusion lantern. It was the only thing providing little warm but its light flickers weakly, threatening to go out at any moment. The thought of it completely shutting down makes you nervous which doesn’t go unnoticed by Mayday.

Setting his helmet on a cracked, uneven table, he steps closer, his gloved hand brushing against your frosty cheek. His touch was warm despite the frigid air.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’ll get through this. We’ll rest tonight, and by morning, the storm will have passed. Then we’ll make our way to the rendezvous point.”

You lean into his touch, seeking out the comfort it offers, and before you know it, your arms are around his waist, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you knitted to warmth and safety. “At least I’m with you,” you say softly.

His lips curve into a fond smile as he wraps his arms around you, his hands rubbing gently up and down your back in an effort to warm you. “Likewise.”

You were both meant to be delivering supplies to an outpost but were caught off guard by the sudden storm and luckily, you and Mayday had been together for a while now. He liked to tease that you fell for him first, and while that wasn’t entirely untrue, it didn’t mean he didn’t fall harder. He was everything you wanted in a relationship and you were glad he was so calm in a rather precarious situation.

“How are we on rations?” you ask after a moment, sitting down on the pile of tattered blankets whilst he pushes a broken table against the door just for a little extra reinforcement.

He grabs his pack, rummages around, and pulls out two ration bars, offering a wry smile as he hands you one. “At least it’s the flavor you like.”

“Lucky me,” you mutter with a half-smile, taking the bar and nibbling on it. If you were going to be stuck here, you wanted it to last.

Once the makeshift barricades are as secure as they’ll get, Mayday settles in beside you, the two of you huddling under the pile of blankets. The only light comes from the pathetic sputtering lantern, and the majority of warmth from each other. Despite your best efforts, your teeth chatter relentlessly.

Mayday drapes an arm over you, pulling you closer until your back is tucked against his chest. “Come here,” he says, his voice low and soft. “Keep me warm.”

You don’t hesitate, nestling into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His warmth envelops you, a small reprieve from the biting cold.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your head.

“A little bit,” you admit, your breath shaky, though you can’t deny how much this was helping.

Night falls swiftly, the wind still screaming against your shelter. “I hope this storm ends soon,” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the howl of the wind.

“Me too,” Mayday replies, his arms tightening around you. “But at least the company’s good, right?”

You smile despite everything, catching the teasing lilt in his voice. “It’s perfect,”

“You know,” Mayday murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his fingers trace gentle patterns across your stomach, “it’s been a while since we’ve had some time alone.”

Your eyes, which had been closed in contentment, flutter open. A playful smirk spreads across your lips as you tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze. “You’re right,” you say softly, your voice holding a hint of mischief. “It has been a while.”

Mayday’s answering smirk is wicked, a flicker of heat sparking in his inviting eyes. He leans down, capturing your lips with his, the kiss starting soft but quickly deepening into something more needy.

A gasp escapes you as his hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer. You turn fully to face him, your fingers threading through the textured strands of his long hair, tugging gently. The sensation draws a low groan from his throat, his lips parting against yours as your tongue slips into his mouth.

The kiss turns hungrier, more demanding, as his hands begin to wander. One gloved hand peels away, and when his now-bare palm glides over your skin, the chill of his touch makes you gasp again.

His lips curve into a smirk against yours, and his free hand slips lower, exploring with deliberate slowness until it finds the waistband of your pants. He pauses for just a moment, enough to let anticipation coil tightly in your chest, before sliding his hand inside.

You tremble under his touch, his fingers brushing against your folds. The coldness of his skin sends shivers across your body, but it only heightens the heat rapidly building between you.

“Already wet for me?” he murmurs darkly, his lips brushing against yours. His thumb circles your clit with an intense and measured pace, and he bites down lightly on your lower lip. “You needy girl.”

A whimper escapes you, your body arching into his hand as waves of pleasure roll through you. “C-can’t help it,” you stammer, your voice breathless. ���You’ve been neglecting me.”

A low groan rumbles deep in his chest, his mouth moving to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His breath is warm against you, a stark contrast to the icy air around you.

“Let me fix that.”

His fingers move with purpose now, sliding against you with expert precision. Every flick of his thumb, every stroke of his hand, draws soft gasps and moans from your lips. The storm outside is forgotten, the cold replaced by the searing heat of his touch.

“Mayday, shit… don’t stop,” you plead, your voice trembling as you clutch his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his under-armor.

He grins, a low, knowing chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tugs your pants down just enough to give his hand the space it needs. His fingers slide against you, then press inside, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. The sound makes his grin widen. “You feel so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice rough and reverent. “So perfect.”

Your hips buck instinctively against his hand, desperate for more. A string of curses falls from your lips as he adds another finger, spreading you open with a skilled, deliberate rhythm. His lips find your neck again, trailing hot, searing kisses along your skin that make you shudder beneath him.

“Stars, I’m g-gonna—” you stammer, the words caught in your throat as the pressure inside you builds to a dizzying peak after a measly few minutes.

“Yes, you are,” he growls, his voice laced with hungry satisfaction. His lips leave your neck, his gaze locking onto yours as he watches you unravel. Your eyes roll back, your body arching as pleasure crashes over you in an uncontrollable wave.

You come undone, trembling and gasping his name like a prayer. “Yes, you fucking are,” he says, his voice thick with pride, his fingers slowing but never stopping, coaxing every last ounce of bliss from you.

Stars blurred your vision, your body trembling as waves of you come down from your high. You felt drunk on his touch, the aftershocks of your climax leaving you breathless and spent. Sweat glistened on your brow, your legs shaking as you tried to steady yourself.

“That’s it,” Mayday murmured in your ear, his voice low and soothing. He withdrew his fingers carefully, his touch lingering for just a moment before he lifted his hand into the faint glow of the lantern. Slick with your arousal, his fingers shimmered in the dim light.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting the moment sink in, before looking up at him with a lazy, somewhat goofy smile. “I think it’s only fair if I return the favour.”

His lips form into a smirk, and without hesitation, he leaned down to kiss you, his mouth claiming yours with renewed desperation. As his tongue brushed against yours, your hands found their way to the waistband of his pants, fumbling with the latch. Mayday chuckled against your lips, helping you shove them down before kicking them off entirely.

Your breath hitched as his cock sprang free, thick and swollen with need. He gripped it lightly, stroking himself with deliberate slowness.

A soft moan escaped your lips at the sight, and an idea formed in your mind. You slipped your pants completely off and shifted closer, your hand wrapping around his length. He gasped at the initial contact, your touch cold against his heated skin, but the sound quickly melted into a groan as you aligned him with your entrance.

With a gentle roll of your hips, you guided him inside, both of you sighing as he stretched you open and settled deep within. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and he let out a sinful groan, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he buried his face in your chest.

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he rasped needily, “You feel amazing.”

You bit your lip, your walls fluttering around him, clinging to every inch of him as he throbbed inside you. A teasing smile played on your lips as you whispered, “You like this, Commander? You like being in my pussy?”

“I love it,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin and knowing full well that you calling him Commander gets him all hot and bothered. One of your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as you shifted your hips experimentally.

But before you could start moving in earnest, his grip on you tightened. “Stop. Stop,” he panted, his tone commanding yet soft.

You froze, concern flickering in your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice ragged. Pulling back slightly, he cupped your face with both hands, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re keeping my cock so nice and warm.”

It took a moment for his words to register, but then a playful smile tugged at your lips. “Using me as a cockwarmer, are you?”

“Yes, baby,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. “You’re so damn warm, and it feels so good. Just… let me stay like this for a while.”

Your smile softened, and you leaned into him, brushing your lips against his once more. “Anything you want.”

Settling against his chest, you let your body relax, your arms wrapping around him as his cock remained snugly sheathed inside you. He pulled the covers over the two of you, cocooning you both in warmth.

The storm outside howled, but for the first time in hours, you felt nothing but comfort. You didn’t know how long this moment would last, but for now, you hoped the storm wouldn’t let up anytime soon…

Please consider reblogging to support your fellow writers and artists 🩵

Masterlist is pinned 🩵

Tags: @lulalovez @littlefeatherr r @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets s @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel @stellarbit @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo o @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot t @imalovernotahater @sithstrings s @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblinfeet @photogirl894

[nunununuy]

Part 9

Part 8 Part 10

Prince x Fem Reader

Tittle: Changing the Fate of the Third Prince

You sat by the window in your family’s estate, the vast fields of green stretching far into the horizon. The soft golden light of the setting sun bathed the land in a peaceful glow, but inside, your heart felt anything but calm. It had been a few days since you’d returned home, leaving behind the bustling capital and the memories of him.

Rafael.

Even the sound of his name in your thoughts sent a pang of pain through your chest. You told yourself this was for the best—that you couldn’t keep hoping for something you knew would never be yours. He was a prince, destined for greatness, while you were just a marquis’ daughter. In your mind, the image of him with Princess Seraphina haunted you, her laughter and beauty fitting perfectly into his world.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to stop thinking about it. It had been days, and you still couldn’t get him out of your mind. “This is pathetic,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the edge of the windowsill. “He’s not thinking about me. He never was.”

To distract yourself, you threw yourself into anything that could keep your mind occupied. Your family’s estate was vast, and there was no shortage of work to be done.

In the mornings, you helped the house staff with chores, surprising them with your willingness to get your hands dirty. You told yourself that hard work would leave no room for thoughts of Rafael. When midday came, you spent hours in the fields, walking among the blooming flowers, the scents of lavender and wild roses calming your troubled heart.

But no matter how busy you kept yourself, the quiet nights were the hardest. When the world was still, your mind wandered back to him—his rare smiles, the way his sharp eyes softened when they looked at you, the warmth of his presence. Those memories clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

One evening, as you sat at the small desk in your room, you finally made a decision. You would not let your life revolve around someone who didn’t choose you. You had dreams and ambitions of your own, didn’t you? It was time to pursue them.

The next morning, you rose early, your resolve firm. You spoke to your father, expressing your desire to travel and expand your horizons. “I’ve spent too much time tied to the capital, Father,” you said, trying to sound confident. “I want to visit the southern provinces. Maybe help with the new trade routes. I want to see the world beyond the palace walls.”

Your father looked at you with a mix of surprise and concern. “Are you sure about this? The capital has always been your home.”

You nodded. “I’m sure. It’s time I build something for myself.”

And so, preparations began for your journey. You focused on the excitement of the unknown, convincing yourself that distance was the cure for your aching heart.

But even as you packed your belongings, folding dresses and tucking away keepsakes, a small part of you wondered: would he notice you were gone? Would he miss you?

You shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. This was your chance to move on, to reclaim your life. You were determined to leave Rafael and all the pain behind.

What you didn’t know was that miles away, in the capital, Rafael’s plans to bring you back were already in motion. His knights were ready. He would stop at nothing to have you by his side again. And no matter how far you ran, Rafael would find you. You were his.

---

The continent of Aurelis, where you resided, was vast and diverse, divided into four main regions: Eryndor, the northern region known for its snowy peaks and military might; Zantheria, the fertile heartland rich in trade and culture where the capital resided; Selvaris, the warm, coastal provinces to the south known for their bustling ports and exotic spices; and Draelan, the eastern desert expanse ruled by nomadic tribes. Each region had its own unique charm and resources, creating a delicate balance of power and economy across the land.

You had always lived in Zantheria, surrounded by the endless plains and noble politics of the heartland. However, your family’s business was expanding rapidly. The Marquisate of Linford, known for its luxury goods—fine silks, handcrafted jewelry, and rare spices—was opening new trade routes to Selvaris. The southern provinces held untapped opportunities, with booming markets and lucrative connections to overseas territories.

This was your chance to carve a new path for yourself. While you were officially traveling to oversee the opening of new trade outposts for your family, deep down, you knew it was more than that. It was an escape. An opportunity to leave behind the lingering ache of unspoken love and memories of the capital.

Your journey to Selvaris began just days after you decided to leave. The carriage was packed with essential supplies, led by a small retinue of guards hired by your family for protection. Though you tried to focus on the excitement of the unknown, your thoughts often drifted back to the capital—to the man you had left behind.

---

Meanwhile, back in the capital, Prince Raphael was consumed by a mix of emotions—anger, longing, and determination. The realization that you had left without a word still burned deep within him. The ball, which was supposed to mark the pinnacle of his success and his declaration of love for you, had instead left him hollow.

In the days following your departure, Raphael worked tirelessly. He coordinated with his knights, secured the emperor’s approval for his marriage proposal, and ensured that his mission to retrieve you would succeed. No one—not even you—would deny him what was rightfully his.

He spent hours studying maps of Aurelis, planning the fastest route to your family's estate. Through reports from his informants, he learned that you were heading south to Selvaris. This complicated his plans, as the journey to Selvaris was fraught with danger—bandits, treacherous terrain, and political unrest were common in the southern provinces. Yet, none of this deterred him.

Raphael's mind raced with memories of you: your gentle smile, your unwavering support during his struggles, and the way your presence soothed the storm within him. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. You had no right to leave him, to make decisions that excluded him from your life. He would remind you of your place—by his side, always.

---

As you crossed the borders into Selvaris, the scenery transformed. The rolling plains gave way to lush green hills, dotted with olive trees and vineyards. The warm breeze carried the scent of salt from the sea, a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air of Zantheria. The bustling port cities, with their vibrant markets and colorful stalls, brought a sense of excitement you hadn’t felt in weeks.

The new trade outpost you were overseeing was located in the heart of Vallora, a prosperous city that served as a hub for merchants and travelers alike. Your arrival was met with enthusiasm by your family’s representatives, who eagerly showed you the progress they had made.

Throwing yourself into work, you focused on expanding your family’s business. Days were spent meeting local merchants, negotiating deals, and ensuring the outpost ran smoothly. At night, you explored the city, marveling at its vibrant culture and lively streets. Slowly, you began to feel a sense of freedom—a life unshackled by the expectations of the capital.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried to move forward, the thought of Raphael lingered. Was he angry with you? Had he moved on? Did he even care that you had left?

---

Raphael, on the other hand, had never been more determined. Accompanied by a group of elite knights and a carriage bearing his family’s crest, he set out for Selvaris. The journey was long and grueling, but his desire to bring you back drove him forward.

As his entourage approached Vallora, the prince couldn’t help but smirk. The bustling city was alive with activity, yet all he could think about was how he would find you—and how you would finally understand that leaving him had been a mistake.

Soon, Raphael would reclaim what was his. And this time, he wouldn’t let you escape so easily.

___

[zepskies]

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? 

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro Latina), with textured hair. 

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too! 

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil. 

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to— 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile. 

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.  

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.  

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new. 

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.      

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

Join Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

@chevroletdean @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67

@cheynovak @megara0224 @yoongi-holland @illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity

@deansimpala @impala-dreamer @jc-winchester @k4marina @atenea585

@kayleighwinchester @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear

@suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77 @mxltifxnd0m

@bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats @valerinapetrova @spnaquakindgdom @podiumackles

@ladykitana90

@lamentationsofalonelypotato (I believe you said you would like to be tagged in this one. If not, I'm sorry, friend. Please disregard! 💚)

[milktiicup]

Hi! I’ve never requested anything before so i’m not even sure if this is where I send it to you, but fingers crossed :D I have two requests, not that you should do both, but because I couldn’t make up my mind on which I wanted to send. (Also i’m requesting these as a female reader but you can decide if you want it to be strictly female or not.)🤍🤍

First one, (Homicipher, Mr. Crawling) (And if you write for plus-sized readers) Where the reader has gotten their clothes dirty and gets offered the wedding dress, but knew she wouldn’t be able to fit in it? And Mr Crawling comes and finds them upset and tries to help or make them feel better.

Second request for Homicipher Mr. Crawling, where the reader has gone to their world with their friend, but the friend dies/gets killed, and the reader is inconsolable and can’t stop crying, and Mr. Crawling tries to soothe them (Maybe trying to get other monsters to help him).

the gift of belonging!

You force a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and give a slight shake of your head. “It’s… really beautiful. Thank you. But I don’t think it’s going to work for me.”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ i did the first one if that was okay!? sorry this is a bit cringe or not what you wanted >w<

warnings. plus sized!afab!reader, insecurity, cringe writing, the bride is a cutie patootie

The Bride holds the pretty white dress in her gloved hands. The soft fabric gleams under the dim light, pristine and delicate. You can only imagine she’d be donning a cute, girlish smile if she had a head, her childlike excitement radiating through her aura as she presents her gift to you. Your lips tug into a frown, the corners heavy with the weight of reality.

The dress is truly gorgeous.  The lace is intricate, the bodice peppered with delicate embroidery, and the fabric flows like water in her hands. You can feel the unspoken invitation in her silence as she holds it out, but you can’t find it in yourself to reach for it.

Your mind trips over the obvious truth. There’s no way. You know, just by looking at the dress, that it won’t fit. The cinched waist, the narrow bust- it was never made for someone like you. It wasn’t designed with your body in mind, and the thought stings more than you’d like to admit.

You force a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and give a slight shake of your head. “It’s… really beautiful. Thank you. But I don’t think it’s going to work for me.”

The words sound hollow in your ears. She doesn’t push, instead slowly lowering the dress to the floor. Is she hoping you’d change your mind? You can tell she doesn’t fully understand why you refused, but she doesn’t question it either. She drifts away quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound as she retreats, leaving you alone with the heaviness that’s settled in your chest.

You slump against the wall, lowering yourself until you're touching cold concrete. You lip quivers. Your body feels sticky with blood and grime. You sniffle, blinking back the tears threading on your eyelashes, and take a deep breath. There was no use getting upset- you had to find something else to wear.

“You okay?” You almost jump out of your skin, and right now, you really wanted to. “Hurt? Pain? …Troubled?”

“Mr. Crawling.” You offer a dim smile.

He settles next to you, mirroring you with his knees to his chest. He still towers over you. Mr. Crawling doesn’t let out his usual sharp giggle. A frown tugs at his face. He places a hand on your head, patting your hair in a futile attempt to make you feel better. 

“Why troubled?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing, really… “ The words catch in your throat as if you were suffocating. You scowl, nails digging into the flesh of your knees. 

“You troubled,” he insists. “Talk, me. Me help.”

The genuine concern in his voice is like an attack on the defense you put up- shooting right through it. You sigh, eyes focusing on the depressing concrete of the floor.

“It’s just… the dress. It’s really nice, but it’s not for me.” You gesture vaguely at yourself, your cheeks heating with frustration. “I’d never be able to fit into something like that. And I ruined my clothes earlier, so it’s just- ugh, I don’t know.” You cover your face with your hands, the vulnerability bubbling up faster than you can stop it.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then you feel a soft, tentative touch on your arm.

“Clothes bad,” Mr. Crawling declares firmly, as if the dress itself is the villain in this story. You peek through your fingers to see him glaring at the discarded garment like it personally offended him. “No fit? Not for you. Not right.”

You let out a weak laugh, lowering your hands. “It’s not the dress’s fault. It’s just… I don’t think I belong in stuff like that.”

“Wrong.” His response is immediate, almost sharp, and his long arms reach out to wrap you up in his arms. His expression softens as he looks at you. “You belong. Pretty things, soft things. Belong you.”

You blink at him, your breath hitching as his words sink in. He shifts closer, his hands trailing down your arms gently, his cool touch comforting.

“Not need dress. You…?” He pauses, his brow furrowing as he searches for the right phrase. Then his lips curl into a small, sly grin. “Pretty. Lot of pretty. Much pretty!”

Your smile grows, butterflies dancing free in your stomach- but you pause. 

Footsteps echo from the long hallway, and you can see the white glow from the Bride. She seems shy almost, kicking a heeled foot and holding something behind her. She reveals another dress- simpler in design, but still beautiful in its own right. The shape is more forgiving, the waistline relaxed, and the bust much more accommodating. 

“Me give clothes,” she explains, voice soft. “Pretty clothes. For you. You want clothes?”

The Bride stands there, patient. Her gesture is humble and almost tentative now, the tension between you and her unspoken but present. The dress in her hands feels like a bridge, a silent offer, and it takes a moment for you to realize the magnitude of what she’s done.

You blink, unsure if you should reach for it, as if afraid to hope that maybe- just maybe- it’s a sign that something’s finally clicking into place. Mr. Crawling’s arms tighten around you, the cold of his touch a stark contrast to the warmth that spreads through you from the sight of the new dress.

You rise to your feet and take the dress with shaking hands. 

“Thank you,” you say, a bright smile on your face. “It’s pretty. It’s perfect.”

“You like? Me glad!” The Bride clasps her hands together. “Goodbye!”

And she disappears, just like that.

You stare down at the fabric in your hands, the fabric melting between your fingers. The dress isn’t just something to wear- it’s something that fits you in a way you didn’t expect, both physically and emotionally. You can feel the weight of her kindness, the unspoken understanding of your struggle, wrapped up in the way she offered it to you.

“You like clothes?” Mr. Crawling asks.

“This is perfect!” you beam. 

You can feel the warmth of his gaze on you as you hold the dress up, considering it for a moment longer. It’s no longer just a symbol of what you thought you couldn’t have- it’s a symbol of what you deserve. You deserve to feel good. You deserve to feel comfortable in your own skin. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to apologize for who you are, for what you look like, or for the size of the body you carry.

It feels amazing to be out of your soiled clothes, and in something so elegant, so pretty. You twirl for Mr. Crawling. He claps his hands, his giggle bouncing down the hallway like an audience just for you. You can feel the blush rising on your cheeks. 

“Your clothes pretty!” Mr. Crawling grins widely. “Me glad. Me happy. You happy.”

“Hehe, thanks.”

“Pretty. Much pretty. You always pretty. Me like,” he says, as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

Your face burns. You reach down to his head, ruffling his long hair in something you can barely call a pat. He presses his face into your palm, giggling. 

 “You always say the nicest things, Mr. Crawling.” 

He tilts his head as you pull your hand away. “Me good?”

“You’re good. Very good.”